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Title: Sand Trap Summary: Tired from her ordeal, Scully learns more than she wants to while waiting for Mulder to recover. University Hospital Another hospital, another bedside vigil. Had I realized exactly how much time I would be spending in hospitals, perhaps I would have just considered the traditional path of a medical school graduate. I was positive this way was the right way, though. I was going to help save so many more people doing this. Maybe I have. It's days like this, though, when I don't know. Maybe I just would simply have saved myself. "Dana, honey, do you want to take a break?" my mother asks. I didn't even hear her walk into the room. I'm still tired and run down from all the drugs, but other than that, I've been given a clean bill of health. For now at least. No one can promise me tomorrow or the next day right now. Nobody knows what a different implant will mean for my well being. "Hi, Mom. I didn't hear you come in," I say, as I pull myself up in the chair. My muscles still ache from my captivity and I haven't been able to sleep well since coming out of my last drug-induced slumber. "I thought maybe you'd like to get out for a few minutes. Christopher is up from his little nap," my mother says. She comes over to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. She's always been there when I needed her most. When Christopher was in the hospital and Mulder was out wandering the countryside, my mom was there. Another bedside, another chair, the same comforting arms wrapped around me. "Where is he?" I ask. The reunion with my son was glorious. I had moments with Mulch out in that abandoned house when I never thought I'd see him again, and when I finally had him in my arms, I didn't want to ever let him go. "Teena has him in the lounge. He just finished a bottle of formula and had some cereal just a few minutes ago, so he shouldn't be too annoying," my mom says, knowing that I can't breast feed him again. It was hard losing that without it being my choice, hard knowing that particular bond is gone. One of the doctors I saw said I could start again when the drugs were out of my system, but I have no idea what else those men did to me while I was in their 'care.' "I, uh..." I start to say, not knowing which way to go; being pulled by too many forces. I look over to Mulder. His condition has improved drastically from the time he was brought in to the hospital off of the top of the Sandia Mountains. Why he remains comatose is a mystery to his doctors, but at least he is off the respirator now and has been moved to the neurology floor from ICU. Agent Fowley, on the other hand, is in the Neurosurgery ICU unit, after receiving a gunshot wound to the head and surviving. Why Mulder was spared the same treatment and was not shot is a mystery to us. "I'll stay here with him. Don't worry, okay? I'll come get you if there is any change or if that neurologist ever shows up," she tells me, although she knows changes probably won't come that fast. I give Mulder a kiss on the cheek before leaving, always hopeful that he will just come out of this right now, and everything will be back to normal. I guess this is the wish of everyone around a comatose patient. "Hi, toots," I say, as I pick up my baby boy off of his grandmother's lap, "How's he been?" "He's getting a little restless. Probably wishes he was at home and not in this boring, old hospital," Teena Mulder says, as she stands up to stretch her legs. Christopher's grandmothers have been great through this whole crisis, both to them doing their best at tag-team grandparenting while they also try to take care of their respective children. I'm just fortunate that my hospital stay lasted only a few hours. "No, no, honey. Mommy can't help you there," I say as Christopher snuggles in against my chest. Even though he was weaned down to nursing once a day, our separation seems to have sparked a bigger interest in him. I was hoping he'd forget. I was wrong. Must be something men never forget no matter how young or old they are. "Sometimes being a parent isn't easy," Teena Mulder says. I'm sure she has many tales to tell about the difficulty of parenthood, if only she'd tell some of them. "No, it isn't," I answer back. I'm glad my son willingly takes the pacifier, allowing him to focus on something else besides me for a minute. "Sometimes being a wife is harder," she says, and I don't know what to say back. I am sure her marriage was not easy, but I've always believed a marriage never fails just because of one party. I understand what she means, though. It isn't always easy, being accountable to a person, caring for them, loving them. And it being your own free will to do so. With the baby, it is so different. I couldn't stop loving him if I tried. Could I stop loving his father? "I'll go relieve your mother. This one's my kid. I should be the one sitting in there, not her," she says, as she picks up her handbag and a magazine. "I don't think my mom sees it that way. She loves him as if he's one of her own," I say. It's true. My mother has always been that way with any of her 'in-law' children, even if in this case they aren't technically married to her own child yet. "It takes a strong person to love that one," she says as she heads down the hall. "It does indeed," I say to no one. Sometimes I