TITLE: Starkweather: Quanta

AUTHORS: Scully3776 and Spookykat

RATED: R for strong language and explicit content

ARCHIVED: Here on Gossamer, www.fanfiction.net, and
www.geocities.com/phantmoftheopera/index.html.  Any
other locations with prior permission.

KEYWORDS: Crossover, MSR, New Character,
Mulder/Scully/Doggett Friendship, The Lone Gunmen, CSM,
Marita Covurabias, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship,
Post S8

Spoilers: S8 (Especially Vienen)

Sequel to Future Past Perfect and
Starkweather: Introitus.  But don't worry! You don't
have to read either to get the gist of the story.
Important things to know: In Future Past Perfect,
Al rigged Ziggy so that Mulder could see him.  For
Al and Sam, this story takes place immediately after
Future Past Perfect. For the x-files gang, it takes
place immediately after "Starkweather: Introitus."

Summary: A male version of Scully invented a time
machine that allows him to swap souls with Doggett to
change history for the better.  The history he needs to
change: The murder in the county jail of the new Deputy
Mayor of Washington DC at the hands of Billy Miles.  How
will he do it? With the help of the Gunmen and a guide
from the future only he can see and hear.

STUFF I MUST MENTION SO WE WON'T GET SUED: Fox, Chris
Carter, and 1013 productions, if you wish to see your
creations, Agent Dana Scully, Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder,
Monica Reyes, and John Doggett, Luke John Doggett,
Melvin Frohike, Langly, John Byers, AD Walter Skinner,
CBG Spender, Marita Covarubias, Deputy Director Alvin
Kersh, Billy Miles and your brainchild "The X-Files"
again, I suggest you pay close attention.
Scully3776 and her creations Admiral Jeremy
Bailey, Mayor Thomas Swanson, Jerilyn Bailey
Starkweather and Ben Starkweather, Senator Lynn Bailey,
J. Stephen Cello III, and various as sundry minor
characters with Spookykat's creations, Davis Justin Leo,
Ana Sedai, Peter Sedai, Lilly Stratford, Manuel Ibarra
will descend upon 1013 productions in Los Angeles with
NBC, Belesarius, and Donald P. Belesarius' characters,
Dr. Sam Becket and Al Calivici. A hostile overthrow of
sporks and flamethrowers will ensue if incompliant to
our demands—don't worry, they are simple and few.

1) Accommodations in Apt. 42 (Lord knows you won't be
needing that anymore sniff! We've even worked out
sleeping arrangements.)
2) Season-long writing contracts with 1013.
3) A weekly stipend sufficient for groceries, gas,
transportation, and long distance service.
4)Both authors supplied with autographed copies of all
the DVD's as they become available on the market

You have been warned.


Prologue:
***********
While theorizing that one could time travel in his own
lifetime, Dr. Sam Becket stepped into the Quantum Leap
accellorator, and vanished. He awoke to find himself leaping
from life to life, putting right what once went wrong.
His only guide on this journey is Al, a hologram
from the future that only Sam can see and
hear, and leaps from life to life, striving to put right what
once went wrong hoping that each time his next leap will be the
leap home.
*************************************************
June 24, 2011; 7:34 AM
Roswell NM, Area51
Project Quantum Leap Headquarters
************************************
John Doggett felt like he had just gotten over a very
severe case of vertigo.

He leapt up from the glass table that he hadn't realized
till now that he was lying on, not even taking notice of
the white spandex he was donning from head to toe that was
a far cry from his understated jacket-and-tie FBI attire.
"Luke!" The little boy he lost, unfortunately was one of
the few things his Swiss-Cheezed memory could remember.

"Anybody here!" He shouted in the half Brooklyn/half
Southern accent that had been perfected over the years with
the NYPD.

Upon not getting any response he studied his surroundings
the way his finely tuned detective's instincts taught him
to. Looking around, he saw that he was in a spacious room
with undecorated stark walls, furnished with nothing more
than a couch, a desk, and an observation table. From the
sparce furnishings,Doggett was doubtless that this place
was a government-funded facility. Slowly, his memory was
returning to him. He was an FBI Agent in the x-files
division for a little more than a year now. He raked his
hand through his hair, and was alarmed not to find his own
thin curls, but straight hair—hair that seemed to be longer
than his usual length.  "What kinda party trick is this?"
He mumbled, then looked to the wall opposite a door, and
jumped at the reflection that wasn't his own.  "Some kind
of hypnotic suggestion could enduce this." He explained.
"Some kind of hallucinogenic drug, maybe.  Whatever the
fuck it is, helluva party trick."  The only person he knew
who could rig up this sorta set-up...

"Muldah! Come on now!" Doggett shouted. "I gotta get back!
When she finds out about the case, the shit's gonna hit the fan!"
He yelled, and started to head for the only visible door
next to the observation window.

Just then, a short, dark-eyed man with a slight build,
dark, coily hair that was graying at the temples entered
the room, and blocked his way. Doggett had no idea who the
man was, but from the expression on the man's face, the man
obviously knew him.

"Who are you? What the hell kinda stunt are you trying to
pull? Did Mulder put you up to this?" Doggett demanded as
if it was one fell question.  "Yes, I know it was Mulder."
Doggett answered the man's surprised reaction, "he's the only
one who would find out where to get a full-body condom costume."

"Take it easy" Under his breath, the man mumbled "I shudda
started a project pool on that question." Despite the man's
garish ensemble--this one a glittering silver jacket and
pants underneath a cranberry red top with a thin black tie
and silver matching shoes--the man's demeanor and steady
gaze bespoke authority and seriousness.

"Sir, if you don't mind sayin'," Doggett was one of those
rare people who had a forcefull drawl, "I'd like to know
what's going on. Am I a prisoner here?"

"No, you're not a prisoner." The man replied frankly.
"Then give me my clothes and I'll be on my way. I have
business to attend to." Doggett demanded, now visibly
agitated.

"So do we. Can you tell us your name?" The man persisted.
"John Doggett. Can I go now?" Doggett huffed.

"I wouldn't leave this room if I were you, Mr. Doggett."

"Why the hell not?"

"It's not what you think out there."
"What's not what I think out there?" Doggett fumed,  "Look,
could you please get to the point, because I've got things
to take care of."

"What case were you referring to, Mr. Doggett?"

"That information's classified, sir, leaked only on a need-
to-know basis."

"You are not helping your own situation at all by not
trusting me, Mr. Doggett. I think you'll agree with me that
we need to know.  Now," the man restarted, "what sort of
things do you need taken care of?"

The man walked over to the desk and authoritatively sat
down behind it, casually perusing the manila folder he came
in with. He took an obstinate puff of the cigar he was
carrying in his other hand and directed Doggett to the
chair in front of the desk.

"What is my own situation?" Doggett reverberated.

"You tell us, Mr. Doggett."

May 22, 2001
Newberry, SC; County Morgue
******************************
The Leaper heard shots ring out from his host's gun, and
subsequently heard a resounding thud.
Then a dazzling blue light surrounded him.

Oblivion overtook consciousness for what seemed like a
few seconds. Time, to Leaper Dr. Sam Becket lately was
quickly becoming a moot point. He didn't know if the
duration of the oblivion was really a few seconds or if
it was years sped up into a few seconds...or what the
case was.

However long the unawareness lasted, he next found
himself in the form of whomever soul he had changed
places with--leapt into--immediately yanked into the
life he was supposed to change within the next few days.
It was a small relief to him that, while he couldn't
remember much of anything before he stepped into an
accelerator, he could remember the leaps--the lives he
had lived, and changed for the better. He could at least
vicariously pretend he had some sort of past. As hard as
he tried not to, it always embittered Sam a little that
he never got to see his work finished. It made the
physicist wish sometimes that he could have a life of
his own, just once.

But leaps like his most recent, into Special Agent Dana
Scully, made all his work and grief worth it. He was
part of something greater than himself. He wanted to
help her and her partner Fox Mulder with their work, but
he knew he had his own job. By Whateveritwas's design,
he was pinballed into the next existence, usually never
to see the work he had done.

After the leap was over, Sam, as usual, was gone without
either a momento or a trace of the lives he effected,
and only in two cases had he actually seen his work
after he leapt, primarily because most people only have
one defining moment that effects their lives forever.
Fox Mulder, he would be reminding himself later, was not
most people.

The disorientation and feeling of lostness and ambiguity
was something he still hadn't gotten used to...no matter
how often he leapt, which was generally in bizarre
situations--if they weren't bizarre situations, they
usually evolved into bizarre situations. Or at least
situations that seemed bizarre to Sam. To the person
whose life he had swapped souls with, the situation
probably wasn't that bizarre.

Sam felt as though he had constant vertigo. It was a
small miracle that he hadn't completely destroyed a life
from the first moment of the leap yet.
This time, after the oblivion faded, and the circle of
bright blue light subsided, and he got his bearings, Sam
found himself in a strangely familiar hallway. He had
been there before, but he couldn't quite place where he
was. It was almost a since of dejavu, but not quite. The
dimly lit hallway wasn't alien to him. He felt as though
he needed no assistance in figuring out which office was
his, but he didn't know why.
In his confusion, lost in musings, he hadn't noticed a
girl limping toward him with a hand bound in a cast. He
was fishing out his keys when she stopped at a door,
obviously waiting for something.

He looked at the paper he was holding, and nearly
spilled the coffee he was holding. It was the Washington
Post sports section, and the date said June 16, 2001. He
knew when he was, and where he was. Well...at least the
region. The girl was still waiting at the door. She
looked at him,  and Sam, in his distraction, hadn't realized
that she obviously knew who he was.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Miss..." Sam read her nametag.
"Starkweather"

He said, immediately embarrassed. She wore an FBI tag
bearing the name  "Jerilyn Starkweather." He couldn't
quite place it, but there was something familiar in her
hazel eyes.

"You ok, Papa? Did you forget your keys this morning?"

"Uh...yeah...I...uh...must have." He dug around in his
pocket. "Oh, wait, here we go. I feel like an idiot
now." Not far from the bottom of the stack of keys was
the number that matched the office door. He opened it,
and followed the young woman in.

He looked around the office he just entered, and
followed her unconscious cues that told Sam that he
belonged there, too. One look at the office
told him immediately where he was. He knew exactly whose
desk the one in the back belonged to. Piled high with
files and an open packet of  sunflower seeds with
the "I Want to Believe" poster and about 22 pencils on
the ceiling.

<I must have leapt into Mulder> was Sam's first thought.
Part of him was glad to be in familiar territory, the
other part wondered what had happened to Mulder to need
altering. He walked behind the desk, put the paper down,
half-expecting Scully to come through the door at any
minute

The young woman was eyeing him quizzically, eyes
averting from him to the desk next to his.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm...uh...sitting at my desk. What do you think?"

"That's...not your desk."

She averted her eyes to the desk next to the one he had
put the paper down on.

"I--uh--forgot, is all."

"Forgot? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm--uh...just a bit tired, is all." He glanced
at her awkwardly, wondering what was going on, and
cautiously moved over to the next desk, which was
meticulously neat decorated only with a picture of a
little boy with blond hair and striking blue eyes on it.
At that moment, he noticed a familiar petite redhead
open the door.

"The results came back from the lab, definitely from the
same species. Same properties, everything."

He forgot at that split second that he was supposed to
be pretending to be someone else, and rushed up to give
her a warm greeting. It was really nice not having to
guess at people's identities.

Over Doggett's shoulder, Scully exchanged confused
glances with Starkweather. Starkweather circled around
her ear, and busied herself
with work.

"What was that for, Agent Doggett?"....

"What was that for, Agent Doggett? You ok?"
<Doggett?! Who's Doggett?! Where's Mulder?!>

"Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to stifle a chuckle when he
remembered how that was Scully's choice phrase in those
sort of situations.

