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Title: Puzzles Summary:The family is coming together. What about everything else? FBI Headquarters "A joint effort by the American and Canadian governments has turned up nothing in the way of any kind of ... community such as you described outside of Jasper, Alberta," Skinner says, his eyes moving from me to Scully and then back again. "Without proof ..." "Proof? The damn proof is living in my house right now," I snap. How could they have dismantled that subterranean village they had so quickly? It would be next to impossible to do. "You're right, Agent Mulder. That child is all the proof you have that such a place ever existed. And apparently it is important that there be no proof," Skinner says, his implications not falling on deaf ears. "Would they kill her to cover it up? They would have to kill me, too. I was there. And Scully knows about it," I say. Scully shifts in the seat next to mine, trying to get comfortable. We have been sitting here for over an hour and I'm sure she would love to get up and stretch but she says nothing. "Next matter," he says, not answering my question. Of course they would kill her if it's that important to cover up. She means nothing to them. Or at least that is what they would like us to believe. "An investigation into the late Agent Fowley's life in Germany didn't turn up any indication that she ever had a child. She lived in the same one bedroom apartment the whole time she was there. The landlord of fifteen years doesn't recall ever seeing a child with her. Her counter terrorism associates, including her partner, Agent Ned Jamison, state that if she had a child, they didn't know about it." "Well, once again ... the proof is living in my house right now. The DNA test performed in the lab here indicates that Kestrel is indeed Agent Fowley and my child," I say, catching Scully turning her head to look away. We've come to terms with it at home, but it is still uncomfortable to talk about with others. Of course, I've considered the fact that every memory she recalled at Dr. Werber's office could have been manufactured. She might not have known her mother. She could have been taught certain phrases in German. It could all be part of the lie. "No one is denying that she is your child, Agent Mulder. We are just having a hard time finding any evidence that she existed before you met her," Skinner says and Scully looks at him. "How many children do you think are out there? Children like this one ... like my daughter, Emily? They are coming from somewhere and they deserve a better life," Scully says, her voice betraying her irritation. "They have parents. Somewhere, they all have parents." "Who says the parents aren't partially responsible for this? Agent Mulder's first story was that Agent Fowley willing gave up this child when she was an infant. Now the assumption is she was taken from her. Like I said, there is no tangible proof that she ever existed before the day Agent Mulder found her," Skinner says, glaring at us. I suppose this is just one more problem we brought to the table. "That doesn't change the fact that she does exist now. And somewhere, there are more children just like her. Someone is responsible," I say, looking at Scully. "Find the responsible person, Agent Mulder. Then we can do something," Skinner says. "Until then, I don't know what to tell you." "I told you not to let him go, Dana," someone says behind me, startling me. My keys hit the floor in the parking garage and the clattering sound echoes loudly. "Everything is fine," I say, turning around to find Dylan standing about two feet from me. He reaches down and retrieves my keys, placing them in my outstretched hand. "Sure. It is fine now. But you can't even imagine what is coming in the future," he says, a smug look crossing his face. "Try me," I say, wishing he would tell me something of value just once. "Just tell me what is coming to get us all." "I can't." "Then leave me alone," I say, opening my car door. I'm tempted to hit the panic button on the key chain and let him know exactly what happens to someone accosting a pregnant agent in the parking garage. But he puts his hand over mine before I can give it a second thought. "People will die. Simply to prevent anyone from finding out where she came from. It's that important," he says, cautiously moving his hand from mine. "Are you sure that is why? Or is she upsetting your plans?" I say, resting my hand on my rounded stomach. He doesn't answer right away, but I can tell from the flicker in his eyes that I've hit upon something. He once told me that there could be no other. That *my* children were the only ones that could exist. Obviously, he was wrong. "I have no plans of my own, Dana. I only know the plans of others," he says. His voice mellows out, trying to soothe me. He is afraid I will call security. Afraid I will find out who he is. "Others who are very powerful." "Then tell me their plans," I say, but he remains silent. "Fine. I have better things to do." I make my move to get in the car and stop when he places his hand on my shoulder. "I don't want her to die. I don't want anybody to die. But Agent Mulder went looking for something he was never