"Shoes on," Morgan told Merry and dried her own feet.  "We're going to  
have lunch, we can't go in barefoot." 
 
"I like the beach," Merry declared and fumbled with her shoelaces.  "How  
come Fox always ties my shoes for me?" 
 
"Because he likes doing things for you, and because I don't think he  
remembers that you're big enough to do it yourself."  Morgan slipped her  
feet into espradilles and picked up her brush from the bathroom counter. 
 
"He's really not used to kids, much, is he?"  Merry managed a passable  
double knot and picked up her other shoe. 
 
"Nope."  Dragging the brush through her own hair, Morgan peered at her  
reflection critically and decided it would do.  "I'm afraid he's not." 
 
"You are."  Merry looked up at her.   
 
"That's because I've been a mom before."  Morgan knelt in front of her.   
"You had a sister, but she died when she was younger than you." 
 
Merry stared at her.  "That made you sad." 
 
"That made me very sad.  As sad as having Aarin die."  Morgan touched a  
small cheek and tried to smile.  "That's why Fox and I worry so much about  
some of those people finding out that you and Michael are with us.  That's  
why Fox gets angry when he thinks we're not careful."  Which reminded her.   
"I wonder what Fox and Michael are doing?" 
 
"Talking."  Merry's gaze went blurry.  "Michael was cryin', but now they're  
just walking and talking." 
 
Morgan blinked.  "About what?" 
 
Merry's eyes came back to her.  "I don't know.  You said it wasn't polite."   
She gave Morgan a questioning look.   
 
"It's not," Morgan told her hastily, "I just wondered if Michael had told you." 
 
"Nope, he's talking to Fox."  Merry smiled at her before bending to manage  
the second double knot.  "I'm hungry." 
 
"It's the fresh sea air," Morgan told her, laughing a little.  "Come here and let  
me brush your hair again.  I can manage that, even if I can't do fancy  
braids." 
 
Giggling, Merry obeyed. 
___________________________________________ 
 
Michael had finally stopped crying, and when he had, Mulder had taken him  
down to the end of the walk, just letting him calm down before going back  
inside. 
 
Michael's fingers curled around his, which made his throat ache again, and  
time blurred in a strange way.  Only instead of being small, with his hand in  
his father's, he was the tall adult, holding the child's hand.  His son's.   
 
Life really was a spiral, he decided, only things weren't quite the same when  
you came around the same curve the second time.   
 
"Merry's bossy," Michael finally said, after a several moments of silence. 
 
Mulder's mouth quirked.  "She is a little, isn't she?  She bosses me, too,  
don't feel badly." 
 
"But you're the dad."  Michael gave him an expectant look. 
 
"That's why it doesn't work on me."  Mulder squeezed the small hand gently.   
"But you shouldn't let her boss you if you don't feel like being bossed." 
 
Michael considered that gravely.  "She says she's the oldest." 
 
How in hell would Merry know that, Mulder wondered and shook the thought  
away.  "Well, technically, she is, but only by about five minutes, so don't let  
her snow you.  You're both the oldest, so tell her that if she gives you a hard  
time." 
 
"She's awful smart," Michael told him doubtfully.  "She's smarter than me." 
 
"She talks more than you," Mulder agreed, "But that doesn't mean she's  
smarter than you." 
 
More consideration in silence, then a sunny smile.  "Oh." 
 
Crouching down, Mulder wiped a vagrant tear away with his thumb.  "I'll bet  
you're pretty smart, too, Michael." 
 
This time, Michael's expression went shy on him again.  He didn't mind.   
Not in the least.  "Um, Merry says it's not bad to do things, you know, in our  
heads." 
 
That was out in left field, Mulder thought, trying to decipher it.  "You mean  
when you talk to each other that way?" 
 
Michael nodded, looking up at him guiltily.  "Or do things." 
 
Mulder blinked and crouched down beside him.  "Like what, Michael?" 
 
Michael's face grew guiltier.  "There was a bad man yesterday in the store.   
He scared me.  Even Merry was scared." 
 
Mulder thought about that.  "And you did something to him?"  His stomach  
tightened up.  "What did you do?"  Keeping his tone even was easy, he'd  
interviewed suspects far more dangerous.  He hoped. 
 
Michael hung his head.  "Merry made his thoughts fuzzy so he didn't see us  
go out of the store."  It was a whisper.  "And I put something in his engine  
so his car wouldn't go." 
 
Mulder's stomach relaxed slightly, and so did he.  "How did you do that,  
Michael?" 
 
Downcast eyes.  "I was naughty.  I made it go there."  His thumb rose part  
of the way to his mouth.  "But Merry said it wasn't naughty, she said it was  
good." 
 
There was a questioning note in the child's voice.  But there were other  
things Mulder needed to know.  "What kind of a bad man was he, Michael?   
The kind that came to your house?" 
 
Firm shake of the head.   
 
Mulder's stomach relaxed a little more.  "No?  That's good." 
 
"He was looking at me and Merry and--"  Michael shivered.  "His thoughts  
were all ugly and twisted up, like snakes at the zoo." 
 
The picture taking shape in Mulder's mind wasn't pretty.  "Let's start from  
the beginning again, Michael.  There was a bad man at the store and he  
scared you and Merry.  Morgan was with you?" 
 
"Uh huh.  She put us in the basket and got away from him.  She didn't like  
him either.  And when we got in the car, she called a policeman and told him  
about the man."  Michael was watching him anxiously.  "But Merry said we  
shouldn't let him get away, cuz he might try and get other kids.  So I put the  
oatmeal in his engine." 
 
Caught between anger, fear and outright, stark hilarity, Mulder nodded  
solemnly.  "I'm not fond of oatmeal myself," he told Michael, "An engine  
seems like a good place for it." 
 
Astonishingly, that got a giggle.  "And his car wouldn't go, and the  
policemen came and got him after we left." 
 
Reaching out, Mulder ruffled Michael's hair again.  "Then you did a very  
good thing, Michael.  You kept him from leaving and getting away and  
maybe hurting someone.  That was very smart." 
 
Relief lit Michael's face from within.  "It wasn't naughty?" 
 
"No, it would be naughty if you were playing tricks on someone.  But you  
were doing a good thing."  Rising, Mulder took a small hand again and  
started back toward the cabin.  "Let's get some lunch, I'm starving.  I'm so  
hungry, I think I could eat three cheeseburgers." 
 
Michael giggled again.  "I can eat two!" 
 
Mulder grinned.  "I don't know, sprout, you're still smaller than me.  Maybe  
one and a half, what do you think?" 
 
More giggles, which eased his temper and kept him smiling all the way  
back. 
_________________________________________________ 
 
"I was going to tell you," Morgan finished the tale wearily, watching the kids  
eat their lunch at the small kitchenette table.  "It's not as if it was anything  
you needed to worry about." 
 
It was evident that she expected him to explode.  Mulder swallowed the  
desire to do exactly that and nodded.  "It would just be nice to know what's  
going on when Michael decides to confess his crimes.  He thought it was  
naughty." 
 
"Well, I didn't know about that."  Morgan looked at him, her mouth quirking.   
"I guessed about what Merry did, but neither one of them copped to the  
oatmeal, not even when I was ranting and raving about having paid for it,  
and not having it." 
 
Unable to help himself, Mulder chuckled.  "It was certainly a creative use for  
oatmeal." 
 
"And they picked the guy up.  Believe it or not, he's on the wanted list, took  
off before his sentencing in Florida."  Morgan shrugged. 
 
Mulder glanced back at the children and sighed.  "We could always go on  
America's Most Wanted as their new anti-crime team." 
 
"Well, it has the virtue of being interesting."  Morgan leaned against the  
back of the couch and eyed him.  "So when are you going to chew me out  
for being careless or reckless or whatever?" 
 
"I'm not."  Leaning forward, Mulder kissed her and made his way back to the  
table where his cheeseburgers were getting cold. 
_______________________________________ 
 
More beach time in the afternoon, and they fixed dinner in the kitchenette,  
two sleepy children barely able to finish theirs. 
 
Chuckling, Morgan came out of the second bedroom.  "I think Merry's out  
already.  I think we have a cure for the struggle to get her to bed at night." 
 
Sitting in front of the television, Mulder glanced up and grinned.  "Sea air  
and lots and lots of walking on the beach.  I think my parents figured that  
one out early." 
 
"If they lived near the ocean, they probably counted on it.  Especially if your  
sleeping habits were what they are now." 
 
"I was climbing out of my crib before I was a year old, if memory serves."   
Mulder thought about that and sighed.  "I used to get in terrible trouble for  
it." 
 
"Mm."  Morgan sat down beside him and put her head in his lap. 
 
"Hey, I wanted to do that," he grumbled and leaned back against the couch.   
"I think this was a successful idea." 
 
"One of your truly outstanding ideas," Morgan agreed sleepily.  "We all  
needed it." 
 
He stroked her hair.  "Yeah, we did," he admitted.  "We aren't out of the  
woods on this thing yet, but it's nice to just let it go for a little while." 
 
"The house will help.  I can stick them in the sandbox and let them run  
around the back yard."  Morgan snuggled against him, her cheek against his  
thigh.  "What are you watching?" 
 
"Something cheesy," he told her, "With seventies hair and fashion and really  
funny looking cars." 
 
Morgan snickered.  "I had to live through it, change the station." 
 
Laughing, Mulder reached for the remote, clicked to another station.  "So did  
I," he protested. 
 
"Yeah, but you were just a wet behind the ears kid, I was a teenager, trying  
to be cool."  Morgan shifted slightly, so her hand curved around his thigh.   
"Wait, that looked like it has possibilities." 
 
He watched for a moment and grimaced.  "I've seen this already," he told  
her. "It's more recent, but just as cheesy.  It's about voodoo." 
 
"Oh, I wanna see it."  Morgan's voice was lazy.  "I love cheesy horror  
movies, you know that." 
 
Mulder grinned.  "Yeah, I just was hoping to lure you back into decadent  
behavior." 
 
Morgan snickered again and sat up.  "Well, in that case--you'd better strike  
fast, G-man, because the kids aren't the only ones affected by the sea air." 
 
Mulder eyed her.  "If you fall asleep while we're making love, you're going to  
permanently bruise my ego." 
 
She offered him her best mischievous grin and got off the couch, holding  
out a hand to tug him up.  "In that case, you'd better make sure that I stay  
awake." 
_____________________________________________ 
 
They were both asleep when Mulder came awake with a start, the bright  
light shining in the windows making him squint. 
 
Too bright.  And the sound that was more a bone vibrating hum than  
something he could hear was all too familiar.   
 
Bolting from bed, Mulder fumbled for his gun and ran for the second  
bedroom, his heart only slowing when he saw the two small forms curled  
together.   
 
The sound was making his teeth ache.  Morgan was abruptly beside him,  
kneeling on the bed, her arms extended protectively over the children's  
sleeping forms. 
 
In the light from the front room, Mulder could see her expression, almost  
feral with rage and terror.  It was hard to think, the air pressure in the room  
seemed to double, then triple, pushing him down on the bed.  His finger  
stayed on the safety for a moment, then pushed it off.  Not again, God, not  
again, he wouldn't allow it, couldn't allow it. 
 
"No!"  Morgan's voice was distant, thin and drawn out by the pressure, by  
the brain numbing sound.  Folding himself around all three of them, Mulder  
squinted as the light penetrated the curtains, penetrated the walls. 
 
You can't have any of them, he thought, and held on to sanity by a thread,  
remembering Samantha, remembering Aarin and Sharon Williams.  Not this  
time, you fuckers, you can't take them. 
 
Abruptly, the pressure eased up, the light began to diminish.  He became  
aware that Michael and Merry were both awake, both wide-eyed, but silent.   
Morgan was trembling under his arm. 
 
"They're going away," Merry told him, eerily calm.  "They can't come in, we  
won't let them." 
 
Mulder shuddered, his skin prickling to gooseflesh, despite the t-shirt and  
shorts, despite the fact that the cabin wasn't chilled.  Despite the fact that  
both the children and Morgan were radiating heat as if they were feverish.   
Dodging furniture, he ran for the front door and threw it open, looked up and  
saw something dark that flickered here and there with orange light.   
Something too big and too dark to make out clearly on an overcast night,  
that blended with the clouds. 
 
Swearing, he slammed the door shut again, bolted it, and went back to the  
second bedroom.  "We're getting out of here," he told them and went back  
in for his clothes. 
 
 
On the way back, Morgan spoke out of the darkness.  "I think we have to  
assume they can track us," she whispered.  "I think they have some way to  
do it." 
 
Mulder's stomach rolled uneasily.  God, he should have known.  He should  
have thought.  "I think it would be a really good idea to get all of us x-rayed." 
 
Morgan's head turned.  "X-rayed?" 
 
"For tracking devices."  Reaching out, he took her hand, felt it trembling.   
"Just to be sure, babe." 
 
"Just to be sure," she repeated faintly. 
________________________________________ 
 
"It makes too much sense."  Mulder swallowed and looked at Scully, sitting  
across from him at his apartment kitchen table.  "They found us in the  
desert. Maybe...maybe there hadn't been that much interest or pressure  
until then.  But they found us." 
 
"Donovan could have led them," Scully demurred, but it was half-hearted.   
She looked tired, but it was six am on a Sunday morning and Mulder  
suspected that she and Geoff had enjoyed a late night the night before.  "It  
can't hurt, Mulder.  I...I still haven't forgotten Duane Barry." 
 
Neither of them had.   
 
Scully considered her coffee silently for a few moments.  "I can call  
someone, but I think Geoff could probably arrange it more quickly." 
 
"As quickly as possible," Mulder agreed, but thinking of Geoff made him  
flinch a little.   
 
"Is Morgan asleep?" 
 
"I think so.  I made her and the kids sack out when we got here.  I was too  
wired."  Mulder looked into his cup.  "I haven't told you the best part.  Merry  
told me they were going away, they couldn't come in.  She said, 'We won't  
let them', Scully." 
 
"Magical thinking," Scully suggested, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it.   
After a moment, her mouth quirked.  "You do have the most amazing  
children, Mulder." 
 
Mulder shivered.  "Somebody else knows that too well." 
 
Her hand came out to cover his briefly.  "Let me call Geoff.  And if he can't  
get it faster, we'll try something else.  But we'll get it done."  Her gaze was  
speculative suddenly.  "Mulder, I think you should be done, too." 
 
That made acid rise in the back of his throat.  He hadn't wanted to think  
about that.  Hadn't wanted to think about the possibility, even though it was  
a strong one.  His sister had been taken.  But his name had been on that  
folder.  "Yeah," he agreed faintly.  "I think you're right." 
 
____________________________________ 
 
The x-rays weren't pleasant.  Merry was docile enough, although she sulked  
when Herbie had to be taken away.  Michael sucked his thumb throughout  
and sat on Mulder's lap, his face pressed to Mulder's chest, while they  
waited for Morgan. 
 
"Michael's such a baby," Merry muttered, sitting beside him. 
 
Mulder looked at her thoughtfully.  There had been a note of jealousy in her  
voice.  God, sibling rivalry, he wasn't emotionally equipped to deal with this.   
"Yeah, well, he's been scared a lot lately, Merry.  You wanna squeeze in  
here?" 
 
Merry gave him a look up from under angled brows like Morgan's.  "He gets  
scared of a lot of stuff, Fox." 
 
Mulder sighed and put his arm around her, pulling her a little closer.  "He's  
not used to some of these things, Merry.  Not like you are.  His family  
treated him more like a normal little kid than yours did." 
 
"They weren't my family," Merry told him contrarily and her lower lip came  
out.   
 
No wonder Scully gave him that exasperated look when he was sullen,  
Mulder thought absently and squeezed her again.  "Nope, and they didn't  
treat you much like you were their little girl, did they?" 
 
Herbie's eyes whirled and Merry watched, her expression sulky.  "Daddy  
told me stories at night," she finally allowed. 
 
"That was a good thing," Mulder murmured. 
 
Abruptly, Merry's mouth trembled.  "Sometimes I miss them." 
 
"I know."  Mulder leaned his head back against the wall.  "I know you do,  
Merry." 
 
"I miss my friends, too."  Merry sniffled. 
 
"When this is all over, when things are safe again, you can write to them.   
Maybe visit sometimes."  Mulder sighed, wondering how in hell they were  
going to accomplish that.  It was easier to understand Morgan's desperation  
in contacting the Illuminati.  Maybe....maybe he needed to take that chance.   
God knew, he'd accepted Deep Throat's help, even when he knew that the  
man had his own agenda.  And X's.  And X had definitely had his own  
agenda. 
 
Morgan emerged, wearing her own clothes again instead of the white gown.   
"All done," she told them and came to sit beside Merry.  "That wasn't so  
bad, was it?" 
 
"Can we go now?"  Merry looked up at her hopefully. 
 
"We have to wait until Geoff and Dana look at the x-rays," Morgan told her  
softly and brushed Merry's bangs back.  "We need to get these trimmed, or  
you're going to go blind, Merry, Merry, quite contrary." 
 
Merry giggled.   
 
Mulder sighed again.  Morgan did have a knack for soothing ruffled feelings,  
especially when it came to the kids.  It made him feel remarkably inept at  
times, and only Michael's small weight eased that sensation.  "If we have to  
wait, how about I go get provisions for the munchkins?"  He rose and shifted  
Michael to Morgan's lap.  
 
"No candy, no caffeine," Morgan told him automatically. 
 
Rolling his eyes, Mulder looked down at Merry.  "You wanna come with me?   
I saw some vending machines in the lounge." 
 
Nodding cheerfully, Merry slid off the chair and put her hand in his.  "I want  
Pepsi." 
 
"No caffeine, you heard your mother."  Mulder smiled to take the sting out of  
it.  
 
Morgan grinned.  "Fine, make me the villain.  She's got your sleeping habits  
already, let's not make it worse." 
 
"I don't think you need caffeine," Mulder amended, tilting Morgan a grin in  
return.  "And neither does your mother." 
 
Merry sighed in resignation. 
_________________________________________ 
 
The x-rays were informative.   And appalling. 
 
"There's something here," Geoff pointed at one of Morgan's with a grease  
pencil.  "Just under the navel.  But Merry--"  He pointed at the x-ray of  
Merry's skull.  "She's got one in her nasal cavity.  That's going to  
necessitate a little more than a quick procedure in the office."  He turned to  
point at Michael's.  "Evidently, they were really using Michael as a control,  
he's completely clean." 
 
Mulder's stomach knotted.  "What about me?" 
 
Geoff pointed.  "Evidently, you were a skinny kid.  It's in your left buttock." 
 
"Which gives new meaning to pain in the ass," Scully murmured and briefly  
patted his arm.  "See the area around it?  That's scar tissue, Mulder.  It's  
been there a while." 
 
His stomach roiled.  "Excuse me a minute," he told them faintly and found  
the bathroom before his lunch made a violent exit. 
 
Leaning against the cool metal of the stall, he waited out the next wave of  
nausea, trying to decide if he was going to be able to control it.  Nope,  
Jesus, dry heaves were the worst, but he almost preferred it to throwing up  
everything but his liver. 
 
He had an implant.  Had evidently had it for a while.  Since he was a kid.   
 
Another wave of nausea hit, this time dry heaves.   Red sparkles against his  
closed eyelids as they wrenched him--that was okay, it kept him from  
thinking.  It took a while to bring that under control and he was dizzy when  
he got up again and leaned his cheek against the stall. 
 
His father really had known.  Really had made the choice.  Had chosen him  
to be taken, but somebody had changed the program.  And his sister was  
infertile, her son was adopted.  Scully had been abducted, her ova  
harvested, she was infertile.  Sterile.   
 
Somebody had decided that William Mulder's daughter was more useful to  
their goddamned, fucking project, so he was left and Samantha taken.   
Eight years old.   
 
He hadn't known it was possible to harvest ova before puberty.  He hadn't  
wanted to know, and had kept the knowledge in the back of his head to keep  
from thinking about it.  
 
"Mulder?"  Geoff's voice was concerned. 
 
"I'm fine," Mulder muttered and straightened, emerged from the stall and  
went to the sink.  He couldn't feel the cold water he splashed on his face,  
but it tasted one helluva lot better than what he'd brought up.   
 
He could feel Geoff's eyes on him.  When he straightened and looked it the  
mirror, the other man was still watching him.  "It's just a shock.  After what  
happened to my sister, I should have expected it.  My dad chose me to be  
taken, but they changed the game on him." 
 
Geoff's mouth tightened slightly.  "You don't know that for certain, Mulder." 
 