"Anyway, I just got the lab results back. Looks like
it's the same species that was in South Carolina is the
same species on the oil rig, and the same species from
Scotland. Too bad the evidence is inadmissible."

"Evidence?"

"...of alien colonization?" Scully answered in question.

"You ok Doggett?" Starkweather was saying, looking
obviously irritated. "I'd expect this from the Deputy
Mayor, but not you."

"Alien colonization..." He mumbled, then again under his
breath, "Oh boy!"


Out loud, Sam said to the young teenaged-looking woman.
"The Deputy Mayor???"

"That's Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder, the artist formerly
known as Agent Fox Mulder," Al, as usual, appeared
unannounced, scaring the bejesus out of Sam, as usual.

"They've changed things a bit down in the dungeon." Al
looked Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather up and down.

"Man, what is this, "Bring Your Daughter to Work Day?""

"What?" Sam said aloud.

"Jesus, Doggett, what's with you?" Starkweather was openly
staring at him, her feline eyes studying him, unnerving Sam
greatly. "You'd think YOU were with Ben last night at
Hooters drinking, not me."

"Ben?"

"Benjamin Starkweather, Al whacked his hand-held console.
It squealed until it produced the information he needed.

"That's her husband."

"Husband?" Sam said incredulously.

"Ahhh. I see we've graduated to multi-syllables, good job."
Starkweather quipped. "I thought you were being the
responsible agent, studying case files while doing
laundry."

"Sa ---am!" Al hissed. "Make an excuse, get to somewhere
private so I can brief you before these G-women think
you're completely loco."

"Um, excuse me," Sam turned to leave.

"Where are you going Agent Doggett?" Scully asked.

"Um... the bathroom."

"That's creative," Al groaned as the glowing door opened up
behind him. He stepped inside, "Meet you in the john," he
said before he disappeared.

Sam smiled wanly at Scully and Starkweather and rushed out
the door. Starkweather turned to Scully and said "My first
day back after having the snot beat out of me and my
partner has a major case of the weirds. Lovely."

"Today is June 16, 2002, and you are..." Al whipped out the
console, "FBI Special Agent John Doggett" Sam interjected, and
looked in the mirror to see a man with copper hair, an
honest, stern face with dazzling blue eyes. "I'm supposed
to get Mulder back on the X-files."

Al shook his head. Most of the time these days, Sam could
figure out with relative ease who he was. Al's briefing
lately was just one of those protocols. "Not quite."

"So what is Do--am I doing back on the X-Files? I thought I
changed history earlier. And what happened to Mulder?"

"Hell if I know." Al shook his head, "Ziggy's a smart-ass computer,
but she ain't no Einstein.  As far as our researchers can tell, our
project only goes as far as the human race. Mars...or
wherever E.T. comes from...is just a little bit out of our
district. As to what you're doing back in the X-Files, we
dunno. Ziggy says all the cases are under Military lock and
key." Al gawked "Military?" Then out in the air. "Goushie,
you sure this is right?"

"Why would the military have FBI cases?"

"Who knows?" Al shrugged. "Apparently a few good men are
taking a newfound interest in little green ones. As for
Mulder..." Al punched a few buttons into the console, it
flashed different colors and whirred, and Al's eyes
widened.

"They're gray" Sam couldn't help himself.

"One leap on the x-files, and suddenly you're quoting
Mulderisms. This is weird. Ziggy's got a death date on him
about a year ago. Huh...musta been one of those clerical
errors, or something. I guess he pissed the wrong people
off down at the courthouse. Anyway, according to our FBI
files, he bowed outta the FBI after an incident involving
alien oil, and fills the Deputy Mayor position down at the
courthouse."

"Have you been able to get anything from this Doggett guy?"

"No. He's more skeptical than Scully ever was when she was
there. Remember that agent who paid us a visit your last
leap?"

Sam nodded. "That was him? Sam nodded toward the
reflection. "Then why does he not know what's going on?"

"He hasn't been there yet, at least to him. Remember?"

"Any idea at all as to what I'm supposed to do here? Maybe
the court records have something."

"Let's see here..." Al punched a few buttons into the
console, which lit up and squealed. "Hey! That's great!
Scully's got a kid now! Her and Mulder must have been busy
bunnies. I guess doctors can be wrong."

"Anything on Starkweather?"

"Ziggy says..."...again a punch of a few buttons
"Starkweather the daughter of Admiral Bailey--I know that
guy Sam. His wife's a Senator. He's a bit of a nutcase, but
a nice guy. "She was something of a child prodigy, but
she's 28, an ex-Airman, married to Ben Starkweather...works
at Carter, Spangle and Adams law firm...and...uh oh! Is
found dead in a few days...and *Mulder* is found--guilty--
of his murder. Mulder?" Al sat there looking at the console
making sure he hadn't read it wrong.

"Mulder!" Sam gawked "That can't be right...he may piss
people off, but I just don't see him murdering anyone."

"I'm with you. Spooky spends too much energy hunting E.T.'s
and being a horses ass to plan a murder."

"Go see what you can find out from Doggett. I'll try and
find out what I can from his partners."

"You do that. Hang in there, Sam. I'll get back to you as
soon as I find anything."

Before Sam could say anything, Al was gone to see if the
subject could offer any information.

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
June 16, 2001
9:15 AM

Starkweather let herself into Skinner's office without
knocking. She didn't even acknowledge Skinner, so hot was
her wrath. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she
demanded her spouse.

"Agent Starkweather," Skinner growled.

"Jerilyn," Ben spoke calmly. "This is official business.
Don't get your pantyhose in a wad."

"Well, if this business if official, I strongly recommend
you refrain from using inappropriate phrases and to address
me with the respect a federal agent deserves, Counselor."
Ben scowled. Jerilyn, self-proclaimed queen of nicknaming,
ever since their dating days, had called him 'Counselor' as
a term of endearment. Now, it sounded obscene.

"For Christ's sake, Jerilyn," Ben leapt out of his seat and
turned to face his wife, his swarthy, handsome face twisted
in anger. "As usual, you're blowing this out of fucking
proportion. I need that goddamned file to prove that the
oil rig was in gross violation of the Environmental
Protection Act. Without it, I'm dead in the water."

"Other people are going to be dead if that file become
public domain."

"Jesus, Jerilyn!" Ben and Jerilyn were nose to nose now.

"Will you lay off the "tough bitch FBI" crap! It's just
another FBI file!"

"The hell it is! It's not just another FBI file. It's an X-
File. An extremely sensitive X-File, you dumb, arrogant
shit!"

Skinner had enough. "STARKWEATHER!" he snapped.
Both Ben and Jerilyn faced him. "WHAT?" they snapped in
unison.

Skinner groaned and tossed his glasses on his desk. He
rubbed his temples as he asked as nicely as his temper
would allow, "Would you two sit down? I have questions I
need answered before I decide if that information can be
released or not."

Like two bickering children pleading with their father,
Starkweather and Starkweather overlapped each other:

"Oh come on, Assistant Director! Sir you can not be
seriously considering... That information CAN NOT be
released!" Jerilyn cried.

"Sir, with all due respect, I need those files! Several men
were killed on that rig, many more lives are at stake. I
need those files to close them down!"

"SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!!!!" Skinner roared.

Meekly, husband and wife sat down.

"Thank you." Skinner said civilly.
Agent Starkweather," Skinner began. "Did you have any
foreknowledge of your husband's involvement with this case
against the oil company?"

"Sir," Jerilyn struggled for control. "As of last night, I
knew my husband was prosecuting an oil company for
negligance. I had no idea that it was THIS oil company
until you called me."

"Is that true?" he asked Ben.

"Absolutely." Ben agreed. "For the most part," he glowered
at Jerilyn. "We keep our work separate from home life,
since we both have issues of confidentially with our
respected jobs."

"Then how did you make the connection?"

"Simple detective work, really," Ben said modestly.

"Through my research I discovered that the sole survivors
of the explosion was the former Agent Mulder and the
current Agent John Doggett, who, as it so happens, is my
wife's partner. I merely put two and two together."

"And how will having this case file assist with your
prosecution?"

"After I thoroughly investigate the FBI's findings, I plan
on subpoenaing Agent Doggett and Deputy Mayor Mulder to
testify."

"NO!" Jerilyn leapt out of her case. "Ben you can't!"

"Agent Starkweather, you're out of line," Skinner growled.
But once again, Skinner was ignored as Starkweather versus
Starkweather, Round Two, ensued.

"Jerilyn, they are the only ones who know what really
happened out there!"

"They risked their lives out there. Mulder lost his job
because he was out there! Putting them on the stand,
ordering them to reveal information that almost killed them
once already would be potentially life-threatening to them,
not mention that their careers would be ruined! Mulder can
kiss being Deputy Mayor goodbye and Doggett would lose
every chance he has of succeeding Skinner!"

"Agent Starkweather, Mr. Starkweather..." Skinner tried
futilely to retake the conversation.

"But what about the lives lost on that rig! What about the
biological hazard that's still floating around the debris
out in the Gulf? Over thirty men are dead because of this
company's irresponsibility plus all of the sea life that
was destroyed? How can we honor their deaths if we can't
bring their murderers to justice. Jerilyn, you told me once
that it was your job to catch the bad guys and it was my
job to put them away. Why are you fighting against me from
doing my job? I thought you were after the truth?"

"I am after the truth," Jerilyn fumed. "I'm fighting you
because you have no fucking clue about the true nature of
what happened out there! I read the file! Ben, you'd do
more damage dragging Mulder and Doggett into this!" Jerilyn
began pacing. "We don't know exactly what happened. But new
information has been brought to light that WE need to
investigate. This is so much bigger than you realize.

"Agent Starkweather, sit down," Skinner stood up.

"But the only thing solid we GOT on them is their
environmental irresponsibility! It doesn't matter HOW we
put them away, just as long as they go! Help me, Jerilyn."
"I won't help you by condemning Doggett and Mulder to
death."

"I thought you hated Mulder."

"Just because I don't like him doesn't mean I want him
dead! Besides, he saved my sorry ass! Is that how you want
to repay the man who rescued your wife? By making him a
sitting duck? You make me sick."

"Put a sock in it, Agent Starkweather!" Skinner yelled.
Jerilyn finally shut up. "That's enough from you. You may
return to work, agent." His voice was flint.

Jerilyn said curtly. "Yes sir." She hissed at Ben, "This
isn't over."

"See you at home, pumpkin," Ben responded snidely.
"Agent Starkweather, you are dismissed," Skinner barked
like a drill sergeant. Jerilyn turned on her heel and left,
even more enraged than before. "And you-" Skinner said to
Ben as soon as Jerilyn shut the door. "-have no call to be
invading my office, giving ME commands. Extradition order
or not, I don't have to give you a damn thing if it
endangers national security, especially after the way you
just spoke to one of my top agents."

"She's not just an agent, she's my wife."

"All the more reason, you cocky little shit." Skinner said.
"I don't give a damn who you work for or who you're married
to. Bring all the court orders you want, I'll find a way to
block them all, that is a promise."

"Sir," Ben said. "If I win this case, Mulder's name is
cleared and he can get reinstated, did you even think of
that?"

"I have no use for dead agents." Besides, after Mulder
failing the fitness requirements when his mysterious
ailments started up, there was no way Kersh was going to
let him back in. But Skinner kept that to himself.
Ben stood up. "Thank you for your time sir," he said
curtly. "My wife spoke highly of you. She said you were a
reasonable, sensible man."

"I am a reasonable, sensible man. That's why your attempts
to scare me won't work just like your attempts to butter me
up with your marriage contacts didn't scare me earlier."

"I will get that file."

"Not if I have a say about it."

"Actually," Ben said pleasantly, checking his watch. "After
this interview, you probably don't. I have a ten-thirty
appointment with Deputy Director Kersh. Have a good
morning." And Ben took his leave.

When Ben left, Skinner put his glasses on and dialed his
phone. "The Deputy Mayor please."

"May I ask who's calling?" A perky voice chirped.

