Chapter 1: Embers

1.
Washington Hospital Center
October 18, 11:45 P.M.

"John Byers was found in a service stairwell, unconscious, with multiple
gunshot wounds, including a serious injury to the head.

He is also suffering from smoke inhalation and burns. He remains
unconscious at this time, unable to make a statement. It appears
he was assaulted in the apartment of a Richard Starkey, but
somehow escaped as fire engulfed it." Tiff paused to check the
face of A.D. Skinner. His brows were rising above the frames of
his glasses.

She plunged onward. "The neighbors report hearing multiple
gunshots coming from the apartment right before an explosion that
appears to be the source of the fire. A. . ." She checked her
notes. "Arthur Foseman, in apartment 38, actually went to the
door of the Starkey apartment when he initially heard gunfire. He
says he hammered on the door and threatened to call the police."

Skinner pushed his cheek out with his tongue in disbelief. Tiff
nodded in agreement. "I know. Old fool is going to get killed
with this attitude. He says he heard nothing and then a single
shot, coming from somewhere close to the door. Frightened, the
crazy fucker finally scampered back to his place and made the 911
call. At that point we'd already gotten four other calls and
personnel were converging on the address. A man emptying his
garbage at the back of the building reports seeing a man answering
the general description of Alex Krycek coming through the back
door. He seemed agitated."

With a grim grin of satisfaction, she said, "This area of the
building wasn't heavily damaged and we were able to find blood
stains. It looks as though Byers hit him."

Skinner finally broke in. "John Byers was armed?"

She checked her notes again. "According to Melvin Frohike, the
residents of the Starkey apartment were armed in the capacity of
protecting Agent Scully."

Skinner crossed his arms and as his biceps expanded, the fabric of
his suit groaned in protest. "What's going on, Tiff?" His words
were deceptively casual.

She paused before answering. She was suddenly confused. She felt
a flash of fear and she didn't know why. Mulder had obviously
decided not to tell Skinner about Dana Scully's pregnancy or any
more than sketchy details about Kenneth Bond.

Tiff had been spending her lonely evenings going through the
backlog of reports that dealt with Fox Mulder and his career
within the department, but had gained little insight into the
situation.

The X-files themselves seemed oddly sparse. There were few case
files dating from before 1998, yet she knew for a fact the
division had been in existence since '91. At last she'd found the
small notation reporting the destruction of their office and its
contents in an arson fire.

One thing she had been able to surmise from the data she
collected: Skinner often reprimanded Mulder and Scully. They had
even been removed from duty on occasion. And for some reason they
didn't completely trust him now.

She needed reassurance, but when she tried to look into his eyes,
the light struck his glasses in such a way that they were
obscured. All she could see was the reflection of her own
concerned face. Schooling her features to blankness, she heard
her voice carefully saying, "I wouldn't know, sir. I'm just
reporting the findings from today's investigation."

He let out a slow breath and dipped his head. Now she saw his
eyes were filled with pain and betrayal. "Please continue, Agent
Davis."

She hurried on. "I confiscated the weapons of this Frohike and
one Ringo Langly. Frohike told me Byers was carrying a Colt .45
automatic, which seems to be what we found as a melted lump in
what was the living room of the apartment. We were unable to
determine if this is where Byers was shot because of the extensive
damage, but neighbors' reports would suggest he and this Krycek
engaged in a gun battle within the apartment."

Flipping the page of her notebook, she took a deep breath, and
resolved not to look into Skinner's eyes again. "Byers has three
gunshot injuries, including one to the thigh, shattering the
femur. This would have knocked him down. I'm going to suggest
this Krycek went in for the kill shot, but the neighbor's pounding
surprised him and caused him to miss slightly. Byers has a deep
temple graze. Lots of blood, but didn't pierce the skull. And it
doesn't look as though Krycek took the time to check if he'd
actually killed him. The arson squad found the remains of an
incendiary device. I think he set that off and split."

"Any ideas why Krycek decided to do this?" Skinner asked coolly.

"At this time, Mr. Frohike and Mr. Langly have refused to
cooperate," she said with a sigh, " and I've been unable to
interview Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Where are they?"

She realized she had to get to them first and find out what was
going on once and for all. "I wouldn't know, sir."

As he looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was
watching, Skinner reached out and ran a fingertip down her
forearm. "Find out. Okay?" His voice had a gentle stillness to
it, and her blood ran cold again.

Watching his bulky form stride away down the hall, she waited
until he got into the elevator. Only then did she start her
search.

2.

She spotted Mulder's tousled hair and slumping shoulders hurrying

down the end of a hall off of the ICU unit. She didn't want to
shout out, so she followed as quickly as she could walk. She had
almost caught up to him when he ducked into a doorway. Without
checking the sign on the door, she pushed it open.

Mulder had stopped right on the other side of the door and was
staring at a small form slumped in the pews. Tiff quickly checked
the door. 'Chapel'.

Scully had fallen asleep with her hands resting on the back of the
pew in front of her, still clasped together in a loose prayer. Her
head lay on the cradle of her upper arms and her face was turned
towards them. Tiff could see that her brow was wrinkled with
worry even in slumber.

Tiff said nothing to alert them to her presence. Mulder moved
slowly towards Scully. He slid along the pew to sit next to her
and lift her gently to his lap. He turned and swung his legs up
onto the long seat. She grumbled and stirred slightly, but didn't
wake. Instead, she nestled down into his lap like a swallow into
its tight nest. He rested his head on top of hers and his eyes
met Tiff's for the first time. His gaze was fierce and she
dropped her eyes. Quietly, she stepped back out the door and left
them.

"Mulder?" Scully murmured.

"Hmmm...?" he answered.

"John?" she asked, stirring to try to lift her head.

He lightly pressed it back under his chin and she relented. "He's
the same. I lost you."

"No. I was here."

He scolded gently. "I didn't know where you went."

Logically, she asked, "Then how did you find me?"

"I made a good guess."

She sighed in exasperation, but didn't move to free herself from
his arms. "I was all right."

"No." He was firm. "We need to decide on a plan. Frohike and
Langly have started the wheels in motion. As soon as we're sure
Byers is all right, we'll disappear."

That got her moving. She struggled free from his grip and twisted
her body to look into his eyes. "What!?"

He was insistent. "Scully, we have to protect the baby. They
made him for a reason, and I think they've proved they'll do
anything to get him at this point."

She shook her head. "When Krycek attempted to kill John, they
were trying to stop us from finding out why our baby was created.
We're very close to finding out the truth, I know we are."

"So what? The important thing is to keep them from killing you or
the baby." He pulled her face around so she was forced to look
into his eyes. "Scully?"

She was silent for so long he thought she was in agreement. Then
she spoke. "Mulder, I won't live like that. In the first place,
that might not be the safest way. Cut off from friends and
family, we'll be isolated and vulnerable. Second, even if we're
still alive, and the baby is safe, those bastards have still won.
They hurt us, they hurt others and they just keep doing it. We
disappear. So what? They'll find someone else to do it to. We
have to stop them."

Although fear for her and his child now was beating in time with
his heart, he didn't want to upset her by fighting about it. He
could see the logic in her words, but a primitive past was boiling
up, threatening to engulf him. He wanted to throw her into a cave
and pace at the opening with a club swinging from his hand.

She wiggled free from his loose grasp. "I need to go check on
John again."

3.

When they left the chapel, Tiff was waiting in the hall. She

motioned to Mulder with her head and he nodded. Touching Scully's

back lightly, he said, "Go on ahead, I'll join you after I get a
report from Tiff."

She nodded and continued on down the hall as he turned to Tiff.
"Any new developments?"

She was blunt. "Yeah, A.D. Skinner is chewing my ass. He wants
to know what's going on."

"Individuals with whom Skinner's had experience in the past have
struck again, injuring a dear friend and destroying Agent Scully's
home. That's all he needs to know," was Mulder measured reply.

Tiff shot him a frustrated look. "Damn it, Mulder, that's
bullshit! There's a lot more going on here, and neither of you
feel as though you can fill me in. So I'm caught in the middle,
and I don't like that one bit."

Mulder gave her shoulder a squeeze of reassurance but her hard
muscles tightened under his touch. "Davis, I'm telling you. You
have all the information you need to run this case. You know who
your suspects are and you have the evidence that links them to the
crime--"

She cut in with, "But I don't know why!"

"Evil?" Mulder suggested, only somewhat facetiously.

Tiff was not appeased. "Fine. I can help you. Skinner can help
you. You have to decide if you can handle this on your own. Look
what happened to your friend when you thought you could."

He nodded. "Exactly. And I don't want to see it happen to any
more friends." Leaving her fuming, he went in search of Scully.

4.
Scully quietly entered the room where John Byers lay, his shape
distorted and inhuman under a maze of pale tubes and bright cords.
A drape was tented over his broken leg. His head was swaddled in
a dressing. The right side of his beard had been burned away and
his exposed face was blistered and shining from ointment for his
burn.

Anita sat slumped in a chair at his bedside, her fingers tracing
up and down one of his I.V. lines, as though encouraging the flow
of the medication.

Scully touched her shoulder lightly and she turned her head
slowly, as though moving under water. Her eyes were huge dark
drowning pools in her round face.