"No, but the evidence is certainly suggestive."  The roughness of the paper  
towel brought some of the feeling back to his skin.   "They like to keep track  
of their lab animals." 
 
"Jesus."  Geoff raked a hand through his hair.  "Come on, let's get rid of it,  
Mulder." 
 
"What about Merry?" 
 
Geoff sighed.  "I'd like to call Ray, he can find an ENT specialist who can do  
it right, with a minimum of trauma to Merry." 
 
After a moment, Mulder nodded.   "Yeah.  Do that."  Tossing the towel in the  
trash, he moved toward the door. 
 
"Mulder," Geoff's voice stopped him.  "I owe you an apology.  I was  
concerned about Morgan, but....I was, as Dana so eloquently put it, out of  
line." 
 
The idiom sounded funny in that faint Brit accent and Mulder turned his  
head, smiling faintly.  "Geoff, you don't sound right saying that." 
 
Geoff's mouth curved slightly.  "Ah, I should sound more like Alastair  
Cooke?" 
 
"You already sound more like Alastair Cooke." 
 
Laughing a little, Geoff shook his head.  "I could tell you it wasn't cricket." 
 
"Please, I had enough of that when I was at Oxford."  Mulder shook his  
head, still smiling.  "You were worried about her.  Let's leave it at that,  
okay?" 
 
Geoff nodded.  "All right."  He pushed the door open.  "I believe Morgan is  
explaining to Merry, she might need you on hand." 
 
He was right, Mulder discovered.  Merry was crying and Morgan was  
holding her, trying to make light of the entire matter. 
 
Michael was sitting with Scully, who was trying to distract him by reading-- 
Mulder peered and half-grinned, in spite of everything--a Highlights  
magazine.  Jesus, he hadn't known those were still published.  "Hey, hey,  
Merry," he murmured and put his arms around both Morgan and Merry.  "It's  
not that bad, baby." 
 
"I don't wanna have it in my nose!" Merry wailed. 
 
"We're going to get it taken out."  Mulder looked back and found Geoff had  
vanished, evidently to make his call. 
 
"I don't wanna!"   
 
"It's all right," Morgan soothed, stroking Merry's hair.  "It's going to be just  
fine, Merry.  We're going to be with you, don't be scared, sweetheart." 
 
Merry wailed on, unconsoled.   Mulder didn't blame her. 
 
He couldn't find much consolation himself. 
__________________________________________ 
 
Two hours later, they emerged from Geoff's offices.  Mulder was limping a  
little, Morgan noted and sighed.  Well, it probably hurt a bit to walk.  Funny,  
you never noticed just how involved your gluteal muscles were in every  
movement until something bothered them.  Abdominal muscles--you  
expected those to hurt, and they did, even though it was just a tiny incision  
with a few sutures. 
 
Merry had an appointment the following day at an inpatient surgical center  
under an alias.   
 
"Merry Mulder," she murmured to Mulder as he pulled out of the parking lot,  
"AKA Elizabeth Simmons.  Our child has an alias, Mulder." 
 
Mulder didn't smile.  "Yeah." 
 
Raising her arm, she rested it against the back of his seat, stroking the  
nape of his neck with her fingertips.  "Think we'll have a normal life  
someday?" 
 
A smile almost appeared.  "Us?  I have serious doubts." 
 
"Me, too.  The old Chinese curse, may you live in interesting times." 
 
"Yeah."  He glanced at her, almost smiled again.  "Well, I guess there are  
*some* tradeoffs." 
 
They stayed at the apartment that night, not Geoff's.  The movers were  
going to do their work tomorrow, they expected to stay in the new house  
tomorrow night.  
 
The thought of which made Morgan tired, just considering it.  She was  
going to take Merry in for the removal of the chip, while Mulder supervised  
the move. 
 
With Merry and Michael tucked into Merry's bed, listening to Mulder tell  
them another horrific Grimm's fairy tale, Morgan went wearily down the hall  
to the bedroom and crashed, face first, onto her bed.  Their bed. 
 
She dozed a little until Mulder's weight settled on the bed beside her.   
Turning her head, she surveyed him and finally smiled crookedly.  "Strange  
days, Mulder.  Kind of like old times for us." 
 
That made his mouth curve.  "Yeah, I suppose.  I still think some things are  
worth the trade-off." 
 
Pushing herself up on her elbows, Morgan studied his face.  "So you think  
this is worth it, eh?  I think you need a psychologist, Dr. Mulder." 
 
"I have one," he told her and rolled onto his side, leaning up on his elbow to  
kiss her.  "And I like her just fine, thanks." 
 
Morgan's eyes stung briefly.  Even when they were at odds--God, he tried  
so hard, and it was not his instinctive behavior, she knew that.  "I'm sorry,  
I'm a terrible shrew." 
 
Mulder's fingertips stroked her hair back from her forehead.  "You haven't  
been shrewish that I've noticed.  A little tense.  A little scared.  But pretty  
calm, all in all.  I was the one throwing up in the men's room." 
 
"Yeah, but that's where it hits you.  I had a migraine all afternoon."  Morgan  
smiled faintly and kissed his fingers when they touched her mouth.  "You're  
far sweeter to me than I deserve, Fox Mulder." 
 
His eyes darkened with emotion she couldn't define.  "Bullshit," he told her  
roughly and leaned forward again, kissing her hard.  When he drew back,  
he touched her cheek again.  "You're not as difficult as you seem to think,  
and I am.  I know I'm not easy to live with--" 
 
Morgan put her fingers across his lips.  "Shhh."  And smiled.  "Okay, so  
we're both a little difficult.  Maybe we're both luckier than we think we  
deserve to be." 
 
After a moment, Mulder nodded.  "Let's get some sleep, babe.  Long day  
tomorrow." 
 
Leaning toward him, Morgan kissed him back.  "Uh huh.  But this is normal  
stuff, we can do this." 
 
"Piece of cake," he murmured. 
_______________________________________________ 
 
Mulder woke early, but was content to lie there, listening to Merry and  
Michael in the next room.  It wasn't giggles, but it was a relief to hear two  
voices, even after recent events.  He'd been half afraid that Michael would  
retreat back into silence, but that worry had evidently been unfounded. 
 
Morgan slept on beside him, lying on her side facing him, her face turned  
into the pillow, her hair feathered over the visible side of her face.  Rolling to  
face her, Mulder gently brushed the strands away from her face and leaned  
down to brush her mouth with his own. 
 
Morgan stirred in her sleep and her eyelids flickered slightly.  Smiling,  
Mulder kissed her again, got a sleepy murmur and a warm arm around his  
neck.  "Morning," he whispered and settled in close. 
 
"Morning."  Morgan burrowed into his neck, nipped at his jaw.  "Are the kids  
still asleep?" 
 
"I heard them talking," Mulder told her and smiled senselessly at the wall.   
He ought to be terrified, given what had happened on Saturday night.   
Instead, he felt oddly serene.  
 
"Oh."  Morgan burrowed more, which was ineffective, but rather nice.   
Pulling her closer, Mulder slid his arm under the blankets and around  
Morgan's back. 
 
The bedroom door opened before anything more developed from this.   
Raising his head, Mulder looked past the curve of Morgan's hip and saw two  
small, very solemn faces. 
 
"Fox, I don't have to go to the doctor today."  Merry stepped forward and  
held out her hand. 
 
"Yes, you do," Morgan muttered and rolled onto her back to look at both of  
them.  "What--" 
 
Mulder frowned, seeing a very small, dark object on Merry's palm.  Abruptly,  
he lunged over Morgan and closed thumb and forefinger over it.  "Jesus  
Christ," he whispered and stared at what he held.  It was twin to what Scully  
had found in an exhumed body, back at the beginning of their partnership.   
The tracking device.  Bigger than a chip, smaller than a breadbox.  "What  
did you do, Merry?" 
 
Merry smiled uncertainly.  "Michael did it.  He's good at stuff like that, like  
the oatmeal." 
 
Michael nodded solemnly.  "Merry doesn't like needles," he told them,  
hugging his FBI bear very close.  "And neither do I." 
 
Mulder swallowed hard.  "Michael did it," he repeated, his voice faint.   
 
Morgan was beside him abruptly, staring at the device.  After a moment, she  
raked a hand through her hair and sighed.  "Too bad we didn't think about  
this yesterday," she murmured. 
 
Mulder's hand was trembling fractionally.  "Oh, yeah."  He felt manic  
laughter bubbling up and threw himself back on the bed, pulling a pillow  
over his head to muffle it. 
 
"Is Fox upset with me?"  Merry's voice trembled. 
 
Mulder rolled over on his stomach, stuffing his face into the pillow.  The  
small piece of metal was still between his thumb and forefinger.  He'd have  
to do something with it, destroy it or something.  Or it would still track them. 
 
"No, he's just startled."  Morgan patted his back, which steadied him  
somewhat. 
 
He'd been closer than he knew when he'd thought of Firestarter, he told  
himself silently.  Get it together, dammit, you're scaring them.  After a long  
moment, he gathered the scattered shreds of his serenity and sat up again.   
"I'm not upset," he assured the children.  "Just--surprised.  Like Morgan  
said." 
 
Michael looked more reassured than Merry.  Climbing onto the bed, he  
settled between Morgan and Mulder and gave them a questioning look.  "If  
you're really our mommy and daddy, we shouldn't call you Fox and Morgan." 
 
Mulder took in a shaky breath and grinned.  "What do you want to call us?" 
 
Michael considered that seriously.  "Mommy and Daddy." 
 
Mommy and Daddy.  Mulder looked at the two of them, then at Morgan.   
"Mommy and Daddy," he repeated. 
 
Morgan shrugged.  "Fine with me." 
 
Merry was frowning.  "Fox doesn't like it." 
 
"That's not true," Mulder said hastily, "I'm just not used to it." 
 
Michael looked even more relieved.  "Okay."   
 
He smiled diffidently at them, which made Mulder's throat tighten up.   
Glancing at Morgan, he sighed.  "We'd better cancel Merry's appointment.  I  
suppose Geoff is going to be irritated." 
 
"Geoff is going to be amazed," Morgan told him drily and rolled out of bed.   
She was, he realized, wearing another one of his shirts, the one with ET on  
the front of it.  "Why is it you're always wearing my shirts?" 
 
Morgan eyed him.  "You don't want me to?  I can stop." 
 
"No, it isn't that, I was just wondering if this is one of those woman things.  I  
never feel any urge to dive into your drawers and pull out something silky." 
 
Merry and Michael both regarded him thoughtfully, but Morgan grinned.  "It's  
a woman thing.  Besides, your shirts are just the right size to sleep in.   
Come on, G-man, let's get breakfast before the movers show up to pack our  
belongings." 
 
He supposed that was probably a good idea.  But as Morgan led the  
children down the hall, his eyes came back to what he held and his stomach  
knotted again.  Bad enough to find that he had been tracked, catalogued  
and ultimately violated.  Bad enough to find that Morgan had been.  He was  
goddamned well going to make sure it didn't happen to Merry or Michael,  
even it it killed him. 
 
On that grim thought, he got out of bed, grabbed some clean clothes, and  
headed for the shower. 
_______________________________________ 
 
Moving, Mulder reflected at seven that evening as he sat sprawled on his  
couch with a cold beer in his hand, was hell.  He darkly suspected that  
Morgan's expertise came of frequency and was trying to think of a  
diplomatic way of telling her that he never intended to move again when the  
doorbell rang. 
 
"I'll get it,"  Scully told him, passing through the hallway and eyeing him with  
no little malice.  "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself." 
 
Without moving much more than his wrist, Mulder flipped his middle finger  
up at her and grinned as he heard her laughing on her way to the door.   
 
A man's voice answered her.  Stirring himself, Mulder sat up as Skinner  
emerged from the entryway, carrying a package under one arm, and eyed  
him with some degree of amusement. 
 
Mulder offered him a crooked grin.  "Did you come to help, sir?" 
 
Skinner looked around the room, his mouth quirking.  "No, it looks pretty  
much under control.  I brought your 'wife'," and the intonation was ironic, "a  
housewarming gift." 
 
Sobering, Mulder eyed him, decided that irony wasn't necessarily mockery  
and rose.  "She's upstairs, come on, I'll give you the tour." 
 
Although, as he led the way upstairs, he heard Scully chuckle again and  
marveled at how very strange it was to be showing Skinner around his  
house. 
 
Or anyone else, for that matter.  Jesus, and he still had to call his mother. 
 
Morgan came out of Merry's room, nodding at Michael.  "Yes, you can sleep  
in Merry's room tonight.  Would you two rather share for a while, until you  
get used to the new house?  We can move Michael's bed in and his room  
can hold the toys for the time being." 
 
Michael beamed at her.   Merry's voice piped in from the bedroom.  "Uh  
huh." 
 
Morgan smiled, glanced up and stopped, still smiling.  "Walter, this is a  
surprise.  What brings you to Castle Chaos?" 
 
Skinner actually grinned.  "You're in better shape than I expected, Morgan.  I  
can tell who planned this move." 
 
Morgan laughed and Mulder rolled his eyes, bent down to scoop Michael up.   
"So, you want your bed in there, huh?  Good thing I haven't put it together,  
yet." 
 
Michael giggled.  Sighing, Mulder took him into the bedroom, eavesdropping  
shamelessly as Morgan accepted whatever it was that Skinner had in the  
box. 
 
Just an average housewarming present, from Morgan's pleased  
exclamation.  Skinner said something inaudible that made her laugh  
outright, by which he guessed it was at his expense. 
 
"Well, let's get started," he told Michael and handed him the package of  
nuts and bolts.   "Take that in Merry's room, okay?" 
 
Michael nodded and picked up the electric screwdriver.  "This, too?" 
 
"That, too," Mulder agreed and picked up the headboard and footboard.  He  
smiled sunnily at Morgan and Skinner as he came back out into the hallway.   
 
Skinner gave him a bland look in reply.  "Would you like some help,  
Mulder?" 
 
"I'd love some help," he told Skinner frankly.  "If I have to put one more piece  
of furniture together, I'm going to go stark raving mad and set fire to it." 
 
"You know what they say about pyromaniacs, Mulder," Skinner told him  
solemnly. 
 
It took him a half a moment to define that as a joke and grin at the AD.   
"Yeah, but I never wet the bed, sir." 
 
"What about small animals?"  Skinner arched an eyebrow. 
 
Mulder grinned again.  "I've always been very kind to small animals.  Ask  
Scully." 
 
"You let an alligator eat her dog," Morgan told him merrily and held up the  
gift.  "A key holder for the entryway, Mulder.  Walter seems to think that the  
two of us can't be trusted to keep track of our keys." 
 
He laughed.  Morgan was notorious for mislaying her keys.  "*I* never lose  
my keys." 
 
Another bland look from Skinner.  "Just cell phones and guns.  Unhappily, I  
wasn't able to find anything to help you organize that." 
 
Wincing, Mulder headed into Merry's bedroom, deciding that retreat was a  
good strategic option. 
 
 
With Skinner's assistance, the bed went together very quickly.  Downstairs  
again, Morgan offered a cold drink, and Skinner accepted a beer, went out  
onto the terrace with Mulder to drink it. 
 
"I had a visitor today," he told Mulder finally, after several moments of  
comfortable silence.  "I think you can guess who." 
 
Mulder's stomach went tight and he set his beer aside on the wall that went  
around the terrace.  "That black lunged son of a bitch." 
 
Skinner nodded and turned to sit on the wall, regarding him thoughtfully in  
the near dark.  "He suggested that I keep an eye on you.  That these were  
dangerous times."  The bottle glinted in the light from the diningroom as  
Skinner took another sip.  "And that you watch your step.  He indicated that  
there are those who wouldn't think twice about dealing more ruthlessly with  
you than he has." 
 
"He had my father killed," Mulder growled.  "How much more ruthless can it  
get?"  Merry's voice drifted down from the open window above and he  
shivered suddenly.  Stupid question, he knew that answer to that. 
 
"I wouldn't ordinarily advise this, Mulder, but maybe it would be a good idea  
to talk to the Illuminati.  For some reason, they've invested in your well being,  
yours and Morgan's and the kids'.  Just getting legal custody isn't going to  
be enough, not if they really want the kids dead.  Or their parents dead." 
 
Mulder looked away, into the shadows beneath the big tree in the back.  "I  
don't trust them." 
 
"Neither do I.  They did an outstanding job of manipulating you and  
Morgan."  Skinner's tone was dry.  "But you need a few more aces in your  
hand, Mulder.  And I think that the Illuminati might be able deal you out a  
few." 
 
After a moment of silence, Mulder nodded.  "Maybe you're right, sir.  I'll--I'll  
give it some thought and talk to Morgan about it tonight." 
 
Skinner sighed.  "It's nothing I really like, Mulder.  But it's the best of our  
choices." 
 
Our choices.  Mulder wondered when it had become Skinner's fight, but that  
was unfair.  Skinner had backed him all though this.  "Yeah," he finally  
sighed.  "Thanks." 
 
Skinner didn't answer, but Scully came out through the French doors.   
"Sorry to interrupt, but your car is behind mine, sir." 
 
"No problem, I need to get going."  Skinner nodded and gave him a final  
sober look.  "Take tomorrow off, Mulder." 
 
Startled, Mulder glanced at Scully and back at Skinner.  "You think I need  
to?" 
 
Skinner snorted.  "I think you'll end up in the hospital if you don't, and  
Morgan will be the one putting you there."  With that, he went through the  
French doors, leaving Scully to give Mulder an amused grimace before  
following. 
 
Sighing, Mulder picked up his beer bottle and went inside. 
_____________________________________________ 
 
"You wouldn't hurt me if I went to work tomorrow, would you?" Mulder  
asked, much later, spooned around Morgan in bed.. 
 
"Not a lot," she murmured drowsily.  "Just a little." 
 
Mulder smiled, then stroked her shoulder.  "Don't go to sleep, babe, we  
need to talk." 
 
Silence, then a yawn and Morgan rolled onto her back.  "If we were going to  
talk, you should have done that before getting physical." 
 
"I thought it was men who always rolled over and went to sleep." 
 
"I like to break new ground."  Her fingertip found his jaw and traced it.   
"What do we need to talk about?" 
 
"The Illuminati," he sighed and felt her go stiff against him.  "Skinner thinks  
we need to deal with them.  He had a visitor today, somebody involved with  
the Consortium." 
 
"Oh."  Gradually, Morgan relaxed.  "So?" 
 
"He more or less gave Skinner a warning."  Bending his head, Mulder  
kissed her lingeringly.  "I won't lose anyone else to those bastards, Morgan.   
And whatever their agenda, they can't be worse than the Consortium." 
 
"They could be just as bad," Morgan disagreed, but sighed.  "What choice  
do we have?  But I thought you were opposed to dealing with them." 
 
That was an awfully mild statement, considering he'd asked her if she was  
fucking crazy for doing the same thing.  He kissed her again, just for that,  
and touched her cheek, feather light.  "Yeah, well, you know the old saying  
about politics and bedfellows.  If they can give me some leverage, I'll deal  
with them gladly.  I want you all safe.  I want you all with me.  And I want that  
at the same time." 
 
She was silent for a moment, still stroking her fingertips along his jaw.  "Me,  
too." 
 
Mulder sighed.  "Let's make contact tomorrow, babe." 
 
"All right.  There's a number I can call.  I don't know how long it will take to  
set up a meeting."  Morgan turned her face into his neck, her breath warm  
on his skin.  "Tomorrow." 
 
"Tomorrow."  He stroked her hair and kissed her temple, letting the last of  
the day's tension seep away.  Whatever happened, it felt good to have made  
a decision, even if it was one that he might still reverse. 
_________________________________________ 
 
The moment the sun was up, Morgan's eyes opened suddenly, as if  
someone had called her name.  Sitting up, she listened, but heard no  
sound, felt no sense of alarm and smiled at the man beside her.  For once,  
Mulder slept on, lying on his side.  It would mortify him to know he was  
drooling in his sleep, she thought affectionately and touched his hair lightly  
before slipping from bed. 
 
She dressed, more or less, pulling on jeans and warm socks under Mulder's  
t-shirt, and pulling an oversized sweater on over the top.  Worn and faded  
high tops completed the ensemble and she walked quietly out of the  
bedroom to find that Michael and Merry were already dressed, albeit as  
haphazardly as she was, and sitting expectantly at the top of the stairs. 
 
"No wonder I woke up," she told them, smiling to take any sting out of it. 
 
