They ate hot dogs from a vendor, sitting on a bench on the banks 
of the Potomac.  He told her everything, starting back with 
Massachusetts, starting with Morgan's trance and finishing with his 
blinding insight over the bathroom sink.  

"I didn't want to tell you," he said slowly, staring at the river.  "It 
would have made it real, too real.  I didn't know what to think."

Scully put a gentle hand on his arm.  "Mulder, even if this woman 
exists, it doesn't mean she's Samantha."

"I know."  He slanted her a rueful look.  "I know, believe me.  But 
that damned stubborn bitch hasn't been wrong yet.  Come on, I 
want to get back, Sharon's going to call me when she gets her 
packed onto a plane.  I don't want it sitting in my voice mail."

She rose with him.  "Mulder, don't make more of it than it is, yet."  
Her tone was cautious.  "If it is what you think, maybe it wouldn't 
hurt to talk to Skinner."

He gave her an incredulous look.  "Skinner?"

"Mulder, he's not the enemy, remember?"

He turned and started walking back toward the office.  "He doesn't 
have any more power than I do," he snapped.  "And he's a damned 
sight more visible."

She caught up with him quickly.  "Just think about it, Mulder, 
okay."

He did, all the way back to his office, and did not change his 
opinion.


In the air:  July 5, 2:00 pm

Morgan wished ardently for drugs, for anything that would quell 
her mind and let her sleep on the flight.  The paperback languished 
in her lap while she stared out at the clouds, thoughts flying this 
way and that.

Marc had been murdered, she was certain of it now.  But it was all 
so clumsy, so stupid.  Unless, of course, all the dead had been 
honest, refusing to be frightened or bought.  But human nature 
wasn't that way, she wasn't sure, given a threat to Aarin, to the 
others she loved, that she couldn't be frightened into silence.  

She would prefer not to face that fact, but it was inescapable.  

And now, what was she going to do?  Having put her hand into the 
wasp's nest, how to get it out without being stung, possibly to 
death? 

And then there was Mulder to consider.  How had he guessed she 
was going to Jackson?  Sharon hadn't known, and there had been 
little time for discussion.  

As canny and careful as Sharon was, there had been enough cash 
for her ticket, on a flight that had even then begun to board.  She 
had barely made it before they closed the gate.  Which was, she 
was morally certain, Sharon's intent, to give no observer time to 
discern where she was going, which flight she was on.  

She wouldn't have thought of that herself, which showed how ill-
equipped she was for the game into which she'd stumbled.  

Amanda Fortenberry had once had a brother named Fox.  Not 
definitive proof, perhaps, but highly probable.  Mulder had told her 
that his sister had been abducted, during one of their long, late 
night telephone talks after her return from Massachusetts, but had 
not told her the circumstances.  

She wondered how he had borne it, it must have been terrifying, it 
*was* terrifying--listening to Amanda, she had felt cold to the 
marrow, zero at the bone.

Settling back, she tried to center, tried to calm her mind, but with 
little success.  Finally, over Ohio, she sank into a restless doze.

..........She is in the car with Aarin and is terrified, a man stands by 
the window, menacing her--she can see Stoddard in the other car, 
the one that has driven her from the road.

The man at the window smiles coldly and raises a gun to the 
window.  In the achingly slow motion of dreams, she raises her 
hand helplessly against it, screaming when the bullet strikes Aarin 
in the head, shattering his skull, blood spraying everywhere........

Gasping, Morgan sat upright, felt the armrest under her right arm 
and felt weak with relief.

"Ma'am, we're getting ready to land, you need to raise your seat."   
The stewardess leaned toward her.  "Ma'am?"

"Yes," she said shakily, the dream still too close, the images 
making her tremble.  Fumbling, she pushed the button and raised 
the seat, sitting frozen as the plane did, indeed, land, as it taxied to 
the gate, a long waiting that made her want to scream for real.

As always, it seemed to take another eternity in hell before she 
could get off the plane.  Wanting to sprint, she managed to avoid 
drawing attention, but moved steadily around and through the 
people who had disembarked before her, coming out in the 
terminal to see Fox Mulder standing there, his expression grim. 

Fright made her stomach knot; he took her arm and led her out of 
the waiting area.

"Is Aarin all right?" she blurted, feeling a little irrational as the 
dream tainted her waking thoughts; he gave her a sidelong look.

"As far as I know."  Stopping, he took her into his arms for a brief, 
hard hug.  "Morgan, it's okay, at least for now.  But we've got to 
be careful--what the hell is in that package you sent?"

"We have to talk."  Gratitude for his presence made her knees feel 
weak. 

"Damned right," he growled.

"No, I mean we really have to talk."  She lifted her face.  "Get me 
out of here, please."

"Did you check anything?"

"No, just this carryon."

Releasing her, he put his arm around her.  "Smile, Morgan.  Just 
another reunited couple, okay."

She nodded, forcing herself to smile, to lean up on tiptoes and kiss 
his mouth.  "I missed you," she said gaily.

"Me, too."  His eyes approved, his expression softened.  "For real.  
Let's go." 

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

"Did you bring the package?"  Morgan peered into the back seat.

"Yeah, I stuffed it in the glove compartment."  He put on his 
sunglasses and started the car.  "What is it?"

"Tapes."  She found what she sought and tucked it into her carryon 
bag.

He looked at her, eyes invisible behind the dark lenses.  "Amanda 
Fortenberry, Morgan.  Is she my sister?"

She had dreaded that question.  "I think so," she said softly.

He sat very still for a long moment before pulling out of the 
parking place. 

The drive was mostly silent for a long time.

Mulder finally broke the silence.  "I want to hear those tapes."

"Not yet, Mulder."  Morgan bit her lip.  "We need to talk and 
somewhere privately.  And not in the damned car."

"Agreed."  He moved into the left lane.  "Not my apartment, I 
don't know whether or not they're still listening in on me, but I 
don't want to take any chances."

She looked at him.  "Listening in on you?"

"I've been looking for my sister for a long time.  Looking for the 
truth."  His smile was savage.  "And they keep jerking me around."

Trying to imagine that made her head ache.  "Mulder, how long 
has this been going on?"

"Since I was twelve.  Since they took her."  His jaw set and he 
looked at her briefly.  "Practically speaking?  Since I got out of 
VCS, since I had the regression done."

Survivor's guilt, she thought and closed her eyes.  Some of Walter 
Skinner's cryptic remarks made sense now.  He was as demon 
driven as she was, only this was personal loss; she could only dimly 
imagine how it had affected his family. "There's a studio some of 
us share, in Alexandria.  Let's see if there's anyone there now.  It's 
as good a place as any, and it has a tape player."

"Okay," he said, and that was all for a long, long time.

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


She only played the second side of the first tape for him.  She 
didn't dare play anything after that, afraid that he'd go nuclear on 
her when he heard the details of Samantha's erasure, when he 
listened to what she remembered of their father's friend.

As it was, he listened to that in silence, sitting next to her on the 
studio floor; but when he lifted his head to look at her, she saw 
tears.  "Is she really my sister?"

Her heart ached for him.  Leaning closer, she put one arm around 
his neck.  "I think so, Mulder.  I really do."

His head bowed.  "She said the boogeyman came," he whispered.  
"What was it?  Who was it?"

"I don't know.  Maybe--maybe it was some kind of hallucinogen, 
Mulder, I don't know.  They drugged you both, from the sound of 
it.  She said they poked you and you fell down.  She said they 
poked *her* and she stopped screaming."   She thought of the 
shape she'd briefly glimpsed outside the garage and repressed the 
desire to shiver.

"Drugged."   Mulder laughed raggedly and raised his head.  "You 
know, in almost twenty-five years, I never once thought of that.  
Everytime my dad hit me, everytime he asked me why I let them 
take her, I could have told him."  His voice was raw with pain.  
"And he knew, he chose her, and punished me for the choice."

She hadn't known that.  

It seemed there was a great deal she hadn't known.  Resting her 
forehead against his cheek, she ran her fingertips through the hair 
at the nape of his neck.  "It was never your fault," she murmured, 
"Fox, it never was."

"I couldn't have stopped them," he whispered, if if he'd finally 
internalized that knowledge.  His voice held nearly a quarter 
century of pain. 

"No," she agreed, her voice soft.  "You couldn't have stopped 
them."

Tears came again.  "Oh, God, all these years, I never really 
believed that."  He turned to face her.  "I never did, Morgan."

"You were convinced otherwise," she whispered, blinded by her 
own tears; putting her arms around him, she pressed her cheek 
against his hair.

He pulled her closer, face to face and kissed her with bruising 
force, tears forgotten in a more primitive emotion.  "She really is 
alive," he whispered, drawing back for a moment, cupping her face 
in his hands.  "She really is."  And he kissed her hard again, pulling 
her down to the floor with him.

It was more an affirmation of life than any act of desire, she knew.  
There was nothing of play, just raw need, but she had her own and 
met his with that.

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

Annapolis:  July 5, 10:01 pm

"Scully, I need your help."

Sitting up in bed, Scully sighed and glanced back at her 
companion.  Geoff rolled his eyes and put his arms under his head, 
his gaze appreciative.  "Mulder, this isn't a good time."

"Please, Scully, just listen to me.  Morgan's found my sister, I 
think, but she's going to be getting some genetic work done.  Can 
you arrange that for me?" 

Stunned, Scully looked at the phone in her hand before putting it 
back to her ear.  "Now?"

"No, of course not."  His tone was impatient.  "But this week?"

"Sure, Mulder."  She swallowed hard, letting the news settle.  
"Mulder, don't get your hopes up too far yet."

"You haven't heard the tape, Scully."  He hung up.

Tape?  Jesus God, there was another damned tape.  

Resting her forehead on her knees, Scully sighed, wondering what 
lay ahead and dreading it.

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

For the first time, Mulder stayed with Morgan, amused at the 
difference between them.  

Where he avoided his bedroom unless he was entertaining, 
Morgan's was her sanctuary, full of books and notebooks and 
papers, the computer desk sitting in the corner and likewise 
stacked with books.  

The four-poster bed was plush--queensized, full of pillows, a full 
and expensive comforter at the foot, sheets of Egyptian cotton.  

She caught his expression and blushed.  "Hey, I'm a hedonist when 
it comes to my room."

He put an arm around her waist.  "I approve of hedonism," he told 
her lightly.  "But do you think you have enough pillows?  Is there 
some reason that bed looks like it belongs in a harem?  And what 
does a midget like you need with a bed that big?"

"Huh, that's exaggeration.  Plain cotton sheets--"  She yelped when 
he poked her ribs.  "Okay, I have this pillow fetish, I like piling 
them all over and sinking back against them."

"I can think of a few uses," he smirked and found room for real 
humor.  "You know, under your--"

She put two fingers over his mouth, blushing again.  "Behave 
yourself, Mulder."  A small presence made itself known.  Looking 
down, she sighed.  "Hi, sweetie.  Mama just tucked you in, you're 
supposed to be in bed."

Mulder chuckled.  "He brought his book, Mom.  I think he's trying 
to tell you something.  Come here, Aarin, let's let Mama get settled 
down, I'll read to you if you like."

Aarin tipped his head, regarding Mulder with narrowed eyes, then 
nodded and climbed onto the big bed, holding tight to his bear.

Slanting Morgan a grin, Mulder sat down on the foot, a safe 
distance away and opened the book.  After a bemused moment, 
Morgan joined them, sitting behind them, chin propped on her 
hand as Mulder began to read.

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

"Nice kid," Mulder murmured, near sleep later.  "Good taste in 
reading material."

Morgan shifted slightly, tucking his hand across her hip.  "Mm-
hmm."  She sounded pretty near sleep herself.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips across the nape of her neck.  

"Thanks," he whispered and closed his eyes.

After a moment, she stirred again.  "For what?" she asked sleepily.

He sighed, drifting.  "For being there," he muttered, "For being 
honest with me.  Hell, for letting me ravish you there in the 
studio."

She made a sound like laughter in her throat.  "Just don't let it 
happen again," she murmured and patted his leg.  "Sleep, Mulder."

"Fox," he muttered and nipped her on the shoulder.

"Fox," she agreed and yawned.

Letting himself drift again, he kept flashing on images of the 
snapshots Morgan had brought, pressed on her by Amanda--by 
Samantha.  

God, it was crazy to let himself be so sure, not when he hadn't seen 
anything remotely resembling physical proof, but he was anyway.  
He was an uncle, he had a sister, Sam was alive.

On that thought, he let himself go under, for once believing that he 
might escape the dreams that haunted him for so many years....

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

Morgan woke, thinking she'd heard Aarin, woke and slipped from 
bed without waking Mulder.

Aarin slept soundly, Bear tucked under his chin, his usual position 
curled on his side..  

Relieved, she turned back to her room, only to hear a sound again, 
something that seemed resonate in her head, rather than against her 
eardrums.

It seemed to come from outside the house; moving silently through 
the hallway, she went to the window above the stairs and looked 
out, frowning.  

A cat, she told herself, but that odd sensation in her head persisted.

