Subject: The Price of a Soul (2/3) Date: Sat, 3 Apr 1999 Title: The Price of a Soul 04/09 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and language Category: SAH Spoilers: None Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; est MSR Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire! http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/ While you're there, take a minute to sign the guest book, and drop a note to Shirley. Tell her how great she is! Thanks: I have been remiss in not thanking my beta readers of late. It is not that I don't appreciate them, I do, but I sometimes struggle to find adequate ways to express exactly how valuable they are. I am blessed to have received some wonderfully flattering feedback on my stories. Comments that range from praise of my characterizations to enjoyment of my detail work. But invariably, I also hear from at least one person who remarks that my stories are *easy* to read. That they are clear, and clean, and well-punctuated, with appropriate grammar usage and proper spelling and good continuity. These are things I value as a reader, and I know how easy it is to be distracted by a misplaced comma, an incorrectly used homonym, a misspelled word, or incorrect verb tense. If you appreciate good *style,* as I do, then join me in thanking Vickie, Susan, Dee, Sonal, Judie, and Michelle. It is their hard work and effort that keeps my stories clean. Summary: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner go to visit the children and their adoptive parents only to find tragedy has struck and the children are missing. Third story in the "Retrieval" universe. Follows "Retrieval" and "What Cost, Friendship." The Price of a Soul 04/09 Skinner limped down the hill to the staging area where the children had been brought. Ranging in age from very young to early teens, they sat in small groups, older ones holding some of the younger ones. He could see bandages on those who had been treated, bruises and blood still visible on many. He scanned the faces as he moved through the area, stopping now and then to speak quietly to a worried child or try to calm one crying. After his third stop to quell a child's tears, he thought back on his comments to Mulder from three days ago. How he wasn't very good with children. He smiled inwardly, murmuring something soothing to the four year old he held in his arms before passing the boy back to a medical tech. Steven and Jess had changed him. He scanned the area again, still hoping against hope to see a familiar face. It was no good. She wasn't here. He dropped his head, fighting to control the sudden urge to scream in frustration, the need to break something, to hurt someone, knowing that he needed to keep his cool. He was about to turn, to retrace his steps back to the command post and wait for word on Mulder when a small hand touched his leg. It was a gentle touch, just below his bandage, and a tiny voice said, "Got owie, Wa - tah?" His heart leapt and he looked down to see a small, worried face looking up at him. "Jess!" He reached down to her and she came gladly into his arms. "Jess," he said more softly, his face buried in her soot-filled hair. She curled into his shoulder, one chubby arm reaching around his collar, thumb going into her mouth. Her fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and he could feel a sudden moistness on his face. Jessica pulled back and studied him seriously, then asked, "Cwyin' Wa - tah?" Skinner nodded slowly and pulled the baby's head back down to his shoulder, gently patting her back. " 's OK, Jess, it's going to be OK." " 'kay, Wa-tah," she said, sniffling now, and he realized his own reaction had upset her. He continued to hold her, his eyes still scanning the area, noting the children with vivid bruises and bloodstained clothes. There were even a few with broken limbs and he had to wonder if all the damage had occurred in the collapse of the tunnels. Seeing the others' injuries, he was suddenly aware of the fragility of the child in his arms. His friend's child. Mulder's child. He drew back to look at her again, scrutinizing her tired little face, and asked, "Are you OK, Jessie?" She nodded soberly, and tried to lay down on his shoulder again, comforted by a familiar presence, but he was still concerned. "Do you have an owie, Jess?" he tried again. She nodded again, pulling her little shirt up to point to a livid bruise on her ribcage. "Owie," she whispered, and his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Oh God, what if she was seriously hurt? He'd never be able to face Mulder again. "Medic!" he bellowed, immediately murmuring to the baby when she jumped at his roar. "Shhh, I'm sorry, baby, it's OK now. I've got you. Walter's got you." He looked up again, a female EMT standing before him. "Check her, please," he said, and started to pass the baby over, but she began to cry, clinging to him and calling, "No, Wa - tah, no! Jess tay Wa - tah." "Perhaps you should hold her, sir," the woman suggested. "She seems attached to you now. You can help keep her calm." The baby was crying now, and Skinner felt like a heel for frightening her. He spent several more minutes calming her again, then limped to the side of the staging area and found an equipment box to sit on. With Jessie sitting in his lap, he watched as the medic assessed and then treated her injuries, giving thanks that they were all fairly superficial. As the last bandage was applied, his radio crackled and Snipes came through. "It's getting worse, Sir. I think you're needed back up here." Skinner looked at the medic and she nodded. He rose, still holding Jessica, and spoke into the radio. "On my way." The hike back up the small hill to the command post was no easier than the trip down, but it seemed so, even though he was now carrying an extra 25 pounds or so. He looked down at the baby, almost asleep on his shoulder, and sighed. It was because of that extra 25 pounds that his heart was light and filled with hope now. If Mulder managed to reach Steven, they would have both the children. He frowned then, knowing that while recovering the children was important, it was good, hell, it was *wonderful,* it wasn't everything. He still had an agent out there, still missing, perhaps injured, and Mulder wouldn't survive if Scully wasn't found. His commitment to her was complete, and nothing, not even his own children, would ever be able to fill the empty places that she did. Skinner sighed again, then laughed at the look Snipes gave him as he reached the summit. "My agent's kid," he said gruffly. "The reason we were out here to begin with. The boy is his, too." Snipes' eyes grew wide but he said nothing. The ground suddenly heaved beneath them, a giant undulating wave that upset boxes, knocked men off their feet and threatened to uproot the very trees. The comm tech looked up, concerned. "That last blast must have blown the antennae. I can't hear a thing anymore." Skinner considered the irony. The baby slept now, the trust of the truly innocent allowing her to rest and let him take care of things. He pulled on a strap, trying to make the vest more comfortable, and not succeeding. He decided it was his own helplessness chafing at him. Not that he had lost control of this operation; he had never really been in control. NSA would handle any investigation that came out of this. Despite his ability to force Bureau involvement, even his level of authority would not be enough to supplant the NSA. However the NSA decided to cover this up, whatever *this* was, there was still one question remaining: What about the children? ************************************* Muffled against the Kevlar vest, Mulder could not tell if Steven still breathed or if his heart beat, but his own hammered against his ribs like a wild thing trying to break free of a cage. At his heels, with a sound like that of an oncoming freight train, the chaos of fire gained on them. His own fear of flame was returning, threatening to drag him down and make him useless. His eyes began to burn, the reek of smoke filled his nostrils and stung them. He began to talk to Steven, comfort and encouragement for the child, the same for himself. "Hang in there, Steven, just hold on. I've got you, you're safe now. Just hold on a little longer, baby." The endearment slipped out and for a moment he was stunned by his own words, but they felt right, and he hugged the featherweight body tightly as if the embrace would slow the bleeding, bind the wounds he had no time to attend. He twisted his way through the corridors, reaching the cave-in. The air here seemed a little clearer. He slowed, the adrenaline rush of the search for Steven fading now, fatigue dogging his movements. Mulder shifted Steven's limp weight in his arms and mopped his face with the back of his sleeve. His belly was bleeding again, and he could feel the lightheadedness of blood loss, only being held back by sheer determination. How long did he have until the needs of the flesh overcame his stubbornness? A tiny draft of coolness played against the heat of his brow and he turned toward it instinctively. "It's all right, Steven. We're almost there." He tucked the boy under his chin, and the exhalation of his words ruffled the baby fine hairs on his head, tickling his neck. The child stirred slightly, as if gaining awareness. "Almost there," Mulder repeated encouragingly. But then he stopped in his tracks. No way could he pass through the crawlway holding Steven. Even if he took off the bulky vest and held him tightly to his chest, there wouldn't be enough room. He would be trapped between the wall and debris. He took two quick breaths, thinking, deciding. He would have to go first and pull the boy after, as quickly and as carefully as he could. He stepped past the cave-in, then into the cleft in the wall, telling Steven what he was doing as he did it. "This is narrow here, baby. I can't go through holding you, but I am *not* leaving you. I'm going to pull you in after me. Don't be afraid. I'm not leaving you. I've got you and you're safe." He laid him down, easing the fragile body to the ground with utmost care. Steven stirred, eyelids fluttering, opening, veins like marble tracings on them, and then he looked at him, fear and uncertainty slowly being replaced with confidence and trust. "It's all right," Mulder murmured. Steven's lips moved soundlessly, so he raised the child up again and cradled him close, his ear to the boy's mouth. He trembled in his arms and slowly repeated, "Like Walter. He wouldn't leave me either." Mulder swallowed hard and nodded, thinking how incredible that this child could still trust, could still have faith. "I'm going to get you out, Steven," Mulder said, and watched as the boy's chin moved, ever so slightly, in the affirmative. He squeezed him, a last hug before he spoke. "I have to put you down, just for a minute. I'm too big to get through if I carry you. You have to be brave a bit longer, Steven, OK?" The boy entwined a slender arm tightly around his neck, fear resurfacing in the face of being put down. "I'm here." Mulder kissed his brow despite the dirt and smoke smudge and faint taste of blood. "I'm not going to leave you," he repeated. He knelt to position him again. Steven clung to him with a wiry strength that both gladdened and saddened him. He still had strength in him, despite his torture, his hurts, his fear. Mulder peeled away his arm and quickly stepped away, holding his hand, their arms linking them as he extended. Then he let go entirely. The loss of contact with his son, his touch, his warmth, was like a physical blow, and he staggered. A coldness swarmed him, and he could smell anew the acridness of smoke. The tunnel shook with a faint booming, another explosion, and he could hear the concrete and gravel begin to slide, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Steven let out a shrill cry. Mulder pushed through the narrow passage, then flung himself down on his stomach, disregarding his own pain, and reached back in, praying that he had not underestimated the distance. Another blast rocked through walls and floor, and the mound next to him shifted, dirt drifting down. Mulder coughed harshly as he shoved himself deep into the cleft, reaching, fingers splayed out, touching ... nothing. Oh, God! The panic gripped him and he forgot to breathe for a moment. He had to be there! He couldn't have moved. Couldn't have crawled back into the intersection. Couldn't be gone, not beyond his reach. He lay on his flank, twisting his neck, unable to see, his reach one of faith and hope. "Steven! Take my hand! I'll pull you through. C'mon, baby! Hurry!" A third blast, so much closer his ears rang with it. Dirt skidded in earnest, faster and faster, raining down on him, filling his mouth as he shouted for the child. "Take my hand! C'mon, Steven. Reach for it! You have to try!" He thrust himself in as far as he could, gasping and choking, straining, hands, fingers, searching blindly. Then, a tiny touch upon his fingertips. A whisper of sound carried through -- "Fox ..." He seized on it. "I'm here, Steven," he called. "I'm here." Yes! Smaller fingers, chilled ones, and he captured them and swallowed them up with his hand, hungry for the child's touch. He had him! His whole hand, and then, his wrist. Slowly, carefully, he began to crawl backward. Debris shifted and showered him with every movement. Jammed between concrete and gravel and dirt, he could see little as he inched his way back out. The partial cave-in gave way, cascading down, its weight dropping onto him, threatening to bury them both. Surging upward in the violent heaves of floor and walls, a piece of metal rebar jabbed into the shoulder of his vest -- searing pain -- snagging him immobile. He squeezed his right hand tighter around Steven's wrist. "I've got you. This is the tough part. Don't let go!" Squirming, he got his left arm free and tugged at the stubborn end of the rebar. The twisted metal had impaled him like a javelin. In his right hand, he could feel Steven go suddenly limp. Had the dirt smothered him? "NO! Steven!" He shook the boy as hard as he could with only one hand on a still, thin wrist. "Wake up, you've got to wake up, and *don't let go!*" Fear rocketed through him. He gave a mighty heave, and the rebar ripped through flesh and the edge of the Kevlar vest and then he was free. He clamped down even harder on Steven's wrist, so hard, he knew he was bruising him, risked cutting off circulation, afraid to grip him any less tightly. With one last massive pull, Steven's thin form slipped through, as the tunnel shuddered one last time, like a dying animal, its gasp an endless shower as it imploded on itself, trying to suck them under. Mulder gathered the child up and staggered down the tunnel, blind in the swirl of dust and smoke. Fear dried his mouth. The collapsing tunnel spat him out like Jonah from the mouth of the whale, in a spurt of smoke and ashes, his marker showing him the way to the surface. He clambered up the gully, shouting and coughing. Hands reached for him and he could hear, finally, something besides the ringing explosions. They drew him up and out and someone took Steven from his arms, throwing a blanket over him. Someone else eased the vest from his shoulder, saying, "Jesus Christ, look at this hole, he's been shot --" but the words did not sink in. He could not have been shot, it was the rebar, it must have been but it did not matter. "Steven!" He pulled away from the hands and reeled after the child until they reached clear air. He turned and saw billowing smoke geysering up from the hole in the ground and realized how close to disaster they had truly been. Nothing could have breathed in that inferno. Agents drew him with them, the grass dewed with silvery streaks, and fresh morning light shone down on them, and he went to his knees, blinking in exhaustion, as they laid Steven gently down. Like an apparition out of nowhere, Skinner was suddenly there, a looming presence, familiar and comforting. The AD knelt, his injured leg making it awkward, and reached out to steady Mulder as he swayed. