All disclaimers still apply.

"Ireland" Chapter Eight
by Macspooky and Juliettt

     It seemed odd to be holding a funeral in the same church where
they had taken their marriage vows -- *could* it have been just the 
day before?  The atmosphere this time was so much more subdued, 
lacking the barely restrained excitement of the wedding.  But death, 
as Father Flynn informed the assembled congregation, was simply 
another part of life.  Dana had heard this sentiment over and over 
throughout her life and today was the first day it had made any sense 
to her.  Gran had had a long and happy life, and she herself had been
content to go.  Her walk to the cliffs had concluded the last of the 
business she had on earth.  It was as though she had timed the end
of her life as shrewdly as she had arranged so many of its events.

     There had been no service for the tiny baby Dana and Fox had 
lost so many months earlier; it had been so young most of the world 
would not even have considered it a child.  But they did, and now,
seeing the many friends and family gathered for Gran's funeral, her 
heart ached even more for the little one she would never hold, never 
bring into a church and give a name.  The child she knew she now 
carried would never make up for that loss.  The new little Mulder 
would continue to make its own place in their hearts as it had 
already begun to do, but the other one, the one without a face, would
never fully relinquish its hold on her.  And so her tears, when they 
fell, were as much for her child as they were for her grandmother.  
She had a sudden thought -- an image formed in her mind.  There 
was a lake, and a mist, as there had been so long ago as she lay in 
the hospital in a coma.  Her father stood there now, next to the lake, 
his hand outstretched in greeting.  And then Gran was there, 
embracing her father.  Gran had loved all of her sons-in-law, but 
Dana suspected she had had a soft spot for Ahab.  And then, as 
she watched, her father pulled away from his mother-in-law and 
she bent over something he cradled in his other arm.  He held it 
out to her and she took it and smiled, and Dana knew that it was
her lost child. . . .

     At her quick intake of breath Mulder bent his face down to hers.
"Dana?" he whispered.  She glanced up and into his worried eyes
and nodded, speechless.  

     "I'm okay," she whispered after a moment's pause, and then 
smiled at him, her eyes very bright through her tears.  And for
perhaps the first time since that awful New Year's Eve, it was the
truth.  It was Gran's last gift to her, she thought: she was helping 
Dana say goodbye.  His eyes searched hers for a moment, still 
concerned, and she squeezed his hand, loving him.  He nodded 
and squeezed back.  Whatever it was, they could talk about it 
later.

     When the funeral was over they all assembled outside the 
church.  There was the usual hugging and kissing and crying, and
then the crowd melted away, leaving the Mulders bewildered.  
After having heard so much about an Irish wake, and knowing
Gran's popularity, they had expected -- they didn't know quite
what they had expected, except that this was not it.

     "The gathering will be tomorrow," Barry explained as they
walked up to Gran's empty cottage.  "This is the Sabbath, and
Fathers' Day, as well -- and with the wedding and all," he shrugged.
"Folks understand."

     They stood in silence for a moment, staring up at the house's
dark windows.

     "God, I'm going to miss her," said Shelagh, cuddling her infant 
close as they went inside.

     "We all are," Margaret said gently.  

     "Aye, she was an intelligent, exasperating, funny and wonderful 
woman," added Barry quietly.  "We won't be seeing her likes again
for a long time."  Although he and his irascible mother-in-law had not
always seen eye to eye, they had respected and loved one another.
It had been the same for all of her sons-in-law.  He remembered
Bill Scully and smiled, then glanced over at his sister-in-law's new
husband.  A good man, Walter Skinner.  Bill had been Margaret's
first love, but he could see that she did indeed love Walt, and that
he made her happy.  Although -- he broke into a grin, running his
fingers through his own thick hair -- he didn't know why she always
went after the bald ones.

     "Yes, and now you'll have no one to argue with except me," 
smiled Mairead.  She set out a pot of tea on the table and began to 
pour.  "So much to take care of," she sighed, "so much to do . . . 
well, I suppose there is no rush."

     "I'm sorry I'll have to leave so soon, Mairead," Margaret said with 
a nod of thanks for the cup of tea.  "I feel my place is here with you
right now, but. . . ."

