They were on their way back to the apartment in mid-afternoon when  
Morgan saw the house.   
 
Startled, she tapped the brake, heard Merry's delighted gasp.   
 
"Look, Morgan, it's our house!" 
 
Our house, Morgan thought, bemused and pulled up to the curb.   Faded  
red brick, almost the color of sandstone, an old house that had been lovingly  
restored at some point.  The For Sale sign in the middle of the yard seemed  
sad, somehow. 
 
And Morgan had to see the inside of it, see if it did, in fact, match her  
dream.  "It sure looks like it," she murmured and reached for her cell phone,  
punching in the telephone number displayed below the real estate office's  
name.   
 
A young woman answered and put her through to Betty Jorgensen, who  
promised to meet them there in two shakes of a lamb's tail.  Hanging up,  
Morgan grinned; she hadn't heard that expression since her grandfather had  
died, back when she was twelve.   
 
Merry's face was pressed against the back passenger window.  "Can we get  
out and look at it?" she asked wistfully? 
 
"I guess so."  Morgan looked around the street.  Quiet, residential--she  
supposed if there were children here, they would be at school.  And these  
were older homes, it was possible that the occupants were older.   
 
She really was insane, looking at a house.  Mulder wasn't even here to  
consult.  Not that she felt it entirely necessary, it was rapidly becoming  
apparent that the three of them would bounce off the walls in Mulder's  
apartment.  And she had yet to reclaim the rest of her furnishings from the  
house Geoff still occupied, mostly alone.   
 
Getting out of the car, she nodded to Merry, who gleefully unfastened her  
seat belt and popped out of the car, dutifully waiting for Morgan to come  
around to take her hand. 
 
The driveway was neatly kept, no grass growing in the few cracked spots,  
between the seams.  Looking up, Morgan saw the windows, tall and narrow,  
and gleaming in the sun.  No curtains, nobody at home.  No one lived there  
anymore. 
 
The garage would hold two cars, although it wasn't large.  Good thing  
neither of them drove big cars, Morgan thought distantly, breathing in the  
smell of flowers, something she didn't recognize.  A tall wooden fence, well  
constructed and weatherproofed, ended in a gate near the garage.   
 
The gate was unlatched.  Morgan opened it and Merry pulled free from her  
hand to dart through, into the shady back yard.  An enormous tree stood in  
the opposite corner from the garage.  The branches would shade the west  
side of the house all summer long, Morgan noted and turned her head to  
see a wooden playhouse built of heavy timber, with a sandbox extending  
from one side and shaded by a sturdy platform that led to a slide. 
 
Merry stood and goggled at it.  "This is where me and Michael were playin'  
in my dream!" 
 
"Michael and I," Morgan corrected absently and walked forward, resting a  
hand on wood sanded smooth and weathered by wind and rain.  "This is  
nice." 
 
"We're going to live here," Merry told her confidently.  "Fox and you and me  
and Michael." 
 
Herbie still hadn't quite replaced the tattered rabbit in Merry's affections,  
Morgan thought, and turned toward the back porch.  No, not quite a porch.   
More like a terrace extending out from the back of the house.  French doors  
opened onto it, and a more ordinary wooden door from what she was willing  
to bet was the kitchen. 
 
Mounting the brick steps, she stood on her toes to peer inside, confirming  
that bet, then went to peer through the glass of the French doors. 
 
Someone had torn out walls to make something like a great room between  
the livingroom, the kitchen and the diningroom.  The wooden floors were  
polished to a high gleam, and the appliances in the kitchen all looked  
relatively new. 
 
Morgan's heart was thumping absurdly hard.  This was it, this was right, but  
how in the hell she was going to explain that to Mulder was beyond her  
present capacity for rational thought. 
 
Geoff wasn't going to stay in the other house much longer.  At this point,  
except for transitory visitors, he was rattling around the place alone, and she  
didn't think he much cared for it. 
 
So, even if that one didn't sell, she could lease it.  And she was abruptly  
certain she could come up with earnest money and the down payment very  
easily by cashing in some of the investments Ray tended for her. 
 
"Hello?" a woman's voice called, and a head peered around the fence.  Betty  
Jorgensen was what Geoff would have called the horsy type.  Wearing  
casual clothes, but with that characteristic air of practicality and athleticism,  
Ms. Jorgensen was silver-haired, lean, and very well tanned.  She smiled at  
Merry before her gaze flicked to Morgan.  "Are you the lady I spoke with?   
Morgan?" 
 
Morgan nodded, realizing she hadn't given her last name.  "Morgan  
Grayson," she told Jorgensen and came forward to take the woman's hand  
briefly.  "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 
 
Merry climbed up the steps on the other side and moved close to Morgan,  
slipping a small hand into hers. 
 
Jorgensen pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket and led the way to the  
kitchen door.  "Well, it just went on the market, the owners were transferred  
overseas, Air Force, you know.  They were heartbroken, they'd been here for  
years, had expected to be here for years longer." 
 
Upper echelon Air Force, Morgan considered, looking at the house.  Or  
Pentagon.   The kitchen was spotless, if empty, not even dust dared to form  
in the house ruled by an Air Force/Pentagon wife.  The thought made her  
mouth curve slightly and she focused on the practicalities, checking the  
refrigerator, asking intelligent questions about warranty and whether or not  
the mortgage was assumable. 
 
The livingroom was as airy as the rest of the downstairs, Morgan found, and  
thoroughly approved of the redesign.  Just off the foyer, there was a small  
room that would serve nicely as an office for Mulder.  The floors showed no  
scars of wear, the banister was sturdy, and not a stair creaked under the  
deep green runner that covered the stairway.  And the upstairs hall.  The  
master bedroom was enormous, two smaller bedrooms having been  
combined on the north side of the house.   A dormer window overlooked the  
back yard and the play set.  Built in bookshelves lined the inside wall of the  
room.  The master bath was done in ceramic tile, expensive and lovely, and  
the windows, like those downstairs, were tall, giving the bathroom an airy  
look. 
 
Curtains were going to be a pain, Morgan noted mentally, making a list of  
things she had and things she didn't. 
 
Merry was silent, holding hard to her hand, only the occasional little skip  
betraying her excitement. 
 
There were three other bedrooms upstairs, all done in relatively neutral  
wallpaper that Morgan, at least, could live with.  The southeast corner room  
was the smallest; she silently laid claim to that one as her office before  
moving around again.  The banister that surrounded the stairwell was strong  
and well placed, and the bars were narrow enough to prevent any  
headstrong child from climbing through or getting stuck. 
 
Downstairs again, they stood in the middle of the livingroom.  Bay window in  
the front, fireplace on the south side of the livingroom--the fireplace she had  
seen in her dream.  The Christmas tree had been set against the bay  
window. 
 
Shivering suddenly, as if the air of December had touched her skin, Morgan  
smiled down at Merry and nodded silently.  Merry beamed.  "My--"  Morgan  
paused, temporarily perplexed, "My husband is out of town right now, but I'd  
like to make an offer and give you a check for earnest money.  Do you have  
the paper work with you?" 
 
Jorgensen looked fairly stunned, but very well pleased.   "No, but if you don't  
mind coming back down to the office, I'm sure we can fill everything out in a  
jiffy." 
 
Morgan took another look around, hearing voices in her head, Merry's  
laughter, Mulder's quiet murmur.  "Yes, I'm sure we can." 
 
Her mouth twitched as she came back to the present.  Mulder was going to  
kill her when he got back.    Oh, he'd love it, too, she was sure of it, but first,  
he was going to kill her. 
 
Merry looked up at her happily.  "It's a surprise, isn't it?"  Her eyes danced,  
as mischievous as her father's had ever been. 
 
"Yes, Merry," she agreed, trying not to laugh.  "It is." 
 
Jorgensen tactfully led the way back out of the house. 
_______________________________________________ 
 
They got to Chicago in time to pick up revolting fast food and park down the  
street from the lab in question.  Mulder's cell phone rang around 5:00, as  
the lab parking lot was gradually thinning out. 
 
"Mulder," he told it tersely. 
 
"Okay, Mulder, it looks like we were right on target.  This place is heavily  
involved in infertility research, among other things, and ostensibly is run by a  
committee of medical researchers.  Doctors George Carmichael, Janice St.  
John, Harvey Bennigan, and Simon Greenwald.  We got the blueprints  
faxed here, where do you want them?" 
 
Mulder smiled slowly.  "There's a hotel down the street." 
 
"No, Mulder," Scully growled and snatched the telephone away from him,  
pulling out a small travel guide from her briefcase.  He looked out the  
window again, holding the binoculars up to his eyes to see a few more  
people make their way out of the building toward their cars. 
 
The fence surrounding the facility was almost certainly electrified, not a  
particularly pleasant barrier to get past.   
 
"Mulder, he wants to talk to you."  Scully poked him in the ribs with his cell  
phone. 
 
"Yeah?"  He put the binoculars down and cradled the telephone between ear  
and shoulder. 
 
"Okay, I'm also faxing the most recent pictures of the good doctors that we  
could obtain.  The security company is a private one, at least on the surface,  
but I doubt it really is."  Byers' voice was weary.  "And be careful, we still  
couldn't get all the information on what type of security system there is,  
Mulder.  We won't be with you this time, we can't guarantee anything. 
 
Mulder forebore to remind Byers that they hadn't guaranteed anything last  
time, either, and he'd gotten caught in between thick glass doors while  
someone shot at him.  "I'll be careful," he told Byers and sighed.  "Thanks,  
guys." 
 
"Are you going to tell us what this is about?" 
 
"When I get back.  I owe you guys, don't think I don't know it."  He  
disconnected, gave Scully a faint smile. 
 
Her eyes were narrowed.  "What are they faxing you, Mulder?" 
 
"Just information."  He turned to peer through the binoculars again.  "About  
the lab." 
 
"What kind of information?"  Scully's tone was cold.  "Blueprints?  Why do  
you need blueprints, Mulder, unless you're planning on doing something you  
know very well that I can't let you do." 
 
Mulder sighed, not lowering the binoculars.  "You're worrying too much," he  
told her lightly.  The last three cars pulled out, leaving the parking lot empty,  
and the electronic gate slid shut.  Yeah, he'd been right, there was power to  
that fence, and he was going to have to find out where the box was, unless  
he wanted to end up being toast.  In the back of his mind, a little voice  
inquired how far he was willing to go, since a transformer could been seen  
halfway down the block.  Of course, that would knock power out to the entire  
area, which would bring utility crews, which was probably not a good thing,  
he told the voice. 
 
"Yeah, maybe."  Scully's voice was tight.  "Just remember, dammit, I haven't  
let you out of your promise to me, Mulder.  If you turn up missing in the  
middle of the night, you're going to have me on your heels, and I promise  
you, the hounds of hell aren't anything compared to a partner ditched." 
 
Turning his head, he offered her a harmless smile.  "Scully, have I broken  
my promise yet?" 
 
"Yes, you have."  Her brows angled toward each other.  "When you and  
Morgan took off for four months." 
 
Taken aback, he stared at her.  "Scully, I didn't have any choice, they were  
going to kill her.  Or worse, turn her into a lab animal." 
 
"She already is a lab animal, Mulder," Scully told him heartlessly.  "And so  
are you, and the only thing keeping you out their hands is that you're both  
failed lab animals.  I haven't forgiven you for that, Mulder, so don't push your  
luck." 
 
His stomach had tied itself into a knot.  She already is a lab animal, Scully's  
voice echoed in his ear, and so are you.  With all the rage he'd felt, that  
hadn't sunk in completely.  He hadn't let it.  Hadn't wanted it to.  And Scully  
reminded him of it flippantly, like it was a joke. 
 
"What hotel are we staying at?" he asked tightly, trying to hold onto temper  
with a fraying leash. 
 
She told him.  Tossing the binoculars into the back seat, he turned the key  
in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. 
___________________________________________ 
 
Midnight.  Scully looked at the clock for the tenth time and finally gave up on  
sleep.   
 
Her usual control had failed her this afternoon with Mulder.  And his reaction  
to it had been horridly apparent the moment the words had left her mouth.   
He'd gone almost chalky, then flushed again, and his expression had  
changed to that distant, taut look she remembered too well from the days  
following the shut down of their unit. 
 
Bad move, Dana Katherine, she told herself wearily and rummaged through  
her suitcase.  Jeans, a dark shirt, dark socks and shoes.  It wasn't until she  
was dressed that she realized what she was doing and why.   
 
That realization made her knock on the door that much louder, praying he  
hadn't done anything stupid like go without her. 
 
The door opened and Mulder stared at her, stone-faced.  Fully dressed.   
Wearing black, naturally, the chic color for every FBI burglar.  "Hello,  
Scully," he said, his voice colorless.  "Checking up on me?" 
 
"Needless to say," she told him drily.  "Let's go, dammit, if you're going to do  
this.  I'm not going to let you do it alone." 
 
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head slowly.  "Uh uh,  
Scully.  Both of us don't need to end up in the Cook County jail." 
 
"Then you'll just have to be sensible about it, won't you."  She smiled thinly.   
"And not take risks.  I'm not letting you go alone, Mulder, so unless you plan  
on overpowering me and getting my gun, let's just get on with it." 
 
Mulder stared at her for a moment longer before raking a hand through his  
hair.  "Scully, I'm not going anywhere," he offered, his tone placatory. 
 
"Bull."  Scully brushed past him, looking at the black bag sitting on the bed.   
"Jesus, I take it that the guys have supplied you with your very own breaking  
and entering kit." 
 
He went a little red.  "Well, yeah, they did help.  I ran a few errands earlier,  
after dinner." 
 
"Infrared, night vision--Mulder, there are probably CIA agents less well  
equipped." 
 
Mulder reached toward the bag, hesitated, then shrugged.  "Yeah, well,  
nothing but the best for the guys and their friends, that's what Frohicke  
always says." 
 
"He only covets your video collection." 
 
His mouth quirked.  "Not any more, I gave it to him last year." 
 
She eyed him, remembering.  "That explains why your apartment is child  
safe," she remarked and began to repack the contents of the bag.  "Let's go,  
Mulder." 
______________________________________ 
 
Merry woke up from a sound sleep, feeling something tickle the back of her  
mind, something strange, yet familiar.  The sensation drew her out of bed  
and down the hall to the bedroom where Morgan slept, curled on her side. 
 
Oh, it was Morgan, Morgan was....Merry's mouth curved in delight and she  
climbed up on the bed to nestle close.  She wasn't sure what to call it, but  
Morgan was doing it, traveling far and far in her sleep.   
 
It wasn't one of Merry's skills, although she could talk to Michael from  
anywhere.  She just couldn't see him. 
 
And even though Morgan had said it was bad to peek inside someone else's  
thoughts, this wasn't quite the same thing.  Oh, she wanted to know how  
Morgan did it, she wanted to be able to do it, too.  And she didn't think  
Morgan would be mad, she told herself and put a small hand on Morgan's  
cheek, found herself drawn into an almost unconscious embrace. 
 
Oh, this was nice, having a real mommy and daddy.  Having people hug her  
and feeling that they really wanted her there.  She'd known they were out  
there, but having them with her was a seduction almost potent enough to  
make her forget the dream traveling.  Dream walking, she thought and  
snuggled closer, breathing in Morgan's scent.  Closing her eyes, she let  
herself drift until she could see what Morgan saw, feel what Morgan felt..... 
 
.....Morgan is standing on a street corner.  Linked, Merry is again aware of  
the strangeness of being tall, of the sensations that make her feel awkward  
and alien.  This is what it will be like to be grownup, a part of her thinks and  
she blushes, feeling fabric against Morgan's nipples, pulls herself back a  
little from the physical sensations, as far back as she can without unlinking. 
 
It's not as scary as when she dreamed of the two of them, through Morgan's  
eyes.  But she senses Morgan's awareness of the flesh, the way it feels to  
have the shirt touch bare skin, the warm, funny feeling between her legs,   
and it makes her blush again.  How do grownups ever do anything with all  
this strangeness? 
 
Suddenly, Morgan's awareness stretches out again and Merry is carried  
with it.  A car turns down the street about a block away, its lights out.   
Morgan's wariness of that flares, like something heavy in her tummy.   
Suddenly, Merry isn't sure she wants to be here, she wants to unlink, begins  
pulling back, but she can't quite make it work, she's tied too well to Morgan's  
dream self and can't get free. 
 
Two familiar figures get out of the vehicle.  Affection and heat flower in  
Morgan's awareness of the body and Merry blushes again.  This is part of  
how Morgan loves Fox.  Huddling small in the back of Morgan's mind, she  
blocks some of that off, but it's easier when Morgan sees Aunt Dana.  An  
uncomplicated mix of affection and humor overlays the other, making Merry  
unhuddle.  Morgan doesn't feel the same way about Aunt Dana as she does  
for Fox, another piece of the puzzle of adult relationships.   
 
Merry examines that for a moment.  Morgan cares about Aunt Dana in two  
ways:  partly because Aunt Dana is Fox's friend and partner, and partly  
because she and Aunt Dana have become friends.  Being a grownup is so  
complicated, she decides, and Morgan is abruptly standing near them,  
without transition. 
 
The rush of emotion for Fox makes Merry hide again, peeping out from  
behind her self-constructed barrier to watch as Fox begins to move around  
the perimeter of the fence, bending to search now and then.  Aunt Dana  
follows at a distance, her head turning alertly at every sound.   
 
Curiosity draws Merry out a little farther until she feels the watchfulness that  
has made Morgan's tummy go tense, the tautness in the shoulders that are  
wider than hers.   Her tummy aches a little in sympathy, but she's not sure  
why Morgan is so worried.  Fox isn't doing anything but walking around the  
fence. 
 
"Goddammit," Fox says softly, "The box is inside.  I'm going to have to blow  
the transformer." 
 
"The hell," Aunt Dana tells him, and Merry finds that she wouldn't disagree  
with that tone of voice, ever.  It's a dangerous tone, a tone that promises that  
if Fox does, he's going to be very, very sorry.  She pulls back again, peering  
around the edges of her barrier, afraid that she's going to feel Aunt Dana's  
emotions, because Fox's are very determined, very focused. 
 
Morgan reaches out to the fence, her insubstantial hands resting on it, trying  
to--oh, she's trying to turn it off.  Helpfully, Merry emerges again, puts her  
dream hands over Morgan's, channeling the power that lets her fool the  
testers and their machines.  The fence crackles and sparks and Fox and  
Aunt Dana both back away; farther down, the gate opens, to more sparking  
and crackling, before the sparks die and the gate groans to a halt.  Just  
enough space for two people to go through. 
 
Fox and Aunt Dana look at each other, both startled.  "Wow," Fox whispers.   
"I think somebody's on our side, Scully." 
 
Morgan feels amusement, like the tickle of cotton candy on the tongue and  
Merry feels better, nestles close to the warmth inside Morgan's body, closer  
to the essence of Morgan. 
 
