Divinities
(PhaHks Series)
by GenieVB



RY: While Mulder fights for his life, the 
Agents continue their investigation into a 
frightening, global X-File. 


THIS BOOK IS NUMBER FOUR IN A FOUR BOOK 
SERIES BEGINNING WITH "PhaHks".


PhaHks/Focus/Foldback Synopsis: 

Okay, for those of you who haven't or do not 
want to read the three previous books, let me
see if I can bring you a little up to date. :-)


"PHAHKS". 

Prologue: In the early fall 1998 (post 
"FTF" but pre- "The beginning"), Fox Mulder is 
abducted by unknowns enroute to his mother's 
and for eight years is never heard from again.
Scully copes. 

Parts I, II, III & IV: Mulder's abductors turn out
to be aliens and for those eight years he is
kept as a "companion" by a powerful, alien
warrior female called Veexow.
Many adventures ensue that cause much MT,
angst and situations where the female gets to
"know" him quite well!
She eventually realises that he can no longer 
survive the anguishes life with her brings him 
and she decides to return him to earth. 

Epilogue: Mulder is returned to his home
eight years after his abduction a broken man.
Scully rescues him and things look as if they might
get back to normal. 
NC-17. Sexual content including a "Slash Minute"
and violence!
*Sounds rather stupid doesn't it? But you'll have to
read it to find out for sure.
Rememer, Fox Mulder is returned 8 years after his
abduction! He is 45 years old and the year is
2006.

"FOCUS". 

Pars I,II,III & IV: Fox Mulder, returned home by
his abductors, is teetering on the brink of
insanity and mania and must be institutionalized
(by Scully) to regain his rational mind. While
living in two seperate institutions over the course of
fourteen months, Mulder is assaulted in mind and
body.
Scully faces her own emotional crisis as she sees
the man she loves fighting for his life once again
because of her committing him to those institutions.
Graphic scenes, folks, including angst and rape. This
one is not for the kiddies.
NC-17 BIG TIME!
Remember, Fox Mulder is returned home and enters
therapy at age 45. 14 months later, he returns to a
"normal" life. So he is now about 47 years old! 

"FOLDBACK". 

Mulder, out of the hospital and ready to face life,
heads west to Seattle to "get back on his feet",
only to become involved with an X-File that sends
him home to D.C. & Scully. The case, destroying
what relationship they had built together, never-the-less
draws them further and further into it's clutches.
The case still unsolved, eventually, they find each 
other again and things seem to have turned in their 
favor. (But we know better than that, don't we?)
This book concludes with a shocking discovery 
regarding Mulder. 
Angst. Sexual content. Violence. A "Slash Minute".
Remember! Fox Mulder lives in Seattle about 6 months,
so he is 47&1/2 years old when he returns to D.C.!


*THESE STORIES (from PhaHks to Divinities) TAKE 
PLACE OVER THE SPAN OF MANY YEARS! 

Now,...on to "DIVINITIES": 

===========================================

TITLE: "DIVINITIES" (Sequel to "PhaHks/FOCUS/
FOLDBACK") 

AUTHOR: "GVB".(Author's notes appear at end.) 

RATING: NC-17. MT/MScR/MAJOR ANGST!, 
language, violence, disturbing scenes, adult 
situations. 

SPOILERS: "FOCUS/FOLDBACK" by GVB. Various 
X-Files episodes' & FF. 

THANK-YOU'S: I thank this Mulder/Torture Site 
maintained by SMILEY! (Everything else I did on my 
own). This story is free for archiving anywhere
with my full permission and gratitude. But please
let me know where so I can brag.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files series, movie, characters, 
are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen 
Productions and the Fox Network. I don't want 
any credit, fame or fortune from X-Files, I only want 
to write about your show and characters to entertain 
myself and others. 

This story is fictitious. If there appear to be people 
bearing any resemblance to actual persons, it is 
by COINCIDENCE ONLY. 

I drool stupidly for feedback. avan@home.com 
or genyah@hotmail.com 

SUMMARY: While Mulder fights for his life, the 
Agents continue their investigation into a 
frightening, global X-File. 

THIS BOOK IS NUMBER FOUR IN A FOUR BOOK 
SERIES BEGINNING WITH "PhaHks".
*THESE STORIES (from PhaHks to Divinities) TAKE 
PLACE OVER THE SPAN OF MANY YEARS!



"DIVINITIES" 

***** 

We shall be fold back unto ourselves.
Returning to that which sent us forth.
The Divine. 
The Unblemished Way.
We shall become as children
with no memories. 



(Excerpt from:
A Composite of Scripture 
In the Manner of Songs"
GVB.) 

**** 

DIVINITIES



The double doors to Skinner's office burst open when a
storm hit in the kinetic violence of Dana Scully. She strode 
in and paused on shifting feet when she saw Director 
Skinner was not alone but just in the movements of 
dismissing another agent. 

By the time the doors closed after the retreating co-worker,
the sails were full set again and she stopped just short of
slamming into his desk. 

"Look!" She said in a voice tight with terrified fury, throwing
a manila folder on his desk with such force, the contents slid 
across its length, some falling off the other end. 

Skinner, putting aside for a moment her tempest-like entry,
looked down. Paperwork with chemical equations written in 
her educated hand. X-ray films. He picked up one of the latter. 

"What am I looking at?" The one he was holding showed
the typical eerie sight of a human's radiated skull. 

But dead-center was a white, opaque mass that looked - for
no better description fit - like a tiny, multi fingered hand, 
"digits" stretching back and down as though reaching to 
embrace the spine. 

"That's Mulder's x-ray your seeing. He's dying." 

Skinner looked up and dead serious Scully looked back. 
"What are you talking about? How is it he's dying? Why?" 

Scully picked up a second X-Ray and waved it like a sword. 
"Because of that Smoking son-of-a-bitch! That bastard has 
done this to him!" 

"You don't know that." 

"I believe that. Because that's his style. It's just like him to give
something and then take it right back!" 

Skinner cleared his throat. 

Emily. 

Now Mulder. 

"Do you think they, as in "They" are the ones responsible for
his eight year abduction? Does Mulder?" 

"Mulder is over at Mercy Hospital getting "treatment". But
there is no treatment. Do you hear me? This," she waved the
film in the air, "is ENMS. Emily Sim's Neuro-Morphoses 
Syndrome, known otherwise as The Nemesis. Emily's Disease.
She was the signature case, my daughter. The primary patient. 
Ground Zero! The same thing that Emily had - the _thing_ that 
killed her is growing inside Mulder's brain. There is no effective
treatment. Do you understand? No treatment! No cure!" She 
threw the film aside, not caring where it littered. 

Skinner had nothing to say to fill the dead silence that 
followed, excepting, "How did he contract it?" 

"The "fingerprint". It must have been that. However they did it, 
however they manufactured it, in whatever method Mulder 
received it or from whom, it is my belief that it mutated 
inside his own DNA. It "piggy-backed" using his genetic 
code. 

"During his abduction, or the time he was exposed to the 
Black Oil in Russia or the Retro virus, or some goddamn 
thing that they did to him, until now it's been hiding, maybe 
mutating all this time. Now it's using his own code; it's copying 
his tissues at the molecular level and then like a parasite, 
manipulating them to do it's bidding. It's growing a copy of 
itself inside him, living off him!" 

"Is that the theory of the other physicians also?" 

Scully looked down as if the combined knowledge of the 
knaves known as "specialists" was a collective joke. "The 
"doctors" have no idea in _hell_ what it is, sir." She explained. 
"And it is immaterial to me how this was accomplished. Or 
why. I will not accept this from them. I _do_ not." 

Skinner didn't offer comment on that last. Refusing what 
was evident were words easily said, but often there were no 
choices otherwise. 

Eventually you accepted what the universe threw at you 
because you couldn't hop a train to anywhere else. 

"What do you want from me?" 

"One month ago, I came to you and requested the 
reopening of the X-Files Division. I'm now asking you again. 
NOW, in the face of _this_, will you reopen them?" 

Skinner sat down, slumping over on his desk. "How is that 
going to help Mulder? He's ill so he's pretty much restricted to 
desk duty no matter what. He'd have a note on his jacket and 
wouldn't be permitted to carry a weapon. So, will you enlighten 
me, how would the reopening of the X-Files Division help Mulder?" 

"If I'm right about this - about where this disease comes from 
and from who, the answers may lie within those files." 

"Most of those files are ashes, Agent Scully. Has it ever 
occur ed to you that Mulder IS where he is because of getting 
involved with the X-Files to begin with?" 

Scully wanted to laugh but inside was hysteria, not humor. 

"Yes, I have. But it's a chance and if it means Mulder's life, I'll 
take that chance. We're already partners so all you have to do 
is to assign me as the X-Files Division head and complete 
Mulder's transfer. I'll do the rest." 

Skinner gathered the papers and films back into the folder, 
retrieving the ones that had tumbled to the floor. "Are you sure 
about his, Scully?" 

"Up to this point? I've never been more sure of anything in 
my life." She took her file and headed for the exit. Skinner 
followed. "Agent Scully, a moment more if you please." 

She stopped, waiting by the door. 

Skinner stood close. Real close and leaned over to speak, 
his breath hitting her cheek somewhere between her ear and 
her chin. His words were clearly and softly said but as hard 
as granite. 

"Putting aside for a second how I feel about you, if you 
ever burst into my office that way again, I'll have you snapped 
back to Protective Services and you'll spend the rest of your 
career guarding the former President's tomcat!" 

Scully flushed. "Yes, sir." She said aware that her breath was 
falling on his skin and mingling with his particular scent. "I 
apologize. It won't happen again." 

Skinner looked at her eyes now and seeing she meant it, he 
exhaled, satisfied. "I'm sorry about Mulder." He gave her cheek 
a chaste peck. 

Voice wavering for just a second. "I-I know. Thank you, Sir." 

Skinner pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "Here. Meet me 
at my car, you know the spot. I'm going to accompany you back 
to the hospital. Dismissed." 

Taking the keys, Scully said: 

"Yes, sir." 

** 

En route to Mercy General, Infectious Isolation Ward.
Skinner's car:




Scully cursed herself and her lack of influencing power over 
Mulder's actions or those unanticipated events that seemed ever 
determined to come against him. 

"I shouldn't have let him go to Seattle; go off to prove to himself 
to me that he's worthwhile or prove whatever to people who don't 
give a damn about him." 

