Chapter 1: First Date

1.
Pinecrest, Virginia; 31 Bridle Path Way
April 30th, 3:45 P.M.

"Mulder, how's everything going?"

Scully was on the cell phone for the fifth time since she'd left
him with the baby to go shopping. Her first solo journey out of
the house since Kit's birth.

Mulder balanced the receiver between his shoulder and ear. "Fine.
Everything's fine."

He glanced down at his son cradled in his arms. The baby cracked
his eyes open but then let his long, dark lashes drop again. To
Mulder, Kit's eyes seemed huge, a swirl of blue and green and
gray, depending on his mood.

Scully's voice snapped him back to the conversation. "Has he been
hungry?" She wasn't satisfied with his assurances.

"I've given him a bottle, yes."

"All right," she said grudgingly. "I'm going to be at least
another hour. The traffic is horrible! But take another
container of my milk out of the freezer. Just to be sure."

He was losing patience. "There's still some left in the bottle.
It'll be fine. I've gotta go. Diaper change time!"

He cut the connection before she could go over that procedure with
him again.

He swung the drowsing baby up onto his shoulder and began
chatting. "You and me, Captain. We menfolk can take care of
business." Kit's response was to latch onto Mulder's neck like
some toothless vampire, the baby's drool pooling in his
collarbone.

There were more immediate concerns. Recoiling slightly at the
odor rising from his son's diaper, Mulder hurried to the changing
table they'd set up the laundry room off the kitchen.

He was just beginning to unfasten the pins at Kit's hips when the
front door bell rang.

Grumbling, he picked the now squirming baby up and went to answer
it.

His heart plunged when he peered through the peephole.

Opening the door, he said, "Mother."

Teena Mulder stood on the porch. Despite her perfect coif and
smooth Chanel overcoat, her white knuckles clutching her purse
strap betrayed her tension.

"Fox." Her gaze immediately settled on the baby.

Mulder had to move aside to let her in. "Please come in. It's
cold. Kit needs his diaper changed," he called over his shoulder
as he hurried back to changing table. Kit had begun the low pig
squeals that signaled his displeasure.

"Fox..." His mother was wavering in the doorway as he began his
task.

Mulder didn't know what to say. He concentrated on wiping Kit's
small buttocks clean.

She slowly entered the room, watching him. "Why didn't you call
me?"

He tossed away the soiled wipe. "How did you know?"

He turned to be able to look into her eyes. She raised her chin
and met his gaze with her usual cool, bland gaze. "A friend
thought I should know I'm a grandmother."

He turned back to his task, his hands trembling slightly as he
pulled a new diaper off the stack. He had his answer.

She peered over his shoulder to watch. "He's not circumcised?"

"Scully doesn't believe it's medically necessary," he muttered.

Archly, his mother commented, "Oh? And has she had him baptized?"

Gritting his teeth, he replied, "No. We're going to let him
decide those things for himself." As he powdered Kit's bottom, he
reminded her, "You let Dad take Samantha and me to be baptized--"

She tossed her head back, dismissing him. "What was I to do to
stop him?"

He could only shake his head as an answer. It was useless to
challenge her.

She didn't seem to notice. "What's his name?"

"Didn't your 'friend' tell you?" he retorted as he finished
fastening the fresh diaper.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hand reaching out
to touch his child. He shifted his weight so his body blocked her
move. She stepped back towards the doorway.

He knew what her response would be when he told her the name.
"Isaac Patrick."

Sure enough, she tossed up her hands, and shook her head. "Good
Lord! That old rag seller!"

"Yes, Mother. That old rag seller." He'd swung around to face
her; Kit tucked up under his chin. Ignoring the scene, his son
had fallen back to sleep, curling into his odd turtle-out-of-its-
shell shape. "Was there anything else?"

She seemed stunned. "What?"

"Did you want anything? Because I think you should go."

She hadn't taken her overcoat off or put down her purse. She
played at the buttons of her coat now, and let her eyes roam the
room, lighting everywhere but on him. "I--"

He heard a cold, brutal voice cut her off. "Okay. Then I think
you should go."

Her head dipped in a royal nod of acceptance. "I will."

He didn't show her out. Instead, through the living room window,
he watched her car pull out of the drive and slowly move down the
street. He was surprised that there was no silhouette on the
passenger side.

Kit began to fuss. Mulder rocked him, trying to settle him down.
In the kitchen, he made a disturbing discovery. The milk level in
the bottle was much lower than he thought.

The rest of Scully's milk was frozen solid. "Dammit!" Glancing
down at Kit's perplexed face as the baby sucked the last of the
milk down, he apologized. "Sorry, Captain. Maybe--"

He opened the door of the microwave and then hesitated as he
prepared to shove the container of milk into it. No, that would
kill the good thingies in the milk. Scully's lactation lesson
number 64, now only vaguely remembered.

"Now what?" he said out loud and got only some gasps of
frustration from his warm bundle. He began to pace and then
snatched up the phone. It rang before he could dial Scully.

"Mulder? It's me."

"Scully--"

"I'm still on the freeway! Dammit! I'm stuck behind an
accident!" she sputtered down the line at him.

"Are you all right?" he quickly asked, switching Kit to the arm
furthest away from the receiver so his low cries couldn't be
heard.

No such luck. "What's wrong?"

He put all of his powers of conviction in his voice. "Nothing--"

She growled, "Shit!"

Swaying in place to attempt to rock Kit to sleep, with no results,
he asked, "What now?"

Sputtering, she said, "I had a let-down when I heard Kit cry.
Dammit! Now I have milk all over my sweater."

Mulder met Kit's wet, sad eyes with equal despair. So close and
yet so far!

"Just drive safely. We'll be here when you get home, don't
worry."

Again, he cut her off before she could protest. Kit filled in the
protest, beginning to cry in earnest. Futilely, he patted the
baby's back, trying to soothe him. "You miss your Mommy, huh,
Kit? So do I."

As the minutes ticked by, he walked around and around the kitchen,
staring at the frozen milk in its rubber tub, willing it to melt.
A small puddle developed under the block, but it was freezing
cold.

Kit's cries became steady and strong. Widening his circle to
include the living room, Mulder peered out of the blinds to see if
his neighbors had gathered on his muddy front lawn, brought by the
wails of a tortured child, ready to snatch this neglected baby
from his incompetent father.

Upset, Kit began to spit up what little food he did have in his
stomach. Mulder was nearly sobbing himself.

"Oh, Kit! What'd you do that for?" He lay the wailing baby down
the couch and quickly stripped off his stained sweatshirt. When
he brought Kit back up to his chest, the baby began mouthing at
Mulder's damp pectoral muscle.

At first Mulder was horrified and then a plan formed in his
overwrought mind. Well, not that Kit could get any milk, but
maybe it would calm him to suckle...Mulder tried to adjust Kit to
this unfamiliar position. Scully made it look so easy...

"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" came from behind him,
startling him to the extent he nearly dropped the baby.

"Scully! Thank god!"

"Yes. I should think so," she fussed.

She had stripped off her coat and was pulling off her milk-stained
sweater as she approached him. "Give him to me."

She settled into the armchair and Kit was immediately silent when
he latched onto her nipple. She was shaking her head and
chuckling. "Mulder! I'm concerned that your harebrained ideas
will spill into parenthood."

He plopped down on the sofa next to his crumpled sweater. "I
forgot--"

Fascinated, he watched as she gently stroked the plump white cheek
of his son. Fine dark hair was finally growing in, creating a
tidy cap on Kit's skull. She wasn't listening.

Her face held the dreamy expression he used to be happy to put
there on a regular basis. She was in that place she went when she
was with their baby. A place he would never be able to go.

He noticed his lips were contracting in unison with Kit's greedy
slurping. Did it taste like normal milk or something more--
better? The way his son acted, you'd think Hollandaise sauce,
rich and almost forbidden in creaminess, was coming out of her
nipples. He remembered the soft texture of her aureole, then the
elastic nub of her nipple. How hard would he have to suck to get
milk?

Leaping up from the couch, snatching up their soiled sweaters, he
hurried from the room, telling her, "I'll soak these sweaters."

Her laggard tone followed him, "All right."

2.
Scully sank deeper into the tub of warm water. This house had
been an extravagance, but she found it hard to feel remorse when
she was in this elevated, deep tub built for two. It had been a
long, cold day trying to find some clothes to fit her new and
fuller figure. Sighing, she lowered herself into the water until
only her head was poking out.

Also, she'd gotten her hair cut, at last, to a short, layered
style. Now it would be a tumble of curls if she didn't straighten
it mercilessly. It didn't matter. She still hadn't decided when
she would go back to work, or in what capacity when she did. For
now, she couldn't seem to summon interest in her career. All of
her priorities had changed.

The reason entered the room, carried by Mulder, and she couldn't
help but raise her arms. "The water's cooled enough. I'll bathe
him."

He shook his head, but smiled. "Let me take his diaper off first.
Enjoying your bath?"

She returned his smile. "Yes."

"I was going to shower." Handing the now naked baby to her, he
asked, "Care to join me?"

"No, I've got my man." She gently lowered her son into the warm
water, dunking him up and down.

Mulder looked disappointed, but said with a grin in his voice, "My
waterbabies."

She had drawn her knees up and propped Kit's head up so he could
see her as she made funny faces at him. "Yep! Wanna go for a
boat ride, Captain?"

Kit only gurgled in reply, then screwed up his face in his now
familiar, me-hungry, expression.

Quickly, she brought him to her breast and dribbled water on his
fat belly as he fed. She glanced up at Mulder. Like a large toad
on his stool, he was perched on the toilet; his long legs pulled
up, watching them with a strange look on his face.

"What?" she asked in a low voice, the room suddenly seeming very
warm.

Jumping up from the toilet, he tossed over his shoulder, "I'll
shower downstairs. Don't want to disturb you."

She shot a questioning look down at Kit, who ignored her in his
greed. Reviewing the past few moments, she thought she could
figure out the source of Mulder's discomfort. She was pretty damn
sure she'd seen a huge erection tenting his baggy sweatpants as he
rushed out of the room.

The now familiar lethargy that came with breast-feeding overcame
her and she settled her head back on the edge of the tub. Sex.
What was that? So far, things hadn't been going well at all in
that department.

She'd torn somewhat in the frantic birth and, for once, she'd been
slow to heal. Despite the doctor's okay, their first attempts had
to be aborted. Now she was sure she was physically fine, it was
just a matter of finding time and energy. They'd gotten pretty
far the other night, hands and lips traveling down all the old
roads, before Kit's cry had taken her away. By the time she'd
gotten back, Mulder had been sound asleep.

Hardly flattering, but she didn't blame him. He'd started back to
work, although only on deskwork. Still, he gamely would get up to
retrieve Kit for her every two hours in the night, settling back
to his side of the bed with the baby nestled between them like a
bundling board.

Kit was finished eating. Bringing him up to her shoulder, she
whispered in his ear, "Maybe tonight, Captain. Do I feel lucky?"

By the time she'd dried and powdered him, rocked him to sleep, and
had done her few nighttime rituals, Mulder was in bed with the
light out. Slipping under the covers, she wiggled up behind him,
letting her hand creep over his hip, under his pajama waistband,
along his groin to encounter...a flaccid penis.

"Where'd my friend go?" she asked, slightly taken aback.

Half asleep, Mulder mumbled, "Oh. Uh...I took care of that myself.
I didn't--"

Fury and frustration on three hours of sleep brought quick tears
to her eyes. "Fine." She flipped over faster than a McDonald's
hamburger, and pulled the coverlet up tight under her chin.

His remorseful tone followed her. "Scully? I could...what do you
want?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Go to sleep."

Now that she was royally pissed off at him, Mulder figured he
might as well tell her what had happened. "My mother came by
today."

"What!?" She flipped back over and her could see the whites of
her eyes gleaming bright panic in the dark room.

"Yes. I think that old smoking bastard told her about Kit," he
said.

"You hadn't called her?" Scully was stroking his arm now, her
anger apparently forgotten.

"No. I couldn't think of what to say," he muttered.

Her voice was low and strained. "Do you think we should be
worried?"

"I'm assuming he's just mind-fucking with us. He can't let go of
his 'family'. I'm sure that's all." He hoped he sounded
confident.

She pulled his arms around her and burrowed her head under his
chin. "Okay. I hope so."

Her body felt strong and lithe under his touch, the slight tension
still in her muscles. He squeezed the long muscles running down
her stiff back. "I know so."

3.
FBI Building
May 4th, 5:05 P.M.

Mulder checked his calendar again for the twentieth time that
afternoon. Yep, he didn't have it wrong, 7:30 PM, tonight.

Scully had dropped by the office with a bawling Kit after a
doctor's appointment.

Tiff had seemed to pretend not to notice and then had to stifle a
chuckle when Scully had passed off the squirming, whining baby to
him, with, "Take him. He's cranky and so am I."

Scully herself had written the numbers in red as she leaned across
his desk, her torso pressing his stilled hands down on his
paperwork. It had been just before she'd left, after Kit had spit
up on his tie, after she had breast-feed the baby in front of a
horrified Skinner and a continually bemused Tiff and after she had
thrown a stinky diaper in his waste basket. As she'd written the
time, she'd whispered in his ear, "Our first date."

He knew what she meant. It was time to resume marital relations.
Or to put it more concisely, to start marital relations properly,
with Scully's belly flat and firm again.

No more of this 'fooling around' they'd been doing; the term he
and the other boys used in high school when they didn't want to
admit they weren't actually having sex with their girlfriends,
only petting.

He laughed suddenly and Tiff shot him a worried look. Scully and
he were finally going to have sex. How long had it been? He
broke out in a sweat. Should he stop and get some wine? He should
have sent flowers. He dialed the florist frantically. Too late.
He would have to pick up a dozen roses on the way home from work.
It was their first date after all.

He could see Tiff watching him out of the corner of his eye. She
just kept shaking her head. Fuck her. He was a man with a few
things on his mind.

4.
He was at his own front door with his arms loaded down with
champagne bottles and flowers and had to stop himself from ringing
the bell. He wasn't arriving for a real date, for Christ's sake!

He was greeted by Kit's siren-like wail as he entered the foyer.
Scully was walking the baby around the living room, trying to calm
him.

Mulder stopped in the entryway and watched her. Well, she had
been beautifully coordinated at some point this evening, he was
sure. She was wearing a long, tight velvet dress, a dark deep
red, the color of desire. It was cut low in the back to show off
her gorgeous string of pearls spine. He couldn't see the bodice,
she had a squirming red-faced baby pressed to it right now, but he
was sure it was cut low too. She was barefoot, but he saw the
high Fuck-Me shoes tossed aside.

Scully suddenly realized Mulder was watching her and she jumped
with a start. Having a baby had dulled her instincts and she
didn't like that. She couldn't stop her voice from being snippy.
"You're finally home."

He looked stunned and then said, "Yeah, I'm sorry--" He glanced
down at his offerings.

She just couldn't stop herself. "I already have wine and
flowers."

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he tossed his things onto the console
table and came into the room.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry too. Could you take him for
just one minute so I can check on the dinner?"

"I'd be happy to take him," Mulder said stiffly.

She bit back a bitter comment about the diaper-changing scoreboard
of late and handed him Kit before fleeing to the kitchen and the
smell of burning lasagna.

As she threw the casserole dish up on the counter, she noticed Kit
had spit up on her dress. That was pretty. It wouldn't come out
of velvet; that was for sure. She wiped off as much as she could
and sighed. This wasn't going the way she planned at all.

Mulder joined her in the kitchen. "We could order take-out," he
suggested.

She was still in the snippy mood. "I guess. Where's Kit?"

"I put him down." Mulder reached for her like a hungry baby
himself.

"He'll be crying again in a second, I tell you," she warned as she
moved away. She saw the hurt expression in his eyes.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to try to get in the
mood. "Why don't you order some food? I'll go check on him."

Mulder called after her as she hurried from the room, "I told you.
He's fine. You're just going to get him stirred up."

He didn't understand. She had heard other women say that about
their husbands but she'd thought a man as sensitive as Mulder...

He didn't understand that she knew if her child needed her. He
would never have this connection.

Kit was lying in his crib, gulping back quiet sobs. She quickly
picked him up and moved to her rocking chair. They rocked for a
few minutes and she started feeding him. Before he could finish
eating, he finally went to sleep. With a slight, pained grimace,
she rearranged her breasts in the bodice of her dress.

She found Mulder in the living room, with the TV on, flipping
through the channels. Great. Now she had to seduce him out of a
pout. She came up behind him and ran her fingers through his
hair, massaging his scalp, and he purred like a jaguar. Well,
that was easy.

"Where did I leave those shoes?" she said, putting some sexiness
in her tone.

He chuckled. "Oh, yes. Please."

She wedged her feet into the shoes with pain. They fit a year
ago. She had to admit it was no longer swelling and realize her
feet were now larger. She almost sobbed out loud at the idea she
was going to have to replace all of her beloved shoes.

She must put on a brave face for Mulder. She pivoted and
sauntered towards him. He seemed to appreciate the show. He
reached up and drew her down onto the couch. Immediately, his
tongue went into her mouth and his long fingers slipped down the
cleavage of her dress. Finesse appeared to be gone, replaced by
over-due need.

She gave out a gasp of pain as he gripped her breast. They were
still too sensitive. She reached up and tugged at his wrist.

He looked at her with drugged eyes and then saw what was wrong.
"Sorry," he mumbled as he pushed the strap of her dress down to
reveal the offended breast, the blue veins pulsing under the white
tissue. He dipped his head to gently lick away the soreness.

That was better. She moaned in encouragement and let her eyes
drift shut, cradling his head as he began to suckle. He gave out
a 'glug' and pulled away in surprise.

"What?" she asked.

He looked embarrassed and his lips were pursed as though he needed
to spit but didn't know where.

"What's wrong?" she asked again, and then realized what had
happened.

She started to laugh, but he said, "Uh, nothing," as he quickly
gulped down the mouthful of her milk.

If he wasn't going to keep his sense of humor, this wasn't going
to work, she thought with fury. Wait until he found a few other
surprises she had hidden under these clothes, including scar
tissue and stretch marks.

Just then, the doorbell rang with the food delivery and Kit
resumed wailing. They both jumped up from the couch to go to their
duties.

The three of them sat around the table, the adults disgruntled.
Scully hadn't bothered to light the candles. They shoveled their
dinners into their mouths as Kit fussed and whined in her ear,
draped over her shoulder.

Mulder kept shooting her looks as though he wanted to say
something. She dared him, she just dared him. The tension became
thicker than the congealed, fatty sauce on her pasta.

He waited until she had a stomach full of food to clench down on.
"You know, I think you're clinging to him too much."

Taking a deep breath, she shot back, "Is that your opinion as a
psychologist?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, obviously at war with his
better judgement. It failed, as usual. "No, my opinion as a
psychologist is that you're trying to compensate for your
perceived ambivalent feelings during pregnancy and your fear of
losing him now--" he stopped himself.