But as Fox and Aunt Dana go through the gate, Morgan is abruptly at the  
door, another transition that makes Merry feel dizzy.  Morgan is *good* at  
this, but suddenly Merry isn't sure if Morgan knows she's doing it. 
 
Morgan's hands go through the black box outside the door.  She has some  
trouble with it, Merry is abruptly aware of the attentuated line linking them  
with home.  Morgan hasn't got quite enough strength to pull through that  
line, but Merry adds hers to Morgan's and the lights blink properly in the  
right sequence, letting the lock slide open as Fox works on it with the little  
machine. 
 
He stares at it, and his surprise is another delight, feathery tickles along  
Merry's skin.  But Morgan isn't amused anymore, and the darkness that  
pulses inside the warmth that is Morgan is a little scary.  Pulling back, Merry  
hides again, watching cautiously. 
 
"Mulder, you're better at this than I thought," Aunt Dana murmurs and pulls  
the door open, going inside to blackness. 
 
Morgan shifts again, they stand in the darkness of the building, a place  
Merry recognizes too well.  She pulls the barrier up further, a little scared,  
but she can't seem to unlink and she's afraid to wake Morgan up. 
 
Morgan's mind quests outward, though, pulling Merry with her, Merry sees  
the machine that will dump something nasty into the air.  Her heart thumps  
hard when she realizes that it will hurt Fox and Aunt Dana.  When Morgan  
finds the thing that controls it, Merry channels more power to let her kill it  
without hesitation, even though she's getting very scared. 
 
Fox appears in the darkness, his flashlight bobbing as he moves.  There is  
a flash of emotion too intense to define from Morgan, driving Merry back  
behind her makeshift barrier.  Surely Morgan will come home now, she  
hopes, but Morgan shifts again, standing beside a machine that stands  
taller than she is. 
 
A computer, Merry remembers, one of their stupid machines.  Morgan's  
hands sink into it and lights blink.  She can taste Morgan's satisfaction,  
almost the taste of blood.  Merry knows, she's tasted her own blood, licked  
scrapes to make them stop hurting. 
 
And Fox's light bobs into the room.   "The records should be back here,"  
Fox mutters. 
 
"I'll check the back," Aunt Dana mutters back and vanishes through a  
doorway.   
 
Dr. Carmichael's office is here.  Merry hates Dr. Carmichael.  Watching,  
she sees Fox go into Dr. Carmichael's office and begin going through files.   
He finds a handful he wants and stuffs them into the bag, resonating of fury  
and grief as he follows Aunt Dana.   
 
*His* emotion is like standing too close to a bonfire, like she did last  
Halloween, when she was still a little kid.  A pine cone had burst, showering  
her with sparks, and Katie's dad had pulled her back, Katie's mom had  
made sure that she wasn't burned.  Fox feels like that right now, like those  
sparks touching her skin. 
 
Morgan is restless, shifting from one room to the other, finally leaving the  
building, taking Merry with her, perforce, and Merry is too scared to do  
anything but hide in the back of Morgan's mind. 
 
Lights hit the street, there are more cars turning the corner, two cars. 
 
The sparks are nothing compared to what she feels from those cars. 
 
A chill so deep that even Morgan's warmth can't stay it, Merry shivers as if  
she were still in her body, feels Morgan's sense of it and the answering  
heat.   
 
Fox's sparks were nothing; this is what it would be like to stand in the middle  
of the bonfire, and Merry is so scared, she clings to Morgan as the heat  
expands. 
 
No more, she hears Morgan's voice say in her inner mind, no more, I won't  
lose any more to you bastards.   
 
The cars are black and the men inside are just as black and cold, like the  
black holes her science teacher told her about, pulling all things in,  
swallowing them whole, tearing them away from reality.  Bad thoughts, bad  
plans--they are going to hurt whoever is inside the lab, they're going to hurt  
Fox and Aunt Dana, they're going to hurt them bad enough to die, just like  
her pretend mommy and daddy. 
 
Terrified, she adds her strength to Morgan's, blending it and changing it.   
She wants to run away, to unlink, but Morgan's too strong, she can't break  
the link, she's been very naughty.....The heat of Morgan's rage is a  
firestorm, Merry is overwhelmed, spinning like one of the sparks that  
escaped the fire, Morgan is going to do something bad to the men to stop  
them, and there is a sickening, queasy guilt beneath the heat. 
 
Dizzy with it, Merry struggles to orient herself, trying hard to rid herself of  
what Morgan feels, it surrounds her, and she has to get rid of it, send it  
somewhere.  And then, like the almost audible click that she feels when she  
suddenly understands something, Merry does, she sends it toward the men  
in the car, blending it with her abilities to tame it, to soften it so that Morgan  
doesn't feel sick inside. 
 
You sleep, she tells the men furiously, so afraid that she wants to go back,  
to go home, but she doesn't know how to, she doesn't know how Morgan  
does it. 
 
The men drop where they stand, half out of the cars.  There is a flash of  
light from car, where the engine is, and Merry is startled.  Morgan is  
satisfied. 
 
The men are still, so deeply asleep that even the flash does not make any  
one of them stir.   
 
Morgan stands at the open gate, like a guard.   Exhausted, Merry nestles  
behind her barrier and waits, drifting on a sea of images that, despite their  
content, are less frightening than Morgan's rage.  A man who changes from  
a coyote to a man and back again.  Little people with grey skin and big, dark  
eyes.  A little boy with dark hair, lying too still on a bed, all the hospital stuff  
around him dark and useless. 
 
In a little while, Fox and Aunt Dana slip out of the building again.   
Merry/Morgan feels their shock at the sight of the cars, at the men lying on  
the ground, half in and half out of the car--one leans forward on the steering  
wheel, completely limp.   
 
Fox stops near one, bends down and touches his neck, but Aunt Dana  
grabs his arm, tugs him away, back toward their car. 
 
Only when the car pulls away does Morgan let the watch go, does she drift  
back along a silver cord to the bed in which they both lie.  Merry clings to  
her, losing herself in the dream images that are nonsensical and sometimes  
frightening.... 
 
Waking with a start, Merry sat up in bed, looking down at Morgan, whose  
face was smoothing out again, as if she'd had a nightmare.  Morgan's arm  
tightened and Merry slid down again, nestling close, feeling only warmth and  
care, even in Morgan's sleep. 
 
The images of the dream walk were fading.  And she still didn't know how  
Morgan did it.  She didn't think she wanted to do it anymore, and she wasn't  
sure that Morgan even knew she was dream walking.  Somehow, she didn't  
think it was something that Morgan did on purpose.  It sure wasn't anything  
she wanted to do on purpose, she decided and blinked hard, the corners of  
her mouth pulling down. 
 
It had been scary.  She was glad she'd been with Morgan, in a way, she   
was glad Fox and Aunt Dana were safe, that she'd helped Morgan, that  
she'd kept Morgan from doing something bad to those men.  But she didn't  
want to do it again anytime soon, even if it meant seeing Fox when he was  
far away.   
 
And somehow, she didn't think it would be wise to remind Morgan of her  
"dream" or mention that Merry had been with her.  She hadn't thought that it  
would be what it was, that she would feel so many things that Morgan felt. 
 
It was interesting.  When Fox and Morgan made jokes about whose eyes  
she had, or whose chin she had, she had felt a mixture of delight and  
bewilderment.  Delight for actually belonging to them, and bewilderment  
because, of course, she had her own eyes and chin.  But now she  
understood a little better.  Her mouth curved as the scariness of the dream  
walk receded at the approach of sleep.  She had her mommy's ability to *do*  
things with her mind.  And so did Michael.   
 
Tucking Michael under her chin, she whispered.  "See, Michael?  She *is*  
our real mother." 
 
From far away, Michael answered fretfully that he didn't care.  He wanted  
his other mother. 
 
That's cuz you don't know Morgan, she told him, big sister bossy, and put  
her thumb in her mouth. Go back to sleep. 
 
And just as Michael did, so did she. 
_______________________________________ 
 
The freezer had been full of....samples, Scully's mind provided the  
euphemism handily.  Sitting on the edge of Mulder's bed, she shivered,  
thinking of the cars outside the lab.  Thinking of how close it had been.   
Thinking of the men, lying evidently asleep on the street, in the car.  Of the  
gate that had gone up in sparks. 
 
Nothing made sense anymore.  She had a tumor in her head, Mulder had  
two children fathered, essentially, because someone had raped him, raped  
Morgan--violated them both.  And there was a freezer full of semen and ova,  
all samples carefully marked with the code numbers of each subject. 
 
Mulder had sabotaged the freezer and retrieved those samples numbered  
with his and Morgan's code.  They were thawing on the nightstand now, a  
circumstance that made wild laughter try to bubble up in Scully's throat. 
 
And her partner sat on the floor, grimly going through files. 
 
"Goddammit," he finally raged, throwing the papers across the small hotel  
room.  "Nothing.  Not one fucking word of where they took him." 
 
Scully stared at him.  She might have known.  Words couldn't escape the  
tight dryness in her throat.  "Mulder, if I had a code number, how would we  
find it out?" 
 
His head came up and his expression went--haunted, that was the only  
word to describe it.  His throat worked as he swallowed.  "We deal with the  
Illuminati."  It was a whisper.  "That's how Morgan got ours." 
 
"In exchange for what?"  Scully shook her head.  It didn't matter.  Morgan  
might deal with them, but Morgan was honest.  And true, to Mulder, if not to  
his causes.  To Merry.  "Mulder, I want to know.  If the Illuminati can tell me  
what was done to me, I want to know." 
 
Something moved behind his eyes, inexpressible grief.  "I know what they  
did to you."  Another whisper.  "I've known since--since you were in the  
hospital in Pennsylvania." 
 
Shock held her quite still.  Leaning forward, she stared at him, certain she'd  
misheard him.  "What?  How do you know?" 
 
"I broke into--I met someone who told me."  Mulder swallowed hard again,  
looking straight at her.  "Kirk Crawford was a clone, Scully.  Like the one  
who told me she was my sister.  Like the doctors.  He...he told me what  
happened to the women who were abducted." 
 
A cold numbness stole over her, as cat-quiet and soft as snow.  "What did  
he tell you?" she asked, preternaturally calm.  Chilled to her marrow.  He'd  
known.   
 
"There didn't seem to be any reason to tell you," he said and rubbed his  
upper lip with the back of his hand.  "I didn't really have any hard evidence  
that it was true.  And it didn't do anything to help us find what would cure  
you." 
 
"Tell me."  Her voice was as cold as she was.  As hard as ice, as eternal as  
stone.  "Tell me, Mulder." 
 
"He said they used some kind of radiation treatment to increase the  
production of ova.  They harvested the ova, but the radiation caused the  
tumors."  His hand moved across his upper lip again.  "They had these little  
freezer drawers, each marked with the subject's name."  His eyes avoided  
hers.  "Your name was on one of them, he opened it and showed me these  
little tubes." 
 
"Harvested."  Her body kept breathing, but images kept flashing behind her  
eyelids.  She'd closed her eyes and hadn't noticed, the images were that  
real.  "My ova." 
 
Something touched her.  She opened her eyes again to find it was Mulder,  
kneeling in front of her, his eyes entreating.  "I still don't know if it was true,  
Scully.  They've lied so easily.  She told me she was my sister.  My father  
died believing it.  But she wasn't, she was just another one of them." 
 
The ice fractured.  Beneath, she was like molten steel, like lava.  Her hand  
came up and cracked across his face, hard, leaving a print, came back on  
the backswing and hit the other side of his face.  "You bastard!  You knew!   
Since before Morgan woke up, you knew!" 
 
He fell backward, sank back on his heels to catch himself.  "Yes," he  
agreed, in a whisper again, not even raising a hand to block the next blow. 
 
So she hit him again.  Punched him.  Finally fell on her knees in front of  
him, still punching him as she fell forward against him, sobbing as if her  
heart had broken.  "You bastard, I'll never forgive you, never, never, never!" 
 
His arms went around her.  "He said--he said the treatments left the women  
sterile.  He said that the ova were used to create the hybrids.  The clones.   
He said the women were their mothers."  A soft, mournful voice.  Like the  
one he'd used under hypnosis, remembering his supposed past lives.   
 
She wept for a long, long time.  Hating him.  Loving him.  Wishing they both  
had died before this. 
 
And despite her violence, Mulder held her close, rocked her against his  
chest, stroking her hair silently. 
_____________________________________ 
 
Scully inhaled raggedly, her cheek pressed against Mulder's shoulder.  Her  
arms hurt.  Her fists hurt, her knuckles felt raw.  She wondered dimly if  
she'd broken any bones in her hands.  Wondered if she'd broken Mulder's  
nose.   
 
They were lying on the rug.  When she shifted, he let go of her instantly.   
Sitting up, she considered the wreck of papers in the room and leaned  
forward to pick them up. 
 
"I'll get them," he told her quietly. 
 
Fine.  She spared him a glance and felt the faintest pang of guilt.  His lip  
was bleeding and swollen.  "You need some ice." 
 
His eyes looked like hers felt.  "I'm fine."  Still quiet.  "Are you okay?" 
 
"Hell, of course not," she told him bitterly.  "I found Duane Barry's little  
tracker, they decided to take me along for the ride instead of him.  And  
before you go off on your customary EBE theory, let me tell you something,  
Mulder.  I remember now.  The men who took me were as human as you or  
me.  Not a little grey fella in the bunch.  The men who drugged me and  
strapped me down and hurt me were all human." 
 
He glanced away, then back.  "Kirk Crawford looked human."  Very faintly. 
 
There was no denying that.  No denying what she'd seen when they'd  
hauled what supposedly remained of Samantha Mulder out of the river.   
 
She turned away from it anyway.  "Human, Mulder," she told him bitterly.   
"So, they have a little drawer with all my mother's grandchildren neatly  
stored away for future use.  You know, Kirk Crawford sort of had red hair,  
Mulder, maybe he was one of them." 
 
Mulder flinched at that, looked away from her again. 
 
"Cheer up," she told him wearily.  "At least your kids are human, Mulder." 
 
"Scully, I don't...."  His voice trailed off hopelessly and he rubbed at his  
upper lip again, getting blood on the sleeve of his shirt. 
 
Good thing it was black, she thought, with mordant humour.  "Mulder, I'm  
going to get some ice for your face.  Just stay here, all right?  I'll be right  
back."   He shook his head abortively, then stilled when she got up and  
touched his hair.  "I'm going to be sorry I did that," she told him softly.  "But  
not right now.  I hope you can forgive me that." 
 
Mulder's eyes closed and she saw the fugitive gleam of tears on his lashes.   
He nodded slightly. 
 
Going down the hall to get ice had the welcome effect of clearing her head.   
When she returned, he was quietly reassembling the files he'd taken out of  
the office in the lab. 
 
Hell, she hadn't needed to punish him, he'd been punishing himself.  That's  
why he'd let her use him as a punching bag.  That insight made her  
stomach knot up, made her very gentle when she wrapped ice into a  
washcloth and made him hold it to his mouth and cheek while she finished  
gathering the papers up. 
 
"I'm sorry," he finally muttered.  "I should have told you.  But I couldn't.   
You'd just sat beside Penny Northern and watched her die, you were still  
sick from the radiation and chemo that bastard had you on, I couldn't see  
myself saying, hey, Scully, guess what somebody told me?" 
 
"It's all past, now."  Scully sighed and came to sit on the bed beside him.   
"Besides, having a child would be grossly irresponsible, Mulder.  I don't plan  
on dying soon, but right now--I have to take care of myself." 
 
One of his hands found hers, curled around it.  But he still wouldn't look at  
her.  "I don't accept that you're going to die, Scully."  Very soft voice again, a  
little shaky.   
 
"We all die," she told him tiredly, "From the moment we first draw breath,  
we're all dying.  I just--I'd like to get some answers before I do, that's all.  I'd  
like to have a chance to live."  Leaning to the side, she rested her head on  
his shoulder.  "We'd better get the hell out of here, Mulder.  It won't take  
much to trace us, I think we'd better catch a flight out tonight." 
 
"Yeah."  He pressed his cheek against her hair briefly and got up to gather  
his things, never unpacked.  "I'll meet you in the hall, Scully." 
 
"Yeah."  She managed the ghost of a smile and got up.  "Five minutes." 
_____________________________________________ 
 
Mulder pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment building at nine am.   
Too tired to move, he sat in the car, staring blankly out the side window.   
Morgan's car was two cars ahead, she and Merry were probably having  
breakfast. 
 
It was only that thought that stirred him to life again.  Picking up his bag and  
his briefcase, he managed to get the front door unlocked and catch the  
elevator before it started upstairs again. 
 
The apartment door was locked, which eased his mind somewhat, and  
when he opened it, he could smell something cooking, something that made  
his stomach growl and reminded him that he'd been running all night on a  
ham sandwich and a couple of bags of airline peanuts. 
 
Merry's head turned away from Animaniacs--no, it was the Tick, he saw-- 
and she leapt up, giggling.  "Fox!" 
 
He dropped his bags just before she collided with him, hugging his knees.   
"Hi, munchkin." 
 
Merry wrinkled her nose.  "I'm not a munchkin, I'm a Merry." 
 
She certainly was, he reflected, then decided he was so tired he was loopy.   
Lifting her, he hugged her hard, rubbing beard stubble against her hair and  
breathing in the clean scent of baby shampoo from the night before. 
 
Morgan appeared in the hallway, her smile fading as she took a good look at  
him.  "What happened?" 
 
Merry's small hands held his face still.  "Fox, you got hurt!" 
 
"Yeah, I made Aunt Dana mad and she punched me."  He made a joke out  
of it, rolling his eyes.  Merry giggled, but Morgan's eyes remained sober,  
despite the slight curve of her mouth.  "I'm starving.  Can I have some of  
whatever smells so good?" 
 
"Waffles," Morgan told him and went back to the kitchen.   
 
Still carrying Merry, he followed.  "You bought a waffle iron?" 
 
"Nope, I went and got mine."  She checked the waffle, then came forward  
and carefully removed Merry from his arms.  "My turn." 
 
It felt awfully good to hold her.  She kissed his mouth very gently, very  
carefully, peered at his eyes and sighed.  "Bad time." 
 
Leaning his forehead against hers, he nodded.  "Bad time." 
 
Her arms went around his neck.  "Find anything out that might be useful?" 
 
He sighed and pulled her closer, put his face in her neck.  "Maybe.  Maybe  
not.  We'll talk later." 
 
"Morgan, the light went out, I think it's ready?"  Merry, on a chair, was  
peering down at the waffle iron with intensity.  "Can I get it out?" 
 
"Nope, that's tricky, kids can get burned."  Morgan kissed the tip of his nose  
and disengaged. 
 