supposed to find," he tells me, his voice still low. "He went looking? Someone led him there." "I know all about Alex Krycek. He knew exactly what he was doing when he took Mulder there. He knows the consequences," Dylan says, looking disgusted at the mere mention of Krycek. "Dylan, why don't you just tell me what those consequences are? Until you do that, there is really nothing I can do but go on with my life. For years, I have had men tell me what the future is going to bring, right down to Mulder himself. You want to know something? It doesn't really matter today, right at this moment. Right now, all that matters is that my family is happy," I tell him as I finally get into the car. He holds the door open. "Dana, I want nothing more than for you to be happy ... but you don't know what is coming -" he starts to say before I cut him off. "Maybe I don't want to know. You want to know why? Because nobody ever gives me what I need to change the future. You want me to march along like an obedient little soldier, following orders on your mission. But until you tell me what it is you want me to do to make your mission complete, I can't help you," I tell him, trying to shut the door. I just want to get away from him. From this. "Put the pieces together, Dana. Figure out why that child is going to destroy everything I've worked so hard -" "You've worked hard?" "Everything we've worked so hard to create. Figure out that one thing, and you will know what you have to do. You can prevent it from happening," he says, once again not giving me the damn answer. "Dylan, just tell me," I implore, wishing he'd not hide behind these half truths. "It goes back further than you think. More people knew she existed than you ever imagined. Figure out why it was so damn important to get rid of her," he says sharply as he turns on his heel and walks away from me. "And what will that get me?" I ask. He turns around briefly, his eyes holding mine, looking desperate. What is it? Why can't he just help me? "A way to plan for the future. Dana, you have to figure out how you want your life to be at the end. It can end good. Or bad. It's all up to you," he says before he disappears in between a row of cars. "You were right about one thing," Agent Reid says as he comes through the office door with a pile of folders in his hands. "That's a surprise," I say, setting the phone down. I can't get a hold of Scully even though she should have been back to her office by now. He puts the files down on my desk and they all slide toward me, spilling over a cup of coffee as they go. "Sorry," he says, as he grabs a roll of paper towels and hands it to me. Great. Just one more mess for me to clean up. "What was I right about?" I ask, sopping up the mess and throwing it in the garbage can. Reid sits across from me and leans back. "Richard and Lorraine Fowley did purchase two properties from you," he says. He reaches for a pencil off of my desk and begins to roll it between his fingers. "Two?" I ask, shocked. Richard Fowley had a well paying job with a big name company, but that would be a lot of cash to have lying around. And I do know they paid cash. "Yes. Two. One on the Vineyard in ..." he says, fumbling for the name. "Chilmark," I supply. "Chilmark. That's it. And that other one," he says, looking for me to help him before he even attempts to say it. "Quonochontaug," I say easily. "They bought those two, though apparently they turned around and sold the ..." "Quonochontaug," I say more slowly this time. "Sold that one right away, keeping only the Chilmark one," he says. I did not tell him everything yet. He does not know from where Samantha disappeared, just that she did. Reid probably thinks that I have led the most bizarre life as it is. Nothing is ever simple. Nothing is ever normal. Even these people buying these properties cannot be a mere coincidence. "What about the house in West Tisbury? Who bought that one?" I ask. I sold that one just a short time after the other two. "A holding company located in Amsterdam from what I can tell. No one name can be traced to that particular property and it has yet to be occupied since you sold it," he says, pleased that he found all that out in an afternoon. "The money they used to buy those properties came from somewhere. Can you find out where?" I ask. Since my return, Reid and I have only been assigned one actual case. We both almost got killed. Nothing was ever solved. Just like working with Scully. Only not as much fun. "No problem," he says, but he doesn't make a move. "Can I ask you something?" "Maybe," I say, finally finding the folder with the information about the Dutch company that owns the West Tisbury house. "Are you sure Agent Fowley even knew?" he asks and I look at him, wanting him to continue. "Well, from what you told me about Agent Scully and your sister, maybe they just used her. Maybe she had no idea ... maybe she was abducted, too." "I don't know," I say. I only know what I've been told. I don't know what is a lie and what is the truth anymore. "It's something to think about," he says, as he walks out the door. All I need is one more thing to think about. Scully-Mulder Household I turn on the lamp in the living room and it illuminates