"Honey, you should take a break," Scully gently suggested.

Anita shook her head. "No. I can sit here just as easily as
sitting in the waiting room."

"I mean go home, get some rest, eat some good food," Scully
replied.

With an even more furious shake of her head, she said, "No! What
if something happened while I was away?"

Pulling up a chair to join Anita at the bedside, Scully lifted her
hand away from the tubing and rubbed the cold fingers in her
palms.

Before she could say anything more, Anita began to speak in low,
ragged tones. "How do you do it? How do you sit here, powerless?
You've had to do this a time or two with Fox, right?"

Scully gave her a pained smile. "A time or two, yes."

She asked again, "How do you do it? How do you stop the regrets
for everything you haven't said and done?"

Scully spoke slowly. "I always believed Mulder would come back to
me. That's what you need to do now, believe in John."

"What if he doesn't?" Anita whispered. "What would you have felt
if he didn't come back to you?"

She couldn't even comprehend the question so she lifted Byers'
hand from the cool sheet and placed Anita's hand on top of his.
"Give him your strength--he needs you. That's what I do in these
situations. It's all I can do, and first I have to accept that."

She heard Mulder tap lightly on the glass window of the room. She
left Anita with Byers and went out into the hall to join him.

He lifted her hand, cradling it in his light grip, and smiled down
at her. "How's he doing?"

She shrugged, though the effort almost did her in. "No change.
Anita's not doing well either."

He seemed to understand. "It's always hardest the first time."

She found herself grinning through her sadness. "I remember."

He pulled her down the hall out of the ICU ward. "I didn't do it
on purpose."

As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she snuggled under,
reveling in his warmth. "I hope not. I'd hate to think you went
through all the trouble of nearly dying just to get your hand
held."

"And a smile," he added as he kissed the top of her head,
"sometimes you gave me a smile."

She furrowed her brow with concern. In the past, had she been
that remote in her attempt to maintain her boundaries?

He led her into the garage and to his car. "Tiff told me most of
your things were damaged by smoke or destroyed by fire."

Darkly, she said, "Doesn't matter, I'm not going to fit into those
clothes for a long time anyway."

He gave her an inventory. "Your bedroom wasn't destroyed.
Although everything is smoke damaged, most of your shoes are fine
since they were kept in their boxes." He returned her grin of
happiness. "Anything kept in a garment bag also seems fine too,
including this." He unlocked the car doors and reached into the
back seat. He pulled out her green suede coat from the backseat.

She gasped in amazement and her eyes filled with tears. She
realized she was being silly for crying over a jacket, but Mulder
didn't seem to mind. He wrapped the garment around her shoulders,
opened her car door and settled her into her seat.

She cleared the dampness from her eyelashes as he pulled out of
the parking space. She asked, "Most of my furniture was a loss?"

"Yes. But if it helps, I never did like that couch," he answered.

She shot him a withering look. "Yes, we'll have to get a house
full of furniture." Her head whirled at the sensation of being in
some odd time rift. Wasn't this where they were when the
conversation had been cut short by their arrival at her fire-
ravaged apartment building?

"We might as well go ahead and buy a house now. Something tells
me we got on some sort of landlord's blacklist with this latest
incident."

She allowed herself a chuckle. "I'll get my Mom looking. She'll
love that. It'll make her feel like she's doing something. I'll
be busy finding out what Byers was working on that made it
necessary to try to kill him."

He nodded. She looked over and noticed unfamiliar emotions
flicking across his face. Every day new, unknown situations arose
for them to deal with, even things as seemingly innocuous as
deciding on a home.

She continued slowly. "We should find something in a neighborhood
close to the Fed building, but still a detached house with a yard.
I don't like the idea of commuting long distances."

"That'll be expensive." He held up his end of the conversation
with the bland, flat tones of a prepared statement.

She suddenly felt as though she was the mouse sent out to put the
bell on the sleeping cat. She trotted carefully forward. "Yes, I
have some investments I can cash out, about $10,000 in savings--"

He interrupted. "I inherited my father's house in West Tisbury,"
he stumbled. "That is, it was left to Samantha and me. But I'm
sure she wouldn't mind if I sold it."

She stroked his shoulder, suddenly understanding. "We don't have
to do that, we can manage--"

He was firm. "No, but perhaps we should keep the house, subdivide
the lot and sell the land. Then we'd have the cash but also a
vacation home. You know, a place to take the kids in the summer."

She was overwhelmed by the sudden vision of a clear summer day
with the ocean breeze in her face, teaching their son to swim.
"That sounds nice."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, wait until you see the property tax bill
on that place. It hurts to write that check, let me tell you. My
uncle, David, advised me to keep my hands on that property as an
investment, but I don't think he was taking a situation like this
into consideration."

She stared out the window in confusion. The loss of her home hit
her like a sledgehammer. "Where are we going?"

"Home, my home," he said carefully.

"Okay. I guess it's all we have left," she said with a sigh.

5.
The Factory
October 19th, 2:30 A.M.

Krycek found Kenneth sitting ramrod straight on a chair in the

office. He closed the door behind him and Kenneth glanced up,
impassive as always, to meet his furious gaze.

Shaking with a cold anger, Krycek asked, "Okay, boy, what happened
back there at the hospital?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir. I reviewed the plan with the
gentleman, and he instructed me to collect the blood sample from
the DNA test of the fetus. You must been mistaken when you
ordered me to deliver the corrupted DNA reading to Mulder and
Scully."

Taking another step towards the young man and slipping his hand
into his pocket to touch the plam he always carried with him,
Krycek asked, "Did you tell the old bastard that?"

"Of course not, sir. I would hate for a simple misunderstanding
to escalate to a. . .situation," was the cool answer from Kenneth.

"Yes, of course. . ." he replied.

The door to the office swung open and Krycek whirled. The action
pulled at the stitches on his bullet wounds, and he grimaced.

"I'm happy to see you too, Alex," The older man said as he walked
past him to sit behind his desk.

After settling in, he continued. "I'm very pleased with the test
results on the DNA sample that Kenneth collected for us yesterday
afternoon."

Krycek fought to ignore the dull throb of his injuries and forced
himself to concentrate on his nemesis. The old fool seemed almost
giddy, a smile refusing to stay off of his lips. He said, "What
are they?"

"The child is has indeed developed the traits we had hoped. The
portion of the plan left with the agents has progressed
perfectly." He paused to light a cigarette. "Which is good news
considering our failures in the past and those we're currently
experiencing."

Krycek had to cut in. "You never give the experiments time to
develop fully. You always assume failure and push onward. If I
were to be given another chance with my sperm sample, for
example--"

The older man raised his hand to silence him. "You were given a
chance and you failed." The smile returned. "As I would expect.
You obviously have weak, inferior seed."

As he started to lunge towards the desk, Krycek was held fast in
the benign grasp of Kenneth. "You son of a bitch!" He shook
himself loose and spat out, "I guess you would know."

A cold silence was the response to his words. He forced himself
to remain calm as he changed the subject. "I need to go back and
finish the job I started on this John Byers. He must be stopped
from--"

A raised hand stopped him again. "No need."

His fury whipped up again, Krycek snarled, "Let me finish! What
if they find out the reason that we want the baby? They could
keep us from taking possession when the time comes."

After a long, irritating moment taken to suck down more lung-
filling smoke, the man answered. "They are already aware that we
desire the child. That could not be avoided. Our objective is to
secure the child when it's necessary, and I cannot imagine how
they could thwart us. Our original plan is still in place. We
have no need to make any changes at this point. Do you
understand, boy?"

Krycek breathed the single word like fire, "Yes."

"Good," the shadowed man replied. "So I suggest you continue your
surveillance--making sure you don't suffer any more close calls,
of course."

Krycek stormed from the room, driven forward by the malevolent
chuckles rolling from behind the desk.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Chapter 2: Arid Pleasure

1.

October 19th, 2:15 A.M.

Mulder and Scully dragged themselves into his apartment. He led

her into the bedroom and nodded towards the bed.

"There you go," he said as he headed into the bathroom.

She glanced around the rarely-seen bedroom and wondered how much
had been Mulder's and what Byers had changed. Everything seemed
too neat and tidy to have been the result of Mulder's touch.

Rummaging through the bottom drawer of the dresser, she found one
of his remaining tee-shirts and quickly slipped into it.

When he re-entered the room, she self-consciously pulled the shirt
down to cover her stomach as his gaze slowly moved over her. He
furrowed his brow before his eyes darted away.

She brushed past him and escaped into the bathroom. When she came
out, he was already under the covers. On his side of the bed, she
was happy to note.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she could barely crawl into bed. She
noticed the sheets were freshly laundered and felt a pang for
Byers as she drifted off to sleep nestled up to Mulder's warm
back.

The creature was moving under her skin, spreading its green poison
through her bloodstream like tentacles. Its iron grip tightened
until her body was forced to curl up like a bug burnt under a
shard of glass in the sun.

She awoke with a gasp of pain and fear, drenched in sweat but
shaking with cold. She desperately reached out for Mulder but his
side of the bed was empty.

In a panic, she struggled free of the tangled, damp sheets. Where
was he!? She stumbled around the room, unable to find the door in
the dark and her disorientation.