The waffle looked good, and Merry insisted that the first one should be his,  
because he looked terrible.  With feigned reluctance, he allowed himself to  
be chivvied into a chair, received a glass of juice and a cup of coffee as if  
they were priceless and admired the contents of his plate before digging in. 
 
"You really can cook," he told Morgan, a moment later, around a bite of  
waffle. 
 
"As if you didn't already know that," she chided and eyed the waffle iron as  
she closed it. 
 
"I know, but it's always nice not to have to eat my own." 
 
Morgan's eyes were mischievous.  "Just remember that sentiment and apply  
it to me regularly, and we'll get along fine." 
 
"She means you have to cook sometimes," Merry told him seriously. 
 
"I know."  He rolled his eyes again.  "But she'd rather cook than do dishes,  
and so would I." 
 
"The solution, of course, is a dishwasher," Morgan intoned and grinned  
when he gave her a bemused look. 
 
"I'm getting awfully middle class, don't you think?  A dishwasher would be  
the death knell." 
 
"How about living in a house instead of an apartment," Morgan suggested  
lightly.  "Would that also be a death knell?  You did say we didn't have to live  
here." 
 
Suspicious, he gave her a long, level look.  "I have a feeling this is leading  
up to something, but I don't think I'm ready for it, yet." 
 
Morgan grinned and Merry giggled, putting both hands over her mouth. 
 
Mulder stared at both of them.  God, they were plotting.  He was really in  
trouble.  A kid with their inherent sneakiness, their brains, her mother's gifts,  
and his tendency to leap before looking--Christ, he was in real trouble.  "All  
right," he said and took a sip of coffee.  "What have the two of you done?" 
 
"Done?  Us?  Why, nothing at all.  We did bake cookies, and pack up a few  
of your rattier mementos, but they're still safely in the closet, we didn't get rid  
of them.  Hung a few pictures on the wall."  Morgan paused in this recital  
and took out another waffle, breaking it in half to put each half on a plate.   
"Hung out with the cats at the other house.  You know, nothing dangerous,  
just takin' it easy." 
 
He took another sip of coffee and considered that.  "Nothing dangerous." 
 
"Not even slightly," Morgan told him sincerely.  "Although you had a dreadful  
mess on your hard drive, I ran scandisk and defrag and consolidated some  
directories.  But I fixed your short cuts, so you won't notice a thing." 
 
Mulder scowled.  "You said you wouldn't touch my computer." 
 
"No, I said I wouldn't redecorate it," Morgan told him, her tone reasonable.   
"Besides, I had to install one of those parental control software packages so  
Merry could surf the 'Net." 
 
He blinked at that.  Eyed Merry.  "Oh, okay."  And went back to his waffle. 
 
Merry giggled again, but then settled down to her waffle. 
 
Once he'd finished his, Mulder found the lack of sleep catching up with him.   
Getting up from the table, he put his dishes in the sink and came back to  
drop a kiss on the top of Morgan's head.  "I'm going to take a shower and  
crash," he murmured and made his way down the hall to the bedroom,  
retrieved clean shorts and a t-shirt and repaired to the bathroom. 
 
The hot water only made him sleepier; emerging from the shower, he  
padded down the hall and fell face down on the bed, lifting his head long  
enough to fumble for the telephone. 
 
Skinner was in, but had someone in his office; Kim put him on hold long  
enough that he dozed until Skinner barked in his ear. 
 
"Sir," he told him blearily.  "We're back from Michigan.  I need to see you  
this afternoon." 
 
"Where are you?"  Skinner sounded like a man in a temper.  "And where  
were you?  I called your hotel in Belmont last night and they said you'd  
checked out in the morning." 
 
"I had a few things to check out."  Mulder sighed and rolled onto his back.   
"And I'd like to discuss those with you this afternoon.  Or this evening.   
Privately." 
 
There was a simmering silence. 
 
"All right.  I was going to stop by Morgan Grayson's house, see how she's  
doing."  Underneath the temper, Mulder thought he heard worry and  
wondered at it.  "I'll be there around seven.  You'll be there?" 
 
"Count on it." 
 
Skinner hung up.  Pressing the button, Mulder turned the phone off and  
dozed again, waking only when Morgan came into the bedroom and closed  
the blinds.  Bending over him, she pulled the sheet up and kissed his  
temple.  "Go to sleep," she murmured, when he put his arms up to pull her  
down with him. 
 
"I am," he muttered and put his face against her stomach, breathing in the  
smell of her skin and clean clothes.   
 
Morgan chuckled, he felt the muscles of her abdomen tighten slightly and  
closed his eyes.  What they'd done to her was evidently different than what  
they'd done to Scully.  And he hadn't yet told her about Scully.  He kept  
things in little compartments.  "Scully has cancer," he finally whispered. 
 
She stiffened and her hand stopped moving on his hair.  "What?" 
 
He told her.  Baldly and without apology for his failures.  Felt her fingers  
start weaving through his hair again.  "Oh, Fox."  Softly, mournfully.  "Who  
are these people?" 
 
"I only know some of them.  And I don't know their names."  He rubbed his  
cheek against her shirt, taking comfort in her warmth.   They'd tried to kill  
Morgan and failed.  They wouldn't succeed any better with Scully.  He was  
determined on that point, wouldn't allow himself to conceive of another  
failure.  Of another loss.  And on that thought, he allowed himself to sleep. 
___________________________________ 
 
The man who went by the name of Smith stepped into the office to find  
Anabel sitting in front of her computer, a frown drawing a stark line between  
her elegant brows.   
 
"You called for me?"  His tone was quizzical. 
 
"I did," she agreed and raised her hands to the back of her hair, smoothing  
wayward tendrils.  "Things have changed somewhat.  I'm very concerned  
with what I'm seeing here." 
 
"So I imagined, since you sent for me."  He smiled to take any reproach  
from the words.  "All right, what is it?"  Taking the chair beside hers, he  
looked at the screen, but saw nothing he recognized, only a graph spread  
untidily over the screen.  Well, Anabel was a genius, she'd designed the  
program herself, based on what she could do, and set it to tracking  
probabilities as handily as any psychic.  More handily, really, since psychics  
were prone to their own emotional backwash that distorted their predictions. 
 
"I received some information from our," Anabel's mouth quirked slightly,  
"ringer, as you call her.  She says that the Consortium has taken an interest  
in reproducing the experiment, has disciplined the Third Elder for his hasty  
reaction, and that Dr. Campbell has received his orders.  However,  
someone has evidently anticipated this."  She turned to regard him  
thoughtfully, her dark eyes impassive.  The lab in which the samples were  
stored has been, shall we say, burglarized and the samples taken or  
destroyed.  All of the ova and semen stored there were thawed and are no  
longer viable.  And the key samples, from our Dr. Grayson and Mr. Mulder,  
are missing." 
 
Smith straightened, appalled.  "Mulder was in Michigan, if I'm not mistaken." 
 
Anabel's mouth quirked again.  "I wouldn't doubt that Mr. Mulder was in  
Chicago," she told him, her tone chiding.  "But the remarkable thing is that  
Mr. Mulder and his partner have no paranormal gifts in the least.  Yet, I'm  
told that when the security force arrived on site, they were swiftly dealt with-- 
every one of five men was put to sleep.  Hawkins informs me that three of  
them are still asleep, they cannot wake them up, despite the application of a  
variety of stimulants.  The security gate was blown, the electronic locking  
system subverted, and a number of files taken from Dr. Campbell's records.   
Oh, and evidently, the hard drives of several of the lab computers were  
erased." 
 
Smith stared at her, his mind ticking over the facts one by one.  "Morgan  
Grayson?" 
 
"I doubt it."  Anabel gestured to the screen.  "At least not alone, although  
she has proven to us already that her gifts are still very little understood.   
The probability is that she *and* the child, Meredith, were both involved in  
this.  Whoever may have actually taken the samples." 
 
"They were protecting Mulder."  Smith chewed on his lower lip.  "That  
complicates things somewhat." 
 
"Indeed."  Anabel leaned back in her chair and frowned forbiddingly at the  
screen.  "It increases the chances that the Consortium will realize they have  
the child.  Whatever Hawkins' employer may have told his masters, he  
knows very well that his men did not find her.  And there's something else  
here, as well, something unquantifiable.  Are you sure you've given me all  
the facts?" 
 
Smith's stomach tightened slightly.  He should have known.  What her own  
instincts did not tell her, the damned computer would.  "There is the  
possibility of more than one child," he told her cautiously.  "A control for their  
experiment." 
 
Her eyes went obsidian on him.  That was the hell of it, working with Anabel.   
She took to odd sympathies and she had power enough, both temporal and  
paranormal, to act in defiance of a careful and secretive path.  "I see."  Her  
tone was glacial.  "And what has happened to the other child?" 
 
"Nothing, so far as I'm aware."  That was far from being true, but he had no  
intention of giving away his aces.  No, he wanted Grayson and Mulder to  
buy that information with their willing cooperation.  And Anabel, brilliant as  
she was, would be likely to give it away.  Because she liked her subjects.   
"I've no idea where the other child might be, but Hawkins hasn't given any  
indication of danger to it." 
 
Anabel's eyes rested on him.  "Very well.  But holding back information is  
only going to make my task harder.  Please do remember that." 
 
Rising, Smith nodded.  "I do.  I will, Anabel.  And I'll speak to Jones about  
increasing the efficacy of our observers.  I want them alive and safe,  
Anabel, just as much as you do." 
 
It was a direct hit, he saw her eyes flicker.  "Sometimes, cher, I think you  
forget that these are not the pawns on your chessboard.  These are human  
beings.  If you cannot remember that, how do you differ from those in the  
Consortium?" 
 
Trust Anabel to go for the throat, but oh, so gracefully.  With a rueful nod,  
he took his leave of her.  He really was going to have to speak to Hawkins  
about protocol. 
 
And perhaps it was time to move Hawkins into the role for which she'd been  
groomed.  
______________________________________________ 
 
Geoff watched the videotape from the doorway of the livingroom.  Skinner  
sat on the couch.   
 
Morgan, having read the files Mulder had brought back, sat on the floor,  
leaning back against Mulder's legs; she sagged against them as the video  
continued, put both hands to her mouth as the second child was delivered  
and carried to the warming table. 
 
Mulder, sitting in the oversized armchair near the window, looked sidelong,  
saw Skinner's face go stony as he understood what he was watching, what  
he was hearing.  Leaning forward, he reached down and pulled Morgan up  
into the chair with him, felt her trembling as she turned her face into his  
neck. 
 
"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I couldn't find anything else but the files and the  
tape." 
 
Her tears were hot against his skin.  "Another child.  Did they kill him?" 
 
Mulder's stomach went tight and sick.  "I don't know," he admitted and  
looked over at Skinner.  "I don't know, and I didn't find much in the records,  
except for his code number.  It's the same as Merry's." 
 
Merry, thankfully, was upstairs playing with the cats.   
 
At length, Skinner got up and went to the VCR, punched the eject button.   
Then, turning, he studied them both for a long moment before he sighed  
and rubbed his face.   "You don't have much hard evidence on who or why,  
Mulder.  But I think you've got enough evidence to prove that she's  
genetically your child.  The protective custody order should leave her in your  
hands until you can be sure she's safe enough to risk a real custody  
hearing." 
 
Mulder drew in a breath.  "I know who is in charge of that lab.  I can trace  
the people who fund it, dammit.  I've got more than enough hard evidence." 
 
Skinner's expression was weary.  "Don't bullshit me, Mulder.  I know you're  
going after that boy just as surely as I know my own name.  Ordinarily, I'd  
haul you in by the scruff of your neck and chain you in the basement office,  
but this--this is a child, dammit, not an adult, not an officer of the law who  
knew what risks there might be." 
 
Mulder blinked at him, opened his mouth and closed it again.  "Does that  
mean," he finally risked asking, "That you're not going to get in my way?" 
 
That got a sharp look.  "That means we're going to find that child," Skinner  
growled.  "Not go on a personal vendetta over how the child was created." 
 
A part of him objected to that; he quashed it firmly and nodded.  "Right."   
Then, uncomfortably, "Thank you, sir." 
 
Skinner almost smiled, but it was humourless.  "Don't thank me, I took an  
oath to uphold the law, remember?" 
 
Morgan sat up suddenly and got out of the chair, walking out of the room in  
silence. 
 
Skinner's eyes followed her.  "How is she taking all this?" he asked softly. 
 
"Not well.  I don't know, I haven't had much time to talk with her about it  
privately."  Mulder rubbed his upper lip and shook his head.  "Better than me  
in some ways, worse in others.  Maybe she can help find him, maybe that's  
what she's thinking." 
 
"Maybe."  Skinner's gaze rested on him for a moment before Mulder rose  
and went after Morgan. 
 ___________________________________ 
 
Back at the apartment, Merry was curiously subdued.  Reading them again,  
no doubt, Mulder thought wearily, and gave her the requisite bedtime story  
before tucking her in. 
 
Morgan was already in bed when he got there, reading Joseph Campbell.   
Without any pretense, he took the book from her hand and gathered her up  
against him.  "Talk to me," he whispered. 
 
Her muscles went stiff.  "I don't want to," she told him huskily.  "I don't want  
to feel what I'm feeling.  I don't know what will happen if I let go of it." 
 
"Are you angry with me?"  Mulder stroked the nape of her neck.  "Was it  
something I did?" 
 
Morgan shook her head, leaned back against him.  "No, of course not, don't  
be an idiot.  It's what they've done to us.  To our children.   If they've killed  
him, Fox, I'm not sure what I'll do, and that frightens me." 
 
He was silent for a long moment, remembering a night of fire and grief.   
"Don't give in to that, babe.  It nearly killed you.  I don't think I could stand  
going through that again." 
 
She shivered and tucked her arms around his neck.  "Yeah.  Well, maybe I  
deserved to have it nearly kill me.  I don't like feeling that way, I don't like  
having done what I did.  I loathe it.  It makes me no better than they are.   
Maybe worse, because I do it in hate and rage, and they're actually pretty  
cold blooded about their murders." 
 
Startled, he leaned back.  "Detachment makes them better?  Jesus,  
Morgan, they don't feel anything, not a fucking thing.  People are just things  
to them.  I'd rather have you feel honest hate than become dead inside like  
that." 
 
She looked equally startled, then smiled crookedly at him.  "I'll have to think  
about that concept, G-man.  But you might be right." 
 
Eased, he leaned back, pulled her closer.  "So, what did you and Merry do  
while I was gone, besides bake enough cookies to have a baked goods  
sale." 
 
"I noticed you dipping into them quite heavily this afternoon," she muttered  
and slanted him that go-to-hell grin he loved. 
 
"I wanted Merry to know that I liked them.  She was hard to convince."  But  
his lips curved on the lie and he chuckled when she poked him in the ribs.   
 
Morgan sat up and regarded him thoughtfully, far more seriously than he  
expected.  "Well, we did do something--but you have to promise me to keep  
your temper." 
 
Mulder blinked.  Keep his temper?   As opposed to losing it like he had the  
afternoon he'd left for Belmont, he supposed.  "All right," he finally agreed,  
bracing himself for some appalling lapse of judgement or incredible  
recklessness.   
 
"We bought a house."  Morgan's eyes were worried, but her lips curved  
slightly.  "Remember, you promised." 
 
Bought a house.  "As in house?  As in dwelling?"  His voice rose slightly.   
"What the hell did you buy a house for, Morgan?  You already have a house  
and an apartment!" 
 
Her mouth flattened out.  "You promised," she reminded him. 
 
So he had.  Closing his mouth, Mulder counted to ten.  Then twenty.  By the  
time he'd reached forty, he felt like he could control his voice.   
 
"A house," he remarked calmly.  "Well, that's interesting all right.  Are you  
planning on moving into this house?"  A pulse throbbed at his temple, he  
could feel it.  Oh, Christ, please let him be wrong about this. 
 
"Well, that's kind of up to you, really."  Morgan leaned forward and kissed  
the tip of his nose.  "I mean, I thought you ought to have final approval,  
since I've already picked out the room that will be your office." 
 
He blinked again.  Felt relief turn his bones to jelly.  "Final approval," he  
repeated, buying time to get his mind back into gear.  "Okay, where is this  
house?" 
 
"Here in Alexandria."  Morgan's smile was guileless.  "Fenced backyard, lots  
of space for Merry to play." 
 
"Alexandria covers a fair amount of ground, Morgan, where is it?"  Mulder  
arched his eyebrows and managed a smile.  She told him and his smile  
faded.  "Morgan, that's--how much is this house?" 
 
She told him that, too. 
 
Swinging his legs off the bed, he stalked over to the window.  "And just how  
are we supposed to be buying this house, Morgan?  I don't make that kind  
of money, and right now, neither do you."  Pressing his forehead to the  
window, he swallowed hard.  "Did you get the money from the Illuminati?" 
 
He heard the swift, outraged intake of breath and turned, regretting the  
question.  Oh, but didn't he always regret the things he said?  Maybe  
someday, he'd learn not to say them. 
 
"My husband and daughter were killed by a drunk driver driving a beer  
company truck."  Morgan's voice was taut, and her eyebrows were angled  
together.  He blinked.  Oh, good one, Mulder, get her back and thoroughly  
piss her off, impugn her judgement and honesty.   
 
"And," she continued, her eyes still furious, "I was awarded a quarter of a  
million dollars, if you can imagine that, as a result of the ensuing lawsuit.  A  
certain percentage was skimmed off the top by the attorney who handled the  
case.  The rest, Ray eventually invested for me, along with the insurance  
settlements.  Ray does very well with investments, as well as with his own  
company.  And I don't have to use anymore than the interest it earns a year,  
thank you very much." 
 
There wasn't much to say.  Except, "I'm sorry."  Not quite humbly, but close  
enough that her eyebrows eased up slightly.  "I didn't ask that very well, and  
I'm scared.  I don't want you dealing with them anymore, babe, I don't know  
what their agenda is, but they've got one." 
 
That earned him a grudging nod.  Risking it, Mulder sat back down on the  
bed and touched her hand.  "So, did you and Merry just wake up and  
decide, let's buy a house today?" 
 
Morgan's mouth was still flattened out, but one corner twitched.  "Actually,  
we did, sort of.  We both dreamt about it, and then on our way home from  
Geoff's, we saw it." 
 
Geoff's.  That was another small relief, to know that she didn't see it as her  
home anymore.  And if that wasn't the most childish, insecure admission, he  
didn't know what was.  Leaning forward, Mulder kissed her mouth gently,  
leaned back and smiled.  "Dreamt, huh.  Well, I'm going to have to get used  
to that again, it's been awfully quiet lately." 
 
This time, both corners of Morgan's mouth twitched.  "You are the most  
impossible man," she told him severely. 
 
Lying back with his head in her lap, he peered up at her, gave her his best  
winsome smile.  At least he hoped it was his best, winsome smile. 
 
"You and Merry," she sighed and ruffled his hair.  "If all else fails, the Look  
will always work." 
 