Remembering what she had seen--or thought she had seen--a few 
weeks earlier, she studied the shadows and saw nothing.  As she 
turned to go back to bed, unsatisfied, but convincing herself that 
her always vivid imagination was working overtime, she glanced 
down the hallway to the window opposite, near the back staircase 
and froze where she stood.

A pale shape stood there, limned in the moonlight, a shape out of 
dream and myth, more a silhouette than anything else.  The shape 
Coyote had drawn in the desert.

Her mouth was too dry to swallow, too dry to speak; heart 
pounding, she sidestepped as silent as a shadow and reached up for 
the light switch. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she flicked it on 
and peered--as she had half hoped and half feared, there was 
nothing there.

"Hey," Mulder's voice was sleepy; he stood in her doorway in his 
shorts, peering at her against the light.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing."  Morgan swallowed, trying to slow her heart.  "I 
thought I heard something, that's all."

He gave her an impassive look.  "So you came running out here in 
your nightshirt to deal with it."  His tone was less than promising.

"I thought it was a cat," she told him hastily, trying to forestall an 
argument. 

"You've got three cats in the house," Mulder pointed out.

"It was outside," she added, a half-truth if ever there was one.  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake anyone."

"You sleep worse than me," he grumbled.  "Come on back to bed."

She clicked the light off, her eyes moving back to the end of the 
hallway again, seeing nothing more than the window.  "Right 
away," she agreed softly, and bit her lip.

She was being warned, she thought.  Going to take comfort in his 
presence; she put her arms around him and her face in his chest.  "I 
must have been dreaming,"  she said aloud and sighed.  "Come on, 
G-man, let's go back to sleep."


July 6, 10:00 am

"You did what?"  Geoff was furious, a fact revealed that the faint 
British accent became more pronounced and clipped.  "Have you 
completely lost your mind, Morgan?"

Mulder and Scully had been included in this meeting of the house 
as a result of their professional affiliation, rather than any 
ambiguous reading of their respective relationships with house 
members.  

Nevertheless, Morgan was grateful for Mulder's presence beside 
her at the diningroom table; everyone else looked at her as if she'd 
done something particularly heinous and it made her throat go 
tight.  "I regressed Amanda Fortenberry," she repeated softly, 
"And I'm still alive, Geoff, and I've taken precautions."

"Precautions!"  He stood up, pacing to the kitchen door; Scully's 
eyes followed him, but her expression was calm, impassive.  "Did 
you ever stop to think that you're putting everyone in this 
household at risk with this?  did you ever stop to think that you 
might be putting Aarin at risk?"

That was a low blow, Morgan thought and glanced away without 
speaking, her throat tight, her stomach starting to knot.

He turned back to rest both hands on the table.  "Did you ever stop 
to think at all?" he snapped.  "Bloody hell, Morgan, you've got a 
death wish, but that doesn't mean the rest of us do!"

"That's enough," Mulder spoke suddenly, but his tone was mild.  "I 
realize that I can't be counted on for an objective assessment of 
Morgan's wisdom in this instance, but I think you're exaggerating.  
She's got an more than one ace here, Geoff, and they will have no 
idea of what she's holding.  Not yet."

"Don't give me that," Geoff scowled at him.  "You can't be any 
happier about this than I am, Fox, I know your temper better than 
that."

"You're wrong about that." Mulder leaned forward, his expression 
intent.  "Amanda Fortenberry is evidently my sister, Samantha, 
abducted in 1971."

The silence lasted a long, long time.

"Geoff, we've got the tapes now."  Scully's voice was even.  "And 
they're in a safe place."

Morgan flicked her a grateful look and Scully acknowledged it 
with one swift glance before continuing.  "But I think it would be 
wise for Morgan to avoid contact with Amanda for the time being.  
We're arranging for a third party to keep Amanda updated--but 
don't you think, if she is Samantha Mulder, she has the right to 
have her family back again?"

Geoff gave her a grudging nod.  Sharon, Emily and Jon, Emily's 
significant other, had remained silent.  

Now, Sharon leaned forward, sighing.  "All right, but I'm getting 
you out to the range again, Morgan.  You haven't been lately, I 
want you ready if something does happen.  I should have made you 
go before Massachusetts."

"All right."  Morgan swallowed.  Sharon was behind her, whether 
she was angry or not; she wished Geoff had been.

"You'll want to be extra careful with Aarin," Mulder told Emily 
softly.  "And keep an eye out for strange cars you might see on the 
street, or which seem to be following you."

Emily paled a little.  "Okay."  She reached for Jon's hand.  "And I 
won't take him alone anywhere."

"Good idea."  Morgan leaned back against Mulder's shoulder, 
feeling warmed by his presence.  "And neither will I."  Mulder 
linked his hand with hers, which further comforted her.

"In the meantime." Scully stood up with her coffee cup.  "Mulder 
and I will take what steps we can.  We're still here and in one 
piece."  She smiled faintly, but Morgan saw there was no humor in 
her eyes.  "Despite efforts to the contrary."

Geoff spread his hands helplessly.  "There's really nothing else to 
say, then, is there?  What's done is done, there's only the cleanup 
after."  He flicked a hard look at Morgan and walked into the 
kitchen without another word, and that hurt worse than anything 
else.

"He's pretty upset," Sharon said unnecessarily.  "Girl, I don't want 
to tell you your business, but you know he doesn't take surprises 
well."

"I was surprised, too."  But Morgan made no other attempt to 
defend herself; Geoff wasn't entirely wrong.  If she had known 
what the secret was, she might have thought twice before rushing 
in.  "Fools rush in," she said aloud, meeting Sharon's gaze.

Emily laughed softly.  "Morgan, I'm sure it will be fine.  Remember 
the case in San Francisco?  And nothing came of that."

Mulder arched a questioning eyebrow.  She squeezed his hand 
lightly.  "Old news," she sighed, "Thanks, Em, Jon.  I appreciate it 
your staying."

"Don't be silly," Jon mock-frowned at her.  "Think how much 
trouble you'd get into without us."

Morgan managed a faint smile.  "I shudder to think."

Scully had gone in the kitchen after Geoff; Sharon drifted in there 
after a while, and Emily went to check on Aarin, presently 
watching a Disney video in the livingroom.

Mulder leaned closer and brushed a kiss on her temple.  "He got to 
you."

"Uh-huh."  Morgan looked away, her eyes stinging.  "No matter 
what, he's been there, supporting me.  I think I just went over the 
line."

"Chasing ghosts and monsters is okay," Mulder told her drily, "But 
taking on the government isn't.  Hmmm.  Somewhere, I'd say our 
perception of the government has taken a major nosedive."

"Geoff's British by birth."  She leaned against his shoulder.  "You 
oughta hear him go on about the monarchy."

"I'd rather not," he murmured and rubbed the back of her neck.  
"Having just heard him go on about this."

She smiled faintly.  "Be fair, you didn't want me going, either."

"I am being fair.  I do wish that you hadn't gone.  I had someone 
checking the Fortenberrys out already--I wish like hell you weren't 
involved in this, Morgan.  But you are, let's just deal with it."  His 
eyes were very intense, gazing down at her.  "And deal with it very 
carefully.  Scully and I are going out to talk to these people we 
know; we'll get some insurance started by spreading out the 
number of copies and who has them."  His brows drew together.  
"You'll have to give me the tapes."

"I'll give them to Scully." She slipped out of the chair.  "I don't 
think you're at all ready to hear them, Fox.  Not all of them."

His mouth flattened out in anger, but he kept his temper.   "Is that 
a
therapeutic analysis?"

That made her feel worse than if he'd shouted at her.  Putting her 
hands on his shoulders from behind, she gently kneaded at the 
knots.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "That's a personal analysis and 
I know I have no right to make it.  But I'm afraid for you."

After a moment, he took one of her hands and kissed the palm 
lightly.  "I'm not that fragile, Morgan," he sighed.  "Not these days, 
anyway.  But okay, I'll respect that for the moment, given that I've 
already heard the most pertinent part."

She hoped he really believed that; even doubting him, she was 
grateful for the trust that let him say it, even if it wasn't true.  
"Thank you."

He turned sideways in the chair and pulled her against him.  "De 
nada," he muttered and gently pinched her backside.  "It occurs to 
me, by the way, that maybe I don't have enough pillows at my 
place.  I slept pretty soundly last night."

Morgan grinned.  "Well, that can be remedied easily.  Get your 
charge card out, Mulder, and I'll pack up the kid, we'll go and get 
you pillows." 

It lightened her eyes enough that he was tempted.  "After Scully 
and I get back," he told her softly and touched the tip of her nose 
with a gentle fingertip.   

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

Once back in Mulder's car, Scully turned to examine her partner's 
profile.  "Mulder, if this is true, we've got to be more than careful.  
You haven't exactly been keeping your relationship with Morgan a 
secret, and we're already associated with her."

"I know."  He was brooding, she could see that.  "Geoff was pretty 
hard on her." 

"He's worried."  Scully refused to allow herself get drawn into 
defending Geoff, though God knew she could understand his 
feelings.  "Mulder, I can't help their disagreements, but I can 
empathize--I feel the same way when you hare off into the wilds 
without so much as telling me."

He flicked her a glance, but she was relieved to see no sign of 
temper.  "Yeah.  Did she give you the tapes?"

Scully shifted in her seat, a little uncomfortable.  "Yes, and she 
made me promise not to give them to you, Mulder."  She was 
freshly relieved to see a humorous grimace.  "I know, and you 
know, that you've heard and seen worse, but she's worried, too."

"Everyone's worried."  He sounded more amused than anything, 
now.  "I'm worried about her, you're worried about both of us, 
Geoff's worried about everyone."

Scully grinned ruefully.  "I'm glad you're taking it so lightly."

He shrugged.  "When can we get those tests done?"

"I'll call a classmate of mine."  Scully sobered.  "Mulder, be careful, 
please don't hope too much."

He slanted her another look.  "I'm maintaining, Scully," he told her, 
but there was a tautness underlying his voice that made her doubt.  
"That's all I can do."

She knew it was true.

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

Frohicke managed to provide Mulder enough distraction that she 
was able to get a set of tapes for herself without him noticing.  By 
using a little bit of persuasion, she convinced Frohicke to give 
Mulder only one tape, the tape he had already heard.  

At that, her partner gave her a narrow-eyed look that made the 
other three in the room look around, wishing vainly for somewhere 
else to be, but he confined himself to remarking that it was nice 
that so many people knew what was good for him.

Scully was just thankful it had been Morgan's idea and not her 
own.

She played the tapes once she was home, using her Walkman and 
headphones to listen.  Once Geoff arrived, she made him listen to 
them as well, feeling he owed Morgan something, even if it was the 
vicarious suffering, listening to a child being tormented by adults 
for the sake of a shadowy conspiracy.   

For the sake of punishing William Mulder.  

She found she quite thorougly despised William Mulder, more than 
she had ever admitted to herself.  On behalf of his son, who had 
suffered beatings and blame; on behalf of his daughter, suffering 
the loss of her family, of her memories; on behalf of both, still 
suffering from what William Mulder had done all those years ago.

Geoff was pale when the hiss of the Walkman had stopped.  

Taking off the headset, he looked up at her.  "Dana, it doesn't 
matter.  Do you think I want Morgan dead?  Jesus, now you're 
involved, you and Fox both."  He rose and went to stand at her 
window, staring blindly out at the street.  "It's a damned dangerous 
business.  What makes you think these bloody-minded bastards 
won't come after all of you?"

"Times change," she told him, hoping it was true, "And we've 
gotten some small bits of insurance over the years.  Mulder's too 
public, too outspoken--if they take him out, they create a martyr."  
Moving to stand behind him, she put an arm around his waist.  
"Geoff, it's not just us.  I'm going to take these in to Skinner on 
Monday, talk to him.  He says he's no longer in a position of 
power, but he may have some ideas."

Geoff sighed and pulled her to him, resting his cheek against her 
hair.  "God, Dana, be very, very careful."

"I will."  Scully closed her eyes, breathing in the scent that could 
be no one else:  Geoff.  Did she love him?  Too soon for careful, 
practical Dana Katherine Scully to tell.  But he made her feel 
something she hadn't felt for a long time, he listened to her, and 
even though she couldn't share all that she was and all that she did, 
she felt comfortable with him.  "Believe me, I will."
 
*****************************************************
Washington DC:  July 8

On Monday, Scully paid a visit to Skinner when she got into the 
office.  

He looked faintly surprised to see her; they went through the usual 
amenities before she felt comfortable coming to the point.

"Sir," she began, studying him, weighing what she knew of him and 
all that he had done for them before betraying her partner.  It hurt 
to do this, it felt like a betrayal of Mulder, but she was convinced, 
after hearing the tapes, that it was the best wisdom she could offer.  
"Sir, something's come up, something that may prove to be a 
problem."  

Skinner's expression, she thought, became resigned.  "Problem?"

"Well, I think so."  Scully swallowed, still assessing him.  "Morgan 
Grayson's gotten into something I think you should be aware of , 
sir.  She, ah, believes she has located Agent Mulder's sister.  She 
apparently told him while in trance, up in Massachusetts."

There was a moment of silence.  A long moment of silence.