    Her sister cut her off with a wave of a hand.  "Nonsense.  You
were here when Mom needed you.  She was thrilled that you came
-- you should have heard her talking about it after you called and
told us you were coming!  And then the wedding. . . ."  She broke
off and glanced over at Fox, who stood with his arms around Dana,
holding her back against his chest.  "She really took to you, Fox,"
she said quietly.  He smiled and nodded, accepting her unspoken
apology for her harsh words the day before.

     Margaret took her cup of tea and headed for the living room
where Skinner was seated talking to Barry.  As she passed Gran's
old wooden bookcase she felt a sudden draught.  She glanced up
quickly but the front door had been shut.  And then there was 
another, softer rustling and an object fell at her feet with a thud,
making her jump and look down.  It was a book, brown with dust
and age, one they had never seen before.  It must have been on
the very top shelf.  She started to bend down but as they all
watched in stunned silence the pages ruffled slightly and a paper
blew out.  She reached for it and picked it up just as the strange
breeze died.

     For a long moment she stood stock-still and simply stared
at the stiff paper in her hands.

     "Oh my God," she whispered finally.

     "What . . . what is it, mom?" Dana demanded, concerned.

     "It's Gran and her first husband," she said in wonder.  "We 
never knew. . . .  She never told us much about him. . . ."

     The others crowded around her to look at the item in her
hand.  It was an old photograph, yellow with age.  In it was a
young woman dressed in what could only have been her Sunday
best.  She looked so incredibly like Dana that several of the 
members of the group gasped.  The similarity was uncanny --
almost identical.  Dana noticed that on her dress was pinned the
cameo Gran had given her on her wedding day.  And at her 
side. . . .

     Tall and lanky, much, much taller than she.  He had dark
hair and light eyes, a square jaw and distinctive nose.  Even in
the faded photo they could see the mole on his right cheek.
The couple was smiling and in the bottom margin of the
picture was written in Gran's schoolgirl-neat hand, "Mary 
Elizabeth O'Connor and Wolf Padraic Mulder on our wedding day.
Love lasts forever."  Tears filled Dana's eyes and rolled down
her cheeks.  Stunned at the image of himself standing next to
Dana -- Gran -- in the ancient photograph, Fox wrapped his
arms around his wife.  Mairead took the picture from her sister
and slowly shook her head.

     The edge of an envelope was sticking out from between the
pages of the book as well.  Margaret hesitated, then slipped it
out.  It was still pristine white and had obviously been placed
in the book much more recently than the photograph.  She
turned it over, then her eyes lifted to meet her newest son-in-
law's.

     "It's addressed to you," she said gently, handing it to him.

     "Thank you," he said softly, taking it and placing it in his shirt
pocket for safekeeping. "I'll read it later."  It was just too much to
take in right now -- the abduction of young Brendan, the taking
of his own sister, the "Mulder" name, his marriage to another
O'Connor/McBride . . . the conception of their child the previous
night.  He pulled Dana against him more tightly and she wrapped
her arms around his, unable to do anything more than hold him
as he held her, stunned by that photo and its implications.

     "No wonder she called you Wolf from the first time she saw 
you," said Siobhan. "And we all thought that she was just being 
Gran. . . ."

     "She was," said Dana quietly, breaking away from Fox
and wiping her eyes.  "She knew exactly what she was about,
and just how to let things take their appropriate course."

     "My mother always knew what she was about,"
Margaret replied very quietly.  "Always. . . ."

*****

     The next few days were a flurry of activity.  Like her mother,
Dana felt a responsibility to her family, but she and Fox had to
get back to work.  If, that is, they still had jobs when they got
there.  They had not mentioned the recent troubles to Skinner.
Given the circumstances it was hardly appropriate, and Mulder
wanted at least to attempt to straighten out the mess before his
boss/stepfather-in-law got back.  If they failed it would mean that
either they would get in trouble with Skinner, which they did not
want, or he would get into trouble defending them, which, given
the recent rumblings over his supposed "preferential treatment"
of them, they wanted even less.  It was time to go home and 
face the music.