what I almost just tripped over. Mulder and Christopher are sleeping on the floor on top of Chris' play quilt. Mulder has an arm over his son, holding him tight. My living room has been turned into a construction zone. There's some Duplo Block monstrosity that weaves around the coffee table and almost looks like the Great Wall of China. And there is a tower, for lack of a better word, on the coffee table. Just blocks built straight up as high as they can go, supported by multicolored flying buttresses. I lower myself down on the couch and put my feet up, trying not to knock anything over. My ankles are the size of my knees right now. Too much time spent in places where I couldn't elevate my legs today. "Are you going to make it another three months?" Mulder asks. How long has he been watching me? I'm showing more this pregnancy than I did with the first. Or at least I think I am. January seems so far away right now and I don't remember being this large at six months the first time around. Of course, every pregnancy is different. I haven't even wanted to be within a mile of potatoes this time. "Do I have a choice?" I say, rubbing my belly and getting kicked for my effort. "Not much of one," he says, yawning and rolling over so he can look at me. "I'm beginning to suspect you were an architect in another life, Mulder," I say, moving the tower over with my foot so I have an unobstructed view. "I'm beginning to suspect I should have been an architect in this life," he says dryly. Christopher stirs a little but doesn't wake up. It is past his bedtime and I am glad to see he's in his pajamas and doesn't need to be roused from his slumber to get ready for bed. "What's the matter?" I ask. "Trouble at school," he says with a sigh. He rolls on to his side and looks at Christopher. His hand goes to our son's hair and smooths over his glossy locks. He hasn't had his first haircut yet and the auburn ends are starting to curl. "What kind of trouble?" I ask. Kessie has only been in school for a month and this isn't the first time there has been a problem. "The teachers think Kessie is bored. She's way ahead of any of the other students in the curriculum. I guess she gets irritated when they cover something she already knows. And she seems very nervous. Or so that is what the teachers tell me," he says. "What other options do we have right now? It is the best school in the area and until we can work on getting a dual enrollment with the college, I don't know what else to do," I say, looking around for signs of her. "Where is Kessie?" "Spending the night with Soprano. They are going shopping tomorrow for something," he says. Oh, so that is the reason she asked for some money this morning. Mulder's birthday is in a few days. It is the first family birthday since she's arrived. Mulder is still touching Chris' hair. His expression changes so much when he is watching his son. Years wash away and he softens into a different person. Some one with less regrets. Less worries. Yet, I know one of his biggest worries is that little boy sleeping next to him. And the little one tucked under my heart. And his daughter. "So, she gets in trouble at school and then gets to go spend the night with her best friend," I say, sounding more critical than I planned. "Scully, I have no idea what to say to an eleven year old girl. I hardly know her. Since that episode at Dr. Werber's office, I don't know what to believe. And I'm learning day by day exactly how hard my parents had it. So please don't comment on my parenting skills right now," he says, his eyes betraying exactly how tired he is. "I'm sorry," I say. I know how hard it is. We are still learning with Christopher, let alone with this little girl who's life has been turned upside down. Luckily she has Soprano. Soprano is always taking Kessie with her where ever she goes. She is like a big sister to her. Kessie has even attended some of Soprano's classes at the University. That was when the troubles with school started. Kessie got to see what else is out there. I'm certainly glad that Kessie has found someone to be close to. With a small child and another on the way, I hardly make the ideal candidate. I wish I could do more for her. Sometimes I don't think she wants more. We have our moments here and there, but I think she is afraid of me. "Those two seem to be quite fond of each other," I say. "Yes, they are," he says, rolling back around to look at me. "But not as fond as I am of you." Her round form presses against me, reminding me just how fused our lives really are. Yes, it has been years since we could have untied one life from the other, but now, we are bound forever. I slip in and out of her body, as we rock against each other slowly. Side by side, her one hand is resting on my cheek, warm and soft. Her eyes do not break their contact with mine. They are filled with want and desire. And love. We hardly get any time alone now that we have a house full of children who all sleep at different hours. Or else Scully is scared Kestrel will hear something. The child knows far too much as it is. Of course, I remember walking in on my parents when I was young. After that show, I'm surprised I could ever get it up in my life. Scully pushes