Skinner maneuvered the car through afternoon traffic. "Mulder 
cannot sit on his ass, Scully. Nothing would have kept him at home 
drinking warm milk and waiting. Even if you had known, he still 
would have gone." Skinner understood Mulder's reasons for his 
exit west, things that Scully perhaps did not, but it was best, he 
decided, to leave them unspoken. 

"Maybe. But those first months might have been the crucial time, 
for treatment and for blocking the growth of this thing, or maybe 
even reversing it. Now those months are gone." 

"How much time does he have?" 

"From the time of Emily's diagnosis to her death, it was just under 
two months." Mulder is an adult, he's stronger, his system less 
quickly compromised...they're not sure." 

Skinner shook his head, turned into Visitor's Parking at Mercy. 

Mulder had looked bad upon his return from Seattle, but Skinner 
had put it down to what they all had: stress. And the knowledge 
that Mulder was less than year out of long-term psychotherapy. 
Skinner'd thought Mulder's thin, white face and pinched features 
in the Men's Room that day was Mulder-Standing-At-The-Edge-And-
Thinking-About-It, "IT" being a swan dive into mental chaos, lithium 
pills and just another patient with a sad history. 

Body sickness, plain and simple, had never crossed his mind. 

Scully had assured him the doctors were consulting together and,
with her input, would formulate of some kind of short-term care. 
That meant treating the symptoms but not the disease. 

Scully mentioned "pain management", "blood pressure and over 
all physical state monitoring". "For a time". 

Skinner took that as an indication that all three conditions would 
need constant watching. He assumed Scully would make herself the 
overseer in that regard, and in a day or so Mulder would be released 
into her care. With his approval, Mulder would also assume limited 
duties as Scully's assistant on the X-Files. 

For Mulder, it was still a step up from the previous year. 

Scully spoke: 

"I'm going to stay with him in the hospital this afternoon. They 
think he'll be ready to come home tomorrow or maybe the day after, 
after we've devised a treatment program. We're already consulting 
together on one. He'll be able to lead a fairly normal life, however
long or short it turns out to be." 

"And they don't know for how long? Can you guess?" 

Scully fumbled with the words. "With Emily, her- she lasted less 
than two months from diagnosis to death. Mulder's an adult, he's 
strong - well, relatively - though right now he's in a weakened state 
due to...recent events. He'll survive longer they think. With proper 
treatment, if he takes care at not over exerting himself." 

A losing bet if ever there was one, Skinner thought. 

"...and vigorous antiviral programs, if it was the retro-virus that 
even caused this..." 

"Did it?" 

"Who knows?" Scully knew she did not sound like herself and 
straightened mental shoulders, "We don't know. He was missing 
for eight years and according to him, he was ill part of that time 
but he just doesn't remember how or why, so..." 

"So what is the prognosis for him being able to continue working?" 

"As I said, if we follow the treatments, if _he_ does, maybe a 
f-few months." 

Skinner heard the catch in her voice. She'd already outlined for 
him how those symptoms would develop and the underlying 
physical changes causing them. The bile was still in his throat, 
refusing to budge. 

Mystery illness and who would it find to get cozy with but Mulder? 
A god awful way to die, prolonged agony (that in its last hours 
eluded all the strongest morphine manufactured) would be 
the last call before multiple aneurism, bleeding out and death. 

Skinner was not a religious man but he wondered if whatever 
gods were exorcizing their will had somewhere along the line 
taken a good long look at Mulder and given an unanimous 
thumbs down. 

** 

The first thing Skinner did after dropping Scully off back at 
Mercy General was expedite the paperwork regarding Scully's 
reassignment and Mulder's transfer. 

The first thing Scully did after consulting with Mulder's doctors 
regarding his general state and conditional release from the 
hospital was call the Bureau and arrange to have an old, empty 
filing cabinet removed and enough space made for a second 
desk. Next was to have them place two names on the door 
and two nameplates made, one for each agent. 

She felt that it was the least they - the Bureau - could do. Mulder 
wanted to work on the God's Children case and they were 
allowing him to. In her opinion, they owed him that much. Was 
his illness related in any way to it or was someone getting their 
rocks off watching him suffer? A nicotine stained fingered
old prick came to mind as that possible someone. 

Tomorrow night she would bring Mulder home from the hospital, 
or maybe the next night, and they'd have one evening's peace 
before it all began, before the case. 

Then, together they would delve earnestly into its murky depths 
while she kept careful guard over him as he began not only this 
quest for an answer but his unstoppable slide into the horror 
chambers of ENMS. 

In her nightmares, Emily screamed up at her from that place. 
Emily, her disfiguring and mutating body pulsing with pain, had 
suffered an agony only the most potent drugs had eased. Emily, 
her innocent angel child. 

Scully's hands shook as she remembered the day, hour and 
minute that Emily had slipped from her. Her eyes teared at the 
thought of Mulder's words to her: 

"No matter how much you love this little girl, she was never 
meant to be." 

How those words had cut her. How she had rebelled against 
them and how she had turned cold and hard when he later 
offered her a shoulder of support. Though it may have welled 
up from her emotionally irrational center, her feeling soul that
had ceased to feel, she'd needed to hurt him back because 
in her rational mind the very fact of Emily's existence supported 
the rightfulness of it. She may have been brought into the 
world in a bastardized way and for a perverted purpose, 
but once here, she'd had every right to stay. 

For some reason Scully couldn't fathom, Mulder had not 
understood that basic universal truth. 

Scully remembered with sadness Mulder's confusion at her 
sudden coolness toward him. Coolness for a long time. She 
had not told him so, but after Emily's death, for a time she 
had seriously considered quitting the Bureau. 

In retrospect she was glad she had not. 

"Not meant to be.", whatever that meant, had not been true 
with Emily then, and certainly not with Mulder now. 

He had two months, perhaps three. Not enough time to 
finish what they had started, but enough time, perhaps, to 
find an answer.

********

ENMS. 

It explained so much. 

Mulder's intolerance to changes in air pressure and 
altitude, therefor his physical distress in the elevator 
(the only incident about which she was personally 
aware), and his fainting. 

It explained why he had not flown back to D.C. but 
had chosen instead to drive the entire five thousand 
miles. 

To Scully that said his condition had been developing
slowly over the previous year. A year in which something
could have been done had she not been so negligent 
- and stupid - in not getting him to specialist after specialist
until the spurious DNA "fingerprint" could be identified
and dealt with. 

It explained the pain in his abdomen that worsened
when under stress, the stress increasing heart rate,
the heart pumping faster, heightening his blood 
pressure, the arteries then expanding and contracting, 
straining, forcing his blood through cranial and upper 
body canals that were slowly thickening and growing 
more ridged with each passing day and stretching and 
weakening his lower body vessels until a kind of body
wide migraine resulted, the worst effect - the feeling of 
intense pressure in his abdomen as if something were 
trying to be birthed from the stomach up through and out
the gullet. 

It explained his headaches, the weakness and 
malnutrition that was not simply the result of poor eating 
because of a specific type of hernia that he had suffered 
for the years since his return, but of what was happening 
deep in his body and brain tissue. 

It explained so much except what to do next. 

ENMS was insidious, progressive and ultimately incurable.
Mulder was dying and whether it took six weeks, six months
or longer, she was helpless to prevent it. 

The problem was, no one really knew what ENMS was.
They, the specialists with whom they'd thus far consulted,
knew what it did. That is, they knew what _Emily's_ ENMS
had done to Emily. 

They really didn't know what Mulder's was going to do
to him, although they had an idea. 

In fact, Scully had read the few articles and research
reports that had been done on this brand new disease (it's
origin one that only she, Mulder and a few others held 
any accurate suspicions about), that manifested itself in such 
bizarre, painful and debilitating ways. 

Scully had taken notes from those journals and read them 
over and over to herself while she watched Mulder sleep. 

Scully visited the hospital, for hours at a time, the list wrinkled 
and damp from being held in her clenched fist, her eyes never 
leaving his face, her heart barely beating in time to anything 
that was earthly or real. 

Simple living and hope seemed as remote from that hospital
room as Satan was from being seized with a change of heart 
and crawling on bleeding knees to Saint Peter. 

//"ENMS (Emily's Neuro-Morphing Syndrome): A mutative 
disorder characterized by a systematic cellular metamorphoses 
in the central and peripheral nervous system and/or 
arterioscleroses but without the causal buildup of plaque (the 
arteries instead becoming tunicated within a sclerechymatous 
skeleton manifesting crystalline characteristics or calcerated 
walls). 

//"Although ENMS displays some symptoms similar to GBS and 
CDIP, it is believed that ENMS (originating within the reticular
formation in the brain stem), is a spontaneous, mutative and 
progressive disease that may or may not also have an outside 
causal factor; virus or trauma not being excluded."//



Scully had read that and more. So much more. And she 
remembered Emily's face as the agony would overcome her
and she would cry and beg her mommy to make it stop.



//"The symptoms of ENMS are varied but generally follow
as: Progressive tunication of the arteries and smaller vessels,
and all neurofibrotic tissue, causing pain that spreads first
to the neck and torso and, finally in the later stages of the 
disease, the limbs and extremities. Due to the calcareous
encasement of first the larger blood vessels, the vascular 
system is put under such pressure in the lower body and limbs 
that multiple aneurism occur, resulting in internally bleeding out.
The same sclerechymatic involvement of the central and 
peripheral nervous system result in first tingling, extreme 
pain and, finally, loss of feeling and coordination throughout 
the body of the patient. 

//"Eventually, foreign material from the invading tissues 
pollute the blood until the liver and kidneys reach toxicity. 
At this stage, ENMS becomes fatal."// 

Scully shifted in her chair. 

Mulder's oxygen mask fogged and cleared as his sleeping
breaths came and went. His in and exhales and the beeping
of the machinery around them was a steady, comforting 
music that tore holes in her heart. 

//"Tunication of the arteries"//... 

Scully felt the room spin. 

//"Calcareous encasement"//... 

It was cold and quiet. 

//"multiple aneurism"//... 

She felt as heavy as lead within its chilly air. 

//"bleeding out"//... 

Nurses came and went. 

//"tingling, extreme pain,...loss of feeling,...toxicity"//... 

Mulder slept peacefully. 

//"...it is...fatal."// 

Scully had read it over and over, understood it and 
knew that, other than the terrible ordeal ahead of her 
friend and partner, it told them essentially nothing. 