"The Look?"  Mulder let his eyes widen innocently.  "What look?" 
 
"Huh."  Morgan made a scornful sound in her throat and shook her head.   
"Don't play innocent with me, Fox William Mulder, you haven't been innocent  
since you were in diapers." 
 
"I was a very innocent boy," he objected.  "I was still a virgin when I left for  
Oxford." 
 
"That's because you *were* still in diapers when you left for Oxford," she  
told him and bent to kiss his mouth.  "I swear, what they did with an infant  
over there...." 
 
"For a minute, I thought you were accusing me of not having been  
housebroken until I was sixteen," Mulder groused.  Her fingers were cool on  
his face and soothing when they moved in his hair.  "That's nice." 
 
"You still look tired," she told him and sighed.  "We have to find him, Fox.  If  
he's alive." 
 
"We will," he told her, and it was a vow.  "Believe me, Morgan, we will." 
______________________________________ 
 

 
It wasn't as easy as that.   
 
During the next few days, Mulder and Scully came up against dead ends.   
An alarming series of accidents and heart attacks and strokes seemed to  
afflict the members of the committee that governed the lab's business.  Not  
to mention, an electrocution, an apparent murder suicide and a case,  
incredibly enough, of appendicitis gone bad. 
 
They ended up spending a lot of time at his apartment going through  
material garnered through non-official sources. 
 
"They're thorough," Scully muttered, reading another obituary.  "Damn  
them." 
 
Mulder scowled up at her.  "Yeah, you could say that."  His eyes hurt,  
despite his glasses.  Going through microfiche always affected him that  
way, and the Illinois adoption records had been impossible to get through  
legal means.  So he had to carry them with him and look at them through a  
portable viewer obtained for him by the Gunmen.  . 
 
"Where's Morgan?" Scully asked absently, taking a sip of coffee from the  
mug he'd poured for her when she'd arrived at his apartment.  Then, "God,  
who made this?" 
 
"Morgan."  Mulder glanced up and grinned.  "She likes coffee strong  
enough to eat away the bowl of the spoon.  I got used to it last year.  Don't  
worry, it's decaff.  As much as I live on caffeine, I don't think my heart could  
take that many cups of Morgan's if it wasn't." 
 
Scully gave him an amused look.  "Have you ever suggested that she lighten  
up when she measures?" 
 
"Nah, I kind of like it."  Mulder shrugged, still smiling.  "It's kind of a Morgan  
thing.  Like me and pizza.  Anyway, she and Merry are over measuring  
windows, or something.  At the house." 
 
Rolling her eyes, Scully went back to the printouts of census records she  
was studying.  "You know, he might not have been adopted in Illinois.  In  
fact, there might not have been a real adoption at all.  They could have  
placed him with someone like Pritcher and Wells, someone in the project." 
 
"I know.  I've got the guys running down the employment records for the lab.   
License plates, the whole thing.  And checking on other colleagues of both  
Pritcher and Wells."  He sipped his own coffee and put his glasses back on,  
leaning over the viewer to peer at the records again. 
 
After a moment, Scully looked up again, took her glasses off.  "I have to ask  
you this, Mulder, even if it is none of my business.  Buying a house is kind  
of a normal thing to do, but not a Mulderish thing to do.  How did she  
convince you?" 
 
"She made an offer and had it accepted before I got back," he told her drily,  
peering over the tops of his glasses.  "And besides, they were both so  
excited.  It's a nice house.  It's fucking huge, but it's a nice house." 
 
"You're trembling in your running shoes, aren't you?"  Scully's gaze was too  
shrewd.  "A wife, a kid and a mortgage--I'll tell you, Mulder, you don't do  
anything by halves, do you?" 
 
He adjusted his glasses with his middle finger and Scully threw her head  
back and laughed.  "It's going to be like the Addams family for the nineties,  
Mulder.  Mulder and Morgan and Merry."  She laughed harder at that. 
 
"Don't be offensive," he told her tartly, "It's Fox and Morgan and Merry,  
anyway." 
 
"But she calls you Mulder half the time."  Scully was outright giggling now.   
"Oh, God, I'm so tired, I'm getting punchy, Mulder.  It sounds like some sort  
of twisted legal firm--Merry, Morgan, and Mulder, when you need legal  
assistance." 
 
He eyed her.  "Scully, drink some more of your coffee." 
 
"Oh, my."  Sighing gustily, Scully picked up her mug and leaned back in her  
chair.  "It's just--are you sure you're really Fox Mulder?  Not some alien  
clone sent to here to get us all used to a Mulder living a relatively normal  
life?" 
 
"I still bleed red everytime I cut myself shaving, Scully," he told her and  
shook his head. 
 
The door opened then, and Morgan and Merry came back in.  Merry  
laughed in delight and ran to throw her arms around Scully.  "Aunt Dana,  
you have to come and see our new house!" 
   
Morgan smiled and put down the bundle of papers she was carrying.  "She  
will, Merry, she will."  Coming into the kitchen, she leaned down and kissed  
Mulder briefly on the mouth before proceeding back out to the livingroom. 
 
Scully grinned again, and Mulder scowled at her.  "Stop making fun of me,"  
he told her dourly. 
 
"I'm not.  I'm just--amazed, that's all.  And everytime I think about it, I get  
more amazed."  But the affection in her tone took some of the sting out of it.   
 
She'd forgiven him for not telling her, evidently, and that thought made  
Mulder peer intently at the microfiche again, blinking hard to clear his vision.   
Merry interrupted this concentration by simply climbing into his lap.   
"Whatcha doin, Fox?" 
 
"Working."  He clicked the viewer light off.  Merry was too damned smart  
and too damned sensitive, he didn't want her to find out she had a brother if  
the boy had already been killed.  The sound of running water came from the  
direction of the bathroom.  "Aren't you supposed to be taking a bath or  
something?" 
 
Merry grinned up at him.  "Uh huh.  Wanna come watch me paint with my  
soap paints?" 
 
"Maybe in a little while."  He kissed the top of her head, smelling healthy,  
sweaty child.  It made his eyes burn a little, he touched Merry's cheek and  
looked up to find Scully watching him with something in her eyes that made  
his chest hurt.  Not quite sadness, not quite wistfulness.  But loss. 
"Why don't you show Aunt Dana, she's never seen you painted in stripes?" 
 
Merry was off his lap in an instant.  "Come on, Aunt Dana, they're really  
neat.  You can paint your face and everything, but you don't want to get it in  
your eyes." 
 
Morgan, standing in the kitchen door, smiled.  "Definitely not in the eyes." 
 
Smiling again, Scully let herself be tugged down the hall.   Morgan tilted her  
head and examined him; whatever she saw there made her come over and  
sit in his lap, both arms around him.  "Stop that," she murmured.  "You're  
always snarking at me about brooding, it goes both ways." 
 
Mulder rubbed beard stubble on her cheek.  "Yeah, I suppose." 
 
"Suppose, nothing, I know."  Morgan cupped his cheek with one hand.  "I  
mean it, G-man." 
 
"God, you're such a shrew," he told her and hugged hard.  "Get up and let  
me work, go write or compute or something." 
 
"Gee, Ozzie, I don't think you should be so sentimental."  With a final pat on  
his cheek, Morgan got up again.  "Don't confuse me with Harriet, Ozzie, just  
because I'm not currently employed." 
 
Lifting his head, Mulder gave her a startled look.  "What's that supposed to  
mean?" 
 
Morgan's smile was ambiguous.  "Dunno, it just seemed like something I  
wanted to say." 
 
"Okay."  Mulder leaned back in his chair, considering that.  "Is this some  
strange reaction to being cooped up in a small apartment with a child for the  
last week and a half?" 
 
"No doubt."  Morgan opened a cupboard, took out a glass and went to  
survey the contents of the refrigerator.   
 
Mulder watched her, frowning a little.   "Have I said anything to give the  
impression that I don't appreciate that?" 
 
"No."  Morgan extracted a bottle of juice and poured some into the glass, put  
the bottle back and closed the refrigerator, all without looking at him. 
 
God, relationships could be a bitch sometimes, he thought and got up to put  
his arms around her from behind.  "Is this related to how your husband used  
to treat you." 
 
Morgan leaned back against him.  "Probably," she sighed, "Lord, what fools  
these mortals be.  Sorry, I must be feeling more than ordinarily neurotic this  
evening." 
 
Mulder smiled.  "Extraordinarily neurotic?" 
 
"Don't push your luck." 
 
Wrapping his arms around her, Mulder laughed.  "Point taken."  Faint  
laughter drifted down the hall and he sighed.  "Have you heard anything  
from the mortgage company?" 
 
"Not yet.  Tomorrow, supposedly."  Morgan sighed.  "I hate moving." 
 
"Well, we can have some of it done."  He considered the contents of the  
apartment doubtfully.  "In fact, I'd rather do it that way." 
 
"Sounds good to me.  I hate packing." 
 
So did he.  In fact, it seemed unreal that he'd been in this apartment for only  
nine months.  Mulder hated leaving it--and Scully hadn't been completely  
wrong, the prospect of a mortgage was worse than kids.  He could deal with  
Merry, even if she insisted on calling him  Fox.  He could deal with having a  
permanent relationship, even if Morgan insisted on calling him Mulder and  
G-man.  But a mortgage--now *that* was an X file in itself, Fox Mulder with  
a mortgage.   
 
At least there weren't EBEs involved in this one. 
_________________________________________  
 
It took two weeks of watching Mulder's frustration grow before Morgan did  
what she should have done to begin with. 
 
It only took an hour for someone to contact her after calling the number  
Jones had given her, after Mulder had left for the Bureau.   
 
Leaving Merry with the Gunmen, she went to Vietnam Memorial and  
pretended to read names while waiting for someone to meet her. 
 
"You're looking very well, cherie," Anabel's voice was soft behind her and  
Morgan whirled.  The older woman smiled at her surprise.  "Yes, I have  
gifts, too, not quite the same as yours.  Mine are weaker, also, and are the  
result of early experiments in eugenics." 
 
Morgan stared at her.  "You say that so easily." 
 
"Well, my parents were fond of one another, and likewise fond of me."   
Anabel guided her along the walkway.  "And how is little Meredith?" 
 
Morgan swallowed.  "She's doing very well.  I've come to bargain again for  
your help.  But you've never asked me for payment on the first bargain." 
 
"The child's safety was all we asked."  Anabel slanted her a rueful smile.   
"And your willingness to talk with us." 
 
"There's another child."  Morgan felt the faintest trace of satisfaction at  
Anabel's surprise.  They didn't know everything, then.  Or, at least, she  
qualified, Anabel didn't know everything.  "A little boy.  I need to know where  
he is.  I need to know if they've succeeded in killing him." 
 
Anabel walked with her a little farther, her gaze distant.  "Another child," she  
murmured, and Morgan heard the slightest hint of anger in her voice.  "I will  
find out what I can, cherie.  Go home, I will send someone to you." 
 
Just like that?  Morgan hesitated, but Anabel turned to look at her directly,  
her eyes compassionate.  "I will, I promise.  I know how difficult it is to trust  
us, but be assured, I will discover what has become of the little boy and I will  
tell you." 
 
With that, Morgan had to be content.   
_____________________________________________ 
 
There was a tap on the door late that afternoon.  Sitting at Mulder's  
computer, Morgan looked up and swallowed hard.  She kept her gun closer  
at hand these days; reaching into a desk drawer, she pulled it out, gesturing  
to Merry to go down the hall. 
 
Merry retreated, but only part of the way.  Frowning, Morgan gestured again,  
peered through the peephole to see--no one. 
 
Fumbling with the deadbolt, Morgan opened the door and stared down at the  
manila envelope on the hallway floor for a long moment before retrieving it. 
 
"What is it?" Merry asked, coming back toward her.   
 
Closing the door, Morgan bolted it again.  "Some information I asked for,"  
she told Merry and tried to smile.  "I didn't expect it quite so soon." 
 
Her hands were shaking.  Taking the envelope into the kitchen, she broke  
the seal and pulled out the sheaf of papers inside. 
 
Slick fax paper.  It made her swallow hard.  But what she read made her  
knees go weak enough that she had to sit down abruptly. 
 
They'd found him. 
______________________________________ 
 
Mulder arrived home in a foul mood.  Traffic on the Beltway sucked at the  
best of times, and rush hour was no exception.  But he'd promised Morgan  
he'd be home before seven, the consequence of his having spent several  
late nights in a row running computer searches on leads that didn't pan out. 
 
Frustration and weariness had left knots in his shoulders and in his gut.   
The clock was ticking, he was sure of it, and time was short.  If the boy  
wasn't dead already, he was certainly targeted, and the more Mulder  
discovered, the more chilled he felt by that possibility. 
 
Opening the apartment door, he tried to put on a smile for Merry, who ran to  
greet him.  Morgan was right about one thing, being pent in an apartment  
was not healthy for Merry; she was thinner and more fretful each day, more  
displays of temper, more periods during which she was subdued.   
 
"Hey, munchkin," he told her and lifted her up.  "You look a little peaked  
today.  How about we drive out to the beach this weekend?" 
 
Merry brightened.  "Can I play in the sand?" 
 
"You can even play in the water."  Looking up, Mulder saw Morgan sitting at  
the computer, her expression grave.  Morgan was looking a little peaked,  
too, he realized and felt a pang at not having noticed before.  "We'll make a  
weekend of it, how does that sound?" 
 
Morgan smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.   "It sounds fabulous." 
 
Merry put her head on his shoulder abruptly.  "Can we really go?" 
 
The wistful note in her voice made his chest hurt.  "You bet we can, Merry."   
Still holding her, he dropped his briefcase and locked the door.  "We'll build  
some sandcastles, have a picnic, do all that beach stuff." 
 
Abruptly, she slid down.  "Okay.  Can I take Herbie and Michael?" 
 
"Sure thing."  Mulder smiled at her, more naturally this time. 
 
Morgan rose and picked up a manila envelope.  "I've got something for you,"  
she told him quietly.  
 
Something in her manner alerted him.  Apologetic, yet determined. 
 
Oh, Christ, what had she done?  He accepted the envelope mutely, opened  
it up and read the first page.  Swallowed hard--slick, thermal sheets, fax  
copies again.   
 
Their son.  Michael Burton, aged six.  Now living in Bloomington, Indiana  
with good, stable parents.  The fucking address was even in the fucking file.   
And his chest ached worse, his stomach felt like a stone.  "Where did this  
come from?"  Although he knew, he fucking knew. 
 
Morgan gave him a wary look.  "It was delivered today." 
 
"That's not what I asked."  He walked into the kitchen, stared blankly at the  
dishes on the table and tossed what he held on top of them.  "What did you  
do, Morgan." 
 
Morgan followed him.  When he turned, her mouth compressed into a flat  
line.  "I contacted them, if that's what you're asking.  I contacted them and  
asked them for help." 
 
He stared at her.  "Contacted who?"  Frustration and stress combined in a  
dangerous combination and he struggled to keep his temper.   
 
Morgan lifted her chin.  "You know who, Mulder."  Flatly. 
 
Mulder could feel a vein near his temple throb.  "The Illuminati.  Goddammit,  
are you so fucking naive you really think they're the good guys?"  His fists  
clenched.  "Are you fucking crazy?" 
 
Her eyebrows drew together again, a danger signal, but he didn't give a  
damn right now.  "What else should I have done?  Watch you driving  
yourself crazy?"  She flared back at him. 
 
Fear combined with anger in a combustible mixture.  Why couldn't she see  
it?  Mulder's arms came up, his hands gripped her upper arms, fingers  
biting hard.  "I want *you* to find him, goddammit, not sell yourself to them--I  
wanted you to find him!" 
 
God, there it was, out in the open.   
 
Morgan's eyes were like stones, shiny and flat.  "I can't."  Her voice was  
harsh and dead.  "I can't."  
 
Mulder wanted to shake her, he wanted to hold her, he wanted to protect  
her.  "Goddammit, you found me!" 
 
Morgan jerked free of him, stumbled and nearly fell before finding her  
balance.  "I found Harcourt," she spat.  "Not you.  I find monsters, or had  
you forgotten?" 
 
The words were like blows.  Oh, Christ--Mulder turned and leaned his  
hands on the refrigerator, fingers splayed against the cool surface, fighting  
his temper, hating himself. 
 
The front door slammed. 
 
Whirling, he ran for it, nearly knocking Merry down.   
 
Merry, oh, God, Merry, who had her thumb in her mouth and big tragic eyes  
when he caught her, steadied.  And who burst into tears, leaving him no  
choice but to let Morgan's footsteps recede down the hallway outside. 
_______________________________________ 
 
Dinner was Spaghetti-os, a favorite of Merry's which, nonetheless , received  
only scant attention, which were pushed listlessly around the bowl. 
 
Mulder watched this worriedly, half of his mind on Morgan.  Her car was still  
outside.  Her purse was still on the bookcase.  Her keys, however, were  
gone.   
 
Good job, asshole, he told himself bitterly.  Get her back and drive her away  
just like that. 
 
Merry hiccoughed.  "My tummy hurts." 
 
Great.  "Okay."  Mulder worried his lower lip with forefinger and thumb.   
"You want some ice cream." 
 
Merry shook her head and sniffled.   
 
Sighing, Mulder took the bowl and scraped it out in the trash.  "Merry, do  
you know where Morgan is?"  He didn't dare look at her. 
 
"She's out in the dark, Fox."  Merry's voice trembled.  "I'm not a very good  
finder." 
 
Mulder rubbed his forehead, put the bowl in the sink.  "Can you tell me when  
she'll be back, Merry." 
 
"No.  She's not thinking at me, Fox."  Merry sniffled again. 
 
Mulder's head ached.  "Well, we'll wait a while.  How about a movie?" 
 
Merry shook her head.  "I'm tired.  I wanna go to bed." 
 
"Okay."  Mulder manufactured a smile as she got down from her chair,  
helped her with her shirt, put Herbie on his hand to try and make her smile.   
It didn't work.  Not even the tooth brushing ritual helped. 
 
When you felt like a complete and utter shit, it didn't help to have your six  
year old daughter regard you with those eyes, he decided.   
 
At least she let him kiss and tuck her in. 
 
Back in the livingroom, he stared dully at the black television screen for a  
while before reaching for the telephone. 
_________________________________________ 
 
Morgan always kept money in the inside pocket of her jacket.  Emergency  
stash, she had once told Sharon Williams.  Remembering that hurt. 
 
There was a funky little shop down at near the river; she got candles,  
incense, and chalk and walked until dark.  Until she got to the new house.   
Her house.   
 
Jesus, like she needed two. 
 
She stood in the back yard for a while, looking up at the full moon,  
wondering if any of her perceptions made any shape at all in this reality.  If  
they were all illusions, evanescent, smoke on the wind. 
 
