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Title: Departures I Summary: Scully learns some truths about their lives. Scully-Mulder Household "Christopher, please stop fussing. Mommy can't think," I say as I juggle him from one arm to the other. No longer wanting to be held, he reaches for the cordless phone, and with one quick stroke of a chubby little finger, I'm disconnected. One fucking hour of being on hold shot to hell. "Shit!" "Shit!" he cries out joyously in his normally angelic baby voice. It isn't actually as identifiable as the word I just uttered, but it is close enough. "Now is a fine time to start listening to me," I tell him as I punch the number back into the receiver. Amazing. He's been talking for six weeks now and I've already got him swearing like a little sailor. We'll never get him in to the private preschool up the street. The line bleeps a busy signal at me over and over, just making my head pound all the more. I click off the receiver and toss it hard across the kitchen counter. It connects with two days worth of newspapers and they go flying into the air, fluttering around like flushed out pheasant before hitting the ground. Christopher finds this utterly amusing, and claps his hands wildly. "Shit!" he says again. "You got that right, baby," I tell him as I carry him upstairs past the two gates that become harder to use in direct proportion with either how tired or how mad one is. This was a fine day for Soprano to call in sick. My mother is in Aruba and I can't even get a call through to her. And now I have to drag Christopher to the Hoover building because his damn father couldn't be bothered with getting off a plane, getting into his car and driving home. Oh no. That was far too complicated for him. Only he could fuck that one up. I put Chris down on the floor of my bedroom, shut the door behind us and turn the lock. Thank God he hasn't figured out that little mechanism yet. My stomach is rolling and I'm not sure if it is because of *morning* sickness or because I'm so pissed. And nervous. And so scared right now I find myself in front of the toilet for the third time today, throwing up what is left in my stomach and that isn't much. "Mama mama mama mommieeeee!" I hear through my retching noises. God, please help me right now. Let me shut my eyes and when I open them he will be here. Please, don't tell me he did something so stupid right now. Not now. Please. Not now. But when I open my eyes, all I see is my very panicky and confused son watching me pray over top of the toilet. Tears of alarm pour from his eyes now and I put my arms out to him. He runs to me and the two of us sit on the fuzzy yellow bathroom rug together, holding on to each other tight. And crying. FBI Headquarters "Agent Scully, Kimberly offered to watch your son while ..." "No," I tell Skinner sternly and I hold Christopher a little closer to me. I'm not letting him out of my sight right now, not even in this *safe* building. Everybody turned their heads as I damn near ran through the halls with him over one shoulder and a diaper bag over the other just to make this appointment. Those who didn't already think I was a complete nut most definitely do now. I would never bring him here unless it was an emergency and I think this qualifies. Skinner says nothing. He just steps back and lets us pass. I take my usual seat across from him, and try to hold my son on my lap. That doesn't even last until Skinner gets settled in to his seat. Chris slides off my lap and toddles away faster than I can grab the little overall straps on his outfit and pull him back. All I manage to do is unfasten one of them. That's the reason I usually dress him like that. Gives me handles to hold on to. Maybe I should stick his father in some. Chris squirrels himself up on to the chair next to me and plops down, making that 'diaper meets vinyl' poof sound. And then he watches Skinner with those intense hazel eyes. Skinner can do nothing but look at this mini-Mulder sitting so silently across from him. Take off the little train engineer's outfit and dress him in a little shirt and tie, and he'd be the spitting image of his father. Well, if is father chewed on his fingers instead of sunflower seeds. I'm sure Skinner is having a hard time trying not to say 'now that is spooky.' I'm having the same trouble myself. "Agent Scully, I don't have any more news for you," he says, finally taking his eyes off of Christopher. "Nothing else has been found since yesterday evening." I want for all of this to just be over. I feel so unlike myself right now. Dana Scully, all together career woman is now trying to juggle too many things and I am always on the verge of tears. I will blame it on the pregnancy. How did it all go to hell so fast? There is always just one answer to that. Mulder. "Sir, we must be missing something. Reid said Mulder left him at the baggage claim, since all of his bags were carry-on. Those bags were found in the locked trunk of his car and the front door was unlocked, so we know he made it that far. The security footage they pulled shows him walking into that level of the garage, and it doesn't show him returning to the