"Tell him it's Assistant Director Skinner and it's
important."

A minute passed before he heard the familiar sardonic
greeting. "Hey Skin-man."

"Mulder, what's your schedule like? We need to talk, we
have a major problem."

"Problems? At the FBI. No way."

"Mulder, don't push my buttons today. I have legal papers
in front of me ordering to release the oil rig X-File into
public domain for a legal battle."

"I have a City Council meeting at one. Give me a half hour
to finish up some paperwork and phone calls and I'll be
there."

"Good," Skinner grunted, hung up, then picked up the phone
and dialed again.

"Scully."

"Scully, I need to see you and Agent Doggett in my office
in thirty minutes. We have a major situation on our hands."

"Do we want to include Starkweather?"

"No. Don't be late." He hung up on more time, then picked
up one last time that morning to tell Kimberly to hold all
calls.

"Yes sir."

Skinner hung up the phone for good now. "Good God..."

In Skinner's office, Sam sat next to Scully, completely
bewildered. He still didn't know a thing about Doggett's
life, except that once he had a little boy, but Sam didn't
even know how the boy died. And now he had been rushed up
to Skinner's office about a "situation."

<<This leap just keeps getting better and better>> Sam
groaned to himself as they waited for Mulder. <<Al, where
are you? Help me out buddy>> he silently implored his
holographic friend.

Mulder burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," he
apologized breezily. "Traffic was a bitch."

"Have a seat Mulder, I'll bring you all up to speed."
Skinner said.  Mulder eyed Sam, sitting next to Scully, for
a minute before taking a seat. Skinner groaned. After the
nice little domestic spat he witnessed between the
Starkweathers, he had no desire to be a referee in a
pissing contest between Doggett and Mulder.

And of course, Sam had no idea why he received such a dirty
look from Mulder. <<Now what did I do?>> Sam wondered.

"Here's the situation, well, more of a clusterfuck."
Skinner lapsed into his Marine-lingo. "Agent Starkweather's
husband is prosecuting the oil rig company for
environmental violations...

<<What oil rig?>> Sam wondered. <<AL!!!!!!!>>

"... He wants us to release the X-File, he wants to
subpoena Mulder and Doggett. He's up in Kirsch's office
right now, pleading his case."

Scully folded her hands as if in prayer. Sam leaned back
into the sofa and tried to piece together the puzzle pieces
he just received <<Some oil rig was an X-file,
Starkweather's husband is a lawyer trying to prosecute this
company who wants their secrets protected....>> "Should we
be concerned for Starkweather's safety?" he asked.
"Agent Starkweather was not with the X-Files at that time,
I'm more concerned for yours and Mulder's safety," Skinner
said curtly.

"Not Agent Starkweather, sir. Her husband," Sam stood up.
"Look, if I'm right," <<and I hope I am because I am
completely guessing here>> "Ben is brand new to law, he
landed a big case that he thinks will make him big, but
he's in over his head. If there are people out there who
wants to keep this quiet, wouldn't they go after the
prosecutor rather than us?"

"Sir," Scully spoke up for the first time. "He has a
point."

"Duly taken," Skinner agreed.

Sam had a brainstorm. "Sir, let me run back to the office
quick to get the file. I'll bring it up and we can go
through it word by word... so, uh, we can create a coherent
argument why this can't be used in a public trial... the
trial is going to be open to media, I assume?"

"A young, cocky lawyer wouldn't have it any other way."
Mulder said dryly.

Sam excused himself and made his narrow escape. Hopefully,
he would have time to at least skim through the file so he
could have a minimal clue on what everyone was talking
about and maybe figure out why Benjamin Starkweather was
going to be murdered and how Mulder was about to be framed
and also hopefully find a way to stop it...

When Sam left, Mulder turned to Scully and said "Is it just
me or is the Puppy-Man successfully shed his charming
Southern-New York hybrid accent in favor of the bland
Indianan nuances?"

Scully sighed. "He's having a rough day, Mulder. Let him
be."

Sam fairly raced down the hall to the elevator. With a
little luck, if he could find a way to stop the x-file from
becoming part of the testimony, he could stop the murder
from happening, getv the x-files would as back to normal as
the x-files got, and get out of there.

"Al!" He hissed into the air in the elevator. Thankfully,
Al appeared.

"Mulder gave me a dirty look earlier. All I did was sit."

"Next to Scully?" Sam nodded sheepishly.

"That explains it. That, and he sees you as Doggett,
remember?"

"What's the deal with the oil rig?"

"On Mulder and Doggett's official final case together.
Apparently, they were the sole survivors on an oil rig that
had been tainted with oil that harbored alien DNA. During
the invasion of the body snatchers, there was a giant
explosion that Mulder was blamed for. The explosion
destroyed the oil rig, and he was 86'ed from the FBI as a
result."

"Doggett got Mulder fired?"

"No...no...that's what I thought to, Sam, but as much as
Mulder and Doggett piss on each other, Doggett insists that
Mulder took the fall for him.

"So that explains why Mulder's not on the x-files anymore."

Sam was now in the office, Starkweather was busying herself
with filing the report on their last case.

"Not entirely, but there will be time for the rundown
later. Right now, there's more important things to worry
about."

"And what's that?"

"Unless you do something *FAST* the case is going to go to
court, and a lot of people are going to be killed, and the
idiot Director Kersch will close the door on the x-files
for good."

"The case report for Scotland--? Doggett, are you ok?"
Starkweather answered questioningly.

"I'm--uh--fine. Case report--hey, do you think you can get
the files for me on the last case Mulder and I worked on,
the one with the oil rig? I can't seem to remember where I
put it." Sam feigned rummaging through the files.

In light of what the day was, Starkweather decided to
forego the usual snide remarks.

"When Scully came in, you would have thought *she* was the
one gone for a month. What was that all about?"
Starkweather handed him the file.

<Gone for a month?>

"She got in a fight with a big bad alien bounty hunter and
almost got herself killed. Mulder was in the area and
rescued her." Al prompted.

"Just--uh--happy to see her, that's all. Sam was growing
uneasy with Starkweather's suspicious glances averted in
his direction. In a flash, he had for the second time that
hour, a brainstorm. "You think you can stop your husband
from taking the case?"

"Look, I'm watching your back, Doggett. My idiot lawyer
husband is not going to run you and Mulder through the mud
if I have anything to do with it."

"I'm not worried about Dog--me or Mulder. I'm only worried
for him. He's a fresh prosecutor, which makes him a prime
target for a big oil company like the one we're working
with."

"Yeah, he'll be fish food." Al butted in.

"I think you've been reading too many John Grisham books
lately." She snorted and inadvertently went back to her
typing.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Sam said, and with
that, was on his way back to Skinner's office.
Starkweather looked up from her typing when Sam left,
absently nibbling a pen cap. Al hovered about her,
lingering for a bit. Despite her massive accolades and
credentials, she looked so sweet and young, too young to
handle all the insanity that was being thrown at her. "Kid,
I know you can't hear me," Al said, "but we're doing
everything we can so you and Benny can get old and wrinkly
together, okay? You just hang in there."

Starkweather turned her head suddenly and stared wide eyed
into the void where the hologram only Sam was supposed to
see was standing.

"Kid?" Al said nervously. "You CAN'T hear me, right?"
"Hello?" Starkweather stood up, her voice trembling but a
hair. "Is somebody down here?" She walked "through" Al and
to the door, looking out. "I CAN hear you..." she turned
back around and looked around the apparently empty office.
"Where are you?"

<<Oh crap>> Al thought as he punched the keys on his
console that opened the door to leave the hologram room.
<<Getting out of here>> he thought as he disappeared.
He decided he better do some more research into the
enigmatic creature he was leaving behind....

*********************************
Back to the future
Al slammed the door of his office, shrugged off his garish
coat and tore off his tie. He booted up his computer and
connected to Ziggy's mainframe. He punched in a few
commands and Ziggy started surfing. "Come on, come on..."
he muttered as Ziggy combed through millions and millions
of files.

"Search completed. Downloading now," Ziggy's snotty voice
purred out of Al's computer speakers.

"Thank you sweetheart," Al always felt silly flirting with
a computer, but Sam, before his maiden leap, had insisted
how important it was to maintain Ziggy's ego.

"Download complete. Shall I start reading now Admiral?"

"Please," Al said, leaning back in his chair.
Ziggy began to drone "Admiral, did you forget to unformat
your brainwaves from Mulder's?"

"Yeah - no, oh geez, we didn't!" Al sat up. "Cripes, it's a
good thing Mulder wasn't around when I was, he'd see me and
everyone would think he's batty than he already is. But,
hey, Ziggy, how does that explain Agent Starkweather
hearing me? And why didn't she hear me the first time I
dropped in?"

"Because there is an 65.5% chance that Fox Mulder and
Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather may be blood relatives."

"WHAT????" Al spluttered. "How??"

"As of right now, there is only one inconclusive DNA test
on blood samples taken from the murder scene and from the
last person to see Benjamin Starkweather alive. There is no
further concrete documented evidence on that unfortunately,
since Fox Mulder is still slated to be killed once he's
arrested and now Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather will be killed
three days afterwards."

"WHAT???" Al spluttered again. "When did THAT happen?"

"A few moments ago, history was inadventdently changed
after Fox Mulder's conversation with Jerilyn a few moments
ago."

"Aw, great!!! Mulder! You numbskull!!! Whadd'ya say to
her!!!!" he shouted vainly. "This is one chick you don't
wanna piss off!!!"

"Admiral," Ziggy said pleasantly. "I would suggest you
return to the aid of Dr. Beckett, he's trying to break up
the fight as we speak."

Just then Goushie burst through the door, "Al, I'm to
bother you, but we need you in the imaging chamber, we're
having problems with Mr. Doggett." He scurried out again.
Al stood calmly in his office, chewing on his cigar. "This
is why I'm losing my hair," he concluded.

Doggett would have to simmer for just a bit.

Al was all set to go help Sam, but was derailed by Goushie.

"No, Al, you gotta go talk to Doggett now!"

"B-b-but," Al stammered as Goushie bodily dragged him away
going into the hologram room.

"No, man, he hurt himself, you gotta go talk to him."

"Hurt himself, how?"

"He busted through the two-way mirror! Cut up his-um, Sam's
head, he's getting stitched up. Man, you gotta deal with
him now, before he runs! He's only stayin' put 'cause
security's pointing a gun at him while the doc is sewing
him up!"

"God damn stupid Marines!" Al swore and ran down the hall
as fast as his little Italian legs could carry him.

Doggett was getting more than a little irritated with the
man.

He sensed that there were things being kept from him.
Doggett kept his tone steadily angry. The agent knew from
experience it did no good to allow his anger and confusion
to get the better of him.

Al was looking down at the folder he came in with.

"With all due respect, sir, but where the fuck do you think
you get off? You want me to give you information on a
classified case, when I have no idea where I am, why you're
holding me, or who you are."

"I can't tell that. If I told you, the implications of
doing so might change everyone in this building, not to
mention everyone around you. Believe me Agent Doggett, we
are not holding you captive, but it is in
your best interest, and in the best interest of everyone
else concerned that you stay put." Al's tone was calm and
commanding.

"Can you at least tell me who you are?"

"That, I can do. I am Admiral Calavici." Al extended a hand
in greeting.

"Aw, Christ! A seaman." Doggett grumbled under his breath
and grudgingly accepted the handshake.

"What, the Marines have a problem with the Navy?"

"No, not at all, we love the Navy," Doggett quipped, "subs
make great sandwiches. I caught that movie, too, Admiral."

"Are Horses ass lessons involved in FBI training, Doggett?"
Doggett came back with something Mulder said to him a few
months ago.

"Naw," Doggett drawled "just comes with the territory. If
that is all, can I please get my clothes and leave? Like I
said, I have business to attend to. I wasn't kidding when I
said shit was about to hit the fan."

