Title: Scattered
Author: Jori
Rating: PG-13

Summary: After the birth of Samara, Mulder and Scully struggle to keep their family together.

December 27, 2002

"Christopher, please stop crying," I say, trying to control the level of my voice so it doesn't rise too far above his screams. "We have got to get some things before Mommy and Samara come home, so could you please just stop. Please?"

He doesn't.

I'm rolling a cart down the middle of a K-Mart trying to reason with a 17 month old person while every woman who walks by looks at me as if I'm a pedophile of some sort. No one told me the terrible twos started long before two. I always assumed the screaming and tantrums would begin right on their second birthday and not a minute before. I suppose I'm probably also wrong in assuming the screaming ends the minute they turn three. I know somewhere in all that psychology I have under my belt, I learned this. Perhaps I was just hoping it didn't pertain to my child.

I am exhausted. After spending the night with Scully and Samara, I picked up Christopher from his grandmother's this morning. I knew we were in for a grouchy day when he took one look at me and went screaming in the opposite direction, finding comfort in his Uncle Charlie's arms.

Chris throws his little body from side to side in the seat of the cart and occasionally flings his body forward, leaving a wet, snotty trail down the front of my shirt. If I were smart, I'd step back, but I'm afraid he'll hit the handle instead and knock out those teeth we worked so hard at getting.

"Christopher, what do you want?" I ask ... no, plead ... and he just cries louder every time I talk to him. I am supposed to know. I'm a fucking failure as a father because I have no clue what it is I did that upset him so.

His hands flail toward me, reaching for my shirt with the desperation only understood by children his age. I stop pushing the cart and pull him to me, hugging him.

"Da ... Da ... I wan ..." he says, huffing out words between gasps of breath.

I pull him out of the cart, holding him close. He hangs on tight, and his screams turn into sobs as he buries his head into my chest.

"What is it, Chris?" I ask again, and his sobs begin to turn into quiet cries.

"Dadda," he mutters and I find myself rocking my little boy, not caring who might be watching.

In all my life, I never imagined this moment ever happening. I never imagined that someone would need me ... trust me so much. I never imagined that in less than two years, I'd have three children. No, that was never in the plans. Obviously it was in someone's plans but not mine.

"Dadda, I want momma!" he says, as he begins wailing again. Christopher hasn't been left alone with me for any extended period of time in so long that he doesn't understand what is going on. His mommy just dropped him off at Grandma's house one morning and said she'd be back in a few hours. He wasn't prepared for this.

"Listen, buddy, Mommy will be home tomorrow with your new baby sister. And then Kessie will be home in a few days. Everything is going to be okay," I say, hugging him close and rocking him more. "Now, do you want to go look at toys or something?"

"Nuh nuh," he says, shaking his little head 'no.' This is a surprise. Usually every time he goes out shopping with Scully or his grandmother, he comes home with something, even if it is just a little book. Tears are still dampening his face and is nose is runny. Well, until he wipes it off on my shirt again.

"Then what do you want to do, Chris?" I ask. He keeps wiping the back of his hand across his face, trying to take care of the rest of the ... moisture ... himself. I see a box of tissues on the shelf and grab it, popping some out and handing them to him. He looks at me with puzzlement. Right. I have to hold it for him while he blows his nose. Does that come up in the parenting lessons I missed while I was at work?

"Dadda, my hungry," Chris says, pulling back from me. I take a quick glance at my watch to discover it is well past 2 p.m. Shit. I forgot to feed my own kid. If the number of goldfish I went through in my life could be used as any kind of an indicator, I should not be allowed to take care of children.

I look into his eyes, staring up at me filled with tears and love even if I nearly starved him. He works his bottom lip into that pout that gets me every time.

"So, you're hungry? Well, I think it is time you were introduced into the wonderful world of Happy Meals."

I'm never going to get to sleep again for the rest of my life. I keep repeating this over and over to myself, hoping the thought will force me to go to sleep. The CNA took Samara, all bundled in pink, to the nursery so I could get some rest. And what am I doing? Thinking about all the sleep I'm never going to get again.

The room is unnaturally quiet, the only sound is the slow ticking of the wall clock. It is leisurely ticking off the minutes when I could be sleeping, its hands sweeping toward a time when I will have to get up every two hours to feed someone.

I can't believe I have two babies. Assuredly, Christopher is not a newborn, but he is still a baby. And now he has a six pound, two ounce baby sister. Add to that a preteen step-daughter, and I'd say my life is full.

I turn over, pleased with the fact that I didn't have to have a c-section this time. Two babies and abdominal surgery was not something I was ready to face. No, this was certainly not a walk in the park, but for once, my body did what I wanted it to.

Flowers and balloons line the table by the window, with more well-wishers than when Christopher was born. Apparently, I acquired more friends than I thought I did while working at Quantico. Bill even sent flowers, wishing me and my baby well. No mention of Mulder was made. Perhaps one of these days we should take a family vacation out to San Diego to meet Uncle Bill.