She dared him out loud. "And?"

He looked her right in the eye. "And I think you use him as a
buffer against intimacy because you're still not comfortable with
the fact that you somehow ended up married to me without all your
usual careful planning."

Chapter 2: Heaven and Hell

1.
Pinecrest, Virginia; 31 Bridle Path Way
May 4th, 11:25 P.M.

Mulder felt lucky to just be in the den. Scully's expression as
he'd delivered his opinion as a psychologist had suggested she had
the hole in the backyard halfway dug and his fresh carcass lying
in a wheelbarrow beside her as she worked. A retreat had seemed
like the best tactical move at that moment.

A retreat. With a laugh, that's what Scully had christened the
den as the movers arranged his old dark couch, fish tank and desk.
It was a retreat all right, right back to Before.

After he'd skulked to their bedroom for a tee shirt and sweats,
there were muffled sounds from the other rooms. He'd refused to
try to identify them. It had been silent for a while, which would
suggest Kit had finally gone down for the night but he certainly
wasn't going to leave this room to find out.

A ringing interrupted Mulder's dwellings on self-pity. He picked
up the phone but heard only a dial tone. The ringing continued.
He realized it was coming from his trench coat, hanging on the
coat tree in the corner. His cell-phone.

His brow creased in curiosity, he pulled the phone out of the deep
pocket and pushed the talk button. "Mulder."

There was a moment of silence. Then a low voice came to his ear.
"Mulder, it's me."

He was hit with a punch. "Uggh?" was all that came out of his
mouth.

The low voice continued, "Mulder, can I come over? I have
something to show you."

His eyebrows raised and he stared at the closed door of the den.
"Uh...what about the baby?" He hated himself for shattering the
fantasy so soon, but he didn't want to be disappointed again.

"Tiff has taken him until tomorrow. Can I come over? It's
important." Her voice pulsed with a rhythm that was beginning to
vibrate throughout his body.

He jumped up from the sofa like he was being called to order and
barked into the phone in a ridiculously high voice. "Of course!
Come as soon as possible!" He dropped back on the sofa, covering
his eyes. Idiot.

The voice held back a laugh. "Oh, I will."

He better do all he could to make sure this went well. Quickly,
he threw in, "I'm sorry about my remarks," before hitting the
'end' button and throwing the phone in the general direction of
the desk. He pulled his legs together to try to hold his already
throbbing dick down. Mustn't look too eager.

Minutes were ticking by. He strained his ears. What was she
doing? He heard nothing. He glanced at the clock. Fifteen
minutes! Then he chuckled. On a good day, it would take her
forty-five minutes to get to his apartment.

He was chewing on a lint-covered breath mint he'd found in his
coat pocket as he impatiently flipped through a magazine when he
finally heard a knock on the door. He forced his voice low, in
what he hoped was a sexy tone. "Come in."

Tossing the magazine aside as the door swung open, he had to grip
his knees tightly to stop his legs from jumping up and down.
Scully stood in the doorway in her long black trench coat, holding
her briefcase. She had smoothed her hair back down into its
helmet of gold and red. Her make-up was professional.

"Thanks for letting me come over. It's really important," she
said as she strode into the room. He shrugged in what he hoped
was a nonchalant manner.

She began slowly unbuttoning her coat. He leaned forward,
expectant. She would be naked underneath. He just knew it. The
black coat swirled away from her figure to reveal...she wasn't
naked. She wore one of her suits. The periwinkle blue one that
made her eyes almost plastic in the intensity of their color.
Sensible length skirt. Two-inch heels on her black pumps. The
peek of a blouse under the blazer. Wasn't naked under there.
Cross nestled on the collarbone. Nothing in the least bit
provocative. Then why was he so turned on?

She settled in a chair across from him and put her briefcase up on
the coffee table between them. She leaned over to snap it open
and his eyes went right to the slightest bit of cleavage revealed.
She caught him and raised an eyebrow. Bad boy. Oh. It was a
game.

A slow grin crossed his face. She pursed her lips in disapproval
and his cock twitched. "I brought the latest reports from the
blah, blah..." He'd lost his focus already.

He blinked, forcing himself to concentrate. God, what if she was
serious? No sex tonight, Mulder, so I thought we would do some
paperwork. He nodded to her and tried to look like he was
listening. How many times had he done that in the past when in
reality he was listening to the hiss of her hosiery-encased thighs
rubbing together when she crossed them? Like he was right now.

She switched from her right leg over her left to the left over the
right and the skirt edged up just a bit. He leaned his head over
slightly, trying to look up the skirt. Panties?

"Mulder?" She interrupted his inspection.

"Huh?" She had a small smile on her coral lips. Caught. All those
years she must have believed he was thinking such deep thoughts
and sometimes the thoughts weren't any deeper than her core. Her
tight, wet...he crossed his own legs, quickly.

"What do you think?" She was laughing at him inside, he could
tell.

He summoned all of his powers of concentration and started in. He
could play too. She had been going over all the information from
their X-file and about Kit. "I think this was a very good idea,
Scully. A full review of the material is in order. We need to look
at everything, assess the current threat to our child."

She looked slightly perturbed.

"It could take all night." He tried for that sexy voice again and
from the way her plump lips rubbed together, he thought he'd hit
it.

"Yes, that's right. I like your enthusiasm," she purred.

He grinned foolishly again and thought, now what?

What would he have done if he had ever been able to summon up the
courage to make a serious move on her? He really had to thank the
Smoking Man for this. He sure hadn't had the guts to go that one
step over the line. He barked out a laugh.

"What?" Scully asked in her low voice.

One step over the line..."Why don't you come over here and sit
next to me? That way we can look at the reports together." He
tried to keep his voice bland. Must keep the game up for as long
as possible.

She paused for a minute and gnawed on her lower lip until it
swelled out of her small teeth. He had to look away or he knew
he'd burst. He didn't want the game to end too soon.

The hissing of her thighs drew closer and he was enveloped by her
scent as she settled next to him on the sofa.

He had summoned the courage to get her there beside him on the
couch--now what? He reached out with a fumbling hand and she
sucked in a breath. He chickened out at the last moment and
snatched up the bowl of sunflower seeds from the coffee table.
Please god! Let her think he was being coy!

What the hell was wrong with him? This woman was his wife. He
had a child with her. There was no baby between them now,
literally or figuratively. With a start, he realized he was
intimidated because that meant she was Scully again.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and she was rolling
her tongue in her cheek with exasperation. She looked back at him
out of the corner of her eye.

He quickly snatched a seed out of the bowl and lifted towards his
lips. Before he could get the seed to his mouth, her head dipped
in and the tip of her tongue reached out to lift it from his
fingertips, her hair brushing his frozen hand as she moved back.

"I always wanted to try one of these--secretly," she murmured.
She worked the seed to grip it in her jaw and he heard the faint
*crack* of the shell. After working the meat free, she balanced
the empty husk on the end of her tongue and spit it out, managing
to hit the other bowl on the table he kept for this purpose.

He knew his mouth was still hanging open and probably his tongue
was flapping too. If she had ever done anything like that before
he would have had the courage to make a move. He wasn't good at
the move. All the other women he had been with before had made
the first move. Although he would hardly put this up there with
Phoebe sticking her hand down his pants two minutes after they
met, it was enough to encourage him.

Her gaze traveled lazily around the room, caressing the worn
leather of the couch and the varnished surface of his old desk.
He noticed her pale skin and eyes were reflecting the green light
from the fish tank, and he was back in the spaceship holding her
limp form. Her skin had been green then too; her eyes glassy and
her lips parted, gasping for breath. He remembered being
immensely turned on by her at that moment and then horrified with
shame. He welcomed the desire now; it would give him courage.

She broke into his thoughts, somehow reading them. "There're a
lot of secret desires from our past I have stored up," she
whispered, almost too low for him to hear.

He tentatively put a hand on her thigh. She shot him a very
Scully look, freezing and heat-filled at the same moment. He
wasn't discouraged, though. He had the confidence gained by
knowing they shared a crushing mortgage and retirement fund. He
let his hand slip up her thigh and under the thick fabric of her
skirt.

He liked this a lot. He was glad she had started this. This was
a good place to make a new beginning. They were Scully and Mulder
finishing something they should have cleared up a long time ago.

Where next? What had he wanted to do next, say two years ago?
She sat back in the couch, her eyes inviting him to go on.

He pulled his hand off her thigh and she gave the slightest moan
of dismay. He quickly reached for her blazer. He opened the
buttons with an audible popping sound. This thing was tight. She
had to wiggle her shoulders to get out of the blazer. He stared
at the black bra she was wearing under the sheer white blouse.
She followed his gaze down.

"Sorry, it's the only one I have that still fits and isn't a
maternity bra," she said.

"That's okay," he stammered.

His fumbling fingers frantically worked the small buttons loose on
her blouse. "You want me to do that?" she asked.

"God, no," he said feverishly.

He slipped the blouse down, using it to caress her silky skin.

He stared again. Her creamy white breasts were pouring out over
the top of the black lace bra. She shrugged and he thought they
were going to topple out.

"I think it's a good look," he offered and she shot him a quelling
look.

She put her arms around her back to unfasten the bra and he
quickly stopped her. "No. Please, I want to see the whole
picture."

She raised her brows but got up, a bit unsteadily on her heels,
and reached behind to unfasten her skirt instead. He helped her,
gently easing the zipper down over her round, firm bottom.

He slipped the skirt down her thighs, reveling in the hum of the
fabric against her hose. She stood before him in the black lace
underwear, blue hose and black pumps. He flopped back in the
couch and examined her with what he hoped was proper reverence.

The slow smile that formed on her lips told him he had made the
right tribute. It was a humble offering, his silly grin, glazed
eyes and large lump in his sweatpants, but she looked like she
would take it.

She sat on the edge of the coffee table and he heard that
seductive whisper again as she crossed her legs, propped her head
up on her palms with her elbows on her knee. She gave him one of
her straightforward looks.

He tried not to stare into the deep shadow between her breasts.
Instead he let his gaze slip over the curves of her thighs where
they intertwined. He wanted to become a small furry mouse and
slip into those shadows. Make that a large furry mouse, he
thought with a groan as she sucked her plump lower lip into her
mouth.

"Mulder?" she broke into his thoughts.

"Huh?" He wondered if he sounded as stunned as he felt.

"Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

"Ideas?" he moaned as his headed rolled to the side.

"Yeah, ideas. About what to do next." She looked worried.

"I could take my clothes off," he suggested.

She out and out grinned. "Can I do it instead?" she asked.

"Of course!" he gushed. That high voice was back.

She reached down, giving him that view into the valley of desire
between her breasts and grabbed his foot. She tugged first one
sock off and then the next, gathering his feet in her lap. He
dared to wiggle his toes, feeling slippery fabric and the damp
heat of her body under them. She shook her head slightly as she
grasped his narrow long feet tightly. Was he being too forward?

She got a good grip on the cuffs of his sweatpants and arched an
eyebrow at him. He got the idea and lifted his hips as she
yanked. He felt a little ridiculous sprawled on the couch in
nothing but a tee shirt and a bobbing half-mast erection. She
returned to her pose of the thinking woman and he had to glance
away in embarrassment.

He could hear her breathing. He swore he could hear her heart
beating. He had to look back. Her gaze was intense and was
examining his body.

"What cha doin'?" he asked, even more embarrassed.

Glancing up, she pinned him with a gaze that suggested he was a
fool. "I'm looking."

"I know that," he said, exasperated.

"I like to look," she said and her voice was slightly drunk.

"Don't we have this the wrong way around? I didn't think women
were visual, sexually." Damn, he was talking too much!

"Visual was all I had. I'm just...allowing myself to finish
something," she said calmly.

"You've seen me naked before." There was something melancholy
about her manner right now that disturbed him.

"True. But not as Scully." She looked at him for understanding.

He was going to argue the nudity point and then he realized what
she meant.

He wanted to return to the game. "I guess we should wrap things
up," he said in his most professional tone.

She gave his a quick grin and rose from the table. "Yes, I think
so."

This time when she reached behind her to unfasten her bra, he
didn't stop her. Her heavy breasts fell free and swung for a
moment and he had to let out a ragged, deep sigh of contentment.

She balanced on first one leg, than the other, like some sexy
little bird, to remove her shoes and then shimmied out of her
hose. He liked the way her hair dipped and slid around her head,
a curtain of flame, when she bent over. She slid the panties
slowly down off of her hips and he let the sighs turn into groans.

She quirked a brow at him as she stood in front of him nude, her
hands balanced on her hips.

"Huh?" he realized he hadn't been keeping up. He quickly shed the
tee shirt and reached roughly for her. She wouldn't break; he
didn't have to worry about squeezing too hard, pushing too deep.
His breathing quickened...

She fell across his lap and started clutching at his hard body
with as much enthusiasm. She was probably just as happy to be
back in fighting form, so to speak.

She wiggled to straddle his hips and his penis was trapped under
her, tight up the crack of her ass. She bounced lightly on him
like a seesaw and he whimpered in her mouth as their tongues
wrestled.

She laughed out loud and reached down to adjust things. He
stopped her, "God, no. It's a good hurt."

She burnt him with her blue flame. "A good hurt? I gotta try
that--"

"Where?" he gurgled as his big hands couldn't stop squeezing her
waist.

She reached down and lifted one of her heavy breasts up to him.
"I pumped myself out to send milk with Tiff. Just don't suck very
hard."

He couldn't believe he found the courage to suggest, "What if I
want to try it again..."

She looked surprised and then her eyes warmed. "Sure," she
murmured.

He didn't have to hear that twice and lifted her up until he could
slip her large nipple into his waiting, wet mouth. She braced
herself on the wall behind the couch, rising up on her knees to
support herself.

At first, he suckled tentatively until he finally tasted her milk.
Rich and sweet. How perfectly Scully. He hadn't allowed himself
to truly taste it earlier but now he savored it, absorbing the
flavor, like letting the center of a creamy white truffle melt in
his mouth.

She must have been enjoying this as well. Her low peals, gasping
sounds from deep within her, drifted around his head like rose
petals. He had to share. Pulling her face down to his mouth, he
passed the taste to her and she moaned with greed. They giggled
around their tongues as her milk continued to pump out, sticking
their skin together.

The smell of her desire was rising like smoke and drugging him
further. As he released her mouth to begin to lick her chest
clean, he let his hand wander down between her legs. Two fingers
slipped easily into her warmth and he made slow, lazy grinding
motions on her clit with his palm as his fingers stroked the
swollen walls of her vagina.

He glanced up at her face and reveled in the beauty of it. She
was chewing on that bottom lip of hers so hard he was afraid it
would burst like a ripe berry. Her nostrils were flared from
trying to suck in enough air to live. Her sooty eyelashes
fluttered on her red cheeks like trapped sparrows. Her eyes
slowly opened, she must have been aware of his gaze. She returned
the intense inspection and then sank down.

He pulled his fingers out as she descended and used them to hold
her folds open as he aligned his eager, hard cock with his other
hand. They came together in a perfectly synchronized movement.

She settled there in his lap and gave him a soft little smile.
Okay. It was going to be like that. Loving. Slow...

She suddenly gripped his shoulders so hard he thought the bones
would break and began to buck on him like a wild pony. Okay,
maybe not.

He planted his feet to get leverage and met her frenzy, thrust to
thrust. Their gasps sounded as though they both were going to die
in the next few minutes. She ground down onto his pelvis with
moans of exquisite pain. He didn't know if he could give her
everything she needed, but he would try. He pushed and pushed,
deeper and deeper. Her moans turned to groans of approval and he
flushed deeper red, pleased with himself.

"Yeah, Mulder, oh yeah, right there..." she growled into his ear
before she bit down hard on the lobe. He was urged on further.
He grabbed her slippery ass and pulled her down even tighter and
ground harder and harder into her softness.

She arched her back and gripped his shoulders again to give him a
different angle and he gasped out. He couldn't get a breath in at
all anymore and he was afraid he was losing consciousness. He had
to stay with her. He pounded on, crying now from the fury of the
storm.

As suddenly as she began, she finished in a rush of tears and
moans, her head a whirling vortex of pink skin and red curls. He
could only watch her through his own tears, unable to give her
anything more as his thrusting hips raged on to completion and he
gushed like a burst pipe.

Scully thought she might have been clunked on the head with one of
Mulder's big flashlights. She had to decide if she'd been
unconscious or not. She managed to focus her eyes on the flat
male nipple under her eyeball. Feeling like she had a hangover,
she wanted to ask him to stop breathing. The movement was giving
her motion sickness. Instead she began to groom him like a cat,
her tongue licking the sweat from his body with business-like
efficiency.

"What cha doin'?" The chest rose with the rumbling speech.

"Go to sleep," she admonished him as she continued. She had to
wiggle off of his flaccid penis to reach his stomach and giggled
at the odd sucking noise that went with that action.

"Don't wanna--" he grumbled.

"What cha wanna do?" They sounded like a couple of stoned teen-
agers.

"Wanna stay here forever. Just like this," he said.

She didn't know how to answer that.

In a moment he said, "What time is Tiff bringing Kit back?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, but his eyes
were still closed. "She said take all the time we need. We can
pick him up anytime we want."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her with a little smile.
"How early do you think she gets up?"

She blinked rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes. She kept
her words simple and to the point. "I love you, Mulder."

He let his lids close again and pulled her so close she couldn't
continue her grooming. "Good thing. Otherwise I have no idea how
you would put up with me."

2.
May 5th, 7:25 A.M.

Scully and Mulder shared one last, deep kiss before getting out of
the car in front of Tiff's condominium complex. She teased,
"That'll have to hold you a while. I don't know how many times we
can impose on Tiff."

He grinned. "Yeah. Skinner's still my boss. Don't want to get
on his bad side by putting a crimp in his sex life."

She shuddered. There were a couple of places she never wanted to
go and giving Skinner's sex life deep thought was one of them.

They rode up in the elevator holding hands. At Tiff's door, he
gave her one last peck before knocking.

There was no answer.

"Are you sure she's up this early?" she asked.

He knocked again.

Scully could feel a tickle of fear begin to creep up her spine.
She reached out to try the knob. It turned easily in her hand.

She and Mulder pulled their guns out as she pushed the door to
swing open. She could hear a pounding in her ears, like a
distant, approaching storm.

There were signs of a struggle in the front room but they moved
quickly through the dim apartment to check all the rooms. She
opened every door, even looking in the space that held the water
heater.

They met up in the living room. Mulder stood by the couch, his
gun loose at the end of his limp arm as his head swiveled to take
in the scene. An overturned lamp. Tiff's purse left on the
table. Kit's diaper bag was gone but his portable crib was still
set up by the couch.

Scully said the words. "Our baby is gone."

He said nothing.

Running to the door, she flung it open and hurried first one
direction, then another in the hall. Nothing but blank, beige
walls stared back at her. She ducked back into the apartment. He
was coming out the kitchen, seeming to drift like a cloud.

