Title: Reinventing the Future II: Asunder
Author: Lilith
Rating:  R
Category:  SA MSR
Spoilers: Mytharc up to and including the movie
Summary:  Mulder, Scully, and their Offspring take WMM's advice 
to heart.  The best-laid plans of mice and little-green-men my yet go 
awry.  Not everything dies, but to everything there is a season.
Archiving:  Ask me.
Feedback:  God yes.  ladylilith@geocities.com
Notes, Disclaimer below.

"The best way to predict the future is to invent it."
"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."



	Today I am 265 years old.
	Today I buried you.
	Today I will die.
	
	I have been with you for 237 years.
	There is no life without you.
	
	


	We never know when he will drop by, so we don't think 
about it much.  These days, we have so many other things to think 
about.  I always smell him first, that funny smell that none of the 
other mothers or fathers have.
	Smoke.
	"Hello, Father," I say, as I have been trained to say to all of 
them.  And this one, in yet another difference, seems to have no 
other name.   The ones that Father Mulder calls him are not 
appropriate to address him in person.
	"DKS-Six.  Is the current Offspring still acceptable?"
	I glance at JFByers 200.   Or `John' as Mother and Father 
call him.  They insist that `Byers was someone else.'  He is in his 
corner of the main room, tinkering with some outmoded 
audiovisual device, as usual.   I nod unconsciously.  "He is 
different, but Father Mulder likes him."
	"He is very different, he is the only one of his kind left."
	Somehow this does not surprise me.  Keen curiosity is not a 
desirable trait among offspring.   It was bred out of us or squelched 
whenever possible.  The Byers was the first of his 200 line, maybe a 
failed attempt to correct something they could not fix in the earlier 
versions.
	I wait patiently for him to speak again.  To come to the 
point or leaves us alone.  Sometimes this is all he does, drop by and 
stare at me, or the new Offspring he brought on a previous trip.  
The one, this Byers, he is the fifth Offspring since my mother sent 
Kurt 74 away thirty-two years ago, but he has been with us for 
nearly twenty years now.
	He takes a deep drag from that thin white stick and breathes 
the plume out slowly.  It forms a wispy grey circle and evaporates.
	"Bring your mother, Lydia."
	I nod and step backward into the house, knowing he will 
not follow.  He has never entered this house.  His use of my name 
always makes me nervous.    Pausing to listen at the door to 
Mother and Father's room, I discern nothing extraordinary, so I 
chime and enter when summoned.  Mother looks up from her maps, 
wrinkles her nose at the odor I inadvertently carry in,  and frowns.  
"He's here?" she asks.
	Father grips her hand.  "We still don't know what he is, 
Scully," he reminds her.
	She fondles the charm around his neck.  "I don't think we 
ever will, Mulder."
	She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair.  "I suppose 
I'm as ready as I ever will be."
	The smoker and Mother nod at each other in greeting.  He 
smiles at mother and takes out a new cigarette.  "Agent Scully, 
have you seen anyone else smoke in the last two hundred odd 
years?" he asks, sounding almost rhetorical.
	Mother ponders this for a moment.  "No."
	He opens the silver case and gestures to the cylinders inside.  
	"Georgia tobacco," he explains.   "Did you know the 
nuclear power plants in Athens still runs."
	"No nuclear fission plant could still be successfully running 
after all this time."
	He tilts his head slightly and lights one of the cylinders.  "I 
did not say it was a fission plant, Agent Scully."
	I didn't think it was possible.  Mother looks surprised.  Her 
head tilts back slightly as she considers this.  Shadows dance in her 
eyes and I notice a wrinkle over her upper lip. 
	Her mouth opens, but it is Father, now standing beside her, 
that speaks.  "You are making us an offer?"
	"You have always assumed we are on opposite sides, Agent 
Mulder," he replies.  "You have never understood my goals, nor do 
you have my patience."
	Father's back stiffens and Mother places a hand gently on 
his arm.  "If you are setting us up," she begins.
	"If I reported you, the Offspring Governors would clear out 
this quadrant without blinking an eye and blame it on a fault in the 
polymer sheeting."
	Mother looks up at the shielding over the sky. Grey 
surrounds it, in the early morning.  Sometimes at noon it is blue, the 
way I remember from years ago.  My species experiences severe 
allergic reactions to the post-apocalyptic atmosphere outside this 
shield.   Humans adapt, but most Offspring cannot survive it for 
more than a few hours without permanent  damage to their 
respiratory systems, and the Children of Science can not yet make a 
new strain of us who are resistant.
	"Did you think I didn't notice how you managed to recruit 
the dissident Offspring?"  he continues.  "The Offspring Governors 
don't notice because they refuse to recognize such a concept and 
are frankly glad to see them exiled here."
	Father steps forward.  "How can we be sure you know 
anything?  You could be bluffing."
	Smoke streams from his lips into Father's unblinking face.  
"You'll need genetic material, both for creation and for convincing 
the Offspring that the remains of the people you send outside are 
not just piles of dust.   I offer you access."
	"Why are you helping us?"
	Mother looks at me sharply.  I have spoken out of turn.
	He turns to me, grips my chin in his hand, turn it upward.  
"It was your fierceness they wanted, and your loyalty.  Not your 
skepticism, Agent Scully."  He smiles at me, that slow smile that 
hurts my eyes.  "Motives are rarely selfless," is all he says.  "I will 
be back, Agent Scully, soon."
	I can still feel his fingers there, burning like his pale 
cylinders.



