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Title: Vulpecula: Annunciation Summary: A piece of mail changes Mulder and Scully's lives forever. Author's Notes: Many thanks to Patty and Scott for convincing me to continue with this when I thought it was a lost cause, as well as for suggesting the reference framework. You can test-drive my other stories at http://members.aol.com/CantWaltz I. Annunciation "With foxes we must play the fox." Thursday, August 26 The telephone rang. Dana Scully felt her already too-tight muscles clench at the harsh jangle. She grabbed it on the first ring, almost more to stop the noise than to find out who was at the other end. "Scully," she said briskly, hoping she sounded businesslike. In reality, she was afraid. "Agent Scully, this is Bob Mitchell at Quantico. We just received a body - a John Doe - and it came with instructions that you should be the one to perform the autopsy." Time stopped, even though she could still feel her heart beating, hear the blood rushing through her ears. "Oh," she said. "Who - who issued the instructions?" There was a rustle of paper. "Agent Mulder," he said finally. "Hey, is that the guy-" "He's my partner," she said, a warning in her voice for him to go no further. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Scully snapped her latex gloves into place, then turned to Bob Mitchell. "Thanks. I can handle it from here," she said, adjusting her safety glasses. He looked from the body bag on the autopsy table back to her. "If you're sure...." She brushed past him into the room. "I'm sure. I've done a lot of these." When she reached the table, she turned around and noticed him still hovering in the doorway. "Thank you, Agent Mitchell." Bob Mitchell shrugged his heavy shoulders and left the room. She didn't look like she could dissect a frog, left alone perform an autopsy. But she'd spent enough time with that Spooky guy - she could probably flay a cow at ten paces. Scully shook her head as she watched him leave. She knew a dozen men like him - men who should know better but who assumed, by her appearance, that she was fragile, incapable of such a tough task. She almost didn't get angry about it anymore. She just did her job as best she could, determined to prove them wrong by her actions. With a sigh, she turned to the body and positioned the voice-activated tape recorder. "Mulder, what have you gotten me into now? I don't have time for this, not now." she muttered. Then she reached for the zipper and began dictating. "Time is 11:47 a.m. I am beginning the autopsy of a John Doe. The body was forwarded to me by Special Agent Mulder." She finished unzipping the bag and threw back the flap. "The body is - Oh, God." He had been beaten. There were bruises all over his body, some as big as a man's fist. His face, chest and arms were deeply scratched and cut. Both of his eyes had been blackened, and his nose had probably been broken. But to someone who had known him, that battered face would still be recognizable. Dana Scully knew him. "No." Her hands began to shake. "No, no, no." One gloved hand reached out, tentatively touched the matted hair. "No, God. Oh, please." The John Doe was now had a name. It was Fox Mulder. It had begun on the previous Friday. They had ended up at Mulder's apartment after wrapping up a case in South Dakota. To be honest, wrapping it up was a misnomer. The case - involving some of the most bizarre and macabre animal mutilations they had ever seen - was technically solved. The suspects, a 16-year-old boy and his 18-year-old brother - were in custody. They had freely confessed. But Scully was still unable to explain how the boys could have carried out their grim dismemberments without some serious medical knowledge, which neither one possessed. Each animal had been expertly autopsied. The dissections were the best she'd ever seen, performed with a delicacy and precision - even to the point that the incisions looked like they had been made with a laser rather than a scalpel - that defied explanation. Mulder had been full of theories, but none of them were worth repeating in their field reports. His current favorite involved the reincarnation of a local physician, but Scully wasn't buying it. In any case, after a flight on a puddle jumper to Omaha, followed by connecting flights to Chicago and Washington, it was very late when they arrived back. Scully dreamed of a hot bath and clean pajamas all the way home, her eyes closed. When Mulder stopped the car, she opened them to discover that they were at his apartment building. "Making a pit stop before you take me home?" she asked. Mulder fussed with his seatbelt and didn't look at her. "Well, Scully, to be honest...it has been a long week. You in room 6, me in room 12...." He looked up at her suddenly and grinned, biting his lower lip boyishly. She couldn't help it - she was charmed. But she refused to give in that easily. "I've just spent the last hour thinking about a bubble bath." "I think I might have some Mr. Bubble." She raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Bubble?" He shrugged. "Well, no, not exactly. I don't suppose shampoo squeezed under the running water counts, does it?" She smiled and shook her head. "Mulder, I worry about you sometimes." Giving up the pretense, she undid her seatbelt. "All right. For a little while." Somehow he managed to conjure up a couple of hotel samples of shower gel, a bottle of wine, and some candles. She was astonished when she stepped into the bathroom and viewed his handiwork. The rare occasions when he was romantic always took her off-guard. "Mulder, I - I don't know what to say." She tested the water temperature, then held some scented