even question my own strength when it comes to loving Mulder. That isn't to say I don't love him. I have in one way or another for years. But to love that man is more than a commitment of mind and body. It takes all of your soul, too. There are no half truths with Mulder, and there is no loving half way. All those years we tried, and I still tried even after our first night together. I was so afraid of what loving him might mean. What I've discovered it means is that things can only get better with the two of us together. God knows, there are days they can't get any worse. I think this is one of them. In all the years I've known Mulder, I don't think his mother has ever shown up at his hospital bedside. I don't know why, except perhaps that would be an admission of need or love or something else she just doesn't want to venture into. Perhaps the same admission that held me back all those years. My mother called her up, desperate for help in getting Christopher across the country. My mother said she seemed willing only because of Christopher. It is quiet in the lounge today. No family tragedies being played out, no tough decisions being rendered by shocked children or parents. Just my son and me playing with the baby toys Mom packed for him. Christopher cruises between the couch and the coffee table covered with magazines. Despite his recent injuries, he's trying his hardest to be an early walker. Just what I need. A toddler already. "Dadadadada," Christopher gurgles out in a long string, and although I know he doesn't associate that sound with the person yet, I answer him as if he is asking a question. "Daddy is doing better, Christopher. Perhaps a little later, we can sneak you in there again to see him. I'm sure daddy likes it when you are near, doesn't he?" I ask him, his hazel eyes as bright as can be, as if he understands every word I say. He coos his answer back and giggles his magnificent baby giggle. My son beams a bright smile at whoever it is I hear entering the room and without turning around, I guess it is one of his grandmothers. "Agent Scully, I'm glad to see you are feeling better," Assistant Director Skinner says from behind me. I turn around to discover him standing in the at the doorway with Agent Reid. "Thank you, sir. Did you come to see Mulder? My mother and his are in there right now, but you can back there," I say, as I hastily pack up Chris' toys into the big bag. "That's not why we are here, Agent Scully. I was hoping you were feeling up to answering some questions now. If this is a bad time, we can come back later this afternoon," Skinner says. He's fumbling around with one file, while Reid has several others in his hand. "No. Hold on a minute. Let me get my mother back in here to watch Christopher. Can you hold him for a second? He's *officially* not supposed to be back there," I ask, and both men look slightly dumbfounded, "I promise he won't do anything weird while I'm gone." Skinner hands over his single file to Reid and holds the baby, facing him away from his suit. He looks uncomfortable yet amused at the same time. "You know, you look just like your dad. You better not try to pull any of the same cr... er, stunts your old man does while your mommy is gone. Am I making myself clear?" I hear him say as I walk out the door, and Christopher answers with a loud, joyful peal of laughter. University Hospital Cafeteria "I don't understand," I say, as I read over the report one more time. "What don't you understand, Agent Scully?" Reid asks me, sounding slightly frustrated that I said such a thing. Like I give a damn what he feels right now. "I just ... don't ... understand," I say. I understand everything in this report, all the details and particulars that can be found at any given crime scene. I just don't understand who would go to such lengths to set up something like this. Why were we the target? Again. "They weren't found until two o'clock in the morning. Luckily, they were closing down the lift for spring maintenance and one of the men out there to facilitate the repairs noticed the number coming down didn't match the number of people who had gone up. After searching, he came across Agents Mulder and Fowley in a clearing and immediately put a call in to 911," Reid explains to me again, sounding as if he just repeats the words one more time, I might understand it all. "Sir, can I speak to you privately?" I ask Skinner. With the nod of Skinner's head, Reid gets up and goes to get another cup of cafeteria coffee. "I know that how they were found is rather... compromising, Agent Scully," he says, as he takes some of the notes and places them in a folder. "Does his mother... or my mother know about this? Were they filled in before I was found?' I ask. "No," he says, as he waits for me to tell him something. I wish I really had something to tell. "What do you want me to tell you? That Mulder and Agent Fowley were up there for some sort of tryst that went bad? That they got caught by someone who tried to kill them? I don't think that is what it is," I say, resigned to believing that couldn't be the case. It is all too damn contrived. "I don't believe that, either. I just don't understand the whole incident, yet, and I wish someone would enlighten me as to what exactly they were doing up there and what in the hell went down. I have one agent near death, another one in a coma. I