"You don't wanna do that, Agent Doggett."

"Why the hell not? Would you please stop giving me the
runaround and tell me what is going on here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"In my line of work, believe me...I think I would."

Fed up with the man at the desk who was apparently not
cooperating, Doggett bolted up from his chair, and for the first time,
he noticed a reflection in the mirror that was not his own.

In the Plexiglas of the observation mirror staring back at
him was a tall young man with broad shoulders, dark hair
with a white streak descending from the beginnings of a
receding hairline, five o'clock stubble grazing a
pronounced chin. He thought for an instant that Mulder was
watching the whole thing on the other side of the
observation mirror.

"That's a neat trick, Mulder, getting an actor to do a
mirror routine with me. Or did you get Langley to rig up a
computer composite of somebody else's face with motion
detectors? I'm impressed."

"It's not a trick, Agent Doggett. As much as it looks like
it, Mulder didn't do this. It would be a lot easier for all
concerned if you would please tell us what that case is all
about that you were working on last. You would be helping a
lot of people. The sooner you help us, the sooner we will
let you get back home. Can you tell me how it is that you
were instated into the x-files?"

"I was assigned to the x-files in may last year to find the
division founder, Fox Mulder. After his death and res--
recovery, my partner, Dana Scully, tried to get him
reinstated, but because of his poor health, he failed the
physical requirements set by the Bureau, and Assistant
Director Walter Skinner recruited the addition of Dr.
Jerilyn Starkweather, who was instated after a resurgence
of x-file cases. About a month ago, Agent Starkweather was
attacked as a direct result of our last case, and by
coincidence, Scully's former partner was in the vacinity,
and came to her aid.

"What do you mean *death*?" Al queried. He thought that was
just a clerical error.

"I was a pall bearer for his funeral, Admiral. We found 'im
dead in the woods of Oregon after an exhaustive six-month
search." Doggett found it odd that this man was accepting
everything he had just said.

Al stormed into the First Aid room. The medic was almost
finished up with her work on Doggett-in-Sam's body's
injury.

"Alright, muy macho man," Al barked. "You and me gotta
talk. If you don't cooperate with us right now, both Mulder
and Starkweather will be sleeping with the fishes..."

"I was just told that I am in the year 2011 in *ROSWELL*
NM." Doggett  began incredulously. "Within the laws of
physics, it is impossible to be  transported instantaneously
through space in a matter of seconds. Let
alone time. For arguments' sake. If I were to say that this
were all  possible, how is it that my actions effect what
hasn't even happened yet. With all due respect and games aside,
why the fuck would I wanna believe
someone who's holding me hostage, Popeye?"

"Because, Sherlock, there's a great big gun still pointed
at your head  right now, and you just broke our observation
mirror, that's why. This was completely unnecessary. We are
only holding you hostage for your own  protection. Jesus,
Doggett! You're more stubborn than Mulder ever was! If
you would trust us just a little, none of this would hafta
happen."

"I can't affoard to trust anyone in my line of work."

"Listen, Doggett. As against you as you obviously think I
am, I'm on your  side. I'm trying to help your future
situation here, I'm trying to save  your partner's life,
and I'm trying to save Mr. TrustNoOne himself. Me,
Dr. Becket, and all the other employees involved in this
venture are  risking our lives
--our futures--our entire existances--for
you and the rest of the Scooby gang down in that x-file
dungeon. If it were up to me, your ass would be grass right now,
but it's not up to me."

"Tell me, please." Doggett implored. "I'm all ears. Who is
it up to, Admiral?" Doggett interrogated.

"It's up to Him." Al pointed his cigar emphatically upward.

"So, it's up to Him, huh?" Doggett echoed incredulously.

"It's up to Him that the x-files office stay open. Tell me
this then. Was it up to Him to take Luke? Was it up to Him
to take Mulder and leave me with the x-files? Was all that,
and every other tragedy you and Dr. Becket couldn't stop up
to Him, too?"

"Look, life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is either
stupid or trying to sell you something. I can't tell you
how many times I've laid awake at  night asking the same
goddamn questions myself, but if you wanna find the
Truth that's out there, Doggett, you're going to have to
trust me. Any  more damage from you, and I swear to God
I'll have you sedated." Al said, leaving the room, making
his way to the imaging chamber.

In the present
**************
After the meeting, Mulder offered to take Scully out for a
bite to eat.  With the swamped cases, she decided it
wouldn't be a bad idea--especially  since she
could use the opportunity to attempt to talk
sense into Mulder.

Not to mention the fact that she had no intention of facing
Starkweather  after Mulder's outburst. If they were going to
get anywhere on the case,  then it would not do to make an
enemy of Starkweather.

Once at the restaraunt, Mulder acted like the previous
meeting with Skinner hadn't happened. He rattled on to
Scully about something he saw on T.V. the other night, and
the perks about his new office, and asked her about Boo.

"Do you think you were a little bit hard on Agent

Starkweather back there?" Scully suggested, biting into her
Caesar salad.

Mulder reflected for a moment, and shook his head as he bit
into his cheeseburger. "I don't think she's being up front
with either you or Puppy-Man, Scully. I think she *did*
know what was going on. *Exactly* and wanted to use that
against me because of how I treated her mother."

"Mulder," Scully countered, "You don't know that for sure.
I'm really surprised at you. Usually you're a good judge of
people. I honestly don't think she's got any tricks up her
sleeve."

"So you're taking her side now?" Mulder demanded
childishly.

"She's on our team, Mulder. She could help her--us--if you
give her a chance and stop being an idiot where she's
concerned."

"I'm sorry, Scully." He pouted, shoving a handfull of fries
drowned in ketchup in his mouth. "Just didn't know who else
to blame for all of this. She seemed to be the likely
choice."

"You of *all* people should know something about things not
being what they seem. Maybe you could make peace with her.
Please, Mulder," Scully pleaded, "just swallow your pride
and let her shed light on this case. She's like you in a
lot of ways. In a parallel universe, you two might even be
chummy."

"In a parallel universe, Elvis would be a politician."
Mulder quipped. He then rose from the table, planting a
kiss on her forehead. "I gotta get back to work. I'll see
you later to night?" He said, leaving money on the table.
Scully got up and nodded with a smile, following him out
the door. She hoped she had convinced him enough to amend
his previous damage.


As Skinner waited for Doggett to get back, he decided to
take the opportunity to avoid any further squabbles in
front of his desk that day. He hated acting like a parent
with middle-aged adults, and hated being treated like a
parent by his top agents even more. It was a delicate
situation though, because Mulder held the power now; and as
much as Skinner hated to admit it, Mulder and he were no
longer superior/subordinate. It was a delicate situation
not because he enjoyed wielding power over his former agent
<here he inwardly cringed>, but because legally, there was
nothing more he could do for him and his quest. Skinner
prayed silently to the god of authority and command that
the man still respected him as a colleague enough to
listen. Not that Fox Mulder had actually listened while
that working relationship *had* existed, but it helped to
at least get his attention.

"Mulder, I'm on your side--and as long as I'm in this
office, I'll do anything I can to help you out, and
anything in my power to keep my promises."
Mulder nodded a thanks.

"But, you have to do your part too. It's not going to do
anybody any good to have an argument loud enough for Kersh
to hear between you and Doggett. The D.D. wants my ass in
Florida ASAP because of the oil rig clusterfuck. I'm doing
everything I can to stay put as long as possible. But,
please--" he paused here to avert a glance in Scully's
direction "for everyone concerned," he pleaded in all
seriousness. "Do us all a favor and grow the hell up before
Doggett gets back."

"Duly noted, sir." The tone in Mulder's voice was something
like an apologetic whimper. He might as well have had a
tail between his legs.

Not long after, Kimberly announced Doggett, and Mulder took
his rightful seat next to Scully, giving Sam a <"Take
that!"> look, to which Scully and Skinner both shot warning
glances. Mulder had a jab ready for him for being gone so
long, but wisely decided against it after considering the
wrath of Scully later.

"Did you find anything Agent?" Skinner demanded

"Sir, do you honestly think that testimony sounding like it
came from a b-grade science fiction movie is credible
material?"

"Credible or not," Mulder challenged, "all this prosecutor
needs to convince a jury of our peers is proof beyond a
questionable doubt."

"I don't see anything in this report that shows that. I
don't think this testimony is a valid argument that would
hold up in any court. It would only buy Starkweather stage
time."

"Starkweather?" Mulder puzzled; his brow furrowed in
thought trying to connect the name.

"Benjamin Starkweather is the prosecutor for this case."
Scully prompted.

"Any relation to Jerilyn?"

"By law."

Mulder bolted up from his seat, and at the speed of bullets
out of a machine gun told Skinner "I gotta go to the
restroom."

"Talk about the power of suggestion." Sam said, as he
remembered the last time Mulder had feigned a full bladder
around him, and decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to
follow.

"Mulder, hang on a sec!" Sam called after him, but Mulder
had already closed the elevator door. Sam futily banged on
the door and then immediately got into the next one. He
could hear the argument as he approached the office.

"Say what you want, Starkweather, but you set me up."
Mulder hissed

"I had absolutely no idea until last night that my husband
took that case. I had no idea until two fucking hours ago
that my husband's case involved you." Starkweather's
defensive voice remained controlled and furious.

"You wanna get me back for what I did to your mother."
Mulder persisted. Sam peeked just inside the door now.
Mulder and Starkweather were as eye-to-eye as the two got.

The only time Sam remembered anger being this palpable when
he walked in on his little sister Katie and his older
brother Tom having a huge fight. "You set me up because you
want to punish me for badgering her about aliens during her
last lucid moments, and you're dragging Doggett down with
me. Look--this is *OUR* fight. No need to bring Puppy-Man
into this."

"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I
remind you that this is no longer your office."
Starkweather replied icily.

"Mulder, she can help us. It's not a good idea to piss her
off." coaxed Sam.

"Next time you accuse someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be
a bad idea to make sure your finger isn't barking up the
wrong ass."

"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing
coming." Mulder growled, and stormed passed Sam in a huff
back to Skinner's office to finish the meeting. This
argument would not look good in Mulder's defense if he
couldn't stop the murder.

Later that afternoon...
FBI Employee Only
Gym and Weight Room

At the end of the workday, Sam wandered into the giant
gymnasium. Two feds were running laps on the track around
the basketball court, discussing a case. A few members of
the "good old boys" club were taking a quick break from
playing three on three on one half of the court. On the
other half of the court, Starkweather was hitting tennis
balls against the wall, almost as good as a pro.
Sam paused and felt his breath catch in his throat. When he
first saw her, she looked like a girl masquerading in one
of her mother's business suits, despite her carefully
applied make-up and her hair pulled tightly back in an
unmerciless bun. Watching her smash the tennis racket, a
very nice Winston Titanium racket at that, time and time
again, Sam realized it would be a mistake to ever, ever
think that she was physically weak. If she looked like a
teenager, she then definitely looked like a healthy
teenager involved in every competitive sport at her high
school. There wasn't an once of fat on her body, she had
ripplings of muscle on all the right places without losing
any of the supple curves which made her irresistibly
feminine. Sam was also surprised by the length of her hair,
out of it's rigid military style bun and pulled up into a
flowing pony tail.

As Sam approached her, he overheard the sniggering comments
about her physique from the "old school" male feds. Sam
shot them an evil glance, forgetting that he possessed
Doggett's serious craggy face, tall, lean, menacing build
and piercing glacial blue eyes, which shamed the "boys"
into resuming their game.

Starkweather, not realizing Sam-in-Doggett's body, was less
than five steps away, slam the ball into the wall, but
missed it's return. Sam caught the tennis ball easily and
strolled up to her. "Looking for this?" He asked as he held
the ball up to her.

Starkweather accepted it, wiping the sweat out of her eyes.
"Hi," she panted, bending over to catch her breath.