          Six is nervous.
          That man has been here today, the one that brought me here 
years ago.  He said to me, "JFByers 200, your new Mother will be 
demanding in ways that are unfathomable to you."  He was right.
	Then again, so is Six, even though she is, in our way, one of 
my kind.  
          I do not understand her.  
          I don't understand them either.  I have lived in this house for 
twenty years, but I don't know them yet.  Their habits are 
perplexing.  Something is happening, and I don't quite know what.   
They are planning something, something incredible.  I think I am 
part of it, just by being here.  For some reason, they want me here.
        They like me, but they don't trust me yet.
	I want them to trust me.


	"We'll have to send her, Mulder.  Who else can we trust?"
	I shake my head.  I don't have a good answer, and I wish I 
did, because I sincerely do not want to send our daughter away.   
	She is our daughter, you know, in every sense but the 
biological.  Through the window,  I can see her valiantly trying to 
turn the harsh soil in the small yard.  Preparing for plants that she'll 
never see, because Scully is right.  As always.   Six has the medical 
knowledge and the experience that will be necessary to pull this off.  
	"What about him?"  I ask, as the Byers hunkers down next 
to Six and hands her some spiky-looking metal stick.  "Does he go, 
or stay?"
	Scully rubs her eyes tiredly and rests her head on the sofa 
arm.  "They might find him useful.   He's very inventive, and I think 
he knows what's going on anyway."
	"Do you trust him, Scully?"
	She smiles at me and extends a hand for me.  "Mulder," she 
sighs.   That settles the issue.  After so many years, we 
communicate with a minimum of words.  I kiss her hand, conveying 
my acceptance.
            "Are we sending Kersh, Lei, and Miramar to supervise?"
	"Yeah.   We'll need more than that though, Scully.   We've 
got enough genetic material for how many convincing deaths?"
	"We can probably send five, and still have plenty of tissue 
left for the work."
	"Are you sure about Wiles 247?   I'm not sure how he 
would react to what we're planning for one half of his family tree."
	She sighs at me.  "Mulder, we don't really know how any of 
them will react once the theory becomes a reality.  But Wiles is 
Meyer's Offspring and I want to send Meyer too."
	"We don't know Meyer, Scully.  I know he's the logical 
choice as a genetic engineer..."
	"But if you can't have someone you trust...."
	I smile at her.  "I want someone I know."
	"Oh, is that the only requirement?" calls a voice at our door.
	As Scully and I turn in surprise, I am aware of Six's 
footsteps on the porch, her voice warning us.   I'm too surprised to 
answer.   The all too familiar man standing in our doorway looks 
almost gnarled with age, and his garb is outrageously old and filthy.  
The robe is probably more for panache than to keep out the light 
spring chill.  However, his cane may be serving a purpose, and he 
leans on it heavily as he grins at us.  
	My Scully rises from the couch and frowns at him.  She 
waves Six away and I catch her eye.   She looks from Scully to me 
and back and reluctantly leaves the porch.   From the corner of my 
eye, I see the Byers take her arm. 
        "Would you like some tea?"
	"No Scully.  I hear that you have more interesting offers 
than beverages to be made."
	 "What exactly are you driving at, Krychek?" I ask.
	He leans on his cane.  "I've come to make you an offer, 
Agent Mulder.  I've come to lead your children to the promised 
land."  He grins, displaying too few teeth.
	"No dice." I spit out.
	He turns on his heel and stumbles toward the door.  "No 
one will believe why the sky falls, Scully."
	Scully catches my eye and I nod.  She draws herself to her 
full height.  "He sent you?"
	His back is still to us when he replies, "Someone has to 
retrieve his tobacco, Agent Scully."  He turns.  "You may not like 
it, but you need me.  I know the way out.  I know the leaders of the 
survivor communities."
	"Why the hell should we trust you?"
	He laughs under his breath at me.  "You shouldn't Mulder, 
but you don't have much choice." 
	Scully walks backward and rests her hand on my shoulder.
	"Six!"