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" Mulder looked at him, saw the compassion and concern, and would have answered, but he found it difficult to breathe. Skinner was totally focused on him and Mulder could see the man was making his own assessment. He wouldn't want to wager on his chances of avoiding a hospital stay this time. One strong hand still held his arm, oblivious to the sleeping baby tucked securely in the other. He started to laugh at the sight, but a spasm of coughing kept him down until he could finally draw a clear breath. He paused, looked around, and realized there were bodies on the ground. "Scully?" Skinner shook his head slowly, and Mulder started to ask about Jess, but a child's whimper interrupted. "Steven!" He crawled to his side and his hands, God bless his hands, they knew what to do as they gently straightened the boy's tangled limbs and brushed his hair from his face. Steven gave a rattling breath, and color came back into his paler than pale skin. He reached for Mulder's hand, and wove their fingers together, his tiny ones almost lost in Mulder's long, elegant ones. "Be careful," Steven whispered. "Be careful." Skinner leaned forward. "Shhh," he soothed, and Steven looked up at the big man. "Walter," he whispered. "Fox said you were here." He blinked in confusion, then a smile blossomed on his grubby face. "And you found Jessie." His gaze flicked from Mulder to Skinner and back to Mulder. He tightened his hand about Mulder's and reached for Skinner with the other one. "Be very careful," he whispered again, his eyes sliding shut once more, hands going limp. Skinner put his hand on Mulder's good shoulder. "He's in shock. Medical's on the way." He leaned over and caught Mulder in a hug, holding him awkwardly careful of both the sleeping baby he held and the injuries Mulder sported. "He's alive! You did good, Mulder, you did so good!" Mulder nodded, inordinately pleased to have the praise and admiration of this man he respected. He nodded again, wordlessly, suddenly growing lightheaded and dizzy, darkness threatening the edge of his vision. He had gotten Steven this far. And Skinner had Jess. He gently broke from Skinner's embrace and leaned over Steven again. "You're alive, son. You're safe, and you're alive." He lifted his head to meet Skinner's eyes. "But now -- where is Scully?" ********************************************* Skinner woke suddenly to wiggling weight landing on his chest. He groaned softly and was answered by a high pitched giggle, echoed by a voice to his side. "Steven," he said in mock sternness, "didn't I tell you not to get Jessie out of the crib?" "She was getting whiny, Walter," the boy explained. "She isn't used to having to stay in the crib once she wakes up." The child's tone turned wistful. "At home, she had a regular bed, only smaller. Mama worried because she was always climbing out of the crib and she was afraid she'd fall and hurt herself." "So they got her a regular bed?" Skinner asked, one hand gently hanging onto the baby as he hitched to the side to make room for Steven to climb up. "Yeah," the boy said sadly. "She only had it a couple weeks but she really liked it." He lay down beside Skinner, head resting on the AD's shoulder, and Skinner stretched an arm around him. "Walter? Jessica and me, we're not going to get to go home, are we?" Skinner swallowed and looked over at the fourth bed in the room. Mulder was sleeping, the IV administered pain meds keeping him under. No help from that quarter. He rubbed the boy's back. "No, Steven, you're not," he said quietly. "Because the bad men hurt Mama and Daddy?" "Yes." "They killed them, didn't they?" Skinner swallowed again, still rubbing the boy's back. He wasn't prepared for this. He would never be prepared for this. Who could expect to have to be prepared for this conversation? "You know your mom and dad love you a lot, don't you Steven?" he asked gently. "Yeah. That's why they were 'dopting me." He paused a moment, thinking. "We were gonna have a party -- to celebrate." "I know. It's a good thing to celebrate." "They love Jessie, too. They were gonna 'dopt her when she was old enough." The boy sniffled, and buried his head in Skinner's chest. From her place on his other side, he could feel the baby begin to stir fretfully, worried by Steven's obvious agitation. "But they won't now. The bad men killed them." "Yes, Steven, the bad men killed them." The child was silent for a long time, and Skinner could do nothing but hold him and hope that his presence was comfort of some sort. Finally, the boy looked up, meeting Skinner's eyes. "What's going to happen to me and Jess?" he asked, tears hovering in his eyes. "For now, you're going to stay with me and Fox," Skinner said reassuringly. They all turned to look at the man still sleeping in the other bed. Jessica sat up again, using the hospital bed rail to pull herself up. "Shhh," she whispered. "Pox seepin' now." Skinner laughed quietly. "Yep, Fox is still sleeping," he echoed. "We're gonna stay with you?" Steven asked again, needing to hear the words. This child had been through so much, his whole world shattered. Skinner was glad to be able to offer him this much. "Absolutely. For now, you stay with us." "Where's Dana?" the boy asked. "When is she coming?" Skinner froze. How to answer this one? He played several options through his mind and finally settled on honesty. "Steven? Do you remember when Dana came? Before the bad men?" "Yeah ..." the boy answered, slightly uncertain. "And then what happened?" "We played. She said you and Fox were coming later." He paused, brow furrowing as he thought back. "Mom fixed dinner and we ate." He sucked in a gasp of air, trying mightily to stifle a cry. "Then the bad men came." "Do you remember what happened to Dana?" The little face puckered again, thinking hard. "They brought her with us," he said finally. "They hit her -- hard -- and then she was sleeping, but they picked her up and carried her out to the van with me and Jess. She was fighting but they were really big men. And they hit her on the head. They didn't bring Mama and Daddy," he added sadly. The boy cuddled closer and Skinner held him tight. Bandages stood out in stark contrast to the boy's darker coloring -- Mulder's coloring he thought to himself. Around both wrists, beneath the hospital gown, on his chest, and on both legs, razor sharp cuts had been cleaned and dressed in white gauze. He'd been cleaned up, given a bath and Skinner could smell the clean scent of baby shampoo from both children. He tucked the child in tighter, wishing he could take away the pain, set things back to the way they were before. "I tried to fight them, Walter," Steven said in a small voice. "I tried hard. I kicked and I hit, but the man just picked me up. I was trying so hard ..." "You were very brave, Steven," Skinner said, waging his own battle with the lump in his throat. "You are the bravest boy I know." He was hugging the child, wondering where the conversation would go next, when a nurse walked briskly into the room. "In with you again, I see, Mr. Skinner," she said, smiling. "We like Walter," Steven said defensively. "Like Wa - tah," Jess echoed. "I know you do," the woman said soothingly, "but you know I need you in your own beds to look at your boo-boos." Steven rolled his eyes. "You mean my injuries," he corrected. "I don't call them boo-boos anymore." The woman smiled again. "Well, then, into your own bed so I can check your injuries, young man." She came to the side of Skinner's bed and let the rail down. "And you really shouldn't let them climb over the rail, Mr. Skinner," she admonished. "It's just not safe." "I know," he answered, abashed. "But they snuck up on me." Steven had climbed down and padded over to his bed. Skinner watched as the boy jumped up into his bed, not seeming to feel any discomfort from the numerous cuts and abrasions on his body. The nurse produced an aural thermometer and Steven tolerated having the thing in his ear with obvious distaste. He handled the dressing changes better, but Skinner could tell his patience was wearing thin by the time it was done. "When's breakfast?" he asked as soon as the nurse turned away. "Soon," she promised as she came back to Skinner's bed, scooping Jessica up to do her exam. "You must have a lot of pull," she said jokingly to Skinner. "I've never seen the hospital allow children to stay with adults -- not even family members injured in the same trauma." Skinner gave her a warning look, then said quietly, "We wanted to be with the kids." It was the truth, but it belied the whole story. The story that had involved hours of explanations and phone calls, and was the reason the four of them were sharing a hospital room with two guards outside the door. The nurse finished with Jess and put her down on the floor, watching as she toddled over to the impromptu play area they had established in one corner of the ward room. The only play room was on Pediatrics, and there was no way Skinner was allowing the children out of his sight. He was determined they were all staying right here, together, until Mulder was well enough to be discharged and they could all leave together. Then they would have to deal with the legalities of custody. And the realities of the same. And then, the search for Scully could begin. End part 04/09 The Price of a Soul 05/09 Scully awoke. That groggy feeling that often came from being drugged was fogging her mind, clouding her thoughts, making it difficult to get a clear assessment of her situation. She lay on a tattered old cot. The smell of mildew thick beneath her nose. Her hands were bound cruelly behind her back. And she could feel wire within the cords that secured her. Her fingers were numb and she wiggled them uselessly trying to restore sensation. The room was dim. The only light coming in was through a narrow grimy window tucked up close to the low ceiling. Wiggling on the bed, on the cot, she surveyed the room and decided she was in a basement. Concrete floor and rough cinderblock walls that glinted with the moisture that sweat through the brick. The room was quiet. No sound to be heard. Fighting the chemically induced cloud in her mind, she thought back on the events that led to this. The trip out to the LaFreniere's had been uneventful. She had enjoyed an afternoon with the children and dinner with the family before hell had come to call. She remembered watching in helplessness as the children were hauled away before her eyes. And then the feel of the needle sliding into her tightly held arm followed by the inevitable slide into unconsciousness. Twisting her head she looked around again. No sign of the children or Tom or Susan. She kicked her feet experimentally and was surprised to find them loose in marked contrast to the tight bonds that held her hands. Fighting a rising wave of nausea, she gave a mighty heave and shifted to a sitting position, her legs sliding over the edge of the cot, her bare feet resting on the cold concrete floor. What the hell had happened? She twisted her head again, taking in the small, dark, dank room. And where the hell was she? Rising tentatively to her feet, she stood by the cot for a moment and then began a careful perusal of the rest of the room. By the heavily filtered sunlight she could just make out the shape and details of her cell. She walked across the cool cement floor to stand by the wall beneath the window. The room was low-ceilinged, barely a foot above her head, and were her hands free, she would be able to reach the window with little difficulty. She snorted in disgust. Not that reaching the window would do her any good. It was too narrow to allow even her slender form to pass through. She took three paces from the window to reach the first corner, then turned and paced five more times to reach the second. Three paces brought her to a rough hewn door with no visible latch or knob. Knowing it was futile she nonetheless dutifully pressed against the door even going so far as to make a running jump and slam it with her shoulder. All that tactic did was earn her a very sore shoulder. She took three more paces to reach the third corner, turned again, repeated the five steps of the short wall, and paused as she reached this last corner. There was a small jug of water and a plate that held a chunk of bread. It almost made her laugh. How was she supposed to eat or drink with her hands bound behind her? The third object in the corner could only be a chamber pot. And she became aware of the pressure in her bladder. Once again, perhaps the thought counted for something, but the reality of her situation made using the damn thing almost impossible. She might be able to get her pants down but with her hands bound the way they were, she didn't think she would be able to get them back up. And she was at enough of a disadvantage as it was. She didn't think she wanted to meet her captors with her pants around her ankles. Her stomach rumbled and she realized she had been kept unconscious for quite a while. She looked wistfully at the bread and water but decided she wasn't ready to eat doggie-style at this point. Inspection of the room complete, she returned to the cot and sat. There was no sound from outside the window -- no cars, no barking dogs, no children playing, no birds, no frogs, no crickets -- nothing to give her a clue as to where she was. The room itself seemed to echo with silence. Her own ragged breathing and the blood pounding in her ears was all she could hear in this eerily silent place. Since her assault on the island she had kept her distance from others becoming even more reserved and professional then was her usual wont. Only Mulder slipped inside the reserve. She smiled as she thought of her dark-haired lover. And Skinner. The man who had saved them both. But this silence, this isolation, was too reminiscent of that terrible time. And she knew her strength would be tested. The residual effects of the drugs still had her confused, mildly disoriented, and she knew her thinking was not at its best. She took one last look at the room, realized no miraculous escape had appeared, and decided sleep and more time to clear the drugs from her system was her best course of action. Laying awkwardly down on her side, her right elbow digging into her hip, she closed her eyes and let thoughts of Mulder carry her away. ************************************************ Skinner stood by Mulder's bed, the baby snuggled in his arms. She stared down at the sleeping agent and then demanded, "Pox, wake up now!" and Skinner chuckled. "Fox is sleeping now, Jess," Skinner murmured. "Pox, wake up now!" the baby repeated more insistently. She began squirming in his arms and Skinner was hard-pressed to keep a hold of her. "I think she wants down, Walter," Steven said from the play area. Skinner turned to look at the little boy and the baby took advantage of his momentary distraction to make her escape. With a kick to his belly and a sharp pull to the right, she launched herself from Skinner's arms and swan-dived onto Mulder. The younger man woke with an "Oomph!" and raised bleary eyes to look around. Two little hands reached out to each cheek holding him still as a tiny nose approached his own. "Pox, seep 'nough! You pease wake up now." "Uh, Sir?" Mulder began and Skinner immediately lifted the baby from her roost on Mulder's tender abdomen -- the baby who promptly began to scream in protest. "Sorry, Mulder," Skinner muttered, then repeated himself in a louder tone when Mulder indicated he couldn't be heard over the little girl's shrieks. "Want Pox!" Mulder raised his hands and covered his ears briefly then lifted long-suffering eyes to Skinner. "How did I get to be so popular?" Skinner snorted. "*You've* been sleeping for two days. I think she's getting tired of me." "Two days?" He looked around carefully, counting beds. "Scully?" he asked. "Have you found Scully?" "Want Pox!" the baby shrieked again, flailing her arms and legs. Skinner was amazed at how much damage those little feet and hands were capable of. He lifted her higher in his arms trying to protect the vital parts of his anatomy from the kicking feet, then held her straight out from his chest, her feet dancing in the air. "Not yet. I've got people on it." "Want Pox! Want Pox! Want Pox!" Skinner cast a nervous glance to the door of the ward room and wondered how long it would be before a nurse came to see who was torturing this child. As the baby landed another blow, this time catching him across his tender Adam's apple, he gave a strangled cough and fleetingly wondered if he had the authority to coerce the guards outside into a more active form of guard duty. He blinked and she nailed him on the nose and tears sprang to his eyes. A more hazardous form of guard duty he mentally amended -- babysitting. Surely one of them had kids ... "Want Pox! Jess want Pox!" Skinner was at a loss and was ready to put the child down and ask for help when Mulder spoke again. "Put her next to me," he said to Skinner. He reached up with one arm and grabbed a wildly kicking foot, saying, "Jessica, stop this." The baby's noise ceased as abruptly as it had begun. "Pox wake now," the baby said happily. The baby immediately settled in Skinner's arms smiling with pleasure at both men. "Jess," Mulder said quietly, "if you want to sit with me, you have to sit still." The baby's face turned serious. "'kay." She reached for Mulder and Skinner gently set her down at his side. One little hand reached out and gently traced the bandage on Mulder's shoulder. "Pox got owie," she whispered, then leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on Mulder's hospital gown. Mulder smiled. A kiss from Jess was nice, but he really wanted Scully there. Somehow her kisses were more healing. "You're pretty good at this, Mulder," Skinner said. "Scully says it's my childlike personality," Mulder responded self-deprecatingly. "The kids recognize a kindred spirit." "What's kindred?" Steven piped up. "It means alike," Mulder answered. The little boy got up excitedly and moved to stand by Mulder's bed. "We are alike!" he said. "You and me and Jess. We have the same hair and we have the same eyes. We really are a kindred." The two men exchanged a knowing look. Mulder seemed to be pleading silently with Skinner who only shrugged. They probably weren't going to get a better entre into this sensitive subject than the one they were offered. "Steven," Mulder said, "what do you know about your mom and dad?" "They're dead," the boy said sadly. He took a ragged breath then lifted tear-filled eyes to gaze at Mulder and Skinner. He lifted one hand and placed it over his chest. "It makes my heart hurt when I think about it." This was not going as Skinner had envisioned it at all. And he couldn't stand by and watch this child suffer any more. He couldn't take away the hurt, but maybe he could do something to help. He moved swiftly around the bed and lifted the startled child with strong, comforting arms. The boy's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms snaked out to encircle his neck, the dark head nestling trustingly in the hollow of his shoulder. Mulder frowned up at Skinner and sent a silent query 'Are you sure we should do this now?' Skinner tightened his grip on the young boy and nodded. This conversation was never going to get any easier and it needed to be done. "You know your mom and dad loved you, right Steven?" The boy sniffed, rubbing his face against Skinner's shoulder and nodded mutely. "They loved you very much," Skinner continued. "They were 'dopting me," the boy agreed. "Do you understand that you have another mother and father?" Skinner