against me, meeting each thrust I make with remarkable ease. It is hard to believe she is six months pregnant in more ways than one. The last time, she wouldn't let me touch her in the third trimester. She was worried she was unattractive. I would like to believe that after more than a year, she knows she will never be that to me. She has changed so much since our first time, and I don't just mean her body. At some point, she figured out what is really important in life. I'm still struggling with it, not knowing how to balance what I want with what I have. "Please. Yes," she whispers, moving enough to allow me better access to her. She is more sensitive than ever, especially her breasts. They are hard to resist, so full and round, but I don't want to hurt her. Her eyes finally close as I feel her body begin to contract, her muscles clenching around me. I stop, letting her ride through the waves of her orgasm. I love to watch her face acquiesce to an expression of pure pleasure. "Good?" I ask when she opens her eyes again. "You always are," she says, smiling. "So are you," I say, kissing her fervently before I begin sinking into her again. She smells of baby powder, a scent so soft it is barely there. It replaces any of the fragrances she was laced with long ago. No more perfumes. Not since the first time she was pregnant. "What are you thinking about?" she asks, noticing I'm not fully into the task at hand. "I'm thinking about you," I answer, thrusting into her. She pushes back against me, countering my move. "That's good, considering where you are," Scully says with a grin. "Nothing like that," I say, smiling at her. How could she even imagine I'd be thinking of someone else? "I was just thinking how beautiful you are. Always have been." She looks down in between us at her pregnant body and sighs. "Mulder ..." "And that makes you even more beautiful," I say, silencing her with the force of my thrusts. Within seconds, I'm coming inside of her, my mind not able to focus on anything for a moment. When I finally can open my eyes again, she's watching me with a smirk on her face. "You're so cute when you come," she says, reaching up to ruffle my damp hair. "Oh, that's just what a man wants to hear," I say, sliding out and placing my hand on her stomach. I feel something slide across. Hand? Foot? Elbow? "She's glad her parents love each other as much as they do." "I think she's also happy that her parents love her as much as they do even though we have yet to meet her." "You think so?" I ask, pondering how safe and warm she is in there. And how frightening and cold it is out here in the world. "Yes, I do." October 13, 2002 "Happy Birthday, Dad. This is from me and Chris," Kessie says, handing Mulder his present from her. Without even discussing it, she decided to call him dad. It happened soon after the incident in Werber's office,' I'm still Dana. I think it might have something to do with calling a grown man 'Fox' but I'm not certain. Mulder shifts Christopher so he sitting next to him on the floor instead of on his lap and opens the package. Inside he finds a new baseball cap and passes to some local batting cage. "Thank you," he says, putting the hat on. "You said, right after we first met, um ... that you'd like to teach me ... us ... about baseball. I thought we could all go there," she says, her eyes passing over all of us. Kessie can be so shy, but then the next moment I'll find the two of them in animated conversation about some obscure concept an eleven year old shouldn't know yet. Sometimes, I think she is only this way around me. As if she feels she's invading my territory. She isn't. He is her father and that is forever. Am I forever? I would like to think so. I look down at my left hand to where my ring usually is. I've been too swollen to wear it lately. It rests upstairs in the box it came in, tucked safely in a drawer. All that remains on my hand is a slight red area where the ring normally is. Yes. Forever. If there is such a thing. Mulder and Kessie play a game of peek-a-boo with Chris, hiding behind their hands and making him squeal with delight. He is still such a baby. No matter if he walks or is starting to talk. He's my baby. Always will be. That is one thing that is forever. I have yet to tell Mulder about that visit I had with Dylan in the parking garage. His warnings make no sense to me yet. I wish for once, the truth would just make itself evident and we can get on with our lives. A normal life. Is it that hard to obtain? And if we ever obtain it, could we hold it? I feel the baby move, kicking me gently somewhere deep inside. I pat her back, recognizing her very precious existence. "Scully, Kessie wants to order pizza for dinner. Did you have any other plans?" Mulder asks. I shake myself from my thoughts to discover three faces with six eyes of nearly the same shade looking at me. I hope this baby gets my eyes so there's a break in the pattern. "Sounds great to me," I say, smiling. This is as near to normal as we are ever going to get. November 17, 2002 The shrill sound of my cell phone makes me jump, breaking my concentration. I have to answer it even though I'm freezing my ass off while up to my knees in unexplained leathered