	I've never truly been frightened before.    Yesterday, 
Mother tried to explain to me what would begin this morning.   
Two hours ago, Father roused me roughly from my cot, out of a 
deep healing sleep, and informed me that it was time.  Instead of 
allowing me to don my usual clothing, he led me to Mother's room.  
	Six was still in healing sleep, on Mother and Father's bed, 
Mother laying next to her and gently smoothing hair off Six's face.  
She smiled at me, but her eyes did not copy her mouth.  Mother 
woke her while Father retrieved a large box from the closet.  
	We dressed in odd but comfortable clothing, and Father 
placed a metal object in Six's hand, one I recognized from history 
books as a gun.
	First light was filtering through the clouds when they led us 
from the green house.  "Mother, Father," Six's voice was soft, "this 
may be the last..."
	Our Parents smiled at one another and shook their heads.   
"Don't be so sure, Lydia."
	But I was sure.   I was certain of it once they had bestowed 
their physical affection upon us and walked us to the small group, 
waiting with the bizarre man.   He looks like something from that 
thick book some Mothers and Fathers still read, the one with the 
picture of Father's golden charm on the cover.
	Six walks near me as we follow this Krychek.  We are 
bringing up the rear of the group.  Krychek slows after three hours, 
much to the relief of the others.   Six seems as anxious to continue 
as I do though.  Her eyes flit across the painfully reconstructed 
landscape.
	"Patrol," she hisses, standing quietly.  Krychek meets her 
eyes and nods.   Krychek motions for the others to stay and 
disappears through the brush.  Moment's later he returns, with a 
patroller's weapon on his arm.   No one asks.   We simply follow 
him again, moving I notice, downhill.   The trees end suddenly and 
we stop.
	We are through the shield. 
	We have gone below the shield and into the atmosphere.  
Six takes a deep breath and coughs.   Several others do the same.  
	"You'll get used to it," Krychek calls, and we are moving 
again.  
	Six is not getting used to it.  With every step, her breathing 
becomes more labored, her steps shorter.   Finally, she sways into a 
tree trunk.  Krychek glares and we stop.   The Mothers and Fathers 
seem happy for the rest.   The other Offspring  look exhausted, but 
not as ill as Six.  I think they have all forgotten, or do not know 
that she is much older, and that her immune system was rather 
damaged by the War.
	With a little encouraging she takes a draught of water and 
allows me to take her pack.  "Sorry," she whispers.
	"Do not apologize."
	"Why aren't you affected?"
	"I am.  But I'm a 200.  We are slightly more resistant." For 
now, I think to myself.  In a few hours I'll be as miserable as she is.  
She nods.  "Sit down," I request, and she acquiesces.
	Krychek wanders over to stand behind me.  "She'll be fine.  
You have no idea how resilient Scullies are," he chuckles.  "We 
should be moving.  We'll want to reach the first survivor 
community before sunset."
	Six slips the water bottle back into one of the packs and 
takes a deep breath.  "Let's go."
	"Will it get easier the longer we are out here?"
	She smiles and wraps a hand around my elbow.  "Byers, it 
has to."


	Diluted though it is, the deep colors of the sunset coax my 
eyes open.  Mulder is rousing next to me.  His fingers brush against 
the nape of my neck.  The sweet frission can't quite wipe away the 
odd feeling left by the healing administered by someone other than 
my daughter. 
	His lips replace his hand and I feel myself relaxing into the 
touch.   I am worried about them.   It has been two weeks, and 
we've heard nothing.  It may be several more weeks before 
Krychek can return.  I know this,  I also know there has been no 
word indicating they were captured or stopped before reaching the 
end of the shielding.   That doesn't make it any easier.
	"Scully, they are going to make it," he whispers drowsily in 
my ear.
	I hum in response.  His arms loop around me and I roll onto 
my back so that I can study his young-again face.  "Come `ere," I 
murmur, and thus begins our traditional post-healing ritual.
	Several hours later, I awake again, alone.  Mulder is in the 
kitchen area.  I can smell the eggs and coffee.   Breakfast in bed, 
another ritual, one that I find singularly adorable.   He insisted on 
making it himself, even in the early days when Six insisted that 
cooking was her duty.
	Six.  My daughter.  My Lydia, out there with a man I could 
never trust, a man who may have killed my sister.  A man who may 
have saved our lives, a man who would have killed us without 
flinching.   
	For the umpteenth time, I doubt myself for letting this 
happen, but it was taken out of my hands.  Krychek had the 
knowledge, the smokestack had the resources.  Once again, we fell 
right into their plan like good little pawns.
	The Byers will take care of her.   
	I hope he doesn't have to.
	Why haven't they sent word? Time, we could be running 
out of time.  Worry, wait.  Time pressing down on us.   It won't 
take them long to realize their is a rebellion afoot.  It won't take 
much longer for their help to arrive.
	The Offspring Governors have forgotten that the humans 
they trust, the ones they think stupid enough to help them slaughter 
their people, are the same people that betrayed them with a weak 
vaccine.  A vaccine that allowed us to be rounded up in these 
camps while those outside the shield breed future hosts for the 
aliens.  When the atmosphere is once again clean enough for their 
species to breath, they will be back. 
	Mulder waltzes in with a heavy tray and a goofy smile.   His 
expression changes immediately when he sees mine.  He has seen 
this hopeless expression before, usually when I was on a hospital 
bed, and I can see the old helplessness creeping into his mien.
	He puts the tray to the side and sits on the bed beside me.  
Running his hand over my leg, he seems to weigh his options for a 
moment.  "Scully?"
	"Mulder?"
	He smiles again.  "I think you need a distraction."