asked gently. "Your biological parents?" Steven nodded again clutching tightly to the AD. In the hospital bed Mulder pressed a button and the top half of the bed began to rise. The baby giggled happily as she rode the bed to an upright position. Mulder was sitting up now and Skinner freed one hand to lower the bed's guard-rail then seated himself carefully on the foot of the bed. Mulder spoke, "Steven, sometimes there are tests that can be done to find out if people are related." The little boy lifted his head from Skinner's shoulder to look worriedly at Mulder. "Tests that hurt?" he asked with concern. "Oh, no," Mulder hurried to reassure the child. "We've already done these tests, Steven. Do you remember when they took some blood after we had the accident?" "When you and Walter came and found us." The little boy nodded. "Jessie cried, but I was brave." "Yes, you were," Skinner said, rubbing the boy's back. "You're still the bravest boy I know." The boy beamed happily, thrilled to be praised by his hero. "Well," Mulder continued, "from that blood the doctors were able to find out some things." "What kind of things?" Steven asked. "You know how you and Jessie look alike?" The boy snorted in disgust. "We don't look alike. She's a girl and I'm a boy. She's a baby and I'm big." Mulder laughed and Skinner chuckled, then the older man said, "But remember what you just said about your hair and Jessica's hair being alike?" The little boy nodded and his eyes lit up for a moment, excitement clearly visible before it died and a frown crossed his face. "But Jess can't be my mother," he said, causing the two men to burst out laughing, "and I can't be her father." "No," Mulder said indulgently. "But you can be her brother." The little boy thought about this for a moment and nodded. "Her real brother, you mean, not just her 'dopted one?" Mulder started to speak, but his throat closed up and he looked helplessly at Skinner. Nodding again, the older man rubbed Steven's back softly, and said, "We know that Jess is your sister but we also know who your father is. Your real father. Your biological father." The little boy looked up in curiosity. "Really?" "Yep, really." Skinner smiled down at the boy. He glanced at Mulder and smiled then looked back to meet Steven's eyes. "Fox is your father. Yours and Jessica's." The child's eyes widened in amazement. "You mean Fox is our daddy?" "Pox daddy," Jessica echoed, and Mulder wondered what, if anything, she understood of this conversation. She seemed to be listening avidly, alternately at rest in his arms, or fidgeting restlessly as her brother grew agitated. The boy stared somberly at the agent in the bed and Mulder's heart froze in fear. He had known this wasn't going to be easy but he had hoped the child would be somewhat pleased at the revelation. Instead Mulder watched as his son's expression changed from shock to disbelief and finally to anger. Steven pushed away from Skinner and slid down to the floor moving several feet away. "Are you really my daddy?" he demanded petulantly. "Yes, Steven, I am," Mulder responded quietly with a nod. "Daddy Pox," Jessica said throwing her arms around Mulder's neck and kissing him soundly. Mulder grinned. At least one of the children still liked him. He patted the baby then shifted slightly as she settled down beside him. He looked up to meet the angry and confused eyes of his son. "If you are really my dad," Steven said, "why didn't you take care of me when I was little?" His small hands balled into fists at his side and his body went rigid. "And how come," he continued, "if you really are our dad, you didn't take care of Jessica?" Steven paused for a moment, chest heaving, as he fought back tears. "Dads are supposed to take care of their kids." Skinner's heart was breaking. For Mulder and for Steven. He didn't know who needed him more but he feared any offer of comfort to either of them would be rebuffed. For this, they would have to work it out themselves. "I didn't know about you or Jess," Mulder pleaded, the pain in his voice so tangible it hurt Skinner just to listen. "No!" Steven said with a snuffle. "Yes," Mulder insisted. "I didn't know about you." He extended both hands toward the boy. "Steven, you have to believe me. If I had known about you, I would *never* have let them hurt you." "Really?" "Really." "You would have wanted me?" "Steven, I *do* want you," Mulder said injecting every ounce of sincerity and believability he could into his tone, willing the boy to believe this most basic truth. The child stood stiffly, immobile, as he waged an inner battle, and Skinner and Mulder waited, breaths held, afraid to move. "You really want to be my dad?" Steven asked finally. "Oh, Steven," Mulder responded, "I would be so honored if you would let me be your dad." At that, the dam burst and tears began to flow down the child's cheeks. He ran the few feet to the bed and launched himself into Mulder's waiting arms. Skinner was concerned about Mulder's wounds but this was more important. The boy clung to his father, weeping, and Mulder's tears flowed freely too. Steven pulled back from Mulder's arms a tiny bit, and looked up at him. "You're really my 'logical father?" Mulder glanced at Skinner, both men smiling now, and answered, "Well, I don't know how 'logical' it is, but, yes, Steven, I *am* your father." Steven missed the joke, but nodded and continued to stare up at Mulder. "And you're not going to leave me? Or Jess? You're going to stay with us and take care of us forever?" "Forever," Mulder promised. "After all, dads take care of their kids." He hugged the boy tightly, unwilling to let him go for even a minute now. Skinner lifted a hand to wipe his own eyes, happy to see this issue resolved, but wondering how they would move on now. As Steven's shudders calmed and the tears ceased, Jessica solved the problem of moving on when she patted Mulder and said, "Daddy Pox?" When Mulder looked up at her, she pointed at Skinner and said, "Who dat?" Mulder got a big shit-eating grin on his face and said, "Wellll -- Steven, baby Jess, I'd have to say, that's your Uncle Walter." ********************************************** When Scully woke the next time, it was dark. The little bit of light the narrow window had admitted was gone. Her stomach rumbled in complaint, and her bladder felt full to bursting. The drugs seemed to have left her system for she felt clear-headed and the annoying fog that had clouded her mind had lifted. She moved experimentally on the cot, and was relieved to find her hands had been freed at some point as she slept. She rose quickly and moved to the corner where the food and water had been left - and the other necessity. She took the bread and water back to the cot, then returned to the corner and relieved herself. Moving back to the cot, she spared a minute amount of water to rinse her hands and face, then drank deeply. The bread vanished, followed quickly by the water, and she was amazed that stale bread and lukewarm water could taste so good. Scully sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to get her bearings in the blackness, trying to come up with a plan. A sudden cramp clutched at her belly and she was reminded that gorging on an empty stomach was never a good idea. Her tummy heaved, and she tasted bile, but she managed not to vomit, although the sharp stink of mildew and her wastes made it a temptation and her mouth tasted unspeakably foul. She reached up, clawing her hair out of her face, then ran a weary hand over her eyes, pressing hard against closed lids. Her head pounded now, her abdomen quivered, and the darkness seemed to become denser. She was alive. There was that. In the dark, in an unknown place, held captive for an unknown reason by an unknown enemy, but alive. Being alive was not in itself terribly reassuring. She wondered if the other occupants of the LaFreniere home had been so lucky. Scully shook her head, forcing herself to her feet and decided to make another assessment of her prison. This time with a clear head. She was content with her measurements from the last time; 6 paces by 5 paces, approximately 12 by 10. The place she was in, other than being black as pitch, was cool, but not dangerously so. The concrete was rough beneath her bare feet, and she wondered for the first time where her shoes were. And why they had felt it necessary to remove them. She moved slowly to a wall, reaching out tentatively and touching the damp cinderblock. She traced the blocks, confirming they were cinderblock, and decided she must be in a cellar or basement, not too well insulated if the moisture of the ground was weeping through the block. The temperature seemed constant, the earth itself serving to regulate it, and there were no sounds or even vibrations to give a clue as to where she was, or if she was alone. A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she felt panic stab at her consciousness. What if she had been buried alive in this small room? What if there was no house above? No one to come for her? No clue to where she was? She closed her eyes tightly, fingernails biting into the palms of her clenched fists. Think, Dana, she admonished herself, think. Would they leave you water and food if they were going to forget you? Would there be a window -- that's right, there was a window -- if this was a crypt? The temporary insanity receded and she could feel her breathing begin to slow and even out. She made her way to the cot and sat again, knowing that she would have to find a way out. Mulder and Skinner were good, but she had a feeling her captors were better in this case. It was probably as if she had vanished off the face of the earth. But she was still alive. God only knew if any of the others still were. She had a sudden case of guilt. When the men had attacked, beating Tom and Susan, grabbing up the children so cruelly, she had been shocked. Not prepared for violence, she hadn't been wearing her gun and despite her best efforts had been easily overpowered. She hadn't been able to *do* anything to protect the LaFreniere's. Nothing. But despite her situation, despite her seeming disadvantage, she wasn't shocked anymore. And she wasn't unprepared. She knew something that these men didn't know. They would look at her and see a small woman. Strong, yes, but they would consider her strong for a woman her size. They would be like most men were who tangled with her. Unprepared for her advantage. Unprepared for her determination. Unprepared for her readiness to do whatever it took to get free. She drew a deep breath and then froze. She had heard nothing, but there were vibrations where there had been stillness, in the concrete beneath her feet, and in the air that brushed her cheeks. She paused a moment, thinking of Mulder. Mulder who was her love, her strength, her safe place. He was her comfort. Then she thought of Skinner. A big man, a strong man, who had spent time with her after the island. Time showing her how to use her size to her advantage. How to use his size against him. He was her mentor, her teacher, her friend. She flung herself back onto the cot, going loose in a facsimile of sleep or unconsciousness. A lock turned, then a bolt, then a chain. Hinges groaned and then there was light! Real light. Beautiful, bouncing, blinding light. She readied herself without moving, prepared to spring up if the chance presented itself. Tiny, quick breaths, each one designed to hide the rise and fall of her chest. There were footsteps in the room now. One man. Were there others upstairs? She dismissed the thought. One step at a time. If she made it out of here, she would soon know if this man was alone. She thought once more of Mulder - his touch, his taste, his tone. She wanted to experience him again. They had waited so long to know one another, she wasn't ready to let go yet. After the island it had been Mulder, and Mulder alone who had let her feel safe enough to be a woman. Who had made it all right for her to be with him. Who made it good to not be alone. And she thought of Skinner -- the black and blue marks he hid beneath the starched white shirts as he taught her to fight as he had been taught. The aches and pains he suffered willingly to make her stronger, to give her back her security. It had been Skinner who had made her strong enough to be a woman. Who made her know again that she could take care of herself. Who made her strong enough to be alone. She waited in total relaxation on the bed, ready to react to whatever situation presented itself. And she thanked both of her men that she was prepared this time. End part 05/09 The Price of a Soul 06/09 Mulder paced, nervous agitation making it impossible to stay still. He cast quick glances at the children; Steven playing quietly on the floor in the play area, Jessie tucked securely in Skinner's lap. He'd promised them he would take them home. But where was home? He was practically living at Scully's. He still kept the bare essentials at his apartment, but he spent almost all his time at her place. She had a second bedroom -- not perfect for the kids but better than his one bedroom hole in the wall place. He thought of Scully, then cursed the men and the conspiracy that had taken her from him again. This had to stop. There had to be a way to make this stop. His fist came up, almost of its own accord, ready to pound the wall, when a throat cleared from behind him. He turned, seeing Skinner frowning at him, Jess still distracted, but Steven staring with large, almost frightened eyes. He lowered his hand immediately and gave a weak smile, waiting until the boy returned to his toys. He wanted Scully. He wanted to tell her these were his children. He wanted -- no, he needed -- her help and support. Without it, he wasn't sure he could make this transition to instant father. But did he have the right to invade her home, rearrange her life, make this decision without her? A sigh escaped him, and he realized how incredibly lost he was without this woman, the one person who had ever completely accepted him and loved him unconditionally. She trusted him, and he wasn't going to abuse that trust in any way. He would take the children home to his apartment. Then, once Scully was found, they would work out the details from there. Finally, he sighed again and lifted the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart. "Langly? This is Mulder." He grimaced, but who else could he have called to take care of these details? "Let me talk to Byers." "No, you can't help me. Well, you can help me, but I need to talk to Byers first." He started pacing again, the cord on the phone keeping him tethered near the bed, the wounds in his belly and on his shoulder keeping him from moving too fast. "No, I'm not implying anything." "Langly, put Byers on the phone." "No, I don't want to talk to Frohike. I definitely don't want to talk to Frohike." Mulder stopped, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture reminiscent of the AD. "Well, yes, I am going to need him to help too, but -- damn it, Langly, put Byers on the phone." He looked at the children guiltily, already regretting letting his temper force him to raise his voice. "No, this doesn't have anything to do with your skills or abilities. Or Frohike's. I just need to talk to John." Oh, God. He was whining. Time for a new approach. "Langly -- I work for the FBI. I can create investigations. Put Byers on the phone!" If you can't reason with them, threats will sometimes work. Mulder smiled smugly as he heard the receiver on the other end being handed off. "John? Yeah, this is Mulder." "No, I'm not mad at Ringo." He started pacing again, one hand coming up to rub his temple. He was getting a headache. "No, I did *not* say he was incompetent." "Well, I'm sorry his feelings are hurt, and I'm sorry he's sulking." "Jesus Christ, John, I just have something I need done, and I think you're the best one to spearhead the operation without attracting undue attention!" Damn! He had to get control of his temper and keep his voice down. The baby had jumped in Skinner's lap when he had spoken, and Mulder winced at Skinner's reproachful glare. "NO!" Deep breath, Mulder. Control. These guys are not the enemy. "I am not implying that your associates are weird. No weirder than usual anyway. No weirder than you or me. You just dress like normal folks. Helps you pass." His anger subsiding in the face of the incongruity of this conversation, Mulder laughed. "Look, John, I need a big favor." He was pacing again, listening. Why the hell did this have to be so hard? "All right, then, I need two favors. Smooth things over with Langly and Frohike, then I need you to get some things for my apartment." "Look, just do it, OK?" Soft tones, Mulder, soft tones. He glanced quickly at the baby again, then looked over at his son. "No questions for now." "All right. Here's what needs to be done. Ditch the damn waterbed in my bedroom." "Yes, I said waterbed!" Another trip around the bed, as far as the phone cord would let him go, and more deep breathing as he continued to fight for control. "No! I don't care what you do with it." "If it'll make things straight with Langly, then, fine, give it to him." Why not? He didn't want the damn thing. Hell, he wasn't even sure where the damn thing came from. He was thinking that should be all that had to go, when he looked up in horror. More guilt as he looked at the kids, and then he lowered his voice. "And tell Melvin to take all the tapes." "The videos. They absolutely have to go," he whispered, his face red. When he looked at the baby again, Skinner caught his eye, a questioning look on his face. Mulder turned his back abruptly. "Yes, I'm serious." Mulder winced as a sudden pain shot through his shoulder, then smiled grimly. "Well, that's reassuring. So happy to know I am back in Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum's good graces." And