The summation of the report, several pages of doctor-speak,
could in fact have been written with three short sentences: 
"We don't know what causes it. We don't have any long 
term treatments. There is no cure." 

Mulder lay sleeping on the single bed, sparkling white sheets 
under and over him, as yet unaware of his own condition. It 
would be her job, she'd insisted to the attending specialist, to 
inform him. 

She still could hardly believe it herself. 

Finally, Mulder stirred and opened squinting eyes on a bright, 
white room. 

Scully quickly drew the curtains on the sunshine pouring 
through the window. She turned, "Hey." 

Disoriented only for a few seconds, he looked okay. In fact, 
he looked fine. "Hey. I'm still here?" 

Scully gulped down the sickening lump in her throat and 
swore she could feel it sliding down. "If you mean are you 
still in the hospital, yes." 

Mulder looked at her and nodded. Smiled for her and she 
wanted, not to smile back but scream bloody, burning hell. 
She smoothed the sheets over him, straightening the 
creases. "Mulder-" 

"-I know, Scully. Watts told me." 

She sucked a quick breath, feeling betrayed and relieved too. 
She'd wondered if Watts would decide to ignore her request 
and inform Mulder of his condition himself. It certainly wasn't 
standard for a friend or family member to do so, medical 
background or not. "Oh, Watts told you?" 

"Um-hmm." 

She nodded, suddenly finding she was without courage and 
couldn't look at him at all. She didn't want to see his handsome 
normal face while holding the knowledge that it would not 
remain that way but slowly become distorted and drawn 
tight by pain and weakness. 

But, in this, he would not allow her to evade him and lifted 
her chin to look at her, forcing her to look back. 

And that was, as always, her breaking point; his gentle hand 
on her, lifting her up; his compassionate eyes upon her, wanting 
to share in whatever she was feeling, and she began to cry 
with those long, endless tears, clinging to him, hiding her face 
away in his hair and the curve of his shoulder. 

He continued to hold her tightly. "Looks like I've got us into 
another fine mess!" He joked in a Laurel/Hardy-ish mock. 

It made her giggle just a little, in between sucking heaves 
and more tears. "You make me crazy. How can you joke?" she 
asked, her voice muffled by his skin and gown but knowing the 
answer. It was often how he coped with fear. 

Scully raised her head and looked at him, long and hard. 
"You're...you've got ENMS, Mulder." 

"I know, I know." He held onto her hand, so tiny, he noticed 
not for the first time, in his large one. "We'll work something 
out." 

Mimicking,"work something out."? "Mulder, you're not 
late with the rent payment. This is ENMS, a debilitating
disease." One or two tears still fell but the un-
controllable storm of grief for now had passed. "What are we 
going to do?" 

He looked around. "Well, first of all, we get me out of here. 
Then, while I'm being a good boy and taking all my medication 
and obeying all those annoying "recovery restrictions" I know 
the good Doctor Watts and _you_ are going to outline for me, 
we continue with the case." 

Scully blinked. Stared. "The case?? Mulder, to hell with the case. 
You're sick. That's what we should focus on, finding a cure or some 
sort of treatment that will work." 

He brought her hand up to his lips. "Scully. Right now I feel 
pretty okay, and what's stopping us from doing both? I can still 
do research and some limited field work, can't I? Let's get to 
work." 

Exasperated, "Mulder-" 

"-Scully. Let me look for my answers," he held her hand 
tighter, "while I still have time." 

She rubbed fingers, nodded. Understood. "Okay." 

Compliance. 

For now. 



*** 

Three days later:



The first thing Mulder knew (stable-for-now and released 
from the hospital) was to find himself sitting at his new desk 
in his old basement office, reading "Fox Mulder" on a pewter 
name plate and staring across at Scully, his new Division Head. 
He had Level 12, though "medically restricted" status. The 
same level (minus the restrictions) that Scully had achieved 
after five years under him. 

Two days back in the basement and his head was still spinning. 

Scully had done this for him. Taken him home, taken him in. 
Doled out his medication to him every morning. En route they'd 
(she driving because it was no longer legal for him to), stopped 
at Heavenly Hole and gotten extra large coffee's and donuts 
by his insistence. He was sick of hospital food and besides, he 
made a solemn promise that it would be the last unhealthy liquid 
or solids to pass his lips as long as he was sick. 

Now, in his new and polished swivel chair, he kept looking at 
her over the top of his computer screen. 

Strong, intelligent, goddamn beautiful female! 

Sitting there opposite him in three inch heels, chewing on a 
pencil and yawning sat, he was certain, the future Director 
of the F.B.I.. 

*** 

Skinner parked in front of her building, sitting a moment
before entering and buzzing her apartment. It was a place
had been before but not enough times to feel at home
or even comfortable. 

Scully answered and let him in. 

"Here's his old work file, restriction orders, new badge number.
It's all there." 

He could have waited until Monday and given it to Mulder
himself. 

"Come in, sir." Scully ushered and closed the door after him,
gesturing to a comfortable looking chair. One built for
curling legs under and reading. 

He sat, not removing his coat. "Is something wrong, Scully?" 

She sat opposite him, "No. Other than..." 

Than Mulder's dying, Skinner finished in his head. 

She took an envelope off her coffee table and handed it
to him. "I just thought that since you're here, I'd give this to
you today instead of Monday. It's the treatment regime we
concocted. Medication, activity restrictions, my recommendations
as to filed assignments, daily hours,...for Mulder."


Skinner emptied it and glanced through the medical terminology.
Over his career, he'd learned to glean basic information from
sometimes incomprehensible scientific language. 

"This is a strict regime. Are you sure you can implement all
this with him?" 

"We'll do everything there is to do." 

"He may not be willing to endure the regime of treatment 
outlined here. We both know Mulder - he'll balk at the first
sign of being smothered." 

"I'll convince him." 

"And if he says no, will you force him?" 

"That's not fair." 

"If I understand it, you still have power of attorney over
Mulder if he is incapacitated, either physically or mentally.
Are you going to defy his wishes if he refuses some of this
treatment?" 

"The treatment could help him." 

Skinner looked beyond Scully to the bedroom, where Mulder
would be spending his nights beside her. Making love? 
Touching her, at least. (He'd never seen her bedroom). 

"And what about when the symptoms get to be too much and
hospitalization is needed? Will you force him then?" 

"If necessary. If it comes to that, it'll be for his own good." 

"It's not me you have to convince. Let him have the dignity
to make his own decision, Scully. From what you've told me
and from what I'm reading here, it _will_ come to that." 

"If it gives him a little more time to seek an answer, then
he will agree." 

"And if it gives you just one more day, you don't care why he agrees,
as long as he does, do you?" 

She was truck dumb by his words. Impacting her mind
like a tanker truck because they were undeniable. 

No, no she didn't. 

He eased off. "What can be done, in the later stages? 
Surgery? Like with me? The Lazer treatments?" 

Walter Skinner was a practical man. If there was a possible 
solution, seek it out. If there was a course of action to be 
taken, take it. If a question could be asked, an answer 
should be forthcoming. 

"Yes, we've already discussed Lazer surgery to weaken 
the sclerenchymatous walls, but there is the risk that it
could weaken the blood vessels themselves. In any event,
surgery will only prolong his life, it is in no way a cure in 
this case." 

Scully was also a practical woman, and a woman of 
science. But she was a woman who had seen things
that defied laws of time and space again and again,
though never admitting as much to herself or to her
partner who was now possessed by something
unnatural, at least unnatural to what she knew of time 
and space. 

People don't change into something else. 

But something, something perhaps alien, was changing
inside Mulder. More than that, it was changing _him_,
and in the processes occurring within his body, he himself
would eventually become the instrument of his own death.
"We can make him comfortable as long as possible..." She 
added with finality that made Skinner wince. 

He heard the unmistakable dead ending in the phrase.
"Is there anything I can do, for you or him?" 

"Let him keep working as long as possible. Let him find
an answer, if there is one." She seemed tired to death
of saying it. Skinner did not think she believed in answers
any longer. 

"All right." 

*** 

Scully thought to spend the rest of her Saturday alone in her 
apartment. 

Tomorrow she would bring Mulder back here and they would 
resume "living" together. Working. Maybe loving? 

She didn't know and she was afraid to find out. 

"Any exertion beyond walking on the level is to be avoided." 
Watts had said and she had concurred, knowing the risks to 
him physically. Cardiovascular pressure,...aneurizms 
somewhere down the line,..bleeding out and death. 

She and Mulder had melded for a few perfect hours. For the 
first time in their lives they'd been physically intimate with 
each other and she had never felt happier at any time in her 
memory. Two wonderful days together drinking each other in,
even being so gloriously selfish as thinking about nothing 
but their own wants and feeling so foolishly optimistic as
talking about their future and how they would share it and 
where. 

Now, it, once again, had been ripped away like burnt skin.
She felt no more like Dana Scully but Dana Scully's corpse. 

Loving someone meant touching them, making love _to_ 
them, and she would never be able to touch Mulder again
for fear of hurting him, causing the sickness to worsen and take
him from her sooner than she could stand. And as it stood 
right now, the exit date was killing her. 

Scully washed dishes that she had left piled high. Food stuck
to the plates like concrete and she had to scrub. One was 
old spaghetti in a pot and some had burned to the bottom. 
She scrubbed, making little headway against the sinewy pasta
adhering to the glass bottomed boiler. Hard, curled blackened
worms under her fingers refused to move until finally, with a 
scream of rage, she flung the entire mess at the kitchen wall
behind her, breaking it into a hundred pieces. 

She had hoped the breaking the pot would assist her, help her 
begin the mourning of her ruined hope and his perfect and loving 
life, the depths of which she had only just discovered in the 
exploration of his warm flesh. 

But it did not do that. 

Instead, it was just a broken pot that she would have to clean up. 

She would never be able to make love to him from now until 
death did part him from her. She swept the shattered glass into 
a pile, and then into the dustpan, ready for the wastebin. 

Hand hovering over the bin, Scully hesitated. Something 
held her back and she dumped them instead into a brown 
paper bag and left her apartment. 

** 

Two hours later, she entered Mulder's tiny bachelor suite, bag in 
hand. 

Locating a plastic bowl, she filled it with lukewarm water from 
the tap and with Mulder's tiny fishnet, scooped out his fish from 
his bubbling tank into the plastic bowl to preserve them alive 
while she completed her task. 