"I saw you favoring your right foot," Sam, ever the doctor,
told her. "You better be careful you don't want to hurt
yourself again."

"I know, I know," she said straighten up. She flexed the
fingers barely poking out of her cast. "I'll be glad to get
this damn thing off. Thank God I'm ambidextrous."

"Quite a first day back, huh?" Sam said casually.

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"Starkweather, we got to talk."

"I know, I know," she brushed the sweaty strands of hair
out of her face. "I screwed up royally today and I don't
understand why. I was doing so good watching what I say
when I started here, but today, man, I don't know. I got
pissed off and basically did what I did that got me in
trouble in Minneapolis. I opened my mouth and sewage just
spewed out. I'm so damn mad right now, Doggett. I don't
know who I want to kill first, Mulder or my husband."

"You've got to stay focused, Starkweather," Sam told her.

"There's too many lives at stake, you can not let your
personal problems interfere, no matter what Mulder or Ben
or whoever says or does that sets you off." Starkweather
looked at her tennis shoes. "Listen," Sam started. "why
don't you go get cleaned up and dressed-" he wasn't really
comfortable having a heart to heart with Starkweather
wearing only a work-out bra and a pair of Air Force issued
sweatpants. "-and we'll go..." he was about to suggest
dinner, but then he figured she wasn't exactly a fancy
restaurant type of girl "... grab a beer and a burger or
something and sit and try to make sense of this, figure out
a game plan." <<to keep your husband alive.>> he mentally
added.

Starkweather looked up at him with her hazel puppy dog
eyes. "Okay, give me about twenty minutes or so. I'll meet
you here." She winked.

When she walked away, Sam realized why those eyes looked so
familiar....

Mulder...

"Oh boy..." he said aloud as he sat down on a bench.


Starkweather returned to the gym twenty-two minutes later,
carrying her briefcase and her gym bag. Sam felt his breath
catch in his throat. Her hair, finally freed from all
restrictions, flowed over her shoulders, almost reaching
her posterior. She wore a simple gray T-shirt from the Gap
and a pair of well-loved Calvin Klein jeans. She was sans
make-up and jewelry, save a simple diamond solitaire with
the wedding band sodered on.

Sam looked down at his sober black suit and fiddled with
his blue, white and slate gray tie. "Looks like I'm over
dressed," he joked, reaching to relieve her of the burden
of carrying the heavy gym bag.

Starkweather gave him an disarming smile. "Let's go," she
said. "I'm hungry." She relinquished the bag to him.
They wandered downtown DC until they found a pub that
seemed somewhat deserted, with the exception of one or two
bar flies hovering around the beautiful oak bar. Sam and
Starkweather opted for a secluded table in the far back. A
cheery server took their drink orders, Starkweather, a Bud
Light and Sam, in dire need of a stiff drink, a Jack
Daniels on the rocks.

"Alright Starkweather," Sam said after the server brought
them their adult beverages and promised to be back in a few
minutes for their meal orders, "talk to me."

"I didn't know that Ben was prosecuting that oil rig case,
Doggett. No matter what Mulder thinks, you have to believe
me."

"I do believe you, that's besides the point," Sam insisted,
resisting a weird urge to clasp her small hands in his.

"All that matters is keeping your husband safe. We have
every reason to believe that the people who want to keep
this hushed up are going to try to come after Ben."

"And the people who hushed up the Scotland case,"
Starkweather said quietly. "I didn't get a chance to tell
Scully before she left, but as I was finishing up my report
on the jet plane crash there, I stumbled across a
coincidence that may not be a coincidence." When Sam asked
what, she continued, a little reluctantly. "Andrews, the
air base where the plane and the deceased captain were
originally stationed and flew out has a major fuel contract
with that same oil company. So I did a little digging this
afternoon after my chat with the fucking Deputy Mayor and
guess what? Two other air bases also have contracts with
them. Lackland AFB, where I and the majority of new
recruits do their Basic and Tech School training, and Luke
AFB in Arizona, where I did my last two years as active
airman. I bet if we do some more scrounging, we'll find
some more mysterious plane wrecks. And when we do, we can
probably gather enough evidence to bring them up on federal
charges of willful destruction of government property with
intent of murdering American service men. A big juicy
federal case which would blow Ben's sad little civil suit
out of the water. Plus with a federal case involving breach
of national security, we can secure a gag order, which
means you and Mulder and my idiot husband will be safe as
churches on Easter Sunday."

"How long would the research take?" Sam asked.

"Too long, but I figure, I start now, pull a couple of all-
nighters-"

"Starkweather, you need to go home tonight."

"I have no desire to go home...."

"Listen to me, Starkweather," Sam urgently, now taking
Starkweather's hands in his. Starkweather looked startled
but by all means, not uncomfortable. "You have to go home,
talk some sense into Ben. Talk to him as his wife, not as a
federal agent. They want to kill Ben. Tell him that. I
don't care if it's classified information or not, but tell
him the details of the case, make him understand that it's
not worth the risk. Tell him you don't want to be a widow.
As much as you complain about him, you love him. I see it
in your eyes." <<I see Mulder in your eyes too. Why is
that??>> he thought.

"If I give him any information to him, he will use it and
before we know it, it will be my ass on the stand too, now
how will that help anything?" she demanded, withdrawing her
hands.

Sam put his hands in his lap. She had a point. Before he
could say anything, Al appeared behind Starkweather. He
gestured with his head for Sam to go to the restroom. Sam
looked at Al confusedly. Al groaned and this time with wild
and exagerrated movements with his head and arms, pointed
at the restroom.

"What is it Doggett?" Starkweather turned around to look
where Sam was looking. She saw nothing but the news blaring
on the TV behind her. "Something interesting on?"

"No, no," Sam stood up. "I have to use the bathroom. When
the waitress comes back, just order me a burger with
everything and an order of fries, please."

As Sam walked away, Starkweather shouted behind him. "You
have a bladder like a pregnant woman!"

Sam was relieved to find the hideously dirty bathroom
devoid of people. Al popped in in front of him. "Al, what's
going on?" he asked. "Why couldn't you talk to me in front
of her?"

"Because she can HEAR me, Sam!"

"HEAR you? Are you sure? How?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Al chewed on his ever present cigar and
thumped his little blinking console a few times. "As for
how... you ain't gonna believe this, but when that hellcat
out there and Mr. Spooky-pants himself find out, they're
either gonna throw up or commit suicide, whichever comes
first."

"What?"

"When you leaped into Agent Scully, we configured Mulder's
brainwaves so he could see me, but we forgot to switch it
off. Now, there's some bug in Ziggy's system that we can't
turn it off. We're working on it, but it's gonna take time.
Time we ain't got, buddy."

"And Starkweather?"

"Ziggy thinks that Starkweather can hear me because there's
a 65% chance that... they're blood-relation."

"Are you serious? How is that possible? How are they
related? Why only a 65% chance?"

Al rubbed his eyes. His body was screaming for a strong
drink and forty years of sleep. "It's possible because
Starkweather was found abandoned in the Admiral's car and
they adopted her shortly afterwards. Nobody knows who her
real parents are. We don't know HOW they're related because
after Mulder gets whacked while he's in custody for Ben's
murder, Starkweather gets iced three days later in a
convieniece store holdup, according to police reports."

"Oh no..." Sam leaned against a stall door.

"That's not all, Sam." Al said gravely. "I just found out a
few minutes ago that it gets worse. Two months after that,
the Assistant Director Skinner gets gunned down in his own
home. He holds on for a few days in ICU, but he doesn't
make it. Two months after that, these three bozo computer
hackers they use as consultants, the Lonely Hearts' Club or
whatever... their offices get blown up, kablooey, with 'em
all in it."

"Jesus, no," Sam's heart thudded as the death count kept
adding up.

"That's not all, Sam."

"There's MORE?"

"After THAT, Scully, along with her mom and kid are run off
the road and into the Potomac River, in the dead of winter.
There are no survivors."

"Oh my God, Scully too?" Sam felt sick. "And her kid?"

"There's a another one too Sam, we haven't met her yet. One
Special Agent Monica Reyes. She joined up on the X-Files
shortly after Scully had her kid, but she's MIA right now
because she fell off a ladder while helping paint a house.
Busted her tailbone along with some minor injuries. Anyway,
after the Scully deaths, she's found strangled at a subway
station while she was investigating a case in New York."

"Oh, God... all those people. And an innocent child...
murdered."

"There's one more Sam..."

"Doggett."

"Twenty-four hours after Jerilyn Starkweather meets her
maker, Doggett is stabbed to death waiting for a cab...
which means YOU could be standing in line at the Pearly
Gates if we don't get you out of this."

Sam was looking at the bigger picture, not just the threat
on his life. "The entire X-Files is wiped out."

"It's wiped out, the X-Files goes under military
jurisdiction and remains under lock and key to this day.
And, just to add to the fiesta, Ziggy just calculated that
a year from now, there's a 99.5% chance of a major plague
that's not exactly of this world that's gonna wipe out the
majority of the human population. And, for the cherry on
the shit sundae, Doggett back with us, is being a horse's
ass. Completely uncooperative. He busted through a glass
window to get out. You're gonna have a real pretty scar on
your forehead when we finally get you back in your body,
thanks to him. We're holding him at gun point. We gotta
boogey on this one Sam before everything goes ca-ca."

"Ca-ca?" Sam groaned. "That's an understatement."

"Get to work Sam." Al opened the door and prepared to step
back into the future. "I'll do what I can on my end, but
you gotta pull all the stops on this one. And we ain't got
much time. Ben vanishes off the face of the earth tomorrow
night." Al vanished.

Scully's apartment
Georgetown
Much later that night...

She was in Democratic Rock, Georgia again, laying on the
blood-spattered sheets, seeing all those faces, staring at
her unmerciless, contemplating her doom while she writhed
in agony, trying to expel her son from the safety of her
womb into the uncertainity of life. She felt Monica's hands
on her knees, hearing her voice begging her, "Push Dana!"

"No, no, it's mine. It's my baby," she whimpered again
aloud in her sleep.

"Scully?"

Mulder sat up and shook her gently. "Scully, wake up."
Scully opened her eyes wide and rolled over. "Wh-what?
What's happening?" she sat up, only partial in this world,
still partially in her nightmare realm.

"You were talking in your sleep. You were having a
nightmare." He reached for her, but she bolted from her
bed.

"I have to check on William," she muttered as she crossed
over to the baby's bed, who had graduated from bassinet to
crib. She gripped the railing and looked down at her
miracle, sleeping safely, unaware of the painful lessons
that life will give him as he grows.

Mulder too got out of bed and went to her, wrapping his
bare arms around her petite waist. "Scully? Are you okay?"
he whispered, resting his cheek on her hair.

"I'm fine," she said, bowing her head. "It was just a bad
dream."

"What was it?"

"It was a bad dream, nothing more," she insisted, pushing
away from him, back towards bed.

Mulder followed her and sat down by her. "Are you still mad
at me for fighting with Jerilyn today?" He tried teasing.

"I promised I'd play nice from now on."

"No, I'm not upset anymore about that," she looked away and
layed back down in bed.
Mulder got in on the other side and curled up around her.

"Then talk to me." He rested his head in the soft crook
between her cheek and shoulders.

"Do you think Ben and Jerilyn talk?" Scully asked, to
distract him from prying into her terror-filled sleep.
Mulder paused as his profiler's mind went to work. For a
moment, Scully thought he fell back asleep until he said,

"I think they try. I think they genuinely care for
eachother. But, judging from what you've told me, they had
a whirlwind weekend romance with Jerilyn commuting from the
University of Iowa to Des Moines for her duties for the
Iowa Air National Guard but when Jerilyn opted not to
become a medical doctor, but an FBI agent, instead of
seeing if they could handle awesome responsibility of
commitment while she was at Quantico and he was in the
Great White North, they leaped into marriage, thinking
their strong affection and fairy-tale romance would survive
the wedding vows. This is probably Jerilyn and also Ben's
first, quote "real" unquote real serious relationship.
Because of their inexperience, when he saw her in that
white gown and he slipped that diamond ring on her finger,
they thought they were going to live happily ever after."