Well, whatever her perceptions were, they took her somewhere, maybe into  
some quantum step into a place anything was possible.  Whatever they  
were.  They brought her power.  She was tired of being helpless, tired of  
being afraid.  Afraid of herself or anyone else.  Afraid of losing Mulder and  
Merry and even the boy.  Afraid of being alone. 
 
No one could walk this road with her.  So, she would walk it alone. 
 
Turning from the moon, she went into the house.  It didn't matter if it was  
dark, she moved in darkness anyway.   
 
"I'm sorry," she whispered to her teacher's spirit and paced the room off  
before bending to mark the floor with sure, straight strokes.  In the dark. 
 
She placed the candles just as surely at the compass points, made her  
invocations, and watched, dispassionate, as the candles flared to life. 
 
"Dark Mother,"  she breathed and opened herself, letting the carefully  
wrought barriers around her mind crumble to nothing.  Using her pocket  
knife, she cut the hem of the shirt she wore, cut away a piece.  Mulder's  
shirt.  It still smelled like him when she raised it to her nose.   
 
Then, with decision, she knelt in the center of the room and put the scrap of  
fabric on the floor.   
 
The blade was sharp enough to bite the palm of her hand; she let the blood  
drip onto the floor.  "Meredith and Michael, blood of my blood, flesh of my  
flesh.  Fox, their father, whose seed formed them."   Drew the rune for  
protection around them.  "Let their enemies be blinded to their presence, let  
them walk safely in your shadow, Mother.   So mote it be."   
 
Her teacher had never taught her the Bon magic.  She'd read of it, nothing  
else.  If she had more knowledge, she might have been Harcourt.  Might yet  
be.  But now, she wanted that knowledge, wanted to send demons to haunt  
the people who had done this, who had stolen from them, who had tried to  
murder the children they had stolen. 
 
Reaching within, she pulled out all the grief and age and terror from Aarin's  
death, from the discovery what had been done to her and to Fox and to  
Merry and Michael, shaping and forming all of that in her mind's eye until  
she saw a small black sun that pulsed in time with her heart beat. 
 
She opened her eyes again.  "Kali," she breathed, "Kali ma, hear me.  I  
demand vengeance in thy name.  My children and my husband dead  
murdered, my friends murdered, all by these men.  Show them to me, reveal  
their hiding places to me."   
 
A ragged inhalation--last time pays for all, she thought crazily and drew on  
the power of that inner dark star, letting it flow through her, bind her to earth  
and sky.  Throwing her head back, she cried out, "Let their blood be in my  
hands, Dark Mother." 
 
Something like white heat seared nerves and muscles.  Morgan nearly  
swooned, felt her nose begin to bleed, but reached after power hungrily,  
reveling in it.  Not so powerless after all.  Not so helpless. 
 
A pattern formed behind her eyes, she didn't recognize it but engraved it on  
her memory.  Colors bled into one another, forming faces--older men,  
mostly, a few women.  All older.  Corrupt in power, bound by their fear.   
 
Morgan memorized these, too, tasted their essence, scented their tracks,  
felt the jangling disharmony of their intent. 
 
Her hands were fists, sending them her deadly intention, icy cold hate.   
"You're mine,"  she told them, tasting blood along with everything else, rich  
and coppery on her tongue.  She clenched her fists, pulse thudding in her  
ears, fell to her knees on the dusty floor.  "Yes, Mother," she husked,  
accepting the gift with thanks. 
 
If she was going to sell herself, it might as well be to the highest bidder.   
And that thought followed her down into blackness. 
_____________________________________ 
 
By ten, Mulder's nerves were stretched taut.  No longer able to wait, he went  
into Merry's bedroom and woke her.  "We're going to go and find Morgan,"  
he murmured and wrapped the child in her Dalmatian quilt before carrying  
her out to the car. 
 
Merry, thumb in mouth, looked up at him, eyes glinting in the pale glow from  
the street light.  Bending, he brushed a kiss on her forehead.  "It's okay,  
Merry, we're going to find Morgan." 
 
Merry nodded silently and hugged Herbie.    
 
Letting his instincts guide him, Mulder drove through town, watching for  
Morgan.  Finally, after about a half an hour, he found himself in front of the  
new house.  Dark windows, no sign of life, but somehow he knew she was  
there.  He didn't want to park in front, didn't want him to be obvious, he  
pulled into the driveway, pulled around to the back.  And hoped he had two  
flashlights in the trunk, he didn't want to leave Merry in the car alone. 
 
"You need to stay in the kitchen for me, Merry," he murmured, unfastening  
the seat belt.  "Can you do that?" 
 
"Uh huh."  Merry sounded drowsy.   "Is Morgan here?" 
 
"I hope so."  Thanking God he had the key on his key ring, he worked it into  
the lock on the back door.  Carefully opened it and edged in, set Merry on  
her feet.  "Wait here, Merry." 
 
The house was dark except for the faintest of flickering lights from the  
livingroom, not visible until he was part of the way down the hallway. 
 
Mulder froze at the sight that met his eyes.   A dark crumpled form lay in the  
center of the room, four candles flickering around her and it took only a few  
steps to reach her.   
 
His fingers felt numb as he felt her throat, cold skin, too cold--oh, Jesus,  
Jesus, don't, no, there it was, she was alive.  Oh, god, she was alive.  Her  
pulse was erratic, but he wasn't sure of it, he was shaking that badly,  
fingers still almost numb.  "Morgan, what did you do?" 
 
Morgan stirred and her eyes slitted in the glare of the flashlight.  It looked  
like she'd had one mother of a nose bleed, the shirt she was wearing was  
splashed with blood--his teeth were chattering, although it wasn't that cold.   
He had to get her to a hospital, there was so much blood. 
 
"No."  Morgan's voice was faint.  "No hospital." 
 
"Morgan, you're hurt." 
 
"No, no hospital.  Call Geoff, he knows."  Her voice faded out toward the  
end, not even a whisper. 
 
"Fox?"  Merry's voice came from the shadows. 
 
"Stay there," he told her and slid his arms under Morgan's shoulders and  
legs.  Christ, she'd done it again, she felt as fragile as Merry in his arms and  
nearly as weightless.  "C'mon, Merry, you need to be a big girl and help me,  
okay?" 
 
"Is Morgan going to die, Fox?"  Merry's voice was tearful, but she followed  
him out through the kitchen, out to the car. 
 
"No, baby, she's not going to die."  Mulder swallowed hard, and told Merry  
how to lower the back of the front passenger seat, carefully laid Morgan  
down and strapped her in.  Got Merry into the seat belt in back, his hands  
still shaking.  And as he was throwing the car in reverse, he dialed Geoff's  
private number on his cell phone, one-handed. 
____________________________________ 
 
Dinner and a movie and snuggling in the car.  A bottle of wine shared.  A  
slow walk up to Geoff's bedroom.  Clothes falling where they would and long  
kisses--from Scully's point of view, things were going just as they ought to  
until the phone rang.  And even after the phone rang and the answering  
machine picked it up. 
 
Mulder's voice, harsh and raspy, jolted them both alert.  "Geoff, if you're  
there, pick up, I don't care if you and Scully are doing the horizontal bop." 
 
"The man's psychic," Geoff growled and sighed.  "He's your partner, what's  
your vote?" 
 
Scully had already reached for the phone, had it against her ear.  "Mulder,  
this better be good."  But she knew it was, she could hear it in his voice.  
 
He told her briefly, added that Morgan had refused the notion of a hospital  
quite vehemently and hung up on her.  She passed that on to Geoff,  
scrambling out of bed and pulling on leggings and shirt hastily.  "I've got my  
kit in my car," she muttered. 
 
"I've got one here."  Geoff pulled on running shorts and a t-shirt, went out  
the door in a hurry.  She slipped on her shoes and went out and down the  
stairs, snatching her keys off the kitchen table and going out into the dark. 
 
A car was pulling in--Mulder already.  She got the kit out of her trunk, waited  
for him to turn the engine off before going to the passenger side of the car. 
 
"Get Merry," Mulder growled and hurled himself out of the car. 
 
Appalled, Scully looked back, saw the small, pale smudge of Merry's face,  
and got out of Mulder's way when he came around to lift Morgan carefully  
out. 
 
The yard light came on and Geoff held the door open as Mulder moved  
toward it.  "Exactly how did this happen?" 
 
"I don't know."  Mulder's voice was taut, controlling panic. 
 
Scully concentrated on getting Merry out of the seatbelt.  "C'mon, honey."   
 
"I can't hear Morgan, Aunt Dana," Merry whispered.  "I'm scared." 
 
Scully lifted the child, wrapped the Dalmatians' quilt around her before  
carrying her up the stairs to the house; the brightness of the kitchen light  
made Merry's eyes squeeze shut. 
 
Morgan lay on the kitchen table, Geoff was sponging her face gently.   
Handing Merry to Mulder, Scully slid past her partner to join Geoff.  Saw no  
wounds to account for the amount of blood. 
 
"Did she fall on her face?"  Geoff's voice was intent.   
 
"I don't know.  I found her like this." 
 
"Lemme 'lone," Morgan's voice was blurry, one hand moved weakly.  "Go  
'way." 
 
"Not yet, love."  Geoff's voice softened.   
 
Scully looked at him, examined his face for a moment.  Pushed the bloody  
shirt up, trying to determine the source of the blood.  No sign of any wound.   
"Let's get the shirt off, Geoff."  She pushed it up farther, stretched the  
shoulder around Morgan's arm, her elbow and gently eased it over her head.   
"No head wounds that I can see.  Nothing on the abdomen." 
 
"Her nose bled."  Geoff took the shirt from her, eased it over Morgan's other  
shoulder and off over her arm.  "What's this?" 
 
Scully looked.  "Fingermarks."  Her tone was cool.  She slanted Mulder a  
look and he swallowed. 
 
"I grabbed her by her arms earlier," he whispered.  "We were having a-- 
disagreement about her contacts." 
 
Geoff looked up at him, suddenly expressionless.  "Did you hit her?" 
 
"No."  Mulder didn't protest, just said it quietly.   
 
It was Merry who scowled.  "Fox doesn't hit, he just yells." 
 
"Does he now?"  Geoff's tone was icy.  "Then these bruises are very  
peculiar." 
 
Mulder was flushed suddenly, but Scully saw the weight of guilt in his eyes.   
"I was angry, I grabbed her.  I didn't hit her.  I wouldn't hit her." 
 
"I know," she told him steadily.  She did know.  He'd lose his temper and say  
things he might regret, he might punch holes in the wall.  As a rule, though,  
he resisted violence.  Well, except for Krycek.  And she couldn't blame him  
for that. 
 
"Morgan yelled, too."  Merry understood Geoff's coldness too well.  "Morgan  
yelled and then she grabbed her coat and ran out.  She slammed the door." 
 
Morgan stirred again, reached out, fingers closing almost painfully over  
Scully's wrist.  "Tell him," she muttered.  "Chicago.  The work was there.   
But not all the people.  Michael's safe, but he's got to hurry.  I don't know  
how long it will hold." 
 
"Michael?"  Scully looked up at Mulder questioningly.  "Morgan, Mulder's  
here."  She beckoned and he slid behind her against the wall, still holding  
Merry.   
 
"Oh."  Morgan's eyelids fluttered.  "Don't take too long.  Tomorrow.  That  
gives you time.  They won't expect you, they won't see you." 
 
Setting Merry on her feet, Mulder  took hold of the hand that still gripped  
Scully's wrist, carefully loosened the fingers and let them close over his  
own.  "Come on, babe, come back to us, don't do this again." 
 
Scully heard the tears in his voice, tried not to look at him, tried to grant him  
some privacy of emotion. 
 
But Geoff frowned at him, sponged the blood off Morgan's other hand.   
"Jesus, she's been burned!" 
 
Mulder swallowed audibly.  "There were candles there." 
 
Merry patted Morgan's shoulder.  "Morgan, don't go away, please, you can't  
go away, you promised." 
 
Morgan's eyelids flickered again.  "'M here." 
 
Scully peeled Morgan's other hand from Mulder's, sponging the blood away.   
"This hand is blistered, too," she muttered.  "Not badly.  But it is." 
 
"Just the palm, or her fingers, too?"  Geoff was carefully applying ointment  
to Morgan's palm. 
 
"Just the palm."  Scully carefully swabbed, reached for the tube.  "Morgan,  
what happened?" 
 
Morgan's eyes opened slightly again.  "I did what needed to be done."   
Faintly.  No more than a whisper.  "Mulder?" 
 
"I'm here."  His hand touched her hair, as if he were afraid to risk more.  "I'm  
here, Morgan." 
 
"If you go tomorrow, he'll be all right.  But don't wait longer.  Go tomorrow." 
 
"We will."  Bending, Mulder pressed his cheek against her hair.  "We will, I  
promise." 
 
"Good."  Her eyes rolled up in her head again. 
_________________________________________ 
 
"She's asleep, I believe.  Not coma."  Geoff looked weary.  "I want you to  
wake her up every hour, make sure she's coherent--you know how to check  
her pupils?  I don't know if there's any head injury, if you have the slightest  
doubt, come and get me.  Or tell me now."  He gave Mulder a long look.   
"D'you understand me?" 
 
Mulder's posture went stiff.  "I understand you."  Quietly.. 
 
It was Scully who scowled.  "*I* understand you.  I'll sit with them." 
 
It won her a grateful look from Mulder and a startled one from Geoff.   
Patting Mulder's shoulder, she went back out to get the rest of her things  
from Geoff's room, so angry she was nearly shaking. 
 
As Geoff followed her in, she turned to face him.  "Mulder did not hit her.   
He did not bloody her nose.  He did not burn her hands." 
 
Geoff's gaze was cool.  "He certainly left bruises on her arms." 
 
"Yes, that's true.  But I know my partner.  And, aside from one time when he  
was strung out on what they were feeding into his tap water, he's not  
inherently a violent man." 
 
"He's under a great deal of stress, Dana.  He's a man very much used to  
going it alone, and suddenly there are children depending on him, Morgan is  
still not herself, much more dependent than I've ever seen her." 
 
"Morgan?  Dependent?"  She snorted.  "Evidently, you haven't spent a great  
deal of time around the two of them." 
 
Geoff eyed her warily.  "I know Morgan.  I've known her for some time.  It's  
understandable, she's been through a great deal, she's still grieving for  
Aarin, she leaned on Mulder while they were on the run." 
 
There was something she didn't like about his tone, but it was hard to put  
her finger on just what it was.  "Mulder's grieving for him, too, Geoff.  He's  
just had more time than she's had."  Picking up her clothes, she considered  
what else to say.  "And as far as dependence, you're wrong.  She's not  
leaning on him.  And he's not leaning on her." 
 
"Dana--" 
 
Her temper flared at little.  "I'd venture to say that I've seen more of them  
together then you have.  You tend to avoid that, don't you, Geoff."  And  
suddenly, she was really angry.  "You never have let go of her, have you?   
Whatever's happened, you've always been in the background.  You were  
willing enough to share her with Mulder when you thought it wouldn't last  
very long." 
 
His eyes went wide.  "That isn't true." 
 
"Isn't it?"  She reached down for her pumps.  "It's strange, she didn't come  
here to recuperate, she went to Mulder's.   I wonder why." 
 
"Dana, I think we've somewhat digressed from the point of this  
conversation."  His tone was sharp.  "Which is, whether or not Mulder is  
sufficiently stressed to behave inappropriately." 
 
"Which was the not the original point of our conversation," she told him  
flatly.   "You heard Merry, do you think she'd lie for him?" 
 
"Children do."  
 
That was true enough to make her mouth flatten out, to make her teeth  
close on the words that wanted to follow that remark. 
 
He gave her a keen look.  "And regardless of what I may fear, I don't think  
he's dangerous to her or I wouldn't let him stay in the house." 
 
"Where you can keep control of the situation," she told him.  "God, I can't  
believe it's taken me this long to see it.  Geoff, you're an ass."  Leaning  
across the bed, she retrieved her discarded hose and gave him a long level  
look.  "You know, he said something to me months ago, that he thought  
maybe you liked having power over Morgan, that you liked being in control of  
Morgan, even in a coma." 
 
Geoff's fair skin reddened.  "That's complete rubbish." 
 
"Is it?  I wonder."  She went past him, thoroughly out of temper, and he  
caught her by the shoulders, not gently. 
 
Her mouth curved sardonically.  "Gee, you think this might be what  
happened to Morgan's arms?" 
 
His fingers loosened and he swallowed, eyes widening fractionally.  One  
corner of his mouth lifted slightly.  "Yes, I suppose it might.  Point taken.   
And I'm not still in love with Morgan.  I still care very much what happens to  
her, and I've gotten in the habit of trying to keep her from derailing herself   
But I'm in love with you."  Her throat was tight, suddenly, but his next words  
made her eyes go dry.  "I wish I was sure whether you were in love with me  
or with your partner." 
 
"Geoff," she gave him a direct look.  "Sometimes, you're an idiot."  And  
made her way down the hall.   
_____________________________________ 
 
Bloomington, Indiana.  A college town.   
 
The crime scene was stark, not quite as quiet or orderly as the Belmont  
scene.  The Burtons had fought for life and blood was splashed in the  
hallway, on the walls.  There had been an older child, too, nearly twelve,  
found dead in her room.  The only quiet death, she'd been shot in the head  
and hadn't moved. 
 
Jack Burton must have heard an intruder.  The police had found him in the  
kitchen, the handgun in his hand useless against the silent invasion of a  
team of assassins. 
 
Maeve Burton's struggle to protect her children had been swiftly dealt with  
by kneecapping her before shooting her in the face.  The amazing thing was  
that she'd gotten as far as the hallway before they caught her. 
 
It was a very different place than the house in Belmont.  Childish drawings  
taped haphazardly to the refrigerator door.  A few toys scattered in the family  
room, school books on kitchen table.   
 
First grade school picture of a little boy attached to the refrigerator with a  
magnet.  A little boy with a wide grin, a grin Scully recognized with a start.    
Mulder's grin, rarely seen.  God, he looked more like Mulder than Merry did. 
 
Much more.  Scully had seen some of Mulder's pictures of himself and  
Sam, she remembered the shape of that child's face. 
 
No hiding places under closets, these people were what they seemed to be,  
adoptive parents, proud of their son, taking joy in him.  The family album  
Scully found in the bookshelves seemed to prove that.  Michael was  
cherished, the glow in Maeve Burton's face as she held him in the early  
photos attested to that. 
 
Michael was their control.  Nice, happy, stable family, no tests, no labs.   
Just a little boy growing up with the same genetic mix that Merry had.  Scully  
wondered how that mix had shaken down, if Michael had any of Merry's  
alleged gifts. 
 
She wondered if Merry had them, too. 
 
Mulder was quiet throughout, stayed quiet back at the police station, letting  
Scully take care of making the introductions to the social worker at the  
police station.  Let her take care of explanations about why the FBI was  
involved in this tragic murder of a family. 
 