"We were hungry," Michael told her seriously. 
 
"And we wanted to play outside."  Merry gave her a guileless smile. 
 
"Then it's a good thing you woke me," she told them both and took a small  
hand in each of hers. 
 
Twenty minutes and two bowls of dry cereal later, she brought her coffee  
out onto the terrace and sat back on the wrought iron chair, her feet up on  
the wall, watching the two children in the sandbox.  The sun slanted over the  
house and warmed the back yard, warmed her skin despite the faint chill of  
the September morning, and she let her eyes drift across the yard, to the  
flowering bushes against the back wall of the fence, to the lilac which stood  
in the corner.  It would bloom again in the spring, she thought and shivered  
with a kind of fugitive delight.   
 
Children's laughter drifted over to her and she missed Aarin with a sudden,  
fierce ache that took nothing away from her affection for the two in the  
sandbox.  Oh, she still missed him so badly, still felt so much rage over his  
death.  She wondered if it would ever go away. 
 
The sun made her feel lazy, like a cat in the sun.  Sadie meowed piteously  
at the French doors and Morgan got up to open it.  Instead of coming out,  
Sadie meowed again and backed away, the fur rising along the crest of her  
spine, her tail going bottle brush as she meowed, no longer piteously, but  
with the deep alarm of a frightened and angry cat. 
 
Spinning, Morgan saw nothing.  At first.  Then, as she stared at the big tree  
in the back, she saw a face emerge from the foliage.  A familiar face, with  
eyebrows that formed a single line over the nose. 
 
"No," she said reflexively and moved toward the terrace steps, thinking of  
the children. 
 
Coyote jumped from the lower branches of the tree and landed lightly on his  
feet, grinning.  "Hello, Star-Eyed.  You're looking very well these days." 
 
Merry looked up at him once, curiously, and went back to playing. 
 
Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Morgan's throat.  Merry heard him, saw  
him, but was uninterested in him.  God, she wished she knew whether or  
not that was reassuring.  "You're an illusion," she told him softly, almost  
inaudibly. 
 
Long springy steps brought him to the wall around the terrace.  "Am I?"  He  
patted his chest.  "I feel pretty solid for an illusion." 
 
"I don't believe in you," she told him, still faintly.   "I don't know what you are,  
but you aren't Coyote." 
 
Coyote tilted his head.  "Ah, but I like this shape, it pleases me.  The  
trickster God."  His mouth curved and she saw his canines, just a little  
longer than human teeth should be.  "And it amuses me.  But I'm not here to  
bring trouble, Star-Eyed, I'm here to bring you warning." 
 
Morgan's eyes moved back to the sandbox.  Michael was watching her, his  
expression interested.  Merry looked up, said something to Michael and  
shrugged.  Her coffee mug trembled in her hand and she set it down on the  
wall, put her hands in the sleeves of her sweater like a mandarin.  "What do  
you want?" 
 
Coyote's teeth showed again.  "To bring you warning, I just told you.   
Perhaps it isn't your eyes, but your ears that are troubling you, Star-Eyed.   
You're approaching a crux point.  All things are still in flux, but you're moving  
toward a point at which a decision must be made.  Are you human or not?" 
 
She took in a shaky breath.  "So far as I know, I'm very human.  Why does it  
concern you?" 
 
"You interest me, that's all."  He turned his head, gave a casual glance  
backward at the sandbox and the children.  "They interest me.  And you all  
amuse me, anyway, all you humans.  But you and your Mulder and these  
children more than most.  I should like to see you triumph over your  
enemies, Star-Eyed, but you must take care." 
 
"Thank you," she told him ironically.  "I'll bear that in mind.  Now get out, go  
away and leave me alone." 
 
He grinned and bowed, with equal irony, then took a few steps toward the  
gate.  Like any mortal being, he opened it and turned back to look at her.   
"Take very great care," he told her seriously and went through, closing it  
behind him. 
 
Morgan's fingernails had dug red crescents into her palms.  Sitting down  
suddenly, she realized that she was shaking and picked up the mug in both  
hands, holding it to her mouth, relishing the heat. 
 
"You know, I could get to like this homeowner stuff," Mulder's voice said  
from behind her. 
 
Morgan started and turned to see him standing barefoot at the French  
doors, with Sadie twining around his ankles, a cup of coffee in one hand,  
and a slightly stale Danish in the other.  Her fingers curved more tightly  
around her mug and she swallowed.  
 
Mulder padded out barefoot on the stone and smiled at the children before  
turning to sit crosslegged on the wall, squinting up at the sun.  "This is  
nice," he told her, "I think I could *really* get to like this." 
 
Sadie followed him, standing up on her hind legs and pawing delicately at  
Mulder's arm. 
 
"She wants your Danish," Morgan told him shakily. 
 
His eyes came back to her, narrowing slightly.  "What's wrong, babe?" 
 
She let out her breath and shook her head.   
 
Merry and Michael abandoned the sandbox in favor of their father, perching  
on either side of him. 
 
"Mommy's upset," Michael told him solemnly.  "The man who wasn't there  
scared her." 
 
Mulder eyed him, looked down at Merry before his eyes came back to  
Morgan.  "The man who wasn't there?" 
 
"Coyote," Morgan breathed and shivered again, despite the sun. 
 
Mulder's eyes went shadowed on her.  "Coyote." 
 
"He had funny ears," Merry offered helpfully.   
 
He looked down at her again.  "The man who wasn't there?" 
 
"Uh huh."  Merry nodded emphatically.  "And he talked to Morgan.  He  
wasn't a bad man, Fox, he was just--"  Her features screwed up in a  
thoughtful grimace as she considered it.  "He just wasn't there." 
 
Mulder looked back at Morgan, closed his eyes briefly.  "As I was going up  
the stair, I met a man who wasn't there, he wasn't there again today, I wish, I  
wish he'd go away," he quoted and gave her another quizzical look.  "So,  
what did Coyote have to tell you this time?" 
 
"Another warning," she told him, beginning to find composure again.  "I've  
about decided he's my equivalent of the Banshee.  When there's bad news,  
I see Coyote.  He said we're approaching a crux point."  She saw mild relief  
flicker behind Mulder's eyes and almost smiled.  He never had believed in  
Coyote, but he could adjust to personal totems.  That suddenly struck her  
as hilarious and she did grin, then. 
 
"Well, that stands to reason," he told her mildly and sipped at his coffee.   
"We made a decision last night.  He's just warning you to be careful what  
terms we accept." 
 
"Evidently."  But she felt better.  At least, she thought she did.  
 
Mulder arched an eyebrow and took another bite from the Danish. 
 
"You know, if you'd like something that isn't stale, I can fix you some  
breakfast," she told him, amused. 
 
"I'm perfectly capable of cooking," he told her and grinned.  "I don't ever  
want you to think I'm taking advantage of you, Harriet." 
 
"Don't push your luck, Ozzie," she retorted, "I haven't had breakfast either.   
I'm not naturally as early a riser as you, but the kids decided that you  
needed to sleep later." 
 
Merry looked abashed at that.  "Well, Michael thought Fox might be mad if  
we woke him up.  You don't get mad when we wake you." 
 
Morgan grinned and got out of the chair.  "Come on, G-man, after all that  
caloric expenditure yesterday, you need to be fed up again." 
 
"I'm perfectly happy to be fed up," he grinned back and got off the wall,  
pausing to help the children back down.  "Go back and play, your mother  
and I are going to have some private, adult conversation." 
 
Merry scowled, but Michael only nodded and tugged her back down the  
terrace steps. 
 
"We are?"  Morgan led the way back into the house. 
 
"We are.  I have no idea about what, but I was in the mood to be selfish."   
Mulder offered her a crooked grin.  "Kids are like cats, if there's more than  
one, they can amuse each other." 
 
Chuckling, Morgan headed into the kitchen. 
___________________________________________ 
 
Morgan called and left a message on the answering machine.  The idea of  
the Illuminati using either voice mail or an answering machine struck Mulder  
as bizarrely funny, but he wasn't laughing when they got the call back. 
 
Scully wearily agreed to take the kids in hand while he and Morgan met with  
them.  Apologetic, he dropped them off at her apartment, carried up a  
sport's bag with an extra change of clothes and a variety of books and  
playthings. 
 
"Thanks, Scully."  
 
Scully managed a smile for him.  "Think nothing of it, Mulder.  I plan to get  
even someday, somehow." 
 
Mulder's stomach knotted.  Suddenly, he moved forward, pulled her into a  
hard hug.  "Damned straight," he muttered.  "Favor points, right?" 
 
Her muscles relaxed and she laughed into his shoulder.  "Mulder, you're  
squashing my ribs.  Count on it, partner, favor points." 
 
When he pulled back, her smile was genuine, one of her really, truly Scully  
smiles.  "I'll take them out to meet my mother.  She'll be astounded you  
reproduced." 
 
Mulder snorted.  "Just don't explain how.  Tell her I was a cad and bounder  
and abandoned Morgan when she was pregnant, then grew up and  
shouldered my responsibilities." 
 
Scully's laughter followed him out to the car, where Morgan waited, her  
nerves drawn tight enough to snap. 
 
"You know," he told her, his tone conversation as he pulled away from the  
curb, "It's kind of interesting being an X file." 
 
If looks could have killed, he'd have been dead in the driver's seat, he  
reckoned, when Morgan turned her head to stare at him. 
 
"No, really, it is.  Although, I gotta tell you, babe, the telekinetic nose picking  
must have come from your side of the family.  Members of my family have  
always picked their nose the traditional way." 
 
Morgan's eyes widened.  "That is the most disgusting thing you've ever told  
me about your family," she told him, and her mouth twitched. 
 
Mulder grinned.  "Now Merry's dreams--we do have a bad streak of  
voyeurism, I'm afraid." 
 
"Which explains your interest in videos," Morgan retorted. 
 
"Hey, it was an outlet."  Laughing, he braked at a red light.  "I haven't so  
much as considered watching a video since you moved in.  I don't have the  
strength." 
 
"Are you accusing me of being insatiable?" 
 
"Would I do that and ruin my love life?"  Reaching out, Mulder took her  
hand, relieved to see her relaxed again.  "We're holding our own set of  
cards, babe.  Don't let them buffalo you." 
 
After a moment, her fingers laced with his.  "Yeah," she agreed, sounding a  
little surprised, "I suppose we are." 
 
He only wished it was a good enough hand to bet against the Consortium  
without contacting the Illuminati.  On the other hand, there was the old  
saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.  At least while the shooting  
lasted. 
 
He hoped that was true enough to buy them safety. 
___________________________________________ 
 
The house was a restored mansion out in the countryside.  It bore no  
resemblance whatsoever to Averill Preston's estate, but it made Mulder  
nervous nonetheless. 
 
Morgan froze when the front door opened.  "Fox," she said, her tone  
composed despite this, "This is Mr. Jones.  He brought me the files." 
 
Jones smiled faintly and Mulder noticed that his eyes were different colors.   
"Mr. Mulder," Jones said and ushered them in, closing the door behind  
them.  "Right this way, please.  Mr. Smith is looking forward to meeting you. 
 
Smith and Jones.  Cute.  Mulder cut a look sideways at Morgan and saw her  
face.  Reaching out, he took her hand again, squeezed it lightly and got a  
half-smile. 
 
Smith was sitting behind a desk in a typically patrician library.  When he  
greeted them, his accent, like Jones', was faintly British. 
 
International conspiracies.  And counterconspiracies.  Sighing inwardly,  
Mulder accepted the proferred chair and kept hold of Morgan's hand.  It was  
trembling slightly. 
 
It always surprised him that someone as essentially tough as Morgan was  
still so fragile, so easily frightened.  And, unfortunately, it made him  
snappish to see her frightened.  "You seem to have taken an interest in us,"  
he told Smith brusquely.  "How far does that interest extend?" 
 
Smith blinked at him in surprise.  "Would you like some coffee or tea?  I'm  
afraid old habits die hard, I usually have tea at this time of day." 
 
"I'll just go and check on it," Jones murmured and moved toward the door.   
It opened again and a woman pushed in a tea cart, her bearing quite at odds  
with the appearance of service.   
 
Morgan let out a shaky breath and Mulder glanced at her.  "Anabel Fourier,"  
she murmured. 
 
Behind the desk, Smith nodded.  "Yes, I'd forgotten that you and Anabel had  
met in New York.  Anabel, you needn't have bothered--" 
 
"Don't be silly," Anabel Fourier's smile was brilliant.  "I do insist.  It simplifies  
things."   
 
Jones took the cart.  "I'll do the honors if no one minds," he murmured and  
arched an eyebrow.  "How do you like your tea, Mr. Mulder?" 
 
"Just tea," Mulder told him, reckoning that it would be easier to detect the  
taste of anything else. 
 
Morgan nodded agreement.  Her palm was damp against his. 
 
Anabel paused in front of him and held out her hand.  "Mr. Mulder, it is a  
pleasure to meet you." 
 
He didn't reply, but took the offered hand.  It was hard to be discourteous to  
someone with a smile like that.  She must have knocked them dead when  
she was younger, and he rather suspected she still could, white hair not  
withstanding.   
 
"Cherie," Anabel touched Morgan's cheek and Mulder went taut, watching  
this, finally identifying the elusive trace of accent as French.  "You are very  
brave, it is beyond good to see you looking well." 
 
Morgan flushed and glanced at him, a bright spot of color staying along the  
line of the cheekbone he could see. 
 
"Sandwiches?"  Jones held out a cup and saucer, his mouth curving  
sardonically. 
 
"No, thank you," Mulder told him flatly.  "This isn't a social visit." 
 
"True," Smith agreed, "But I prefer to observe the amenities nonetheless.  It  
makes things more comfortable, don't you agree?" 
 
"Don't be sententious, Thomas," Anabel chided and accepted a cup.  "Or  
pretentious, it isn't becoming." 
 
Smith chuckled.  "Sorry, Anabel."  He glanced at Mulder, his expression  
rueful, as if they were co-conspirators. 
 
Oh, these people were good, really good.  Mulder sat back, almost amused.   
And wary beyond simple wariness.   
 
Smith accepted his tea and took a sip, studying Mulder, assessing his  
adversary. 
 
Mulder smiled back, recognizing that assessment.  "I'm not as easy to  
frighten as my wife," he told him, his tone edged. 
 
Morgan gave him a startled look that darkened with annoyance.  He was  
sure to catch hell for it later, but she kept her silence. 
 
Sitting to one side of the desk, Jones seemed almost amused.  "I don't think  
anyone actually intended to frighten her, Mr. Mulder." 
 
"That's nice to know."  Mulder smiled icily.  "I take exception to having her  
frightened." 
 
Smith eyed him.  "Let me do you the courtesy of being frank, Mr. Mulder." 
 
"I would appreciate that," Mulder agreed ironically.  "It saves so much time." 
 
Smith and Jones exchanged a look before Smith pushed his cup and  
saucer aside and leaned forward.  "We take a great deal of interest in you  
and your children.  Is that what you needed to know?" 
 
The hair on the back of Mulder's neck rose.  "What kind of interest?" 
 
"Interest in your well being."  Smith folded his hands together and regarded  
them thoughtfully.  "How much do you know about us?" 
 
"Very little, except that you and Assistant Director Skinner had some  
dealings last year." 
 
"Yes, while you and Dr. Grayson went underground.  I suspect our  
organization has been around at least as long as our counterparts, and  
possibly longer.   Even I am not totally certain how far back our activities  
extend." 
 
Quirking an eyebrow at him, Mulder smiled.  "The gnomes of Zurich?" 
 
Smith chuckled.  "Well, perhaps, although I doubt it was that simplistic.   
However, my understanding is that only in last century have we been, ah,  
dedicated to maintaining--"  He coughed, looked mildly embarrassed and  
tilted his head back to regarc the ceiling.  "Terran sovereignty." 
 
Mulder blinked at him.  Well, that was a bald way of putting it, he reckoned  
and had to struggle not to grin.  And people thought *he* sounded nuts.   
"The last century.  Forgive me, but," it was impossible to keep from smiling,  
even though the intensity of his belief was real, "I was under the impression  
that the current, ah, conspiracy only began after Roswell." 
 
"Nonsense.  That's a popular misconception.  Certainly, certain things were  
formalized after Roswell."  Smith stopped regarding the ceiling with  
fascination and gave him an interested look.  "But there have always been  
those willing to deal, Mr. Mulder, especially if it brought them power." 
 
The prospect of answers suddenly Mulder's hands sweat.  He had to force  
himself back to the issue at hand.  The lives of his children.  "That's very  
interesting.  But let's cut to the chase.  We had an interesting experience  
the other night, and I want to know what the Illuminati can do to protect us." 
 
Smith's eyes widened.  "Interesting in what way." 
 
Mulder told him.  Morgan went very pale as he repeated Merry's declaration.   
Smith looked interested at that, exchanging another look with Jones. 
 
Anabel, on her part, leaned forward, her expression intense.  "That is  
exactly what the little girl said?" 
 
Morgan nodded.  "She was very sure." 
 
"Ah."  Anabel's expression shifted to pleased surprise.  "How remarkable." 
 
It sparked temper in Mulder.  "Remarkable is all well and good, but it's not  
enough.  We've been tracked like goddamned lab animals, we've been  
goddamned well raped, used to produce children they decided to shoot like  
rabid animals because they didn't like what they got.  I want to know what, if  
anything, you can do to help us.  And what the cost is." 
 
Morgan squeezed his hand.  "It's all right," she murmured. 
 
"No, it goddamn well is not all right," Mulder snapped.  "These people  
haven't done a whole lot but manipulate both of us, Morgan.  Leaving Merry  
in my trunk with a bundle of papers that told half the fucking truth.  Giving  
you the other half.  We're not yours, either, Smith, we belong to ourselves.   
but I'm willing to deal with you to keep my family safe and well, if--and in my  
mind that's a pretty big if--there's anything at all you people *can* do.  If  
you're so intererested in my family, why the hell didn't you do something  
about my sister's abduction?  She's sterile, they harvested her ova, didn't  
they?  They stole her ability have children just the way they stole our  
children from us.  Just the way they fucking stole Aarin and killed him!"  He  
stopped abruptly, furious with himself for saying too much, furious for  
opening wounds that had just begun to heal.  It was hard to look at Morgan  
and see the tears on her face.  He tightened his fingers around hers and  
swallowed hard. 
 
The silence that followed was very long, very taut. 
 
Jones finally cleared his throat.  "I wish we would have had the resources to  
recover the little boy.  And, to be frank, our interest in you yourself, Mr.  
Mulder, did not begin until we detected that you were, in fact, not their pawn.   
At the time, we were not inclined to act to protect the child of a man who had  
been deep in their policies.  Inhumane, perhaps, but it would have exposed  
us at a time when our resources were vastly less than they are today." 
 
"In other words, the council decided that the life of one little girl was not  
worth the risk.  Particularly since it appeared that she would not be killed,  
but only utilized."  Anabel's tone was dry enough to make Mulder  
understand that she disagreed with that particular decision.   "There was  
some care taken that her foster family was a good one, and then she was  
left to live her life as it unfolded."  Her dark eyes came to meet Mulder's.  "It  
wasn't until much later that we realized the level at which you were affected.   
And since that effect was deemed to be positive, largely, nothing more was  
done." 
 
Mulder blinked rapidly.  There was a tightness in his chest.  "I looked for her  
for twenty-five years," he told Anabel softly.  "For twenty-five fucking years." 
 
"Yes," Anabel agreed, "And for the last decade, your search has uncovered  
a great many things, even though they have ensured that you have little hard  
evidence.  And you have influenced many people.  They might not entirely  
believe in your extraterrestrials, Mr. Mulder, but they have been made aware  
of the shadows behind the public face of power." 
 
"This is all very interesting," Morgan murmured and withdrew her hand from  
his.  "But as Mulder asked you, what can you do?  If it's all smoke and  
mirrors, just tell us, don't give me any bullshit, my children's lives are on the  
line."  Her chin came up. 
 
Mulder's throat was tight.  Yeah, just when he thought she was fragile, he  
saw the steel underneath that fragility.  He was ranting and raving and  
losing his cool, and Morgan's voice was flat, uninflected, despite the tears  
on her face. 
 
Smith assessed her.  "There are things we can do to protect your children,  
but it will take some time.  What can you offer in return--" 
 
"Why, her good wishes and gratitude," Anabel said lightly, but when Mulder  
looked that way, her expression was as steely as Morgan's.  "Surely, Arthur,  
that is enough, compared to the lives of two small innocents." 
 