off that topic. "I need two new beds." Mulder was walking around the hospital bed again as he spoke, but a bit more slowly now. Surely he could fit the two beds in his bedroom. "Yes, two. Get a twin size bed and a crib." Steven spoke up. "Jess has a toddler bed now." Mulder hit his head. "Shit! No crib." He heard a familiar echo from the corner. "Szit!" Skinner looked over at him, Jess in his lap and frowned. He paused. "Yes, I *did* say crib. Now I'm saying *no* crib. Get a toddler bed." On top of his other aches, his head was hurting again. "A toddler bed. One of those half size things that are low to the ground and have rails." "How the hell am I supposed to know where to find them?" Low tones, low tones, Mulder. He took a deep breath. "At the toddler bed store, I suppose." "Yeah, good idea, John. That's why I told Langly I needed to talk to you. You can think normal when you try." He laughed. "Get sheets and pillows and blankets. Whatever else is needed." "How old? Um, seven and two?" Mulder looked at Steven. "Two and a half," the boy said in answer to Mulder's unspoken question. "And Jessie needs a potty." He cast a glance at the bathroom door. "You know, for when you're still learning." "John? I need a potty chair, too." "A potty chair. If you need an explanation for that one, ask the salesperson." "Clothes, toys, games. Kid's stuff." "Size? How should I know? They're two and seven." Mulder turned to look at Skinner again. "Uh, Sir, could you see what size her shirt is? And Steven's too?" "John? 3T and 8." "Hold on, John." He moved closer to Steven, as close as the cord would allow and asked, "Anything else, Steven?" "We're really coming home with you?" "Absolutely!" The little boy furrowed his brow, thinking. "Do you have a booster seat? So Jess can reach at the table?" Mulder shook his head, then spoke into the phone again. "A booster seat -- for the table." He frowned, visualizing his apartment. "Oh, and get a table while you're at it." "A table to eat at. A kitchen table. Or something. With chairs." "You don't have a table?" Steven seemed shocked. "Where do you eat?" Mulder shook his head. "I *do* have one. I just sort of use it as a desk." This whole conversation was reawakening his doubts as to his ability to assume his role as father. But, damn it, they were his kids -- he wasn't going to run out on them. They'd all adjust. "Don't worry. We're going to have a table." He returned his attention to the phone. "Oh. The older one's a boy, and the baby is a girl." He looked fondly at each child as he spoke. "Can you guys clean the place up a bit, and get some food? Real food, not that stuff I usually buy. Fruit and juice -- that sort of thing." "Hey, thanks, man. I owe you big time. Charge everything to my card. I'm sure you guys can get the numbers." He grinned, then looked at Skinner who was reading to Jessie in the play area. "When?" he mouthed. "Tomorrow." "Tomorrow, John." "I know it's not much time. Just get it done, please." God, one day was not much time at all. "Do you have a rocker, Fox?" Steven asked, looking pointedly at Skinner where he sat rocking the baby as he read. "Jessie likes to be rocked." Mulder nodded, thinking of the times he'd caught Steven in Skinner's lap, being rocked as well. "Oh, one more thing. A rocker, John." He pinched his nose again, listening. "Yes, a rocker. Rocking chair. High back, curved bottom? I'm sure you've seen them." Mulder sighed in relief, then stiffened. "Yeah, actually, they *are* mine." He smiled in satisfaction as he hung up on the shocked silence from the other end. ************************************** "Want juice," Jess demanded, and Mulder laughed when Steven corrected her. "How do you ask, Jessie?" "Want juice, pease," she repeated, with a slightly less insistent tone. The flight attendant looked at Mulder. "I can get her some juice, sir," she offered, and Mulder thanked her. When the woman didn't move, Mulder looked up again. "Do you have her sippy cup?" "Her what?" "You *are* her father, aren't you?" "Well, uh, yes, but," he looked nervously at the woman and then at Skinner. "He's a new father," Skinner said quietly. "The children have been living elsewhere until now." Mulder could see the woman thinking, deciding 'custody battle,' and then assessing him. He must have passed, because she smiled. "I think I can find one for you. It's amazing what gets left behind." She turned and walked quickly up the aisle to the small galley. "What the hell is a sippy cup?" Mulder hissed to Skinner. "How should I know?" The older man was engrossed in his computer, hooked into the airline's phone system. "You'll find out soon enough." Mulder looked at his watch. Another hour and a half. And he was exhausted already. He checked to make sure Steven and Jess were both buckled in, then closed his eyes briefly. A small hand touched his arm. "Go potty pease." "Again? You just went!" Skinner chuckled and Mulder shot him a dirty look. "Go potty now," Jessica said firmly, a very determined look on her face as she fussed with the seat belt. "Maybe you shouldn't give her the juice," Skinner suggested. "It's a two and a half hour flight," Mulder said in exasperation as he rose gingerly to take Jess to the bathroom for the eighth time. All this up and down, and back and forth was not helping his aches and pains. "How often can she need to go?" Skinner frowned. "Does she go when you take her?" "Yeah, some." "Then I guess she needs to go when she needs to go." "Go potty, Pox," the baby said, tugging at Mulder's hand. She was standing in the aisle, waiting for him to rise and perform escort and support duty. No potty chairs on airplanes. Skinner chuckled when he saw Mulder return, Jess holding one hand and a stack of paper towels wiping futilely at the front of his suit. Mulder looked up, chagrined. "She really gets into the whole hand washing thing." Skinner recognized Mulder's insecurity. This was all so new to him. New to them both. What the hell had they been thinking when they said they would take the children? What the hell had he been doing when he facilitated the arrangement? He studied Mulder a bit longer. The tall man was leaning over, buckling the baby into her seat next to Steven. He paused a moment, looking at the drawing the boy was making, then ruffling the child's hair. When Mulder looked up again, Skinner said, "You're doing fine, Mulder. It's an adjustment for everyone." He sighed and closed the laptop he had been working on. "I've got a direction for when we get back to DC. Someone we need to talk to who may be able to give us something to go on in finding Scully." "How? Who?" "Dana?" Steven looked up, interested now. "Are we going to get Dana when we get to your house, Fox?" "Well," Mulder exchanged a quick glance with Skinner, "we need to find Dana first." "The bad men have her." Steven said it in a tone so sad, so final, Mulder could feel his heart breaking. "She's going to come back to us, Steven," Mulder said. "I promise." Skinner winced, and hoped desperately that that was a promise Mulder could keep. Steven was nodding as he listened, then he looked up. "You're going to be our dad, right Fox?" "Daddy Pox," Jessica chirped and Mulder laughed and nodded. "I *am* your dad, Steven." "Yeah, well, OK. And Walter is going to be our uncle, but not a real uncle, just a sort of 'dopted one, right?" Skinner looked across the aisle, wondering where this conversation was heading. Mulder was nodding again, the same obvious question on his face. "So, uh, Fox," the boy continued, "is Dana going to be our mom?" **************************************** It was amazing what you could accomplish if you were willing to spend money lavishly. Though it had cost three times what it should have, a sturdy car seat was waiting for them when they arrived at the airport. Mulder carried Jess and her diaper bag -- a gift from the nurses at the hospital - both bag and baby cradled on his uninjured side. He moved slowly, conscious with every step of the tender belly and bandaged shoulder his clothing hid. Skinner carried everything else. Both men's suitcases, the car seat, the children's small bag of belongings. It was unfair, and Mulder could tell it bothered the older man to be so overloaded that he couldn't possibly reach his weapon, but he trudged on toward long term parking without complaint. Actually installing the seat took much longer than expected, and Mulder had to make the slow trek back to the terminal when Jess insisted she had to "go." He had wanted to put her in a diaper for convenience sake, but she would hear nothing of it -- protesting quite loudly at the mere idea. Using the restroom in the terminal was a new experience, too. On the plane, there hadn't been "Men's" and "Women's" facilities, but here there certainly were. And taking his little girl into a bathroom full of urinals and grown men using them, wasn't his idea of good parenting. God, this was going to be a lot harder than he could ever have imagined. Scully would know what to do. She had seemed to fall so naturally into her role as mother with Emily and all he'd been able to do was make goofy faces for the child. He stood outside the lavatory for a long time, bottom lip pulled between teeth, Jess whining and fretting more with each moment he delayed. He spoke soothingly to her, but despite his murmured, "Just a minute more," he knew he couldn't take her in there. He missed Scully. It was a physical ache, pounding at him relentlessly. He felt so inadequate. Why couldn't these men just leave him alone? Leave Scully alone? Leave his children alone? He looked down to see Jess dancing back and forth on her little feet as she struggled to wait per his command. God, parents had such power to make their children miserable and didn't even realize it most of the time. How could he do this? He was almost ready to take her into the "Ladies" and let them arrest him, when a man spoke. "First time?" Mulder looked over, not understanding the question. "First time you've had to take her?" "Oh, yeah," Mulder nodded, coloring as his eyes slipped back to the child. "Mom's busy, huh?" Mulder nodded again. It wasn't worth explaining. "I don't like the idea of taking her in there with the urinals." The man nodded in agreement. "Bothered me at first, too." He moved slightly closer and spoke confidentially. "Let me go check, see if it's safe, then I'll let you know." "Go potty!" Jess demanded, pulling at her pants. "I'll hurry," the man said, laughing as he ducked through the door. He was back in seconds. "Give it a minute. I explained and everyone is finishing up and putting things away." The man winked. "Parenting in the nineties, huh? No one thought of this when they designed men's bathrooms." He looked at his watch, then stuck his head in again. "All clear." Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I don't think I would have thought of that. I was ready to take her to the 'Ladies' and just let them report me for a pervert." Jess was whining openly now, and the man chuckled again. "No problem. Us modern dads have to stick together. Better hurry though, I don't think she's gonna last much longer." Mulder took Jessie in, more at ease now, and once finished, lifted her gently up in his arms for the hike back to the car. He reached the terminal entrance and was surprised, but relieved, to see Skinner parked there, waiting. The expedition to the bathroom, on top of the exertion of the flight, was wearing his still healing body out. "What took so long?" he asked as he stepped around the car to get the baby in the new seat. He took a second look at his agent, pale and a little shaky, and reached for Jess. Mulder passed her over and she went agreeably. "Well, uh," he flushed again as he thought back to his predicament. "I didn't want to just take her in, not with the, well, you know." Skinner looked at him, uncomprehendingly. He turned his attention back to the seat, and the harness that secured the child to it. "No, I don't know," he said, giving a satisfied grunt as the strap latched. He pulled back out of the car, then stood. "What was the problem?" Mulder pushed the door shut, making sure the lock was down, then mumbled, "Urinals." "Oh," Skinner responded, understanding dawning in his face. He walked back around to the driver's side and climbed in. "What did you do?" "A man went in and made sure it was clear before I took her in." He sighed, then glanced into the back seat. Steven had his drawing pad out again and was contentedly coloring a lime green stegosaurus. Jess had leaned back in the new seat, eyes closing almost as soon as the car had begun to move, and she slept soundly now. "I had no idea it would be this hard, Sir," he whispered. "I'm worried about *everything!*" "Give yourself some time, Mulder," the AD advised. "This is still new, and very unexpected, for you." He reached out and patted the younger man's shoulder. "You know I'll help in any way I can." "How can I keep them safe? I didn't even know how to take my daughter to the bathroom. How the hell am I going to protect them from whoever is after them?" "Bathrooms are a new experience for you. You'll learn. As for the other, that's what you do. It's what you're trained for. And you are very good at it." Mulder snorted. He indicated his stomach wound in disgust, then gently touched his shoulder. "Not that you would notice." "Mulder, you got Steven out when no one else would have even gone in. You've tracked down killers, mutants, wild animals, and a few things I'm not even able to name. You can do this, Mulder. You're probably the only one who can." "And Scully?" Mulder asked. "What about Scully?" "We'll find her, Mulder. We'll find her. Remember, we've got a lead now. When we get into the city, we can set up a meeting." The two men exchanged a quick glance. "A meeting?" Mulder looked back at the children. Steven had drifted off too now, and seeing both children asleep, so peaceful, so trusting, he was wracked by the damage that would result if he didn't keep them safe. "We have to find Scully. We have to meet your contact. But," he turned and met Skinner's eyes, "what are we going to do with the children?" ************************************************** "There isn't anyone else I trust," Mulder insisted. "We can put guards at the foster home, round-the-clock. FBI, not locals. We can make it safe. I don't think we can drag her into it." "NO! They're here. They're safe. We told them they were coming home with me." Mulder paced across the small living room, ignoring the twinges of pain that flared from his abdomen, eyes darting from the bedroom door down the hall to the large man who sat on his ragged old couch. "I promised Steven he was coming home with me." The man slowed, one hand raking his hair compulsively, anguish and determination at war in his face. "I won't break my promise. And I won't consign my children to the foster care system. I won't!" "Even if it means you can't participate in the search for Scully?" Skinner was adamant. There was no room for compromise here. Mulder's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have to be involved. You know that." "You can't do both." "I can if she'll come. She can keep them here; they'll love her. And you can put the guards in the hall and outside." Skinner finally nodded. "If she'll come, then I'll approve it." "She'll come. I know she will." ******************************************* "Fox, I don't understand this at all. Is there any word on Dana?" The woman looked up at the other man, and an expression of disbelief crossed her face. "Mr. Skinner," she exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you here." "Mrs. Scully," Mulder took the older woman's arm and led her into the living room. He gently seated her on the couch, then took his place beside her. "Fox? Have you heard something?" Mulder could hear the fear in the woman's voice and he hurried to reassure her. "No, no, not yet. But we have a lead. And we'll be checking into it as soon as we can get this situation resolved." "What situation?" Maggie looked between the two men, confusion in her face. "What's going on here, Fox?" she demanded. "Well," he hedged, "maybe I better show you." He led her down the hall and opened the bedroom door. From the light of the hall, you could just make out the two small forms, each in their own bed, sleeping. "What is this, Fox? Who are these children?" Mulder pulled the door shut and led the way back to the living room. Skinner was pacing by the window, a silent and almost ominous presence, and Mulder knew he was planning. "Well?" Maggie demanded. "What is going on, Fox?" "The children are, uh, mine, Mrs. Scully." Mulder finally found his voice. The shock in the woman's face was evident, a tumult of emotions racing across her features. Confusion, disbelief, amazement, concern. "But -- how?" "Not in the usual way, I assure you," Mulder said dryly. "And I'm really not sure how, but the blood tests confirm it. They're mine." "And the mother? Is it ..." Her voice trailed away, not really knowing if she wanted to ask or not. "No," Mulder said sadly. "Not Scully. I don't know who. I wish -- well, I don't know what I wish." He sighed heavily and sat by the woman on the couch again. "We don't have a lot of time," he said. "The AD and I have to meet someone, someone who may be able to tell us something about Dana's whereabouts." He paused, looking back at the bedroom. "But I can't leave them alone." Maggie immediately nodded, total understanding on her face. "I see. You have to go." She looked up at Skinner, "You both have to go. I'll stay." "There could be trouble," Mulder said warningly. "You're leaving guards, aren't you? Those two young men I saw outside aren't just lawn ornaments." Mulder chuckled. "No, they're not. And yes, we are leaving guards." "Then go. And don't worry. We'll be fine." "There's milk and juice in the fridge; groceries in the cabinets. I'm