I roll over again to find someone standing in the doorway, silently waiting for me to notice them.

"Soprano! Come in. What are you doing lurking out there?" I call to her. She walks nervously into the room, her usual happy-go-lucky demeanor completely gone. Her damp hair clings to her face and she tries to brush the long strands away. She was out in the snow within the last few minutes.

"I took a peek at Samara in the nursery. She's beautiful," Soprano says, but her heart is not in the statement. Something is very wrong.

"What's the matter?" I ask, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is cold, but that could just be the weather. She doesn't seem to have a jacket and gloves with her. More snow is expected for later today and I sent Mulder to the store to get the one thing we forgot we needed with a winter baby -- a snow bag to bundle her in.

"I need a few days off, Dana. I know this couldn't have come at a worse time and I promise I will be back as soon as I can ... but it is an emergency," Soprano says, looking away from me. She fidgets, shuffling from foot to foot like a small child in need of a bathroom. She doesn't know where to place her hands and ends up picking at some lint on her wet yellow sweater.

"What happened? Something with your brother or sister? Your mother?" I ask. She doesn't answer right away, but continues to concentrate on anything but me. "Soprano, I'd like to know."

"I shouldn't be bothering you with this now, Dana. I'm sorry. I'll call you and let you know what is happening," she says, tears beginning to streak her ashen face. Although Soprano is naturally fair, I've never seen her quite this pale. She looks frightened and alone.

"You aren't bothering me ... at all ..." I say, struggling to sit up. I'm still a little sore but it is nothing like the last time. Soprano is making me nervous with her secretiveness. "I want to help you, but you have to tell me what's going on."

"It is best if I don't tell you anything," she whispers, her face suddenly taking on a serene quality. Her nervous behavior stops. Her voice is calm. She steps back from my bed, and looks around as if she is planning to flee. "I've got to go."

With that, she turns on her heel and is out the door. I grab for the call button and buzz the nurse, needing to make sure Samara is all right and this had nothing to do with her.

"Yes?" a happy yet static-filled voice asks me over the intercom.

"Can you bring Samara Mulder to me ... her mother ... I'm in room ..." I ask, my nerves getting the better of me. I try to talk coherently, but find I can't.

"We will bring her right to you," the nurse says before clicking off from the intercom, and I begin to calm down. She's okay. They are going to bring her to me. Soprano's odd behavior has nothing to do with Samara. She would never hurt any of my children. I know that. I just wish Mulder would get back so I can ask him if anything happened this morning with Soprano.

The nurse rolls in the plexiglass isolette and my heart starts pounding again, fighting to escape my chest cavity. I can tell already that something is wrong. Just in the quick glance I got of the baby, I know something is *horribly* wrong.

"That isn't my baby," I say, looking at the infant wrapped in pink. I can feel the bile rise in my throat as I struggle not to throw up. An uncontrollable hysteria wraps around me like a wet blanket, thick and heavy, pulling me down.

"Sure it is ... her identification bands says Samara Blythe Mulder ... and it matches your number," the woman says, grabbing my wrist to look at the ID number that links me to my daughter. As if I wouldn't recognize my own baby except by some damn numbers. Everything is electronic. The babies all have the equivalent to those anti-theft tags on their ankles. No one should be able to get out with them. The maternity floor is off limits. The babies are supposed to be safe. She picks up the baby and brings it to me, setting the child on my lap.

"No ... this isn't Samara," I say, looking down at this child with no hair and eyes that are unfamiliar. No, this isn't right at all ...

"Ms. Scully ..."

"This isn't my daughter!" I scream, and the baby I'm holding begins to cry. I unswaddle the child quickly, looking for any identifying marks. Samara had several small birthmarks on her back. Just the normal blotches of infancy, but they would still be there after a day. I get to the diaper and unfasten the tabs, expecting to show the nurse that the marks aren't there. Instead, I get to show her a whole lot more. "This is a boy! I had a girl! Get on the phone to security and do something about this! Now!"

My voice carries throughout the ward, and other nurses begin to flood into my room. The nurse who brought me the baby runs out the door to get security up here.

I can feel my world crashing in around me quickly, and that blanketed feeling grows heavier, making it impossible to breathe. A nurse takes the baby boy off of my lap and begins to swaddle him up again and another one puts an oxygen mask over my face in an attempt to keep me with them. It isn't working. Another group of people discuss who the boy might be and how he got here. No one knows. His screams are louder than most of the conversations, but it isn't my baby's cry. I recognize her already, just as this child's mother would recognize his.

My heart is gone. In a matter of seconds, someone ripped it from my chest and stole it. Simply walked out the door with it.