terminal. Something must have happened at that point," I say, trying to just go over it one more time. "The garage has been completely swept for evidence, Agent Scully. Every drop of blood, every fiber ... every strand of hair in the vicinity of his car is being analyzed. Agent Mulder's disappearance isn't going to be put on the back burner," Skinner says, but I see his eyes flicker. Just like every time he tries to lie. I learned how capable he was of it a few years ago. I also learned how to recognize when he's doing it. He tries to pull it back together quickly, but my eyes narrow in on him. "What aren't you telling me? You can't hide anything from me, sir. This isn't just my partner we're talking about anymore. He is ..." I start to say. That is where my voice gives out. I look away from him to Christopher. I hear him open one of his drawers as quietly as he can and he rustles some papers. I turn my attention towards him again and he just holds up one finger, silencing me. "Agent Scully, we aren't hiding anything. I do understand the personal importance of finding Agent Mulder and I assure you that every possible avenue is being investigated," he says, as he hands me a clear plastic evidence bag. It contains only one thing. A crushed cigarette butt. I don't even have to read the brand name. God damn it. Not now, Mulder. Not now. My stomach starts to churn and my head begins to throb harder. I flip the bag back on to the center of his desk and he returns it to his desk drawer. "Scully, you can't go chasing after him yourself. It would be too much stress right now, considering ..." he says, looking down to my abdomen. "Someone has to find him." Skinner rustles through the files on his desk until he finds the one he is looking for. He hands it over to me and most of the information I was looking for is handwritten on the top page, scribbled in black ink by some lab tech. And there is a little sticky note, in Skinner's handwriting, telling me that the cigarette butt had been found under the car, and judging from the print of the shoe scuffing through the ash, it had been 'kicked' there. I let out a long sigh. I can't determine yet if it of relief or despair. It all depends. "Shit?" squeaks the little voice next to me. "Yeah. Shit," Skinner answers. "Oh, just buckle already," I say, pleading with Christopher's car seat. Mulder was supposed to adjust the straps. He said he'd do it weeks ago and now who in the hell is going to have to do it? Me. "No, sweetie. Oh, please stop crying. It is going to be fine. Everything will be fine." "Are you sure about that?" a voice asks from behind me. I turn to him, my ire already raised to the level of exploding. "Stop it! Just stop appearing out of nowhere and into my life. Who in the hell are you anyway?" "Dana, stop yelling. You are upsetting the baby," Dylan says to me, his voice composed and even. I don't have any idea how he got in this garage in the first place. How does he always find me? "What do you want? What do you want me to tell you?" I ask him. I now have proof that not even I could keep Mulder here. Not me, or our son or even the baby I'm carrying now. Someone must have waved a 'truth-scented' carrot on a stick under his nose and he went running after it. That is how we ended up in New Mexico. And now just three months later, he's off after something again. "I told you to keep him here," he says, as he leans up against the side of the car parked next to mine. "What did you want me to do? Nail his fucking feet to the floor?" I ask, my anger showing in every word. This man gives me pieces of the whole story and doesn't even tell me who or what he is. Dylan from the desert. Dylan from the beach. Dylan from the parking garage. "If that is what it was going to take, this time you should have done it," he says. His calm voice is starting to lose that unflappable tone he always maintains. The angrier I get, the less he can keep it together. "I can't guarantee his return this time." "Then why don't you tell me where he is, and *I* will guarantee his return," I say, and all he does is hand me a file folder. More damn folders today. Every move Mulder and I have ever made is probably in some folder somewhere. "What are these?" I ask, looking at the pictures. They are slightly blurry and obviously taken from a security camera. It looks like a convenience store in Anywhere, USA. "Look closer," he tells me. "What do you see?" Christopher starts chanting behind me. He says a long string of the same word, and it echoes through the parking garage. I'm just glad it isn't 'shit.' "I wan dada," he keeps saying over and over and I have no way to give him what he wants. Great. That's his first sentence and his father isn't even present to hear it. He should be used to his dad being out of town by now. He must be sensing that something is wrong through me. Several of the out of focus pictures show two men, both near the same height. Both are dressed casually, in blue jeans and ball caps. The last picture in the pile shows one looking away from the other. One is Mulder. I would be able to pick out his form anywhere. And the other is Alex Krycek. I knew that piece of rat shit had to be