Harsh Mistress
by WickdZoot


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

The sky above him was clear and dark, the stars glittering like a scattering 
of gemstones against the black velvet of the night.  Mulder's breath made 
little puffs in front of his nose and he shivered, sitting hunched inside his 
leather jacket on the porch of his mother's house.

Four days after Christmas, and he'd survived another holiday without eating 
his gun.

The door behind him opened and he turned his head to see Sam--no, 
Amanda, he reminded himself, come out, wearing his mother's coat.  
"Whoof, it's cold out here."

Mulder smiled faintly, pushing his sour mood away with an almost physical 
effort. "Not quite like California."

"Nope."  The boards of the porch creaked as Amanda came toward  him.  
Her weight settled on the top step beside him and an arm snaked through 
the crook of his elbow.  A warm hand slid into his pocket over his.  "You 
really miss her, don't you."

The lump came back to his throat.  "Yeah."   The single word puffed out 
white.

Amanda leaned against his shoulder.  "Mom isn't quite what I expected."

Mulder sighed.  "What did you expect?"

She was silent a moment.  "I don't know.  She--it's good to be here, she 
really adores Will."  Soft laughter.  "I wanted to name him Fox, I didn't know 
why.  Nobody would let me."

"Good," he told her feelingly and sighed.  "What a terrible name to hang on 
an innocent kid."  And there was something else behind his sigh--Will was 
adopted, Amanda was infertile.  Which raised questions in his mind that 
made him ill.  Questions he didn't want to think about.  

Amanda laughed again, pulling his thoughts back out of the mire.  "I like it."

"I don't.  Not particularly."  He looked up at the sky again.  "I need to get 
back to DC, I'm afraid.  Being on the run half a year meant that I have a six 
month backlog."

"Mm. That phone call."  Warm fingers curled around his.  "About Morgan?"

Mulder's eyes burned suddenly.  He hadn't expected her to understand.  
"Yeah."

"What happened?"  Her voice was soft.

"Geoff moved her to a nursing home.  It's not far from my apartment, it's not 
that.  He didn't tell me.  Didn't ask."  He swallowed against the ridiculous 
lump in his throat.  "It's like giving up on her."

Amanda didn't say anything, just sighed again and tipped her head back. 
"We used to look at the stars together.  You used to tell me the names of 
the constellations."

Mulder glanced at her, smiled faintly.  "When you weren't being a hopeless 
brat," he mock-growled.

"Or you weren't."   Her voice was light for a moment, then:  "I wish you and 
Ty liked each other better."

He was silent, wishing she hadn't said it.  "Well, it's that big brother thing," 
he finally joked, "You know, nobody's good enough for my kid sister."

She sighed.  "Yeah."

The sigh hurt.  Hell, the whole thing hurt.  

Getting Samantha back--he'd thought it was his life's purpose.  The loss of 
Samantha had left a hole in the family so great--he'd been the only child for 
so long, and while that wasn't such a great thing, he'd forgotten just how 
much of an outsider he'd been while she was still with them.  Until this last 
five days.  "C'mon," he told her roughly, "You're going to freeze sitting out 
here."

"So are you."  But she rose with him, no argument, leading the way back into 
the warmth of the house.
_____________________________
    
Alexandria:  December 31

His fish had survived the holiday weekend, Mulder noted, his gloom lifting 
slightly at this hopeful omen.  At least, he hoped it was an omen, and not 
just for the day, but for the upcoming year.  

Last year, Scully and he had seen in the New Year with a vast and eclectic 
collection of movies, several different kinds of beer, a decadent pizza, all at 
her apartment.  He'd slept on the couch, too far gone to drive home after the 
night was creeping toward dawn; they'd both been a little under the weather 
the next day, but it had been worth it.  And it had eased one helluva lot of the 
strain that had lain between them.  No strain now, but Scully was busy, he 
was sure of it.  And she didn't know he was back.

He found he was staring morosely at the fish and sighed; going to the 
kitchen, he found that the milk in the refrigerator was still good, never mind 
the expiration date, and drank it straight out of the carton.

His mother had been angry with him for leaving.  

But then she'd been angry at him anyway, angry for not telling her about 
Sam before arriving in Connecticut in November, angry for his grieving for 
Morgan, and seemingly angry for his involvement with Morgan in the first 
place.  

Which wasn't fair, entirely, the hug she'd given him when he left told him 
that it was watching her son in pain she couldn't handle.  She'd never been 
able to handle it.  Which was also unfair.

And he hated being fair right now, he was in a thoroughly worthless, self-
pitying and miserable mood, and by God, he intended to enjoy it.  The 
thought made his mouth quirk, just as his door opened and Scully walked in, 
carrying two brown paper bags.

Geoff Montrose followed her in, looking a little wary.  

Well, he'd shouted at Geoff over the phone and he'd had reason to do so.  
He gave Geoff a long look over the milk carton and Scully a longer one.  "To 
what do I owe the pleasure," he asked nastily.

"New Year's Eve," Scully said, imperturbable as always.  "Stop scowling at 
me, you didn't think we were going to let you sulk alone, did you?"

He scowled anyway.  "How did you know I was home?"

"I called your mother."  Scully tilted him a frown.  "Imagine my surprise at 
being told how many cases we had backlogged."

He took refuge in the milk again, draining the carton and tossing it in the 
trash.  A small child's face caught his eye on the side and he felt the familiar 
pang, followed by grief.  "I had to get out of there."

She set the bags down on his kitchen table and gave him a look.  

He studied it with interest.  This was a new one and it took him a moment to 
catalog it; it was, he decided, a Mulder-you're-feeling-sorry-for-yourself and 
I'm-not-going-to-coddle-you look.  No, he'd seen those before.  "All right, I 
give," he said, "I can't decipher what you're saying to me with that one, 'fess 
up."

"I'm saying I understand why you feel that way, but there's no reason to 
grouch at me," she told him, her mouth twitching.

That was going to be a mouthful, he decided.  I-understand-Mulder-but-
don't-grouch-at-me.  He supposed it was marginally better than the look she 
gave most of his ties.  "I'm not grouching," he said and rubbed his face with 
both hands.  "I'm tired, I feel put upon, and I don't like my brother-in-law."

Geoff set down his bags and eyed him.  "I don't care for mine, either," he 
offered, the faint British accent making it sound like a loftier statement than 
Mulder's.

Which was, again, unfair.  "How's Morgan," he asked, a little hopelessly.

Geoff looked at Scully, who looked at him.  "The same."  Her voice was 
gentle.  "Did you drive straight through?  Ah, I understand, I'm facing 
Mulder, the Caffeinated Highway Monster.  Go sit down with Geoff and 
critique our movie choices.  I'm going to dish up the Chinese food."

Chinese food, he thought and was faintly cheered, cheered enough to 
forgive Geoff for telling him about Morgan's move over the phone while he 
was in Connecticut.  "Okay," he agreed equably and obeyed.  Maybe the 
year wasn't going to start off so badly after all.

But it was four more months before Morgan's condition changed.
_____________________________

The man Walter Skinner knew as Mr. Smith leaned back in his desk chair 
and regarded the woman before him.  Tall, thin, with intense, finely defined 
features, she gazed at him with certainty.  

"She's reaching a decision," she told him, the faintest of accents betraying 
her French origins, and reached up to tuck a strand of white hair back into 
the coil that insisted on coming loose.

"Are you certain?" he asked, though Anabel never spoke until she was 
certain, and thus was always proven correct.

She merely gazed at him, one corner of her mouth lifting in amusement.  

He smiled himself, then.  "Then we shall have to be ready.  She's too 
important to be left unprotected.  On any plane of existence."

Anabel nodded, leaning back a little herself.  "All of those assigned to her 
must shake off their lethargy," she told him, amused.  "They have had a long 
rest, nearly a year, and now she will take up her life again."

"We must certain that she's allowed to do so," he agreed.  "Ah, well, Jones 
did not approach her at the right time, and it still grieves me that there was 
nothing to be done for the child.  It's a pity we didn't know about that earlier.  
Now she's hostile."

Her dark eyes were serene.  "We shall see.  This is a crux point, Thomas, 
and many things are possible.   The probabilities have multiplied--they will 
not narrow down for some time, but she is a large part of that.  She and 
Agents Mulder and Scully."

He smiled again, ruefully.  "We hadn't foreseen that."

Anabel's laughter was soft.  "Like Dr. Grayson, Agent Scully appears to be 
random.  But that is their strength.  Agent Mulder, now--he is easier to 
predict, but his involvement with both of them has opened up the field a 
great deal.  It's invigorating--too often, my work is tedious."

He laughed.  "Keep me informed, as always.  And thank you, Anabel."

She rose, graceful still at nearly seventy.  "Of course, as always," she 
smiled and left the room.

Wheeling the chair around, he gazed out at the Devon countryside.   It was 
time to return to the States, it seemed.  And perhaps, this time, they would 
make successful contact with Morgan Grayson.  He hoped so.  If they did 
not, Anabel gave a 93% probability of her death.

Skinner had made a devil's bargain, and Smith couldn't blame him for that; 
but bargains with the devil had a way of being double-edged, or 
untrustworthy.   

And Morgan Grayson was too delectable a morsel, with her unexplained 
gifts and her destruction of Averill Preston.  The other side would want her 
under control, and failing that, dead.  And he and his principals had no 
intention of allowing that.

With the right help, even a devil's bargain could be renegotiated.
_____________________________

Alexandria:  June 1

The convalescent home was clearly an expensive one.   Mulder had asked 
Geoff early on who was paying for this, thinking of the sums he still had left 
from his father's legacy, only to be told that it was taken care of.

"You aren't the only one who loves her, Fox," Geoff had told him drily, and 
he had found himself unable to respond to that.

Sitting down in his usual chair beside her bed, he studied the thin face, 
wondering if he was ever going to be able to let this go, to just stop coming, 
to go on with his life as if Morgan Grayson had never touched it.

Despite the fact that Scully continually reminded him to live his life, he still 
kept coming here at night; he had come every night until a few months ago, 
just to see her.  She had never woken, despite the fact that Geoff told him 
there was no reason she shouldn't; her brain was still working, still live, no 
flat-line here, nosirree, but she still slept, if you could call it that.

He didn't like to.  Sleep was normal, or so they told him, and people woke up 
from sleep, refreshed and aware.  Morgan just kept sleeping, like a princess 
in some stupid fairy tale.  Half the time he was angry, the rest he was just 
sorrowful, and that sorrow had gone from being grief so painful he thought it 
might break him to a sadness he could live with.  

And he hated that, felt as if it were a betrayal.  Felt that betrayal more than 
he did any of his one-night stands, because she was, no matter what, still 
alive, and he still loved her--as a friend, as a lover, as God only knew what 
else.

"Hey," he said now and took her hand, some bent corner of his mind wryly 
thanking Melissa Scully for the courage or lunacy it took to do this.  "I'm 
going to be gone a while, got a case in Omaha.  Got a missing teenager, 
looks like it might be an XFile."  Even her hands were thin; he held this one 
in both of his, rubbing his thumb absently over her palm.  "I don't know how 
long--Scully's going with me, of course, and she's not exactly thrilled about 
Omaha in the summer.  I didn't even think about it, tell the truth, not that we 
had any choice.  Skinner's idea."

Her eyelids fluttered; he was used to that.  They did sometimes, and it 
evidently meant little.  Maybe she was dreaming, although he'd thought that 
coma victims didn't.  Asking Geoff had seemed stupid, given that Geoff had 
grieved nearly as much as he had; the night nurse had once told him that 
sometimes their eyes flickered, sometimes even opened, meanwhile giving 
him a compassionate look that had made him want to slap her.

"I wish," he said suddenly, all the pain refreshed as if it had never left, 
tearing at his gut until he leaned forward to ease it.  "I'd give anything, 
Morgan, to have you wake up.  I thought--I thought when Sam, when 
Amanda came, I'd be able to put it behind me, be able to see it as a trade of 
sorts, but I can't.  I miss you.  I even miss fighting with you."  

And, he thought, closing his eyes, he missed Aarin still.  Preston's house 
had been a loss, but the heat had not been so intense that Aarin's body 
could not be recovered.  Another pathologist had done the post-mortem, 
Scully having refused, and he had told them nothing useful, nothing that 
really proved how Aarin had died, one way or another.   "I miss you both."  
He gently laid her hand back on the bed, rising before he could change his 
mind.  "I'll see you when I come back," he added and left, resisting the 
return of the pain with all the strength he had.
_____________________________

Morgan  had spent a long time in the Otherworld, going backward and 
forward in time, and not just hers.  It had been an escape from the guilt and 
grief she had felt when she had walked out of that house.  Guilt for what she 
had done to Preston and his lackeys, guilt for what she had nearly done to 
Fox Mulder.  Grief for Aarin and for Fox and for all of them, trapped in a 
situation they had not created.  It was easier to stay and observe other 
things, other times, other places, easier not to remember what had gone 
before.  And in this state, it was hard to remember why she had been torn 
by emotion.  She would reap what she had sown, to be sure, but the choice 
of action had been hers.

She had seen so many things when she was summoned, told she must 
make a choice whether to stay or go.  So, regretfully, she had gone back to 
see her frail husk, lying so still in the bed, running on all the autonomic 
reflexes that told them she was still alive.

And had seen him, seated beside the bed, holding her hand.  In her current 
state, she felt little, but something about his posture touched her 
nonetheless, brought her closer to the living once again, close enough to 
feel his pain, feel the effort he made to detach himself from it.

She could see the shadow that threatened his future; when he left the room, 
she made her choice.

They had called her the Hunter once; it seemed that this much of her 
identity still remained.  She chose and in choosing, was cocooned in flesh 
once more.
_______________________________

The first sign anyone noticed was that she shifted position, rather obviously, 
moving from her back to her side, the pillow shifted as well.  The night nurse 
made a note of it and mentioned it to the day nurse, Tom Atkins.

He in turn saw it for himself later that day, after shifting her to another 
position.  Her muscles resisted, the first sign of life he'd seen from this 
puzzling patient; later, after he'd gone out and returned again, curious, he 
found she'd moved back to her side.

It might be nothing more than the natural tendency of the comatose to return 
to the fetal position, he told himself, but called the physician of record 
anyway.
_____________________________

Leaning over Morgan's bed, Geoff Montrose frowned.  

"She's moved again," Tom Atkins offered, his tone bemused.  "Within the 
last 30 minutes, since I called you.  She's lying on her other side now."

Geoff touched Morgan's face lightly with a fingertip and her eyelids fluttered.  
Well, they had fluttered before, had opened as if to regard those who held 
vigil with her, and so meant little.  Taking her hand, he squeezed it.  
"Morgan, love, wake up for me--can you?"  Her eyelids fluttered again, lifted 
slightly.  His pulse sped a little, but it was something less than a real 
response and he cautioned himself.  "Morgan, if you can hear me, squeeze 
my  hand."

Her eyes were half-open; her brows drew together slightly and her hand 
squeezed his weakly in return.

"That's good, love," Geoff murmured, his heart hammering in earnest now.  
"Very, very good indeed."  His throat was suddenly too tight.

"Geoff?"  It was very faint, her voice rusty from months of disuse.

"I'm here, love."  He stroked her hair gently, bending to look into her eyes.

They came open fully then, puzzled.  "Where am I?  I don't--Oh, God, oh, 
Aarin--"  Puzzlement vanished for good, replaced by horror and grief.  
"Geoff, they killed my baby, they killed him..."  She tried to sit up, to struggle 
against him, but he gathered her up, tears blurring his own vision as she 
began to weep, great racking sobs that tore at both of them, Rachel weeping 
for her children.....
_____________________________

"Six months," Morgan whispered later and turned her face away from him.  
"Oh, God, what I did."

"Don't," he growled, unable to prevent himself.  "Morgan, I'd have been half-
mad with rage and grief myself.  And you yourself don't know half of what 
you're capable of, you couldn't have predicted the results."

She looked back, her eyes haunted.  "Oh, but I do.  I did.  I summoned the 
Morrigan."

He fought the shiver that feathered up his spine.  "I don't care if you bloody 
summoned Kali," he told her harshly, "Let God or the Lady judge you, if 
judgement's required."  She looked so damned frail to him, had been so 
utterly appalled at her own weakness that he refused to allow her to sink 
back into darkness.  If he could prevent it.

She was silent for a long moment, her gaze distant.  Then, her tone 
alarmed.  "God, Fox, is he all right?  They had him, they were going to kill 
him, Geoff--"

He put a hand up, interrupting her.  "He's fine, love.  Back at work, out on a 
case in Omaha.  Something to do with a disappearing teenager, from what 
little Dana told me.  I'll get in touch, let him know just as soon as we know 
you're all right.  And after you get some sleep."

Her brows drew together again.  "I don't want to sleep."