Scully opened the bag over the tank and let the pebble-sized 
yellow glass pieces, now ground smooth like marbles, fall to 
the bottom of he tank and spread out. She arranged them a 
little, smoothing them over the bottom, corner to corner. In the 
dim light of his sole table lamp, they glowed eerily, as if lit 
from within like pacific shrimp. 

She replaced the fish and they swam contented. 

A course was set and she'd go. Willingly and no matter what. 

Somehow, Mulder would survive and even if he didn't and she 
was forbidden to touch him as a lover should, she would hold his 
head in her hands. If tiny kisses placed upon his hair and temples, 
if the overwhelming love for him about which she now had no 
doubts; if any of these things had the power to decapitate this 
monster emerging from his cells, she would bestow them 
forever. 

And if they proved to be powerless, she would give them still
and slap it's hateful face. 

*** 



God's Children Investigation. Case # 21,
Virginia.
** 

Scully peeled off her fourth pair of latex gloves
and tossed them in the white, sterile bag she'd 
been carrying from room to room. 

Mulder was off questioning the workers, leaving her
to examine the dead. 

In this case - five dead staff and one dead child. He,
seven years old, at a cursory glance appeared to be 
sleeping, curled up on his side dressed in red pajamas 
with little rocket ships on them. 

He should be in his own bedroom in a nice house somewhere
watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating Coco-Crunchies,
Scully thought. Instead he was lying in an isolation room bed in 
a State Care Center, his heart no longer beating. 

Dead without cause, that's what she would find, just like
all the others. Disturbing his flesh by an invasive autopsy
right now seemed barbaric thing to her. There remained little
doubt in her mind that they would discover nothing new. 

Mulder was making his way to her passed the uniforms
and apron clothed forensic team. 

"How's it going?" When she didn't answer right away, Mulder 
placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" 

Scully shook herself from her introspection and straightened,
taking the opportunity to stretch. "Yes, I'm just tired of
seeing dead children, especially these dead children. I'm
just - I'm at a loss, and I think so is everyone." 

A sympathetic nod. "This one went down almost in plain 
view of seven other staff members. You feel up to hearing the
details?" 

She nodded and they moved away from the crime photographers
and the rest of the still living who walked to and fro. 

"In a nut shell, three armed, masked figures, we'll assume males,
walked in the front door, took the stairs to this ward, shot four of the 
staff in the usual way." Mulder gestured to the door where
beyond lay wards of now empty junior sized beds. "None of the 
other children were killed." 

"Why the difference with this one? At all the other crime scenes, all of
the adults and children were murdered by shooting except for the
mystery child, the one who is found dead without cause." Scully still
saw the little fellow and wondered what had happened in his so unfairly
short life that had first brought him to a State run child care institution.
Had he a mother once? 

"I've been thinking about that and the difference in this case is _this_
little boy was being kept isolated. I'm wondering why." 

"Maybe they felt they didn't need to kill everyone in the building
if it was the boy they were after." 

"But it still doesn't make sense. Why _not_ murder the other children
_this_ time? Why not kill all the staff in the Center? Why only those
staff working in this ward?" 

Scully shook her head as if to dispel a headache. "The children
are the key, Mulder. These dead for unknown reasons children, I'm
positive." 

"Three of the dead staff members were also infected with the Black 
Oil, Marchbank said you were taking samples. He didn't say of what." 

Scully nodded. "I didn't tell him. He's just on loan from Quantico.
There's so many bodies..." 

Mulder noticed how tired she looked. The whole thing was straining
her, stretching whatever reserves she had left after her worrying
constantly after him. "If you're finished your examinations, do you 
want to take a break, Scully? I'll finish up here." 

She shook her head. "This Black Oil, whatever it is, whatever it
does, I think it's a secondary element in whatever is going on. Even
if this is some deep, dark conspiracy with aliens on the one side
and CancerMan on the other, and the kids somewhere in the 
middle playing some pivotal role, still these children should not be 
dead. They are the primer to the entire equation." 

"I think you're right, but without some idea about why these kids are
being killed and why they are being killed the way they are being killed,
I can't even speculate beyond some fantastic religiously motivated
cult murders. And even if these murders were the ritual of some 
new Millennium Feak-Out Group, why aren't they letting the world
know? Why aren't they "enlightening" the rest of us about their
reasons and convictions that what they are doing is necessary
and "right" in the eyes of their god?" 

"What about the faceless men? Maybe these are...I hate to say it,
I hate even admitting I'm considering the possibility of it, but
maybe these killers are the Rebels. Maybe they're killing off
those infected with the Black Oil and these children are
the reason. 

"Nearly all the murdered adults thus far have been
the guardians of the children. Up until now, in each case it
was parents or legal guardians but this time, it was here, a 
correctional youth facility, an orphanage. That dead little boy 
in there had no parents but for the staff who worked here." 
Exasperated, Scully tied up her bag of soiled gloves and tossed 
them aside for the clean up crew to later remove. 

Mulder smiled at her and it was only after a moment that she
noticed. "Alien Rebels? Scully, you're turning me on big time." 

She allowed herself the luxury to return a small grin. "What about
the surveillance cameras - anything?" 

"Funny you should mention that. They recorded the whole thing,
that is, the cameras were functioning, but what we saw when we
played it back was ten minutes of static." 

Scully raised her eyebrows. 

"Is this a File or what?" Muddling through what she'd said before, 
"That brings us to another question. What is so special about these 
kids that anyone - Smokey, the Rebels - whoever, felt they needed 
to be watched over? I don't think we're going to find the answer to 
that until we can find one who is still alive." 

"How do we do that, Mulder. We have no idea who we're looking for. 
These children were from all walks of life. Different social and economic 
backgrounds. Different continents. How in hell do we target the next 
hit?" 

He sighed heavily and was aware of Scully's eyes suddenly watching 
him. "I'm all right, Scully." 

"You may feel okay right now, Mulder, but you're far from all right." 

He took her arm. "Scully, don't strain your neck looking after me
every minute. I appreciate it but it's going to make it hard for me to 
do my job. You're not exactly tip-op yourself right now." 

"Thanks a lot." 

"You know what I mean." 

"As long as you're honest with me, Mulder, when you _do_ begin to feel
worse, then I'll tell you when I'm ready to call it a day." 

"Done deal." 

"In the meantim-" Scully's cellular chirped for attention. She pulled
it out, "Scully." 

Mulder waited patiently for her to finish her call. 

Her face was scrunching up by the time she'd ended the call. "Uh, 
look, Mulder, I have to go back to Quantico, something to do with 
some mix up with samples or something..." 

He watched her eyes look everywhere but at him. "Okay. See you back
here in what, a couple hours?" 

"Let me call you." She smiled once and hurried off, leaving Mulder
watching after her. Dana Scully was not a liar, not even white lies,
not even if being completely honest meant hurt feelings, but he had just
had the distinct impression that Scully had out and out bullshitted him. 

"Agent Mulder." Someone needed his attention and he was forced to
delegate any more speculation to a back burner for the time being.



*** 

Scully put her explorer in Park and climbed out. The visitor's parking
lot was surrounded by trees and groomed pathways, all leading down
to artificial pools of leaf-covered water. A few ducks paddled through
the leaves, making little pathways of their own. 

Scully found a bench and sat, waiting for the subject of her odd phone
call. 

In only a moment or two, he sat down beside her. He must have
walked up from behind. 

"Thank you for coming." He said in greeting. 

Scully turned to face a stranger. "Who are you?" 

"My name isn't important, what I have to tell you is." At first glance, 
she would have labeled him as a crazy old man. 

He was old, though she suspected that he appeared older than his actual 
years. A lot of fine, white hair brushed straight back from his forehead 
surrounding a face so lined and wrinkled, it was as though an artist had 
carved it from an ancient block of oak. Imbedded within those lines and 
wear was two intelligent, watchful eyes that peered out upon her and 
the world with decades of accumulated knowledge of good things and 
bad. He had a thin wide, mouth put there by hard experience. 

Scully speculated that those eyes and that face had perhaps taken in far, 
far too much of the harsh side of life and when he spoke, the sound of
his voice reminded her of the winter wind that moves through naked
tree branches with icey puffs on its way to an empty place. A take
it or leave it voice. Soft. Bleak. 

"What do you have to tell me that you couldn't tell me over the phone."
She asked. 

He didn't answer directly, something that, she was soon to learn, was a 
trademark of his personality. "You're working on the God's Children 
case." He began. 

She nodded. "Yes. And my partner, Agent Mulder." 

He nodded back. 

"That's common knowledge," she stated, "it's in all the papers." 

He stared directly into her eyes for a few seconds and then turned away
to look out over the duck pond. 

It disconcerted her. Maybe he _was_ just a crazy old man? 

"I used to be involved with some people." He began as if reciting from 
a written confession spoken for the first time. "Those people, I believe, 
have taken a great interest in these "God's Children". " 

"Who were these people?" 

"_Are_. They _are_ a radical religious group who think that their
beliefs, their interpretation of the future is the correct one." 

"That's true of most religious groups." 

"This group plans, in fact I believe they have begun implementing
those plans, a plan to write the future. Or to help God do so." 

"Are you saying this group of yours-" 

"-NOT my group. I left years ago when I began to learn what they
really are." 

"You're saying this "group" are responsible for the murders of those
family's and the deaths of the "God's children"?" 

"It is possible they have taken an interest in these kids, yes. As for
being the killing force, I have no proof, just speculation." 

He rubbed hands together and watched the ducks. "It is also
possible that this group was responsible for your recent abduction." 

Scully was shocked but it passed instantly when a most logical
connection clicked in her mind. "Because I'm on the case?" 

"It does follow. If they are somehow involved with the deaths of
these kids, and they know you are on the case, it would suit
their interests to exert influence; to keep the power in their hands; 
to control it." 

"What power? It wasn't me they were interested in, they-" 

"I know. It's your partner, Fox Mulder." 

"What do you know about these people? Why did they want Mulder
off the case? Why the threats? Why, if they're interested in these
children as you believe, would they want to prevent us from
finding a way to save them?" 

He turned to look at her and his eyes lent an almost physical 
weight to his next words. "Where were you when the North
West Outbreak was occurring?" 

Scully thought for a second. "I, we, my parner and I, were in 
Antartica actually." 

He didn't even blink. "I was living in Seattle with my wife and daughter.
My wife died of it. My daughter and I were immunized." 

"But how was that possible? There was no immunization, at least not
at that time." 

""They" - the group - provided immunization for me without my 
knowledge. You may think they were doing us a favor but it was
all about wanting control over us. Over me. Power and the exerting 
of that power to bring about their own ends. 