And when Lucy Mills took them out to her car, he got in the back seat. 
 
"His name is Michael," Lucy told them, glancing up at Mulder in the rearview  
mirror, her expression doubtful.  Scully looked back,  saw him staring out  
the window and silently cursed him.  "He's only six.  He's in first grade, gets  
good grades.  We're still trying to find next of kin." 
 
Scully saw Mulder's throat work as he swallowed and glanced quickly away.   
There didn't seem to be anything to say to this recitation, so she let it flow  
over her.  Tried to nod and look intelligent,  when all she could think about  
was what in hell Mulder might do when faced with the child. 
 
The children's home was a neat brick building.  Inside, it smelled like any  
well run institution, bleach, disinfectant, the distant aroma of cooking, and  
the strange milky aroma of small children.  Only the faintest hint of wet  
diapers beneath the other odors. 
 
Scully wrinkled her nose slightly, glanced at Mulder to see him go pale and  
swallow again.  Lucy Mills walked confidently ahead, her nun's shoes  
making soft sounds on the linoleum floor.   
 
God, she hated institutions.  Hospitals, nursing homes, now this.  "Are you  
all right," she asked softly, turning her head to study Mulder's face. 
 
He didn't look back at her.  "Fine."   Sharp, short and brittle.  But his hand  
brushed the small of her back briefly. 
 
Lucy stopped at a door, looked through the window and opened the door to  
poke her head inside.  Closed it again as they came up.  "Why don't you  
wait in there," she suggested, gesturing to the door opposite.  "I'll bring him  
in." 
 
Mulder hesitated.  Scully took his elbow and turned him toward the indicated  
door.  Inside, a well worn couch.  A down at heels arm chair.  A visiting  
room.  A place where children seldom came.  There were a stack of ancient  
Readers' Digests on the table in the middle.  Mulder went to the window and  
stared out. 
 
Scully considered the couch, chose the chair.  And the door opened.  Lucy  
led in a small boy--oh, God.   He really did look like Mulder.  Her vision  
blurred briefly and she took in a deep breath. 
 
Mulder turned, shoulders braced.  Something complex happened to his  
expression, too swift for her to decipher.  But he managed a smile.  "Hello,  
Michael." 
 
The child blinked.   
 
"Michael doesn't talk much," Lucy told them cheerfully.   As if it were  
normal.   
 
Scully  wondered what she was used to seeing and suppressed a shiver at  
the thought.  "Hello, Michael," she told the boy softly and went to crouch in  
front of him.  "I'm Dana Scully.  He's Fox Mulder."  Turning her head, she  
was faintly surprised that Mulder wasn't right behind her, nearly fell and had  
to steady herself.   
 
Mulder was still back at the window, leaning against the wall.  Strange look  
in his eyes, almost fear.  Well, he'd been unnerved by Merry, too, at first.   
 
Scully turned back to face the boy.  "I know something bad happened to  
your family, Michael.   But we're here to make sure that you're safe." 
 
Michael only looked at her.  Didn't speak.  Didn't react.  But she thought she  
saw the same fear in his eyes that she'd seen in Mulder's. 
 
"We'll need to take him with us."  Mulder's voice was almost too loud for the  
small room and the boy flinched. 
 
Lucy's mouth opened in surprise.  Scully felt her own jaw test its flexibility  
and closed her mouth with a snap.   
 
"The Department of Social Services," Lucy began, but Mulder cut her off,  
coming forward so quickly that Michael shrank back against Scully. 
 
"Cannot protect him.  This isn't just some hack'em up family murder, Mrs.  
Mills.   There was another murder in Michigan, directly connected." 
 
Lucy looked at the boy, frowned and looked back at Mulder.  "All right, Mr.  
Mulder, but I'll need to make a few phone calls." 
 
Mulder made a negligent motion with one hand.  "Go ahead.  And bring the  
papers back with you." 
 
Lucy frowned again and went to the door, hesitated for just an instant, her  
eyes on the child, then went out. 
____________________________ 
 
"Mulder, you were supposed to file those papers."   Scully had waited until  
Michael had dozed off, sitting small between them in the plane. 
 
"Fuck the papers."  Mulder's jaw set stubbornly and he carefully put a pillow  
behind Michael's head, pulled the blanket over the little boy.   
 
It made Scully's throat tighten to see that.  She wanted to slap  him.   
"Mulder, they're going to call to find out why you didn't."    
 
He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and she could almost hear the  
gears turning in that brain of his.  "Skinner will back me." 
 
Scully wasn't so sure.  "Essentially, we've just abducted this child and we're  
taking him across the goddamned state lines.  If I'm going to end up doing  
jail time again for you, I want to know what's going on in your head." 
 
Mulder flicked her a look that didn't permit that line of discussion.  "He's my  
son.  They abducted him first." 
 
She counted to ten.  "I admit, stealing semen samples from you meets the  
criterion of a state crime.  Sexual assault.  However, stealing a child,  
Mulder, is a little different." 
 
"Skinner will back me," he repeated stubbornly. 
 
"You don't know that.  Are you willing to risk Merry's future on that?   
Morgan's?  Yours?  And what about this little guy?  He's yours, but if his  
father is in prison, learning new and interesting sexual techniques, what's  
going to happen to him?" 
 
His eyes narrowed.  "Scully, shut up." 
 
Gauging the level of temper, she did. 
_______________________________________ 
 
Mulder apologized to her in the car, taking her back to her apartment. 
 
"Skinner essentially gave me carte blanche with regard to finding Michael,"  
he finally told her, after telling her he was sorry he'd snapped, the whole  
thing was getting to him.  "I knew he'd back me, and I didn't know if filing  
those papers might not mean all three of us ended up as targets." 
 
Not mollified in the least, Scully nodded silently.  He wasn't telling her  
everything.  He hadn't told her everything for a while.  "Mulder, I know we've  
had our differences.  But I need to know that we're still partners." 
 
Pulling up a stoplight, he turned his head and looked at her.  Lines of  
exhaustion tugged at his mouth and his eyes looked bruised.  She doubted  
he'd slept much the night before, not with waking Morgan up every little  
while just to make sure she was still in her right mind and hadn't slipped  
away again. 
 
On the other hand, she hadn't slept much, either.  So she wasn't in the  
mood to cut him much slack. 
 
"Of course we're partners."  Mulder's tone was faintly surprised, faintly  
wounded. 
 
"Are we?  There was a time you didn't keep everything from me."  The  
shadow of the last secret still lay between them, despite her ultimate  
forgiveness.   She'd been able to do that only by imagining what she would  
have done if she'd found out about the children, found out what had been  
done to him, while Morgan was still in a coma, while he still felt bereft. 
 
Scully wouldn't have known how to tell him.  She would have been unable to  
just let it go, but she wouldn't have been able to tell him.   
 
It didn't make his secrecy any easier to bear, though. 
 
He looked back through the windshield and she saw his throat move.  Heard  
a shaky breath.  "You're right.  I should have told you.  I didn't know how to, I  
knew once I'd broken in, they'd move everything, there wasn't anything I  
could do.  I had to find them again, had to make contact.  And I haven't had  
a lot of luck with that.  I didn't want to tell you until I could give you  
something concrete." 
 
Scully turned slightly in the seat and looked back at Michael, sitting wanly in  
Merry's safety seat, his thumb in his mouth.  He gazed back at her, his eyes  
hopeless.  "Hi, Michael," she murmured, "We're almost there." 
 
Mulder glanced back.  "He hasn't said a word."   
 
"He's frightened and traumatized, Mulder.  It's going to take some time."   
Scully thought of Merry again and shook her head.  "It's hardly surprising  
that Merry recovered quickly, but it looks like Michael's parents had more of  
a normal relationship with him."  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the  
family album.  "I'm continuing my life of crime, Mulder.  I hope you  
appreciate it." 
 
His head turned toward her again, he blinked rapidly and put his hand over  
hers.  Squeezed briefly and looked forward again. 
 
She gazed at him.  "You can't protect me from this, Mulder.  It's my life."  A  
brief burst of bitter laughter.  "It could be my death.  I don't want you holding  
things back anymore." 
 
This time, he wouldn't look at her.  "All right."  Very softly. 
 
Turning her hand palm up, she squeezed his back.  "I don't need to be  
protected from the truth," she told him softly.  "And I need to know that you  
trust me enough to give it to me." 
 
Another hard swallow.  "I do, Scully." 
 
"Then prove it."  She swallowed hard herself as he pulled up beside her car.   
Opening the door, she got out, paused for a moment to look back at him.   
"I'll see you at the house, okay?" 
 
Mulder nodded.   
__________________________________________ 
 
Arriving at Geoff's house, Mulder turned off the engine and looked back.   
Somewhere between Scully's apartment and Geoff's house, Michael dozed  
off again, small head resting against the frame of the passenger door. 
 
Sighing, he got out of the car and went around, carefully opening the door.   
Michael shifted in sleep, rolling his head back around, muttering something  
fretful around his thumb. 
 
He was mortally sure that he hadn't been a thumb sucker, and even if he  
had been, his father would have spanked or beaten it out of him.  Despite  
that thought, a mordant smile tugged at his mouth.  Somehow, he'd never  
imagined himself worrying about orthodontics.  But then he'd never  
imagined himself worrying about kids, for that matter. 
 
Michael was going to be a different story than Merry.  There wasn't going to  
be any easy bonding.  Of course, Morgan was right, Merry had taken a look  
at him and targeted him with the full force of all a six year old girl's winsome  
charm.   Psychologically speaking, he hadn't stood a chance against a little  
girl who reminded him of Sam.  Not that he regretted it, Merry was his  
daughter.   
 
Somehow, he didn't think things were going to go that smoothly with  
Michael.  Completely aside from Michael's psychological state, there were  
too many echoes of Aarin here.  And not just for Morgan. 
 
Raising a hand, he touched the silky-soft hair, marveling again at how small  
six year olds really were.  Marveling at how much Michael resembled  
pictures of himself at that age.  Seeing that resemblance made him shiver  
slightly, brought him closer to understanding why people seemed to need  
children to be their immortality.  Why people pushed so hard to have their  
children go in one direction or another.  Why his father had beaten him, why  
his father had feared that Mulder would turn out weak.  Perhaps as weak as  
William Mulder had been. 
 
They weren't going to get either of his children, which was more than his  
father could have said.  And the faint sense of triumph over that made him  
ashamed. 
 
Leaning forward, he carefully unfastened the belt, carefully lifted the small  
weight in his arms, cradling Michael's head on his shoulder.  The physical  
weight in his arms did something to him he hadn't expected, he stood there  
in the gathering dusk, staring at nothing at all and blinking rapidly.  It evoked  
Aarin, of course, but there was something more.  Which made his theory  
that there was no biological response to being a parent an utter wash. 
 
Maybe there was.  Maybe it was just knowing how it had happened and  
feeling like he'd recovered something that had been stolen from him.  Maybe  
it was the horror Michael had endured.   
 
Hell if he knew.  
 
Using his foot to close the door, Mulder cradled the child and carried him up  
to the back door. 
 
To his complete and total astonishment, Emily opened the door and smiled  
at him.  "Hi, Mulder.  I knew you'd do it." 
 
Gaping at her, Mulder gathered scattered wits.  "When did you get here?" 
 
"Morgan called me a couple of weeks ago.  I cleared up things and came  
out." 
 
Mulder blinked again.  "What about Jon?" 
 
"He's coming, he's got a few things to finish up."  Emily held the door open  
for him, leaned up and kissed his cheek.  "She's in the livingroom, with  
Merry." 
 
He made his way down the hall, stopped in the archway that led to the  
livingroom and saw Merry coloring on the floor, Herbie and Michael the  
rabbit on the floor beside her. 
 
Morgan was curled on her side on the couch, a blanket over her.  She  
looked--God, nearly as thin and worn as she had in the coma.  Whatever the  
hell she'd done, it had nearly killed her. 
 
His fault. 
 
Merry heard him, she turned and her face went incandescent.  "Fox!  You  
brought my brother!" 
 
Michael came awake with a start, leaning back to regard Mulder doubtfully. 
 
Merry leapt up and ran to hug Mulder's knees.  "Michael, I told you it would  
be all right, I told you, didn't I?" 
 
Michael peered down at her and nodded, his lower lip trembling. 
 
Merry beamed up at him.  "Morgan and Fox are our real mommy and daddy,  
just like I told you." 
 
Michael's response to that was to burst into tears.  Mulder stared at her.   
Just like she'd told him--which argued that the rabbit wasn't exactly named  
Michael after all, or else the rabbit was a stand-in for the child he was  
holding. 
 
Morgan sat up and regarded them all with a startled expression that eased  
into something that held both sadness and relief.  "Oh, Michael," she said  
softly and held out her arms. 
 
Carrying the boy over, Mulder gently placed him in Morgan's arms and  
retreated to the armchair near the window.  Merry stood between them, her  
expression unhappy.  When she turned to him, he held out a hand and  
tugged her into his lap. 
 
"I thought he'd be happy," Merry whispered and buried her face in his shirt. 
 
"He's missing his other mom and dad a lot, Merry."  Mulder stroked her hair,  
let the weariness take hold of him.   "It's going to take a while before he's  
happy to be here." 
 
Merry snuffled a bit into his shirt, holding on tight.  Letting his head fall back,  
Mulder closed his eyes.  Morgan was singing something to Michael,  
something he didn't recognize, but which was soothing enough that he  
drifted for a few moments. 
 
"....see her how she flies, feathered sails against the sky, Close enough to  
touch, be careful if you try...." 
 
Merry stirred, bringing him back to the here and now.  With his eyes still  
closed, he tightened his arms around her. 
 
"...the moon's a harsh mistress, she's hard to call your own..." 
 
"Fox, I wanted him to like you."  Merry's voice was tiny. 
 
Mulder sighed.  "Merry, it's just gonna take him some time.  He's going to be  
sad for a while." 
 
"....fell and fell alone...." 
 
Yeah.  Lifting his head, Mulder manufactured a reassuring smile.  "It's going  
to be fine, Merry." 
 
He only wished he was sure of that.  Life was promising to become a cross  
between Bewitched and Firestarter, and right now, he wasn't sure which  
was more appealing. 
_____________________________________ 
 
"He still hasn't said a word."  Mulder brooded, sitting on the front porch  
steps with Scully long after dark, long after the children had been put to bed. 
 
Scully was silent a moment.  "Well, he's been through a lot for a child.  And  
frankly, I think we scared him." 
 
He took a sip of his beer and sighed.  "Yeah." 
 
Scully sighed.  "Did you talk to Skinner?" 
 
"Yeah.  When Bloomington called Chicago, Chicago called Skinner, and he  
backed me." 
 
"Has he contacted the Illuminati?"  Scully took a sip from her soft drink. 
 
Mulder shrugged.  "No. Yes.  I don't know.  He doesn't altogether trust them  
either." 
 
"Who doesn't trust who?"  The screen door shut and Morgan's footsteps  
were light behind them. 
 
Scully turned her head, the light from the front door glanced off her hair,  
turning it to bronze in the night.  "Skinner doesn't trust the Illuminati." 
 
Turning his head, Mulder looked back to see Morgan go to the porch swing.   
She sat and pushed off with one foot.   
 
His chest ached with wanting things better, with wanting to turn back time,  
to prevent her from doing whatever had left her nearly as thin as she'd been  
when she'd finally returned from coma.  
 
"Wise of Walter."  Morgan's tone was dry.  "Never trust organizations,  
Dana.  Ever the most illuminated, the most enlightened may become little  
more than faceless bureaucracy.  If the Consortium collapsed tomorrow, I  
doubt the Illuminati would simply disband." 
 
"You've been working with them."  Scully's tone was blunt. 
 
Morgan's laughter was humourless.  "So, I have.  Well, no more.  I've sold  
my soul to the highest bidder." 
 
He felt Scully look at him, licked dry lips.  "Who?" 
 
Morgan pushed the swing again.  "The Dark Goddess, the Devourer, She  
who eats Her young."  Her voice appallingly light, even humorous.   "I'm tired  
of struggling.  If the darkness wants me, let it have me." 
 
Scully shivered.  "Morgan--" she began, but Mulder forestalled her, rising  
suddenly to go to the swing and stop it with his weight. 
 
"Morgan," he began and stopped, trying to choose the right words.  The  
step creaked as Scully rose; a moment later, the screen door closed quietly.   
He bit his lip and sat down beside her, not quite touching.  "What did you  
do?" 
 
"I hunted."  It was little more than a whisper.  "I have their scent, I've seen  
their faces.  Their names will come in due time." 
 
Self hatred left a bitter taste on his tongue.  "I'm sorry."  He dared to touch  
her, a fingertip brushing her temple.  "I never meant for you to....." 
 
"For me to be what I am?"  Her head turned away from him.  "They created  
me.  Let them reap the whirlwind." Flat voice. 
 
"You're more than the Hunter, Morgan."  He licked his lips.  "You're my  
lover, you're a mother, you're Dr. Grayson, you're one helluva lot of things  
besides that Hunter."  Taking in a breath, he touched her cheek.  "I'm so  
damned sorry, babe, I never meant to hurt you--I'm sorry, I shouted at you--I  
wasn't blaming you, I'm just so scared, I don't want you dealing with them." 
 
"I know."  Another whisper.  "But better the devil I know.  They aren't trying  
to destroy us.  Just to manipulate us.  I can work with that." 
 
"I don't want them to own you."  He took in another deep breath and pulled  
an arm around her.  "I don't want that for you."  Another breath.  "I'm sorry,  
Morgan, God, I'm sorry." 
 
She sat very still for a moment, finally turned her face to put her cheek  
against to his chest.  "You scared me."  Another whisper.  "Not because of  
you.  Because of me.  I don't always know what will happen when I'm angry,  
Fox.  I nearly killed you at Preston's house, the fire." 
 
"You saved my life, babe.  They were going to kill me."  He put a finger  
beneath her chin, lifted gently.  "I was doped up.  Christ, if you hadn't helped  
me get out...."  He let his mouth brush hers, tasted salt.  "Please, babe,  
don't cry." 
 
"I keep crossing the line."  Her voice was almost too low.  "I'm afraid, but I  
can't let them win." 
 
He kissed her again.  "I'm scared, too.  But I'm more afraid of losing you.  Of  
the two, I'm less afraid of the Illuminati." 
 
She choked on laughter, came all the way into his arms.  "Me, too."  Muffled.  
Against his shirt. 
 
Still holding her, he pushed the swing off again, rocking them until Scully  
came back out, shouldering her purse.  "You going in tomorrow?" 
 
"No.  I told Skinner."  He sighed.  "Between moving and--Jesus, I just  
realized something.  Morgan, Mulder, Merry and Michael." 
 