Smith's expression was hilariously taken aback.  Mulder coughed to cover  
the urge to laugh.  "What do you want?" he managed, keeping his tone  
level. 
 
"They want me," Morgan answered, before Smith could lean forward again.   
"But they can't have me.  What I will do is let them test me the way the  
others tested me when I was small.  I can do more now.  And I'm not that  
scared little girl." 
 
Mulder stared at her, through the sudden blurring of his vision.  God, she  
amazed him sometimes.  And he refused to give her up, to let them steal the  
one joy he'd found.  Or to give up their children.  "If that's what she wants to  
offer you," he said huskily, not looking at Smith, "That's up to her.  But if you  
cross over that line, believe me, I will make it my mission in life to make sure  
that you and the Consortium come to open warfare.  If they're busy with you,  
they might be too busy to bother with me and my family." 
 
There was another taut silence.  Morgan turned her head and he blinked  
hard again, her heart was in her eyes.  Her hand reached out; he reached  
back and took it, then turned back to Smith, his expression composed. 
 
Jones began to laugh outright.  Smith gave him a swift furious look that  
melted to a rueful expression.  "Very well," he told them.  "I accept those  
terms.  We'll contact you in a few days to let you know exactly what  
arrangements have been made.  In the meantime, be very careful.  There is  
dissent in the Consortium, and I can't possibly predict what they might do." 
 
Anabel rose.  "Come, let me walk you out."  She offered Smith a brilliant  
smile and laughed softly once they had left the study.  "Ah, cherie," she told  
Morgan, "I do see why the two of you are such a delightful fit.  I have often  
been surprised by what human beings will do, but seldom so delightfully." 
 
Mulder could feel Morgan trembling.  "I'm glad we were able to provide some  
amusement," he told Anabel drily. 
 
Anabel laughed again.  "Not amusement, Mr. Mulder.  Genuine pleasure.   
Far rarer and harder to come by."   
 
She really was a beautiful woman, Mulder thought, unable to prevent himself  
from smiling.  Morgan's facial structure had a little of that same austerity, it  
softened into beauty, at least for him, when she smiled.   
 
At the door, Anabel took Morgan's face between her hands.  "If you need  
anything," she told Morgan softly, "You will call the number you have been  
given and ask to speak with me.  I shall call you as soon as I receive the  
message." 
 
Morgan flushed.  "Thank you," she whispered and received a kiss on both  
cheeks. 
 
Anabel turned to him; she was nearly as tall as his sister and he took a  
startled half-step backwards as he received the same treatment.  "Be true to  
yourselves and each other, children.  It is the finest part of our humanity,  
and a tragedy to lose."  
 
Blinking, Mulder nodded and took Morgan's arm, led her the hell out of that  
house and got her into the car. 
 
He didn't waste time in conversation, but two miles down the road, it  
seemed necessary to pull off, to take her in his arms and hold her as the  
trembling became convulsive.  "We're all right, babe.  You were  
sensational." 
 
Her arms went around his neck and she laughed shakily.  "So were you, G- 
man.  Boy, I'm glad you never get that mad at me." 
 
Pressing his mouth against her hair, he shook his head.  "I blew it." 
 
"Uh uh."  She leaned back and kissed his mouth.  "You were terrific."   
Giving him that go-to-hell grin through her tears, she laughed again.  "I  
pretended I was you." 
 
It cracked him up.  Gathering her up again, he kissed her hard, still  
laughing.   Finally let her go to snap the seat belt around her, still laughing  
hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. 
 
"I'm not six, you twit," she told him, waving his hands away, laughing  
hysterically. 
 
"No, but it's just about the only goddamn thing I can do to protect you," he  
told her and wiped his eyes.  "You don't need me to protect you any other  
way." 
 
"Yes, I do," she told him and kissed him.  "I need you to protect my heart." 
 
"Awash in sentimentality," he snickered and held her face between both  
hands.  "Scully's going to go into a diabetic coma when we get back." 
 
Giggles answered that.  Reaction for both of them, he knew that, but his gut  
no longer felt like a stone.  "Let's go and get the kids," he told her and put  
his own seatbelt on.  "I feel a Disney overdose coming on." 
 
Little riffs of laughter kept escaping Morgan, until finally, as they pulled up in  
front of Scully's, they had died to an occasional sigh. 
 
He grinned at her and she held her two fingers up in a cross.  "Don't," she  
told him severely, "Don't get me started again." 
 
"The Sound of Music," he intoned, snickering when she put her hands over  
her ears.  "Mary Poppins." 
 
Morgan escaped from the car.  "No, no, get back!" 
 
She was still laughing as Scully's car pulled up partway down the block and  
disgorged two excited children, surprising them both. 
 
They ran to Morgan first, each talking ninety miles an hour. 
 
Scully got out of the driver's side and closed the door, laughing at Mulder's  
expression. 
 
Mulder eyed her askance.  "Scully, did you let them have chocolate?" 
 
"Not my fault," Scully grinned and came around to the sidewalk.  "Come on  
in, I made Irish stew, I figured a strenuous day meeting secretively with  
counterconspirators would take it out of both of you and Morgan shouldn't  
have to figure dinner out." 
 
"I cook," Mulder protested. 
 
"Take-out," she retorted. 
 
Disengaging from Morgan, Merry ran to him.  "Daddy, Aunt Dana's mommy  
is really nice.  She told us to call her Maggie." 
 
"She tried to adopt them," Scully told him out of the corner of her mouth.   
"She's sure you aren't feeding them right, you can't even take care of fish.  I  
did tell her that Morgan made up for that.  And that aside from a predilection  
for telling them Grimm fairy tales, you really were a decent father." 
 
Wounded, he tipped her a look.  "Only decent." 
 
"Well, better than decent, but don't let it go to your head." 
 
From the corner of his eye, Mulder saw a car turn the corner and slow.  "I'll  
try not to," he told Scully and grinned.  "They'll keep me humble, believe  
me." 
 
Still slow, the car moved past them.  Mulder turned to look at it, reached  
under his jacket for his gun, already raising his other hand to shove Scully  
toward Morgan and the kids. 
 
The entire universe slowed, time crawled to a stop--the muzzle of a gun  
glinted in the streetlights as it leveled, the shadows behind the half-open car  
window too deep for him to see a face 
 
He pushed hard at Scully, pushing them all to the ground even as  
something powerful shoved him back against them, something powerful and  
hot and, oh, god, he was falling backward, hearing the kids shriek in terror,  
hearing Scully and Morgan shouting....   
 
Cold, he was so cold, and it was still summer practically, the concrete warm  
beneath hands already chilled, beneath his back, still holding the heat of the  
day in stone.... 
 
A concussion nearby made him cry out--god, he hurt, he hurt everywhere  
and nowhere, something warm pooling on his belly, warmer than the  
sidewalk beneath him, something that eased the chill that made him hurt,  
that iced him down to the marrow. 
 
Scully was swearing, a steady litany of words he hadn't ever heard her use.   
The pain was diffuse, yet when she touched him, he cried out weakly,  
blinked through lashes, eyelids almost too heavy to raise.  Heat washed his  
skin, a flickering brightness that made him cry out again, flames, too near,  
too damned near....he didn't believe in hell, this wasn't hell.... 
 
Morgan was standing above him, staring away, her face grim, haggard,  
then, with dizzying swiftness, she was bent over him, the pain where she  
placed her hands like the initial fiery agony that had knocked him down.  It  
drove him away, out of his body--he seemed to be seeing things from a  
distance, hearing Scully swear, seeing his partner fumble for her cell phone,  
hands shaking almost too badly to dial. 
 
Morgan's hands were on his chest, her face a mask.  Merry, tears drying on  
her face, watched this with fearful interest, then knelt, Herbie discarded, to  
lay a hand over both of Morgan's.  Michael was crying hysterically, but  
Merry's other hand tugged at his. 
 
Mulder could see, as if from a distance, the way the blood pulsed out  
between Morgan's fingers, despite the pressure of her hands.  Pulsing,  
pulsing....he hadn't really known he'd had that much blood in him. 
 
"Oh, fuck!"  Scully's voice near tears, full of rage.  "Oh, Mulder, damn you,  
don't you dare die on me, I swear, I'll haunt you after you're dead." 
 
Mulder wished he could comfort her, but the body lying on the sidewalk  
didn't look too good.  They had meant for someone to die--the heat that  
lapped at his flesh, even here in this distant disconnected state, might mean  
that they had gotten rather more than they'd bargained for.   
 
"He's not going to die," Morgan told her, her voice high and thin.  "I won't let  
him." 
 
A wave of affection weakened him, drawing him back to the cruelty of his  
flesh.  Lungs struggled for air, he dimly tasted copper on his tongue, felt his  
mouth sticky with it and tried to peer through his lashes again, seeing  
Morgan's face, shockingly white in the darkness that haloed him, drawn in  
stark and haggard lines by the uncompromising light of fire. 
 
He could see what she would look like when she was old, the strong lines of  
cheekbone and brow and jaw drawn thin--pain swallowed him up then,  
taking him down into its belly where he could only scream silently,  
senselessly..... 
__________________________________________



 
"I won't let him," Morgan repeated and Scully leaned over her. 
 
"Let me, Morgan."  She drew physician's robes around herself to keep from  
losing her mind.  She'd been frightened for him before, many times before,  
but never this frightened, never had to watch this much of his blood spill out,  
too fast, too much...."Morgan, dammit, I'm a doctor." 
 
Morgan's wrists were locked, immovable.  Merry gave Scully one of those  
eerie young-old looks and said, "She's going after him, Aunt Dana, don't  
make her stop."  Michael had stopped sobbing, but his gaze was distant, as  
eerie as Merry's. 
 
Wild, lunatic hope flared briefly before reason tamped it out.  "I don't even  
have a goddamn first aid kit in my car," she cried out, losing control briefly.   
In the distance, sirens sang, a city song--she hoped to God they were  
coming here. 
 
The heat of the burning car in the street was enough to blister paint; her  
face was hot with it, she was sweating.  She refused to think about it, laid  
hands on Morgan's wrists again.  "Morgan, let me see, I'm a doctor." 
 
Not even a look--Morgan's eyes rolled up in her head abruptly, but she was  
immovable, the obstacle to Scully's force.   
 
What Scully had seen, she didn't really want to see again, the bloody tracery  
of wounds that traversed Mulder's body, from his shoulder to his belt line-- 
she didn't want to hear the sharp rattle in her ears again, she didn't want to  
think about what had caused that.   
 
But she had to--taking hold of Morgan's wrists again, her own hands and  
Morgan's wet and slippery with Mulder's blood, she yanked hard, knocking  
her away, pulled aside the remains of Mulder's shirt--thinking crazily, well at  
least that tie is done for--and stared unblinking into madness.  There was  
one fist sized and ragged hole near his shoulder and something that looked  
shockingly like a half-healed wound near his belt, down low on his right side.   
No longer bleeding.  Pink dimpled scar tissue in a diagonal across his chest  
and belly.   
 
And that was all--she was going to throw her head back and start howling at  
the moon at any moment, no way had that one hole in his shoulder bled  
enough to stain her clothes, her hands, her knees--Morgan was red to the  
wrists, as if she'd washed her hands in Mulder's blood.  "Oh, God."  It was a  
prayer, not a curse, an invocation rather than blasphemy. 
 
And Mulder was breathing.  Cold with shock--well, Scully couldn't think  
clearly enough to estimate the amount of blood he'd lost, but it was a lot.   
Not the scientific accuracy she would have liked, but right now, it was  
enough.  The light fell on his skin and the sight threatened to unmoor her  
sanity. 
 
"Is he alive?" Morgan asked rustily and put both her bloody hands over her  
mouth, tears streaming down. 
 
Scully looked at her, dizzy, nearly faint--"He's alive."  Her voice was a rag of  
a thing, hoarse, as if she'd screamed--but she hadn't.  "But he's lost a lot of  
blood, Morgan, he's still--not out of the woods."  She found the pulse at his  
throat; looking at Morgan, she stared.  Stronger and steadier than she had  
any right to expect.  Oh, God, what was this?  All this time, she'd managed  
to evade thinking about Morgan and Morgan's--ah, abilities. 
 
Merry knelt near Mulder's head, her small hand also red.  "Poor Fox," she  
mourned and petted his hair.  "We can make it better."  Two small hands  
rested on Mulder's forehead--Morgan reached out to lay a hand on Merry's  
shoulders for a moment, reached past her to take Michael's small hand. 
 
The sirens were louder; looking up, she saw a patrol car take the corner  
crazily and come to a full stop near the car, burning down now.  The two  
cops who got out were young, both regarding the sight with amazed alarm. 
 
"Here," Scully called sharply.  "Special Agent Scully, FBI, my partner's been  
shot." 
 
That got them moving toward her, a flurry of questions she could barely  
attend until the ambulance arrived, until she saw Mulder safely into it, IV line  
hooked up. 
_____________________________________________ 
 
Sitting in a hospital waiting room again.  Looking at Merry and Michael,  
curled up on the uncomfortable chairs with Herbie and the FBI bear, Morgan  
felt the muscles in her jaw tighten. 
 
She'd used a lot of strength on keeping Mulder alive, but some of it had  
come from Merry and Michael.  At six, untrained and undisciplined, they  
were both far stronger than Morgan had ever guessed.  Dared guess.   
 
No wonder They wanted the two children either under their control or dead.   
No wonder They had taken reckless action to put an end to what must be  
viewed as an unholy grouping--Morgan, Merry, Michael, and Fox.  Knowing  
it didn't frighten her, now--but it bred the kind of chilling anger she had felt  
facing Preston. 
 
Fox Mulder had no access to that power, but it lay in his blood and bone just  
the same, breeding true in his genetic daughter.  
 
Turning from that thought, Morgan rested her head on her hands and  
allowed herself the smallest warmth of joy and relief--she could do more  
than chase monsters, she could do more than summon fire or kill with her  
gifts.  And with the natural imagination of children, the lack of disbelief,  
Merry and Michael had helped her, channeling their own power without fuss  
or fear. 
 
They deserved that, deserved the chance to keep that fearlessness, not to  
learn to fear themselves as freaks, or be broken as tools to the Consortium.   
 
Scully came in, stood at the door for a long moment.  "He's going to be all  
right."  Soft voice, iron beneath the velvet.  "He's doing pretty well, all things  
considered." 
 
Morgan lifted her head to regard her.  "I'm sorry," she said obliquely, "But I  
had no choice.  We would all have been dead." 
 
Scully frowned.  "What happened out there, Morgan?  Don't misunderstand- 
-but Mulder should be dead.  Or pretty damned close." 
 
Tears stung suddenly, blinding her.   "I, ah--I can't explain it exactly.  I went  
after him--but I had to do something about the flesh or he couldn't have  
come back." 
 
Merry stirred awake, giving Scully a wary look.  "Is Fox okay?  Is he awake?" 
 
"Yes."  Scully came and sat down beside her.  "I think you all can go in and  
see him in just a little while.  He was worried about you." 
 
Meredith fidgeted with Herbie, giving Morgan a sidelong look until Morgan  
nodded.  "Okay." 
 
"You have to have someplace safe to stay."  Scully's voice thinned suddenly,  
weariness and worry combined .  "I've called Skinner, he's making some  
arrangements." 
 
Morgan nodded.  "He's really all right?" 
 
"He's really all right."  Scully's mouth quirked.  "Considering he's been shot-- 
he should have been dead, Morgan." 
 
Morgan nodded again, feeling blank.  What did Scully want to hear?  "I'm  
sorry about the car," she muttered and put her hands over her face again.   
"About the men inside.  It just--I didn't know how else to stop it, Dana." 
 
A strong hand closed over her wrist gently, careful of the bruises there.  "I  
know."  Scully's voice was soft again, but the iron was gone.  "I know,  
Morgan." 
 
They sat there like that until the nurse came to take them to Mulder. 
___________________________________________ 
 
Getting shot hurt like nothing else.   In comparison to Raleigh, this wasn't  
bad--in comparison to Scully's shooting him, it was terrible.  But Mulder  
dimly thought he felt better than he had the last time.   
 
Opening his eyes, he blinked groggily at a blur of images, red hair, dark  
hair--they resolved into Morgan and Scully, with the kids standing in front of  
Morgan.  "Hi."  Hoarse voice, his throat felt sandpapered.  Damned drugs  
always dried him out. 
 
He thought Morgan's mouth trembled.  "Hi." 
 
Scully's eyes didn't smile, even when her mouth did.  "Hi, yourself." 
 
Mulder drifted again, wrapped in cotton wool, mouth full of it--"Gotta get  
them someplace safe," he told Scully, rousing suddenly from an image of  
fire.  "I don't think they want the three of them together, Scully." 
 
"Or maybe the four of you," Scully murmured.  "Don't worry, I'm on it,  
Mulder." 
 
She would be.  He could trust in that.  It let him drift again for a moment.  "I  
got the numbers on the plate, Scully."  Burned into his memory.  He didn't  
think he'd ever forget them. 
 
"Don't need it."  Scully's voice seemed to tauten subtly.  He forced his eyes  
open again to see why.  "The men inside are dead, Mulder.  Ah, we've got  
'em." 
 
Morgan looked at her and bent over the bed.  "Don't worry," she told him  
softly, urgency beneath the quiet tone.  "We're going to be fine, Fox.  You  
just worry about getting well again."  Her mouth brushed his cheek and he  
turned his face toward it, distantly aware of something not quite right. 
 
"Love you," he muttered, and drifted again, that far out that he didn't know  
when they left him again, sinking back into restless sleep, pursued by Men  
in Black. 
_______________________________________ 
 
"Where is she?"  Walter Skinner was not a happy man. 
 
Scully swallowed hard at the rage in his eyes.  "She's gone, sir--I swear, I  
don't know how, I took the kids to the restroom and when I came back...."   
Her voice trailed off helplessly.   
 
Skinner looked at the two children, sitting so still behind Scully; his  
expression--well, not softened, but eased slightly.  "Are they all right?  And  
Morgan?" 
 
Unaccountably relieved by that, Scully nodded.  "A couple of bruises,  
Mulder threw us all into a heap."  Her throat tightened suddenly, emotion  
rising from nowhere.  "Sir, something--something happened.  Mulder should  
have been dead, I saw how many times he was hit." 
 
Skinner closed his eyes and his jaw tightened.  "Agent Scully, I've been in  
firefights, confusion is the least of it.  Yours is understandable."   He opened  
his eyes again, his gaze bleak. 
 
He didn't want to hear her, Scully thought and sank back into the chair.  "Sir,  
the kids, at least, need to be somewhere safe.  I thought--if there was a safe  
house that was trustworthy...." 
 
Skinner's eyes were on the children.  Mulder's children, however sired.   
Morgan's children, however begotten.  Tools for someone's hands, if she  
and Skinner allowed it.   
 
"I'll take them," he finally muttered.  "Leave a couple of people with them,  
make sure they're okay.  And we'll find that damned woman before she gets  
herself killed." 
 
Opening her mouth to tell him that depended on whether or not Morgan  
wished to be found, Scully thought better of it and closed it again.  "We'll do  
our best," she told him colorlessly.  "Where are you going to take them?" 
 
That earned her another bleak look.  "They're Mulder's, aren't they?  A part  
of our responsibility.  I'll take them to my place." 
 
Scully nodded, too tired to argue or question.  "Merry," she turned to the  
child.  "Michael, this is Mr. Skinner.  He's going to take care of you both until  
Morgan comes back." 
 
Merry's lower lip lengthened.  In that moment, she looked uncannily like  
Mulder and Scully looked up to find Skinner with an almost fascinated look  
on his face.  "I don' wanna." 
 
Michael merely looked desperately unhappy, and his resemblance to his  
father was so much greater that Scully had to swallow hard. 
 
So much for genius.  They were still only small children, barely six years old.    
"I know," Scully sighed, "But you need to eat and get to bed and Fox can't  
take care of you." 
 
Michael's chin wobbled.  "I want Mommy." 
 
Scully ruffled his hair.  "She'll be back soon." 
 
Merry looked up at them, tears brimming suddenly.  "She's gonna get hurt.   
We have to go and get her before the man with the gun hurts her." 
 
Oh, hell, it was all getting too weird for her.  Scully simply sat, looking at the  
child, unable to think of a sensible response, so near tears herself that only  
Skinner's presence kept them held back. 
 
"We're going to find her."  Skinner hunkered down.  "And we've got some  
men watching Fox to make sure no one tries to hurt him again." 
 