He could hear the fear that underlay the defiance.  "It's all right, love, you're 
going to wake again, and in a more timely fashion."  Uncertain how he knew, 
he nonetheless felt safe in making the assurance.  "I'll call him later, after 
you've rested.  You can speak to him yourself."

Her eyes flicked to him, uncertain.  "If he wants to speak to me," she 
whispered. "He's really all right?"

"As right as he can be.  His sister's come to visit, even.  He's going to want 
to speak to you, he's come to visit you regularly." 

She blinked at that, thoroughly bewildered, but too tired to pursue it.   "All 
right."

He touched the back of his hand to her cheek.  "We've missed you so 
much," he murmured, and left to make his calls.
_____________________________

Scully had reached the point at which she must either say something 
unforgivable about something that wasn't any of her business, or leave.  

The blonde at the bar had been giving Mulder come hither looks since the 
two of them had come in to share a drink and their current lack of progress 
with any of the witnesses or potential victims in this case; while Mulder 
wasn't exactly going thither, he was still paying a good deal more attention 
that was, strictly speaking, courteous to his companion.

And even though she was entertaining serious notions of dragging her 
partner out by his tie, she knew that was unfair.

The blonde winked at him and he smiled, the last straw as far as Scully was 
concerned.  "Isn't she just a little obvious?" she asked tartly.

Mulder slanted her an amused look.  "Don't be such a snob, Scully.  Even 
butterflies have their purpose."

That almost made her laugh.  The blonde had a predatory gleam in her eye 
that was far from ephemeral; she wore a tight, jersey dress cut to reveal her 
assets, and it was plain she was used to getting them noticed.  

"So does the praying mantis," Scully retorted and reached for her purse as 
she slid out of the booth.

He grinned up at her. "You leaving me to her mercies?"

"Yeah," Scully stood, eyeing him.  "But if you need help, you can always call 
911."

His grin broadened.  "I'll keep it in mind," he told her.

Rolling her eyes, she left the bar.  

It was unfair of her to disapprove.  Mulder had grieved for Morgan and 
continued to do so.  But Morgan's condition had shown no sign of 
improvement, as baffling now as it had been six months earlier, and she 
should be applauding the fact that he was beginning to show signs of 
resuming what passed for his normal life, coming out of the long depression 
that even his sister's visits had not healed.

Her thoughts jumped sideways on that thought.  On the other hand, his 
reunion with Amanda might well have been part of his depression; the 
obsession that had driven him to uncover the truth of her disappearance had 
been, however tamely, resolved.  

Oh, the truth was still out there, they both knew that, but over the winter she 
had been seriously worried about his lack of interest in pursuing it, an irony 
that she had been unwilling to examine very closely for fear of discovering 
that she was just as obsessive as he had once been.  Still was.  

Whatever.

The deal Skinner had made had kept Amanda safe, unmolested.  Like the 
deal over the MJ tape, it had kept Mulder safe as well, but had again buried 
the truth of William Mulder's involvement with what had happened to his 
daughter, about the facts of the abduction.  They had a tape of Amanda's 
regression, of course, but even if Mulder would not admit the dangerous 
unreliability of memory retrieved under hypnosis, she could.  They had 
nothing more of fact than they ever had.  And perceptions themselves, she 
knew, could not wholly be trusted.

Mulder had raged about Skinner's deal on more than one occasion, shown 
rueful acceptance on others, and brooded about it always.  No, it was unfair 
of her to judge him, to judge the woman flirting with him at the bar....

Once in her room, she slipped out of her shoes and turned on the television, 
flipping idly through the channels while her mind continued to worry at her 
partner.  At length, finding a movie she liked, she dismissed him from her 
mind and settled back, wanting to leave the files for once, despite the need 
to type up her notes.

When the phone rang, she sat upright, expecting Geoff, and picked up the 
receiver.

"My virtue's still intact, Scully," her partner's voice said.  "She was a pro."

"Your virtue hasn't been intact since you were in diapers, I'm sure," she told 
him, grinning in spite of herself.  "But it's interesting to know you prefer 
amateurs--kind of like the Olympics of love, huh, Mulder?"

"I really prefer the long jump."  Mulder snickered.  "Ooh, and the hurdles, 
Scully.  Hey, you take a shower or something?  I got a message from 
Geoff."

Something like presentiment prickled on the back of her neck.  "No, he 
probably just got the room numbers mixed up."  Her tone was calm, 
unworried, pragmatic.  "Did he say why he called?"

"Nope, just left a number I don't recognize.  Got a pen?"

"Yeah, just a sec."  Fumbling in her purse, she managed to unearth one and 
a scrap of paper.  "Go for it."

He rattled the number off for her, then paused.  "Um.  You think I should 
call, just to make sure?"

She was reasonably sure that only she could have recognized the dread 
beneath the lightness of his tone; she suspected that their friendship would 
not make much difference if she had to tell him Morgan had died.  "I'll 
check," she told him, obliquely addressing that dread.  "And I'll call you right 
back, Mulder."

"Okay."  He was silent again for a moment.  "Sorry, partner, sometimes I'm 
a real coward."

"Kick back," she told him seriously.  "And stay out of the bar, I'll talk to you 
in a few minutes."

"Thanks."  It was very soft.  The phone disconnected and she dialed the 
number Mulder had given her.
_____________________________

Mulder was pleasantly buzzed, even after the brief surge of adrenalin at 
retrieving the message from Geoff Montrose.  Throwing himself flat on the 
motel bed, he channel-surfed for a while, letting the wave of meaningless 
noise wash over him, an electronic sedative that kept him from thinking of 
Scully in the next room, talking on the phone.

The woman downstairs had vanished from his mind when he'd heard 
Geoff's name from the desk clerk; now, she returned.  Her interest in him 
had been amusing, given Scully's presence with him in the bar; with Scully's 
departure, she had moved in fast and he had been tempted, oh, so very 
tempted, to bury all his brooding and moroseness in her lush body.

The last few months he'd sought out a number of one-night couplings, 
nothing more than a way to sleep, a way to feel a little less alone; he chose 
women deliberately, avoiding any echoes of Morgan--nothing like her 
introspective intelligence, nothing like her bent and mordant wit, nothing like 
her unsentimental tenderness.  But this one had seemed a bit too predatory 
for his tastes, and that was unfair.  

And he'd slandered the poor woman to Scully--semi-pro at best, a party girl 
seeking out new encounters with strangers, safely anonymous.  He couldn't 
fault her for that, not given his own behavior and tendencies, and he wasn't 
entirely sure why he'd characterized her thus to Scully.  Maybe because it 
was easier than trying to explain himself.  Even to himself.

And all this was doing was keeping his mind off Geoff's phone call, he 
admitted to himself and sat up, pocketing his room key.  Padding down the 
hotel corridor in his stocking feet, he found the service area.  He had 
enough change to get a diet soft drink for both himself and his partner; filling 
the ice bucket, he found himself briefly wishing he'd gotten a bottle from the 
liquor store they'd passed--he shoved that notion down violently, reminded 
too strongly of his father's escape into the bottle.

Returning to his room, he found Scully outside the door, her hand raised to 
knock.  When she turned to look at him, her expression struck him as 
peculiarly impassive and he felt a wave of dizziness threaten him. 
"She's dead."   His voice was flat and he took in a breath, astonished at how 
much it still hurt.  After all these months, he'd thought he was prepared for 
it.

"No," Scully told him quickly and took the ice bucket, tilting precariously, 
from his hand.  "No, she's not, Mulder--she's awake, she, she wants to talk 
to you."  Reaching out, she took the cans, propping them on the ice.

He was suddenly certain that he was going to fall down, his legs simply 
giving way beneath him; he leaned against the wall instead, breathing deeply 
to ease the lightheaded feeling.

Scully took his key from him and unlocked the door.  Returning, she guided 
him to the bed and eased him to sit.  "I called Skinner, it's all cleared, you're 
leaving on a flight in an hour and a half, he said he can give you a couple of 
days, compassionate leave or something like that.  We've just got time to 
get you there.  Geoff says someone will pick you up at the airport, you get in 
at 4:00--sorry, the earliest flight I could get has a layover in Denver, you're 
taking the great circle route home.  Where are your shoes--ah, there."  She 
went and got them, then came back.

He stared at her, completely at a loss, then took the shoes.  "That's fine," he 
agreed faintly and suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the gut, 
all the air knocked out of him, but he was still breathing.  No, he thought, 
dazed, that was joy, incredulous, ridiculous, completely absurd joy.  "She's 
awake?"

Scully's eyes were too bright.  "She's awake," she agreed and sat down 
beside him, taking his free hand, just sitting there while he let the fact sink 
in.  "And asking for you," she added, her mouth quirking.  "Though I may 
question her judgement on occasion, this is one time I'm delighted."

A foolish grin appeared to have taken possession of his face.  "Oh, man," he 
breathed and had to wipe his eyes to clear his vision.  Dropping the shoes to 
the floor, he quickly slipped them on; Scully got up and got his suit coat, 
grabbed his wallet and keys and other small assorted and necessary items 
and gave him a gentle shove toward the door.

"Let me get my purse and we're on the way," she told him, smiling a little 
foolishly herself.  "Mulder, I don't think I've ever seen you this stunned.  And 
considering our experiences, that's saying a lot."

"I didn't think she would," he confessed, looking over his shoulder at her.  "I 
was afraid...."  His voice trailed off.  Afraid to hope, afraid to want her to 
wake.  Afraid to believe she would be back, as if the sacrifice of Morgan was 
required to have Samantha back.  

And if it had been, he bitterly regretted it in a way that he could only just 
admit to himself.  She had given him enough in trance, on the side of a road 
in Massachusetts, to know that Samantha was still alive, happy, well.   So 
he had found himself ashamed, at odd moments, to wish that Morgan had 
never gone to Jackson, never interviewed Samantha, never gotten involved 
in an investigation started by a cop bent on finding out why his fiance had 
died.

His quest would have gone on, given what she'd told him, he would have 
found his sister in due time.  Aarin need not have died.  Morgan need not 
have come close to dying.  Or summoned up whatever power she could use 
to kill.

But now, maybe he didn't need to be ashamed, maybe he could just accept 
it as the vagaries of the human heart.  Maybe he could have both of them in 
his life.

It certainly looked that way.
_____________________________

Mulder disembarked at National to find, of all people, Walter Skinner waiting 
for him, dressed casually, looking tired, but pleased.

"You changed hotels," Skinner muttered.  "Dr. Montrose called me."  He 
looked over the top of his glasses at Mulder.

"Scully never likes the hotels I choose," he told Skinner., by way of 
explanation.  "I didn't bring anything, just myself."

"Good," Skinner told him and eyed him for a moment.  "You want to stop by 
your apartment and get cleaned up, changed?  Frankly, Mulder, you look like 
hell."

Looking down, he discovered that his suit looked like he'd slept in it.  Which 
he had, both on the flights, and in an airport chair in Denver, leaning his 
head against the wall and waking to discover that he'd drooled on his shirt 
collar and that a two year old who was supposed to be napping was 
watching him, entranced.

Not one of his better moments.  

He brushed at the wrinkles and sighed.  "No. I don't care, we've seen each 
other at worse moments, I just need to see her."

Skinner nodded abruptly and led him out of the airport.
_____________________________

At 4:45 am, the traffic on the Beltway was still light; Skinner seemed 
disinclined to conversation, which suited him.  The closer they got, the more 
his stomach knotted, the more he thought of unhappy reasons for Morgan to 
want to see him.

Aarin's death, first and foremost.  And he didn't think he could handle 
talking about Aarin's death if Morgan was angry at him.  God knew, he was 
angry at himself, still, even though he also knew there was nothing he could 
have done.  Just as there had been nothing for him to do twenty-five years 
ago.

Althought he still hadn't accepted that completely.

When they arrived, there was some difficulty over getting in, but Geoff was 
waiting, gently and firmly overriding the objections of the staff.  Walked him 
to the door of  Morgan's room and left him there, going back to join Skinner 
in the lounge.  

Leaving him alone to face her.

Morgan was asleep, the light over her head turned low, still thin, looking no 
different than she had before he'd left for Omaha, save that the bed was 
adjusted so that she was sitting up, not quite upright.

As he stepped into the room,  her eyes opened, her head turning so she 
could see him, eyes widening.  "Fox?"  Faintly, her voice husky from disuse.

Appallingly, she began to cry, strong Morgan who had faced Harcourt, faced 
both of the Cronin brothers, who had faced Averill Preston--it was all right, 
then, suddenly.  Unafraid, he reached the bed and held her as she sobbed 
out grief and fear, as she wept for Aarin and everything they had endured 
together.

He cried, too, though he tried not to; he'd thought he was cried out, long 
since.

"I'm so sorry," she kept saying, "Oh, Fox, I could have killed you, I could 
have killed you."

And he kept hushing that, holding her as carefully as if she were porcelain.  
In the end, they ended up lying side by side on her bed, his arm around her 
shoulders, her head resting in the crook of his arm.  "I lost hope," he 
confessed guiltily, "I didn't think you'd come back, Morgan."

She was silent for a long moment.  "I wasn't sure I would," she finally 
sighed, "But it was time.  I'm so sorry, Fox."

"Hush,"  He took in a deep breath, free of the pain that had dogged him for 
months, from the wound that wouldn't heal.

She slept then, while he held her; he dozed himself, or thought he did.  The 
sun was out when he opened his eyes again, and a nurse was regarding 
him with disapproval, despite Geoff's presence in the chair.

"What time is it?" he asked rustily and Morgan raised her head.  Awake, he 
thought and felt that little shiver of joy again, that sensation he had failed to 
recognize in Omaha.  Unfamiliarity, no doubt.

"Just past ten." Geoff smiled at them both.  "I hope the wrinkles come out of 
that suit, Mulder.  Would you like to go and change?  Morgan's got to have 
breakfast and then visit with the physical therapist."

Morgan made a faint sound, not quite laughter.  "Oh, joy."

"You're actually in remarkable condition," Geoff told her, his brows drawing 
together.  "Don't complain too loudly, or someone will hear you."

"Huh."  She sounded just a little scornful.  "I feel like a piece of cooked 
spaghetti."

"You're about that thin," Mulder told her gravely.  "Yeah, I'm going to take a 
shower, brush my teeth, all that neat stuff I usually do well before ten in the 
morning."  He brushed a kiss on her temple.  "Don't do anything stupid while 
I'm gone.  It will only be about an hour."

She sighed.  "Well, at least you'll miss the humiliating parts," she muttered 
and flicked him a grin.  Almost a normal Morgan grin; his throat was 
suddenly tight.

"Oh, I'll be back in time for some of 'em," he told her cheerfully.  "After all, 
you saw me in the hospital, now it's my turn to make encouraging remarks."

"Ugh."  She rolled her eyes at him. "Paybacks are hell."

"Gotcha," he agreed and swung his legs off the bed, pausing for a moment 
to kiss her again before getting up.  He was, he reflected, becoming 
revoltingly maudlin in his old age.

Geoff grinned at her.  "Ah, yes, this is my time to relish each and every 
moment I have you under my power, my pretty.  But, for the moment, I'll 
forego it to take Mulder to his apartment."

She muttered something inaudible, but Mulder could see how much energy 
it cost her just to do that.  

It worried him.  In Geoff's car, he risked asking about it.  "How long will it 
take her to get her strength back?"

Geoff sighed.  "It depends on how hard she works at it.  And you and I both 
know she's obsessive.  I anticipate getting her out of there in a few weeks, 
perhaps less, but I'd hesitate to let her go back to work then.  I'll need your 
help and Dana's help in keeping her leashed, I don't mind telling you.  With 
Sharon gone--and Em and Jon back in California, and Ray in New York, 
yours are the only opinions, besides mine, that she's going to take 
seriously."  He seemed to consider that and smiled faintly.  "Of course, Ray 
will be down to visit, however briefly.  And I wouldn't doubt that Marian--
you've never met her friend Marian, she lives in Oklahoma--will be out for a 
visit.  But they'll be gone, and I need voices here."

"You've got mine."   Relief made Mulder shiver; he'd been thinking in terms 
of months.  "And Scully's, you don't even have to ask."

"We've gotten Aarin's things put away, the room changed back to an office, 
so there shouldn't be any problems with her coming home."  Geoff tapped 
his fingers on the steering wheel.

His hackles rose.  "She's not going back to the house."  Kept his tone even 
with effort. "She's going home with me."  Which was arrant nonsense, since 
he'd never asked her, only told the comatose Morgan about it.

Geoff gave him a sidelong look.  "We'll see."

It was enough to make Mulder's stomach knot; he was silent for the rest of 
the drive to his apartment.
_____________________________

Later, back in Morgan's room--

"Listen," he began, watching her dangle her legs over the side of the bed 
and grimace at her own weakness.  "I know it's early to think about, but I 
wondered if you'd consider--that is, we managed to live together for four 
months without killing each other, I wondered if you'd want to come home to 
my place when they cut you loose of here."  