corpses. There's always a chance it could be Scully calling with an emergency. "Mulder," I answer, signaling for Reid to take over what I was doing. The reception fades in and out down here in this pit, but I finally find a spot that works. "Come get me, Dad." Kessie. Calling me for the third time this week, asking me to pick her up at school. At least she isn't crying hysterically this time. "Kessie, I'm not in DC today. Besides, I can't come pick you up every time you have a problem," I say, pushing down my latex glove enough to look at my watch. She only has one hour left until she goes home anyway. There's only silence on the other end. Damn, this parenting thing is harder than I thought it would be. I can't be everywhere at once. Here I am, standing in someone's secret ritualistic burial ground with everybody staring at me talking to my kid. I'm sure they are eager to get out of this cold, stinking hole and I'm now holding them up with an eleven year old's problems. "I don't want to be here," she says, pleading with me. She's not as manipulative as her mother and I hope she doesn't learn how to be. I know she isn't fond of the school we put her in, but there isn't a lot we can do about it just yet. She really doesn't fit in anywhere yet. Too intellectually advanced for these people, yet too emotionally immature for higher education. And a parent with no time to deal with it right at the moment. "You only have one more hour. I'll call Soprano and have her pick you up so you don't have to ride the bus home. How about that?" I ask. She doesn't seem to see that there's no way in hell I could be back there in time anyway. "I'm not coming back here. You can't make me come back here," she says, the tears flowing now. "I'll try to make it home tonight. I can't make any promises, but I'll call Scu -- Dana and tell her you're upset. I doubt she'll be home late considering ... well, just considering. And you'll be with Soprano," I say, offering her all I can at the moment. "I'm not staying here," she says, trying my patience. "Kestrel, I'm standing here in a pit ... of things you don't even want to know about. I do have to work. And until you tell me what the problem is today at school, I really can't help you," I say, my voice growing a little too loud considering where I am. When in the hell did my life turn into this? She hangs up, leaving me with just silence on the other end. I end the call before punching the one number that gets me to Scully. "Scully, it's me. Can you do me a favor?" I pull in front of the Crayton-Eastman Academy and find Kessie sitting on a park bench, wrapped up in a jacket and waiting. I tried to get Soprano to come here, but she said Christopher was finally taking a nap. He's had a cold all week and hasn't been sleeping at night, so instead of disturbing his rest, I left work early to come get her. No one says anything these days when I leave early. I'm huge and look like a dog just about to have puppies. The only thing I don't do is pace around looking for a place to drop. Besides that, I have two more months to go. Two long and miserable months. She climbs into the car and slams her door, shaking everything. "Bad day?" I ask. "I don't want to go here," she says. That's what Mulder said she was going to say. And this is the conversation we've been having for over a month. "Honey, we will find a school better suited for you as soon as it is winter break. Can you make it until then?" I ask her. She doesn't look at me. Just focuses on the windshield in front of her. "Can you?" "I'll try," she says, her eyes narrowing and her arms going across her chest. "Put on your seatbelt," I say, and she begrudgingly tugs it around her and clicks it in place. My own belt keeps trying to ride up my abdomen, but I keep shoving it back down to where it is the safest as we leave the school yard. "Can you tell me what happened?" "I want to talk to my father," she says, giving me the cold shoulder with that little extra emphasis on 'my father.' Well, I'm not letting her get away with that. Genetics aside, we are both her parents and are both equally committed to raising her. "*Your father* won't be home for a while. He's working on a complicated case and his presence is required there. So, until he gets home, I'd like it if you talked to me," I say, trying to let her know how it is going to be. She is silent for several miles, only turning her head occasionally to look out the side window. She never looks my way. Something is wrong. Something more than attending a school that isn't challenging enough for her. And this little girl just doesn't feel she's free to open up to any of us completely yet. Except the nanny. Kessie is always talking to her. Maybe she knows the real problem. I'm sure if it was something serious, Soprano would tell us. "I'm just don't feel right there. I feel ... as if there is someone always watching me," she says. How do I assuage her fears when it very well may be true? From the moment Mulder took her out of whatever that place was and declared to the world that she was his child, she became a target for so many prying eyes. But somehow, we have to go on and try to have some sort of ordinary life. "Kessie, I know your life has