"Then what?"

"Sleeping Beauty woke up and saw the warts on her prince.
Benjamin Starkweather is still fast asleep, wondering why
Jerilyn is no longer part of his dreams. They aren't going
to be together much longer, Scully. They still love each
other but they've discovered they don't have what it takes
to live together, to share their lives together."
Scully closed her eyes. "Does anybody live happily ever
after?"

She felt him pull her towards him, so she rolled over,
facing him. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Isn't
that what we're fighting for Scully?" He asked. "Isn't that
what the X-Files is all about? So that we can at least have
the chance of trying to savor the taste of a fairy tale
ending?" He kissed her forehead. "So, no more bad dreams,
okay?"

For a moment, she buried her face into his bare chest. She
kissed the scar down his sternum from that terrible time
when the monsters stole him from her life. Then she lifted
her head up for him to touch his lips with hers. As the
kiss deepened into fairy-tale proportions, she felt him
fumbling with the buttons of her satin night shirt, so she
guided his hands with hers where she wanted him to go.
Al, ever mindful that Mulder could still see him, had
hidden himself in the shadows of the room. When the
situation got hot and heavy, feeling like a pervert, Al
slipped through the walls to the other side so the "busy
bunnies" wouldn't notice him. "Goushie," he whispered, also
mindful that Mulder could still hear them. "Center me in on
the Starkweathers."

He was pretty sure there were no sweet nothings and lovin'
going on over there.

Ben and Jerilyn's apartment
9:56 PM

Ben paused outside of his door, listening to the faint
strains of music from within. He didn't know a thing about
classical music before meeting Jerilyn. He knew plenty now,
and he know how to judge her moods by what music she was
playing. When she was sad or melancholy, she'd play
Beethoven's "Fur Elise" or Liszt's "Liebestraum" (Love's
Dream) When she was in an amourous mood, she'd play
Debussy's "Arabesque" or "Clair de Lune." When she was
playing just to play, she'd play the main theme from Jane
Campion's "The Piano." She had an amazing, almost
preternatural talent for being able to just listen to a
song, even the most complicated piece, and be able to play
it herself. She could play several instruments, all by ear.

Unfortunately, Ben heard Beethoven's "Presto Agitato", her
absolute favorite piece to play when she was royally hacked
off. Ben sighed. Since her right wrist was still in a case,
he guessed that she must be playing the CD at top volume.
He was surprised that the neighbors hadn't complained yet.
When he let himself in, he was astonished to find her at
the piano. The CD player was playing "Presto Agitato", but
so was she, only the left hand parts. Her right hand lay
useless in her lap. She managed to keep in perfect beat
along with the recording. If one would listen very
carefully, then you would be able to hear the left hand
parts overlapping while the right hand parts standing
alone.

Her eyes were closed. Ben shut the door quietly and sat
down, listening to her play, formulating his strategies in
advance. Being a prosecutor, he wasn't very good at defense
and he resented it like hell he'd have to defend himself
against his own wife, but there was nothing he could do
about that.

Caesar, their fat tabby cat, leaped into his lap and
started purring. Absentily, he stroked his orange silky fur
until Jerilyn finished. When she turned around, he made a
feeble joke. "Look, someone around here still likes me."
Jerilyn played along with the next song on her CD, Chopin's
"Etude Number 12" still only the left handed parts. "You
made me look like a horse's ass in my boss's office today,"
she said crisply.

Ben snatched the remote off the coffee table that his
parents gave them as a wedding present. He switched off the
stereo and Jerilyn stopped playing. "You did that yourself,
honey, I hate to break it to you." Jerilyn opened her
mouth, but Ben plowed ahead. "Baby, let's not do this
tonight, I'm tired, you're tired."

"You're right," Jerilyn said dangerously. "I AM tired.
Tired of this bullshit..."

She recalled Sam-in-Doggett's body's words: <<Talk to him
as his wife, not as a federal agent>> and took a deep
breath.

"I'm damn tired, Ben," she flung herself off the piano
bench and headed towards the kitchen. Ben and Caesar
followed. Jerilyn continued her rant as she opened a can of
soft cat food for her kitty. "I am so damn tired of trying
to get through to you. I yell. I scream. I beg and I cry
and nothing, nothing, NOTHING I ever say means a damn thing
to you." She dumped the food into Caesar's dish and set it
down for him. As the happy fat feline mawed down on his
treat, she crouched beside him, petting him. "What do I
have to do to get you to listen to me??"

Al, hovering in the doorway behind Ben, nodded his head
approvingly. <<Good, kid, good.>> he thought. <For the love
of God and everything holy, Ben, listen to her!!!>>

"I'm listening now," Ben crouched down and took her hands
in his. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Talk to me,
Jeri."

"Don't take this case," she stood up, with the pretense of
doing the dishes.

"Aw, for pete's sake!" Ben got up again, angry now. "You
b*tch about me not listening to you but when I am here to
listen, it's never about us, it's about YOU. Your damn
dreams, your damn wants, needs, career. Jesus Jerilyn, I
don't want to hear about YOU. I want to hear about US."

"This IS about us, Ben!" Jerilyn turned around. "You don't
understand Ben. I just found something terrible out this
afternoon..."

<<Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent>>
"Ben, it's not about Mulder or Doggett, I don't give a
rat's ass about any of that! It's about you."

"I'm not so sure about you not caring about Doggett." Ben
snarled.

<<Uh-oh>> Al thought, not liking where this was going.

"Goushie," he said as loudly as he dared. "Get me info on
the Doggett-Starkweather relationship, STAT."
But Jerilyn was too angry and too involved with her fight
with Ben to notice mysterious whispers. "What do you mean
by that?" A heavy silence lay between man and wife. "God
damn it. Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, you BEST not be
questioning my loyalty and commitment to my vows to you."

"I'm not saying you did the naked pretzel with him... yet."
Ben felt all of his angry insecurities bubble forth, the
fear that maybe he wasn't the man meant to stay by this
unique woman's side for the rest of her life. "But you
spend an awful lot of time with him."

"He's my partner. I kind of have to."

"Even while you were out on leave?" Ben accused her, face
contorted in an ugly mask of jealousy. "You went out to the
firing range with him every week."

"To work on my left hand," Jerilyn held up her broken
wrist. "This hand is going to be so weak when the cast
comes off, I'm gonna have to compensate with my left hand
until its up to par again. Doggett spotted me."

"You went out to dinner with him a few times."

"What? I can't have friends now? I can't go out for a
burger and a beer without you approving of who I'm with?"

"You went to his house last night. Before we went out to
the bar."

"I dropped off a file for him. As a favor for Scully? What
about it?"

"That's not the first time you've been to his house."

"So?"

"You care about him."

"He's my partner and he's my first fucking friend I've made
down here. Are you begrudging me that?"

"Where were you two nights ago?" Ben snapped. Jerilyn
stayed quiet.

<<Ohhhh,>> Al moaned to himself. <<Jerilyn, Jerilyn, what
have you been doing with yourself???>> He knew Mulder and
Scully caught the love bug while working together. He hoped
it wasn't contagious.

"Were you at Doggett's?" Ben asked quietly.

Jerilyn couldn't meet his eyes at first. "Yes..." she
looked at him now squarely in the face. "Scully called me.
She said Doggett was having a gathering at his place. It
was me, Scully, the Deputy Mayor and a couple of other guys
from work. You weren't home yet, I was bored, so I went. We
all sat around, played cards, took turns holding Boo,
watched a dumb movie, drank beer. That's ALL."

"That's ALL? That's ALL, she says." Ben griped to thin air.

"So if I call Saint Scully and your daddy's puppet, the
venerated Deputy Mayor Mulder plus all these anomynous
"guys", they'll tell me you were just holding a baby and
playing poker, right?"

"That's right, you son of a bitch."

"You stayed, despite Mulder's presense."

"Because Scully is my friend as well," she growled.

"Because Mulder is important to her, and because he saved
my ass, I tolerate his presense as long as he doesn't say
anything that pisses me off."

"So, if I call all these people, they could swear on a
Bible that you did nothing but hang out... can they also
tell me what time they left and what time you left?"
Jerilyn looked down at her shoes. "They all had work in the
morning, you didn't. You were home at about four in the
morning. Did they stay out that late too? Scully? With her
baby?"

"Ben," Jerilyn said, trying to control her simmering
temper. "Doggett is my partner. I trust him with my life.
But you are my husband. I trust you with my heart and my
soul. I handed those over to you when I changed my last
name. Nothing is going to change that. I stayed over a
little while longer with Doggett. We had a good talk. We
exchanged confidences. He's my friend, and that's all.
You're my husband. YOU'RE the one I came home to. The one
I'll ALWAYS come home to. What are you so afraid of? Why
are you saying these things?"

"Because I think you're full of shit," Ben replied
bitterly. "Because I think you've been lying your ass off
to me and to yourself ever since you met Doggett."
"Doggett is almost fifteen years older than me. For all I
know, he could be my natural father." As an adopted child,
Jerilyn couldn't help but look at men old enough to be her
father and wonder <<Is it you? Did you help create me?>>
"So? Mulder is almost three years older than Scully. That
didn't stop them. And gee, for HOW long did Mulder and
Scully claim they were JUST friends?" Ben pointed out.
<<Too long>> Al thought.

"There's a slight difference. Neither one of them were
wearing a wedding band when they met. Ben, when I married
you, I married you forever. Better and worse, sickness and
health and all of that yukkity-yuk. No matter how pissed I
get at you, no matter how lonely I get when you're pulling
all-nighters at the office or how scared I am when I go out
on assignment that I might not come home, I am married to
YOU. Nothing is going to change that."

"You're not married to me. You're married to the FBI. I may
as well be a widow."

Jerilyn folded her hands tightly together. "Ben, tell me
what to say. Tell me what you need to hear. Because I
honestly don't know what I'm doing that's so wrong."

"Tell me you love me."

"Ben, that's not even a question. I love you. I love you so
much, it hurts me."

"Tell me you'll stand behind me with whatever I do."
Jerilyn broke away from him and went into the living room.
She held herself and looked out at the window. Ben followed
her and so did Al.

"I can't... go against my conscience if it tells me what
you're doing is wrong," she finally said after an eternity
of silence. "Ben, I know what you think you're doing...
going after the oil rig... is the right thing to do, but
it's not. It's just opening a Pandora's Box, hand-delivered
to us from Hades himself." She turned around. Ben was
surprised to see tears trickling down her cheeks for she
was one who rarely wept, especially in front of others.

"Ben, I found out that they're going to silence your case
by killing you. You say you're a grass-widow. Baby, if you
take this case, you'll be making me a genuine widow and I
can't handle that."

"Jerilyn," he said "who's "they"?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "But it's like a whole...
consortium. A... a.... a Syndicate for lack of a better
name. These people are everywhere, making their plots,
having no concern for the innocent bystanders they take
down in their weird little wars. These are the same people
who ordered that... thing in the park to attack me and I
would be dead if Mulder hadn't been out early that morning.
They kidnap people, they torture... they kill... Ben... I
can't possibly explain it because I don't completely
understand."

"Did it ever cross your mind that they told you this to
scare you? To do what you're doing right now? To talk me
out of this?" Ben touched her face and wiped her tears
away. "Look at what's happening to us. You talk about this
Syndicate, how they've hurt people. What about the X-Files?
Look at what happened with all the people that's been
involved even remotely with that division. They're all dead
or seriously fucked up. I mean... both Scully and Mulder
have been kidnapped and tortured. Do you think they rest
easily at night? They go after monsters and evil men in
dark offices but you never hear about the follow-up. You
never hear about these bastards having their day in court.
That's what I want to do. I want these monsters put away
Jerilyn. Let them rot in the darkest cell so we can get one
with our lives. I mean... look at your "friend" Doggett. He
supposedly only went in to get in good with the Deputy
Director so he can have Skinner's post when he retires.
Now, he seems to be sinking into the myth deeper and
deeper. He's just like the others. Is that what you want?
To be stuck in the basement forever? What happened to
teaching at Quantico? I hear you talking about that less
and less."