The words came out in a rush, before he could call them back, change his 
mind, or flee in terror.  And once out, he found he really meant them.

Morgan gave him a thoughtful look.  "We did, didn't we."   She swung her 
legs again.  "But it would be different now."

The differences were, God, that Aarin was gone, they  weren't on the run, 
not dependent on each other's skills for safety.  But somehow, he didn't 
think that was all there had been between them.

He swallowed.  "I know that.  I'm not particularly domestic, Morgan, I don't 
think it has anything to do with settling down into domestic bliss, but I'd 
really like you to come home with me.  I miss you."

She nodded and looked out the window, thinking it over.  He was glad of 
that, glad she hadn't rejected it out of hand, and amused that her wariness 
was as great as his.  "I think I'd like that."  She sighed.  "I'm not domestic 
either, Mulder.  But if we can get past that ridiculous notion, I'd like that."  
And looked back at him, smiling a little shyly.

He forgave her the Mulder for that, reckoning it was Morgan's way.  Mulder 
most often, for which he had only himself to blame, insisting on it in 
Massachusetts during those first early days.  Fox was saved for the more 
intense moments.  But mostly, he found he liked it.   

Getting up from the chair, he sat down on the bed beside her.  "Want to 
walk around the room?"

She grinned.  "The nurses will have a fit.  Collectively."

"Let 'em."  He grinned back.  "I'm used to pissing off nurses, Morgan.  I'm 
an expert."

"Okay," she agreed, her eyes merry.  "Let's give it a try.  I hate hospitals, 
and this place is no improvement."

It felt like she weighed next to nothing; putting an arm around her waist, he 
steadied her as she stood.

"Whoa."  She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into him.  "Major rush, Mulder.  
Maybe we ought to keep our expectations low--how about to the chair and 
back."

"Sounds fair to me," he agreed.

Her steps were halting; he bore more of her weight than she did, but it was 
a valiant effort.  And there were beads of sweat on her face when they'd 
returned to the bed.

Leaning against his chest, she sighed again.  "Long way to go," she 
whispered, sounding depressed.

"Not as long as last week," he told her, seeking desperately for something to 
give her back the grin, the devil-take-it mood that had made her try.

"Good point," she agreed and hugged him, her face in his shirt.  "Thanks."

"De nada," he said in reply and hugged her back.  Two days.  That's all he 
had here; God, it was going to be hard to leave again.

"Tell me about your case," she suggested and disengaged, shifting back 
into bed.  "Wow, I'm whipped.  That's scary."

"I've been there," he told her mildly and raked a hand through his hair.  
"Well, it looked like it might have been an abduction scenario, but now it's 
looking more and more like a runaway.  Parents seem okay, but the girl's 
been wild, experimenting with drugs and sex in her group, a little dash of 
heavy metal thrown in, and she's been seeing somebody twenty-five, also 
missing."

She gazed at him.  "How old is she?"

Mulder grimaced.  "Fifteen.  Yeah, I know.  I keep looking for some reason 
the parents are the villains, but sometimes kids go off the rails just because 
they do.  And we haven't found so much as a hint that they're anything but 
good working class folks, completely bewildered by their wild child."

Morgan took his hand.  "So, you think she took off with the boyfriend?"

He nodded.  "Word is that he was heading out to Washington State to get 
work.  Scully's probably checking that out today."

Morgan brightened.  "How is Dana?"

Grinning, he shook his head.  "More of a nag than ever.  I keep telling her to 
nag Geoff, but she doesn't to listen to me.  And they *both* nag me.  
Dragged me out to her mother's house on Memorial Day weekend.  It was a 
relief, though--her brothers usually give me dark looks, but this time Geoff 
got them all."

Morgan laughed throatily, a sound that made his grin widen.  A normal 
sound.  A healthy sound.  "I wish I'd seen that.  And Geoff, so urbane, so 
Brit, is standing there completely confused by all of it, I'd bet."

"You got it," he agreed.  "God, I've missed you, I can't tell you how much."

For a moment, she gazed at him solemnly, then mischief lit her eyes.  "Well, 
I'm ba-a-a-a-ck."

This time, they both laughed.
_____________________________

In the event, Scully's check on the missing boyfriend turned up their missing 
teenager; he didn't have to go back.   

Scully and Morgan had a tearful meeting from which he was summarily 
banished; he hoped to God Scully wasn't telling her what he'd been up to for 
the last six months, he thought guiltily, leaning against the wall in the 
hallway.   She'd be unhappy about his bouts with depression and guilt, and 
as for his forays back into the world of the carnal--being Morgan, the 
reaction was just as likely to be congratulation as recrimination.  And that 
would unnerve him at this point.

But since neither would tell him what was said, he was never certain if 
Scully had talked about him or not. 

There was a battle over Morgan's release.  He made his point, and Ray 
Palmer, down from New York, said quietly that Morgan's whereabouts after 
leaving care was up to Morgan.  He was grateful for that, having belatedly 
realized that Ray Palmer had been paying the bills, that Ray Palmer loved 
her--he could see it in the man's eyes when he looked at Morgan.

Geoff was graceful in defeat, but would not budge from the projected 
release date.  Morgan was still too weak, he said, too weak to be left alone, 
too weak to be out of a support structure that, from Mulder's observations, 
was starting to drive her crazy.

But he opted out of the battle at that point, reckoning it wiser so.   Then it 
was a matter of waiting.

Fortunately, Mulder's days were lately filled with paperwork, catching up on 
reports, consulting with the Behavioral Support Unit and the guys working 
VICAP.  On one such sunny afternoon, he and Scully returned from lunch; 
he found a message from Morgan, no note, just her name and number.

"She's chafing to get out," Scully told him wisely and sat down, picking up a 
pen to take up where she'd left off--expense reports.

"I don't blame her."  He flicked Scully a grin.  "I know just how she feels."  
Dialing the number, he frowned when there was no answer.  "She's 
probably in physical therapy," he said aloud and disconnected to dial the 
nursing desk.  

No, she wasn't in physical therapy, he was told, and someone came back 
breathless to announce that she wasn't in her room, wasn't in the lounge or 
the solarium--all his fears came back in one sickening rush and his stomach 
wanted to rebel against what he'd eaten.  Slamming the phone down, he 
rose, fumbling in his pocket for his keys.

Scully looked up, alarmed.  "God, what is it?"

"I don't know."  He went out the door in a rush.  

While he waited for the elevator, Scully caught up with him, taking the keys 
from his hand.  "Talk to me, Mulder," she growled.

"They can't find her.  She's gone, Scully."  It was hard to breathe suddenly, 
hard to think.  "God, Skinner's deal fell through."  His tone was bitter; he 
cursed the elevator savagely and with great inventiveness until the door 
opened.

Scully blinked up at him.  "I'll drive you."  Calm voice, steady, as she 
followed him into the elevator.  

It seemed to take an eternity to get there; traffic was hell at this time of day, 
all the powerbrokers taking lunch to be seen, to meet, to see....

They made Alexandria and were on the street when Scully braked suddenly.  
"Mulder, I think I just saw her."

He lifted his head, turning to follow Scully's gaze.  Sitting on the grass 
beneath a tree, Morgan had her eyes closed, her head tilted back.  "I'll kill 
her," he breathed.  His hands still shook, but he could breathe normally and 
his heart had resumed something resembling its normal rhythm.  "I'll by God 
kill her."

Turning the car around, Scully gave him a brief, sidelong grin.  "Not in front 
of witnesses, I hope," she told him mildly, and pulled up to the curb.

Morgan's eyes opened and widened when he got out of the car.  "If you ever 
frighten me like that again," he snapped and knelt in the grass, heedless of 
his suit, taking her into his arms, hugging her hard.

She yelped.  "Ow, Mulder, you're hurting."

He hadn't meant to.  Leaning back, he sighed, mortally embarrassed.  "They 
couldn't find you, I got worried."

Her expression shifted.  "I'm sorry.  I had to get out.  Hey, I made it almost a 
mile before I had to rest, that's worth something, isn't it?"

Worth a heart attack, he thought, but nodded agreement.  "Want a ride 
back?"

"No."  She leaned back, gazing at him seriously.  "I want to go home.  I'm 
fine, Mulder.  And I'm not going to get stronger faster just because I'm in a 
nursing home."

His eyes stung briefly.  "Okay," he managed, when he could speak again.  
"Just don't scare me again, okay?  I don't think I can stand it."

Her eyes were a little sad.  "Fox, I don't mean to scare you.  But I can't stop 
being who I am."

"I don't want you to."  He sighed, recognizing the truth of it.  She couldn't 
stop being who she was, he wouldn't want her to, and she was going to 
continue to scare the hell out of him.  

He began to feel some real understanding of why Scully had exacted that 
promise from him, the promise not to take off, not to ditch her.  "Just--just 
promise me that you won't ever take off on your own without telling me."

There was a silence.  After a long moment, during which he'd feared he'd 
lost, she nodded, almost reluctantly.  "All right," she sighed.  "I'm used to 
going it alone, but that's fair."

He smiled, relieved and helped her to her feet.  

Still behind the wheel, Scully looked amused; he forgave her for that, he 
supposed it was pretty amusing.  Fox Mulder, the original loner, acting like a 
damned fool, exacting the self-same promise from Morgan Grayson that 
Scully had exacted from him.

But that was one of the things he had discovered about life.  Just when you 
got complacent, things went topsy turvy on you.
_____________________________

Morgan sagged onto the couch when they got to the apartment.  Mulder 
eyed her worriedly and looked at Scully standing near the door.

Scully's mouth twitched.  "Morgan, you need to rest now.  Pushing the 
envelope is fine, just don't tear it."

Morgan grinned faintly in return.  "Yes, ma'am, Dr. Scully, ma'am.  Don't 
worry.  I'm going to take a shower and co-opt Mulder's couch."

"I went and got some of your things from the house," Mulder told her, sitting 
on the coffee table in front of her.  "Clothes, toothbrush, all the little 
amenities."  His mouth quirked.   "And extra pillows."

She laughed a little.  "The compleat host."

His brows drew together.  "I'm not your host, I'm your--your roommate."  
And flushed, too aware of Scully's amusement.

"Mm."  Morgan's eyes danced, but she didn't challenge him on it.  
"Something like that, anyway."

"Roommates don't usually sleep together," Scully told the ceiling.

Ignoring this, he leaned forward and kissed Morgan's mouth.  "I have to go 
back to work," he told her.  "Want anything special for dinner?"

She chuckled.  "Food will do.  Dare I hope you actually have any in this 
place?"

Mulder flushed again.  "Um, yeah, I stocked up last week."  And heard his 
partner smother a snicker.

Morgan glanced that way, grinned.  "Hey, don't be mean to Mulder, Dana.  
He does pretty well buying groceries.  And remember, he's great at laundry."

Rolling his eyes, he stood up.  "Thanks."  Gave her another long look, trying 
not to act the fool.  "I'm glad you're here."  Very softly.

Reaching out, she tugged gently at his hand.   "Happy to be here," she told 
him seriously.

He squeezed her fingers lightly and released them, turned to find his partner 
still grinning.  "Stop it," he growled and walked past her through the open 
door.

She said something to Morgan that he didn't catch, closed the door behind 
her and turned to him.  "I can't help it, Mulder.  The original running man--
you're just so cute when you're in love, Mulder."

He patiently waited out the tide of color that washed over his face.  "Do I 
give you a hard time about Geoff?  Do I comment when you come in late 
with that shit-eating, I-just-got-laid look on your face?"

"Yes," she told him sweetly and chuckled to herself softly all the way down 
in the elevator.
_____________________________

The first few days were strange, but they soon fell back into the 
companionable pattern of those months on the run.  With the added 
advantage that they weren't on the run anymore.

Mulder got used to coming home to find Morgan in front of his computer, 
concentrating so hard that she didn't hear his key in the lock.   Got used to 
cooking dinner together, cheerfully bickering over which of them got cleanup 
duty.  Got used to sleeping in his own bed, with her warmth spooned either 
in front or in back of him.

Got used to, in short, things he'd never thought he'd have.  

And after more than a month, he began to wonder why he shouldn't have 
them, X files or not.  Samantha was found.   Returned, so to speak, to the 
bosom of her family.  The battle to bring the truth to light hadn't ended, but 
Morgan didn't begrudge him that search, having her own matters to focus 
on.

He woke early one morning, still surprised that he'd managed to sleep all 
night, more or less, and rolled over on his side, leaning up on one elbow to 
watch her sleep.

As if sensing his regard, Morgan stirred and muttered something 
unintelligible, rolling over to put her face against his chest.  

"S'okay," he murmured and rubbed his chin on her hair.  "Go back to sleep."

There was another mutter and a sigh.  Then:  "How come you wake up 'fore 
the alarm?"

Mulder grinned.  "Hey, I'm not used to getting this much sleep.  This is a 
*good* thing."

A sleepy chuckle and she tilted her head back to kiss him on the chin.  "I 
hate being so tired all the time."

"It's only been a few weeks."  He ruffled her hair.  "Give yourself some time, 
for God's sake."

"Says the man who was barely off medical leave when he took on the Cronin 
case."  She yawned, covering her mouth with one hand.  "Mm, how does 
coffee sound."

He put an arm over her.  "Like it can wait."  Sliding down, he kissed her 
mouth.  "I've been thinking."

"A dangerous habit.  Didn't Shakespeare say something about men who 
think too much?"

"They have a lean and hungry look."  He grinned.  "No, I'm serious, are you 
going to listen or give me a hard time?"

"That's a tough choice."  She yawned again, managed a mischievous, if 
sleepy, smile.  "Okay, I'm listening."

He ruffled her hair again.  "Well, I was thinking about us."

"Mmm-hmm."  She nuzzled her cheek against his skin.  "What about us?"

"What would you think about getting married?"

There was a brief silence and Morgan suddenly sat up, regarding him with 
what looked like, in the dim, early morning light, complete and utter 
astonishment.  "Married?  What for?"

He shrugged, heart pounding a little fast.  "Oh, you know.  Commitment, 
permanence, all that stuff."

"Marriage is an economic institution, promulgated by a patriarchal system 
for the production and continuation of family lines."  She slid out of bed, 
wearing one of his rattier t-shirts.  "I can't have children, Fox.  Partial 
hysterectomy, the factory is closed, even if the playground is still open."

He laughed in spite of himself.  "Jesus, Morgan.  I don't have any problem 
with that.  I don't need to have kids to feel like my life is fulfilled."

"Huh."  She went out the door, shaking her head.

Well, he supposed it had been worth a try.  

But it was funny, he'd thought women were the ones who wanted to get 
married.  He wasn't even sure why he wanted it.  Or if he did.

Getting out of bed, he pulled on his shorts and padded after her, found her 
in the kitchen measuring coffee into the filter.  "Hey, it was just a thought."

She laughed softly.  "You've been brainwashed by the culture, Mulder.  
Marriage isn't necessarily such a great thing."

He put his arms around her from behind.  "Was your marriage difficult?"

She stilled in his arms, went completely silent for a moment.  "I was a 
different person then.  I guess it was happy enough.  But that's because I 
subsumed whatever I was into what he wanted.  I can't do that again."

"Who the hell would want you to?"  Resting his chin on the top of her head, 
he smiled.  "God, like a Stepford wife."  And shuddered.

Leaning back against him, she laughed.  "Well, I must admit, if I was to 
consider the dreaded institution seriously, you'd probably have a better 
chance of convincing me than anyone.  Not only do I love you, but I like you.  
But there's still--"  She cut it off suddenly, shook her head.  "I'm not a 
marrying woman, Fox."

"That's okay," he murmured, suddenly afraid he'd pushed too much.  "As 
long as you're the staying around kind of woman."

That won more laughter.  "Oh, yeah."  Setting the coffee scoop aside, she 
turned in his arms, tipped her face up to kiss him.  "That bed has got to go, 
though.  My back is starting to complain."

He kissed her long and hard, laughed when she poked him in the ribs.  And 
that was the end of that discussion.

But he thought of it now and again, at odd times.  Wanted to talk to Scully 
about it, but was too embarrassed.  

But Morgan stayed, as she had told him, and that eased him past it.  
__________________________________

The meeting room was, as usual, shadowed in the corners, not brightly lit.  
The conference table was polished to a high gloss, subordinates doing their 
job.  The well manicured man at the head of the table was ostensibly their 
leader, and he looked to be in no good frame of mind.

Rebecca Hawkins dutifully sat behind her--employer wasn't quite the word, 
although she served as his aide de camp, his logical successor, given her 
long and loyal service to him.  At the table, her employer, a stout, dark 
haired man, almost certainly older than he looked, was sweating.  Only 
someone who knew him would have seen it, the beads along his hairline and 
on his upper lip.

