Summary: Requiem follow-up

Author's notes: Well, this would be my second fanfic story ever. I'm not really much of a writer, but if you give me a chance, I think I have some pretty good stories to tell.

The clouds churned in the mid-spring Washington D.C. weather. Grey hues cast across the sky that afternoon added a melancholy tinge to the air. The thunder had begun at noon, and still it persisted, six hours later, as the first raindrops fell, then turned into a steady shower. The fields of grass rejoiced.

Across the rows of tombstones and crosses, the bouquets of flowers wilted in the cold rain. It was May, but the air was cooler than it had been in March. A front, most people supposed, but a long one.

Outside the cemetery, a black, government sedan rolled to a steady stop. Rain slid down the hood and down the sides, marking tear-drop trails on the dusty paint.

The door swung open, a tall man emerging. He carried no umbrella, and his dark auburn hair, spiky and gelled, fell flat under the water. He was a tall man, at least six-two, and his trench coat barely concealed his well muscled frame. His jaw was square and masculine, his lips pouty and glistening because they were now wet in the storm. A roman nose led to ice blue eyes as he spied the tomb markers he had been looking for.

He walked slowly up to the tombstones, his hips swaggering with an inborn confidence. This man had been born cocky. Still, his shoulders were ever so slightly slumped, his mood rightfully downcast. He came to a rest in front of the two tombstones.

Lightening whipped across the sky, the thunder cracking scant beats later.

He felt the presence of the man that had guided him here as he came up behind him.

"I'm sorry you found out like this, Spencer."

The man, Spencer, whipped around to face his new acquaintance. "I don't believe you are," he murmured, his voice a low tenor and raspy. His eyes narrowed, graying out slightly in color, the bangs of his hair falling into his eyes in wet tendrils.

Spencer did not trust this man, this man whom he had met hours before. The man was probably about thirty years his senior, with hair that was cropped close, and graying at the temples. The man, who simply called himself Alex, wore a prosthetic arm and a dark look.

"The search is over now, though. These are them. Your parents."

Spencer shook his head. "That maybe. But I can't know for sure, and I won't dig up the graves just to fulfill some hollow personal cause of mine. Even if it is, I have so much more to learn about them."

"They were good people, Spencer. And you have a lot to learn indeed. A lot you must discover on your own."

"Why won't you just tell me?"

Alex smiled at the younger man. "Knowledge gained, boy, is not necessarily knowledge earned. But I will tell you this." Alex wrapped his good arm around Spencer's shoulders briefly, ignoring the instant tightening of muscles there. "You are your father's son."

Then, Alex glanced up at the boy's blood red hair, and into his eyes. "And your mother's."

Alex walked to the sedan. "Coming, Spencer? I can drop you off."

"No. I want to stay here a little while longer. Maybe take a walk."

Alex nodded at the handsome young man. "Sure thing, kid." He opened the door, and as he was about to get in, looked up at Spencer and smiled. "Oh, and good luck at the FBI."

It never failed to amaze him how history inevitably repeated itself. Alex got into the back seat of the sedan as the driver brought the car to life, and drove off.

Spencer tracked the car with his eyes, then looked back down at the tombstones. "I've been looking for you two for a long " . So many questions. I can't believe you were right here under my nose the entire time. It's so weird to have known you, and then, to never have even remembered your names."

FOX MULDER DANA SCULLY

The inscriptions below the names were the same. LET THERE BE PEACE IN TRUTH They were both marked dead on the same date, January 7, 2003. Spencer was two years old when they had passed away. All he remembered were flashes of their faces, a woman with crimson hair and a man with a proud nose and a big smile. Spencer was surprised he remembered even that much.

Spencer sighed and began to walk away. He had a big day tomorrow. He would be officially assigned to the Washington D.C. unit of the FBI, a forensic profiler and field investigator.

Spencer had been recruited young. He graduated high school at the tender age of sixteen, and at nineteen, he had completed all of his undergraduate courses in college. Forensic medicine had interested him from the start, but his professor at Baylor University said he might be better suited in the profiling department. It seemed he had a knack for picking things apart and finding the answers to just about anything the mind had to offer up. It also would later aid him in the field.

Shortly into his first year at graduate school in Harvard, Spencer was recruited into the FBI. He flew through the academy like a knife through butter, and just about everyone had their eye on him. His skills in the field were just to good to limit him to the office work of criminal profiling, so he became a forensic profiler, a criminal profiler with a gun.

Not only was he an untested genius in the mind, his ability to handle the .357 caliber magnum that rested next to his chest was unmatched. Spencer was a dead eye with a gun, and could hit any target anywhere on the range. The FBI definitely had its next golden boy.

Spencer walked all the way to a large reflecting pool, and sat down on one of the benches that over looked it. He sighed and hung his head in weariness. God he was tired. Spencer was a twenty-four-year-old that felt like he was fifty, some" s.

Finally, some" after he sat down, the rain slowed to a drizzle, then stopped. Spencer looked to the sky and saw the clouds part slowly, revealing the sunset. He looked at his watch and rubbed the back of his neck. Standing, he looked back in the direction of the cemetery.

"I'm going to find out who you two were," he said matter-of-factly. The FBI would help him do just that, he was sure.

Little did he know.

With another sigh and a stretch, all the vertebrae in his long back popped and cracked. Spencer tilted his head to one side, than the other, emitting a groan of pleasure as the cracks became audible. Then, he pulled his trench coat a little tighter around him, and the man that was Spencer Mulder began the walk back to his apartment on the outskirts of D.C.

Chapter One

May

Spencer sauntered into the J. Edgar Hoover Building that morning with ease and confidence. He was the rookie, but he had no intention of being intimidated by agents half his caliber.

His black Armani blazer was slung around his right shoulder, and Spencer held no reservations about not wearing the uncomfortable garment. ever. His tie was loose around his neck, barely even tied at all, and the top button on his Italian made dress shirt was just this side of unbuttoned. Spencer wore no undershirt.

His pants were slung roguishly low on his hips, and the belt that was loosely adorned there was more for decoration than anything else. Had Spencer not been wearing a shirt, the cuts of muscle that led from his abdomen to his groin would have been clearly visible. As it was, his washboard stomach was almost visible right through his shirt.

Spencer's hair was hardly cropped to traditional regulations. In fact, the spiky red locks were gelled to a messy perfection that made Spencer look like he had just gotten out of bed. His eyes were hooded and a clouded blue, bedroom eyes, most would have called them.

In short, Spencer was just barely imperfect, but he was wild and untamed. His face was smooth and unlined, but a dark mole on his right jawline marked him with an almost animalistic impulse.

Spencer Mulder knew full well that his clothes just barely passed regulation. In fact, he had done it on purpose, and his .357 Eagle Magnum was visible every time his left arm swung in time with his walking.

He stepped, for the first time, into the fourth floor bullpen as the elevators opened up in front of him. Most of the female agents - all of the straight ones, anyway, - and a few of the male agents shot him less than subtle looks. Spencer ignored them all with an unmatched arrogance.

His foster parents had been cold and unloving, but they had been very well off. Spencer had learned that to look confident was to be confident, and he oozed self-indulgence. Why should you have to worry about friends when all you needed was always right there with you.

He swaggered past the agents, most of whom began to glare at him. 'Damn rookies always think they're the hotshots of the town,' most would snigger as he passed.

When he reached the Section Chief's door, he rapped quickly three times, and then took a calming breath. It was time .

"Come in!" The voice behind the door was a low alto male's voice. When Spencer walked in, the man looked up.

The man would have been handsome. His facial features were strong and square, leading to a muscular body. A scar, however, marred his face. The dark blemish ran from the corner of his right eye all the way down to the agent's mouth, and it was about half an inch thick.

Spencer took it in, but his quick glance was anything but noticeable.

"Agent Spencer Mulder, I presume?" the Section Chief asked politely, grasping Spencer's large hand within his own and giving it a firm shake.

"Yes sir."

"Good, good. I'm Special Agent Jack Green. I'll be your supervisor here in the FBI. Have a seat, and I'll make this as quick as possible."

No sooner had the two men sat down than the phone on Jack's desk buzzed. Jack clicked the speaker, announcing himself. A female voice came over the phone. "Sir, sorry to bother you in a meeting, but Assistant Director Bordina would like to see Agent Mulder now."

Jack frowned. "Thank you, Melanie. I'll send him right up."

He clicked the off button and looked up at the young agent. "Well, Agent Mulder, I don't know what you've done, but most of my boys only go up there if their in a lot of shit, you know. Fifth floor, second office to the left. Report back to me when you're done and we'll see if we can't hook you up on a case."

"Thank you, sir," Spencer said and he rose, once again shaking the man's hand.

The elevator ride seemed long, but Spencer tried to give no indication to his feelings of nervousness as the doors chimed open on the fifth floor. Don't let them see you bleed, his step father had always told him.

Spencer entered the Assistant Director's front office, facing his male secretary. "Can I help you?" the man asked politely.

"Special Agent Mulder. I was paged."

"The A.D. is expected you. Go right on in."

As Spencer crossed the floor to the Assistant Director's door, he felt the hair prickle up on his neck. For some reason, this felt almost familiar.

The A.D.'s office was large and dignified, with the cursory paintings of the President and the Secretary of Defense and other numerous politicians. This man was sure to be a real political kiss ass, Spencer thought smugly.

The A.D. himself, Michael Bordina, sat in the middle of the office. He was a Hispanic male in his early 50's, heading up an impressive career. Michael had overcome a lot to get where he was. His mother was a white female, and the FBI hadn't really looked kindly upon his bi-racial status at first.

Michael was dark skinned with black hair that was cropped and brushed back. His eyes were a warm, chocolate color. His smile was not often forthcoming, but was infectious when it appeared.

"Special Agent Mulder," he said in a gruff voice. "Have a seat."

It was then that Spencer caught a flash of blond out of the corner of his eyes. A woman, perhaps as old as Michael, was sitting in the back of his office. Her hair was blond, but graying, and she was pretty and dignified. Spencer looked her up and down, and then took a seat.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, why am I here?"

"As you know, Agent Mulder, you will be working in our Violent Crimes Unit here in Washington. We tend to be the big boys of the FBI up here, and you are going to have to uphold a tradition. We always get the collar on the big cases. Understand?"

"Of course I do, sir."

Michael sat back in his chair. "You do realize that the higher ups have had their eyes on you for a while now, Agent Mulder. Everybody was waiting for you to graduate."

"The point being."

Michael frowned. "I suggest you drop the attitude right now, Agent Mulder. You are the rookie. You might be damn good, but you're green. The agents here are the very best. They won't appreciate you flaunting your I.Q."