Two pairs of eyes examined him.  Mulder's eyes.  Morgan's eyes.  Scully  
turned her head briefly, unable to watch them.   
 
"Okay," Merry finally said, relucantly.  "Do you have any kids?" 
 
Skinner shook his head.  "No, I'm sorry, I don't.  But the neighbors have a  
little girl your age." 
 
Merry's expression brightened slightly.  "Okay."  Michael's expression  
suggested that he found this a dubious attraction, but was willing to accede  
to Merry's judgement. 
 
Still just children.  The results of three generations of testing and  
experimentation and all they wanted was an end to fear and loneliness,  
safety and a playmate.   
 
Rising, Skinner awkwardly held out his hands; rising, Merry took one, giving  
Scully a wan smile.  "Will you come and see me, Aunt Dana?" 
 
Scully swallowed.  "Of course, I will." 
 
Michael stared up at Skinner for a moment before accepting the proferred  
hand.  "Will you bring us here to see Daddy again?" 
 
Skinner nodded, but Scully saw his jaw tighten before he looked back at her.   
"There's a team waiting for you.  A trustworthy team.  Find her, Scully.   
Before someone else gets hurt." 
 
Scully nodded again, watching as they walked away. 
____________________________________ 
 
It hadn't taken as much work or strength as Morgan had thought to find the  
man Mulder called the Cancerman.  Either she was flexing new muscles  
and strengthening them, or proximity to Meredith was having an effect on  
her; she suspected the former. 
 
A little focus, following the trail of malignance that had led from the burning  
car--the door unlocked to her touch with only a little mental exertion.  Hell, if  
Uri Geller could bend spoons for a living, maybe she could take up  
housebreaking. 
 
Or maybe not. 
 
The door opened on darkness, dimly lit from a back room, pale light spilling  
out over a wooden floor.  Slipping inside, she made no real effort to be  
silent, but raised the gun she held in the way she'd practiced again and  
again on the firing range. 
 
A figure dimmed the spill of lamplight, sudden movement made her close  
her eyes, reaching in, deeply within, and gathering power.   "Drop it!" 
 
There was a silence.  "Dr. Grayson."  The voice was ironic, roughened by  
weariness, age and bitterness stored up too long.  "This is a surprise." 
 
"No doubt it is."  Still careful, Morgan moved toward him.  "Drop the gun, put  
your hands on your head." 
 
A sound like a laugh.  "You know better that, Dr. Grayson.  Stalemate." 
 
"Not quite."  Morgan smiled coldly in the dimness of the hall, channeled  
power through her voice.  "I said drop it on the floor." 
 
His eyes widened in shock as his body obeyed; he started to move, as if to  
leap for it--but she forestalled it, putting cool metal against his forehead,  
right between his eyes.   
 
"As others have said before me, make my day," she smiled and watched  
him straighten, a faint flicker of alarm revealed in that one instant.  "Go sit  
down on the bed," she told him and followed him into the bedroom. 
 
"I don't know what you hope to gain by this."  A tremor threaded faintly  
through his control. 
 
"Oh, don't worry, you're just another spear carrier.  Take off your clothes." 
 
He flicked a wary look at her.  "What?" 
 
"Take off your clothes."  Morgan smiled at him.  "Pretty unequivocal.  Take.   
Off.  Your.  Clothes." 
 
He was still wearing suit pants, dress shirt, tie hanging loosely around his  
neck.  With a baffled look, he laid the tie aside and began unbuttoning his  
shirt. 
 
"Who ordered the shooting tonight?"  Moving sideways slightly, she dragged  
the armchair near the bed around, still holding the gun steady on him.   
Sitting down, she felt taut muscles loosen just slightly, just enough.  "That's  
what I want to know." 
 
Another wary look.  "I don't know what you're talking about."  But he reeked  
of knowledge.  Still eyeing her, he took off his shirt, then his undershirt.  
 
"Oh, I think you do."  She smiled again, coldly.  "In fact, I think you may have  
ordered it yourself." 
 
Another long look.  Shirtless, he put his palms on the bed.  "What am I  
supposed to have ordered?" 
 
"Well, there it gets sticky.  I'm not entirely sure if the intent was to kill  
Mulder, to kill me, or to kill--our children.  Or all three of us."  His face was  
impassive.  "Keep going, please, no dallying allowed." 
 
Grimacing, he reached for his belt, unfastened his trousers and began to  
rise.  The barrel of the gun rose to follow.  Trousers fell to the floor, followed  
by old fashioned and baggy boxer shorts.  "I didn't order anything," he told  
her brusquely and sat down again, eyeing her.  "But I do know who did." 
 
Morgan watched, her gaze clinical.  "Do tell.  And where might I find this  
elusive giver of orders?" 
 
"In Bethesda, I wouldn't doubt."  His voice was still calm, but she could hear  
the unease beneath it.   
 
"Turn around and lie face down on the bed," she told him.   
 
After a brief hesitation, he obeyed.  "Are you planning to kill me?  You  
surprise me, Dr. Grayson, I never imagined you as a cold blooded killer.  Or  
using a gun."   
 
"Shut up," she told him and cuffed his hands to the spindles in the  
headboard. 
 
"How did Mulder take the discovery that he was the result of genetic  
experimentation?"  The voice continued. 
 
She almost had to admire his coolness.  "About as well as I did," she told  
him evenly and found several ties to bind his feet.  "Remarkably calmly, in  
fact." 
 
"I do admire your resilience, Dr. Grayson."  He turned his head to look at her  
as she moved to the side of the bed.  "And you've been a calming influence  
on Fox Mulder." 
 
"Probably because I'm more temperamental," she told him drily and sat  
down on the bed, regarding him thoughtfully.  "This is a low caliber weapon,  
so we don't have to worry about hydrostatic pressure when I shoot you.  So,  
I leave it up to you, where do you want the first bullet?  In the knee or in the  
elbow."  A part of her mind shuddered away from what she was saying,  
what she planned to do; she focused on images of Mulder, bleeding to  
death on the street. 
 
The man blinked, still no sign of fear.  "Why don't I just tell you where you  
can find the man who ordered your assassination?  That's what you want,  
isn't it?  That's why you've come here." 
 
"And you're going to tell me just like that."  Morgan arched one eyebrow.  
 
"What he ordered done was in direct opposition to the order he himself had  
been given.  He's going to be sanctioned anyway."   
 
"And you're just going to give him to me."  Morgan let her mouth curl  
humourlessly. 
 
"It saves me the trouble of assigning someone to deal with him."  The man's  
colorless eyes glinted briefly.  "And you're a fascinating opponent, Dr.  
Grayson.  We almost look forward to what you'll do next.  Such a far cry  
from the retiring, almost timid college professor you were when Skinner first  
contacted you." 
 
Morgan's throat went tight.  "I should kill you anyway," she told him brutally.   
"Where can I find this man?" 
 
He told her, gave her an address in exclusive Bethesda.  And when he'd told  
her, she put the gun barrel at the nape of his neck and eased the safety off. 
 
He was one of Them.  One of those who had connived at her birth.  At  
Mulder's birth.  And they'd cost her so much, cost Mulder so much, cost  
both their families and their children so much.  But she didn't have the red  
rage inside her, couldn't kill a man who lay there, defenseless.  Even if he  
was the most exigent son of a bitch it had ever been her misfortune to meet. 
 
Instead, she raised the gun and hit him hard, knocking him senseless, and  
tested this theory by poking the gun barrel at the loose flesh of his buttocks.   
No, he wasn't playing possum, he was unconcious.  And she could see the  
spot where she'd hit him bruising and swelling. 
 
She would leave it in the hands of the gods, she told herself, and swiftly left  
the apartment. 
_____________________________________ 
 
Merry peered out of the bedroom and sighed before going back to climb on  
the big bed next to Michael. 
 
"We have to find her, Michael," she told him solemnly. 
 
Michael took his thumb out of his mouth.  "But they won't let us," he told her  
and hugged his bear hard.  "And they're grownups, Merry.  We're just kids." 
 
Pulling on her lower lip, Merry nodded.  It was hard being a little kid when  
grownups wouldn't listen to you.  "You have to find her, Michael.  And then  
we'll know where to go.  And I can make them take us." 
 
Michael gazed at her doubtfully.  "That's bad, Merry." 
 
"It's only bad if we were doing it to hurt somebody."  Merry's tone was  
earnest.  She couldn't affect Michael's thinking, not the way she had done to  
the man in the grocery store.  Michael was too much like her, like their  
mother.  And their father wasn't easy to affect unless she was playing up to  
him, and she rather thought that was more because he liked her, than any  
real effect of her abilities.  "We're going to find Mommy and keep the bad  
men from hurting her, like they hurt Daddy." 
 
Michael's mouth trembled.  "But Daddy's okay now."   
 
"But Mommy's going to get hurt."  Merry's voice rose a little.  "Michael, you  
have to help!" 
 
Abruptly, he nodded and his gaze went inward.  After what seemed like a  
long time to Merry, he finally nodded.  "Okay, I know where she's going,  
Merry.  But it's a long way from here." 
 
"We'll get them to drive us."  Scrambling off the bed, Merry went to the  
telephone on the bedside table.  "Can you make your voice sound like Mr.  
Skinner's in their heads?" 
 
Michael's nose wrinkled.  "I think so.  But why?" 
 
"'Cause he's their boss, like he's Daddy's."  Picking up the telephone, Merry  
looked at him before pushing the button to turn it on.  "Can you tell them  
exactly how to get where Mommy's going?" 
 
After a moment, Michael nodded and slid off the bed.  "Okay.  But if Daddy  
gets mad, I'm telling him it was your idea, Merry." 
 
That was fair enough.  Nodding, Merry handed him the telephone and  
concentrated hard.  The grownups in the next room had those cell phones  
like Fox's and Morgan's.  It took her a few minutes to make one of them ring,  
to make the connection between the phone that Michael held and the cell  
phone in the next room.  The effort made her stomach feel queasy. 
 
Michael's eyes widened when he heard the voice in his ear, but he spoke  
slowly.  He just sounded like himself to Merry, but when she tested the  
other's thoughts, she found it had worked. 
 
"Yes, you have to bring the kids," Michael told the phone and blinked  
worriedly at Merry.  "Yes, I know, but you have to."  After a moment, he  
clicked the phone to off and laid it back on the nightstand. 
 
Merry turned as footsteps approached the bedroom door and hastily  
scrambled back on to the bed, pulling the blankets over herself as Michael  
slid in beside her. 
 
"Sorry, kids," the woman told them softly, "We've got to get you up again,  
Mr. Skinner wants us to meet him in Bethesda." 
 
Feeling the edge of puzzlement to the woman's thoughts, Merry reached out  
and smoothed that away, reached further to the woman's partner and found  
no curiosity about the odd request at all.  Relieved, she sat up in bed.  "But  
I'm tired," she whined. 
 
Michael gave her a long look and slid out of bed.  "Is our Mommy going to  
be there?" 
 
"I hope so," the woman told them.  "Get dressed, we'll need to leave in a  
minute."  Withdrawing, she closed the door partway again. 
 
Michael looked stolidly at Merry.  "Well, okay, but I sure hope Mommy and  
Daddy aren't mad about this." 
 
Merry's heart was pounding fast.  "They won't," she told him automatically,  
but there was a bad feeling in her stomach.  Not that anyone would be mad  
at them, but that they'd be too late.  "Hurry, Michael!" 
 
He hurried. 
_______________________________________________ 
 
Skinner listened to his home phone ring and frowned thunderously.  Neither  
of the agents he'd left with the children were answering their cell phones.   
Hanging up, he dialed another number.  "James, you and Matthews get over  
to my apartment now.  Harris and Galveston aren't answering the phone." 
 
Scully came into his office at the tail end of that and he turned his chair  
toward the wall, completing his instructions in a softer voice.  "Call me the  
minute you get in there, I want to know what the hell is going on."  His gut  
felt tight, wondering if someone had gotten to them, wondering if he'd made  
a disastrous choice in their guards, if Harris and Galveston were dirty. 
 
"No one seems to have seen her, sir."  Scully's voice was tired.  "Mulder's  
doing well, they're upgrading his condition slightly and he won't have to stay  
in ICU.  Although the surgeons are still scratching their heads over why he  
has scars where he shouldn't." 
 
Skinner chose to ignore this.  "So, we keep looking.  Any ideas of where  
else she might have gone?" 
 
"I've checked everywhere I can think of," she told him and slumped into the  
chair in front of his desk.  "Somehow, the only thing I can think of is that  
she's gotten some lead on who did this.  And gone after them."  Her eyes  
were somber.  "She went after Averill Preston." 
 
And nearly died.   
 
Skinner's nerves tightened another notch.  "Well, we have to find her.   
Unexplained deaths by fire are getting a little too frequent around her, she's  
going to end up under suspicion of arson." 
 
"If it doesn't kill her this time."  Scully's voice was uninflected.  "How are the  
kids?" 
 
"I left Harris and Galveston with them," he told her, evading the question.   
"They'll be fine, Scully.  Why don't you get a little rest, I'll take over with the  
team until you've gotten some sleep." 
 
"I can't sleep anyway," she told him wearily.  "Between Mulder and Morgan-- 
Geoff Montrose has people looking for her, too.  She hasn't gone to any of  
her friends." 
 
A sharp dull pain made itself known in the vicinity of his gut.  Sighing,  
Skinner reached into a drawer and pulled out the bottle of antacid tablets,  
crunched three into chalky submission and washed them down with cold  
coffee.  "You know, I didn't think it was possible for your partner to become  
more of a pain in the neck than he already was, Scully." 
 
Her expression became offended.  "Sir, may I point out that he cannot be  
blamed for having someone try to murder him?" 
 
"I was referring to his choice of women," Skinner retorted.  "With any luck, I  
might never have worried about Morgan Grayson again after she got him out  
of Harcourt House.  Instead, she ends up being as much of a headache as  
he is." 
 
Scully's mouth flattened out.  "That isn't fair." 
 
"No," he agreed, "It isn't.  But you and I are up at midnight, trying to figure  
out where the damned woman might have gone, trying to keep her from  
killing herself, either by making herself a target, or doing something," his  
mouth crimped with distaste, "unexplainable." 
 
After a moment, Scully nodded and rubbed her face with both hands.   
"She's perfect for him," she finally muttered and tilted Skinner a mordant  
smile.  "*He's* going to kill her if they don't, once he finds out about this." 
 
Skinner leaned back in his chair.  "It's enough to make me believe in  
karma," he told her sardonically, and the phone rang. 
 
Snatching after it, he listened to what James had to say and put his hand  
over his eyes.  "Any signs of a struggle?" 
 
Scully's eyes widened and she sat up, leaning forward. 
 
"No, sir, not at all.  It looks like they had the kids in bed.  And your doorman  
said they all left together.  Heard them say something about Bethesda,  
wondering why you'd want them to bring the kids to Bethesda in the middle  
of the night."  James' tone was puzzled.  "You didn't call them, did you, sir?" 
 
"Hell, no," he growled.  "All right, get the team moving toward Bethesda.   
And get an APB out on the car Harris is driving.  I want them found, dammit,  
and before they get to Bethesda." 
 
"Yes, sir."  James disconnected and Skinner hung up, turning to regard  
Scully. 
 
Her eyes were very wide.  "What is it?" 
 
"Harris and Galveston evidently took the children to meet me in Bethesda,"  
he told her curtly and got up, rolling his sleeves down.  "He's putting out an  
all points on Harris' car, we're heading down that way to intercept.   
Assuming we can." 
 
Scully was already on her feet.   "God, now what?" 
 
Skinner snatched up his jacket and slipped it on.  He was glad she wasn't  
asking him. 
_________________________________________________ 
 
The building was anonymous, just another office building.  Morgan stood  
outside and surveyed it before going to the door.  Only a trickle of power and  
it opened for her, but then there was the question of where the man was. 
 
Once inside, she summoned the elevator with the call button and closed her  
eyes, letting her othersense reach out, testing the building for occupancy.   
An insurance salesman was banging his secretary in his office in the third  
floor, she found and jerked her mind hastily from the woman's contemplation  
of whether or not she was going to get a raise this way.   
 
There was an advertising copywriter on the ninth floor, still slaving away at a  
presentation that was due in the morning.  And then, carefully shielded, a  
group of minds touched hers.  The fourteenth floor--which was, of course,  
really the thirteenth.  How appropriate. 
 
Getting into the elevator, Morgan pressed the button and reached for the  
calm of the Circle, struggling to find her center and stay there.  Calm, she  
told herself, breathe in, breathe out. 
 
By the time she'd reached the fourteenth floor, she'd achieved a semblance  
of that calm.  Dark Mother, she addressed the goddess, be with me now,  
walk with me, let me do what I must. 
 
The hallway seemed endlessly long to her.  Her skirt, still stained with  
Mulder's blood, tickled the back of her calves as she walked silently toward  
the door at the end of it. 
 
The door opened to her lightest touch and she pushed it wide. 
 
There were five people in the room.  Four men and one woman, standing  
near the window.  Three of them were familiar from her vision, the night she  
had summoned Kali.  The stout man, the man with the dark beard, and the  
man wearing the combat jacket.  The latter sat up straight when she came  
in, eyeing her with malevolence. 
 
"Dr. Grayson," the stout man greeted her quietly.  "I had a feeling you might  
drop by.  Where are the children?" 
 
"I don't know," she told him, and was glad that it was true.  "I've come for  
payment.  I think you understand what I mean." 
 
The fourth man, sitting with his face in shadow, moved his chair forward into  
the light. 
 
Morgan gasped.  "Richard?"  A wave of dizziness threatened her  
composure.  It couldn't be her brother, her brother was in a state mental  
hospital, so heavily drugged on Haldol that he was lucky to remember his  
name. 
 
"Hello, Morgan."  It *was*, however impossibly, Richard.  "How are you?   
These are my friends, they've been teaching me a few things.  And I can  
think so much better without the medication." 
 
Something--something not physical--reached out and gripped her, holding  
her in place.  Morgan gasped again.  Oh, God, Richard was paranoid  
schizophrenic and they'd taught him that she was his enemy, that they were  
his friends.  "Richard, they aren't your friends."  It was all she could manage  
before her tongue froze, before her voice locked in her throat. 
 
"Just waste her," the man in the combat jacket told the room at large.   
"Waste her and get it over with." 
 
The stout man ignored this.  "Dr. Grayson, where are the children?  Surely,  
there aren't many you trust.  With Agent Scully, perhaps?  Dr. Montrose?" 
 
Richard's hold on her relaxed just a little.  "I told you, I don't know.  I left  
them at the hospital." 
 
"With Agent Scully?"  The voice seemed to seep into her brain.  Closing her  
eyes against it, she shuddered as Richard's mind battered at hers, trying to  
break through her shields.  Twelve years of study had honed her ability to  
build them the first time; Fox Mulder had helped her rebuild them while on  
the run. 
 
They held strong, but the pain inside her head shattered her ability to think  
clearly.   
 
"I assure you, Dr. Grayson, you are harboring vipers at your breast."  The  
stout man was standing in front of her suddenly, Richard just behind him.   
Richard smiled at her over the stout man's shoulder. 
 
She wanted to scream, but her voice was locked again, choked in her throat.   
The pain began to seep down from her skull, traveling down her spine,  
setting nerves on fire with agony that made her crumple to the floor. 
 
"Just tell us where they are, Dr. Grayson." 
 
No, she screamed silently, not a chance, you bastard, not even if you kill  
me. 
 
Richard was leaning over her.  "I can make her tell," he said confidently. 
 
"I'm sure you can, Richard, but you must work delicately.  We don't want to  
hurt her until we know where the children are." 
 
Richard's mouth twitched.  "All right." 
 
The pain enveloped her, it felt like she was being roasted over a slow fire.   
Ironic, considering how she'd killed Stoddard and his henchmen in their  
cars.  Justice, considering how she'd killed Preston's men. 
 
A fingertip touched her cheek.  Richard.  "Come on, Morgan," he told her  
patiently, "You need to tell us." 
 
Heat radiated from his fingertip.  He wasn't used to using power, he was  
burning it at an astounding rate.  She clung to that, hoping that Richard  
would tire, that he would fail.  Even that he would destroy himself, as she  
had so nearly destroyed herself after Preston's death. 
 
She could only hope that moment came before he cracked her mind and got  
what she suspected about the children's whereabouts. 
_____________________________________________ 
 
"Turn left here," Merry kept her voice no more than a whisper, insinuating it  
into the minds of the two people in the front seat.  "Stop here." 
 