To catch his attention, she raised her voice even more. "Someone
took our baby!"

He began to shake his head as though he could make it all go away.
She was screaming now, her hand slamming against the wall for
emphasis. "Our baby is gone!"

Mulder still hadn't looked at her but he pulled his cell phone
from his pocket. He punched a rapid dial button. "AD Skinner.
It's important."

The room was silent as they waited, all but her rasping breaths,
the breathing of a runner struggling towards the finish line.

"Sir? It's Mulder." His voice began to fail him. "He's gone.
They're gone." He gulped a ragged breath and tried again. "We're
at Tiff's. She and Kit are missing. There're signs of a
struggle. Yes, Sir. We'll be here."

She didn't wait for him to speak to her. "Can we trust him? Can
we!?"

He shrugged half-heartedly as he pocketed his phone.

She had to move. She couldn't stand still in these small, dark
rooms. As she paced, she rapidly asked, "Can we trust Tiff? What
do we know about her?"

He finally looked at her with bleak eyes. "I don't know."

"Your mother! Do you think your mother had anything to do with
this?" She fired at him.

"I don't know," he whispered.

She slammed the wall again until she could hear the bones in her
hand groan but she felt no pain. "We can't trust anyone! Not
now. It's too important to fuck around! We have to do this
alone."

He nodded obediently. "Yes." His gaze pleaded with her. "We can
trust the Gunmen."

"All right. No one else. Not Skinner. Not now." She was pacing
again.

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. His
glazed eyes, limp body, hunched shoulders. She rushed to him and
grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare do this now, Mulder! You can't
shut down! We need to find our baby!"

He seemed to force himself to meet her gaze. He parroted, "Yes.
We have to find Kit."

In horrific frustration she raised her hand to slap him, when
Skinner burst through the door.

"What's going on?" he bellowed.

Scully advanced on him. "Our baby's gone. Kit's gone."

Skinner nodded quickly. "And Tiff?"

Mulder came up behind them as officers began to fill the room.
"She's gone too. Do you know anything, Sir?"

Skinner shook his head. "I came by last night. She had Kit." He
shifted his eyes between them and said with embarrassment, "She
told me to go home. Said she had her hands full."

She ignored his discomfort. "Did she seem uneasy? How fast did
she try to get rid of you?"

He paused before answering, seeming to be thinking over his
response. Finally he said, "She was as she always is. Rude.
Curt. Nothing out of the ordinary." Sharply he asked, "What are
you suggesting?"

Coldly, she replied, "Nothing. Sir. Mulder, we have to go." She
grabbed his arm. "Please contact us if you find any evidence in
here."

As they entered the elevator, Mulder asked, "Shouldn't we have
waited to see if they found anything?"

She punched the ground level button. "They haven't left any
signs. As usual. No, we have to come at this from another
direction."

His brow creased as though he had to concentrate to think. "The
Gunmen?"

"That smoking bastard made Kit for some purpose. He wanted him
and he took him. I don't even want to guess what he'll do with
him next. But we have to go about it the old fashioned way." The
elevator doors open and Scully hurried towards their car. "Have
the guys set up searches for all babies turned in to social
services, hospitals, abandoned behind supermarkets. Maybe we'll
get lucky. I think we can reasonably trust the police APBs but I
don't want any finds routed through the Bureau. I want to hear
about it from the Gunmen."

Mulder's voice started sounding strong as he answered, "Yes. That
sounds good."

Chapter 3: Waiting

1.
The Factory
May 5th, 7:45 P.M.

Tiff woke suddenly, violently. Her head rang, and bile rose in
her throat. She forced it back down and glanced around her
surroundings. A cell. A bed bolted to the floor. A single door;
smooth and steel, no handle. No window.

No sounds other than the low purr of an air-conditioning unit.
The temperature was cool but not uncomfortable.

She forced herself upright on the bed. Something told her she had
to be ready.

Within five minutes, the door swung open and her muscles tensed in
anticipation. She wasn't the least bit surprised to see the
clone, Kenneth.

He came bearing food on a tray. "How do you feel?" he asked as he
placed the tray on her bed. She stared out the open doorway,
weighing her chances.

"No, Agent Davis. You'll be shot before you reach the end of the
hallway."

She shrugged. "I'm sure." Her stomach twisted as she looked at
the food.

He seemed to note her expression. "Are you certain you feel fine?
I believe they had to restrain you forcibly."

"Damn right! What have you fuckers done with Kit?" she spit at
him.

As always, there was no reaction to her outburst.

"Kit is well." For the first time, she felt as though she sensed
an emotion from the clone. It was concern.

Frustration overwhelmed her. She was certain the room was bugged.

Slowly she said, "Good. And he'll stay that way?"

"Of course." Kenneth was smooth again.

She had to trust him. He'd helped her twice before and she had to
believe he would do it again. And she wanted to know what was in
store for her.

"Kenneth, what are they going to do with me?"

He looked at her, uncomprehending.

She grasped his cool arm. "I know what they did to Scully. Are
they going to do that to me?"

He shook his head. "They only use Aryans."

She felt a snake of fear uncoil in her stomach. "I kind of
figured that. So why am I still alive?"

He met her eyes and the concern was there again. "They can always
use material." He rose quickly from the bed. "I must go. Ring
the bell if you feel unwell." He motioned to a button on the
wall.

"Thank you, Kenneth. For everything," she called after his
retreating back. Her only answer was the click of the closing
door.

2.
Krycek pushed himself back from the table, turning down the volume
on the listening device. He waited for the old man to speak.

As always, the man lit a cigarette before he began.

As he expelled the first lungful of smoke, he said, "We can't
afford any more errors at this time. Do you understand me?"

"Not entirely, sir," Krycek replied.

All he got in return was a narrowing of sharp eyes.

He continued. "I know I'm committed to acquiring the desired
genetic material. All along, that's been my goal. Yet we seemed
to be foiled time and time again--until now." He made sure he had
the old man's attention and said, "We've got the merchandise. We
can't fuck up now."

The smoothness of the old man's tone chilled him. "Of course not.
But we must realize that not everyone among us shares our
commitment. Diligence will be required. We're close. Very
close." He rose from the table and leaned towards Krycek. "Be
sure nothing happens. Be very sure."

Deep in thought, Krycek hardly noticed him leave the room. The
old bastard had it right. Not everyone was committed as he was.
And his list of untrustworthy persons started at that fool. He
had regretted joining this quest more than once, but now that he
was close to seeing some money on this job, nothing would stop
him. Not even the old man himself.

3.
Greenwich, Connecticut
May 11th, 11:20 A.M.

Mulder waited for his mother to bring in the tea. He was used to
her diversionary tactics. He was patient. He automatically rose
from his chair when she returned, tea set carefully balanced in
her hands.

"Let me take that," he offered.

She gave him a small, tight smile as he took the tray and placed
it on the coffee table.

"Thank you, Fox." She drifted to her favorite chair, positioned
by the window so he couldn't make out her features as the sunlight
streamed through in the late afternoon. "I'm very glad you came
here today."

He came to stand beside her and looked down to her face. "Perhaps
you won't be when I've finished what I've come to say."

Her shoulders instantly tensed and her hands grasped together but
she didn't speak.

He forged on. "Our son has been taken, Mother."

Her eyes immediately shot up to meet his. "Fox!"

He took a deep breath and continued. "Do you know anything,
Mother?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard from your friend?" Her eyes dropped again and he
resisted an urge to grab her face and force her to look at him.
"Did he say anything when he told you about Kit?"

She shook her head. "Kit?"

Her diversions were no longer allowed. "That's what we call him.
He's been forcibly taken, Mother. A FBI agent is gone too. This
isn't a time to play stupid."

Her gaze was as flat as the surface of a frozen lake. "I'm not
stupid."

"Oh, no, Mother. I was mistaken." He was furious. "You've never
been stupid. You've always known exactly how to take care of
yourself. It's the rest of us who were stupid enough to wonder
what was going on."

"So what's going on?" She was on one of her rare offensives.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

She said nothing.

Desperate, weak, he sank down beside her, letting his head fall to
rest on her knee. "My wife. . .my Scully. She needs her baby
back. You have to know how that feels. Anything, Mom. Anything
at all. A name. A phone number. An address."

Her cool hand stroked his head as though she was soothing a pet.
"I'm sorry, Fox."

He stared at the ceramic figurine frozen in her dance across on
the mantel. He'd seen the Baroque figure all his life, but until
this moment, he hadn't noticed the mocking smirk on her face as
she glanced back at her partner. "I know you are, Mother. But
this time, it's not enough."

He hauled himself to his feet and walked out of the room without a
backward glance. She didn't call after him.

4.
Pinecrest, Virginia; 31 Bridle Path Way
May 11th, 5:48 P.M.

Scully slowly unbuttoned her blouse. The pain had become
unbearable and she'd begun to leak milk from her nipples. But she
hated to do this. Hated the way it made her feel. Hated how she
cried every time.

She fit the pump to her aching breast. The pressure lessened, but
the real pain began, washing over her in waves. The cold,
unforgiving surface against her cracked and chapped aureole. His
tiny mouth--gone. The warmth of his body, nestled close--gone.
His low sighs and gurgles--like his father, he wasn't a quiet
eater--gone.

Her sobs were low, but ragged, tearing at the already tender
tissue in her throat. Their bedroom was dim. Another day had
passed with Kit gone.

"Scully?" Mulder had entered the room.

Her voice was tired. "What?"

He said nothing, just sank into the chair.

Her tone was sharper. "What?"

"Uh. . ."

She knew he was going to say something that would make her angry.

"What?" The word dripped from her mouth like a drop of blood.

"Scully. . .maybe you shouldn't do that," he mumbled. Rushing on
as she went to protest, he added, "If it upsets you so much. I
mean, I'm sure Kit will be on the bottle when we get him back, so-
-"

"So what!?" she hissed. "I don't care if it *upsets* me!" Her
voice rose and he buried his gaze in his lap with his twisting
hands. "I should be upset! I'm fucking overwhelmed! My baby is
gone!!"

He shook his head, mute.

She heard herself screaming, but the voice was distant to her
ringing ears, like listening to her former neighbors down the hall
squabbling. "Gone!! And I'm not going to be like your parents.
I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen and just wander off
through my life in a haze!" He seemed unmoved under her assault.
She told him, "This isn't Samantha. I'm going to get my child
back."

He whispered so low she could barely hear him, "But are you going
to blame me too?"

"What?" she asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"If I hadn't wanted. . .to be alone with you. If you hadn't had
to take him to Tiff's--" he said.

"Jesus! Mulder!" She towered over his slumped figure and pelted
him like a wild storm with her words. "This isn't about you! I
get so sick of your self-absorption sometimes! Our baby has been
taken! That's what's important. Not you!"

"Scully--" He was reaching out for her and the last thing she
wanted was his damp, cold touch right now.

"I'm going to actually do something." She quickly buttoned her
blouse. "I'm not going to spend another minute, crying, sitting
in these dark rooms."

She rushed from the room before he could say another word.

4.
Lone Gunman's Residence

Scully brushed past Frohike and entered the warm, stuffy space
crammed with machinery. Byers and Anita were cuddling on the
couch and she had a sudden hatred of people close enough to the
ones they loved to touch them.

Anita asked, "Are you all right, Dana?" and then immediately
looked ashamed.

Byers stroked her friend's arm understandingly and Scully wanted
to scream as Anita rushed on to clarify her words. "Of course
not. That was a stupid question. What can we help you with?"

Scully shook off the comfort in her friend's words. "I want to
work. What are you working on?"

Langly popped up from under a table, brushing dust from his hands.
"Boring stuff mostly--"

"Boring is fine," Scully said curtly, moving to join him at the
bank of computer terminals.

He nodded and held out a chair for her. As she settled in,
Frohike joined them. He said, "We've been double-checking all
current records of any activity with babies. Social services--
police station reports."

Shaking his head, he continued, "Not much to be found. We've got
some of our guys out covering the baby supply stores. Seeing if
any men in black have been making large purchases."

Scully's lips twisted at the bizarre mental image. He was saying,
"But it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

With her strongest voice, she said, "Then I'm the perfect person
to help. I know that needle. I'll know him when I see him."

She could tell Langly and Frohike were exchanging worried glances
over her head, but she ignored them and logged onto hospital
records.

Langly said, "We've already checked those over."

"All right. But I want to check them again," she said with
determination.

Now the men exchanged shrugs but left her to work.

As the hours passed, Byers snoozed on the couch, Anita was called
away for a birth, and the other two men busied themselves cooking
a late supper.

Scully's eyes ached. Too many salty tears had burned her pupils
and she was exhausted. The screen danced and wavered before her.

A name formed. Isaac. "Look!" she called out.

The cooks came running from the kitchen and Byers struggled out of
the couch, hobbling to her side.

Langly reached her first and helped her bring up the entire
record. Gently he said, "No, Scully. The baby is the wrong age.
He's seven months, not three."

She quickly scanned the material. "But look at his weight.
Eighteen pounds. Only a pound heavier than Kit. The hair and
eyes are right. Blood type too."

Frohike read aloud, "Jared Isaac Leonard." His gloved hand
settled heavily on her shoulder. "Scully. Honey. It's just a
coincidence. This child has a heart defect. He really is sick.
He's in for a transplant."

She shook his hand off and rose quickly from her chair. "I'm
going to go check it out. To be sure."

Byers sputtered, "We'll call Mulder."

She was at the door already. "Don't bother. I'm sure you're
right, Frohike, and it's nothing." As she slipped into her coat,
she repeated, "I just want to be sure."

5.
Children's National Medical Center; Pediatric ICU
8:50 P.M.

Scully forced herself to slowly approach the nurses' station with
the amble of an investigating officer.

Wearily, she dug her badge from the bottom of her trench coat and
showed it to the shift manager.

"Special Agent Dana Scully. I'm looking into a missing child
case."

The nurse immediately went on alert. "Yes?"

"Yes. I'm interested in seeing Jared Isaac Leonard."

The nurse's heavy brow furrowed. "See him?"

"Yes, ma'am." Scully swallowed her impatience. "Now." She
checked the woman's name badge. "Ms. Wiggins."

The nurse blinked and began to come out from behind the desk.
"But I don't understand," she said as she headed down the hall.
"Jerry is a very sick child. I've seen his parents every day.
There's no way he could have been abducted."

"I understand." Scully forced herself to keep her manner
nonchalant. "But we must follow up every lead."

Flipping aside the curtain in the room, Scully moved quickly to
the edge of the crib and stared at the baby through the thick
plastic. The baby lay under an oxygen tent, his breathing labored
between blue lips.

It wasn't Kit.

"Well?" Nurse Wiggins was at her elbow, insistent.

"His chart, please," Scully asked, reaching out blindly, still
staring down at the baby. Dark hair, beginning to curl around his
pale ears. Huge eyes, shifting between gray, blue, and green.

"I'm not sure--" The nurse began.

Scully turned quickly and bore down on her with her gaze. "I'm a
doctor. The chart. Please."

As the woman moved to pull the chart from the tray outside the
door, Scully lifted the plastic drape. Her fingers touched the
wide, full mouth under the cannula inserted in the baby's
nostrils.

"I still don't understand." The nurse was back. Scully ignored
her as she flipped back the cover to read the information.

Concern raised during a twenty-week sonogram. Fetal
echocardiography revealed Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome.
Frantically, Scully added the numbers up. Isaac's sonogram was on
May 25th. She and Mulder were kidnapped and drugged within a
week.

Blood began to pound in her ears, like thundering waves against
the hull of a ship.

"I'm Jared Leonard's doctor." Scully had to turn to acknowledge a
man hurrying through the door. The nurse must have contacted him
as she fetched the chart.

She forced her bland, professional expression back on her face.
"Special Agent Scully. FBI."

He shook her hand. "Dr. Collins. What's this about?"

She moved ahead swiftly. "This child. Has he been in your care
his entire life?"

The doctor looked surprised, then said, "I was brought in after
Mrs. Leonard's initial sonogram and the fetus' diagnosis."

She pushed him. "What's his prognosis?"

Doctor Collins pursed his thin lips, seeming to be holding back.

She pushed harder. "Doctor Collins--"

"Poor. Extremely poor. He's currently on a list for a
transplant."

Carefully Scully lay the chart on a nearby table. A baby's heart.
She'd held them in her hands before. As light and small as a
chicken's liver. Flashing memory: cutting open a deformed baby's
chest to see the malformed, withered organ. For this child, for
his family, a healthy heart was worth its weight in gold. Her
child's body was a piece of trash to be thrown away after it was
mined.

She managed to form the words. "Is Jared the Leonards' only
child?"

The doctor looked confused, then shrugged. "They have three
daughters." He gave a small, pained smile to Scully. "Mr.
Leonard wants his son to live. Understandably."

She dipped her head to encourage him. "But you've received a
call. A heart is available. A match."

The doctor's pale, bushy brows shot upward. "How--" He nodded
slowly and she saw the familiar crafty expression of a
collaborator slide across his face.

Deliberately, she pulled open her coat, propping her hand on her
hip so her weapon was revealed.

He gulped and continued. "We've just been contacted. A heart is
expected to become available very soon. A brain-injured child is
about to be taken off life support. We're to be preparing Jerry
for surgery."

Her body began to feel weightless. She felt as though she was
floating above the room.

The doctor's attention was diverted. "Mrs. Leonard." He began to
babble. "Thank goodness! You're here! We need to clear
something up."

Scully whirled and her gaze settled on the familiar-faced woman
hovering in the doorway. Her weak voice drifted across the room
to them. "What's going on? Has something happened to Isaac?"

She didn't know how she got across the room. Scully only knew she
was standing in front of the woman, watching fear fill her eyes.

She couldn't feel the woman's neck under her hand as she forced
her body to the wall. Each breath came out as a hiss. "Where's
my baby!?"

The woman's large green eyes blinked, once. She could only gurgle
under Scully's grip.

The doctor and nurse were rushing towards her. Scully whipped out
her pistol to hold them off. "Get back."

She returned her attention to the shuddering woman. Again.
"Where the fuck is my baby?!"

She realized the woman couldn't answer. Her grip was too tight.
She let up the pressure very slightly. And again. She moved her
face in so close her spit dotted the woman's face. "WHERE-IS-MY-
BABY?"

She whispered hoarsely, "Who are you?"

Scully could manage a dry chuckle. "Who am I?" She turned the
gun to the woman's head and watched her body tremble harder. "I'm
your fucking sister-in-law, Samantha. Now--where's your father
hiding my baby?"

6.
Washington DC Police Station
May 12th, 12:15 A.M.

Scully concentrated, tracing a deep crack in the wooden table with
her fingernail. The police officer sitting in the corner of the
interrogation room seemed fascinated by her task, his watery blue
eyes following the track of her finger as she dragged it back and
forth through the groove.

Her head snapped up. Mulder was there. His face was framed in
the small window of the door. His eyes, dark and blank, stared at
her. She dropped her gaze first, returning to her finger's
journey, her view blinded by gathering tears. That was that.