"Dana, we will find her. You can't just get out of this hospital with the wrong baby," someone says, trying to comfort me. That is easy for them to say. Unfortunately, they don't know who or what they are dealing with.

December 28, 2002
FBI Headquarters
3:28 a.m.

"From the security tapes, we can see your nanny ... Soprano Brookbank ... enter the hospital through the ER entrance at 6:22 p.m. She doesn't show up on any other tapes until she enters the maternity ward at 6:38 p.m... . here," a technician says, adjusting the video. He rewinds it a little and sends it forward again. "She is never seen leaving that ward or the hospital. At least not on tape."

Skinner stops pacing behind me to look at the monitor briefly. The hospital administrator, a Dr. Anthony Charles, is on one side of me and their 'damage control' attorney, Harry Rinker, is on the other side. Both look exhausted, but nothing as compared to how I look.

"These things just don't happen at Fairfax ..." Dr. Charles begins to say, but Mr. Rinker quiets him down.

"Apparently they do happen at Fairfax Hospital and I want to know how," Skinner says, and both men turn to look at him. "I want you to explain how the infant child of two FBI agents can be abducted from a hospital that supposedly has the best neonatal security in Virginia."

"We ... don't know," Dr. Charles says, only to be hushed by Rinker again.

"Somebody knows. Your average baby abductor usually gets caught on the security camera and more often than not is a woman with emotional problems who can't have a baby of her own. It would have to be an inside job in order for someone not to get caught on a single damn camera while carrying a newborn out of a busy hospital," Skinner says, his voice heavy and harsh, as he looms over them.

He has done most of the talking. I'm afraid of what I might have to say to these people. I'm afraid I might kill them here in the Hoover building. The only emotion I'm feeling right now is anger. Under that, everything else is frozen.

I don't know if there is another tear left to cry. They are as frozen as my heart is right now. After scouring that hospital from end to end and top to bottom ... after being told that I would not be in charge of the search of the immediate vicinity, there was nothing left to do but cry.

Scully and I held on to each other and could do nothing but cry in each others arms. Not tears of defeat or even tears shed with the thought that Samara is ... gone. No, these were tears over the fact that our lives will never be normal. It gets so goddamn close and then we have to be reminded that everything we have is not really ours. We are just some fucking experiment that we don't even understand.

"Sir, we understand that someone on our staff could have possibly been negligent, but we'd prefer to keep this quiet until ..." Rinker starts to say but the daggers flying from my eyes must stop him. If not that then Skinner's sudden uptake of breath stops him cold. I know he wants to rattle off a lot of legal mumbo jumbo and if he even starts, I'll floor him.

"Negligence and the news feed going out to all the channels for their morning news programs is the least of your worries right now, Mr. Rinker. The Mulder family wants nothing more than to get their child back and you are going to help us in our investigation in any way, do you understand?" Skinner says. He stands there, hands on his hips, looking every bit the intimidating FBI Assistant Director.

"I want to show you the tapes from the other hospital ... the one where the baby boy came from," the technician says, lining up more images for us to look at.

"His name is Michael Stephen Rannell. He was born December 27th at 12:03 a.m. in the ER of Bethesda Naval Hospital. His father, Lt. Cmdr. Douglas Rannell and his mother, Cathy Rannell were involved in an MVA at approximately 10:50 p.m. on the 26th," Skinner fills in, reading from a file.

"Samara was born at 10:38 p.m. on the 26th," I say, my voice barely audible anymore. I rub my eyes, trying to concentrate on the shadowy video feed before us.

"This is the NICU at Bethesda ... and that there is the 'nurse' suspected of taking Michael," he says, clicking on several buttons, trying to bring everything into focus.

"The duty nurse says the woman had all the proper papers to take the baby down to ultrasound, and since he was involved in a trauma, no one suspected anything," Skinner says. The two men from Fairfax hospital look closely at the footage. I'm sure they think that since two hospitals screwed up in the same way, they are going to get off somehow.

The only difference is, the Rannells have their baby back. Ours is no where to be found.

The picture clears up considerably. The other two men shake their head, not recognizing the nurse as one of their own. I can almost see the beginning of a smile form across the lawyer's face, but it disappears as soon as he looks at me.

The tech tweaks it one more time and the face of the woman becomes crystal clear. Fuck. I shut my eyes, holding back the sudden urge to vomit. Goddamn her. Never in all my life would I have suspected this. Never.

Fairfax Hospital
10:21 a.m.

I wake up, feeling arms wrapped around me. For a fleeting moment, the last day has all been a bad dream. I'm sure of it. I'm in bed with Mulder holding me and it is all okay. I am in his arms and our children are okay.

But the arms wrapped around me aren't his. They are just as familiar as his ... more so, maybe. I've cried in these arms for years.

"Dana, honey? Are you okay?" Mom asks. I barely remember her coming to the hospital let alone her climbing in to the bed with me to console me. But she is here just like she always has been in the past.