"A short time after the death of my wife, I left the group. When my 
daughter turned twelve I sent her to live in the East in a location 
and with people I will never reveal to anyone. I'll die before I'll 
divulge her whereabouts. I wouldn't let them control me or my 
family. You could say they were not pleased with my lack of 
appreciation, they probably thought I should have been eternally
grateful that they had spared me. It was only through a good friend
that my daughter's life was saved at all. That friend paid for
her generosity to them and to me with her sanity and freedom. 

"These people are dangerous, Agent Scully. They have 
representatives that span the nations. They have men and 
women in positions of wealth and power that allow them 
near immunity from justice under any human law, and they 
are very, very focused on reaching their goal. To emphasize to you
just how dangerous they are, then believe me when I tell you that
they are responsible for the North West Outbreak." 

Scully stared. "Hundreds of thousands died in that outbreak." 

"I could tell you how I know that, but none of it can be proved. 
It's the truth. An engineered Prion virus that kills within minutes.
It was all part of their goal maybe. Rid the earth of evil, "prepare the 
way", I don't know. I don't know." 

"You still haven't told me what that goal is." 

"I"m almost certain these kids are the key..." 

Scully gave a start when she heard, so soon, her own words echoed 
back to her from that windswept voice, 

"...to their "vision" and that they believe these kids, these "God's 
children" are not ordinary children. I'm positive they think these 
children are supernatural. Divine. Humans with a destiny beyond 
this earth." 

Scully absorbed every word and her scientific and spiritual sides
battled with each other. "If that is so, why are the children's families
being killed? Why murder the children themselves?! Don't they fear
God's wrath for committing such heinous crimes? Acts that directly
violate his laws?" 

"As I said, they believe they are _doing_ God's work. They think they
are his instrument for some Holy Future; their vision of it I suppose you
could say." 

"So the warning to me to keep Mulder away was to protect
their interests? Mulder is a supporter of the supernatural, he believes
in things beyond this world, though not necessarily deities." 

"Ever since I was a profiler for the F.B.I., I've been watching
Agent Mulder, not as a spy or with some hidden agenda, but just out 
of curiosity. He's brilliant. He's focused and he pursues his passions with 
everything he is. I think others have been watching him as well, this
"group" included. Agent Scully, they believe that Fox Mulder is a kind
of prophet, one who preaches against, if you will, the common,
accepted picture the governments paint for their subjects." 

"Look, whoever you are, you talk in neat little circles. They think
Mulder is a prophet so I assume that means they want him alive
and unharmed, yet I was threatened with his death if I did
not keep him from pursuing the case we're currently on. Do
they value him or do they want him dead? It can't be both." 

"Ever read your bible, Agent Scully." 

"Yes." 

""A prophet is not dishonored, except in his own territory". He
quoted. Agent Mulder was a welcome and unexpected consort 
to them and their agenda for years, but now Agent Mulder is
looking to finding out not only how the children are dying, but 
who's killing them and he wants the killings to stop. If there is 
one thing all scriptures preach, it's that a holy one does not 
become a spirit until first its body suffers death. Agent Mulder
alive is a holy thing. Agent Mulder dead is still holy but out
of the way. Don't think they would not carry out their threat." 

"So, they've tolerated, in fact applauded, Mulder's work until 
now, but now they want him shut down?" 

He touched her arm, just the lightest touch, but she saw his eyes
go dark and clouded for that second. They became pools
of black water swirling with images of her own face and the face
of another Agent not present but accounted for. 

She sucked a quick breath and pulled her arm away. 

The old man's face had fallen. "I am sorry,...I didn't realize 
that they had already..." He didn't finish his thought. 

"What?" She stared back, knowing yet not knowing what he was
talking about. 

"I didn't realize." He said 

Scully swallowed. He knew. Somehow he knew, about Mulder,
the fact of his ENMS, something no one but no one knew outside
the doctors, Skinner and herself. 

"They..? They did this?" This new mystery group? They had done 
this to Mulder? She suddenly had fantasies of tracking down each 
and every last member, placing her gun against their temples 
and pulling the trigger. 

As if reading her very thoughts, "I don't know for sure, but it is 
a possibility." Crazy Man said. 

"The doctors are hopeful." Pointless to lie to him but she did so
anyway. 

Yet, Scully believed him - this wrinkled crazy old man- 
speaking to her of "Them" and "The Group", as casually as
Mulder had often done of "Cancerman" and Cancerman's 
behind the scenes "Them" and "They". 

Scully stared into Crazy Man's eyes, now warmed over with
sadness for her and for her dying partner, and believed beyond
a grain of doubt that he was telling her the truth; that these
people were dangerous killers who wanted to rule the future
alongside God, and that at the center of it all was Mulder
whom they believed to be a now gone wayward prophet who 
must be kept submissive and silent; her partner and life who was 
infected with a terrible illnes that would kill him a few short 
months from that moment. 

Scully looked back at the white haired old kook and believed 
every word. He had no reason to lie. Not about any of it. 

And he had no reason to hurt her about Mulder or deny that he
now knew as well as she that Mulder was as good as dead. 

"Yes." She said, dropping her gaze. 

She did not want to see herself in his eyes as she spoke 
the words aloud. They had been putrifying in her heart so 
long, she was afraid they, once released, would somehow 
reach him and worsen his illness by their terrible and 
painful truth. 

"Yes, he's dying." Scully repeated. 

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help you. But I can't." 

Her white haired, mysterious informant sighed and stood. 

She grabbed at his arm. "Wait! How do I reach you?" 

"You can't. IF I have anything more to say. I'll contact you." 

Scully watched him walk away on the red pebbled path
back through the trees. 

She wondered if _she_ was going mad. 

*** 

As Scully entered their shared basement office, she
caught Mulder in the middle of popping a palm 
full of pills and swallowing them down with a few 
jiggers of water, trying to hide the entire act from her. 

"How'd your meeting go?" Mulder asked. 

She'd walked in about his regular med.'s time. It was cool 
and damp as usual in the room, which she reasoned was not
a very healthy environment for him in his present condition. 
Momentarily, Scully argued with herself if whether, by putting 
in a request, Skinner would assign them warmer accommodation
in an office above ground with decent access to heat and light. 

Mulder was hunched over his lap top, typing away. Since
returning to almost full time work, paper work didn't seem
to bother him anymore. For the time being she decided she 
would forego a request for a new office. Mulder was happy
where he was. 

"Uh,...fine." Scully also debated telling Mulder of her unusual
encounter. Since her strange meeting in the park, she'd
come to think more and more that the man had been nothing
more than what he appeared to be, a kook. 

Scully recalled his words, though, and his ability to almost read 
her thoughts and his knowledge of Mulder's illness that no one 
knew about except for a select few. 

Unusual man. Odd man. Maybe a little crazy, even. But one
she felt compelled to take at his word. 

Except there was no proof that what Crazy Man had said was the 
truth. Scully decided she would keep her secret meeting a secret 
until she had that proof. Tell Mulder and he'd likely be off like
a blazing rocket, trying to find the guy and get it out of him himself. 

Mulder was ill. She wanted him near her. 

"I was right. Some mix-up. Not worth dragging me away
from the investigation, though." She hoped she would not have
to tell Mulder any more lies should she meet up with Crazy
Man again. Her conscience couldn't take it. 

"What happened while I was away?" 

"We wrapped it up about an hour ago. When you didn't
return, I had them ship the bodies to Quantico, they're
there for you whenever you're ready." 

"Tomorrow." She had little stomach for more blood and guts that 
day. 

He nodded. 

She watched him work for a moment. "You've put in a long
day." She said and saw his shoulder's tense up. 

"Scully, we talked about this. I feel fine. I'm just typing. That's
all, just typing. There's nothing strenuous about it." 

She tried to cover her worry. Couldn't help the worry, but tried
not to let it be obvious every time she looked at him, 
knowing what she knew about what was happening inside
of him, that it was eating him alive. 

And her. 

Bit by bit she was dying right along side him. Every sigh from 
him, everytime he stood to stretch cramped muscles or every 
time he sat down in a chair to rest, a vision of Emily came to 
her. In secret she would sneak up and with innocent eyes wide, 
whisper his name in her ear. 

*** 

(Three days later):




"We have another multiple killing." Scully placed the file
under his nose. 

Mulder's face lit up like fireworks and Scully gave her 
head the tiniest shake of amazement that Mulder did not 
notice. 

Even as sick as he was, it was as if she had placed an all 
day sucker in the hands of a six year old. Big, round anticipating
eyeballs glowed from some deeply powered light, shining 
out for all to see and be illuminated by. 

All while standing out in the rain under an overcast sky. 

Despite their years together, despite the disappointments,
despite his sickness that weighed over her like the stinking 
corpse of a beached whale, she loved that look of his. 

This, she thought, was why she had stayed. 

Despite everything before and anything that might come,
they were back together in that crummy office. 

Whatever truths needed uncovering, they would be
the ones found holding the shovels and their laughing
scorners, the Bureau and the whole sleeping, complacent 
world was someday going to know what had been
accomplished here. 

History was being written on two gouged wooden desks
in the corner of a basement. 

Scully waited patiently as her partner read the typed 
written pages and scanned the faxed photos of the crime 
scene. 

"England and Denmark. Two cases each." Mulder commented. 

"Exactly the same M.O.. Dead family by gunshot wounds to
the upper back. One other dead child killed by unknown
means." 

Mulder shook his head. No matter how many of them he read,
the circumstances seemed extraordinary. An international
cult? Murdered family. One child dead (sacrifice?) but left intact. 
Except no trace evidence of _how_ the child had died. And 
in country after country, hundreds of cases all the same. There 
were now dozens of task forces across the U.S., Canada and 
a dozen more nations all studying the cases and trying to make 
head or tails of any of them. 

"I don't know if the gunshot to the back is of any significance
other than that it is an effective way to kill someone. Death
at that particular spot is almost guaranteed." Scully offered. 

"Except in the instance of Colleen Allenby, she survived." 

"Yes, but it was blind luck that she did." Scully pointed to 
a diagram. "The caliber of the bullet and the point blank
range - every victim had powder burns as well - plus 
the location of entry would mean the heart would stop
almost instantaneously. There would be no blood pumped
from the wound at all, just some back spray. A few drops in 
each case, because in nearly every case, the entry wounds 
are small." 