No one would talk to him. Mulder had been shunted from officer to
officer, up and down the food chain of command. He concentrated
very hard on breathing slowly and deeply. Now was not the time to
go apeshit. Something was horribly wrong. He'd known that from
the moment the Gunmen had called, telling him Scully had rushed
off to Children's Hospital. Arriving there, he could only hurry
off to follow the patrol car carrying her to the station.

His sharp gaze picked out the badge of the hospital security
guard, huddled on a bench, waiting to give his statement. The
young, overweight man had large sweat stains growing from his
armpits, and had yanked his tie loose to reveal a fleshy, white,
damp neck. He sipped nervously on a soda as his pig-small eyes
darted around the room.

Mulder made eye contact and gave him a tentative smile. It was
weakly returned. Mulder slid down onto the bench beside him.

"What happened?"

The security officer seemed relieved that someone was finally
talking to him, but was still cautious. "Who're you?"

Mulder quickly flashed his badge. "FBI. What happened?"

"This woman came in and went crazy!" the man burst out.

Mulder lay a calming hand on his arm. "What's your name?"

"Joe."

"Joe, what happened?"

Joe took another sip of soda and continued, quietly. "I get this
call. A woman's up in Ped ICU, with a gun. I go up. Sure
nuff--"

"Dana Scully? The red-haired woman?" Mulder asked, his burgeoning
fears finding soil to grow in.

Joe nodded rapidly. "Yep. That's what her ID said. She just
kept asking this curly-haired chick, 'Where's my baby? Where's my
baby?' But the chick wouldn't say nothing."

"Is that woman here? The woman she was holding the gun on?"
Mulder continued to probe.

Joe jerked his head towards the far corner. "Yep."

When Mulder scanned the room, he discovered a woman he hadn't
noticed previously. Samantha. Of course. After all these years
of false trails, he wasn't even surprised.

She was watching him and he wondered if she had been doing that
the whole time. A tall, lean blonde man sat beside her, her hand
firmly grasped between his hands. His eyes were on Mulder too, a
cold, pale stare of a wolf.

Mulder forced his attention back to Joe. "What did that woman
say?"

"Nothing. She wouldn't say nothing!" his voice was rising again.
"Just stared at her like she had no sense. I mean, that woman had
a gun on her. She shoulda said something!"

Mulder agreed. "Yes. Then what happened?"

"It's like the red-haired woman just gave up. She put down her
gun and said, 'Call Mulder.'" Joe looked helplessly around the
room. "But I don't think nobody's called this Mulder person and
now we've all been dragged down here."

Mulder soothed him. "I'm sure it'll all be straightened out soon.
Thank you," he said as he rose from the hard bench.

Samantha kept her gaze level as he approached her, but the man
with her got up from his chair to block Mulder's view. "Can I
help you with something?" he asked aggressively.

Mulder tried to read this man, but his face was empty as a blank
sheet of paper. He resisted the urge to hit that face hard enough
to crumple it. Scully was expecting him to get answers. He had
to try.

"I guess I should introduce myself. Or would you like to do the
honors, Samantha?" he addressed the small form behind the body in
front of him.

He glanced down at the gold band on the man's finger when he got
no response. "I'm Fox Mulder. I believe I'm your brother-in-
law."

This seemed to satisfy the man. "Ah! That explains a thing or
two! You're married to that nut!?"

Mulder lowered his voice to the hiss of a cracking iceberg.
"Excuse me?"

That got Samantha off her damned chair. "Fox--"

"Yes, Samantha?" Mulder controlled his aggression as best he
could. He had sworn he would avoid hearing his first name spoken
until she was back, but now her weak intonation mocked his dream.
"At the hospital, they told me my wife assaulted the mother of a
baby. That she had been looking for a baby. That your baby needs
a heart transplant. I'll put that together with the fact that our
baby is missing--and Samantha?" He stared into the reflection of
his own eyes. "I don't like what that adds up to."

The man pushed his way in between them. "I don't know what
fucking delusions you have--"

"What's your name?"

Blinking, the man responded, "Jeffrey Leonard."

Mulder found himself becoming calmer as this person became more
agitated. "What do you do, Jeffrey?"

Leonard's brow furrowed in confusion, but he answered never the
less. "I'm a biotech engineer."

"For?"

"Herbst Cooperation." Too bad Leonard blinked, or Mulder might
have let him off.

He took one of his wild stabs. "Which is a subsidiary of Roush
Technologies?"

Leonard blinked more rapidly. Mulder was reminded of trying to
communicate with a speech-impaired person. He went back to
questioning his sister.

"Did your *father* tell you he would help you find a heart for
your son?"

She tilted her fine chin up and looked him in the eye. "No."

That's what broke his heart. He had to back up and lean against a
desk. Her face had the exact expression she'd always had as a
girl, when she'd lie to him easily and with no conscience,
comfortable in the assurance that she deserved the biggest piece
of cake, the last Pixie Stix, the front seat beside Mom on a car
ride.

Leonard was speaking to him, suddenly smooth and professional.
"What support do you have for the wild idea that your son was
taken to give our son a heart? How would we even know if he was a
match?"

This was something to concentrate on while he collected his
thoughts. Mulder said, "My wife was infertile. A year ago, we
were abducted and unconscious for a period of time. She was
pregnant within the month. We subsequently discovered her
reproductive function seems to have been *cured.*" He addressed
Leonard. "Any ideas on that one?"

Huffing, the man replied, "I can tell you that, depending on your
wife's infertility, it's nearly impossible. You're as crazy as
your wife." He crossed his arms with his last statement, as
though that settled everything.

Mulder kept speaking to his sister. "Samantha, did your father
tell you he could get you a heart?"

She hedged. "That wouldn't mean it was from your son. Like Jeff
said, how could we even know it was a match?"

Mulder thought for a moment, rolling around the events of the past
year. "A genetic test was done. We were concerned about
possible...defects after his unusual conception. The same forces
who were responsible had access to those tests." He glanced back
and forth between the couple. "My wife wouldn't just attack
someone. She has to have seen something in your son's records
that makes her believe this is true."

Leonard's thin lips twitched, then a wide, false smile opened on
his face. "Listen. Fox. I'm sure your wife is distraught." He
nodded at Samantha. "I've seen how all of this has hurt Sam so I
have some idea of her torment." Mulder had to grip the underside
of the desk to keep from rapping his hands around this Neo-Nazi's
neck. "We're family. We can settle this all right now, have a
chat with the arresting officer. You can take the little lady
home and I'm sure the police will find your kid."

Mulder felt a horrifying, irrational cackle rising from his
diaphragm. He could see it now, as he was tossed in the cell
beside Scully, for exactly the same crime. He wanted desperately
to give this man a necklace of bruises to match the purple stains
he'd just noticed on Samantha's neck.

He was saved by the approach of a burly, short detective.
Motioning to Mulder, he asked, "This your lawyer?"

Smoothly, Leonard interjected, "No. This is Dana Scully's
husband."

Mulder was still watching Samantha's face. This is when she would
play the drama queen, roll her eyes and say, 'Okay, Fox. You can
have your way, this one time.'

Maybe it was the child's face on a woman's body that made him
believe she was going to do it. But her eyes were shallow and
weak. With a start, he realized his sister was really dead. This
body stood in front of him, but the vital, strong-willed, brave
little girl must have died a long time ago.

"Sir?" The cop had been talking to him.

"Huh?" The lethargy of the past five days descended on him again,
making him sink down onto the desk for support.

"Your wife is going to be taken to court to be arraigned. Do you
have an attorney?"

Mulder should his head. "I need to call one. She didn't ask for
one?"

Wryly, the policeman replied, "No. But she didn't need one. She
hasn't said a damn thing."

Probably expecting her husband to ride in on his white horse and
rescue her. Well, it hadn't happened.

Chapter 4: Family Ties

1.

Tiff woke suddenly, blinking to see in the low light. She
whispered, "Who's there?"

The answer was a cool hand on her forearm. She understood.
Swinging her feet onto the floor, she groped for her shoes. It
was time to go.

Kenneth led her into the dim hallway and she could feel her heart
begin to beat faster despite her silent admonishments to it to
slow down. She needed to be calm and ready. She sensed she would
only have this one chance for freedom.

The clone slipped around behind her, and she could tell he looked
behind them often. He only spoke once, directing her to turn.
"Here."

At a secured door, she waited as he punched in a code to the wall
pad. She kept her back to the wall as she strained her ears and
eyes for any activity. He held the door open when the lock was
released, but didn't join her as she slipped through the opening.

"Kenneth?"

His face was still as ever. "I need to get Kit."

She was torn. "Should I wait?"

"No. In case I fail, someone has to go for help." For the first
time, he smiled at her and she marveled at his perfect, white
teeth. "Divide and conquer."

Nodding, she said, "Yes. Which way?"

He pointed to a gate in the chain link fence. "Through there,
right and up the road, Highway 32. About a mile and a half,
there's a pay phone. I couldn't use the phones here--"

Briskly, she responded, "I understand." She still found herself
lingering. "Good luck, Kenneth. And thank you."

He tipped his head in acknowledgment like a valet, and pulled the
door shut.

The moon was high, white and three quarters full, lighting her
way, and the crisp air spurred on her reluctant, sluggish muscles.
She had to get to the phone.

2.
"Ma'am?"

Scully lifted her head from the table and forced herself to focus
on the older uniformed officer. Apologetically, he held out a set
of handcuffs. Nodding, she rose from the chair.

He led her from the interrogation room, holding the door for her
like the courteous gentleman she was sure he was. Quickly, she
looked up and down the narrow hall. A small group clustered at
one end. Samantha and a tall man Scully immediately distrusted.
By their side in the tight space--Mulder. His eyes shifted away
when she tried to read them and then he turned his back as he
fumbled for his cell phone in his pocket.

She stumbled and the beefy hand of the policeman was right there
to steady her. Her trust had never been handed out easily and
now, it shattered and she felt as though her spine had been cut,
dropping her like a shot.

In a trance, she allowed herself to be escorted down the narrow
passage and into an elevator. The cop decided to make
conversation. "We're rushing you through processing to
arraignment at night court." He gave her a small smile. "You
being on the job and all."

Her manners were good too. "Thank you." He nodded.

When the doors opened, they were in the basement. Pleased, she
discovered she could still raise an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "That damn press."

"Oh." The single word could barely croak out of her throat.

As he hustled her towards a dark doorway, she realized she should
be afraid. She clung to that much awareness. She just couldn't
summon much interest in survival.

A single unmarked cop car sat in the alley, the engine idling.
The skin on her neck prickled as she peered into the dark
interior.

"Ted?" Her escort called to the still figure behind the wheel.

"Yep," came out of the shadows.

"Okay. Well, good luck, Ma'am." He even tipped his cap and she
had no recourse but to stick out her hands for an awkward
handshake.

Ted had come around and opened the door for her. After she
settled in, he reached across her chest to fasten the seatbelt.
He didn't make eye contact. Apparently he didn't share his
comrade's loyalty to a fellow law enforcement officer.

As the car slowly pulled out of the alley and past the crowds of
reporters, she was grateful for the smoked glass of the windows.

The early morning streets were nearly bare of cars but Scully
stared out the squad car's window nonetheless. Each turn of the
vehicle's wheels took her further from Kit. If he was still
alive. A mother would know if her child had died, wouldn't she?
If he were here, Mulder would be able to pull out a number of
cases of mothers sensing their child's death. She decided not to
think about him and went back to counting the number of turns of
the tires.

She had worked herself into a trance and didn't really notice the
large, shiny black van beside the car until it began to push them
out of their lane. Ted sped up, but the van matched their speed.

Scully stared at the black smoked glass windows in the van, and
felt a surge of hope. These people had Kit. If they took her,
they would take her to her baby.

The van bumped them hard. Ted swore as he corrected the steering
and sped up again. Scully gripped the armrest. Hope--she could
smell her baby's clean skin, feel his light tracing touch as he
grasped at her teasing lips when she kissed him--she felt the now
familiar let-down of milk wet her blouse.

The van matched Ted's increase and bumped them again, forcing him
to turn down an alley. It raced after them, blocking their
escape.

As Ted slammed on the brakes, wrestled free from his seatbelt and
groped for his gun, he yelled at her, "Stay put!"

Ignoring him, Scully was already working her seat buckle loose.

A voice called out in the dark alley. "Drop the gun, Officer."

Ted hesitated. The voice told him calmly, "Do you want to live?"

"Frohike?" she whispered, disbelieving.

She pressed herself between the brick wall and the car side to
come around the back.

Langly squeaked at her ear, "Are you all right? Fro--he wanted to
drive."

"I'm fine, thank you," she said automatically as she hurried
towards the van.

Ted called after her, "Ma'am?"

"Thank you, Ted." She suddenly felt oddly giddy and frivolous.
"It's been real."

The side door slid open on the van and hands reached out of the
inky depths to pull her in.

Mulder smelled like he needed a shower and his breath was sour in
her ear, but she didn't really mind. She doubted she was a
contestant for a beauty contest right now.

The van began to roar back down the alley and they rolled around
the open area of the back, wrapped in each other's arms.

He laughed first. She couldn't stop herself from joining him.

She stopped suddenly and asked, "Where are we going?"

Mulder laughed harder. "I dunno. Where are we going, Frohike?"

"Don't worry," wafted back from the glowing cab.

She could feel his shoulders raise to shrug. Just then, his cell
phone rang in his coat pocket. His eyes glistened like a cat's,
the look of a curious hunter. He fumbled, then found the phone.

"Mulder." She leaned close so she could hear and he tipped the
phone for her head to fit in.

They both reacted to the tired voice on the other end. "Tiff!"

"Yeah, it's me." She cut to the important part. "I don't have
Kit."

"Where is he?" They were still in chorus.

"I'm out on Highway 32, in an industrial area, I think close to
Annapolis, the area code on this phone is 443."

"Have you seen him?" Scully asked.

"Kenneth said he was still alive. I have to believe him," was the
response. They could hear the stress in her voice.

"What are we looking for?" Mulder had rerouted Frohike's course
and the van was increasing in speed as it roared up a freeway on-
ramp.

"A large, gray factory-warehouse type of building. It has
Breckenridge Chemicals on the side. I'm at a pay phone at a
closed Shell gas station about two miles north of it."

"Guarded?" Scully could feel Mulder grope for his gun at his
waist.

"I didn't get a sense of a lot of men, but I was kept in a cell.
It had the feeling of some sort of research facility. But I have
to assume there are standard security measures."

Mulder was brisk and smooth. "All right, we're on the way there.
You stay put."

Tiff asked, "Should I call the police?"

"No, we'll take care of everything and come to pick you up later."
Scully let Mulder do the lying.

As soon as he disconnected the call, she queried, "Is it a trap?
Can we trust her?"

Mulder shook his head in frustration as his hands, fumbling, found
a pair of wire snips in a toolbox. "I don't know."

Holding out her shackled hands for him, she completed his thought.
"But we have to chance it."

3.
The Factory

Krycek found Kenneth carefully searching the cell that had held
Tiffany Davis.

His sharp eyes flicked around the room. "So she escaped, eh?"

The young man straightened from peeking under the bed. "Yes,
sir."

Krycek could feel fury start to boil through his body, pounding
his blood to all extremities. "What did the old man say?"

"We are to abandon the Factory, sir."

"He had no ideas how she did it?" he asked with little interest.

"Not that he shared with me." The clone was standing with his
hands clasped lightly in front of him like a schoolboy waiting to
receive his punishment. Only a shine in his pale eyes suggested
he might be sensing danger.

Krycek let his gaze roam the room again. "There's plenty of guys
to clear the place out. We've got some time." He forced a casual
air to his tone.

"Sir?"

The clone was focusing on a spot to the side of his ear and hot
blood flooded his groin, filling his cock like a kinked fire hose.

"Get over here and down on your knees." He was amazed that he
continued to sound unaffected.

Of course the creature obeyed. But he didn't move after assuming
his requested position, simply kept his gaze on the ground.

Krycek fumbled for his fly with his one hand, all the while
seething down at the still, blonde head.

He pulled his already half-erect cock out of his boxers and up
against his trembling abdomen. "Go on!" he ordered.

Obediently, Kenneth gently eased Krycek's scrotum from its dark
cave in his leather pants and shoved-down boxers.

Gentle. Krycek hated gentle. He began to stroke his livid cock
roughly, pressing it against his belly and rubbing it against his
body hair.

"Do it!" he hissed.

Kenneth leaned down, craning his neck to take his left ball in his
mouth, and Krycek let himself rest back against the wall, his
furious breath coming in hard, sharp pants.

He began to work the head of his penis, rubbing the foreskin
against the swollen bulb until his vision swam.

"More!"

Kenneth widened his mouth and fit both balls in, increasing his
suction, the back of his mouth humming automatically on the crepey
skin.

Staring down at the end of his now completely hard dick, he
focused on the white jagged scar above the foreskin and his fury
increased.

These fucking beasts! Marita had nearly bitten the end of his dick
off and now he didn't trust these things to have his cock in their
mouths.

With blood dribbling out the corners of her mouth, her eye
swelling shut from where he'd cuffed her, she'd still managed to
giggle cruelly. "You need to get that thing cut. It's filthy."

He never did dare stick his dick in one of them and certainly
wasn't going to let one of them stick a dick in him, so she'd
taken one of his remaining pleasures from him.

All he had left was some pathetic ball sucking.

Violently, he yanked his cock down from his belly. "Take it!"

Kenneth released his testicles and glanced up at him. "Sir?"

"You heard me!" He jerked his hips towards the clone's beautiful
red lips. "Come on!"

Those lips parted slowly, like an opening blossom and Krycek
nearly came at the sight of the moist, soft tongue lying within.
He gripped the base of his cock to hold it off. As he felt the tip
slide in, he grabbed the back of the clone's head and pulled him
close until he could feel the panicked breaths shooting in and out
of the young man's nose against his groin.

He leaned back against the wall again, and let himself briefly
revel in the sensation of suction and release, suction and
release, a swirl around the head. He eased his hips back and
whispered, "The tip..."

The tongue found its way under his foreskin and he had to stare up
at the bare white ceiling to regain control. This loss was going
to be such a shame.

He fumbled in his coat pocket briefly and closed his hand around
his plam. His fake arm settled on the back of Kenneth's head and
began to force him down onto his cock again. More. He needed
more.

He tipped his hips forward and began to jerk into Kenneth's mouth
in earnest. He grinned at the gagging sounds forcing their way
around his cock. Yeah, clever boy, choke on it.

Somehow, the young man found a way to relax his throat muscles,
and Krycek was as deep as he yearned to be, pressing and jerking
over and over, as his good hand warmed the cool metal of the plam.

He could see the clone's whole body was shaking from the exertion
and his obvious terror was just what Krycek needed.

He crowed, "Yeah, you little fucker!" as he pumped his release
into that pretty mouth.