Spencer narrowed his eyes at his superior and crossed his arms. "With all due respect, why am I here. I would appreciate an answer."

Michael assessed the young man in front of him, then slid a manila folder across the desk. "You are aware of the current string of murders along the eastern seaboard."

"I wasn't aware that we had officially grouped them into related murders, no."

"We haven't. Not quite, but there are numerous signs connecting them. And I'm sure that you haven't heard all of the gory details that you'll read about in this folder. We here in Washington do a lot of field travel on our cases, going in on advisories and the like. I'm sending you and three other agents to Atlantic City, New Jersey, sight of the latest murder. There is a team meeting between the four of you and myself in three hours. You will be partnered with Adrienne Lee." Michael moved forward in his chair.

"A word of warning about Adrienne. She's a bit. chaotic. And she's not going to put up with a cocky ass like you, Mulder. Don't get me wrong." He smiled fully at the young man. "She's pretty much a cocky asshole herself. You and her should get a long just fine, actually. Just fine. She's down in the bullpen, or on the range. I suggest you go find her before the meeting. You'd much rather she embarrass you in semi-private."

Spencer rose from his chair a little uncertainly. Then, when the A.D. said nothing, he exited the office.

After finding his desk amid the hustle and bustle of the third floor bullpen of agents, Spencer took off to the range. He hadn't been able to find this mysterious woman he'd been assigned to.

The range echoed loudly with the fire of gun shots. Spencer grabbed a head set from the side of the door, and covered his ears. He walked with an easy lope through the range, looking for any women. Then, he saw her.

All the way at the other end of the range, in the very last stall, stood a woman that at least half a foot shorter than him. That would put her at about 5'7 ''; Spencer was a tall man. She wore tapered, tight black pants that hugged slim legs as they went down to her boots. Her shirt was black as well, and tight as hell. Each muscle in her slender arms twitched as she fired another shot.

The woman's hair was so dark brown it was almost black. Her mouth was pursed tightly in concentration, and she wore almost no makeup. The gun that was at the end of her extended arms was a .440 Mag. Spencer was highly impressed.

He made his way down the range to her, and stood to her left. The woman made no sign that she even noticed him. She continued firing.

Spencer squinted down the range to see the target. It was at the end of the long aisle, and Spencer cocked his head skeptically. No one could be very accurate from this far away.

The woman dumped her clip and pressed the red button on the side, and the target came flying forward. She took off her headset and laid her gun on the counter in front of her, then finally glanced his way as the target came forward. "Can I help you, or are you just going to stare all day?"

"I'm Spencer Mulder. You're new partner, if I'm correct in assuming that you're Adrienne Lee."

"That would be correct," she answered, her voice a smoky, low alto. She turned to face him, and Spencer was greeted with the darkest green eyes he had ever seen. Adrienne looked his body up and down, and Spencer was surprised that she didn't even seem to give him a second glance. "So, you're the rookie."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "You can't be much a veteran yourself. What are you, twenty-five?"

"I'm twenty-six, actually. What are you, sixteen?"

Spencer laughed. "Twenty-two. I graduated early."

"I'd say so," she said. "So did I." The target came to a rest in front of the agents, and Adrienne looked at it with her new partner.

Spencer gasped softly. The entire clip had been emptied in the middle of the head. Bull's-eye.

"What, you think you could do better, Junior?"

Spencer glared at her, and pulled his gun, dumping the clip for a clip of blanks. He pulled a target up on the stall next to hers and sent it back, stopping it midway.

"That's not where I shot from."

He glanced at Adrienne, and sent the target all the way back. He emptied the blanks with a professional's ease and pulled the target forward. A large hole was visible through the middle of the head. Spencer smiled smoothly at her.

"I'm not as green as most would think, Agent Lee."

"We'll see about that, Agent Mulder. Anyone can do that if they have 20-20 vision and no distractions."

Spencer nodded. Adrienne began to pack up, and Spencer followed suit. They walked back towards the front of the range, side by side. "So, what's so good about you that you're getting flown out to Atlantic City?"

Adrienne stopped in her tracks. "I did not just hear that out of you're mouth. Who the hell do you think you are, Agent Mulder? From what I read in your personnel file, you've never even been on a case. You're as green as they come, I would say. So I don't think you should be asking me that question. Maybe I should be asking that of you. You don't have near the experience it takes to handle a case of this magnitude."

"My credentials render me more than qualified."

"I'm sure they do, Junior."

Spencer glared at her. "Quit calling me that."

"Sorry, I don't like last names. How about Spence, can I call you Spence?"

"No."

"Okay, Spence. Anyway, the reason they are sending me to Atlantic City with you is because I'm the best damn field investigator the FBI has, whether they'll admit it or not. And the reason they are sending you with me is to bog me down with a rookie. They figure I won't get in as much trouble with you around."

Spencer laughed as they made their way to the elevators. "Oh, so you're Miss Dangerous, eh?"

"Didn't you do your homework? I have to say," she turned to him, "you're slacking already. Actually, there's about four different censures in my file. I've been reprimanded left and right. My tactics don't necessarily agree with FBI regulations."

"Well, all the better for me. It's my first day here, and I really don't have much to say about the FBI's regulations, either."

Adrienne laughed fully, the sound bright and beautiful. Spencer was captivated.

"Well, Spence, I wouldn't go around saying that. You might not get that bump up the ladder."

"I personally don't give a damn about getting my bump up the ladder. I'm only here for one reason."

Adrienne nodded her head, tamping down her curiosity. He'd purposely thrown that statement out there to make her interested in him. She would not give the cocky youngster the satisfaction of admitting that he had, indeed, made quite the first impression.

"Well," she said. "I can relate. I'm only here for one reason, too."

Spencer was the psychologist. He recognized that she was throwing the ball back onto his court with ease. He smiled slightly, just a quirking of his lips as they pulled to a stop in front of the elevator. A car had been already on the way down, and the doors chimed open quickly as they pressed the up arrow. The new partners got on the car.

"Ah, shit," Spencer swore, sticking his hand in between the doors to stop them from closing.

"What?"

"I forgot my gun down there."

Adrienne laughed at him. "See what I mean? Green as hell and wet behind the ears. Don't get lost on your way back up."

Spencer shot her another cold look, then rushed down the range as the doors closed behind him. He sighed, seeing his gun resting on the counter of the stall he'd been shooting at, and picked it up. He smoothed his hand down the barrel and holstered the weapon.

The range had grown quiet. He checked his watch, and saw that it was almost noon. Most of the other agents were out on lunch break. Sighing, he turned, and almost shouted aloud when he ran straight into the broad shoulders of an older man.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "You scared me there, buddy."

"You're obviously a rookie."

Spencer glared down at the man, who was shorter by about four inches, but broad and muscular, even though he had to be in his late sixties. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Your parents would have heard me from a mile back."

Spencer gaped at the man. This man was dignified in the way he stood, ramrod straight and chin up. His glasses reflected back the fluorescent ceiling lights, and the top of his bald head shone under the glare. His voice was deep and baritone, commanding the younger man's attention.

"What do you know about my parents?"

"I know they used to work for the FBI."

"What?" Spencer exclaimed. "Impossible. How come I've never heard of them? Surely, there are people working around here that recognize the name Mulder."

"Of course they recognize the name. But they can't place it. And those that could aren't going to say a word. It would mean more than just their jobs," the man hinted solemnly.

Spencer laughed. "You're crazy, old man. You want to tell me that people could be killed just for remembering my father's last name? I don't think this is the building you belong in. There's a nice psych ward just down the street."

Spencer began to brush by the man, but was surprised at the older man's use of sheer strength as he was thrown back into the rear wall of the range.

"Don't be a smart ass. This is serious, Agent Mulder. Your parents both worked for the FBI, twenty years ago. They worked in a division you've never even heard of, and don't try to look them up, because all of the records are sealed. You need to meet me in the basement in three hours. If you're more than ten minutes late, I won't be there."

The man began to walk off.

"I have a meeting in three hours. I won't be able to make it."

"Bump the meeting, Agent Mulder."

"You're not my superior. I could lose my job over this, and it's my first day. All you've said is that you know my parents. I don't even know you're name. I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to give me a little bit more to go on than that."

The older man stopped in the hallway without turning. "You were told that your parents were killed in a car wreck, were you not?"

"Yeah, I was the only survivor. My car seat was in the back, why?" Spencer stepped foreword cautiously.

"Your parents weren't killed in any car wreck, Agent Mulder. What's more, they weren't killed at all. They just. vanished. You want to know what happened, then you meet me in three hours, and I'll tell you."

The man left Spencer gaping in the aisle as he walked towards the elevator. The doors chimed open and he stepped inside. As they closed, he said, "By the way, the name's Walter Skinner."

Chapter Two: CHARACTERS DEFINED

Assistant Director Michael Bordina prowled his office like a big cat on the hunt. The three agents in the square room watched him with alert eyes. Of the three, only Adrienne was not nervous.

Agents Jason Leever and Jonas Fletcher didn't like confrontation when it came to A.D. Bordina. Both agents were ten year veterans, and had their share of run-ins with the A.D. As long as he was calm, he was a decent guy, but once he got angry, he could be one hell of a bastard to deal with.

Michael sat down in the chair at the front of his small conference table. "Did Agent Mulder say anything about where he would be going, or why he would not show up to the first meeting of his career?" The question was directed at Adrienne.

"Look, I talked to the guy for like, ten minutes. We didn't exactly have a heart to heart."

"What is it with all the damned attitude I've been getting out of you lately, Agent Lee? Do I not command the respect I believe that I deserve, or is it just you?"

Adrienne smirked at the steaming A.D. "It's just me, sir. Listen, Agent Mulder went down to find me because you asked him to. I'm sure that whatever is holding him back, it must be something very important."

Michael huffed in annoyance. "He's got fifteen minutes before I have his ass in a sling."

The hollow chime of the elevator doors grated on Spencer's already sensitized nerves. He took in a deep breath as he stepped out onto the basement floor. It was dimly lit, more of a hallway than an actual floor. A couple of flickering lamps hung from the ceiling. They were caked with a thick layer of dust. Not even the janitors, it seemed, bothered to come down here.

The man called Walter Skinner was no where to be seen, so Spencer continued on down the damp hallway. It was musty, and the air was thick and unused. The humidity in the unairconditioned place began to get to Spencer, claming up his skin. He loosened his tie a bit more.

After a short walk, the hallway turned to the right, but there was a door on the left. The door was old, and wooden, with a key lock instead of the more recent electronic locks, or the handscans. There was a rectangular spot on the door, as if a name plate had long been there, but was now removed. Spencer ran his hand over the spot.