	Nothing in the word compares with making love to Scully.  
Even after over fifty years of living together, she still fascinates me.  
In the first few months after she returned to me, I was insatiable.  
177 years and suddenly she was with me, and she was mine.  The 
days were interminable, and when she returned from teaching her 
class, I had the overwhelming enthusiasm of an ecstatic puppy 
greeting his master.
	Somedays, I would greet her at the door, hoist her into my 
arms, and rush to the bedroom.  Despite Six's curious glances, 
despite Scully's amused expression.  In the middle of the night, I'd 
wake her, sometimes just to hear her voice.  Nights when she 
would leave the bed in the wee hours, for a walk, for a glass of 
water, I woke up disoriented and terrified, certain that I had 
hallucinated the last few months.   After all, given the state I was in 
when she came back to me, that wasn't exactly an extreme 
possibility.  
        These days, my lust is a bit more tempered.   But after de-
aging, a process that drains us physically, making love is like 
putting the puzzle of our bodies back together.  The curve of her 
waist, the way her fingertips drag over my back,  how her hair feels 
in my hands, the little sound she makes when I trace that circle on 
her back.
	Scully's sigh brings my focus back to her mouth.  With a 
few exceptions from our first weeks together, Scully was never 
exactly a screamer.   To me though, her low-pitched moans, deep, 
breathy gasps, and her soft whispers are more erotic than the loud, 
verbose responses that filled my younger fantasies.
	Her head turned to the side, her calm, beatific post-coital 
expression.   That little smile that I know she invented for me.   Her 
eyes drift closed and she opens her arm to me, so that I can curl up 
next to her, make a pillow of her stomach.  So that she can hold me 
against her, the most comforting feeling in the world.  Better than 
sex.
	Well, maybe not better.   But more incredible.  
        Incredible that I can sleep in the crook of Scully's arm and 
wake up next to her.  With my face buried in her shoulder, I can 
forget that we are going on three hundred years old, that our 
children are following Krychek into who-knows-what, that the time 
is near.
	"They'll be okay, Mulder," she assures me.
	Right now, I can believe her.   In a few hours, when I wake 
up, I'll worry again.  Left alone in this house day after day without 
John and Lydia while Scully teaches her classes, I'll worry and I'll 
wait.   But now, in this moment, I can sleep.  