     Tempering their anxiety over their work status was the knowledge
that they would be returning home a little richer -- make that a great
deal richer -- than they had come.  They had not said anything to 
the rest of the family yet about the baby.  It would be too hard, if not
impossible, to explain, and they wanted to hug their secret to 
themselves for a little longer.  Fox had wanted her to make an 
appointment to see Amy Chan immediately when they got home
but Dana convinced him that she could not do that.  "After all, what
do you want me to say?" she had asked him.  "'Hi, Amy -- had a 
great trip and, guess what?  I'm a week pregnant'?"  Finally he had
agreed, but he silently promised himself that nothing was going to
go wrong this time, not if he had to put Dana to bed and sit on her
for the next nine months.

     Finally it was time to go and the whole clan gathered to see them
off, including Shelagh and the baby, who insisted on being held by
Fox until the last possible moment, to Skinner's great amusement.
At least this one wasn't in the drooling and spitting stage yet, 
Mulder thought with a grin which softened into a tender smile as he
watched Dana hugging her cousins.  He guessed this was good
practice.  And who knew?  He might even get used to all those
bodily fluids eventually.  He would have to -- he knew Scully would
insist on his doing his fair share of the diapers.  At that moment
he didn't care -- so long as they were both safe.

     Mairead relieved him of the baby and handed him a small
package instead.  He lifted it to his face and sniffed.

     "Irish soda bread -- in case you get hungry on the way," she
informed him with a smile.

     Dana laughed.  "He's always hungry," she assured her aunt, 
who had pulled Fox down into a hug.

     Barry was next.  He stuck his hand out and they shook.  "You
take good care of my niece, now," he said in an undertone.

     "Yessir," Mulder assured him.  "I will."

     "Here," Shelagh said, handing him an oddly-shaped bundle.  At
his inquiring expression she shrugged.  "Father Flynn dropped by
this mornin' -- said he didn't want to disturb you but that you might
be needin' this yerself someday."  Fox took the package from her
and knew immediately from its shape and heft that it was a bottle
of Irish Mist.  He groaned and then laughed.  Briefly he wondered
whether he would have to declare it for customs, then shrugged and
added it to the pile in the back seat.

     They climbed into the rental car and, with a last wave and shout,
were off.  This departure reminded both of them of the one from
Martha's Vineyard, and they looked at one another and smiled.
Despite the differences in geographical location and social position,
when you came right down to it, family was family.

*****

      They had stayed an extra day to help out and so they had to 
use their Aer Lingus tickets back to London after all.  Dana was a 
little disappointed; after all Fox had told her of the English and
Scottish countryside she had hoped for a more leisurely journey on
the train, but it could not be helped.  And when they boarded the
plane and once again took their first class seats, she had to
confess to herself that she was grateful.  The trip had taken a lot
out of both of them.  Physically and emotionally exhausted, she
fell asleep against his shoulder.

     She had given him the window seat, so he turned slightly to
place his back half against the wall and half against the seat so
that he could cradle her more securely.  Carefully, so as not to
awaken her, he slipped Gran's letter out of his pocket and read it
yet again.  He had not yet shown it to Dana because he could
hardly take it all in himself.  With each subsequent rereading it 
grew at once more difficult and more simple to accept.  She knew 
that the letter had disturbed him but, despite her intense curiosity,
had not yet asked him about it.  He would not keep it -- whatever
*it* was -- from her for long.  She trusted him.  She respected his
privacy.  And so as he read he gently stroked her hair, reveling in
her nearness which helped to convince him that at least a part of
the fantasy was real.

     This time, upon finishing the letter, he could not repress a
little sigh of incredulity and wonder.  Dana stirred in his arms and
finally raised her head to look at him sleepily.  The lines softened
in his face as he gazed down at her, at the sweet pale face with
the big blue eyes that somehow set his whole world in focus every
time he looked at her.  He lifted a trembling hand to caress the
curve of her cheek for a long moment and her eyebrows furrowed
slightly.  She knew that look on his face.  He silently held out
the letter to her and she took it, turning away from him slightly
so that the light fell on the pages over her shoulder.  He kissed 
the top of her head and his eyes traced the now-familiar lines
with her:


My dearest Fox,

     Yes, I have always known your name was Fox, and a fine
name it is too, lad.  More's the pity you don't like it.  I knew
the moment I laid eyes on you that you were related to my 
beloved Wolf.  Somehow, though it is lost in time, a group 
with the surname of Muldoon moved north and became 
Protestant.  The name changed over the years to Mulder.  
Who knows how these things happen?