involved when Skinner started lying. "I told you not to let him go. The faction that contacted him isn't interested in anything but themselves. They don't even know of all the work that has been done on this side," he says. "They have an idea, but nothing definite. Except Alex Krycek. He has no alliance to either side and an alliance to both sides." "What are you talking about? What factions?" I ask. He motions for me to keep my voice down. "There is a war coming, Dana. You will know it when it comes. It will be judgment day. They will raise their banners in the name of God. They think they are sanctioned by God to continue with their plans, to free earth of what humanity has become. It will be their God-given right to use the unrighteous as they see fit. Some will live, most won't. You, Mulder, your son ... " he says, and then he lays his hand on my stomach. "... your daughter are supposed to survive. Or at least that is what the plans are. Plans that have been going on for years. Many years have been spent trying to determine who will live and who will die. Your son has to live. Now Mulder is going to stumble into places he does not belong. Yet." I don't know what to say to him. God? Judgment day? My mind can't even begin to put together the pieces of his story. It is unlike any of the reasons I've heard before. Dylan is the first to put such a religious twist on the story. For all I know he is a complete raving madman. I'm becoming convinced of it more each time I meet him. "What do you mean sanctioned by God?" I ask. Christopher is finally quieting down and about ready to fall asleep. "That's the saddest part of all, Dana. We share the same God yet they cannot recognize that," he says. His eyes are fiery now, as if this is what his whole life is about. "Someone will have to convince them of that." "I don't understand ... there are more religions on earth than those in the Judeo-Christian realm. What about them? What is going to happen to them? And why hasn't this happened already? What are they waiting for?" I ask. "The answers will come in time," he says. "No 'in time'! Tell me what this has to do with me and my family? Just tell me that for once," I nearly shout at him. Christopher stirs in his seat, but doesn't start crying again. But he isn't going to explain more. He turns and begins to walk away from me. God damn all these men with their half answers that only stir up more questions. "Wait! You just can't drop these on me without telling me where they are from," I shout after him, holding up the file. He turns back and looks at me. "I gave you what you need. Now use it." Scully-Mulder Household "Kalispell, Montana," Frohike says as I open the front door. He hands me the folder I dropped off last night. I couldn't take it to Skinner. Not yet. Not if Krycek is part of it. "What?" I ask, opening the folder. I study the enhancements I asked them to make. I can't tell how they found out the location from these. "Kalispell. It's outside of Glacier ..." "I know that. Why would he be in Kalispell?" I ask with out really expecting an answer. "Camping?" Frohike asks and I know I give him a caustic look. "Just kidding. In one of the enhancements, we could make out a store name and number. Ole's Country Store number 421. See that?" He points to a blurry number in the corner of a window that is indeed 421. I go through them until I get to the one I really want to see. Mulder is looking directly at the camera, his eyes trying to tell us something in the little time he had. Krycek is looking away. A split second later, and in any other images containing the two of them, Mulder has his head down, the brim of his ball cap pulled lower than he'd normally wear it. Krycek took no precautions in covering his face. No one would be looking for him. If they were, he'd slip out of sight before they could ever get to them. He's nothing more than a damn gutter dweller. "How would they get that far that quickly without showing up? It isn't like you can drive to Montana in a day from DC," I say, trying to calculate how far it is. They had to fly out of somewhere. "Maybe Mulder figured this was his last chance to leave a clue to where he is going. The man he is with doesn't seem too happy to be in there," Frohike says. I can't even fathom what is going on. Did he go with them willingly and find he was getting in over his head? Why didn't he just walk away from it? I know why. He never has been able to. Whatever they told him, whatever they promised must have been damn important. It must have concerned all of us. Christopher comes closer and hangs on to my leg. "Dada dada da," he says, as his hands try to reach up for the folder I'm holding. "Yes, honey. Dada dada da," I say to him as I close the folder on the picture of Mulder with those pleading eyes. "I got you a ticket to Missoula with a connection to Kalispell. It leaves in three hours," Frohike says rather sheepishly, as he pulls an airline ticket folder out of his vest pocket and hands it to me. After all these years, he knows how much finding him means to me. I hold it and look down at my son. My mother and Everett aren't getting back from Aruba until 7 p.m. tonight. That