"She had no memory of it," Scully added, feeling more 
uncomfortable than she had felt in years.  "She was working on 
something else, in California, and came across a woman she 
believes to be Samantha Mulder."  

Reaching into her purse, she withdrew the tapes Frohicke had 
given her.  "These tapes are of the regression she performed on 
this woman."

Skinner regarded the tapes in her hand as if he thought they might 
suddenly transform into a venomous snake.  "Tapes."  He shook 
his head fractionally and looked directly at her.  "I take it Agent 
Mulder is aware of this development."

"I'm afraid so," she sighed.  "He is trying to maintain some 
emotional distance, but it's very difficult not to believe what he's 
heard.  To be honest, sir, if not for all the deceptions we've been 
through, I wouldn't have any hesitation about it.  It's very 
convincing, and I do trust Morgan.  But if this woman had been--
prepared, and truly believes that she's Samantha Mulder...."  Her 
voice trailed off for a moment.  "Sir, I think you should hear 
them."

His brows were drawn together.  "Leave them," he said and took 
his glasses off to rub his eyes.  "You know, when I took this job, 
Agent Scully, I knew there would be political games required.  I 
just don't think I ever imagined the extent."  In spite of the 
weariness in his voice, he slanted her an ironic smile.  "It isn't quite 
so easy to tell who the enemy is, is it?"

"No, sir," she agreed, equally ironic, remembering a night little 
more than a year ago, when she had held a gun on him.  "That's 
certainly the truth."

"I'll do what I can."  He leaned forward to pick up one of the 
tapes.  "Damn Mulder and damn Morgan Grayson.  I didn't know I 
was going to have to start worrying about her, too."

Taken by surprise, Scully laughed softly.  "Neither did Mulder."

His smile was rueful enough that she suspected he knew what she 
meant, that he was aware of the relationship that had begun 
between two equally wary, equally prickly individuals.  "You 
know, there was a time I thought you and Mulder had carried your 
relationship beyond professional boundaries, Scully."

She rose, feeling amused.  "We have, sir.  Just not to the extent 
most people seem to imagine."

He nodded, and his eyes glinted.  "He has a way of inspiring--
loyalty." 

That made her sober abruptly.  

She wondered if he had inspired it in Skinner, or if it was still 
about Skinner's orthodox sense of right and wrong.  "Yes, sir, he 
does.  It's probably the fact that he's capable of such loyalty 
himself."

"No doubt," Skinner agreed drily.  "Keep him out of trouble, 
Scully.  I'll make some inquiries.  And I'll keep these safe until I 
know what to do with them."

She nodded again.  "Thank you, sir."

When she was at the door, he spoke again.  "Agent Scully, I take it 
Agent Mulder does not know you've given these to me?"

She paused, vaguely troubled by the tone of his voice.  "No, sir." 

He nodded and let her go, then, staring down at the tapes as if they 
were explosives, waiting to go off.


Washington DC:  July 8, 11:15 pm

Beep.

"This is Walter Skinner.  I'd like to leave a message for Ambrose 
Bierce to call me.  I'd be very interested in talking to him."

***************************************************
Washington DC:  July 11, 12:14 pm

Different cafe, same companion.  This time, Skinner ate his lunch.  
It was, after all, paid for.

Jones had been almost excited about the tapes, hiding it quickly 
beneath his dispassionate mask.  

"This is excellent, if true," he murmured, slipping the envelope into 
his jacket.  "If she is alive, after all--both of William Mulder's 
offpspring....So, you have decided after all, Mr. Skinner.  I had 
begun to think we wouldn't hear from you."

Skinner took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it, wondering if he 
had gone crazy, or if he'd finally found sanity by going outside his 
conventional role.  "As you said, I seem to have very little choice 
at this point.  Those are copies, by the way, and there are several 
other sets in existence at this point in time."

Jones smiled faintly.  "We'll have to keep a close eye on Morgan 
Grayson, I think.  It may be serendipity or something more akin to 
Dr. Grayson's beliefs, but it strikes me as remarkable that this 
occurred when it did."

"Morgan Grayson *is* remarkable," Skinner said flatly and took 
another bite. 

"Indeed she is."  Jones gave him a keen look.  "As I said before, I 
can only give you our assurances, Mr. Skinner.  And our help, such 
as I can.  Has any notice been taken of this that you know of?"

"Agent Scully believes not."   Skinner arched an eyebrow.  "And I 
haven't been in touch with our friend since I thwarted him on 
Scully and Mulder's reinstatement."  His mouth curved ironically, 
remembering that with a certain amount of dark satisfaction.

"He's still in a great deal of difficulty these days."  Jones sipped at 
his tea. "His failures have led to a loss of confidence.  There's a 
new name for you to watch for--Peter Stoddard.  He nominally 
reports to our friend, but is, in reality, assigned to Averill Preston, 
a British national in this country, assigned as an aide to the British 
ambassador in Washington.  Far more powerful than an aide, 
actually."  He gave Skinner a wintry smile.  "And far more 
dangerous than our friend, these days."

"If you know all this, why ask me if any notice has been taken of 
Morgan Grayson's activities?"

"We aren't omnipotent, Mr. Skinner.  Although we'd like to be, I 
do confess."  Jones smiled again, more warmly.  "It's wise to 
gather all the intelligence one may, particularly in matters so, shall 
we say, fraught."

"And?  Have you seen any notice taken?"

Jones wiped his fingers on his napkin, an oddly prissy gesture that 
bemused Skinner.  "Only insofar as Stoddard's original assignment 
to observe Morgan Grayson.  He will, no doubt, have taken the 
same notice of her relationship with Agent Mulder that we have.  
While I doubt that he is in the information loop to the extent that 
he is aware of the actual identity of the woman in California, he 
will undoubtedly report to Averill Preston that Grayson has seen 
her.  And Preston is in a position to find out the true significance of 
Dr. Grayson's visit to California."

"You mean he doesn't already know?"  Skinner leaned back in his 
chair, feeling skeptical.

Jones chuckled.  "Mr. Skinner, I think it likely that there are, 
perhaps, six people in the world who know, and that estimate may 
be overgenerous.  We didn't know, and we've had someone in their 
organization since Fox Mulder was at Oxford."  His eyes glinted 
briefly.  "No, Preston's powerful, but he's not quite high enough in 
the hierarchy to know all the dealings of the past.  But he will 
become informed.  He's not only ruthless, he's extraordinarily 
ambitious."  He tilted his head slightly, amused.  "And finding out 
will lend him more power." 

"If that's the case, then our smoking friend may become 
expendable."  Skinner leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge 
of the table, his appetite gone.  The bastard might have earned 
expendibility, but he was a known factor.  Whoever replaced him 
would be an unknown, and it made his stomach uneasy to consider 
who that replacement might be.  Perhaps even Peter Stoddard.

"He already is."  Picking up the check, Jones smiled.  "Our treat 
once again, Mr. Skinner.  I knew it was wise to approach you; I 
just had no idea of how valuable a player you would become.  And 
so quickly."  With a soft chuckle, he rose and made his way to the 
counter, leaving Skinner to sit alone at the table, wondering again 
if he had lost his mind or gained it.

One thing was certain.  Having begun, he could not turn back.  Not 
until he knew for certain what he'd done.

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

Alexandria:  July 15, 7:15 pm

Mulder arrived at Morgan's house bearing books for Aarin, a 
change of clothes for himself, and a small box of dark chocolate 
truffles for Morgan.

Emily let him in, laughing when she saw the books and chocolates, 
and directed him upstairs to drop everything off.  "Better take the 
truffles, too," she said cheerfully, "Or Sharon will be tempted."

"I'm never tempted," Sharon said, coming down the hall from the 
diningroom.  "I always act.  Ooh, FBI, come and talk to me and 
bring those things with you."

"Better not," he said and grinned before taking his burdens 
upstairs.  Coming back down, he wandered back to join them in 
the dining room.

"Hi, Jon," he told the younger man and sat down next to Sharon, 
who was eating what looked like fried rice.  "Hey, Sharon, did I 
ever tell you about the time I found a baby cockroach in one of 
those containers?"

She slanted him a long look.  "Watch out, FBI, or those chocolates 
are mine." 

"I hid `em," he said, laughing and accepted the plate Emily handed 
to him. "What are we eating?"

"I'm eating this," Sharon told him, "And you all get the vegetarian 
stuff." 

He rolled his eyes at this, but eyed the plate with interest.  "That 
looks like meat."

"It's not," Emily said, laughing.  "Seitan, they call it.  Soy product."

"Yum," he said, without enthusiasm, but found it was more than 
edible.  "Where's Morgan?"

"She went to a t'ai chi class," Jon said and waved his fork.  "She 
took Aarin with her because he got a shot today and was fussing."

Mulder looked up.  "Alone?"

"Yeah, but she's armed," Jon said and winced when Emily punched 
his shoulder.  "Besides, she left when no one was here, and just 
called about five minutes ago on the road."

Mulder put his fork down, irritated.  "Dammit, she isn't supposed 
to do that." 

"She's been feeling better the last few days," Sharon told him 
wearily.  "No sign of anything, no strange cars, no clicking on the 
phone."

"That doesn't mean anything."  He poked at the food.  "Where did 
she call from?"

Sharon gave him a long look, thoughtful.  "You wanta go out and 
meet her?  I'd feel better if we did--kinda thought maybe I was 
worrying too much."

After a moment, he nodded.

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

On the road:  July 15th, 7:35 pm

Turning, Morgan glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw that 
the blue sedan was still behind her

Her stomach knotted slightly, despite the voice of sanity which 
whispered that it was nothing to worry about, that nothing had 
happened since her return from California and nothing was going 
to.  She was getting paranoid, that was all....but her instincts were 
taut.  

She was used to listening to her instincts.  Reaching down into her 
carryall, she pulled her gun out, still in the cloth bag.   From his car 
seat beside her, Aarin glanced at it curiously, but went back to 
pointing at pictures in his book, presumably showing them to Bear.

The cloth bag sat between the two seats, and she took the next left.  

The blue sedan turned the corner after her.   

Unobtrusively, Morgan began to increase her speed, thankful that 
the road was mostly deserted, no other cars to obstruct her.  The 
other car did not, so far as she could tell, increase speed to keep up 
with her; still, her othersense was now screaming a warning, and 
she heeded it. 

Going southeast was all very well, she thought grimly, trying to 
recall the most direct route back to a more populous area; 
witnesses tended to make covert action more difficult, even in an 
area such as this.  While people might not come to the assistance 
of a stranger, they were still apt to remember things.   

At the next intersection, she took the left corner again and 
increased her speed further, remembering that there was a 
shopping center about three miles ahead.  It gave her hope.

But only briefly.  They must have been observing her for a long 
time, learning her routes, learning the roads she took.  A car in the 
oncoming lane veered in front of her, forcing her off the road.  

Now that it had actually come, her fears seemed to coalesce into 
an iron cold lump in her stomach; reaching into the bag, she closed 
her hand over the grip of the gun, pushing the safety off.  Her 
nerves were taut, watching for an opportunity to escape, but the 
blue sedan was moving in from behind.

The car in front of her was blocking the road.  

The door opened and a man got out, an ordinary looking man, 
utterly unremarkable, wearing a light blue suit and most closely 
resembling her mental image of an insurance salesman. He was 
carrying a gun; she edged the cloth bag under her skirt, hiding it 
and stared at him, caught between paralysis and rage. 

God, why did Aarin have to be with her when they came after her?  
"Aarin," she murmured, keeping her tone normal.  "Aarin, honey, 
can you get out of your seatbelt?"

He gave her a perplexed look for a moment--she could feel the 
man's dangerous proximity, could sense him getting nearer--then 
unsnapped the seatbelt.  "Get down on the floor by Mama's bag, 
honey," she told him, still looking out the window.  "You and Bear 
both, okay?"

The man approached the window, then, freezing Aarin in place.  
Oh, God, she thought despairingly, not Aarin, oh, please....

The man's smile was little more than a mask.  "Open the door, Dr. 
Grayson." 

Morgan stared at him, her mind in overdrive, sensing things she 
couldn't allow herself to recognize, couldn't allow herself to feel.  

The man's expression changed, to an almost regretful look.  "Dr. 
Grayson, we don't want to hurt anyone, but we need you to come 
with us."

"Why," she asked, hoping to buy time, hoping she was "seeing" 
fears instead of truth, instead of what was about to happen.

He glanced behind him, to his companions in the car, and she 
followed his gaze.


Peter Stoddard sat on the passenger side, looking almost amused; 
fury roiled in her gut, mixing with her terror for Aarin, for herself--
she'd learned too much from Wilson's death, her mind wanted to 
follow those paths again, her power wanted to follow those paths, 
and she refused, even though she wanted Stoddard dead with 
everything she was.  

Revulsion mixed with fear and hate and rage; without intending it, 
precisely, she pushed it all away from her, shoving it almost 
physically out of her body toward Stoddard's car.

The car exploded in a blast of white heat and roaring sound.