     I met and fell in love with Wolf Mulder when I was a young
girl and his father came to work for mine one summer.  
Before many days had passed the whole town knew that
the Mulders were Protestant.  We were of course faithful
Catholics, but my blessed father believed that we were all
brothers and sisters under the skin, where our Irish blood
ran true.  He hired Wolf's father despite the neighbors, and
got a good summer's work in exchange for his kindness.
After the summer ended the Mulders remained, and by
that time it was clear to my Da that he had gained much
more than a faithful employee.

     We would meet in secret, Wolf and I, always mindful of
the danger we were putting ourselves and our families
under.  Thomas Flynn must have known, but he kept our
secret.  He was a far better friend to me than I deserved; it
wasn't until years later that I learned he had loved me in
secret.  His love was true: he loved me enough to want to
see me happy, even if it were with another man.  I have 
been well loved in my life, Fox.  It gladdens my heart to know
that my Dana Kate is loved like Wolf loved me.

     The day my Wolf asked me to marry him was the third
happiest day of my life.  The second was our wedding day
and the first, the day our Brendan was born.  He went to my
father that night and asked his permission.  I didn't know 
what we would have done had Da said "no" -- still don't.  Run
away together, perhaps.  I would have followed him to the 
ends of the earth, even if it meant leaving my family behind.
But Da had a long talk with him and then they went together to
see the priest.  Wolf promised that we would raise our children
Catholic and Father O'Malley agreed to marry us.  I think he 
decided he would rather see me unequally yoked than living in 
a greater sin.  And God smiled on us.  That Sunday it rained as 
hard as I've ever seen it rain, and no-one was there to hear the 
banns read.  We were married quietly and by the time the 
townsfolk heard of it it was too late -- we were well and and 
truly wedded in the sight of God and man and one another. 

     My sweet gentle Wolf had an older brother, Liam, who 
was his complete opposite: a cruel and nasty man.  He 
married a sweet soul and moved to Boston where he grew 
wealthy off of the suffering of others.  Liam changed his 
name to William, denied his heritage, and had two children, 
your father William and a daughter, Sophia.  Sophia was 
intelligent enough to leave and make her own way and fortune,
although it would seem she has disappeared without a trace. 
William stayed and became your father.  Whatever he may 
have done to you, gentle Fox, was nothing to what was done 
to him by his father.  I often wondered how two such different
sons could have come from the same parents.  Eventually I
came to believe that somehow Wolf had been gifted with all
the kindness and tenderness that Liam never had.  The
difference was evident even in their boyhood but grew more
obvious with the choices they made.  Whatever one has been
given by God in the way of blessings or shortcomings is
confirmed or destroyed by what we do with our lives.

     After Brendan was taken and everyone thought me quite 
mad, we came to America as well, but the rift between the 
brothers was too deep, their natures too different.  My Wolf 
was a good man, Liam evil, a Nazi sympathizer before the 
war, before my Wolf was killed.  God only knows what harm 
he and his kind have inflicted on the world.  My Wolf was a 
policeman in Washington DC, a good man who did small 
kindnesses for those he could as he walked his beat.  He 
was killed trying to stop the rape of a child, knifed to death 
in an alley. The biggest sorrow of my life was that I had never 
conceived another child with him.  Eventually I married his 
best friend James McBride, had my girls and a good life, but
there was no love like the love that I had for my Wolf.  The 
moment I saw you, those gentle hazel eyes and the way you
looked at my Dana Kate, I knew that you had taken after my 
Wolf and that you would be right for her. Yours is a special 
love.  It will always endure.

     Perhaps this is God's way of righting the old wrongs.  I
believe that somehow, because of you, Wolf still lives.

     Remember, I love you both always.  I wish I had had a 
son just like you.

                    Mary McBride


     When she finished reading Dana closed her eyes and the tears
that had been welling up spilled over and streamed down her 
cheeks.  So many answers now, suddenly, to so many of the
questions they had had.  His father's involvement with the men
who had taken Sam, probably an attempt to win his father's
affection -- his dying plea for forgiveness -- the revelation that he 
had been forced into horrible government projects against his will.  
And Fox, suffering a lifetime for his grandfather's sins.  He 
promised himself he would visit the old traitor in the nursing 
home.  He had been putting it off.  It was ironic -- they had 
looked everywhere for answers about Operation Paper Clip and
now he had a feeling the old sinner might just hold the key.  But
he said none of those things now.  Dana turned and looked at
him and then shook her head, speechless, and he gathered her 
into his arms.  She wept silently against his chest and he stared 
out across her flaming hair at the brighter fire of the rising sun and 
the promise of a new day.