She gripped the doorjamb to the living room, clenching her jaw to
keep her teeth from rattling too loudly. Her eyes adjusted to the
dimness. She realized her gun had been in her apartment. She had
to get another one as soon as possible.

Finally, her gaze found him. He was stretched out on his dark
couch, asleep. She moved in closer to look down at him. Caught
in the illumination from the streetlight streaming into the room,
his relaxed features were as calm as a child's. No worry creased
his brow.

She crouched down beside him and watching him sleep, noting his
peace and comfort. It made sense. His things, and everything
that was familiar to him, surrounded him. He was back at home.

She stroked the warm leather of the cushion. She would have
touched him, but she didn't want to disturb him. He was cradled
and comfortable in the worn palm of his couch.

She pulled herself up off the floor and spun away to hurry back to
the bedroom. Diving under the covers, she pulled the clammy, cold
sheets up under her chin.

She had always liked his apartment, felt comfortable in its
cluttered rooms. But now she saw it as a rival for his
affections.

She could see the threads of their tenuous relationship beginning
to unravel. He would pull away from her under the spell of the
beauty of the dark walls. He would go to bed with her at first,
but slowly would draw away as the days passed, falling asleep
under the mesmerizing blue gaze of its eyes, his television and
his computer monitor.

Despite her quaking body and her struggle against tears and fear,
she was exhausted, and fell asleep as though drugged.

She was awakened in the morning by his attempts at stealth as he
moved around the bedroom. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and
fixed a blurry gaze on him. He gave her a pressed-on smile.

"Get enough sleep?"

She wondered if he was going to act like he'd slept with her the
whole night. "No, but that's okay."

He looked concerned. "Try going back to sleep. You need your
rest."

Determined, she rose from the bed. "No, I need to get going. We
have a lot to do. No more dilly-dallying."

He gave her a surprised look, but trailed after her as she stomped
out of the room. "I got up to pee and I must have gone back to
the couch by mistake."

"It's not a mistake. You usually slept on the couch, right?" She
asked as she slammed through the cupboards, looking for anything
that seemed appetizing for breakfast.

He sat down with a cup of coffee and began talking slowly and
carefully, inflaming her irritation even more. "I think I should
go to Boston as soon as possible, see about getting the land sold
in West Tisbury. It should sell fast, but it is the off season--"

"You're sure you want to do that?" she interrupted.

He looked as though he was struggling to remain calm. "What?"

She sat down across from him and met his gaze, forcing her voice
to remain as cool. "Maybe everything is going too fast for you."

He shook his head. "What do you mean?" He suddenly looked
worried. "We're getting married as soon as possible, right?"

"You tell me," she said as she sipped the orange juice she'd
found, only a week past its expiration date. She knew she could
thank Byers for that.

"Scully, what the hell is going on?"

"I think we just need to decide if we're on the same page. I
mean, what do you want?" she asked.

He was confused. "Huh? I want you and the baby to be safe--"

"I know that, how do you see us in the future? After the baby is
born."

He ran his hand through his hair and it stood on end like a
prickly forest of pines. "I still don't see what you're getting
at."

"You seem to only be looking at what's right in front of you."
She changed the pitch of her voice to a sing-song quality.
"Scully's knocked up. I guess I have to marry Scully."

He exploded. "You're not being fair at all! You know I love you,
first and foremost. Are you worried about the future? Well, I
can't help you with that. I have no idea what's going to happen
in an hour, a day, a week. I don't try to wrestle for control
over those things I know I can't control."

"You're avoiding the question." He gasped in exasperation, but she
pressed on. "What do you see us doing in the future? I mean, we
can't work together any more. That's for sure."

"Scully, you will always have a career in the FBI. In fact,
you'll probably have that distinguished career you would have had
if you hadn't hooked up with me."

She banged her glass down on the table in frustration. "Do you
think I stuck with you and the work on the X-files because I had
some crush on you? Well, I didn't. I did it because I found
someone who felt as passionately about pursuing the truth as I
did. I believe we really helped people. I love field work. I
love being your partner."

As he stared at the top of her bent head, he realized she would
never say "I love you" enough for his taste and he'd have to
accept these scraps of sentiment when he got them.

She was still grumbling. "I can't see sitting behind a desk as
distinguishing myself, but now I guess that's where I'm stuck."

"You can go back in the field after the baby's born. . ." She
shook her head violently. He didn't understand why she was
resisting. "Your father was away a lot, but you knew he still
loved you."

She whispered, "I hated it. I hated him being gone and when he
was home, everything was just too much. We fought for his
attention while he wanted to spend time with Mom. I just don't
want my son to go through that sort of turmoil."

Glancing up at him at last, she asked, "How was it for you with
your father?"

He could only remember slamming doors and long silences. "I hated
it too. I hated when he was away."

She nodded.

Fiercely, he added, "Don't worry, I'll be there for the two of
you."

Bitterly she said, "I hope so. Now that you're going to be a
father, perhaps you'll finally stop looking for one yourself."

He rose from the table with the sudden urge to follow in his
father's footsteps and walk out of the room without looking back.

The phone rang.

He listened to the words coming over the line, but his mind was
cataloguing her movements around the room as she gathering the few
dirty dishes with abrupt jerky movements.

"John has come to. I think we should get down there before Tiff
does," he said to her rigid back.

She tossed down the sponge. "Okay, let's go." She brushed past
him without meeting his eyes.

2.
Washington Medical Center, ICU Unit
10:20 A.M.

Anita entered the room where John was, pushing aside a nurse. A

technician was just finishing extubating him. He was gagging and
sputtering, looking around the room in a panic.

She pressed in among the medical personnel and touched his
shoulder. He turned his head and focused on her, his eyes
unrecognizing. She gave him a smile and he slowly returned it.
She could see that he remembered her.

After everyone left, giving her various warnings she decided she
would ignore, she settled on a chair by his side and began feeding
him ice chips for his sore throat.

"Don't talk--let me do the talking," she ordered him briskly,
fighting back tears.

His soulful eyes blinked once. She took that as an agreement.

"Are you in pain?" She knew the answer to that, but she wanted
him to be able to express his anxiety.

He nodded, his eyes filling with tears of his own.

She nodded back. "It's okay, I'm sure it's a bitch to wake up
feeling like someone's been beating you with a small car."

He choked on a laugh and she grabbed a tissue to wipe his mouth.
"Sorry," she murmured.

He raised a shaking hand to touch his face. She stopped him.
"You don't want to do that. You're burnt."

His eyes filled with panic and he rasped out, "See. Want to see."

"Of course," she said as she rooted around in her purse for a
compact.

Holding the mirror up to his face, she said, "See, it's not bad.
Just--"

"Beard. My beard. . ." he gurgled.

"Yes, honey, I know," she tried to soothe him. The beard had been
burned off the right side of his face, leaving red, angry,
blistered skin. "It protected you. Your burns would've been much
worse." She tried to find a good side in his lopsided appearance.

He put the mirror down and glanced away.

Understanding dawned for her. "You've had that beard a long time,
haven't you?"

He nodded, still looking away.

She began going through the bedside cabinet. "Well, maybe it's a
sign that it's time for you to make a change."

His eyes snapped to hers, filled with indignation. He tried to
speak, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"It's going to be months before your skin has healed enough to
grow back the beard. Are you going to walk around with half a
beard until then?" She realized she was sounding like a mother.

He managed to gasp, "I won't be walking anywhere."

It was her turn to laugh. "Okay, whatever you want." She went
for reverse psychology.

He sighed. "Give me the razor," he whispered.

"No. I can do it. Do you trust me?" She realized she was
holding her breath as she looked into his fear-filled wide eyes.

He half-nodded and half-shrugged.

She gently stroked his remaining beard, noticing the flecks of
gray strands mixed into the warm chestnut hair. "Can you remember
a time when you didn't have a beard?"

He shook his head with short, nervous jerks and she couldn't stop
herself from smiling.

She pulled the shaving supplies out the bedside table drawer and
set them in her lap.

First, she found her surgical scissors in her lab-coat pocket and
began to carefully snip away the longer, coarse hairs of his
beard. He looked worried immediately, and she reassured him,
"Don't worry."

Setting aside the scissors, she filled her palm with shaving
lotion, and said briskly, "Remember, I'm a professional.
Although, I do usually leave this part for the nurse. . ." She
smoothed the foam over his left cheek carefully, massaging it into
his neck, making sure she didn't miss any spot. "But when I've
done it, I haven't gotten any complaints."

The wide blue eyes shifted towards her again, but she kept own
eyes firmly on her task. "In the past, I may have left a nick or
two, but I care too much about you to do that." Slowly she
dragged the razor up his neck and under his chin.

To divert him, she asked, "How long have you had it?"

The 'huh?' that burrowed up his throat almost caused her to cut
the tender skin of his Adam's apple.

"The beard?" She kept her eyes innocent.

"I can't remember--" he said.

As she tipped his head to give her access to his cheek, she
commented, "I'm sure this must feel strange. . .you've only done
it yourself before, right?"

"Um-huh--" came out of his tightened lips as the razor slid over
his face, cleaning away the stiff hairs.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she decided as she
leaned back to examine her handiwork.

