Title:  Kiss the Darkness
Author:  Post, Suzanna
Email: neustrom@omni.cc.purdue.edu or lordmadhammer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Content warning: Graphic violence
Classification:  X, R, A
Keywords:  MSR
Spoilers:  Everything up to and including Two Fathers/One Son
Summary: Mulder and Scully must fight colonization.  Along the
way they discover some surprising things.  Lots of speculation on
the science side of the conspiracy, along with appearances from
most of the ensemble cast.
Archiving: Please ask first.
Notes: Thanks are at the end of the story.  This was originally
written in four parts, which are now lumped together in one
collectors edition.  I've labeled the four parts as chapters.
Most of the poems scattered through the story are old Finnish
poems.  A translation of the entire "Holy Blood Holy Grail"
poem can be found at my website, but unfortunately I don't
have any other information on it other than the translation.
All my fanfic can be found at:  http://omni.cc.purdue.edu/~neustrom

****************
I kiss the darkness
it's my enemy.
I kiss the darkness
living inside me.

I kiss the darkness,
the darkness trembles.
To see the fleeing darkness
is the brightest moment in life.

I kiss the darkness
living inside me.
It feels like a knife
between my lips
I'm alive.
--old Finnish poem
****************

CHAPTER ONE

The gray-haired man blew out a thin white trail of smoke, tapping the
cigarette on the ashtray with the precision of a long-time smoker.  He
leaned back in the leather chair, taking another deep drag, savoring the
taste of smoke in his mouth.  "Now then," he said to the black suited
man standing before him, "what do you have to report?"

"Nothing new, sir.  The agents haven't done anything outside normal job
activities for the past three days."

The smoking man considered this.  Things were definitely not proceeding
as quickly as he had hoped.  It was true that Mulder and Scully were
finally back on the X-Files, after months of scut-work and boredom.
They knew more than ever before.  But they weren't getting any closer to
the goal.

"The time is near," the suited man said.  "Perhaps they need some
encouragement."

"Perhaps," he answered thoughtfully.  "Perhaps..."

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

It was 11pm Friday night.  Mulder was lounging on his couch and flipping
through channels, as usual.  The call, when it came, was not really a
surprise.  After all, things had been slow for weeks, ever since that
last tip from the informant proved utterly useless.  The voice on the
end of the line was familiar.  He was given terse directions to a bar,
with instructions to meet there in two hours with Scully.

As soon as the caller clicked off, Mulder was stumbling around the dark
apartment, trying to pull on a pair of jeans while simultaneously
dialing Scully's number.  Just as she picked up, he slammed his knee
into the chest of drawers and his greeting came out as a strangled
"Schhuuuulee..."  He still wasn't used to having a bedroom, much less
having to navigate it in the dark.

"Mulder?  What's wrong?"  Her voice was husky with sleep, but very much
alarmed.

"I just got a call.  I'm picking you up as soon as I can get to your
place.  I'll explain on the way."  He hung up immediately, not trusting
the lines enough to explain over the phone.

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

Scully felt Mulder's hand in it's familiar place, guiding her through
the door and into the dimly lit bar.  The cool night-time air swirled
for a moment on the threshold, grudgingly giving up it's freshness to
the interior of the smoky establishment.  Her eyes methodically swept
the area.  Nothing looked out of place.  Just locals, sitting in booths
and barstools, shooting darts and drinking beers with typical Friday-
night fervor.

There was an empty booth in the corner.  The pressure on her lower back
increased slightly, and they maneuvered through the people towards the
corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

When they got to the booth, Scully was surprised to find that it wasn't
entirely empty.  A familiar gray-haired man sat calmly smoking a
cigarette.  He glanced at them briefly before lowering his eyes to the
ashtray at his elbow.  Flicking a bit of ash into the tray, he motioned
for them to sit.

Scully slid into the booth first, and Mulder wiggled in beside her.  She
felt his warm and somewhat reassuring presence squishing against her
elbow and hip in the tight quarters of the booth.  But not even Mulder
could quell the invisible darkness she felt.  Its presence curled around
them so that she could taste it.

There was silence for a few moments, as both agents focused their full
attention on the man before them.  He sat in false serenity, like some
ancient, empty idol.  Scully wondered what would happen if she poked her
finger into his chest.  Would he be filled only with emptiness, and
maybe a little bit of smoke?

"What do you want?" Mulder asked quietly.

"It's not a matter of what I want," the smoking man replied, "but rather
what you want."  He reached into his coat and pulled out a packet, which
he pushed across the table.  The brown parcel came to rest between
Mulder and Scully, but neither moved to retrieve it.

"What is it?" Mulder asked.

The smoking man's eyes flicked to Scully and then back to Mulder.
Scully felt her stomach dance and curled her toes to fight the
sensation.  She despised the control that this vacant man exercised over
her life.  Over everyone's life.  The time is near...

"Just tell us what you want in exchange for the information," she said
evenly.  She felt rather than saw, Mulder gazing at her in surprise.
Her intuition was telling her what was in the packet, and she dreaded
it.

"We can negotiate later," he said, blowing smoke deliberately in
Scully's direction.  Without another word, he crushed out the cigarette,
left the booth, and walked away.

Scully felt Mulder jerk in response.  She put her hand over his and he
settled back, impatience curling around him like invisible fingers.  She
just shook her head and said, "Wait."

After a minute, she released his hand.  She grabbed the brown packet and
stuck it inside her jacket.  "OK, let's go."

They scrambled out of the tiny booth, and headed for the door.  Mulder
didn't say a word as she waited for him to unlock her car door.  For a
moment, he just stood quietly beside the door, not moving to unlock it.
He was looking down at her in puzzlement, features soft and boyish in
the badly lit parking lot.  She could feel his warmth, seeping through
his open jacket.   She blanked her expression, carefully containing the
emotions she felt inside.  Mulder picked up her cue, and in a moment had
her door unlocked.  As he unlocked his own door, Scully mentally
prepared herself for a rough ride home.

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

"They're just playing with us, Scully!"  Mulder burst out.

"Just drive," she replied calmly, rifling through the odd assortment of
materials in the package: labeled RFLP films, DNA fingerprints,
manufacturing company records, a recent scientific journal article, and
a single map marked with a red dot.  There were also two security passes
and a some sort of gate pass marked with a six.

Mulder ached to stop the car and look through the material.  Scully
wouldn't let him, though she described it in meticulous detail.  He
tapped his thumbs on the steering-wheel and pressed the accelerator
closer to the floor.  How could she be so calm?  This was all about her.
The chip in her neck, the stolen ova, the medical rape.  He didn't know
why the smoking-man was helping them now, but he had a distinct feeling
that this was genuine information, and not a false lead.  What was
really going on?

He felt guilty, impatient, angry, and used.  And she just sat there
serenely, going through the evidence like they were out on some average
case that had no bearing on their lives.  He chanced another glance in
her direction.  No, she wasn't as calm as he first thought.  There were
dark circles under her eyes, and tiny tension lines around her mouth.

She caught him peeking and raised an eyebrow just a little.  "Mulder, we
can't do anything about this tonight.  Let's just get some sleep and
talk about it in the morning, OK?"

He took a deep breath and released it slowly.  Good Scully, good common-
sense Scully.  She was always right.  "OK," he said, pretending to focus
on the road.

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

Scully was surprised when Mulder headed for his apartment instead of
hers, but she decided she was too tired to ask questions.  Mulder gave
her some excuse about being too tired to drive anymore.  Since it was
already 3am and a long drive to her apartment, she accepted it, noting
the black circles around his eyes that were visible even under
flickering street lights.

Back at the apartment, Mulder tossed off his jacket and walked into the
still new-looking bedroom.  His voice floated back to her.  "Lemme get
some clothes out of here, so you can take the bed."  He returned a
moment later, carrying sweats and a t-shirt in his hands.  "All yours,"
he said without looking at her, and headed straight to the bathroom.

Scully tentatively entered the mysterious bedroom.  She remembered with
some amusement the panic in his voice when he had called her and told
her to come to the apartment immediately.  He wanted her to try out her
key, to see if it was really his apartment.  It was.  And though they
never figured out what happened, Mulder kept the bedroom.  Only now
there was no mirror, no canopy. The hideous bedspread had been replaced
with something much simpler, and mostly blue.

She pushed down on the top of the bed.  So, he had replaced the
waterbed.  Not surprising, since the man experienced motion sickness
just thinking about microfilm machines.  She wondered why he had even
bothered to buy another bed.  She could tell he never used it.

Scully surprised herself by picking out a large t-shirt and grabbing a
pair of boxers out of his drawers.  Jeans do not make comfortable
pajamas, she reminded herself as she wiggled out of her bra and denim
and into his clothes.  She liked the way his t-shirt surrounded her, and
smelled like him.  Slipping under the cool sheets, she pressed them
around her neck with balled fists and tried not to think about the
evidence she had examined earlier.  It was too much to process right
now.  She was too tired to think about it.

A few minutes later she heard a knock.  "Scully, you decent?" Mulder
asked, his voiced muffled by the door.

"Yes," she replied, sitting up.

"I thought you might like a toothbrush," he said, holding out an
unopened package for her.  He swallowed heavily.  She belatedly
remembered that she wasn't wearing a bra, and the room was cool.

"Thanks," she said.  Taking the toothbrush, she padded to the door in
bare feet.

"You'll have to borrow my toothpaste," Mulder said in a somewhat
strangled voice, behind her.

She knew that tone of voice.  She wouldn't turn around; it would be too
dangerous.  And she was exhausted.  Instead, she walked straight for the
bathroom and brushed her teeth.  And anyway, it took all her
concentration just to squeeze the toothpaste from the end, since Mulder
had the very annoying habit of always pushing the tube from the middle.

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

Scully.  Walking around his apartment with nothing on but a billowing t-
shirt and boxers.  Mulder gulped for air as she closed the bathroom
door.  All thoughts of conspiracies were temporarily banished.  He was
so stupid not to think of this.  After all, he couldn't expect her to
turn off her beauty like a light switch.  He would just lie down on the
couch and pull a blanket over himself and act like everything was fine.
Just like it was always fine.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, he was curled up on the couch
under a blanket with his eyes closed.  He heard a soft padding that
stopped somewhere in front of him, and opened his eyes.

Worse and worse.  It was dark in the apartment, but not dark enough.
The first thing he saw was a pair of very fine white legs in front of
his face.  He hoped that it was too dark for Scully to see the way his
cheeks were turning red.  He was getting turned on by his partner on the
eve of what could be one of the most important days of their lives.  Now
was not the time.

She hunkered down by the couch.  "You okay, Mulder?" she asked softly.

Oh yeah, Scully.  I'm just fine.  Just go away so I don't have to want
you any more.  "Yeah," he managed.

Her brow was furrowed in worry.  "I know you're upset about all this,
and that we're not sure if we're just being set up again."  She paused.
"But we'll deal with this in the morning, okay?"

He didn't think now was the time to tell Scully that he wasn't thinking
about that at all.  Her fingers lightly brushed some stray hair away
from his forehead.  "Are you sure you're okay?" she persisted.

He reached up from under the covers and caught her hand.  Her breath
came out in a sudden exhalation, but her hand was cool against the heat
raging through him.  "I'm fine, really, Scully.  Just go to bed."  He
released her hand.

"Goodnight Mulder.  Thanks for letting me stay here."  The warmth in her
voice was genuine.

"Goodnight, Scully."  He almost added I love you, but stopped himself.
When would it be time for those words?

She paced back to his bedroom, white and angel-like in the darkness,
bare feet making soft noises on the hardwood floor.  He scrunched his
legs up and tried not to think.  He tried not to think about anything.

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

Scully woke to the smell of coffee.  She sat up suddenly, feeling
disoriented.  Then she remembered the previous night.  She was in
Mulder's apartment.  Tumbling out of the tall bed, she stripped off the
boxers.  Her jeans smelled like stale bar-smoke but she pulled them on
anyway.  She left the t-shirt on.

She opened the bedroom door sniffed appreciatively.  When she got to the
kitchen, she almost fell over in surprise.  Mulder was frying eggs and
bacon in a pan, and coffee was perking at his left elbow.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said cheerfully.

The man was far too perky first thing in the morning for his own good.
Instead of answering, she blew out air over her lips in a half-laugh,
and headed for the bathroom.

Sleepily, she brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face.  Time
for the real work, she thought ruefully.

Emerging from the bathroom, she picked up a coffee cup and sipped the
scalding liquid.  She turned to see Mulder observing her, his mouth
turned up at one corner in a half-smile.  "What?" she asked warily.

"Good eggs," he answered, deftly shoving a large fork-full into his
mouth.

Practically drooling with hunger, she picked up what she assumed was her
plate, and followed his example.  Eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry
jelly.  Definitely more heavy than her usual bagel with coffee, but she
was starving.  She plunked down on the couch opposite Mulder and dug
into the food.

She grabbed the journal article she had been too tired to read the
previous night, and worked steadily though her breakfast, one item at a
time.  After a few minutes of eating, she was surprised to find Mulder
balancing a book on his knees, simultaneously shoveling breakfast into
his mouth at an alarming rate.

"That good?" she questioned, waving her utensils in the direction of the
book.  What was he doing, reading a book, when he had been so keen on
seeing the packet of information last night?

"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed, glancing up at her as he swallowed the remnants
of the last piece of toast.  "I thought I knew something about grail
mysticism, but this is really eye-opening."

Grail myth?  Hello, where did that come from?  "What is so eye-opening?"
she asked, crunching down on the bacon.  Mulder really knew how to cook.

"Heroes in the grail myths never finish their quest."  Mulder looked at
her meaningfully, but she didn't grasp the thing he left unspoken.  She
raised one eyebrow in question.

"I never thought about it before," Mulder continued, "but it's true.
Something always stands in the way of fulfilling the quest.  The hero
isn't pure, or he asks the wrong question.  Even though the story ends,
it isn't finished."

Scully's brain whirred into early-morning action, and suddenly the words
clicked.  Her mouth opened in a silent O of revelation.  She remembered
what Mulder had said in a hospital many months ago, after the incident
on the bridge.  "You think we've been asking the wrong question all
along, don't you?"

He nodded slightly.  She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then
returned to her scrambled eggs.

"The questions we've been asking are essentially two," he said.  "Who
took Samantha, and who took you."

His breath hitched a little.  She could make a good guess at what he was
going to say, but prodded him verbally, anyway.  "And what is the
correct question?"

"Who put that chip in your neck?" he said softly, eyes down and on the
couch.

The question bounced off the walls of the room and came to uneasily rest
somewhere between them.  Scully remembered those exact words, spoken in
the hospital.  He had been so earnest, his face beautiful and serious in
the light of a half-covered window.  He had been true to his word,
trying desperately to find out more information.  He had tried for
months.  But every lead ended where it began, in nothingness.
Eventually he had given up, leaving the mystery alone as they struggled
with an already heavy load of scut work.  But then they got back the X-
Files.  And apparently recent events, including last night, had brought
it to the front of his mind.

"But we have been asking that question, and it led to no substantial
evidence," she reminded him.

He made a frustrated noise.  The book tumbled from his knee as he stood
up, but he didn't notice.  Walking to the sink, he plunked down his
plate and gave it a perfunctory rinse.

"We have evidence, now," he said from the kitchen.

Scully glanced at the packet that was spread on the coffee table.  How
long had he been awake, looking through the material and thinking?

She finished the last bite of eggs and took her own plate into the
kitchen.  "It might not be real evidence," she said to Mulder's back.
"We've seen this happen before."

He turned around and she suddenly found herself confronted by Mulder
wearing a very grouchy expression.  "Not this time.  This time we have
the real deal."

"But why now?" she asked, side-stepping so that she could drop her plate
in the sink.  The silverware jingled with a louder than necessary clank.

"What do you want me to say, Scully?"  He always seemed so much taller
when he was theorizing.  She had to crane her neck to look up at him.
He seemed to notice, and slouched suddenly, leaning back on the counter-
top and resting his hands on the front of the sink.

"I just want you to think about all the possibilities," she said flatly.
Their hopes had been shattered before, broken in a cruel game in which
they had no control.  Emily, stolen ova, re-implanted microchips...it
all made no sense.  She hated this horrible game, where the stakes were
the lives of the innocent, and the reputations of those who would search
for the truth.  An almost palatable darkness filled the space between
them; she could taste it like a knife between her lips, or at the base
of her neck.

His eyes glinted strangely, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"We need to go to the place on the map," he stated.

They locked gazes for many moments, but at last Mulder looked away.  The
darkness receded a little bit, but it was always present, always inside
both of them.  "OK," said Scully.  "When do we leave?"

"Not right away.  I want to talk to the Gunmen, first."

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

Byers skimmed through the journal article and looked up at Scully.  It
was a recent publication on E-boxes and gene regulation. Langly grabbed
the papers from him before he could object, and Frohike was already
flipping through the manufacturing records. "I read the article earlier
this week. I'm just surprised it was published in 'Science.'"  He
wrinkled his nose in unconscious disgust.  "Too much of that journal is
fluff-science, but from what I can tell, this article seems reliable and
valid."

"I'm guessing the research isn't top secret," Mulder said, frowning a
little.

Frohike spoke.  "No, we've known about E-boxes for years.  And from what
I can see, the funding is legitimate."  He flipped pages and pointed to
the end of the article, reading out loud, "This study was supported by
the University of Missouri-Columbia Research Foundation, Grant 10-
24834."  He plunked the papers back onto the table.  "It looks like this
is just the usual University research, done by professors trying to
raise funds and publish results so they can get tenured."

"Then why give us this information, if it's so well known?" Scully
asked.

Mulder was thinking the same thing.  Maybe it wasn't a matter of new
information, but a specific kind of information.  It was supposed to be
leading them somewhere, but where?

Mulder asked another question.  "Scully, explain to me one more time
what the article says.  I know you science types understand the jargon,
but I need to hear it again."

Scully rolled her eyes at the jargon comment, but plunged into the
lecture patiently.  "Just remember, I'm a doctor, not a geneticist.
Basically, the E-box is a specific sequence of DNA that certain factors
can bind.  When the factors bind, then transcription is turned on.  DNA
is transcribed into RNA, then RNA is translated into proteins that
transmit cellular signals.  This is how the body regulates growth
processes during development, and also during any type of post-natal
growth.  This article is simply talking about how manipulation of a
specific gene can change E-box regulation during prenatal development."

Scully and the Gunmen were looking at him as if this were all completely
obvious, just by looking at the graphs and figures on the page.  Despite
his brilliant intellect, he simply didn't have enough basic grounding in
molecular biology to quite understand how they could get that conclusion
from all the technical garbage.  But he suddenly had an idea.

"Couldn't manipulation of this E-box have something to do with how the
alien organism develops?

"Mulder..." Scully's voice was low, warning.  He ignored it.

"What if the virus could somehow cause a mutation in the E-box so that
instead of normal growth occurring, the host body makes an alien?  And
maybe the hybrids are some mutation of this same gene, a mutation that
is alien in origin and can resist viral infection."

Scully interrupted.  "Mulder, this research is very recent.  You can't
possibly think the technology exists to successfully manipulate a gene
about which there is very little basic knowledge."

"Scully, we've seen this before," he said forcefully.  "Research that
appeared to be new had been used by the government for years!"

"You saw it," Scully said pointedly.

"They saw it, too."  Mulder motioned towards the Gunmen.  "When you were
returned, they found that your DNA had been tagged.  That was technology
20 years into the future, but you had it in your blood!"

Mulder noticed the gunman had stepped away from Scully, leaving a safe
distance between her and themselves.

When Scully spoke, her voice was low and controlled. "We never did find
out exactly what was wrong with my DNA.  It *could* have been a tag, but
then again, it could have been random damage due to some kind of
radiation exposure.  That would at least explain the cancer."

"But it wouldn't explain it's remission," Mulder shot back.  Byers' eyes
were wide, and Frohike was backing towards the kitchen.  He should have
taken their hint, but he didn't.

Scully stepped up close to him, her fists balled tightly.  "Everything
you have seen," she enunciated every word crisply, "regarding my cancer
can be explained.  Just because the technology exists, doesn't mean that
it is alien in origin."

Mulder was surprised the front of his shirt wasn't singed from the heat
of her wrath.  He recalled words spoken to her earlier, words that he
regretted but never took back .  *What does it take, for this thing to
come up and bite you on the ass?*  He fought to keep his rising
irritation in check, and held out his hands as if in supplication.
There was no way he was going to win this argument.

"Look, Scully.  All I'm saying now is that we should check out the
facility marked on the map.  Maybe we'll find the proof we need."

Scully dropped her hands back to her sides, and Mulder suddenly noticed
she looked pale and tired.  Irrelevantly, his mind wondered what would
happen if they did really find proof.

Mulder glanced at the Gunmen.  They were huddled close to the door,
ready to make a hasty exit.  "I know you guys can help us with this," he
said, his words like rocks thrown into fragile ice, shattering the
tension in the room.

Byers smiled tentatively, and Frohike scuttled to the nearest computer.
Mulder rubbed his hands together in almost gleeful anticipation.

Scully kneaded her neck, feeling as if every muscle in her upper body
was tense and knotted.  Her fingers lightly brushed over the tiny scar
at the base of her neck.  She shuddered.

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

Noon Sunday, somewhere near St. Louis, Missouri...

Scully was nervous.  This was the most nervous she had felt since that
day she went to the Fort Marlene High Containment Facility, looking for
evidence she could trade for Mulder's life.  Only this time, they were
going straight to the place where her chip was manufactured.  She didn't
understand why it was manufactured in a high containment facility, or
why they had been given genetic evidence, but she hoped things would be
explained.  They pulled up to the security gate, where a guard with a
large sidearm stepped out.

"ID and section you're visiting," the guard said.

Mulder and Scully handed over their security passes and flashed their
badges.  "Section six," Mulder said.

Scully cringed inwardly.  They'd run into trouble at so many government
facilities over the year that she was sure their faces and names were
plastered on every security booth, like the FBI's most wanted pictures
at the post-office.  But everything proceeded smoothly, and the guard
directed them to go left, right, and then left, to Section Six.

Somehow, Scully managed to get out of the car and walk beside Mulder to
the glass front doors of the building.  Thanks to some Gunmen magic,
they gave the correct project name and password to the guard on the
inside, and walked through another set of sliding glass doors into a
seemingly endless white hallway.  Even a cursory glance at the ceiling
told her there were security cameras everywhere.  The air felt thin and
sticky, like cobwebs, and she imagined she could feel the chip in her
neck sending electric pulses up and down her spine.

"Room 212," Mulder whispered in her ear.  Scully took courage from his
voice, and the brush of his hand over her elbow.

After more twists and turns, they came to room 212.  Scully clutched the
pass card in her hand.  She ran it through the card reader and it a
little light at the top of the reader blinked green.  She pushed the
door open.

They walked into a room that was obviously meant for record keeping.
Drawers that were built into the wall were stacked from the floor to the
ceiling...hundreds of drawers making the room seem small.  Mulder walked
immediately to one side.  Scully followed him.  The drawer he pulled out
was labeled "S."  He flipped through several folders, and handed them to
her.  Attached to the folder was a little pocket of paper containing a
flat glass box the size of her thumb nail.  It contained a tiny
microchip which resembled hers.  She looked at the first page of the
folder's contents and felt an instant adrenaline rush, the kind that
makes the fingers and toes tingle.  "Donor:  Scully, Dana Katherine."
It was a record of live birth.  After that, a tissue sample packet, like
she had seen at the Strughold mining company vaults.  After that, an
RFLP film with it's familiar black bands, and another form filled with
abbreviations and dates that were completely unfamiliar.  From what she
could tell, these papers were all simply a record of an experiment.  Did
it even have anything to do with the chip?

But now she understood why her own RFLP's had been included with the
information. Restriction Fragment Length Polymorphism.  It was the
decisive paternity test. Essentially, a geneticist picked out a decisive
region of DNA to use as a standard of comparison.  As long as the same
sequence was examined in other samples, it was an extremely accurate
test of relationships.  This particular RFLP was looking at unique
regions of the X-chromosome.  She pulled her own RFLP out of her
briefcase with shaking hands, and superimposed it over the child's RFLP
film. Some of the dark bands were missing from the child's film.  That
was where DNA differed.  She pulled out the DNA fingerprints and
compared them as well.  There were many missing pieces, and though she
was no genetic expert, she guessed this was hard evidence that this
child was spawned from her ova.

She turned to the next file.  Same thing, but different number on the
tab of the folder.  Her children.  These were the children she was not
allowed to have.  She fought to stay focused.  This would probably be
the last time they would have access to this information.  She needed to
stay calm so that she could recall with perfect memory each piece of
evidence.