isn't for another six hours. "Frohike, what do you know about baby-sitting?" Ole's Country Store "We were wondering what happened to that. It was the damndest thing. Someone broke in here and all they took was the video tapes for that day. Nothing else was missing, we called the police, and they said without the video tapes they stole, we really didn't have much to go on," the clerk behind the counter tells me. I showed him my badge and the video captures and he has been very helpful in telling me nothing. His name tag tells me that he is Carl. "Did anything unusual happen that day? Was anything else missing or stolen?" I ask. Come on Mulder. You have to give me more to go on than this. Where did you go? Where did he take you? "We have been busy. It is park season and all. Lots of people come in and out of here. Really, ma'am, I can't say one way or another if I saw these two or not. I'll ask Jess when he come in later tonight," Carl says, looking quite glum that he couldn't help me more. "Here's where I'm staying. Please let me know if you remember anything. Even the littlest thing might help," I say. I hand him one of my cards with the hotel name scribbled on the back. He holds it and studies it carefully. "Thanks for everything." "Agent Scully?" Carl calls as I'm halfway out the door. I come back to the counter. "There is this one thing. I just thought some kid did it ... it seemed like something one of the high school kids would do. It happened in the last few days" "What is that?" I ask. Please, let this be something. I'm running out of leads and finding my way here in the first place was just luck and Frohike. And of course, Dylan, who ever he is. "In the bathroom, the men's room, someone carved the crap out of the stall. We haven't fixed it yet if you would like to see it," he says. He calls for some girl to come out of the back room and then he walks around the counter to the men's room door, key in hand. "Where is it?" I ask, my heart pounding. This could be my last hope. Please, Mulder, make it good. "You'll see why I thought high school kids did it," he says as he unlocks the door and swings it open for me. The bathroom looks like most convenience store bathrooms. One toilet. One sink. Not a series of stalls or urinals. Get the key from the guy at the front and lock yourself in here. One person. For Krycek to follow Mulder in here would have looked out of place and would have attracted attention. There on the side panel separating the sink from the toilet is a big heart carved with God only knows what. A knife? A pen? Fingernails? It is on the side away from main door, where one wouldn't see it unless they came in. Inside of the heart is a the only thing that makes me believe it isn't the work of a kid. There is what could only be an M and an S. They look like a child wrote them, the S uneven and the lines of the M not meeting up perfectly. But that is what they are. The plus sign between the initials is actually two arrows. One pointing up. One pointing to the right. And he was rushed. Krycek was probably right outside the door. Yet in the pictures, it doesn't look like Mulder is being restrained in any way. They look like two friends out for a weekend of camping. I know that isn't the case. He would have told me. He wouldn't have had to carve this into this bathroom stall. He would have just gone on his way without leaving any evidence that he was here. Dylan brought me those photos for a reason. Now I just have to figure it out. I can't imagine how many people might have used this stall since then. And the nearest field office is in Seattle. Or Spokane? Or is it Salt Lake City? I can't even think right now. Skinner doesn't even know I'm here. He doesn't even know about the pictures. This quite possibly be nothing, but this has to be investigated. This could be his last message to us. He knew I would find him. My finger slowly traces over the heart and then the letters. I know I'm disturbing evidence. I don't care right now. My stomach starts to tumble around again as I carefully trace the M and then the S. I have to hold it together. I have to follow through on this. I look at the arrows linking the initials together. It must mean something. Why in the hell didn't Mulder just write in where they were going? Maybe he doesn't even know. Maybe Krycek was watching. It is bad enough he did this. "So, that man is your partner?" Carl asks from over my shoulder and I barely heard him through the rushing sound in my ears. "Yeah, something like that," I respond, trying to pull myself back to the task at hand. I have to stay focused. I have no choice. "Carl, can I use your phone?" "Did you ever consider the possibility that Mulder went with Krycek willingly?" Skinner asks over the phone, and I cannot believe my ears. Yeah, Mulder and Krycek have been best buds since the day they met and now they are finally getting around to that camping trip they always dreamed about. I think their last 'trip' together was enough for both of them. "I doubt that, sir. Maybe once he would have, but not now," I say, trying to convince myself as I say those words. He might not have known that he would be going with Krycek when