A light shone from under the door, so Spencer knocked. The door swung open. "Come in," came the now-familiar baritone voice.

Spencer swallowed deeply, his jugular bouncing in his throat. He pushed the door open and followed the voice.

"Shut the door behind you."

Spencer did, then turned. Walter was sitting at a desk towards the back of the room. The desk was covered with a thick layer of dust. To the right, there was another, smaller desk, and beyond that, an old copy machine. Behind the first desk, and to the right, there were about three tall, steel gray file cabinets.

Spencer turned and faced the man. "Look, Mr. Skinner, I want some answers. Three days ago, this guy, Alex, shows up on my front doorstep, and offers to take me to my parents. For some, probably dumbass reason, I decide to follow. I get no answers from him other than he'll be in touch. Then, you show up, and I don't get anymore out of you other than my parents were FBI agents. I've been searching my entire life, and I haven't been able to find one damn thing. Now I'd like to know why."

"You're a pushy man, aren't you Agent Mulder." Walter laughed. "Agent Mulder. You have no idea what it feels like to say that again."

Spencer turned. "So damn confused," he muttered softly to himself.

"Don't worry, it will all become clear in time."

"How come my parents aren't in public records?" Spencer asked, straightforward.

"Because the public couldn't handle the story of your parents. Agent Mulder, I'm not going to keep you long. I know you have a meeting to attend. I simply wanted to show you this room. You can find all the answers here. Every answer you need to any question you have at this moment can be found in those three file cabinets."

Spencer gave Walter barely a second glance as he rushed across the room. "Hold on, Agent Mulder. I want you to be sure that you want to know. Because once you read what is in there, you'll have even more questions, questions that, right now, don't have answers. I don't want you to open them yet, but I'll leave that up to you."

Walter stood and walked towards the door. "A word of advice, Agent Mulder. Go to your meeting, find out what you're to do. Then, go home, and think very carefully about how much you really want to know, and how much you are willing to sacrifice. You have two choices, and you are now standing at the crossroads. Open the cabinets, read the files, and I will be in touch. Keep the cabinets closed, and you will probably never see me nor Alex again. But whatever you decide, have no regrets." Then, Walter was out the door, and Spencer was staring at the wood once again.

He looked at his watch and grimaced. It was already almost an hour past his meeting time. He took a deep breath, then threw the latch on the first cabinet. The drawer swung open. Manila folder after manila folder lined the drawer. Spencer took out the first one in the bunch.

It was an FBI file. The label on it read X-23495. The X-files.

Chapter Three

"I want to get away, I want to fly away," Lenny Kravitz crowed from the speakers of the 1975 midnight blue Corvette Stingray. The music was as classic as the car. The woman steering the 'Vette was, she imagined, the only person that still listened to '90's rock. Adrienne Lee shook her head to get her hair out of her eyes, then smoothed it back with her right hand. The car roared down the freeway.

She drove with one hand, and pulled her cell phone from the passenger seat. Dialing a number, she waited patiently for the answer, even as the car was frantically maneuvered between traffic. Finally, an answer.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is personnel, how may I help you?"

"This is Special Agent Adrienne Lee, badge number MGB19112283. I need Agent Spencer Mulder's home phone number."

"Is this a matter of FBI business?"

Adrienne rolled her eyes. "Just patch me in to Jerry." The falsetto female voice left the phone.

It was soon replaced with a male voice. "Yeah, Adrienne, what can I do for you?"

"You can get me a phone number, Jer. Look, I need Spencer Mulder's phone number; he's an agent in the Bureau. I just got the ass-chewing of all time because his ass wasn't in Bordina's office today. Why I got the flak, I'll never know, but I want that number."

There was a masculine laugh. "Don't hurt him too bad, Lee. 575-8319."

She smiled for the first time all day. "I might call back looking for the address, but thanks, buddy. I owe you one."

"You owe me a million, Lee. Don't mention it."

There was a soft click, and then Adrienne closed her phone, tossing it over into the passenger seat. She never even saw the lights of the police car come up in her rearview mirror until it was too late.

"Oh, shit."

Spencer sat back and groaned, rubbing his eyes and looking at his watch. Several manila folders lay out in front of him. There were more spread across the floor of the small office, and quite a few heaped on the old desk.

Most of the things in these files, Spencer could hardly believe. Tales of UFOs and moth men and government conspiracies. He shook his head again, just thinking about it.

The air in the damp basement was beginning to get to him, as well. The thickness of it alone was enough to make him claustrophobic. The thought that kept repeating itself like a mantra in his head was, "My God, these people are my parents."

The man, Fox Mulder, wrote in terms of wonderment and fantasy, his reports often sounding like published fairytales of some sort. The woman, his mother, Dana Scully, wrote much more like a professional, her reports full of definition and science.

Spencer sat the file he was reading aside. It was past midnight, and the drive home would be about thirty minutes. Still, at this time of the night, it was probably more like fifteen. He needed a good night's sleep. He was sure to be in a hell of a lot of trouble come tomorrow. Spencer had missed the meeting.

He picked up the manila folder of the current file, and sat it on the desk. A picture slipped out during the transfer. Spencer picked it up, catching his breath.

The couple in the picture was breathtaking. Singularly handsome and pretty in their own right, together, they were beautiful. Even in the pictures, Spencer could see the resemblance. Somehow, Spencer was the best of them both.

He shook his head, ran his index finger down the picture, and sighed. "I never even knew you. Why the hell am I so drawn to this?" Spencer pocketed the picture and headed out the door.

Spencer turned his brand new BMW into the parking lot of the upscale Georgetown apartment building. The sleek, black car had been a gift from his step-parents. Of course, they hadn't been there to give it to him in person. His step-father, Jeff Kirpatrick, was attending a medical conference in England, and his step-mother, well. Janette Kirpatrick tended to be a little too friendly with the bottle. The morning Spencer had left, she had been dead to the world with a hangover.

Spencer walked to his apartment door. He jammed the key into the lock.

"So this is where rich boys live."

He jumped and spun around, the keys falling to the ground, his hand on his gun. "Jesus!" He exclaimed into face of his new partner.

"Easy, there, Spence." Her voice held no mockery. Adrienne seemed genuinely sorry.

Spencer whipped back around, hurriedly grabbing for his keys, irritated to no end. "What the fuck do you people want from me?" he snarled, spinning to face Adrienne once more.

"What people?"

"How the hell did you know where I lived?" He reached under his shoulder, unsnapping his holster.

Adrienne threw her hands up in the air. "Whoa, there, buddy! What's the matter with you? I got your address out of FBI records. You weren't answering your phone. Which begs the subject. You weren't at the meeting today."

Spencer stepped back. "That's what you're here to tell me? It's one in the morning! My God, I'm your partner for a day, and you're already checking up on me?" His hand finally left his holster and Adrienne visibly relaxed.

"Look, I got my ass chewed out today because you weren't at that meeting, okay? As if I don't get reprimanded enough, now, I've somehow been put in charge of you. I didn't ask for it, and I sure as hell didn't want it. I' ve got more than enough to worry about than watching over some green agent." Adrienne turned from him and starting walking back to the parking lot with a muttered, "Sorry for showing up so late."

Something about the whole situation caused Spencer to smile, and he laughed slightly, opening his door. "Hey there, Agent Lee, since you're here, how about a beer?"

She stopped and turned, looking up at Spencer. "It's one in the morning."

"Where do you have to be? Got a hot date?" He snorted and turned, walking inside, but leaving the door open. He wasn't surprised when he heard Adrienne's footsteps behind him. The door clicked shut, and Spencer smiled.

Adrienne sighed as she stepped inside. The small apartment was surprisingly neat, even if most of his belongings were still packed in boxes. The boxes were neatly stacked, at least.

"You know," she murmured as she found her way to his kitchen, "you can call me Adrienne. I don't do that whole last name shebang. It's not my style."

"Somehow, I didn't think it would be," Spencer's voice emerged from somewhere inside his refrigerator, where he was bent down, grabbing the beer.

Adrienne titled her head, smiled a little, at the sight of his butt. The man had a nice butt. And, she had to admit, he was more than just a little attractive. Hell, the man should have gone into modeling rather than the FBI. Adrienne, being extremely blunt, told him so.

Spencer laughed as he rose, taking the beers with him. "Yeah, right."

"No, Junior, I'm serious. Why the FBI?"

Spencer handed her the Budweiser, and they moved into his living room. Adrienne was the first to flop on his navy blue sofa. "Make yourself right at home," he snipped. He sat down a reasonable distance from her.

"I chose the FBI because it called to me."

Adrienne looked up at him. "You're joking, right?"

Spencer merely stared at her, then focused on his beer, taking a long sip.

Adrienne, similarly, took a swig of hers. Then, "I would have figured it had something to do with your parents."

He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. "What would you know about my parents?"

"Are you paranoid enough? Jeeze. All I meant is, like, I read in your personnel files that your dad used to be in law enforcement, or something."

"You mean Jeff?" Spencer relaxed, then laughed and shook his head. "That man is not the reason I went into law enforcement. And, if you'd been thorough in your little delve into my personal history, then you would have found out that the Kirpatricks are not my real parents."

"You were adopted?" Her voice held genuine surprise.

"Orphaned. My parents died when I was, like, two. Car wreck. Or so I thought."

"So you thought? That sounds a little weird there, Junior."

"I told you, don't call me that." Spencer swigged his beer again. "Look, I didn't even find out I was adopted until about a year ago. I found the records in Jeff's closet. I couldn't believe they wouldn't tell me. I asked both Jeff and Janette about my real parents, and they weren't forth coming. Said they didn't know who I was born too, just that they'd been told my parents were both dead. That's when I went ahead and took the FBI up on their offer of recruitment. I figured I could use the Bureau's resources to find my parents."

Adrienne frowned. "You could have used resources similar and just as good as the Bureau's without joining."

"I told you, it called to me."

It was silent in the house for a good five minutes. The only real sound was the ticking of a small mantle clock by the diminutive fire place in the apartment.

"So what about-"

"Did you ever-"

They laughed. Adrienne nodded. "You first."

"Isn't it ladies first?"

Adrienne threw a smile his way. "Did you ever find your parents?"

"Yeah, but that's kind of a long story."

"We've got all night."

Spencer laughed. "You ask too many questions."

"That's why they put the I in FBI."

"Speaking of. Why did you join the FBI, Adrienne? Any back story?"

She shrugged. "Ah, you know the uh, the usual. Poverty-stricken, bad neighborhood, wrong side of town. All that jazz."

Spencer narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so."

"Look, there's not more to it than that."