When she asked, "Do you want to go all the way?" she thought she'd
lost him. If he hadn't had that broken leg, she was sure he'd
have leapt up from the bed and fled.

Hurriedly she added, "The mustache. Take it or leave it?"

He shrugged with an attempted casual manner. "Might as well.
What the hell."

Wondering if that was the first curse word he'd ever used in the
presence of a woman, she spread the foam on his upper lip with a
fingertip. Leaning in very close, she whispered, "Now, hold
still. This part is tricky."

Somehow, she was able to shave his mustache off while diving deep
in his dreamy blue eyes, taking time out to snuggle down into his
laugh lines for a rest. She decided she did it all by feel.

As she wiped his cheek with a damp towel, she said, "I know it'll
feel odd for a while, then you'll get used to it."

He nodded in agreement, but as she turned away to put the shaving
tools back, she heard him whisper, "I feel so exposed."

She wasn't able to comment on that statement. Mulder was pushing
open the door and Scully was peeking around his arm, looking
concerned and grateful. Pushing away an impatient grimace, Anita
rose to greet them.

Scully moved past Mulder to hurry to John's side. Her eyes quickly
swept over the panel of equipment, seeming to take in all the
readings in a glance. She leaned over to place a peck on his
cheek.

His fresh skin blushed and she gave a little mew of approval.
Anita felt Mulder bristle beside her and wondered if she should be
as concerned as he seemed to be.

"How are you?" Scully asked.

Anita broke in before he could answer. "He should rest."

Scully raised a brow at her.

"What happened?" John had raised a hand to tap Scully's arm.

"You don't remember?" Scully looked concerned.

He creased his brow. Mulder had moved to the foot of the bed, and
leaned over the footboard to give him a searching look.

John said slowly, "No. . .I remember wanting Kung Pao chicken."

Scully gently prompted him. "You went to the apartment in my
building. You had left some papers there. . ."

John cast his eyes down to his lap, looking frustrated. "I can't
remember why I was going there."

Mulder probed. "You don't remember what papers were missing?"

"I know I was working on the results of the various tests. I
remember really wanting to see the results from the latest test--"
His eyes immediately shot up to Scully's face, questioning.

She smiled at him. "Yes. Everything is all right."

He grasped her hand tightly. "I'm so happy for you." He nodded
to Mulder as well. "Both of you."

Scully placed her hand over his. "Thank you. But the important
thing is that you get some rest."

He protested. "I need to remember. . ."

Mulder stopped him. "We'll figure it out--"

As though on cue, the door swung open and Frohike and Langly poked
their heads in.

Croaking, John greeted them. "Gentlemen!"

Anita smiled to herself.

They joined the group, crowding the tight space. Both friends
took turns patting John's uninjured leg, in the awkward way some
men show deep emotion.

Frohike spoke first. "Hey!" That seemed to be all he could think
of to say, and stepped back, blushing under his heavy stubble.

Langly tried next. "Hey!" Then his eyes widened behind the
lenses of his eyeglasses. "Hey man, what happened to your face?"

John put a hand up to his burn, seeming self-conscious. "I was
burnt."

"No, I mean--man, where's your beard?" Langly glanced around the
room as though he would find it lying on the floor.

"I. . .Anita shaved it off," John admitted stiffly.

Both of his friends looked uncomfortable, then Frohike said, "I
like it. It's a good look."

Anita decided to play with the little man. "Perhaps I can do the
same for you sometime." She realized she'd gone too far with
John's delicate ego when he frowned and then grimaced from the
pain of moving the muscles of his face in that expression.

She didn't get a chance to correct her mistake. The door swung
open once again and Mulder's tall partner and a very pissed
looking nurse pushed their way into the room.

The nurse took over. "All of you have to leave. Mr. Byers needs
his rest and this government agent needs to talk to him."

That was that. In a flurry of salutations, the group made their
way out of the room. Agent Davis watched them with a set mouth,
shaking her head at the innocent expressions directed her way.

3.
Anita showed them to a private waiting room and they regrouped.

"Do you think he'll spill anything?" Frohike asked.

Anita shook her head. "He doesn't remember anything to spill."

Scully looked frustrated. "True. Frohike, did he say anything
that day that would give us a clue as to what he was working on?"

As Frohike shook his head, Mulder cut in. "I got up early this
morning and went over everything still in my apartment. I found
this note."

He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. Out loud, he read,
"FWM-DNA sample, childhood."

Scully knit her brow in concentration. "He was working on the
test results. . ." Everyone nodded. "He was needing the baby's
DNA sample to complete his work. Krycek switched those samples
and destroyed John's work."

She suddenly looked exhausted and sat down. Mulder moved to stand
beside her, seeming concerned. She shifted away as his hand
reached down to her shoulder, and he settled it on the back of her
chair.

She continued. "They created this natural child from the two of
us for a reason. The answer could be in our DNA. John wanted a
past sample of your DNA for a reason. Could it have been changed
at some point?"

Mulder shrugged, looking bewildered. "Perhaps that's what the
note means."

Frohike added, "They've had their slimy hands on you from time to
time. Maybe They slipped you the whammy."

Scully looked frightened. "Do you have something that we could
use as a past DNA sample? A baby curl? Baby teeth?"

He shook his head. "No--wait. I remember seeing an envelope with
baby teeth in it. From Samantha and me. I didn't see the point
of keeping them, but my mother can't throw anything away. They're
in a safety deposit box in Boston."

"Can you have your mother send them down?" Langly asked.

A little too quickly, Mulder said, "No, that won't be necessary.
I'm going up to Boston to facilitate the sale of some land. I can
pick them up."

Scully looked startled and then said with stilted casualness, "Are
you going to see your mother while you're up there?"

Mulder tensed his jaw and said tersely, "No."

Anita looked quickly from one to the other. Something had
hardened between them since she'd last seen them. The two Gunmen
looked concerned as well.

Frohike suggested, "I can start to go over Byers' work with you,
Agent Scully. I think I can be up to speed quickly."

"Good idea," she responded. "I want to feel like I'm doing
something."

Turning to Anita, Frohike added, "And you, Dr. Mui. I'm sure
you'd be a great help as well."

Touched by the extended olive branch, Anita nodded. "I want to do
anything I can to help."

The door suddenly flew open and Agent Davis filled the doorway.
"I've interviewed John Byers and he says he doesn't remember a
thing. Any of you want to add to your previous statements?"

They all stared at her blankly, and a look of deep fury settled on
her strong features. "Fine. I'll be going to make my report to
A.D. Skinner now."

The cold wind of the agent's exit blew through the room, sending
everyone fluttering off on their appointed tasks like dry fallen
leaves.

4.

FBI Headquarters
1:40 P.M.

Skinner was loitering outside his office, apparently waiting for Tiff. She felt her backbone stiffen. He ushered her in, his hand heavy on the small of her back.

He moved around his desk and sat down. As she seated herself in a
chair before his desk, she set her face in a blank expression. He
reacted with a frown.

"Agent Davis?" His voice was cool.

"Sir?"

"Your report?"

"I have some preliminary findings. I haven't had time to type up
a report. Sir." She finished on the downbeat.

"And your findings are. . .?" He remained controlled.

She made it short and sweet. "There's nothing. John Byers
remembers nothing. Agents Mulder and Scully have nothing to add
to their statements. Those Frohike and Langly persons have
nothing to say. Nothing."

"But you have something to add to your previous reports?" His
tone was casual, but he was watching her carefully.

Again she felt a sense of danger. She had been avoiding this
confrontation for weeks. She was suddenly overwhelmed with anger.
Her temper had always been her downfall and she'd fought long and
hard to learn to control it. Every now and then it could be
useful as an intimidation tool.

"Sir, are you asking me to choose sides?" she challenged him.

He looked surprised at her bluntness. "I thought we were all on
the same side."

She shook her head. "I want to find out the truth. That's the
side I choose."

His next words hit her like a fist. "Come over tonight."

She worked to control her breathing, to keep her voice from
becoming a growl. She couldn't seem weak to him. She wasn't some
soft cunt, just waiting for him. She had to be as hard as he was.

She kept it simple. "No."

His voice softened. "I want to know the truth, too."

She suddenly wondered what he'd do with it if he had it. Out
loud, she said, "If they wanted you involved in their business
they'd have brought you in by now."

He leaned back in his chair, which groaned in protest. He gripped
the arms of his chair and his pectorals strained against the thin
fabric of his shirt. "Their business is very dangerous."

He leaned forward suddenly while she forced herself to remain
still in her chair. "I've seen individuals lose their lives.
Dammit, I've nearly lost my life!" He rapped his chest with his
knuckles for emphasis.

She remembered the first time she'd run her lips over the tangled
scar on his torso and had asked where'd he'd gotten it. His body
had stiffened and all he'd said was, "I got in the way."

He laid both of his hands on his desk, palms down. "I don't want
to see you hurt," he said flatly.

"I can take care of myself," she protested.

"You don't have to, though."

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally Tiff said, "Will that
be all, sir?"

Skinner ran the tip of his tongue along his stiffened top lip as
he stared at her. After a sigh, he replied, "Yes, Agent Davis.
That will be all."

She could think of nothing else to say. She rose and left his
office without looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Chapter 3: Perfect Strangers

1.