had one of my agents held hostage by the paroled convict she and her partner had just interviewed days before. I have an agent still missing. And to top it all off, Senator Erickson's father still hasn't turned up, either. I'm having one hell of a week, Agent Scully, and I would really love some answers," Skinner says, looking at me as if I should know what happened. "All I can tell you is what happened to me while I was held by Mulch, and I already covered all that. As much as I would love to be able to tell you what occurred with Mulder and Agent Fowley on that mountain, I can't. All I know is that Mulder was going to meet Thomas Erickson. I don't know why he choose the Sandia Mountains. I don't know why Agent Fowley went with him. I also can't tell you where Agent Spender might have gone," I say, growing weary of this whole damn fiasco. I read over the reports again, and then one more time, still not believing this mess could get any worse. I close the folder back up and stare at the assistant director. He knows as well as I do that none of this could possibly be true. If Mulder and Agent Diana Fowley had wanted to 'reminisce' about old times, they certainly wouldn't have had to go to the Sandia Mountains to do it. They had plenty of opportunity to do whatever they wanted to do in the hotel after I left to do that autopsy. Damn Mulder for trusting her again. "How is Mulch doing?" I ask, hoping to break this uncomfortable line of questioning. "He's much better. He should be transferred back to prison in a day or two, now that he seriously violated his parole," Skinner says. "Did he kill those women?" I ask, wondering how I got so lucky as to be spared. "We don't know, but we don't think so. Some things just don't match up right in the time frame of it all. In the search of the house we never located your ring, Mulch didn't have it in his possession, either," he adds, looking down and away from me. "How did you find me?" I ask for the first time since I've been in a coherent state. "An anonymous call was put in pinpointing your location. We still haven't determined who made the call," Skinner says. I merely nod my head. I don't know what happened while I was drugged any more than anyone else could possibly know. With the exemption of Mulch, that is, and he's not talking. He was so sure no one could put him back in prison. It seems the men who made such promises betrayed him once again. "This was supposed to be an easy one, sir. In and out. It wasn't supposed to end like this," I say. "I didn't know you and Mulder ever did anything the easy way, Agent Scully," Skinner says, as he motions for Reid to come back over. Skinner seems to be protecting me a lot these days, whether it be those photos now in evidence, or detailed discussions over Mulder and Agent Fowley's discovery. "I have to go back to DC tomorrow morning, Agent Scully. Agent Reid will be staying on here for a few more days, but basically it is going to be handled by the field office," Skinner says, with a sigh. "What about the senator?" I ask. Someone wants this buried. I can tell. Senator Erickson's father is still missing, yet they are trying to cover it all up. I wish I knew who was behind it all. "Senator Erickson regrets deeply what has happened here. He believes his father just took off again. He's been known to do that," Skinner answers, adding, "Or at least that is the official word we are getting from the senator's office." "Right," I say. They, whoever *they* are, must have been afraid he was going to talk. He obviously knew more than he was letting on. Agent Reid has avoided eye contact since he sat back down. He looks like he has aged in the last few days, gained experiences he never imagined. He appears to be a man who got tangled in something totally incomprehensible. "The neurologist was going to be in soon. I had better get back up to Mulder's room," I tell them, wanting to walk away from all these reports and files, to walk away from what everyone is thinking now. "Agent Scully?" Walter Skinner calls as I walk away. "Yes?" I say, stopping but not turning around to face him and Reid. "We will get to the bottom of this," he says. University Hospital "The neurologist just left, Dana. Would you like me to see if I can catch her?" Teena Mulder says as I rush into the room. "Damn it," I mutter. I knew this would happen. Isn't this what always happens? "She said that they would be running more tests in the morning if he doesn't come out of this. She also said she really sees no physical reason as to why he would still be in a comatose state. The drugs are out of his system, his kidneys are functioning normally again, the swelling around the brain is completely gone, and his liver appears to be undamaged," she says, relaying as well as she can the highlights of what Mulder's doctor went over. "I'll check his chart in awhile. I didn't see Dr. Dresden out there, but I'm sure she had other patients to see," I say, as I settle into the chair at Mulder's bedside. "Did the assistant director have any new leads?" she asks me as she makes her way to opposite side of the bed from me. "No, not yet. He just wanted to go over what happened to me while I was ... detained," I tell her, as I watch her touch her son's arm, slowly moving her hand from his wrist up. "Motherhood never ends, you know? No matter how old they are, or how much they