"I ... don't know," I say, feeling groggy. I know they didn't give me anything to make me sleep. I'm just exhausted.

Mom sits up next to me and brushes a few strands of hair from my face. I can tell she's been crying, too. Her eyes are rimmed in red and no matter how hard she tries to smile at me, she just can't quite manage it.

"It's going to be okay, Dana. I know it is," she says, placing her comforting hand on my cheek. "The doctor said you should be able to check out of here later today. And they gave us permission to bring Christopher in. Charlie has him down in the cafeteria. I'm sure he's had all the Jell-o one little boy can stand."

My breasts hurt ... no, ache ... and I want my baby near. This is so unexpected. We picked this hospital because of their security measures. They have even been improved since Christopher was born. Samara early arrival was a surprise. Mulder had plans to protect her, but he thought we had more time. This isn't supposed to be happening. None of this. Yet, it shouldn't be a complete surprise. I always knew we were never really safe.

"Where's Mulder?" I ask, shifting around. He's not in the room and I haven't seen him since last night. Mom looks away from me, avoiding my question. She knows something. I can tell. He knows something and told her and she wants to protect me. "Mom, where's Mulder?"

"Dana ..." she says, starting to tell me when the door opens. It is Charlie and he's holding Christopher tight.

"Momma!" my little boy cries, practically leaping from his uncle's arms to the bed. I can't even control the tears. I've missed him so much and now with all this, I've been worried about him, too. Charlie assured me last night on the phone that he wouldn't let him out of his sight.

Mulder was heading up the search for Samara at one point, but Skinner pulled him off of it when the investigation went out of the hospital. I'm sure Skinner was worried he might find her ... I can't even think it. I *won't* think it.

"Hey, sweetie. I've missed you so much," I say, hugging Christopher tight. He nestles against me and I wipe my tears off of his face. He looks so big now that I've held Samara. He is the big brother. Now we just have to get his little sister back.

At least if something happens, if the unspeakable is true, and we don't get her back, he won't be haunted by this for life. Only his parents will be. No one will ever make him feel responsible. The responsibility rests squarely on our shoulders.

"Mom, where is Mulder?" I ask again as she hands Christopher a spill-proof cup of juice. I try to hold it for him, but he has to do it himself. So fiercely independent.

"Fox went back to Martha's Vineyard. He said he would call you when he has Samara back."

December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
4:15 p.m.

I stand in front of the smoky rubble of what used to be my house. Rather, my parent's house. Doesn't matter now. The Chilmark fire department has the area blocked off with a few firetrucks, the lights still flashing even though the fire has been put out for a while now. Time for the investigation to begin.

"Fox ... I doubt they were in there," someone says as they place their hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at the kid I used to know as 'Chippy' but who is now Fire Chief Charles Watson. He told me I could call him Chip, which I guess is fair if he gets to call me Fox.

I look back toward the house, studying the men still going through the hot wreckage, knowing what they are looking for. I just hope they don't find it here.

"Um ... any idea what happened yet, Chip?" I ask, digging my foot through the gravel left over from what was snow. When I flew in, the smoke on the horizon made my heart sink. I just knew it. I knew it was bad.

I know Samara is on the Vineyard, but I'm not sure how they got her here. No charter flights have a record of a newborn passenger and the ferries can't remember seeing a baby of any age. I am exhausted and heartbroken and at my wit's end. And now Kessie ... no one can find Kessie.

"The neighbors called in the alarm. No one saw anyone coming or going the whole morning. Usually, at this time of year, we get a few calls on fires started with space heaters. This house was just remodeled, so I doubt they needed too many of those around," Chip says, his accent typical for this region and something I grew out of a long time ago.

"I didn't see any when I was here the other day," I say, unable to look at him. How am I supposed to explain that I lost two daughters in 24 hours? Everybody still remembers Samantha. How many kids disappear from the Vineyard every year never to return again?

"They are looking into arson now. Of course, when these things happen, they always do, so don't get worried about that just yet," Chip assures me, patting my shoulder again.

"Thanks," I say, still watching as they pick through where I grew up.

One of his men waves him over and he excuses himself to walk over to the remains of the house. I watch them mark off certain things with different colored flags and I have no idea what they mean. Of course it has to be arson. I will not accept that this house just burned down in the middle of morning with the neighbors watching just because.

"Agent Mulder?" a woman asks as she approaches me. I merely nod. "I'm Dr. Celia Massey, the ME."

"Yes."

She must be used to a different kind of reception. Maybe more tears or something. She is certainly looking at me with an expression of displeasure as she tucks a wayward strand of blond hair behind her ear with a gloved finger.

"Chip Watson said I should talk to you about my preliminary findings, Agent Mulder. We are almost certain that the remains found in the structure were not those of a child ... "

"Almost certain."