Boston, Massachusetts
October 20th, 11:20 A.M.

Mulder felt as though his life up until this point in time was a
house he'd left in a rush, leaving all the lights on and the doors
flung open. Going to Boston was his first step towards locking
that house down tight.

As he hurried down Washington Street, he realized he was watching
for his mother. She didn't come into the city often, but he
wanted to be prepared with a bland explanation if he did run into
her.

Going into his bank, he found himself in the safety deposit vault
opening his box. He'd been paying the fees on this box for twenty
years but this was the first time he'd opened it. He and Samantha
had shared the box when they were children. Canceling it would be
turning off one of the lights he'd left burning.

It was like a time capsule for that period of his life, sealed up
shortly after she was taken away. The card showed that the last
time he had visited it had been with Uncle Isaac on January 16th,
1974.

His wife, Aunt Sis, had died the previous June, and Uncle Isaac
had wanted to put her wedding rings in the box. "For Sammie, Fox.
For when she comes back. You give them to her."

Uncle Isaac had been the only one who spoke of Samantha like she
was going to come back. When he died suddenly of a heart attack
eight months later, Mulder realized he was truly alone. No one
else believed. Gladly, he'd gone away to prep school, to hide in
the company of strangers.

He cracked open the lid of the box and sifted through the contents
until he found the ring box. Looking down at the dim diamonds and
tarnished platinum rings, he wondered what it signified that he
was now getting ready to give them to Scully. Had he given up
hope?

Uncle Isaac had lost his only child, Allan, in the Vietnam War.
Mulder could remember sitting Shiva with him, his small hands
hanging on for dear life to the huge hairy-backed paw of his
uncle. The big hand, usually so comforting, was shaking and weak,
barely able to return the grip of the boy.

The older man had leaned over and rasped in his ear, "A part of me
is missing, Fox. A part's just missing now."

Perhaps that's why he could understand what Mulder had felt when
Samantha disappeared. He understood the loss of completeness that
the younger man would carry with him for years.

He pulled the rings out of the box. They felt warm despite the
fact that they hadn't been on a body for years. He allowed
himself to roll them around in his palm and watched the light
catch on the stones. He was all grown up now. It was time to act
like it.

He shifted around some more things in the box searching for the
envelope holding their baby teeth. He lifted out the flat velvet
box that held Samantha's seed pearl necklace, the one she had
gotten on her eighth birthday and was supposed to wear at her
debut. He had to open the box and stroke the smooth pearls; he
couldn't stop himself.

He asked for a large envelope and emptied all the contents into
it, putting the envelope with their baby teeth in his pocket. He
closed out the account and walked out of the bank without looking
back.

He continued down the street to the shop run by Guy Mayer, the
family's jeweler, to have the rings cleaned. Guy propped up his
tall, thin body with his bony elbows on the counter. Looking over
the rings from under impossibly bushy eyebrows, he sighed. "Ike,
he had good taste in stones--not so good taste in settings."

Mulder looked at the rings again and had to agree. The setting was
old-fashioned, tangled as the climbing rose outside Aunt Sis'
kitchen window had been and as fussy as the cluster of Hummel
figures in her china cabinet. But he also remembered the rings
buried in the fleshy wrinkles of her finger as her hands ruffled
his hair or patted out dough for huge, yummy sugar cookies. Those
were good memories and he wanted to pass on the love represented
in the rings. He just didn't know what they would look like on
Scully's hand.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asked Guy.

"Well, I could pull the stones out, melt down the metal, you could
pick out a new design. What sort of woman are these for?" Guy
asked.

Mulder couldn't stop the small smile that formed on his lips. He
nodded towards the rings lying on a velvet pad on the counter top.
"Not this sort. She's got a simple style. Classic, I guess. .
.She has very small hands. . ." He saw Guy's bushy brows raise and
he heard the unspoken word, 'shiksa'. He shrugged his shoulders in
apology.

Guy grinned, showing all of his big white fake teeth. "I'd like to
meet this girl sometime."

Mulder returned his grin. "I'll bring her by, maybe at Christmas."
Both men chuckled. "Although I doubt she's going to let me shower
her with jewels. As I said, she has very simple tastes."

"Simple? Simple I could do with these stones. Small hands you
say. . ." Guy pulled a pad of paper out and began to sketch
quickly.

The jeweler suggested he cut and arrange the stones in a narrow,
long row to run from knuckle to knuckle. The stones wouldn't
pinch the sides of her fingers when her hand was squeezed. He
would build them up high enough so that the narrow wedding band
could slip under them.

Mulder's only concern was that it might seem too ostentatious to
Scully but perhaps that would slip by her with the set's
simplicity.

Guy nodded, not looking up from his work. "I could make you a
ring too. You'll be needing a ring, right?"

He blinked. A wedding ring. This would mean he was married.
"Yes, make me a ring too."

Guy lifted his shaggy head and grinned again. "Scared, eh?"

Mulder shook his head a little too quickly and Guy roared with
laughter. Then he asked, "Any inscription?"

Mulder was overwhelmed--Too many things to decide. "Uh. . .'I
love you.'"

Guy's eyebrows knitted in confusion over his nose. "That's it?
No poetry? That fancy Oxford education and that's the best you
can do?"

Mulder was determined. "No. That's enough."

As he turned to leave, Guy bellowed after him, "That's what you
think! Wait until you've been married a while!"

Mulder was at the door when Guy added, "And I'll engrave a silver
spoon for you!"

Mulder could only nod at the older man's astuteness as he went
through the door.

2.

Mulder's Apartment
October 20th; 11:30 P.M.

Scully threw down her shopping bags as she pushed Mulder's front

door shut behind her with her foot. After dropping him off at the

airport for his flight to Boston, she'd gone shopping for

replacements for their destroyed clothing.

She'd never been one to spend hours in the mall trying on garments
and now with the pregnancy, she was forced to find a whole new
style of clothing. She was exhausted.

Back in his bedroom, she moved Byers' things out of the bureau and
unloaded her bags. She had to hurry, her mother was arriving any
minute to begin looking at houses.

Ruefully she glanced down at what she was wearing now. She
imagined the expression on the face of the realtor who had to show
a house to a woman dressed in a pair of rolled up men's khakis, an
oversized faded man's shirt with tattered cuffs and pumps. She
stripped them off quickly.

Pausing for a moment, she turned to examine her body in the full-
length wall mirror. In the last two days, it seemed to have
become suddenly aware of its pregnancy.

Gingerly, she touched her breasts. They felt sore and tender as
if she was suffering from endless PMS. It wasn't even noon yet
and she already wanted a nap. Her bones ached.

She moved her hands down to her belly. She could see the swelling
all the time now, not just when she lay on her back. She furrowed
her brow in curiosity as she pressed her palms against the smooth
bulge. She expected it to be soft and pillow-like. Instead it
was hard. When she tensed her abdominal muscles, her uterus
pushed back. It was strong.

It was as though her body had let loose all the sensations and
signs that it had been holding in when she stopped denying her
pregnancy. She was officially a pregnant woman, complete with
sore feet and small bladder. Nude, she wandered into the bathroom
to relieve that pressure.

When she sat on the toilet she looked down at the rounded belly
now resting on her thighs. She ran her hands over it again in
wonder. This was really going to happen.

First she would marry Mulder: they would buy a house and a car,
no--two cars. Then they would have a honeymoon--no, they didn't
really have time for a honeymoon, they needed to stay at work
because she really wanted to use her vacation time for her
maternity leave. They needed furniture and she wasn't able to
find any bras she liked today, her breasts were larger already.
She'd heard they needed to put the baby on the waiting list for a
pre-school now, and there was the little matter of the shadowy
figures waiting to do something with her or the baby, God knows
what. . .

She covered her eyes with her hands to stop the rushing thoughts.
This was all happening too fast. She didn't believe in making
choices in haste and here she was deciding to marry Fox Mulder
just like that, especially when she wasn't so sure he wanted to
marry her.

She thought about his preponderance to jump forward without
looking, his capacity for kindness to the downtrodden,
particularly women and children. Well, she was both in one
package, she thought as she washed her hands and went back into
the bedroom to dress in a sensible corduroy jumper and turtleneck.

Looking at her dumpy ensemble, she moved on to the subject that
she'd been avoiding for weeks now: sex, or lack thereof. It
seemed to her this was just one issue too many for them to handle
right now, especially since he hadn't seemed that gung-ho on the
idea since his initial forays.

She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. She'd seen more
desirable looking nuns, she thought, as she looked disparagingly
at the thick black tights she'd put on. Better to wait. Perhaps
after she'd had the baby and returned to normal dimensions Mulder
would be comfortable with a sexual relationship.

The knocking on his front door caused her to glance at the clock.
Her mother. Right on time.

3.
Six hours later, she barely dragged herself to Mulder's couch to
throw herself down on it, shucking her shoes along the way. Her
mother had nearly killed her.

She could still hear the woman's voice, droning on and on in her
head. "Tyson's Corner will be perfect for the two of you. Libby
Flaxham lives here, and Tracy Collins too. You remember them from
high school? Well, their mothers still play bridge with me and
they say it's wonderful. They're just so happy for you, by the
way. . ."