think you don't love them, or how much they think they don't need you, it is still there. That bond can't be severed," she says quietly. I am now in the position where I can agree with this. I have a child, and from the moment I heard his first cry, I knew I would give my life if it meant he would live. Not only that, but I would have no second thoughts about it. "He's going to be okay," I say to Teena Mulder, and watch as she pulls her hand stiffly away from Mulder's arm. "Fox is always okay," she says, a tinge of pain cracking through her voice. Both his mother and mine have lost a child over this God forsaken 'project' Mulder always speaks of. Because of this project and more just like it that I'm sure exist, they could lose another child at any given moment. Or I could lose a child and know the grief that is singularly theirs. I don't want to visit that particular place where they have once dwelled and returned from. I don't know if I could return. "I'll stay with him if you want to go. I know my mother mentioned that the two of you planned to take Christopher out to lunch. Just makes sure he doesn't eat anything too spicy," I say with a weak smile. She smiles back, and rests her hand on my shoulder before finally leaving the room. University Hospital "Hello?" a female voice says from the doorway, after knocking softly a few times. "Come in," I say, as I pull myself up in my chair. Many people come and go out of this room all day, but most don't knock. I look at the tall, dark haired woman entering the room and hazard to guess that perhaps she is a law enforcement officer sent out here to get a statement. She doesn't look like a doctor. Then again, people say that about me. "Hi, you must be Agent Scully?" she says, more of a question than a statement of knowledge. The automatic blood pressure cuff goes off on Mulder's arm at the same time she says this, causing both of us to jump slightly. "Yes," I say, extending my hand to this stranger. She is taller than me by several inches, her brown hair pulled back into a business-like clip. She is wearing a suit, and an expensive one at that, complete with subdued jewelry. Perhaps my assessment of law enforcement was wrong. "I'm Carol Fowley-Osgood. When I talked to the assistant director earlier, he told me Fox was down here, and that his partner would probably be here, too," she says, releasing my hand and looking over at the bed. Fowley-Osgood. Diana's sister. Skinner had mentioned they were trying to find her next of kin, a sister who lives in Manhattan, but weren't having any luck. I guess someone got lucky and came up with a sibling. "Nice to meet you," I say, knowing my voice sounds more curt than I want it to. It is the voice I seem to take on whenever Diana is mentioned. "God, it's been years since I've seen Fox," she declares, as she walks over to his bedside and places a hand on his still arm. "Yes, well..." I start to say. What am I supposed to say? "How is Agent Fowley... Diana doing?" She looks like she is about to cry at the mention of her sister, but she fights back the tears. I know the prognosis isn't good, for I was up to see her myself early this morning. Whatever they did to Mulder, they added a gunshot wound to the head for her. The first time she was shot years ago, she pulled out of it miraculously. No one thinks she will be that lucky twice. "The doctors had me fill out a DNR order. It is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life," she says to me, a tear finally escaping and trailing down her Lancome Porcelain Beige cheek. "There's always hope," I tell her, knowing how many trips to the hospital Mulder and I have survived, even when we shouldn't have. "They don't think she will make it through the night," Carol says in a voice so soft I can barely hear her. "I'm so sorry. My sister was murdered several years ago. It is a horrible thing to go through. Let me know if I can help you in any way," I say, without putting much feeling behind my words. I'm so tired right now, with Mulder and the baby. And myself. I don't think I can help too many more people. She looks down at Mulder and away from me, and I know she doesn't want to talk about her sister any more than I do right now. I can also guess by the way she referred to me as Agent Scully, Mulder's partner, Skinner didn't tell her any more than that. The assistant director has always graciously respected our privacy that way. As long as it didn't effect our work, it didn't effect him. "I haven't seen him since their wedding. They both looked so happy that day, so much in love. Too bad it didn't last," she says out loud, but not really to me. Wedding? What wedding? Diana mentioned being married before. Being pregnant and getting married. Pregnant, wedding, married, divorced. *Their* wedding. Oh, shit. Mulder and Diana's wedding. God damn him. He didn't tell me something *that* big. A hollow pit the size of Cleveland opens up in my stomach, and I wish I could just fall into it. "I, um, didn't know they were ever married," I say, my voice cracking slightly with the last word. I can make it through this. I've made it through worse. I can maintain my composure until this woman gets the hell out of here. "I didn't last long. I'm sure it would have lasted longer if ..." she starts to say, but catches herself before she possibly reveals too much. If what? If she hadn't