bubbles to her nose. The fragrance was citrusy, not too feminine. It might have been a trick of the candlelight, but she could have sworn he blushed. "Just enjoy it, Scully," he said gruffly, handing her some thick towels. "Bathrobe's on the back of the door." He paused in the doorway for a moment. "I'm - I'm just going to check my answering machine." He shut the door gently. With a sigh, she disrobed and sank into the warm water. It was an old- fashioned tub, like her own, and the bubbles came up to her chin. It was perfect, except for one thing. "Mulder?" she called. He spoke through the door, his voice muffled. "Yeah?" "Come in for a second, will you?" The door opened slowly. "You decent?" he asked, still behind the heavy wood. "Always." He poked his head around the door, his mouth falling open as he saw her. "Uh, can I - what did you want?" "Keep me company?" His pupils dilated. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. "Anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" She closed her eyes and sank further beneath the water. "Anything but work." She pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear. He cleared his throat. "Well. There was a message from Langly on my answering machine. He's considering taking up yoga." "That's nice." She looked around for the shampoo and saw that it was in a wire shower caddy dangling from the shower head. "Could you hand me the shampoo, Mulder?" He made a rough sound as he stood up. She noticed that he did not look at her as he handed her the bottle. "Here." She slid her sudsy fingers along the back of his hand before taking the container. "Thanks." Her lips curved into a tiny smile. "Mulder. You don't have to sit all the way across the room, you know." "I don't?" He looked at her then and shook his head at her expression. "Was I being dense just now?" "And then some." She reached up and tugged his rumpled dress shirt from his pants. In seconds, he had shrugged out of his clothes and lowered himself into the steaming water, ignoring the volume that splashed over the sides and onto the floor. "You could have said something, Scully," he murmured. "Mulder, you said it yourself - a long week, me in room 6, you in room 12...." She found a washcloth and began to sweep it over his chest in long, leisurely strokes. "You remember where we were almost two weeks ago, Scully?" He caressed the side of her face. "Mm. My mother's back yard." She gave him an embarrassed grin. "She's going to think that one of the neighbor's dogs got loose and trampled her impatiens. I haven't got the nerve to tell her what really happened." He leaned forward. "I'll get her some new ones." And then he kissed her, and all conversation was over. Somehow they managed to get out of the tub and dry themselves off before they made love. Mulder pinned her to the bathroom wall and lifted her off the floor, tucking one of her legs behind him before he entered her. She gasped at the combination of the cold tile against her bare back and his hot, unbearably thick penis probing her. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the feel of him inside her. Wrapping both her thighs around him, she dug her fingers into his back and held on. "I couldn't wait - I'm sorry," he groaned, lowering his forehead to her shoulder. She could tell that he was trying to hold back, not to bruise her against the wall. But she didn't want him to exercise that control. "Don't. Be. Sorry," she managed to say between his thrusts. His chest hair, still damp, was rasping against her nipples with every breath. She bit his shoulder gently. "Don't. Stop." Minutes later, they collapsed on the wet bathroom floor. "Remind me-" he wheezed. "Yes?" She fought to breath normally. "Remind me to buy stock in that bath gel company." She tried to laugh but couldn't catch her breath. "OK." She turned her head and her cheek was instantly coated with cold, citrus-scented water. She pushed herself into a sitting position and looked around at the bathroom. Water, wet clothes, and leftover suds were everywhere. "Oh, no." "Did we break anything?" he asked, rolling onto his stomach. "Damn! That water's cold." "We will if we don't get the water off the floor. Where do you keep the towels?" She struggled to her feet and reached for the bathrobe on the back of the door. "I'll get them." He whipped a towel around his waist and rummaged in the cabinet under the sink. They cleaned up the mess, laughing and sliding around on the wet floor. Then they climbed into bed and shared the glass of wine he'd poured for her earlier. "Scully," he began, then chuckled. "You know, it seems weird to call you 'scully' now, but I can't imagine calling you anything else." "Maybe you can use my first name as a secret code - like George Hale," she suggested sleepily. "If you're in trouble." "OK, you're on." He put the empty glass on the floor next to the bed. "You're fading. Go to sleep." He pulled her into his arms. "Mm, OK." She curled up against his warmth and felt her limbs go limp. "Night, Scully." "Good night, George." The last sound she heard before she fell asleep was his soft laugh. He woke her at 7:00 and made love to her again. This time was almost as urgent as the last. She supposed she would eventually become accustomed to it, but she was always surprised by what a passionate lover he was - although she shouldn't have been surprised at all. Mulder made love like he did everything - with all of himself. If he held anything back, it was out of a need to protect her. Sometimes, like this morning, when the immediate passion was spent, she found him looking her over, touching every inch of her body to make sure he hadn't hurt her in any way. She wanted to tell him