*****

     It was good to be home.  Hectic, but good.  They made a
quick trip to the grocery store on the way home from the airport
and tossed a load of laundry in the washer while they unpacked
the rest of their things.

     "Well, I guess I better go get that damn bird," Dana said wryly.
"You won by cheating on the toss, of course."

     "Of course," he laughed, then took both her shoulders in his 
hands, "but I'll go get the monster, sweetheart.  Mrs. Anderson is 
much less likely to try to throttle me."  He kissed her cheek and 
headed for the door.

     No sooner had he gone when there was a knock.  She opened
the door and found Melissa's husband, Chuck, standing there 
looking rather sheepish.  He had the little Pomeranian in his arms, 
the one she had gotten from Mr. Bruckman.

     "Uh, Dana, I'm sorry to do this to you, but Melissa has 
developed a terrible allergy to the dog and the doctor said we had 
to get rid of him. . . . Breaks my heart, you know. . . . We kind of 
changed his name to Thing. . . . Anyway, here he is with a bag of 
his food. . . . Uh . . . see you soon . . . bye" and Chuck, having
delivered his obviously rehearsed speech, seemingly without stopping
to take a breath, thrust the dog into her arms and escaped down the
hallway like a bat out of hell.

     "Oh, great -- that's just *great*," Dana muttered.  Fox hated the 
dog.  She set him down on the floor just as Mulder came in with the 
bird cage.  He was laughing at something.  Until he saw Thing, that
is.  The dog immediately started yapping, then walked over and lifted 
his leg all over Mulder's shoe.

     "What the hell is this?" he sputtered, his eyes wide.

     "It's a dog. . . ."

     "I know it's a dog.  I even know what dog it is.  It just peed all over 
my shoe.  I am now intimately familiar with this dog, this dog that we
*supposedly* gave to your sister.  What's it doing here?"  He was
standing on one leg, his $125 Reeboks dripping on the carpet, holding
the birdcage in one hand for balance.

     "He was making my sister sick so Chuck just dropped him off. . . ."

     "Well, it's making me sick too."  He paused for emphasis.  "Dana, 
it *peed on my shoe,* goddammit!"

     "<squawk> . . . Peed on my shoe . . . peed on my shoe . . . peed 
on my shoe. . . ."

     "Oh, God," Dana muttered.  "I'm beginning to believe in past lives.
I can't think of *anything* I've done in this one that's awful enough to
deserve this. . . ."

     Fox put the bird cage down.  "It's a good thing that Mrs. Anderson 
enjoys him," he muttered.  "Claims he takes after his grandfather who 
was her first parrot and had the world's dirtiest mouth . . . until 
now. . . ."  He very gingerly slipped out of his shoe.  "It's your goddamn
dog, Scully.  You clean up after it.  I am not walking it, and I am *not* 
sleeping with it."

     "Okay, okay. . . ."

     "<squawk> . . . Open your legs, Scully . . . peed on my shoe . . .
peed on my shoe. . . ."

     "SHUT UP!" Dana yelled.  Then she turned to Fox with a wry smile.
"Welcome home, sweetheart. . . ."

*****

     He took over the laundry while she cleaned up after Thing and saw
to his more immediate needs.  Then, both exhausted from the trip, 
they headed for bed very early, planning to fall right to sleep.  But,
well, it was so nice to be back in their own bed . . . and they *had*
just been "married" a few days earlier. . . .

     "Dammit, Dana . . . I can't do this."  Fox rolled off of her and sat up,
running his hands through his hair in frustration.  "Jeez."

     "What's wrong?" she asked.

     "*That's* what's wrong," he said, pointing to two glowing eyes 
peering over the top of the mattress and whining.  "I can't screw with the 
damn dog watching."

     "Don't be crass," Dana admonished.  Suddenly, Thing backed up 
and took a flying leap, landing on the foot of the bed.  He curled up and 
promptly went to sleep.

     "He's asleep," she said suggestively, running a finger down his
spine.