miscarried her ... their child? Mulder, why in the hell didn't you tell me? That would have explained so many things over the past few years, made some of your actions so much clearer. I've watched as the two of us have nearly been torn apart by Fowley's actions and he never explained why in the hell he trusted her so God damned much. He could have just told me years ago, put aside so much doubt I once had in our partnership. I know this Carol woman is watching me closely. I can feel it through my closed eyelids. I rub my temples with my fingers, feigning a headache. Maybe she will just leave and this will just all be over. Yes. I will open my eyes and this will all be over and I can figure out how to deal with this new information ... "Dana, honey? I just stopped by to see if you were ready to go back to the hotel for awhile and to sneak Christopher in to see his daddy ... oh, hello. I didn't know you had company. We can come back," my mother says, holding my fussy baby in her arms. "No, come in. Mom, this is Agent Diana Fowley's sister, um ... Carol Fowley-Osgood. This is my mother, Margaret Scully. And this little guy is Christopher, my son," I say, taking him out of my mother's arms. Carol's eyes go from my face, to my son's, to Mulder's. She doesn't say anything, though. There is nothing to say, really. My mother already said the magic word 'daddy.' "Nice to meet you," my mother says, as the two of them make polite small talk for a few moments. I sink back into my chair with Christopher on my lap. I'm torn between the desire to shake his father up out of this cursed coma he is in and demand to know why he never told me, or to just be glad that the decision is mine to just let it go. Sometimes that is the only thing that can be done with the truth once it is obtained. The past is the past, right? What difference does it make now? He doesn't know everything about my past, or even my life outside of work when that life didn't contain him. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. But somehow it does. "I should be going now. It was nice meeting you, Agent Scully. Fox will be in my prayers," Carol says, placing her thin hand on my shoulder. "Keep us informed about your sister, if there are any changes," my mother says back to her. She is from a much more polite generation than I am. Of course, she just didn't have a huge surprise dropped on her a few minutes ago. The father of my child, the man I spent ten years with, day in and day out, never once said 'You know what, Scully? I was married once.' That's all he would have had to say back then. Now I want to know more. Not just the facts but the reasons behind his actions. "I will," she says as she walks out of the door, not knowing she changed things forever. "She seems nice enough," my mother says, walking over to Mulder's bedside, and stroking the same arm that everybody keeps touching. I wonder if that bothers him or if he wishes everybody would stop. "Where is Teena?" I ask, as Christopher tries to maneuver his way to the floor and to freedom. "She is back at the hotel, resting. Don't forget that she's a few years older than me, and not used to chasing after 'his royal highness' all day like I am," Mom tells me, as if I was questioning Teena Mulder's motives. "I don't think parenting was ever her forte, Mom," I say, struggling to contain my child on my lap. "I don't know, Dana. She appears to be genuinely concerned for you and Fox. And for Christopher. She is very nice..." "You say that about everybody," I snap back at her, tired and defensive. "Listen, we all just have to get through this. It isn't easy on any of us. Do you know how many times now I've gotten that phone call all parents dread? Do you know how many of those calls have been about you? All of them. Even when it was Melissa, they said it was you. Dana, I know you are tired. I know this is stressful on you, and I know you went through a lot this week. Maybe you need some time off from sitting at his bedside. Perhaps you need to clear your head a little," my mother says to me, her hands on her hips, as if she is talking to a impudent teenager. I can feel the tears forming in my eyes, tears I would not cry in front of anybody else but Mulder or my mother. I'm so tired of all of this. The games, the lies, the never ending search for a truth Mulder will be content with. I want out. "Mom, can you take care of Christopher for awhile? I really need to get away from all of this," I say, as I stand up and hand my baby over to my mother. "Where are you going?" she asks. I know she deserves an answer, but I don't even know where I'm going. "I'll be fine," is all I say, as I place a kiss on my son's head and walk out the door. VLA Radio Telescope The sun is setting over the New Mexico landscape, filling the sky with shades of pink and gold I've not seen in years, not since city life has taken hold of me. I can feel the uncomfortable darkness creeping up behind me, in the direction I do not choose to look. All I do is fathom the immeasurable space before me. So much of it a person could get lost. So much of it a person might want to get lost. I watch as two men finish inspecting a large satellite dish structure, and then head off in their Jeep in the direction of a small building. They are too far away to notice me, yet I notice them. It is hard not to out in this emptiness. They drive