he agreed to this. But he knew he was going with that black-lunged bastard. "I don't think I have to remind you that Krycek has the capability ..." "I remember," I say, recalling a exceptionally bad period of our lives. And Skinner's. "I will arrange to have someone from Seattle look into it, Agent Scully. He's still a missing federal agent. Hopefully, he isn't lost in that park, but I'll contact the NPS. I don't know any reason they would be in that part of Montana, but I doubt they are out looking at the flora and fauna," Skinner says. "Thank you, sir," I say. I hear nothing back from him for a few seconds. "I feel that you would be more valuable here at home with your family," he says bluntly. I knew it was coming. As soon as I told him where I am, he got that tone in his voice. I went off on my own, and now he has to reign me back in. "I will be home shortly, sir," I say, and hang up the phone. I'm still at the convenience store using their pay phone. The parking lot is filled with cars and people keep coming and going. Yet I have this urge to stand here. It is the last place I knew where to look for him. The last place I knew he walked across. I don't know what I expect to find here. Nothing. I already know I'm going to find nothing. Glacier National Park "That is a damn lot of land to cover," Reid says to me. We are on the Going-To-The-Sun Road, through Glacier National Park. And he is right. It *is* a damn lot of land to cover. A lot of beautiful, mountainous land that I would love to be able to appreciate. I just can't do that right now. Reid flew out as soon as he could. I called him last night with an update, and he got Skinner's permission to get out here ASAP. I'm sure Skinner expected him to come here and escort me back to DC, where I 'would be more valuable.' It isn't going to happen that way just yet. "If they are out there, I don't know how ..." I start to say as my eyes scan mile upon mile of terrain. The park rangers couldn't say whether they saw Krycek and Mulder enter the park on any of the 'traditional' routes. It is summer and the park has a lot of visitors. Or so everybody keeps reminding us. They would do their best to look for them, but since we can't even say that they definitely entered the park, they didn't know where to begin searching. I just hope the damn bears don't eat them. Well, they can eat Krycek. "Ever do any back country camping, Agent Scully?" he asks me. "You can call me Scully. You were just at my son's birthday party a few days ago. No need to get formal now," I say, and he nods. "And, no. I've never done any back country camping. Not intentionally anyway." He just keeps driving. What we expect to find, I don't know. Everywhere we go, every turn we make, there's another mountain. Or valley. Just one more picturesque view, but not what I'm looking for. I can't even think anymore. "And this man, this Krycek, was Mulder's partner once?" Reid asks as he concentrates on where he is going. Driving through these mountains can be a little unnerving to someone who just does city driving. I'm sure Mulder has told Reid next to nothing about the past. I doubt that Mulder even trusts Reid yet. But I have no one else to turn to right now. Not unless I want to go hiking with the boys. "Krycek was his partner but not for very long. I'm not sure of the exact details of how it ended, because I was gone ... " I start to say. I don't know what details he wants to hear. I'm not even sure of what he believes yet. "I read the file," Reid says. I wonder what other files he has read? I'm only in a couple of them, but some of them I'd just rather have no one know about. And I'm sure Krycek has been mentioned in at least one. "Anyway, Mulder and Krycek seem to do a lot of unplanned traveling together. Hong Kong. Russia. And now the Rocky Mountains. I don't know what Krycek promised him this time. I never know how he does it. He just does," I say, wishing I had that power. Of course, I don't ever wave bits of information in front of Mulder and promise him more if he just follows me. "I certainly don't know Agent Mulder as well as you do ... professionally and personally, of course, but are you sure he wouldn't go with Krycek willingly? After all, he's done it before. Who's to say he wouldn't do it again?" Reid asks. I ponder his question for just a few moments. Just as I have pondered it everyday now since I figured out he was missing somewhere. At one time, I wouldn't be able to say. Mulder would have just gone off without even a phone call to me. But now? "First of all, things are a little different now. He is responsible to more than himself and that ever elusive truth he is chasing," I say. I turn my head to look out the passenger window. I get an impressive view of the side of a mountain just a few feet away. "Second, I'm pregnant." Reid says nothing. Maybe in his mind that isn't even enough to make Mulder stay. I still have doubts myself. But if Mulder did this willingly, why the convenience store? Even if the bathroom scribblings aren't his, why the video camera? "I'm just sure he wouldn't have done this. Not this time," I say. "Well, then there is only one thing we can do. Find him," Reid