He sighed and stood, finishing off his beer. "Look, I showed mine, you show me yours. No one in the whole damn FBI knows about my parents, except for you."

Adrienne looked down at her beer bottle. Spencer shook his head and walked back to the kitchen, stopping when he heard her voice. "My older brother, Jake, and I, we used to uh, steal. Nothing big, just enough to pawn off to get by on. My mom and my dad did all they could, but once someone gets hooked on drugs, you know. we didn't have the money for rehab or anything.

"They did the best they could, though. They really did. Anyway, when the pawning didn't cut it anymore, Jake went into street dealing, and he got shot. Right in front of me, really, and I swore that day that I would do pretty much anything I could to stop it. Kind of clich, I know, but it's the truth."

Spencer smiled softly, then spoke, his voice low and smooth. "Why the FBI, though? Why not local law enforcement."

"The FBI pays better. That and I feel like I have more equal footing here."

"You're kidding, right? The FBI is not exactly known for its. tact when dealing with female agents." Spencer sat down again, a little closer.

"When you have an eye like mine with the gun, you garner some respect. Plus, I really kicked some ass at the academy. That martial arts shit is real good, and combined with a little bit of street fighting, it's pretty unbeatable." She shrugged. "Besides, I'm not some prudish chick. I'm not afraid of sex."

Spencer gulped. This conversation had suddenly taken a turn. He flashed another smooth smile. "Oh, really? With all that tight clothing, I hadn't noticed."

Adrienne laughed lightly, smiling back Spencer. "Not that you aren't aware of your good looks, Junior. You might as well not wear a suit at all the way you sport that thing."

He chuckled back at her. Suddenly, he was a lot closer to Adrienne's face, and the air in the refrigerated apartment was a lot hotter. "I don't usually do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Invite women I've barely met into my home for alcohol." Spencer had just had one beer, but he was already feeling buzzed. Maybe it was in the air, because he could have sworn that Adrienne's eyes were just a little unfocused.

"You do realize," she started, "that this is completely against regulations."

"What is?"

"Fraternization between partners or other agents within the Bureau."

Spencer grinned wolfishly. He found his lips hovering above hers'. "Oh, is that what we're doing?"

"I think s-"

Her voice was cut off as he descended upon her. The kiss was anything but innocent, and no where near chaste. Spencer held back until he felt Adrienne's tongue slip past his lips, then, he dropped all of his inhibitions. He brought his hands up, cupping the sides of her head in his palms. One of her hands was around his neck, the other against his chest as they necked on his sofa like teenagers in heat.

She pushed against his chest, and it took him a few moments to realize she had begun to protest. Spencer broke the kiss off, breathless. He released her and slumped back in the sofa.

Adrienne pulled all the way back and stood up. "Look, um, that was really, really nice, but we can't do this. I like you, Spencer. I like you a lot. You're cocky as hell and don't really give a damn. You remind me of me. But, uh, because I like you, and I don't like very many people, I want to keep you around for a little while, as a partner. So, uh, we're just going to leave this here, and, uh, I'm going home."

Spencer grinned up at her. "You're cute when you're nervous."

Her face was unflinching. "No, I'm serious. Dead serious. We can't have this kind of relationship, but don't take it as anything personal. Okay?"

Spencer sat foreword, his head falling into his waiting hands as he rubbed his face. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"Look, I'm sorry for leading you on." Adrienne walked toward his door, Spencer following.

"At least let me walk you to your car."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"I wasn't suggesting-"

"I know you weren't." She smiled up at him. "I'm a big girl, here, Junior. I think I can make it to my car."

He smiled down at her, and then, Adrienne was out the door. Spencer closed the hardwood behind her, then groaned and shook his head. "It has been one weird fucking day."

Spencer's bed wasn't put together as of yet, so he pulled off his shirt and slacks, walking to his couch in nothing but a pair of Calvin boxers. He laid down upon the sofa, but the humidity in the air began to get to him. Summer was coming.

"Oh, what the hell." He pulled his boxers off, as well, and flung them across the medium sized living room.

That night, Spencer dreamt of dark men in trench coats and beautiful women in black pantsuits.

Chapter Four

"Where in the hell were you yesterday Mulder?" shouted Assistant Director Bordina.

"I was. I got really sick, sir. I'm sorry. But I felt like I was going to pass out." Spencer tried to look honest.

The Michael glared at the young agent, seeing right through his eye. "That's only going to fly this time, Agent. One more time, and you'll be seeing an official reprimand in your file and be on computer crimes for the next five years. Get the hell out of my office."

Spencer winced and left like a whipped puppy.

Down in the bullpen, a thick manila folder looked up at him from his desk. He sighed, sitting down and opening the file. Seven deaths along the eastern seaboard. The connection was the spot where the bodies had all been found. All of the bodies had been found along the New Jersey coastline. People that had vanished from their home, then had been mysteriously dumped out on the beach. The bodies had all been found at the same time, hence the sudden FBI interest.

Spencer frowned. The autopsies had provided no trace evidence, other than a few anomalies on some of the victims that had been passed of as system glitches. It didn't provide much for him to go on, and he really didn't see the purpose of traveling all the way to Atlantic City if that wasn't even where six of the people lived.

He flipped to the last picture of the file, a body of a young woman. She was completely naked, and there were no marks on her body. Nothing there to prove conclusively what she had died from, though the pathologist had guessed oxygen deprivation. Still, that wasn't what caught his eye. Underneath the picture, there was a small yellow post-it note.

"It's happening again."

Spencer grabbed the note and pulled it away, rereading it several time s. "What the hell does all of these mean?" he huffed quietly.

A body stepped in front of his desk. Spencer followed the well-muscled torso all the way up to the dark skinned, thick neck and then, to the man's face. His hair was ebony, and cut short. The man's chocolate brown eyes glowed as he flashed a white, straight toothed smile Spencer's way.

Agent Jonas Fletcher was well liked around the Bureau. The tall, black man was undeniably funny, and even more, a first rate agent. His smile lit the room, and caused others to follow suit. Jonas was the master procrastinator, but the eternal optimist. If anyone needed cheering up, Jonas was the man.

"Agent Mulder. I'm Jonas Fletcher, but most people just call me Fletch. I' ll be working with you on the Atlantic City case." His grip was firm, and the man was overly charming, but Spencer wasn't in the mood.

"Great. I'm sure the pleasure will be all mine," he said dryly.

Jonas wouldn't let up. "Already read the file, I see?"

"Um, were you at my desk earlier by any chance, Agent Fletcher?"

"Just Fletch, really. No, I wasn't at your desk." Jonas frowned. "Something wrong, Agent Mulder?"

"No, no nothing's wrong. When do we leave?"

"We're driving out tonight at six."

Spencer nodded. "Okay. We're meeting here?"

Jonas nodded. "Sure."

"I'll see you at six, Fletch. I need to go home and pack." Spencer started for the elevator, then kicked himself for being such an ass. He turned. "Oh, Fletch, call me Spencer, please."

Jonas gave him a million watt smile, then waved at him before walking back deeper into the bullpen.

Spencer's lips quirked upwards, and he headed for the elevator. Only, he didn't get off at the parking floor, riding instead to the basement.

The manila folder slammed shut with a dull thud. Spencer dropped his head, letting it rest on the very desk that his father might have sat at years upon years ago. Or had it been his mother sitting there?

The file he was reading from was thick and littered with notes of all kinds from Fox Mulder. It was obvious there had been a lot of work done on this case. His mother's face stared back up at him from a black and white photo, eyes wide and afraid, bound and gagged. The X-file's label was printed clearly: Dana Scully.

Bravely, Spencer read on. He read past the abduction, past his aunt's shooting, and on to the cancer. At those words, he stopped dead. Cancer. His mother had cancer. An inoperable tumor, and a chip in her neck. Spencer tucked the file away and put it back in the file cabinet.

Cancer.

"Scary shit, eh?" the voice was vaguely familiar.

"I really, really wish you people would stop sneaking up on me." Spencer spun around to face Alex.

Alex was dressed in all black, the long sleeved black shirt hanging of his lean frame. Even at his age, he was attractive.

"How do you guys even get passed security?"

"And you're the star profiler? The big-shot rookie? Maybe your parents' genes didn't carry over as well as I'd hoped." Alex smiled and walked past Spencer, running his hand down one of the steel file cabinets.

"What does all this crap mean, anyway? All these bizarre files?" Spencer waved his arm around the room. "I haven't learned one damn thing about who my parents were. Only what they did."

"I saw that file you were reading. Have you gotten to the cancer, yet?"

Spencer was beginning to notice that this man answered none of his questions - only sidestepped them. "Yeah, I did. What's that got to do with anything I 've asked you?"

"Nothing, actually, nothing at all. It's just that you are very close to discovering a little about your parents. Just keep reading. You just have to learn how to do your homework," Alex said as he walked towards the door. Then, before he left, he added, "Junior."

It took only seconds for Spencer to register what Alex had said, but the man was already out the door. Spencer darted towards the hall. "What a minute!" he shouted. He ripped the closing door open and shot out in the hallway. Alex was nowhere to be found.

"What the hell?" It was dead silent in the hallway. Spencer checked his watched. It was almost four. He had just two hours to get home, pack, and get back to the FBI.

"Dammit!" he swore. He ran for the elevator, then, as an afterthought, swung back around to the basement office, snatching up the file labeled "Dana Scully."

At precisely 6:10 pm, Spencer Mulder slid into the FBI bullpen. Fletch simply looked over at him and shrugged. Adrienne was mildly annoyed, but her lips were quirked. Jason Leever walked up to him. "I'm Jason Leever, I'm the other guy working on this case."

Spencer shook his hand distractedly, out of breath.

The four agents piled into the nondescript, baby blue Ford Freedom. The Freedom had replaced the Taurus almost ten years before that, but unfortunately, it didn't look much better than the older car.

"Been a long time since I've been in a car that gets a hundred and fifty miles to the gallon."

Fletch laughed. "Well, if you wouldn't drive that damned Corvette everywhere, Adrienne."

She smiled at him from the back seat. Fletch was driving. "That's true, but I also wouldn't kick everyone's ass at the drags, either, would I."

"You drag race?" Spencer turned to her, open mouthed.

"Oh yeah. I despise desk work, and since that's ninety percent of what we do at the FBI. I get my thrills from driving ultra fast cars. I don't car how fast technology gets, it can't catch up to a suped Corvette."

"Adrienne is the local live wire, Spencer," Jason smiled back. "We tend to send her out to break in the rookies."

"Oh, break them in, eh?" Spencer muttered.