Scully examined file after file with mechanical precision.  It was the
same way every time.  RFLP, DNA fingerprints, medical records.  A
complex experiment was being run, and from what she could tell, was
being run successfully.  After about half an hour, they determined that
most of the women from the MUFON group in Allentown, Pennsylvania had
records of nameless children in the vault.  Scully stuffed several of
the files into her briefcase.  There were no cameras in this room that
she could see, and no tracking device on the folders that would alert
anyone to their disappearance.  Mulder finally broke off the search and
moved to the door at the end of the room.

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

The area they entered was lit with an eerie greenish light.  Carefully
monitored tanks, each containing a single body, filled the entire room.
Mulder had an instant flashback to another room, filled with Kurt
Crawford clones.  Only this time they weren't clones of boys.  These
were all girls.

He looked down at Scully.  She seemed rooted in place, staring through
the glass of the tank closest to the door.  He had told her about the
room full of Kurt Crawford clones.  He had no doubt that she knew this
was the exact same set-up.

Mulder fairly staggered from tank to tank.  All were girls at various
stages of pre-natal development, but none over nine months post-
conception.  Which ones belonged to Scully?  The feeling of perversion
throbbed in the room like the heartbeat of some invisible, evil
creature.

He looked into every tank.  Then checked the surrounding walls.  There
was nothing more to be seen.  No other doors led from this room, and
they didn't have a keycard for any room but 212.  Somehow, he didn't
quite remember how, they made it back out into the hallway, past the
guard, and out the doors to their rental car.  Scully hadn't said a word
since they'd discovered the babies.

His hands trembled as he opened her door, and then his.  But they drove
out of the facility without anyone stopping them.  It seemed almost too
easy.  He wasn't going to feel more relaxed until he put some distance
between themselves and the facility.  They had already decided to drive
all the way back; plane tickets would be too easy to track.  And at that
moment, he didn't think he could handle anything beyond quiet driving.

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

They drove in silence for many hours.  Scully's stomach still rolled
around uncomfortably, but she had somehow managed to swallow down the
nausea and concentrate.  She was thinking harder than she had ever
thought before, thinking about the Trojan horse theory and everything
she had seen relating to the virus and the hybrids and Emily.  She
pulled out the files and was able to read without feeling sick, puzzling
over the abbreviations and records.

Before she knew it, the sun was lowering in the horizon.  Had they spent
that long at the facility?  Or had they just been driving forever
without a single stop?  Maybe it was both.  She glanced at her watch.
At this rate they might make it back to DC well before midnight, if they
didn't stop somewhere overnight.

She turned to Mulder.  He was driving with his shoulders hunched up,
clutching the steering wheel and staring off into the distance as if he
didn't even see the road.  "Hey," she said.

He grunted.

She cleared her throat.  "Maybe we should get a hotel tonight, instead
of driving all the way back to DC.  We could just lay low for a day or
so, before we go back..."

His eyes flitted to her, and then back to the road.  "Sounds like a
plan, partner."

The sun was beginning to set, fantastically orange against a pink and
golden sky.  Scully pointed to a not-too-smarmy looking billboard that
whizzed by at about 70 miles per hour.  "That Budget Inn doesn't look so
bad, why don't we stop there?"

Seven hotels later, Scully was tired.  Very tired.  Apparently the tri-
state softball championships were this weekend, and every hotel for the
last 90 miles had been booked solid.  So much for being inconspicuous.
They had hassled at least seven managers in the last two hours and if
someone was really after them, there would be no problem following the
trail.  But Scully was beyond caring.  This Motel Six was her last hope.
The lobby smelled like smoke, and was none too clean, but all she wanted
was a shower and a bed.  And a bug-swatter, if her suspicions were
correct.

She was relieved to overhear the hostess saying that there was a
cancellation and that a room was available.

Mulder turned to her.  "One room left.  She called two hotels in the
next town.  No openings anywhere else."  He paused.  "I'm willing to
take it."

Scully nodded her agreement.  "Let's do it."

The room was cleaner than she expected.  Two small full-size beds, a
shaky looking table and chair, and no visible insects.  She threw her
overnight bag onto the chair and the briefcase with its precious cargo
onto the nearest bed.

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

When Mulder emerged from the bathroom, Scully was sitting cross-legged
on the bed, with the files spread around her.  He plunked down on the
far end.  The entire bed rocked precariously.

She didn't look up from the files.  "You knew there were others, didn't
you?"

Mulder suddenly lost his voice.  He had dreaded that question since
finding the fetuses at the surrogate mother facility.  He had dreaded
that question since the meeting with the smoking man, and every minute
since then.  "Yes," he said, but his voice sounded small and weak.

Scully looked a little resigned, as if she had expected this answer, or
known it all along.  "Since when?" she asked quietly.

"Since I was trying to find a way to help Emily."  He could hardly say
it.  The words clawed his throat on the way out.  "It was like what we
saw today, only there were old women...surrogate mothers.  They were all
sleeping..."

She nodded, as if his babbling was perfectly comprehensible.  She was so
strong.  How could she be so strong?

"I've been thinking about this," she pushed a folder in his direction.
He took deep, gulping breaths, trying to steady himself, to be strong
for her.

"I couldn't understand the connection between the hybrids and the virus
and the E-box research," she said continued, as if she were giving a
lecture at Quantico.  "We thought before that the hybrids were created
to be immune to the black oil infection."  In his mind, Mulder saw a
nameless man in a car, and remembered the conversation about his sister.
He had told Scully about it before filing the final report on the Dallas
bombing.  "But now I think I have some idea of what the perfect hybrid
means, and how it is different from the vaccination work."

Mulder hazarded a glance at his partner.  Her brow was furrowed in deep
thought, but she looked otherwise untroubled.  "Well?" he asked,
puzzled.

"A vaccination is a preventative measure.  I think this is a more active
cure.  Something to do with altering the E-box so that the alien virus
will not be able to create the correct mutation and change the
developmental processes.  In the end, the hybrid cannot serve as a host
for a gestating organism."

Mulder knew that his mouth was hanging open in astonishment.  Scully had
never accepted the fact that his so-called aliens even existed, much
less talked about them as if they were mundane scientific fact.

She continued calmly, noting his surprise.  "This is what changed my
mind," she said, holding up the DNA fingerprint.  Four columns of black
bands ran down the length of the photographic film.  "There are pieces
missing in the banding pattern."

"I don't understand," Mulder said, shaking his head.

"Normally, the DNA sequence is unbroken.  Each of these four columns
represents a base pair, and the entire pattern makes up the DNA sequence
of the organism.  But there are gaps in this sequence.  I've seen this
before.  More than five years ago...banding patterns with gaps, because
they couldn't hybridize with any of the four natural base-pairs in DNA.
I can't be completely sure what it means," she looked at Mulder directly
for the first time, " but a very plausible theory is that some of this
DNA has more than the natural four base pairs.  That in fact, some of it
is extraterrestrial in origin."

Mulder grabbed the folder and stared as if it were a vision of the holy
grail.  He still didn't understand exactly what the microchips had to do
with the experiments, but...  "Then this is the proof we've been looking
for?"

"I wouldn't say undeniable proof," Scully said, her typical skepticism
reasserting itself.  It was a little reassuring to hear her doubts.
"I'd like to run the test myself, to make sure it wasn't just a
technical error."

Mulder sighed.  Here they were again.  It was proof, but not quite
proof.

Scully continued.  "We still don't know how the virus is influencing the
developmental genes, or even if that is really the target."  She pulled
the RFLP from one of the folders.  "This is sort of like a fingerprint,
but it shows a specific part of the X-chromosome."  Her fingers brushed
lightly over the surface of the grayish film.  "I'm not sure why the
RFLPs are being run on the X-chromosome, but it's probably safe to say
that it either contains some sort of marker or is target of genetic
manipulation."

Mulder began thinking very hard. He was concentrating so much that he
was startled when Scully got off the bed.  "This is my bed, Mulder.  By
the time I get back, you had better be off it," she said, marching to
the bathroom.  "I want to get some sleep."

Mulder resisted a lewd comment, and obediently slid off the bed.

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

"Sometimes my life just don't
make sense at all...
And I wake up in the night
And feel the dark
It's so hot inside my soul
There must be blisters
On my heart."
--Rich Mullins

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

The TV droned softly in the background.  Scully lay quietly in bed,
listening to the sounds of Mulder sleeping.  His breathing was quiet and
even, his body sprawled carelessly across the bed, feet hanging a little
over the end.

It was 4am, but Scully couldn't sleep.  All afternoon and that evening,
she had kept her fear at bay by retreating into her work.  Science had
grounded her, held her steady when she wasn't sure of anything else.
But now science was telling her something that she could hardly believe.

She shifted restlessly, legs scissoring under the covers.  The sheets
were mostly warm from contact with her body, but after rolling over so
much, her feet had managed to find a cool place.  She wondered if the
whole thing was a set-up.  There was no way to test any of the fetuses,
no way to study the alien virus.  All they had were forms and a little
bit of data, which could or could not be telling the truth.  Who would
believe this was evidence of extraterrestrial life?  Did she even
believe it?

She remembered the feeling of darkness as they walked through the
sterile hallways of the facility.  It reminded her of a cold white room,
where faceless people did bad things to her.  She believed.

Scully sat up in the bed, trying to shake the sensation that the
darkness was alive and pressing into her like physical danger.
Sometimes she could push the feeling down, deep into her blistered soul,
where it would rest quietly, far away from her everyday thoughts.  But
this moment was a time when it gushed out like water from a scalding
shower, soaking her in its painful baptism.

She slid out from underneath the cool sheets and walked to the window.
There was a little bit of moonlight escaping around the edges of the
dingy curtain.  She flipped back the fabric just enough so she could
look outside.  It was a beautiful night, if you ignored the dirty
parking lot full of rusty pickup trucks and dilapidated Fords.

Scully leaned her forehead against the cool glass.  The ugly parking lot
with its old cars reminded her of her own life.  Used.  Broken.
Unwanted.  She no longer tried to fight the melancholy of her mood.

Hearing a rustling behind her, she swiveled her head to see Mulder
standing a few feet away, his hair sticking up in all directions.  He
didn't ask if she was okay.  Instead, he stepped close behind her, not
quite touching, and opened the drapes a little wider with his right
hand.  His body surrounded her, like a comfortable quilt.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She snuggled back into him, giving him permission to touch her.  His
hand slid up her arm, and he leaned in protectively.

"I'm thinking about the bad things that have happened since...my
abduction."  Her candor surprised herself, and she felt Mulder twitch
slightly.  Her bluntness must have caught him off guard.

"I'm sorry."  His voice rumbled through his chest and into her back.

"Don't be," she said.  "You didn't do this to me."  She could almost
feel the guilt radiating out from him.  His arms came around her
shoulders to surround her completely, and he hugged her tightly.

She wiggled out of his embrace and turned to face him, pressing her back
into the wall and gripping his forearms tightly.

"What?" he asked, looking down at her with a crinkled brow.

"Did you ever think that they gave us this information...because time is
running out?"

Those weren't the words she had planned on saying.  But for some reason,
she could only think of what Mulder had told her about the conversation
in a back alley with Dr. Kurtzweil.  *The time-table has been set.*
Cassandra.  Hybrids.  Safe-houses.  Why give them the evidence now?
Because the time is near...

Suddenly, he was down on his knees, face pressed into her stomach,
hands circling her waist.  She felt his breath hot through her t-shirt,
hitching through his lungs like a dry sob.  Tears started to her eyes.

"Yes," he said, the words muffled through her t-shirt.

When had she begun to feel like she was on fire?  Maybe forever ago, but
now it was like a revelation, flames whisking through her belly, hands
and chest.  She started to shake, fingers trembling as they brushed over
his shoulders, palms coming to rest under his chin.  All she wanted was
to stop hurting, to stop feeling used, broken, and unwanted.

His hands came up hard under her arms as he stood up, lips eagerly
flitting over her neck.  She groaned, pulling his mouth to hers,
crushing her body against him.

Sometime later, she felt herself being lifted and carried to the bed,
his tongue licking the hollow of her throat as he set her down.  His
hands were warm on her bare back.  She didn't want it to stop, not ever.
But...

Abruptly she put her fingers on his lips.  "Wait."

He groaned, his face collapsing into her neck.  She struggled to sit up.
"What is it?" he asked.  The despair in his voice frightened her.

Scully placed her hands on his face, and forced him to look at her.
Even in the darkness, she could see the pain in his face.  "I can't tell
you I don't want this, because I want it more than anything. But I don't
want this to happen just because we think that this could be the end..."

He slumped away from her, and his voice sounded odd in the darkness, as
if he wasn't talking in her direction.  "That's not why I want it."

"I know," she replied, as gently as she could manage.  "But I just don't
want it to be for the wrong reasons."

"Then marry me," he said, looking down at her hands as they fell back
down to the bed.  She felt as if the bed had dropped away from
underneath her, leaving her to tumble into the vastness of space.

"When I asked you a long time ago, I wasn't joking," he said, his voice
small in the quietness.

"I knew you weren't," she said softly.  There was a long silence, during
which her thoughts tumbled around in a dozen directions.  "I know we may
not have much time.  We can wait just a few more days.  Finish this.
And then...get married."

His crushing hug almost made her laugh.  She nuzzled his cheek with her
own, running her tongue over the corner of his mouth, then sweeping over
his lower lip.

"God, Scully, don't do that if you want me to stop," he groaned.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then lay down, tugging his
arm.  "Just hold me," she said, pulling him down behind her.  His arms
circled her waist, body nestled against her.

"What about the evidence?" he mumbled into her hair.

"We'll deal with it tomorrow," she answered, already groggy.  She was
asleep before Mulder could even count to ten.

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

Ringing.  A phone was ringing in his dream, but he couldn't find it.  He
flailed his arms, reaching for the phone, and came in contact with a
warm body.  "Hello?" a woman's voice said, gravely with sleep.

Mulder blinked awake.  Scully had answered the phone, and was now
looking rather sheepish.  "Yes," she said.  "We're fine."  A pause.
"We'll be there by this afternoon."  She hung up.

Mulder raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I think I startled Byers," she said with a little smile, snuggling back
down under the sheets.  "The boys were worried because we didn't call
last night."

Mulder wondered how the Gunmen had figured out where they were staying.
"What did you tell them?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her warm
shoulders and burying his face in her hair.

"That we'd be there by this afternoon," she replied.  "What about work?"
Scully covered her mouth with one hand as she yawned.

"We'll just have to take one more day off."  He gave her shoulders one
last squeeze, then rolled out of bed with a smile for the first time in
ages.  First, he needed a quick shower and then there would be several
more hours driving back to DC.  Turning back to the bed, he saw Scully
watching him with half lidded eyes.  He wondered what she was thinking.
She was magnificent.  It took all his effort to get to the bathroom and
turn on the shower.

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

Scully set down her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes, elbows resting
on the files spread all around her.  It had been a very long day.  When
they came back to DC, Mulder wanted to go straight to the Gunmen.  She
didn't disagree.  And so they had been at the Gunmen's all day, going
through all the evidence again, making what connections they could.
>From what they could tell, experiments were being run successfully, but
the purpose wasn't clear.  It had something to do with manipulation of
major developmental genes (probably E-boxes), and something to do with
the X-chromosome.  But what exactly?  And she still didn't know exactly
why they had been tipped now, other than the idea that another attempt
at colonization may be imminent.

Meanwhile, the boys contacted their nameless accomplices, and spent most
of the day at their computers.  She didn't ask what they were doing.
It was probably illegal and she didn't want to know.

Sometime during the day, she had eaten a good meal, cooked by Langly.
She really shouldn't have been surprised, but apparently they all took
turns cooking.  And everyone agreed (except for Langly) that he should
be installed as the permanent cook.

Her stomach growled.  She was exhausted, but not sleepy.  Glancing at
her watch, she saw it was already 3am.  Mulder lay on a non-decrepit
couch across the room, snoring softly.  He had showered and borrowed
some clothes (probably from Byers), a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants
that were comically short.

Pushing back the files with one hand, she got up from her chair as
quietly as she could manage, and padded into the kitchen.  On the way,
she passed Frohike, asleep with his head on his arm in front of a big
computer.  She hadn't noticed him there until that moment.

The kitchen was clean and well stocked (another surprise).  Opening the
refrigerator door, she got out the milk and poured herself a glass.  A
few moments later, she was startled by Byers, wrapped in a cotton terry
cloth robe.

"Agent Scully, what are you still doing up?" he asked, quietly.

"I don't think I can sleep just yet," she confessed.

"The milk should help," he said.  "Are you hungry?"

She nodded.

"Me too," he said smiling.  "Oatmeal raisin cookies?"  He pulled a
plastic container out of the cabinet.

"Sounds perfect."  This was so weird.  Eating milk and homemade cookies
at three in the morning with Byers.

Byers handed her a plate and they both sat down.  Scully sipped the milk
and stared off into space.  She wasn't really thinking about anything,
just enjoying the taste of the cookies (Langly was a wonderful cook) and
sipping her milk.  Revelations usually come to you when you aren't
trying.

She swallowed, and stared fixedly at some point in front of her that
happened to be Byers chest.  Vaguely, she heard him saying, "Agent
Scully?"

"Oh my God," she said.  "Oh my God."

"What's wrong?" he asked, jumping up from the chair.

"I think I just figured out why the Smoking Man gave us this evidence."
She locked gazes with the man sitting across from her.  His mouth was
hanging open in a silent question.

"They want us to side with the resistance.  After all this time, he's
having second thoughts.  He doesn't think he can join the resistance
without alerting the colonists.  But we can."

Byers nodded.  "Maybe he's getting desperate, now that the time is
near."

Scully stood up.  "That's exactly what I'm thinking.  Give us the
manufacturing company's name, link it with the experiments, and then
give that evidence to the rebels.  It may give us a fighting chance
against colonization."  But how could they join the rebels?

No longer quiet, she woke up Frohike on the way to get Mulder.  Mulder
came awake at her light touch.  "What?" he asked warily, as if he
already knew what she was going to say.  She told him.

He sat up.  "Why didn't I think of that before," he mumbled.  Scully
couldn't help smelling him as he moved away, detecting a different scent
than usual.  The Gunmen must not use the same brand of soap.  She felt
grimy and jealous that he had gotten a shower.

Byers spoke.  "How close do you think we are?" He didn't even need to
say the word "colonization."  Frohike hovered behind him, and Langly,
looking even more scraggly than usual.

Mulder answered.  "If you have any unfinished business, I would take
care of it now."  His eyes locked with Scully's.  She had been thinking
the same thing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully noticed Byers looking at her
thoughtfully.  She was suddenly convinced that he had guessed her and
Mulder's plans.

"We haven't heard anything about this from our contacts," Frohike said.
"But I agree.  We may have only a few days left."

A few days?  Scully felt sick.  Suddenly, Mulder was standing beside
her, hovering protectively.  "I think we need to pack," he said grimly.
And then to the Gunmen, "But just in case any of us finds out something,
I think we should have an emergency signal."

Scully's stomach flip-flopped again.  "Like 911?"

"That will work," Byers replied.  "911 means get out.  Immediately."

The five of them stood awkwardly for a moment, the unspoken question of
where to go hovering between them. Colonization would be a global event.
There was no answer, except for "away," away from DC, away from the big
cities.  Eventually, nothing would be left uncolonized, but if they
could stay alive for a while, there was still hope.

Mulder's strong hand wrapped around hers, and he tugged her towards the
door.  "We'll be in contact," he said over his shoulder.

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

They went to both apartments and packed one bag each.  Necessities only.
Scully packed an extra bag of clothes so she wouldn't have to go back to
her apartment.  After a bit of thought, she also stuffed one photo
album, an extra clip of ammunition, and some money into the bag.

Then she called her mother, not caring that it was 6am.  She did her
best to convince Margaret to get out of town within the next few days,
but wouldn't tell her the reason.  Her mom must have thought she was
crazy, but didn't say so.  Instead, she agreed to try and convince Bill
and Charles.  Mulder apparently wasn't worried about his mother.  All he
would say was, "I have a feeling she'll be taken care of."

Before long it was 8am.  They both took the day off.  And with
absolutely no disagreement, they both drove to the courthouse, applied
for a marriage license, and got married.

After the brief formality in front of the judge, they drove back to
Mulder's apartment.  He fumbled with the keys.  "You okay, Mulder?"
Scully asked, her eyebrows pulling together in concern.

He didn't know what look was on his face, but he felt as if he was
staring.  Actually, he was starting to wonder if he had just dreamed
this whole thing, and would wake up just before the really good part.
He made a concerted effort to change facial expressions.  "I'm fine,
wife," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek through a smile, and
finished opening the door.

She moved to walk through the door, but Mulder stopped her.  Bending
down, he picked up her bag and tossed it inside the door.  Then he
stooped behind her and swept her off her feet as if she weighed nothing
at all, and carried her over the threshold.  At least she felt real in
his arms.

Scully laughed as he kicked the door shut with one foot.  "I need a
shower," she said after he set her down.  She pushed away from him
lightly, took up her over-night bag, and headed for the bathroom.
Delicious thoughts of wet Scully ran through his head.  He was tempted
to watch, but he decided to wait in the bedroom.

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

Scully scrubbed herself vigorously with the bar of soap.  This all felt
so unreal.  She was married.  This was her wedding night. Wedding
morning.  Whatever.  But the hot water felt real, as did the excitement
quivering in her belly.

She showered as quickly as possible, using his shaving cream and razor
to shave her legs.   After she towel dried her hair, she slipped into
her last pair of clean pajamas.  They were really just a long button-
down cotton t-shirt; not exactly her normal satiny sleep-wear.  But she
wasn't likely to be wearing them for long.

She took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.  Mulder was lying
barefoot on the bed in t-shirt and jeans.  The curtains were shut, but a
few shafts of sunlight spilled around the edges of the window and onto
the floor.  This wasn't exactly how she had dreamed of her wedding
night, wearing a cotton, oversized t-shirt and Mulder in jeans.  But
she'd take it.

He sat up.  "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she echoed.

Mulder gnawed his lower lip.  Unknowingly, Scully mimicked him.  "You
look beautiful," he said, softly.

She smiled, crawling up beside him.  Her muscles protested as she
stretched out on her back, feeling cramped and tired.

Mulder looked hesitant, sitting over her, his expression soft in the dim
light.  There open adoration in his eyes.  How had she not seen it in
every glance, felt it in every touch?  "Just kiss me," she said, a
little smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Yes ma'am," he answered.

The first kiss was gentle as a whisper brushing over her lips.  She was
still for a moment, savoring the taste of him, then teased his mouth
open.  His arms slipped underneath her, cradling her gently as he pulled
her close.  He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, eyes
closed, warm hands sliding up her arms and coming to rest under her jaw.
"Do you know how much I love you?" he said, opening his eyes to look
straight at her own.  They were wild, molten green.  She hung her head a
little, feeling almost ashamed that he could need her so much, as if she
could never be worthy of it.

"I don't deserve you," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead, then
one on her nose and each corner of her mouth.  One side quirked up in a
half-smile.  They had been thinking the same thing.

"Maybe we don't deserve each other, but here we are," she said, and
snagged his lips with her own, dragging his body down onto hers.  As she
has suspected, the pajamas didn't stay on long, disappearing off to the
side with Mulder's tongue in her navel and hands on her breasts.  Before
that, she had been a little afraid, not of him (of course), but of
letting anyone know her in this way again.  But the shedding of her
clothes also tore away something inside her, melting away the last
vestiges of fear, leaving only warmth in their wake.  This was what she
wanted.  This was so right.  She abandoned herself to the intensity of
just being alive.

In the end, she was on top of him, panting in sharp pleasure-pain,
feeling as if she had been completely unmade.  She collapsed heavily
into his body, laughing a little. How could she have waited so long for
this?  What had she been afraid of?

Glancing down, she saw that the only covers left on the bed were the
sheets, and they were about to fall off at any moment.  Mulder smiled a
particularly dopey smile at her, as her orderly doctor side asserted
itself.  She disengaged herself from the tangle of arms and legs to
reach down and pull the covers back onto the bed.

Mulder's hand came up to caress her leg.  "You're naked," he said with
that same goofy smile, as she tugged the comforter back onto the bed and
up over her waist.

"I love you," she said, lying her head back on his chest, running her
fingers over the tawny hairs.

"I like to hear to say that," he replied, nipping her earlobe.