says as we both look out over the park. It is a daunting task. He might not even be in there. "I'm just not certain how to go about doing that." "Neither am I." Outside Glacier National Park The clear Montana sky seems to go on forever before me. The stars twinkle on their dark canvas and there are no city lights anywhere. Only a faint glow comes from small motel behind me, the darkness overwhelming it before it reaches me. I'm somewhere in Western Montana. I don't even know where. I am lost. I'm hardly ever lost. I am now. I sit here in the chilly night air, shivering but not doing anything about it. I'm too tired. I don't even know whether I'm shivering because I'm cold or because my heart is empty. And alone. It's just me and the stars. And our baby. But I'm not ready for the sun to come up yet, no matter how cold I am. That will just mean more time has passed since you left. Another day and night further away from where I know to look for you. The night seems to go by slower than the day. Maybe because I can't do anything to help. It was just the other night you taught Christopher to wish upon a star. Before the fireworks but after the first 'star' came out. You explained to him that it was just the planet Venus, but it would do for now. He was enthralled with everything you had to say, everything you were showing him. You told him to wish for whatever he wanted and that nothing was too big. Then I asked you what you were wishing for, and you just looked at me and smiled. You told me that you had most everything you wished for. You couldn't possibly have left us just a few days after that? How does one go from teaching their son to make wishes to running across the country with a person that deserves no trust? How does one go from saying they have most everything they've ever wished for to leaving all that behind? I guess you really didn't have everything you were wishing for. But I knew that. There will always be more. There is always that one thing we can't give you. Answers. Here I am, out under this wide expanse of sky, hanging wishes on each and every star. I don't know what else to do. What would you do, Mulder? Did you ever wish on a star for me, when I was gone? Did you ever make a wish hoping that you would just open your eyes and I would be there? However you felt about me way back then, intensify it by a thousand. A million. Or more. That is what I feel now. I cannot grasp either possibility of how this happened. Whether they forced you or you went willingly, one is as bad as the other. Yet, perhaps I am really hoping you had no choice. That thought is easier to understand. Easier to accept. No matter how hard I try to delay it, I feel sleep beginning to wash over me. At least in sleep I can dream that everything is normal. I can believe in what I know not to be true. I am somewhere in that nebulous stage between the waking and sleeping when I feel someone behind me. My heart wants it to be Mulder, but my mind knows better. Wishes don't work that way. "Scully, it is too cold out here. Why don't you go back to your room?" Reid asks, as he wraps a blanket around my shoulders. I look up at him in the faint light and I can tell he's been sleeping for awhile now. "I just ..." I start to say, but don't know how to explain what I'm feeling to anyone. He sits on a chair next to me and we say nothing to each other for several minutes. "Once when I was a child, I went camping with my family. In the middle of the night I wandered off. I really don't know why. Perhaps just to explore. My mother says I was always doing that," Reid says thoughtfully, and I hope this does not go into some light in the sky story. "Anyway, the sun came up and I was hopelessly lost. I didn't do anything they told me to do. I didn't stop in one spot and stay there. I kept going and going. Before I knew it, night began to fall again." "Reid, if this is ..." I interrupt. "I promise. I will tell the whole story without once mentioning extraterrestrial biological entities," he says with a smile. He has been with Mulder for too long. "Okay. Since you promised," I say and he continues. "Finally, I stopped moving. I couldn't move anymore. I was scared and cold and tired. I had no choice but to sit down. And they found me. In one hour they found me. Mulder and this Alex Krycek must have a destination. When they get there, they will stop and we will find him," Reid says. He puts his hand over mine and gives it a quick squeeze before pulling it away. Then he stands to go. "Hey, Reid," I call out to him. He turns to look at me. "Thanks." I look back up to the stars and pray that they make it to that destination soon. Scully-Mulder House I walk into my kitchen to find Frohike standing there with a pan in hand, frying something. He has on some obnoxious apron that I know isn't mine and a bandanna wrapped around his head like a short order cook at some grimy truck stop. "Back from Big Sky Country so soon?" Frohike asks, as he turns the burner off and puts a lid on whatever that is stinking up the kitchen. It is damn near driving me to the bathroom to puke. "Are you okay, Agent Scully? Did you get airsick?" "Frohike, what is that?" I ask