"Yes, almost certain. I will be verifying my findings with dental records later today, but I'm almost ... I'm sure that your child wasn't in there. I know this isn't easy. And I know that you know this isn't easy, so bear with me, please," Dr. Massey says, tucking her hands into the pocket of her wool overcoat.

"No, it isn't easy," I say, just as frustrated with the lack of answers as these people are, if not more so.

"The remains of three adults were found and have yet to be identified ..."

"Back up there a minute, please. Three adults?" I ask. Earlier, I heard two, not three. I figured whichever adult wasn't dead was the one with Kessie somewhere.

"Yes, Agent Mulder. What we are sure are three adult bodies were found at the scene and removed for indentification. I really shouldn't be speculating about anything yet, but with your background, Chip said you'd be able to understand that these things," she says, looking like she's beginning to doubt that.

"I'm sorry. Saying today has been from hell would be an understatement. I understand. My ... my partner is a pathologist. I understand it well," I say. I put my sunglasses on, hoping to just hide behind them for a while.

"I understand. These things are never easy, but I will give you any information I have as soon as I have it, okay?" she says, placing a sympathetic hand on my arm. I wish people would just stop that. It is like they all know something I don't.

"Yes, please do," I say and she hands me one of her business cards before she goes.

I turn back toward the house and silently watch them go about putting the pieces together. Little do they know, the pieces of that house will never be put together. Too many people don't want them to be.

Scully-Mulder Residence

Somewhere, deep in some shadowed recess of my mind, I could see myself coming home with empty arms. The same part of my mind sometimes allows me to imagine them taking Christopher away and can see a day Mulder might not come back. But, as with most things I've seen over the past decade, I don't allow these images to take over my life. They are, after all, just images in my mind.

That is, until I had to step through the front door of our house without Samara ... and without Mulder. Now I suppose I should have thought about it more.

"Are you okay with coming home so soon?" Mom asks, setting my bags down inside the door. Everett has Christopher in his arms and he cries to be put down as soon as he gets in, running off to play his toys.

"I'm fine," I say, sighing softly as I turn on all the lights in my wake as I go toward the kitchen.

"You don't have to be fine, Dana. That isn't what I want to hear," she says, following right behind me. "I mean, I want you to be fine. I want you to be more than fine, but don't lie to me."

"Mom ..." I say, turning to look at her. I'm far too tired to go into it all again. She doesn't say anything else. "I just want to get some sleep, okay?"

She's already going to stay with Christopher and me for as long as I need her, which could be a very long time. I look at the answering machine. No messages. Mulder hasn't called since he left. Did I think he would? I'm sure he's only got one thing on his mind and that's Samara.

I'm staring at the solid red light when the phone rings and we all jump. I just look at it nervously as my mother moves to answer it.

"Hello?" she says slowly. "Yes, Fox. Yes, she's doing ... fine. She's right here."

I take the phone into my hand slowly, afraid of what news he might have.

"Scully, it's me," he says before I can say anything.

"Hi," I say softly, realizing I'm glad to hear his voice again. He doesn't say anything for too long, though. "Mulder, what's wrong?"

"The house ... my parents' house burned down early this morning," he says and my heart drops to somewhere lower than it already was. I didn't think it was possible. I was wrong.

"K-kessie?" I ask, stuttering her name as I try to find somewhere to sit down for this. My mother takes my arm and leads me to a kitchen chair.

"They've identified three bodies so far. I should add they only found three bodies. None of them was Kessie," he says, his voice holding no emotion. He is as drained as I am and one more thing is going to push us over the edge.

"Who ..."

"The Fowleys. Richard, Lorraine and Carol. All gone," he says with a sigh, knowing my next question.

"Then who has Samara?" I ask. I keep trying to convince myself she's fine. They wouldn't really hurt her. This was just some sick game by a jealous grandmother because her daughter is dead, but I don't know anymore.

"I don't know where Samara is. I don't know where Kessie is. Scully, I don't know what in the hell is going on," he says, and I can tell he's as close to tears as I am. Mom goes and retrieves Christopher, and puts him in the kitchen to play. Maybe she thinks this will make me feel more secure, knowing where he is.

"Someone must know something. You can't just take a baby on a little commuter plane without anybody seeing it," I say, my voice rising. I shouldn't yell at him, but I want to yell at someone.

"Scully, I'm going to find both of them. I will, okay?" he says. He sounds as if he's trying to convince himself. Trying to convince me.

"Yes. Okay," I say and he hangs up without saying anything else.

"Dana, you need to get some rest," Mom says, taking my hand and pulling me out of the chair. The cordless phone falls from my other hand and drops to the floor with a loud clatter. Chris scurries over to retrieve it and pretends to answer it, asking for daddy.

"They are both missing. Kessie and Samara," I say as she leads me to the stairs. "The Fowleys are dead and Kessie is missing."