"No!" she screamed, realizing what she had done; it seemed the 
man outside her window did not realize.  He shifted, more toward 
the front of the car and aimed at Aarin; she could feel his desire for 
Aarin's death, knew that her dream was going to be fulfilled if she 
didn't act....

Aarin was screaming, abruptly, and there was safety glass in her 
hair, she was bent over the passenger seat, Aarin on the floor in a 
crumpled heap, the fiery pain in her shoulder making her moan.

Before she could let herself think, let herself feel the pain, she 
pulled her own gun free and whirled, every nerve crying out in 
agony; without space for breath, she jammed the barrel under the 
face that pushed through the broken window and pulled the 
trigger, her own screams drowning out Aarin's.

The car seemed awash in blood; turning her head, she saw the blue 
sedan backing up.  Fury overrode agony, weakness and fear--she 
pushed again, hard, feeling something inside her give way, and the 
blue sedan met the fate of the other car.

The heat was intense.  Leaning back against the seat, she let the 
world go grey for a moment, then fought her way back, trying to 
think past the desire to simply lie down, to close her eyes and let 
the pain swallow her up.  

After a moment, she realized Aarin was still screaming and reached 
down for him.  "C'mon, baby," she said, hearing herself slur the 
words as if she were drunk.  Lifting him into her arms almost made 
her black out; she forced herself anyway, pulling the carryall after 
him.  The cell phone was useless; if they had observed her this 
closely, they probably had surveillance on every part of her life, 
including her telephone conversations.  "C'mon, baby, we have to 
go, we have to get help."

Out of the car, he didn't want her to put him down, clinging with 
arms and legs to her as he wailed in terror.  

Standing in at the roadside, swaying with shock, she stared at the 
burning vehicles and nearly wept.  "We have to get out of here," 
she repeated, buffeted by waves of heat, by shock, by weakness.  
Her own voice sounded thin and unreal to her ears.  Barely able to 
stand, she began to move toward the trees, moving toward the 
only thing that looked remotely safe to her. 

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

"She's gonna be mad at you guys."  Jon told them, laughing.

Mulder laughed too, knowing it was true, but felt something 
strange, something he couldn't understand--he sat bolt upright, his 
laughter fading.  "Something's wrong."  The words shocked him, 
but his gut was clenched tight, feeling fear and anger in equal 
amounts.  

Sharon had gotten up from the table and closed her eyes, swaying 
with her hands palm down on the edge of the table.  just as he sat 
up.  Opening them, she snapped, "Let's go," and snatched her keys 
up before running headlong out the back door.

Mulder followed, not sure why, only feeling incredible urgency that 
had to do with Morgan, with Aarin.

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

Aarin had lost his shoe, Morgan realized.  

The wound in her shoulder was covered by the jacket, bound with 
the remains of her skirt.  She'd changed into the shorts and T-shirt 
she'd worn for her forms, and put on the flat sneakers.  The rest 
she left lie in the grass, forgotten.  

There was blood on Aarin, too; she wiped him clean with the baby 
wipes in the carryall, cleaned herself so that the only blood visible 
was on the T-shirt, and that was hidden by the jacket.  But Aarin 
had lost his shoe, and she found herself puzzling over that, stupidly 
until it occurred to her that she had his sandals in the carryall.

He had stopping wailing, finally, and sat apathetically, letting her 
tend him, sucking on his forefinger, Bear left behind in the car.  
Regretting that, she rose again, leaving the carryall behind except 
for her change wallet.  "Let's go, sweetie," she told him wearily 
and put the wallet into the jacket pocket before picking him up.

If she could make it that far, there were pay phones just a few 
miles away. 


"Lone Gunmen."

"Langley, it's the witch.  Don't record this."

There was a click.  "What can I do for you?"  The usually mild 
voice was almost enthusiastic.

"I need help.  Someone's made a very serious attempt to end my 
research career."  The woman's voice was faint, shaky.  "Could 
you possibly come and talk to me about it?"

There was the faintest of hesitations.  "Where are you?" Langley 
asked.

"Are you sure this is a clear line?"

"Yes."  His voice took on a new note, the faintest sound of worry.

"I'm calling from a payphone, in the Somerset shopping center, in 
Virginia."  There was a ragged inhalation.  "I'm pretty upset, 
Langley, can you hurry?" 

"We'll be right there."

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

Sharon drove like a bat out of hell, guided by some internal 
compass that led her surely and truely into the Virginia 
countryside, going fast enough that Mulder expected to hear sirens 
behind them at any moment. 

The luck held, however.  With one hand on the dashboard as she 
turned onto a side road, he peered into the distance, seeing cars 
blocking the road ahead--his heart sped unreasonably and kept 
hammering against his ribs as they drew nearer.

Sharon slammed on the brakes at what met their eyes.

Morgan's car slewed sideways, off the road.  The smoking skeleton 
of another car was very close, in front of her, as if it had run her 
off the road.  Another car behind her still had flames licking the 
twisted frame.

Oh, Jesus, what had happened here?

Behind all three cars, a fire truck and a half dozen patrol cars--
some city police, some county police, the rest State Troopers.

"Fuck!"  He was out of the car before it had stopped completely, 
running hard.  

A stocky trooper approached him; numb, he hauled his ID out and 
flashed it, moving fast for the car.  "God, no!"

The trooper's face changed, he let Mulder run.  

He passed a body lying in the road, the face a shattered, bloody 
ruin, and Morgan's car was empty.  "Morgan!  Oh, Jesus, where is 
she?"  Leaning against the car, he held his belly, feeling as if he'd 
been gutted.  Blood had sprayed over the two front seats, a bullet 
had star-shattered the passenger side window.  "Oh, God," he 
moaned, "Morgan, oh, God."

Sharon's voice questioned the trooper, hard and staccato, but he 
couldn't make out the words.

He whirled.  "Where are they?" he demanded, about two steps 
from madness.  "Where did you put them?  Where the hell are 
they?"

"Sir," the trooper put a heavy hand on his shoulder, but his voice 
was sympathetic.  "There were no other bodies here."

Mulder broke away, moving to the corpse.  "Who is he?"  His 
chest hurt, he was breathing hard and fast, mortally frightened that 
this was going to break him.  

She was gone.  There was blood in the car.  She was gone and 
Aarin was gone....

Grief hooked clawed talons in his gut and twisted, making him 
fold.  "Morgan!"  But it was a whisper, not a scream, barely 
audible over the roaring of his pulse in his ears.  They'd taken 
Scully and given her back when they thought she was dying.  But 
this....this was obscene.  Morgan and Aarin, Aarin and Morgan.

"His ID says he's NSA," a laconic voice said.  He turned to see a 
man in a suit.  "Detective McIlheny.  You're FBI?  What's your 
interest in this."

"She--"  His voice cracked.  What was she?  Friend, lover, or 
mistress?  All of the above?  None of the above?  And what was 
Aarin to him?  Just a kid he knew; dropping his head to his hands, 
he swayed, sickened.  "Where are they?  What the fuck happened?"

The laconic voice softened somewhat; McIlheny didn't seem to 
begrudge not getting an answer.  "We don't know.  There was a 
report of shots fired, a patrol car checked it out and found this.  
The guys in the car never moved when the fire started, it looks like 
it just blew."

Sharon's arm went around his shoulder.  "We'll find her, Mulder," 
she told him flatly, her voice as cold and distant as the moon.  
"Somehow, we'll find her."

If there was anything to find.  

Mulder lifted his head again, found his teeth were chattering.  
"There's blood in the car, Sharon.  All over the car."

There was no reply to that and Sharon had wisdom enough, or 
rage enough, not to attempt one.  

Turning back to Morgan's car, Mulder stared into the interior, the 
driver's side door, the broken window on that side.  One small 
shoe, Aarin's, lay abandoned, lying on its side.  There was blood in 
it and he shuddered again.  "No," he whispered, willing it to go 
away, to be a hallucination, to be a bad dream.  "Oh, please, God, 
not Morgan."  It was his first prayer since Scully, his first real 
prayer.

They gave up on getting sense from him, letting him stand near the 
car while the forensics team went through the drill.  

Mulder paced, thinking hard, knowing that he could find an answer 
if he could just find all the pieces of the equation.  Two men in the 
car, burnt to a crisp.  A man dead on the road, his face blown 
apart.  Blood in Morgan's car, blood in Aarin's shoe.  But he kept 
coming up with the answer he couldn't accept.  

She was dead.  

They had tried to take her, something had gone wrong, and they 
had killed them both.  But there was a piece of data missing from 
the equation.  Where were the bodies, then?  Where?

A trooper emerged from the woods, wearing gloves on his hands 
and carrying a dress he had seen Morgan wear, the light, gauzy 
summer dress he'd taken off her in his apartment the night she'd left 
for California.  Mulder  froze, staring at that, shock turning his 
muscles to stone.

A voice nearby said, "Can you get him out of here?"

"No."  For the first time, he heard grief in Sharon's voice.  "Not 
yet.  He's an FBI profiler, he's trying to put it together."

"He shouldn't be here."

"Tell him to go."  Sharon sounded mortally weary suddenly.  "Oh, 
God, that's what she was wearing, did you--is she out there?"

"No, no sign of any bodies," a new voice spoke, another state 
trooper, "Just this stuff, a bag, some shoes, and a little kid's 
clothes."

Mulder sat down on the grass, resting his head in his hands.  Two 
men in the car, burnt to a crisp, he told himself again, clenching his 
teeth, one dead in the road, shot in the face, blood in Morgan's car, 
blood in Aarin's shoes, blood on their clothes, abandoned in the 
trees.....

The world came back when someone touched his shoulder.  He 
turned to take someone's head off and Scully was there, her face 
wet.  "Mulder," she murmured, "Come on, there's nothing you can 
do here."

She was still wearing her pretty go-out-to-dinner dress.  Pushing 
her away, he got up, his legs feeling none too steady.  "She's gone, 
Scully.  She and Aarin are gone."

"I know."  Her eyes were compassionate; it enraged him.

"What do you know?  They fucking killed her!"  Hearing the 
words come from his mouth felt like betrayal.  He sobbed, once, 
hurting his chest, shook his head frantically.  "They took her, 
Scully, took her and Aarin, their bodies aren't here!"

Her mouth twisted and she looked away for a moment.  "Mulder, 
come on, I'll take you home."

Geoff was standing with Sharon, his expression stunned and 
disbelieving.

"We don't know she's dead," he pleaded, begging her to hear him, 
to erase the sum that kept repeating each time he ran the figures in 
his head.  His entire body hurt, muscles aching.  "We don't, 
Scully."

Her mouth quivered.  "We don't," she agreed softly.  "But it 
doesn't look good, Mulder."  She came and hugged him.  "Come 
on, this isn't where you should be right now."

Grief raked him again.  "No," he whispered, but let her guide him, 
too tired, too overwhelmed to fight her.  The small shoe still lay in 
the road.  "No, goddammit, everything I touch, everyone I care 
about--you fuckng bastards!!!"  It was a howl, rage as much as 
grief.  "You bastards!!!"  A few of the troopers looked over at him; 
two of the city police regarded him with hard looks. 

"Mulder, please," Scully's voice was soft.  "Please, Fox, don't do 
this." 

Horror snapped him into focus.  "Don't call me that," he said 
hoarsely and went back to Morgan's car.  "Give me a pair of 
gloves," he told McIlheny brusquely. 

After a moment, McIlheny complied, his expression impassive.  
Opening the passenger door, he studied the scene, engraving it on 
his heart, the loss that finally broke him.  

I'm fucking Typhoid Mary, he thought, dazed.  

Morgan's gun lay on the driver's side on the floor and another piece 
of him died.  Aaron's bear was in the back seat; he took Bear and 
stood, tears blinding him, holding the bear under one arm like a 
character in a farce.  

No other trace of them, except for her keys, still in the ignition.  
Leaning his forearms against the car roof,  Mulder stared inside, 
lips moving soundlessly.  

Nononononono,what kind of god lets eight year old girls be 
bargained away, lets kids be slaughtered by madmen, lets monsters 
roam the world looking human, lets this happen......His fists came 
down on the car roof again and again, hard enough to dent it; his 
hands were numb, he couldn't even feel it, the gloves were torn and 
there was blood on the roof to match the blood inside.  All he 
could do was bleed for her, she was gone, Aarin was gone, that 
frightened little boy.....

Strong hands took hold of his wrists.  "Mr. Mulder," McIlheny was 
gentle.  "Go with your partner, please.  We'll keep in touch with 
you, I promise.  Nobody's going to shut you out on this."

Staring down at the grass, he saw Bear, he'd dropped him.  He 
nodded, defeated, and bent to pick him up.  "Take me home," he 
told Scully hoarsely.  "To my apartment."

She nodded silently and led him toward her car.

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

Washington DC:  July 20

Adrift in a haze of pain and fever, Morgan kept waking to check 
for Aarin.  

He was beside her mostly, small and scared, thumb in his mouth.  

But a few times, Byers bent over her, reassuring her.  "He's fine, 
he's eating," or "He's fine, he's watching Langley play Sonic 
Hedgehog," and one memorable moment, "He's fine, he's playing 
with the computer with Frohicke." 