Mulder nodded. That was interesting. "No back spray? I 
need to see the next crime scene if it's one we can get to. 
If there are any more discoveries of the Black Oil on any 
of the bodies, we need to know that." 

"But your status-" 

"Even if I can't go to every murder scene, I can go to some. I
need to know Scully. Call it a hunch, but I think we're going
to find the Black Oil at all of them." 

"You think these people, these families were test subjects?" 

"I don't know, but it wouldn't be the first time. Emily was
placed-" He stopped. "Sorry." 

"That's okay. You are right. She was just a lab rat to them.
But her parents were not murdered the way these were." 

"No, but this could be just a different type of testing. We don't
know enough about the Black Oil to know what it all does." 

"What does it do, Mulder?" 

Mulder didn't respond to the glimmer of skepticism in her 
tone and answered without pausing, "It controls people;
their minds, their will, but that's based on only visual
evidence." 

"Things you saw." 

"Does the fact that it was me who saw them invalidate the 
evidence?" 

Scully could almost see his little defensive wall builders laying
bricks. "No. Mulder, just because I question doesn't mean I doubt
your perceptions." 

"But you need more proof than I do." 

"You should expect that from me by now." 

He nodded, smiled a bit to ease the little bit of tension that
had entered the room. "Sorry, Scully. It's really beginning
to feel like old times, isn't it?" 

Scully forced a smile back while her mind wept: New "old time's"
would not be forthcoming. 

As if to prove her correct, Mulder reached into his desk drawer, 
took out his bottles of tiny, pink blood pressure pills and sundry
medications, dry-popping them. 

Every hour on the hour. Each bottle had its little paragraph of
instructions on how many and when. Each bottle had an "Unlimited
Refill" stamp on it too. Each bottle claimed to be part of the treatment
that would keep him living for a while. None claimed anything
beyond that. 

Mulder was dying. Scully reeled every time she thought about it. 

Once, three words had changed her life over to such inner
joy and peace: 

"I love you." 

Mulder's sweet words of confession to her after his return. Words
she thought he'd found drifting around in his sick mind that meant
nothing. 

But she'd learned they had meant something, and to her soon 
they meant everything. 

Three other words again changed her life forever: 

"Mulder is dying." 

those having pulled and picked and yanked on her mind and heart
until now she felt herself unraveling. 

They also meant everything. Everything that she was losing all over 
again.


Mulder was dying. 

She loved him. 

And something must come of those two facts. 

Something would be discovered, something proven, something
made clear for every long term mocker, even if it was nothing 
more than the story of how one man persevered through it all. 

Together they would work until there was nothing left to do. 

And the whole goddamn world was going to know it.



Scully's cellular trilled. 

*** 

Scully made her second and last meeting with Crazy Man
with only seconds to spare. 

Again, they rendezvoused at a park, this time,
one on the opposite end of town, and this time, he was
waiting for her. 

Scully approached him. He looked bad. Thin and
shaky. 

"Please sit down." He said. 

"What's going on? Why the call? I just can't keep
making excuses and disappearing" 

"Yes you can. If you want to solve this. Anyway, 
this will probably be the last time. The group is
watching me now. They have sources even I'm 
not aware of." He turned to face her, swivelling
his legs to face her fully and placing an arm
across the back of the carved wrought iron bench.
He began to speak quickly, as if time was speeding 
up for him and he hadn't much left to spare. 

"You asked me over the phone why I'm helping you. 
Let's just say I'd like to see justice done, if there is any
of that left around. And you're the only ones I trust
enough to divulge the things I have already told you.
I used to be important to them, but they won't be pleased 
by my betrayal." 

"How do we find this "They". Who the hell are they?" 

"I told you. A dangerous apocalyptic group who
have the audacity to believe their version of
the truth is the real, the only, one. If you're
asking me how to find them, I don't know. There
is no club house, no list of members, no affiliations with
anything organized except at the most hidden level,
no tracks to follow..." He pulled a manila envelope from
his shirt and handed it to her. "This is all I have: a few
photos taken about fifteen years ago of some of the 
members, their names at the time,...look over it later 
with your partner." 

Scully raised bemused eyebrows. "A hidden group
with a hidden agenda. Where have I heard 
this before..?" It was rhetorical and spoken aloud. 

"Yes, very much like your clandestine "Fire-Devil"." He
said, and at her widened eyes, "They know about him of 
course. That's what they call him. "Devil" because they 
believe he represents an Evil, and "Fire" because he 
breaths it and his way leads to destruction of the holy. 

"These people will not stop the slaughters until they feel 
that the "holy ones" are safe, whether that means safe in 
the physical body or safe in the arms of God,... I don't think 
it makes any difference to them as long as the presence of 
evil is removed." 

"You seem like an intelligent man, how can you possibly
have been associated with these people? Didn't you
see what they were doing?" 

He sighed from the weariness of wrong turns made and 
regrets. "Your partner, Mulder, he believes in the paranormal.
Would you laugh if I said I have an ability that is unexplainable?
That I can read events, understand and see things that happened 
or that will happen?" 

"I don't laugh much anymore." 

Nodding, "The group came to me twenty years ago. It was
after I'd left the F.B.I., I found I could no longer look upon the 
evil that was the mind of man. I thought, so nobly, that by 
joining an association of forward looking "visionaries" because 
that's what I believed they were, that I could maybe repair
the damage I'd caused to myself and to my family. But evil,
Agent Scully, is everywhere. You're a woman in a unique
position to appreciate that statement." 

"So they recruited you. What made you leave?" 

"When I saw their need to control. A friend of mine went insane
with the knowledge she gained. I didn't want that to be me, and
for reasons I've already told you. They couldn't control me and
because of the things I could see, I began to really _see_ them
and what I saw scared me to death." 

"Your daughter?" 

"Yes, they would have tried to control her, she has these unusual 
"gifts" as well. She's safe but I will never see her again." 

"They'd follow you?" 

He nodded. 

"Then how do we stop them? Mulder is,....he's not going to be 
able to continue forever... we have so little time." 

"You may not be able to stop them. But maybe you can expose
them. It's a long shot and a risk." 

"Not surprising. How?" 

"Remember Gibson Praise. Remember Steven. Remember 
Emily and ask yourself this question: Were they made or were 
they born that way?" 

"Emily was engineered in a laboratory. I saw the data
myself." 

"Things they _said_? Data _they_ showed you? Can
it even be trusted?" 

>From her expression, he gathered she had never considered
that she'd been lied to on those points. 

He continued: 

"_If_ they were made, it's humans and only humans trying 
to manipulate each other, isn't it? The speculation that 
malevolent aliens are true and will soon invade? Speculation
based on visible evidence but very little physical. Evidence
can be faked in many ways. Besides if aliens are prepared to 
invade earth, then their own plans are well on their way and, 
in my opinion, already unstoppable. But if the children were 
born that way..." 

He left off the last few words but Scully didn't need to
hear them to understand. 

"Then they're from God?"she finished with a question. 

"Possibly." 

"Your daughter,...she was born the way she is." Scully asserted 
and when he nodded, "That's why you've hidden her away. 
That's why you're terrified. It's not just her ability that they 
may want to exploit, it's because they believe she was one of 
these "holy ones", destined for God." 

"If there are holy ones here on earth, then the forces at work 
are greater than anything we could imagine, and nothing we 
do can will alter the course of the future." 

"Do you think they - the children - are from God?" 

"Aliens, devils, angels?' He listed the choices. "I don't know. 
I can't know. I don't think I want to know." 

"Mulder does." 

"This group may be responsible for his illness but that's just 
a guess. The rest? The rest is a curtain before which lay all 
theories, and we can't see beyond it." 

"Then why do anything at all? Why even try?" 

"Two millennia ago, one man tried his very best and died, in 
fact, he was murdered by his own people. Now, one half the 
population of the planet believe. A means to an end, Agent 
Scully." 

"But we have no means. We have no idea at all who the next
child is. There could be dozens, hundreds dying right now, 
their parents being murdered but unless we know ahead of 
time who it is going to be..." 

"The last child, was there something unusual about him?" 

"Yes. He was considered to be a great artist. I was shown
samples of his work, they're extraordinary, ingenious really. 
He was considered a prodigy." 

"Seek out the gifted." He said. "These kids all died of something 
mysterious and untraceable. They all died in unusual ways. Find 
those unusual kids who are still alive, I don't know how. I'm too old 
and, to be frank, too scared to help you." 

He rose to go. "I don't know if you'll be hearing from me again.
Meeting like this could be very dangerous for you and your 
partner." 

Scully spoke quickly, breathlessly, before he walked away
and she lost the chance and nerve. "I need to know something. 
Will my partner, will Mulder, is he going to..?" 

Crazy Man understood, considering for a moment before
taking her hand in his and holding it tight. He eyes became 
unfocused for a few seconds. 

Then they cleared and he let her go, shaking his head once 
back and forth. "The future is a curtain, Agent Scully." 

Scully sat for a moment, stunned. It was time for more
truth and she pulled out her cellular. "Mulder. It's me. Um,
listen, we need to talk..."

**** 

Convincing the Bureau to fund and organize a huge
undercover operation had not been the easiest
task, but after two weeks of meetings and consultations
with Violent Crimes, the were allotted two task force
teams of six agents each. 

Director Skinner had read their outline of approach, shaking 
his head the whole way through. 

He was duly impressed with the conjecture contained 
within the their initial reports on the progress of the 
God's Children case and secretly frightened by it's 
paranormal flavor. 

Mulder and the strange went together very well, like 
gunpowder and sparks, Skinner secretly believed. 

But no one else had come up with a contingency plan
that actually included a psychological profile of the 
killers. 

Skinner looked across his desk at his top agents. "The
only thing you didn't list, Agent Scully, was your source.
Where did you come by this information about," he read
from the report in his hands, ""Clandestine Apocalyptic
Religiously Motivated Group." and it's agenda of murder?" 

Scully cleared her throat. "It is a confidential source, sir.
One I'm not at liberty to divulge." Not that I know where the
hell to find him anyway, she thought. 

""Confidential"?" 

"As in anonymous." Mulder added. 

"I know what it means Agent Mulder." Skinner sighed, 
staring at both defeated ly, letting his eyes rest longer 
on Scully. 

"Okay. Twelve task force agents from the appropriate
departments, your choice. Twenty-four others for muscle,
infiltration, sharpshooting, what-have-you, again your
choice, and all the equipment necessary to finding these 
assholes and putting them away. One month. That's what 
you have to wrap this up or not. One month and if nothing 
comes of it, we return to more conventional theories and 
methods of investigation." 