She climbed back on top of him, elbows resting on either side of his
neck, hair falling around his head like an amber curtain.  She marveled
at they way her body sank into him, how their combined imperfections
blended together flawlessly, so that it was hard to tell where one ended
and the other began.   She dipped her head, inhaling his scent, as if
she could breath him into herself.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Nothing much," Mulder said absently, running his fingers through her
hair, then down her neck and chest.  She squirmed underneath his touch.
"God, Mulder," she half-groaned.  She wanted him again, even more than
before.

He didn't say anything, just continued his ministrations with his lips.
She wrapped her fingers around his neck, arching her spine so that he
had better access.  The second coupling was gentle and sweet, bodies
sinking into each other like warm honey.  When he came again, she wanted
to hold him inside of herself endlessly.  The thought made her ache.
She leaned down and kissed his upraised forehead, tasting him again,
memorizing the sensation so that she would be able to remember it
forever.

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

A cell phone was ringing.  It rang and rang but the two agents were much
too tired to wake up.  Then a second cell phone started ringing.  Mulder
tried to roll over but a very naked Scully was draped over his chest,
sleeping soundly.  He pushed her over as gently as he could.  She
mumbled something like "Mmph."  He missed the warm of her skin as he
fumbled for the cell phone.

"Hello?" he answered blearily.

"911, Mulder," a voice said.  It was Byers.  Mulder snapped awake.

"Already?" he heard himself saying.

"Just get out now!"  The line went dead.

He shook Scully.  "Wake up.  We have to get out of here now!"

She came fully awake, eyes wide with fear.  "So soon?"

"The time is here," he said, stumbling out of bed.  He pulled on some
boxers and then a pair of jeans.

Scully was still sitting there mutely, covers pooling around her waist.
"I have to call my mother," she said, reaching for her phone.

"No!"  Mulder grabbed her hands.  "No, they could trace it."

She glared at him wildly, ripping her hands away, shoving at his arm.
"She's going to DIE if we don't call!"

Mulder couldn't restrain her.  She was desperately strong, and managed
to whack him in jaw before she got her hands on the phone next to the
bed.  Somehow, he batted the phone away with his wrist and it smacked
the wall.

"Dammit Scully.  Listen to me!" He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.
His wrist was already throbbing from its impact with the phone.  "We can
go get her.  But we can't call her."

There was a loud bang, and their front door to the apartment slammed
open.  Mulder cursed, reaching for his gun.  Scully fumbled for hers and
had it pointing towards the bedroom door first.  They were both
breathing hard, waiting.  He counted six breaths, then the bedroom door
was kicked in.

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

Scully saw the whole thing with sickening clarity.  She counted each
breath, in and out six times, waiting for whoever it was.  Then the door
was kicked inwards, and Krychek stood before them, gun held straight
out.  It was only extreme will power that kept her from shooting him on
the spot.

Krychek lowered the weapon.  "You need to get out of here, now," he said
calmly.

Scully had two realizations.  First, she was naked (though that didn't
influence her to move or lower her gun).  Second, Krychek was splattered
with red blood.

"Why should we trust you?" she heard Mulder asking.

"You shouldn't," was the cryptic reply.  "But the Resistance needs you,
and you're no good to them dead."

Scully made a quick decision.  Lowering her gun, she hopped off the bed
and groped for her clothes, completely disregarding her need for
modesty.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Mulder kept his
gun leveled at Krychek.  Somehow she managed to find her panties and bra
in the overnight bag.  "Where are we going?" she asked Krychek, wiggling
into her jeans.

"*We* are not going anywhere," he replied, eyes averted.  "I suggest you
run for the hills.  You both already have exposure to the weak vaccine.
If you get out of DC alive, the rebels will be contacting you."  Then,
speaking to Mulder, "You gonna let me go or what?"

Mulder lowered his gun.  "Leave," he said.

Krychek backed out.  Mulder grabbed a shirt and shoved it over his head.
Even in the terribleness of the moment, Scully noticed how magnificent
Mulder looked when he was only wearing jeans.

Within two minutes there were running out to the car.  The stink of the
air hit Scully like a wall.  Smoke.   Mulder pulled her by one hand
across the street and towards the car.  She could see the source of the
smoke now, pouring out of the windows at the apartments across from
them.  Oddly, there was no one standing outside the apartments.

"We've got to get to my mother," Scully panted.  A tornado siren started
to wail.

Mulder didn't answer, just ripped open the car door and tossed his bag
in the back.  She threw herself into the car, which was pulling away
from the curb before she was even buckled in.  Scully flipped on the
radio.  It was just as she expected; the emergency signal was buzzing,
followed by an announcer giving official instructions...the city was
going to be quarantined due to a massive outbreak of some unknown
contagion, possibly being spread by bees.  She turned off the radio.
She knew what was going to happen next.

They were almost killed at the first intersection.  There was already an
accident, two cars totaled and one burning hotly.  Mulder swerved to
avoid a car driving in the wrong direction and almost hit another car
that was trying to avoid the accident.  They screeched to a halt, then
the tires squealed again as he floored the gas petal.  Two victims of
the accident were bleeding out on the sidewalk.  It was perverse to see
them just lying there, blood pooling darkly on the ground, with no one
stopping to help.

Scully gaped at the scene around her.  Looters were already out,
breaking down windows and doors, carrying away anything they could carry
with two hands.  Buildings were burning, but there was an odd absence of
police cars and emergency vehicles of any kind.  Once, Scully heard
sirens.  But a minute later they came upon the smashed police car,
hopelessly wrecked by a collision with (of all things) an ambulance.
And not long after that, they hit the first barricade.

"We're not going to get to her, are we," Scully said quietly.  They were
stopped at the barricade.  Two men in full decontamination gear were
talking to the hapless persons in the vehicle immediately in front of
them.  Quarantine of the city was beginning.

Mulder grimaced and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned
white.  "We can do it."

"No."  She turned to him.  "There's no way.  We have to get out of here
now, or all of us will die."

Mulder looked positively sick.  But he made a tight U-turn and headed in
the opposite direction.

Later, Scully could never remember exactly how they got out of DC.  The
only thing she remembered was speeding down the strangely empty
interstate, guilt clutching in her throat.  Smoke rose in great plumes
and a red sunset bled through the vapors like blood on a gray shroud.
She was alive.

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

CHAPTER 2

Day 7

The first time I see them is seven days after it began.  I don't
even recognize them, at first.  They don't look at all like the
pictures in their FBI files.

Two scouts spot them not far from the compound, huddled together
in the back of a car, suffering from hunger and radiation
exposure.  Fortunately, all of the scouts had been on the lookout
for Mulder and Scully ever since it began.  They have quite a
rough time bringing them underground.  I think Mulder tried to
shoot them.  I have no idea how they managed to get both of them
out of the car and underground without someone getting killed.
Mulder has a stiletto and he knows how to use it.

Scully looks especially bad, her face dirty and pale, her body
weakened by recent trauma.  She doesn't even struggle against the
bindings on the stretcher.   Mulder isn't much better off, though
he's alert enough to ask where they are being taken, and begs us
not to hurt Scully.  Upon closer inspection, I realize both of
them are wearing simple gold rings on their left hands.  I read
once that humans wear gold bands on their left hands after they
get married.  Their files said nothing about being married.

I point to PN67, telling her to hurry up and get these two to the
Ward so I can call DS84 myself.  I don't want anyone touching
them except her.

By the time I arrive at the Ward with DS84, Mulder is quite
agitated.  PN67 has already loaded Demerol in a syringe, but DS84
waves her off, saying, "Sedatives make it more difficult."

She goes to Scully first.  Mulder follows her with crazed, glassy
eyes.  "Don't hurt her," he begs, as DS84 puts both hands over
Scully's temples.  She closes her eyes and concentrates.  I can
see the change almost immediately.  Scully sighs and slips into a
peaceful sleep.

Mulder is next.  He pulls so hard against the restraints that I
see red welts forming on his wrists.  "What are you doing?" he
yells. "Who are you?"

"Just relax, Agent Mulder," I tell him, as DS84 goes to work,
placing her hands on both sides of his head, directly over the
temples.  Mulder shakes his head frantically, trying to throw her
hands off, fighting against the restraining straps so that the
welts on his wrists start to bleed.  But she doesn't let go.
About 10 seconds later, Mulder is sleeping, too.

"Well?"  I ask.

"They're suffering from acute radiation exposure, and haven't
eaten in several days, but it's not anything I can't repair,
SM350," she replies.  "Mostly they need sleep, now that their
bodies are healing."

I walk over to the stretcher and place my hands on Mulder's
forehead.  I can tell DS84's work is excellent, though I don't
have any of her healing abilities.  A strange tremor runs through
me when I feel the smooth skin of his face, and the rough prickle
of a week's worth of beard underneath my fingers.  It's probably
just a residual memory that they weren't able to program out of
the Samantha clones.  I sigh.  "Let's get them decontaminated,
then put them some place where they can sleep more comfortably."

****************
Day 9

When I wake up, for one wonderful moment I think it's the morning
after our wedding.  Scully is lying beside me, and the bed is
very comfortable.  But then, my aching body reminds me what
happened, and the memories come back in a garbled rush.

I sit up and grab her, seeing little black spots dance in front
of my eyes. We'd been taken captive by people I instinctively
know to be hybrids.  I thought they were going to hurt her.  I
start checking for wounds, running my fingers over her face and
arms, pulling back the sheets to see if she is hurt.  My prodding
wakes her.  "Where are we?" she says weakly, eyes wide and
blinking as she processes her new surroundings.

With a shock, I realize she's in scrubs.  Then I realize I'm in
scrubs, too.  Unbelievably, Scully looks very healthy.  In fact,
she looks better than she has since this began, except for
looking thinner than usual.  Almost hesitantly, I touch her
lightly freckled skin, realizing that all the burns and abrasions
from our desperate attempt at evading the colonists are gone, as
are the telltale signs of acute radiation exposure.

I stare at her in dumbfounded silence.  I don't know where we
are, but I'm afraid.

I look around the small room.  It's very plain.  In fact, it
reminds me of the Fort Marlene high containment facility.  The
room has plain white brick walls, and a plain lamp sits on a
nightstand next to the bed.

There's a woman sitting in a chair next to the door.

My heart jumps and I reach instinctively for my gun, but my hands
come in contact with nothing more than the smooth material of
scrubs.  "Who are you?"  My voice comes out squeaky and weak.
Suddenly I remember what happened.  We had been trying to get
away from the big cities, after they were nuked by a very
desperate government.  We hadn't eaten in days, and spent most of
the night dry heaving from the after-effects of acute radiation
exposure.  Then we were captured.  This woman in the chair was
there, and so was another one who looked a lot like Melissa
Scully.  I remember her touching my forehead, and then waking up
here.  What kind of nightmare is this?

"I'm SM350." She stands up, and I can tell she is tall.  In fact,
she looks a lot like the woman who claimed to be my sister, when
Scully was dying of cancer.  When she comes to a stop close to
the bed, I realize that she looks exactly like that other woman.
I can feel myself starting to wheeze.  Hyperventilation induced
by stress, the psychologist in me says, but that doesn't make it
stop.

"SM for Samantha Mulder?" Scully asks dubiously.  Suddenly I
realize that I'm squishing her in an unconscious attempt to
shield her from the woman who stands at the bedside.  I shift my
weight and Scully scoots backward to rest her back against the
wall.

"Yes," she answers calmly.  "Just relax, Agent Mulder.  I'm not
your sister."

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths through my nose.  Even
though I can't see Scully, I can tell she is worried.  "What is
this place?" I ask after a few moments, opening my eyes again to
study this...clone.  My throat and nose still tingle.

"This is where we work on the vaccine," SM350 replies.  Beside
me, Scully suddenly sits up very straight.  "The entire facility
is underground.  Right now we're at sublevel 5.  You're still in
Wyoming," she adds helpfully.  She's studying me like I'm an
unknown specimen of insect waiting to be classified.  Plus, my
bladder is about to explode.  Between her penetrating gaze and my
pressing urinary need, I can hardly think at all.

Abruptly, I realize she has stopped talking and is expecting an
answer.

"Food would be good," Scully replies to the question I apparently
missed.

"Bathroom facilities are there," the clone says, pointing to a
closed door on our left.

She leaves and Scully and I are alone, again.  Scully looks like
she is about to ask me something, but I cut her off with a wave
of my hand.  "Hang on a sec," I say, and slide off the bed. The
floor feels like ice to my bare feet, and it's harder to get to
the bathroom than I thought.  Eventually the floor stops rocking
up and down like a ship on stormy waters, and I make it to the
toilet, much to my bladder's relief.

Scully uses the bathroom after me.  When she gets out, we sit on
the bed in silence.

"Well," I say.  I can't think of a single thing to say.
Sometimes I'm just so brilliant and insightful that I want to hug
myself.

Scully's mouth turns up in a ghost of a smile, as if she heard my
thoughts.  "I've been wanting to work on the vaccine," she says
carefully, studying my face for a reaction.

"I think we've come to the right place," I joke lamely.  Scully
ignores it.

"I wonder exactly where we are," she says softly, almost as if
she is talking to herself.

I just shrug.  At that moment, our food arrives.  There are two
trays, carried by what I assume are clones.  It's highly unlikely
that the two orderlies are natural twins, anyway, not in a place
like this.

The clones leave, and I sniff at the food.  After fasting for so
long, the oatmeal and sliced bananas taste like nectar from the
gods.  I gulp down the orange juice, then start on the fruit.  "I
hope they feed us more than oatmeal and bananas," I comment.

"It's not good to eat too much after fasting," medical doctor
Scully reminds me, her mouth full of oatmeal.  A little bit
dribbles out the side of her mouth.  Without thinking, I wipe the
corner of her mouth with my finger.  I'm not sure what to do with
the glob of oatmeal, so I eat it.

"You're disgusting," she informs me, spearing banana slices and
popping them into her lovely mouth.

"You like it," I shoot back.  She doesn't answer, but looks a
little longingly at my bananas.  "No way, those are mine," I say,
scooping up the last pieces before she can steal them.

She laughs shortly.  It's a strange little laugh, but for the
first time in a long while, I get a small glimpse of her soul
peeking out from her crystalline eyes.   Now I know that her soul
has not died. Scully, my beautiful Scully, is very resilient.

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

When I come back to their room after breakfast, Mulder still
looks at me like I'm evil incarnate.  Scully, however, has
suspended her judgment until a later time.  I set down a
cardboard box at the end of the bed.

They glance at each other and share a look like they are mentally
communicating, which is impossible, I know.  Only the aliens can
do that. But if I didn't know better, I'd swear they were using
telepathy.

Mulder speaks.  "What's in the box?"

"Open it," I reply, indicating the box with one hand.

When he lifts the lid, the puzzlement on his face is almost
funny.  However, clones don't feel much in the way of emotion, so
I don't laugh.

He pulls out the stiletto, and clicks open the needle.
Underneath it are their service weapons, badges, and a photo
album.

"What about our clothes?" Scully asks.

"Those generally don't survive decontamination.  I can get you
some others.  In the meantime," I reach into my lab coat pocket
and Mulder tenses visibly, "you may want this."  I pull out a
stiletto that could be a twin to the one Mulder has, and hand it
to Scully.  Now it's her turn to look puzzled.

"Why are you giving me this?" she asks.

"Not all the clones are friendly to humans," I tell her.  "Let's
just say that most of us don't like the idea of becoming a slave
race to the aliens any more than you do.  Unfortunately, some
clones aren't bright enough to know the difference between a good
human and a bad one.  It's a good thing none of the Elders came
back.  I don't think I could have stopped the ensuing carnage."

Scully looks a little pale, but its Mulder who asks the next
question.  "What do you mean, came back?"

I pause for a moment, trying to phrase my next words carefully.
So much depends on the help of this redheaded woman seated in
front of me.  "This facility hasn't had a human overseer since
the last Elder left.  When he never came back, research on the
vaccine nearly halted.  I was hoping that Agent Scully would be
willing to help us."

Scully nods carefully.  Even now, I can tell that she has a
deeper understanding of us than Mulder ever will.

"Us?" she asks.

"Those of us who work here," I clarify.  "After the Elder left,
we joined with the Resistance."

Mulder and Scully share a significant look.  I know they've heard
of the Resistance.  One of their agents, a man with dark hair and
a prosthetic arm, told us to be on the lookout for these two.  He
said they would be willing to help us.

"The rebels," Mulder hesitates, then continues.  "The rebels
burned humans to death.  For what purpose? They almost killed
Scully.  Why should we be a part of that?"

Skyland Mountain.  I know what he is talking about, though most
clones here wouldn't know.  I have more access than most.  "The
rebels killed because they were trying to stop the hybrid
experiments.  I'm guessing that they knew colonization was near,
and started taking more chances.  I don't condone their actions,
but they have protected this place from discovery for a long
time.  And they want the vaccination work to continue."

"To what end?" Scully asks.

"To prevent colonization."

She nods.  I think she understands what it means to be desperate.
Finally, she says, "I'm willing to help.  When can we start?"

I'd feel happy, if I could.  But instead I quirk up the corners
of my mouth in an attempt at a smile.  "Tomorrow," I say.  "For
now, rest."

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

Day 10

I'm jolted awake  when Scully's wrist whacks me in the chin.  I'm
still not used to sleeping with someone else in the bed.  But
when I roll over and prepare to go back to sleep, I hear a soft
moan.

"Scully?"  She doesn't answer.  It's as dark as deep space in our
room, but I hear her breath hitching awkwardly through her lungs.
She gasps, then the bed jerks as she fights some unseen enemy.
Nightmares.

I put my arms out, trying to wake her gently but her thrashing
causes me to crush her breasts instead.  She shrinks away with a
cry. "Scuuuleee," I plead, struggling to find her shoulders as
she moves away.  "Scully, it's only a dream.  Wake up."  I touch
her face and it comes away slick and wet.

"Mulder?"

I feel her shudder underneath my palms, then relax.  She's awake
now and breathing a little more evenly, though I can feel her
pulse racing underneath my index finger.

"What were you dreaming about?"

She is silent for a long time.  I hear her sniffle and take a
deep breath.  "My mother."

I hold my breath and wait.

"I dreamed that I saw her dead.  From the virus.  Her body
was..." she pulls away from me, and I can feel the darkness come
alive between us.  "Her body was just like the ones we saw when
we were trying to get away."

The living darkness pours hideous images into my mind.  The
broken body at the gas station, a mere husk of a person, alien
tracks trailing blood away from the corpse.  Bodies in stalled
cars along the roadside.  Bodies rotting and shredded, sprawled
across the hotel lobby where we stopped for the night, crimson
blood smearing the creamy walls and blending into the red-tinged
carpet.  We never did find out what happened to her mother.  But
it's only too easy to imagine.

She sniffles again, but I know she's not crying anymore.  Scully
almost never cries.  I can count on four fingers how many times
I've seen her cry, and I'm including this one.

"You know," she says softly, her voice trembling around the
edges, "if I had just gone to work on the vaccine right away...if
I hadn't wasted all that time doing background checks.  If
only...all those months, I could have been working towards a
cure.  Maybe this could have been prevented..."

There isn't anything I could say to that.  This may be the first
time Scully voiced these thoughts, but it isn't the first time
I'd thought the same.  I feel every bit as guilty as she does.
If only I hadn't held her back.  If only I had been more
persistent.  If only I had asked the right questions.  Then maybe
things would have been different...

Abruptly, I feel her pushing into me, burrowing her head into my
chest.  I pull her close, feeling soft hair cascade down my
forearms and over my chest.  The world has suddenly become so
alien, so horrifying.  But at least I can touch Scully.  It makes
me feel alive.

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

I feel awful when I wake up.  Like I tried to eat glue before
going to sleep and now it's stuck to my teeth and the corners of
my eyes.  Glancing at the clock, I see it's 5 am, but my body is
already telling me it doesn't want to go back to sleep.  So, I
roll out of bed, stagger to the bathroom, and try to scrub the
awful taste out of my mouth.  I grab the toothpaste more
appreciatively than usual.  When we were on the run, we ended up
sleeping for days on the road without showers or bathrooms.  I'll
never take toothpaste or flushing toilets for granted again.

I try not to look at myself in the mirror.  Puffy pink-rimmed
eyes and blotchy skin is all I'm likely to see, so I avoid the
sight.  But after I wash my face with cool water, I feel a little
better.  Though I can't stop seeing the images of all those dead
people in my mind.  Especially the one of my mother.  Even though
I don't know for sure, I have a sick feeling in my stomach that
tells me the truth without proof.

Apparently, I woke Mulder up because he slides out of bed and
pads to the bathroom as soon as I'm underneath the sheets.  When
he comes back, he snuggles close and wraps his arms around my
waist.  I smell toothpaste as his stubbly chin comes to rest in a
sensitive spot right underneath my right ear.  It's very
comforting, in an erotic sort of way.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice rumbling in my ear.

When I nod, his stubble prickles my neck and gives me goosebumps.
"Yeah," I manage to say, as his warm hands slip underneath the
fabric of my cotton sleeper, caressing me with slow, lazy
strokes.  Heat shoots through me so fast that I almost shudder.

I turn over and push him down onto his back with both hands.
Then I'm straddling him, temporarily forgetting my nightmares as
I pull off his shirt and mine.  He grunts in surprise, but meets
my lips in a crushing kiss.  I press myself down on him hard,
ramming my tongue deep into his mouth, as if I can crush the
memories away with the force of my body on his.  And so we make
rough, passionate love.  It makes me feel alive.  It makes me
feel more alive than I felt when I was dying of cancer, those
final nights when every sensation seemed amplified five times.
It makes me feel more alive than when I got shot in the abdomen
and saw death coming for me.

Mulder gives himself to me with such deliberate abandon that it
almost makes me cry again.  He knew just what I needed. He is
just what I need.

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

Day 11

SM350 shows us around the facility.  Apparently we're allowed to
go anywhere, and have access to any information we want.  She
also tells us that the current vaccine is DNA based.  I should
have guessed that before now.  Scully seems fascinated by all the
details, the whole blood culture work, the tests they use to
quantify cellular transformations.  She informs me that I will
help her sort through and summarize all this information so that
we can determine a course of action.  Looks like I'm going to get
my science education after all.

It's so strange walking past clones in the hallway.  There's a
lot of Kurt Crawfords around the lab areas.  And some have a
strange resemblance to Penny Northern (those are mostly the
secretarial types).  The most unnerving ones are the Scully
clones.  Well, they aren't exactly clones of Scully.  That is,
they don't look exactly like her.  But they do look like they
could be her children.  And they all have disconcerting
strawberry blonde hair and freckles.

The odd thing is that none of them look like they're under 20
years old.  STM350 explains that rapid growth rates are something
that was programmed into these clonal lines many years ago.  But
their aging mostly stops around what would be equivalent to the
mid-30s.  After that, they don't look any older, but will
eventually run out of gas, so to speak.  Apparently, the
successful clones haven't been around long enough to know exactly
how long it takes their bodies to wear out and die.

There are five levels (we're staying on the lowest).  After we've
been through most of the facility, and are nearly back to our
sleeping quarters, a PN clone stops SM350 and hands her a manila
envelope.  Her badge number is 471, the highest I've seen thus
far.  The PN clone walks away and 350 (I've already started
thinking of her as 350) opens the envelope and looks at its
contents for a long while.  "Agent Scully, I believe you'll want
to see these photos," she says calmly, as if she's discussing the
weather.

Scully takes the photos and I swear I've never seen someone go so
white.  I mean, Scully is already pretty pale, and I've always
heard the expression 'white as a sheet,' but this was the real
thing.  Sheet white.  Pasty white.  Sick white.  She flips
through the stack of photos, then hands them to me and proceeds
down the hallway towards our quarters without saying a single
word.

Now I know why she looks so bad.  The photos are black and white,
but that doesn't stop the horror from coming through.  The first
is a picture of a body that had been host to the alien organism.
Typical abdominal cavity exit wound, gelatinous-looking
transparent skin.  At first I think it's no one I know, though
the setting looks familiar.  Then I realize this is a picture of
Mrs. Scully's living room.  And the body is Margaret Scully.  The
next picture is Bill Scully.  The one after that is of various
other family members.

Then, I'm running after Scully, catching her just as she unlocks
the door to the room and steps inside.  As soon as she closes the
door, she staggers to the trashcan and throws up.  She heaves
over and over, and tears run down her face.  What really
terrifies me is that she isn't crying.  Tears are streaming down
her cheeks but there is no emotion in her expression.  It's as if
her soul has died again.

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

Day 12

I can hear Mulder talking to someone in the hallway, even though
the door is closed.  I don't bother to get up, though.  I'm just
so tired.  So dead tired.  I wish I could sleep, but my head is
killing me.  I wish it would kill me.