She suspected he was going to lie to his colleagues.  Which was hardly 
surprising, since he'd never been in complete favor of appeasement or 
colonization.  He'd opted to continue the program long since abandoned, 
had taken action that the well manicured man was sure to dispute.

And in disputing, exact harsh discipline.  Only the beads of sweat on the 
stout man's face told how harsh that discipline might be, although Rebecca 
had heard tales of their leader's ruthlessness.

"I'm sure you know why we're here."  The well manicured man accepted a 
glass of water from *his* aide and took a sip.  His aide moved around the 
table, laying a small manila folder in front of each of the men.

The stout man wiped at the back of his neck with an already sodden 
handkerchief.  Rebecca noted that with interest, noted that the aide did not 
provide him with a folder.

"It has recently come to my attention that one of our colleagues has seen fit 
to disobey clear orders and continue the Prometheus Project."

No one reacted visibly, although Rebecca saw the Japanese representative 
slant a look sideways at the stout man.

"The Project has been terminated," the stout man told them all flatly.  "The 
results were--less than desirable."

"Yes, so I see.  She wouldn't cooperate with you.  And worse, her powers 
were more significant than her genetic mother's abilities."  The well 
manicured man smiled, deceptively gentle.  "You've acted twice in direct 
contempt of this committee.  The first time, to continue a project already 
discontinued without any of the participants being the wiser.  The second 
time, to terminate the project without presenting the results to this 
committee.  I trust you have an explanation?"

Rebecca leaned forward fractionally.  The Japanese representative was 
looking at pictures of two small children, both dark-haired.  Her heart 
thudded a little, but only reflexively.  She was trusted, trusted implicitly.

"The girl was dangerous.  And despite a different home environment, the 
control was likewise dangerous."  The stout man patted the back of his neck 
again.

"These reports are inconclusive."  The German representative spoke up, his 
voice harsh and guttural.  "It was irresponsible to terminate the subjects 
without further study."

"Dr. Campbell reported--"  

The stout man was cut off by a sharp gesture from the head of the table.  
"Dr. Campbell appears to have been easily frightened," the well manicured 
man told his colleagues.  "On the basis of some broken glass and simple 
telekinesis.  The Project is hereby reopened.  You've cost us valuable time, 
time to gestate the next subject, to raise it, to teach it."  His eyes were as 
cold and flat as stones when he glanced around the room.

Rebecca drew back, making herself inconspicuous, but not looking away 
either.  The well manicured man smiled faintly at her in approval, nodded his 
head abruptly.

"You have your orders.  I warn you, I expect you to adhere to them, and 
further, I expect a progress report at the end of the month.  With valid 
justification if the next subject has not been implanted in a compliant 
surrogate."

"It is important to maintain adequate controls," the Japanese representative 
spoke for the first time.  "I suggest that the home environment is not 
necessary, providing that the subject is provided with care and some 
pretense of affection."

The well manicured man laughed shortly.  "No, I fear that won't do.  The two  
most successful subjects we have had child rearing situations very close to 
that during their early lives.  We must take great care with this one.  The girl 
was clearly hostile and resentful of the testing.  The boy--he appears to have 
been quite docile on the few occasions he was examined for benchmark 
testing.  We will place our subject with an appropriate family and wait."  
Another dark look came the stout man's way and the well manicured man 
leaned back in his chair.  "And while we consider the ramifications of this 
project, I would like for you to consider an appropriate method of discipline 
for our colleague."

Rebecca felt something chill brush the back of her neck.  Not that she owed 
either loyalty or affection to the stout man, but a glance around the table 
showed the judgement of the group.

It wasn't his first failure to reckon with his fellows.  But she had a feeling it 
would be the last.
__________________________________
__________________________________

Mulder left the issue of marriage alone, content to simply have Morgan with 
him.  Content not to frighten her away.  It was odd, loving someone more 
skittish than he was, but Scully claimed it was bad karma.

When, at the end of their third month together, he and Scully went out on a 
case, Morgan even drove him to the airport and saw them off, as if they 
really were an old married couple.

"Yell at him if he needs it," Morgan told Scully, standing on her toes to put 
her arms around his neck in a quick, farewell hug.

"I  always do."  Scully laughed outright.

"She does," he told Morgan forlornly.  "All the time."

"Good,"  Morgan told him back and kissed his mouth briefly.   "See you 
soon, G-man."

A new term of endearment, he guessed, which had just lately become 
current.  He wasn't altogether sure he liked it.

Scully snickered again, lifted her carryon and headed toward the boarding 
gate.

"Behave yourself."  Mulder bent and kissed Morgan again, let go of her and 
lifted his bag.  "Please don't wear yourself out."

In answer, she rolled her eyes.
___________________________

Returning from the airport, Morgan carried up her groceries, juggled the 
bags while managing the door, and came in to stand, surveying her 
surroundings.  

The apartment seemed unfamiliar without Mulder.  Never mind she was 
spending the days there alone while he was working, it seemed strange to 
be there knowing he would not be home.  At least for a few days.  

Not merely strange, but almost uneasy.  

"Idiot," she told herself, and busied herself with mundane things, putting 
groceries away, getting their laundry together.  

The woman from the apartment down the hall gave her a dark look in the 
laundry room.  

Morgan almost grinned in return, remembering what Scully had told her 
about the attempts Mulder's neighbors made at garnering his interest, but 
contented herself with a small nod of greeting before loading the empty 
washing machine and dumping the requisite amount of detergent into it; 
leaving it to run, she went back up to the apartment and dug out her book, 
stretching out on the couch to read.

She needed to get back to work doing something.   

Her position at Georgetown was filled, of course; disappearing as dead for 
four months was certainly not conducive to either steady employment or an 
acceptable work record.  There was always consulting again; with Aarin 
gone, it might do her good to work against the monsters again.  Might help 
with the grief that kept returning to crush her.

The book lay unnoticed on her lap as she considered that.  

Walter Skinner had mentioned consulting to her earlier, or rather, had 
started to talk to her about and been firmly squelched by both Mulder and 
Geoff, the two of them giving each other conspiratorial looks after having 
done so.  Perhaps it was time to call Skinner.

But it would be better to discuss it with Mulder first, a little voice reminded 
her, making her grimace.   She still wasn't accustomed to doing that with 
anyone.  Wasn't accustomed to feeling the need to be forthcoming about 
her decisions, or feeling the need to compromise with anyone.  Or anything.

It frightened her as much as anything, which simultaneously made her laugh 
at herself.  So, she was a coward, she'd known that already.

The knock at the door startled her from these reflections and made her 
tense.  Made her walk to the closet and get her gun out of her bag.   

But the face Morgan saw through the peephole was familiar, if not exactly 
welcome.  The man with the dissimilar eyes.  Mr. Jones.  Opening the door, 
she regarded him impassively, the cold weight of the gun welcome against 
her palm.

"Dr. Grayson."  Jones offered her a faint smile.  "Glad to see you looking so 
well."

"I'm sure," she told him neutrally.  "I wish I could return the sentiment.  What 
do you want?"  Suddenly her pulse sped.  "Is Mulder in trouble?"

He shook his head, sobering.  "Not that I'm aware of, no.  I, ah, have been 
deputized to bring you some information that you may find both interesting 
and valuable."

"I doubt that."  But her eyes fell on the briefcase anyway.  After a moment, 
she stepped back to let him in.  "All right, I'll hear you out.  But I'm not any 
more inclined to throw in with you now than I was earlier.  Less so.  My son 
is dead."

He paused, just inside the door, offered her a grave look.  "Yes, I'm very 
sorry for that.  If we could have helped, we would have.  Averill Preston, 
however, was playing his own side game, our people inside the Consortium 
could not affect the outcome."

A surge of temper made her mouth thin, made her pulse race again.  "No, I 
suppose not.  I don't suppose there's any way to convince them that all I 
want is to be left alone, is there?"  

"Probably not.  What they cannot control, they frequently destroy.  Unless it 
costs them more to destroy than they can gain."  

Morgan led the way back to the livingroom.  Sat down on the couch and 
regarded him challengingly.  "So, what is this information?"

He laid the briefcase on the coffee table and opened it.  Pulled out two file 
folders, one green, one red.  Both fat with papers.  He handed them to her, 
still grave, and sat down in the chair to the side of the couch.  "Please, read 
those, Dr. Grayson."

After a moment, she opened the first, the green one.  Her hands began to 
tremble.  The photographs paper clipped to the front of the folder were of 
her parents.  Both young, dressed in the styles of the late 1940s.  Both 
candid shots, nothing formally posed.  Photographs which could have been 
taken from concealment.  Surveillance photographs.  

She glanced up at Jones before looking back at the papers.  Before 
beginning to read.

Her parents, if she was reading correctly, had been labeled as CX23474 
and CX23432.  The CX23474 was used to indicate her parents' offspring.  
CX23474A, CX23474B and CX23474C:  her older brother, herself and her 
younger brother.  

She read of tests done on her parents while her father was still in the Army.  
On her mother.  Of the doctors they were steered to make sure that the 
experimentation continued.  Using technology that should not have existed 
in the late forties and early fifties.  Of her mother's exposure to some type of 
compound at the time of her older brother's conception.  Deliberate 
exposure.  To affect the fertilized ovum.

She was shaking harder as she read more quickly, lifting the pages and 
skimming.  Read of her brother's birth, of his development.  He wasn't quite 
what the experimenters had hoped.  Very bright, certainly, very precocious, 
but it seemed that he lacked certain traits they had hoped to foster in him.

Their disappointment was acute when, at ten, he was diagnosed with 
childhood leukemia.  The bottom of that sheet was stamped PROJECT 
CLOSED.  

A project.  A subject.  A lab animal to be watched and tested, heads shaken 
when the lab animal reacted to the experiments with illness.  And above the 
stamp, the things that they had learned, would avoid.  

Too late, evidently, because she had been born when he was seven.  They 
had tried a different compound with her mother around the time of her 
conception.  Her mother was anxious to conceive again, willing to do what 
the doctors recommended.  And CX23474B had been born.  A girl, which 
had pleased them, since females, even in utero, were hardier than males.

But they hadn't been pleased with her environment.  Her father had taken 
her brother's death quite hard, and being left with a daughter was not 
completely to his tastes.  He hadn't been drinking then, but his temper had 
been unpredictable.  He'd picked her up one time and thrown her across her 
room to her bed, because she'd scraped her knee and been crying.   

When he was angry, she hid.  Hid and played with friends that everyone told 
her were make believe.  Learned not to speak carelessly of things she knew 
or found or could do.  Learned to cower in her closet when adult voices were 
raised in anger.

Subject CX23474B was fearful.  Too subdued, too frightened to be 
extremely useful.  And the results on the tests were not encouraging, 
despite the mother's complaints that the child imagined things.  Did things.  
Was the center of small, inexplicable events.  

She knew the rest of the biography, of the times she'd been taken to the 
doctor to answer odd questions, of the times she'd fallen asleep in the 
examination room and awakened afraid and disoriented, not understanding 
why.  Knew about the death of her husband and daughter, although she'd 
never before had an inkling that their deaths had been murder, the result of 
whatever this conspiracy was.  They'd been afraid of her breeding a child 
out of their hands, out of their control.  A child with more power than she 
had.  

Although they weren't completely certain, until after the Massachusetts 
case, that she'd had any.  And her biography ended there.  No hint of the 
watchers that had dogged her after her contact with Amanda Fortenberry.  

Another faction, perhaps.  Another group, just as Jones had said.

There was no PROJECT CLOSED at the bottom of the last page relating to 
her.  And the sheets were all fax copies.  Not originals.  She said as much, 
not looking at Smith, running her fingers over the glossy surface.

"It's still an active file," he told her softly.  "We daren't risk removing an 
active file."

Morgan looked up, felt acid rise in her throat.  Active.  Oh, God, active.

She looked back down at the file.  When she was seven, a different 
compound was given to her mother.  And her brother was born.  Richard.  

Presently in a state mental institution, paranoid schizophrenic and 
completely delusional, they said.  Although, she had doubted it then, 
doubted it yet.  

Richard wasn't complaining.  He preferred living with both feet in the 
Otherworld.  If that's what it was.  Preferred not dealing with reality.

Morgan wasn't certain his wasn't the wiser course.  

Picking up the other folder, she opened it.  Stared at a picture of an infant 
and read about another child.  Conceived in vitro.  

The ovum taken from CX23474B while she lay near death in a hospital after 
having been shot.  Semen from someone else, a subject labeled 
AY711342A.  

They wanted traits from both, hoped to combine them more effectively with 
better technology.  No compounds given, just an in vitro fertilization and 
implantation into a surrogate.  The child was being raised by two of the 
researchers.  Showed great promise.  Psychokinetic abilities, carefully 
watched and guided.  A child whose intelligence was outrunning the tests 
they could give her to measure it.  A child with careful training.  Another lab 
animal with kinder surroundings.  Controlled surroundings.

Her stomach had knotted up around the last thing she'd eaten and it was 
suddenly hard to breathe.  "What are you doing to me?"  It was a whisper.

"You have a right to know."  Jones' voice was apologetic.  "And the child is 
in danger now."

She didn't ask why.  Didn't ask anything at all.  Simply looked back, reading.  

The child was six now, and the last set of tests had blown their expectations 
to hell.  They were afraid of her now.  A little girl.  The experiment was going 
to be abandoned, with more promising avenues to follow.  The last page 
was stamped PROJECT CLOSED.

Morgan looked up, too aware of the slickness on her palms, of the way her 
hands were shaking.  "I suppose you're going to tell me they're going to kill 
her."

"I suspect they'll send a team any day."  Jones' voice was still soft.  "The 
two people raising her have argued that maturity is all that's required.  
Ostensibly, they were granted an extension.  But other sources indicate that 
this was a ruse.  Having failed at their task, they won't be allowed to live, 
they know far too much about the project as a whole."

She was shaking all over, a minute and uncontrollable trembling she was 
helpless to control.  "Who is her genetic father?"

He blinked at her in surprise.  "I don't know, precisely, Dr. Grayson.  Surely 
that's irrelevant."

"And what do you want me to do?  I couldn't keep them from taking Aarin.  I 
couldn't keep them from killing him."

"You and Mr. Mulder were alone, essentially.  With the assistance of the 
Illuminati, I think you can do more."

Sickness made her dizzy.  "Go to hell."  She rose and pointed at the door, a 
posture that might have been imposing if she hadn't been palsied with terror 
and grief and rage.  "Get out.  I won't play your game, Mr. Jones.  Go back 
and tell your masters that.  I can't help her, I can barely help myself."

"Dr. Grayson--"

"Go!"  She all but shrieked it.  He rose quickly, gracefully and went to the 
door.  

"I've clipped a telephone number to the inside of the folder.  If you change 
your mind, you can contact us at any time."

She almost screamed, but he opened the door, closed it again, gone, out of 
her sight.  She barely made it to the bathroom in time, lost everything she'd 
eaten, slid back down against the tub, moaning and hugging herself.

A subject for their experiments.  A toy for them to use.  An animal, to be let 
out leashless until they wanted to haul her back in.  

Oh, God, she was as much danger to Mulder as she'd ever been.  Pure 
poison.  No matter what assurances Skinner had.  They'd never, never let 
her live her life without interference.  

The child haunted her.  

And haunted her all through the next few days.
___________________________________

Mulder grinned as he worked the key in the lock.  Throwing the door open, 
he called, "Honey, I'm hoooome!"   Calculated tone, wanting to hear her 
laughter, amused outrage.

But he got no answer, not even a sardonic one.  Hearing Morgan's 
footsteps, he walked forward to see her emerging from the hall, her 
expression serious.  She stopped when she saw him.  "Hello."

It was a curious greeting from a woman who had hugged him hard at the 
airport and told him to hurry home.  He let his bag drop, studying her face.  
"Did I do something wrong while I was gone?"

That got an attempt at a smile.  "I don't know, did you?"  And she came 
forward, hugged him hard, face buried in his shirt.

Worried, he put a hand on the back of her neck.  "Morgan?  What's wrong."

He heard a shaky breath.  "I was going to leave you a note, but I couldn't.  
That was cowardice."

His heart began to pound in irrational fright.  "Leave me a note about what?"

She only held him tighter.  "Fox, I have to go away for a while."

His gut tightened.  "I *did* do something wrong while I was gone."  He kept 
his voice light with herculean effort while his instincts screamed. "I swear, I 
listened to Scully, every step of the way.  Just because I didn't agree with 
her--"

"It isn't anything you did."  Her voice was muffled.

Taking in a breath, he considered.  "Why do you have to go away?"  Kept 
his voice steady, his tone reasonable.