off, leaving a trail of dust looming large behind them and I wonder what they discovered today, if anything. I look away from the sun burning its way down towards the horizon, over to the objects of those men's interest. I don't know why I'm here, sitting on the trunk of my rental car. This would be some place Mulder would want to go to think. He even said that, while we were stuck on Interstate 25. Maybe that is why I am here. Some connection with someone I should be mad at. All of this time spent listening out into space, mapping the universe. I almost feel like running out to that building, knocking on the door and telling them to turn those large dishes back at themselves, that maybe the map of heavens already lies within each of us. So I sit and watch and listen as the sky begins to turn indigo around me. I'm not much different than the people listening out into space, looking for their own brand of truth. I just listen closer to home, limit my search of the universe to a different realm of possibilities. Mulder's realm. Now mine. And I wait for the truth, and wonder why I always get the truths I don't want. Mulder and Diana Fowley. Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose I suspected something. Just not this. A child. His child. Christopher isn't the first. I would have liked to have known that. Maybe since the child didn't make it full term, Mulder never really considered it an issue. But I just can't imagine that, not now. Not after Christopher. I don't know how to feel right now. Angry? No. Not yet. Mulder has been known for his omissions in the past. Confused? Certainly. Why else would I be sitting out in the middle of New Mexico watching a Very Large Array? Stupid name. I need to go back. I always go back. Dutiful. That's me. I'll go back and sit by his bedside, waiting for him. Then I'll wait for him to tell me what I know already know. I look down to my left hand, to where my ring should be. Dutiful Dana. Dutiful partner. Dutiful mother. Dutiful *spouse.* They split up after they lost the baby. Why? If I had lost Christopher, would I not be sitting here, pondering making my way back to a hospital? Would it have ended everything for us, too? I would hope that this inexplicable bond between us goes deeper than that. Maybe Diana felt that way, too. I hear a vehicle pull up behind me, but do not turn to look. I saw the khaki colored Jeep circling its way over here after leaving one of the men off at a building. The engine stops, and clanks a few times as the driver steps out of the Jeep. I hear his footsteps approaching through the sandy gravel. "Miss? This isn't the best place to be hanging out at after dark. One never knows what is lurking out there," the man says to me, and I repress the urge to laugh out loud at his statement. If anyone knows what lurks behind darkness, I surely do. I turn to look at him, and I assume he's probably a visiting radio astronomer working on a project. He's quite a bit taller than me, taller than Mulder actually, and my guess would place him in his late twenties or early thirties. He pulls a red baseball cap off of his head, revealing a tussle of sandy blond curls. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking," I say to him, as if he cares. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" he asks, as he comes a little bit closer to me. "Yes, it is," I say, sliding away from him slightly. I have my weapon hidden neatly under my coat, as usual, but I'm not threatened by this man. "I like to come out here at sunset, too. The only place it is more beautiful is over the Pacific Ocean. Have you ever seen the sunset over the ocean?" he asks me politely, striking up a conversation of small talk. "Yes, um, my father was in the Navy, and we lived in San Diego for awhile. Do you go to school in California... um?" I ask, prompting me to supply his name. "Dylan. Dylan Keanaly. I went to UCLA for my undergrad degree. Now I'm at MIT, finishing up my doctoral work," he says, as he leans back on the trunk of my car, yet keeps a comfortable distance. I can tell he's watching me, as I look out at the last bit of the sun. "And what are you researching out here, Dylan Keanaly?" I ask. "Nothing that interesting. You know, the mysteries of the heavens and what's out there," Dylan says, probably assuming I wouldn't understand his studies anyway, "Angels in the architecture." "Paul Simon?" I ask in response to his last words. "Him and my Grandma Maiser. That's what she used to call it when we try to find miracles in the ordinary. Like trying to figure out why we are here by studying what's out there, that which man has been gazing at for our entire existence," he says, pointing up at the first stars to appear in the evening sky. "So, what is out there?" I ask, as I pull my jacket tighter around me to fend off the chilly night air. "We don't do SETI work," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. I'm sure he gets that question all the time. We say nothing to each other for several moments. "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" I ask him offhand, just to see what he says to this question once posed to me. "Using everything I know about science, I would have to say no. The distances from here to there would be too great, and if they were here already, surely someone reputable would have seen them, right? I mean, could our