"Ben, so much has happened... I've learned so much since
then. Not just about the X-Files, but about myself. Shit
that you wouldn't even believe if I told you. Things I'm
not sure I believe, things I don't want to believe. Things
I thought I didn't want to know, but now I know, I HAVE
to."

Al wished he wasn't a hologram so he could give her a hug.
"I mean, I've always lived this pretty illusion that I'm a
normal all-American girl, but I'm NOT... and you KNOW
that... you've seen the scars on my body... you've heard
all about the time when Mom and I were kidnapped... now...
I think I've finally found a venue where I can find
answers. To find out why I am the way I am."

"You're talking like Mulder."

"Don't insult me like that." But she smiled for the first
time.

"Jerilyn, don't torture yourself like this. Mulder and
Scully searched for this... fucking truth you're talking
about and look where it got them. Do you really... REALLY
want to take the chance of being ousted out of the Bureau
like Mulder was? Do you really want to give up on your
dream of being an instructor at Quantico to chase
smokescreens?"

"What do you suggest I do? Keep pretending that
everything's okay?"

"When I win this case," Ben said carefully. "Mulder will be
cleared of all allegations against him for the explosion."

"So?"

"Then he can be reinstated into the Bureau and back into
the X-Files where he belongs."

"He WAS reinstated, briefly. He's out now because his
health is in question. Scully thinks whoever took him,
wiped out his immune system."

"He had AIDS?"

"NO! It's as if it has no memory. He catches every germ and
virus under the sun, but his white blood cells can still
fight them. Things that we're immune to after having them
once, like influenza or mono, he gets."

"People get the flu all the time."

"No, they get different strains of flu. Once a normal
person catches one strain of flu, after they recover, they
have immunity against it. But new strains of flu come out
all the time. People don't just have "the flu" they are
having a new and interesting variety of a flu their bodies
never had to deal with all the time. Mulder's immunity
system has no memory of what diseases he's already had.
Until they figure out how to fix that, he could be
reinstated."

"But he COULD be reinstated, right?"

"Sure, if he passes the physical... where are you going
with this?"

"They wouldn't need a fourth person there, would they?"
"You want me out of the Bureau." Now Jerilyn was white hot
angry again.

<<Ben, you idiot>> Al rubbed his temples.

"Not of the Bureau, just the X-Files. You're all worried
about me, what about you? Your first case and you're almost
killed in not one, but two plane wrecks, you're almost run
off the road, an army lieutenant gives you a hairline
fracture on your upper arm escorting you away from a crime
scene that you had every right to be at and some crazy guy
tries to kill you while you're jogging. And that was your
first case!!! YOU talk about being scared about not coming
home from an assignment? What about me? What do you think
it will do to me if YOU don't come home? Jerilyn, you swore
to me, you promised me that this transfer to DC was just a
stepping stone to Quantico. So we left everything we knew
to come here. And now, instead of using this as a stepping
stone, you're using it as a cornerstone. You know what? I
don't give a damn about the X-Files. I don't care about
Mulder or Scully or Skinner or Doggett or any of them. As
far as I'm concerned, they're using you, they're
manipulating you and they're dragging you down. The longer
you stay, the further away Quantico gets! You said YOU'RE
tired? Know what I'm tired of?"

"Enlighten me."

"I'm tired of laying awake at night, listening you working
away at the computer on some damn case, I'm tired of having
you leave and be gone for unknown amounts of time, God only
knowing when you come home, wondering if you'll come home
at all. I am terrified that one of these days they're going
to ship you home in a body bag. I am tired of living in
limbo, of promises that you'll slow down, take time off,
time for us. And they only way you get that time is you get
mangled in the line of duty and we spend that time putting
the broken bits of you back together, only to have you run
off again on another mission. I don't want that shit
anymore. I want US, I want Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin
Starkweather. Not Benjamin Starkweather, counselor and
Special Agent Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather. I'm tired of
this Jeri. When does it start being about us? When are we
going to BE "us" again? What happened to settling down,
having kids, having house, having a life. All I want is
you, Jerilyn and my life is complete. I can't have... I
don't want Special Agent Starkweather."

Jerilyn scowled at Ben, reminding Al of Ex-Wife Number Two.

"You can't have Jerilyn unless you take Special Agent
Starkweather along with her," she snapped. "And I'm not
leaving the X-Files until I'm good and ready, even if it
means sharing an office with Mulder, who, as of right now,
is only one point ahead of you on my Asshole-Meter." She
pushed away from him.

"Jerilyn-"

"No! You don't want me, you want the beautiful lie I've
been living. I didn't even know that it was a lie until I
came here. What you want isn't real," Jerilyn choked on her
rage and her tears. "The only truth I know is that there's
something out there, hurting people, that I REALLY want to
lay the smackdown on, even if it means going outside the
boundaries of the law... and that I love you... but you
only love what you want to see. And what you want to see...
isn't what you get. I just told you that those
motherfuckers are gonna try to take you out and if you die,
I will die. For the rest of my life without you, I will be
dying on the inside. I am begging you, as a federal agent,
as your wife, as just me, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather...
please, don't do this! Don't take this case. If you love me
for plain old weird me, don't do this to me!!!"

"Just as you said earlier..." Ben said, painfully slow. "I
can't go against my conscience."

"Then there's nothing more to say," she said quietly "I'm
going to bed, good night" and, scooping up the cat, went to
the bedroom. Ben followed her, but she stopped him at the
door, pillows and a quilt in her arms. "Uh-uh. No. You.
Couch. Get used to it," she dropped the bedding at his feet
and slammed the door.

Al watched Ben make up his bed. "Kid, you blew it," he
muttered as he lit a fresh cigar. He said, aloud now, since
Jerilyn was not in the room, "Goushie! Bring me to Sam!" Al
disappeared.

Meanwhile....

Sam couldn't settle down. After Starkweather left the bar,
with healthy promises of talking Ben out of his suicide
mission, Sam sat there, nursing his one drink, trying to
figure out the next step. By his watch, Ben only had
twenty-four hours before he disappeared. Three days after
his disappearance, he dies. Then Mulder. Then Starkweather.
Then Doggett. Then Skinner. Scully. The Lone Gunmen. And an
agent he hadn't even met yet, Monica Reyes. It didn't make
sense... why would they waste time with a lawyer...

Unless...

Unless it wasn't the lawyer they were going after at all.
That Ben was just a red herring... that the leap wasn't
about saving Mr. Starkweather. It was about saving Mrs.
Starkweather.

<<But how does she factor into this?>> Sam wondered. After
Al told him about the 65% chance of blood relations between
Mulder and Starkweather, Sam couldn't help but stare at her
the entire night, partially because she was fairly pretty,
but trying to figure out what DNA tests were to be
inconclusive.

Same wicked sarcasm. Same genius intelligence. Same crinkly
puppy-dog eyes. Same pouty lip. But her skin was very fair,
her hair a soft fawn color and stick straight and her nose
was very Anglo-Saxon, denoting some Scandivian blood in her
heritage. Plus she somewhere along the way picked up a
healthy dose of skepticism that Mulder lacked. Miserably
lacked.

The only conclusion Sam came to was that he was very tired.
He paid the tab and got into Doggett's car. Instead of
driving to Doggett's apartment, he cruised around, still
trying to figure out how he was supposed to stop Ben from
inadvertdently destroying the world.

Sam surfed the radio stations and stumbled across a country
station. He wasn't a fan of country, but when he heard the
svelte voice of country crooner, Martina McBride, who he
didn't remember who she was, he felt himself relax just a
bit as he was swept away by her lyrics:

"You think I'm always makin'
Something out of nothin'
You're saying' everything's okay
You've always got an answer
Before I ask the question
Whatever you say...
Now we can change the subject
Pretend I never brought it up
Same old story anyway
Later we can work it out
Right now we're talked out
Yeah whatever you say
Oh I know you can hear me
But I'm not sure you're listening
I hear what you're sayin'
But still there's something missin'
Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say
You say yes you need me
And no you wouldn't leave me
And that should be enough to make me stay
And even though I want to
I don't hear 'I love you'
In whatever you say
Oh I know you can hear me
But I'm not sure you're listening
I hear what you're sayin'
But still there's something missin'
Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say
Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say...."

"Man, if those weren't truer words tonight," Al said,
suddenly appearing in the backseat.

Sam jumped. "AL!" he complained. "Don't do that!" he
sighed. "Let me get to Doggett's apartment. Then let's
talk."

Al nodded. "Sure. Take a left......"

With Al's help, Sam found his way to Doggett's home. He let
himself in, turned on the lights and flopped onto the
couch. "Well?" Sam asked. "Did you check in on Ben and..."
Sam blanked out for a minute. "What's Starkweather's first
name again?"

"Jerilyn and yeah I popped in on them," Al grumbled.

"Well?" Sam sat up a bit. "Did she talk to him?"

"Oh... they talked," Al said, lighting a new cigar. "And
then she banished him to Sofa-ville."

"Oh, no," Sam groaned.

"Sam," Al said seriously. "I don't see this having a very
happy ending."

"We can't think like that, Al," Sam said seriously. "We got
to think. We've got to... Al, do we know where and when Ben
gets abducted?"

Al punched a few buttons on this little computer console.

"According to police reports, he was last seen in his
office at the law firm of Carter, Adams and Spangle. He
called Jerilyn at five-fifteen, he left the office at five-
thirty, he's found as a floater three days later."

"Okay, okay," Sam was pacing. "Then tomorrow, I will just
have to stick to Ben like glue, especially during the prime
hours. I make sure nothing happens to him. Nothing does
happen, history changes and I..." Sam slowed down. "Leap
out of here..." he muttered as he wandered off in search of
a kitchen.

When Sam got to the kitchen, Al was already waiting for
him. "Whatcha looking for?"

"Glasses. I need a drink," when Al stared at him pointedly,
he amended his statement, "a drink of water."

"Why did you look so down in the mouth when you figured out
a way to leap out of this one?" Al asked suspiciously.

"I am not down in the mouth." Sam got a glass and filled it
with water from the tap.

"Well, you wanna leap outta here, don't ya?" Al asked.

"Sure I do," Sam said. "That's all I ever want, to go
home."

"Well, we'll get you home," Al reassured him. "And we'll
get Doggett home too, he's about ready to go completely
postal on us, stupid Marines. Oh... oh... Sam... about
Doggett."

"Yeah?"

"Ben made some... uh... accusations... tonight that I'm not
quite sure if Mrs. Starkweather answered so honestly."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Al gave him a minute to let
the insinuation sink in. "Doggett and STARKWEATHER??? I
don't... no... that can't be right. Where did Ben get that
idea?"

"Well, I don't know Sam, I mean, I don't think they're
doing the mattress mambo yet, even Ben said he doesn't
think that, but Ben thinks that there's something more
between them because the little missus has been spending
alot of time with her partner and I don't mean Ben."

"Oh," was all Sam said.

OH???" Al spluttered. "'Oh', he says. I just told you that
Doggett, who's bod you're in right now, is not in good with
Benny because he thinks his wife is making goo-goo eyes at
Doggett and all you can say is 'OH?'"

"Well is she?" Sam asked.

"Is she what?"

"Making...as you so aptly put it...goo-goo eyes at Doggett?"

"How should I know?" Al snapped. "I haven't talked to Mr.
The Few, The Proud, The Mentally Deficient in a few hours
and when I talked to him last, it was while the doc was
stitching up YOUR head because HE decided it would be a
good idea to bust through the two way mirror. Anyway,
couldn't YOU tell when you were talking to the little lady
yourself earlier tonight?"