After a while, Mulder comes in and flips on the lamp by the bed.
"Scully," he says softly.

I roll onto my back and open my eyes, squinting as my pupils
adjust to the light.  The brightness amplifies the pounding in my
head.

"DS84 is here to see you."

"Go away," I say.  I don't mean to be abrupt; I just want to be
left alone.

"Scully, your body needs to heal.  It's been through so much in
the last week.  Please let her help you."

I seek the clone's eyes, and our gazes lock for a moment.  To my
surprise, I see compassion there.  I thought that was not part of
the programming.  "Okay," I say.  I just want to be left alone.

She places her hands on my temples very gently, like I'm a
porcelain doll that can be broken with a touch.  For a second,
I'm irrationally angered.  But the healing flows through my veins
like warm syrup, and my anger dribbles away with the pain in my
head.  By the time DS84's hands break contact with my forehead,
my eyelids are heavy with sleep.  As I'm about to drift off, I
wonder if Mulder had intended from the beginning to use the
healing as an excuse to induce sleep...

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

Day 13

DS84 tells me that Mulder called her last night.  She placed
Scully into a healing sleep.  According to DS84's description of
Scully, I can see that she is looking much better this morning.
Though she's still in bed.  Actually, she's sitting on top of the
covers with her back against the wall, knees pulled up to her
chin and arms wrapped around her legs.

"Good morning Agent Scully," I say briskly, plunking down a box
full of folders onto the bed.  She looks so weary.  I know she
slept last night, but I don't think it's a tiredness of the body
so much as the soul.  Though I don't know much about human souls.

To my surprise, she speaks before I can continue.  "When do we
start?" she says, picking up one of the folders and glancing
through its contents.

So I was correct in my assumption that she would want to work.
"Right away," I say, pointing to the cardboard box.  "Here is
some of the background work on DNA vaccinations in general, and
the results of those tests in the past year."  I pull up another
stack of data, about 250 sheets worth.  "And here are the general
results on the Tunguska experiments."

"The last year?" Mulder says hoarsely, eyes wide and staring at
the amount of material in the box.

I ignore him.  "DS84 will come by in an hour to deliver another
box of papers containing what we know about the virus and its
apparent mutation."  Getting up to leave, I see that both of them
are already picking through the material.  Scully is starting to
separate the papers into different piles on the bed.  "I'll have
a desk moved into the room, as well."

Scully mumbles her thanks, and I leave.  I need Scully to be
okay.  So much depends on her.

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

Day 39

I open the secure door to the now familiar lab and step inside
its ordered coolness.  I enjoy the way the lab is laid out, how
there's a place for everything.  Non-flammable reagents over the
bench in the center of the lab.  Flammable liquids in a cabinet
at the far end of the lab.  Temperature sensitive chemicals in
the 4C refrigerator.  Tissue samples in the -80C freezers.
Liquid nitrogen tanks to the left of the freezers, gloves and
tongs hanging neatly above the tanks.

I go to the little desk that I now claim as my own and pull out
my notebook full of the records of my previous days of lab work.
When I flip the notebook open, for a brief moment I see black and
white images of my family, hideously dead, instead of seeing
orderly records of my experiments.  I rub my eyes and the images
melt away to leave only my handwriting on the cream colored
paper.

Quickly I turn to page 200, and remind myself that tomorrow I
should start a new notebook.  After only a month, I'm almost to
the end of this one.  It seems so strange that I now have the
chance to work on a vaccine to the virus that threatens to take
over the world.  It seems almost mundane when you see it in the
controlled laboratory setting.  But I know better.  I know of its
insidious power, and what it has already done to the world.

For a little while I pause and stare blankly at the pages.
There's so little reason to hope.  Colonization may have been
postponed, but that was only because the governments around the
world decided to nuke their largest cities as the aliens took
over.  They may be gone for now, but it's only a matter of time
before they come back...with reinforcements.  The vaccine work
seems almost hopeless, even with the technology now available.
Though I do think real progress is being made with the newest
vaccine, we may not have enough time to perfect it before the
colonists come back.  The future seems so bleak.  Sometimes it
seems like everyone I ever cared for is dead.  Or most likely
dead.  We still don't know about the Gunmen.

My ruminations are interrupted as one of the Kurt Crawford clones
enters the lab and heads for the bench on the south side.  From
his badge I see that it is KC519.  He's one of my favorites.
Evidently, most of the clones here are bred for this sort of
work.  Especially the Kurt Crawfords, which are by far the best
technicians, though they don't think very well on their own.
However, I've found if you tell them exactly what to do, they'll
accomplish that task perfectly.

So, I begin writing an outline of tasks that need to be
accomplished today.  It's very convenient to have this army of
clones that will do whatever you ask.  The main thing that was
missing from this facility was a human overseer.  Generally,
these clones just don't think very well by themselves, though
there are a few exceptions.  We never could find out exactly what
happened to the last overseer, though Mulder searched through
records for days.  SM350 took over when the overseer left.  I
suspect it was one of the Consortium Elders who got fried to a
crisp, what seems like a hundred years ago.  Anyway, no humans
had entered the facility since he left, until Mulder and I
happened along.

But now as I finish writing out my list for KC519, I can
positively say that progress is once again being made towards
finding a stronger vaccine.  Almost all of the progress is a
result of having access more information than I ever dreamed
existed.  Notes and notes and notes.  Twenty-five years of
excruciatingly detailed notes.  The documentation of the mutated
virus is perhaps the most interesting of all.  Most of that
information comes from poor Dr. Bronschweig.  Attached to the end
of his last notebook was a dry medical report about the cause of
his death.  Apparently his viscera was spread around the
underground chamber in so many pieces that they weren't even sure
if it was him, at first.  No one deserves to die that way.

But he was very meticulous, this Dr. Bronschweig.  Thanks to him,
I know a great deal about alien gestation and physiology.  And
thanks to his thorough comparative analysis, I know how the
original virus and the mutated virus are different.  Well,
mutation isn't exactly a good way to describe it.  The DNA
sequences aren't any different, but the effects of the virus
certainly are.  I still don't know exactly what caused the
change, but I now have a better idea of how to combat it.  They
were very close to a breakthrough six months ago.  We're even
closer, now.

I can feel KC519 standing behind me.  The clones will do that,
just stand there and wait until you tell them what to do.  It can
be a little unnerving.  But, I shrug off the feeling and hand him
the list of things that need to be done today.  519 is one of the
best Crawford clones.  I don't want to leave him idle.  We've got
a lot of work to do today.  The whole blood culture experiments
are yielding promising results, and I want to see more data by
this evening.

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

I stand outside the window to the lab, watching Scully work.  She
doesn't even know I'm watching.  Her lips move silently, mouthing
the words that her fingers trace over the notebook paper.

I enjoy watching doctor Scully work. Seeing her simple clothes
and make-up free face looking so fresh and freckled reminds me of
our first case together.  We were so different then.  I don't
even want to think about it.

So, instead of thinking, I concentrate on her work.  I've learned
enough in the past few weeks to realize she's getting ready to
make several acrylimide gels.  All the solutions are lined up
along the bench top in military order, ready to be added in quick
succession so that she can pour the gel before the solution sets.
As soon as she finishes pouring the gels, I tap on the window.
She whirls around with a little start of surprise, then walks to
the door and opens it with one latex-gloved hand.  She doesn't
say anything, just looks at me with one eyebrow slightly raised.

"You need a tea break," I say, holding up a steaming mug for her.
"You gel has to set for at least 30 minutes, anyway."

She doesn't smile, but her eyes soften, somehow.  "Okay, I'll be
out in a minute."

I take a seat in the small break room next door to the lab, after
popping Scully's dinner in the microwave.  The clones do eat, but
not very much.  We can get whatever we want out of the kitchens,
so I took the liberty of making a plate of leftovers for Scully.
She forgot about dinner again, tonight.  In a bit, Scully comes
in and takes a seat.  Her service weapon is clearly visible, now
that she's not wearing a lab coat.  She takes a sip of the tea
appreciatively.  "Thanks."

The microwave dings, and I pull a plate of food out.  "You need
to eat, too."

She makes a face as I hand her a fork.  "I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat," I repeat.  Her cheeks are sunken, and there
are circles under her eyes.  In a way, her appearance reminds me
of when she was dying of cancer.  I don't want to think about it.

Scully pokes at the vegetables and rice.  There's never any meat
here.  Most of the vegetables are grown on site, too.  But I know
she must be hungry because she begins eating steadily.  The plate
is empty in a few minutes.

It's after 9 pm already. She's been working since at least 5 am.
I know, because when I woke up at 5 am, I was alone in bed.  I
couldn't go back to sleep, so I spent most of the day reading
through a fraction of the extensive records of the Tunguska
experiments.  The vaccine research here is very similar.

"Scully, why don't you have the clones finish up the experiment
tonight.  It's getting late, and you need to get some rest."

I see the beginnings of a little smile.  "Was rest what you had
in mind?"

I haven't heard from playful Scully in a long time.  I've missed
her.  "I'm sure we could think of something
suitably...diverting...before going to sleep," I say in my best
bedroom voice.

Scully gives me a shadow of a smile.  She gets up from the table
and goes into the lab.  She's back in about three minutes.
Impulsively, I pick her up and carry her down the hallway, down a
flight of stairs, and to our little room.  She doesn't protest at
all, just snuggles her head into the crook between my chest and
neck.

"You'll have to put me down before you can unlock the door," she
says when we come to a stop in front of the door to our room.

"Just watch me," I say.  It takes some work, but I manage to
unlock the door, kick it open, close it, and lock it without
setting her down.

"I'm impressed," she says, her breath warm against my neck.

It's a good thing we're back to the room.  I'm so turned on I can
barely think.  But I'm not sure what she wants.  Being married
through all this is so much harder than I imagined it would be.
All the complex emotions of grief and anger combine with the
natural lust of the marriage bed in a way that I can't
understand.  The only thing I know for sure is that now I feel
unsure about many things.  So, I lay her gently on the bed, and
sit down beside her.

She looks up at me with such a mix of emotions on her face that I
can't quite categorize any of them except one.  The one I
recognize is sadness.  It curls around my Scully like a fog,
until I can hardly see her real self anymore. It never goes away
completely.  And that makes me sad, too.

But then, she smiles.  A real smile that crinkles the corners of
her eyes and mouth and lifts the mists of grief and sorrow, just
for a moment.  Her fingers play with the hair on my arm, then
trail underneath my shirt, coming to rest on my navel.  That's a
Scully signal that she wants to play; I know that much by now.
So, I pull off the shirt and throw it on the floor.  "Mmmmm," she
says in what I hope is an admiring tone, running her hand over
the muscles of my shoulder.  A few days after we got here, she
started making me work out every day in a little weight room that
was originally designed for the human overseers.  She told me
that I was driving her crazy with all my energy, and that I
needed to channel it into something more useful, like the weight
room.

I lean down and hesitantly brush my lips over the corner of her
mouth.  "I love you," I say into her parted lips.

"I know," she replies, giving me a chaste kiss.

I pull away with a little sigh, knowing from her response that
she needs her space now.  I just wish I could tell exactly what
she wants.  But then, she pulls me back down for another kiss,
and this time it's deep and eager.  In a moment, her fingers
fumble for the zipper on my pants.  I think I've figured out what
she wants.

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

Early morning, day 40

I can't sleep.  Making love to Mulder does that to me.  Now he's
lying in bed, looking very drowsy and content, while I have so
much energy that I feel like running around the facility
screaming.  So, I kiss Mulder one more time, get dressed, and go
back into the lab at midnight.

The results of the latest enzyme linked immunosorbadent assays
(the techs call them "elisas") are waiting for me on my desk.
For now we've been able to get around the human experimental
dilemma by infecting whole blood cultures with the virus and then
using the cultures to test the vaccine.  The elisas test whether
or not the immune cells in the blood are transformed into
abnormal phenotypes.  They seem to be the quickest way to pick up
changes in cell surface protein expression that occur in the
initial stages of transformation during viral infection.  519
left a note on the data sheets saying he'd already put the
results into a spreadsheet and run the statistics.

I flip on the computer that sits over my desk and open up the
file.  At first, I don't think I'm seeing the right numbers.  I
compare the output to the spreadsheet, and then look at the
statistics program he ran the data through.  Everything looks
right.  But the numbers are very good.

So good, in fact, that I call SM350, not caring that it's the
middle of the night.  Clones don't need that much sleep, anyway.
She says she's on her way.

I turn back to the numbers on my output sheets.  If I'm right,
we'll soon need a human test subject for the vaccine.  I'm
thinking so hard that I barely hear the security card run through
the lab door card reading with a beep.  I turn to the door,
expecting to see SM350.

It's Krycek.  I curse and grab for my gun.  Within the second I
have it out and pointing at him. My hands are shaking and blood
is pounding through me so hard that my lips throb with every
pulse.  "What are you doing here?" I sputter.

He holds his hands up in surrender.  "Why is it that every time
we meet you pull a gun on me?" he says blandly.

"You haven't given me a reason not to," I reply, setting my site
in the middle of his chest, straight to his heart.  I watch his
eyes, trying to predict his next move. His eyes are so dark, like
polished obsidian.

"I heard you obtained good results today," he says, taking a step
towards me.

"Stay right there," I warn.  "How did you know about today?"

"You're working with the rebels, remember?" he reminds me.

The card reader beeps again, and SM350 steps inside the lab.

"What the hell is this?" she shouts.  I've never once heard a
clone curse.

"I wish someone would tell me," I say.  "Krycek seems to know
something he shouldn't."

She steps around Krycek and looks carefully at his face.  Then
she backs towards the door, behind him.  Krycek swivels his head
to watch her, but without warning, she draws a stiletto and stabs
him in the base of the neck.  Green goo and gas come bubbling out
of the wound as the whatever-it-was stumbles forward and falls on
the ground.

"That wasn't Krycek," she says calmly, withdrawing the stiletto
and cleaning with a chemwipe that was sitting on the bench top.

"How can you tell?" I pant, still feeling my lips and forehead
tingling with the after-effects of adrenaline.

"Something about the eyes," she says.  "You can't see it?"

I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off the bubbling mass
that used to be a head, now boiling and dissolving in the
vicinity of my feet.

She picks up the intercom and calls a cleaning crew.  Then she
calls another station and speaks what is obviously a code phrase
to whoever is on the other end.  Tugging on my sleeve, she leads
me down the hall at a quick pace.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Security," she replies tersely.  "What exactly did he say to
you?"

I take a deep breath.  "He said 'I heard you obtained good
results today.'"

SM350 looks thoughtful, but she doesn't slow down as we turn the
corner.  "The resistance knows about our results.  Krycek is with
the resistance.  But that wasn't Krycek," she says with calm
logic.

"So who was he?" I ask.  "Some faction of the resistance?  Or a
remnant of the Syndicate aliens who policed the project?"

Just then, we arrive at security.  Three scouts in gray uniforms
are waiting for us.  "We may have a breach," she informs the
clones standing at various stations around the room.  "When did
Krycek enter the facility?"

"At 23:54 hours," one of the scouts says, pointing to a video
tape that shows him entering the main door of the facility.

"He wasn't alone," I exclaim.  There are two others with him.

"All their credentials checked out," a scout informs us.

"I want two teams of scouts to give the entire facility a sweep-
down," she orders.  "Level four alert, and be quick about it!"

Suddenly it hits me.  Mulder could be in danger.  I dart out the
door without even thinking, and before anyone can stop me, I'm
running down the hall.

In about two seconds, I feel a strong grip on my upper arm,
pulling me to a stop.  It's 350.  "You can't go.  We don't know
who is out there.  Stay here so we can protect you."

"I have to get to Mulder," I insist, trying to shake off her
grip, but I can't.  She's too strong.

"No," she simply.  Three Crawford clones have appeared from
somewhere and are standing around me protectively.  "Stay here at
security.  Those two, whoever they are, won't know you're here.
I'll send a team to get Mulder."  She releases my arm, turns, and
runs back to the security room, almost shouting as she gets
close.  "You, scout 621, get together a team and bring Mulder
here, now."

I slump against the wall.  SM350 isn't like the other clones at
all.  I'm going to have a big purple finger imprint on my arm in
the morning.  But she's right.  I don't need to put my life in
unnecessary danger.  It would just fulfill Their purposes.

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

I wake with a start as the door unlocks.  "Scully?" I say,
squinting as the door opens and light comes into the room.  Even
though my pupils are still adjusting to the light, I know it
isn't Scully coming through the door.

I fumble for the lamp and my gun.  The light reveals two men
approaching me slowly.  Two aliens, rather.  One is the bounty
hunter alien I saw on that submarine in the arctic.  My gun isn't
going to do me any good, so I drop it and pick up the stiletto
instead.  This is just great.  I remember how bad it hurt when he
threw me around last time.  This time, I don't have anything on
other than boxers to cushion the impact if he decides to use me
as a punching bag.

"Just come with us, Agent Mulder," says the one I don't
recognize.

"What do you want?"  My tiny weapon seems oh-so-silly against the
two hulking aliens approaching me.

"Just put down the weapon, and you won't get hurt," says the
bounty hunter.

They both lunge for me at once, and I dart to the side.  Not a
good move, as I tumble off the bed and end up tripping the bounty
hunter.  I get a painful foot in the midriff as the other alien
hauls me right off the ground.  Then my bare back is slammed into
the wall, one wrist smacking the smooth surface, releasing the
weapon from my grasp.  I hear a crack that I think is my wrist
breaking.  "Feeling a little more cooperative?" he asks, and
tosses me sack-of-flour style onto the floor, just in front of
the door.  I'm really too old to be getting my butt kicked all
the time.

Suddenly, the door is slammed open behind me, and I'm whacked on
the back of my head (of course).  Through shimmering black blobs
I see five clone scouts rush into the room.  I'm not sure what
happened, but I'm pretty sure the two aliens ended up as piles of
green goo, along with three of the scouts.

What I really remember next was the pain in my abdomen as I was
slung over a scout's shoulder and carried at a very quick pace
down the hallway.  The jostling made me feel like fire pokers
were being shoved into my arm, and I threw up at some point
during the trip.  We were traveling at what seemed like an
unbelievable speed to my pain-sickened senses.

They set me down in some room full of video equipment.  Suddenly
Scully was leaning over me, saying something I couldn't quite
catch.  Then, just as I was about to throw up on her, she jumped
out of the way.  The last thing I remember was someone grabbing
my head.  It hurt so bad that I blacked out...

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

Mulder had a nasty head injury when he was carried in by the two
scouts, but I knew he was alive when he narrowly missed throwing
up on me.  Luckily, SM350 thought to have DS84 on hand, just in
case something like this happened.  She had her hands on his head
as soon as he was laid out on the ground.  Fortunately for him,
he fainted right away.

She sat over him for a long time.  I actually saw the huge welt
on his abdomen disappear right in front of my eyes.  It was
unbelievable.

"Well?" I say, as she opens her eyes and removes her hands from
his forehead.

"Broken tibia, concussion, internal abdominal bleeding.  He
should be okay now, though."  She looks very tired, and gets to
her feet rather slowly.

"Thank you," I manage, as I cradle his head in my lap.  His hair
is slick with blood underneath my hands, but the wound is
completely healed.  Judging from his deep, even breathing, I'm
pretty sure he's asleep.

"We'll get you set up somewhere else for the night," SM350 says.

Clones are moving all around me, but I can't really tell what's
going on from my lowly position on the floor.  The adrenaline
rush has passed, leaving me feeling weak and light-headed.  SM350
touches my shoulder, and one of the Crawford clones scoops Mulder
up, as if he weighs no more than a small child.  I totter to my
feet like a drunk woman, and we're led to sleeping quarters that
aren't as nice as out last room, but I don't care as long as
there's a bed.

I pause at the door.  "What about verification of tonight's
results?" I ask.

"I'll take care of it," SM350 says.  She says something about
posting guards outside our door to one of the scouts.  The
conversation buzzes on for a while, but I'm so tired, I can
hardly listen.  I stagger over to the bed and sit down.

SM350 steps into the room and stops in front of me.  I'm so
tired, but I have one last question.  "Is it safe for us here?"

"Rest now, we'll talk later.  I'll make sure you're safe," she
says as turns away and closes the door behind her.  I just pray
there's no more aliens running around the facility.  My tired
brain tries to figure out what's going on, but I fall asleep
before any answers materialize.

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

Early morning, day 42

I awaken to the sound of Scully's voice.  In the dim lamp light,
I see she's having a quiet conversation with at least two other
people.  Two other clones, rather.

One turns to me as soon as she sees I'm awake.  It's DS84.  She
approaches me and places one hand on my head.  "Feeling better?"
she asks.

I sit up gingerly, then I realize that I've been propping myself
up with my wrist, which no longer hurts.  I flex my stomach
muscles experimentally.  No pain in my abdomen, either.  "All
better," I tell her.  "Where were you the last time I got my butt
kicked?"

Scully just smirks.  "Get dressed," she says, tossing me jeans,
boxers, a heavy shirt, and what looks like military issue boots.

"Where are we going?"  I try to ignore the clones standing in
front of me as I strip down naked and put on the boxers.

"Nowhere, for the moment," she replies.  "But we need to be ready
to leave at any time.  Just in case there's more trouble."

"Who attacked me?" I ask, pulling on the jeans.

"Who attacked us, you mean," she says pointedly.

"What?"  My mouth hangs open, but I remember to finish zipping up
the jeans.

"An alien bounty hunter approached agent Scully in the lab
shortly after midnight," SM350 informs me.  "He was disguised as
Krycek."

"SM350 killed him," Scully continues.  "The scouts killed the two
who attacked you.  350 doesn't think it was a security breach at
our end.  After checking all the records, she concluded it was an
internal problem with the Resistance."

"Somebody isn't happy with the vaccine work," DS84 says quietly.
She doesn't say much, but continually stares at me with
startlingly blue eyes.  It's a little unnerving.  Especially when
I'm trying to get dressed.

"What about the vaccine?" I say.  I'm completely dressed now
except for the boots.  As I pull them on, I notice that they've
already been broken in, and fit my feet perfectly.

Scully and 350 share a brief look.  "I'd say we have a much
stronger vaccine now," Scully replies, her tone cautious as ever.

"How do you know?"  I still feel stupid when it comes to the
technical part of Scully's science.

"We tested it."

I must look surprised, because she replies before I can even ask
the question.  "I tested it on me."

"But you already have weak immunity with the prototype vaccine,"
I say.  "Wouldn't that confound the results?"

"The original vaccine worked only transiently," she replies
quietly.

I curse and stand up, my booted feet stomping loudly on the tile
floor.  "You knew you were taking a big chance if the vaccine
didn't work," I say more loudly than I intended.

"We had the weak vaccine available, in case anything went wrong,"
Scully says, her lips set in a firm line.  This is don't-mess-
with-me Scully.  I haven't seen her this determined in a long
time, and I know I can't win.

I blow air over my lips, signaling my resignation.  "So, it
worked."

She nods.

"It worked," says SM350.  "We can have this mass produced within
a matter of days."

"What next?" I ask.

Scully throws a duffel bag onto the bed, behind me.  "Keep your
bag and gun close by," she tells me.  "We may have to make a
quick exit."

The clones both leave the room simultaneously.  They still creep
me out.  "And go where?"

"Away," she replies with a shrug.  "I don't know where, exactly.
We should be able to take several boxes of vaccine with us.  And
we know where the worst hot spots are, radiation-wise.  Out here
we're far away from the big cities, so we should be all right, at
least for a while."

"What about the internal strife within the Resistance?"

She just shakes her head.  "I don't know," she replies. "I just
don't know."

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

Day 43

Scully isn't with me when I hear the first explosion.  The sound
rattles the walls and vibrates my eardrums.  I drop the papers
I'm reading onto the desk, and start for the door.  The guards
outside tell me not to leave.  I hear it again, and this time, I
smell smoke.  An alarm goes off near my ear.

Within a minute, I see Scully running full speed down the white
hallway.  "Get your bag," she shouts at me.

I grab her duffel bag and toss it into her waiting hands.
"What's going on?" I ask, as sling my bag over one shoulder.

She throws me a heavy canvas coat and shoves her arms into the
sleeves of her own coat. "The Rebels are here," she replies
impatiently, as she grabs my hand and pulls me out the door.

Of course, the Rebels who gave us a little visit two days ago,
the ones that aren't interested in stopping colonization.  DS84
and SM350 appear from some doorway, each carrying a box.
"Hurry," urges 350, leading us at a run through the labyrinth of
hallways.  It's not long before my lungs are burning with
exertion and smoke.  We slip and skid through the remnants of
glass windows and cracking walls that litter the once clean
floors.  But fortunately, the sounds of the destruction never
seem very close, and no one appears to stop our progress.