Adrienne shot him a look out of the corner of her eyes. Shut the hell up.

Spencer ducked his head. "You know, Adrienne, you really should get that glare fixed. It could kill someone."

In the front, Fletch laughed hard. Jason began to laugh as well. Adrienne fixed him with another glare, then turned and stared out the window with a huff.

"You mean to tell me all three of us are getting holed up in one room while she gets a room all her own?" Spencer was furious. Three grown and particularly big men did not fit in a small double hotel room.

"Look, calm down man. I'll get the couch," Jason was the shortest of the three men.

"Yeah, besides," Fletch smiled, "we can have pillow fights and talk about girls and stuff."

"And how old are you again, Fletch?" Adrienne snarled, not laughing.

"However old you want me to be, baby," he batted his eyes at her.

Adrienne gave in a smiled, slugging him in the arm. "Grow up, Fletch."

"But mom, I don' wanna." Fletch picked up Adrienne's bag and began to walk towards the elevators.

Spencer glared after them.

Jason cleared his throat, lifting his own bag. "They're always like that. Fletch helped Adrienne through the academy, and they were partners for about a year in Behavioral."

"They were in Behavioral?"

Jason smiled. "Yeah, man, didn't you know? We're like the profilin' squad or something. The FBI is learning to train its agents in broader categories. It's kind of like a rotation out. Once the higher-ups feel that you've taken all you can handle in a particular area, you get moved. Violent Crimes is almost a step down from Behavioral, at least in how much it taxes your mind. But the pay is a hell of a lot better, so no one really gives a damn to get out of that place. You're lucky you weren't put there in the first place."

Jason walked off.

Spencer was left to wonder why he hadn't been put in Behavioral from the start.

Chapter Five

Spencer felt that he was handling his very first crime scene with extreme tact. Considering the fact that he had never seen a dead body before, he figured that only throwing up once was actually a good thing.

"You're never gonna make it on the field, Junior," Adrienne drawled as he came out of the portapottie by the park.

There had been one more body found on down the coastline of the beach. Because of the other seven, the FBI had immediately ran the local police out of the area, and sent on their own crime scene unit.

"Yeah, well," Spencer muttered, swiping his arm across his mouth, "how much could you know, Adrienne. You've only been doing field work for a little longer than me. You aren't exactly a dinosaur, you know."

Adrienne nodded matter of factly. "I didn't throw up at my first dead body." She handed him a stick of Big Red.

Spencer accepted the gum gratefully, practically swallowing it as he chewed. "You know," he began, starting in on the crime scene, "something about those bodies seems familiar. I just can't place it right now."

"You think the eighth one is related."

"Oh, definitely, don't you?"

Adrienne nodded her agreement.

"Something in those autopsy reports have been bugging me, though. And the fact that only one of these eight people was alive."

"Maybe our perp just killed number eight a little while ago, hence why she got further. Maybe she wasn't as dead as he thought she was."

Spencer stopped. "Why do people always assume that? That the perp is always going to be a guy. Until you know for sure, you never hear someone say, 'she is our suspect.'"

"Gosh, I don't know wise guy. Maybe because there's some hormone deficiency in the white American male that makes about 10% of them go off the deep end. You know that over 85% of the serial killers in the world today are white American males, don't you?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Gee, Agent Lee can read statistics after all." He shook his head. "Anyway, it's just a rhetorical question."

They walked a few more steps towards the last body. Adrienne cleared her throat. "You said something about the autopsy reports." she trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah. Isn't it kind of weird that on two of the bodies, there were scars found on the backs of their necks?"

"Mmm," Adrienne shook her head. "The reports said that was shrapnel. Those two were male, right? We should check and see if they were mobile infantry or something. Maybe Desert Storm? That would put them in the right range as far as age."

"Good idea. But it's not that, it's. I don't know. I feel like I know that from somewhere."

"Clairvoyance? That's not necessarily a bad thing to have, I guess."

Spencer laughed. "You believe in that crap?"

Adrienne nodded. "Sure, don't you?"

He ran a hand across the top of his hair. "I don't believe in much of anything. And everything I used to believe in. Let's just say my opinions are beginning to change."

As they neared the body, Adrienne stopped. It was a couple of seconds before Spencer noticed that she was no longer walking beside him. "Adrienne?"

"Stop walking."

His grin was goofy. "What?" Spencer laughed.

"I said stop walking." Her voice trembled as her eyes darted back and forth.

"Adrienne, what the hell?"

"Spencer, look."

Finally, he saw what she was talking about. The sand on the beach was all wet except for an arc near the body. Then, he saw that the ocean tide was rushing in around a huge shape in near the shoreline. It was large, and circular. Then only reason you could miss it was the fact that some of the water was actually flowing under the object.

"Holy shit," he spoke slowly, then backed up to Adrienne. "What the hell is that?"

Fletch walked up behind him. "I don't know, Spencer, but I've already got an airiel up there taking pictures." As soon as the words left Jonas's mouth, the insistent thrumming of a helicopter passed directly overhead.

The coastguard chopper flew over the body, then, a few minutes later, after the pictures had been taken, was gone.

"Spencer, look!" Adrienne ran to where the huge circle had started. The sand where they had first seen it was wet again. The water was flowing towards the beach normally, leaving them all to wonder if they had seen anything at all.

The three agents walked out into the midday tide.

"Oh, my God."

"What?" Fletch and Adrienne both turned to Spencer.

He ran his tongue across his lips. "The X-files."

Then, Spencer was off, sprinting towards the car. Adrienne broke into a run after him. "Spencer, wait!"

She caught him with much effort, two of her strides barely equaling one of his. Finally, breathless, they reached the car.

"Adrienne, go back to the scene. Tell Fletch that I'll be back within the hour."

"No. You're on to something and I want to see what it is."

Spencer groaned. "Adrienne, go back to the crime scene. Comb the grid."

"Fletch can walk the grid on his own. He's damn near the best field investigator in the Bureau. I'm going with you." Adrienne heard the passenger door click open, and she smiled up at Spencer.

Spencer didn't look her way, instead just getting in the car.

She followed suit. "Maybe you're not completely bad, Junior. I can see those wheels turning."

"Just let me drive."

Spencer sat down on the bed in the hotel room that had been deemed his. The nondescript room seemed to be laughing at him. "Where the hell did those clowns put my bags?"

"Calm down, Spence. Did you check the storage closet?"

"No." Indeed, his bags were stacked neatly inside the oak wood closet.

He ripped open the first bag, pulling out the file laying on top of the clothes. Spencer opened the file and took out one of the pictures that sat midway in. Pale skin filled the picture, with an even paler scar.

"Look." He thrust the picture out at Adrienne.

"What is this?"

"It's a scar that was on the back of my mother's neck." The tiny scar was obviously sewn up well. It was hardly visible.

"Like the scars the pathologist found on two of the bodies." Spencer sighed. "I bet there are scars on the necks of the other victims."

"But why only catch it on two of the." Adrienne's voice trailed off. "The M.E. was different for the last five bodies."

Spencer's grin was full voltage. "Exactly. The last one wasn't as thorough."

Adrienne shook her head. "But what does it mean?"

The grin evaporated. "I'm not uh. I'm not sure. It's a little bit unbelievable." He handed the thick file to Adrienne.

Thirty minutes later, Adrienne looked up at Spencer. "This is amazing, Spencer. Where did you find this?"

He laughed. "In the room where they keep the old copier. That thing is older than we are, cubed. You believe it?"

"I have to. All of the evidence is right here."

Spencer nodded. "I think we need to conduct our own little X-file, here."

Adrienne nodded enthusiastically. "Let's do it."

Unofficially, the X-files had just been reopened.

Chapter Six

The small conference room was dark and claustrophobic. The black miniblinds that lined the windows were closed. A maroon sofa rested in the back of the room, and just beyond the door, a large, rectangular table with several chairs sat. It would have been homey, if not for the odd feeling in the air.

"He's falling right in where we expected him to be." The voice was a smooth tenor. Alex Krycek stepped forward from the doorway into the conference room and sat at his place at the head of the table.

Faceless men with no names, it seemed, stared back at him. One man spoke. "And we would expect him where?"

"In his father's place, of course."

A man in the back of the room complained, "And why would we want him there? If this kid has any of what his father possessed, then we could be found out again."

"Gentlemen, Spencer Mulder is not a threat to the Project, itself. And we are not the same organization that we once were. They have begun again, and therefore, we must begin again." Krycek sighed. "Besides, the kid deserves to know about his parents."

"Alex Krycek with a heart?" Another voice, female, entered the room. Marita Covarrubias, older and grayer, but more dignified than she used to be, sauntered over to Alex. "I don't think so. Come on, Alex, why are you playing this kid?"

Alex flashed her a smooth smile. "Why, Marita. The pleasure is all mine."

"I'm sure. Why risk it, Alex? Why risk the Project?"

"Because, Walter Skinner just introduced Spencer to the X-files. If he really is his father's son, he won't be able to let them go. He'll request assignment, I'm positive. If Spencer gets the files, then we can control what he investigates and when he investigates it." Krycek grinned again. "Besides," he shrugged, "the kid might be smart, but he's not Mulder. And he doesn't have Scully."

Marita nodded in agreement.

"Maybe I underestimated you, Mulder."

Spencer turned. "Huh?"

Adrienne turned to Spencer. "I said maybe I underestimated you."

"Why'd you call me that? Felt weird."

She laughed. "You are paranoid."

Spencer glared. "How would you like to be called by your last name? Just really impersonal, that's all."

Adrienne laughed again. "I'll keep that in mind, Junior."

Spencer grimaced and turned back to his balcony window. The sun had begun to set over the ocean, shooting orange and red hues across the sky. "Why would you say that?"

"I wouldn't expect you to believe in UFOs. You just don't seem like that type of guy."

"You don't seem like that type of girl," he countered.

Adrienne shrugged. "You know, Fletch and Jason might be getting antsy without a car to get back to the hotel."

"Oh shit!" Spencer grabbed the keys off the Bureau. "I can't believe you let me forget!"

"It's your ass, not mine."

"Yeah, thanks."

Later that night, Spencer crept out past the two sleeping agents and sat down in the foyer of the hotel. The pool room was just off to the right, but the water was quiet and deserted. Spencer looked at his watch, and saw that it was well past one. Restless, he went back to the room and stepped out onto the balcony.

It seemed like every star in the universe had come out that night. Spencer leaned up against the railing. The air was cool on his shirtless back. Spencer held no reservations about his body. It was easy for him to go shirtless around people he barely knew.