Slumping back to the wall, he gazed down on the sputtering and
gagging man, feeling almost some affection in his post-orgasmic
haze. "Good boy," he murmured and then corrected himself. "Oh,
bad boy! You missed some!"

Kenneth was silent, his hands resting on his thighs as he fought
for his breath.

Krycek motioned with his stiff arm. "There. On my boot." A spot
of creamy white semen was on his black toe. "Lick it off."

He dared the boy to hesitate but the bright head leaned over and
that lovely tongue came out to lap up his last little bit.

He crooned again, "Good boy," as his good arm swooped down, plam
blade extended, to meet the rising, shining white neck.

Forcing himself to action, Krycek slammed through the door and
locked it behind him to avoid the toxic fumes as that thing
disintegrated. Cool air made him realize his wet dick was still
hanging out of his pants, and as he stuffed it back in and
fastened up the fly, he let loose with a wild laugh.

Another stupid little backstabber taken care of. With purpose, he
began to stride down the hall. Time to take care of another.

4.
Frohike stopped the van outside the chain link fence of the
warehouse bearing the name, Breckenridge Chemicals, and Langly
jumped out to open the gate. In a strained voice, Frohike stated
the obvious. "Not locked."

Mulder, leaning forward from the back, agreed. "It could be a
trap, guys. You don't have to come in. But Scully and I need to
risk it."

As he hopped back into the passenger seat, Langly replied, "We're
in, man. Aren't there some guns back there?"

Scully had been poking around in the piles and boxes and had come
up with three guns and four flashlights. "We're set," she called
out as Frohike pulled to a stop by a door.

The smell hit their noses as they entered the dark building.
Mulder recognizing it first, could barely ask, "Scully, do you
know that odor?"

He could hear the tension in her voice, "Yes. Emily--"

"Found a switch, should I turn on the lights?" Langly whispered
hoarsely behind them.

Dread was beginning to overcome Mulder. "Yeah, hit the lights. I
think they're gone."

The scene exploded in sickening vivid color as the large room was
illuminated. Red and green. Thick green liquid was pooling on
the bare floor, oozing out of the rows of shattered tubes and
tanks. Red blood didn't mix with the substance, but swirled
perversely in curled patterns. The blood was escaping from human
carcasses and small limbs, scattered among the wreckage.

Mulder breathed through his mouth to keep himself from throwing
up. Brown hair. All the bodies had brown hair. The closest one
was too small to be Kit. The next one was a female. Next, he
noticed a leg, with the five toes on the pudgy foot extended like
a bird's claws. He forced himself to lean over and examine the
severed limb closely. Not his Kit.

He could hear Frohike's voice behind him, calm and low. "We'll
look here. Mulder, you and Scully look in the other rooms. Okay,
Langly?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Langly's already pale
face go a shade whiter, but he nodded. "Sure," he said weakly.

Mulder reached out for Scully's hand. She was moving slowly from
body to body, carefully turning them face up with her foot.
Without looking up, she said, "I have to--"

Frohike was forceful. "I'm sure he's not in here. They need him
alive for their experiments--"

Her emotion was quick and bare. "That wasn't the purpose!"

He was firm with her. "Well, then, he wouldn't have cut his heart
out here. His body isn't here, trust me. Langly and I are just
going to check. Go look around the other areas."

Thankfully, she listened to him and nodded. But she wandered down
the hall without sparing Mulder a glance, so he decided to check
the other direction.

Scully moved automatically from empty room to empty room. The air
hung heavy with the sterile atmosphere of a laboratory, with no
whiff of baby powder or a sour diaper.

Then she heard a low cry, the bleating of a baby. Without
thinking, she hurried towards the sound.

A closed secured door. With her hand resting on her gun, she
turned the lock and pulled it open.

In the dim room, an adult body was slowly twisting and writhing on
the ground, fair hair glistening in the beam of light from the
hall. Unfocused pale eyes stared up at her and then she saw
recognition.

She set her gun on a nearby chair and crouched down. "Kenneth
Bond?"

The young man nodded.

"Are you ill?"

His breathing was a low hiss and he managed to shake his head. As
his neck twisted, she saw a dark bruise at the base of his neck.

Shifting her weight back, worried, she asked, "What's happened to
you?"

He gasped, "Don't worry. We've adapted--so we won't be a danger.
No more airborne toxin..."

She tried to rise. "Let me get help--"

His hand, wet but burning hot, grabbed hers. "No! Not much
time." She settled back down on her haunches and he seemed to
take a moment to gather his breath.

"Krycek probably has your son by now. He will go into hiding--"

She couldn't stop herself from interrupting. "Kit's alive?"

"He was an hour ago. I don't believe he'll hurt him. For now.
But you must go after him."

She agreed. "Yes."

The clone rolled over onto his back and took in some more deep
breaths. He could only manage a whisper now. "I've planted a
tracking device on Krycek. Under the bed--"

He had to bite down on his words and his body began to convulse.
His voice expressed genuine shock when he moaned, "It hurts--"

She pushed his sweat-dampened hair off of his forehead. His face
was as burning hot as his hand.

In a burst, he quickly said, "Under the bed, a Palm Pilot. Will
track him..."

She was down on her hands and knees instantly, shining her
flashlight under the bed until she spotted the device.

As she reached for it, his head fell back to the floor and he
began to whisper, "Hurts. Hurts. Hurts..."

When she had retrieved her prize and turned, his hands raised from
his sides. She could see this his hands had swelled and
blackened. She gasped, "I need to go for help--"

He rocked his head from side to side. "Nothing--"

He seemed to be conserving his energy with shallow breaths. He
whispered, so low she almost couldn't hear him. "Please."

She felt the familiar frustration of a doctor. There was nothing
she could do.

"Please." She could only shake her head.

He managed to focus his pale eyes and make eye contact. "Please,"
he asked one more time, with conviction.

Realization melted all her confusion away. She could barely form
the word. "Yes."

His contorted features immediately became peaceful. He gasped
out, "Mother."

She watched the mirrors of her eyes sink into his sockets and the
whites boiled to black. Her mother's--Melissa's, wide mouth
opened in a silent cry and bared white teeth in a gruesome grin.
Charlie's corn silk blond hair blackened like burning summer grass
and broke off. A masculine version of her round chin and Roman
nose caved in like volcanic cones.

Her own eyes began to burn and she felt the prick of danger.
Struggling to her feet, she fled the room as the familiar toxic
odor filled the air.

5.
Krycek slipped out the back door of the warehouse. Even as
Mulder, Scully, and their friends had arrived, he'd been forced to
remain close, searching for his objective. He was very close to
getting everything he'd worked for and he was as focused as a
sharpshooter's sights.

At last, he found the old man in the back parking lot. Having
finished buckling a squealing Kit into a car seat in the back seat
of a dark sedan, the stoop-shouldered figure was sliding to the
driver's door.

Krycek called out the name that he'd been warned never to say,
that had always earned him a sharp slap when he'd slip as a child.
Now he spit it out as a taunt, daring the old man to react.
"Father!"

Krycek's gun was already leveled at the man's head as he turned.
The wrinkled face shone gray under the harsh overhead lights.
Surely he must be feeling some fear, but the old fool didn't even
try to keep the contempt from his features.

"Step away from the car, *Father*," he demanded, matching contempt
with contempt.

Finally, the bastard looked worried. "Don't be an idiot. Don't
hurt him."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm going to take very good care of my little
gold mine," Krycek sneered.

The man insisted, "No! I'll give you the damn money! But my
daughter needs him!"

Shaking his head, Krycek asked, "Is she really your daughter, old
man?"

The man wasn't down for long. The crafty expression returned to
the sagging features. "That isn't your concern. You'll get your
money, like you always do."

Krycek was suddenly furious in a quick flash fire. "It's my
business! Why, *Daddy*? Why haven't you ever given me anything
you give the others?"

The familiar sneer spread across his lips, cutting with their
knife-thin edges. "You? What man would claim a prancing queen
like you?"

Krycek choked out a dry chuckle. "Me? What tune do you think
Jeffy-Boy was dancing to? Christ, he wouldn't even take easy
pussy like your Diana whore." Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "You
know I fucked her? Your whore, Daddy?"

With a weary shrug, the old man said, "That woman should've had a
turnstile installed in her cunt. She was disposable. To be used
and discarded," bleak eyes swept over him, "Just like you are."

Red rage washed over Krycek and it was all he could do not to pull
the trigger. In a quick moment of insanity, he wondered if the
old bastard would dissolve in a swirl of smoke when his body was
pierced by the bullet. He motioned with his gun. "Get away from
the car, Father. I need to get going."

Krycek was satisfied to see the slightest flash of fear in the
deep recesses of his father's dark face as he moved away from the
car door. "Don't worry, old man. Unbelievably, I've always had
the tiniest shred of loyalty to the man who gave me life, despite
never being shown the least reason. I'll leave you to Mulder.
I'm counting on him, and hope the next time I see you, this queen
will be dancing on your grave."

Passing the tall thin shadow of a man, he jumped behind the wheel
of the car and sped away without a single glance in the rear view
mirror.

6.
Scully stumbled into the main room. Mulder had rejoined Frohike
and Langly and they all turned at her entrance.

"Find anything?" Mulder asked immediately.

She schooled her voice and was surprised at how bland it sounded.
"The clone. Kenneth. He's dead. He put a tracking device on
Krycek." She held out the Palm Pilot.

As Langly grabbed the pad and began to examine the data, Frohike's
eyes lit up under his bushy brows. "We should go then."

Langly nodded. "I need to get to our equipment and pump this
thing up. It's not receiving a signal yet."

Mulder was staring at her with his inquisitive gaze, something she
didn't need right now. But he said, "Yes. Tiff will have called
the police by now. Ready, Scully?"

She leveled her gaze to his and nodded. "Yes. Let's go after our
baby."

Chapter 5: Turning Wheels

1.
Highway 50, Virginia
May 12th, 5:20 A.M.

Mulder tried to read Scully's blank, white face when the
headlights of passing cars pierced the dark interior of the van.
Frohike and Langly said nothing and he couldn't think of a thing
to break the silence, either.

A cell phone rang, shattering the oppression like thunder with its
brittle tone. Langly jerked the wheel and then righted it.

Frohike snatched the phone out of his vest pocket. "Yeah!?"

His worried face looked back at Mulder and Scully. "It's Byers.
I'll put him on for all of us to hear." He punched a button, and
then Byers' voice, worried and thin-sounding, echoed in the open
van.

"Hello? Am I on?"

"Yeah, what's happening?" Frohike asked.

Byers' reply was more questions and Mulder felt his already
chilled skin prick with anxiety. "Are Mulder and Scully there?"

They both answered the affirmative and then Scully, sounding
impatient, pressed him: "What's going on, Byers?"

He cleared his throat. "They've put out an all points bulletin for
you. Broken into local broadcasting. Fortunately, it's still
early, but come morning--"

Frohike stopped him. "Because of an escape?"

Mulder could anticipate Byers' response. "No. The footage from
Agent Scully's escort's dashboard-mounted camera shows the two of
you helping her escape...and then the officer is shot and killed."

Mulder nodded and saw Scully's head snap around to look in his
direction but she didn't speak.

"They're looking for you for capital crime murder, the killing of
a law officer in the line of duty."

Langly said with awe, "Man, those fuckers are good."

Scully was cynical sounding. "Yes. Very. You've got to join us,
John."

Fretting, Byers said, "Yes, I know. But I'm stuck here. I have
Anita coming over, hopefully they won't intercept her--"

Scully shook her head and then asked, "Where are we going,
anyway?"

"We have a...place. Secure. Private," Frohike replied smoothly.

She kept pounding at him. "We'll be able to set up the tracking
system for Krycek and get on the road? There're vehicles?" Mulder
watched in amazement.

"Yes--"

She cut off Frohike and addressed Byers again. "Have Anita bring
me some clothes. Jeans, tee shirts, simple stuff. Underwear."
Glancing up at the cab of the van, she added, "I don't relish the
thought of wearing Frohike's boxers."

Mulder had to snort in laughter. Frohike opened his mouth,
probably with a snappy retort, then must have decided it was
inappropriate. He closed his mouth again.

"Oh, and one more thing." Pain flitted across Scully's face. "See
if she can bring me a breast pump."

The uncomfortable silence thickened. After a moment, Byers said,
"Okay. I think I've got everything noted. I'll call her right now.
The sensors aren't detecting any suspicious vehicles outside yet.
We may have a jump on them."

"Skinner will tip the cops off about you. Get moving," Frohike
ordered right before he snapped off the connection.

Mulder asked, "Could we trust Skinner? Tiff will probably go to
him first."

"She'll know we left her out there by that payphone," Scully
mused. "She'll lose the trust she had in us. She has no reason to
protect us anymore." Looking frustrated, she pushed her limp hair
back behind her ears. "I told you. I don't want to trust anyone
but us and these guys."

Mulder nodded. "All right."

2.
The busy highway had quieted down to the countryside. The house
lights were few and far between as Langly carefully drove a narrow
country road before turning to journey up a long drive. He pulled
the van to a halt and then activated an electronic gate. The wall
around the property was high and solid. If she hadn't been so
exhausted and drained, Scully might have been curious.

When she looked over at Mulder, he looked equally numb and
unquestioning.

After Langly stopped, the two of them tumbled out of the back of
the van, wobbling to get their balance, clutching at each other.
Frohike was holding the front door open for them. "You need some
sleep," he suggested.

Scully immediately protested. "No! We need to get to work--"

He shook his head. "No, you guys will just be in the way. Get some
rest until Byers gets here."

She couldn't fight anymore. She trailed after the little man as he
strode down the dark halls, their footfalls echoing in the empty
space of the grand old home.

She had to ask. "Where are we?"

Langly was still behind her. "My place."

Frohike was holding another door open for them. He grinned evilly.
"Like all rebels, Langly's a trust fund baby. This house is our
little preserve." His animated features grew crafty. "For when the
time comes."

Mulder said, amused, "Oh, so you're going to wait out the End
Times in style?" He glanced around the dim, cobweb-laced room. A
double bed was pushed up against the wall and the sheets looked
dusty.

Scully stumbled towards it. "Thanks, guys. You'll let us know the
moment Byers and Anita get here?"

"Yeah," both men answered in unison and they hurried from the
room.

Scully glanced down and realized she'd begun to unzip her orange
prison jumpsuit with them still in the room. She shrugged and
finished the job as she sank down onto the mattress.

Kicking off the canvas shoes that completed the ensemble, she
wiggled out of the jumpsuit, and scooted up to prop herself
against the wall.

She peered into the dark and saw Mulder was mechanically pulling
off his clothes down to boxers and tee shirt.

He seemed to be avoiding looking at her. She asked the question
that had been tumbling around in her mind for hours. "Why did you
help me escape?"

He righted himself after pulling off his socks. "Huh?"

Pissed at his avoiding techniques, she aggressively pressed on. "I
can think of plenty of reasons for you to leave me there to rot."

His eyes looked bleary and he seemed to be focusing on a spot an
inch beside her head. "I don't understand."

"Go on! Say it! None of this would have happened if I'd let you
put that tracking device on Kit! Or let you lock him away! You've
been dying to say it this whole week!" The furious waves rolled
out of her and she felt drained but triumphant.

His brow furrowed. He spoke slowly, as though to a child. "I told
you. You and Kit are my center. Above all others. I owe you
everything. You gave me Kit." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You
gave me yourself. How can I be angry with you?"

As her arms wrapped around her bare torso like bands of steel
slowly tightening, her fury found his tender spot to attack. "You
don't owe me anything! Our lives aren't a business transaction!
I'll give you anything you need freely!"

He didn't seem to hear a word she said. His voice remained
toneless and his gaze dropped to study the filthy floor. "You can
go if you want."

She was confused. "What? Go where?"

He mumbled, "Are you going to leave me?"

Dumbfounded, she gasped again, "What?"

"I know we aren't really married...you don't have to stick with
me...do whatever you have to protect yourself. My family caused
this mess. I understand--"

She railed, "You think I married you because I was pregnant? I
married you because I love you! Didn't I make that clear?"

He was silent for long, painful, seconds. Then he whispered. "No.
You didn't."

Her shame was overwhelming, but she couldn't quite make herself
give in. "Okay. Fine," she sputtered. Then, "Come here. Don't
stand across the room."

He glanced up quickly, with fear. "Why?"

She flicked her eyes to the crease in his loose boxers. "Because
you want to fuck me."

Mulder sucked in a breath at her words. He could barely release
the word. "No."

She looked like an old rag doll some fitful child had tossed on
the bed and forgotten. Her hair was mussed, its natural curl
coming out. The prison issue bra and panties didn't fit right. The
bra was too small and her breasts were swollen, the nipples large
and dark under the thin fabric. The panties were too large and had
slipped low on her hips, with vivid red pubic hair peeking out
everywhere. Of course he was turned on.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her in her underwear, in
that dark motel room in Oregon. He'd found her attractive at their
first meeting, instantly intellectually stimulating. But the
moment she dropped her robe, his desire had fled. With her clean
face and damp hair, she looked exactly like a teenage girl. Her
little soft body had excited him and in the next instant, he'd
felt like a dirty old man. It had taken a few more years of
maturing on her part before he could look at Dana Scully as a
desirable, sexual being.

At this moment she was that and more. She was frighteningly
sexual. She shrugged a glaringly white shoulder, and those empty,
blue plastic doll eyes glanced over his shivering body again.
"Okay, I want to fuck you."

He stuttered, "No."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"I don't think it will solve anything," he protested.

She shook her head in apparent disgust. "I do. It'll make
everything go away for half an hour."

He realized he hadn't touched her sexually since Kit had been
taken. He fought on. "I don't want it to be like that between us."

Her upper lip curled up. "Oh, that's right. Every time is going to
be amazing and tender and warm and romantic..." She stopped and
lowered her voice to a growl. "You think I don't know about all
those sex manuals you have hidden away in your den? That you
*study* how to satisfy me? Can you imagine how that makes me
feel!?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "Like I'm some
scientific experiment for you to conduct!"

He had to close his eyes against the assault. His wife's voice was
gone. His mother's was there. Slurred. Low. Taunting. 'You're not
man enough to satisfy me! You limp-dicked drunk!' His father's
howl back. 'Bitch!' The slamming door. Silence.

Scully's voice rose again. It was like a turning wheel, going
around and around. "If you don't let me see this part of you, the
pissed-off, just want to fuck part, we're never going to be truly
married. It will kill us to try to maintain perfection and
politeness. That's not a marriage! It's a photo spread in a
magazine!"

His eyes snapped open. Her eyes were wet and she looked completely
defeated. He staggered towards the bed and she let out a
desperate, oddly happy sob.

As he sank into her open arms, she murmured hypnotically, "Yes.
Yes. We need this."

He laid his head on her breastbone, listening to her thudding
heart for a moment before nodding. Her hands were in his boxers,
finding his cock like it was a lifeline. His mouth fell open and
he groaned against the soft skin of her breast.