After what seemed an eternity, she woke feeling somewhat better 
physically.  

Sitting up, she realized, to her horror, that she was thin, nearly 
gaunt.  Byers, sleeping in a chair nearby, woke; Aarin was a warm 
huddle behind her. 

"How long?" she asked hoarsely, her voice rough with disuse.

"Five days," he told her softly.  "You've been pretty sick.  We 
almost took the risk and took you to the hospital."

"Oh."  Morgan flushed suddenly, thinking about it.  "God, I'm 
sorry, I never meant for you to take this on yourself."

He shrugged.  "Our call, you were pretty out of it."

She was wearing what looked like a Langley T Shirt, the Grateful 
Dead, and a pair of loose running shorts.  They'd had to bathe her 
and change her--the idea made her flush again, absurdly 
embarrassed.  "I need to get out of here," she said shakily.  "They'll 
be looking, I don't want them coming after you." 

"We're making arrangements."  Byers leaned over the bed, and his 
expression and tone were reassuring,.  "You can't just take off, 
they'll find you."

The panic returned.  "They were going to shoot Aarin," she 
whispered, "They wanted me, they didn't care about Aarin."

"You're safe," he said firmly.  "Both of you.  Count on it."

She sagged back suddenly, weakness overcoming her desire to 
flee.  

"I'm so scared," she whispered.  What could she do?  They were 
going to shoot Aarin, the thought came again, making her tremble.  
"I have to get out of here," she said and slept, just that suddenly.

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

Alexandria:  July 20

Scully had insisted on taking care of his hands, nothing more than 
bruises and a few pressure cuts from hitting the car roof.  Lying on 
the couch with his hands bandaged, he let the television wash over 
him, let it numb his brain so he didn't keep seeing what had 
happened, imagining the bullets tearing through their bodies, 
imagining them stripped naked and dumped somewhere, buried 
somewhere, alone and cold and dark....

When he did sleep, it was to replay those imaginings, Morgan's 
eyes wide with terror, trying to defend the child, failing...

He woke huddled each time, feeling as through he'd been beaten, 
the pain tearing at his belly, at his chest, a stifled scream still 
convulsing his muscles. 

Sometimes he thought, sometimes he tried to figure out what to do 
next.  

Sam was alive, he knew that much, and to keep her safe he had to 
leave her alone.  At least for now.  Scully was okay for now, but 
the bastards had to suspect that Morgan had told him, had told 
Scully.

It came to him that he had to leave.  

It was time to fold his hand and get up from the table.  A man 
knew when he was beaten, after all, and they'd proven that 
whatever strange importance his life held, it wasn't enough to keep 
anything he loved safe.  His sister was a stranger, living a 
continent's distance away, his father was dead, his mother....

Only Scully had survived their intentions, and he had the darkest 
conviction that was only by their will.  He couldn't fight from the 
front lines anymore, he'd lost too much.

On Friday, he went in, unshaven, if clean, and wearing jeans and a 
T shirt, his expression grim.  

It was early enough, Skinner was in his office, alone.  

Taking a long step in, he jammed his hands in his jacket pockets, 
regarding his superior stonily.

Skinner eyed him warily.  "I'm sorry," he told Mulder softly, "I 
considered Morgan a friend, too."

Mulder's mouth wanted to tremble; he forced it into a line.  "Those 
bastards killed her," he told Skinner thinly.  "She found out too 
much and they killed her, just like that.  No recourse, no justice, 
not a fucking thing I can do about it, is there?"

Skinner's eyes were shadowed.  "We don't know that she's dead."

It hit him too close, too hard.  Shaky, he dropped into the chair in 
front of Skinner's desk.  "Don't you think I want to believe that?" 
he heard himself ask despairingly.  "Don't you think I wish it were 
true?  They left their clothes in the fucking trees, there's no bodies 
anywhere, I can't even fucking say goodbye!"  His voice had risen; 
he quelled it, ruthlessly.

"Mulder, not all the blood on the clothes is hers." Skinner rose and 
moved to close the door.  "I've been in touch with the detectives, 
it's the wrong type, it belongs to the guy they found in the road."

No, no, hope hurt too much.  

Bear was in the car.  You'd have to practically kill Aarin to get him 
to leave Bear, Bear was attached to Aarin's hip.  And the gun--she 
was religious about carrying it.   

Mulder shook his head, only dimly aware that his face was wet.  
"They're gone," he said hollowly, "And I'm gone.  I can't do it 
anymore.  They took my partner, my friend, and returned her when 
she was dying, they killed my father, they killed Morgan and Aarin-
-"  His voice broke.  This time he let it, and closed his mouth and 
eyes,. letting the tears scald his face.  

When he could see again, when he thought his legs might hold him 
again, he reached for his ID and gun and laid them on Skinner's 
desk.  "They fucking wanted me gone, I'm gone.  I'm too done in 
to fight anymore."

"Mulder, this is the best chance you have for protection from 
them."  Skinner's voice was angry. 

"Let them kill me."  He gave Skinner a lunatic smile.  "It'll save me 
the trouble."

It was as good an exit line as any.

But he didn't feel like making it that easy for them.  

And he didn't want Scully to have to clean out his apartment if they 
succeeded.  


Back at his apartment, Mulder began to pack up his things.  His 
phone rang several times during the morning; when he returned 
from getting more boxes at noon, he played the messages.  Several 
from Scully, first asking, then demanding that he call her.  One 
from Margaret Scully--that one made him cry again.  The rest from 
Frohicke or Byers or Langley insisting that he call them.

He ignored all requests and resumed packing.  

The phone continued to ring, his machine continued to take 
messages.  Geoff called, then Sharon, then the Lone Gunmen.  
Scully called again, sounding angry and worried at the same time.  
Skinner called sounding angry.  

He ignored them all.

Then, sometime around nine, packing up his admittedly lavish 
collection of skin magazines and videos, it occurred to them that 
Frohicke might like them.  They'd been good to him in the past; it 
was time to return the favor, however absurdly.  And Byers could 
use the parts from his computer, maybe.  

He wondered vaguely if Langley would want the fish.

His hand was poised over the phone when it rang again; the 
machine picked it up and Scully's voice came on.  "Mulder, if you 
don't pick up this phone and talk to me, I'm coming over there and 
drag you out."

Sighing, he picked it up.  "Scully, I don't feel like talking."

"Mulder, you have to.  You can't let this destroy you."

Lunatic laughter rang in his head.  "It already has.  You want some 
fish, Scully?  I'm moving on, I've got to get away from here."

"Mulder--"  He thought she might be crying.  It made his hurt 
worse.

"Scully, don't, please," he whispered.  "I can't right now.  I--I'll be 
in touch, I promise, but I can't talk about it."  He slid down the 
wall to sit on the floor, the phone pressed to his ear.  "It hurts too 
much, it's like when they took you, when I thought you were 
dying.  Only worse."  The pain in his gut threatened to tear him in 
half; he huddled over it, gasping a little for breath. 

"Mulder," she said, her voice stronger.  "Don't shut me out, don't 
just disappear.  You promised me."

He rested his forehead on his knees.  "That was about work," he 
protested, but it was weak, and he knew it.  "Scully, not now, 
please, I'm begging you.  I'll be in touch, I swear it, but I can't right 
now."

"Don't do anything crazy, please," she was crying again, "Promise 
me.  Don't go after them, they'll kill you."

They'd be doing him a favor, the way he felt now.  He'd go out to 
California and see his sister before moving on, before letting them 
take him.  The fucking universe owed him at least that much.

"I'll be in touch," he said softly and hung up.  It took a long while 
before he had the strength to call Frohicke.

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

Washington DC:  July 20, 11:01 pm

Langley looked at Mulder oddly as he came in, carrying a box of 
magazines and videos.  "My computer's in the car," he said 
irritably, "You can have it if you want."

"What's going on?" Byers asked, coming in from the next room.

"Mulder's moving." 

Byers blinked at that.  "We've been trying to get you all day, 
Mulder.  There's something you have to see."

He found it hard to muster interest, but he owed them more 
courtesy than that.  "What is it, boys, another Alien Autopsy 
video?"

Frohicke emerged from the back room.  "Mulder," he sounded 
awed.  "You look like shit."

He ignored that, following Byers and Langley to the door of the 
back room. 

Shock held him still, but a sound like a moan escaped him.  

Lying on a bed, a small child beside her, was a woman, too thin, 
wearing clothes that weren't hers, her upper arm bandaged heavily.

The child sat up and regarded him, then flung itself off the bed 
toward him.  He knelt as Aarin reached him, colliding against his 
chest. 

"Fox," Aarin sobbed and put both arms around his neck.  He didn't 
remember kneeling, but he was.  "Fox, ba' man hu't Mama."

He nearly fell backward, hearing the little boy's voice.  "Morgan," 
he whispered and made it to his feet, the child still clinging to him.  

She sat up on the bed, disoriented, a thousand yard stare in her 
eyes.  "You weren't supposed to call him," she whispered, terrified 
eyes on Byers, "You promised, oh, God, Mulder, they'll kill you."

For a heartbeat, seeing the fear in her eyes, Mulder had thought 
she feared him.  His relief at understanding was so great, he 
gathered her against him with his free arm.  "They have more to 
worry about," he muttered and pressed his face to her hair.  
"Morgan, I thought you were dead."

Morgan clung to him like Aarin, sobbing hysterically, her words a 
jumble.   

Mulder sorted it out, rocking them both in arms that trembled.  
She was real, he told himself, real and solid underneath his 
fingertips.  Alive, breathing, not dead and buried.  

Another sob escaped him; he kissed her temple, feeling a little 
frantic, trying to sort out what she was telling him.

And, eventually, he understood.  

They had driven her off the road, tried to shoot Aarin--all of her 
grief and terror and rage had lashed out in some inexplicable way 
and the other cars had exploded, white hot flame consuming the 
occupants, startling the assassin--she had shot him then, through 
the chin, which explained his condition when discovered.  

Terrified and hurt, disoriented and carrying a terrified, screaming 
child, she had gotten them away, stripped off the bloody clothes, 
and called the Lone Gunmen.  

Mulder hadn't even known that Morgan knew them.

Bending his head, he kissed her temple again, wiping the tears 
away with his sleeve.  "You're alive," he whispered, almost 
crooning it, "God, I thought you were both dead, I thought they'd 
killed you."

Quiet now, she rested her head on his chest.  "They tried to shoot 
Aarin," she said again.  She had said it several times.  It dimly 
occurred to him that this wasn't the best thing for Aarin to hear.

"You're safe," he told them both and hugged Aarin hard.  "Mama 
was tough and smart and she got you out of there."

"Ba' man," Aarin said around his thumb.

"Very bad man," Mulder agreed, feeling drained.  "Morgan, I've 
got to think what to do.  Promise me to stay here until I come for 
you."

She clung again.  "Don't--oh, God, be careful, please."

"I will, I swear it."  And it was true.  

The awful, grinding pain in his belly was gone; now he just had to 
think smart, think canny, and get her the fuck away from them.  
"Don't worry, just rest. I'll come back soon."  He kissed her again, 
amazed at the solidity of the flesh and bone beneath his lips.  Alive, 
he thought and turned his face to press it against Aarin's silky hair.  
"I'll help Mama, Aarin.  Don't be scared, okay?  These are my 
friends, they'll take care of you until I get back."

Aarin nodded.  

Mulder eased them both down again, kissing them both goodnight 
as if they were his, sitting with them until they slept again.  It was 
then he discovered that the others had withdrawn and closed the 
door, granting him privacy.  

Wiping his eyes, he went out, regarding them soberly.  "I need 
your help," he told them.  "And this is real, this is deadly.  If you 
can't help me, I understand.  But send me to someone who can."

"Don't be an ass, Mulder," Frohicke growled, and that was the end 
of *that* discussion.

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

Mulder worked the rest of the night in a frenzy, until he slept flat 
out, exhausted, face down on his couch.

Waking to a pounding on his door, he hazily gathered his scattered 
wits and recognized Scully's voice.  He considered not letting her 
in, but heard the click of the key in the lock and raised up on his 
elbows in time to see her come in.

They regarded each other in appalled silence.  "Mulder, you look 
terrible."  

The softness of Scully's voice made it sound like a prayer.

He raked the hair out of his eyes and pushed himself upright, 
sitting crosslegged on the couch.  "I'm tired," he told her, hating 
himself.  He wasn't going to tell her, he wasn't going to risk her 
getting hurt in this.  She'd borne too much, lost three months of her 
life, lost her sister, lost her faith......

Scully sat beside him, an arm's length away, looking as if she were 
afraid to touch him, as if she were afraid he'd break.

Well, he had cracked before and thought it was the end.  Reaching 
out, he touched her hand.  "Scully, I'm sorry, I can't talk about 
this."  He tried for a ragged smile.  "You're only supposed to use 
that key to feed my fish, ya know." 

She refused to take that bait, to enter into the usual exchange.  
"Mulder, what are you doing?"  Her eyes tracked around the room, 
taking in the boxes, the emptiness.

"I'm leaving for a while."  His hand closed over hers.  "It's just too 
much, Scully.  On top of everything that's happened in the last 
year, it's just too much."