She kept her face in his shirt.  "I just--I can't get over Aarin yet, I have to 
have some time.  Everytime I go out, I think about him, everytime I go past 
his preschool, every place I go--I need time, Fox.  I have to get past it.  I 
can't do it here."

This, he decided after a moment, was why he'd never let anyone close 
enough, why he'd never risked loving anyone after Phoebe.  This numb 
feeling, as if he'd lost a limb.  No pain yet, just numbness.  And the awful 
certainty that the pain was not very far behind.  "We'll move, we don't have 
to live in Alexandria, Morgan, we'll find someplace else."

She stepped back, releasing him suddenly.  There were tears on her face, 
but her expression was composed.  "No, I'm sorry.  I have to go."

He licked lips suddenly dry.  "You blame me."

Something flickered in her eyes.  "No," she told him fiercely, "No, I don't.  I 
love you, Fox.  Oh, God, please, forgive me, but I have to do this."  And 
turned back down the hallway.

Mulder followed her, catching her at the door to the bedroom.  Her 
suitcases--plural, Mulder, not singular, he told himself crazily--rested on the 
floor near the bed.  Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, she wasn't planning on coming 
back.

"Morgan, please."  Heard the plea in his voice and closed his eyes briefly.  
"Come on, whatever it is, can't we talk it out?  Can't we make it better?"

"It isn't you."  Her voice was husky.  "It's me.  I'm so sorry, God, I'm so 
sorry."  Her voice nearly broke, she hoisted one suitcase.  "I've got a plane 
to catch, Fox.  I'm going to be in New York.  I left the number and address 
on the kitchen table.  I'm staying with Ray for a little while, until I get my 
head clear."

He jerked the suitcase from her hand, desperate.  "Goddammit, please, will 
you tell me what's happening here?  What did I do?   You can't deal with it, 
so you just fucking leave?"

Tears spilled.  She backed against the wall as if she were afraid of him, 
crying openly.  "Nothing, Fox, you didn't do anything.  Oh, please, just let me 
go.  Please, I have to."

He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision.  "Morgan, I need you, Christ, I 
love you.  You've got my fucking heart and soul and you're walking out?  
Don't, God, please don't leave.  Don't you leave me, too.  Please, don't."

Morgan raised her hands.  "Fox, I have to go.  I have to."

He took a step toward her, kept his hands at his sides, rage warring with 
terror and grief.  "Just like that?  I come back from a case and it's sorry, 
Fox, gotta run, got other things to do?  Jesus, Morgan, don't--Goddammit, 
you came back for me once, don't leave me now.  Please."

She wept.  "I have to, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Whirling, he slammed his hand into the wall, felt the ache distantly.  Oh, 
God, scaring her again, seeing her flinch back.  Crying, her hands held up, 
as if in self-defense.  "No.  Dammit, no, we can work through this, Jesus, 
Morgan, we've already been through hell, we can get through this."

But she was shaking her head, saying "Please, oh, please."

He had no defense against that.  

Not against frightening her.  Not against her begging him.  "I'll take you to 
the airport," he told her tonelessly, drawing back inside of himself.  "Fine, 
then, if that's what you want.  Fuck, I'll take you anywhere you want to go.  
Just stay the hell away from me.

She broke down then, sobbing into her hands.  And he didn't understand 
what was happening.  Didn't dare take her in his arms to comfort her, didn't 
want to.  Didn't dare do anything but carry the suitcases out to the car.
____________________________________

 
Mulder was in a foul mood, Scully noted and wondered at it.  Since  
Morgan's release from the convalescent home, he'd been coming in  
revoltingly cheerful, no matter how early it was.  And he wasn't a morning  
person, despite his irregular nocturnal habits. 
 
He'd come in taciturn and progressed to sullen silence throughout the day.   
This Mulder was a throw back to particularly bad days after being chewed  
out by Blevins.  Or Skinner. 
 
"Okay," she finally muttered and went over to rest her hip on the edge of his  
desk.  "Tell all, Mulder.  Did you and Morgan have a fight?" 
 
Mulder looked up at her, his expression one of such naked misery that she  
regretted asking.  "She left, Scully." 
 
Carrying that around all day and he hadn't so much as breathed a hint of it.   
She wanted to smack him.  And comfort him.  But she was stunned.   
"Why?" 
 
"Beats the fuck out of me."  His tone was bitter.  "She says she has to get  
over Aarin.  She can't stay here, she keeps getting reminded of him.  Maybe  
especially when I'm around." 
 
"No, I can't believe that."  But the words were automatic.  Morgan loved  
Mulder, she knew that, she could see if, for God's sake, and it wasn't that  
sickly romantic crap that passed for love in most quarters.  "Mulder, where  
did she go?" 
 
"New York."  He laughed shortly.  "She's staying with Ray Palmer.  New  
York and Ray Palmer.  She won't be reminded of Aarin.  She left me the  
number and address.  She won't live with me, she won't even live in the  
same state, but she left me the number." 
 
Oh, this was bad, very bad.   
 
Reaching out, she very gently touched his face.  "Maybe it's exactly what  
she says it is, Mulder.  She wouldn't expect you to call her if it wasn't." 
 
Mulder stared at his hands.  "I'm not the easiest person to live with, Scully." 
 
As if that made any sense.  "True," she told him, "But I haven't asked for a  
transfer yet." 
 
That won at least a quirk of his lips.  "Yeah.  But you work on the X files, too.   
That makes your sanity questionable." 
 
"I work with Spooky Mulder, that's what makes my sanity questionable.   
Give me the number, I'll call her." 
 
Mulder leaned back, frowned at her.  "Coming to my rescue?  No, Scully.   
Leave her alone.  Let it go." 
 
"Not like this.  Are you going to call her?" 
 
He looked away, his expression naked again.  "I don't know.  I don't know  
what to say." 
 
"How about please come back?" 
 
His brows drew together, temper rising again.  "You think I didn't?  Jesus,  
Scully, I did everything but get down on my knees and beg."  There was a  
tremor in his voice.  "All the way to the airport, she kept crying and shaking   her head.  Telling me no, she had to go away for a while." 
 
Scully closed her eyes briefly.  "Okay," she told him gently.  "But the next  
time you don't tell me you're hurting, *I'm* going to hurt you, Mulder.  Go  
home.  Go for a run.  Get drunk and stay up late.  Oh, never mind, you  
always stay up late.  And call me, for God's sake." 
 
That got her another wan smile.  "Didn't want to interrupt anything." 
 
"Screw that, you're my partner and my friend."  She leaned forward  
suddenly, hugged him hard before he stiffened up on her.  "Get out of here,  
if Skinner calls, I'll tell him you were abducted by aliens." 
 
"I'd rather work."  His eyes were too bright.  "But thanks.  If I come in  
tomorrow hung over, it's your own fault." 
 
"I'll bring aspirin." 
__________________________________ 
 
Scully had gone home and it was nearly seven before Mulder leaned back in  
his desk chair, tearing himself away from a thrilling discussion of blood  
types.  The phone rang and he regarded it for a moment, his expression  
doleful.  Skinner worked late a lot.  Skinner had called him at seven the night  
he told him the X files were being shut down.   
 
Although Skinner seemed unlikely to do so at this point. 
 
So he picked up the phone, caught his breath at Morgan's voice. 
 
"Hi."  Very subdued.  "I tried you at home, but got your machine." 
 
He was shaking suddenly.  "Yeah,  I had to get some work cleared up."  His  
voice was rough.  Almost a growl.  "I've still got an office." 
 
There was a silence.  Then, she said in a rush, "Fox, I didn't say anything  
very well last night.  But I love you.  I wish--I wish I could make you believe  
me." 
 
Mulder's throat was too tight and he blinked hard.  Kept his voice even,  
almost light.  "Well, you gotta admit, Morgan, packing your bags and leaving  
is a strange way to tell me you love me." 
 
There was an unmistakable, if choked, giggle.  "That was a song in the  
seventies, Mulder.  Did you do that deliberately?"   
In spite of everything, his mouth quirked.  God, she made him insane  
sometimes.  Putting his feet up on the desk, he sighed.  "No, it was  
accidental.  Are you serious, there really was a song?"  Keep talking,  
genius, maybe you'll figure out the right thing to say.  God, he hoped so. 
 
"That's a strange way to tell me you love me," Morgan sang, a little off key,  
"That's a strange way to show me you care.  That's all I remember.  But I do  
love you."  There was a silence.  "Please don't be angry at me." 
 
He was silent, thinking of what he'd said to her.  Swallowed hard.  "I'm trying  
not be, Morgan." 
 
"It isn't about you.  I don't how to explain that." 
 
He was silent again, searching for the right words.  The words that would  
bring her back.  "Anything that's about you is about me, now, Morgan.  It's  
about us." 
 
It was her turn for silence again.  "Maybe you're right."  Very thin voice.   
Almost--Christ, she was crying again.  Nice work, Mulder.  "Will you come  
to New York?" 
 
The pencil snapped.  "Please come to New York for the winter?"  He  
laughed shortly.  "That sounds like another seventies song.  What are you  
asking me?  To move to New York? Whatever it is you're running away from  
will be there, too, Morgan." 
 
She took in a shaky breath.  "Maybe you're right.  Oh, God, I don't know  
what to think anymore.  While you were gone--someone came to see me." 
 
Mulder went cold, suddenly, dropped his feet back on the floor, leaned  
forward in the chair.  "Who came to see you?  Is that what this is all about?" 
 
"Yes."  She was crying again.   
 
Oh, Jesus, what the fuck was happening here?  His palm went sweaty on  
the phone, but he didn't dare switch ears, not until he'd gotten through to  
her, he was that afraid she'd hang up.  "Who was it?" 
 
Another shaky breath.  "The Illuminati, have you heard of them?" 
 
His mouth quirked.  "Aside the gnomes in Zurich, the only thing I know is  
that Skinner worked with some group calling themselves the Illuminati  while  
we were on the run."  He paused.  "Someone came to see you from the  
Illuminati?" 
 
"He brought me a file, Fox.  A file about my family.  All of us.  My older  
brother, me, and my younger brother Richard."  There were still tears in her  
voice and it made his chest ache.  He wanted to hurt someone, smash  
something. 
 
Instead, he swallowed hard, keeping his wits and his temper.  She'd never  
spoken of her family, aside from what she'd told him in Massachusetts,  
about having an abusive background.  "What about your family?" 
 
"There was an experiment."  She laughed, a bitter sound that made the hair  
on the back of his neck rise.  "I'm the experiment.  I'm not safe for you, Fox.   
I'm not safe for me." 
 
Mulder shivered at that, at the despair he heard in it.  "Morgan, neither one  
of us is safe.  I've seen a file with my name on it.  My sister's name covered  
it.  The only ones we're safe with is each other.  Please come home." 
 
She made a sound like a sob.  "I'm so scared.  I'm more scared now than I  
was last year." 
 
"I know you're scared.  But anything you can face alone, you can face with  
me."  He found he was leaning forward, holding onto the phone with both  
hands. 
 
Another sob.  "Will you come up.  Please?" 
 
He swallowed again.  "Morgan, if I come, I'm not leaving without you." 
 
Another choked giggle.  "Mulder, you're the only person I know as stubborn  
as I am." 
 
It made him smile a little.  "Damned straight." 
 
She sighed.  "Okay.  This weekend?" 
 
He closed his eyes, leaned his head on the edge of the desk dizzy with  
hope.   
 
Jesus, that easy?  No, not exactly, nothing ever was.  But once he was  
there, he wasn't going to make the mistakes he'd made last night.  He didn't  
know how or what he was going to do.  But the first step was going up there,  
to see her.  To make her feel safe with him.  "This weekend."  He found he  
was almost smiling again.  "I'll call you later tonight when I make the  
reservation." 
 
"Okay."  Another shaky breath.  "I'm sorry." 
 
And he could breathe again.  "Morgan, what did they want with you?" 
 
She was silent.  "I'll show you what they brought me when you come up.   
Okay?  I don't want to talk about it on the phone." 
 
"Okay."  He considered.  Today was Tuesday.  Friday--he could skate out of  
here early on Friday, Scully could give Skinner her abduction theory then.   
And probably enjoy doing it.  "You be careful and stay out of trouble until I  
get there.  Jesus, I'm going to start locking you up with Geoff when Scully  
and I go out of town on cases if this is how it turns out." 
 
That, at least, won another choked giggle.  Three.  He was on winning  
streak.  "I love you," he finally whispered.  "I'm sorry for what I said last  
night." 
 
"You big dummy, I know that."  She laughed again and he felt elation make  
him dizzy again.  Wow, four for four, he was abruptly on a winning streak.   
"I'll call you later, okay?" 
 
"No, I'll call you."  He grinned.  "See, if you have to wait for me to call, you've  
got to stay out of trouble." 
 
She snorted, an almost Scullyish sound that made him grin again.  "I'll talk  
to you later." 
 
"Count on it."  He hung up, frowned, and picked the phone up again to call  
Skinner.   
 
The AD hadn't exactly been forthcoming about the details of his dealings  
with the Illuminati.  And now, he found, he needed to know. 
 
______________________________ 
 
Walter Skinner was actually relaxed, watching the evening news when his  
phone rang. 
 
"Skinner," he barked into the phone.  
 
"I know that, I called you."  Mulder's voice was typically irreverent.   
 
Skinner sighed.  There went his relaxation.  What the hell was Mulder up to  
now?  Sometimes, he really regretted getting as involved in Mulder's affairs  
as he had over the last year and a half.   
 
"Sorry to bother you at home," Mulder continued, "But Morgan's been  
contacted by the Illuminati and I kind of need to know a little more about  
them." 
 
Shit.  Skinner sighed.  "Not here." 
 
"Do you want to meet in the garage again?" 
 
Rolling his eyes, Skinner got up and walked into the bathroom for his  
antacids, once again blessing whoever had invented portable phones.   
"What the hell is going on?" 
 
"Somebody came to my apartment and scared the hell out of my wife." 
 
Skinner stopped dead.  Wife?  Morgan  Grayson? He blinked.  So, came  
the wind from that quarter, eh?  "What happened?" 
 
"I don't know exactly, sir.  They scared her badly enough that she packed  
and flew to New York last night.  I take that personally, sir." 
 
Skinner grimaced.  "I can understand that."  He shook a couple of tablets  
out of the antacid bottle.  "What did they say to her?" 
 
"They gave her some information.  A file, she said.  On her family.  Some  
kind of experimentation." 
 
Skinner considered, scowled.  "Look, they may be essentially benevolent,  
Mulder, and frankly, I'd shake hands with them if it meant keeping the other  
side under control, but I don't think I'd trust them.  Are you going to New  
York?" 
 
"Yeah.  On Friday.  She's with Ray Palmer, she'll be fine until then.  And, if I  
recall, you indicated that I had to have a certain report on your desk before  
the end of the week." 
 
"Nice try, Mulder."  He kept his voice dry, to hide his amusement.  "Get the  
report done early, and you can leave early." 
 
Mulder chuckled, nearly as dry.  "Yeah.  Well, thanks.  If you can think of  
anything else they might have told you, I'd really like to know, sir." 
 
"Believe me, the only thing they've indicated is a certain interest in the well  
being of both of you."  Skinner swallowed, considered the disturbing hints  
that Jones had given him of genetic manipulation in the Mulder family.   
Decided against mentioning it.  Not yet.   
 
Not to Mulder.   
 
He sighed.  "If I hear anything else from them--are you sure she'll be all right  
up there?" 
 
"I'd be on a flight already if I wasn't, sir.  Thanks."  And  the son of bitch  
hung up. 
____________________________ 
 
Curled up against the pillows stacked on her bed, Morgan sighed, regarding  
the telephone on the bedside table. 
 
There was a tap on the door jamb and she looked up to see Ray, tuxedo  
clad, all but glittering.  "You okay?" 
 
She smiled, too conscious of her reddened eyes.  "Yeah.  I'm fine, honest." 
 
Ray smiled faintly.  "I take it Mulder's coming to haul you back to DC?" 
 
Morgan blushed.  "Sort of." 
 
Ray nodded.  "Smart guy.  No wonder I like him."   
 
There was a bittersweet undertone to his voice that she chose not to notice. 
 
"I don't know how smart it is, Ray.  Not considering everything."  She felt  
very wan.  Very confused.  You weren't supposed to be a full fledged adult  
and be confused.  You weren't supposed to feel stronger with someone at  
your side.  Or back.  Or whatever. 
 
He considered that, smiled again without comment.  "Maggi's off tonight.   
You gonna be okay?" 
 
"I'm going to be fine."  Sighing, she lifted her chin.  "He's going to call me  
with his flight number." 
 
"No driving in New York, babe.  Let me know and I'll have Roger pick him  
up." 
 
Morgan grimaced at him.  "Honestly, you worry too much." 
 
"I've ridden with you," he told her, grinning.  "I'll see you later, okay?" 
 