	The Byers has gone to gather food for me.  The price of 
lodging with this community was a healing session.  As FHLee 43 
and I are the only healers, we are both exhausted.  Between the 
recuperating and the atmosphere, we are utterly drained.   I need 
the healing sleep, but I doubt I will get one of enough length.  
Krychek does not wish to stay here long.
	There is a clatter at the door and I instinctively aim my 
firearm at the faded sign, announcing check out by noon.  In the 
threshold, John blinks in confusion at the gesture and I find myself 
smiling at him as I lower the weapon.
	"Do you know how to use this?" I inquire.
	"I do not," he replies as he hands me a paper bag.  It smells 
wonderful and vaguely foreign.
	"I will teach you," I decide.
	"We only have the one," he points out.
	I nod solemnly and open the bag.  It contains a heavy 
covered plastic bowl, a metal spoon, and two thick slices of bread.  
"Yes, but if I become...unable to use it, that is likely when it will be 
most important for you to know how."
	His mouth opens, perhaps to protest.  Instead he nods.  
"Okay.   This food is..."  He throws his hand up helplessly.  
"Peculiar,"
	Experimentally, I poke at the viscous brown liquid and the 
floating lumps within.   I scoop up a spoonful and take a bite.    
After I've been shoveling it in for several minutes without breathing 
I realize that the Byers is staring at me.
	"Meat," I manage to mutter around the food.  "I haven't 
had meat in, oh, in centuries, John."
	His lips curl.  "I found it pleasant as well," he admits.
	Outside the window, a bobwhite warbles and a wren lands 
on the dusty sill.  I had forgotten what the world was like before.   
Of course, there were no birds in the final days, the last few days 
after the atomic blasts that staved off total invasion but left us weak 
enough for capture by the better-equipped Alienist hybrids.  I 
would not have thought the birds would be back so soon.  Mother 
told me that the earth is strong.  
	John and I have fallen into our usual comfortable silence.   
Our relationship is unclear, not quite siblings, not quite mates, more 
than colleagues.   At the table, he nibbles on his second slice of 
bread and studies the maps that my services bought for us.
	"I have obtained a vehicle," he announces suddenly.
	"How?"  I ask, silently thanking him.
	"They had a machine that none of them could fix.   I was 
able to make it work, and to show some of them how to make the 
others work."
	"That must have been some machine," I comment.
	He nods.  "The people here have many of them, rooms full 
of them.  They are like the machines in Mother's office, only bigger 
and much slower."
	"Computers?"
	"Yes, that's what they called them."
	I have to smile.  The Byers fixing computers.  "Do you 
know where we are, John?   A million people used to live here.  
Now there are roughly 3,000 of them, struggling to maintain 20th 
century technology."
	"Humans are resilient.  That is why the are necessary for 
those who are coming."  My eyebrows must be at my hairline.   
"What are they called, Six, these other parts of Offspring?"
	"Mother calls them `Aliens'," I inform him.  
	"And Father?"
	"Calls them `Filthy Bastards'," I say with a grin.
	He follows suit.  "Father calls everything filthy bastards," he 
chuckles.   "You should sleep, Six."
	I nod and throw the bolt in the door.  In my mind, I can see 
Mother, standing by a door like this, peeking through the blinds 
into the darkness of night.  Waiting for Father, knowing he would 
not be coming.  The smell of my dead sisters thick on my hands.  
The night is darker now, but the queasy feeling in my stomach is the 
same.
          My clothes, mother's clothes, denim and cotton, are 
abandoned in a corner.   The Byers keeps his head turned so that he 
does not see my body as I pull the blankets over me.
	I awake in a few hours, disturbed by the sensation of him 
joining me in the room's one bed.  "Six, the Governors could easily 
obliterate these pockets of civilization.  Why don't they?"
	"It is easier this way.   Don't you understand, John?   Our 
kind is not the future of this planet.  We are merely guarding the 
humans until the Aliens return."
	A sudden spasm racks my chest.  The Byers helps me to sit 
up and stares at me as the coughing fit abates.  "You said it would 
get better."
	"When we get to the plant, they will have filtered air."
	"But in the meantime..."
	"In the meantime, we can do nothing about it."  And I will 
grow weaker everyday, but to tell him that will only make his 
consternation worse.
	We argue with our eyes until he lays back down.  We stare 
at the ceiling tiles in silence for a while.
	"When will they return?" he asks finally.
	"No one knows.  It's been several hundred years, and the 
Earth is more resilient than you'd think."
	"Then we are fighting time here?"
	"Yes, and I am afraid that the time is near."


	


	Even with the second vehicle I traded for, it takes two 
weeks to make a round-trip mail run.  Between dodging patrols, the 
sleepless nights, finding a place to store the vehicle before crossing 
inside, I'm exhausted when I make it to Mother's house.  Two days 
I was there, two wonderful days of conversation, stargazing, clean 
air, and their faces as more than memory.  
	Six misses them keenly, particularly Mother.  After all, she 
lived with her for over two hundred years.  It's not that she 
begrudges me the mail-runs, so much as she wishes she could go 
instead.  She wants to see them, and though she does not say so, 
she is concerned for my safety.  
	But I am not a healer and she is.  So Six and FHLee never 
make the mail runs while the rest of us take turns.  Mother said we 
were making impressive progress, confirming what Meyer had tried 
to reassure me of before I made this trip.  Six thinks we are close to 
something as well.
	Suddenly I can feel the humming of the power plant through 
the frame of the car, or perhaps it is my imagination.  I follow the 
dirt road lower until I reach the underground garage where the 
truck and the bus are kept.  
	Thick metal doors greet me.  I punch in the laboriously long 
sequence of numbers and pass into electricity and filtered air.  Of 
the seven corridors facing me, I choose the third, leading to the 
laboratory facilities that we were able to erect with the help of a 
raid on what Six said was once called the CDC.
	 Miramar and her assistant Offspring LJBean 139 barely 
notice me as I drop the bag on antique wooden desk.   I take out 
Mother's comments on the data Meyer presented and put it on his 
desk.  For the thousandth time, I wish I knew more biology, but 
frankly, my job here is that of an electrician, mechanic, and 
plumber.  
        Krychek calls me `Mr. Fix-it'.
	Miramar actually notices me as I am leaving. 
	"Good news?"
	"Mother was impressed."
	"When you are rested, Lei has a job for you."
	"Where would I find him?"
	She shakes her head.  "It will wait another day.  Go sleep.  
You know you need it."
	She has no idea how thankful I am for permission to rest.  
To see Six and have some food and a sleep.  Our room is not 
locked, a strange circumstance.  Six always locks it when she 
leaves, and when she is alone in the room.
	Someone with a new face is settled into the couch that I use 
for a bed.  After a moment, his mouth creases into a grin and I 
realize that the face is not new, only younger than I can ever 
imagine it looking.
	"Mr.  Krychek," I acknowledge, as instructed, still trying to 
acclimate myself to this new word `mister'.  All the Offspring were 
instructed that under no circumstances were we to confuse him 
with a Father.
	"Mr. Byers," he replies, and returns his attention to the 
reports in his hands.  My eyes wander about the room for Six.
	She is lying on the bed, apparently asleep.  There are circles 
under her eyes and her skin has a green cast to it.  After a moment, 
I realize that the thin blanket is the only thing covering her.  For 
some reason I can't quite pinpoint, this makes me extremely 
uncomfortable though we Offspring normally do not wear clothing 
to sleep.
	"Apparently I exhausted her," he says.  There is something 
in his tone that makes my shoulders tense.
	"Why are you still here?" I ask, failing in my attempt to 
sound conversational.  
	He gives me no answer, just hands me the reports and says, 
"Six has been doing some interesting work," and closes the door 
behind him.
	Carefully, I uncover Six and search her for....something.  
There is a small bruise on her knee, but otherwise she seems fine.  I 
tuck her back in and settle on the side of the mattress.  I try to read 
her the results of her latest experiments, but I find that I'm resting 
my head in my hands instead.
	"Hey you," she whispers hoarsely.
	"Go back to sleep.  You look terrible."
	I think she just laughed.  "You've looked better yourself," 
she returns.   She's propped on her elbow, giving me a smile I've 
never seen on her face, but I noticed on Mother's often.  Father 
called it  `bemusement.'
	"Did Krychek....are you okay?"
	"Tired," she murmurs.  
	"Yes, but...why was he still here?"
	Her expression changes completely and her hand comes to 
rest on my thigh.   "Nothing is wrong, John.   He left after healing 
to rest himself, and I asked him not to wake me when he returned 
for the reports.  Krychek was significantly deteriorated.  I feel like I 
could sleep for days"
	"Are you rested now?"
            She nods.  "Did you read the reports.  I wish I'd found this 
before you made the run."
	"What is it?"
	"We've made some progress in developing an agent that 
will attack the Alien's bloodstream."
	"What about our bloodstreams?"
	She doesn't look at all bemused anymore.  "That's a good 
question."
	