Her hand turned in his, her fingers tangling in his.  "Mulder, don't 
do anything stupid," she whispered.  "I've lost too much myself."

It made his eyes sting.  "Scully, I'm bad news, everyone I touch 
gets hurt."  He still thought it was true, still feared it was true with 
a fear so deep it ached in his gut.  But he couldn't give up this 
fight; Aarin's voice tore at his memory.  

God, he wanted to tell her, she was his truest friend, his partner, 
and maybe somehow, something more, in some weird way that 
took nothing away from Geoff or Morgan.  And God knew, 
Morgan's friends deserved to know.  

Knowledge was too dangerous, now; he kept his teeth shut on all 
the words that wanted to pour out; it felt like betrayal again, but he 
simply could not think of a way it would be safe for them to know.  
All he could offer her was lying words.  "Scully, I'm crazy, not 
stupid."

Her eyes sharpened, examining his face.  "Don't do anything crazy, 
either." 

"I'll try not to."  That much was honest.  "Listen, are you sure you 
don't want my fish?"  Taking refuge in ordinary things, afraid she'd 
see too much.  She always did, but it had never been more 
important to deceive her.

"Mulder, I don't do fish."  Scully's gaze never wavered.  "I'm 
begging you, don't do anything to give them an excuse to kill you."

That was nearly too much.  "Morgan didn't give them an excuse," 
he growled and pulled his hand from hers.  

Rising, he went to the window and stood, staring out at the street.  
There was a gray van, halfway down the block--that was 
interesting, he thought, his brain beginning to work again.  

They expected her to contact him, were waiting for her to contact 
him.  He was going to have to be very, very careful.

Behind him, he heard Scully rise.  "Will you at least let me buy you 
breakfast,:" she asked, her voice stronger now.

"Sure," he agreed thoughtfully, still thinking about the van.  "I 
packed my coffeemaker.  There's a carton in the kitchen, you can 
take anything you want." 

"I'm not going to memorialize you with your kitchen utensils."  Her  
voice was savage.  "Dammit, Mulder, Skinner told me you were in 
to see him yesterday." 

"Did he tell you why?"  He turned, arching an eyebrow.

"He said you requested long term leave."

He stared at her, astonished.  "He said what?"

"He said you requested long term leave."  Her eyes narrowed.  
"What did you tell him?"

I told him I fucking wanted to quit, he almost said, but that would 
end in bitter argument.  "Well, I called him an asshole."  He tipped 
a dark smile at her.  "And tried to get him to tell me where that 
cancerous bastard might be.  But he doesn't know anymore, he's 
out of their loop, he's been a bad boy.  Come on, I'm starving, I 
don't think I've eaten anything more than a breakfast burrito in the 
last twenty-four hours."

It deflected her x-ray vision, he thought, mordantly amused, and 
led to another lecture on his nutritional habits that lasted all the 
way out to her car.

*****************************************************
Morgan woke again to find Mulder leaning over her, his expression 
softening as she opened her eyes.  "Hey, you're looking better 
today."

She rubbed her eyes like a child and peered at him in the dimness.  
"What time is it?"

"Nearly ten."  He stroked her hair lightly.  "It's Sunday.  I've got 
some things to do tomorrow, but Monday night I'm taking you 
away from all this splendor."

It made her smile faintly, despite everything, but it faded quickly.  
"Mulder, you can't, this isn't right--"

Two of his fingers rested against her mouth briefly and his 
expression was mild.  "Shut up, Grayson, this isn't just your battle 
anymore, it's mine."

Morgan's eyes burned; she managed to sit back against the pillows, 
still too shaky to sit upright.  "Why?"

Mulder avoided her gaze.  "It really pisses me off when they mess 
with my friends."

She couldn't speak for a moment.  "Yeah, well I love you, too, 
Mulder, but you can't do this."

"Why?" He looked at her again, his mouth quirking.  "Too 
dangerous?"

Put that way, it seemed hopelessly absurd.  "What about your 
job?"

"Fuck the job.  I had rich relatives, they left me a hefty amount.  
I'm going to convert some of that to cash and put it to good use."  
His expression dared her to gainsay him.

"I can think of better uses than going underground for the rest of 
your life."  The tears came again.  "Are they crazy?  I haven't made 
a move to threaten them, I've kept my mouth shut, what the hell do 
they want?"

"I think it's more than what you know, Morgan."  His hand cupped 
her cheek.  "I think it's what you are."

She didn't want to think about it.  "I'm not the only one."  She 
turned her face into the comfort of his touch.  "Why me?"

"They know about you."  He sighed, looking downhearted.  "Our 
fault, I'm afraid.  If Skinner hadn't called you in to find--"

She smacked his face lightly.  "God, enough guilt already.  If my 
aunt had wheels instead of legs she'd be a teacart."  It won a faint 
smile, but the shadows remained in his eyes.  "Stoddard's part of 
this, he was in the car."

He hadn't known that.  "They told me they hadn't identified the 
bodies in the car."

"Maybe not."  A convulsive shudder wrenched her, making her feel 
ill.  "The fire was pretty hot."  It came out faintly--I did that, she 
thought, appalled, once again hearing the crackling roar of the 
flames, the violent shock wave that followed the white flare of 
explosion.

Leaning forward, he held her gently, carefully, as if she were made 
of glass.  "They're already watching me.  I've been bringing stuff 
out here to the guys."

Morgan arched an eyebrow, but it was half-hearted.  "What kind of 
stuff?"

"My computer, my video collection, you know."  Mulder leaned 
back and tipped a grin at her.  "My kitchen appliances.  It looks 
good, I think.  I've been paying attention and there's no sign they're 
interested in these guys."

"Your video collection?"  It seemed necessary to laugh again, she 
had to find something, and his sahandy.  "Your entire 
video collection?  Oh, Muion?  Oh, Mulder."

He laughed into her hair, albeit shakily.  "Yeah, I expect my libido 
to increase shockingly.  I'll have to get you another gun."

Putting her arms around his neck, Morgan breathed in the scent of 
his skin.  "Are you kidding, I'm buying champagne."

It startled him a little, into laughing again.  "Evil bitch," he 
murmured.  "As if you've been suffering."

"Waste not, want not," she told him, a complete absurdity that 
made him shake with quiet laughter again.  Fear coiled around her 
gut, freezing her.  "Oh, God, please be careful, Mulder."

He was silent for a long time, just holding her.  "Count on it," he 
breathed.  


Alexandria:  July 22

The Lone Gunmen took care of most of the arrangements for him.  
He had begun to suspect that Byers, that quiet man, was half in 
love with Morgan.  It was evident that Morgan had no suspicion, 
which was one of the few things to amuse him during the next few 
days.

On Monday, after his furniture had been picked up and moved to 
storage, Mulder went to the bank and converted a large amount of 
the money he'd transferred from his legacy to his checking account 
to cash.  

He also transferred an enormous amount to another account, one 
Horace Walston, which amused him.  It was an account accessed 
by the Lone Gunmen electronically; they would convert it to 
whatever form of credit or currency was wisest and funnel it 
through to him when needed.

It seemed odd to leave the apartment in which he'd spent eight 
years; Mulder found himself regarding the closed door with 
bemused nostalgia before shouldering his bag and walking out, a 
parcel tucked underneath his arm. 

He found a motel that was only moderately seedy and checked in, 
then went down the street to find a pay phone to make his call.

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

Washington DC:  July 22, 11:00 pm

Sitting in his car in the dark parking garage, Walter Skinner waited 
grimly for his visitor.   

He had almost refused when Mulder had called him, had almost 
said no, but the memory of Mulder's grief had been too like what 
he had once felt.  He could still see Sharon in the hospital room, so 
pale and unmoving she might have been dead.  And he had driven 
out to the site of Morgan Grayson's abduction, seen the small shoe 
on the road, seen the blood.  

Whatever anger he might feel for Mulder, he felt bone-chilling fury 
at those who could do such things.  They had tried to take 
everything he loved; they had very nearly taken everything Mulder 
loved, nearly destroying a good man. 

So he had given Mulder a toneless yes and hung up the phone.

A shadow moved in the darkness of the garage.  

When Mulder opened the passenger side door and slid in, he sat in 
silence for a long moment, studying what he could see of Mulder's 
face, taking in the parcel Mulder held.  "What is this about, 
Mulder?"

"I'm leaving town," Mulder told him flatly.  "But I need to ask you 
a favor. Two, actually."

He wanted to punch Mulder in the face, but swallowed his temper.  
"Ask, then."

The parcel was extended to him.  "Morgan found my sister."  
Mulder's voice was soft.  "She was--it's a long story, I've written it 
all down as she told me.  There are tapes in there, she did a 
regression on her.  They're very detailed."  He leaned back against 
the headrest as if exhausted.  "They're incomplete, Morgan had 
them edited, erasing what she wouldn't let me hear."

That made Skinner's stomach tighten.  "How do you know they're 
real?"

"DNA tests."  Mulder's voice trembled briefly.  "That lunatic 
woman had tests run, if you can believe that.  This--her name is 
Amanda Fortenberry now, she lives in Jackson, California.  She's 
been in therapy three times as an adult, and each times she came 
near to making any kind of breakthrough, her shrinks met an 
untimely end.  Somebody got sloppy, it was faked suicide the first 
two times, the third was an alleged robbery and murder.  The 
second one got the attention of a good cop out in San Francisco, 
she was his fiancee, he never accepted it was suicide.  When the 
third one died, last year, he started digging harder than ever."

"What's his name?"  Skinner had his notebook out and was writing 
furiously.

"Mark Peterson, or something like that--but he's dead.  Suspicious 
car accident.  He'd asked Morgan to come out and look into it with 
him."  Mulder sighed.  "She was convinced that he was murdered, 
too, she went back over everything he had found and tracked my 
sister down, convinced her to talk to her and went from there."  

They sat in taut silence for a while until Mulder stirred again.  "She 
taped the sessions and convinced Samantha--Amanda, I mean, to 
just sit tight, that it was dangerous."

Skinner considered the fact of the partially erased tapes and did not 
mention that he had a full set.  "I take it Morgan kept you out of 
this?"

"Yeah, she was scared I'd go off the deep end."  It was as honest 
an admission as he'd heard from Mulder--not counting the times in 
the hospital.  "Maybe I would have, I don't know.  I was furious 
when she finally did bring me into it.  But that's not the point--I've 
given you everything I have.  You know these bastards have 
opposite numbers, you know someone's trying to bring them 
down. If you can, if it's possible, get this stuff to them.  I've been 
through my father's papers, what didn't disappear after he was 
killed, and there's cross indexing in there.  All the names I know, 
all the dates I know--get them to somebody."

Skinner's hand tightened on the envelope.  "Why can't you?"

Mulder looked out the passenger window.  "I have other things to 
do," he said faintly.

Temper flared again in Skinner's gut; he leashed it ruthlessly.  "Just 
another way to commit suicide without admitting you've been 
beaten, is it?"    His tone was more savage than he'd intended, and 
he felt brief regret for that.

To his astonishment, Mulder only turned and smiled at him.  "Not 
exactly.  But, yeah, the thought did cross my mind."

Skinner stared at him and astonishment deepened as his intution 
made a leap.  "By God, you've found her, she's alive."

Mulder went taut, his hand came out and grabbed Skinner's shirt 
front.  "Never, never say that," he hissed.

"Don't be an ass," Skinner hissed back, "You trust me enough to 
give me this, you can trust me enough to tell me.  Is she alive?  
And Aarin?"

After a moment, he was released.  "Yeah.  We're going 
underground, she's been hurt."  Underlying the flatness of his voice 
was an almost wistful note.  "I wish--if you can get those to the 
right people, maybe they can fight while we run."

The crazy, quixotic bastard, Skinner thought and closed his eyes.  

And he was infectious, damn his soul.  But the bastards had tried 
to frame him, kill Sharon.  They'd tried to take everything from 
him; the trouble was, he could understand Mulder now in way that 
had escaped him before.  

Until he'd crossed the line and taken sides.

"All right.  What's the other favor."  He sensed, rather than saw, 
the surprise Mulder felt.  

"Scully.  Keep her from coming after me if you have to lock her 
up.  It's too damned dangerous for all of us.  And she doesn't let go 
of things easily."

"You would ask me that."  Skinner sighed, resigned.  "That's not 
going to be easy.  Harder than this."  He hefted the parcel.

"I know."  Mulder's amusement was dark.  "But whatever you can.  
Try and convince her that I'm not suicidal, please."

"How can I?" Skinner asked drily, "When I'm not convinced 
myself?"

Mulder laughed shortly.  "Even revenge is a reason to live," he 
countered, "But this isn't the time for that.  I need to keep them 
both alive."

"And yourself," Skinner added softly.

"Obviously.  Morgan's abilities certainly saved her life last week.  
But she's never been trained as a cop."  That same dark amusement 
underlay his tone.  "And she's an amateur at dealing with these 
assholes."

That was certainly true.  "Where--no, forget I asked that, I don't 
want to know."  Skinner leaned back and regarded him, then held 
out a hand.  "Good luck, Mulder."