He looked up at the stars for a long while, then sighed deeply. "I don't understand. What is it I'm doing here?" he asked quietly. Spencer wasn't a big believer in fate or even in God, but for some reason, he felt guided. He didn't get an answer.

He rubbed his hand up the back of his hair, then through the top. Spencer went back inside for a moment, and returned with his mother's file. He sat on the cement of the balcony floor.

With Adrienne, they had read through the cure of Dana's cancer. Now, Spencer began to read again.

As he came across the words, he stared in disbelief. Then, he read again, over and over. The word stuck out harshly in his mind. INFERTILE.

Spencer was up when the sun rose. He finished reading the file, at last. There wasn't much in the file after his mother was rescued in Antarctica. Nothing profound, at any rate. Of course, nothing seemed profound after reading about her infertility.

When Fletch and Jason were up, they called Adrienne, and the group was off to the police station.

"Hey, you guys are the FBI, right?" The captain came over to the front desk.

"Yeah." Fletch stepped forward. "We need the victims' home addresses and family ties. We also want copies of the reports and files, everything you guys dug up right from the start."

The captain smiled. "Already got it. Come on back, we can take a look. You guys can use one of our conference rooms."

Fletch lit up. "Wow, the local police usually aren't this helpful," he stated, following the captain back.

"Yeah, well, we want to get this over with as quickly as possible, before anyone else gets hurt. To be honest, I wouldn't mind the extra help. I'm Joe Barnett, by the way."

The agents shook his hand, introducing themselves. "Oh, by the way," Joe said before he left the agents in a small conference room off the main hallway, "the Coast Guard called. It seems the aerials you guys requested were exposed. The pictures didn't develop."

"What?" Spencer spat out. "How does the Coast Guard make a mistake like that?"

Joe raised his hands. "Hey, it happens. Don't shoot the messenger, okay?"

"I don't believe this." Spencer paced the room like a nervous cat.

Joe closed the door before Spencer had the chance to rant further.

Jason looked over at his fellow agent. "What did you expect to find on those photos, anyway?"

Spencer did not hesitate. "A UFO, to be honest."

The room grew silent. Adrienne looked down at her hands. Fletch seemed to take it in stride, and looked down at the files. Jason's eyes grew wide, and his smile followed suit. "That was a joke, right?"

"No, not really." Spencer stood ramrod straight.

"Jay, let it go," Adrienne mumbled.

"He's serious. Fletch, this guy's serious."

Fletch shot Jason a look. "And?"

Jason laughed and sat back in his chair. "A cook. I'm working with a rookie cook. This is just great."

Fletch stood and looked at Spencer. "Okay, kid. You were serious. Why? What did you expect?"

Spencer rubbed a hand across his mouth. "It's just that. well. this is typical of a UFO abduction."

Fletch nodded. "Uh huh. And why would you say that?"

Spencer looked at his feet, shuffled a little. "Well, there are these files."

"Okay, listen. We'll take a look at the files, and then question the families if need be. Investigate every avenue we know of. If nothing turns up, I want to take a look from your angle."

Spencer looked up at the older man in surprise. "You serious?"

"Sure, kid." Fletch grinned. "We've got to solve this somehow, and if it's little green men, then so be it. Let's just find a way to solve it."

Spencer smiled back.

Jason groaned. "I don't believe this."

"This follows no pattern," Spencer said. It was close to midnight, and the police department was quiet except in the conference room. He banged his head down on the table. "The only pattern is the scars."

"Let's look at it from your angle," Fletch suggested.

Spencer turned his head, keeping it on the table. "I don't think so, Fletch. It was a stupid angle."

Fletch shrugged. "Maybe not."

"C'mon, UFOs? Jason was right." Spencer sat up and nodded at the man rocked back in his chair, snoring softly. "It was a stupid idea."

Fletch narrowed his eyes. "Look, Spencer. You're a cop. More than that, you are an FBI agent that works in Violent Crimes, forensics. There will be times when it'll be just you working the grid, and you need to trust your instincts, especially your first instincts. This case is damn weird, and I'm not about to dismiss anything that could break it wide open. Especially as the senior agent. If we don't figure this thing out, it'll be my head, not yours."

Adrienne nodded. "Fletch, there were these files that Spencer was talking about-"

Fletch nodded. "The X-files."

Spencer rose from his chair, eyes darting to Jonas. "You know about the X-files?"

Fletch again nodded his head. "Sure. Unexplained paranormal phenomena. We studied it when I went to Quantico, but it was just for that year. I don 't know why, but the class was discontinued the next year. There were some excellent examples of forensics work, especially in the pathology. Needless to say, I 'm a believer in that kind of stuff. I mean, it's more than a little narrow minded to think that in the entire universe, we're the only ones, you know?"

Adrienne nodded. "Fletch, did you ever read about the agents that investigated the X-files?"

"Yeah, I think their names came up a couple of." his voice trailed off. His eyes slowly slid over to Spencer. "My God. I never did figure out why your name sounded so damn familiar."

Spencer nodded.

Jonas Fletcher looked straight at the young man in front of him. "You're Fox Mulder's son."

So here I am doing everything I can holding on to what I am pretending I'm a Superman I'm trying to keep the ground on my feet it seems the world's falling down around me the nights are all long I'm singing this song to try and make the answers more than maybe - Superman by Goldfinger

Chapter Seven

When Spencer woke the next morning, he was greeted by the digital clock next to bed glaring 11:07 at him. He groaned and threw back the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his face. The muscles in his back rippled across as his stood and stretched. He slung a sleeveless shirt across his torso and pulled out a fresh pair of dress slacks. Spencer would shower later, but he needed to know why they let him sleep so late.

He found them on the first floor of the hotel. It seemed there had been a free breakfast going on. Spencer scooped up a left over glazed donut and walked over to the table. "Why the hell did you guys let me sleep so late?" he grumbled without malice.

Fletch smiled at him. "We figured we'd do a little bit of the footwork for you. This is your first case and yesterday was a long day for you."

Spencer smiled gamely. "Thanks."

Fletch grinned. "You're going to be happy with what we've found."

"Shoot."

Adrienne took up the thread. "All of the victims had preexisting scars."

"What?"

"Those scars on the backs of their necks? They were preexisting. And get this, when the M.E. reautopsied the bodies, he found that they were decomposing much faster than any normal body."

Spencer nodded. "So what does that mean?"

"We're not sure. Not even the doctors have figured it out." Jonas laughed. "It sure adds a little bit of support to your out-there theory, though."

Suddenly, it occurred to Spencer that there were only three of them at the table. "Where did Jason go?"

Fletch rolled his eyes. "You know Jason. He went to go do," Jonas formed quotation marks with his hands, "'real police work.'"

Spencer chuckled.

"Anyway, Spence," Adrienne said, "what we've found so far certainly agrees with your theory. But, we don't really have any evidence to back you up. That would beg the question, where do we go from here?"

Spencer rubbed his hand up the back of his neck. "Okay, I want you and Fletch to dig more into their past. Find out when they got those scars, and find out if they were missing for any period of time over the last, say, five years. If not, dig a little bit deeper. I want to know when and where."

Spencer rose from his chair. "I'm heading back to my room to change. We can meet back here at say. seven?"

Adrienne frowned. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to uh, the police department. Help out Jason a little. Maybe he won't feel so downhearted if I go help, now that everyone is following around the Mulder kid." Spencer grinned and went up to his room.

Adrienne looked over at Fletch as soon as Spencer hit the elevators. "I don't think he's going to the police department."

Fletch huffed accordingly. "Of course he's not going to the police department. He's going back to that beach."

"Why would he do that?"

"Some" s," Fletch stated, "we just need to tell ourselves that we really didn't see what we thought we saw."

"He's going to get hurt. He's just a rookie, Fletch."

Jonas shook his head. "You can't protect him every step of the way, Adrienne. It didn't work with Kyle, and it won't work with Spencer. You just need to learn to work with a partner again."

Adrienne sighed. "I don't want to talk about Kyle."

"You never want to talk about-"

"I said, Jonas, that I don't want to talk about Kyle."

Jonas frowned disapprovingly. "Well, at any rate, let's get started on this case."

The water rushed up in a wave onto the sandy beach. Despite the recent murders, though, people still flooded the area. Spencer grimaced in tight-mouthed dismay. He'd hoped to be able to walk the grid again before the evidence was shot to hell.

Shaking his head, he walked back towards the parking lot. "I'm crazy," he muttered, kicking a rock. "Frickin' crazy."

Back at the hotel, Spencer went straight up to his room and pulled his mother's file from his suitcase. Taking out her picture, he laid down on the bed. He lifted it and read the date on the back. 1996. That was about twenty-nine years ago. Spencer stared at the picture. His blue eyes were mirrored back at him. Spencer's hair was a deeper red, but red nonetheless.

Spencer pulled out his wallet. There were no pictures in the wallet; there was no family worth remembering. His father had been a lousy drunk, too consumed by his personal want and his mother was a needy woman that didn't get any love from her husband.

Stepmother and stepfather, he thought to himself. Somehow, just looking at the picture, Spencer knew his real parents would have been different. Gently, Spencer put the old picture in his wallet. It was then that he felt the breeze.

The balcony window was open. Spencer remembered closing it. He drew his gun from the holster and walked outside. Sitting there was none other than Walter Skinner.

"Get up," Spencer growled.

Skinner rose off the armchair. "I wouldn't shot, son. I'm one of the good guys."

"Yeah? How do I know that?"

Skinner laughed. "This is vaguely familiar. Both of your parents have held guns on me. It comes as no surprise that their son would, as well."

"How did you know my parents?" Spencer's arms remained extended.

"I was their supervisor at the FBI, Spencer. Assistant Director Walter Skinner." Walter walked over to the balcony and leaned on the railing.

"Then you supervised the X-files."

"I did."

At last, Spencer tucked his gun away. "Don't think I'm not going to kill you. I'm just not ready for you to die yet."

Skinner chuckled. "Okay, Mulder, what do you want to know?"

"I want to know what this case is about. How come I'm here?"

"You know Alex Krycek, the man with the prosthetic arm." Spencer nodded. "He wanted you on this case. I'm not quite sure why, yet, though, except for the fact that he wants to lure you to the X-files."

"I'd say you've both done a pretty good job of that." Spencer sat in Skinner's vacated armchair.

"I'd say we have," Skinner obliged. "But the reason I'm doing it is to beat the rat at his own game."

"And what game would that be?"

"You're not ready to hear that, yet, son. There's a lot you're going to need to see, to investigate."

"I'm sick and tired of people telling me I'm not ready!" Spencer shouted. "When the hell will I be ready? I'm not sixteen, for Christ's sake, I'm twenty-four! Start treating me like it."