She nodded.  Listened to the muffled sound of his footsteps as he went  
down the hall.  Reaching for her book, she leaned back and tried to read,  
tried not to remember Mulder's furious pain the night before, tried to  
remember the sound of his voice tonight, instead.  And was ashamed of the  
relief she felt that he was coming, that he wasn't giving her up without a  
fight.  It terrified and amazed her, simultaneously brought hurt and joy.   
 
She hadn't let anyone this close in years.  Hadn't let herself feel anything  
this deeply in years.  Except for Aarin, and Aarin was dead. 
 
The phone rang again before she could follow that thought down into  
depression and fear again; she snatched at it, expecting Mulder. 
 
It was Scully. 
 
"Morgan, what the hell are you doing to my partner?"  
 
Morgan blinked, outrage and amusement stopping her tongue.  Finally:   
"Waiting for him to call me back." 
 
There was a sigh.  "Neither Mulder nor Geoff would give me your number, I  
had to use my considerable resources to get it." 
 
Morgan's mouth twitched.  "A court order?" 
 
Scully snorted.  "The Lone Gunmen." 
 
She couldn't help it, she snickered.  "You're ruthless, Dana." 
 
"Yeah, well, I worry about him." 
 
She sighed.  "We talked tonight, Dana.  He's coming up on Friday." 
 
This time, the silence was longer.  "Morgan, I consider you a friend.  But  
don't play with him.  He's very strong, but he has a breaking point.  When  
he thought you were going to die--it nearly broke him." 
 
Tears stung her eyes and she found it hard to swallow around the lump in  
her throat.  "I'm not playing with him.  I'm trying to keep him safe, Dana.  But  
he--"  She took in a deep breath, blinked hard.  "I can't do it by myself  
anymore." 
 
She heard Scully take a deep breath, too.  "Morgan, what the hell is going  
on?"  Sharp tone, too sharp.   
 
"Not now."  Morgan swallowed past the lump.  "Not on the telephone, Dana."   
The phone beeped to indicate another call.  "Dana, I have to go, now, I'm  
expecting him to call." 
 
"Morgan," Scully began, but she pressed the button and clicked to the  
incoming call, guilt making her flush. 
 
"Okay, I've got the reservation," Mulder's voice made her eyes sting again.   
"I'll take a cab from the airport, the thought of you driving in New York is  
scarier than the X files." 
 
"Hey, there's nothing wrong with my driving," she protested. 
 
"You drive like a bat out of hell," he growled.  "I can see you sideswiping  
some Mafioso type and ending up in bed with the fishes." 
 
"Ugh, what an image."  She laughed in spite of herself.  "Ray's driver is  
going to pick you up.  How's that for hospitality?" 
 
"Wow, luxury."  But he sounded a little dour about it.  "Grab a pen."  She  
scrambled for one, and scribbled down the information he gave her, his tone  
still terse.  Then, more lightly.  "The fish miss you." 
 
She grinned.  "Mulder, your fish hated me." 
 
"Nah, they don't.  They were very excited when I told them I was going to get  
you." 
 
"You've been working in the basement too long." 
 
He snickered.  "Not at all.  Their little fins were all a-quiver with the news." 
 
"Have you considered the possibility that it was terror?  Mulder, you don't  
even have any fish anymore." 
 
He snickered again.  "So, they ran away.  Were you cruel to my fish when I  
was gone?" 
 
"I read them fish recipes from the New York Times cookbook." 
 
He cracked up, laughing hard enough that he dropped the telephone.   
She heard the bang, began giggling and couldn't stop for several moments  
until he finally said,  "It *was* terror, then.  Morgan, I've got to be able to  
trust you with my fish if we're going to make this work." 
 
"Oh, well, I'm not much for tropical fish filet anyway."  She smiled, holding  
his laughter in her memory like something precious.  Sobered.  "I'm a  
terrible coward.  I'm so sorry, Fox, I did everything wrong." 
 
"Not everything."  He cleared his throat.  "Karmic payback.  I used to ditch  
Scully all the time."  Then, more seriously.  "You be careful, babe.  Don't go  
anywhere with these people, don't see them alone.  They've got their own  
agenda." 
 
Morgan rolled her eyes.  "No kidding.  And no, I won't.  How ever did I  
manage before I met you?"  Drily. 
 
He chuckled again, but there was a peculiar note to it.  "You kept getting  
suckered into jobs retrieving lost FBI agents, woman." 
 
"Ah, but I'm very pleased with the one I retrieved."  She smiled when he  
laughed again.  "I'll see you on Friday."  Then, in a rush.  "I miss you.  Ray  
thinks I'm crazy.  I couldn't tell him why." 
 
"I'll be there in a couple of days.  Get him to take you out to eat some real  
New York deli.  Great stuff." 
 
"I'll let you take me."  She grinned.  "Good night, Fox." 
 
"Oh, well, if that's the way you want to be, I was going to offer you phone  
sex." 
 
She laughed so hard tears came to her eyes.  But then, with a wicked smile  
he couldn't see, she settled back on the pillows.  "Phone sex, huh.  Let me  
think a minute--what are you wearing?" 
 
He caught his breath.  And told her. 
_________________________________ 
 
In the morning, Morgan took the files out of her suitcase and read them  
again, less fraught, less frightened. 
 
Read them and dialed the number that Jones had clipped inside the first  
folder. 
 
An accentless, anonymous voice answered.  So anonymous, she wasn't  
entirely sure if it was a man or woman.  Genderless, accentless, almost  
mechanical. 
 
"I want to leave a message for Mr. Jones from Dr. Morgan Grayson.  I can  
be reached at the following number."  She rattled off Ray's number and took  
a deep breath.  "It's extremely important that he contact me." 
 
And hung up. 
 
It took nearly three hours before anyone called her back.  And it wasn't  
Jones. 
__________________________ 
 
Morgan liked New York, but sometimes it made her nervous.  A public place  
was all very well--a public, well lighted place was even better.  So, she sat  
on the edge of a fountain, waiting for someone to contact her.  Her stomach  
was knotted taut, her hands were sweating and she sipped at a soft drink  
from the vendor on the corner.   
 
A patrol car went by, one of the occupants idly admiring her legs, which  
made her hide a grin.  They weren't great legs, at least she didn't think so,  
but she was wearing one of her suits, one of the ones Mulder had liked.  Or  
so he said. 
 
Her professional clothes made her feel more in control.  Stronger.  Better  
able to manage what she was about to do. 
 
Please God, she was doing the right thing.  For herself.  For the child.  For  
Mulder.   
 
A slender and elegant woman walked toward the fountain, her erect carriage  
belying the white hair and signs of age on the fine-boned face.  The bag she  
carried was less than elegant, one of those bright, woven straw shopping  
bags.  Morgan watched her idly, blinked when the woman smiled at her and  
sat down an arm's length away. 
 
"Dr. Grayson?  I am Anabel Fourier.  I work with our mutual friends.  But  
please, you must call me Anabel, I do insist." 
 
Morgan blinked.  This woman was also Illuminati.  "I see."   
 
"There's a small bistro nearby.  Or a cafe around the corner.  Would you  
allow me to buy you a cup of espresso or tea?"  This voice was very lightly  
accented, just a hint of of something that might have been French. 
 
"The cafe," Morgan suggested, taken aback.  Rising, she walked with the  
woman, slanting her a glance, slightly chagrined that the woman was taller  
than she was.   
 
They were seated quickly and Anabel ordered espresso and Italian pastries  
for both of them before turning to her. "You indicated that the matter was of  
some importance," she told Morgan, smiling a little.  "I confess, I was  
surprised to find that you were in New York." 
 
"Yes, well."  Morgan swallowed hard, reaching for balance again.  "I confess  
to being upset over the material I was given." 
 
Anabel nodded, her smile fading slightly.  "Yes, I can well understand that."   
She leaned back in her seat, regarding Morgan very soberly.  "So should I  
have been.  So I was, once, a very long time ago." 
 
A chill catwalked up Morgan's spine and prickled the nape of her neck.   
"Why?" 
 
"These things have gone on for a very long time, Dr. Grayson.  And you are  
not the first to discover that you have been used."  Anabel's grey eyes were  
shadowed.  "So, we choose to fight back against it." 
 
Oh, right.  Taking in a deep breath, Morgan gathered her scattered wits.  "I  
want to know who the child's genetic father is.  I need to know.  I'm willing to  
work with you if you give me the information I want." 
 
Anabel sighed.  "Yes, I suppose you would.  Do you know why?" 
 
Morgan swallowed.  In fact, she didn't.  But there was something about it  
that nagged at her.  Something that kept prickling along her spine.  "I just  
need to know." 
 
That won a faint smile.  "So, I was right.  He is a part of this."   Anabel  
reached into that appalling bag and withdrew an ordinary manila folder.   
Pushed it across the table.   
 
Morgan stared at it as if it were venomous.  Took in a breath as the waiter  
returned with their order and moved it aside, scarcely touching it with more  
than her fingertips.   
 
The air felt heavy, as if something or someone was waiting for her to open it.   
She shook that away, not wanting to give more credence to those  
perceptions than she had to.  She no longer trusted her own perceptions,  
not wholly.  Not after what had happened.  Not after what she thought she  
had seen and now doubted.   
 
When the waiter withdrew, she lifted the edge of the folder and opened it,  
staring at the photographs inside the front cover.  Stapled.  A man and  
woman.   
 
Pictures she had seen in Mulder's apartment.  Not displayed, but in a box of  
photos and keepsakes.  Along with his high school graduation  
announcement, along with letters and postcards and all the detritus people  
accumulated.   
 
Her chest hurt too much to breathe.  Hunching over, she blinked furiously.   
"Oh, God."  It was a whisper.  "Oh, God, Fox." 
 
"Yes."  Anabel's hand rested gently on her wrist.  "I'm afraid so.  But we  
weren't entirely sure that he was a part of this until just recently.  Or that he  
should be." 
 
"You knew."  It was an accusation, flung like a gauntlet.  "You've known all  
along." 
 
"Yes."  Anabel's voice was very soft, her expression regretful.  "It was quite  
a surprise to us when the two of you became, shall we say, involved.  We  
had not predicted it, but that is scarcely surprising.  You have something of  
a random nature, cherie, and we can seldom predict your direction or  
actions.  Now, your Mr. Mulder is much easier, much more fixed in his  
nature.  Given a possiblity of several directions, several possibilities, we  
have, until recently, been able to predict *his* quite well.  Of course, his  
delightful partner also has a random quality--perhaps the old teachers are  
correct and we come into this life for a variety of purposes.  And you and  
Agent Scully have affected his pathway quite strongly.  In different  
fashions." 
 
Morgan's shoulders felt stiff, taut.  "Who are you people?  What right have  
you to watch us, to observe us?" 
 
"Not as keepers, cherie, but as guardians.  The others--well, they seek to   
manipulate you for their plans.  To create the future they desire."  She  
grimaced.  "I cannot say our methods are that different from theirs, but I say  
firmly that we differ greatly in our aims." 
 
Swallowing hard, Morgan closed the file and slipped it into her shopping  
bag.  "The ends justify the means?" 
 
"Not always."  Anabel lifted her cup, sipped thoughtfully.  "Although,  
sometimes there is little choice.  When cleaning out a stable, one must  
sometimes bear getting one's hands soiled." 
 
Morgan's head hurt.  "That child--" 
 
"That is in the past." 
 
She looked up quickly to see Anabel regarding her, almost regretful again.   
"A decision has already been made and action taken, the child is safe after  
all.  We could not wait, you see, when you refused Mr. Jones.  The child's  
life was very much at risk." 
 
Morgan swallowed.  "Where is she?" 
 
To her amazement, Anabel laughed softly.  "You shall soon know.  Be  
patient.  We must not interfere too greatly or the probabilities are distorted  
past all sense." 
 
It was cryptic and maddening and made her long to put her fists into her hair  
and scream.  Instead, she sipped at her espresso.   "What do you people  
want from me?" 
 
"To keep you safe, of course."  Anabel's mouth quirked.  "To enlist you to  
our cause.  To have you work with us.  But you and your Mr. Mulder are very  
important in ways that transcend our wishes and aims." 
 
"We're important to each other."  Morgan's pulse was slowing again.  But  
she thought of the photographs and shivered.  Oh, God, how was she going  
to tell him this? 
 
Abruptly, Anabel turned her head, as if seeking something in the crowd.   
Anabel's hand covered hers briefly.  "Go, my dear, and quickly.  I can keep  
matters confused until you leave." 
 
Morgan blinked, suddenly grabbed her bag and stood.  "Who are you?" she  
asked wonderingly and fled, hurrying, in her heels and suit, running to the  
street to hail a cab. 
 
She sank into it, heart hammering against her ribs, wondering what the hell  
was happening.  And if her fear and need was going to be easier to live with  
than losing Fox Mulder would be. 
 
__________________________________________- 
 
Hearing the sound of rapid footsteps behind him, Mulder turned to see his  
partner coming up.   Oops, he'd promised to drop her by to pick her car up  
from the shop today.  And nearly left her behind. 
 
"Mulder."  She caught up to him, flicking him an irritated look upward.  
 
"Sorry."  He grinned ruefully.  "But you caught up with me, Scully, don't hurt  
me too badly." 
 
"This time," she told him and her mouth twitched.  "So, what have you got  
planned for this evening?" 
 
He shrugged, his smile fading.  "Nothing much.  Chinese for dinner, I think,  
and some light reading.  Why?" 
 
She sighed.  "You miss Morgan, don't you." 
 
"I'm too busy," he told her and sighed when she flicked him another look.   
"Okay, I miss Morgan.  But I only have to miss Morgan for another couple of  
days." 
 
"Yeah."  Scully's tone was amused, she flicked him a look upward.  "Well,  
I'm going to do pretty much the same thing, I think.  Geoff's got a tricky  
case, I think he'll be late at the hospital.  And I need to go over my notes to  
testify in the Morris case." 
 
Remembering the case in question, Mulder grimaced.  "Ick." 
 
That got a crooked little smile.  "Mulder, you've come in and sat through  
autopsies just to find out if the deceased had an implant.  You aren't that  
squeamish." 
 
"Yeah, but most of them haven't been flayed alive." 
 
They had reached the outer doors, stepped into the humid warmth of a  
summer night in Washington DC.  He sighed as the damp heat settled  
around him.  "It didn't surprise me to learn that DC was built on a swamp." 
 
"It still is a swamp," Scully commented, laughing softly.  "Cheer up, you  
don't wear pantyhose--oh, shit, I forgot something.  Mulder, don't leave  
without me, or I will hurt you." 
 
He grinned.  "Okay.  Meet you in the garage." 
 
Her heels clicked, he heard the pneumatic sound of the doors as they  
swallowed her up.  Sauntering to the corner, he fished for some coins in his  
pocket and bought a paper, folding it under his arm while waiting for the light  
to change. 
 
The garage was dim; it was nearly dusk anyway, and he walked carefully on  
the side as he approached his car.  Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he  
shuffled them to find the car key and bent over to unlock the door.  And  
froze.   
 
It was already unlocked.  And he'd locked it. 
 
Backing away, he found himself glad that the garage was more than half  
empty.   Just in case.  And noticed that the trunk lid was not flush with the  
body of the car.  Not quite.  "Oh, shit."  His voice echoed in the emptiness of  
the garage. 
 
Dropping the paper and his briefcase on garage floor, he knelt and peered  
under the car, eyes straining to see if there was anything suspicious.  Any  
wires.  Any suspicious bulk.  Nothing.  Still hunkered back on his heels, he  
reached into his briefcase and retrieved his cell phone, holding it  
indecisively.   
 
Skinner had made the deal.  The deal was supposed to keep all of them  
safe.  Not that he didn't remember that the Consortium had its own factions.   
Not that he didn't suspect those factions might take their own actions.  But  
he was going to look awfully stupid if someone had just broken into his car  
to get his stereo.... 
 
Standing up, he leaned close, peering through the tinted glass.  Nope, the  
stereo was still there.  So it hadn't been robbery.  Nothing in the car seemed  
to have been disturbed, although there was an envelope sitting on the car  
seat.  With his name on it. 
 
The elevator made its usual sound, the doors opened and quick steps  
clicked against the concrete.  His head turned quickly, one hand dropped to  
his gun, but it was Scully.  He held up a hand, warding her off, but she  
seemed to be oblivious. 
 
"Mulder, the garage closes at 7:00, we've got thirty-five minutes to get there- 
-"  Slam, her briefcase hit the trunk, he heard the click and panicked, diving  
for her, taking her down and rolling down the incline, praying that when it  
exploded, they wouldn't get hit by burning debris. 
 
It didn't explode.   
 
There was a long silence.  "Mulder," Scully's voice was low, "I'm only going  
to give you one chance to explain this." 
 