him, already recognizing the smell. It is something with liver. "And what are you doing here anyway?" "Baby-sitting. He's upstairs sleeping. Your mother had to drop Everett off at the airport. You probably passed each other," Frohike says, as he starts to cook potatoes. Oh no. "Where is Soprano?" I ask. I really don't have any idea what day this is. Reid made sure I got in my car and out of the parking lot. Then I somehow made my way home by rote memory. "Sophie is at school taking an exam. I offered to watch Kit while everyone was gone. Are you sure you wouldn't like something to eat?" Frohike asks ever so nicely. I wonder how much he's been around that everybody is now known by their nicknames? "No. Go ahead," I tell him and wander off to my office by the kitchen, hoping my stomach holds. "So, did you find anything?" Frohike asks. "Not a damn thing outside of Kalispell. It appears as if Mulder disappeared off the face of the earth," I say with a sigh. It is everything I can do to keep it all together. I have only lost my composure twice since I left for Montana. Now is not the time to lose it again. "Why is my mother going to the airport?" "Her boyfriend's one grandson is graduating from college soon. He's going to spend time with them, I guess," he tells me. Frohike is filling me in on what my family is doing. How in the hell did this all ever happen? "I remember. She mentioned that earlier this week," I say. I'm having trouble remembering things. This has just been too much stress and I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to hold up under the strain. I dig through the pile of papers on my desk, including the mail and a week's worth of newspapers. I had to come home without finding him. I had to see my son. I could have just kept wandering Montana forever and never even put a dent into the places they could be. Something tucked away in the corner of the front page of one of the papers catches my eye. It is from two days after Mulder disappeared. I read it slowly, carefully, trying to put all the pieces together in my head. They only point in one direction. One gigantic set up. "Frohike, what do you know about this?" I ask, holding out the paper to him. "'Senator Paul Erickson of New Mexico joyously welcomes missing father home'," Frohike reads out loud, his eyes growing wide. "Isn't he the dude who had the two of you sent to New Mexico to find his mother?" "I think he is the 'dude' responsible for a whole hell of a lot more than that," I say, as I pick up the phone and start dialing. Senate Executive Offices "Agent Scully, what can I do for you today?" Senator Erickson says as I walk through his office door. He is so glib sitting there behind his big desk, the springs of his chair squeaking as he leans forwards. "I want to know where he is and I want to know now," I bark at him, not even taking a seat. He can just try to call security and have me thrown out. "Where who is?" he asks innocently. He's a damn politician. Of course he knows how to lie and hide it behind a contemptible grin. "Agent Mulder. I'm sure you are familiar with him," I say. He motions for me to sit and even though I don't want to, I do it. If I have to play along with him to get him to talk, then I will. "Agent Scully, you really should calm down. This can't be good for the baby," he says, looking over his desk and focusing in on my abdomen. "I can see by the look on your face that you are wondering how I knew." "Yes. That would be a fair question. I'm sure a United States Senator has better things to do than follow the life of two FBI agents," I say, my voice malicious now. He shouldn't know these things. "On the contrary, these children are of a particular interest to me. Their creation guarantees my future safety," he says. There is a wide smirk plastered across his face, as if he takes pleasure in tampering with people's lives. Tampering with my life. "Your father was never missing. You set us up. You arranged that meeting using your father as bait. What happened? Did Agent Fowley show up on that hill instead of me so you had to kill her?" I ask. My eyes are narrowed at him, but he is not intimidated by me. Not yet anyway. "That did put us in a predicament. A lot of things would have been easier if you had been there instead of her. But she wanted to prevent the project from going on. She was stupid," Senator Erickson says without a hint of remorse in his voice. "So, where did you create this child? What lab was it in?" I ask him. I've figured that part all out. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I couldn't have a child without their outside intervention. Never. And it hurts that they did this for their own purposes. This child was not created out of love. She was created in a lab somewhere from what they stole so they could use her someday. I will never let them. I will die first. "Somewhere out in the New Mexico desert. It was easy, really. They already have your ova, so all they had to do was obtain a sample from Agent Mulder and presto! They made a baby. With the help of your body, of course," he says as he leans back into his chair. It squeaks again under the strain. I hope he tips backwards. "Who were you working with to do this? Who arranged all of this in New Mexico?" I ask him and he remains silent. He merely sits up in his chair and folds his hands on his desk. He thinks he's in control here. "Tell me, dammit or I'll blow the lid of this whole damn thing." He just blinks twice at me. And then his eyes narrow as if he is trying to tell if I'm bluffing. "Alex Krycek," he finally answers. Oh fuck. That was the voice I heard when I first woke up under Mulch's 'excellent' care. I knew I had heard it before. God damn it. I knew he had to be in on this from the start. And now he has Mulder in God only knows were Western Montana. Or even farther now. I don't understand any of it. Why Mulch? Why kill those other women and plant those pictures? So we would get thrown off the case? They obviously needed us there. There are too many sides to this mess battling each other and we are stuck in the crossfire. "Will that be all today, Agent Scully? I really do have to get some work done," he asks as he starts flipping through some paperwork. "No. One more thing. What exactly is 'Project Weather Control.' I think after all of this I deserve to know. And you are the man with my answers," I say to him, my voice as cold as a flagpole in January. He contemplates the question for a moment before leaning closer to me. "It is going to be what saves you and your family. Be glad you have been chosen to be a part of it. Many won't be. Many will do anything they can to be a part of it, when the time comes. Now if that is all ..." he says, nodding at the door. I leave him without looking back. So that makes two people telling me we will be 'saved' and we have been 'chosen.' The Biblical implications are not lost on me. Dylan said they would be sanctioned by God to kill us. Who in the hell came up with that? Where in the hell is Mulder when I need him? He should be the one stuck with this knowledge and I should be the one doubting every word of it. It always comes down to one thing. Different variations on one theme, all so carefully orchestrated, but it is still means the same. Someone's idea of Armageddon for the human race. Scully-Mulder House I am sitting on my bed in the middle of the night staring at his dress shirts lined up neatly in the closet. They are laundered and pressed and just waiting for someone I can't find. What if he never comes back? Would the day ever come that I would be able to take them out of there? I don't know how Mom did it after Dad died. She took her time and we didn't help. She said she had to do it on her own. She had to let go. Mom packed up whatever clothes he had that was in good condition and donated it somewhere. His Navy uniforms still hang in the closet, though. But Mulder isn't dead. He lives some charmed existence and I know someday I will have to face a closet full of his clothes... or he will have to face mine ... but today is not that day. I would know if he was dead. I'm sure of it. It is amazing how two people end up together. If you change any factor, no matter how large or small, it might not have ever happened. I could have been a physician. He could have stayed with ISU. We would have never met. That can be taken further back. If Samantha was never abducted. If my dad wasn't in the Navy. Would we be the same people? These things form our lives and make us what we are, yet we won't ever know what the difference would be. This is how it had to be. If any tiny thing had been different, Christopher might have never been. And the baby. It makes me glad that everything happened exactly as it did. I wouldn't change a day. And whatever Mulder is doing out there had to be, too. Even though I want to kill him. I finally turn off the light and lie down, holding his pillow close to me. Slightly childish, I know, but I can't help myself. It helps me fall asleep. The ringing phone startles me and I grab it before it can even ring twice. "Hello?" I say, not knowing who would be calling me at this hour with any news that could be good. Phone calls in the middle of the night rarely bring good tidings. "Scully, it's me," he says and my heart begins to race. It takes me several seconds to get control of my voice. "Mulder, where are you?" I ask, containing the urge to scream at him. My head is spinning with all the questions I want him to answer. I want explanations. He says nothing, as if he has to carefully ponder where he might be. "In Canada," he finally answers. He sounds tired and confused. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to fly out there in the morning?" I ask, trying to keep the FBI agent and doctor part of my life at the forefront. And keep in check the shrewish 'wife' who wants to know where in the hell he has been. "No. I'm fine, Scully. We will home soon. I hope," he says, and my brain picks up on the word 'we' immediately. "*We* Mulder?" I ask. Who in the hell ... ? "Yeah, Scully. We. I've got to go," and with that he is gone. The End Author's End Notes: I know. This story wasn't nice of me. But I was getting tired of their nice little life with birthday parties and fireworks. Trust me, it will all get better.
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