"Look, you're father and your mother put their entire lives into those damn files. By doing that, they just might have saved the world, but you aren't ready yet, and I'll tell you why. There is so much pain wrapped up in those files that it's unbelievable. More so for you because it's personal. And I guarantee, Spencer, that if your parents were still around, they would all but forbid you from investigating those files. I won't do that because it's happening again, and the only person that will be able to stop it is the son of Mulder and Scully." Skinner turned from Spencer, out of breath.

After a few breaths, Skinner turned back, his voice a low rumble in the midday sun. "Spencer, if you choose to work the X-files, you need to work them with someone you absolutely trust, or you'll wind up dead. You'll need to focus completely, or you will wind up dead. You'll have to think openly, at least somewhat, or you will wind up dead. I'm not kidding around. You're personal life is going to fall by the wayside. So I want you to be absolutely sure that you're ready for that. Now, you are on the right track, here in New Jersey, and more often than not, you're going to find that the right track often leads to a dead end. Don't be discouraged. Give the X-files a bit of a trial run, and if you think you can do it, then by all means, do it. And when you decide, contact me."

Skinner began to walk off the balcony and go inside when he turned, remembering. "Oh, Spencer, I brought you this. Figured you would like a more recent picture."

Walter handed Spencer small, wallet-sized picture. Spencer didn't look at it. "How will I know how to contact you?"

Skinner handed him a phone number. "Call this number, and ask for me."

Spencer accepted the phone number, and then, Walter Skinner was gone. At last, he turned the picture around. The picture was taken from somewhere outside. In it, his mother was standing next to the man that Spencer knew was Fox Mulder. They were both wearing suits, his father's a dark brown suit, his mother's a neatly pressed black. His father was lanky, but muscular, his bangs falling into his eyes as he looked up intently in the camera. His eyes were a deep, swirling hazel, his jaw, strong and square.

His mother looked different in this picture, older and sadder. Her stance was strong and ramrod straight, in complete contrast to Fox. Dana's hair was shorter and redder, either dyed or taken back to a more original color. Spencer guessed the latter, since his hair was so deep red. Her eyes were the same icy blue, but far more mature.

The couple in the picture stood close together. This had to be a crime scene photo. There was yellow police tape in the back. Fox was cockier than Dana, his lips quirked despite the pretense. Still, Dana had a certain sureness in her gaze, as well. They were proud people.

Standing there, close together, shoulders touching lightly, Spencer could see where he got his good looks. He was so clearly each one of them, it awed him as it hurt him. He'd never got the chance to meet them.

Spencer felt his eyes tear, and blinked hard. He could feel the sob in his throat, and opened his mouth, inhaling hard to keep it in. He walked in, holding the picture, and fell to the bed. He sniffled, but could feel the wetness falling down his cheeks, anyway. Spencer hadn't cried since the first grade when he fell off the balance beam. His stepfather hated criers. "Oh, God," he choked, then brought the picture to his chest. "Why?"

END Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

"Spencer, wake up!"

Spencer shot out of bed, groggy, and unaware that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

"S'up?" His voice was sleep thickened.

Fletch was ashen and out of breath. "There's been another body, but this one showed up alive, barely."

Instantly awake, Spencer was pulling on his shoes and buttoning up his dress shirt. "Let's go."

The hospital was bright and dim at the same time. It had a way of sending chills through your body, even when all of the lights screamed at your senses. Spencer popped his neck as he strode down the hallway. Behind him, Fletcher and Adrienne kept the pace. Spencer turned a corner, and was confronted by Jason.

"Jason, what's up?"

"We think he's about forty years old, somewhere around there. He hasn't been questioned yet, and he just woke up. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't even be allowed in, but seeing the urgency of the case, the doctors finally agreed."

Spencer patted the man's shoulder. "Good job, Jason." He strode past the older man and straight into the room.

Jason grinned at Fletcher gamely. "Who's in charge again?"

Fletch laughed, then, all seriousness once more, followed Spencer into the room, Adrienne on his heels.

The man was tall, that was apparent even in the hospital bed. His face was ashen, his skin pale. Already, deep lines were appearing around his eyes and mouth, as well as his brow. When the man opened his eyes, they seemed to be ancient. He'd had a long life.

Spencer sat in the bedside chair. "Sir, I'm Special Agent Spencer Mulder. These are my associates, Adrienne Lee and Jonas Fletcher."

"Mulder?" the man's voice was rough and unused, a mere whisper in the quiet of the room.

"Yes, sir."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You can't be Mulder. You're to young."

The air flowed out of Spencer's lungs in the second it took the man to speak.

Adrienne stepped forward. "Sir, can you tell us your name?"

"Bill Miles." He swallowed, and turned back to Spencer. "You must be his boy."

For the first time in his life, Spencer replied positively to that question. It wouldn't be the last. "Yes, sir, I am. But right now, we're trying to get to the bottom of these murders, and you seem to be the only guy that's shown up alive."

"Not murders. Abductions."

"You're an abductee?" Behind the three front agents, Jason groaned and left the room, frustrated.

Bill nodded.

"Can you tell us anything about it?" Spencer asked. "How were you taken? Where?"

"I was called. I don't remember where I was taken, just that I woke up here. I don't remember anything." Bill struggled for breath. Finally, his harsh respirations slowed.

"How do we stop this?"

"Can't stop it without their knowledge. But you have to see to believe." Bill shook his head. "There's only one person left. They're getting sloppy, nervous. You're close kid, too close." Then, Bill Miles flatlined.

Spencer and the other agents were rushed out of the room as the nurses with the crash cart pushed into the room, doctors in tow.

Spencer paced outside the room. "This doesn't make sense. Whose knowledge? And how did that man know who I was?"

Jonas sat down in the chairs beside the hospital room door. He rubbed his face and sighed. "Spencer, I think you're going to find that there will be a lot of people that you don't know that knew your parents. And I'm not just talking about agents. From what I've heard of this, it sounds like they were pretty big."

Spencer laughed self-deprecatingly. "Somehow, I knew I would be born into the weirdest fuckin' family in history."

Adrienne ran her hand down his arm, but Spencer jerked away. "The worst thing is," he spoke, waving his hands around, "that I don't understand one damn thing I've put together. I'm supposed to be this big shot profiler, and I can't where one piece fits with the next. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe," Adrienne said quietly, "you have to stop trying to make it look so linear. Think of the bigger picture, maybe. 'They' can only be one thing, Spencer, and that's the UFO. All of these people show up at night on the beach."

Fletcher nodded. "Exactly. Maybe Jason and I can stake out one of the grids, and you guys can take the other one for a couple of nights. Maybe, just maybe, something will show up."

"Not with my luck," Spencer spit, but he nodded in agreement.

One of the doctors came out of Bill Miles' room. Spencer looked his way, and the doctor shook his head sadly, eyes downcast. Spencer bit his bottom lip and looked away. Then, he looked at his watch. "Well, it's about nine. If we hurry, we can stage a little bit of that stakeout."

And with his word, the agents moved out.

"Fletch, you there?" Spencer talked into the walkie-talkie.

"You're supposed to say, 'over,'" Fletcher's voice came back.

Spencer pressed the button, "Look, just because these things have been around since the twentieth century does not mean that the language should stick that long." As an afterthought, he added, "Over."

When Fletch spoke again, there was a smile in his voice. "They were a lot bigger back then, though. You guys seen anything?"

"Nada."

"Well, keep hoping. It's the same for us. It is just barely midnight?"

Adrienne smiled behind Spencer. Spencer talked once more, "Yeah, here's hoping, Fletch. Out."

He flopped back down onto the deserted sand, landing beside his partner. "You know, I was here earlier today. I didn't see what I thought I would."

"You mean the UFO?"

"Yeah, that."

Adrienne sighed. "Maybe you were right yesterday morning, Spencer. Maybe this is just once horrible angle."

"It wouldn't surprise me. I mean, UFOs Adrienne?"

Her face broke into a thin-lipped smile. "Yeah," her voice was small and soft.

Spencer pulled out his wallet and opened it to his newest picture.

"Is that them?" Adrienne asked quietly.

Spencer answered, content to leave his voice at the whisper she'd used. "Yes."

"Their beautiful." Her compliment was sincere.

Spencer huffed. "They left me."

"I thought you said they died?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I thought they did. But the more and more I here, the more it looks like they didn't die at all. They just. left."

Adrienne shook her head. "I don't think they would do that, Spence."

"Well, it's not like you knew them. Neither did I. And they are not beautiful. Good together, maybe." Spencer leaned back on the blanket they'd spread out for the stakeout.

"You don't look at the bright side of things very often, do you?"

Spencer turned to face his partner. "And you do?"

"Maybe not, Spencer, but I can see beauty for what it is."

He caught her eyes. "And what is it?"

Adrienne held the stare. "Flawed."

The air was thick and heavy, with humidity, but also with emotion. Adrienne sighed and fell back on the blanket beside him. "God, Spencer," she breathed. "Look at the stars."

Spencer tilted his head, his jugular bobbing as he swallowed. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he viewed the vast landscape above him. Then, he looked back down at her. "Do you hear that?"

Snapped out of her thoughts, Adrienne frowned, listening.

It was the wind, picking up, she thought, for their hair had begun to blow in the sudden currents of air. "Just the wind."

Spencer shook his head. "No, I don't think so." He jumped up, pulling her with him. "Oh my God."

Finally, Adrienne saw what he saw. The water had begun to twist and ebb, a circle being drawn in the tides. "Adrienne," Spencer shouted, for the wind was howling loudly. "Come on!"

Spencer broke into a full run, and to his surprise, she matched his every step. Together, they dashed for the circle, running into the water. At last, the reached the eye of the sudden wind, and their hair was still. It was once more dead silent even as the water bellowed around them.

"What the hell?"

Then, it was roaring again, though the wind was calm. The water was sucked up around them in a funnel like a water twister rising up from the sea. It was as if they were in the eye of a small, tight hurricane. The partners looked at the surrounding waters, their eyes wide.

"Spencer, look!" Adrienne pointed up.

Spencer tilted his head back, and then, the light engulfed him.

It was the sound of water that first brought him too. Spencer opened his eyes, then immediately sucked in a breath, and just as quickly regretted it as it nose was filled with ocean water. He gagged and rose up off his stomach, pushing his body upwards as he coughed hoarsely. Spencer spit out the seawater with a grimace, and groaned. He hurt everywhere.

He rocked back and realized that he was in the low tide. It was still night, and the moon rose high above him. "Adrienne," he murmured. "Adrienne!" Spencer stood when he got no answer. "Adrienne!"