government really cover up something that large?" he asks, and my expression doesn't change one way or another, "But knowing the vastness of space like I do, it is hard for me to believe that is all just for us... that God made all this room, and we are the only occupants. Then it would seem logical that perhaps there are others. Also it just seems selfish to believe that we are the only ones God could love so much." "God?" I ask. "Yes, God. I'm sorry. I grew up in the Bible belt. Somehow or another, God seems to always be coming along with me where ever I go," Dylan says almost apologetically. "No need to be sorry. I was raised Catholic. And I'm also a scientist," I tell him and he gets a surprised look on his tanned face. "Really? You just kind of looked like a tourist," he says. "Thanks. No, I'm a physician. I did my undergraduate work in physics," I say, actually enjoying this conversation. It doesn't concern Mulder or Diana or the crimes against all of us. This was all I needed, a departure from it all for just a few minutes. I feel Dylan's eyes watching me closely, as if he is scrutinizing my face. "Hey, I know why you seem so familiar. Your picture was on the news a few nights ago. You're that missing FBI agent, aren't you?" he asks, bringing the rest of the world back to me quickly. "Mmm hmm. Special Agent Dana Scully," I say, nodding my head yes. "You aren't still missing, are you?" he asks. "No, I'm not still missing. Like I said, I was just out here thinking. I've had a rough week," I tell Dylan. We are both silent for a few minutes, and he looks up towards the stars. "Would you like to go get something to eat?" he blurts out suddenly. "Dylan... thanks for the offer, but my partner, fiancé actually, is in the hospital back in Albuquerque, and my mother is baby-sitting my son..." "Your partner. Fox Mulder," he says as if it would be natural that he knows this. I stiffen up a little, and he must notice. "He was on the news, too." "You watch a lot of news," I say. "I had heard his name mentioned before," he tells me. "Where?" I ask. "Around. Dana, you need to go back to him," this person who calls himself Dylan says to me. "Who in the hell are you?" I ask him, sliding off the trunk of the car, and fumbling through my jacket to get my gun. "You don't need that," he tells me calmly, "I'm just here to listen to you. You seemed to need that right now." "Tell me who you are?" I ask him again, as I begin to back away from him. "Not everybody is out to get you. There's more sides to this than you know, and some of us are actually on your side," he tells me softly. He doesn't approach me as I back towards my car door. "Then explain it all to me," I demand from him. "It's not time for that yet. Explanations will come later," Dylan says. "I want some now!" I say to him, "I've had enough waiting. A whole decade of it!" "It's your son, Dana. Sooner or later, everybody is going to want to find out why he is so important, why they needed him to exist so badly. You need to find out first," he says, and I stop moving. "Do you know?" I ask. "No. I don't have your answers. All I can tell you is the answers lie within you. And Agent Mulder and your son. And what ever other children you may have. Yes, Dana, there will be more, soon ..." "Excuse me?" I ask, "How would you know that?" He looks at me and just shrugs his shoulders. "There has to be more. And they have to be his and yours. They could never have been any one else's. That's why it didn't work with that other woman." "Diana?" "Don't worry about what ever happened with Diana. It could never be, but she never understood that. She wasn't part of the group," Dylan says. "Group? What group? You mean the abductees?" I ask him, my weary mind trying to absorb everything coming at me. "No. Before that, you were chosen. They took you to find out why we needed you. They stole your ova in an attempt to stop the project, but we circumvented their plan. Actually, their rash maneuvers have been to our advantage," Dylan says, but offers up no information as to who 'we' or 'they' are, and what in the hell project he is talking about. "Then why not Diana? Why me? Why do this to my life?" I ask, on the verge of holding this man at gunpoint if he doesn't give me a clear answer soon. "Only you, Dana. It's been planned like that for years. Longer than you even imagine. Christopher had to be. Him and the others," he says, his voice cool in the night air. "Others?" I hear my self say, but my head is reeling already. Others, as in the future, or others as in children like... "Emily?" "No. Emily had nothing to do with our work. Your children are indeed human," he says. "Why are they so important, then? Why all of these secrets and lies?" I demand from him. "Just trust me. Your children ... your child is important. He is important because of what he is. He will be protected. There are more like him out there, scattered for protection. More parents that were chosen, but most don't know. Only you know," he tells me. "Why? Why him? Why me?" I demand again, knowing I'm not going to get the answers I need. "I don't have your answers. You have to find them. Go back to Mulder. He needs you. Always has," he says as he walks away from me back to his Jeep. Dylan climbs in and drives off into the darkness, leaving me all alone. University Hospital Mulder's condition still hasn't changed. I