not sure what, but I hope it's edible. The baby's sippy cup is in the sink. Here's my Visa in case you need something. There'll be plenty of agents around if you need someone to go to the store." "I have done this before, you know." Maggie arched an eyebrow as she spoke and Mulder felt his heart break. So that was where Scully had picked up that mannerism. Mulder leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to find her," he whispered, promise ringing from every word. "Of course you are," Maggie said serenely. "Now, two things: Is the baby still in diapers? And what are their names?" End part 06/09 Subject: The Price of a Soul (3/3) Date: Sat, 3 Apr 1999 Title: The Price of a Soul 07/09 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and language Category: SAH Spoilers: None Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; est MSR; Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire! http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/ While you're there, take a minute to sign the guest book, and drop a note to Shirley. Tell her how great she is! Thanks: I have been remiss in not thanking my beta readers of late. It is not that I don't appreciate them, I do, but I sometimes struggle to find adequate ways to express exactly how valuable they are. I am blessed to have received some wonderfully flattering feedback on my stories. Comments that range from praise of my characterizations to enjoyment of my detail work. But invariably, I also hear from at least one person who remarks that my stories are *easy* to read. That they are clear, and clean, and well-punctuated, with appropriate grammar usage and proper spelling and good continuity. These are things I value as a reader, and I know how easy it is to be distracted by a misplaced comma, an incorrectly used homonym, a misspelled word, or incorrect verb tense. If you appreciate good *style,* as I do, then join me in thanking Vickie, Susan, Dee, Sonal, Judie, and Michelle. It is their hard work and effort that keeps my stories clean. Summary: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner go to visit the children and their adoptive parents only to find tragedy has struck and the children are missing. Third story in the "Retrieval" universe. Follows "Retrieval" and "What Cost, Friendship." The Price of a Soul 07/09 "Get up!" The voice was harsh, insistent, full of barely controlled violence. Scully lay still a moment longer, willing herself to appear unconscious, but there was a sudden sharp jab in her leg, and she jumped, a small gasp escaping. She opened her eyes, and sat up wearily, all hopes of pretense and surprise erased. "I said, get up!" Scully rose slowly, eyes never leaving the man's face. He was big -- six four or better, and easily weighed 240, none of it fat. And he looked mean. Scully stared at him and confirmed to herself -- he was *big!* The tight T-shirt he wore revealed wide shoulders and bulging biceps, muscles rippling across his chest and abdomen. His bare arms had the definition of someone who worked out with weights. A lot. Despite her earlier self-confidence, Scully felt threatened, increasingly uneasy about being alone with him in this isolated room. She glanced toward the door, closed but still unlocked. Her only exit. She moved to the side, a tiny half-step, and watched as the man smirked as he tracked her movement. He took a step forward, asking in an oily tone, "Where do you think you are going?" "I'm not ..." Scully paused, struggling for control. Focus, she ordered herself. Don't let all those bumps and bruises Skinner suffered be for nothing. She moved again toward the door, always facing the man, letting his amusement at her fuel her fury -- and her strength. The man took a step toward her, and Scully suddenly had a vision of the Academy. Her instructor. An enormous man, built like a linebacker, at least six four. He'd told her to attack, planning to use her as an example for the rest of the "girls" in the class. Let no one imply that sexism was dead. She stormed him in a rage, his verbal taunts and humiliations more than she could tolerate, and he'd simply picked her up, one hand holding her completely off the floor with no more effort than a mother cat expended to hustle a straying kitten back to the nest. The memory of his laughter as she hung helpless from his hand, arms and legs flailing to no avail, caused her to flush again now. 'You think you can be a useful agent, little girl?' he had sneered. Then looking up, he'd sighted the men surrounding the gym floor. The two other women were staring at their feet, but the men, the men had watched, fascinated. 'Who wants this little lady watching their back?' The man before her took a step, moving so close to her she could feel his heat and smell the sweat that oozed from his pores. She sidled away, still inching toward the door, still aiming for freedom. The man lunged, and Scully recoiled, his pungent odor startling her as much as his sudden move. He laughed at her reaction, and she bit down on the fear. Focus, Dana, focus. The instructor had continued to taunt her, and she had continued to flail, head whipping wildly about until one of the men caught her eye. She stared at him for a moment, and saw him visibly relax, then stiffen. Taking a cue, she had relaxed into dead weight, surprising the instructor and then kicking him in the softest spot she could find, grunting in satisfaction as he released her and went to his knees. She'd done the same with Skinner, practicing over and over until she felt the confidence, the security that had been taken from her on the island return. Focus, Dana, focus, she reminded herself. She looked at the man before her, still smirking at her, still so self-assured in his size and strength. She moved again for the door, then lunged and he caught her, lifting her as her instructor had done all those years ago, as her friend had done so many times not so many months ago. 'You want to be a fighter, Dana?' Skinner had screamed at her. 'You want to win? Then don't struggle. Use your advantage. Stop, drop, and kick the shit out of me!' And she had. And she did. As she had practiced so many times that it was practically second nature, Scully relaxed into dead weight, waited for the man's surprised shift as his balance was threatened, then slammed her knee into that vulnerable soft spot on his body. He dropped her and fell to his knees. She kicked again, then again, and again, not stopping for the groans, or the blood, his protests falling on deaf ears. And when she finally stopped kicking, the man lay still and unmoving at her feet. Laugh at that, asshole, she thought, as she turned and made her way out the door. ******************************************** "I don't like this, Mulder," Skinner said, as he looked at the empty and decrepit warehouses around them. "I'm not going to let us walk into this with him holding all the cards." He reached over and touched Mulder's arm. "Stop the car." Mulder did as directed, then looked over at the AD. "What?" "You go on alone. Meet our contact. Be very careful." "Where are you going to be?" Skinner smiled, but there was nothing warm or encouraging in it. "I'll be around, don't you worry. You just watch out for yourself." Skinner was fiddling with his weapon, checking the chamber in the gun, and as Mulder looked on, a knife appeared in the man's hand. He tested the edge, then grunted in satisfaction. Where the hell had that come from? Skinner looked up and spoke again, "We're running silent on this." He tapped Mulder's pocket. "Don't forget to turn your cell phone off." Mulder nodded and watched as Skinner almost rolled from the car and seemingly vanished before his eyes. It was uncanny how the man could do that. And what the hell had suddenly made him so damn nervous? Mulder put the car in 'drive' and moved on slowly, scanning for the correct number. Finally spotting it, he stopped again, then took several minutes to survey the area. Deserted, decaying, the warehouses lined a narrow alleyway. Once a vital part of the city's rail transportation, it was a long abandoned area, prime for stray cats, rabid dogs, drug addicts and their suppliers. Homeless people, drunk, drugged, or just mentally ill, shuffled in and out of the buildings, lay in doorways or sat unmoving on piles of rotted packing. He shivered once, then checked his gun surreptitiously. His belly was much better, causing him almost no pain at all when he moved, but his shoulder was still exceedingly tender. He used his left arm and hand as little as possible, but still refused to wear a sling, refused to be that restricted. Besides, the one time he had put the sling on, Jess had gotten very distressed, and he had removed it almost at once. He smiled as he thought of the children. Despite the questions surrounding their origins, he considered them to be an incredible gift. He would never have had children. He just didn't trust himself enough to knowingly bring another life into the world. To willingly take on the responsibility of that life. He knew all too well how easy it was to fail in that responsibility. And even though Scully was supposedly infertile now, they had always used precautions. Just in case. Neither one of them was willing to risk having a child who would become the focus of someone else's attention. They couldn't chance putting a child through that. Not with their history. Mulder was out of the car now, eyes scanning the alley, walking slowly but steadily toward the battered door of number 84. A man approached and he tensed, but the man only asked for change and Mulder passed over the contents of his pocket. Little enough, but he could reach it with his left hand, and he wasn't going to put his right hand out of commission, not even for a moment. Scully. He was here for Scully. But now Scully and the children were inextricably mixed in his mind. He could no more abandon Steven and Jessie than he could ever leave Scully. They hadn't wanted children, hadn't planned on children, didn't include children in the few hesitant, tentative discussions they had had about their future. A future that was itself tentative, uncertain, unstable. For people like them, what good was planning for a future if you couldn't even be sure of tomorrow? But that would have to change now. There would have to be so many changes. Not just potty chairs and sippy cups, but lifestyle changes, and career changes. The children had to have security, they had to be safe. God, he could only hope Scully would be as willing to accept these children of his, as he would have been to accept her Emily. He reached the door and pushed, stepping back and to the side as it creaked open. He pulled his gun, then whipped around the door jamb, eyes raking the dimly lit interior. Tall, dirt-covered windows, many broken or cracked, let in weak sunlight, giving the place an almost other-worldly appearance. The air hung heavy in his nose, dust motes dancing in the streams of light, and a smell of decay and disuse teased his senses. He stood unmoving, the hairs on his arms and at the back of his neck prickling, standing upright as he watched for any sign of movement. He missed Scully. It was all so different when you had someone you trusted watching your back. There was a movement to his left and Mulder whirled, gun pointing straight at a feral cat, who arched her back and hissed before darting through a hole in the wallboard. Mulder smiled then. That cat wasn't the only one to move with feline grace and speed. He looked around again, looking up at a spiderweb of iron walkways that crossed and recrossed going up four stories. Where the hell was Skinner? He shrugged. The man said he'd be here; he was here. Mulder moved on into the building, the light from the windows fading as he went further back. Empty packing crates and fifty-five gallon drums, huge cardboard boxes and stacks of wooden pallets littered the floor of the warehouse and he threaded his way carefully through the maze. There was still no sign of anyone else. Mulder found a spot, as well-lit as he was likely to find, back to the wall, but with good forward and side visibility, and he prepared to wait. ********************************************* Skinner moved noiselessly to stand behind the man. A brief, silent communion with himself -- he kept vowing not to kill again and still he continued to take lives -- then he reached out and in one swift motion, broke the man's neck, lowering him slowly to the iron catwalk. It was the fourth man he'd taken out. And he still hadn't seen Mulder. What the hell was taking the man so long? Skinner took a moment to disguise the body from view, then scanned again, looking for the next target. How many of them were there? The guard on the building, the guard inside. The two he'd found on the catwalk. His intuition had been right. This was no meeting to exchange information on Scully. This was a set-up. He wanted to call and check on the children, prayed this hadn't been a ploy to draw them away and leave Steven and Jess vulnerable. He shook his head. They would be fine. Mulder's apartment and the building were crawling with agents and local police. No one was getting in there. There was a flash of movement above him, and he pulled further back into the shadows, then risked a quick glance upwards. Another one. Skinner had already acquired two automatic weapons, one cradled in his arms, one slung on his back, ammunition, three more handguns, and two knives as he worked his way through the building. At this rate, he was going to have to start leaving the hardware behind. There was movement below him now, and he looked down. Mulder. Finally. The man was moving slowly, carefully, through the labyrinth of discarded packing crates and cartons, watching for any signs of others. Skinner sighed softly. Mulder was good -- his eyes never stopped moving, but the man hadn't looked up once! For someone who was known for his unorthodox thinking, he certainly seemed unable to remember the third dimension extended above and below. Ah, good! A glance up. He was being careful. Skinner watched him a moment longer, then slipped over to the ladder to head up to the man he had seen above. ****************************************** The door led to stairs that creaked horribly as Scully moved up them. Anyone up there would know she was coming long before she reached the top, but she continued onward, greatly encouraged by her victory over the man downstairs. She paused a few steps from the top, drew in a deep breath, then rushed the last bit up and emerged into a tiny, untidy kitchen. The sunlight streaming through the window was blinding, and she blinked furiously as tears flowed from her eyes. Gasping, she whipped her head around, looking for any sign that anyone else was in the kitchen, but it appeared deserted. She paused a moment, giving herself time to adjust to the light, and to her newly won freedom, then scanned for a phone. It was there, on the wall by the refrigerator, but when she lifted it, there was only silence. Replacing it quietly, she opened drawers until she found what she was looking for, then moved out of the kitchen, butcher knife clutched tightly in her hand. She searched the house, ever ready to meet another foe, and was almost disappointed to find she truly was alone. The man downstairs, who would be unconscious for a long time, was her only company. The house was tiny, consisting of a living room, bedroom, bath, and kitchen. The basement below completed the house's square footage, and she went back to the front room, peering through heavy drapes to see a late model sedan parked in the dirt driveway. She could see no other houses from her vantage at the window. This small cottage seemed to sit isolated, surrounded by fields of cotton, tobacco, and soy beans. Probably an old sharecropper's cabin that had been let to some hired hand now, or possibly offered to migrants during the season. She let the drapes fall back in place and dropped onto the ratty old sofa, her eyes scanning the room as she made her plans. She had to get out of here. The car was her escape. But that meant going back down and getting keys from the man in the cellar. She shuddered involuntarily. Despite her successful defeat of the big man, she had no desire to tempt fate by taking him on again. She really didn't even want to see him again. But she had no choice. Decision made, she rose quickly and descended once more to the basement. The man was still unmoving where her attack had left him. Blood dripped from his temple and he was clearly unconscious. The medical oath she had taken -- First, do no harm -- flashed briefly through her head, but she thrust it aside in favor of her own version of 'Do Unto Others.' Her perverse joke amused her, and she knew she was bordering on psychological shock to be so easily distracted. She searched the man quickly, having no compunction at turning him over to reach his back pockets when she came up empty in front. Still having no luck, she sat back on her heels thinking. Perhaps he'd left them upstairs. She went back up, moving more comfortably through the kitchen and into the front room, then looking around. The only thing that didn't seem to belong was a briefcase, tucked between the couch and an end table, almost out of sight. She could see how she had missed it in her first hurried look through the place. She pulled it out, placing it on the coffee table and then sitting on the sofa. Holding her breath as if she expected the thing to blow up, she opened it carefully and was immediately rewarded with the rattle of a set of keys. Keys to the car, keys to her freedom. She was ready to close the case, shifting it to do so, when one of the folders inside shifted and a name caught her eye. Mulder. The folder was labeled Mulder, F. W. Oh, God! She closed her eyes quickly, suppressing the shudder that threatened her, then pulled it out quickly. It was a comprehensive listing of procedures that had been performed, and monitoring of the results of those procedures. Scully slammed it shut, and threw it back in the briefcase. She didn't think she wanted to know. She licked her lips nervously, looking around. She had to get out of here. She had to read this. She had to tell Mulder. Item one first, she thought grimly, shutting the case firmly and moving out the front door. The car unlocked and started with ease, and she chose a direction at random, driving a good twenty minutes before she came to a very small town. The center was really nothing more than a small collection of buildings along the highway as it ran through the town. Post office, market, dime store, church, hardware store, a diner, and finally, what she had been looking for -- the police department. She pulled in quickly, taking one of the three parking places, the other two being marked "Chief" and "Official Vehicle," then turned off the engine. She looked briefly in the mirror, surprising herself that she could even consider appearances considering what she had been through. Hell, she didn't even know how long she had been missing. She wiped the worst of the dirt from her face, and pushed her rat's nest of hair out of her eyes, then looked down at her filthy clothes and bare feet. Shrugging, she got out of the car and walked resolutely toward the door of the building, briefcase firmly in her hand. The door opened easily and a young woman in a blue uniform looked up. Her welcoming smile faded quickly and she wrinkled her nose in distaste, but she still managed a civil, "May I help you, ma'am?" "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, badge number JTT0331613. I've been held captive in a small house about twenty minutes south of here, for --" she paused, "well, I was drugged and unconscious part of the time, so I don't know how long I've been missing. Also, I critically injured the perpetrator in the course of my escape so you'll need medical at the scene when you go pick him up." A man walked out of the back office then, and looked at Scully with a healthy hint of disbelief. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but could you repeat that?" "Look, I know what this looks like, but I want that car I drove in impounded, and get on the phone to the Bureau in DC. I work for Assistant Director Walter Skinner. His office can confirm my credentials." The man looked doubtfully at her, and she could see he was trying to decide if he wanted to risk making a fool of himself by making the requested phone call. He seemed to be on the verge of declining, when she said, "Think of how embarrassed you'll be when you find out I'm telling the truth." The man studied her a bit longer, then nodded. "Give Ms. Scully the phone, Marilyn," he said, and the clerk rose and opened a panel in the counter, allowing Scully to come in and sit at the desk. "What's today?" she asked as she lifted the receiver and dialed. "Friday. Why?" "A week," Scully sighed. "I've been gone a week. Mulder must be almost insane by now." There was a click in her ear and when she spoke again, it was to Skinner's assistant, Kim. "This is Agent Scully, Kim, I need to speak to the AD." There was a burst of chatter that even the police chief could hear, and Scully smiled as she listened to the story of her missing days. Finally she interrupted, and asked, "Kim, verify my identity to the police chief here, and arrange some credit, money, something for me. My clothes are a disaster, and I haven't eaten in I don't know how long." She passed the phone to the man, then asked Marilyn, "Do you have another line?" The woman nodded and led her to another desk, pushing a button to light up the second line. Scully dialed quickly, and was met with a recording, "The cellular customer you are ..." She hung up before it could finish. She thought a moment. So Mulder was out of pocket. She dialed again. Same recording. Skinner must be with him. What the hell were those two doing now? The police chief had finished now, and was holding out the phone to her. She hung up and walked over to him, taking the extended receiver with a polite, "Thank you." "Scully here." "Agent Scully? I'm arranging a credit voucher to be wired to the market there in town. The chief tells me it's just a couple doors down. You can get cash for travel expenses, credit for purchases anywhere in town. The locals assure me you'll have their full cooperation. The nearest airport is about an hour away and I'll have a ticket waiting for you." "Kim, you're a life saver. Now, where are Mulder and the AD?" "They flew in yesterday. They have two people in protective custody at Agent Mulder's apartment." "At Mulder's apartment?" "Yes. We have a dozen agents detailed there now. You can probably reach them there, or I can try and patch you through to their cells." "The cells aren't on," Scully mumbled absently. "I already tried. I'll call the apartment." She returned her attention to Kim. "How long till I have cash?" "About an hour, I'm afraid. But the next flight out isn't until three." Scully looked at the clock on the wall -- 10:30 -- then spoke. "That's fine, Kim, thank you. If the AD or Mulder checks in, tell them I'm on my way. You can reach me here," she looked up at the chief, who nodded quickly, then rattled off a number. "I'm going to get cleaned up, try to find some clothes, eat, and then I'll be on the way to DC." She said goodbye and started to hang up, but was halted by Kim's tentative query. "Agent Scully? Excuse me, and I'm not trying to butt in here, but shouldn't you have an escort or something?" She paused, and Scully could hear the woman's indecision. "I mean, you've been missing for a week. I bet Agent Mulder would have a fit if he found out you just intended to get on a plane and fly home as if nothing happened." "I'm fine, Kim, really, but thanks for your concern. And you're right, Mulder will have a fit, but he'll get over it." She smiled again, thinking of how much fun it would be to calm Mulder down after she pulled this little stunt. She was well aware that procedure called for her to have a full medical evaluation and there should be a thorough debriefing, and it should happen here, at the site. But she didn't have time for that. "Thanks again, Kim. I'll check in when I'm back in DC." "Agent Scully?" "Yes?" "That three o'clock plane gets in to Dulles at quarter to six." Scully could hear the woman toughening her voice. "There *will* be an escort waiting for you." Scully sighed, and Kim went on. "*You* may be able to deal with Agent Mulder, but *I* am the one that has to deal with the Assistant Director." Kim was persistent. It was a trait Skinner valued, she knew, because it kept an amazing amount of trifling things from ever getting through to him. But right now ... "Fine." Better to give in gracefully. And the woman was right. She should be waiting for an escort. The paperwork on this little escapade was going to take weeks. She dropped her head. And it was going to cost her the right to torment Mulder over his own foolhardy stunts. "Thanks again, Kim." She hung up before the woman could think of another objection. A throat cleared behind her and she turned to meet the chief's eyes. "My daughter is about your size. I'll call home and get my wife to bring you some clothes. What size shoe you need?" Scully told him, thanked him, and picked up the phone again. She dialed once more, then stood in stunned silence as a voice on the other end said, "Mulder residence." Finally recovering her voice, she asked in disbelief, "Mom?" End part 07/09 The Price of a Soul 08/09 He wasn't sure what to do next. No sign of the informant, no sign of Skinner, no sign of *anybody.* The smart thing to do was probably look around some more, see what he could learn. He certainly couldn't stay here indefinitely. He scanned the area again, almost embarrassed by the strength of his desire to see the big AD, to just be reassured that he wasn't really alone. Shaking off his weakness, he pushed away from the wall and began to move through the building again. There was a sound behind him and he whirled, gun raised before him, and then there was a shot and his shoulder exploded in pain. He was going down before he could even think, and his gun was ripped from his useless hands. He lay on the floor, panting, agony shrieking from the shoulder and down his arm, through his chest and back. He looked up at the man who stood above, wondering who he was, and why this man had such an interest in him, in Scully, and in his children. "Ah, Agent Mulder," the man spoke. "So good of you to come." He cast a cautious look around, then added, "Though we didn't expect you to be alone." "Someone had to stay with the children," Mulder gritted out through clenched teeth. The man laughed. "An interesting image. I don't usually picture the Assistant Director as a babysitter. Though I understand he has become quite attached to them." "Who are you?" Mulder demanded. "I am the current director of the -- shall we say -- Mulder project. A project you have seriously compromised with your rash actions." Mulder shrugged, an incredibly painful action, but one which had the anticipated effect. The man looked slightly worried, casting a glance around quickly. "What project?" "Why, you, of course, Agent Mulder." The man seemed truly surprised that Mulder had asked. "You and your children. You adapted fairly well to the genetic enhancements that were done in utero, but that was, of course, a long time ago." At Mulder's look of horror, the man smiled evilly, and went on. "With the advances in modern technology, we really expected more success from mating you with an enhanced female. But it is a tenuous process at best and we have had more failures than successes." "What do you mean?" "None of that is really important, Agent Mulder. Your usefulness to the project has ended. We have what we need from you, and your continued interference in things that should be left alone can no longer be overlooked." The man seemed to be enjoying his power, reveling in his supposed superiority over the helpless man on the floor. "You have had a strong protector in the past, but he, too, has acted rashly of late, and his position is eroding." "Who?" "I think you know who I mean. You tend to think of him as your nemesis, but in reality, he's been your chief supporter. An odd dichotomy, I admit, but one which he managed to balance admirably until late." "Why me? Why was I chosen for this?" "Everyone in the project from the early days made contributions. You were your father's contribution." Mulder shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. "Where's Scully? And why have you taken her? She wasn't involved in the early days." "No. But association with you made her useful in the beginning, but she turned out to have interesting qualities of her own." There was a sound and the man turned. Mulder lunged forward, his hands sweeping out and knocking the man's feet from under him. He was pushing up, forcing himself to rise, to retreat, to run, when he felt cold metal at his temple, and a voice ordered him back. He went down, arms collapsing as the adrenaline rush faded, and he laid his head wearily on the rough flooring. "Not so smart, Agent Mulder," the man said, finger on the trigger. Mulder looked up and could see the man's hand tighten, the finger pulling inexorably, the trigger sliding back. It moved so slowly he could see the individual muscles in the man's arm ripple, the veins pulsing in his hand. This was it. Mulder was surprised to find that your life really did flash before your eyes at a time like this. And his thoughts were filled with images of Scully. The first time. The last time. And every other time. And newer images of the children. Of Skinner. It was then he realized how much he had changed. It wasn't until he consciously thought of what was missing, that images of his mother and father arose, images of Samantha. He pushed them away in favor of the beautiful, the loving, the caring images of his lover, his children, his friend. He stared up as the trigger continued to move back, the slight creaking it made echoing loudly in the stillness of the warehouse. Mulder drew a deep breath, wishing it could be Scully's perfume that filled his nostrils for the last time. His eyes widened and the gun moved slightly, and he felt moisture on his face. Thank you, Sir, for all you've done. I'm sorry, Steven, I won't be able to keep my promise. Ah, Jess, I'll never really know you. Scully, my Scully. I will love you forever. He watched, mesmerized, as the trigger moved the last fraction, and there was a roar in his ears and a darkness in his face, and then there was nothing. ******************************************* "Mom?" Scully repeated, a dazed look on her face. "Is that you? What are you doing at Mulder's apartment?" "Dana? Dana? Are you all right? Where are you? Oh my, sweetie, what happened? Are you hurt?" "No, Mom, no, I'm fine, really. A few bumps and bruises, but I'm OK." "We've been worried sick! Where have you been?" Scully looked around. "I'm still not sure. I don't think ... Look, Mom, that's not important right now. I love you and I know you've been worried -- I'm so sorry I worried you again -- but I need to speak to Mulder now." She smiled a quick 'thank you' to the chief when he handed her a cup of coffee. "But Fox isn't here now, Dana." "The AD?" "Mr. Skinner isn't here now either. Dana, what is so important you have to speak to them?" Scully took a sip of the coffee. It tasted wonderful and helped give her the strength to face her mother. That was her mother's best "no-nonsense" voice, and it was very hard to resist, but Scully had had some time to perfect her own version of that voice -- with Mulder's help -- and she avoided the question again. "Why are you at Mulder's apartment, Mom? I thought they had two people in protective custody over there." Her mother seemed flustered, almost as if she felt the answer to that one would be obvious. "They do, dear. That's why I'm here." Her mother paused a moment, then added, "I'm watching them for Fox." Hot coffee flew out of Scully's mouth as she sputtered over her mother's comment. She began to choke, and Marilyn slapped her on the back as her mother called frantically, "Dana? Dana? Are you all right? Dana Katherine, what the hell is going on over there?" It took a few more moments, but Scully was finally able to breathe again, and she gasped into the phone, "Just a minute, Mom." She laid the receiver down, then rose and walked to the bathroom. A quick splash of water on her face, and some reality began to seep back into a world that had suddenly gone very surreal. Her mom at Mulder's apartment. With people in protective custody. That she was *watching* for him." Had everyone lost their minds while she'd been gone? She returned to the phone, sitting at the desk this time, and spoke. "Sorry, Mom, I swallowed wrong. Why," she paused as she carefully considered her next words, "are you watching the suspects for Mulder?" Margaret laughed then, and Scully felt her face flush. What had she said that was so funny? "Well, dear, they might be suspect in why there is water all over the bathroom floor, or who stole the last cookie, but I think that's about the length of their involvement in your suspect list. Dana, I'm watching the *children* for Fox. He didn't want to leave them with strangers." Scully heaved a sigh. Well, the world hadn't gone completely mad after all. And the children were safe. "Steven and Jess? They're OK?" "They're fine, sweetie. Just fine." Margaret looked over to the corner of the room where Steven was patiently stacking blocks and Jess was gleefully knocking them down. "Steven is wonderful with the baby. They've both stolen my heart." "I'm sure. They have a way of doing that. Mom? Their parents?" Margaret lowered her voice. "The adoptive parents?" She frowned. Didn't Dana know Fox was their father? Maybe not. And maybe she should wait and let him tell her. "They were killed by the men that took you, and them. Steven has quite a tale to tell of his rescue by Fox." Steven had been listening to the whole conversation and he got up now and came over to the phone. Scully could just make out his words. "Can I talk to Dana, Grandma?" "Grandma? They're calling you Grandma?" "Well, Maggie is a little too informal, and Mrs. Scully is too hard for the baby. Besides, Steven decided it would be a good name for me." She didn't go on to share his reasoning, but smiled as she thought of it. Since she was Dana's mom, and Dana was going to be their mom, then she had to be Grandma. "Grandma," the little boy wheedled, "please let me talk to Dana." Maggie passed the phone over. "Hi Dana!" "Hi, Steven. How are you?" "I'm OK. When are you coming home?" "Soon," Scully reassured the boy. "Very soon." "Fox and Uncle Walter went to find you." She was so intent on the concept of the two men out hunting for her, she completely missed the shift in the child's language from "Walter" to "Uncle Walter." "Steven, I'm really glad you're OK, but I need to speak to Mom, uh, Maggie, I mean, Grandma now." " 'kay. Bye, Dana." The boy handed the phone to Maggie and returned to his toys. "Sweetie?" "Mom? Where did Mulder and Skinner go?" "I'm not sure, dear. They said something about meeting someone who had information about where you were." Maggie stopped for a moment, thinking. "Oh, well, I'm sure they'll be home soon. Now that you're on your way as well." Scully sighed. "Mom, it doesn't work that way. Did they say *anything* about where they were going? Did they call to arrange for assistance? Take backup?" Maggie began to look worried now. "No," she said hesitantly. "I thought they were just meeting someone to talk. Honey, I have to admit, I was a lot more interested in the fact that they might be able to find out where you were, than how