Scully grinned, faintly visible in the light from the house.  "It does sound like  
a law firm.  No wonder she doesn't want to get married." 
 
Mulder scowled at her, unseen.  "That was low, Scully." 
 
He could still hear her chuckle as she got into her car. 
________________________________ 
 
They signed the mortgage papers on Friday.  Mulder was jarred to realize,  
as they got back into the car, that he was a bona fide mortgagee. 
 
Scully claimed the whole thing was an X file, carefully orchestrated by  
shadow forces to reduce his credibility.  After all, how could anyone take  
him seriously as Spooky Mulder with two kids, a mortgage, and an  
ostensible wife? 
 
It did no good to point out that she and Skinner and Geoff were the only  
ones who knew, she only waved that off. 
 
He told Morgan this in the car and was troubled when she only nodded. 
 
"Hey."  Leaving the keys in the ignition, Mulder reached out and turned her  
face toward him.  "What's the matter?" 
 
"You're not altogether happy about this, are you?"  Her expression was a  
little sad. 
 
Searching her eyes, he sighed.  "I confess to cold feet, Morgan.  Somehow- 
-this is all pretty goddamned new, you know.  I never believed I'd find  
anyone to let into my life, let alone anyone to put up with my obsessions." 
 
Her mouth quirked slightly.  "I have my own," she admitted. 
 
The quirk encouraged him.  "And let's face it, we keep pretending that  
things are normal, but they aren't.  They won't be until we can dig out the  
bastards who tried to murder the kids.  Until we can lock them up and throw  
away the fucking key." 
 
Morgan sighed.  "Yeah.  I know.  It's so easy to slip into pretense, to act like  
things are normal.  And the kids need that, Mulder, they can't live in fear." 
 
"I know that.  But it's part of my cold feet."  Leaning forward, he kissed her  
briefly.  "I love you, but I'm a son of a bitch to live with." 
 
"The hell," she told him, smiling again.  "You overestimate that, Mulder." 
 
"Well, you're crazy enough to put up with me."  He grinned in return.   
"Listen, I'm going to drop you at the house, I want to get out early today.  I've  
got to pick up a rental car for this weekend.  You do remember that we're  
going to the beach, don't you?" 
 
Her guilty expression made him laugh.  "Jesus, I forgot." 
 
"Not me.  It's worth my life to let Merry down, and she's been telling Michael  
since we got him."  His good humour dimmed briefly.  "He still isn't talking,  
is he?" 
 
"They talk," Morgan sighed and looked out the windows.  "In their heads,  
Merry says." 
 
"Stephen King, move over.  The memoirs of Fox Mulder and Morgan  
Grayson are on the way."  Pulling out of the parking lot, Mulder was pleased  
when Morgan began to laugh. 
_______________________________________ 
 
Reckoning on the appetites of growing kids, Morgan took the children--her  
mind balked at calling them twins, given the circumstances of their  
conception, even though it was technically true--to a grocery store she knew  
in Silver City.   
 
Checking the list in the aisle, halfway through the store, she became aware  
that the children had fallen behind and were examining a display of  
Halloween candy.  Jesus, not even mid-September and Halloween candy  
was out already.   
 
Exasperated, she started toward them, only to have Merry look over  
Michael's shoulder and tug him away, suddenly pulling hard as they both  
began to run toward her. 
 
Merry's face was frightened.  Michael seemed near tears.  "Hey," she said  
softly, crouching down to intercept both of them.  Her stomach suddenly  
knotted.  "Are the bad men here, Merry?" 
 
"No."  Merry put her face in Morgan's shoulder.  "Not *those* bad men,  
Morgan.  But that man by the candy is scary.  He scared Michael, too." 
 
Morgan glanced casually toward the candy and away.  A nondescript man  
stood there, eyeing them from under the hair that obscured his face.  Her  
skin prickled suddenly with a sense of danger.  Not the predators they  
feared, but a predator nonetheless. 
 
"Come on," she muttered and hauled them back toward the basket, lifting  
each to put them in the back.   
 
Merry forgot her fear long enough to giggle.  "Morgan, we're too big to ride in  
the basket." 
 
"Well, we're in a hurry and this is faster."  Morgan smiled reassuringly at  
her.  "We want to get home and pack, don't we?" 
 
"Uh huh."  Merry sat down, apparently content with that explanation. 
 
Morgan finished quickly, abandoning many of the items on her list and  
choosing the shortest line available.   
 
As she was counting out the cash, having grown entirely paranoid about  
using her checking account, Merry tugged at her sleeve, her eyes wide  
again. 
 
Morgan looked down, then looked back to find the man two places back in  
the line.  The hair on the back of her neck stirred and she felt his focus, felt  
the danger in him.  Pushing Merry forward, she took the bags and herded  
the children in front of her, not feeling safe until she had them in the car and  
her cell phone in her hand. 
 
"Morgan, what if he finds some other little kid?"  Merry leaned forward, her  
voice tremulous.  "He's a really bad man." 
 
"I know, Merry.  We aren't going to let him."  Moving the car, Morgan parked  
near enough to see the parking lot.  Hesitated for a moment with her fingers  
on the cell phone and suddenly decided, punching in the office number of a  
Metro detective that she knew.  And hadn't seen in about a year, which  
necessitated a brief period on the amenities, thankfully past by the time the  
man emerged. 
 
"Listen, Del, I had something happen at the grocery store, here in Silver  
City.  There was a guy hanging out there, eyeing a couple of little kids.  He  
followed their mother out of the store." 
 
It wasn't entirely a lie, she saw the man looking around for them as he  
moved toward the line of cars.  He stopped at a grey van and unlocked it,  
still eyeing the parking lot.  Merry cringed back in the seat and whispered  
something inaudible to Michael. 
 
"He's driving a grey van."  Morgan squinted and made out the license plate,  
reading off the numbers.  "He gave me a really bad feeling, Del.  I'm really  
serious about this, you know I wouldn't bother you otherwise." 
 
"Sure, Morgan."  Del sounded as though he was taking her seriously.  A  
shimmer of power seemed to pass through the car; still listening to Del,  
Morgan turned to regard the children suspiciously, felt Merry's mind reach  
out, sowing confusion in her target.  "Yeah, I know, Del, it's not exactly your  
jurisdiction, but don't you know someone you can call in Silver City?  Oh,  
great, that's fantastic.  I know, but it just had the right marks on it, Del." 
 
He agreed.  Thank God for her reputation as a profiler, Morgan thought,  
thanking him.  Disconnecting the telephone, she looked back at Merry, who  
now had a guilty expression on her face.  "What did you do?" 
 
"I made him forget about looking for us."  Merry bit her lip.  "And made him  
forget he was going anywhere, so the policeman has time to get here.  That  
wasn't a bad thing, was it?" 
 
Reaching back, Morgan touched the tip of Merry's nose.  "No, honey, that  
was a good thing.  You're right, I believe he's a very bad man, and if the  
police can either scare him or arrest him, maybe we'll keep some other little  
kids safe." 
 
Merry beamed at her.  "Michael helped." 
 
Michael looked alarmed for a moment, then put his thumb in his mouth.   
Sighing, Morgan patted a small leg.  "Michael, that was a good thing,  
honestly." 
 
He obviously doubted her. 
 
They waited a few more minutes, and a patrol car appeared, pulling into the  
parking lot and slowly cruising through until they stopped behind the van. 
 
"Bless you, Del," Morgan murmured and started the car. 
______________________________________________ 
 
There was a message on the answering machine when they got back. 
 
Del's voice said, "Thanks for calling me on that, Morgan.  This guy's wanted  
in Florida for jumping bail, he's a real slime, he's linked to a couple of  
disappearances, a repeat sexual offender.  The guys in Silver City wanted to  
pass that on to you, and I hear the Florida folks are ready to give you a  
medal." 
 
Relieved, Morgan sat down, her knees wobbling a little.  "Wow," she told  
Merry.  "You guys did really, really good work."     
 
Merry leaned against her leg.  "He was scary," she told Morgan solemnly.   
"He was a really bad man." 
 
"He sure was."  Morgan smoothed the fraying braid, wishing absently that  
she was better at braiding.  Merry was remarkably patient about it, but it had  
never been her strong point.  "Let's get the groceries packed, shall we?" 
 
"And our clothes?  Can we go swimming this weekend?" 
 
"I don't think so, I think it's going to be too cold for swimming.  But we can  
walk on the beach and build sandcastles and all that other good stuff." 
 
Carrying the bag to the kitchen, Morgan began sorting through items,  
putting things to one side that she planned to pack, putting the rest in the  
cupboard.  Michael obediently carried things to the counter to be packed,  
but unaccountably vanished when Morgan began searching for the oatmeal. 
 
"I know I got oatmeal," she muttered, and Merry appeared, smiling sunnily.   
 
"Can I pack this?" 
 
Morgan glanced over, saw a small pair of  overalls.  "That's fine, honey.   
And your pillows.  Where the heck is the oatmeal?" 
 
"I don't know," Merry told her guilelessly.  "Are you sure you got some,  
Morgan?" 
 
"I'm positive."  Going to the counter, Morgan studied the items piled there,  
fruit snacks and animal cookies and graham crackers and juice boxes.  No  
oatmeal.  "Jesus, I must be getting senile.  Maybe I forgot it." 
 
"We can get some when we get back," Merry told her consolingly.  "But  
Michael doesn't like oatmeal, Morgan." 
 
Morgan turned to eye her thoughtfully.  "Did you guys put the oatmeal back  
on the shelf." 
 
Merry shook her head emphatically.  "Uh uh.  That would be naughty,  
wouldn't it?" 
 
"Uh huh."  But Morgan wondered, watching Merry bounce back out of the  
kitchen.  Oh, she could read her, but after having made a point that it was  
not polite, it seemed vaguely unethical. 
 
She was just going to have to wing it without breaking her own rules. 
____________________________________________ 
 
Whistling off key, Mulder unlocked the door and opened it.  There was a  
large suitcase in the entryway, a smaller one just beyond it, and a bag that  
appeared to be full of Morgan's idea of healthy junk food. 
 
Peering through the contents, he saw sunflower seeds and was content.   
 
"Fox!"  Merry hurled herself at him, an ambush from the shadows in the  
hallway. 
 
"Oof, what have you been eating today, rocks?"  Picking her up, Mulder  
tweaked her nose gently. 
 
"Lots and lots of rocks," Merry agreed, grinning.  "Are we really going to the  
beach?" 
 
"We're really going to the beach.  And best of all, we're eating junk food all  
weekend." 
 
"I heard that."  Morgan's voice drifted down the hall toward him and Mulder  
grinned, set Merry on her feet and followed it back to the source, currently  
gathering pillows off their bed. 
 
Coming up behind her, he grabbed her around the waist.  "Pillows?  I have it  
on good authority that the motel has pillows." 
 
Morgan yelped in surprise, laughed and leaned against him.  "Not these  
pillows," she told him.  "And not enough.  You know me and my pillow  
fetish." 
 
"Mmm, and I thoroughly approve," he leered, "They can be put to so many  
uses." 
 
She smacked him with one of them.  "How do you feel about handcuffs,"  
she asked wickedly. 
 
"I never go anywhere without them," he assured her. 
 
"Heh, heh.  How about a leather paddle?" Morgan arched both brows at  
him. 
 
"I draw the line at inflicting pain," he murmured. 
 
"How do you feel about having it inflicted?"  
 
"Very conflicted."  He nipped the back of her neck and released her,  
loosening his tie as he moved toward the closet.  "And it depends on what  
kind." 
 
"Oooh, I love that kind of conflicted," Morgan told him and went down the  
hall with the pillows. 
 
Laughing, Mulder shed the suit quickly, changing into jeans and a henley.   
"The weather report says it's going to be on the coolish side," he called. 
 
"I know, I know."  Her voice was exasperated, but he didn't think it was  
directed at him.  "Merry, go and get your jacket again, you heard your father.   
And no, we cannot go swimming." 
 
Stuffing his feet into his running shoes, Mulder chuckled, tied them quickly  
and came out to rescue Morgan from an overdose of children.  "Who is  
ready to go to the beach.  Oh, wait, I brought a surprise for Michael."   
Pulling the bag out from behind his back, he crouched in front of Michael. 
 
Merry frowned slightly, her nose clearly out of joint.  But Michael offered him  
a diffident smile and took the bag, peering into it with eyes that widened. 
 
Mulder glanced up at Morgan and grinned as Michael pulled out a plush  
bear, dressed in a trenchcoat and with an FBI badge pinned to the lapel. 
 
"I noticed that Michael doesn't have any buddies to sleep with," Mulder  
explained and ruffled Michael's hair lightly.  "I though he might be a little  
lonesome at night." 
 
Michael smiled at him, still shy, but clearly pleased, smiled and held the  
bear very tightly to his chest. 
 
"He could have my rabbit," Merry said wistfully. 
 
"You've got Herbie," Morgan murmured and helped Merry into her jacket  
while she was distracted. 
 
"But he's not an FBI Herbie," Merry complained. 
 
Mulder eyed her.  "Bleeeh," he told her and got a giggle.  "See, you have  
different things.  And if you're very nice and share with Michael, he might let  
you see his bear once in a while."  Catching Morgan's grin, he rolled his  
eyes, unable to believe the words had actually come out of his mouth.  His  
parents had once said the same kind of thing to him, and of course, he had  
blown them off.  "Does this happen to everyone," he complained, following  
Morgan back down the hall.  "Do you hear yourself turning into your  
parents?" 
 
"Uh huh."  Morgan stopped, pulled one of his chambray shirts on over her  
scoop neck tee and rolled up the sleeves.  "Happens all this time." 
 
Leaning against the door, Mulder frowned, thinking that over.  "Yeah, well,  
the minute I start turning into my father, take my gun and shoot me." 
 
Morgan's expression softened.  "You won't.  That's one thing I can predict  
with perfect certainty, G-man." 
 
It warmed him, even if it didn't totally dispell that worry. 
 
Stepping close, Morgan put her arms around his waist.  "You were always a  
good dad with Aarin, and you won't be any different with Merry and  
Michael." 
 
His mouth curved.  "Think so?" 
 
"Uh huh."  Leaning up, she kissed his chin.  "Now let's get going, shall we?" 
 
"Absolutely.  It's going to be after nine as it is."   But he hugged her before  
going to the front closet to retrieve his battered bomber jacket.  "Let me get  
the bags downstairs, I'll come back and we'll smuggle the evidence down  
separately." 
 
Morgan grinned and haanded him the pillows.  "Don't forget about these, G- 
man." 
 
"How could I?" he leered and grabbed the big suitcase.  "I'll be back." 
 
Downstairs, at the curb he opened the trunk and grinned.  Scully knew what  
kind of tricks would keep roses fresh, but he had to be careful about placing  
the suitcases.  The new house had a rosebush in the back yard, and it had  
one just-bloomed rose, now wrapped in a damp paper napkin and lying to  
one side on his trunk.  Next to it, a small styrofoam cooler containing a split  
of champagne.  Cold feet might be problem, he thought, fitting the smaller  
suit suitcase on top of the larger and closing the trunk, but the woman was  
damned well going to have a celebration. 
 
Whistling again, he grabbed the pillows he'd put on top of the car and  
unlocked the door to toss them in the back seat. 
 
Back upstairs, two small faces brightened when he opened the door.   
"Ready?" 
 
Morgan picked up the bag of snacks.  "Ready." 
 
"You've got the food, I'll take the evidence."  Mulder grinned and took a child  
by each hand, peering out into hall before going out. 
 
They were both clutching their toys, and Merry had assuaged her wounded  
feelings by including the dolphin Morgan had given her, an addition that  
cheered Mulder unreasonably.  If for no other reason than it left the rabbit in  
her room. 
 
Once in the car, he looked at Morgan.  "Did they eat?  Did you eat?" 
 
"Yes and sort of."  Morgan chuckled.  "But we can snack if you feel the  
need to fortify your junk food jones." 
 
"Done."  Starting the car, Mulder whistled again. 
 
"You're in an awfully chipper mood," Morgan observed.  "Anything in  
particular." 
 
"Certainly.  We're escaping from the city to spend the weekend at the  
beach.  You think I've got a junk food addiction, you don't realize how bad  
my beach addiction can be."   
 
"When I called, Dana said you had a meeting with Walter.  That doesn't  
usually leave you in a great mood."  Morgan laughed at his expression.   
"Well, it doesn't.  You get nervous just inviting him over to read files,  
Mulder." 
 
"He's my boss, bosses make people nervous.  But this time, I didn't have to  
worry about getting reamed." 
 
"I should hope not.  I didn't think Walter was attracted to you at all." 
 
Scandalized, he glanced back at the seat.  "You are the most incredibly  
perverse woman I've ever met.  Even including Phoebe." 
 
"Ah, yes, do tell."  Morgan turned sideways in the seat, arching her  
eyebrows.  "Dana wouldn't tell me much about Phoebe, even though I  
pumped her shamelessly.  I find myself absolutely consumed with curiosity." 
 
Mulder gave her a sidelong loo.  "Hey, do I ask you for details of your past?" 
 
"No, because I think I've told you."  Morgan leaned her head against the  
glass. 
 
Mulder changed lanes toward the Burger Shack.  "Not really, except about  
Geoff.  Well, and about Ray.  And Sharon told me about the detective in  
California." 
 
She rolled her eyes.  "Oh, God, let's not bring that up.  A classic case of co- 
dependent behavior on my part."  
 
Merry leaned forward.  "What's co-de-pendent behavior?" 
 
"A bad relationship," Morgan told her, "I'll explain it when you're older,  
especially if you ever show signs of it." 
 
"Codependent," Mulder repeated thoughtfully.  "I suppose there were  
codependent qualities to my relationship on Phoebe.  As well as a certain  
degree of perversity." 
 
"Dana said she was, to put it kindly, a woman who could go through  
cryogenic treatment and still be alive and alert."  Morgan's smile was  
impudent. 
 
"Phoebe had her eye on the main chance," Mulder agreed.  "Always.  She  
was slumming when she picked me up, and I was such a hopeless case my  
friends were in despair over it." 
 
"You had it bad, huh."  Morgan's hand came out, her fingertips brushed his  
cheek. 
 
"Who's Phoebe?" Merry wanted to know. 
 
"One of my old girlfriends, long, long ago, before I met your mother and got  
smart."  Mulder pulled up to the drivethrough menu and pondered. 
 
"Michael wants a shake," Merry informed them.  "And I want some fries." 
 
"Please?"  Morgan tilted a maternal look over the back of her seat. 
 
"Please."  Merry agreed. 
 
"And what do you want," Mulder asked Morgan, lifting an eyebrow. 
 
"I don't think I can get it here," she told him. 
 
Laughing, he raised his hands.  "Mercy, woman.  I know you can one up me  
at any given moment, what do you want to eat?" 
 
"Get me the charbroiled chicken salad," she told him demurely.  "And iced  
tea." 
 