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

	Scully throws another bottle of water in the case and shoves 
her family album between the shirts she's packed.  "Here," she says 
tersely as she clamps it shut.  My hand grips hers tightly and the 
wheels in her head stop turning for a moment.  She looks up at me 
and runs her fingers along my jaw.
	"I love you," she says solemnly.
	Our kiss is interrupted by a thunderous knock.   It's over.  
They have found us.  The Offspring Governors are already here and 
soon they will know everything that they didn't find out from poor 
Bean's stolen reports.   I berate myself for being glad they never 
got the chance to interrogate him, and for being glad that John 
wasn't making the mail run this time.  I open the door, fully 
expecting to have to use the stiletto clipped to my belt.
	Instead, Old Smoky stands in the doorway, breathing 
heavily, but managing to hold onto the cigarette between his lips.
	"Now!" he shouts, grabbing Scully's shoulder violently.  I 
heft up the case and run after them.   Scully takes the case from me 
and throws it into the bed of the black pickup truck.  I boost her up 
and crawl in after her.
	"Stay down!" he bellows before slamming the door closed.
	The sensation of car travel is foreign and without roads, we 
are violently jostled.  My stomach turns and I find myself pulled 
into Scully's lap.  
	"Little queasy there, land-lubber?" she asks.
	I have to admire her ability to tease me under the 
circumstances.  I have faint memories of doing the same thing a few 
times myself.  
	We careen down a hillside.  Branches of the carefully placed 
trees tumble into the truck with us.    In the dim light of sunrise, I 
can see Scully's eyes.   Her body looks relaxed, her hands stroking 
my hair seem almost casual.   But her eyes are darting about the 
treetops, looking for patrollers, trying to measure the distance to 
the shield.
	The truck lurches violently to the side and I see a flash 
skitter off the corner of the hood.  We are under fire.   Scully sinks 
down farther and holds her breath.  I do the same and several more 
bright flashes blink past.  
	"Scully," I whisper roughly, "I love you." 
	She protests as I roll her body underneath mine.  "Mulder, 
don't."
	"This is not the time for your `don't protect me' speech," I 
mutter into her hair.   
	Scully starts to say something, but the words dissolve into 
coughing and I find myself following suit.   We must be outside the 
shield.  Miles later, the truck slows.   "Sleep now," Scully whispers.  
"It will be a few days before we reach Athens."
	Four days later, I wake up from another nap alone in the 
truck.   Lifting my head slowly, I realize that we have stopped 
again.  The case is open and water bottles are gone.  Scully must be 
replenishing our supply.  I stretch and jump over the side of the 
truck.  I take a leisurely walk into the woods, careful not to stray 
out of visual range of the truck.
	Scully is there when I get back, her face drawn and anxious.  
"It's only about forty miles now," she tells me as I give her a hand 
up into the truck.  
	"Where is he?"
	"Communing with nature?" she suggests offhandedly.   "He 
thinks we're being followed."
	I frown at this news.  "By who?  Offspring don't go outside 
the shield."
	"Ours did," she contests.
	"Point taken," I reply, folding her into my arms.
	Our friendly chauffeur moseys up and pointedly looks away 
from my affectionate display.  "We're not out of danger yet," he 
announces ominously before slamming the door.
	The truck rumbles on over what's left of the highway.  
Scully smiles at me as I sprawl out on the truck bed, offering my 
arm as a pillow.   Overhead, a sign for the exit to Athens flashes by.
	"Not much longer," I report to my drowsy wife.
	A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, then rapidly 
evaporates.  "What's that?" she hisses.
	I hear it too and begin to sit up.  She tugs at my shirt.  "Stay 
down," she orders.  
	Squealing wheels behind us encourage me to follow her 
advice.  Something rattles against the back of the truck.   They are 
shooting at us.  The window of the truck cabin opens and a small 
bag drops at Scully's feet.
	She opens the bag.  Grenades.  Jesus.  Do these people 
come prepared or what?  Scully rips the pin out of one and lobs it 
behind us.  There is a terrific blast and the truck shudders as we 
speed away.  
	"Dammit," Scully hisses, and then I hear it too, the sound of 
an approaching car.  Either she missed, or there are two of them.  
	I take the bag from her and lift my head so I can aim.  
	It's the last mistake I ever make.
	I have fragmented visions of Scully screaming.
	Of Scully pouring our spare gasoline on the roadway.
	Of his cigarette being tossed casually out the window.
	Of Scully's hands on my wounded chest.
	Of a deafening explosion drowning out my last words.
	Of Scully's body collapsing onto mine.
	Of one teardrop on my fingers. 
	Of swimming up through a great white nothingness.