She'd been staring out her mother's car window, watching the
beautiful, bland houses whip by and tried to make her mind whip
her mother's words by just as fast.

Of course all the old gang had been 'worried' about Dana.
Obsessed with her career. Whispers probably suggested she was
obsessed with her partner. Poor thing, couldn't get him to marry
her. And look now! She found a way to get her man!

She forced herself to respond because she hated the direction that
her thoughts had been taking. "I don't think we should be this
far out, Mom. We're going to be commuting."

Her mother's brow furrowed. "But honey, do you think Fox is going
to stay with the Bureau? I'm sure he could start to practice
psychology, he would have a successful practice. . ."

Scully had to leave this conversation again. She began
considering what her survival chances would be if she flung
herself from a speeding car.

Her mother pulled up to the first house. Too far away, cupid
statuary in the front yard, floral patterned wallpaper throughout.
She heard her voice parroting after her mother to the realtor,
"It's lovely."

4.
Mulder pushed his front door open with a sigh of relief. A long
day, but he was home just in time. He hadn't missed any of the
Flashback to the '80's program on the radio.

He refused to listen to the new stations that had begun to play
80's music all the time. He didn't want to know he was getting
old enough that the music of his youth was now a nostalgic radio
format. Baldness was next for sure.

But he would allow himself to enjoy the guilty pleasure of an
hour's worth of music when he got home in time from work. He
found the remote in the darkened room, flicking the music on.
Blondie's 'Heart of Glass'. Perfect.

As he kicked off his shoes, he allowed himself a twisting, twisted
little dance step. His body remembered all the moves learned as a
teenager. Every Friday afternoon he would make his escape, taking
the train down to New York from his Connecticut prep school. He
had made a few friends in the dance clubs there. He spent the
weekend catching naps at their apartments during the early morning
and dancing the two nights away until it was time to catch the
train back to school, exhausted.

It was more than music to him. It was a potent memory of one of
the few carefree times in his lives.

He did a little shimmy with his hips as he loosened his tie and
just about had a heart attack when Scully rose up from under the
crumpled blanket on his couch.

"Shit! Sorry. I forgot you were here." That was totally the
wrong thing to say, he could see that petulant expression that had
become so familiar this past week spread across her face. Time to
turn on the charm.

He wiggled towards the couch, adding a little heel to toe action.
He extended a hand to her, an offer.

She settled back into the couch, shaking her head. Negative
response or amazement at his bad dancing?

He tried harder, which he'd always found resulted in the dancing
becoming worse.

*A double shot of Blondie, now here's 'Rapture'.*

She smiled. "Your favorite song, I presume?"

He had to grin. "Maybe."

Her gaze scanned up his body. "I can see you now. New Wave Boy.
. ."

He squinted at her as though he was trying to really see her.
"And you. . .you were a Rocker Girl. . ."

She turned her face away and he enjoyed her profile before
continuing. "Yep. In a tight, tight pair of Lee jeans. One of
those little bitty tee shirts with the scoop necks. . ." He had
to pause to reflect on the imagined memory of Scully's young
breasts. "Long hair. . ." He checked to see if she was looking
at him yet, but she was just licking her lips as though to lap up
the giggles before they could escape. Damn. "With those flipped
back bangs all the girls had. And a cherry red pickup your Daddy
bought for you. Roaring down the California freeway with the
stereo blasting. Tom Petty's 'American Girl'? Or one of those
'80's hair bands? Bon Jovi? Winger?"

He had stopped dancing and was standing in front of her. She
finally looked up at him and shook her head one more time.
"Nope."

"Oh?" He goaded.

She rolled her head back onto the cushion and met his gaze. A
challenge lurked under her heavy, sleepy eyelids.

He allowed himself to loom over her, enveloping her in a shadow.
He whispered, "You know, New Wave Boys always had a secret lust
for Rocker Girls--"

"Too bad," she said casually. "Because I was a Punk Girl."

He was overcome. "No way!"

Her lids opened wide and she gave him her eyes, open and
completely honest. "Way."

He could only repeat. "No way!"

She crooked a finger at him. "Come closer. If you look
carefully, you can see the scar where my nose ring was."

He quickly snapped on the table lamp and adjusted the shade to
boldly light the side of her face with a chiaroscuro effect. She
tipped her head to give him a better view, holding her lips tight
to keep from laughing at him.

The tune changed to 'Lips like Sugar.'

He leaned in close. He concentrated on focusing on finding the
scar among the freckles and tried not to notice her warm, sleepy
odor or the light caught in the soft tangle of her hair.

Breathlessly, he said, "You know, New Wave Boys always had a
secret lust for Punk Girls-"

She let the grin loose to play. One small hand gripped his tie,
hanging like a panting dog's tongue between them. The other ran
restlessly through his hair, making it stand on end. "I know."
Regretfully, she added, "But New Wave Boys were such dweebs. Even
if they were awfully cute with their big hair and skinny ties."

She tugged on his tie and he took that as a signal to steal that
smile away. Her mouth tasted like a Pez candy, sweet and tart at
the same time, and gone regrettably fast.

He had to win. "No way."

Her face fell. "Okay. It was for only one summer. Then my
father came home and put a stop to it."

Hurriedly, he said, "We don't talk much like this, do we?"

She got a strange look on her face, part fear, worry, and a
bittersweet amusement.

"No," she whispered before she pulled him back to her, to kiss him
deeply. He didn't have a problem with that, even if his arms were
aching from balancing over her body so he wouldn't crush her.

The phone rang. Her hand pushed him off, and she ignored his
grumbling protests as she snagged it. He fell down on the couch
beside her, snuggling into the blanket and propping up his head on
her shoulder. This felt much better than tension.

Then he felt the muscle under his cheek tense. Uh-oh.

"Mom? Yes, he's home." Scully pushed her hair behind her free
ear. "Uh, no. Not yet." She grew exasperated. "Because he just
walked in the door." She rose from the couch suddenly and he fell
over in the warm spot left behind. He watched her, now sideways,
start to pace. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing
a fuzzy cute little dress thing. What were they called? All he
knew was they were fun to remove because of the big buttons
holding the straps in place. His fingers flexed in anticipation.

She had found a way to end the conversation and was staring at the
receiver as though she was contemplating hurling it across the
room.

He played his role. "What's wrong?"

She did toss the phone onto the couch beside him. "My mother
wants me to start hounding you to buy some house she found in the
'burbs."

"Is it nice?" he asked.

"If you like that sort of thing." She brushed a hand across tired
looking eyes. "How did things go at the bank today?"

"I got the teeth for the DNA sample. Uncle David seems optimistic
that he can get three hundred thousand, easy, for the land. Of
course, our little house will have some New York nouveau money
building a mansion next door, but that's the deal we make with the
devil." He tried smiling, but she was obviously thinking and
didn't notice.

"How soon does he think it will sell?"

"He said not to worry about that. He worked out some complicated
deal where the bank will use the land as collateral on a loan to
pay the down payment until it's sold. He said buy something as
soon as we find it."

"Don't tell my mother that," she warned.

"Why not?"

"Oh, she's got the perfect place all picked out. With a built-in
Sunday after church neighborhood barbecue."

He had to shudder at her words. He thought for a moment. He felt
so overwhelmed by all this and he was sure Scully was as well.
"Perhaps we should listen to your mother. I mean, she's got
experience with all of this."

The glare she gave him would have knocked him unconscious if it
were a fist. He tried a different approach. "What do you want to
do?"

She fell down onto the couch beside him. Whining, she said, "I
don't know. I just know I don't like being told what I'm supposed
to want."

He nodded. "Maybe we can go out this weekend. Look around for
ourselves." He was obscenely pleased at the sweet reward of a
smile that suggestion earned him.

Her eyelids drooped again and he decided to take her to bed. She
didn't even protest as he lifted her off the couch and carried her
into the bedroom. The buttons were fun to undo, but her fumbling
hands stopped him before he could pull the jumper down.

He backed away from the bed and her eyes thanked him. "Uh--I've
got some work to do."

Her expression solidified to a blank wall. "All right."

He escaped to the living room. What the fuck was going on? He
didn't know what he was doing or should be doing from minute to
minute. He didn't know if he should be making a move. He was
never good at the move. Women always seemed to be the ones making
the move on him, that is until he met Scully.

It had been so simple. Scully must not desire him; she'd never
made a move on him. Well, somehow she'd ended up pregnant, so
there must be some desire in there somewhere.

His mother had always told him, "Ladies like a gentleman, Fox.
Not some animal pawing at them all the time." He was going to be
a fucking gentleman if it killed him.

He pulled a blanket and pillow out from the hall closet and placed
them on the couch for later. He wanted to be sure she had the
space he knew she desperately needed now. He only pushed her when
he believed strongly in his cause. He'd pushed in everything but
his love for her. Until now, only desperation and drugs had ever
made him cross the line.

But he felt as though they were at square one. He had to stop
being so impatient. They were getting married. They had the rest
of their lives. He'd passed his sexual peak a long time ago. She
wasn't going to be missing out on anything. It was only sex after
all. He'd gone--how many years had it been?--without a regular
sexual partner. He could be a big boy now.