Finally, we come to a trap door at the top level of the facility.
DS84 shoves it open just as another explosion shudders through
the ground.  The door is camouflaged, and dust laying over
shudders and swirls menacingly as we walk up the stairs and step
into the night.

It's been so long since I've been outside that the sight of the
night sky makes me stop and look up for just a moment.  The stars
shiver brightly against the blackness, and a cool wind whispers
through the underbrush.  I take a deep breath of sweet air, then
Scully yanks me forward.

There's a car waiting for us, not far from the door.  It's not my
car, and I wonder where they got this one.  I barely even see the
aliens before they're on us.  Two of them are running at us from
the left.  I shout a warning, then I'm slammed to the ground from
behind, tasting dirt and blood in my mouth.

Scully's quite a warrior; I had almost forgotten that until this
very moment.  She leaps on the bounty hunter with a scream that
makes my blood tingle.  The weight on my back shifts as Scully
stabs the alien.  I manage to wiggle away before he starts
dissolving in earnest.

The other bounty hunter gets 350.  I see it from my position on
the ground, then scramble to my feet, spitting blood.  It makes
me angry, as if he was killing the real Samantha, and not just a
clone.  I hope that I can kill him with my own hand.  The one who
killed 350 retrieves his stiletto and approaches DS84.  My own
stiletto rests in my hand, cool and comforting, somehow.  Between
the three of us, I think the bounty hunter knows he will soon be
dead.  It's DS84 that kills him in the end, so my revenge must
wait for another day.

As soon as 84 kills the bounty hunter, I run to the car and open
the driver's side door.  Scully tosses me keys.  DS84 is just
standing beside the vehicle, watching us calmly.  "What about
84?"  Scully says.

I pause.  I really hadn't thought about it until that moment.
I'd assumed that she would stay at the facility.

"If she stays, she dies," Scully says, very quietly.

DS84 is Scully's daughter.  I can't leave her here, any more than
Scully could.  "Get in the car," I tell her, yanking open the
trunk and throwing in the boxes of vaccine.  Scully tosses our
bags in the back seat and 84 climbs in.  Just as we speed away
cross-country, I see more aliens emerging from the underground
door that we just left.

I don't even know where we're going.  But for the first time in a
long time, I have hope.  Scully is alive. We have the vaccine.
We finally have the proof we need about the hybrid project
sitting in the back seat of our car.  It's a good start.

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

CHAPTER 3

******************
Those who don't know the real darkness
never start to look for the light.
Those who know the real darkness
also find the light.
--Holy Blood Holy Grail
******************

Day 44, after midnight

We've been driving for hours in silence.  My back aches and my
feet are tired of being squished in the back seat of this little
car.  Even my eyeballs smart from staring at the quickly passing
darkness for so long.

"We need to get gas," Mulder says, sometime after midnight.  He's
already pulling into a deserted gas station.  The overhead lights
are on, but the little convenience store is dark and empty.

"I hope we can get gas here," Scully says.

I watch as she exits the vehicle at the same time as Mulder.
Their movements are oddly synchronized; doors open and shut in
tandem.  She pulls a medium sized flashlight out of her coat
pocket and heads for the store.

Somehow I've always felt the need to protect her.  I don't know
why, maybe it's part of who I am.  So I get out of the car and
start to follow her inside.  As I exit, I brush past Mulder,
accidentally making contact with him as he opens the gas cap.  I
shudder at the brief touch of his hand against mine.  He's in
pain from the fall he took when the bounty hunter jumped him as
we escaped from the facility.  I know him well enough by now to
know that he won't say anything to Scully.

I'm right behind Scully when she opens the convenience store
door.  A wall of putrid air smacks me in the face.  She grimaces
and puts one hand over her mouth and nose.  In a few moments, her
flashlight reveals the source: a human body that had been host to
an alien, probably at least a month dead, judging by the amount
of decay.  The body is sprawled out at an odd angle, lying on top
of crushed boxes and rotting trash.  Broken glass crunches
underneath my feet.  The whole place has been emptied out, except
for the mess littering the floor  The electricity appears to be
on (I hear the refrigerator in the back of the store whirring
away), though for some reason the overhead lights are not
working.  I think they were smashed.

"Looters," Scully mumbles under her breath.  She fumbles around
the cash register and then I hear a small click.  Scully opens a
little window next to the register.  "Any gas?" she calls to
Mulder.

"Yup," he answers happily.

She slams the window shut and heads for the bathroom.  I follow
her inside, and even in the dim light, I can see her expression
of surprise.  "I have to go, too," I tell her.  She gives a
little shrug, puts the flashlight on the ground, and enters a
stall.

I can see well enough with the flashlight to use the toilet.  A
few minutes later, she emerges from the stall, picks up the
flashlight, and washes her hands.  I wash mine after hers.

"You shouldn't let Mulder drive," I say, as she's about to go out
the door.

"Why?" Even in the dim light, I can see her expression of
puzzlement.

"He's in severe pain right now, having broken several teeth when
the bounty hunter knocked him to the ground at the facility."

"How do you know that?  He hasn't said anything to me."  Her tone
isn't disbelieving, just curious, and very tired.

"I touched him accidentally when I got out of the car," I state
simply.

She accepts the fact without asking anything further. When we get
back to the car, she orders Mulder to the passenger side.  He
complies.  She tilts her head back in my direction after
adjusting the seat.  "Let 84 look at your jaw."

Mulder darts a look at Scully out of the corner of his eye as we
speed away from the station, but doesn't protest when I touch
him.  He won't even look at me, just stares straight ahead as I
reach for him from the back seat.  It takes little effort to do
an easy job like this one, and it's almost a relief when the pain
stops, and I feel him slipping into sleep.

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

We're heading west, always west.  Sometimes it feels like the
drive will never end.  Endless empty highways filled with
innumerable vacant gas stations, restaurants, and truck stops.
Vacant.  It's just how I feel on this never-ending drive where
there is nothing to think about except terrible memories.  My
overwhelming desire to save the world with this vaccine, and the
adrenaline that came from it, evaporated about 200 miles ago.  I
wish that someone else could go on doing the job in my body,
while I float somewhere above and to the right.

Around 6am, I know I have to stop.  If I don't get some sleep
soon I'm going to fall asleep at the wheel and kill us all.  That
would be a stupid way to die after what we've been through.

I pull off at a deserted rest area.  "84, can you keep watch
while I sleep for a few hours?" I ask as I push back the seat.

"Yes," she replies.  DS84 doesn't talk much.  She just watches
everything with those big blue eyes of hers.  Mulder thinks it's
creepy.  I just wonder what she's thinking.

I reach into the back seat and pull up two blankets.  I cover
Mulder with one, and wrap the other around myself.  There's
something I've been wanting to ask 84 ever since I saw her heal
Mulder.  I close my eyes for a moment in contemplation, but my
weary brain allows me to ask it without prelude.  "What does it
feel like?"

There's a moment's pause.  "What does what feel like?"  Her voice
sounds like what I hear when I listen to my recorded message in
voice mail.

"To heal," I clarify.  "What does it feel like?"  I open my eyes
and turn my head so that I can see her petite form stretched out
in the back seat.  She's shaking her head.

"I don't think I can explain it," she says honestly.  "But I
think I can show you."

"Show me?"  My befuddled brain cannot wrap itself around this
concept.  I roll down my window just a little bit and twist
around so that I can get a clear view of her.

She reaches for me, and places one cool hand over mine.
Carefully, she places my fingertips on Mulder's forehead, while
her other hand rests on his shoulder.

Suddenly, I'm aware.  There's no other word for it.  At first,
I'm aware of Mulder's strong pulse thrumming underneath my
fingertips, how his respiration is deep and even, how all his
muscles are relaxed and that he's drooling a little out of one
side of his mouth.  Then the sensation deepens.  I become so
aware of his body that it's like I'm him.  My scalp tingles and
goosebumps form all over my arms.  It's too much to process, and
I can't help but jerk my hand away.

"How do you do that?" I'm ashamed at the way my voice trembles.
I shouldn't be afraid.

DS84 releases my hand.  "It's part of my programming," she says
flatly, settling back into the seat.  She props her legs up and
pulls a blanket over herself.  "Go to sleep," she says.  "I'll
keep watch."

I lean back into the partly reclined seat and close my eyes.  It
takes a long time for the feeling that I am Mulder to wear off.
And when I finally fall asleep, I dream that I'm sitting next to
me, watching the sun rise and bleach out the landscape with harsh
yellow light.

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

I wake up with a crick in my neck and a disgusting taste in my
mouth.  The sun is rising, its rays temporarily blinding me as I
sit up and rub my sleep-crusty eyes.  Scully sleeps with her neck
at an odd angle towards the window, and 84 is wide awake in the
back seat, her eyes roaming the empty countryside.

I turn back to Scully.  Her mouth hangs open, an almost child-
like half snore whispering between her parted lips.  Her mussed
hair falls every which way around her face with little bits
sticking in one corner of  her mouth.  The sunlight is just
beginning to touch her hair, normally so shiny, but dull now from
lack of brushing.  I catch myself wondering at the change in
Scully that shows through even in her sleep.  She used to look
peaceful and angelic while sleeping, the hardness in her
expression reserved only for wakefulness. But now, the wariness
was written on her face even while she dreams.  It saddens me.

Now that I'm awake, my bladder sends strong first-thing-in-the-
morning signals.  I look left towards the empty rest area
facilities.  Maybe they will work.  I'm loath to wake Scully, but
this can't wait.  As quietly as I can, I exit the car and close
the door without shutting it completely.  Too late.  Scully sits
up, blinking confusedly in the early morning light.  I grimace
and close the door all the way.

To my relief, the toilets work.  And so do the sinks.  I wash as
much as possible and refuse to think about how much I want a
shower.  When I emerge, Scully is standing near what used to be a
beautifully landscaped garden, situated in front of the building.
Now the garden consists of carefully arranged rocks and brown
shrubs and mulch.  She stares down at drab bushes and wilted
flowers with a look of strange concentration.

"Scully?" I say softly, approaching her from behind, placing my
fingertips lightly on her elbows.

She jumps.  My hands drop back down to hang at my sides.

"What were you thinking?" I ask.  The stillness here, it's almost
frightening.

Scully twists the golden ring on her finger with her right hand.
"About them," she says simply.

Them.  The Gunmen.  We hadn't even talked about it since the day
we left DC, except for one short conversation at the high
containment facility in Wyoming. The last time I had wondered
aloud if they were alive was when I found the envelope in my coat
pocket.  A white and crinkled envelope containing two simple gold
wedding bands.  I'd seen Byers' ring enough to know that the band
in the packet was the same that he'd always worn.  The smaller
woman's band was an obvious mate.  Eerily, the rings had fit both
our fingers perfectly.  Scully never takes hers off, but she
never says anything about them, either.  I wonder if she even
allowed herself to think about our friends.  I can hardly do it
now, almost six weeks later.

I hear myself sigh as I lean in close, arms circling her waist,
breath whispering over her bare neck.  When my palms come in
contact with the soft back of her hands, I feel her shoulders
shake with an involuntary shudder.  Confused, I pull back again,
and tug her gently around to face me.  "What is it?"  Her eyes
are wide with something I can only classify as shock, and her
hands feel cold against mine.

Her mouth opens and then closes.  She doesn't say anything as she
tugs her hands out of my grasp.  In less than a second I see the
expression on her face go from shocked to vulnerable to stoic.
"Your turn to drive," she says in an odd voice, turning on one
heel and walking towards the waiting vehicle.

What was that all about?  Not everything is about me, but this
is.  I can feel it in her shudder, and the way her voice had
stumbled over those few words.  Another sigh escapes my lips
before I can stop it.  Straightening my shoulders, I walk to the
car, trying not to think about how much I want a place to sleep
horizontally, or how many hours of driving are left before the
ocean, or how much I want Scully to tell me what is wrong.

**************
Day 45

Spring is coming in earnest, and the day is nearly perfect.
Sunny, breezy, and 70 degrees.  Around noon we arrive on the
outskirts of Tacoma, about a half hour south of Seattle.  I know
Seattle was hit hard, along with so many other large cities.  But
even Taucoma, much further south, suffered terribly in the
aftermath of the colonists and a one-sided war.  The glory of
nature arising from winter's rest is stunning in contrast to the
city, spring emerging from a husk of death.

I know from reports received at the facility that about 70% of
the US population had died directly from the virus, or indirectly
from the bombs dropped on big cities.  Although we had driven
across a good bit of the country and seen hundreds of desolate
towns, we had avoided the big sites because of radiation.  Seeing
the damage in Taucoma made me realize how hard Seattle must have
been hit.  There are no cars on the road.  Houses stand burned to
black husks, left abandoned to the elements.  Occasionally I see
a hawk perching in the ruins, keen eyes searching for its next
meal.  More often I see crows, their black pinions gleaming dully
in the bright noon sun.  Once I even see a dog (or maybe a
coyote) darting out from behind a battered car.  But no people.
And not a single sound can be heard besides the rush of the wind
that comes from the rolled down window.

Mulder whistles softly, almost reverently.  "Who could have
imagined?" he says.  "Fallen! Fallen, is Babylon the Great!  She
has become a home for demons and a haunt for every evil spirit, a
haunt for every unclean and detestable bird..."

I turn my head to look at him.  Suddenly I realize his hair is
beginning to get long.  It blows into his eyes and mouth from the
force of the wind.  "Revelation 18," I remember out loud.  It's
somehow appropriate.

We skirt the city and head a little south, but still west.  Two
more hours of driving put us out of range of the radiation and in
range of the pharmaceutical company that I'm convinced could help
in manufacturing and distribution of the vaccine.  One stop and
an hour of driving brings us to Aberdeen, then a half hour more
to Grayland, our destination.

"We need to find a place to stay the night," Mulder comments as
we slow before crossing the intersection guarded by a non-
functional stoplight.  He scans the buildings as we pass, eyes
restlessly roving the emptiness.  Most buildings are empty.  A
few houses have cars in the driveways.  A few even show lights in
the windows.  But the windows and doors of those houses are all
barred.   "I'm not seeing anything that looks like a good place
to stop," Mulder says tiredly.

I'm about to tell him to pull over so we can sleep in the car for
the night when we come upon what looks like an old boarding
house.  There are lights on inside.  We share a look and I shrug.
"It's worth a try," I say, and he turns into the lot in front of
the house.  We park a little to the left and approach warily,
though for some reason I'm not really worried that something bad
is going to happen.

The whole thing seems a little surreal.  The sun is beginning to
set, and the house is bathed in golden light.  In fact, it looks
like something out of a black and white movie.  I gaze in growing
curiosity at the austere three story stone house.  It seems very
out of place next to the ramshackle buildings around it.  I
almost expect a prim matron to meet us at the door.

Hardly.  A big woman bursts out the door, pointing a sawed off
shotgun straight at Mulder's face.  "Hold it right there," she
warns us.  She's wearing red checked flannel and a garish purple
apron, and sports two unruly, black braids on either side of her
head.  My mind, which never stops categorizing everything around
me, says that she's Navajo.  I can't say why, but in that moment
she reminds me of Albert Holstein.

I stop.  84 is right behind me; I can almost feel her tensing for
a fight.  Mulder raises both hands in the air at the same time
that I do.

"We just wanted a place to stay the night.  We're not here to
cause any trouble," I assure her, my hands hanging over my head.
"We haven't slept anywhere but the car in a long time.  Do you
know of a place we could stay?"

The woman lowers the gun and eyes me cautiously.  "I might," she
says after a long moment, and cocks her head to one side,
watching me with bright, bird-like eyes. "Where you all come
from?" she asks me.

"Wyoming," I reply.  It's true, we did drive here from Wyoming.
I think it would be best if I don't mention DC for now.

 "You three don't look like no trouble.  But I pack heat, so
don't try nothing."  She walks back inside and motions us to
follow.

I follow her first, walking up three concrete steps and through
the white door.  Mulder is so close I can almost feel his breath
on my neck.  The sight that meets my eyes, though, banishes all
my annoyance with his hovering.

The doorway leads almost directly into a common room.  The room
is filled with people, all sitting at a long table, eating.  At
first glance I guess there to be ten children and three adults
present.  My stomach reminds me urgently of the need to eat.  I
haven't eaten much besides freeze dried army rations in the past
48 hours.  One glance at Mulder tells me that he's practically
salivating on the linoleum.

She leads us past the common room and up two flights of stairs.
"My name's Joanna," she pants, trudging up the last few stairs.
She stops in front of the last door on the left.  She looks at me
expectantly.

"My name's Dana Scully," I offer.  "This is Mulder, and my sister
Liz."

She nods.  "I have one room left, a suite with a connecting door.
If you board with me, price includes bread in the morning and a
hot meal at dinner."

"What's the price?" Mulder asks.  I can already tell what he's
thinking.  We don't have a lot of cash left, and he's worried
about how much this will cost us.

Joanna appraises Mulder for a few moments.  "For all of you, $30
a week."

"Thirty dollars?" I squeak.

"I'll not be goin' any lower," she informs me, her lips pursed
stubbornly.

"Thirty is fine," Mulder assures her, fumbling in his pockets for
the money.  He hands the required cash to our temporary hostess.

Joanna fishes out a key from her pocket and hands it to me,
stuffing the cash into a pocket in that odd purple apron.
"You're free to get whatever's left of dinner once you're moved
in.  The water here is safe to drink."

Only after the sounds of her steps die away do I speak. "Well," I
say.

"Well, indeed," Mulder echoes.  "Let's see what we get for the
low, low price of $30."

I turn the lock and the door swings wide open.  The room is
small, but clean.  There's a full bed, lamp stand, and one little
table with a chair beside it.  The neutral colors and plain wood
furniture complete the picture of an old boarding house in my
mind.  84 walks to the adjoining room and pushes open the door.
It leads to an even smaller room with a twin bed.  There's a
second bathroom here, so tiny that it barely contains the shower
and toilet.  I'm guessing we'll be quite snug for the duration of
our stay.

I see 84 go to the window, then turn to me with a look of wonder
on her face.  "You can see the ocean from here!" she exclaims.

I join her at the window.  She's right.  I can just barely see
the ocean over the tree tops.  It's very beautiful, the dark
richness of the evergreens contrasting with a now pink horizon
and a huge red sun.  I push the window open, and a briny wind
darts inside.  I blow hair out of my mouth.

"It's beautiful," 84 breaths.  I'm astonished to hear her say it,
because she's normally so quiet and unemotional.  I wonder what
other sorts of things she thinks but doesn't say.

"Look at the view later," Mulder chides.  "For now, let's eat!"

Dinner is over by the time we get back downstairs.  But a woman
holding a large pot, who is apparently the cook, is waiting for
us.  "I saved some," she says before Mulder can even ask a
question.  She plunks the pot back down on the table and walks
into the kitchen.  In a moment she returns with three bowls and
forks and glasses.  "Water's there," she points to a big
stainless steel pitcher.  "Stew is here, and bread is in that
container."  She motions with a plastic serving spoon, and walks
again to the kitchen.

Two children emerge from somewhere and begin clearing away the
dishes from the table.  Both gawk at us openly, in the way that
only children can.  I'm too hungry to care about the staring, but
I wonder where the children came from.

The stew is good.  Potatoes and carrots float in a pleasant brown
broth.  There are even little chunks of beef in the mix.  I grab
what is left of the bread and break it into three generous parts.
It's crumbly cornbread, soft and good.  Mulder practically grabs
his portion and stuffs half of it into his mouth.  I almost
laugh, but my face feels too tired to make the effort.  Soon the
food is gone.  The only light left in the room is that coming
from the kitchen plus one lamp at the far end of the table.

"I'll get the bags," I say, rising from the table and heading for
the door.  84 trails silently behind me.  We get the three bags
from the car, and I put on my coat as well.  It may be late
spring, but the nights are still cool this far north.

We just get settled into the rooms when there's a knock at the
door.  I expect it to be Mulder, carrying up the two boxes of
vaccine vials from the car.  I feel for my Sig and check the peep
hole.  It's Joanna, carrying an armful of blankets.  I open the
door.

"I thought you might need these, seeing as the heat don't work
too well these days," she tells me.

"Thanks," I reply, taking the blankets from her.  They are
heavier than they look, and smell of strange detergent.  I need
to ask a question before she leaves.  "Joanna, where do all those
children come from?"

For just a moment I see desperate grief cloud her face, but it
quickly passes and leaves only a patient sadness in it's wake.
"Those are the survivors," she says simply.  "No parents, no
place to go.  I might as well keep them here, and try to keep
them safe for at least a while."

I nod, guessing at what terrible things she has seen.  "Thank you
for everything, Joanna.  Dinner was delicious.  I don't know how
long we'll stay, but thank you."

She nods and I close the door.  Mulder arrives just then.  "I get
the shower first," I inform him.  He looks a bit pouty but I
don't really care.  "I promise I won't use all the hot water."

Twenty steamy, warm, glorious minutes later I emerge, toweling my
wet hair, wearing my second to the last clean pair of underwear.
"I left a few drops of hot water for you."  He rolls his eyes and
proceeds to the shower anyway.  I peek in the adjacent room.  84
is already asleep.  I lay down and wait for Mulder.  But a few
seconds after I slip under the sheets, I fall asleep.

*******************
and darkness who has floated
in so many forms and so many times
with power and false truth
with repeated beat
coming and going,
that darkness stops...
--Holy Blood Holy Grail
*******************

I wake up frantically groping the empty space in the bed next to
me.  My sleepy brain is panicked, thinking that Scully has been
taken, and I'm all alone.  But one glance across the room reveals
her standing by the window, which is partly open.  I take deep,
even breaths, and eventually my heart rate slows down.

The room is cool against my arms.  By the feel of the air, I'm
guessing I've slept at least ten hours.  The sun isn't up yet,
and the morning is very still.  I listen.  I hear the rhythmic
chirp of crickets, punctuated by the occasional cooing of doves.
The doves must be close by; their cooing sounds clearly through
the open window.  Scully stands very still and quiet, like a
solemn statue, except that her hair sways gently with the wind
coming in through the window.

"What are you thinking?" I ask softly.

She doesn't turn her head.  "What if no one believes us?  What if
we can't find Dr. Linden or he won't help us produce the vaccine?
What if we can only distribute what little vaccine we have now?"
Her head swivels to face me, eyes glittering in the pre-dawn
light.

Those are weighty questions for anytime of day, but especially
now, first thing in the morning.  I rub my eyes and realize that
I'm actually feeling quite awake.  Waking up in a start of terror
tends to have that effect on me.

I stifle a yawn and she looks at me questioningly.  "The
darkness, it can't go on forever."  I don't know how to explain
the feeling, so I don't.  Instead, I decide now is a good a time
as any to get up.  So I leave the warm bed and pad to the
bathroom so I can brush my teeth and splash water on my face.

When I emerge, Scully is sitting Indian style on the bed, a thick
blanket wrapped around her body so that only her head shows.  She
looks at me rather expectantly as I lay down on top of the
covers.

"I know you've been wanting to ask me about yesterday morning,"
she says without prelude.

I nod, waiting for her to continue.

"After 84 fixed your jaw, later that morning, she showed me what
it was like...to heal."

My mouth is hanging wide open in surprise.  I wasn't expecting
that comment to ever come out of Scully's mouth.  She's watching
me intently, trying to gauge my reaction.  There are several
moments of silence.  "What was it like?"

She looks away, silent for a long minute.  "It was very
intimate," she says softly.  "I could feel you...I could almost
feel what you were...thinking.  I feel like I should have asked
permission.  I'm sorry."

I shake my head and put my hand on her forearm.  "Don't be."  I
feel the soft hair on her arm prickle into gooseflesh, and she
shivers.  Only then so I finally understand what's been bothering
her all day.  "But it didn't go away after that first time, did
it?"

She shakes her head slightly.  "No, it faded some.  I think I can
control it a little.  But it never went away completely."

"Like now?"

"Like now," she agrees.

I rub my thumb lightly along the edge of her hand, then press a
kiss into the center of her palm.  Then, I feel it.  Or rather,
feel her.  An awareness of her brushes the edges of my
consciousness that quickly fades.  It was fleeting, but I know I
didn't imagine it.

"I can feel you, too," I whisper. Inwardly I'm trembling.

She lies down next to me, and opens her arms wide, giving me
permission to hold her.  I snuggle under the blanket and rest my
head against her neck, our bodies melding together in all the
right places.  She cradles me, one hand resting lightly on my
neck, the other tracing paths in my hair.  "I love you," she
says.