didn't really expect it to, seeing as though I wasn't gone that long. I checked on Christopher at the hotel. He was sleeping peacefully tucked in next to his Grandma Mulder. I arrived at the hospital and sent my mother back to the hotel. She asked no questions, just gave me a hug before she went on her way. So now I'm back to watching and waiting and wondering who isn't a part of this thing we are involved in. It seems as if every question we ask is simply answered by more questions. The gentle beeping of Mulder's heartbeat played out electronically is mesmerizing and calming. It reminds me of this heartbeat teddy bear Christopher has at home. He hasn't wanted that played for him in months, no longer needing the sounds of the womb. I wish I could dream of Mulder again, like I did with the drugs. I wish I could ask him the things I want to ask so desperately. So much is more important right now then his past. Like finding whoever did this to us and finding out what answer it is that lies within us. I want to tell him what that man out in the desert told me. I want his help. More than that, I need his help. This concerns both of us and the life we created. They created. Whoever created it, he is ours now. We've got to survive this. Survive and get back home to our 'normal' life. We will never have a normal life. Even if we tried, something would just step in and make it all topsy-turvy again. That is just the way it is with us. I pull the hospital blanket up around me, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before the barrage of hospital staff make their way in here in the morning. One more time in my life, I fall asleep to the sound of Mulder's heartbeat. University Hospital "Scully? Where am I?" I hear a raspy, voice call out quietly, shaking me out of my dreamless sleep. I'm out of my chair and over to Mulder's bedside quickly. "Mulder? It's me. You're in the hospital. I'm going ring for the nurse," I tell him, as I fumble through a myriad of wires, unable to find the call button. I look up at the clock. It is 7:15 in the morning. I slept a lot longer than I thought I would, exhausted from the previous day. The nurses should have started coming in to his room already this morning. "She's dead," he says flatly, with no emotion in his voice at all. "Who is, Mulder?" I ask him, watching his eyes try to focus on me in the dim light. "Diana. She's dead," he says. This is not the first conversation I wanted to have with him, but so be it. "No, Mulder. She's here in this hospital. You're going to be okay. I'm going to go get the nurse and see if she can get your doctor in here..." "You're my doctor..." he says, reaching out for me with his other hand. I'm glad to see his memory is still intact and I am surprised at how rapidly he came out of the comatose condition he was in. "The neurologist, Mulder. Her name is Dr. Dresden and I'm sure she'll be as glad to see you as I am. Now don't try to talk. I'll be right back," I tell him, as I gently squeeze his hand. I have been standing at the nurses' station for about five minutes when Agent Reid approaches me, looking more tired than he did yesterday. I remember that he had to drop Skinner off at the airport incredibly early this morning and he must have come straight here. "Agent Scully ..." he starts to say. "Good news, Agent Reid," I say, "Mulder just woke up. The nurse is paging the neurologist and ... what's wrong?" "Agent Fowley just passed away about ten minutes ago. Her sister wanted me to come down and let you know," he says, looking down at his feet. I look at the clock on the nearby wall. Ten minutes ago was exactly when Mulder woke up. He knew she was dead. A chill runs down my spine. He was with me when I needed him. Was he with her when she needed him? No. That isn't possible. It just isn't. But that is so Mulder. He loved her once. He wouldn't let her be alone. He would do the same for me tenfold. "Tell, um, Carol that I will come see her as soon as I get Mulder taken care of," I say. Reid watches me closely, trying to read my expression. I'm sure he's figured out that there was no love lost between Fowley and me. I can't honestly say I plan to shed a tear. "I'll be down to talk to Mulder later today, to see if he remembers anything," he says. "Give us a day, okay? We have both been through a lot," I say sharply, walking away from him and back to Mulder's room. I sit on the edge of his bed, and hold his hand in mine. It is too soon to tell him the news Reid just delivered, too soon to tell him everything that has happened over the last few days. "Scully, I had the strangest dreams about you," Mulder says, his voice less raspy the longer he's been awake. A nurse is busy at the other side of the bed, but she doesn't disturb us. "Do you remember them?" I ask, curious as to whether they were as strange as mine. "Just one, really. It had something to do with you and a piece of really sour candy. We were ...playing basketball and ..." he starts to say, stopping when he sees the startled expression on my face. "Was it a good dream?" I ask, forgetting for a few moments all about Diana and the rest of the world. "Oh, yeah. A very good dream," he says with a smile. I brush the hair off of his forehead, and put my hand on his cheek. We will deal with the rest of the world later. The End
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