Michael looked at her expectantly and pointed at the office building. 
 
"Okay, now you have to go back to the apartment.  The little kids are asleep,  
you don't need to check on them."  Nudging Mocened the bacened the back  
door and slipped out of the car. 
 
Michael closed it quietly, just as the car pulled away, then headed unerringly  
for the front door of the building. 
 
"They're hurting her," Merry told him, near tears abruptly.  "We have to  
hurry, Michael." 
 
He ignored this and stared at the door for a long moment before tugging on  
the handle.  It opened, but it was heavy; they both had to shove it before  
they could go in. 
 
The elevator came when Michael pushed the button, but to Merry's dismay,  
neither of them could reach the right button. 
 
"You can make it go, Merry," Michael told her and bit his lip.  "I can't do  
that." 
 
Merry blinked back tears, heard Morgan scream again in her mind and  
stared hard at the button with 14 on it.  It lit and the doors closed, leaving  
her shaky and scared.   
 
Michael's hand slipped into hers and held it tight.  "Merry, what are we  
gonna do?" 
 
"I don't know."  A tear slipped down alongside her nose and she sniffled.  "I  
don't know.  But Daddy is in the hospital and we have to help her." 
 
Michael was silent, but his hand was comforting in hers. 
______________________________________________ 
 
"All right," Skinner said, standing under the streetlight, his glasses glinting  
in the amber glow.  "All right, Harris, let's go over it again.  You don't  
remember anything after tucking the kids in, right?"  His head swiveled to  
look at Galveston, whose expression suggested both dread and bafflement.   
"What about you." 
 
Scully fought the urge to wring Harris' neck.  The poor woman was going to  
end up in North Dakota or somewhere worse, if Skinner's level tone was any  
indication. 
 
A state patrol car had seen the car and stopped it on the way out of  
Bethesda.   Harris had been visibly confused and disoriented, and the call  
had come in to Skinner almost immediately. 
 
So here they were, at one in the morning, standing under a streetlight, trying  
to find out what the hell had happened. 
 
Galveston cleared his throat and glanced apologetically at Harris.  "Harris  
got a call on her cell phone.  She said it was from you, that we were  
supposed to take the kids to Bethesda to meet you." 
 
"So, where are they?"  Skinner's voice was still level.  Deceptively so. 
 
Galveston grimaced.  "Sir, I'm not sure.  I thought we had them in the car  
with us, but I don't remember anything .  I think we went to the address I  
gave you, but I don't remember." 
 
Skinner eyed him without favor for a moment.  "You don't remember." 
 
Scully thought of Morgan's gifts and the file on Merry.  "Sir, we need to get  
over there." 
 
"I've got people on their way there already, Scully."  Skinner didn't bother to  
look her way. 
 
"But we need to get over there.  The children know us."  Scully licked her  
lips and pitched her voice to be low and urgent.  "I think I have a better  
chance of finding them if they don't want to be found." 
 
That got a glare, but Skinner nodded.  "All right--James, take these two  
home.  I want you both in my office tomorrow morning at eight.  No later." 
 
Galveston swallowed hard and nodded; Harris looked to be near tears. 
 
Well, too damned bad, Scully thought bitterly, she was pretty near tears  
herself. 
 
And the lump in her throat kept her there as she got into the car with  
Skinner. 
________________________________________ 
 
Morgan was in hell.  Or thought she was.   
 
In between moments of agony, she was lucid, hearing Richard's soft voice  
urging to tell her where the children were.  Her fingers were cramped  
around the gun she'd carried with her, though she couldn't move to flick the  
safety off.  And even if she could have, she could not have lifted it to fire.   
Could not have pulled the trigger without control of her own muscles. 
 
Suddenly-- 
 
"You leave my Mommy alone!"  The outraged voice of a small child broke  
through Richard's concentration, giving Morgan space to breathe.  The  
space to feel terror--oh, God, no, the kids were here after all, she couldn't  
allow that.... 
 
It took only a few heart beats to flick the safety, a few more to raise the gun  
and put the barrel against her brother's chest, to pull the trigger. 
 
One of the children screamed.  Power flowed into her suddenly, from  
outside, from the children, and time seemed to slow, as if she were  
watching an instant replay of some event. 
 
The stout man moved, deceptively quick despite his bulk and she fired at  
him, point blank,  in the center of his face. 
 
It took an eternity to turn toward the others, she kept expecting to be shot, to  
be caught, but the gun jammed, it wouldn't fire.  Glancing down, she saw  
the shine of Richard's eyes, threw the useless weapon down and gathered  
up what the children fed her, ruthlessly using it to stop the heart of the man  
in the combat jacket, even as he leveled a gun at her. 
 
The man with the beard was rising, reaching into his jacket.  One of the  
children screamed again and Morgan let loose the leash she held over her  
gifts, over the power that hungrily sought a target. 
 
Fire flared along the walls, a bright garland of flickering orange that  
consumed everything in its path.  The man with the beard glanced that way,  
hesitating fatally, and Morgan reached out with unsubstantial hands and  
stopped his heart.   
 
Someone else was screaming; only the raw feeling in her throat told her it  
was her.  She screamed again as Richard's fingers closed around her  
ankles, as she felt his mind grapple with hers. 
 
Looking down, she stared into his eyes for too long, the woman still stood in  
the shadows, frozen.  Richard's lips moved silently--Morgan thrust with her  
mind, a simple, savage thrust that stopped Richard's heart, stopped the  
blood that pulsed from the chest wound. 
 
She'd killed her brother, a part of her mind pointed out, but the smoke was  
getting thick in the room.  The woman had vanished, no longer a threat, she  
was the only threat, and the children, oh, God, her children were here. 
 
"Mommy!"  Michael tugged at her hand, coughing.  "Mommy, come on." 
 
The power evaporated, just as suddenly as it had filled her.  Nearly  
swooning, she let Michael tug her, gathered Merry up as Michael pulled her  
toward the door. 
 
She still had enough strength to walk, although she only made it to the  
elevator before nearly collapsing.  Only Michael's voice, scared and thin,  
calling her Mommy, kept her going.   Smoke made her cough, she leaned  
against the wall.  "We shouldn't get in the elevator," she gasped, "there's a  
fire, the elevators stop when there's a fire." 
 
"I can make it go," Merry told her tremulously.  "Please, Mommy, hurry!" 
 
Inside, Morgan slumped to the floor, greyness closing in around her.  It  
receded briefly as the elevator began to move and she pulled them close to  
her, tears burning her face.  They might have been killed, they all might have  
been killed. 
 
The power that had seared her nerves, that had killed four people, still  
echoed in her flesh.  Their power, her power.  They were all three of them  
dangerous.  Not only to others, but to Fox.   
 
These bastards weren't going to stop, they weren't going to just leave them  
alone. 
 
The greyness came back again, crowding out that thought and carrying her  
under. 
__________________________________________ 
 
Sirens could be heard as Scully opened the door.  Looking up, she saw the  
flickering lights up high, what looked like flames inside the building.  "Oh,  
shit," she whispered and her heart sank.  Oh, God, not again, please, not  
this again. 
 
Skinner was ahead of her, long legs carrying him toward the front door.  It  
wouldn't open.  With astonishing composure, he through the glass, knocked  
it out and stepped through without waiting to see if she would follow. 
 
When she did, she found him standing in front of the open elevator door,  
regarding Morgan and the children as if he'd been turned to stone. 
 
"Get the kids," he told her flatly and stepped forward, gathering Morgan up  
like a broken doll. 
 
Scully obeyed, unable to prevent herself from watching in despair as  
Skinner shifted Morgan's dead weight in his arms to find his balance. 
 
"Come on," she whispered and took two small hands in each of hers.  "We  
have to hurry." 
 
Skinner was already striding ahead of her, Morgan's head dangling loose  
against his chest.  Out to his car. 
 
For a moment, Scully stopped, so amazed that she couldn't think.  Skinner  
was leaving the scene.  He was taking Morgan and the kids and leaving the  
scene.  By the book, ramrod Walter S. Skinner. 
 
Recovering, she hurried after him, tugging the kids hard enough that they  
hard to nearly run to keep up with her. 
_____________________________________ 
 
There was evidently nothing wrong with Morgan except smoke inhalation,  
thankfully.  Scully watched Geoff listen to Morgan's lungs and grimace.   
 
Skinner was in his bedroom having a talk with the children, which ought to  
prove interesting.  She was left to observe Morgan, who languidly nodded  
when Geoff muttered something at her. 
 
Finally Geoff rose from the couch and pulled the blanket up around Morgan  
before walking over to give Scully a wry smile.  "She's exhausted, of course,  
and she's got some smoke in her lungs.  Hardly surprising, given what  
you've told me.  But she'll be fine.  And I checked before you called,  
Mulder's doing very well."  Another wry smile.  "Evidently, I'm his physician  
of record." 
 
Scully's mouth quirked faintly.  "I think Skinner's in there reading the riot act  
to their offspring." 
 
"Good.  Maybe it will do some good.  Although I wonder, given the elemental  
stubbornness of both parents."  Geoff cupped her cheek briefly.  "I'm glad  
you called me.  But I confess, I'm surprised.  I thought the AD would prefer  
to do things officially." 
 
"Usually he does."  Scully sighed and leaned forward, her forehead against  
his shirt.  His hand moved to the back of her neck.  "They aren't going to  
give up, are they?" 
 
"Don't think that way.  Morgan went into the lion's den.  That's just like her,  
threaten her and she's afraid, threaten people she loves and she grows two  
feet taller, develops fur and fangs and goes after them."  Geoff's tone was  
sardonic. 
 
Scully's eyes burned.  "I need to say something to you.  I do love my partner.   
But I'm not in love with him, Geoff.  Can you say that about Morgan?" 
 
"Assuredly."  His hand moved lightly in her hair.  "I may have an attraction to  
dangerous women, Dana, but I prefer them to have a well developed sense  
of self-preservation.  No martyrs need apply." 
 
Scully snorted, raised her head again.  "I have cancer, Geoff," she told him  
baldly.  "The result of whatever happened to me during my abduction." 
 
Geoff's eyes widened slightly, but his face remained composed.  "I see."   
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth gently.  "I'm not going to give up on  
you that easily, Dana.  Dying isn't an option." 
 
Tears came then, tears for Mulder, for herself, for Morgan and for the  
children in the next room.  Leaning into his embrace, Scully wept for all of  
them. 
_______________________________________________ 
 
Skinner was eyeing the two miscreants, who sat side by side on the bed,  
faces tearstained and woebegone.  "What you did was certainly very brave,  
going after your mother.  But it was very dangerous, and it was wrong.  You  
should have trusted us." 
 
Merry bit her lip.  "I told Aunt Dana." 
 
Skinner considered that.  "You didn't tell her very clearly," he finally said,  
"And you didn't tell me.  I can understand that Agent Harris and Agent  
Galveston wouldn't have believed you, but I would have.  And so would  
Agent Scully." 
 
They looked at each other.  Jesus, it was bizarre seeing two small faces that  
looked so much like Mulder in his worst mood.  When they looked back  
again, Michael looked even more woebegone.  "They were going to hurt  
Mommy," he told Skinner, his voice very small. 
 
"I know.  I wish Mommy hadn't gone, either."  The sense of dislocation was  
nearly as bizarre as seeing Morgan and Mulder in both children.  "I'm going  
to tell her the same thing I'm telling you.  Never, ever, ever play that kind of a  
trick on a grownup again.  If we hadn't found you all, I don't like to think what  
might have happened." 
 
Merry's lower lip jutted mutinously.  "We helped Mommy," she told him and  
flicked him a defiant look.  "We got her out of there and the bad men are  
dead." 
 
Leaning back on his heels, Skinner sighed and rubbed his face.  "Yes, you  
did.  But if you had told us, Mommy wouldn't have gone there in the first  
place.  We would have found her earlier." 
 
At that, Merry fell silent, eyes downcast.  "Next time we'll tell you," she finally  
whispered. 
 
"Either me or Agent Scully," he repeated. 
 
"You or Aunt Dana," Merry agreed and Michael nodded. 
 
"Okay."  Surveying them, Skinner sighed.  They both reeked of smoke, and  
unpleasant, petroleum based smoke at that.  "I'm going to have Dr.  
Montrose have a look at you if he's done with your mother, all right?  Then  
you can go to bed."  Rising, he stretched the kinks out of his calves and  
started for the door. 
 
"Mr. Skinner?" 
 
He turned at Michael's voice.  "What, Michael?" 
 
Michael hugged his bear.  "Is Daddy really gonna be all right?" 
 
Skinner heard the tremor in the child's voice and sighed, came back to  
crouch in front of both of them.  "Yes, he is.  It's going to take a little while  
before he's completely well again, but he's going to be fine." 
 
Michael's mouth trembled briefly.  "Okay." 
 
Straightening again, Skinner ruffled the little boy's hair and went back to the  
door, sparing them both another look before going out to get Geoff  
Montrose. 
____________________________ 
 
Morgan woke suddenly from a nightmare of pain and fire and came upright.   
 
Walter Skinner was asleep in a chair across from her, a blanket spread out  
over his chest and legs. 
 
Walter.   
 
That meant she was at his apartment.  Gathering her wits, she shook off the  
disorientation and stealthily got up from the couch. 
 
Both children woke when she entered the bedroom, both quieted when she  
held her fingers over her lips.   
 
It was easier than she'd thought to slip away from Skinner's apartment.   
Although she had to persuade the cab driver to wait at the curb in front of  
the house so she could go in and get the cash to pay him. 
 
As if sensing her state of mind, the kids were silent on the ride home,  
holding each other's hands.  Only when she went into their room and began  
to pack did Merry begin to cry. 
 
"I don't wanna leave Fox." 
 
Morgan stopped packing and knelt in front of her.  "We have to," she told  
them both.  "They're going to keep trying to hurt Fox if we don't.  They want  
all three of us dead, Merry, and Fox is going to be hurt if we stay.  Maybe  
even killed." 
 
Michael put his thumb in his mouth, tears sparkling in his eyes.  She could  
feel his dread in waves that tightened her stomach and made her head  
ache. 
 
"We have to," she told them again, perilously near tears herself.  "We can't  
stay, I'm so sorry, but we can't." 
 
"Where are we going to go?" Merry wailed.  "He'll try to find us, Mommy, he  
won't just let us go, and they'll hurt him." 
 
"We have to go somewhere safe," Morgan told her, wondering wearily where  
such a place might be found.  Katmandu, maybe, she told herself, Tibet.   
Too bad they didn't have passports.  But Ray could help.  Ray had to help.   
She was so tired of death, so tired of being afraid for everyone she loved.  
 
Mulder was wrong.  They couldn't stand together on this, she couldn't bear  
to watch him get himself killed trying to protect them all against people with  
the resources these bastards had.   She'd been dreaming, that was all,  
dreaming of a normal life, a normal home,  a normal relationship.  Fantasy  
land.   
 
And she loved him too much to let him kill himself.  To watch him die. 
 
Rising, she threw more clothing into the suitcase, stuffing everything the  
children owned into it.  Went and got another suitcase, stuffing it full of her  
clothes.  The bloody dress she left on the floor until the packing was done.   
Then, bitterly, she cut it into small pieces and threw it in the trash. 
 
"All right," she told the children, standing in the door to her bedroom.  "Let's  
go." 
 
They both cried silently all the way out to the car. 
_________________________________________________ 
 
The man who called himself Jones had another name, of course.  His given  
name was Arthur.  His surname had long since been lost to the cat and  
mouse games with the Consortium, something that would have made his  
dad very unhappy.  Poor old dad had died convinced that his son was a  
wastrel, the kind of man who had chosen a dark path and followed it into  
hell.   
 
It was certainly possible, he supposed, tapping his fingers on the steering  
wheel.  But he rather preferred thinking that the Illuminati, as the name  
suggested, acted on the right hand path, rather than the left.  That he used  
those terms showed how much he'd been influenced by Anabel's  
philosophical tendencies over the years. 
 
He also supposed that Anabel's philosophical tendencies kept him from  
becoming too like the people they fought against, although he was certainly  
capable of a certain cold bloodedness at times. 
 
Like when he had watched Fox Mulder shot on the street.  He would have  
stopped it if he could, despite the fact that it would have revealed his  
presence.  The presence of an Illuminati.  But stopping it had been beyond  
him.  And Morgan Grayson and her children were well equipped to take their  
own vengeance, although he reckoned, given past history, that Morgan had  
acted alone. 
 
Hawkins had reported the rest of her vengeance earlier in the morning.   
He'd come here and waited, instinctively understanding that she would not  
stay where they'd put her, waited and watched as she got out of a cab with  
the children, still wearing the dress with Mulder's blood on it. 
 
She'd gone underground the last time she and her son had been  
threatened.  Jones suspected that she would do so again, this time without  
Mulder. 
 
Just a guess, he told himself and leaned forward to see the little red car  
backing out of the driveway.   
 
It was time.  He just hoped she didn't turn him into something deep fried.   
He loathed fried food. 
 
Putting his foot to the accelerator, he pulled up behind her, blocking her,  
then got out of the car quickly, holding his hands up harmlessly. 
 
Morgan's face was haggard in the morning light.  She looked at him blankly  
for a moment through the driver's side window. 
 
"I can help you," he told her, a little nervously, waiting to see what she would  
do.  He hadn't burst into flame immediately, which was a hopeful sign. 
 
She rolled down the window, which was another hopeful sign.  "What can  
you do for me?"  Her voice was flat, hopeless.  "They tried to kill us all  
yesterday.  They nearly killed Mulder." 
 
"I can take you somewhere where you'll be safe.  Where you can think about  
what you want to do."  He approached the car, risked putting his hands on  
the doorframe.  "I can take you to Anabel." 
 
Something flickered in her eyes.  Looking into the backseat, she made a  
sound like a suppressed sob before turning back to him. 
 
Her fingers were white knuckled where they curled around the steering  
wheel.  "Let's go," she told him finally, and he saw the shine of tears on her  
face.  "And quickly.  They'll be looking for me here." 
 
He wasn't sure who she meant, but her agreement meant it wasn't anything  
they had to worry about.  "We'll take my car." 
_______________________________________________ 
 
The children were very distrustful, Anabel thought, looking in on them.   
Which was to be expected, after the last few days. 
 
"You were very wise," she told Jones and gave him a brilliant smile.  "They'll  
stay here until Hawkins can give us better news." 
 
Jones nodded, his mouth quirking.  "You realize, of course, that Mulder is  
going to be half mad with fear." 
 
"He need not be.  Call him when you get back, use a secure line, and tell  
him that they are safe and well."  Anabel's eyes rested on Morgan, lying on  
her side on the bed, her eyes closed.  "Tell him they will remain safe and  
well until he sees them again." 
 
Jones' expression became quizzical.  "Are you sure she'll go back?" 
 
"I'm certain of it."  Anabel smiled again.  "When she can be assured of his  
safety.  And theirs." 
 
"That may be more than we can give them."  
 
"You sell our Hawkins short, Arthur."  Anabel patted his arm.  "Go on with  
you.  You've done well." 
 
Jones chuckled suddenly.  "I doubt our Mr. Smith will agree." 
 
"No, but I'm pleased you do."  Anabel laughed softly when he rolled his eyes  
and started back down the stairs. 
 
When she entered the room, the two children looked at her with identically  
suspicious expressions.  "Come, I would imagine you are both hungry.   
Maman is very tired, she will need to rest for a while.  When she wakes  
again, we can walk on the beach with Petou, my dog." 
 
"I want my daddy."  Michael's mouth quivered.   
 
"I know, cher, but that must wait until everything has been arranged."   
Anabel put a hand on the silky, dark hair.  "You look very much like your  
papa, did you know that?"  Moving her hand to Merry's cheek, she smiled at  
the little girl.  "And you, cherie, you are a combination of both of them." 
 
"What do you have to eat," Merry asked, ducking away from her.  "Do you  
have waffles?" 
 
"No, but I think I have something you will like.  Will you come down and  
have breakfast with me while Maman rests?" 
 
After a moment, they both nodded. 
_____________________________________ 
 
Mulder woke to find Scully at the foot of his bed.  The damned drugs made  
his mouth taste like hell and feel like cotton.  "Mm."  He pushed himself up  
on his good elbow and peered at the bedside stand.  Ah, water--Scully was  
at the bedside before he could reach it, holding the straw to his mouth. 
 
It tasted better than anything he remembered.  But he always thought that.   
"Mm," he leaned back and winced.  "Why do I feel better than I expected?"   
A chill took possession of his bones and made him shiver.  "Why don't I hurt  
worse?" 
 