For some reason, that makes me want to cry.  Actually, I am
crying.  A little bit of wetness leaks out of my left eye and
splashes onto her neck.  "Thank you for loving me," I say into
her the crook between her shoulder and neck.

She brushes away the tear with her fingertips and kisses the top
of my head.  Lately, I've begun collecting moments of tranquility
into my memory, gathering them into a secret place in my mind,
like a beggar who's found many priceless pearls.  When the
darkness comes again, I want to be able to take out the moment
and savor it, holding the memory in my beggar's mind as assurance
that beautiful things still exist.  I hold Scully and close my
eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her skin on my cheek, the
cool whisper of the air, the early morning sounds seeping through
the window.  I memorize the sensations so that I won't ever
forget.

****************
Morning, Day 45

I'm still half asleep when I hear the banging on my door.  For a
second I think that it's my wife, but then I remember.  She's
dead.  I live alone now, and no one should be banging on my door.
I fumble for my glasses and grab a newly acquired gun off the
lamp stand as I head for the door.  When I peek out the peephole,
I don't want to believe what my eyes are telling me.  But I open
the door anyway.

"Dr. Charles Linden," the man states flatly, blowing out a stream
of smoke from the continually present cigarette.

"I wasn't expecting to see you," I say stupidly.  I stand there
with my eyeballs bugging out and one hand on the doorknob.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he says blandly.  His doughy
lips have always bothered me, and now isn't any different.  I
don't really want him here, and I hate those cigarettes that he's
always smoking.  But I have no choice.  So I run my hand through
my wild hair (reminding myself that I'm way past the starting-to-
go-bald stage of hair loss) and let him inside.

My hands shake as I fumble with the coffee maker, throwing out
yesterday's grounds and sticking a new filter into the cup.
"What do you want?" I say, slamming the cup into place and
filling the basin with water.

He regards me with half-hooded eyes.  "Nothing more than what
I've wanted in the past."

The vaccine.  He's here about the vaccine.  What he doesn't
understand is that all my people are dead or gone.  I'm alone.
Even if I wanted to continue the work, I couldn't.

"I can't," I blurt out.

"I can give you the people."

People?  Unlikely.  He'll probably give me some creepy clones,
which are much worse than his people.  "I don't want clones," I
tell him.

"I'm sending you two humans," he says.  "They'll know what to
do."

"Who?" My brow is furrowed, trying to think of who he could be
sending, but my mind is blank.  Everyone is dead or gone.

"A tall man with a short red-haired woman.  Their names are
Mulder and Scully.  Scully is a medical doctor.  They have the
vaccine and will tell you how to make it."

My mouth drops open.  "A working vaccine?" My voice is squeaky
and pathetic in my ears.

He nods benignly and puffs smoke in my direction.  "Just finish
the job," he says, his voice suddenly taking on an edge of
warning.  I shudder, remembering what happened the last time I
heard that tone in his voice.  People died and there was nothing
I could do about it.

He gets up to leave and I don't stop him.  I'm left staring at
the coffee maker, the last few drops of brown liquid drip-
dripping into the pot.  It reminds me of blood dribbling off the
freshly dead bodies of all the people I knew.  Of all the people
I loved.  I run to the bathroom and throw up so hard that I think
my stomach lining ends up in the toilet.  I don't know if I can
do this.

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

In less than two months, I've forgotten how hard it is to find my
way in an unfamiliar town.  We left the boarding house early this
morning, trying to find the residence of one Dr. Charles Linden.
We left 84 behind to stay with the boxes of vaccine, though
Scully always carries several vials in her ever present medical
bag.  Scully is convinced Linden is the only one who can help us.
I'm pretty sure he's alive, but I'm not sure what he can do for
us.  When I ask Scully why she's so insistent, she just shrugs,
and calls it a hunch.  Scully's hunches are rare but almost never
wrong.

Scully peels an orange and pops a juicy segment into her mouth.
I can't resist trying to snag one from her fingers, but it's hard
to do while I'm driving.

"Watch the road," she admonishes.  "If you're good, I'll peel
yours for you."

The oranges are from Joanna.  She caught me in the kitchen this
morning, trying to get directions to Nirk Street from the cook.
She told me that I needed to eat more, and gave me a couple of
extra oranges for Scully and her "sister."

It seems to take hours, but I'm sure it's only half an hour at
the most, before we find Dr. Linden's house.  This neighborhood
is empty and silent, like all the others I've seen.  But there's
a car outside the house, and that gives me hope.  I glance at
Scully, and her look says I-told-you-so. At least she doesn't say
it.

I'm wary when we approach the house, but after only a few knocks,
the door opens to reveal a bespeckled, balding little man.  Gods
above, he looks like the stereotypical mad scientist.

"Dr. Charles Linden?" I ask.

"Yes."  He licks his lips nervously and darts glances between
Scully and I.  I don't think he's ever cleaned his glasses.  His
hands are shaking and the fingernails are chewed right down to
the stubs.  "What can I do for you?"

I let Scully speak, content for the moment to listen and observe.
She squints through the bright sunlight at our potential allay.
"My name is Dana Scully, and this is Fox Mulder.  Dr. Linden,
we're here to speak with you about a pharmaceutical company
called GenCorp."

The little man doesn't look surprised at all, just nervous.
"I've been expecting you both.  Do come inside."

He's been expecting us?  I don't smell cigarettes, but I'd bet my
gun that the Smoking Man is behind this.

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

This time, the smoking man was true to his word.  Mulder and
Scully arrive about two hours after he left.  I have to admit
that I wasn't expecting Scully to be a woman, not after all those
years I spent listening to baseball games and sports talk shows
late at night in the lab.

They are wary, these two, and armed with standard government
issue hand guns.  I've been around enough government types to
have a good feel for the different areas.  These two are likely
FBI.  I wonder what a medical doctor was doing working for the
government.  Then I wonder what I was doing working for Raush.  I
mean GenCorp.  Ah well.  Enough questions.  The woman is talking.

"Who told you we were coming?" she asks, sitting at my kitchen
table in much the same way the smoking man had done a few hours
earlier.

"The smoking man," I say, running my fingers through my hair
again.  I can't seem to stop it, even though I know it leaves my
hair sticking up in all directions.  "He said you have the
vaccine."  My temper isn't improved by the fact that I'm also
slightly irritated. I've worked for 15 years on the vaccine, and
in waltzes this Nobody with The Answer.

"Yes, we do," she says evenly, perhaps even now detecting my
resentment.  She takes a vial of amber liquid out of her bag and
places it on the table, along with a folder stuffed with papers.
"Here are the lab results from the initial tests."

I flip through the papers, trying not to be bothered by the way
Mulder stares at me.  He hovers behind Scully, standing at her
elbow.  His body language says he's protective, but I think it's
more than that.  They're wearing matching gold wedding bands. I'd
say they're definitely married to each other.

Perhaps five minutes later, I'm done going through the papers.
I'm a fast reader, and I never forget anything I read.
"Everything looks in order," I say.  "If we can get three people
to help us, we can have the vaccine mass produced within the
week."

Scully's mouth drops wide open.  Mulder's brows pull together in
suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he appraises my apparent
acceptance.  "Only three people?" he asks.

"All mine are dead.  This part of the Project was designed with
automation in mind.  So all I need is three."  I frown and
scratch my head.  "But you'll have to find a way to distribute
it."

They share a glance, talking to each other in some strange,
silent conversation.  A few moments later, the unspoken questions
are resolved, and Scully turns back to me.  "I'm sure we can do
that, sir.  How far is it to GenCorp?"

"A ten minute drive," I tell her.  "And I'm ready to go now."  I
haven't driven anywhere in at least two weeks, not since the last
time I tried to buy food.  I don't want to go outside, but I
must.  I know the price of disobedience.

Mulder and Scully follow my car to Gencorp.  There's no security
left at the facility, only an empty guard shack and a broken
cross bar.  But the parking lot isn't empty.  There's a car with
two people sitting inside, waiting close to the south entrance.
First, I recognize the car, and then the people.  And when I pull
up alongside it, I see two of my co-workers staring at me with
wide-eyed surprise.

My feet hit the pavement almost before I the ignition is turned
off.  Then I'm hugging Lisa and shaking John's hand, babbling
something, and Lisa keeps saying over and over "I didn't know
anyone was still alive."

Mulder and Scully hang back, giving us distance.  I turn back to
them, knowing I need to make some introductions.  "Fox Mulder and
Dr. Dana Scully, these are my two close colleagues, Dr. Lisa
Gimbrel and Dr. John Hannon."  Everyone shakes hands and nods.  I
incline my head in Scully's direction.  "They have a working
vaccine."

Lisa's mouth falls open in a silent "O" and John looks no less
astonished.  "We need to get to work right away," Scully says.
"Let's talk inside."

I nod, all business again.  We have a lot of work to do.

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

I focus on the plate in front of me.  Fork twirls pasta, fork
goes into mouth.  Suck off noodles and tomato sauce.  Fork goes
back into pasta.  The children at the table are all eating with
equal concentration; the only sounds are those of hungry mouths
being filled with spaghetti.

Mulder groans and rubs his neck.  "I think I'm getting old," he
mutters in my ear.  "All that work did me in."

He's right.  We did a lot of physical labor today.  It didn't
take long for Lisa and John to agree to help produce the vaccine.
So we spent most of the day setting up the mostly automated
system.  It's up and running now.  If we're lucky, the vaccine
will be produced in mass by the end of the week.

"Mmmm," I say, and rub the bridge of my nose while simultaneously
shoveling more pasta into my mouth.  Lately, I've been hungry all
the time.  An hour after I eat, I'm hungry again.  The last few
days I've been so hungry that I eat too much at once and then
feel sick afterwards.  My body must be trying to make up for the
last month.

Joanna comes in, bearing a tray of bread with margarine.  Then
something outside catches her attention, and she sets down the
plate, moving to the door in the same motion.  I hear car tires
crunching over the pavement outside, then the sounds of car gears
shifting into park.  The cook (Esmerelda, what a name!) is right
behind her with that sawed off shotgun.  Then both their eyes
light up.

"Sheriff Richardson!" she exclaims as the door opens.  "Long time
no see."  A large black man in a police uniform gives her a wide
smile and sweeps her into a wide hug.

"Just making my bi-weekly rounds," he says, releasing her and
hugging Esmerelda, who grins and goes back to the kitchen.
"Things look well with you.  You have new boarders, I see."

"This is Mulder and his wife Dana Scully, and her sister Lizzy."
Joanna calls 84 Lizzy.  Whenever I hear her called by that
nickname, I feel like laughing.

"You came just in time for dinner," Joanna declares.  He makes to
protest but she raises one hand with well practiced authority.
"I'll not be hearin' otherwise," she tells him flatly, and goes
to the kitchen to get him a plate.

He sits down at the last empty space at the far end of the bench.
"How's my special friend Sarah?" he asks the blonde little girl
that scoots over to make room for his big frame.

"Hi Sheriff Richardson," she says shyly.  "I'm fine."  There are
smiles and "hi's" from around the table.  Apparently the sheriff
is a familiar presence, and Sarah is his special friend.  She
gives him a quick hug, and goes back to eating her dinner.

Joanna comes in with a big plate of spaghetti and greens for the
sheriff.  "The truck came today.  Enjoy the greens while we have
'em."

"Yes ma'am," the sheriff says with another smile, and digs right
in.

After a few moments, he looks up at me.  "So, where you all
from?" he asks, swallowing his first mouthful of pasta.

"Wyoming," Mulder says.

The sheriff nods.  "Staying long?"

Mulder shrugs, and I answer.  "Maybe," I say.  "Not much else
place to go right now."  He nods again, working away at the mound
of pasta.  Now that I'm observing him closely, I can see his
uniform fits loosely around his waist and shoulders.  Recent
weight loss, my mind says.  I'm guessing food supplies in this
area weren't always so abundant.

We chat off and on about the city and ocean and other mundane
things, and I realize this is the first chatty conversation I've
had in months.  It feels odd, but good.

When my plate of food is gone, I notice one of the children
(Robert is his name) is eyeing Mulder with particular curiosity.
He sits very close to Mulder, his chubby four-year-old hands
inexpertly lifting the pasta from his plate to his mouth,
watching him all the while.  These children all have a story to
tell, though maybe not in words.  Robert tells me with his action
that he misses his father.  Mulder finally notices the attention,
and glances down at his companion.

"Let me cut that for you," he says, deftly using the boy's knife
and fork to cut the spaghetti into smaller pieces that will be
easier to eat.

Robert looks at him admiringly with big, brown eyes.  "Thanks,"
he whispers, and pops a forkful into his mouth.  He misses and
part of it dribbles down his chin.  Mulder absent-mindedly wipes
it away with his own napkin.

Suddenly, my throat feels constricted and tears prickle at my
eyes.  I quickly blink and the urge to cry fades.  I love this
man.

Sheriff Richardson is watching us with interest, eyes flicking
between Mulder and I, and then to 84.  "Time to clean the table,"
he declares, apparently familiar with their nightly routine.
All the children snap into action, and soon we are left alone as
they clatter to the kitchen with their plates and cups.

He looks at me levelly.  "What kind of weapon are you carrying?"
he asks.  He just sits there calmly, fingers laced together,
elbows resting on the table

For a moment I'm not sure what to do, but I think honesty would
be best.  I pull out my gun.  "A Sig Sauer," I say, ejecting the
clip and checking the action with a practiced motion.  The
familiar weapon rests comfortably in my hand.  Mulder pulls his
out as well, and lays it on the table.  DS84 just sits very
quietly, watching.

"That's standard law enforcement issue," sheriff Richardson
observes.  "Your weapons are well-used.  Where did you get them?"

Mulder pulls out his badge.  I'm amazed he still keeps it in his
pocket.  Then again, mine is also in my jacket pocket.  "Special
Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI," he says with easy familiarity.
The sheriff looks for a long time at his badge, and then mine.

Two children are clearing the table now, staring with big eyes at
the guns.  I slip my service weapon back into the holster without
looking, and Mulder does the same.  "Give us a few minutes, Tex
and Joe Jr.," the sheriff says kindly.  They nod and scamper back
into the kitchen.

"What are two FBI agents doing here, on the coast of Washington?"
he asks.  This man is guileless and honest, I can tell from his
gentle eyes and forthright questions.  I think we have nothing to
fear from him, and a lot to gain.  So I decide to take a big
chance.

"For the past several weeks, the government has been working on a
vaccine to the disease carried by the bees."  That part is mostly
the truth, but there's no need for details now.  His eyes go
wide, but he listens without questions.  "We have a working
vaccine.  GenCorp is helping up produce it, but it needs to be
distributed nation-wide.  And later, world-wide.  Can you help
us?"

I start counting seconds, watching the sheriff process this
information.  One, two, three. Mulder shifts beside me.  Four,
five, six.  The sheriff continues to look at me blankly.  I get
to fifteen counts before he speaks.

"GenCorp is helping you?"  I nod.  "What about the FBI?"

"I'm sure you're aware that all of the field offices suffered
heavy casualties," Mulder says smoothly.  "We can't expect any
help from them."

It was no coincidence that the heaviest causulaties occuried
around government agencies, so that there is very little
government left, national or otherwise.  I remember how DC looked
the day we left, like some sort of Sodom or Gomorrah, burning in
the wrath of God.  I'm amazed that anyone survived at all.

The sheriff nods again, his eyes full of unasked questions.  He
opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.  "All we have is
a clinic with one doctor and two nurses, a few blocks from here.
There are three of us policemen left from about a 200 mile
radius."

"It's a start," I say, trying to be optimistic.  "We'll need to
talk about transportation.  Joanna said something about a food
truck.  GenCorp has trucks, but we need drivers.  Can you help us
obtain ground transportation?"

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

I yawn and roll over underneath the cool sheets, looping a lazy
around Scully's waist, and press myself into her back.  "That was
smooth work today, Special Agent Scully," I say into her ear.

She yawns and rubs her eyes, tilting her head sideways so that I
see the twinkle in her eyes.  "Yeah, not bad for one day."

I hug her close.  Today was far beyond what I had hoped.  Sheriff
Richardson took it as his duty to immediately take us to the
clinic and introduce us to the one doctor left in this area.  The
doctor was very tired, and had just sent her nurses home for the
day.  But Scully must have had some magic in her pocket, because
she was able to make the dead-tired woman understand what was
going on.  A phone call to GenCorp resulted in pick-up truck full
of boxes of vaccine, and a promise to start local distribution
first thing in the morning.  Late that night when we got back to
the boarding house, all the children along with the adults and
sheriff were vaccinated by Scully.  There were no adverse
reactions to the vaccine.  It seems to good to be true.

She moans a little, breaking my reverie.  "What's wrong?" I ask.

"My back has been killing me all day," she replies, rubbing her
lower back for emphasis.  That's a Scully hint if I've ever seen
one.

"Then roll onto your stomach," I tell her, nudging her over
gently.  I pull up her t-shirt and knead her back, feeling the
tightness of the muscles underneath smooth skin.  After five
minutes my hands are pretty tired, but Scully is a lot more
relaxed.

"I think I drooled," she says, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Drooling is a good sign," I reply smugly, once more reassured of
my expert massage capabilities.

She rolls over onto her back, her shirt still hitched up
awkwardly under her breasts.  I can see the scar on her stomach,
a reminder of the wound that almost took her from me.  With my
forefinger I trace its pink, jagged edge, circling the delicate
tissue again and again, as if it's a map and I'm trying to find
my way home.

Her hand covers mine, arresting its progress and forcing me to
look from her stomach to her face.  Her lids are heavy, lips
parted, skin soft under my fingertips.  Lightly, I brush the
familiar uneven curve of her hips, her too prominant ribs, her
jutting collarbone.  I dip my head and taste her neck. My Scully.
My beautiful scarred amazingly perfect-for-me Scully.  Shifting,
I pull her closer, finding her lips underneath mine.  "I love
you," I say into her open mouth, stroking her lower lip with my
tongue.  She doesn't reply with words, but I know that she loves
me, too.

*****************
Through the walls, through the fear
over the crying, over the silence
through the dreams, through the time
over all the voices,
we can hear their Joy
we are saved
red and black are one
--Holy Blood Holy Grail
*****************

Day 52

It's noon and I'm tired.  Way more tired than I should be, even
though it's been a long week.   I drink coffee and stare across
the table at 84, trying to rest my feet.  I swear I'm retaining
water, and  I feel like I have PMS in a bad way.  The odd thing
is that I haven't felt this way in at least three years.

We've been at GenCorp all day, just like we have been every day
this week, helping Dr. Linden and his colleagues.  The vaccine
production has proceeded without any problems whatsoever, besides
trying to find enough trucks and drivers to distribute it
properly.  Dr. Linden doesn't like 84, but she's been a big help
through all this.  She's the one who did most of the local
vaccinations, along with the clinic doctor and nurses.  They seem
to like her, at least.  Altogether, things are going much better
than I expected.

DS84 is staring at me.  "What?" I ask, more impatiently than I
intended.

"You need a break," she states flatly.  "Why don't you and Mulder
take the afternoon off and get out for a while?  Go for a walk or
something."

Well.  That was quite a wordy little statement for DS84.  She
never says anything unless she really means it.  Dr. Linden walks
up with a steaming mug in hand.  "Yes, things are well in hand
here.  Go away for the afternoon.  Take a walk on the beach."  He
patters off to the adjacent room, mumbling to himself in the
strange way that he always does.

I blow air over my lips and rub my forehead.  "I'm not feeling
well.  Maybe I'll go home and take a nap."

84 looks concerned.  "May I?" she asks, offering her hands.

"I don't want to fall asleep at the table," I protest, hands
wrapped around the coffee cup.  Last time she healed me I slept
for ten hours.

"I promise I'll just check to see if anything is wrong," she
assures me.

I give her my hands, fighting the urge to pull away as I feel her
warm tingling skin underneath my palms.  Suddenly, she smiles,
and her smile astonishes me.  I don't think I've ever seen that
particular expression on her face before.  "There's nothing wrong
with you," she says.

"Then why do I feel so bad?" I complain.  My back is still
killing me.

"Because you're pregnant."

There's a funny ringing noise in my ears, and I shake my head
slightly.  "What did you say?"

"You're pregnant," she repeats, enunciating each syllable for
clarity's sake.  "Though you're not very far along.  Maybe a
couple of weeks at the most."

My mouth opens and closes soundlessly like a gasping fish, trying
to take in air on the beach.  "That...can't...be," I pant, trying
to suck oxygen into my malfunctioning lungs.

"Now that I think about it, my healing may have had some
unforeseen consequences," she says softly, as if this is the
first time she had thought about it.

Here comes Mulder, sauntering in with his own mug of coffee.
"Scully, what's wrong?"  His voice is laced with sudden concern.

I shake my head.  "I think I need some fresh air.  I'm not
feeling well.  You want to take a walk?"  He looks at me
curiously, trying to figure out if that is what's really wrong.
"Dr. Linden says we should get out of here for the afternoon."

"Ok."  That's all he says.  He goes to the break room and
retrieves our jackets.  "Let's go."

We park back at the boarding house.  "Are you sure you're up for
this?" Mulder asks as he turns off the ignition.

I nod.  "Yes, I'm just tired, that's all."  I haven't been on a
walk or done much anything relaxing since we left DC, and I
intend to enjoy the beautiful weather, even if my back hurts.

We head for the beach, which is about three city blocks from the
house.  It rained all week.  Today is the first sun I've seen in
at least five days, bright and blazing and almost summer.  Mulder
holds my hand, and I feel a fresh stab of surprise at my new
awareness of him as our hands contact.

The little town is quiet in a lonely sort of way.  Everything in
this section of town has been abandoned, and most doors and
windows are barred.  I feel sorry for this place, imagining how
alive and vibrant this neighborhood once must have felt.  We walk
past a beautiful old catholic church. "St. Mary's," the sign
tells me.  The door hasn't even been locked; it opens and shuts
in the light breeze.  I make up my mind to visit it on the way
back.

The beach is nice, with warm brown sand and little pebbles, and a
salty breeze blowing off the water.  The ocean reminds me of my
father and sister and family.  There is some pain in remembering
them, but it's strange how life goes on, inexorable as the tide
coming in before my eyes.  This new life growing inside me has
helped that, I think.  Even in the last few minutes, I feel
better than I have in weeks.  Mulder squeezes my hand and kisses
me lightly.  A little laugh bubbles up inside me.  I'm going to
have a baby!  I kick at the wet sand, and a wave breaks inches
from my toes.  I think it's laughing with me.  I'm really going
to have a baby.  Mom would have been so happy for me.

We walk for about an hour without talking.  At first, Mulder
throws little questioning glances my way, but for the most part,
he just relaxes and enjoys the beautiful day.  I rarely see
Mulder do that.  Suddenly, I realize how much he has changed.
There's a quietness about him that is deeper and richer than
before, a heavy golden quality in his silence seeps into me like
warm honey, comforting and sweet.

After a while I tell him that I want to go back to the boarding
house and take a nap.  He smiles a secret smile, then surprises
me with a boyish hug that lifts me off my feet.  He sets me down
and kisses me hard on the mouth.  I smile up at him, panting a
little from his kiss.  "What was that for?"

He shrugs, still smiling.  "Just because I love you."

I toe the sand and grin so big that I feel a bit foolish, then
grab his hand and lace my fingers into his.  "Let's go, I want to
take a look at that old church before we go back."

And so we end up at St. Mary's.  I peek cautiously inside the
unlocked door, but the moment I enter, I know that it's empty.
Dust lies over everything, and most things that could be carried
away are gone.  Only the pews and heavy altar are left, still and
somber.  A sort of sad holiness blankets the place.  I'm
surprised that the stained glass windows have survived the past
few months.  Though I don't know much about stained glass, I can
tell they're beautiful and very old.  These windows seem to be a
series of stories, starting with the creation story on the left
side of the church, then running through the old testament and
the gospels as I proceed towards the right.

The bright sunlight pierces through the glass, spilling heavy
colored lights onto the floor.  I can see bits of light play over
Mulder's face and body as he moves along the windows, puzzling
out the stories that they tell.  The pictures are vivid and
stylized:  Adam and Eve with the Tree of the knowledge of good
and evil, Moses parting the Red Sea, Elijah ascending to heaven
in the chariot of God.   I stop in front of the one depicting the
Virgin Mary with the angel Gabriel, staring at it for a long
time.  The others are beautiful, but the detail in this pane is
extraordinary.  Gabriel's wings are spread wide, his robes
billowing, as if he could fly off the glass at any moment, and
the awed expression on Mary's face is so real that I'm awed as
well.  I wonder what she was thinking when the angel told her, a
virgin, that she was pregnant and would bear a son.