"He found her once, he'll find her again," my mother says, trying to reassure me. Everett takes Chris back to his toys and stands watch over him, guarding him carefully.

I try not to look into the nursery or Kessie's room as Mom leads me to my bedroom but I can't help it. They have got to come back. They have got to be okay. I climb under all the blankets, wrapping myself in the familiar scent of home. Of Mulder and everything I thought we were going to be right now. I just need to sleep. Just need to ...

"Get some rest," are the last words I hear.

December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
9:38 p.m.

I sit alone in the only restaurant open at this time of night on the Vineyard during the winter. I remember when I was young, I was never sure if the kids who didn't live here all year considered me lucky or unlucky because of my year-round residency. Even with all the people here now, it can certainly be quiet on a week night when it gets this cold.

I hardly know anyone on the Vineyard anymore. Most of my friends went off to college and never looked back at their life on the island. Most weren't forced to live the events of their lives over and over in the their own mind for years on end and I hope I never have to come to this place again. And I certainly don't want to create any more bad memories now.

"We'll be closing soon but take your time," the waitress tells me as she pours me more coffee. For some reason, I have the feeling they are only staying open for me and some elderly man sitting in the corner reading a book of poems. Maybe he's just a permanent fixture here and they don't lock the doors until he leaves.

"Thank you," I say, as I pay the check with cash and continue staring into my cup of coffee. I'm so tired. Too tired to keep doing this. I wish I could just find them and go home. For all I know, they aren't even on this island anymore. The police are still looking, but quickly running out of leads. And time.

I finish up and pull on my jacket, thanking the waitress once more as I step out the door into the cold night air. We should all be at home. The baby and Kessie should be warm at home with Scully and Chris. Instead, who the hell knows what is going on. Or when we will all be back together.

I'm reaching for the car handle when my heart is nearly stopped by a small voice behind me.

"Dad," is all she says, and I turn around so fast I slam my hand into the mirror, knocking it to the side.

"Kessie," I say, looking at my daughter standing there not five feet from me. My knees are about to give out when my eyes meet the other person she is with. Soprano. I look right back to Kessie, never wanting to let her out of my sight again. "What in the hell is going on here?"

"I can explain ..." Soprano starts to say but I can't even think right now. I just put up my hand as I try to get my emotions under control.

"Don't be mad at her. She saved me. They were going to take me away from you and give me to some people, but Soprano saved me," Kessie says, stepping in front of the person who is supposed to take care of her but not quite like this.

"Who were they going to give her to?" I ask Soprano without ever taking my eyes off of Kessie's face. She looks scared and tired and I just want to take her home and away from all of this.

"The wrong people."

Another voice answers from behind me before Soprano gets the chance to say another word. Her eyes stare over my shoulder and I turn around quickly to discover Dylan standing behind me.

"What are ... what is this?" I ask, looking back at Soprano. I'm trapped in the middle and I don't have Kessie back yet.

"Listen to me carefully, Agent Mulder, before this becomes a bigger mess than it already is. The Fowleys were going to hand over both Samara and Kessie. Only one exchange was successfully made. Soprano managed to rescue Kessie in time," he says, stepping closer to me. My mind can't even comprehend what he's trying to tell me. Too many damn players in this.

"Where is Samara?" I ask, my fists clenched tight as he gets closer.

"We can get her back," he says. There's something wrong about all of this. I can feel it.

"Then why haven't you done it already? Why didn't you get her back?" I ask, shouting at him now. He motions for me to keep my voice down and it just makes me want to hit him more. I think the temperature has dropped more since we've been standing here and we are all breathing out white puffs of air now. My chest is beginning to hurt from the cold and Kessie coughs. I look back at her and Soprano has her arms wrapped around Kessie's shoulders.

"They want Kessie. The right people want her."

Kessie steps back further into Soprano's arms but doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. Her eyes tell me everything.

"No."

"Maybe you would like to call Agent Scully before you say 'no' so quickly," he says, stepping around me so he's standing in the middle now.

"Scully won't say anything different. We will not trade one of our children ..."

"*Our* children? Maybe you should just call and ask her. She might surprise you. Besides, someone is presenting her with the same offer right now," Dylan says. He looks at his watch and then looks at me. "She should be calling you about it right about now."

No sooner are his words out of his mouth then my phone rings. We all jump. Everybody but Dylan.

I fumble for it quickly, pulling it out of my pocket and putting it up to my ear without saying a word.

"Mulder, it's me. You've got to come home. There's something we need to discuss."

December 28, 2002
Jefferson Memorial Tidal Basin
9:47 p.m.

"I'm glad to see you came out even in this freezing weather, Agent Scully," a man says behind me. I turn around quickly to find someone I don't know, standing there with a baby in his arms. My baby. She's quiet and obviously taken care of, wrapped up in a blankets. Her head is covered in a knit cap and my knees nearly buckle when she moves a little. My body has ached for her and now she's so close. I bite my lip to fight back the tears before I say anything.