"I'll need all of that."  Mulder shook his hand, hard and opened the 
car door. "And, sir--I never thanked you after Harcourt--after the 
hospital.  Thanks for that, and for this."

"Get the fuck out of here and keep those two alive," Skinner told 
him flatly.  "And don't thank me yet, I haven't managed it."

A soft chuckle and Mulder was gone, a shadow among the other 
shadows.

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

Maryland countryside:  July 22, 11:57

Through a convoluted process that made Mulder's head ache and 
eliminated any chance of surveillance, the Lone Gunmen had their 
chain of contacts bring him to an isolated spot in Maryland, 
densely wooded and as black as hell, as his father had always said, 
with the fires out.  

There, a tall, scruffy individual handed over the keys to an all 
terrain vehicle, a packet of new identification papers, including a 
birth certificate for Aarin--they were William and Margaret 
McKenzie, with their son Aaron--and took off on a motorcycle 
after instructing him to wait for Byers.

After an hour, Byers met him at the designated spot and hauled 
suitcases out of the his car while Morgan gently woke Aarin.

"I don't know how to thank you guys," Mulder murmmured, 
putting things in back of the station wagon with Byers.

"Just stay safe."  Byers glanced back at Morgan, standing near the 
car, Aarin holding her hand and leaning against her.  "Keep them 
safe."

Swallowing hard, Mulder nodded.  "With my life," he muttered, 
hating the melodramatic sound of that, but meaning it.

Langley clapped him on the shoulder and went back to his car.  
After a moment, the engine started and Langley moved off into the 
darkness of the woods, driving slowly over the ruts.

Slamming the gate shut, Mulder moved toward Morgan, folding 
his arms around her.  "Ready?"

She shivered.  "Sure."

He bent and picked Aarin up.  "I've got Bear," he murmured.  "Did 
you miss him?" 

Aarin's head tilted.  "Bear?"  His tone was sleepy.  "Fox brought 
Bear?"

"I sure did."  He looked at Morgan.  "I found him in the car." 

"Oh, Mulder."  He could hear tears in her voice.

 "Damn straight."  He opened the door and tucked Aarin into the 
child seat, tucking Bear into small arms that rose urgently, and 
snapping the belt across. 

Morgan had opened the passenger door and gotten in, shutting the 
door with a quiet click.  Closing Aarin's door, he moved around to 
the driver's side and slid behind the wheel.  

While returning from his call to Skinner, he had passed a pawn 
shop.  Seized by an antic impulse--after all, Byers had said he was 
going to get them ID that indicated they were married--he went in 
and selected a wedding set for Morgan, and a plain gold band for 
him.  

Now, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring box and 
opened it up; the rings slid onto her finger without much difficulty, 
which pleased him.  His guess had been right.  "Since this may be 
the only way either of us is comfortable with this, how would you 
like to get married?"

Morgan stared at her hand and made another sound like a laugh.  
"You're crazy.,"  Abruptly she sounded near tears again.  "But it's 
good sense." 

Relieved, he kissed her temple again.  "Okay, Mrs. McKenzie," he 
murmured. "Let's go." 

They drove through the night

Wired on a combination of adrenaline and caffeine, he kept driving 
through the morning, watching the two of them sleep until nearly 
nine.  

Morgan woke with a start that left her trembling; reaching across, 
he took hold of her hand; she turned in the seat and regarded him 
with a wan smile.  "You're a welcome sight," she whispered and 
tangled her fingers in his. 

"Back at you."  Mulder smiled at her again.  "Both of you."

She looked out the window.  "This is so peculiar.  I'm scared to 
death, but I feel safe."

It moved him, more deeply than he could allow himself to feel it.  
"Good."  He slanted her a smile.  "Think you can do a Canadian 
accent?"

"Aboot the hoose," she said, unsmiling.  "Well, I can try.  It's easier 
if I'm hearing it, I'm a natural mimic, I guess."

"Mama?"  Aarin's voice was sleepy.

Morgan turned her head, expression bemused.  "Good morning, 
sweetie.  How is my Aarin?"

"Hungry."  Aarin yawned.

Mulder grinned.  "A man of few words, and only the important 
ones.  My kind of kid."

Morgan laughed shakily.  "We'd better get him something to eat, 
or those words are going to be cranky."

He jerked a thumb backwards.  "There's juice in the cooler and 
bananas and muffins in the sack to tide him over until we get to the 
next town.  Then we can do McD's.  You like that idea, Aarin?  
Mickey D's?"

"Mickey D's," agreed the little boy.

"I can drive," Morgan suggested softly.  "You look tired."

He slanted her a half-smile.  "I'll let you.  I want to keep going until 
we're over the border, Morgan, I don't want to take the chance 
they'll catch up to us."

"They might anyway."  Morgan looked away and he saw her hands 
shake slightly.

It was true.  "We'll just have to outthink them, Morgan," he told 
her gently.  "And use your intuition as much as we can."

"I don't know if I'd trust it," she whispered.  "I'm too scared.  I 
can't find center."

"Then we'll have to give you time."  He brought her hand to his 
mouth, an extravagance he'd never normally indulge in, but times 
seemed to call for it.  "I'm not leaving you, Morgan."

Her eyes were too bright.  "You should."

"No fu--" He stopped, slanted a grin back at Aarin.  "No bloody 
way."  


On the road:  July 25

As the days passed without apparent pursuit or interception, 
Mulder's nerves felt stretched tight.  

Their papers passed muster at the border with the customs officer, 
who teased the faintest glimmer of a smile out of Aarin, who had 
fallen into this strange new routine far more readily than Mulder 
had dared expect. 

They continued to drive north and west, as fast as he dared, and 
reached the rendezvous point Langley had arranged a few hours 
early.  He parked in a thicket and exhumed the weapons from 
under the spare; Aaron put his thumb in his mouth when he saw 
them, but Morgan only nodded with weary acceptance.

He was dozing when the pickup pulled up, but came to wary 
alertness as one man, tall, burly and black bearded got out and 
looked cautiously around.  Slipping silently from the wagon, he 
walked into the clearing.  "McKenzie?"  

Their papers proved that he was this guy's brother, if this was the 
right guy.

The man whirled on him, gave him a long level look.  After a 
moment, his mouth quirked.  "Alex?"  The name on his papers was 
actually William, it was a recognition code.

Mulder nodded.  "Douglas."  He wondered what the guy's real 
name was.  McKenzie stared at him.  "Follow me," he said and 
moved back toward his truck.   "We're up in the woods," he added, 
over his shoulder.  "Hope you've got something to take the 
inclines."

"Yeah," Mulder waited, then moved back to the wagon.  Morgan 
was awake, watching with wary eyes.  "I think it's all right," he 
temporized, "But we take no chances."

Putting the car into gear, he began to follow, easing onto a rough 
track that led progressively higher and occasionally led them out to 
overlooks he'd rather not have seen; it took nearly two hours to 
reach the stopping place, a large clearing before a log house.  

Aching in every muscle, he slanted a look back at Aarin and found 
him still asleep; Morgan seemed taut, her eyes shadowed with that 
1000 yard stare again. 

The pickup turned around and McKenzie rolled the driver's side 
window down to regard him thoughtfully.  "The cabin's fully 
stocked," he told Mulder quietly. "And I'll be once up a month to 
bring gas for the generator and see if you need anything."  His gaze 
seemed to soften as he looked at the back seat.  "The wife got 
some toys for him, and some books.  We home schooled ours, and 
they're past the books."

Mulder swallowed hard.  "Thanks,"  His voice was hoarse with 
weariness and emotion.  "A lot."

McKenzie nodded, giving him a keen look.  "Just stay tight and 
don't get impatient.  They'll get in touch with me when it's safe.  
You don't want to risk them."  He lifted his chin, indicating 
Morgan and Aarin. 

"No," Mulder agreed, still hoarsely.  "No chances."

"You've got a generator there.  The water's on a pump, normal 
plumbing; there ought to be enough wood too last a good long 
while and the stove heats the place pretty well.  You need more, 
there's lots of deadfall, and I can bring another load up."  
McKenzie rolled his window up and pulled past them, back down 
that tricky road.  

Pulling forward, under the trees, Mulder turned the engine off and 
sagged back into the seat.  "Well, such as it is, we're home."

Aarin woke, rubbing his eyes.  "Mama," he whined, "I got to pee."

"Okay," Morgan sighed.  "Let's go in."

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

The outside of the house was not at all encouraging, but the inside, 
if not luxurious, was comfortable.  A small child's bed sat in the 
corner of  the livingroom, near the fire, separated by a wooden 
screen from the living area.  

A bedroom with a double bed lay immediately behind that, the 
door nothing more than an archway allowing heat and light to 
enter.  There was an propane stove and a small, office sized 
refrigerator, no radio, no TV, and no phone.  

Mulder wondered briefly if he was going to be able to sleep 
without the sound from the television and dismissed it grimly.  
He'd have to find a way, that was all, he was spoilt.

The bathroom was off the kitchen area, none too big or fancy, and 
containing a old fashioned clawfooted bathtub and a relatively 
modern washer.  They'd have to hang things out, evidently, he 
thought and sighed inwardly.  

Spoilt, he told himself again and smiled reassurance at Aarin, who 
approached the bathroom with some trepidation.  "Hey, big guy, 
it's okay.  This is our place now."

Aarin gave him a doubtful look.  Bending over him, Morgan 
unsnapped the small jeans and gave him a nudge forward.

He put his arm around her.  "It's not a bad place," he muttered, 
hoping--hoping she was all right, that she agreed with him.

"It's nice."  Morgan leaned into him.  "Really, it is.  I hope I still 
remember how to cook."

"I can manage."  Mulder pressed his face against her hair.  "We'll 
muddle along together."

He glanced up and smiled at Aarin on tiptoes.  "We need to get 
him something to stand on."  The smile faded as he touched her 
cheek.  "You feel a little feverish.  You've been taking your pills?"

"Yeah."  Her voice was faint.  "My arm hurts some, though."

"We haven't been changing the dressing as often as we should.  
You just sit, I'm going to unload the wagon."  Against faint 
protests, Mulder guided her to the old plaid sofa and sat her down, 
turning back to help Aarin with his jeans before going back out to 
the wagon.

The little boy followed him, still hugging his bear.  

Amused and touched, Mulder found little things that Aarin could 
carry and sent him in with them; as he followed, he could hear 
Morgan praising Aarin, and was unsurprised when Aarin followed 
him back out.

It took more trips than he'd expected, but then Byers had managed 
to obtain clothing and baggage for them before he'd gone over 
there to discover them.  

Mulder hadn't figured that in, which explained why the customs 
officer had believed they were coming back from a month long 
trip.  The back of the wagon was packed.

Once that was done, he carried in everything from the backseat and 
glove compartment, then tore the wheel well apart getting out the 
ammunition he'd brought.  It was probably lunatic paranoia, but--
"No chances," he whispered, looking down at the top of Aarin's 
head.   Aarin looked up at  him, eyes curious.  "Come on, buddy, 
let's go see how your Mama's feeling."

Morgan was flat out asleep, but she stirred awake as he unwrapped 
the dressings to examine her shoulder.  

The edges of the wound had begun to knit, but it looked redder, 
more uncomfortable than he would have liked.  Acutely aware of 
how far they were from medical care they could trust, how alone 
they really were, he fumbled for the box of medical supplies and 
pulled out the note left by the paramedic.   

Switch to cephalexin, the medic had written, if the wound doesn't 
stay clear.  So it was cephalexin and canned juice, which made 
Morgan grimace as it went down.

"You worry too much," she groused, but fell back against the 
couch once he'd redone the dressings.

"Huh," he snorted and bent to kiss her mouth very gently.  She was 
alive.  And he was, by God, going to make sure she stayed that 
way.  She and Aarin both. 


While Morgan gratefully bathed,  Mulder got the stove lit and 
opened some cans of beef stew for them to eat.  With a little 
experimentation, he managed to get some biscuit mix to perform 
satisfactorily.  

Aarin got the first one off the pan, just as Morgan emerged from 
the bathroom, wearing one of Byer's shirts, a pair of *his* boxers, 
and heavy socks that nearly came up to her knees.

"How do you feel?"  He handed Aarin another biscuit with a 
square of margarine melting between the two halfs.

"Shaky," she smiled.  "and hungry.  Relaxed for the first time in 
days."

Mulder smiled at that.  Despite everything, he was conscious of 
that same relaxation.  "Sit, I've got supper ready."

"Beef stew?"  Morgan laughed a little.  "And homemade biscuits.  
Mulder, you're amazing."

He lifted Aarin onto a chair, setting him on his knees.  Aarin 
regarded the stew suspiciously until Morgan took a bite; picking 
up his spoon, he tucked into it with every evidence of approval.

Taking his own chair, Mulder let the last of the tension seep from 
his shoulders.  "The car's locked, the doors bolted.  I thought you 
could rest and Aarin and I will unpack our things and get things 
situated."

"You worry too much," she told him, but put her hand over his 
wrist gently.  "I can help a little."

"You rest."  Mulder turned his wrist and caught her hand.  
"Morgan, I thought you were dead."