they were going to do it." "It's OK, Mom, give me a minute here." "Are they in danger, Dana?" "I don't know!" Scully could hear the frustration in her own voice. "Is there a computer around there? A laptop, not Mulder's Pentium." Maggie scanned the room, finally seeing the black case standing by the door. "I see it." "Get it, Mom. We need to see if we can figure out where they went." "Just a minute." Maggie retrieved the case, and opened it, then lifted the phone back to her ear. "I don't really know anything about these you know." "It's OK, Mom. I'll walk you through it." It took a few minutes because of Maggie's unfamiliarity, but she was finally into the system and had accessed Skinner's most recent mail. She was reading through requests for reviews, meeting notifications and reminders, case updates, when a strange one struck her. "This may be it," she said. "Look for Agent Mulder's apartment twice when you come to see me at the warehouse. Ten o'clock." "Does that mean anything to you, Dana?" "I think so, Mom." Scully sighed again. "We need to get some people out to find them. Now." "But honey, they're looking for you. Why would they need to be found?" "Because they're stubborn, hard-headed, single-minded, foolhardy, determined *idiots* when it comes to things like this." "Like what, dear?" Scully swallowed hard. "Like me. Like my safety. I know they went alone; didn't take backup. If anything happens to them, I swear, I'll kill 'em myself!" "Dana! Calm down. I'm well aware that Fox has acted rather -- impetuously -- in the past, but I'm sure Mr. Skinner wouldn't allow him to go off on his own ..." "Mother!" God, why hadn't she ever explained this to her mom? "It was *Skinner* who led the way the last time Mulder got hurt. Granted, I don't think he planned to take him, but, I swear, the two of them are on some male-bonding kick or something and I think they almost *enjoy* working together now!" She snorted. "Look, Mom? Get me the most senior agent on guard detail. I really need to talk to him." ******************************************* Skinner fired, the bullet hitting the man squarely in the back, and he toppled over, landing directly on Mulder. The AD moved quickly down from the catwalk. He was sure he had taken out all the hidden targets, this one had been last. He had been hoping to get to talk to him, but when he had put the gun to Mulder's head, pulled the trigger, Skinner had no choice but to shoot. He leapt the last way, foregoing the stairs in favor of speed, irregardless of the shock that rippled up his legs as he landed on the unrelenting floor. He raced over to the pile of men, wrenching the man he had shot off of Mulder, and throwing his body to the side. He looked down. Mulder was breathing. No blood on his face, no open wound in his head. Skinner closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. He had been in time. He ripped open Mulder's shirt, looking for other wounds, then when he saw blood on the younger man's shoulder, he pulled the dressing off, looking for signs of new trauma on top of the old. But there was nothing. He rolled the man forward, into his lap, and looked at the wound from the back. And then he began to laugh. Little puffs of suppressed laughter at first, laughter that bubbled up from deep in his belly and quickly turned into huge gulping guffaws. Only Mulder! Geez! The man in his lap groaned, and Skinner laughed even harder. God, Mulder was going to be so embarrassed, and Skinner was determined to *never* let him live this down. "Wha?" Mulder said groggily. "You awake now?" Skinner asked, the laughter finally subsiding. "What's so funny? You get off on seeing me shot and almost killed?" Skinner chuckled again. "You wish. You're gonna regret living when you find out what really happened." "Huh?" "Apparently, Agent Mulder, you haven't been shot at all." "No! I had to be! I felt it -- felt like my shoulder exploded again!" "He missed. Hit the wall behind you. Your back -- and your shoulder wound -- are full of little pieces of concrete block and splinters of wood. Must have ricocheted out from the wall when your friend over there fired. Bet it hurt like hell." He grinned at the man in his lap. "You fainted." Mulder groaned. "Tell me I'm dead," he begged. "No such luck," Skinner said cheerfully. "But as I said, I'm sure there will be many times when you wish you were." "You're not going to forget this, are you?" Mulder rolled far enough over to look up at his friend. "Not during your lifetime," Skinner assured him. The two men smiled at one another in silence for a moment, Skinner resting his hand on Mulder's forehead briefly. Then both looked toward the door as the sounds of sirens suddenly became audible. Lots of sirens. Heading their way. ********************************************** Who knew water could be so wonderful. And being clean could be so decadent. Fresh clothes were a delight to the skin despite -- Scully looked down at her borrowed retro 60s jeans with the flowers running down the seams -- feeling that she looked like an overgrown teenager. And food was positively heavenly. Scully pushed the plate away and sighed in contentment. She was clean, she was clothed, and her stomach no longer complained. What more could she ask for? She glanced up at the clock again. 11:15. The wire from Kim should be here any time now. Though being in a small town certainly had its advantages, she no longer needed the funds to take care of basic necessities. It would be nice to buy a gun but with no ID, and dressed as she was, that was not going to happen. Scully looked at the clock again. 11:18. This would never do. She was worried about Mulder and Skinner but she left firm instructions with Agent Hankins that she was to call as soon as Mulder and Skinner were located. Until the wire came, the call came, and time to leave for the airport came, she needed something to occupy herself. She glanced around, eyes landing on the briefcase she had carried out from the small house. She rose and picked it up, laying it on the desk and opening it. She lifted Mulder's folder out and settled back in the chair to read. Subject: Fox William Mulder DOB: October 13, 1961 Father: William Samuel Mulder DOB: March 19, 1931 Mother: Martina Louise Kuipers DOB: August 14, 1934 Conceived approx: January 25, 1961 Genetic enhancements: 1, 3, 7 performed April 6, 1961 Scully paused and rifled through the papers in the folder, looking desperately for the cross-reference. But there was no list, no hint of what these 'genetic enhancements' could possibly be. She turned back and continued reading. This top sheet seemed to be a summary of Mulder's life. She read on. Milestones: Rolled over - 3 mos Sits without assistance - 4 1/2 mos First word - 6 mos Crawling - 6 mos Pulls self to standing - 6 1/2 mos Speaks two word sentences - 7 mos Walking - 7 1/2 mos Speaks three word sentences - 8 1/2 mos Runs stiffly - 11 mos 25 word vocabulary - 12 mos Follows simple commands - 12 mos Runs well - 14 mos Toilet trained during day - 17 mos Recognizes colors - 18 mos Sleeps dry through night - 21 mos Counts to number five - 22 mos Knows ABCs - 24 mos Recognizes written letters - 26 mos Reads 2-3 letter words - 29 mos Scully paused, her finger coming up to tug at her lip as she thought back on Mulder's development. Several things leapt out at her. He had developed at an extraordinarily rapid pace. She was willing to bet those mysterious 'genetic enhancements' 1, 3, and 7 involved gross motor and language skills. And recognizing Mulder's remarkable memory, that had to be his third 'enhancement.' She looked back at the page. There was a notation regarding the birth of the sibling when Mulder was 4 and his apparent comfortable adaptation to the change in the family structure. The next entry was a narrative concerning an exam that had been conducted when Mulder was 7. Scully's eyes widened in horror at what she saw next. "Sibling scheduled for termination at 30 months due to comparative slow development. Termination cancelled when impact on successful subject considered." The phone rang drawing Scully from her reverie. And she looked up at the clock again. 11:45. The second line rang and she watched as Marilyn scrambled to deal with them both. Finally, she pushed the button to end one call, then held the receiver out toward Scully. "The first one was the market. Your wire is here. And this one," she waved the phone slightly, "is a very insistent Agent Mulder for you." Scully closed the folder. She wanted very much to finish reading it, but it seemed to be something Mulder should see first, or at least at the same time. It was going to be hard to refrain from looking at it anymore. She put the folder in the briefcase, then closed it firmly before she took the phone. "Mulder?" "Hey, Scully. How you doing?" "I'm fine, Mulder. Where are you?" Mulder looked over at the ER doctor and grimaced. "I'm, uh, getting ready to head back to the apartment." He glanced quickly at Skinner, saw the frown, and began to wonder if he was going to get away with this. "Hankins said it was you who sent the cavalry after me and Skinner." He paused again, "There really wasn't any need. We were doing fine by ourselves." He looked at Skinner again, the frown had turned into pursed lips, and the man was moving toward him. "Agent Mulder, give me the phone," Skinner demanded. "Uh, Scully, I think the AD would like to speak to you." "No doubt," Scully responded dryly. "Maybe I'll find out where you are now." "You really OK, Scully?" "I'm really OK." Mulder lowered his voice and turned his head to the side slightly, "I missed you, Scully," he whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't there." "I know, Mulder. It's not your fault. We'll have plenty of time to talk about this when I get home." "This and some other things," Mulder responded, as Skinner cleared his throat. He raised his voice and turned back to look at the AD. "I think Skinner is ready to talk to you. I'll see you soon?" "Count on it." Mulder passed the phone to Skinner. "Agent Scully." "Yes, Sir." "Good to hear your voice. You had us all concerned." "Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." "I understand from Kim you're planning to fly home today?" Scully swallowed hard. Busted. "Well, uh, yes, Sir." "And I don't suppose it would do me any good to order you to stay there and wait for appropriate escort?" Skinner's eyes were twinkling as he spoke. "No, Sir. I'm sorry, not this time." Skinner smiled but spoke gruffly, "In that case, I'll have to order you to be on that 3:00 flight and get your ass back to DC as quick as you can." Scully relaxed back into the chair and grinned. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I can do that, Sir." "See that you do," Skinner said as he hung up the phone. He spoke to the ER doctor. "How much longer until he can leave?" he nodded at Mulder. The doctor, a tall Asian woman, looked up from where she was pulling bits of concrete out of Mulder's back. "This man has suffered what appears to be a third significant trauma in a relatively short period of time. I really feel we need to admit him for observation." Mulder half-rose from the table and Skinner hurried to push him back down. "You and what army?" the AD muttered to the woman, patting Mulder's arm as the younger man relaxed. "He's got to meet a plane in about 6 hours." End part 08/09 The Price of a Soul 09/09 "When's she gonna be here, Fox?" Steven asked impatiently. "Soon, Steven, very soon. Come with me for a minute." Mulder pulled himself up to his feet carefully, then took the boy's hand and led him to a display several feet away. Skinner watched from where he sat near Maggie, holding the baby. "She's on Flight 426, Steven. Can you find that one?" Mulder waited patiently, watching as the little boy studied the monitors. "There!" the child said excitedly, finger pointing up at the display. "There it is! See?" He turned triumphantly to look up at Mulder. "That's right, Steven. Very good!" Mulder praised. Skinner was watching this scene with a small smile on his lips, when Maggie said, "He's very good with the boy, isn't he?" The older man nodded. "Better than me." Maggie looked over at the baby, asleep in the big man's arms and said, "I wouldn't be so sure of that. But Fox has two things going for him. He's a natural with kids; he really likes them and they can tell that." She grew quiet, staring at the man and boy as they continued their lesson on reading airline displays. "And?" Skinner prompted softly. "Well, I'm not positive, but I don't think Fox had the best situation growing up. Not the best role models for parents." She turned and looked earnestly at the AD. "Mind you, I'm not being critical. I don't know what it would be like to lose a child as they did in that family. I can't imagine the stress it would create." She pursed her lips slightly, face growing just a trifle hard. "I think it was extremely hard on Fox. I'm amazed at how well he turned out." "How does that translate as something going for him?" Skinner asked, curious about a parent's assessment of Mulder, the new father. "He's trying very hard to do the right things with the children. He's patient. And like this. Instead of getting angry at Steven's repeated question, or ignoring the child, or just answering him, Fox has turned it into an opportunity to teach something. And a brief moment to spend some time with the boy." She smiled as Mulder hugged Steven, and they turned to come back to the seats. "And he certainly seems to know what *not* to do, doesn't he?" she finished. "Grandma, Uncle Walter!" Steven called as they approached. "Dana's on Flight 426. It gets in at 5:47. It's 5:42 now." The boy held up his arm, Mulder's watch dwarfing his small wrist. "Fox showed me. That's in five minutes!" He was dancing where he stood, his excitement uncontainable for the moment. "Just five more minutes." He looked up at Mulder, who nodded his approval. "Oh," he added, returning his attention to Skinner and Maggie, "and the plane's on time." Another look up at his father. "We checked." Mulder was shifting nervously from foot to foot, one eye watching the monitor to make sure it didn't change, and Skinner patted the seat next to him. "Sit, Mulder, you're supposed to be resting." "I'm OK, Sir," the man mumbled, looking again at the display. He turned to look out the window, then looked down at Steven. "Wanna go watch the planes land?" The boy nodded, and Mulder took his hand. "Uh," he looked at Maggie and Skinner, "you guys OK with the baby?" Maggie laughed. "Go on, Fox, you're even making *me* nervous." She snuck a quick glance at Skinner, then added, "You boys stay where we can see you," and was rewarded with a red-faced look from Fox, and a loud chuckle from Skinner. The plane landed on time, and Maggie, Skinner and Jess joined Mulder and Steven to stand and watch every passenger who exited. Maggie was watching Mulder more than she watched the passageway, and she could tell the exact moment he spotted her daughter. His face underwent an incredible transformation. All signs of worry and concern disappeared, his forehead smoothing out and a tension seemed to seep from his body. His eyes lit up so brightly, Maggie wondered how he refrained from blinding people with his happiness. He smiled and started to speak, then stopped himself, looking down at the boy who clung to his hand. The child was craning his neck around the taller people, still searching, and as Maggie watched, he too saw Dana. "There she is, Fox!" he cried. "Dana! Dana! We're over here!" The boy broke away from Mulder's grasp and raced toward Scully. Maggie was amused at first, until she noticed how Mulder immediately tensed, how swiftly he darted after Steven, total terror stiffening his body again as he eyed the crowds and made a beeline for his son. For a moment, she worried he was going to yell at the boy, or even spank him, but he contained himself, and simply stood close, very close, as her daughter knelt and hugged Steven. Oh yes, Mulder would make a fine father. Scully rose slowly from her hug with Steven, her eyes rising to meet Mulder's. She looked around, saw Skinner and her mother, then said quietly, "Hey there." "Hey yourself," he responded, eyes drinking her in. He took in the retro jeans and tight T-shirt, the complete lack of make-up on her face, and the little pony-tail she had pulled her hair into. She looked about sixteen. Sixteen in '65. The business attache she carried was the only incongruity in her outfit. He grinned and lifted his hand, the one not holding firmly onto Steven. He spread the first two fingers into a 'V' and said, "Peace, partner." Scully flushed, then glanced down at the clothes she wore. She gave Mulder a wry grin and commented, "Apparently, I'm the same size as the police chief's daughter. She's fourteen." " 's OK," Mulder murmured, his hand coming out to gently trace her cheek. "I kinda like the look." She smiled softly, then noticed the bulge at his shoulder. She reached out and tenderly touched the shirt where it covered his latest wound, and murmured, "Oh, Mulder." A sad shake of her head, then she lifted her hand to brush his hair back, letting her fingers linger on his brow before dropping her hand slowly. He leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against hers, and he stared into her eyes until he could take no more joy and he was forced to close them. They stood that way for a long moment, Steven looking happily up from between them, one hand still holding his father's. Mulder drew a deep shuddery breath, eyes behind closed lids threatening to fill. It was always like this. Just being with her stole his breath. Seeing her filled his heart to overflowing. Knowing she was safe made his soul sing. "Daddy Pox!" Jess called, effectively stealing the moment, and Scully looked up, startled. "*Daddy* Pox?" she asked. Skinner chuckled and Mulder said, "Long story." Maggie laughed too, and moved forward to embrace Scully. She pulled the younger woman to her, then pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. "Fox is right. You do look like a refugee from the sixties, though this is more Melissa's style than yours, if I recall correctly." Scully kissed her mother on the cheek. "Since when have you ever been wrong about anything?" she teased. Maggie hugged her again, then straightened. "Well," she said, looking around, "you seem to have things under control, and I have a long drive home. I think I'll head on out." Mulder went to her and kissed her forehead. "Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Scully. I don't know what we would have done without you." "Hush, now," Maggie scolded gently, and she hugged the tall man, then pulled away. "That's what grandmas are for." She leaned over and hugged Steven, then kissed Jess who was starting to squirm in Skinner's arms. "You two be good, and I'll come see you again soon." She pulled on her jacket, slipping her purse onto her shoulder. "Mr. Skinner," she said, nodding, and he added his thanks to Mulder's. "Bye, Mom," Scully called. She now held Steven's hand in hers, and they watched as Maggie disappeared down the escalator. When she was gone from sight, Mulder sighed. "No luggage, I take it, eh, Scully?" "Just this." She lifted the case. "And that is?" Mulder asked. "Your life." She turned to Skinner. "Sir, my weapon and my ID were at the house in my bag. Did you find them?" Skinner shook his head. "Sorry. There was no sign of any of your stuff. Almost as if we were meant to believe you had never arrived." He shifted Jess to his other arm, murmuring to her softly, then lifted a hand to push his glasses back up his nose. "I've already made arrangements for you to have a new ID made, and you can requisition a weapon. I'll sign the approvals. In the meantime," he met her eyes, "you have a spare?" "At my place." "OK. We'll head there then." "Uncle Walter?" Steven had let go of Mulder and Scully and was tugging at Skinner now. "I'm hungry." He looked around the busy airport, people hurrying by, planes roaring just outside, the drone of voices almost deafening. The excitement had worn off, and his face tightened in distaste as a man almost knocked Scully over in his haste to get by. "I want to go home." "We will, Steven. We just need to go to Scully's -- er, Dana's -- for a minute." The normally complacent child crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly on the ground. "I don't *want* to go to Dana's. I want to go *home!