"Complain, complain."  Scully's voice was light, but her eyes were  
redrimmed.  "I should think you'd be pleased." 
 
"I am, believe me," he told her emphatically.  "I'm just surprised."  He  
studied Scully's face and felt his stomach turn over.  "What's wrong?   
Morgan and the kids are all right, they were fine last night, I remember." 
 
Scully poked at the blanket aimlessly, tucking the edges around him.  "She's  
gone, Mulder.  She was at Skinner's, but she slipped out while he was  
asleep, she took the kids." 
 
His mouth dried out again.  "She's at the house," he told her, but his pulse  
sped. 
 
Scully shook her head and blinked rapidly.  "I went there.  She's--she  
packed their clothes, Mulder.  And her car was in the driveway, the keys still  
in it." 
 
"No."  Finding it hard to breathe, Mulder pushed himself up farther.  "No, I  
don't accept that, she's got to be there." 
 
"I know.  The only thing I can guess is that she was on her way somewhere,  
somewhere she'd thought they'd be safe.  And somebody picked her up."   
Scully's eyes avoided his.  "Skinner's got people working on it, it's a  
residential neighborhood, someone's got to have seen something." 
 
A complex mixture of terror and rage flooded him, making him shake.   
Shoving her aside, he sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the  
bed.  "I don't accept that!"   
 
"Mulder," she began, but when he looked at her, furious, all he saw was  
tears.  "Mulder, I'm so sorry, we tried, we tried so hard, I didn't expect her to  
leave Skinner's.  And neither did he."  One hand came up to wipe her face,  
she finally looked at him.  "We expected her to stay where it was safe." 
 
He couldn't drag enough air into his lungs.  If the Consortium had them,  
they were dead, his inner voice told him.  Dead while he slept here, drugged  
to the eyes.  Dead and he hadn't felt it, hadn't known it.  "No, I don't believe  
it," his voice kept repeating the same lunacy over and over again.  In his  
heart, though, he *didn't* believe it.  Didn't believe that he wouldn't have  
woken, knowing his family was dead.  Couldn't believe he wouldn't have felt  
the destruction of his life, even drugged unconscious. 
 
The phone rang.  Wiping her face again, Scully lunged for it, answered  
shortly.  After a moment, she silently handed it to him. 
 
"I don't believe it," he told her again, short of breath, his heart still thudding  
hard.  He didn't want to talk on the telephone, but lifted it with his good hand,  
held it to his ear.  "Mulder." 
 
"Mr. Mulder, I'm calling to tell you that Dr. Grayson and the children are  
quite safe and well, there's no need to worry." 
 
His hand gripped the phone tighter.  His mouth was too dry to speak for a  
moment.  Swallowing hard, he managed to summon enough spit to move  
his tongue.  "Who is this?" 
 
"They'll be quite safe until the situation eases somewhat.  We'll be in touch  
then." 
 
The click disconnected the phone.  "Who is this?" he demanded enraged,  
even as his conscious mind registered the click.  "Goddammit,  
motherfucker, son of a bitch!"  He hurled the handset at the floor, it cracked  
and pulled the rest of the telephone down from the wall, leaving Scully to  
stare at him. 
 
"The fucking Illuminati!"  Sliding off the bed, he lurched toward the closet.   
"I hope I have clothes in here." 
 
Scully's gasp was audible.  "Mulder, there's no way you should even be out  
of bed, you lost one helluva lot of blood." 
 
Turning on her, he advanced, backing her up against the bedside stand,  
even as unsteady as he was.  "The fucking Illuminati has my family, Scully.   
You're going to get me some clothes and take me out to the place I met  
those bastards and you're going to do it now."  Cruelty and thwarted rage  
made him add: "It's the least you can do." 
 
Scully went white to the lips.  Finally, nodding, she silently left the room.   
Sinking down into a chair, Mulder rested his forehead on his arm, tears  
stinging his eyes. 
_____________________________________________ 
 
The house in which they'd met with Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones and Anabel  
Fourier was empty.  Uninhabited.  A sign proclaimed that it was for sale.   
When Scully called the realtor, she found it had been listed for four months.   
Empty for four months.   
 
Resting his forehead on the dash of the car, Mulder groaned, finally  
recognizing the voice that had told them they were safe.  Fucking Jones.   
And how the fuck was he supposed to find Jones? 
 
Skinner, that's how.  Raising his head, he looked at Scully.  "Skinner knows  
these guys.  He knows how to find them." 
 
Scully looked at him silently for a moment.  "He's already tried, Mulder.  I  
called him when I went to your place to get you some clothes."  Her eyes  
were shadowed.  "Let's just say they aren't returning his calls, and that's  
how he gets in touch with them.  They set the meeting place." 
 
He sat quite still, his mind going blank with stress and grief and anger.   
Finally, leaning back, he closed his eyes.  "Take me back to my apartment." 
 
Scully hesitated.  "The apartment?  But I thought--" 
 
"It isn't sublet yet, Scully.  And I've still got the futon."  Opening his eyes, he  
glared at her.  "And if you think you're taking me back to that fucking house,  
you're crazy." 
 
She turned back to the steering wheel, reached down to turn the key in the  
ignition.  "All right."  Colorlessly. 
 
Tears burned his eyes again.  "I'm sorry, Scully, I know I'm being a first  
class bastard, but I can't stop myself." 
 
"I understand, Mulder."  Her voice was very soft.  When she turned to look  
at him, he believed her.  And felt that much worse.  "But tell me how we  
could have stopped her?" 
 
It hurt too much to think about.  But he had little choice.  "I know," he  
whispered and closed his eyes again.  "I know." 
_____________________________________________ 
 
Anabel sat at her table and watched through the window as Morgan walked  
the children up and down the beach.  Or rather, as she paced up and down  
the beach while she watched the children play with Petou. 
 
Petou, gentle collie that he was, tolerated the children very well, even played  
with them.  Anabel was pleased by that, it showed that the advance of years  
had not affected Petou's nature. 
 
She was less pleased with Morgan Grayson's silent withdrawal from  
everyone but the children.  It worried her a great deal, the more so as the  
days passed and it grew worse.   
 
The sound of a car pulling up made Anabel rise and retrieve a semi- 
automatic pistol from her sideboard.  But it was only Smith, his expression a  
combination of amusement and chagrin when she opened the door to him. 
 
"Anabel," he greeted her solemnly.  "I have good news for you." 
 
"I should hope so," she told him and gestured gracefully.  "Would you like  
some coffee?" 
 
"I would love some coffee," he told her and glanced around.  "Where are  
they?" 
 
"Out on the beach.  They will be fine, I have people stationed outside, as  
well."  Anabel smiled gently at him.  "What is this good news?" 
 
Smith's expression took on more chagrin.  "Well, the council agrees with  
you, as it happens.  Not that I expected or argued anything else, mind you.   
And Hawkins has sent word that the leadership of the Consortium considers  
it less than effective to have either Fox Mulder or Morgan Grayson as an  
active enemy.  Evidently, Hawkins has convinced them that the probability of  
eliminating both parents is very unlikely, given their respective abilities.  Of  
the two, I suspect Morgan is considered the more dangerous adversary, and  
they would prefer not to make a martyr out of Mulder.  I gather our old  
adversary, the gentleman with the Morley's, also mentioned that having  
Mulder seek vengeance could be both embarrassing and dangerous,  
despite his lack of paranormal abilities." 
 
"At the same time?"  Anabel's tone was dry.  Leading Smith back to the  
dining room, she poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him, the  
delicate cup clicking against the china saucer.  "So, just like that, they're  
going to leave them alone?" 
 
"Not precisely.  I gather the effort to bring the children under control was  
tabled until a later date.  They're evidently in agreement that their mother  
needs to teach them some control and discipline before any further move is  
made.  The death of the Third Elder has thrown some plans into disarray  
and redirected the focus to a certain degree.  We daren't say that there will  
be no further attempt, but I daresay they will wait until the children are much  
older, perhaps even grown.  When their parents are not so much a threat." 
 
"And of course, Hawkins is much younger than most of them," Anabel  
agreed gently and took her chair.  "She will play a large part in the formation  
of policy in the future." 
 
"So we hope, yes."  Smith sipped at the coffee.  "So, how is she?" 
 
"Lost."  Anabel looked through the window again.  "She has finally come to  
believe that neither she nor her children are innately dangerous, but she is  
still struggling with what to do.  Where to go." 
 
Smith followed her gaze.  "She could go home, now," he said drily. 
 
"She thinks she cannot."  Anabel sighed.  "But I think she is wrong.  Time  
will tell." 
 
"Mulder was furious.  Is furious.  I'm told that he's gone back to his  
apartment, he goes to the house only to get fresh clothing.  But he hasn't  
moved his things out of it."  Smith's gaze was distant.  "I apologize, Anabel,  
I was wrong about that, and you were quite right." 
 
Laughing softly, Anabel leaned back in her chair.  "But of course, cher, I am  
French.  Who better to understand the mysteries of the human heart." 
 
Smith grimaced and looked back at her.  "That's all I've come for.  Take care  
of her, Anabel."  Rising, he paused, cocked an eyebrow at her.  "What does  
your program tell you?" 
 
Laughing still, Anabel rose gracefully.  "I have been waiting for your news to  
run it again.  Shall we find out together?" 
 
Smiling, Smith nodded. 
________________________________________ 
 
Morgan stared numbly at the graph on the monitor screen.  "I don't  
understand," she repeated. 
 
Anabel touched one of the lines.  "This means that there is 92.4 percent  
probability that you and the children and your Fox Mulder will be safe for  
many years before you must deal with the Consortium again.   There is also   
73.8 percent probability that you will not have to deal with them again at all  
with regard to the children.  That probability there rises to 80.2 percent if you  
remain aligned with us.  And the other rises to 99 percent if you remain  
aligned with us.   Of course, this assumes you will be going home, cherie." 
 
Morgan licked her lips, felt something she'd thought had died stir in her  
chest.  Hope.  "And if I don't?  What happens then?" 
 
Anabel touched a few keys, brought up another graph.  "Here is the answer.   
There is 63.4 percent probability that Fox Mulder will be either a prisoner of  
the Consortium or executed by them within five years.  There is 79.7  
percent probability that you and the children will be safe from the  
Consortium for at least ten years into the future.  The probability that you will  
be taken by the Consortium within the next five years is 21.3 percent.  And  
the probability that Fox Mulder will survive the next decade, should he  
escape the Consortium, is 53.9 percent." 
 
Morgan's stomach turned over, a manuever that left her feeling queasy.   
"Anabel, you're loading the deck." 
 
Anabel shook her head.  "The program has no emotional connections,  
cherie.  It takes what I give it and produces the probabilities based on those  
factors.  I would be glad to give you the data I entered, if you like." 
 
Glancing back at the children, Morgan swallowed hard and closed her eyes.   
"Did your program figure the probability that he wouldn't have us back?" 
 
Anabel's hand rested gently on her arm.  "Oh, cherie, I don't need a  
program to calculate that probability.  Of course, he will have you back." 
 
Morgan wished she was that certain.   
 
Ten days had enabled her to put her thoughts in order, to come to calm  
again and realize that what she had done was beyond repair.  Driven again  
by fear, she told herself angrily.  Fear kept her from committing to Mulder,  
fear kept her running, kept her from trusting Skinner and Scully.  Fear was  
the killer, she'd forgotten everything she'd ever known about facing it these  
last few years, about letting it move through and past her, about taking  
power from the things that made her afraid. 
 
"I have to think about it," she said aloud, even recognizing that fear was  
what kept her in stasis.  Anabel's house was safe, the only pain here was  
the pain of missing Mulder.   "I have to think about it."  Opening her eyes,  
she looked back at the children again, blinking hard to clear her vision. 
 
Anabel squeezed her arm gently and nodded.  "Of course, cherie."   
_______________________________________________ 
 
Mulder hated going to the house.  But the thought of giving it up, of putting it  
up for sale--it made the pain that much worse.  If he did that, he was giving  
up.  Going there wasn't as bad as giving up.  He could endure it, to get his  
clothes, to get his things.  He had to avert his eyes from the traces of  
Morgan in the bedroom when he did, but he could endure it. 
 
And sometimes, when he was tired, he stayed there for a while, moving  
through the empty rooms as if he was looking for something. 
 
Pointless.  But as pointless as it was, he found himself doing it again, nearly  
two weeks after Morgan's disappearance, found himself listening to  
Morgan's favorite Bach piece, sitting morosely on the couch with a half a  
glass of Scotch in his hand. 
 
The knock on the door made him reach for his gun.  The familiar figure on  
the doorstep made him flick the safety off and put the barrel to the man's  
temple.  "I ought to fucking kill you," he breathed and dragged Jones into the  
house. 
 
Jones' expression was resigned.  "If you kill me, I can't tell you where your  
family is or how to get there." 
 
Drawing back, Mulder swallowed.  "As if you would." 
 
Jones raised both hands.  "We needed to wait until we could be certain that  
Consortium policy had changed.  It appears that the attempts on your lives  
were ordered by, ah, a renegade faction." 
 
He felt his mouth twist bitterly.  "Ah, the old renegade faction gig again.   
Funny, all our troubles seem to come from those renegade factions, don't  
they?" 
 
Regarding him warily, Jones reached carefully into his jacket and pulled out  
a small, index card.  "No, your sister's abduction was ordered by the  
committee itself.  However, I admit, the Consortium itself was inclined to  
regard both you and Morgan Grayson as essentially harmless, at least aside  
from your activities against them." 
 
Renegade faction.  Mulder swallowed again and accepted the card Jones  
held out to him.  Neat, angular handwriting.  Not Morgan's messy, spiky  
loops.  "Delaware?" 
 
"Not all that far," Jones' voice was placatory.  "Several hours drive, but no  
more than that." 
 
"And this is where she is?  And the kids?" 
 
"It's Anabel Fourier's house, Mr. Mulder.  It shows a great deal of trust in  
you that Anabel should share this information with you." 
 
He'd felt unwilling liking for Anabel Fourier.  Bitterness welled up in his  
throat.  "Anabel."  Holding the card up to the light, he read it, an address  
and directions for finding it.  "Okay, you've delivered your message, now get  
the hell out of there." 
 
Jones sighed.  "Mr. Mulder, I do regret your distress, but it was--" 
 
Rage flared up again.  "Get the fuck out of my house!" 
 
Jones got. 
 
Taking the card back into the livingroom, Mulder read it again.  And again.   
And suddenly picked up the glass of scotch, carrying it into the kitchen to  
empty it down the drain. 
 
He could probably make it in three hours, he told himself and put the empty  
glass on the counter beside the sink.   
 
And that was if he drove the speed limit. 
_______________________________________ 
 
Morgan woke early, before the sun was fully up.  The air outside was chilled,  
she tugged her jacket on over her clothes and went outside, letting the  
sound of the sea soothe her.   
 
Sitting on the sea wall, she let her mind empty of thought, of grief, of guilt.   
Just let her mind drift with the waves that rolled in, not far from the sea wall.   
 
It was October, the kids really needed to be in school.  She ought to get  
Anabel to call Jones, or get Anabel to take her back. 
 
The thought of seeing Mulder look at her with that betrayed shock held her  
in stasis.  She'd seen it once, when she'd left to go to New York.  She  
couldn't bear to see it again. 
 
The sun was rising when Petou startled her by sniffing her hand.  Merry and  
Michael regarded her silently, holding each other's hand. 
 
"When are we going home?" Merry asked, her tone strangely adult.   
"Today?" 
 
"Soon."  Morgan swallowed hard.  "Fox is going to be upset with me." 
 
They huddled up to her, then, offering comfort.  "He won't be really, really  
upset," Merry told her, her voice muffled by Morgan's jacket. 
 
"He'll be glad to see us, won't he?"  Michael's small face was anxious. 
 
Morgan swallowed hard.  "I hope so."  Pulling them close, she kissed the  
top of each small head.  "Maybe today." 
 
Merry sighed.  "I miss him." 
 
"Me, too."  Morgan smiled faintly, tearfully.  "Me, too, sweetheart." 
 
After a long silent moment, Michael ran out onto the shingle after Petou,  
picking up a slender piece of driftwood to throw for the collie. 
 
Merry hung back, looking up at Morgan.  "Are you scared Daddy won't love  
you anymore?" 
 
Trying to smile, Morgan nodded.  "A little.  Even though he'll know why I took  
you and ran away to Anabel's." 
 
Merry frowned.  "I don't think that would make him stop loving you." 
 
Put that way, it did seem childishly insecure.  But Morgan's throat hurt  
anyway.  "Go and play," she told Merry.  "I need to talk to Anabel, and then  
maybe we can go home." 
 
Abruptly, Merry gave her a brilliant smile.  "Okay." 
_________________________________________ 
 
Still in her bathrobe, Anabel made her way downstairs to answer the  
determined knocking on her front door.  Peering through the peephole, she  
saw Fox Mulder, looking rumpled and tired, and smiled, tucking the gun into  
the deep pocket of her robe. 
 
He eyed her rather truculently when she opened the door.  "Where are  
they?" 
 
Anabel sighed and retied the belt of her robe.  "I suppose, since they didn't  
answer the door, that they are out on the beach.  Although it *is* obscenely  
early.  Follow me, please." 
 
The truculence changed briefly, a flicker of uncertainty, but his jaw line  
hardened as she ushered him in and closed the door.  "Did you drive at  
night?" she asked, keeping her voice normal, social. 
 
"I got here about three, I slept in the car."  Mulder's chin came up, daring  
her to comment. 
 
Anabel arched an eyebrow.  "You should have woken me," she told him  
mildly and led him through the house.  He stopped dead at the French  
doors, staring and she saw the children playing with Petou. 
 
"Go on," she nudged and he moved forward, opened the doors and went  
out, hesitating when he caught sight of Morgan's back.   
 
Closing the door, Anabel went into the kitchen and started the coffee,  
humming to herself.  It was revoltingly sentimental of her, she thought and  
shook her head.  Because she had left her own life behind when she had  
joined the Illuminati, she had invested emotionally in seeing that Morgan  
Grayson did not make the same mistake. 
 
Although she rather thought that Fox Mulder had more strength of character  
than Christophe had possessed.  She could only hope that his greatness of  
heart exceeded Christophe's as well. 
_____________________________________ 
 
It was suddenly very hard to move forward.  Staring at Morgan's back,  
Mulder forced himself to keep moving, felt the pebbles shift under his  
running shoes. 
 
Forced himself to tamp down on his anger.  He wasn't angry with Morgan,  
not really.  He hadn't protected them.  Or he had, at his own expense, and  
he knew from his own feelings just how little she accepted that. 
 
He'd had a lot of time to think on the drive up, knowing he was going to see  
them.  To see her.  Scully had long since told him what had happened in  
Bethesda, she wasn't running away from him, she was running to keep the  
kids safe.  To keep them alive.   
 
The way they had both run with Aarin more than a year ago. 
 
Michael was throwing a stick for the dog, who appeared to be humoring the  
kids in chasing it.  Neither one of them saw him. 
 
But Morgan turned suddenly, as if she felt eyes on her back.  Turned and  
stared at him, her fingers going up to her mouth. 
 
Mulder's smile got a little more natural.  Now he knew where the  
thumbsucking gene came from.  He could blame the need for orthodontics  
on her.  He took the next few steps quickly, but her frozen stance stopped  
him, about an arm's length away. 
 
Morgan finally lowered her hand, stuffed both hands into the pockets of her  
jacket.  She was very pale, and thinner.  "Hi."  Very small voice. 
 
"Hi."  He swallowed hard.  "You look tired.  Are you okay?" 
 
She blinked hard, looked away and back.  "I haven't been sleeping well."   
Her teeth closed over her lower lip briefly.  "Are you okay?" 
 
Mulder shrugged.  "They still don't want me back at work, but I'm doing fine.   
No broken bones, I've got to do physical therapy for the shoulder, but it's  
coming back fine.  Whatever you and the kids did worked."  A shiver raised  
gooseflesh on his skin and he shoved the thought back under. 
 
Morgan looked away again.  "I'm glad."  Her voice was so soft he could only  
barely make it out.  Realization made him shiver again, she was afraid of  
what they had done, afraid to face him. 
 
"Morgan."  Abruptly, he took the last steps, pulled her against his chest.   
"Morgan, dammit, don't, please.  Is saving my life such a bad thing?" 
 
Her arms went around him and she was sobbing hard.  "No," she wept, "No,  
no, no."   
 