"You told me to be here," I say, not able to take my eyes off of Samara. When I make a move toward her, he steps back.

"Not yet, Agent Scully. We've got to discuss a few things first. You and I have to discuss what must be traded for her," he says, rocking my baby in his arms. Whoever he is, he's dressed nicely and looks like he belongs up on the Hill and not kidnapping babies.

"Traded?" I ask, almost willing to trade anything to get her back in my arms at this point. Almost. I won't trade Mulder or Christopher or Kessie but I'll give up everything else on earth.

"Listen carefully. We need to know why certain combinations of parents create children that will be accepted when colonization occurs and why certain parents don't. Why one chosen parent can have a child with a person who isn't chosen and what makes that child unacceptable. We need to know so we can get around it," he says, sounding as altruistic as can be.

"Why my children? When will enough be enough with what you have done to my family?" I ask, stepping forward now, reaching out for Samara.

"Your family has been studied for years, Agent Scully. So has Agent Mulder's. Even longer than yours. We can figure it all out with one more piece. We just didn't know where that piece was until Alex Krycek led Agent Mulder to her."

He opens up the blanket a little to let me see her and she is definitely Samara. I would know those eyes and features anywhere. She is my baby but he won't let me touch her no matter how much I reach for her.

"Kessie isn't just a missing piece that you need in order to solve some puzzle that I don't even care about right now. She's a little girl who's been through enough in her life and there's no way this is going to happen," I say, my arms aching just to hold Samara. I know better than to deal with these people, though. I will not trade Mulder's one daughter for the other no matter how much I need to hold my baby.

"Are you sure?" he asks, bundling up the baby again and hiding her face from me. "Maybe you want to call Agent Mulder and ask him about it. Maybe it is a trade he's willing to make."

"It isn't a trade either of us are willing to make. You want to figure out how to save mankind from something you probably brought on, you do it without my family or my children," I say, and Samara begins to wake up. Her baby noises make my breasts ache and I close my eyes for just a second, trying to figure a way out of all of this.

"Call him, Agent Scully. Now," he says, and I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and hit Mulder's number.

"Mulder, it's me. You've got to come home. There's something we need to discuss," I tell him before he can even say hello.

"I can't right now, Scully," he says. He sounds angry but not with me. "Kessie is right here and ..."

"They want you to make a deal for Samara's return? Samara is right here and they want me to trade Kessie for her. Mulder, this can't happen," I say, and Samara begins to cry.

"Is that her?" Mulder asks with a sigh.

"Yes, that's her. Mulder, they can't do this. I've had enough. We ... can't do this. It has to end now," I say and I hear someone move behind me.

"She's right. It has to end. Give her back the baby."

I look over my shoulder to discover Skinner standing there, pointing his weapon at the man holding my baby.

"It isn't that easy," the man says, shifting Samara so she is in front of him. I'm between the two men, trying to concentrate on everything, but failing. It's all going to fast. I called Skinner right after this man called me, but I didn't expect this. Someone is talking at me and I can't figure out what I'm going to do.

"What's going on, Scully?" Mulder shouts over the phone after I don't answer his questions and I hang up on him, not able to focus on him right now. Just on a man holding my baby in front of himself as a shield.

"Give the baby back to her. Now," Skinner says, motioning for me to get out of the way. I don't. I can't.

"You don't know what you are doing," he says, shifting my daughter around again.

"I'm doing what should have been done years ago. I'm ending this now. I don't want anyone to touch this family again. Do I make myself clear?" Skinner asks, but the man merely smiles at him. Samara is crying louder and I can feel my own tears run down my cheeks.

"This will set us back years. You are going to be responsible for more deaths than you can imagine just with this. All we need is that little girl ..."

"Hand Agent Scully her baby now," Skinner says and the man in the suit steps toward me and places Samara in my arms. He steps back and just shakes his head in disappointment.

She doesn't stop crying and I'm crying just as hard now, clutching her to my chest. She's so soft and warm and smells just like she did the last time I held her. I unbundle her, looking for the hospital bracelets that I find still fastened around her tiny ankles. I look at the man who brought her here, and he just walks off slowly, looking back at us with disgust.

Skinner helps me hold her as I wrap her up again, our eyes meeting once or twice. I don't even know what to say just yet. This was too easy. Something is wrong.

"Thank you, sir," I say.

"Call Mulder back. Let him know," Skinner says, taking Samara in his arms while I make the call. I watch Skinner rock the baby while I listen to the phone ring. He looks uncomfortable but he's trying.

"Mulder, it's me," I say when he finally answers. "I've got Samara back."

December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
10:02 p.m.

Scully's voice is filled with joy and hope as she says those few words and I can barely find my voice to say anything to her.