*" Mulder knelt beside him, surprised to see tears in the boy's eyes. "Shh, Steven, it's OK." He pulled the boy into his arms, then looked up at Skinner. "Why don't I take them home and you and Scully can go to her place?" "Nooooo!" the boy wailed. "Fox, we all have to stay together!" The tears began to fall, and Mulder rose. He wanted to pick the child up, but his shoulder wouldn't permit it. Instead, there was a general shuffling as the adults sorted things out. Steven clung to Mulder's leg and he stroked the boy's back, murmuring to him, as he explained to the others. "It's been too much for him. He's had enough. He needs some stability right now." Skinner nodded, passed the baby to Scully, and scooped Steven up. Since he had been the one to suggest going to Scully's, he half-expected to be rebuffed. But the boy wrapped himself in the man's arms. Arms around neck, legs around waist, he clung to Skinner and wept. Skinner held him tight and Mulder stroked his back. Scully was whispering to him as well, and even little Jess reached out to touch his forehead. When the boy had cried himself out, Skinner spoke. "Why don't we go home, Steven?" "To our home? With Fox?" Skinner nodded. "And I can carry you this time." The boy sniffed, laid his head on Skinner's shoulder, and was soon fast asleep. ************************************* The drive home had been peaceful, Steven sleeping most of the way, and Jess playing quietly in her car seat. The three adults kept the conversation light, Bureau gossip, weather, what to have for dinner, almost by unspoken agreement. There was no question that all three of them would go to Mulder's apartment, and all three of them would be staying there, at least until the children were settled and a real discussion could be had. Scully had been somewhat surprised by the appearance of black sedans -- one in front of them, one behind. Her whispered "Is this really necessary?" had been met with a grim nod from Skinner and was the only 'serious' conversation they had had. And now, dinner was behind them -- baths and books and beds were done. The three exhausted grown-ups lay sprawled on the sofa and chairs in the living room. "I'm never going to survive this," Mulder muttered. "You're doing fine, Mulder," Skinner hurried to reassure the younger man. "Even Maggie said you would be a good father." "Hold it," Scully said, sitting up straighter. "Jess calls you 'Daddy Pox' now, my mother says you're a good father, Skinner says you're doing fine, and Steven calls *this,*" she looked skeptically around the apartment, eyes widening slightly as she realized how *clean* it was, and how many toys and books and games had appeared in her absence, "home." She fastened her eyes to Mulder. "Is there something you need to tell me?" "Uh, well, yes, there is," Mulder answered, "but it's not what you think." "None of this is what anyone thinks," Skinner interjected. He sat up straighter too, and when he spoke again, both agents knew that it was the AD who spoke. "I think we need to go over everything we know. Share information. Begin our reports." He softened slightly as he offered a small smile to Scully. "We'll get to everything, I assure you." Mulder rose at that. "This could take a while. Let me make some coffee before we get started." He wandered into the kitchen, picking up toys, shoes, jackets, as he went, and Scully stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the sight. Her reverie was interrupted when Skinner stood and walked over to the couch, then sat on the coffee table before it. "Agent Scully," he began, but then his voice softened and he reached up and removed his glasses. One hand slipped out and gently took her smaller one. "Dana," he sighed, "are you really all right?" She smiled at him. "I really am. And I owe it to you." He raised an eyebrow and she nodded. "Yep. The guy was big, bigger than you. More like Quintano." "The instructor at the Academy?" Scully nodded again. "*My* instructor when I went through. Anyway, this guy, he just wasn't expecting me to be able to do anything against someone his size. I think it was his own surprise that took him down as much as anything." She gave a satisfied chuckle, then looked up again. "We ever get a name?" Mulder reentered at that moment, three coffee mugs held in his hands. "Hot, hot, hot," he chanted, "I could use some help here if you two are done snuggling." He laughed as Skinner dropped Scully's hand and jumped up to grab a mug. Mulder handed the other one to Scully, then sat beside her on the couch. "So, where are we, Sir?" "We were *not* snuggling, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, struggling to keep the smile off his face. "He's so easy, isn't he, Scully?" Mulder asked with an easy familiarity, only to have her punch him lightly on the arm. "You better play nice," she warned. "We owe him." Mulder's face turned serious as he looked at her, then took Skinner in too. "Oh, that I know, Scully. That I know." There was an awkward pause, then Skinner spoke again. "All right, let's get this started. The house, Scully. What do you remember from the house?" She quickly recounted the events, much the same as Steven had reported, and Skinner dutifully made notes. "What about you?" she asked. "What did you do when you got there? And how," she touched Mulder's shoulder, "did you get this?" When he started to protest it was nothing, she narrowed her eyes and added, "I've been very patient. I didn't even say anything until now. But I want answers." Skinner filled her in on the attack on Mulder in the LaFreniere house, which required a pause while she looked at his stomach wound, then the fiasco at the farmhouse. "Mulder was the one that went in. He found Steven, got him out just before the whole damn thing collapsed," he finished. Scully was examining the shoulder wound now. "So this was rebar, not a gunshot?" "Honest. No gunshots. Cross my heart," Mulder said as he did exactly that. Scully snorted at his antics. "Too bad. I thought you might have figured the first time wasn't enough and wanted more." She looked at his back. "So what is all this?" "We're getting there." Skinner was speaking again. "But first, the house where you were held?" "I can't tell you much, Sir." She was replacing the bandage on Mulder's wound as she spoke. "I was kept in the basement, and I believe I was kept drugged for much of the time. I have no idea why they allowed the drugs to wear off when they did." She completed her task, then helped him tug his shirt over his head. A sip of her coffee, then she looked up. "What did they find out from the man I took down?" "Nothing." "Nothing?" Skinner nodded grimly. "Nothing," he repeated. "When the police got out there, everything was as you described it, size of the basement, the wooden stairs, the furniture, even the pictures on the wall. No doubt you had been there, no doubt you had been held captive. The rope was still in the bedroom, with your blood on it. No doubt there had been a struggle in the basement. There was blood there as well. Not yours, I might add. But there was no suspect to be picked up." Scully put her coffee down and rose, walking angrily to the window. She stood silent for a moment, then said, "There is no way that man walked away from there." She swallowed hard. "I -- hurt him. Bad. I've been wondering if I killed him." She turned and faced Skinner squarely. "That man did *not* walk away on his own." "I believe you," the AD responded. "But you know what that means." "Yes. Someone manipulated the whole thing. The drugs were allowed to wear off so I could escape. Then, once I was gone, they came and got their accomplice." She sighed. "But why?" "Me," Mulder said dejectedly. "The man in the warehouse said I am part of some damn project. He called it the 'Mulder Project.' Said he was the head and I guess I was the focus." Scully walked swiftly to the briefcase. "Not the focus of the project, Mulder," she corrected, as she opened it and pulled out the folder. "You *are* the project." She pulled out the summary sheet -- passing it to her partner, her lover, her friend. Skinner moved over to sit on the table again, and they both began to read. "Genetic enhancements? What the hell does that mean?" Scully spoke. "I think numbers 1, 3 and 7 relate to gross motor skills, language, and memory." "How did you figure that out?" "The summary. Your development was off the chart, Mulder. Months ahead of most babies. That clued me on the first two." She flipped through the folder. "It wasn't until you started school that there are notations on specific memory traits." Mulder's eyes were flashing. "They were going to terminate Sam? Just because she didn't develop as fast as I did?" He finished the page, then threw it down in disgust. "What the hell were my parents thinking?" "I'm not sure your parents had much choice, Mulder," Skinner said softly. "I don't pretend to understand, but I think that whatever was going on back then, the men who were in charge? I think they were all required to make contributions to the project." "So why wasn't I enough? Didn't the Mulder family do its duty well enough? Let these monsters practice on an unborn child? Me? That wasn't enough? They had to take Samantha too?" Scully had slid over and was sitting next to Mulder, her arm was around him, pulling him into her, and he sat hunched over his knees, not really leaning into her, but not resisting either. Skinner touched his arm, forcing Mulder to look at him. "We don't know enough yet. We may never know enough." He sighed. "At least the 'enhancements' were good." "Good?" Mulder exploded, flying off the couch to pace frantically. "Good? You think it's good? I was always faster, smarter, better than everyone. I always had to slow down, think before I spoke. Every word had to be examined twenty times. Can I say this? Will this make me look too smart? Is this OK? Every action had a thousand questions. How good can I be? How fast can I run? How high can I jump? I was always *different!* I was always apart. Sam was the only one I could be myself with. The only one! And they took her! They took her away and she never came back!" He was gasping now, fighting tears, fighting rage, shuddering at the effort of self-control. Scully went to him, and this time when she embraced him, he let her pull him tight against her, holding him where he stood. His head dropped, resting on her shoulder and he stood unmoving, breathing heavily, for long moments. Skinner rose, carrying the mugs into the kitchen, giving them some space. "Mulder?" she asked finally, when he had not spoken for some time. "Mulder. You survived. You're here. And you are your own man. No matter what they did to you, they don't own you. Never have. Never will." He smiled then, and she could feel him relax against her. "It's just -- a shock. I always just thought I was smart. I didn't know I was made that way." He stared back at the bedroom, where the children slept. "If they've done this to them ..." The thought remained unspoken, the threat hung in the air. Skinner returned then, fresh coffee for them all. "We need to finish reviewing the folder. Let's pull the remaining papers and split them up." It wasn't long before Scully gasped, then looked over at her partner. "They're yours! The children really are yours!" "What did you find?" Skinner demanded, even as Mulder was nodding. She passed the papers to the AD, then spoke again. "When did you find out?" "At the farmhouse. Skinner told me before I went in for Steven." "Mulder." Skinner's face had drained of color. "Jesus, Mulder." Scully was nodding -- she'd already seen this -- and Mulder was looking confused. "What?" he asked. "What is it?" "There are eight listed. Eight. Steven was the first. Jess is the sixth." "Eight? What do you mean, eight?" "Eight 'experimental fertilizations of enhanced material.'" "Eight? Then where are the others?" Skinner looked up, his face grief-stricken. "They were -- terminated." "Terminated?" Mulder's head fell into his hands. "Fuck. When?" He looked up slowly. "No. Why?" Skinner's voice caught as he spoke again. This was all so fucking pointless. Innocent lives, innocent children, wasted because they didn't meet some arbitrary standard. "When? At 30 months." He swallowed hard again, then went on. "Why? Because they couldn't read." "No child reads at that age," Mulder murmured, head falling again. "You did," Scully said softly. "So did Steven." It took a moment, then Mulder looked up. "Jess, too, right?" Scully shook her head slowly. "No. When you and the AD found them, Steven was there for assessment. Jess was there for termination." "Nooooooooooooooo," it came out as a long, tortured wail, an unending release of unending agony. "How can I keep her safe from this?" Scully reached out, wrapping her arms around the man on the couch. "We'll help you. We'll be here every step of the way. And we will find a way to keep her safe. To keep them both safe." She looked over at Skinner, nodded, and he reached out as well, his hands resting tentatively on Mulder's arms, then biting down tightly as he sought to reinforce, to reassure through presence alone. Mulder shook beneath their touch, a torrent of emotion raging through him, a storm of passion that could not be contained. "I never planned to have children. I never planned it," he muttered repeatedly, "but I have to keep them safe." This litany went on and on, and Scully began to wonder if she should consider giving him a sedative. He was frantic one moment, full of self-contained rage the next, and then almost incoherent. She looked at Skinner helplessly, but he could only shrug and tighten his grip to keep the man in one place. The clock chimed and Skinner began to wonder how long they had sat like this, when there was a second chime, softer, shorter, singular. He looked up in surprise, then looked around, his eyes landing on his laptop, buried on Mulder's desk, but still open, still connected from Maggie Scully's unorthodox search of his computer. The chime echoed in his head. He had mail. He realized Mulder had stilled beneath his hands, and the man was staring at the computer as well. This was too convenient, too pat to be anything other than related to this case, this situation. He looked at Mulder again. "Better get this place swept for bugs," he muttered as he strode to the laptop. Opening the mail reader, he saw one new piece waiting for him. With Scully behind him on one side, and Mulder on the other, he opened it and began to read. "Mr. Skinner, You have been most helpful to me in regaining my former position of authority. Your assistance on the island, and then again at the farmhouse was invaluable. And though it was not your intention to aid me again, and though we did not negotiate a price in advance, your assistance at the warehouse was most welcome. As a token of my appreciation, I wish to assure you, and Agents Mulder and Scully, that he and the children will be left alone. There will be no further work on the 'Mulder Project.' That is my gift to you. For, after all, who can put a price on a soul?" End I have been warned that I may be taking my life in my hands to end this in this way, but, rest assured, gentle readers, despite my best intentions otherwise, I will do at least one more story in this universe. Thanks for letting me share it with you.