	
	Pounding footsteps outside distract me from my discussion 
with Meyer and Miramar.  We are so close.  The Alien cells are 
shriveling away in our solution.  Now it's just a question of how 
long it would take to kill an entire organism.  And to what extent 
the Offspring will be affected.
	The Byers is in the doorway, his eyes are round and red.  
"Six.  Mother and Father are here," he announces solemnly.
	"What's wrong?" I demand.
	He takes my hand and tugs.  "Just come," he insists.
	The Smoker drops from the door of the truck.  He has 
always been old, but today he looks pallid.   He walks to the back 
of the truck and then walks toward me.
	I do not understand.  He is carrying Father, dragging his 
body from the back of the truck.
	As though I am outside myself, I see my hands fluttering 
over Father's chest.  He is not breathing.  His heart is not beating.  
His skin is oddly cool.  
           I can hear the Smoker screaming, `Do something for him, 
dammit," and Mother's deadly calm voice replying, "Don't you 
understand, there's nothing she can do for him."
	It is Mother's words that break my trance.  The Byers pulls 
me away from the body.   "What should we do with him, Mother?" 
he asks quietly, unable to meet her eyes.
	"We bury him," she announces.  "Find us some shovels, 
John.   They are like Six's gardening trowel, only bigger."
	The Smoker lifts Father's body over his shoulder and 
stumbles after Mother, following her away from the plant.  There is 
a small clearing in that direction.  The Byers returns with the tools 
Mother asked for and motions for me to follow.  Soon, Father lies 
deep in the ground, his body folded into the fetal position.
	Mother takes a handful of soft soil and holds it above him.  
She is whispering strange words to him, in unison with the Smoker.
	"Your necklace, Mother," Byers interrupts.
	Mother shakes her head.  "It doesn't matter."
	She gathers rocks as we finish hiding Father under the earth.  
Mother arranges them around the mound of soil.  Then she settles 
down in a heap next to the rock ring.
	"Mother," I begin.
	The Smoker gently touches my shoulder.  "Leave her."
	"Mother?" I try again.
	She looks up at me.  I can see in her eyes and she is no 
longer there.  "Six, I am 265 years old.  He has been half of me for 
237 years."
	"Mother?" I shout desperately, wishing I could cry.
	"John, take Lydia home.  Go finish what your Father and I 
started."  She lowers her head.   The Byers and the smoking man 
each take an arm and I am slowly led away from my parents.