He felt very mature as he got on-line to notify Frohike and Langly
that he had the DNA sample. He pushed the little devil off his
shoulder as his gaze avoided the pornography spam that filled his
mailbox if he left it for a day without checking the contents.
The evil devil that claimed he didn't even need to have sex with
her. Damn it, he would be satisfied to see her naked!

He rolled his head back and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
One step at a time. Get a house. He was sure Scully would feel
more comfortable once they had a place of their own. Prioritize,
that's what she was always telling him. Everything would look
better once they were on the right track.

4.

Pinecrest, Virginia
October 24th

It had seemed so simple. But now Mulder was discovering what it

felt like to have a mother-in-law. A displeased one.

She was standing in the middle of the living room of the house
Scully and he had bought that weekend. The house had everything
they wanted and the price had been right. Mulder hadn't felt
anything but relief as he signed the papers.

Now he was being told he should have a case of buyer's remorse.
Maggie paced and gestured around Scully, who stood with her arms
crossed tightly.

Maggie's voice was rising. "I cannot believe you did this!" She
was gesturing at Scully but her gaze settled on Mulder.

She cut off Scully before she could respond. "Don't tell me you
paid full price!" Gasping, she said the numbers out loud. "Eight
hundred--fifty thousand--dollars."

Mulder protested, "But if we didn't they would have sold the house
to someone else."

Maggie's glance was withering before it swept around the room.
"Did you manage to get a structural evaluation done?"

Mulder stomped his foot on the hardwood floor. "It's very sturdy,
Mrs. Scully--"

"What about the lean on your front porch and the falling
shingles?" she asked.

Scully was red-faced and her mouth gaped open and shut like a
dying fish.

Mulder plowed on. "It's got a big tree in the backyard for a tire
swing--"

Maggie interrupted again. "And crabgrass--"

Determined, he continued, "There's a fireplace in the bedroom--"

"What does it matter if the plaster is cracked and dust is going
to filter into the baby's lungs--"

He was beginning to lose confidence. Mrs. Scully was right. He
hadn't had the house checked for Radon poisoning or the
possibility of carbon monoxide leaks from the furnace. His gaze
wandered around the room, noticing a crack in one of the windows
for the first time. His nest was missing some twigs and mud, that
was for sure.

Scully's voice had joined the fray, low and cool. "Mom, this is
our house. This is the one we wanted."

Now it was Mrs. Scully's turn to gape. Recovering, she said,
"Dana, this is just not like you."

Again, the tough, burning gaze of a protective mother settled on
him. "Not like you at all."

He had to fix things, fast. "Scully, maybe your mother is right-"

Scully shook her head. Mulder was retreating on her again. She
took the moment to look into his confused and worried face. She
couldn't be angry with him, only exasperated. She suddenly
realized he had probably spent as many years looking for a mother
as he'd spent in a search for a father. The weight was heavy on
her heart.

"Can we return a house?" he asked.

Her mother snorted behind her and that pushed her over the edge.
Each word shot out of her mouth. "We're not returning this
house."

She repeated. "This is our home."

Mulder nodded at her. "Okay."

Her mother was relentless. "So when are you getting married?"

Scully closed her eyes, wishing herself anywhere, doing anything
but this.

Mulder was saying, "I'm arranging the wedding, Mrs. Scully."

Her eyes snapped open. He was?

He nodded again and continued. "I thought we could drive down to
North Carolina on a weekend. Something quiet and private, right?"
His brows rose in an unspoken question as he looked at her.

She nodded back, struck speechless.

Her mother didn't give up. "I thought we could have something--"

"No. Mulder's right. I don't want to waste a lot of time and
effort in this. It's just a simple ceremony. There's no need to
make a fuss."

Mulder's face took on the blank quality Scully knew so well. What
did he want from her now? Irritated, she remembered the early
years of their partnership, when she spent hours of her days
trying to figure out how to please him.

She had thought they'd developed an unspoken communication over
the years. She'd fought long and hard to learn to read his every
nuance. It didn't mean she liked everything she heard from him, or
wanted to hear it all time. But it was there.

Now, closer than they'd ever been, she couldn't read him anymore.
She missed understanding him with an ache that unsettled her. She
turned her back on the two of them to block out the expressions
she didn't want to see. His face confused and questioning. Her
mother's face disapproving and fearful.

She looked out the large windows into the backyard. It was deeply
blanketed with multi-hued leaves from their large trees, covering
the pool and lawn. She furrowed her brow. They needed to get a
couple of rakes and a wheelbarrow.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Chapter 4: Wedding Day

1.

November 13th
3:30 P.M.

The urban scene had given way, and now the Virginia countryside
was sliding by the car window. Maggie Scully's easy chatter
bobbed around the car interior like rubber duckies in a bathtub.

Scully nodded a lot. Her brain was used to keeping track of
conversations without really listening.

Mulder had been held up on a case again. He was working in
southern Virginia and was going to meet them in North Carolina.
Maggie had actually seemed pleased. As she squeezed Scully's
hand, she had said, "Oh good. We can have some quality time.
Just us girls."

Well, here they were. Scully wanted to ask her mother to stop so
she could buy a cherry pecan log at a Stuckey's, but decided that
wasn't keeping with the theme of discussions of decorating tips
and decisions about breast feeding versus bottle feeding. She
burrowed deeper in her seat, realizing suddenly that Mulder always
stopped to buy her a pecan log. She never even had to ask.

"Well. . ."

Scully shook herself back to attention because she knew that tone
with her mother. The woman was finally going to get down to the
conversation she really wanted to be having.

Maggie said it again, with a brighter tone. "Well." She smiled
over at Scully so her next words wouldn't seem as harsh. "I
certainly never thought you'd be in this position, Dana."

"What position, Mom?" Scully asked carefully, afraid she knew the
answer.

"Pregnant and getting married." Maggie chuckled uncomfortably.
"Or even married and then pregnant." She rushed on. "I'm very
happy for you and Fox, of course."

"Of course," Scully echoed.

Her mother shot her a sharp glance. "Now, Missy. . .I wouldn't
have been surprised if this had happened to her. . ."

Scully felt a stab to her chest. She had an urge to confess.
"Mom. . ."

She forced herself to look over at her mother and was shocked at
what she saw on her face. Resentment and guilt. Her mother had
known about Melissa's abortion all along.

Scully forced her gaze back out the car window. She felt
assaulted on all sides. Not only did she have to re-learn her
relationship with Mulder, but she also realized that her thirty-
five year relationship with her mother had changed in the ten
seconds it had taken her to acknowledge her pregnancy to this
woman.

She hungrily read a road sign as they passed it. Fifty-seven
miles to Edenton. She sneaked a glance at the odometer, marking
the mileage. She knew every mile was going to pass slowly. She
started again. "Mom. . ."

2.
Edenton, North Carolina, The Cupola House Bed and Breakfast

After checking into the bed and breakfast Mulder had selected,

Scully and Maggie sat together in the swing on the front porch,

waiting for him. The crisp fall air felt good on Scully's cheeks.
She counted the seconds ticking away with an unconscious tapping
of her toe. She wasn't sure if she dreaded their forward progress
or if she was impatient to push them along.

Mulder's car pulled up and he leapt out to jump up the stairs of
the porch. Nervously, he asked them, "How are you?"

Scully squinted up at him. The late afternoon sun came over his
shoulder in a sharp beam and hurt her eyes. With a neutral tone,
she answered, "Good. We're good. Is everything ready?"

He nodded quickly. "Shall we go?"

Maggie got up from the swing, straightened her dress and ran a
hand over her hair. She gave Mulder a quick smile. "Of course.
Are you going to drive?"

"Yes. Let's go." He offered his hand to Scully and after a
moment's hesitation, she accepted it. Slowly they climbed down
the stairs towards the car.

As she settled back in the front seat, she wondered if the wedding
was going to be as stilted as these first few moments. She didn't
need to be worried about remembering this day. Everything was
happening so slowly that she felt as though she were viewing one
of Mulder's slide shows.

Mulder drove them out of town and her curiosity was piqued.
Maggie asked first. "Where're we going, Fox?"

He glanced quickly up into the rear view mirror to make eye
contact with her and then at Scully. He looked worried. "I had
made arrangements of with the local justice of the peace. He
usually does the ceremony in his home, but. . ."

He turned off the highway and started driving down a sandy country
road in the direction of the ocean. Through the crack in the
window, Scully smelled the sharp tang of sea air and her heart
gave an automatic leap.

He gave them a strained smile. "I heard about this place and
thought it might be better. . ."

The road ended at a finger of land, all sand dunes and tufts of
thick grass. Strong and stocky, a small, wood-frame white church
sat peacefully slumbering among the dunes.

Mulder started rattling off his spiel. "It was a church used by
fishermen and their families. It's been abandoned. It isn't even
consecrated anymore. But I thought--"

He looked miserable as he turned the car off and silence settled
over the car.

Scully laid a hand on his arm. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Maggie looked less enthusiastic but as soon as she got out of the
car and the breeze caught her dark hair to lift it from her face,
she gave him a warm grin. "Yes, Fox. What a wonderful idea."

He led them to the doorway. "Uh. . .we have to hurry. There
aren't any lights."