It's not long before I feel Mulder's warm presence behind me,
close but not touching.  We stand like that for a long time,
thinking our own thoughts.  I decide that now is a good time to
tell him.

I turn around, pressing my right palm into his chest directly
over his heart, and entwine my fingers around his.  "Mulder, I
have something to tell you."

I get the strangest sense that the silence around us is listening
expectantly.  Mulder's forehead creases with sudden worry.  "What
is it?" he ask softly, his voice rumbling through his chest and
into my palm.

He stands quietly, the afternoon light and stained glass colors
resting on his still face like water-colored puzzle pieces.  His
eyes probe me gently, expectantly, hoping for good news, but
dreading something bad.  My love for him suddenly blooms up
inside of me, sending little tendrils of joy from my belly to
face.  I'm happy that we finally have this one thing, the one
thing that I've wanted for so long but thought I could never
have.

"Mulder, I'm pregnant."

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

DS84 looks at the man sitting beside her, trying not to wrinkle
her nose with distaste.  She dislikes the smell of smoke and
cigarettes that hangs about him, but when an Overseer gives
orders, she doesn't dare disobey.  She doesn't trust him, but he
made her come with him to a location a few blocks away from the
boarding house.  "Watch," he orders, blowing out a trail of smoke
absently, his attention completely focused on St. Mary's church,
a few blocks away.

A few minutes later, Mulder and Scully emerge, oblivious to their
surroundings, walking happily hand in hand.  "He knows now," the
smoking man says, turning to the hybrid sitting next to him.
DS84 is different from all the others, he thinks.  Unusally
devoted and protective, intelligent and painfully observant, she
was the perfect one to send with Scully.  "You know your job, and
how important she is."

DS84 nods and gets out of the car, satisfied now that she has a
real mission, a real reason to exist.  Her mind is filled with
only one thought: Protect the mother.


******************
"I look at you, my love,
and I cry for happiness.
Hear me world!
I have traveled full circle
and would do it again
if I knew that you would be
waiting for me in the end.
--Holy Blood Holy Grail
******************

CHAPTER 4

>From "A History of Colonization" by DS84, first edition, 2060:

"Introduction, page 1:
The purpose of this book is to summarize the events leading up to and
occurring during the first attempt at colonization of the Earth by
alien forces, to describe the efforts to prevent it, and to reveal the
agenda of those involved with the Project.  This, by necessity involves
clarifying the roles of certain key players, namely Fox William Mulder
and Dana Katherine Scully.  All history leading up to my involvement in
the Project was taken directly from eyewitness accounts.  After my
conception and placement in the Wyoming high containment facility, the
narrative is based on my personal observations as well as information
which I learned only much later, namely the fact that Mulder and Scully
were chosen by the Project Overseers from the very beginning..."

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

"Town meeting is tonight at City Hall," Joanna informs us when we sit
down for dinner.  "6pm.  Everyone's gonna be there.  It's the second
meeting since this all started."

She sets a covered cake pan in the center of the table and looks at us
expectantly.  I turn to Scully and ask a silent question.  *Should we
go?*  I don't think we're here to stay, but it will probably be
relatively painless to sit through a meeting.  Her eyes briefly meet
mine, then she turns her gaze to Joanna.

"We'll go," she says.  "Are all the children coming, too?"

Joanna nods.  "All the adults here are going to the meeting and we
can't just leave the kids here.  It will be good for them to see what's
going on."  She hesitates a moment.  "But it would be helpful if you
could give a ride to two of the children.  We don't have enough cars to
take all ten of them without some help."

"No problem," I say.

Suddenly our hostess smiles and removes the cover of the pan with a
flourish.  "Chocolate cake!" she proclaims, revealing a very tasty
looking cake complete with thick and creamy chocolate icing.  Scully's
mouth drops open.  The children squeal and clap their hands in the
biggest show of enthusiasm I've seen in the last two weeks.

"I've been dying for some chocolate," Scully whispers in my ear.

Joanna hears her comment.  "Hmmmm, yes.  A little birdie might have
dropped me a hint," she says with a wink in my direction.

Scully looks at me questioningly.  "I wanted chocolate, too," I tell
her with a grin.

After dinner, we end up crammed together in the little car we acquired
in Wyoming.  I'm driving and Scully sits next to me, while 84 sits with
Katlyn and her "big" brother Joshua in the back seat.  Joshua is eight
years old, but his eyes look five times older than that.  He's a little
gentleman, helping his five-year-old sister get buckled into the middle
seat.  He holds her hand the entire ride to city hall.  They're both
solemn and quiet in a way children rarely are; neither smile (not even
at the chocolate cake) and Katlyn has a tendency to cling.  During the
entire ride downtown she rests her head on her older brother's shoulder
without moving, sucking her thumb and leaning into his arm which is
curled protectively around her.

We pull in to the parking lot with a gravelly crunch of tires and
grinding gears of our old car.  City hall has the typical architecture
of most of the old buildings in this town, a stone structure with
sweeping stairs and long echoing corridors, just the sort of place that
might be haunted by ghosts.  About a hundred people are seated in the
main meeting hall when we arrive a few minutes past 6pm, so we slip in
quietly and take seats near the back.  Joanna and her crew (Esmerelda
and Jessica, who works part-time) are already seated a few rows in
front of us with the remaining eight children.  I spot the clinic
doctor and the two nurses near the front.  Sheriff Richardson stands
against the back wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

I automatically scan the room's layout.  It's relatively bare, but
clean.  There are two exits, the double doors by which we entered at
the back of the room, and one in the middle of the left wall.  Even
though the meeting has not begun, it's unnaturally quiet.  I hear a few
muted whispers, but nothing more.  Not many children seemed to have
survived the ordeal.  Besides two or three scattered around the crowd,
the ten living at the boarding house seem to be the only children left
in town.  Most of the people are young adults to middle-aged.  I don't
see a single person who looks more than ten years older than me.

A middle-aged woman goes to the podium and calls the meeting to order.
She's the newly elected mayor.  She goes over the results of the
election that took place during the last meeting, and calls for the
four new council members to stand.  They all rise and sit back down.
Then the mayor begins addressing a list of needs which were apparently
brought up during the previous meeting; practical issues such as food
supply, medical care, and part time work, basic living needs that would
normally be taken for granted, but are of paramount importance now.
After that, she reviews the secondary items, namely reallocation of
goods and searching of a national data base for names of the victims.
My ears perk at the mention of a database.  Maybe we could use it to
find out what really happened to the Gunmen.  She seems like a sensible
and honest woman who truly cares what happens to the people of this
town.  I decide that I like her.

Katlyn, sitting next to 84, begins to fidget, and yawns into her
tightly clutched fist.  Silently, 84 picks her up and balances her
awkwardly but carefully over one shoulder.  Katlyn promptly sticks her
thumb into her mouth and closes her eyes, her hair spilling over the
hybrid's shoulder in sweet buttery curls.  Joshua leans into my arm and
I catch Scully smiling down at the boy.  I slide my arm around his
shoulders and pull him close.

*****************
>From "A History of Colonization" by DS84, 2060

"Page 80:
It was a grave and costly mistake on my part to ignore the Rebels that
sided with the Colonists after their actions at the high containment
facility at Wyoming.  My first attempt at correcting the oversight did
not occur until after the Head Overseer contacted me on Day 54.  He
told me that the Resistance forces had been slowly weakened by internal
conflict, and that the faction that sided with the Colonists had become
desperate.  It was estimated that an attempt at colonization would not
occur in the next twenty years due to small but significant amounts of
residual radiation in the atmosphere, which was detrimental to alien
physiology.  A viable vaccine was in production, and would be
distributed world-wide within the year.  But one of the original goals
of the project was still unrealized.  Thus, the importance of Scully to
the project was still undiminished.  That was when I was given my
permanent assignment: to protect her and the child she carried."

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

"Lizzy," Katlyn whispers loudly into my ear, "I've got to potty."

This whole situation is very strange for me.  I've never held a child
before, or at least not a human child.  And I'm not even sure what
"potty" means.  I look at Mulder questioningly.  "Katlyn has to potty,"
I tell him quietly, hoping for some insight into the situation.

"I think the bathroom is out the back door and to the right," he
whispers back.

Now I understand.  The child isn't old enough to take herself to the
bathroom. Scully is watching me.  I can see that she's on the verge of
taking Katlyn, but I wave her off.  I know I can do this.

Katlyn is fairly heavy, so I set her down so that we can walk together.
The women's restroom is to the right as we leave the main meeting room.
"Do you need me to go in with you?" I ask the little girl as she opens
the stall door.

"No, I can do it myself," she tells me, and shuts the door behind her.

My life is very different now, I think as I lean against the wall and
wait for Katlyn to finish her business.  Until a few months ago, I had
never been outside the high containment facility in Wyoming, nor did I
ever expect to leave.  Now I'm in outside world, pretending to be
human.  The life of a hybrid is usually so predictable, but not mine,
not now.

When she's done, I help her wash and dry her hands.  "Ready?" I ask,
throwing the wet paper towel in the trash.  She nods.  "OK, let's go."

But something doesn't feel right as we exit the bathroom.  I pause for
a moment, scanning the corridor, first right then left.  Suddenly
Katlyn grips my hand hard.  I've seen what she's seen.  Four faceless
men with incendiary devices, just turning corner at the end of a long
hallway to our right.  Rebels, but judging from their presence here,
these ones side with the colonists and are probably from the same group
that tried to kill us in Wyoming.  I scramble back into the bathroom,
dragging the little girl behind me.

I bend down and look at her at eye level.  "Katlyn," I say, placing my
hands on her shoulders and speaking quickly, "I need you to do
something for me, something very brave."  She nods, her eyes wide.  "I
need you to run out to the car we came in and hide inside until I come
to get you.  It's that way."  I point left.  "Go straight out the door
and don't stop until you get to the small blue car with the smashed
headlight, OK?  Don't stop for anything."  I pull her towards the door.
"Run."

She takes off running on her little legs and I turn and dart in the
opposite direction, drawing a stiletto as I run.  The faceless aliens
are just now entering the main meeting room.  I don't know what they're
doing here but I have little doubt that they've come to kill Mulder and
Scully.  There's only one thought filling my mind: protect the mother.

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

I turn my head to see who has entered the back door.  Mulder tracks my
movement.  For a split second I think I'm imagining the four faceless
men that stand about five meters away from me.  But I'm not imagining
it.  Mulder jumps to his feet and I'm not far behind, pulling Joshua
with me.  Everyone in the room turns to look at us.  "Federal agent!"
he shouts, holding his open badge high above his head.  "Everyone
evacuate this room now!"

At the same moment, the leading faceless alien sets a woman by the back
door ablaze.  She screams terribly and staggers in the opposite
direction, flailing about like a broken marionette.  Then suddenly
there's a whoosh of a hundred frightened people drawing a collective
breath and the sound of a hundred chairs being scooted back and a
hundred people running for the side exit.  I have a head start towards
the door, but in a moment I'm surrounded by the panicked crowd.  Mulder
and I are swept apart, and there's nothing I can do but head for the
exit along with everyone else.

Everything happens very quickly after that, although I see it all with
horrible, perfect clarity.  Three things happen at once.  DS84 enters
the door behind the four Rebels just as Sheriff Richardson draws his
gun.  Simultaneously, Mulder runs towards the sheriff shouting for him
not to shoot, but his gun is already out of the holster and in firing
position before Mulder has even gone three steps.  The bullet hits one,
but 84 finishes it off before the others see her.

I draw my stiletto, trying to avoid stabbing myself, and scream at
Joshua to run and not look back.  I try to fight my way towards Mulder.
Two Rebels turn on 84 and the other keeps walking towards me, setting
two people ablaze as he goes.  A fire alarm begins its incessant scream
just as the stench of burning flesh hits me with an appalling force.  A
man running past me gags and vomits, and somewhere in front of me a
child screams and goes down under the crush.  I'm surrounded by
jostling arm and elbows.  Suddenly I'm reliving my worst nightmare, the
one where I'm on a bridge watching bodies burn and I can't do anything
to stop it.

My momentary panic diminishes when 84 rips the incendiary device from
the dissolving Rebel and manages to incinerate one while Mulder stabs
the other.  I know the remaining Rebel is coming straight for me.  And
I know that there's no way I can get the stiletto in his neck before he
kills me with that flame thrower.  But somehow it doesn't make me
panic, because I have an idea.  If Mulder and 84 could just distract
the alien for a few seconds I could run from behind and stab him in the
neck.

A disembodied voice that sounds like Mulder is screaming "No" but I
can't tell whether I'm hearing it with my ears or my mind.  84 and
Mulder dart forward in tandem and the alien whirls around so that his
back is towards me for a moment.  I take the chance and run towards the
Rebel.  A sheet of flame shoots out of his device, but they both dive
sideways and are far enough away not to be in great danger. Then
somehow I'm on his back, grabbing the device with one hand and stabbing
him with the other.  He collapses but the flame thrower goes off as he
falls.  I clutch the metal frantically, wrestling it from his limp
hands, feeling the heat of it burn me even as desperately try to point
the nozzle away from my body.  It shoots a gout of orange flame and
catches a row of chairs on fire.  I manage to shut the thing off and
fling it away.

The heat from the fires in various places around the room are already
intense, and black smoke is filling the room.  There must be some sort
of accelerent in the fire I think dazedly, because there's no way it
could spread so quickly without help.  I cough and gag and grab
Mulder's hand, yanking him towards the door as I begin to run.  84 is
beside me, shoving an almost fainting Sheriff Richardson in front of
her. We're the last ones out, except for a small child who was knocked
down and lies dazed on the threshold.  Mulder picks him and keeps
running.  With a shock I realize that it's Joshua.

Cars are tearing out of the parking lot at record speed.  The remnants
of a bad car wreck litter the quickly emptying parking lot, and in a
flash I recognize Dr. Carlin from the clinic, crouched over one victim
who is collapsed over the steering wheel of her car, head lolling
awkwardly and face covered in blood.

The scene barely registers before I'm scanning the area frantically,
expecting to see more Rebels at any moment.  I feel 84's hands on my
shoulders, but I throw them off, and stagger right into Mulder's bulky
form.  As I push away, I realize how badly my hands hurt.  I'm
horrified at the sight of my palms, now blistered and raw.  Gritting my
teeth, I pull off my wedding ring and put it in my pocket, thinking to
get it off now before my hands swell.  My face feels stiff and baked,
like I have a bad sunburn. Mulder is frantic, shaking my shoulder with
his free hand and asking if I'm hurt.

"Do you think more are coming?" I shout above the din, ignoring his
question for the time being.  Black smoke pours out of the open doors
of the building. I'd forgotten how loud a fire could be.

He shakes his head.  "I don't think so," he answers loudly.  Then he
catches a glimpse of my hands, and grabs one of my wrists.  I cry out
inadvertently, and bite back a sob.  In a rush of pain I suddenly can't
stop feeling him and our pain all blends together in a horrible clatter
inside my mind so that I can't tell if I'm me or him.  "Scul-lee."  The
way he says my name snaps me back to myself and I yank my wrists away,
fighting for mental control.  "There's nothing you can do for me now,"
I insist, trying rather ineffectively to hide my hands under a flap of
my jacket.  "Just get 84 to look at Joshua!"  He opens his mouth to
protest, but I don't need him to tell me what he's going to say because
somehow I can hear it in my head.  He's interrupted from further
argument by a terrified child's scream.

84 is pulling a wailing Katlyn out of our battered blue car.  She
awkwardly lifts her and tries to balance the child on her hip.  I don't
know how Katlyn got in there, but 84 must have done some quick thinking
earlier.  The girl continues to weep inconsolably, and it irks me that
she doesn't even know how to comfort a crying child.

"What about GenCorp?  Do you think any were sent to destroy the vaccine
work?" Mulder asks me, stroking Joshua's hair with one hand and
supporting his backside with the other.  The boy's eyes are wide and
terrified, but he is silent as ever.

I hadn't thought of it until this moment.  "I think we just need to get
out of here for now.  Get the children to safety and then go to
GenCorp."  All this shouting is killing throat; I feel like I'm
screaming on raw vocal cords.  In unspoken agreement we move further
into the parking lot and away from the building.  Far above my head a
window in the second story explodes from the heat; the glass shatters
and falls onto the ground.

"Agreed."

Close by, I hear the crackle of a police radio, and turn in surprise.
I'd forgotten that Sheriff Richardson was even here.  "Emergency
situation in progress," he rasps.  "We have a fire at city hall,
multiple serious injuries.  Get whoever's on shift down here now!"

He hangs up the CB and leans heavily on the car door.  "You two seem to
know what's going on.  Care to inform me?"  He coughs convulsively.

"Someone wasn't happy with the vaccine work," Mulder says evenly.
"We've met up with these...mercenaries before, but didn't think they'd
find us so soon.  We think more may be at GenCorp, trying to put an end
to the vaccine distribution."

The sheriff coughs again, looking suddenly very old and tired.  "I
don't have enough people to handle the situation here and send more to
GenCorp," he says.  "All that's left is a skeleton fire crew and one
doctor and two nurses.  The only people that weren't here tonight were
the fire crew."

"We're federal agents.  We can check on the situation at GenCorp."

The sheriff frowns and shrugs briefly.  "It's not like I can stop you.
Just don't do anything stupid," he says pointedly.  "I don't want to
see any more people die tonight."

Mulder nods, then speaks softly into Joshua's ear, his voice so quiet
that I can barely hear it.  "Joshua, we have to leave for a little
while, but we'll be back very soon.  I need you to stay here and take
care of your sister. You'll be safe with Sheriff Richardson.  Just wait
in his car."

The boy nods and his lungs hitch awkwardly in a dry sob as Mulder
places him in the police vehicle.  DS84 puts Katlyn beside her brother,
touching their foreheads in turn.  By the time she closes the door,
both of them are asleep.

There's never any question about whether or not she should come with
us.  She just gets in the back seat and silently buckles her seatbelt
as Mulder speeds out of the parking lot at an amazing velocity.
There's no way I can buckle my seat belt with my blistered hands, and
no way I can brace myself as I'm slammed sideways against the door when
Mulder makes a sharp left onto the main road.  The pain is hitting me
in fierce red waves now, burning and intense, searing my lungs and
hands and arms all at once.  If I'm hurting this bad by the time we
arrive at GenCorp, I'm not going to be much good to anyone.  I
concentrate on trying not to groan, and bite the inside of my mouth
until I taste the blood.

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

>From "A History of Colonization" by DS84, first edition, 2060:

"Page 81:
Nearly all of the American Overseers had been killed by the Resistance,
and world-wide many more were killed after the first attempts at
colonization.  Certain important individuals remained, though I learned
later there was much disagreement over what to do about the Scully
contingency, and that three Overseers were killed by the Head.  This
left little of what Mulder termed the 'international conspiracy' in
existence.  All that remained were the warring alien nations."

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

I sit down on the curb and pull out the familiar pack of Morleys,
drawing out a cigarette and lighting it without even looking.  It's
sort of ironic, I think, that I should be smoking when GenCorp, the
building across the street from me, is going up in flames.  I'm just
beginning to get worried when Krycek emerges from a side door at a
quick pace, pulling off his oxygen mask as he jogs across the block to
where I sit.  The area around his mouth and nose is white, but the rest
of his face is grimy with ash and sweat.

"Report," I say, producing a fairly impressive smoke ring.  The wind
takes it away before I can admire my handiwork.

"The four Rebels have been terminated."

"Dr. Linden and his colleagues?"

"Dead, unfortunately.  All three were cornered and burned together in
the central lab area."

I nod, thinking that they can be replaced fairly easily.  Distribution
is going well, but this is still a setback.  Almost more of a setback
than the loss of the high containment facility in Wyoming.

I spot a familiar battered blue car racing down the road towards us at
a fast clip.  Krycek instinctively backs into the shadows between the
two buildings, and I scramble to my feet and follow him.  The car
screeches to a halt and two people jump out.  One opens the passenger
door and a third emerges.  They all stare at the building and don't see
us.

Mulder starts forward.  "Mulder no!" Scully says, putting out a hand
but making no move to touch him.

He turns and swears loudly.  "They got here first," he nearly shouts.

"Yes they did," I say, walking towards them and startling them all.

"CGB Spender," Mulder spits out.  "Why am I not surprised to see you
here."

I see he hasn't changed much in regards to his attitude towards me.
"The Rebels arrived here before we could stop them, unfortunately, and
killed your colleagues" I say, puffing benignly at my cigarette, and
putting my hands in my pockets.

Mulder strides up and quicker than thought, snatches the cigarette out
of my mouth with his left hand while drawing a gun with his right.  I
make no move to stop him, even with the cold metal pressing into my
forehead.

"You have the rest of your life to tell me what's going on here old
man," he pants, his breath hot and puffing over my face.

"It's like he said." I hear Krycek's voice from somewhere behind me.
"We came to stop the Rebels from torching the place, but we got here
too late to do anything but terminate the perpetrators."

DS84 draws Scully's gun from the holster and points it at Krycek before
I can blink.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Mulder asks incredulously.

"Not really," Krycek replies.  In my peripheral vision I can see him,
hand unarmed and upraised.  "Shall we dispense with the game playing
for now and have a little chat?"

"About what?" Scully asks.

My eyes flit over her body.  She's in bad shape, especially her hands,
but I'm pretty sure it's nothing that 84 can't take care of.  I'm more
concerned that the smoke inhalation will be harmful to the developing
fetus.

"The child, of course," I reply.  The pressure on my temple increases
and I imagine Mulder's finger tightening on the trigger.  Just a tiny
bit more force on that trigger and my gray matter will be splattered
all over wall behind me.

"Mulder," she says sharply.  The weight of the gun lets up a little; he
seems distracted by her reaction.

"How did you know I was pregnant?" she asks.  Her eyes glitter brightly
with pain and a thin sheen of sweat covers her forehead, but there's a
new element in her expression.  I wonder at this difference I see in
her.  There's a strength inside her that was always present before, but
has now changed into something more like granite than tempered steel.

"Your offspring is very important," I say, watching for the opportunity
to step back from Mulder, but knowing that the time is not quite right.
Scully does it for me, pushing Mulder aside with a grimace and coming
to stand in front of me.  Mulder's gun is still pointed in the general
direction my head, though.

"Why did they come to kill us?" she asks, her voice low and menacing.
Deadly.  I've never seen this side of Scully before, though I've read
about it in her service records.

"This particular faction of the Rebels has no wish to prevent
colonization," I say, trying to decide quickly how much to tell her.
"They're actually working against their own nation to side with the
Colonists."

"And they want to kill us because of our work with the vaccination?"
She looks puzzled, as if this can't possibly be the entire answer.

"Partially," I agree.

"What else?"

"Your child."

"Why?" A single word, but there is a universe of meaning carried in its
depths.

"There are some things I simply could not prevent," I reply, indicating
the burning building with one hand, trying to avoid her question.

Mulder lets out a derisive snort of laughter.  "Don't avoid the
question," he says evenly.

"The child is important because any offspring of two vaccinated
individuals has a high probability of natural resistance to the alien
virus."  That at least is true.

"And?" Scully prods verbally, her eyes probing mine like gray
searchlights in the night.

"There is no 'and,'" I say calmly, enunciating each word with an
affronted tone.  She clearly doesn't believe me.

"Why is this child important to the Project?" she asks, mimicking my
clipped enunciation.  Scully is more like Mulder now, her ability to
find the heart of a matter heightened by all those years with her
partner.  She knows the child wouldn't be important to the Colonists if
it wasn't important to the Project.

Even though no one would ever believe it, I do get tired of dealing in
deceit and obfuscation.  So I decide to take a chance.  "Any child of
yours and Mulder would likely be a major assent to a resistance
movement organized against a second attempt at colonization," I say
truthfully, trying to gauge both their reactions at once.

"But we have a vaccine," Mulder says.

I laugh shortly.  "Don't you know that the aliens could just kill us
all if they find out we have the vaccine?  There are quicker ways to
die than the virus."

A tumult of emotion passes across Scully's face in the space of two
seconds, starting with astonishment and giving way to anger.  Her
expression hardens.  Then suddenly, she draws herself up to her full
height and spits in my face.  Turning on one heel, she stalks back to
the waiting car.