He heard her whimper in pain, and he glanced up, confused. His
hand was on her other breast and as he squeezed, she flinched. He
snatched it away, mumbling, "Sorry--"

She sounded nearly hysterical. "No. Please. Please, Mulder," she
groaned as her nails raked along his ass.

He had to help her. She wanted to be in enough pain to forget
their loss. He unsnapped the bra and began to bite down her
collarbone, grinding his pelvic bone against her damp panties.

When he latched onto her left nipple, the pitch of her groan
deepened to a primal level, like it was rising from a dark cave.
His mouth was instantly flooded with milk. He almost stopped. Then
her hand that had been scratching along his back settled on his
hair. Cooing in the way he'd heard her as she fed Kit, she began
to stroke his hair. Reassured, he allowed himself to swallow
before pulling on her nipple again.

She rolled over on her side, no longer able to support his weight.
He came with her, throwing his thigh over her hip, sheltering and
warming her shaking body. Propping his head on his hand, he
switched to nurse at her right breast.

Her low sounds finally became a chant as both their bodies went
slack and they slipped into drowsing. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank
you."

3.
Federal Building; Washington D.C.
6:45 A.M.

Tiff had snatched a few hours napping on Skinner's receptionist's
couch. She knew her afro was crushed and she suspected, despite
her attempts to bathe in the women's washroom, that she smelled
funky.

Pushing past the knot of men outside his office, she entered
Skinner's inner sanctum with only a quick knock.

He was leaning back in his chair, his glasses tossed onto his
desk, fists buried in his eye sockets.

"Walter?" she said.

When he turned his head, his neck vertebra loudly cracked.
Sounding dead tired, he replied, "Yeah?"

"What's the latest?"

"Officers got to the Lone Gunman's Headquarters too late. No sign
of any of them. Dr. Anita Mui is unaccounted for. A search of her
residence would suggest she'd left on an extended trip. She has
since contacted her practice to report that, yes, she has left
town unexpectedly. Leaving no forwarding address or phone number,"
he reported automatically.

She propped her hip up on the corner of his desk. "So where does
that leave us?" she asked.

He finally looked at her and she started in surprise. His
expression was careful. Guarded. "Let's go over your time at this
warehouse again."

Trying to fight a rising sense of alarm, she said, "I've given my
full report."

Carefully, he said, "Yes. I thought perhaps, with some sleep, new
details had surfaced in your memory."

"Like?" she challenged.

"Like why you think they let you live? Why they let you go to
report their location," he fired back.

She spit out, "I refuse to defend myself again! I'm not the one
who choked a woman in a hospital! I'm not the one who's
disappeared! I'm not the one on tape killing a cop!"

He rose from his chair, and she was almost frightened for a moment
as he loomed over her. Then he shook his head and she could see
the door shutting on his face.

She jumped off his desk and roared, "Dammit, Dog! Don't you see
how they use you!? Sure, when they need you, they hold you close!
But now?"

He looked confused. She motioned to the phone. "Where's the call,
Dog? Where's their trust now?"

Grabbing his arm, she implored, "You gotta see. They treat you
like a Negro--"

Wrenching it away, he protested, "Why are you bringing race into
this?"

"Fuck it! It's an analogy! Being treated like a Negro mean that
someone will let you into their life, give you their trust, demand
yours, and your time and your blood and your life..." She was
spinning away. She took a breath, and quietly finished. "And then,
when it comes down to it, there's a wall you can't get over. Their
side of town and yours. You're a Negro. Not a friend. Not a
trusted co-worker. They just trust their own."

His eyes were still blank. "You don't understand."

She'd kept that rising dread down but now it flooded her senses,
washing her vision away. She choked, "Oh." She began to back
towards the door and gurgled out, "I get it now. Okay, I see. I'm
the Negro. Well, sorry...I gotta go..."

She felt so fucking stupid for giving herself to this man. She
wheeled, grabbing for the door handle. She had to get out of here.
Out of this cold office, away from the dark walls and the
oppressive stare of Janet Reno's portrait.

Hands pinned her to the door, and for the first time ever, Walter
Skinner used all his strength against her. She struggled, but she
was tired, weak, and in no position to get a proper move on him.
He had her.

His voice was low and careful. "No, Tiffany. You've got it wrong.
I trust you. Only you. But I've watched Them for a lot longer than
you have. I've seen what They do to people."

As suddenly as the hands had been there, they were gone and the
voice was back by the desk. Dizzy, she leaned against the door and
listened.

"I...I owe something to Agents Mulder and Scully. I...haven't
always helped them."

There was so much weight in his words, she had to turn. His
expression shocked her. She'd seen it on young, regret-filled men
confessing to murder. She feared his words, but she had to ask.

"Walter, what did you do?"

His chuckle was completely mirthless. There was a long moment
before he responded, and then his answer was forced out from his
tightly held lips. "I did my job. I followed orders. And they took
Agent Scully and raped her and ripped her apart..."

She was at his side in time to catch his slumping body. He buried
his heavy head in the crook of her neck and she had to reassure
him. "Okay. I see. I see now. It's going to be all right. We'll
find them. We'll protect them. I know we can."

His arms came around her, and he nodded, mute. His warm tongue
touched her cold neck as he licked his lips. She shivered,
remembering the chill of the Factory. Had she barely escaped
Scully's fate? How many more times would she be at risk while
involved in the X-files?

She forced those thoughts away. Bending her head as she felt him
find his balance again, she whispered in his ear, "And I love you
too."

4.
8:16 A.M.

Scully woke with a start at the warm hand on her bare shoulder.
Instinctively, she pulled the sheet up her naked torso, and groped
for her gun as she tried to shake the hair from her eyes.

Anita's low voice soothed her. "It's okay, honey. It's me."

Scully nodded, willing her heartbeat to slow. Mulder began to
thrash beside her, trying to free himself from the binding sheet.

"It's Anita, Mulder," she calmed him.

"John is helping the boys get everything ready. I thought I'd
bring you some fresh clothes," Anita said as Scully struggled
upright.

She nodded again. Her head was pounding and her eyes burned from
lack of sleep. Normally, she was able to subsist on her quick, but
deep cat naps, but she was never truly asleep now. A part of her
brain was always listening for her baby's cry.

"Shower," her friend urged her.

She managed a shaky grin. "That bad, eh?"

Anita grinned back. "Yes."

"I'll just be a moment," she promised her husband and Anita.

5.
Everyone was crowded around monitoring equipment a few minutes
later when she entered the men's workroom, pulling a comb through
her wet hair.

"What do you know?" she demanded.

Mulder answered first. "They've got him," he said triumphantly.

She hurried over to stare at the readings on the screen. "Where?!"
She asked frantically.

Frohike calmed her down. "He hasn't gotten far. He's only outside
of Knoxville on Interstate 40. He must be in a car. Remember, he's
on the run too. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself."

Byers chimed in. "Yes. How many young, leather clad,
prosthetically armed men with babies have you seen lately?"

Langly cackled. "Exactly! He has to stop often to change diapers
and give Kit his bottle."

"If he does!" Scully protested. Mulder's arm found its way around
her waist and she leaned into the warmth.

Anita assured her, "This about money, right? About how much money
he can get for Kit--"

Langly's enthusiasm got the best of him. "Yeah! If Kit was worth
anything dead, Krycek would have killed him a long time ago. He
wants him alive."

Scully shot at him, "Do we know he's alive? Or are we chasing our
baby's murderer?"

She'd never heard Mulder's voice as cold as it was at that moment.
"Either way, we've got to find that bastard and kill him."

She laced her fingers into his taut fingers clutching her waist.
"Yes."

Frohike nodded and got up from his chair. "Are you ready?"

She was astonished. "Do you need to ask?"

He grinned at her with admiration. "Okay, let's show you what
we've set up."

6.
He led the group outside the dark, shuttered house, and Scully and
Mulder blinked in the morning light. Mulder glanced around,
feeling exposed in the open space. They were in a large, garbage-
strewn, fenced yard.

He had to tease. "Disguising your sophisticated underground group
as white trash, guys?"

All three men looked confused. Langly hurried ahead to a
dangerously leaning shed, and flung open the doors. Crouched in
the building was a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

Scully raised her eyebrow to Frohike, and Mulder had to agree with
her skepticism. "Guys?" he asked.

The little man puffed out his chest. "It's the perfect disguise.
Biker couple on a tour."

Scully asked, "Won't that bike draw the police's attention?"

He waved his hand in protest. "That's the '70's! This is now! No
one looks twice at a bored suburban couple trying to regain their
lost youth." Mulder noticed Scully's mouth pursed in a sour
expression and then realized his own mouth was making the same
shape. Frohike continued, unnoticing. "People expect them to ask
questions. Or to lose their friend--the guy with the baby. If I
could have swung it, I would have gotten you an RV, but this will
have to do."

Mulder could see the plan working, but his heart sank anyway. "One
problem, great thinker. I can't drive a motorcycle."

Scully was approaching the bike with cat-like interest. "I can,"
she mused.

Frohike's bushy brows rose.

She glanced at him, a challenge in her eyes. "I can. My brothers
rode dirt bikes for years. I was always sneaking off to steal
rides on them."

He said patiently, "This isn't some little 50 cc dirt bike. This
is a Hog."

Mulder watched in amazement as, for the first time in days, a huge
grin spread across his wife's face.

She smoothly flung her leg over the saddle and settled on the
leather seat. Her small hands curled around the handlebars. Color
flushed her pale cheeks as she breathed, "Yeah, I know."

The engine roared to life as she kicked it over, and Langly jumped
back. She gave it enough gas to shoot from the dark shed and it
was Byers' turn to hobble out of the way as she carefully made a
circuit of the large yard.

She turned the bike and came straight at Frohike and Mulder,
frozen in their shoes. As she applied the brakes and stomped her
heels down to balance the huge machine, Frohike mumbled to Mulder,
"May I presume to tell you, after all these years, your wife is
still hot?"

Mulder could barely nod, staring at the way Anita's too small tee
shirt was binding Scully's swollen breasts and exposing her tight
white stomach as she dismounted the bike, yanking it up to put it
on its kickstand. "You may," he gasped.

Under Anita's burning gaze, Byers gulped and seemed to be trying
to help the huddle of awe-struck men focus on the serious subject
at hand. "We have your things packed. Langly...Langly?" he asked
desperately.

Langly's long neck wobbled like a turkey's as he nodded. "Yeah!"
Mulder wondered what he was agreeing too.

But then Langly rallied. "I've got the helmets ready to go." He
scurried over to a table in the shed. "They're wired for
communication between the driver and passenger, pretty standard
stuff in motorcycle helmets. But I've added reception for our
communiques. We'll track Krycek and keep you posted."

Frohike had been mounting bulging saddlebags over the seat of the
bike and now added a backpack to the high backrest.

"It's not much," he said regretfully. "You have to travel light
and stay in campgrounds. You don't want anyone to get a good look
at you. Your faces have been plastered all over the TV already."

He tossed a worn leather jacket at Scully. Gruffly, he told her,
"It's given me good luck. It should fit."

She held up the small jacket. It was emblazoned with faded designs
on the back. The center was a gold triangular Army insignia with a
black horse head over a diagonal black bar. '1st Cavalry Rode
Through' was written along the top, and below the picture,
'Vietnam - '68-72'. Briefly, she grasped Frohike's hand and gave
it a squeeze. "Thanks."

Langly's silver studded black leather jacket was a bit tight on
Mulder, but he didn't complain. "Are we ready then?" he asked.

Looking around the circle of concerned faces, Mulder felt like he
should say something. Nothing came to him. He felt Scully's
fingers lacing in his again.

"Yes," she murmured. He glanced down at her open, shining face and
couldn't stop the romantic gesture of a kiss before they slipped
on their helmets.

The group still didn't say anything as they carefully mounted the
bike. Scully's voice sounded like she was calling down a pipe to
him. "Mulder?"

"Yep."

"Okay, you're going to have to help me keep this thing balanced
until I get the hang of it. Then we'll see about training you to
drive," she said.

He couldn't resist. "You were shitting Fro, weren't you?"

She laughed, a burst bubble that sounded rich and true inside his
bowl of a helmet.

Frohike's voice crackled in his ear. "Testing, testing."

"Got you," he answered.

"Good," the man said. "And good luck."

Scully responded with Mulder, "Thanks."

She steered them out the gate and Mulder glanced back to watch it
swing shut. The empty country road stretched ahead, and the
blacktop whipped dizzily under his feet. He leaned forward and
tightened his grip around Scully's small waist.

"We're really doing this? It isn't a dream?" He didn't mean those
words to come out as a question but now they hung in the air.

She must have known what he meant. Through the helmet speaker, her
voice resonated inside his head, saying, "Yes, this is real." She
continued, "We aren't helpless. We know who we're after and where
he is. It's just a matter of time."

He watched her gloved hands tighten on the handlebars and then
shift gears to increase speed. Putting her booted feet on the
footrests, she leaned back against his chest and he laid his hands
on her thighs, feeling the power of the motor under her strong
muscles. She was right. Each turn of the wheels was carrying them
closer to Kit.

He knew it wasn't appropriate, but he still found himself
beginning to laugh with a hysterical joy. He wasn't surprised when
he heard her join him.

Chapter 6: Follow the Moon

1.
Meramec State Park, Missouri
May 12th, 11:25 P.M.

The shower's water pressure was only slightly stronger than a
mouse pissing, but Mulder decided beggars couldn't be choosers.

As he tested the water's temperature, he glanced down at Scully.
She sat slumped on the narrow wood bench in the campground's
shower room, head bowed.

They had finally stopped. Even alternating turns driving, they
were both dangerously exhausted. It was impossible to nap on the
motorcycle and they'd been on the road since 9 A.M.

Krycek had had a 300 mile head start on them when they'd left
Virginia that morning, but he'd stopped often, probably because of
the baby, and they'd gained on him. He'd finally appeared to stop
for the evening. His tracking device hadn't moved in two hours, so
Scully had agreed to rest.

Following Frohike's suggestion, they were in a state park
campground. Mulder had fumbled at putting up the tent and now they
needed to try to wash 800 miles of filth off.

"Why don't we share, Scully? I don't think the hot water is going
to hold out," he said.

She nodded and began automatically to shed her clothing. Mulder
decided to get started and clambered into the stall.

Her small body wedged into the rickety fiberglass enclosure behind
him. "Soap?" she asked.

He handed her the slimy bar and she began to lather his back. He
could barely hold in a whimper.

He was too damn old for this. Motorcycles looked great in movies,
but now the reality was clear in bone-jarring detail. His teeth
were still vibrating and his balls seemed flat as pancakes between
his quivering thighs. His lower back felt like a spike had been
slowly driven into..."Oh, yes, Scully..." he moaned as she found
just that spot and began to rub it earnestly.

"God, yes!" He wailed as her hands moved down to his ass. He
leaned against the thin wall and pushed his glutes back against
her ministrations. He needed that ass in working order by dawn. He
practically wept at the idea of settling it back on the saddle.

Her tongue licked at his shoulder blade. "Feel good?" she asked
ridiculously.

He had to be a good husband. "Your turn," he said.

Her damp face tilted to meet his for a quick kiss. "Thank you so
much," she said as she turned her back to him.

Kneading her shoulders, he let his thumbs press her neck until her
back arched like a kitten's. Now it was her turn to moan. "Oh,
Mulder..."

When she collapsed against the wall, he ran his thumbs down her
spine as she shuddered in happy agony. Remembering how his ass
felt a few moments ago, he squeezed hers until she whimpered.
"Mulder, Mulder," she panted.

"Yeah." He agreed to nothing in particular.

She shattered the mood. "We're getting old."

He withdrew his hands and turned to get the shampoo. "Thanks for
reminding me."

Ever practical, she insisted, "It's true."

Pouring some shampoo into his palm, he rubbed his hands together
to build up lather. "Turn around again. I don't want to get it in
your eyes."

She complied, and he swirled her hair until it was a cap of froth.
Pulling some off for himself, he quickly soaped up his hair too.
They twisted and turned under the spray together, in a slick,
sliding close dance, trying to get the soap out of their hair
before the water cooled.

Their eyes met and she reached down to grasp his heavy, thickening
cock. Her lips played at a smile. "Mmmm...you're not too tired."

He agreed, "Never," as he bent down to lick water off her cheek.

They walked hand and hand back to the tent, following the beam of
their flashlight. By the time they crawled in, Scully was
shivering in the cool evening air.

He assured her, "I'll warm you up," as he pushed their packs back
to make room on the unrolled sleeping bags.

But it was Scully who took the initiative. He was slightly taken
aback by the gleam in her eyes, glowing bright in the dim light.
She pushed him over on his back and reached for the waistband of
his boxers.

Nervously, he stuttered, "Ummm...Scully?" but she was lightly
raking her nails up his thighs and had her gaze zeroed in on his
barely fluttering cock. Following her inquiring look, he said,
"Oh. Perhaps I am getting old."

She was on her hands and knees between his splayed legs, her head
brushing the ceiling of the tent. "That's all right," she
murmured. "We can take our time."

He suggested, "Turn around, Scully. I want to get at you too."

Raising an eyebrow, she nevertheless complied, wiggling around in
the confined space of the narrow tent. He pulled down her shorts
and managed to get them off her ankles with only minor thrashing.
Lifting the flashlight with one hand, he used the other to
separate her moist folds for his inspection.

She'd been nibbling at his sensitive stomach, but stopped
immediately. Hissing, she said, "First, Mulder, I don't need a
gynecological exam. And second, turn out that flashlight. I don't
want to give the neighbors a shadow puppet show."

He whined, "Aw, Scully. There aren't any tents close by--"

She squeezed his thigh painfully. "Mulder! It's pitch dark out
there. We're like a beacon with that light on."

"Okay, Okay." He extinguished the light and was immediately
gratified. His senses of touch and smell ratcheted up. Her skin
was soft as silk and smelled so fresh.

He could feel the rough papillae on her tongue as it inched closer
and closer to his now rigid, begging hard-on. The swirls of her
fingers' pads branded the delicate tissue on his balls, rolling
their weight, pulling gently at the sac. A drape of her hair
lightly brushed his abdomen and thighs as she moved over him.

Sliding a finger into her, he let his thumb lazily roll her
clitoris. Even painfully craning his neck, he realized he couldn't
get close enough. He decided they'd need some adjustments to pull
this position off.

"Scully," he mumbled just as she slid her wet mouth down his cock.

He fell back on the sleeping bag, forgetting what he was going to
ask her.

Her light touch was delicately stroking the underside of his cock
as her mouth fiercely worked at the head. The contrast was
exhilarating and frightening. So much for taking her time.

He started his low, drawn out chant.
"OhScully...OhScully...OhScully..."

She chuckled around his organ and as she began to pull at his sac
more roughly, he gasped again.

His hands had fallen way from her, and were gripping the sleeping
bag for dear life. He had to get back to his task. "Scully! I
wanna--"

Scully dragged her tongue up his length, swirled around the corona
before saying, "What?"