His arms tightened.  "Is that why you ran?" 
 
Her face was pressed against his sweater.  "No."  Muffled voice, and her  
shoulders shook.  "Not that.  But we, oh, God, I was afraid they'd keep trying  
and they'd kill you.  I couldn't bear that, Fox, I couldn't stand it." 
 
Mulder held her while she wept again.  She'd come somewhere safe, he told  
himself again, letting go of the bitterness.  He was never going to forgive the  
Illuminati for playing games, for not telling him where she and the kids had  
gone, but he could forgive her for leaving.  "Don't cry," he whispered and  
hugged her hard, making his shoulder twinge.  "Please, babe, don't cry.  I  
came up here to see if you would come home again." 
 
That started her off again.  Sighing, he pressed his cheek against her hair   
until she could stop.   
 
Drawing back finally, she gave him a shaky smile.  "I told the kids we were  
probably going home today." 
 
Relief made his knees feel a little wobbly.  Offering her a crooked grin, he  
leaned down and kissed her mouth.  "I'm told that it's safe to come home  
now," he whispered. 
 
She nodded and something bleak touched her eyes, but vanished when she  
tried to smile again.  "Lots better than not going home," she whispered back. 
 
"Daddy!"  Michael's voice made him look up, made him grin.  Both kids  
pelted toward them. 
 
They ended up clinging to his legs, both beaming up at him. 
 
"I knew you'd come," Merry told him stoutly.  "I knew you didn't stop loving  
Mommy." 
 
Mulder blinked and looked at Morgan.  "Nah, she'd have to throw out my  
Knicks shirt before that happened." 
 
It had the virtue of making Morgan laugh before she dissolved in tears  
again. 
 
"Come on, let's go tell Anabel I'm taking you all home," Mulder told them,  
pretending not to see, drawing her close against him.  "And get the dog.  I  
don't want Anabel mad at me for losing her dog." 
 
The dog gave him an intelligent look, and trotted toward the house, as if  
humoring him. 
 
Given what he now knew about genetic experiments, he couldn't help  
wondering. 
______________________________________________ 
 
Merry looked up as Morgan came back into the playroom, looking--not quite  
upset, but almost. 
 
"Who is that lady?" Michael asked, fitting together two Legos. 
 
"She's our grandmother," Merry told him, exasperated.  "I told you." 
 
"Then why is she being mean to Daddy?"  Michael asked, reasonably  
enough. 
 
"She's not being mean to Daddy," Morgan sighed and sat down on the floor  
with them, crosslegged.  "She's just a little confused and upset." 
 
"Huh."  Michael climbed over the Legos and got into Morgan's lap.  Merry  
promptly stole a Lego she needed from his pile and popped it in place.  "She  
doesn't like Mommy and she doesn't like us." 
 
"That's not true," Morgan sighed and rubbed his back.  "She's just a little  
confused and upset.  Some things happened when your Daddy and Aunt  
Amanda were little kids and this brings it all back to her.  It scares her." 
 
Merry looked up from the Legos.  "Is Aunt Amanda coming to visit?" 
 
Morgan's mouth quirked suspiciously.  "Probably.  And her husband and  
her little boy.   
 
Merry blinked.  "We have a big family." 
 
"Are you and Daddy going to get married?"  Michael wanted to know.  "Like  
the man said." 
 
Another sigh.  "You mean the judge?  Yeah, we're going to get married."   
Morgan didn't sound happy about it. 
 
Worried, Merry abandoned the Legos and climbed into Morgan's lap,  
dislodging Michael so he had to share.  "Don't you want to?" 
 
Morgan laughed softly.  "I'm allergic to marriage.  But you and your father  
are worth it." 
 
Pondering that, Michael narrowed his eyes.  "Like I'm allergic to tomatoes?" 
 
"Something like that," Morgan agreed and ruffled his hair. 
 
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Merry turned her head as her father  
appeared in the doorway.  He looked tired, and not entirely happy.  "Are you  
all hiding?" 
 
Morgan tipped her head and smiled at him.  "Just giving you time.  How  
goes it?" 
 
"Well, she's calmed down."  Mulder came and sat down on the floor with  
him.  "She's in the bathroom downstairs, washing her face." 
 
"Ah."  Morgan reached out and touched his cheek.  "Well, I can't blame her  
for being upset, Fox, we were pretty upset, too." 
 
Something behind his eyes flickered and Merry shifted to him, putting her  
arms around his neck.  "We love you, Daddy," she told him stoutly. 
 
That got a tired smile.  "I love you guys, too," he told her and hugged her  
hard.  "And I'm sure that your grandmother will, too." 
 
"Huh."  Michael sounded dubious. 
 
Mulder's mouth quirked.  "No, I think she really will.  She's just getting used  
to the idea.  I think she figured I wasn't ever going to get married, let alone  
produce offspring.  And you have to admit, this isn't exactly the traditional  
method." 
 
Morgan's laughter was reassuring, Merry felt something inside Mulder relax  
at hearing it.  "When have either of us been traditional, Mulder?" 
 
Mulder rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, well, you know mothers." 
 
Morgan shifted Michael over to Mulder's other knee.  "Well, let me go  
downstairs and do some bridge building." 
 
"Why are you going to build a bridge?"  Michael's brows drew together. 
 
"Metaphorically speaking," Morgan told him. 
 
"That means pretend," Mulder sighed, "She's going to build a bridge with  
words, Michael, between us and your grandmother." 
 
"I hope."  Bending, Morgan kissed the top of Mulder's head and went out,  
her footsteps almost inaudible on the stairs. 
 
"I can always hear you on the stairs, Daddy," Merry said thoughtfully.  "But  
Morgan's like Sadie.  Sometimes I can't hear her at all." 
 
"I have bigger feet," Mulder told her.  
 
Michael stuck one of his feet out.  "I don't." 
 
Laughing, Mulder ruffled Michael's hair.  "You will, son of mine.  Count on  
it." 
 
"Will I?"  Merry gave him a dubious look. 
 
"You might.  Your Aunt Amanda's almost as tall as I am." 
 
"Mommy says she hopes I get that from your side of the family."  Merry  
leaned against him.  "How come?" 
 
"Mommy thinks she's too short."  Mulder rested his chin on Merry's head.   
"And she doesn't think she's thin enough.  But I like Mommy just the way  
she is." 
 
They sat in silence for a few minutes. 
 
"We're a real family now, aren't we?" Merry asked dreamily.  "Just like  
Katie's family." 
 
"That's so dumb," Michael told her, "Of course we are." 
 
"Don't call your sister dumb," Mulder said, his tone absent.  "You never  
know, you might regret it some day.  And yes, we are a real family.  And if I  
ever get over the weirdness of that, I might stop thinking we're an X file." 
 
"We aren't an X file," Merry told him, "We aren't aliens, and the aliens can't  
take us." 
 
Mulder's eyes were shadowed for a moment, but he grinned suddenly.  "I  
pity the alien that tries." 
______________________________________________ 
 
It was raining, which suited Morgan's disarranged frame of mind.  But then,  
it was November, a little too cool to get married in the back yard.  So they  
were stuck with the living room, since she flatly refused any of the  
suggested chapels that Mulder's mother had named. 
 
Standing in front of the mirror, she surveyed her reflection and decided that  
the deep red of her dress really did suit her. 
 
"Only you would get married in a red dress, Morgan," Scully told her, from  
the edge of the tub where she sat, ankles crossed.   "Why are you so  
nervous?" 
 
"I loathe marriage," Morgan told the mirror morosely.  "Marriage bites.  It  
sucks.  It blows chunks." 
 
Scully snickered.  "Then why are you getting married?" 
 
"Because that sweet talking, silver tongued partner of yours convinced me."   
Leaning forward, Morgan regarded her reflection without much pleasure.  "I  
must be insane.  You can't get married if you're insane, can you?" 
 
"The insanity plea won't get you out of this," Mulder's voice came from the  
doorway.  Morgan glanced at him.  His mother had insisted that he wear a  
suit, and he was wearing his Tasmanian devil tie.  Her mouth twitched.  She  
was wearing a red dress and he was wearing a Tasmanian devil tie.   
 
No wonder his mother was horrified and muttering under her breath. 
 
Scully actually giggled and Morgan turned to regard her in amazed horror.   
Clearly, someone had been giving Scully champagne.  Probably to tide her  
over while the alleged bride lurked in the master bathroom.   
 
"Mulder," Scully giggled again, "How did you get her to agree in the first  
place?" 
 
Mulder wrinkled his nose.  "HMOs, vaccinations, orthodontists, and  
glasses.  She turned pale and nodded before she had time to think." 
 
Scully giggled yet again.   
 
"Dana," Morgan told her sternly.  "Stop that at once or I'll have you removed  
from the grounds." 
 
That set Scully off again, and Mulder gave Morgan a puzzled look.  "Stop  
laughing?" 
 
"Laughing I could deal with.  Giggling is simply too much."  Morgan eyed  
him and sighed.  "I suppose everyone is wondering where I am." 
 
Mulder grinned.  "My mother is looking severe.  And Merry and Michael want  
to go outside and play.  She's sitting on them.  Skinner keeps looking at his  
watch, Geoff keeps telling everyone you'll be late to your own funeral, not to  
worry, and Emily and Jon keep eyeing my mother as if she's a dragon." 
 
Morgan sighed.  "Great.  Bad enough your mother already thinks of me as  
the devil incarnate." 
 
Scully hiccoughed and regarded her champagne glass with a betrayed look.   
"Morgan, if you don't go downstairs and get married, I'm going to end up  
drunk.  I should never have had champagne on an empty stomach." 
 
Ignoring this, Mulder came up behind her and bent to kiss the nape of her  
neck.  "Well, you have to admit, the red dress was a little hard for her to  
accept."  His grin was mischievous.  "Although I'm quite partial to it.  And  
she doesn't think of you as the devil incarnate." 
 
"No, she thinks of me as the evil older woman who robbed her of her son."   
Morgan managed a crooked smile at Mulder's reflection.  "All right, I'm being  
silly, she's just a little nervous about having a daughter in law who can light  
the fireplace without a match." 
 
Mulder's arms went around her tightly.  "Well, it is a little disconcerting to  
her.  She doesn't even like to know what I'm doing for the Bureau." 
 
Behind them, Scully stopped giggling long enough to stand up.  "Morgan,  
after all I went through, canvassing Melissa's friends to find a Wiccan high  
priestess who is also a licensed minister, the least you can do is come down  
and get married.  If you *are* insane, Mulder can have it annulled in the  
morning." 
 
Mulder grinned again and kissed Morgan's temple.  "*I'm* not insane  
enough to do that, who else would put up with me?" 
 
Morgan leaned back against him, cherishing the warmth and affection.  It  
wasn't as though Mulder showed any signs of ever turning into someone like  
her first husband, she reasoned with herself.  It was ridiculous to hide in the  
bathroom like a scared child. 
 
Wasn't it? 
 
Still snickering, Scully rolled her eyes and went out.   
 
Morgan heard her footsteps on the stairs and sighed again, tilting her head  
back to look up and seeing only his profile.  "All right, all right, all right.  But  
only because you promised you wouldn't turn into Ozzie, Mulder.  The  
moment you do, I file for divorce." 
 
Turning her around, he tipped her face up and kissed her hard enough to  
turn her bones to water.  Now, that was a good reason to marry him,  
muttered the little voice in her head, he didn't get angry at her for panicking,  
and he could push her buttons just by looking at her across the room.  To  
say nothing of how it felt when he kissed her. 
 
Drawing back, Mulder rubbed his thumb over her lower lip.  "It's kind of hard  
to turn into Ozzie when you're chasing EBEs," he told her softly.  "And I  
don't recall that Harriet taught forensic psychology, now that I think about it." 
 
Morgan felt her mouth quirk and slipped her arms around his waist.  "Well,   
that's true enough.  I'm just glad your mother didn't insist on a traditional  
wedding." 
 
"Oh, she did suggest inviting some people, but I overruled her."  Mulder  
grinned.  "I still can't believe you invited Skinner to witness this.  He's never  
going to let me live it down." 
 
"What, that you coerced me into marriage?  I thought he was aiding and  
abetting you."  Morgan leaned forward, resting her forehead against his  
chest. 
 
"Well, he was.  He's fairly traditional all on his own."  Mulder chuckled.   
"Scully's mother wanted to come.  Maybe to make sure it wasn't just a  
rumor, that Dana was safe from my allegedly nefarious designs." 
 
"Well, maybe she just wanted to ascertain what Geoff's nefarious designs  
are.  I can't believe you invited the Lone Gunmen."  Sighing again, Morgan  
leaned back to look up at him.  "I'm a tedious bitch and I'm sorry.  This just  
pushes all my buttons." 
 
Mulder's hand cupped her cheek, but his grin was still mischievous.  "I  
know.  And if it didn't, *that* would push my buttons.  As it is, I feel like I  
need to strike while the iron is hot.  Shall we go down and become ordinary  
folk, Dr. Grayson?" 
 
"As long as I don't have to be Morgan Mulder," she told him seriously and  
then grinned when his mouth quirked.  "I adore sharing your life, but  
Morgan, Merry and Michal Mulder is just a little too much." 
 
Throwing his head back, Mulder laughed outright.  "No kidding.   My mom is  
still annoyed that they're going to be Grayson-Mulders." 
 
"It breaks up that unwholesomely cute alliteration," Morgan murmured and  
turned away, seeking her shoes.  Finding them, she put them on,  
straightened her shoulders and took his arm.  "All right, let's do it before I  
chicken out." 
 
Mulder snickered.  "Does this mean we're going to live happily ever after?" 
 
She gave him a mordant smile.  "Mulder, somehow I don't think happily ever  
after is in either of our vocabularies." 
 
He laughed all the way downstairs. 
___________________________________________ 
 
The ceremony was short and sweet, and there was a certain hilarity for  
Mulder in watching Skinner's impassive expression as the High  
Priestess/Unitarian minister tied their hands together with a silk cord. 
 
Morgan had tried to persuade him to go with the year and a day phrasing of  
the handfasting, but he had laughingly persuaded her otherwise, on a  
memorable night, the recollection of which still had the power to make his  
skin tingle. 
 
His mother was horrified enough, he could just imagine her reaction if they  
pledged for a year and a day, and since the entire ceremony was to placate  
his mother--he and Morgan would just as easily have slipped downtown and  
done the deed in secret, without anyone but Scully and Geoff being the  
wiser--he was going to do it right. 
 
Glancing back, he saw she was looking less severe and a little misty, her  
hand resting on Merry's hair.  Biting back a grin, he gave Morgan a sidelong  
look, saw her mouth curve. 
 
Merry was quite consciously using all her wiles to charm her grandmother.   
Michael was going to need to be persuaded that he liked his grandmother  
and that his grandmother liked him, but Merry could sell water skis in Alaska  
in winter. 
 
The rings were simple.  Scully handed him Morgan's with a crooked grin.   
He ardently hoped she didn't start giggling again, Morgan was likely to flee  
the room screaming.  "I do," he managed and slipped the ring on Morgan's  
fingers, fighting his own urge to burst into laughter. 
 
Morgan's fingers curled around his briefly and he saw mischief in her eyes.   
Oh, God, please let her not say anything that would make his mother's hair  
curl--but his mouth curved in response to that mischief anyway, despite his  
best intentions. 
 
"I do," Morgan repeated demurely and accepted his ring from Geoff.  It felt  
strange and heavy on his finger, but reassuring in a strange way.   
 
All they were doing here was affirming what they already were, and  
Morgan's panic had amused him more than anything else. 
 
Leaning down, he kissed her lingeringly, and the sense of mischief radiating  
from her infected him.  Dipping her back, he kissed her harder, making her  
laugh in her throat and stirring a little applause from the guys in the back.   
He heard Frohicke whistle and set Morgan on her feet again. 
 
Geoff was chuckling and--oh, God--Scully burst into giggles again.  "We're  
going to have to feed her," he muttered to Morgan and eyed his partner, who  
hiccoughed.  "I never thought she'd be a silly drunk." 
 
"She's just tipsy," Morgan murmured back and grinned.  "Well, that wasn't  
so bad." 
 
"Not nearly as bad as going to the dentist," he agreed and couldn't help it,  
he gave Skinner a smile that made the AD blink. 
 
The rest was anticlimactic, food spread out on the table, champagne to  
drink--sparkling grape juice for the kids. 
 
Scully, thankfully, sobered up. 
 
Around six, Mulder found Morgan sitting on the stairs with her shoes off,  
having a solemn discussion with his mother, who was looking astonishingly  
relaxed. 
 
"Can I borrow her for a while?" he asked and his mother smiled at him in a  
way he didn't remember seeing--god, in forever. 
 
"Why, of course.  I thought I'd borrow the children and take them home with  
me this weekend.  Give you two a chance to be alone for a bit." 
 
Mulder considered this notion a dubious one.  "Are you sure?  They're really  
a handful, Mom." 
 
"So were you," she told him and arched her eyebrows.  "And your sister,  
too.  At least these two are both the same size, I don't have to worry about  
one climbing out of her crib while hauling the older child out of a tree." 
 
Taken aback, he studied her face.  "Have you been telling Morgan things  
about me?" 
 
His mother's eyes were mischievous.  "Isn't that what mothers are for?" 
 
Morgan snickered.  "Ah, the blackmail material I have on you has just  
increased exponentially." 
 
"Great."  He took the stair his mother vacated.  "Are you sure that's a good  
idea?" 
 
Morgan leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.  "Relax, Dad.  I'll put  
the fear of the gods into the little monsters before they leave.  And it will be  
rather nice to have you all to myself for a few days."  Her eyebrows rose.   
"Ah, the things I have planned." 
 
"Hedonist."  He took the champagne glass from her and took a sip.  Now  
that he thought about it, it was an attractive idea.  "All right, I guess.  But if  
my mother calls me to tell me that Michael put the oatmeal somewhere it  
didn't belong, we're going up to get them." 
 
Morgan nodded wisely.  "Gotcha." 
 
Mulder eyed her.  "No happily ever after?" 
 
"Well, how about sometimes happily ever after?"  Her eyes glinted again.   
"Happily ever sometimes after?  Happily sometimes ever after?" 
 
"Now who's had too much champagne?"  Pulling her into his arms, Mulder  
kissed her temple.  "Still panicky?" 
 
"Nah, not really.  I can always hit you in head with the fireplace poker."   
Settling back against him, Morgan laughed softly.  "Or vice versa.  Scully  
already promised me she wouldn't investigate." 
 
"Oh, great, you can murder me with impunity."  Laughing softly, Mulder  
tugged at a lock of hair, making her snicker. 
 
"Well, not impunity.  She also told me that if I was going to murder you, she  
expected something more brilliant than a blunt object."  Her hand curved  
around his.  "Not that I'm planning to murder you."  Her voice went very soft. 
 
She was so damned funny.  Worried that he was going to take any of this  
seriously.  "I didn't think you were," he assured her, smiling into her hair. 
 
"Things really aren't going to change."  Her voice was softer yet, a little  
apprehensive.  "Are they?" 
 
"Uh uh."  He sighed, feeling oddly content.  "Babe, I made my choice when I  
brought you home from the nursing home.  And hauled you back from New  
York." 
 
A sigh of relief.  "Yeah, me, too."  Then, her voice a bit tart, she told him,  
"You didn't haul me back from New York, I came with you." 
 
Mulder chuckled.  "Okay, fair enough.  You aren't going to let me take credit  
for that, are you?" 
 
Morgan turned her head.  "Oh, all right.  You persuaded me, using logic and  
reason against my quite irrational fright." 
 
Resting his head against the banister posts, Mulder laughed.  "As long as  
you remember to return the favor once in a while." 
 
Shifting, Morgan turned sideways in his lap and kissed him hard enough to  
make him forget that there were still people sitting in the livingroom.  
 
"Wow," he whispered, when she leaned back, looking smug.  "Think we can  
get rid of all these people in about five minutes?" 
 
"Our bedroom door has a lock on it."  Morgan's smile was full of deviltry.   
"And everyone is thoroughly occupied for the moment." 
 
"As long as the kids don't tell."  Mulder ran his thumb over the curve of one  
of her eyebrows. 
 
Morgan laughed, hard enough to draw some attention from the livingroom.   
"The Mul-der family," she sang, off key, to the tune of the Addams family  
theme.   
 
Summoning the words from the backroom of his mind, Mulder joined her. 
 
It seemed to sum everything up just fine. 
 
FIN