Her eyes were too bright.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I wasn't 
thinking clearly, I was afraid they'd hurt you, Fox."

"They've tried before.  And they've gotten me now and again.  But 
I'm a big boy, Morgan."  He released her hand.  "Eat. We've been 
eating junk food for days, you need something healthy."

"Yes,sir."  She took her hand back and picked up her spoon.  
"Aarin gets the next bath, and then we're going to let you have 
yours."

Nodding agreement, he saw Aarin frown.  It made him smile 
fleetingly, despite the fact that he personally hated baths, would 
prefer showers any day.  But it was, like the television, a petty 
consideration.  He would learn to like them, he thought fervently, 
if it meant keeping them alive.  Keeping all of them alive, he told 
himself and thought of his sister.

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

When Mulder returned after carrying wood in, Morgan lay beside 
Aarin, on top of the quilts that covered the small bed; her eyes 
opened briefly, regarding him without alarm, then closed again, 
staying that way until he'd built the fire up for the night and closed 
the stove.  

At least, he hoped it was for the night, since fire burning stoves 
had not previously been his area of expertise; out of waiting room 
induced boredom, he had once read an article about them in the 
dentist's office, which his memory reproduced faithfully, and he 
hoped the article was right.

Silently thanking McKenzie for preparing the cabin for them, he 
took a hot bath then, gratefully soaking sore muscles and scrapes 
in the hot water.  He nearly fell asleep there, and the water was 
embarrassingly cloudy when he emerged; pulling on clean 
underwear and jeans, he tiptoed around, picking up the discarded 
clothing, and went to the pantry to start a load of laundry .

The sound woke Morgan, but Aarin slept on.  Coming up behind 
him as he sorted items into the washer, she leaned her forehead 
against his back, between his shoulder blades.  "Sorry, I faded 
out."

"You're entitled."  Closing the lid, he turned to face her, putting an 
arm over her shoulders.  "Besides, I'm beat, too.  Let's get some 
sleep." 

"Yeah."  She sighed.  "You okay?"

He shook his head.  "I'm fine, Morgan.  I'm worried about you 
two."

"Yeah."  Her expression went distant, a little detached.  "But you 
left your real life behind, too, Mulder."

There was no denying that.  "That was my choice," he told her, 
working to keep his voice steady.  "And it's not going to be 
forever--we're going to get these bastards, Morgan.  But not until 
you're ready."  

The smoking man's frightened eyes returned to his mind, the image 
haunting him.  What could frighten that cold blooded bastard?  
And what would he do once frightened?  

His sober excesses were bad enough.

"I never meant for this to happen," she told him, her voice still 
distant.  "I just owed Marc something.  I never thought paying that 
debt was going to lead to this."  

Suddenly, she returned to him again, her eyes moving to meet his.  
"On the other hand, you know now that Samantha is alive, that 
she's well and mostly happy."

"Yes," he agreed softly.  

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

Somewhere in the Canadian Rockies:  July 31, 11:01 am

Once the barrier of speech had been broken, Aarin's words never 
seemed to stop, Morgan reflected, resting on the couch, nearly a 
week later.  

Mulder insisted on it, but Mulder had a tendency to be stubborn 
these days.  Well, not that he hadn't always been stubborn, but 
there was a steadiness to it lately that made her doubt her own 
stubbornness.  And she was certainly still feeling shaky.

"Why you do that?" Aarin asked Mulder outside the front door.

"Because these pieces of wood are too big to fit into the stove," 
Mulder told him easily.  "Stand back, sprout, I don't want any 
chips to hit you in the face.  "Okay," She heard Aarin's feet scuff in 
the dirt, heard the crack of the axe as it split the length of wood.

"Fox?"  Aarin sounded thoughtful.

"What, Aarin?"  Though effortful, Mulder's tone was patient.  

It amazed her that someone so intense, someone not prone to 
patience could listen to fifty recitals of Aslan-on-the-Stone-Table 
without flinching, could answer a thousand little boy questions 
without irritation, and could talk solemnly to Bear when Aarin 
insisted that Bear spoke.

"Why those bad men hu't Mama?"  A tremor shook the treble 
voice.  "They come back?"

She started to get up at that tremor, but heard something heavy hit 
the ground, saw Mulder's shadow move.  

"C'mere, sprout."   Mulder's shadow crossed the back of the couch 
and she could just barely see the two of them sitting on the split 
log bench just outside the front door.  "Those bad men wanted to 
hurt Mama because she knows some bad things they did, and 
they're afraid she'll tell, and they'll have to be punished.  I don't 
think they'll come back, that's why we came here.  But in case they 
try, your Mama and I are getting ready to protect us all from 
them."  Mulder's voice was gentle, serious, and reassuring.

"I scared."  Aarin sounded muffled.

"That's okay.  Kids get scared sometimes.  And sometimes bad 
things happen that make them scared."  Mulder was silent for a 
while.

She could hear Aarin's sneakers hitting the bench; the sound 
stopped suddenly.  "Fox, you scared?"

Mulder laughed softly.  "When I thought you and Mama were 
dead, I was scared and sad.  But now I'm mad.  Sometimes 
grownups get scared, though, sprout, I'm not gonna lie about that.  
But I'm gonna do my best to keep your Mama and you safe.  And 
mostly, my best is pretty darn good."

She wanted to see what was happening, but afraid to disturb it.

"Fox?"

"What, Aarin?"  There was laughter in Mulder's voice.

"You my daddy?"

There was another silence.  Appalled, Morgan sat up, ready to 
intervene. 

"Well, I'm not your original daddy, and we'd have to check with 
Mama on whether I can be your real daddy.  But I'll tell you what, 
I never thought I'd have a little boy, so why don't we say I am your 
daddy."  Mulder's voice was bemused now.  "Is that okay?"

That made Morgan frown.  She knew it was only sense, knew it 
was reckless to allow Aarin to call him by name, but it rankled 
nonetheless.  

There was no way to explain to a troubled child that this was a 
game of let's pretend, but that the pretend was deadly serious.  
Someday, when this was over, if this was ever over, Aarin would 
be hurt and confused.

"Yeah," Aarin sounded a little puzzled, but essentially satisfied.  "I 
go ask Mama."

"Whoa," Mulder sounded faintly alarmed.  "We aren't done with 
the wood, sprout.  Let's get that finished up, then you can ask 
Mama."

Her throat tightened.  As if trying to catch up on three years of 
development all at once, Aarin kept prodding, trying to understand 
what had happened, where Sharon and Geoff were, where Em and 
Jonny were, and why he couldn't go to school.  

His questioning of Mulder, and of her, all centered on figuring out 
what the parameters of this new environment were.  Thank 
Fortune he trusted Mulder, that was all she could think to be 
thankful for, regardless of the lie.

Lying back down, she closed her eyes and sank into not very 
restful sleep. 


Carrying an armload of wood into the cabin, Mulder eyed the 
prone form on the couch with satisfaction.  She was still too thin, 
but was starting to look healthier.  He had been half afraid they'd 
take one look at her crossing the border and either stop them, or 
take a closer look at them.  

None of that had happened, blessedly, but he was glad to see more 
color in her face, glad to see her clothes fitting her better.  After 
nearly two weeks, she had stopped having nightmares the caliber 
of his worst, and managed to sleep through most of the night.  

Aarin's bad dreams were easing off, as well, which was something 
he had worried about even more.  So young, he thought and smiled 
down at the small, trustful face.  "Mama's asleep," he murmured.  
"Can you help me stack this up really quietly?"

Aarin nodded happily.

It was impossible not to contrast his relationship with Aarin with 
the relationship that he had had with his father.  It was impossible 
not to feel pain over that, impossible not to feel pleasure in the fact 
that he had transcended that behavior with this child.  

He was, he supposed, a surrogate father, at least as much--if not 
more, a childish part of him insisted--than Geoff was, and it was a 
strange feeling.  The strangest part of it was liking it, or liking it 
most of the time.  He marveled at Morgan's patience with Aarin 
sometimes, especially at night when Aarin was reluctant to stop 
talking, would call their names from his small bed, just to hear 
them answer.

Tired and fretting at things he couldn't change, wouldn't change, he 
would feel frustration well up in him, just as Morgan was drifting 
off, at hearing, "Mama?" in worried tones.

And Morgan would answer calmly, sleepily.  "Right here, baby.  
Go to sleep."  No hint of anger or annoyance, just a patience as 
vast as the sea.  And she wasn't, he knew well, by nature a patient 
person.  Though that was the pot talking about the kettle, he 
admitted now, with an inward grin.

Stacking the wood took twice as long with small hands helping, 
but it amused him to see Aarin trying so solemnly.  However 
traumatized he was, it had provided some kind of breakthrough.  

Lying awake at night, listening to Morgan breathe unevenly, 
caught in nightmare, he wondered if whatever she had done to 
blow the other car had also blown open whatever doors had been 
stubbornly shut in Aarin's mind.  

It wasn't the most important thing they had to worry about, but his 
mind seized on it in preference to wondering if Skinner had kept 
Scully from trying to find him, to wondering if Sam and her family 
were still all right, to wondering if they'd ever be safe from the 
bastards.

He wanted to go to Jackson with an ache that made his hands 
shake, he wanted to see that Scully was all right with a force that 
brought tears to his eyes.  But the thought of leaving the two of 
them here made his stomach twist.  

He had to trust Skinner, he had to trust the Lone Gunmen and their 
contacts. They might be paranoid conspiracy theorists, but they 
knew their stuff.  

Putting out his hand, he ruffled Aarin's hair gently.  "Let's get 
washed up and fix some lunch, okay?  If Mama's still asleep when 
it's ready, we'll go for a walk and see if we can see the rabbits 
again."

"`Kay."  Aarin obediently went to the bathroom; Mulder had found 
a small footstool in a shed behind the cabin and cleaned it up for 
Aarin to use.   

Only six inches from the ground, it nevertheless gave Aarin enough 
height to use the toilet and sink comfortably and he was thrilled 
with it.  Washing up in the kitchen sink, Mulder kept an eye on 
him; he was fond of making bubbles with his hands in the sink, and 
prone to wasting soap.  It was so harmless, Mulder hated to get on 
him about it, but they needed to be careful of their supplies.   

If McKenzie didn't show up in two weeks--well, it meant they 
would have to get the hell out of here fast, and he planned to take 
whatever he could with them.  It was a helluva lot different, having 
a child with you while on the run, he acknowledged with mordant 
humor.  Frequent stops for potty breaks was only the tip of the 
iceberg.

"All clean!"  Aarin stood in front of him, holding up his hands for 
inspection, small face wet to the hair. 

Mulder grinned.  "Sparkling clean," he agreed and dragged a chair 
over to the counter.  "Think you can put mustard on the bread 
without getting too much on you?"

"I help," Aarin agreed and held him arms up for a lift.  Setting him 
on the chair, Mulder reflected that some people would think Aarin 
was backward; but he was making strides so quickly that it was 
unbelievable.

"What's happening, guys?"  Morgan's voice was sleepy.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Mulder slanted her a grin.  "We 
were going to surprise you with lunch."

"I help," Aarin said importantly.

"I see that."  Morgan's smile grew.  "And you washed up by 
yourself."

"I a big boy now."  Aarin gave her an ingenuous look.  "Fox say 
so."

"Whoops, don't get Fox in trouble, sprout."  Mulder winked at 
him, reassuring him.  "He helped me stack the wood, too."

Morgan sat down at the table, leaned her chin on her hand.  
"You're a big boy," she agreed, "And a good helper."

Aarin beamed.

"Maybe we can all go for a walk, later?"  She gave him a lazy grin, 
challenging him.

He studied her.  "A short walk," he agreed grudgingly and turned 
back to the tinned meat.  

There was a lot of freeze dried stuff, too, but he was holding that 
back, thinking it would pack easier if they had to run again.  

There was no way in hell he could count on getting past anything 
on the track up, but they could take the wagon across the slope for 
a while before having to abandon it.  And there were first quality 
camping packs in the bedroom.  Byers, and through him, 
McKenzie, had been thorough in his preparations for them. 

Her arms went around his waist, then, and she pressed her face 
against his back. "Stop thinking."  Her voice was muffled.  "It's 
okay now, at least for now. We're okay."

He couldn't answer for a moment.  "Yeah," he agreed roughly.  
"For now."  Setting the meat aside, he turned in her arms and put 
his own around her.

"Mama?"  Aarin sounded worried.

"It's okay, sweetie, Mama just needed a Fox hug."

Mulder looked at the little boy and bit back a smile at the 
comprehension there.  "I didn't know my hugs were so special."

Morgan laughed into his shirt.  "Well, in a limited market," she 
teased, but her eyes belied the joke.  "What choice do we have?"

"Evil bitch," he muttered and kissed the top of her head.  "Go 
away and let the men fix lunch."

Her laugher was a balm to his soul, to his restlessness and worry.  
"Gladly.  I knew I was bound to end up in a society I really liked if 
I waited long enough."

He pinched her backside for that, laughed at the yelp, and turned 
back to keep Aarin from overdoing the mustard.

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