     "Yeah, in my bed," Fox muttered.  He returned his attention to 
making love to his wife.  Things went just fine for the first couple of 
minutes, or perhaps it was only seconds.  No sooner had Fox 
gotten himself comfortably ensconced just where they both wanted
him to be, when there was a snarl and something sharp sank
itself into his buttock.  He let out a howl that most definitely was not 
one of pleasure and leapt off of her, only to hop up off the bed when the
injured portion of his anatomy came into contact with the mattress.
"He *bit* me, Dana!  The damn dog *bit* me!"

     She sat up and motioned for him to turn around, which he did
slowly, looking around frantically for the dog, which had made itself
scarce immediately upon hearing his would-be-master's shriek.  A
bite-and-run if ever he saw one.

     "Lie down, Mulder," she choked, pulling him down so that he lay
on his stomach in front of her.  She wanted to laugh so badly that
she could barely contain herself and he knew it.  It really wasn't funny
. . . well, actually it was kind of funny. . . .  She got up and 
disappeared into the bathroom and returned momentarily with the
dreaded brown bottle in one hand.  She held the other behind her
back and he eyed her suspiciously.

     "That's peroxide.  It's going to hurt. . . ."

     "Stop being such a baby. . . . It could be worse -- I could use
rubbing alcohol," she informed him, gently bathing the affected area.

     "Ouch!  Jeez . . . I hate that f**king mutt."

     "He was only protecting me."

     "Great . . . that makes me feel a lot better.  The Thing was trying 
to protect you from me . . . no wonder Chuck and Melissa were so
eager to get rid of him.  Jeez, Dana,  I'm glad you're not a brain 
surgeon . . . what the hell . . . OUCH!!"

     "It needs a stitch or two.  I just gave you a local."

     "So because it's protecting you, I gotta get my ass stitched 
up . . . when I wasn't even doing anything to you.  I mean doing 
anything to hurt you.  Why do I get the feeling that this is 
unfair. . . . The thing probably has rabies. . . . Jeez. . . ."

     She gave him an injection of a broad spectrum antibiotic and
suddenly the absurdity of the situation hit him.  He began to laugh
and laugh and, after a moment, she joined him.  They had travelled
halfway around the world and had arrived home safely with all their
luggage intact (including the forgotten bottle of Irish Mist from 
Father Flynn), having suffered nothing more serious than a couple
of mild hangovers, and here, in the safety of their own home, he
had been attacked.  In his own bed.  By their dog.  

     And then, just as suddenly, he stopped laughing.  Something
more *had* happened to them in Ireland.  He propped himself up
on one elbow to look at the woman beside him.  He gently reached
out and touched her abdomen.

     "Some watchdog, huh?"  She nodded, still hiccuping faintly.
He sighed.  "I suppose I should be glad he's such a good protector
for you."  He bit his lip and shook his head.

     She lay down next to him and stroked his face.  "I've already
got one of those," she said with a faint smile on her face.

     His eyes lit up and he smiled.  Then he grinned and patted her
stomach again.  "Good thing we made this little guy while we had 
the chance, huh?"  She smiled back at him, then stood up and 
offered him her hand and they headed to the kitchen for some hot 
cocoa.  As they passed through the living room an incredible sight 
met their eyes.  Thing was curled up in the recliner with Krycek, who 
had broken jail, sitting on his back, head tucked under his wing, 
sound asleep.

     "It must be love," Fox laughed softly.

     "Oh, it is," she assured, looking him straight in the eyes.

     In the kitchen, Fox drank his cocoa standing.  If this bite was
as painful as he suspected it would be he would have to take a
pillow in to the office Monday morning.  If they still had jobs, that
was.  But for now it was still the weekend and he was standing in
his own kitchen drinking hot cocoa out of his favorite MST 3000 mug,
and his wife . . . his wife . . . was snickering again.

     "What?"

     She shook her head.  "I was just wondering. . . ."

     "*What*?"

     She looked at him and stopped laughing.  "D'you think you could
teach Krycek the Rary joke before we give him to Mrs. Anderson?"

     The calm of the apartment building was broken by the sound of
peals of laughter, masculine and feminine.  In the dimness of the
living room Krycek muttered sleepily, "peed on my shoe . . . peed on
my shoe. . . ."  To which, of course, there was nothing to say, so
Thing said nothing.




The End  (12/31/95)