"I don't know," Sam mumbled. "I mean, I can tell she trusts
me... uh Doggett and... um..." Sam paced a bit in the
kitchen. "She's an incredible person Al. She's smart, she's
funny, she's strong and she's straight as an arrow. I mean,
I can't picture her being unfaithful to Ben. It's not in
her." Sam dumped out the remaining water in his glass. "But
she's not as tough as she likes people to think she is.
Underneath it all, she's sweet and gentle, Al, there's an
angel underneath all that piss and fire she shrouds herself
in."

"Shrouds herself????" Al said, mouth hanging open. "Since
when are YOU a poet?"

"I'm not," Sam felt a blush crossing Doggett's cheeks.

"Aw nooooooooooooooooo," Al groaned. "I don't believe this
is happening."

"What?" Sam snapped defensively.

"You like her."

"Of course I like her."

"No, you LIKE like her."

"What is this, junior high?"

"You," Al began circling his best friend. "Have the hots
for that little hurricane."

"Do not," Sam grumbled. "I just... I just hope I don't
forget her when I leap out of here."

"I wouldn't worry about that one." Al said, "Women like
her, women like her and Scully don't let you forget them.
They stay with you forever, even if it's only in dreams."
"Now who's the poet?"

"Ahhh," Al grumbled, opening the door back into the future.

"Get some sleep. You're gonna need it for tomorrow. Just be
sure you're thinking with the head on your SHOULDERS
tomorrow," was Al's parting shot when he stepped out the
glowing door.

"Funny," Sam said when the door closed. He went to lay down
on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the
stereo for background noise.

"Darkness falls and she will take me
by the hand
Take me to some twilight land
Where all but love is gray
Where time just slips away
Without her as my guide
Night falls I'm cast beneath her spell
Daylight comes our heaven's torn to hell
Am I left here to burn
and burn eternally
She's a mystery to me..."

Sam closed his eyes and felt himself slip away to a
twilight land...

Sam fell into a troubled sleep...

He opened his eyes and found himself sitting a car, similar
to the one he had before he made his maiden leap into the
past. He looked around and somehow knew that he was still
in Washington DC, or actually, a nice, middle class suburb.
More accurately, he was sitting in the driveway of a modest
one story house, tastefully, understatedly decorated, but
one where children ruled for toys littered the meticulously
manicured yard and a basketball hoop hung over the garage.
Sam got out of car and walked around a bit, admiring the
neatly pruned rosebushes. Two little boys, on bicycles
wheeled past on the sidewalk. One of the boys, not more
than eight or nine, stopped in front of the driveway, near
where Sam stood and yelled at his friends. "I gotta go,
Will, I'll see ya after supper!" he yelled lustily. His
little friend waved and rode away.

The small boy unceremoniously dumped his bike on the grass
and even before he ran for him, Sam could see that the
child was undeniably Starkweather's. Same crinkly hazel
eyes, same elfin face. Dark mocha brown hair though, with a
colic. The child flung himself at him. "Hi Dad!" he said
happily.

Sam, as if it was most natural thing in the world, swung
the boy up in the air, "Hey, you, what's goin' on?" Sam
asked brightly.

"Dad, Will's havin' a sleepover at his house tonight. We're
gonna watch movies and eat popcorn and play video games on
Will's new Playstation 4 and Aunt Dana already said it was
okay, can I go, please Dad? I promise I won't be a pain for
Aunt Dana, please??? Uncle Fox is gonna be there and he
said he was gonna play video games with us, please Dad, can
I, huh? Can I go?"

"Well, let's see what your mother says, but I think it'll
be okay," Sam put the boy down, took the child by the hand
and went into the house.

The living room was spacious and comfortably furnished, but
again, kids rules. Sam stepped on a teddy bear by accident
before calling out "Doc? Hey Doc, I'm home!"

A petite woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands
with a dish towel and despite the shoulder length dark
brown hair and the tiniest hint of crows' feet by her eyes
and laugh lines by her mouth, Sam knew it was Starkweather.

"Hey, you're early, shock and surprise," she deadpanned as
she crossed over the toy strewn living room to give Sam a
deep, long kiss.

"Ewwww," the boy covered his eyes.

"Oh, stop," Starkweather crouched to the boy's height.

"Look at you," she said as she did a totally "Mom-thing" by
licking her fingers and trying to rub dirt smudges off his
face. "J.B., what devilment have you and your cousin been
up to?"

"Nothin', honest!" he protested in wide-eyed innocence as
he wiped "Mom-spit" off his face. "Just playin' and ridin'
bikes."

"And getting dirty," She said lovingly.

"Mom, Will said I could sleep at his house tonight, Dad
already said it was okay if you said okay. Is it okay? Can
I go?"

"'May' you go, and yes, baby, it's okay. Your Aunt Dana
already called-"

"Alright!"

"-and invited you and your sister."

"Aw, man," the boy pouted. "We don't want any dumb girls
there."

"Hey mister," Starkweather said sternly. "Since when do we
talk that way about our twin sister? Bailey's just going to
stay for movies and popcorn. She already said she wants to
come back home tonight. Now, go wash up for supper. You
stink." She kissed the top of his dirty head.

The boy scampered off. Starkweather shrugged. "So much for
our night alone, but Bailey is so attached to that new
kitten Mulder got her she doesn't want to leave it along
for one night. She named him Fox, after him, isn't that
revoltingly cute?"

Sam laughed. "Well, it was nice of Mulder to give her that
kitten. She was so broken up when Caesar died."

"She wasn't the only one, poor old cat," Starkweather wound
herself around Sam. "But, at least we'll have a couple of
hours of 'grown-up' time while the kids are out." She
kissed him again and Sam felt completed, whole, with her in
his arms. She broke away and Sam felt a small part of him
die with even that tiny separation. "Hang on a sec, I'll
call her inside, she's out back with that kitten, I mean,
Jiminy Christmas, I'm almost afraid she's going to love
that poor hairball to death, it's so little." She went to
the kitchen, Sam following.

"Bailey!" Starkweather shouted out the back door, "Come
into house, Dad's home!" Starkweather went back to the
counter to finish slicing tomatoes for the salad she was
working on. Sam sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his
daughter.

A little girl came to the door, with a small white kitten
in a strangle hold. Sam felt his heart stop.
The girl had piercing crystalline blue eyes and wavy blond
hair. "Daddy," she said, crawling into his lap. "I missed
you so much, see what Uncle Fox got me?" she held the
kitten up for his approval.

Sam looked over the child's head at his reflection in the
toaster. John Doggett's face, aged nine years, stared back
at him.

Starkweather turned to him. "Hey," she asked, forehead
crinkled in concern. "What's wrong, Papa John?"
Sam woke up with a start. He looked around to find himself
in John Doggett's bedroom. He made his way to the bathroom
to splash cold water in his face. He looked up into the
mirror. John Doggett's face stared back at him. Sam touched
the reflection with dripping wet fingers. "God," he prayed.

"Please let my next leap be the leap home. I can't do this
anymore..."

The shrill ring of the phone bolted Sam from Doggett's bed.
He glanced over at the alarm clock, which almost screamed
2:24am.

"Hey Doggett," came a familiar voice on the other end, it
took Sam a second in the fog of sleepiness to remember
exactly who the voice belonged to. "Hey listen, the boys
found something ya might wanna take a look
at. I didn't wanna call Scully away from Will,
Starkweather's phone is off the hook, I can't get hold of
either Skinner or Reyes."

"Glad to be a last resort." He heard himself grumbling. "It
couldn't hold till morning?" Sam whined. Part of him really
wanted to get back to that dream, even if it wasn't his own
life. He needed to get home--and soon--if he was starting
to even dream vicariously.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get the fun of turning you into
an insomniac. All-nighters come with the territory of that
basement office." Mulder retorted

Sam sighed defeatedly. "You know you are fucking impossible
sometimes." Sam heard himself gruff into the receiver,
surprised by his own vulgarity.

"Impossible people do impossible things, Puppy Man."

"It better be damn important, Mulder."

"If we're gonna keep the x-files up and running, this is
pretty big news. I dropped by my apartment anyway to get
some things I needed. I'll be over in a few minutes. See ya
in a few."

Part of Mulder's conversation made Sam jolt out of his fog.
Who the hell were "the boys?"

"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam called out into the air.
Pretty soon, the thin blue light of the chamber door
appeared and Al's swanky form graced the doorway.

"Who are the boys?"

"Oh great...not the Lone Gungeeks!" Al groaned. "I think
those guys have been beamed up one too many times. They're
three hacker friends of Mulder's who write a newsletter
called The Lone Gunmen. Your last leap, Doggett enlisted
their help. One of them wanted to be beamed up, and another
called Ziggy and I quote..."a million megabytes of
megabitch," and another one fell in love with her."

"So they're a bit off the beaten path...they can't be that
bad." Sam attempted to be optomistic. "Mulder and I are
headed over to their place in a few minutes. He's on his
way."

"Just don't look too shocked or surprised by what you see
when you get to their place."

"Any change in the USMC data system or new light on who
kills Mr. Starkweather?"

"According to police reports, blood was found in Mulder's
car matching Starkweather's type, making him a suspect. No
change on the USMC data system. I think the info Mulder's
dug up has something to do with that, though."

"What if I get him to go away for a weekend, or maybe get
the sparkplug so the car won't start?" Sam brainstormed,
shoveling tennishoes into unsocked feet.

"Not a bad idea, Sam. See what you can do. Meanwhile, find
a way to get close to Bennyboy so he won't get fed to the
fishes in a few days."

"I dunno if I can do that, Al. He already thinks I'm after
his wife. Why would Doggett spend quality time with a
coworker's husband who hates his guts?"

"Well, try...because if you can stop him from getting
killed, we may just be able to get you home."
Sam's face got serious for a minute.

"Al, I have a life back home, don't I?" He sounded almost
like a little kid, asking a parent about camp or
kindergarten.

"Sure you do. It'll be your fifteen minutes after you get
back, and everyone's doing their damndest to make sure that
happens."

"I know...thanks." Sam said quietly. "You better get outta
here. If Starkweather can hear you, odds are Mulder can,
too, and he'll be here any minute."

"Hey, you're right. I'll see ya later. Lemme know what the
boys find out, and try and find a way to stick to Benny no
matter what it takes! I don't care if you hafta kidnap the
yutz. Do it!" Al shouted and was out of sight just in time
for the doorbell to ring.

"Morning, Dogbreath." Mulder chirpped. Sam only flashed him
a warning look.

"I don't give a damn if the x-files stay open, Mulder. I'm
too old to be pulling all-nighters."

"This isn't about the x-files, Doggett. It's about those
people that died on that oil rig, and it's about our
freedom and safety. Starkweather was right. If we have to
testify, we are fair game. I've got way too much to loose
these days."

"So that's why you're digging up information?"

"Not exactly. I can't explain it about Starkweather..."

"...say no more, Mulder. I know what you mean."

"Don't tell me you have the hots for that little
hurricane!"

Sometimes it was just plain spooky how much alike Mulder
and Al were.

Sam felt that the comment justified only a warning glare.

"That's not what I meant, anyway...I feel like I need to
protect her--like I used to feel like I needed to protect
Samantha."

"Maybe you just somehow displace Starkweather with
Samantha. You're the psychiatrist--you know about all that
Freudian crap better than I do."

"Interesting theory, Puppy Man. Anyway, so much for
theorizing. We're here."

<They live in a warehouse?> Sam inwardly sputtered, trying
to conseal the quizzical expression on his face.

"Doggett? You okay?"

"Yeah...just haven't woken up yet, is all."

"Alright. Let's see what the three stooges have found for
us."

Something about the way the warehouse was concealed told
Sam that being a man who had been in the Gunmen's warehouse
would be the acting assignment of a lifetime.