Finally, he was answered by coughing. He whipped around, sending flecks of water from his hair. Adrienne was doubled over behind him. He ran to her and began rubbing her back. "Breath. Breath."

At last, she sucked in a deep gulp of air, then rose slowly to a sitting position. "What the fuck happened?"

"I. I don't know." He helped her to stand, lifting her arms. Spencer rubbed a finger down her cheek softly. "That was amazing."

Breathless, Adrienne nodded. "Were we."

He shook his head negatively. "I don't think so. It was right over us."

"It took off."

Spencer nodded. "I think so."

"My God, Spence. We were right under a UFO."

He laughed at her words, how ludicrous they sounded. Even more ludicrous: he believed them. Adrienne caught his smile and laughed as well. "That was so cool!"

Then, there was no stopping the flood. The adrenaline flowed out of them in peels of laughter. Finally, it died down, and they remained, out of breath with goofy smiles on their faces. "Spencer, we have got to see that again."

He grabbed her hands. "Work with me."

"I do work with you."

Spencer's eyes danced. "No. On the X-files. Work with me."

"What'll it do for my career?" Adrienne asked, grinning.

"It'll do shit for your career," Spencer burst forth. "But you might just get to see that again. Hell, you might get to explain that someday."

Adrienne laughed. "My career's shot to hell anyway."

Spencer grinned and pulled her into a tight hug. The walkie-talkie buzzed from the shore. He groaned, and Adrienne shoved him away, placing two firm hands against his chest. Spencer jogged back to the blanket and picked up the radio.

"What the hell was that?" Fletch yelled over the radio.

"What'd you see?" Spencer asked.

"This big ass flash of light, man, and then, nothing. You didn't see that?"

Spencer laughed a little. "Yeah, Fletch, we saw it. What about Jason?"

"Can you believe it? He was taking a piss! Missed the whole damn thing!"

Adrienne erupted once again into laughter.

Spencer smiled. "Just get over here, Fletch, you have the car. Let's pull it in."

"But what about-"

"I have a feeling the body will turn up in the morning," Spencer said, his voice grim again. "But we're not going to find our UFO."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because, Fletch, it just took off."

"Okay, we'll be right over. You're the boss, Agent Mulder."

Spencer laughed into the radio. "Thanks, Fletch, for everything. Out."

END Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Washington D.C. seemed unusually boring that morning. Spencer finished his shave without incident, swiping the brand new blue hand towel over his face. Walking into his bedroom, he slipped on a pair of black, silk boxer shorts, then his best black Armani slacks. He tucked in his sleeveless undershirt, then, buttoned up his white dress shirt. Carefully, Spencer tied his black tie and pulled the knot tight against his neck, grimacing slightly. His black blazer followed.

Spencer walked over to his full-length mirror and eyed himself critically. He'd brushed his hair down straight this particular morning, and his bangs fell around his forehead. With a slight frown, he checked his breath and at last, smiled in approval.

At the J. Edgar Hoover Building, Spencer rode the elevator to the desired floor. He stepped out and walked the hallway, stopping in front of Assistant Director Michael Bordina's office.

"Hey there, Junior. You ready for the big meeting?"

Spencer turned and smiled at Adrienne. She'd dressed impeccably, for a change. Her navy skirt was cut tastefully, and her skintight turtleneck concealed more than she usually allowed. Her hair was a bit lighter, bouncier, than the normal straight locks.

Together, the partners walked into the lobby.

The secretary looked up at them and smiled a fake smile. "Go right on in, Agents."

The first thing Spencer noticed when he entered the room was the blond, older woman sitting in the back of the office. She eyed the agents, but said nothing.

"Agents," Michael said without looking up. "Have a seat."

They sat, Spencer on the right, Adrienne on the left.

Michael sighed and put aside the paper he was reading from, rubbing his eyes.

"Long day, sir?" Spencer asked.

"You have no idea, Agent Mulder. But the thing that has made my day, and in fact, this week, longer than hell seems to be the fact that I sent four of my best agents on a case and they managed to turn up nothing but their personal guarantee that, for now, this was over." Michael rocked back. "Do have any idea how vague that is?"

Spencer sat forward, uncomfortable in his unusually tight ensemble. "Sir, we apologize, but given the. nature of the case, it was impossible for us to investigate it further."

Michael frowned. "I read the report, Agent Mulder. You've requested assignment with Agent Lee on the X-files. A division, might I add, that has been closed for over twenty years."

"That's correct, sir."

"Why, Agent Mulder?"

"Because, sir, I believe that there are cases, such as the one in Atlantic City, that defy rational explanation. And, out of my own curiosity, I would like to learn more."

"Agent Lee?"

"The same reasons, sir."

Michael narrowed his eyes at Spencer. "This wouldn't have to do with anything more. personal?"

"Why would you ask that?" Spencer laid the trap.

Michael did not take the bait. "Just a question, Agent Mulder." Michael's eyes flickered over to the woman who had remained quiet. Still, she did not speak, and Spencer did not spare her even the barest of glances. She was, he believed, unimportant to the task at hand.

"Agent Mulder, I was going to refuse this request, at first. But I tend to believe that you are right about these cases. There are quite a few files that go through this office that are marked unsolved, and I would like to change that. Then, I was going to refuse because there would be no senior agent in the division."

"But Agent Lee-"

"Does not have the experience in years to qualify for that title. Wait, Agent Mulder, until I am finished," Michael snapped. "Then, another request was brought to my attention. Agent Fletcher has offered to be assigned as senior agent and direct supervisor of the division. So, against all of my instincts, I am granting your request."

Spencer smiled. "Hold on, Agent Mulder. Since this is a very special case, you will have very special rules. You and Agent Lee will be available, as a team, at all times to Violent Crimes and Behavioral. Their cases will take precedent. You will also be under close scrutiny. I am giving you ten months to establish and maintain a seventy-five percent solve rate within the division."

Adrienne leapt from her chair. "That's insane! No division in the Bureau is expected that and you want us to establish that rate on the X-files? With all due respect, sir, you're fuckin' insane!"

"Agent Lee!"

"Adrienne!" Both men called her name.

Adrienne shot a searing look Spencer's way, then fixed her glare on Michael as she slowly lowered herself to her chair.

"Agent Lee, you are already on a short chain. One more official reprimand, and you will be suspended without pay until further notice! I have my eye on you. You might be one of the best investigators in the Bureau, but that does not qualify you for special rights."

"Whatever," she snapped and looked away.

"Adrienne!" Spencer hissed through his teeth.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry," she sighed at Michael.

The Assistant Director settled back into his chair. "You're to meet with Agent Fletcher as soon as possible. He has your next case already. Ten months, agents. You're dismissed."

Spencer stood from his chair, but not quicker than Adrienne did. She was out of the room quickly.

"Agent Mulder," Michael said, and handed Spencer the manila folder from the New Jersey case. Spencer took it from his hands.

When he stepped out into the hallway, Adrienne was nowhere to be found. Spencer shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. She was definitely a live wire. Then, he looked down at the folder in his hands, and the smile faded.

Lightly, he ran his fingers across the label on the folder. It was amazing that after so many years, these were still used, but the label put him in awe nonetheless.

X-318917 - Atlantic City, New Jersey.

Gently, he tucked the folder under his arm, and Special Agent Spencer Mulder made his first trip from the Assistant Director's office to the bowels of the basement concealed in the J. Edger Hoover Building.

END Chapter Nine

If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand I'll keep you by my side with my superman might Kryptonite. - Kryptonite - Three Doors Down

Chapter Ten - Denouement

Once more, the rain poured from the clouded skies. Once more, Spencer leaned down in front of his parents' tombstones; this time, thought, he had more knowledge than before.

"I still don't know who you were," he whispered. "But I think I'm on the right track."

As if on cue, the thunder rolled forth from the heavens as lightening crackled in the distance.

He stood. "I'm going to be working the X-files. Guide me, where ever you are." Spencer turned his back from the gravesites, leaving behind two bright red roses.

In the distance, a blue Corvette took shape. Spencer nodded solemnly to the driver as he approached.

"Done?" Adrienne asked.

He nodded. "Ten months and seventy-five percent, Agent Lee. What do you think about that?"

"I think," she said slowly, "that it's time to show the FBI what the X-files is all about."

Spencer smiled tightly. "You remember what I told you."

Adrienne smiled grimly back. "I didn't have all that many friends, anyway."

They got into the car together, and not a word was said as she drove him back to his apartment.

Walter Skinner watched from a distance as the classic car sped from the cemetery. He wrapped his trench coat tighter around his body. He was really beginning to feel his old age approaching. Hell, approaching, he thought with a smile. It's already here.

The Mulder kid reminded Skinner a lot of his father, and just as much of his mother. He was strong and cocky, precise and arrogant. His partner, Adrienne, was a fireball. Suave and opinionated. Skinner wasn't sure how they would work together as a team. They weren't as balanced as he'd hoped, but then, Mulder and Scully hadn't, at first, seemed like a good match, either. Then there was Jonas Fletcher, the third that had been added.

Skinner didn't know where the man that called himself Fletch fit. Still, he would do everything in his power to point all three of them in the right direction. The direction that would finally lead Spencer to his parents, and to his birthright.

"May God help you," Skinner whispered, then he, too, simply drifted into the storm.

Alex Krycek watched through binoculars as the Corvette sped away. He turned to Marita. "Were they good together?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

Alex frowned, but soon, the arrogant grin was back on his face. "No matter. That kid is Mulder, through and through. I'm sure he'll find a way to blow it all to hell."

Marita nodded, her mouth a taunt line. As she walked away from Krycek, she spoke. "He's not all Mulder, Alex. Remember that."

The End

Author's Notes: For those that stuck with the ride, congratulations. I probably don't have to say how hard it is to break into the world of X-files fanfic, and I have the utmost respect for those authors that have wonderful stories that don't get properly recognized. Believe me, I can understand! Those that sent me the great feedback, thanks a lot, you helped me finish, and I've already got ideas for Episode 2. (And no, I'm not ripping of Star Wars, okay? Maybe Chris Carter, but never George Lucas. Three words why: Jar Jar Binks.) Props go out to Amy who really helped out a lot. If I need a beta, you're it! :-) Lastly, this story, which is the first, semi-long story that I have ever finished in my LIFE is dedicated to Cindy. You're struggle brought me most of the understanding of life I have today. May you rest soon.

Disclaimer: Spencer Mulder is mine, although his mom and pops aren't. Adrienne Lee, Jonas Fletcher, and the rest of the NeXt Files are mine, too, but they were all created because of the X-files that is today. Archive: I would be honored. Just email me first. 3eb_fan@email.msn.com