"Could be love,"  he teased and leaned out the window to order. 
_____________________________________________ 
 
Both children were asleep by the time they arrived at the small motel,  
although Michael stirred when Mulder went in to register them. 
 
Putting out a hand, Morgan smiled at him.  "We're going to be in our room  
soon, sweetie." 
 
He looked at her, and put his thumb back in his mouth, clutching the bear  
Mulder had gotten for him. 
 
That was clearly a hit.   
 
Despite her own confused state of mind, it warmed Morgan.  She hadn't  
expected to accept Michael into her heart so readily, not after Aarin's loss,  
but he looked so much like his father that it was easier.  There wasn't the  
echo she had feared and felt with Merry. 
 
Mulder opened the car door and the dome light went on.  Catching the  
direction of her gaze, he looked back and smiled reassuringly at Michael.   
"Almost there, munchkin, we just have to drive around the back." 
 
"I hope this is a cut above what Dana describes as your usual taste in  
motels," Morgan murmured. 
 
That earned an offended look.  "You never had any complaints before." 
 
"As long as we're still upholding that standard, you're safe," she told him  
and leaned forward to take the sting out of it with a brief kiss on his cheek. 
 
Turning his face, he returned it with interest, then started the car again. 
 
The cabin really was one of those circa 1958 motor hotel cabins, but the  
inside had been renovated.  Best of all, it *was* a real cabin, with two  
bedrooms and a small kitchenette/livingroom as the entry. 
 
Merry was sleepy and fretful when she awakened, and looked askance at  
having to share a bed with her brother.  "He's a boy," she complained. 
 
Mulder, already involved in getting Michael out of clothes and into pajamas,  
looked up at that and grinned at Morgan. 
 
"He's your brother," Morgan told her firmly, "So it doesn't actually count that  
he's a boy.  And he's a little boy, too, just like you." 
 
"I'm not a little boy." 
 
Morgan rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.  "I meant you're both  
the same age.  Obviously." 
 
"Oh."  Merry allowed Morgan to pull off her shoes.  "We're twins." 
 
"Sort of," Morgan agreed.  "Fraternal twins, technically.  There's a medical  
term for it, ask Aunt Dana when we get back." 
 
"How many kinds of twins are there?"  Merry yawned and held her arms up  
as Morgan tugged her shirt off. 
 
"Two," Mulder told her and lifted Michael to the bed.  "Identical and non- 
identical, what your mother just called fraternal." 
 
Jarred, Morgan looked at him for a moment, then smiled faintly and eased  
the nightshirt over Merry's head.  "Exactly." 
 
Mulder ruffled Michael's hair and handed him his bear, then went back out  
to the front room to get their pillows. 
 
Merry took hers with a sigh and curled up on her side, around Herbie and  
the rabbit.  Michael pressed his face into his, as if seeking familiar scents. 
 
"I'm going to leave the light on in the front room," Mulder told them and  
flicked the overhead off.  "So if you guys need to get up, you can find your  
way around." 
 
Mischievously, Morgan nodded in the near dark.  "Your father and I will be in  
the next room, okay?"  There was a momentary stillness from Mulder's  
shape in the darkness and she had to bite back laughter before bending to  
kiss both children.  "Sleep sweetly and dream of dolphins," she murmured. 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Because dolphins are really interesting and pretty darn neat." 
 
"Will we see any tomorrow?" 
 
Morgan smiled.  "I don't think so.  But you never know."   
 
As she moved past Mulder, she heard him whisper, "Sleep sweetly and  
dream of dolphins?" 
 
Laughing softly, she nodded and went back out to retrieve her bag and  
Mulder's, hauling them both into the second bedroom.  And the extra pillows  
he had requested. 
 
When he emerged from the other room, he just leaned against the door  
jamb, watching her unpack the necessities from her bag, his expression a  
baffling mix of sadness and amusement.  "You're so efficient." 
 
Morgan stopped, set her toothbrush down on the bedspread and regarded  
him thoughtfully.  "What would you rather I be?" 
 
"Relaxed."  Mulder's mouth curved slightly and some of the sadness eased  
away as he approached her, gently taking the toothpaste out of her other  
hand and setting it down.  "We've had a hard couple of weeks." 
 
His hand was still closed gently around her wrist.  "Yeah, we have."  Morgan  
studied his face, resisting the urge to reach out with her innersense and test  
his mood. 
 
Mulder drew her down to sit beside him on the bed.  "Are we going to be all  
right?" he asked softly and touched her cheek very lightly.  "Because if we  
aren't, none of this shit is worth it." 
 
Morgan glanced away, felt her throat tighten.  "I'm not sure what you mean.   
Are we all going to end up dead or are they going to leave us alone?  I don't  
know.  Things are in flux, I can't feel anything I trust.  I can't see anything I  
trust." 
 
"You can trust me," Mulder murmured and put his arms around her.  "You  
know, just because I get panicky at the thought of being a mortgagee,  
doesn't mean I don't love you, Morgan.  It doesn't mean I don't want you in  
my life, it doesn't mean I don't need you in my life." 
 
It was hard to see suddenly, images doubling as tears scalded her eyes.   
"You're just afraid I'll make you mow the yard." 
 
"God, I hadn't even considered yard work."  His mouth brushed her temple,  
and his tone was genuinely appalled.  "We need teenagers, not six year  
olds." 
 
It made her laugh.  "They'll grow up, and probably too soon for both of us." 
 
"Puberty."  Mulder shuddered.  "Jesus, are Merry's abilities going to  
increase exponentially at puberty?" 
 
"I devoutly hope not."  Morgan leaned against him and sighed.  "And then  
there's Michael to consider.  We don't even know what his are." 
 
"Does he have them?  He was the control, from what we've found."   
Mulder's arms tightened. 
 
"He has them," Morgan told him and bit her lip.  No, she wasn't going to tell  
him, not tonight.  Not when they finally had a quiet moment between them, a  
moment that wasn't distant or fraught with either temper or worry. 
 
Mulder made a noncommittal sound in his throat and kissed her again.  "I  
meant, are you and I all right?" 
 
Morgan closed her eyes, giving herself over to the warmth of being held, to  
the feel of his shirt against her cheek.  "I think so.  You aren't the only one  
with cold feet, Fox." 
 
He was silent for a moment, stroking her hair.  "Well, we'll have to warm  
each other's feet, don't you think?" 
 
The mischief in his voice made her smile.  "Sounds like a plan to me." 
 
"Good.  Now, sit."  Letting go of her, Mulder rose and cleared the bed,  
moving things to the floor and the top of the dresser.  With a grin, he went  
back out; she heard the door open and close. 
 
When it opened and closed again, she heard the bolt shoot home.  Mulder  
appeared in the door, a thick manila envelope under one arm, a bottle of  
champagne in one hand and a slightly bedraggled rose in the other.   
 
It was a Peace rose, the creamy petals edged with deep pink.  There was a  
rosebush in front of the new house and Morgan gave him a suspicious look. 
 
"It's a little worse for wear," Mulder told her and handed it to her, "But it's  
ours now.  I thought we ought to have a symbol of one of the things we're  
celebrating.  The other two are in the next room." 
 
Smiling, Morgan brought the rose to her face, inhaling the scent.  Ours,  
huh, she thought, and her smile grew.   
 
The manila envelope was tossed on the bed, Mulder handed her the  
champagne and extracted two champagne flutes from his jacket, one from  
each pocket. 
 
"You didn't have those in your pocket all the way here," she accused, trying  
not to laugh.   
 
"I'd be getting stitches now if I had," he told her solemnly and suddenly  
grinned.  "Had 'em in the trunk, that's why I insisted on carrying everything  
out and in." 
 
"Sneak."  But she was charmed nonetheless.   
 
As one might have expected, after traveling two hours in the trunk of a car,  
even if it had been packed in ice, the champagne proved a little explosive. 
 
"I can never get it to just open quietly," Mulder mourned and licked the hand  
that had gotten doused.   
 
Smothering giggles, Morgan put her face in his shoulder until she could  
bring them under control again. 
 
Grumbling under his breath, Mulder poured a glass for each of them.   
 
Accepting hers, Morgan leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.    
"You sentimental fraud." 
 
Mulder grinned.  "Hey, we've got a few things to celebrate.  Besides, I want  
to get you tipsy and take advantage of you." 
 
"Since when have you ever had to get me tipsy to take advantage of me?"  
Morgan demanded, laughing again. 
 
"I know, but it just seems that much more decadent than just throwing you  
down on the bed and having my way."  Mulder waggled his eyebrows and  
briefly touched his glass to hers.  "To us, to the house and to our offspring."   
His expression went pensive suddenly.  "Boy, if that doesn't sound like an X  
file....I keep saying that, you know?  Scully keeps saying that.  I wonder if  
she thought I was going to end up leading one of those flying saucer cults  
and living in a '63 Cadillac convertible or something." 
 
"Surely you have better taste," Morgan told him and laughed again at his  
expression. 
 
Mulder's nose wrinkled in distaste.  "I do, and don't call me Shirley." 
 
"Things are getting slow if you're ripping off bad movie jokes."  Morgan took  
a sip of champagne.  "God, I'm going to end up giggling." 
 
Sprawling across the bed, Mulder eyed her, his expression interested.  "I've  
only actually heard you do that a few times.  This could be fascinating." 
 
"So, what's in the envelope?"  Morgan took another sip of champagne and  
tapped it. 
 
Mulder looked at it.  "It's something Skinner and a friend of his put together.   
I keep finding more and more out about him, Morgan, and frankly, I'm  
amazed.  He's so goddamned by the book most of the time, but he's got  
contacts in the weirdest places.  And he swears, this guy isn't Illuminati or  
anything."  His tone was bemused; when he looked at her, he *did* look  
amazed.  "He's building a case for us, if you can imagine that.  He's got the  
evidence Scully and I have put together and he's got this high powered  
attorney friend putting together the custody case." 
 
Morgan's eyes widened.  "Walter did what?" 
 
Mulder's grin was rueful.  "Yeah, that was my reaction.  But it's all there.   
Once we get this under control...." 
 
His voice trailed off and he glanced away.  Morgan blinked hard suddenly.  It  
wasn't going to be as easy as just going in and gaining custody.  Not with  
someone out to murder both children to erase proof of their existence.  Not  
with both children in the hands of their biological parents, both failed  
experiments.  She suspected *that* particular eventuality would lead the  
parties in question to sleepless nights and total terror. 
 
"When we get this all under control," Mulder repeated, his voice stronger,  
"We can use this to make sure nobody tries to take them away from us."   
He offered her a crooked grin.  "Skinner did mention that generally custody  
petitions are looked upon more favorably if the petitioners in question are  
married." 
 
Narrowing her eyes, Morgan studied him again.  "I thought we'd covered  
that already." 
 
Mulder shrugged, took a sip of champagne.  "I just thought I'd pass that on,"  
he told her, but his mouth quivered, as if he were trying not to laugh.  "I  
mean, it isn't like we don't have joint property already, Morgan.  And they  
both suck their thumbs, think about immunizations, braces, school  
physicals." 
 
Morgan took another sip.  "I think Walter coached you." 
 
His grin broke free of concealment.  "Well, he did give me a few ideas, I  
admit.  I told him that you thought marriage was a socio-economic institution  
created by a patriarchal culture, so he suggested appealing to you on those  
grounds." 
 
"Twit," she told him, without heat.  "I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll think about it." 
 
"Okay," he agreed equably, "That's fair." 
 
Sighing, Morgan slid down beside him.  "I don't understand, you're  
supposed to be a confirmed bachelor, Mulder, why do you want to get  
married?" 
 
Mulder grinned.  "It will be easier to explain to my mother how I suddenly  
came up with two kids and a mortgage if I have a wife to go along with it." 
 
"Twit," she repeated and leaned over to kiss him.  "I'll think about it."  Then,  
leaning back, she examined his face.  "Your mother?" 
 
Mulder's grin faded and he looked down at his glass.  "Yeah, I'm going to  
have to tell her sometime.  I'm not looking forward to it.  She doesn't--she  
doesn't deal with things well.  And she hasn't been quite as strong since the  
stroke."  Another shrug, this one unconvincing.  "But she's my mother.  And  
she's their grandmother." 
 
"The only one they have," Morgan agreed softly.  "Both my parents are  
dead.  My father drank himself to death, and my mother died of....well, it's  
been a long time past." 
 
His head came up and he gazed at her for a long, silent moment.   "Did you  
love them?" 
 
Sighing, she nodded.  "Of course.  But I hated them, too.  Not always fairly.   
My mother was too busy with Richard to protect me from my father's  
temper.  And then, when Richard was older, she was too--God, I don't  
know, too passive to protect either of us.  Poor Richard." 
 
"Do you ever see him?"  Mulder's hand came up, his fingertips pushed the  
hair away from her cheek.   
 
"Not for a long time.  He doesn't know who I am, he's a little afraid of me."   
Morgan sighed and took another sip.  "Another one of their failures." 
 
Mulder's eyes went distant abruptly.  "I wonder if Samantha was, too.  Or if  
she was a success, and that's why she was taken." 
 
"I don't know."  Morgan kissed him again, mostly to take away that distant  
look.  After a moment, he carefully set his glass aside, removed hers from  
her hand, and set about returning that kiss with a great deal of concentration  
and focus. 
_______________________________________ 
 
"We're wasting sun," Mulder complained, but smiled as he watched Morgan  
rub sunscreen into small faces and arms.  "Jesus, Morgan, we're taking a  
walk on the sand, not baking ourselves." 
 
"The hole in the ozone layer is over the Eastern Seaboard," she told him  
seriously, "You should put some on, too." 
 
Mulder rolled his eyes, but condescended to put some on his nose, at least.   
Spending most of one's time in the basement was not always conducive to a  
healthy tan--if such a thing existed.  "Let's go." 
 
"Let's go," Merry echoed impatiently, rattling the plastic pail and shovel  
Mulder had picked up after his morning run from the gift shop in the motel  
office. 
 
Clearly they did a land office business in them, the damned things had cost  
twice as much as he'd expected, but it was worth seeing the smile on  
Michael's face. 
 
Michael clutched an identical pail, but didn't seem quite as impatient as  
Merry.  He took Morgan's hand and let himself be led across the parking lot  
and down the walk to the beach, but his eyes widened when he saw the  
ocean. 
 
Merry ran ahead; Mulder kept an eye on her and lagged back, staying with  
Morgan and Michael.  "You want to run with Merry?" 
 
Michael gave him another shy smile.  Morgan released him and he trotted  
after his sister without hesitation. 
 
"A true Mulder," Mulder sighed, "Gotta love the sea." 
 
"You're such an urbanite," Morgan told him, amused.  "This is a whole  
different side of you." 
 
Mulder smiled, watching the children.  "We used to sail and water ski--God,  
I think one of my earliest memories is playing at the edge of the water and  
wondering what made it run away." 
 
Slipping an arm through his, Morgan laughed.  "I didn't see the ocean much  
when I was small, not until I was much older.  But the sound of it--it's not  
peaceful, but it's soothing to the soul." 
 
Merry had stopped, bent over something on the sand, poking at it  
inquisitively with her shovel.  When they caught up, it turned out to be  
nothing more than a shell, but Merry was fascinated.   
 
"It used to be a living creature," she repeated, "And now look."  Raising the  
shell, she showed Mulder and Morgan. 
 
"There used to be a living creature who lived in it," Morgan corrected.   
"When there were two shells.  Like this."  She folded her hands together,  
palms touching. 
 
Michael was straying closer to the water.  Mulder watched, relaxed when the  
boy crouched down and began to dig, putting shovelfuls of wet sand into his  
plastic bucket.   "I think Michael's going to beat you to the punch, Merry.   
He's already starting his sand castle." 
 
Dropping the shell, Merry ran to join her brother.   
 
Morgan watched them thoughtfully.  "I used to build a pretty mean sand  
castle when I was a kid at the lake." 
 
"Hah," Mulder snorted, "You didn't have sand the right consistency, you  
were on the shore of a puny, freshwater lake." 
 
Her mouth curved and she looked up, arching one eyebrow.  "Oh, please, I  
suppose you're going to tell me that only salt-water brats can build a truly  
great sand castle?"   
 
Mulder looked down at her, pleased.  There was a note of deviltry in  
Morgan's voice that he hadn't heard--for weeks, now that he thought about  
it.  "That's exactly what I'm telling you," he agreed. 
 
Morgan's eyes glinted and she pushed up her sleeves.  "We'll just see  
about that, G-man." 
 
"Men against the women?" he suggested, arching an eyebrow. 
 
"Done."   
___________________________________________

 
The contest was a draw, mostly because the tide came in and drowned their  
architectural creations before they were completed, but Mulder was  
satisfied.  Michael hadn't objected, either by look or action, to having Mulder  
work with him.   
 
Walking back for lunch, Michael allowed Mulder to take his hand as they  
trudged back toward the motel, and let Mulder rinse his feet off at the tap  
outside the cabin.   
 
"That's cold, isn't it," Mulder told him conversationally and dried two small  
feet before putting socks and shoes back on them. 
 
Michael nodded and gave him a serious look.  "Merry says you and Morgan  
are our real mommy and daddy." 
 
Rocked, Mulder stared for a moment.  When the kid decided to talk, he  
didn't hesitate, evidently, but his voice was rusty, reflecting how long he'd  
been silent.  "Merry's right," he told Michael, his tone cautious. 
 
Michael peered up at him.  "How come you didn't want us?"  Abruptly, his  
lower lip was trembling. 
 
"God, Michael, it wasn't that."  Appalled, Mulder bent and lifted him up, held  
him tightly.  "It wasn't ever that.  It's--some people took you both away from  
us, we didn't even know you were alive." 
 
Michael sniffled.  "How come they gave me to my other mommy and  
daddy?" 
 
Mulder's stomach hurt, his chest ached.  "Oh, Michael, I don't know why  
they did what they did.  I wish they hadn't, but that doesn't make it go away." 
 
There was a small sob.  "I miss my other mommy and daddy.  I want to see  
them." 
 
Mulder swallowed with difficulty.  God, this was hideous, his throat hurt  
now.  "I'm sorry, Michael, but they're dead.  Some very bad people killed  
them."  
 
Michael burst into tears outright, sobbing into Mulder's shoulder.  Instead of  
taking him inside, Mulder sat down on the bench outside the cabin, just  
holding him.  Hating himself for celebrating having Michael with them, for  
forgetting what Michael had lost.   
 
"I know it's hard," he murmured, rubbing Michael's back.  "I know it is,  
Michael.  But we'll do our best, I promise.  We'll do our best to be a good  
mom and dad to you.  You won't ever stop missing them, but we'll try hard to  
make it all right." 
 
Although what the hell good he thought that was going to do....pressing his  
cheek against Michael's hair, Mulder closed his eyes. 
__________________________________________-