changed drastically in the past few months and that everything is different, but we will always keep you safe," I say, wanting so much to reassure this child with no real place in the world yet. "Why?" she asks, and it reminds me of so many mindless questions I asked my parents when I was growing up. Questions without answers. "Because you have to?" "No, Kessie. Because we want to. And if there is anyone on earth that you can trust with your life ... someone who will never let you down ... someone who would ..." I start to say, finding myself swallowing hard before I can say the next words. "Someone who would even die to save you ... it is your father." "I know," is all she says, her voice barely rising above a whisper. She finally turns to look at me. "But, Dana. He can't be everywhere." "Thanks," I say, as the waitress sets a plate in front of me. "Do you need anything else?" she asks, her heart not really in it. She looks like she is about twenty-five years old and it is slowly dawning on her this is all her life is going to be. The frown isn't permanent yet, but it won't be long until it is. "No, this is enough for now," I say. She leaves me alone and sits behind the counter, filing her fingernails and cracking her gum. I spread out some papers in front of me, studying the copies of lab reports that were dropped off at my hotel a few hours ago. It was so much easier when Scully picked through these things. She always knew what to look for and what was out of place. Someone slides into the booth opposite of me, making me jump. I never heard the door open and close, even though there's a cow bell dangling from the handle. The waitress starts to come over, but he waves her off. It is the same man that tried to stop me at the airport after I had just found Kestrel. The same man I have vague memories of seeing elsewhere, but can never quite place where. "One of these days she is going to call you and when you don't go to her, the consequences are going to be severe. The child knows something is wrong. You need to listen to her," he says. He looks down at my papers, but they don't hold his attention for long. "She is a liability to a lot of people now." "Who now? Who is going to come after us now?" I ask, holding his stare. He is young, but there is something timeless about his demeanor. And he is most certainly confident. "Do you ever talk to your wife?" he asks, cocking his head and giving me some kind of all knowing smile. "She isn't my wife," I say, correcting his mistake. I gather up all the papers on the table and shove them into the folder. "She might as well be. What is a piece of paper after all? You have the house, the car, the kids ... all that is missing is a dog," he says, still smiling. "So, does she ever tell you about me? Does she tell you about anything she and I discuss?" "No." "That's too bad. We have really great discussions," he says, grabbing a french fry off of my plate and eating it. "I don't know who you are or what you want ..." I start to say, but he interrupts me. "My name is Dylan. That's all you need to know for right now. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself the last time we met. Of course, you are Special Agent Fox Mulder. The boy who was going to be 'it' but never quite made it there," he says, laughing a little. 'It' at what? My career? What my father was involved in? "That's me. Never quite making it anywhere," I say, taking a bite of my food. "All I'm here for is to tell you to take care of that girl. She's not supposed to be here, living with you and Dana. But beyond that, she's not even supposed to be at all. Figure out why she's here and half of your problems will be solved," he says, making it sound so easy. "What problems would those be?" I ask. It would take one hell of a big answer for half of my problems to be solved that easily. "Why she was hidden away in some mountain where she was never to be heard from again while people run around telling you your son is 'the one.' You must be curious as to what he is, aren't you?" he asks, teasing me along and not giving me answers. "He's a little boy who's stuck in the middle of a lot of shit his parents were already involved in," I say, not sure if I want to know more about him. I would like to think that he is just some kind of unexpected surprise in our lives. That everybody else is lying about having created him as if he's some damn emerald in a lab. "He's more than that, and you know it. He's not the issue right now. Your oldest daughter is. And what she might be able to tell you. But in order for you to ever find out, you've got to keep her safe. Remember that the next time she calls," he says, sliding out of the booth and walking away from me. "If she's not supposed to be alive, then why do you care?" I call after him. He turns around, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. He looks to be no more than your average college kid, but I have no clue what he really is. "Because I don't want the future to change anymore than it already has," he says before walking away. Well, that certainly shook the jigsaw puzzle up some more. Soon, I'll never be able to get the pieces together. The End
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