Mulder waits a few moments then backs away, gun still out and pointing
towards me.  84 is the last to go, looking at me with what might be a
questioning expression, but tinged with something more.  I think it
might be hate.  I've never seen that emotion before in a hybrid, and
somehow, that frightens me.  I know then that my control over her is
broken forever, though maybe I lost it long ago.  Her loyalty lies with
Scully, as do all those who know her truly.  Even me.  Soon the time
will come when I can no longer protect her.  I just hope 84 will
continue to do so.


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

1 am, Day 55

A soft knock at the door startles me.  I look up from my
contemplation of Scully's sleeping figure, and see 84 glide to
the door through the darkness.  She checks the peephole and waves
me off, but I still keep my hand near my holster.

Light slants into the room as the door opens, and I recognize
Joanna's voice.  "I'm just checking to make sure Dana is all
right," she says, her voice soft in the quiet hallway.

"She's sleeping now," 84 replies.  There's a moment of silence.

"You're worried about her for some other reason, aren't you?" she
asks knowingly.  I get up from my place on the bed's edge and
walk to the door.

"What makes you say that?" I reply.

She shrugs and flicks one braid over her shoulder.  "Hello Mr.
Federal Agent," she says, regarding me with new interest.  "She's
pregnant, isn't she?"

"Did she tell you?" 84 asks.

"Liz," I admonish sharply.

"No, it's OK," Joanna says, trying to soothe me.   "It's not like
I haven't seen it a hundred times before.  I can always tell when
a woman's pregnant, sometimes even before she knows."  She nods
briskly.  "And your wife there has been pregnant since before you
arrived at my place."

I do some quick thinking, and I'm pretty sure we can trust her.
"Have you told anyone else this?" I ask.

She shakes her head.  "No one."

"Then don't.  Dana and I may be in some danger, and we're trying
to keep our whereabouts quiet."  Her eyes widen.  "Don't worry,
we'll be out of here as soon as Dana gets some rest."

"This has something to do with those killings tonight," she says
wisely, studying me with dark eyes.

"Yes," I reply.  "But you don't have anything to fear.  Those who
were looking for us are all dead now."  I say it with more
confidence than I feel, but when I'm done, I have the strangest
feeling that it's the complete truth.  Maybe it's just wishful
thinking.

"I'll leave you to sleep then," she says.  "I was really worried
when you came back so late tonight.  Anyone can see that Dana is
a special woman.  You be sure and take care of her."

84 closes the door behind her and leans on the door frame.  I
resume my position, sitting next to Scully on the bed.

"There's something I need to tell you," 84 says in that strange
calm way of hers.

Now I'm worried.  "About what?"

"Yesterday," she says, sitting down in the lone seat by the bed,
"the head Overseer came to see me."  The room is dark except for
light from a streetlight that filters in through the window
blinds.  It casts striped shadows onto her face, and lends to its
soft curves a tigress-like aspect.

"The Head Overseer?" I'm not sure who she's talking about.

"The smoking man.  I think you know him as CGB Spender," she
clarifies.

My mouth hangs open, but she continues, placid as ever.  "He
drove me to the beach and told me some things about the Project
that I didn't know before.  He told me to protect Scully.  I
should have known something was going to happen soon, but I was
waiting to speak with you privately.  I'm sorry I was too late."

My thoughts are spinning.  The smoking man, talking with 84?
Trying to protect Scully?  "What else did he say?"

"He said that the Resistance forces are severely weakened, that
the residual radiation is detrimental to theirs and the colonists
physiology.  He was expecting trouble, some sort of last
desperate attempt by the Rebel factions that sided with the
Colonists, and told me to protect her at all costs."

I shake my head uncomprehendingly.  "So you know this man from
before?"

She nods.  "Yes, he was the head project Overseer at our
facility."

Suddenly things click into place.  "But you don't trust him."

"No."

"I don't think that coming to me earlier would have prevented any
of this," I wave my hand to indicate Scully.  "There's no way we
could have expected a Rebel strike at a public place, anyway."

She reaches out and touches Scully's dirt and tear streaked face,
a brief but gentle touch.  Tilting her head a little, she listens
a while before withdrawing her hand.  "She's going to be just
fine," she tells me.  Her soft eyes regard me enigmatically in
the darkness, so much like Scully, yet so unlike.  Partly her
daughter, yet partly something else entirely.

"Thank you, 84," I say softly.  "Thank you for protecting her."

She sits up very straight then, looking for a moment so much like
Scully, but lacking her soul.  "She was hurt badly tonight.
Obviously I wasn't protecting her well enough."  There's not
bitterness or guilt in her tone; just a flat statement of facts
as she sees them.  "And others died as well."

"No."  I shake my head emphatically.  "Things would have been
much worse tonight if not for your quick thinking."  She opens
her mouth to disagree, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.
"No, I don't want to hear any more about it.  You're not to blame
for this."  There are several long moments of silence.  "I know
you must be tired, so why don't you get some rest?  Sleep at
least until the morning."

She sits very still for a moment, hands clasped in her lap almost
primly, then pads to the adjacent room with cat-like grace.  I
watch her for a moment, then return my gaze to my wife.  Gently,
I run my fingers through her tangled hair, separating the strands
and stroking them over and over until the hair framing her face
lies smooth and straight.  For a moment, my hand rests on her
forehead, and I feel a shadow of her presence whispering through
my mind.  I can tell she's restless and worried, even in the
healing sleep.  I try my best to think soothing thoughts, and
whisper in her ear that everything's going to be OK.  I don't
know if she can hear me, but I feel a little better after I say
it.

Suddenly I feel very tired myself, almost as if I was being
dragged down into healing sleep.  I'd refused 84's ministrations
earlier, having suffered no more than scorching on my hands and
arms, and a slight sore throat.  I didn't want to be healed
because I was hoping to stay up and keep watch, in case any other
unwelcome visitors decided to show up tonight before we had a
chance to change locations.  But I know now that I can't possibly
stay awake, and anyway, I don't think anyone will be bothering us
tonight.  Not if what 84 says is true, and somehow, I think it
is.  I yawn and pull off my shirt and pants, crawling into bed
with all the grime and sweat of the night still on me.  Scully
would probably be mad, only she's just as dirty as I am.  For
once I fall asleep quickly, though I have the strangest dream.  I
dream that I'm being chased by a crowd of faceless men.  In the
dream, I'm running so hard that I can barely breath, and am
terrified for the baby growing inside me.

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


When I wake up, Mulder is watching me.  My first thought is that
I should have never let him come to bed without a shower.  He's
filthy.  His hair is stringy with grime and his face and arms are
powdered with soot.  Soot.  That brings back the events of last
night to my memory with a rush and I sit up quickly, one hand
over my belly, my heart hammering triple time in my throat.

"You're okay," he soothes, reaching for me.  "The baby is fine."
I slump back against the headboard.  "How do you feel?"

I think for a moment, and wiggle my fingers experimentally.
"Stiff," I reply, reaching up to feel my face.  "But no pain."  I
glance at the lamp stand.  My wedding ring is sitting there,
clean and bright; the gold cross necklace rests beside it.  I
slip the ring back on my finger.

Mulder breathes out a long exhalation of relief.  "84 does good
work."

I suddenly catch sight of his arms.  They look sunburned, his
golden skin tinged pink on the undersides.  I tentatively brush
my fingers just above the skin; the hair looks like it's been
singed.  "You must have been closer than I thought," I say,
referring to the fire.  "And you didn't let 84 heal you."

He shakes his head.  "I'm not hurt.  It doesn't feel worse than a
sunburn.  I wanted to be awake so that I could make sure you were
all right."

I pause for a moment, thinking.  "How many died last night?"

"Six, we think."

Six.  Six lives gone forever, because they were in the way.  I
feel glad that it wasn't me, but a pang of guilt follows the
thought.  I try to rub the thought from my mind, fingers pushing
at my forehead, and my fingertips come away caked in grease and
dirt.  "I'm going to take a shower."  Shower first, think later.

"Me too," he agrees.

I slide out of bed and pad across the cool floor.  To my
surprise, Mulder follows me into the bathroom.  "Mulder," I say
warningly as I pick up my toothbrush, "There's not room for two
in here."

He just shrugs and proceeds to crowd me as he brushes his teeth.
When I'm done, he switches off the water and stands looking at me
for a moment.  I open my mouth to protest, but he puts a finger
on my lips.  "Shhhh," he says.  His slender fingers unbutton my
blouse with great dexterity, and I decide to let him do this.
There's really no stopping him and anyway, I like it.  The blouse
is tugged off and dropped on the floor along with a kiss on my
shoulder.  Then the bra follows, and two more kisses.  Finally,
he hitches down my panties and I step out of them and into the
shower.  I decide there's nothing particularly erotic about what
he's doing, not this time.  It's just his very sweet and
comforting way of reconnecting with me after the events of last
night.

It's a tight fit in the small shower, but Mulder puts me in
front.  The hot water feels so good running over my dirty skin.
He lathers my hair expertly, and rubs me down with a soapy
washcloth while I'm rinsing my tangled hair.  I feel like a snake
sloughing off its skin as the grime comes away.  He combs
conditioner through my hair, just the way I like it, and while
that is rinsing, he washes himself.  When I'm done, I lean
against the warm shower wall, getting splattered by sudsy water
as he rinses off his hair, enjoying the sight of water running
down his beautiful body.  He pushes back clean hair from his
forehead and opens his eyes, smiling a little as I watch him.
Abruptly, he pulls me forward into the stream of water, hands
encircling my waist as he sinks down onto his knees.  For a
moment I wonder what he's doing, but then he presses his face
gently into my belly, and I understand.  "Hello, baby," he
whispers into my abdomen, placing a soft kiss on the pink skin of
my stomach.  A thrill runs through my blood, despite all the fear
I have over this child, and the terrible price that has already
been paid for its life.  This is a baby, mine and Mulder's.  His
arms snake around my backside and he squeezes me in a tender
embrace.

"I love you, best beloved," I whisper, running my fingers through
his sopping wet hair.  He looks up at me then, blinking through
the water, but I can't tell what he's thinking.

"I love you, too," he says, giving me a firm kiss just above my
navel, then reaches behind me to turn off the water.

He won't let me dry myself.  Instead, he pats me down with my
towel. He even combs my hair, working out the remaining knots in
a way that's more like a scalp massage than an exercise in
detangling.  It's very relaxing, and I start to feel sleepy again
by the time he's done.

When we emerge from the bathroom, safely ensconced in towels, I'm
surprised to see 84 making our bed.  A pile of dirty sheets lies
on the floor.  "The sheets were filthy," she says, straightening
out the bedspread.  "I'm going to get breakfast, but wanted to
check on you before I go downstairs.  May I?"  She extends her
hands.  I place my palms in hers.

For a moment she closes her eyes and tilts her head to one side,
listening to something I can't hear.  "You're doing just fine,"
she says, giving my hands a slight squeeze before releasing them.
"Just be sure and get something to eat soon."  She trails out the
door and locks it behind her.

"Well," I say, furrowing my brow a little.

Mulder purses his lips and looks a bit worried.  "Did you need to
sleep some more?"

I shake my head.  "We need to get out of here soon," I reply,
shedding the towel and wiggling into clean panties and jeans.

"I have a feeling that those were the last of the errant Rebel
faction for now," he says.

"What makes you say that?"  Normally, Mulder is very cautious
when it comes to my safety, though he has little regard for his
own.

"84 has received some inside information about the Resistance
yesterday that was only confirmed last night."

My mouth frames an unspoken question as I pull a t-shirt over my
head, but Mulder answers before I say anything out loud.

"I didn't know about it until we came back here last night, but
I'm sure she's telling the truth and that her information is
correct."  He zips and buttons his jeans and flops down onto the
bed.  "The Rebel forces are severely weakened by the internal
strife as well as the atmospheric radiation.  I think we have
nothing much to fear from them or from the colonists, at least
for a while.  This last strike was some sort of a last ditch
effort."

"You sound fairly confident."  I sit down on the bed and scrunch
my knees close to my chest.

He laces his hands behind his head and looks at me thoughtfully.
"I've done a lot of thinking since last night.  I believe the
smoking man really does want to protect you, albeit for his own
purposes.  And because he is so intent on protecting you, I don't
think he was lying to us."  He pauses and rubs his lower lip in
the way he does when he's processing a new idea.  "I wonder about
this child.  What if she is destined for greatness?"

"She?" I query, weakly attempting to deflect his question.  All
this talk about destiny is frightening.  How long have They been
watching us?  I've known for a long time that my placement with
Mulder was no coincidence.  But what if They always had plans for
us that were much deeper than my wildest imaginings?

"I just have a feeling," he says, eyes crinkling into a half
smile, though his lips stay set in a straight line.  He moves
quickly back to core of our discussion, his words echoing my
thoughts eerily.  "It makes me wonder how long the Smoking Man
has been watching us.  Did they hope for this child all along?"

I shiver and hug my knees tight, closing my eyes and clamping my
teeth together to stop their sudden chattering.  I'm so afraid
for this child.  It's like this nightmare I have every night,
where I'm running and running, knowing that They are after me but
I can't get away.  I feel Mulder's arms encircle me, pulling me
down beside him.

We lie in silence, and I think about all the things that have
happened to me since I met Mulder.  I think about how we were
watched so carefully from the beginning, and maybe from long
before that.  I think about my abduction and Melissa and Emily
and all the years we worked on the x-files.  Even after all those
cases, six years worth, I never did feel like I had a true
purpose in life.  Mostly, I felt like I was floating from case to
case, adrift and disconnected, building up nothing more
substantial than additional darkness inside myself.  Gradually, I
begin to see where I came from and where I am now.  I'm at a
corner in my life, a turning onto another street that will take
me far from where I've been before.  I feel as if the whole of my
life has lead up to this turning, that this is what I was born to
do.  Despite all my fears, I can't deny the ringing affirmation
in my spirit to Mulder's words.  *What if this child is destined
for greatness?*  What if this is my purpose?

Slowly, this realization makes it's way from my mind to my heart,
and little by little, I become reconciled to the fear and
darkness that lives inside me.  I unclench my teeth and stretch
my arms out along Mulder's body.  Placing a hand on his cheek, I
turn his face to look directly at me.  "I'm not afraid anymore,"
I whisper.

His hazel eyes are fierce and molten as they gaze into my soul.
"Neither am I," he says his voice full of conviction.  "Neither
am I."

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

I shouldn't be surprised that Sheriff Richardson is waiting for
us downstairs.  He looks exhausted.  I doubt he's gotten any
sleep and his close-cut dark hair is gray with ash.  Joanna is
feeding him leftovers from earlier this morning.  There's a bowl
of peeled, hardboiled eggs and a tray of thick slices of toast on
the table.  84 sits across from him, eating with rapt
concentration.

Scully and I set to, and I start spreading butter and strawberry
preserves on the bread.  I have no idea where Joanna got real
butter and this many eggs, but they are a welcome addition to my
empty stomach.

There isn't much prelude from the Sheriff.  "I really need to get
a statement from you two," he says in a raspy voice, swallowing
his last bit of buttered toast.  "Three people died last night at
City Hall, plus what we guess are the three doctors at GenCorp.
I know you weren't in any shape to give a statement last night,
which is why I waited until this morning to talk to you."

Breakfast disappears as I give a brief narrative of last night's
events, leaving out the part about the smoking man and Krycek.
The sheriff is less disbelieving in the end than I thought he
would be.  Apparently, he'd heard (along with the rest of the
nation) about the burning deaths at Skyland Mountain, and our
story fit with that scenario.  Neither was he skeptical that
someone would be trying to prevent the vaccine distribution.
Where his doubts entered was in our assertion that there would be
no more trouble from the "assassins," as he called them.

"How can you be certain there'll be no more trouble from them?"
he asks me, gulping down the last of his glass of water, and
wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"I have an old source at the FBI," I hedge, trying to get around
this difficulty as best I can.  "It can't hurt to be prepared,
but I'm not expecting more entanglements with the assassins any
time soon."

He looks doubtful, but too tired to argue much more.  "I'm going
to drop these reports by the station and get some rest.  My men
and I have been out all night, trying to account for everyone.
If I don't see you all again before you move on, good luck."

He shakes my hand and then Scully's, pausing confusedly for a
moment to gaze at her hand.  For a moment, I think he's going to
ask how her hands got better overnight, then he thinks better of
it and shrugs a little.  He absently pats 84 on shoulder and
waves goodbye to Joanna.

"Mmmph," I say when he's gone, running my fingers through my
rapidly growing and rather wild hair.

"Well," says Scully, looking at me thoughtfully.  "Where are we
going?"

**************
>From "A History of Colonization" by DS84, first edition 2060.

"Mulder and Scully eventually establish a permanent residence in
southwest Nevada, where the Toiyabe National Forest meets the
Excelsior Mountains.  Both of them found jobs in a small family
practice clinic that was more than happy to take an extra doctor
and a child psychologist.  It was in those mountains that the
ground work was laid for the future resistance.  Little by little
they won the trust and loyalty of those around them.  Of course,
they were not aware of what they were doing at the time.  But
when the time came for resistance, all the players were in the
perfect position for the coming battle."

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

Month 10, day 18

I awaken to the sounds of birds chirping outside the window.  I
can tell without looking at the clock that it's still very early.
The sun has probably just risen, but it's damp and overcast
outside and the sun isn't visible.  Today is my day off from the
clinic. I take a few minutes to watch Mulder sleep, his face
serene and more at rest with his inner self than he was before we
moved to the mountains.  I reach out a finger and almost rub it
over the delicious stubble on his cheek, but resist the urge.  He
needs the sleep.  I roll off the bed, suppressing a chuckle as I
imagine the mattress tipping over from the sudden weight shift,
spilling Mulder haplessly onto the floor.  I grab my oversized
sweater and elastic pants, eager for their warmth, and pull them
on.

I'm glad we moved to the mountains, I muse idly, padding about
the open, airy house to start my early morning routine.  The area
is so beautiful, even though it was too warm this past summer.
We bought the house and it's accompanying property for virtually
nothing, a sad but convenient consequence of the aborted attempt
at colonization.

I set the coffee maker perking.  I crave real coffee, but decaf
will do for now.  My baby girl is awake and kicking this morning.
"Whoa, there," I admonish, patting my huge stomach.  "Breakfast
is coming soon."

I pull out a loaf of bread from its plastic container and cut a
big piece.  Behind me I hear the wooden floorboards creak, and 84
joins me in the kitchen.  I cut her a slice as well, and spread
peanut butter liberally on mine and jelly on hers.  Wandering to
the dining area, I pour us both coffee, gazing out the glass
windows into a gray, yet beautiful morning.

"Mulder's still asleep?" she asks after a few sips of coffee.

"Uh-huh," I reply, grinning smugly to myself.  I think I tired
him out last night.  I may be as huge as a house but that doesn't
stop me from ravenously consuming a Mulder snack when the mood
hits me.  Which is pretty often, especially when you consider the
size of my stomach.  "Is today your day on?"

She nods.  84 works mostly similar shifts to mine at the clinic.
Once I obtained my license to practice, I was able to produce a
technician job for her.  She could have passed the medical
boards, but told me emphatically that she only wanted to do
diagnostic work in a lab.  I think she likes to stay in the
background as much as possible.  The clinic doctors know what she
is, but had surprisingly little difficulty in accepting her,
though they're still not aware of her healing abilities.  My, how
things have changed.

84 goes back to her room so that she can finish getting ready for
work.  I pull down my jacket from a peg near the door and fling
it open, breathing in a lungful of fresh air.  The air is cold
and damp, definitely not typical winter weather for this area.  I
wander to the herb garden.  Of course by now the shrubs have lost
their leaves, and the herbs are long-gone, but I still sniff
appreciatively as I step inside its friendly walls.  This is my
favorite place on our property.  The garden's centerpiece is a
solemn marble mermaid.  She presides over the garden with a
queenly air, while brown and gray stones of varying shades
radiate out from the center like the spokes on a wheel.

I finally stop my meandering and sit on the wooden bench on the
far south side, gazing thoughtfully at the memorial stone that
rests near my feet. I've read the words engraved on its surface a
thousand times, and every time I feel a pang of grief.  "In
loving memory of John Fitzgerald Byers, Ringo Langly, and Melvin
Frohike."  I can't count how many times I think of them every
day, and my family as well.  We finally received word from the
national data base about their officially recorded deaths about a
month after we arrived here.  My family also has a memorial stone
on the north side of the garden, but I decide to skip that visit
for now and go back inside because my feet are getting cold.

Just as I'm getting to my feet, a rather strong Braxton-Hicks
contraction strikes me.  I sit back down promptly and practice
breathing until it passes.  I've been having a lot of them
lately, but 84 assures me that everything is fine.

When I get back to the house, Mulder is up and sipping coffee.
He has a very endearing case of bed head, and I ruffle his hair
as I pass the dining table.  "How are we this morning?" he asks,
referring to baby and I.

"Fine," I reply.  "I had another Braxton-Hicks contraction this
morning, but it's nothing..."  Another one hits, and this time
it's more insistent.  Mulder jumps to his feet, looking so pale
and alarmed that I almost laugh.  But I can't laugh, not until
this is over.  I wave him off.  "Just a little practice
contraction," I pant.  "Maybe I need to lie back down."

Twenty minutes later I know this isn't practice.  This is the
real thing.  The contractions hit regularly every five minutes
and my body tells me that soon they'll be much closer together.
"Mulder?"  He virtually runs into the bedroom, pulling on jeans
and socks at the same time, his hair still dripping and wet from
his shower.

"Is it time?" he asks, hope, anxiety, and tension all layered in
his voice.

"Mulder, women have been having babies for thousands of years.
Just get my overnight bag and call 84.  I'll be ready to go in a
minute."

As I hurry to the bathroom, I hear his excited chatter to 84.
"Yes, they're five minutes apart!  We're on our way!"  The clinic
is a ten minute drive, so I know we'll make it in plenty of time.

He virtually pulls me towards front door as soon as I emerge from
the bathroom.  "Wait," I say, pausing on the threshold of the
front door as he fumbles with the house keys.  "I think you
forgot something."

"What?" He looks panicked.

I reach up and pull his mouth down to mine.  "This," I say, and
kiss him hard on the mouth.  His eyes are shining and bright
after the kiss, but still a little anxious.  I lick my lips and
smile at the taste of him that lingers there, allowing him to tug
me over the threshold and into the waiting car.

"We're going to have a baby," he informs me, his voice filled
with wonder.

We've come full circle, Mulder and I, from grief to joy and back
again.  But I would go through all the sorrow and pain again if I
knew this was where I'd be in the end.  "Yes," I echo.  "We're
going to have a baby."

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

"A History of Colonization" by DS84, 2060.

"page 150
Epilogue:
Faith Melissa Mulder was born 10 months and 18 days after the
first attempt at colonization.  Her first name comes from an
ancient Bible verse that Scully liked.  "Now faith is being sure
of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews
1:11).  Those familiar with Scully family history will know that
Melissa is the given name of Dana Scully's older sister.  The
child was extraordinary from the very beginning.  Mulder knew she
was destined for great things, and Scully believed as well,
though they never told Faith of the Project's hopes for her until
long after she had fulfilled her destiny.  Eventually, she
married Joshua Koening, the boy that Scully saved the night of
the Rebel attack in Grayland.  But that is another story all
together..."

~the end~

*********************
"The past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is
and has been is but the twilight of the dawn."  --H.G. Wells

All feedback will be cherished at: neustrom@omni.cc.purdue.edu or
lordmadhammer@hotmail.com

You can visit all my fanfic at:
http://omni.cc.purdue.edu/~neustrom

Acknowledgments:  Thanks always and forever to my tireless
editors Claudia and Susan.  I'd never write anything decently
without their help.  You ladies are the best! Plus, Claudia let
me borrow an unused idea from her (I admit it, the history book
idea was hers and hers alone!).  Mulder snacks weren't my
idea either.  I read the phrase somewhere but I can't remember
the story name.  Thanks to Lori and Obsidian
for the last minute beta reads and quick turnover on chapters.
I'd also like to acknowledge JW, Joy, and the consortiumx for
all the scientific information, I'd never have thought up half
this stuff without help!  I've been remiss all along by not
thanking those who archive my work.  Therefore, my eternal thanks
go to Gaila, Amy, Julie, Jan, Regina, RaeLynn, Darkstyder, and
anyone else who archives my stories.  Your enthusiasm and
encouragement mean so much to me.  Of course, many thanks to
everyone who wrote feedback and patiently waited for each
chapter.  I never meant for this to be a series, but the
readers persuaded me otherwise.  I've had so much fun writing
this universe, but it had to end somewhere.  I hope it was as
much fun to read as it was for me to write!

Disclaimer: Does anyone really think I invented these characters?
Didn't think so.  Obviously, Mulder and Scully belong to each
other.