"I'll call you right back," I say, hanging up the phone. I turn to Dylan and begin to walk towards him, forcing him to back up into the side of a car.

"Mulder ..."

"There will be no deal. We have our baby back and you will explain what in the hell this is all about. Now," I say, and he puts his hands out in front of him to stop my forward motion toward him.

"They need her, Mulder. They need Kessie in order to figure out how to deceive the colonists. Your families have been studied and referenced for years and Kessie wasn't supposed to happen but she did and we can use her to figure out ..." Dylan says, making this all sound like a business proposal.

"No. She's been through enough. She's coming home with me," I interrupt, turning toward her and Soprano. "And I don't know what part of this you have, but it's over."

"No!" Kessie says, moving in closer to the nanny.

"You don't want to do that, Agent Mulder. Soprano has been assigned to keep Kestrel safe and if it weren't for her, who knows where she would be right now," Dylan says, walking from behind me over to where Kessie and Soprano are standing.

"Assigned?" I ask. "Soprano was hired long before I ever knew about Kestrel."

"Don't question everything, Agent Mulder. Some things just are," he says, working his way around a real answer. Damn this. I'm tired of all the half answers.

"Why did the Fowleys take Samara? And who killed them to get her back?" I ask, unable to figure out why they all want Kessie after someone went through all that trouble to get a baby.

"I'm not sure who killed them just yet. But the answer to your other question is comparative analysis."

"What?"

"Comparative analysis. Certain people want to see why one will be allowed to live during colonization and the other will have to die," he says bluntly, not caring that Kessie is just a few feet away. "Half siblings are desirable to study this."

"I don't care. I'm taking my daughter and going home. Soprano ... I'm just not ready to deal with this now. Please ..." I say, unable to find the words.

"Soprano will return to you in a few days. I just want you to know they won't give up this easily. That child means a lot to them, Agent Mulder. You'll have to look over your shoulder for the rest of her life," Dylan says.

"I don't care. Paranoia and I are old friends," I say, reaching my hand out toward Kessie. She takes it, warily, while looking back at Soprano.

Dylan takes Soprano's hand in his and I still can't figure out what they are or what they are doing. I don't care right now. I just want to get off this damn island and get home.

"Come on, Kessie. It's time to go home," I say, leading her to the car. Soprano and Dylan are still standing in the parking lot when we pull away.

December 29, 2002
Scully-Mulder Residence
11:42 a.m.

Samara is in my arms, nursing quietly while Christopher plays at my feet, piling up blocks and knocking them over. Mom and Everett are cooking lunch and I keep looking at the clock. Mulder should be home soon. I can't wait until everybody is safe and under this roof.

I hear a car pull up in the driveway, and Christopher toddles over to the window to look.

"Dadda!" he cries out, looking back at me before pressing his nose to the window. Samara breaks away from my breast and fusses a little before I can get her latched on again.

Kessie rushes through the door, her eyes searching the room. They stop on me before she looks away, embarrassed by what I'm doing.

"Christopher!" she cries out, and he toddles over to her as fast as he can. She picks up her baby brother in her arms and swings him around.

I look up to find Mulder standing in the doorway, smiling. I remove Samara from my breast and cover myself back up. Like a seasoned pro, Mulder walks over to me, takes a cloth to cover his shoulder and then picks up Samara. He pats her back until a tiny gas bubble escapes from her tummy. All the time, Kessie is staring at him, curious.

"I assume the two of you have met?" he asks Kessie, and she nods her head yes. I close my eyes and lean back in my rocking chair, not even wanting to think about what these girls went through the last few days.

"But I didn't get to hold her," Kessie says, and I open my eyes again as I watch Mulder show her how to hold Samara and support her head. He gets a funny look on his face when his fingers brush over her skin on Samara's neck and his eyes open wide, startled.

"Scully, did you know ..." he starts to ask, looking closer at the tiny spot just a little lower than her soft, brown hair.

"I know, Mulder," I say, my smile fading fast. I've had all night to deal with this revelation and I don't know what to make of it yet. "She has an implant."

"We aren't ever going to be free, are we?" he asks, watching Kessie rock the baby slowly while she sings her a lullaby in a foreign language I don't recognize.

"Not completely, Mulder. We aren't ever going to be free from them, but for right now, we have a lot. We need to be happy about that," I say to him, offering up a small smile.

"One of these days ..." he starts to say and I know what he's going to promise before I cut him off. He's going to tell me that someday, we'll be free. He just has to get to the bottom of everything. But we both know better. We'll never be free and they will never be safe.

"After this, I think the day has come to remember what is important and what isn't," I say. Mulder comes over to me and gives me the first kiss we've had in a few days. "Maybe the answers aren't worth it anymore."

"I know, Scully. This is what's important."

We both smile at each other before I close my eyes, so tired. Everything grows quiet around me and then I'm asleep.

The end for now