"Yes, sir." Both agents agknowledged softly, rising to go. 

"Agent Scully, would you remain behind for a moment?" 

Mulder looked back on his way to the door and then thought 
better of it, leaving and shutting the door a bit harder than 
was necessary. 

Skinner stared at the door. "What was all that about?" 

Scully looked up at him. Skinner was standing close. 
"Mulder knows about...I told him about,.." She cleared her 
throat, "...us." 

"Does he understand there is no longer any "us"?" 

She nodded quickly. "Yes." 

Skinner decided not to pursue the line of conversation. 
Scully had made her decision. "How is he?" 

Immediately she looked haunted. "Holding his own. So far. 
But it's only a matter of time before..." 

Skinner nodded, hands shoved into his pockets to fight
the urge to throw his arms around her and pull her in. 

"If you need anything,..." Sentimentality was not his 
strong suit. "If anything happens in the field, if he 
becomes...agitated,..hurt, what-have-you, call me first." 

Scully stepped closer to him. "This is out of line, sir, 
but..." And kissed his cheek. "Thank you." 

Skinner nodded, trying to keep his senses straight and 
proper. 

"Dismissed." He said curtly. 

Scully knew it was his way of keeping her at arms length
for his own sake and the abruptness wasn't intended to
hurt her. "Yes, sir."




***



Mulder was waiting for her in the hall outside Skinners 
office. 

"What did he want?" He asked, pressing the "down" on 
the elevator. 

Scully flushed. "To know about you." 

"What did you tell him?" 

She faced him. "The truth. That you're fine for now, that 
you're holding steady but that it won't last." 

"So there's no danger of me being booted from the case 
duty?" 

"No, not as it stands." 

The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. It 
was empty. 

Scully used the privacy to voice something else. "But, 
your activity on this stakeout will remain limited in 
adherence with the restrictions on your jacket. No gun 
and you will not engage any suspect in what-so-ever way." 

Mulder leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in 
his pockets. "I know the restrictions, Scully. They're written 
across my mind, they're impossible to forget because you 
keep reminding me of them." 

"I just want you to understand how serious this is, your 
illness, it could turn for the worse at any time, any extra 
exertion, extra push that your body is not ready for could" 

"I know. I won't engage. I won't carry a gun, not even my 
"leg iron". Solving this case may mean I get one of my 
answers, and getting those answers depends on me keeping 
my job and _that_ means adhering to the restrictions I'm 
under no matter how much I hate them. Even though it feels 
like someone's pilfered my balls and made off with them. 

"I'll stick by your book, Scully. You don't have to remind 
me every time we're about to set foot outside the front doors." 

She looked up at him, then down. "I know. I know, I'm sorry." 

She faced forward again. Had to tell him, "I've assigned another '
senior agent to the second team because I want to be on hand
in case anything happens. " 

"That's not necessary." 

She didn't flinch or even change expression. "That may be, but it
is my decision. I'm your doctor and you are not only my partner but 
my patient. Skinner supports me on this so that's how it's going to be." 

Mulder rolled his eyes but didn't argue it anymore. "Now I have a
babysitter." He muttered. 

It disturbed her that he seemed to be taking his illness as an
inconvenience only, not acknowledging its seriousness and that
one step in the wrong direction could mean a hospital stay. 
When she reminded him of that his eyes settled back into 
their sockets and he muttered a couple of okay's. Just
to please her, though, she was certain. 

"What could happen? I'm just going to be standing around
like a mannequin." He said. 

**



He made similar remarks as they set up shop for the stake out
until the remarks took a life of their own in humor, smiling as 
his tease found its mark with her bemused look. "I should
look cute in my uniform, huh?" 

As soon as she'd smile though the worry lines would return
and that bothered him. "It'll be okay, Scully." 

Their choice for stakeout was East Virginia Learning Centre,
a school for "gifted" children though the senior Mistress 
advanced vehemently that the term was archaic and
the school preferred "advanced". 

Mulder, dressed in white pants and white, short sleeved shirt,
would pose as one of the school's Safety Monitors, the school's
term for Security Guard. Scully was posing as the main desk 
receptionist in a dark purple suit and cream blouse about 
which Mulder teased with lewd remarks until she glared. 

When the school day began, though, and the kids started to 
arrive, it was down to business. 

*** 

"You look ravishing sitting behind that desk." 

"Mulder..." Scully had nothing to do as the stand-in receptionist,
all calls to the school being rerouted (though monitored), but 
still... 

"Can you at least try to pay attention to your job?" She spoke seriously
though she was in fact enjoying his affectionate play. 

"We've been here four days, Scully, I'm beginning to think this source
of yours was some kind of-" 

"Someone's coming up the walk." She said suddenly. 

Mulder returned to his place by the door, and, as the lady approached
the all glass entrance, he swung it wide for her, giving her his best
"Part of my job, ma'am" smiles. 

She, a petite brunette dressed in a neat white business suit, walked
straight up to the Receptionist desk. 

Mulder watched closely. It was still a novelty to see Scully smiling
like a waitress and handing out pamphlets. 

The lady left after only a moment and when she was gone, Mulder
wandered over to the desk again. "Well?" 

"She just needed directions." 

Mulder frowned. It was going on three o'clock in the afternoon. Soon
parents would begin arriving to pick up their children and another 
uneventful day would draw to a close. Six other agents in stand-in
positions and five special forces hidden in prime target areas - 
classrooms and lunchroom - completed the task force. 

"Skinner's going to have to pull the plug." 

"Mulder, it's only been one week." Scully reminded him, standing
to stretch her stiff legs and back. She had done some office work
while in college and had forgotten how exhausting it could be just 
sitting all day. 

>From the corner of her eye is how she first saw the danger and 
in the time it took her to turn her head and formulate his name 
in her mind and say it - "Mulder" - it was already too late.



When Mulder turned to follow Scully's eyes to see what made her
eyes go from sleepy to frightened, they were inside the doors
and the first of them, glowing like a human sun, advanced, knocking 
them both down without a touch. 

Scully saw Mulder collapse and a second form move to stand 
over him and look down. But a powerful sleep overcame her 
in that instant of fear and panic for his safety and in seconds she 
saw and felt nothing more. 

As Mulder fell to the polished floor, the flash of an old memory 
lighted the corners of his mind. A covered truck-box. A locked 
metal booth and a man with no face. Then black but glowing 
figures, an impossible balance, appearing from the air followed 
by darkness of mind until he awoke to find himself being escorted
to a waiting car with Scully there to take his hand. 

When he awoke from his split second dream, he was lying on 
the school floor with a face looked down on him from above. Not 
a faceless face nor a glowing supernatural vision but a man's 
fleshly countenance partially hidden by a black wool mask whose 
eyes, he felt sure, looked upon him with recognition. 

"Holy Jesus." The man muttered under his breath. 

And in those two words, the eyes behind the mask fell into 
place with another old memory and, together with the voice, 
brought the memory to life like a newly oiled obsolete machine. 


One that is started up after years of neglect and accumulated 
rust, the memories halting and noisy at first, finally settling 
into a comfortable rhythm that had been missed for those 
many years. 

Mulder was going to sleep under the gaze of his enemy or 
perhaps it was the power that had sent him collapsing to the 
floor in a weakened heap, but before he did, his mind screamed
out the name and his heart cried his belief that he and Scully 
were both about to die under this man's inhuman feeling 
contained within his human hand. 

Mulder kept his drooping eyes on the wide, green ones above 
him. 

"Kr-r-y-y...cek...." 

Then he slept. 

*** 

Scully awoke to a nurses uniform and the distinct odor of hospital.
no matter which one she'd found herself in over the years (and 
there had been a few), they had all smelled exactly the same. 

The nurse, Scully glanced at the name tag, "Ramona" was taking
her temperature aurally. "You're awake." Nurse Ramona said,
pointing out the obvious. 

Scully tried to sit up, and the nurse placed her hands on her shoulders,
easing her back down. "Take it easy, you're still weak." 

"What happened?" 

Nurse Ramona frowned, "Don't you remember?" 

Scully licked her lips, they were dry and flaky. "Yes. I think so, but
I mean how did it happen? How long have I been here?" 

"About twelve hours. You were both brought in at the same time.
I'd say you're lucky to be alive." 

Scully's heart pounded. This time she sat up and tried to get out of bed.
"Mulder! Where's Mulder?" 

Nurse forced her to stay seated on the edge of the bed. "Mulder?
That's your partner? He's just down the hall. He's being monitored." 

"But they may not know about him. He needs special care, his-" 

"Doctor Scully. They _know_. Doctor Watts was called immediately
upon Agent Mulder's admittance. He's in good hands." 

Scully let herself relax a bit. "How is he?" 

Nurse turned when the door opened to reveal Watts. 

"So, our other patient is awake?" He said perfunctorily. 

"Yes, but "patient" isn't a word I'd use." Nurse winked
at Scully and walked to the door.


Scully wanted to tell her to ram her humor up her ass, but 
instead asked, "How is he?" 

Watts read Scully's chart while waiting for Nurse Ramona
to exit. 

"Well, he was having some difficulty when he arrived. Whatever
they used on you to knock you out like that must have been
very strong stuff. We still haven't figured out what it was." 

"What kind of difficulty?" 

"Just some shallow breathing. He was under pretty deep and
we put him on steady watch just to be safe. Because of his condition
we couldn't administer any stimulants at all." 

Scully nodded, thank god she'd insisted on Mulder wearing a 
medical band in addition to his wallet card denoting his special 
medical status. "What about now?" 

"He's not awake yet but as far as we can tell, he's doing fine.
that is, considering his underlying illness." 

"I want to see him." 

"Don't balk at going by wheelchair and you have my permission." 

He paged an orderly. "I must state my opinion, Doctor Scully, 
however you might not agree with it. I think Agent Mulder is 
risking his life, shortening it even more I mean, by continuing 
his field work. He needs to be in a hospital where he can be 
monitored and his treatment more closely regulated." 

"There is no treatment, nothing effective anyway. And just for 
the record, I happen to agree with you, but he's made his own 
decision." 

The wheelchair arrived pushed by a young volunteer worker, 
who rolled it over to the bed. 

"I know Mulder," Scully said, "He needs to work. Take that 
away and it would kill him anyway." 

Watts nodded, thanking the young man. "I'll take it from here." 