The interior was very dim. Some light filtered through the
ventilation slates in the belfry and cast sharp bands of gold
across the dusty floor. There were two simple stained glass
windows behind the altar and a primary colored prism formed a
spotlight for them to approach.

"Ah--Here you are," was the hearty bellow from the shadows at the
front of the church.

"Yes, Mr. Marlowe, we're here." Mulder was helping Scully out of
her coat and nodded down at her, seeming to approve.

She smiled up at him, understanding. The heavy gray velvet dress
she'd chosen matched his rich silver silk tie. It almost looked
as though they planned this day.

The three of them hung back, unsure.

"Well, get on up here," came rolling down from the front again.

They all looked at one another. Maggie seemed to reach a decision
and reached to take each of their hands, leading them down the
sandy aisle, three abreast.

Once they were at the space where the altar would have been,
Scully could make out the stout figure of Mr. Marlowe, the justice
of the peace.

He smiled at her. "Indeed, what a lovely bride."

She supposed she should have blushed to fill the bill, but
instead, she nodded. "Thank you." She hated compliments on her
appearance. She never knew what to say.

She was startled when her mother gave her a quick peck on the
cheek and stepped to the side. A woman stood back behind Mr.
Marlowe and she assumed this would be the other witness.

He had begun and she hadn't been paying attention.

"Dearly beloved. . ."

Vows. She would be making vows. Her hand tensed in Mulder's
light grasp. How had her hand gotten there? She couldn't lie.
Would she be asked to make promises she could not keep?

"To have and to hold. . ." She could do that.

"In sickness and in health. . ." For the first time in her life,
she was able to lie convincingly. For Mulder's safety, she would
lie now, all the while resolved to make sure he was never hurt,
even if it meant she would have to leave him.

"Forsaking all others. . ." Her brow creased. When was the last
time she'd looked at another man with more than a simple
appreciation for his physical appearance? She suddenly felt an
odd sense of resentment towards Mulder for making her love him.

"Until death do you part. . ." The only problem was her concern
that the death would be coming sooner rather than later.

Something cold was slipping onto her finger and she looked down to
see what it was. She had to hold her hand up into the colored
light to see it. He had put two rings on her finger. One was
covered with diamonds, now cast in the garish shades of a neon
sign, the other, a plain band hidden under a crust of stones.
Surprised, she glanced at him.

Mulder looked embarrassed. She suddenly felt an easy smile cross
her face. With her mother murmuring praise in the background, she
agreed. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

Shifting his gaze between Scully's half-lit face and Mrs. Scully's
admiring eyes, Mulder nodded, suddenly relieved. He had to stop
taking these risks. He should have given her the ring the night
before, made sure she approved. He should have shown her the
wedding band, pointed out the inscription.

Although, he was now glad he hadn't. It seemed right that his
pronouncement would remain hidden from view, but kept close to her
skin.

All their vows were hidden in the shadows. Somehow it seemed
appropriate to marry Scully in a shifting half-light.

He couldn't comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but that
was all right. He didn't need illumination or sound. He only had
to watch the kaleidoscope of emotions cross Scully's face as the
justice of the peace prompted him and he responded. When he said
he would love her forever, the colors whirled in a rainbow.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Her lips were as cool as the ring he'd given her to slip on his
finger.

3.

The light was nearly gone by the time they stepped out of the

church door and headed back to the car. The breeze off the ocean

had become a stiff wind. Scully turned to the others and asked,
embarrassed, "Do you mind? I'd like to look at the ocean."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Mulder asked, although he could
tell the answer already.

"No. I'll be gone just a moment." Without waiting to see if he
agreed, she shucked her shoes, wiggled out of her hose, and padded
between the high dunes with the quickened step of a sea-nymph
answering a call.

Maggie watched her go with a smile on her lips. Her voice wrapped
around Mulder like a soft scarf against the chill of the
encroaching darkness. "Don't worry. She probably wants a moment
with her father."

"I'm sorry." Mulder felt that covered a number of possibilities.

Her hand, warm and dry, found his and grasped on tight. "Thank
you."

He found himself draping his arm around her shoulder. Her tone
kept its soft ascent up to him. "I'll be going back tonight after
dinner."

"What? In the dark? We're not due back until Sunday night."

She was firm. "No. I want to give the two of you some time
alone."

He was suddenly mortified. "That's not. . .I mean. . ."

"I think it's for the best," she said with all her grace. He felt
as though he had just received an assignment.

The moon was rising, large and orange in the navy sky, and as
Scully reappeared between the silver dunes, pushing her now wild
red curls back with an embarrassed laugh, he found himself saying
slowly, "Perhaps you're right."

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Chapter 5: Cupola

1.

Edenton, North Carolina
Cupola Bed and Breakfast
8:05 P.M.

"What!" Scully screeched. Fighting for control, she tried a more

reasonable tone. "Mom, what did you say to him?"

Maggie continued to pack her suitcase serenely. "I simply told

him I was going home early so the two of you could spend some time
alone together."

Scully heard her ten-year-old self in her voice. "But he'll think
I asked you to go. . .he'll think. . ." The idea mortified her.
The last thing she wanted was Mulder believing she needed her
mother to set up a romantic encounter for her.

Maggie arched a brow at her. "He'll think what? He'll think he's
your husband now? He'll think that a marriage ceremony means he
gets a wedding night?"

"Mom! He gets a wedding night! Do you hear how that sounds? I'm
supposed to do him some favor?" Scully protested.

Maggie sighed and then gave her a no-nonsense look. "Maybe you
should do yourself a favor. In case you decide that's a good
idea, there's a belated wedding shower gift there on the bureau."
With that she snapped her suitcase shut, gave Scully a peck on the
cheek and as she swept from the room, said, "See you when you get
home. Use the time wisely."

Scully couldn't help herself. She went and slowly opened the box.
A satin nightgown lay in gold tissue. She pulled it out and held
it up. It was floor length, with the sheen of amber pearls, tiny
spaghetti straps and an impossibly low cut back. It looked
exactly like something Jean Harlow would be wearing while sipping
a martini.

She held it up to her body and looked in the mirror. Yes, the
high waist would accommodate her rounded belly, even hiding it
somewhat. Had her mother actually asked for a maternity negligee?

Now all she had to do was find the guts to put it on.

2.
In the adjoining room, Mulder paced and strained his ears to try
to hear something in the next room. Had Mrs. Scully left yet?
It would be really embarrassing to walk in ready for seduction
and have her sitting there with Scully in their matching flannel
robes.

He looked down at himself. Did this pass for suave? He hadn't
hoped--he hadn't dreamed--he wasn't prepared. He hadn't brought
anything appropriate for a wedding night. The closest thing he
had were his black silk boxers.

He had shaved extra close, put on the boxers and placed a couple
of bottles of mineral water in an ice bucket. It was the best he
could do.

He paced and listened some more, then glanced at the clock.
Nine o'clock. She had to be gone. He had to act before he
exploded. He knocked on the connecting door. He heard a muffled
'ugh' through the door. It wasn't promising, but he entered her
room anyway.

He had to look around the room to find her. She had turned all
the lights off but the small lamp by the bed. The rest of the
room was illuminated with candles and the air was thick with the
sweet odor of warm beeswax. A fire burned, the reflection of the
flames licking in deep orange tongues up the ivory walls.

Scully was on the purple velvet-covered chaise lounge in front of
the fireplace, looking as though she had been napping. Her hair
was tousled and her lids at half-mast, the blue irises glowing out
from under the sweep of her dark lashes. Her cheeks were pink and
flushed from her nap, like a sweet baby.

She was wearing a nightgown that matched the glow of her skin.
His eyes flitted so rapidly over her body his head hurt. He was
trying to take it all in: the way the material swayed down between
her breasts to reveal the edge of a pink nipple in a deep shadow,
the shimmer as it shifted restlessly over her hips and calves when
she pushed herself upright, and the slow descent of an incredibly
thin strap slipping off a smooth cream shoulder.

He really didn't know if he could do this. He had dreamed and
planned and plotted for so long--yet here he was and he didn't
know what to do first. He just stood there.

"What'cha got there?" she asked.

He looked down at the ice bucket. "Something to drink." He
decided not to try swallowing anything right now--his throat
seemed to be nearly closed.

"Put that down and come over here," she ordered him. Thank god--
she was going to take charge.

As he approached her with measured steps, Scully could feel her
throat closing off just as slowly. At this rate, she would be
unconscious by the time her got to her side.

He finally stopped next to her and she craned her neck back to
look up at him. It reminded her of the first time she'd tipped
her head back to look up at the Empire State building. Her head
spun from the lack of oxygen. He was her own personal skyscraper
and she had the odd image of herself as Faye Raye, scaling the
building's side to join King Kong on the top.

She found her mouth full of cotton, a good muffler to keep the
words running through her mind like the moving letters on the side
of the Goodyear blimp from escaping: 'Mine, Mine, Mine. . .' She
couldn't think of another single thing as her eyes swept over his
body, so familiar and yet now, suddenly, completely foreign
territory.

She reached up to draw him down next to her on the chaise lounge
but couldn't think what to do after that. He sat there by her and
seemed content. Finally she tugged at the waistband of his boxers.
"I like this," she said shyly.