"Scoot back, honey. I can't get to you." He was whining again.

Heat throbbed between Scully's thighs and she felt heavy and
dripping. But she could only concentrate on one thing at a time
and she believed in finishing a job when she started it. "I'm all
right," she said as she plunged back down on his waiting cock.

She could hear his faint groan from between her knees, but he did
manage to let go of the sleeping bag to grip her thighs again. He
began to massage her still aching muscles and she truly thought
she would come from the relief. She had to moan in time with his
squeezing hands, and soon they found a rhythm together. His strong
thumbs coursed up and down her hamstrings in time to her draws,
rising and falling on his shaft.

She let him do the vocalizing for them. She squeezed his balls
roughly, spreading the saliva that was dripping from her mouth.
Then, she stroked up the tight tendons holding him erect, bringing
her fist to meet her mouth. Again and again, until he couldn't
keep his rhythm.

Finally, she'd found a way to get him still and reasonably quiet.
At this moment, she bet he'd agree to clean grout, string
Christmas lights, and paint her toenails at the end of the long,
hard workday.

He grunted, "Gonna come. Gonna--Shit!" His hips bucked wildly off
the ground, throwing her like a cowgirl. Suddenly, the world
collapsed on them and Scully found herself swaddled in clinging
polyfiber.

Mulder was aware of a few things. With each gasping intake of
breath, his mouth filled with fabric. Scully was thrashing and
cursing on top of him. But frankly...frankly he didn't give a
damn. All his stiffness and soreness had drained out of him with
his orgasm and he was ready to go to sleep.

His sweet love called him home. "God fucking dammit, Mulder! Find
the damn flashlight!" she cursed.

He could only mumble, "I thought you didn't want the flashlight
on."

"Mulder, I swear, I'm going to kill you."

He fumbled and found the flashlight, flicking it on. Her delicious
white ass was wiggling in his face and he couldn't resist planting
a kiss on one cheek.

Her hand reached back and yanked the flashlight from him. She
shuffled away, still cursing, leaving the tent to settle on him
like a shroud.

"Get out, Mulder. Help me!"

That was odd. She still sounded muffled, even out of the tent. He
crawled free, dragging his boxers back up as he staggered to his
feet. She was shaking her head and peering around the campsite.

"What're you looking for?" he asked stupidly.

"The towel," she grumbled.

"Why?"

She shook her head again and wiped at her nose. "Because you
ejaculated up my nose, that's why."

He was amazed at his ability to control his reaction. Maybe he was
getting the hang of this marriage thing. Saying each word with
careful calm, he suggested, "Let me get this tent back up."

He hadn't fooled her. Her voice dripped with threatened violence.
"You do that. We need to get to sleep. I'm setting the alarm for 4
A.M."

2.
Interstate 40, Texas
May 13th, 8:50 P.M.

Krycek had started moving at 6 A.M. but over the course of the
day, they'd gained another 150 miles on him. Remembering he'd
stopped for the evening at about this time yesterday, Scully gave
the bike more gas and pushed them onward.

Tonight. Tonight, she'd have her baby back in her arms. The dark
ribbon of the freeway swam before her stinging eyes, and as if he
knew her thoughts, Mulder's grip tightened around her waist.

His voice was low and reassuring in her ear. "Tonight." He did
know.

Frohike's triumphant crow broke in through their earpieces. "He's
stopped." There was a pause. "Vega, Texas. Sounds lovely. You're
24 miles away. Go get that fucker. For me. Please."

Grimly, Mulder answered, "No problem."

The speedometer dial inched closer to 90 mph as Scully increased
their speed again.

Frohike directed them to Harriet's Cottages, a string of sagging
shacks on the edge of the tiny freeway-serving town. Inside the
dingy cottage marked Office, a huge, sweating man loomed behind
the cracked, Formica-topped counter. At first he smiled warmly at
the couple. The smile disappeared when Scully began to question
him aggressively.

"You've had a man check in. He has a baby. What room is he in?"

Mulder put a quieting hand on her quivering arm but the damage was
done. The man's small, bird-bright eyes became suspicious slits.
"Who you people, anyhow?"

Deciding to take a risk, Mulder fumbled for his FBI badge. Scully
shot him a warning glance, but he only gave her an imploring look
before sliding the ID across the counter.

The large man examined the badge for agonizing moments, his
labored wheezing echoing off the mold-tinged walls, while Scully
hurried back and forth from the counter to the window, peering out
into the garden courtyard. He finally said, "You folks sure don't
look like no FBI agents on TV."

Somehow, Mulder remained calm. Gripping Scully's arm to still her,
he agreed. "Yes, I realize that. We're in disguise. This is an
uncover mission. What room, Sir?"

The eyes became crafty. "Number 13. Last one in the back. He
wanted quiet."

Scully was already through the door, leaving the bike by the
office to rush up the twisting walkway through the barren garden
the cottages surrounded. Mulder's long legs carried him to her
side, and he yanked out his firearm to match her.

"Let me take the back first," he ordered as she bore down on the
rickety door. She only nodded as she reached for the knob.

In the back the parking space was empty. Mulder couldn't believe
Krycek would carry the baby from some other spot. He hurried back
around. She was pounding on the door but whirled when he appeared.

"Get back there! He must be going through the window!"

Over her shoulder, Mulder noticed a blue sedan whipping out of the
side drive of the motel to get back on the street. He spotted a
dark-haired head in the stream of the streetlight. "Fuck!" he
yelled.

Grabbing her arm, he sprinted back towards their bike.

As they passed the open door of the office, the large man and an
equally huge woman who must have been Harriet filled the space,
blocking the light. Mulder noticed their smirks as he and Scully
quickly remounted the motorcycle. He swore to return and burn this
dump down as the engine roared to life.

Scully yanked the bike around and got them back on the street. He
babbled to Frohike, "The bastard was warned! He's on the move!
Help us out here, Fro!"

There was silence on the line. "Fro? Melvin Frohike!"

Scully was bent down over the handlebars, dangerously darting
between vehicles, trying to catch the blue sedan. He spotted it on
the on-ramp to the freeway and tapped her shoulder to get her
attention. She nodded and gave pursuit.

He tried to communicate with Virginia again. "Anyone there? Byers?
Langly?"

Frohike's voice, sounding distant and tense, filled their heads.
"I'm here."

Mulder lectured him. "Hey! Keep on the job, dammit! This is
important."

Frohike only said, "Yep. What's up?"

"He got a jump on us. He's fleeing in a car..." Mulder
concentrated on the sedan. "He's in a navy blue Contour. Maryland
license, 4TYL228."

Frohike agreed. "Yep, he's moving fast. Do you think he's spotted
you?"

Mulder thought about it. "I don't think so. You, Scully?"

Terse, Scully said, "No, I don't think so. I think that bitch
Harriet called while we were talking to her husband. Told him a
man and woman were asking about him. With any luck, he doesn't
know we're on a motorcycle and we still have a chance to get the
drop on him."

Agreeing, Mulder said, "Yes, we can't risk letting him spot us.
Let's hang back and follow until he stops again."

He could hear a grunt from Frohike. "You don't agree?" he asked.

"Do what you think is best," was the reply.

For another 45 miles, they kept a cushion of about ten miles,
letting Frohike guide them. Krycek seemed to have decided to get
off the freeway, and had taken to the narrow county routes through
the dark countryside. Scully dropped back even further so he
couldn't see their headlight on the empty roads.

Finally, Frohike got excited, his words nearly lost in a grateful
gasp. "He's stopped! You've got him! Maybe he's broken down!"

At those words, Scully spurred the bike forward and they tore down
the dark road. Frantically, they both raked the empty roadside.

Scully spit out, "Nothing! Frohike, are you sure!?"

He sounded worried and distracted. "Yes! I tell you, the signal is
stopped."

Dread began to fill Mulder. "Did he find the tracking device?"

Scully whispered in despair, "No..."

Frohike's tone was flat. "You're there. He's got to be right
there."

She lay on the brakes and the bike skidded to a stop. They both
dismounted slowly, pulling their weapons as they searched the
thick shrubbery and strip of blacktop.

Nothing.

Frohike insisted. "Right there. Your signal and their signal
overlap." He sounded utterly desperate. "He *has* to be there!"

A flash of white caught Mulder's eye and he hurried towards it.

Sick, hysterical laughter overcame him when he realized what it
was.

Frantic, Frohike asked, "What?!"

Sinking to his knees, Mulder examined his find as Scully stared
over his shoulder. Lifting Krycek's prosthetic arm, he said, "He
found the tracking device. He's dumped it."

Furious, Scully slapped the object from his limp grasp. Suddenly,
her voice became sharp. "Frohike, what's going on there?"

Mulder noticed a banging coming through the earpiece.

Frohike's voice was flat. "They're coming."

"What?" he asked.

"Some sort of security forces are busting down the door as we
speak. They've gotten the others already. I don't know how long I
can stay on. I'm destroying everything. This is it."

Mulder rose slowly and stared down the empty road. This was it.
They were completely alone.

Scully spoke as cordially as a hostess giving leave of a guest at
a garden party. "Well, thank you, Frohike. And goodbye."

The little man forced cheer. "Hey, anytime. I'll be seein' you
soon!"

The line went dead.

She tugged at his arm. "Let's go."

He shrugged her grip off. "Where?" he asked in despair.

She tipped her head forward. "After that man. We're investigators.
We'll just use our old-fashioned skills."

Shaking off his low spirits, he nodded and headed back to the
bike. "I'll drive."

3.
Route 246, New Mexico
May 14th, 2:35 A.M.

They rode the flat desert roads blindly, simply following the
moon. Scully felt on the edge of hysteria. There was no rhyme or
reason to their choices when the road changed routes. They would
let the bike idle for a moment while they glanced both directions.

"Right or left?" Mulder asked at one junction.

She worried her lower lip and then said, "Right."

He didn't move the bike. "I think left."

Then, he lifted his feet to the pedals and pointed the bike
forward. She had to bury her face in his back, willing him to be
correct again.

They had seen one piece of proof. Scully had spotted it and made
Mulder stop.

A discarded, used baby diaper.

Clinically, she pulled it open and examined the contents. Grimly,
she said, "He's not giving Kit enough fluids."

Hanging back, Mulder asked, "How do you know it's Kit?"

She was already heading back to the bike. "I just do."

She kept her eyes trained to the side of the road for these
pathetic crumbs but her vision blurred and jumped from exhaustion.

She realized it wasn't just her. Mulder kept having to correct the
front wheel's course as it wavered back and forth between the
cracked edge of the blacktop and the faint yellow line.

She'd have to be the one to say it. Mulder would drive them off a
cliff to keep her satisfied. "Let's stop for a few hours. We need
sleep and some food."

He immediately applied the brakes. "Here?" His voice was hopeful.

Looking up and down the empty road, she said, "Why not? We'll just
unroll our bags for a bit."

He nodded and pulled the bike over to the sandy shoulder.

Slowly, they eased over the sagging wire fence on the roadside and
climbed a slight rise until they were on a smooth knoll
overlooking the wide, moonlit desert.

Bags opened, they both pulled their boots off and stretched out,
groaning in unison. Scully let her eyes drift shut under the glare
of the moon.

A few minutes passed, and she realized she wasn't falling asleep.
Her mind raced as her thoughts chased each other around and
around.

"Dammit," she mumbled.

Instantly, Mulder asked, "Scully?"

"Sorry, Mulder. Go back to sleep."

Sighing, he said, "I wasn't."

"You too?" she asked. "We've got to get some sleep."

"I think I'm too tired," he said, then chuckled without humor.

She agreed. "I know what you mean. We need someone to come knock
us unconscious." She turned her head to look at his profile. "We
must get rest," she mused, an idea forming.

He nodded, and sensing her gaze, turned his head to meet it.

He smiled sweetly and she suddenly fell in love with him for that
day. She'd noticed that she could pinpoint a specific moment every
day when this happened, but found it too odd to mention. Perhaps
now was a good time.

"I love you," she said.

It was the right moment. His eyes glistened in the silver light.
"I love you too, Scully."

"Good."

She unzipped his leather jacket and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Scully?"

Drolly, she answered, "Yes, Mulder?" as she pushed his tee shirt
up to expose his strong belly to her seeking mouth.

He gasped, and then continued. "What're you doing?"

"I thought of a way to tire us out."

His chuckle vibrated under her cheek as she nibbled his pectoral.

"I like the way you think."

"Yes, great minds do think alike," she noted as his hands wound
through her hair.

They shed their clothes slowly, letting their exhaustion set the
pace. The sleeping bag's slick fabric whispered under her bare
back, calling back and forth with the breeze that stirred the
fragrant sage around them.

Mulder eased up and down her body, ignoring her protests that she
wasn't getting to touch him enough. Finally, she simply lay back
and opened her knees to welcome him in. His smiling face appeared
over her and she draped her arms around his shoulders.

Wonder filled his voice. "Oh, Scully..." he moaned as she traced
the tracks of his ribs and then let her nails drag up his spine.

Her tone sounded dreamy even to her ears. "Yes, Mulder?"

His forehead touched her breastbone and his back bulged with his
thrusts. "I'm trying not to call to a god I don't accept," he
gasped. "So, I'll pray to you."

Chuckling, her head rolled back and she stared at the white moon
until her eyes burned. His body--her body--was gone. They were
floating upward. The platinum stars fell closer and closer to
earth until her raised fingertips could touch them.

The earth didn't move; the universe moved. At this moment, Scully
could swear she could feel the rotation of the galaxy itself. They
weren't exploding in orgasm; the constellations were imploding
into them.

Suddenly, a huge owl, great wings humming in the wind, flew across
the moon, blocking the bright light out. Her body gone, she felt
as huge as the darkness. Teeth chattering, she cried out,
"Mulder!"

He was there, heavy and panting, lying over her. She clutched at
him compulsively.

He sounded worried. "Scully?"

"Yes. I'm all right. It's just..." She felt embarrassed. "I'm
sorry, Mulder. I was kind of ignoring you there--"

She met his eyes and was surprised to see him smiling. "No,
Scully. I was with you. I saw it all in your eyes."

Pulling him closer, she gasped into his neck, "Good. Good. Because
I saw the truth."

"Yes?" he asked.

She was back in her body, but now the universe was within her.
She'd never felt so strong in her life. She grasped his face so
their noses met. "Yes. Tomorrow, for sure. Tomorrow, we're going
to get our son back. I can see it."

His teeth gleamed as a huge smile cracked his face. "Yes, Scully.
I trust you."

He rolled off of her, but they still stayed wrapped in each
others' arms, falling asleep immediately.

Chapter 7: The Right Words

1.
State Highway 70, Arizona
May 14th, 4:30 P.M.

Krycek was hot. The damned air conditioner had broken in this
crappy car 300 miles ago. Even with all the windows rolled down,
the interior of the vehicle was stuffy. Sweat caused his shirt to
adhere to the seat and made his hands slip on the steering wheel.

Glancing in the rear view mirror, Krycek saw that Kit was slumped
in the car seat behind him in the back seat. The baby's round face
was flushed and damp, his fine hair curling in the heat. His eyes
were at half-mast and he'd been making a low, whining sound for
the past 50 miles. It was getting on Krycek's nerves.

He decided to tell the kid a story. That should work. "Don't
worry, Isaac, we'll be in Phoenix tonight. Then you can meet my
friend, Kip. And he'll just snip off a few little bits and use
them to make lots and lots of money. It won't hurt a bit."

The child's eyes had opened and he appeared to be listening.
Krycek went on. "You want Uncle Alex to make money, don't you?"

Using his knees to hold the steering wheel steady, he picked up
the water bottle from the seat beside him, checking the contents.
Damn! Not much left. He'd have to stop again. And he was running
low on diapers.

"You shit too much, kid. And it stinks." He shuddered. He had to
toss the diaper aside as soon as he changed it. He'd done
demeaning crap in this work, but wiping a baby's red, chapped ass
took the prize.

"Yeah, you owe me, big time," he directed towards Kit. "I'm tired
and cranky."

As though to answer, the baby instantly began to whine. "You just
shut the hell up!" Krycek snarled. "I'm sick of that, you hear
me?"

He mused out loud, "I need to get laid." Forcing himself to ignore
Kit's fussing, he said, "You're going to like Auntie Kip and he's
going to love you."

A motion in the side mirror caught his attention. Something was
approaching from behind, fast. He squinted to make the vehicle
out, his hand tightening on the wheel.

As it drew closer, he relaxed. It was only a motorcycle.

After a few more miles, he could make out the driver. Tall, with
lanky legs. Dusty black leather outfit. With the glistening dark
helmet on top, the man resembled a long, black dick. Krycek
grinned to himself. Oh, he definitely needed to get laid. Perhaps
this would be the guy.

The bike was within twenty yards. He could see that arms were
wrapped around the driver's torso and a helmet occasionally bobbed
out to peer ahead. His lurid imagination filled in some more
details. Was it a small guy or a woman? He liked the idea of a
woman right now. He hadn't had pussy in a while. And he liked the
way women cried when he did that little trick to their clit.

He slowed his car, now avidly watching the pair in mirror. They
appeared to be in communication, their heads tipping together now
and then. He glanced at the kid, hoping he was asleep and was
startled to see the boy staring at him in the mirror. Kit's
expression was unsettling, clear and with an oddly malicious
curiosity.

Entranced, Krycek wasn't paying attention until the bike's roar
was close. They were pulling alongside. He dragged his gaze away
from the baby and forced a big grin on his face, turning it to the
open window.

"Shit!" he yelled.

The passenger was leaned over, peering into the car's interior at
a now bawling Kit. The driver was intent, pulling the motorcycle
within a foot of his window, waving his hand at Krycek, motioning
him to pull over.

"Fuck you!" Krycek screamed as he pushed down on the accelerator.

The bike matched his speed, the driver bend over the handlebars to
give the passenger a better view.

Krycek was having a hard time keeping giving proper attention to
the road, the bike, and its two riders. The passenger leaned
forward, pulled a pistol out, and pointed it at him.

Okay, this had to be fucking over. Twisting his mouth, Krycek
yanked the steering wheel to try to hit the motorcycle. It dropped
back long enough to avoid his car's fender, but then whipped up on
the other side, pulling close to the open back window.

Amazed, Krycek watched as the passenger reached in and grasped the
inside of the window jamb. "Fuck!" he roared again, yanking the
wheel violently. This time he had the satisfaction of hearing the
squeal of metal against metal.

He cackled and continued to steer into the pressure, until it gave
way and he felt a bump of his back wheels running over something.
He only had a brief moment of glee to watch the whirling,
twisting, crumbled mass of the machine and splayed figure in the
rear view mirror before it was replaced by horror.

His own car was out of control. He tried to correct, but it was
gone, going into a spin. In of the corner of his eye, he could see
that the passenger had managed to keep a grip on the window and
was falling into the vehicle right before he felt the car's wheels
leave the ground. They were airborne. The baby's wails were a
soundtrack for his own terror, the sky was under him, and then,
blackness.