At Mulder's room, Watts left her. Scully left the wheelchair at 
the door and softly padded in and over the head of the bed 
that contained a somewhat pale but generally peaceful looking 
Mulder. 

But for the machines whirring and beeping, the room was 
quiet. 

She took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting out a 
breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. Mulder stirred 
under the oxygen mask but did not wake up. However his vitals 
she decided, after a look at the machines hooked up to him, 
were normal. 

There was nothing about the readings that at this juncture would
indicate anything abnormal regarding the physical state of the 
man on the bed but that he was a healthy middle aged male. 
No hint at all of the hidden demon sickness that possessed his 
body and that would soon make its presence more pronounced 
when it's other worldy hands molded its own body out of his, 
until nothing human would be left of him and Fox Mulder ceased 
to exist. 

"Oh, god, Mulder." Scully said to herself and to him. "What are
we doing?" 

Scully sighed, thinking once again of Emily. "You, Mulder, 
_are_ meant to be, you _are_. I just don't understand." 

She hadn't prayed since Mulder's diagnosis and she and God 
barely tolerated one another now. But Scully wheeled
herself to the hospital chapel and lit candles for him, praying
silently for a miracle, mouthing the words silently. 

"Hear me, hear me..." she prayed. 

No other words came to mind but if God read hearts as the 
good Fathers claimed, her tiny prayer said it all. 

Scully felt that if God did not hear her this time, his silence 
would cause their tenuous bond, wove with painstaking 
effort over the last ten years, would be severed forever. 

*** 

Mulder woke to a red halo surrounding the face of a china doll. 

Scully smiled at him but here eyes were lined with worry. "Hi." 

"Hi." He answered. "We're still around to annoy Skinner, huh?" 

"Yes." 

He was happy to see that got a smile out of those baby 
blues. 

"Mulder. You've been out for nearly twenty hours." 

By long experience Mulder knew she was leading the conversation
up to something. Bad news. Something he did not want to hear.
In this instance, he knew the maze and the trap waiting at the
end. 

"And," Scully continued, "Keeping you on this case is endangering
your life." 

"Don't put me behind a desk, Scully." 

She drew her mouth into a thin line. "Mulder, I'm your supervisor
and in my opinion, the risk is too high to-" 

"-You're my supervisor and you're senior agent, yes, but you're also
supposed to be my friend." He softened his tone that he knew
was reeking of anxiety on its way to anger. "And more than that.
Please don't take me off the case. I _have_ to know. That's all
I want, Scully. I have to have that answer I've been looking for
for,...too long to quit now." 

She set her face aginst him, intending to argue the point. But his
expression was one of near terror that she was going to take away 
his one last chance to find those truths he so desperately sought. 

Scully saw that expression and gave in. "Okay. But one more incident
like yesterday, one more situation where your life is threatened and
I'll recommend Skinner pull the plug on your field work." 

He took her hand. "Thanks, Scully." He thought for a moment. "Your
"source", the informant, has he contacted you since the last time?" 

"No, and I don't expect him to. He said he might not be able to
and that he really had nothing more to tell me." 

"How certain are you that this group he spoke of aren't just another
collection of Cancerman groupies?" 

"Fairly sure. He knew about my abduction. He knows about the 
children. And he knows an awful lot about you and your work, he 
said he followed your career ever since Violent Crimes. He said that 
at one time he had worked for Unit himself. I checked the data base 
by the way and couldn't find any photos resembling him at all. Some 
agents back then had no photo identifications though, in particular 
those who worked in covert operations." 

Mulder nodded. "He mentioned Gibson Praise and Emily?" 

"Yes. And Steven, you remember him?" 

Mulder nodded. The little boy with the stigmata, the case that had 
sent Scully scurrying for her faith once again after years of 
disassociation from the church. 

"He thinks these people think these children are holy. If that's true, 
why didn't they kill Gibson?" Mulder asked. 

"We never did learn what happened to Gibson Mulder. He may be 
dead." 

"Gibson was part alien." 

"We never proved that, remember." 

"What do you think he was? Some kind of angel in the flesh? Why 
would God allow a child to be kidnaped and abused?" 

"I don't have the answers to that. What I do have are speculations
and no evidence one way or another. We also never heard from his 
parents again either." 

"Gibson could read minds. He knew what Cancer Man knew. If he's 
still alive, if we could find him-" 

"-Mulder. Today, if he's still alive at all, Gibson would be about twenty
years old." 

"Twenty? Are we that old?" 

"Yes." She smiled but thought "and not getting any younger or anymore
healthy." 

"You are in no shape to go out looking anyway." Scully reminded him. 
"There's something inside you that's killing you. Alien, human, animal or 
mineral, it is something foreign and if we don't focus our energy into 
battling it, that is one war we are going to lose. That's where your 
greatest fight should be, Mulder. Right here, right now." 

"I can't just sit around and do nothing, Scully.-" 

"-You won't. I said you can continue in the field and you can, but off 
duty we're going to seek answers for what's happening inside you. I 
respect your quest for truth, Mulder, but at the very least I want you 
to concede that you may not find all those answers in the time left 
to you. 

"Those truths will always keep for others to seek." She placed her 
hand on his chest and it slowly rose and fell with him as his breath 
entered and left lungs that in only weeks, would be gasping for 
oxygen as they hardened into useless cocoons.

"The rest is in here, in you, and that's the answer I want more than any." 

He pulled her hand to his mouth. "I love you."

*** 

TWO WEEKS POST ENMS DIAGNOSIS.

"You're relatively stable. For now." Scully emphasized
to him. 

Mulder sighed up at her from the bed, the guest bed
in her guest bedroom. 

Because of the illness, she reminded herself, looking at 
his nude chest, abdomen and groin area barely covered 
by the thinnest of sheets, that's why the _guest_ bedroom. 
Last night, he'd, without warning, run a temperature. His 
blood pressure on the rise - and hers - she had quickly 
stabilized him and in an hour or so he'd been fine. But it 
had scared her and clinched what Watts had already 
emphasized. 

No sex. No lovemaking and no even sharing the same bed
together in case either one got the raging hormones and 
ceased to resist the urges of sex. A chance taken like that 
could be hazardous. Or deadly. 

No cuddling, even, because even that, just that simple act
of providing physical and emotional comfort could raise his
temperature again, or worse his blood pressure. 

He had argued with her about it. She argued back, adamant
in following doctors orders yet hating every doctor, physician 
and researcher in the world who were shrugging their shoulders 
and telling her "sorry-there's-nothing-we-can-do"... 

"Do not touch him." Watts had said, making her nearly collapse
right there in his office. She knew of course, it would come to 
that, but not so soon. 

Emily's last moments were spent behind a glass partition, 
screaming for her mommy. 

"Mulder. Monday we go to work, just like always. Today you
rest and you rest all damn day, either in here or on the couch.
You will chase no aliens, no baseballs in the park,..." 

She kept her voice light, teasing in fact, because her emotions 
were so tied up, and her body in such need of touching him, that 
this seemed the only connecting allowed - talking. Voices verbalizing 
and exchanging thoughts and feelings. Just like they used to so 
many years ago when they were first partnered. 

"...no ice-cream trucks down the street. You will not jog in place nor 
dribble a basketball and you will not, but any means what-so-ever, 
watch any of your own videos as long as you are sick. Doctor's 
orders." 

He smiled up at her, one arm tucked behind his head, the other 
on his stomach. Sick or not, he looked wonderful in her bed. 
Smoothly muscled, masculine and made for her. The illness, at 
that warm moment, seemed an error in diagnostics. A mistake. A 
terrible, frightening, heart-tearing mistake that could be laughed 
off later in years with a "Weren't we silly to believe...?" Any minute 
now, Watts would call and tell her so. "We mixed up the charts"... 

Mulder raised his arms above his head and moved under the 
sheet, stretching like a languid tom cat just waking up and getting 
ready for a night of prowling. 

Mulder, to her always desirable though, when dressed, a gentleman, 
looked at that moment, so unmistakably sensual, so in-her-face sexy, 
it shot a bolt of desire straight to her loins flushing her pink. 

But in that way, body on body, she could never touch him again. 

Not even if he wanted it. "Scully, come here." 

"No." Now it was time for the teasing to stop and she drew away 
a good yard, even if her feet wanted to walk her over there so 
she could do the opposite and lie down on top of him. Her mind 
was filled with images of Mulder on her, in her, moving around 
and moaning, coming in her, it made her sick with desire. Wanting
him so badly, a sob nearly burst from her lips as she quickly
turned away. 

The only escape was to never touch him. Not even get too close
to him. "No, Mulder. We talked about this, I just told you..." Scully
had recovered her composure almost instantly and he suspected
nothing. 

She could hear the rustle of sheets as he pushed them aside. 

"I know. All I want is a kiss. Just one kiss? What harm can it do?" 

She faced him again, face and attitude perfectly Scully. "It could 
raise your blood pressure." 

He sighed and turned his face away. "This,...I hate this." 

Scully wrapped her robe tightly around her. Last night was his 
first night home from the hospital. Along with Mulder, she had 
acquired several machines and other equipment designated for 
emergency purposes. Cooling blankets if his temperature spiked 
for any reason, like the previous evening. Oxygen tanks and 
breathing apparatus in case he had any hyperventilating
episodes. Scully looked across her second bedroom room at it. 
One whole dresser was covered with equipment all set up and 
ready to use at a moments notice. 

"Come on, time for your low fat, designer breakfast." She said, 
retreating behind the mental armor of humor and to the physically
remote safety of the hallway. 

"Oh, I can hardly wait. Mmmm, non-salted albumin substitute
_baked_, not fried, so as not to clog my already hardening arteries.
Plain flat, cous-cous bread with no butter, only unsweetened 
raspberry jam and a mug of luke-warm water." 

'It's designed to keep you alive and healthy, Mulder. You're going 
to eat it. All of it." 

"You sure are bossy." 

"I'm your partner and your doctor. Did you expect any less?" 

He threw back the covers and sat up, slowly, as he'd been instructed 
to. Scully got an eyeful of nude Mulder before turning her back and 
exiting to the kitchen. He'd done it on purpose to tease, give her a 
thrill, make her change her mind about the kiss and maybe other 
things. Lots of reasons probably. She'd have to be on guard and 
ready to ignore such tactics. And with a physical specimen like 
Mulder, it wasn't going to be easy. 

"_Luke-warm_ shower." She called after him. 

"Yes, warden." He said.