	

	"Six?"
	She glances up at me, then back down at the lab table.
	"Impressive," the Un-named man says as he wanders around 
the lab.   His fingers roll a tube of mottled, dead Alien blood.  
"Most impressive, DKS Six."
	"The credit is not mine alone," she mutters automatically.
	"The experiments are incomplete," I tell him.
	He nods and continues to roll the tube some more.  "You 
lack the proper specimen?" he asks.
	"You are correct."
	"Unfortunately, we have no way to obtain a relevant test 
subject," I add.
	"Indeed," he replies, "but I do."
	Six actually looks up, and her hands crash ungracefully on 
the lab counter.   The Parents who have been watching the three of 
us from their own corners of the lab turn to stare. 
	"I will be back tomorrow," he throws over his shoulder as 
he exits the lab.  Our eyes follow him out of the lab and down the 
corridors.
	"I'm going to bed," Six whispers.  I take a deep breath and 
follow her.  I do not know what else to do.  I wish to say 
something, but somehow, I think any words would feel awkward 
today.  
        We lay together in the narrow bed, our bodies curled on 
each other like the cats Six pointed out to me on our walk last 
week.  If we were human, perhaps we would cry with tears and 
sobbing.  Instead we lay in silence, watching the second hand of the 
outdated time piece on the wall.
	How many ticks ago was Father still alive?  How many 
more ticks will Mother live stretched on his grave?  How many 
ticks until the man returns?  
           "You should sleep," I whisper to her.  
            "So should you."   She forces a smile.
            Six burrows into my chest and sleeps, but I lay on my side 
and count the ticks. 

	

	I should pleased.  I should be happy.  The experiments were 
successful, promising,  everything we could have expected.   Only 
we haven't answered one very important question.  My skin itches 
and my head aches.  
	John will be upset when he finds out where I am.  I can't 
pretend I'm not afraid, locked in here with that cold dead body 
laying just inches from me.  My lungs are pumping rapidly, as 
though to speed the process.
	Father is dead.  Mother, stretched on his grave, might as 
well be.  Now I may soon be gone as well.  And John will be left 
alone.  I tell myself he'll be fine, that this was the intelligent 
decision, that if it hadn't been me someone else would have to sit in 
this room one day.  The truth though is that I'm being selfish.
	It hurts a little, making my arms tingle and my temples 
throb.  And I'm so sleepy, so very very tired.  From somewhere 
very far away, I see John pounding on the glass panels, see his 
mouth forming my name repeatedly.  My eye hurt too much to 
focus though.  Maybe if I sleep, I won't feel the dying as much.


Starbuck?
Dana darling?
Wake up, Starbuck.
Daddy?  
Dana Sweetie, we've been waiting for you.
What is this?
How ya been, Dana Raina?
Where am I?
You tell me, little sister.  
No kidding, get out of the dirt, Dana.
How....
Welcome home, Agent Scully.
Home, sir?
Agent Scully, you have got to see the surveillance system up here.
What?
Come on up, Scully.   It's beautiful.
Mulder?
I miss you already.  
What do I do?
Come on, Scully.  There's someone I want you to meet.
Dana, it's time honey.
But I'm still down here.
No you're not, Starbuck.  Just reach out your hand.
I'm still breathing.
Doesn't matter, Agent Scully.  
Mulder, how?
Just give me your hand, Scully.  Come home.
Home.

	


	
	"John?"
	I lift my head from my hands and look up.  Taking a deep 
breath, I rise up on my knees to look through the glass panels.  Six 
is in the airlock , her hands pressed against the pane.  
	"Six?"   
	She smiles and struggles to her feet.  The airlock opens and 
she slips through.  For some reason, I can't move.  So Six sinks 
down on the floor next to me.
	"It will incapacitate us, but it will not kill us,"  she pants 
out.  We sit in silence for a moment as Six endures a minor 
coughing fit.   She takes a deep breath and adds, "I know you're 
angry, John."
	"If I weren't so glad to see you, Lydia, I think I might 
throttle you."
	She laces her fingers into mine.  "You've never called me 
Lydia before," she points out.
	I stare at our linked hands.  "Are you okay?"
	"John, everything is going to be okay."
	"The Offspring Governors know what we've been doing 
now.  The others will be here soon." 
	She stands up, pulling me with her.  "Then we have work to 
do, John."
	"You seem so confident."
	She smiles at me again.  I could get used to this.  "Mother 
told me once that the best way to predict the future is to invent it."
	"That man without a name told me the same thing before I 
came to stay with you."
	"So let's do it."



**************************
Disclaimer:   I don't own Mulder and Scully, though I do have a set 
in miniature.  I do own Six and JFByers 200 though J   I intend no 
infringement on the rights of Fox, 1013, Chris Carter  or anyone 
else.  No Foxes were harmed in the making of this story...well, not 
really anyway.


Notes:  I still consider Reinventing my best work, and I hope the 
sequel is not an anti-climax.  Feedback is blatantly begged for.   
Thanks as always to Suzanna for tireless editing and 
encouragement.  To Darkstryder and Amy who archive my work.  
And of course, to everyone at Amy and Karen's Haven for 
ambiance, arguments,  and inspiration.   About the Genesis quote:  
this is partially a reference to Mulder and Scully.  It is also intended 
as irony.  The Aliens are not the work of fate, and their carefully 
laid plans will be torn asunder.