He was lying on top of her.  Hastily getting up, he gave her an embarrassed  
look.  "Um.  Somebody was in my car, I thought--well never mind what I  
thought." 
 
She got up, brushing at her skirt and frowning at the tears in her stockings.   
"I don't think Worker's Comp is going to cover this as a job-related accident,  
Mulder.  Dammit, there's oil on my skirt, I just bought these pantyhose and  
God, look at my shoes." 
 
Mulder raked a hand through his hair.  "Scully,  I thought there was a  
bomb." 
 
"You're going to wish there was a bomb."  But Scully sighed and brushed at  
her skirt.  "What makes you think someone was in your car?" 
 
"Well, it was not only unlocked, and the trunk was ajar, but somebody left  
me some mail on the seat." 
 
Some of the irritation melted away from her expression.  "What?  Where?" 
 
He approached the car again, gingerly opened the driver's side door and  
retrieved the envelope by one small corner.  "It's not Phoebe's handwriting,"  
he told her hopefully.  "And letter bombs are usually fatter." 
 
She had followed him back to the car, retrieving her dropped belongings as  
she did.  "I don't think you should open it here," she told him thoughtfully. 
 
"Jesus, Scully, I thought I was paranoid."  He carefully tore one end of the  
envelope and pulled out the thin sheet of paper.  Unfolded, all it said was  
"Check the trunk".   
 
He shuddered.  "Alice in fucking Wonderland.  Well, at least it doesn't say  
Eat Me."  Walking around her, he stepped back to the trunk, wondering if  
this was wise.  "Scully, better step away just in case." 
 
Scully's eyes widened.  "Mulder, I think we should call the bomb squad.  If  
you think I'm going to leave you here to be blown to little tiny Mulder-bits  
when I can't watch, you've lost what's left of your mind." 
 
Mulder grinned, sobered and carefully inserted the key into the trunk lock.   
Listening.  Although what the hell he expected to hear, he wasn't sure, it  
wasn't like he was cracking a safe.  The lock clicked, making him jump and  
the trunk lid rose.  He stared down, stunned to silence. 
 
"Mulder," Scully hissed and came up beside him.  "Oh, my God." 
 
He felt sick.  A small girl lay on her side curled around what appeared to be  
an enormous stuffed rabbit.   Dark hair covered her face,  small legs were  
drawn up--oh, God, oh, God, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe,  all he  
could think about was that fucker Roche.    
 
Scully *could* do more and did.  She leaned in and pressed a finger against  
the child's throat, sighing audibly.  "She's not dead, Mulder." 
 
He blinked, relief  weakening his knees enough to make him lean against  
the car.   "Then what is she doing in my trunk?" 
 
Scully gave him a disbelieving look.  "You're expecting dead children in your  
trunk?" 
 
"Very weak, Scully."  He bent to retrieve the large, black, nylon athletic bag  
tucked behind the child.  She stirred and made a tiny, whimpering sound.   
He jerked the bag back as if burned and took one slightly panicked step  
away.  "Scully, do something." 
 
That got him another patented Scully look.  "Call the police?"  She  bent over  
the trunk briefly, reached in,  murmuring something he  couldn't make out. 
 
Mulder was already rifling through the bag.  Atop a neatly folded collection of  
little girl socks, there was a stack of computer printout.  And a newspaper  
clipping. 
 
He read it quickly and handed it to her.  "I don't think we should call the  
police."  The printouts were alluring, but a quick scan was  
incomprehensible.  "Well, I guess I know what we'll be doing tonight." 
 
Scully's mouth quirked.  "I am not baby-sitting, you or," she paused and  
looked down at the child again, frowning.  "She must have been drugged.  I  
wonder what they gave her." 
 
Putting on his most imploring expression, Mulder looked up at her.  "She  
might need a doctor." 
 
"We should take her to the emergency room, Mulder, call Child Protective  
Services," her voice got sharper, "Call the police.  You know, the boys in  
blue? This isn't an FBI case until you can prove this child was transported  
across state lines.  You're an innocent in somebody else's crime." 
 
He had found another note.  Not much, not quite as terse as the first.   
"Garnet is looking for her.  She's to be terminated with extreme prejudice."   
The signature was an unreadable scrawl.  "Read the clipping," he told Scully  
and handed her the note by one corner.  "And be careful, I'd like to see if we  
can get any prints off that." 
 
Scully went a little pale as she read it, looked back into the trunk once or  
twice.  "Garnet."  Her tone was flat. 
 
"Yeah."  He peered at the faint print on the computer paper, but the light was  
too dim.  "Yeah.  I don't think it would be a good idea to call the police.  I  
don't think Child Protective Services is up to this."   
 
Scully's mouth folded into a flat line.  "And we are?  What are we going to  
do with a child, Mulder?" 
 
He rose, gave her a stubborn look.  "Keep her safe until we can figure this  
out." 
 
There was a rustle in the trunk and a small face appeared over the edge of  
the trunk, eyes wide and dark.  Mulder caught his breath in something close  
to a gasp. 
 
God, she looked like his sister had.  Or the way he remembered she had.   
Which was complete and utter insanity to think about, he knew she wasn't  
his sister.  He knew where his sister lived these days.  Knew she was alive  
and well and had a child of her own.  She wasn't a child anymore.  
 
The little girl in the trunk rubbed her eyes and gazed at them without alarm.   
"You're Fox," she finally told him, her voice a childish treble.  "I know you." 
 
He blinked at that.  "You do?"  Startled.  Scully's expression was just as  
startled.    Somehow, that was reassuring.  "How?" 
 
The child gave him a perplexed look, gave Scully another one.  "Where's  
Morgan?"  For the first time, he heard distress in her voice.   
 
Mulder blinked at that.  "She's in New York," he answered, just as if this  
situation were normal and rational. 
 
"Would you like to get out of the trunk?"  Scully asked softly.  "I'll help you  
out if you like." 
 
"How do you know me?" Mulder asked, still too stunned to move.  
 
"The pictures."  The child leaned over to look at the back of the car, swung a  
denimed leg over, small sneaker poised precariously on the bumper.  Scully  
intervened then, lifting her down.  "The man showed me pictures.  He said  
you were going to take care of me. You and Morgan."  She gave him an  
intent look that made him take another step back. 
 
"What's your name?" Scully went back on her heels, looking into the child's  
face.   
 
"Merry.  Meredith Sands."  One small hand came up to touch a lock of  
Scully's hair.  "You have pretty hair." 
 
"Thank you," Scully told her gravely. 
 
Suddenly, it was possible to move.  "C'mon, Scully, we need to go and get  
your car."  Mulder picked up the bag and smiled grimly at his partner.   
"Business as usual.  Don't want anyone paying attention to any  
divergences." 
 
She gave him a long look and sighed.  "All right.  Come on, Meredith, you  
can ride in the back seat.  Do you want your rabbit?" 
 
"His name is Michael."  Meredith gave Mulder an uncertain look, but let  
Scully lead her to the side of the car.   
 
He followed, pausing only to slam the trunk closed.  Scully bent over the  
child, fastening the seat belt, murmuring inaudibly.  When she straightened,  
she gave him a narrow look, promising further discussion. 
 
Setting the bag on the floor at Meredith's feet, he offered what he hoped  
was a reassuring smile.  "Are you hungry, Meredith?" 
 
She shook her head, arms holding on very tightly to Michael.  Very tentative  
smile.    
 
Pretty little kid, wearing  a pretty floral shirt with a tiny bow on the collar,  
denim jeans with, God, Minnie Mouse appliqued to one leg.  Now the first  
shock was passed, he could tell that the resemblance to Samantha was  
very slight. 
 
"You know, Mulder," Scully told him, going around the back of the car, "She  
almost looks like you.  You haven't been up to anything you haven't told me,  
have you?" 
 
He rolled his eyes at her.  "All the time, Scully.  But this would have  
happened some years back.  And I'm morally certain that's not the case.  I  
was practicing safe sex before it was fashionable.  Phoebe sort of had that  
effect on me." 
 
Her mouth quirked.  Sliding behind the wheel,  he punched the powerlock  
button to unlock her door and grinned when she got in. 
 
Scully looked back at Meredith and her mouth twitched.  "She looks a little  
like she could be yours, Mulder, sorry." 
 
He bared his teeth and closed the driver's side, put the key in the ignition  
and turned it.  "That would make you Aunt Dana, Scully." 
 
She bared her teeth back at him.  "And I didn't even get to send a  
christening cup." 
 
He snickered all the way out of the garage. 
____________________________ 
 
Scully flatly nixed Chinese takeout and sent him home with Meredith while  
she stopped for supplies.  Whatever that meant.  He was only thankful  
Meredith was past an age where diapers would be a problem.   
 
Meredith regarded the lack of fish in the aquarium with some dismay.  "How  
come you don't have any fish." 
 
"They died," he told her thoughtlessly and set the nylon bag down beside the  
couch. 
 
Without warning,  her small face fell.  "Like my mommy and daddy?"   
Wavery little voice. 
 
Wrong thing to say, asshole, he told himself.  "Um.  Sort of."  What did  
people tell children about dead pets?  He couldn't exactly call on a  
background in abnormal psych to deal with this situation.  Then, inspired:   
"They, they got very old, and they went to fish heaven." 
 
Meredith frowned at him.  "Fish heaven?" 
 
"Yeah, you know, where good fishies go."  Jesus.  He had actually said  
fishies.  He couldn't believe it, but he had actually said fishies.  Thank God  
Scully hadn't heard it. 
 
She peered at him thoughtfully.  "Do fishes have souls?" 
 
Mulder blinked.  "Um.  Yes.  Everything has a soul.  Even Newt Gingrinch." 
 
Her nose wrinkled.  "The Newtster." 
 
She was alarming precocious, but he was beginning to think he could like  
this kid.  "What do you know about the Newster?" 
 
Her nose wrinkled again.  "He's fat."  Her eyes moved around the apartment.   
"You don't have any little kids?" 
 
"No," he told her.  "I'm not married." 
 
She looked thoughtful.  "My friend Jamie's daddy isn't married." 
 
Okay, maybe he wasn't going to like this kid.  "Would you like--"  He paused,  
vainly trying recall the contents of the refrigerator.   
 
After driving Morgan to the airport, he'd gone into a completely ridiculous  
fury and thrown out all the groceries she'd gotten.  Which he'd immediately  
regretted the following morning, when he realized that he'd also dumped the  
Starbuck's coffee.  Ah, wait, he still had juice.  "Would you like some orange  
juice?" 
 
Meredith nodded, followed him into the kitchen.  "Don't you have any lights?" 
 
He considered that, searching for a clean glass.  "Well, yeah, but I'm used  
this place, so I don't need lights." 
 
There was a click and the kitchen light came on, he turned to see Meredith  
standing on her toes.  If she started criticizing his housekeeping, she was  
staying at Scully's, he didn't care how much Scully protested. 
 
"Here," he told her, handing her the glass, "Hold this while I pour it." 
 
She put both hands around it, her expression serious, while he filled the  
glass halfway, only then noticing that the stale date had passed.  He always  
drank it until it was gone, it had never poisoned him, but he found himself  
wondering if food poisoning was the equivalent of child abuse in this  
instance. 
 
Meredith took a sip, wrinkled her nose again.  His own wrinkled in sympathy.   
"It tastes funny, Fox." 
 
Ooookay.  Maybe there was a problem with old orange juice.  He took the  
glass back.  "Dana will be here soon," he told her, "With real food." 
 
She looked at him, studying him.  "What do you eat, Fox?" 
 
"Take out.  You wanna see an old pizza?"  He'd ordered two nights ago,  
eaten a couple of pieces and left the rest to dry out. 
 
She nodded. 
 
He opened the refrigerator and retrieved the box, opening it to reveal the  
dried out corpse of a supreme pizza with anchovies.   
 
"Uck," she told him sincerely.  "That's nasty." 
 
He nodded solemnly and ceremoniously disposed of it.  "We can't have you  
eating that," he told her, ridiculously aware that he was not quite up to the  
task of either caring for or entertaining a--"How old are you?" 
 
"I'm six," she told him and held up the requisite number of fingers.  "How old  
are you?" 
 
"Thirty-six." 
 
Her nose wrinkled again.  "Oh, you're old." 
 
God.  Outfaced by a six year old.  "Want some popcorn?" he asked  
hopefully.  He still had three packs of microwave popcorn.  Surely popcorn  
couldn't go stale in its packet. 
 
The door opened then, saving him from further malfeasance.   "Don't feed  
her anything," Scully's voice called from the door, "I've seen your refrigerator  
before, Mulder." 
 
Meredith trailed back into the front hall.  "Dana, Fox eats dead pizza.  But he  
wouldn't let me have any." 
 
Mulder followed, leaning against the door jamb with a rueful expression.   
"Supplies were definitely a good idea." 
 
Scully smirked.  "Ready to call Child Protective Services yet?  We could  
enter her in as a Jane Doe." 
 
Meredith gave her an anxious look and retreated to stand beside Mulder.  A  
very small hand slipped into his, fingers curling around his bigger ones.  
"Fox is going to take care of me."  She looked up, worried, and the other  
hand came up, the thumb slipping into her mouth. 
 
Oh, God, that reminded him so much of Aarin it made his throat tight.   
"We're bonding," he told Scully firmly.  "And I don't think it's a particularly  
wise idea to rush into anything until we've read those printouts." 
 
Scully sighed and carried the grocery bag past him, pausing to hand him  
her keys.  "I had a feeling you'd say that.  There are four more bags in the  
trunk." 
 
He blinked, looked down at Meredith.  "She can't eat that much, Scully." 
 
Scully gave him a mild look.  "Mulder, remember how much Aarin could  
eat?" 
 
His throat went tight again.  Squeezing Meredith's hand reassuringly, he  
looked down at her.  "We're going to take care of you.  Auntie Dana doesn't  
mean it, she's just teasing me." 
 
Scully snorted and went on into the kitchen.  "Go in and help her put away  
the groceries while I go get the rest," he told the child and was moderately  
gratified to see the thumb come back out as Meredith obeyed. 
 
Why did he have the alarming sense that his life was about to turn into  
Father Knows Best? 
____________________________ 
 
"Well, she needs a bath, Mulder."  Scully put the last of the leftover  
spaghetti sauce in the refrigerator, the interior of which nearly gleamed.   
"And I take back what I said about your refrigerator.  It's clean, even if  
empty.  What did you and Morgan live on anyway, love?" 
 
He looked up from watching Meredith play with the last pieces of spaghetti  
and ignored the latter remark.  "Scully, I'm sure there's something I can be  
arrested for if I give her a bath." 
 
Her mouth twitched.  "Afraid of a little girl.  A big, strong man like you." 
 
"Terrified." 
 
She grinned outright.  "I'll take the duty tonight, Spooky, but after that, you're  
on your own.  This was your idea.  I'm going along with it because of the  
disturbing tendency you have to be right, even your theories aren't." 
 
For some reason, he had the nearly overwhelming urge to put his tongue out  
at her.  Fortunately, reason prevailed.  "I'll do the dishes," he told her and got  
up, gathering the plates and silverware. 
 
"An historic occasion in Casa Del Mulder, I'm sure," Scully grinned and  
went back to sit at the table, sipping coffee while Meredith finished playing  
with her garlic bread and spaghetti. 
 
Printout graced the places where he and Scully had been sitting, since  
Scully insisted that a six year old needed to eat at the table.  Which seemed  
ridiculous on the surface, but after watching the way Meredith managed to  
festoon the table edge with little bits of sauce and the occasional bit of  
pasta, he was inclined to think she was right.   
 
The printout was hard enough to read already. 
 
What they had discovered was suggestive and highly disturbing.  But he  
hadn't had a chance to discuss it in front of the child.  Even without a  
background in child psych, he rather thought discussing matters that might  
have led to the death of her parents was not good child psychology.  So he  
kept his teeth shut on the questions he wanted to ask Scully, who had read  
her pieces with a little line between her eyebrows. 
 
Turning on the taps, he looked back to see Scully gently disentangling  
Meredith from her napkin and leading her down the hall.  God, he hoped  
he'd cleaned out the shower drain recently or he was going to hear about it  
for sure.  At least there were clean towels in the cabinet.  Morgan had done  
laundry before packing her things. 
 
He loathed washing dishes.  Which was why he usually ended up eating  
takeout.  He had them done before Scully was done with Meredith, so he  
was back in the livingroom, hunched over the sheets spread out over the  
coffee table when Scully emerged, damp and with a satisfied expression on  
her face.  "Mission accomplished, Mulder."   
 
A little form appeared behind Scully, wearing a nightshirt with Dot from the  
Animaniacs gracing the front, and fuzzy slippers that were absurdly small. 
 
"Mission accomplished," echoed Meredith importantly.  "I'm all clean.  Do  
you have any toys, Fox?" 
 