When he came to, the vehicle was balanced up on the driver's side.
He was facedown out the open window and the smell of gasoline was
strong. He could hear the hiss of escaping steam. Kit's screams
were only a blubbering now.

With a groan, he tried to wiggle around. His legs were held in
place by the caved-in dashboard and his arm was pinned under the
steering wheel. "Fuck!" he cursed.

Another groan caught his attention and he stilled, listening
carefully. Then he began to struggle in earnest. He was able to
turn his upper body just as the other person pulled upright from
behind the seat and yanked the helmet off.

"Dana Scully," he breathed.

She pushed her hair from her eyes, but only gave Krycek a slight
glance before reaching for Kit. The baby's carrier was still
secure to the back seat and he was held fast by the straps.

Her grimy hands gently stroked the baby's flushed cheeks and he
immediately quieted, his pink mouth opening to form an 'O.'

"It's Mommy."

She could barely choke the words out and Krycek was filled with
hate for a woman who could put all her love in two words.

His seeking hand had found his gun tucked in his belt. He whipped
it out but when he raised his gaze to point it at her, the muzzle
of her gun was facing him.

They stared at each other.

She still had one hand on her son's cheek and out of the corner of
his eye, Krycek watched her stroke it even as her eyes never
strayed from his face.

"Drop it." She probably only asked out of habit. Hell was going to
freeze over before he gave in to her.

He suddenly laughed, the sound echoing in their tin prison. "Slow
down!" he admonished her. "We've got all the time in the world to
think this over."

He watched the now familiar curl form on her upper lip.

Lowering his voice, he oozed the words. "I can give you so much.
I've already saved your son from that old bastard. Now let me save
you."

He could see her natural curiosity at war with her intuition. "I
saved you before, Dana. I watched over you. I protected you.
Remember?"

Scully hissed down low in her throat. She had put both hands on
the gun handle to control it as a sudden flash of a memory over
washed her at this bastard's words. His hands, touching her. His
cool voice, down by her ear. 'I'm here, Dana. I won't leave you.'

She met his eyes and noticed his twitching lips under his bright
gaze. He was reading her thoughts. Fuck him. She steadied the gun
again. "No," she said firmly.

The destructive seduction was there in his green eyes-- swirling
like a whirlpool, trying to pull her down into that mesmerizing
chase for the truth.

His words floated on the still, hot air in the car. "Mulder's
gone. Accept that." She bit down on an exclamation, remembering
the scream of the motorcycle as it dropped from under her. The
last transmission from Mulder. 'love you.'

"You can still save the world, Dana Scully."

She stared at him in amazement. He was insane if he believed that
was her paramount thought at this moment.

He smiled warmly. "You and I, Dana." Nodding to Kit, he said,
"He's just the beginning. Mulder was useless to you anyway. I can
help you have more children. Children who will save mankind."

She shook her head and leaned against the seat, bringing her gun
in line with his left eye. Sneering, she said, "Krycek, you forgot
the wild laugh and the, 'Together we shall rule the world!'"

She finally felt calm. He was just another coward with a gun.

He flicked the muzzle of his gun away from her and pointed it at
Kit over the back of the seat. As cool as always, he said, "One
bullet and you do need me. Desperately."

Her breath coming fast again, she leaned forward to touch the tip
of her gun to his cheek. "I will do it."

Their faces were inches apart and he said the most shocking thing
possible.

"I love you, Dana Scully. Don't do it. Let's not hurt each other."

He actually said it like he meant it, she thought, disgust
battling with her fury.

"What?" She allowed only the single word out, biting down on all
the curses. She had to remain in control.

Nodding, he started to explain patiently, "I used to think I
wanted Mulder but I can see it was you all along. A projection. I
hated you because I couldn't have you and so that made me reach
for Mulder. But it was you--"

She had to cut off his meandering drivel, contempt dripping from
her voice. "You don't know what love is! Don't soil the word!"

His face became blotchy and purple with anger. "I made your son
eat my cum as he died, bitch. Don't think I won't make you do the
same."

Her hatred roared up like a sudden storm, howling winds drowning
out common sense. Before she could stop herself, she spat in his
face. Clenching her jaw to stop its shaking, only the hiss of her
harsh breathing echoed in the silence of the twisted car body.

He let the spittle drip down his cheek. He didn't relax his grip
on his gun to wipe it away.

She expected to see hate in his eyes, or hear more threats.
Instead, his gaze seem to warm and soften. As much as this turn of
his emotions terrified her for its dark implications, it convinced
her of his feelings for her more than any profession of love.

Taking the greatest leap of her life, she dared to tuck her gun
back into her waistband and turn away from him. Putting her
attention to Kit's car seat, she began fumbling with the straps.

Ignoring Krycek completely, she murmured to her son, "Mommy's
here, Captain. Mommy will get you out of here. Are you hot? I'm
hot."

Over all her chatter, she could hear Krycek cursing and grunting
as he yanked at his pinned legs. Glancing up, she assessed the
crumpled door above her. The window was still open.

"If you leave, you'll never know what happened to you," Krycek
gasped, struggling to free himself.

Standing on shaking legs, she managed to lift Kit and balance him
on a hip as she stuck her head out of the open window. How could
she pull them out?

"Think about it, Dana. I can tell you everything. Every moment of
your imprisonment--" He was returning to the moment he saw
weakness in her.

She had to shut him up. His oily voice was drowning her. "Fuck
off, Krycek," she said calmly, as she propped an elbow on the
outside of the door, and began to heave them out.

Calling to her, he jeered, "You call yourself an investigator?
What about Mulder's precious truth?" He continued to taunt her.
"You don't really love him. You're too frightened to serve his
truth."

She was free. Sitting on the window jam, her legs still dangling
into the interior, she looked down at his furious face. His arm
was limp; his gun nestled in his lap, forgotten.

Briefly, she closed her eyes. The white room appeared again. The
men touching her. The smell of smoke, mixed with Krycek's cloying
cologne. As though she had risen from the icy slab, crossed the
cold room and found a switch to flick, the room went dark.

Eyes still shut, she said, "Some truths aren't worth their price,
Krycek. I care only about my future. Not the events in my past."

Quickly, before he could change his mind, she swung her legs out
of the car and jumped to the ground. Kit gave a yelp of surprise,
but he seemed as happy as she was to be out of the confining
wreckage.

Her legs wobbled and then she began to stride away, swinging her
son up to her shoulder. His face settled into her neck and she
welcomed his sweaty cheek's warmth.

Like the breaking of a bough, the click of a gun's hammer cracked
the still heat of the air.

He didn't raise his voice. The gun was speaking for him. "Stop,
Dana."

She stopped, but didn't turn. From the direction of his voice, she
realized he must have freed himself from the mangled car.

"This is your love, Alex?" she tossed over her shoulder, refusing
to look at him.

"Turn around and come back," he ordered.

She started walking again. She felt no fear. Fear had left her
days ago.

His shot nipped at her bicep, inches from Kit's head.

Her free hand had been resting on the butt of her pistol, waiting.
Without a backward turn, she yanked it free, held her arm straight
back, and fired.

The explosion of the gas tank rode over her like a wave of heat
and power, knocking a gasp out and causing her to stumble. It was
a low rumble, but she heard a faint, high, long shriek like
tearing metal. It was Krycek's death scream.

Hurrying away from the flames, Scully clutched the whimpering Kit
to her chest. His small body was uncomfortably hot, but she didn't
care. For herself as much as him, she started chattering again.

"Let's go find Daddy, shall we? Where could Daddy be?" Horrified,
she remembered how her mother used to play that game with her as a
small child, whirling the globe on its stand, pointing out her
father's ship's position for her. This was no game.

She spotted a sickening narrow plume of smoke in the distance, oil
black as the billowing clouds coming from the car behind her.
Somehow, she found the energy to begin a hobbling run, Kit's heavy
weight jostling up and down in her leaden arms. The hot blacktop
shimmered and buckled in the repressive furnace heat.

"Wait until Daddy sees you, Kit." She shouldn't be saying these
things to him. She never wanted to promise her child anything she
couldn't deliver.

The smell of burning vinyl, metal, and engine fluids became so
strong her eyes burned. At first she thought it was her blurred
vision and the reflected heat that made the road seem to be moving
towards her.

Then she realized it was Mulder's black leather-clad body, slowly
crawling towards her. He was leaving a dark slick of blood behind
him and large, buzzing flies danced on the surface.

He was pulling himself forward on his elbows, his helmeted head
bowed. His left leg was spewing blood from a long gash and the
ankle was at an odd angle.

"Mulder!" she screamed to stop him and suddenly found the
adrenaline to run. "Mulder!"

He must not have been able to hear her. He didn't even lift his
head as he crawled onward.

She stopped directly in front of him and dropped to her knees,
grasping his shoulder to get his attention. "Mulder!"

As she fumbled at the helmet with one free hand, he finally looked
up. He gasped, "Scully?"

"Yes. Yes, we're here," she assured him.

His pupils were unfocussed with pain. She fell down to sit and
pulled him over to lay his head in her lap. "We're here," she
repeated.

Kit had stopped whining and looked down at Mulder in wonder. His
small, white, pudgy hand reached out, fingers stretched wide,
seeming to want to grab Mulder's nose.

Scully actually heard her voice correcting him. "No, honey. Daddy
needs his rest."

She had to laugh but it sounded hysterical to her ears. Mulder's
breathing was labored, sucked in through his open, gaping mouth.
His eyelids had fallen shut.

"Mulder, Kit's here. We got him."

His eyes flew open and she realized Kit's face must have been
looming over him, ringed by the bright sun. His dirty, scraped
hand reached up to touch Kit's cheek lightly.

"Got him," he repeated.

"Yes," she assured him. "It's over."

He nodded. "Over." His voice was weak and she was flooded with
panic. She couldn't lose him now.

"We need to get help. You have to hang on, Mulder." She tried to
evaluate his injuries without moving him or herself. His breathing
concerned her and she worried about internal bleeding.

He was still stroking Kit's face, and Kit was trying to grab his
finger, a look of concentration furrowing the baby's smooth brow.

Fumbling, she pulled her jacket open, pushed up her tee shirt and
settled Kit into the crook of her elbow. He latched onto her
nipple as though he'd been missing nine hours, not days.
Overwhelmed with concern for Mulder, she didn't allow herself to
feel exhilaration.

"Where does it hurt, Mulder?"

He let out a short, rusty laugh, followed by a moan, and she
started to join him, when a thumping filled the air.

An approaching car? She swiveled her head and tried to make her
burnt eyes focus into the distance.

Mulder clutched at her hand and she turned her gaze upward. The
sound was coming from the sky. It was the beat of chopper blades.
As she stared up into the sun, like a huge, black wasp, the
helicopter was silhouetted, growing larger and larger as it
dropped towards them.

Instantly, she rolled out from under Mulder and transferred the
baby to his arms. She crouched beside him and drew her gun,
pointing it skyward in a hopeless gesture of defiance.

It touched down, the rotation of the blades pushing her back.
Mulder had turned on his side, covering Kit with his body.

Large, dark forms where moving towards them. The light of the
setting sun gave them halos of fire. Scully adjusted her aim.
"Stop"!" she yelled.

A smaller form separated from the group. "Agent Scully, it's me."
She recognized the rough, low tones of Frohike.

One of the large forms was rushing forward, getting bigger and
bigger as she felt herself becoming smaller and smaller. She was
sinking into the earth.

Tiff's strong voice said, "It's over, honey. It's over."

She couldn't stop her body, suddenly drained of strength, from
dissolving. She found herself draping over Mulder, Kit's grumbling
noises at her ear. Clear and deep, Skinner was saying, "I need
medical support here, now!" as though he were standing in her
head.

All the voices blurred and swirled confusingly and her world
became the silver snap on Mulder's leather jacket. Hands lifted
her and she felt like she were the baby, cradled in her mother's
arms. As though she was being soothed after a bad dream, she
turned her face towards the soft chest and let herself sob until
she slept.

2.
Phoenix Regional Medical Center; Phoenix, Arizona
6:45 P.M.

Mulder felt a comfortable warmth, not the horrible heat of the
burning sun and broiling blacktop highway. It was body heat and
smooth skin. It was Scully with a slightly squirming Kit
sandwiched between them.

He whispered to his son, "Be still. Mommy needs to sleep," as he
rubbed a hand over his eyes to get focussed. Kit blinked his heavy
eyelids slowly. Then they drifted closed and he went still in that
unsettling way children fall asleep.

Mulder lay a hand on Kit's chest to check its rise and fall, and
satisfied, moved his hand to settle it on Scully's arm.

She was on her side, facing him, in her deep sleep state. Brushing
her damp hair back from her flushed face, he watched her eye
movements under their lids, but they didn't flit in panic as they
had since Kit disappeared.

They had been airlifted to a hospital in Phoenix under heavy
guard. Even with all the assurances of their friends, Scully had
refused to leave him and Kit. After his injuries had been attended
to, she had finally been allowed to shower in his room, Kit lying
beside him under his heavy arm. While feeding the baby, she had
curled up in bed beside him, tucking Kit between them. She had
fallen asleep instantly, apparently satisfied, but Mulder found
himself feeling oddly alert.

A shadow moved by the door and the old man stepped forward.
Mulder's fingers tightened on Scully's arm before he forced
himself to relax. He reached for the call button, his eyes never
leaving the cragged features of his visitor.

A hand went up, an unlit cigarette dangling from between the
knuckles. "Wait."

Mulder allowed a brief chuckle. "No," he hissed, dropping his gaze
to him wife and baby to make sure they were still sleeping.

The man was suddenly at his bedside and leaned close to whisper
back. "Don't you want to know?"

"What could I possibly want to know from you?" was his rasping
answer.

"About your sister. Your nephew's condition. Your wife's past.
Your past." There was a flash of tainted teeth that Mulder
supposed could have been construed as a winsome smile.

His voice was low but defiant. "No. I want you out of our lives."

The response had the power the old man always mustered. "You know
I can't do that--"

Mulder cut him off. "Until I give you what you want?"

Finally, the lined features registered a genuine emotion.
Surprise.

Mulder let his eyes drift closed. He willed himself to feel no
fear and anger. To put all of his heart in his words. "Please.
Please, Father, don't hurt us any more."

At first there was nothing, and then the smell of stale nicotine
was overwhelming as he felt breathing at his ear. "I never meant
to hurt you. I only wanted what's best for my children. I can give
you--"

Fear was returning and Mulder battled it. "No." Again he pleaded.
"I beg you. Leave us."

The lips were at his ear again and he listened.

* * *

Scully was having a nightmare. The old man was there, a specter of
death with his black robes and yellowed skin. She felt the
stirring of terror and tried to struggle from the horrifying
vision. The old man bent in close, his shriveled lips at Mulder's
ear.

She watched Mulder's features, still as an ivory carving, as
whispers, like the buzzing of hornets, whirled in the air.

She heard a single word, the word that had drawn her to this
place. "No."

The old man turned. Was that all they had needed to do all these
years? Say, 'No' to him and he would have gone?

It couldn't be this easy. It truly was a dream. The shadows, a
rumbling wave, swallowed evil and then covered her like a blanket.

* * *

Kit stirred in his sleep, causing Scully to wake and driving
Mulder out of his drowsing state.

"Mu?"

"Moo, you too," he said, just for a brief silly moment.

Obligingly, she pinched him in the ribs.

"Ow!"

Her small warm body snuggled closer, her leg twining with his
uninjured one, her arms pulling slumbering Kit closer, tucking the
baby's small, hot head under her chin. "Oh, please," she hissed.
"They're pumping enough painkillers into you, you shouldn't feel
anything."

He didn't answer, pulling her head close, his fingers sinking into
her dried, curly hair. His actions were her answer.

Sounding frightened, she asked, "Mulder, what happened?"

He just started in. "He came here. He was in the room."

Predictably, she started to struggle. "Wha? Here? I thought it was
a dream--"

He pulled her close again. "It's okay. He's gone."

She protested, "For now!" Her arms reflexively tightened around
Kit.

"Forever."

"Mulder--"

"No! I gave him what he wanted."

Dread covered her words. "Mulder, what did you do?"

He repeated, "I gave him what he wanted. It took me thirty years
but I finally just grew up."

Her small, warm hand stroked his cheek. "What was it?"

He shrugged. "Just a word. The secret password."

"How did you know the right word?" she asked.

"I added everything up. Ten years of cases have one common
denominator. Replication. Procreation. Protection of the young."

"That's more than one word," she said, her voice heavy with
concern.

He shook his head. "But the theme is all the same. And the word
came easy."

His palm dropped to cover Kit's head. "I was a father to my son. I
did what I needed to do."

Turning to meet her gaze, he expected to see a satisfied
expression on her face. Instead, he was shocked to see tears
gathering. After everything, she was going to cry now?

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, Mulder," she gulped out. "It's over. There's no going back,
is there?"

He couldn't pretend to not know what she was talking about and he
couldn't hide his frustration. "I thought this would make you
happy," he said as he cradled Kit's jaw, tipping his cheek up so
he could drop a kiss on it.

She draped herself over his bent head and he was imprisoned in a
dark, warm circle of their heat and scent. Her lips traced his
exposed nape and he could feel the dampness of her tears on his
skin.

She whispered, "No matter how bad things got these past seven
years, I've hung in there because I don't believe in doing things
half-ass. Now it seems as though the situation has closed the
office for us. Is our work done?"

He rolled his head back onto his pillow, hers dropped down beside
his and they were eye to eye. He said, "I like to think we're
intelligent beings. That we have a higher purpose on this planet,
can make a difference. But when it comes down to it," he stroked a
finger along Kit's downy cheek and the boy instantly opened his
eyes, the mossy depths swallowing them both, "This is it.
Replication. Procreation. Protection of our young. We just can't
screw it up. It's a very important job."

She blinked slowly, as though processing the information. "Yes,"
she said carefully. "I can't deny I've had the same feelings and
thoughts." She gave a humorless chuckle. "I just didn't want to
seem feminine and weak by saying them."

He traced the line of her bare forearm with his fingertip, then
reached over her body to pull the blanket up to cover her. "Can
you let yourself be feminine and strong, or is that selfish of
me?"

Her eyes darkened and she pulled his chin close, giving it a nip
with sharp teeth. "You've always got to have the last word, eh?"

"Must be hereditary," he grumbled, his gaze traveling to the dark
doorway.

Her tone was instantly worried. "You didn't take one of his
offers, did you?"

He didn't bother to put out a denial. "He offered, I refused."

Lightly, she touched each of Kit's limbs, as though she was making
sure they were all accounted for, and said, "It can be hard."

He glanced at her again, and shook his head. "No. I told him some
truths aren't worth their price. Today, and the future, are all I
want."

She looked as though he'd dropped her from a great height and all
the wind was knocked out of her.

Frantic, he asked, "Scully?"

She reached over, clutching his head to pull him close again. Her
words were rapid breaths. "Yes. Yes, you're right. We have our
truth."