Scully snickered, choked it back when he looked at her.   
 
"I'm sorry, I don't," he told Meredith, shooting an evil look at his partner.   
 
Oh, my God, when was the last time the sheets had been changed on the  
bed?  Morgan had done it while he was gone, he was suddenly sure, but  
Jesus--he had to go in there and clean up the magazines.   
 
Shit, shit, shit.  Children should come with warning labels.   
 
He rose.  "Why don't you and Dana sit down here and watch TV for a little  
while and I'll get your bed ready." 
 
Scully snickered again.  As he passed her, she leaned toward him and  
muttered, "Better lock up the videos, Mulder, or you're going to have a lot of  
questions to answer." 
 
He blanched and went into the room and did the fastest disposal job on  
record.  HAZMAT teams couldn't do any better, he was sure of it.  And  
stuffed the magazines up onto the closet shelf.  Hey, they were too good to  
throw away.  They were practically classics. 
 
The sheets, thankfully, were clean.  He left one pillow for Meredith, snagged  
a couple for himself, a blanket for the couch and emerged, serene in the  
knowledge that his bedroom was childproofed. 
 
But, dammit, Scully was right about the videos.  "Okay," he told Meredith  
cheerily, "Time for bed." 
 
Scully snickered again.   
 
Meredith gave her a wan look.  "Isn't anybody going to tuck me in and tell  
me a story?  Daddy always told me a story before I went to sleep."  Her  
lower lip quivered suddenly.  "I miss my mommy and daddy." 
 
Scully looked at him, appalled.  "Mulder, do something." 
 
He opened his mouth, closed it again and then moved forward, taking a  
small hand in his.  "I'll tell you a story," he told the child softly, "Maybe that  
will help you not miss your mommy and daddy so much." 
 
She sniffled and put her arm around his leg.  He gulped and looked at  
Scully, sighed and bent to lift her up.  Well, what the hell.  At least he'd  
learned that much from Aarin. 
 
"Mulder," Scully's voice was low, "No EBEs,  no vampires, no werewolves." 
 
Wounded, he looked back at her.  "Scully, I do have some sense." 
 
She only smiled. 
_____________________________ 
 
Mulder didn't know what Scully was complaining about, fairy tales were as  
bad or worse as any of the files they investigated.  But still, he could see her  
point. 
 
So he told Meredith the story of the Goose Girl. 
 
She lay down quietly after that, and let him turn out the light, but asked in a  
very small voice if he would leave the door open.  He could see that  
ridiculous rabbit clutched against her and nodded, pausing at the doorway.   
"You're a big girl and I bet you don't need a light on at night.  But I like to  
have one--will it bother you if I leave the hall light on?" 
 
"No."  Very, very small voice. 
 
"Good."  He went back out to the livingroom to find Scully poring over one of  
the sheets, making neat, angular notes in the margin.  "There," he told her,  
"She's going to sleep." 
 
"You hope," Scully muttered, not looking up.  "Mulder, if this is genuine, this  
is--frightening, incredible, horrifying." 
 
He sat down next her.  "What is it?  The fact that somebody is doing genetic  
experimentation.  I'm guessing, now, you probably know more about how  
they record this shit than I do, but that's sure what it looks like to me." 
 
"Yeah."  Scully's pen tapped the paper.  "In vitro fertilization of a selected  
ovum with a sperm sample.  And I gather that the original owners of both  
were completely unaware.  Subjects CX23474B and AY711342A."  A wry  
look at him.  "They wanted to fix certain traits, notably high intelligence."   
She pulled a sheaf of papers out and thumbed through them, pulling one out  
to hand to him. 
 
It was a report on Meredith.  On intelligence testing done on Meredith.   
"Jesus," he muttered and read through it.  The kid was brilliant.  IQ tested at  
150, at six.  And he knew from his reading that scores were still iffy on kids  
that young.  That classically, kids tested lower than they later fell out if  
retested.   
 
The report went on to address issues other than intelligence.  His eyes  
widened as he read of testing for precognitive skills, for any sign of  
telekinetic skills.  "God, those bastards." 
 
"Ubermenschen," Scully told him drily.  "She's a prototype, evidently.  If I'm  
reading this right, she's the second generation result of two generations of  
manipulation.  Only this time, they didn't want to take any chances on  
environment, hence the in vitro fertilization.  Surrogate implantation." 
 
He gathered up his sheaf and handed them to her.  "Evidently, there was  
some concern about losing control over the experiment.  The Sands were  
evidently really Dr. Katherine Pritcher and Dr. Martin Wells, hip deep in this  
project, and beginning to express concern about the rigorous testing versus  
the need to keep Meredith integrated into a stable, wholesome environment."   
He laughed shortly.  "They gave her a happy home life to make sure she  
turned out the way they'd hoped." 
 
Scully nodded.  "The last time they tested her, Mulder, they--"  She bit her  
lip, sighed.  "I don't know what I believe.  But the notes claim that they got  
definite evidence of telekinetic ability when Meredith got upset.  And they  
weren't sure they liked what they ended up with."  She handed him a page,  
heavy bond, a formal letter without letterhead.  "They terminated the  
experiment." 
 
"Subject shows signs of developing the dangerous tendencies of subject  
CX23474B.  The committee has decided that the potential risks outweigh  
any demonstrable gains.  This project is hereby terminated." 
 
"So they sent a hit squad for all three.  I wonder why Meredith isn't dead."   
Mulder rubbed his upper lip, frowning.  "Damn, I wish I was stronger in child  
psych.  We're going to have to ask her about it, but I really hate doing it." 
 
"Yeah."  Scully rustled the papers back into a pile.  "Mulder, what do you  
suggest we do with this?  She's a little young to get into the Protected  
Witness program." 
 
"We track the bastards and bring them down."  He looked at the letter in his  
hand, felt his gut clench.  "For murder one, if possible.  They got Al Capone  
on taxes." 
 
She snorted, leaned back on the couch, taking off her glasses.  "God,  
Mulder, we do get into the most interesting situations.  Well, I'm going to go  
home, Geoff said he'd call and we can't do much about this tonight."   
 
Mulder blinked.  "Well, you could stay here and I could go into the office." 
 
"Or I could go into the office and you could stay here," she told him tartly  
slipping her feet back into her shoes.   
 
"Scully, you're good with her," he leaned forward, hoping his expression was  
properly wheedling.  It wasn't, obviously, because she was gazing at him,  
unmoved and amused.  "Scully, it must be linked to the X chromosone, this  
taking care of kids.  I almost gave her orange juice that had gone bad." 
 
"That's because your refrigerator used to bear a close resemblance to a  
sewer."  She got up, walked into the kitchen and emerged with her purse  
and keys, her suit jacket slung over one shoulder.   "I have nieces and  
nephews, Mulder, and I used to babysit in high school.  Relax, she's not a  
baby, you can't go too wrong with her.  And she trusts you.  The man  
showed her pictures, remember?" 
 
Sighing, he surrendered.  "Oh, shit.  One of us has to stay with her  
tomorrow." 
 
"Not one of us, partner.  You.  I'll--"  She paused, frowned.  "You call in sick.   
I'm not sure we need to bring this up with Skinner at this point.  We don't  
have any real evidence to bring him.  We don't know if any of that is  
genuine." 
 
He had to admit the truth of that.  "Yeah."  Sighed.  "I'd better get some toys,  
Scully.  I'm not exactly equipped to entertain a six year old." 
 
Her mouth quirked.  "So long as you don't educate her in human sexuality,  
Mulder.  Lock up the videos." 
 
Mulder rolled his eyes and got off the couch.  "God, Scully, you make this  
sound like a den of iniquity."  Going over to the television, he retrieved a  
stack and took them to the hall closet, safely stowing them behind a box.   
"Happy now?" 
 
"Relieved," she laughed and went to the door.  "Relax, Mulder, it'll be fine.   
She'll sleep, you can make her cold cereal in the morning, and I'll start  
digging at the office, okay?" 
 
"Sure."  He followed her out into the hall.  "Scully, be careful.  Somebody  
knows I have her, he brought her here.  If it leaks--" 
 
She smiled faintly.  "I'm armed, Mulder.  And nearly as paranoid as you." 
 
He chuckled at that, went back into the apartment.   
 
And sat for a long time rereading everything they had already read, jotting  
down a sequence of events on a legal pad. 
_____________________________ 
 
The screams jarred Mulder from sleep, automatically reaching for his gun  
on the coffee table, his mind still fogged with dreams.   
 
Oh, the kid.  Scrambling free of the blanket, he all but ran down the hall,  
glad of the light.  It spilled through the open door to the bed, revealing  
Meredith, sitting up in bed and screaming in terror, her eyes wide and  
unseeing. 
 
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he told her, sinking down on the bed and picking her  
up to sit on his lap.  "It's okay, Meredith, you're safe here, shhhhh." 
 
She shivered and turned to bury her face in his shirt, bursting into tears.  He  
held her awkwardly, inescapably reminded of Aarin and Morgan and other  
times.  Her hair smelt of his shampoo and was damp around her face from  
tears and sweat.  Her small body trembled as he patted her back and she  
held onto him as if he were the only safety she knew. 
 
Which he was.  "Just a bad dream, Meredith," he murmured.  "Just a bad  
dream. It's okay, you're safe here.  Nobody's going to hurt you." 
 
She sobbed and lifted her head.  "The bad men came!  They hurt Michael's  
mommy and daddy.  But he hid, like I did, and they didn't find him."  The  
thumb went into her mouth and she rested her head against him.   
Transference, he thought, transferring the terror of seeing the murders to  
the rabbit.  Natural enough.  It gave her time to come to terms with the terror  
under safer circumstances. 
 
But what she'd said made him frown.  It had read like a professional squad.   
And they didn't find her?  "How did you hide, Meredith?" 
 
But she only whimpered and wouldn't answer him.  So, not knowing what  
else to do, trying vainly to remember what Morgan had done to settle Aarin's  
nightmares, he just held her quietly, occasionally patting her back. 
 
At length, she seemed almost asleep, almost boneless against him and he  
tried to shift her back to bed.  She clung to him, whimpering, resisting  
almost frantically. 
 
"It's okay," he whispered, "I'm right outside, Meredith.  No one's going to  
hurt you."  And stroked the damp hair back from her face.  "See, here's--"   
He sought for the dumb rabbit's name a little desperately, "Michael.  Here's  
Michael waiting for you." 
 
She let herself be eased down then, but gave him a hauntingly mournful  
look. 
 
Picking up Michael, he studied her uneasily, tucked the rabbit into the crook  
of her arm.  "Michael wants to go back to sleep, too," he offered.  "Don't you,  
Michael?"  Holding the back of the rabbit's head, he made it nod. 
 
Meredith took her thumb out of her mouth.  "Fox, this Michael isn't a real  
person, he can't talk."  
 
"Oh, of course not."  Mulder swallowed.  "Well, I'm going to be right here,  
Meredith, right outside in the living room.  Okay?" 
 
She nodded, but her lower lip trembled.   
 
Rising, he made it to the door.   
 
"Fox?"  Tiny voice.  "Can I have a drink of water?" 
 
"Sure thing."  He got the water and let her drink her fill before retrieving the  
glass.  "Better?" 
 
"Uh huh."  She curled on her side again, around Michael, thumb back in  
place. 
 
God, this was hard.  She looked so small, lying there.  Just a little girl.   
Raising too many echoes of another little girl he'd once known.   
 
"Go back to sleep," he told her gently and went back to the door. 
 
Telekinetic abilities.  And they had been going to kill her.  All he could see  
was a frightened, traumatized child. 
 
Sighing, he went back to the couch, wondering if he was going to be able to  
get back to sleep.  Somehow, he doubted it. 
_________________________ 
 
Meredith giggled as Langley bit the dust on his computer game.  "It ate your  
man." 
 
"You wanna try?" he asked her. 
 
She nodded gleefully and took his place. 
 
Mulder grinned and dialed the office on his cell phone.  Scully answered.   
"Hi, it's me, come up with anything helpful?" 
 
"Not much.  Pritcher and Wells were geneticists, big surprise.  And  
vanished into government service about ten years.ago, some classified  
project out in Southern California."  She sighed. "How are you doing today?" 
 
"Oh, fine.  I'm at the Gunmen's office, they're doing some computer  
searches for me." 
 
"Where's Meredith?"  Her voice was sharp.  "Mulder, you didn't leave her  
alone, did you?" 
 
Temper sharpened his own voice.  "Of course not, Scully, I'm not a  
goddamned idiot.  I brought her with me." 
 
There was a silence.  "Do you really think that's wise?"   
 
He scowled at the wall.  "They saved Morgan's life, Scully." 
 
Another brief silence.   "You're right, I'm sorry." 
 
He briefly regretted his tone.  "Besides,  Byers brought a whole bunch of  
toys from his sister's house for Meredith.  Can you imagine Byers having a  
sister?" 
 
"A lot easier than Frohicke," she told him wryly.  
 
"Hey, Frohicke's got three."  He paused, one beat.  "Of course none of them  
will speak to him these days."  
 
"It's hard to imagine the Gunmen having parents, Mulder.  I always sort of  
thought of them as the first failures of in vitro fertlization." 
 
"Heh, heh," he told her, grinning.  "I never gave you grief over being friends  
with Tom Colton, did I?" 
 
"Well," she told him, "Only for about two years." 
 
He snickered.  "Well, we've survived the morning and the early afternoon.   
She had a bad night, Scully.  She remembered the bad men coming.  Did  
you know she liked Freakazoid?" 
 
"Mulder, how would I know she liked Freakazoid?"  Her tone was  
reasonable.  "I never laid eyes on her until last night?" 
 
"Didn't you intuit it, Scully?  Besides, I thought maybe you might have had  
girl talk while she was in the tub." Snort.  He grinned.  "No?  Anyway, just to  
reassure you, those are the only videos she saw at my place." 
 
"Good.  What are you going to do this afternoon?" 
 
"I promised her to take her to McDonalds.  Relax, Scully, we're going  
through the drive-through.  Although it broke her heart I had to tell she  
couldn't get out and play at playland." 
 
"Mulder, McDonalds?  She's a growing child, she needs real food, not fat  
globules disguised as food." 
 
"She'll have real food, Scully.  She wants a burger, a strawberry shake, and  
fries.  That's meat, dairy, and grains.  Oh, and vegetables, pickles and  
ketchup." 
 
"Fox William Mulder, if you insist on taking her to a fast food restaurant, at  
least take her to Taco Bell." 
 
"She doesn't want Taco Bell, hell, I voted for Chinese, but she didn't want  
it." 
 
He heard her sigh.  "Mulder, I got all kinds of perfectly healthy things at the  
grocery last night.  Which, by the way, you owe me forty one dollars for.   
Why don't you just take her home and cook something." 
 
He swallowed hard.  Tried hard to think of a rational reason why not.  "Um.   
It's hard to get egg off the ceiling, Scully.  Do you know what Spaghettios  
would do to it?" 
 
"I know for a fact you can cook, Mulder.  Take her home and fix her a nice  
sandwich and a cup of soup." 
 
"She won't like that.  I'm going to have to tell her that Auntie Dana insisted.  
Didn't you ever see Carrie?  What if she's got these telekinetic abilities?  Do  
you want to find me crushed in my apartment, covered in pigs blood?" 
 
"Mulder, don't be a jerk."  She sounded irritated now.  "Just take her home  
and feed her something decent, okay?" 
 
"Sure."  Not that he planned to.  "I'll see you later, right?" 
 
"Of course, Mulder.  I wouldn't want you to get arrested for giving her a  
bath." 
 
"She needs another one already?" 
 
"Mulder, don't you take a shower every day?" 
 
"Scully, I work for a living everyday.  She's a kid, how much sweat can she  
raise?" 
 
"I'll see you tonight," she told him quellingly and hung up. 
 
He clicked the phone off and turned to Meredith.  "Okay, kiddo, time for  
McDonald's."  Three adult faces turned to regard him in horror. 
 
"Mulder."  Langley's tone was reasonable.  "You can't take her through a  
drive through, they have cameras.  Besides, it isn't ethical to feed her the  
flesh of other animals.  Merry, how would you likeia burger, wie burger, with  
some hummus on the side, and tabouli." 
 
Mulder grimaced.  "What's hummus," Meredith asked. 
 
"You don't want to know," Mulder muttered and got a stern look from  
Langley.   
 
"It's chickpeas and tahini--that's sesame paste--and a little garlic and onion  
and lemon and it's really good on pita bread, all hot from the oven."  Langley  
stood up and took the little girl's hand.  "You're welcome to stay for lunch,  
too, Mulder." 
 
He almost shook his head, but those eyes rested on him.  Meredith's  
anxious expression tugged at his conscience.  "Sure, why not."  And  
resigned to himself to eating the inedible. 
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