not to worry, but she found that she liked that side of him, so she said nothing. Then he pulled the sheets over them and the moment passed as they fell asleep again. They woke late. It was almost 1:00 when Scully stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. Mulder slept on until she shoved a cup of coffee under his nose. He grumbled, shook off the covers, and took the mug, utterly unconcerned with the fact that he was completely nude. She liked him that way, but she was not about to tell him that. He could be a bit too self-absorbed as it was. Mulder dug up a T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts for her to put on. "Just temporary," he said, stepping into a pair of jeans. "I'll take you home to get some clothes after I get us some food." "To *get* some clothes? Mulder, I have things to do." She pulled the T-shirt over her head and followed him to the door. "I'm supposed to have dinner with my mother tonight - she just got back from San Diego. We're supposed to meet at my apartment. I have to go food shopping and clean - I haven't been home in a week." "So, go out." He kissed her soundly. "Be back in a minute." She threw her hands up and cursed the empty air where he had been. To keep herself occupied, she checked her clothes to see if they were dry. They were, so she folded them neatly and made a mental note to take them to the dry cleaner. Since he still wasn't back, she changed the sheets and gathered up the wet towels so that he could wash them. "I'm not doing your laundry, Mulder," she said aloud to the empty room. "I'm drawing the line here." She felt instantly better. At that moment, he came into the apartment, carrying a brown paper sack and a stack of mail. "Who were you talking to?" he asked, walking into the kitchen. "No one," she said innocently. She peered into the bag. "What's for lunch? I'm starving." "Sandwiches - they was quick." He removed a carton of orange juice from the bag and poured them each a glass. "If you can carry those, I'll get this." He picked up the bag and the mail and led the way to the sofa. Once they put down their burdens, he handed Scully the television remote control with a solemn expression. "Scully, this is one of my most sacred possessions. I expect that you will treat it with the respect it deserves." He gave it to her with obvious reluctance. "Mulder, when was your last psych eval?" He flopped onto the couch and unwrapped his sandwich. "Just find me a baseball game, woman, and eat your lunch." While they ate, he leafed through a week's worth of mail, tossing the junk into a pile on the floor and making a haphazard stack of bills and magazines to look at later. At the bottom of the pile were two thick padded envelopes. The first one he opened and peered into, then immediately closed the flap and dropped it into the pile on the floor, after shooting her what she could tell he thought was a surreptitious glance. "What was that?" she asked. "Nothing - junk mail," he said swiftly, his face reddening. He ripped open the other envelope and looked at the contents like they would explode in his face. Then he turned over the envelope and looked at the address label. "This is odd." "What's odd?" "No return address." He shook the parcel. A plain white envelope and a black, leather-bound book fell out onto the coffee table. He looked at Scully. "Do you have any gloves?" "My suitcase is still in your trunk." He got to his feet and strode toward the door. "Be right back." In a minute, he returned with both their bags. Scully unzipped her suitcase and dug out a box of latex gloves, handing him a pair before donning her own. He tapped the white envelope's short side against the table, then ripped it open carefully. He removed a plain piece of typing paper. Scully leaned closer. "Fox," he read aloud, "'I was a close friend of your father's. He wanted you to have this book in the event of his death, provided that a suitable time had passed. It's been over three years now. I apologize for not getting this to you sooner; I have been living abroad since your father passed away and have only recently returned to the United States. Once you have read the book, I am sure you will want to speak to me. Please do not try to contact me - I will find you within a few days.' "'Fox - I hope you don't mind me calling you that. Loving your father as I did, I also came to love the son he spoke of so proudly and often. So, then, Fox, until we meet, I send you my warmest regards. Clare Murray.'" Mulder dropped the letter onto the coffee table. "Jesus." He stood up and strode to the window, his shoulder square and stiff. "This is someone's idea of a sick joke, Scully. My father was *never* proud of me. I was the one who let Samantha be taken, and he *never* let me forget that. Never!" Scully resisted the urge to go to him, to comfort him. She knew that he wouldn't tolerate her touch right now. Instead, she picked up the book and traced the initials on the cover. WM. Carefully, she flipped though the pages. Their edges were yellowed, indicating that the book wasn't new. But, like so much of the evidence that had fallen into their hands, it could be an elaborate fabrication. She opened the cover and began to read aloud to him. "'October 13, 1961. I have a son.'" She closed her eyes briefly against the unexpected tears, then continued. "'When I was a boy, my father taught me to love the stars. We would spend hours staring at the night sky. He taught me the constellations, their names, their mythology. I studied diagrams and understood what those long ago peoples saw when they named them - bears, dogs, hunters - but I myself was unable to see those pictures when I looked up at the heavens. Except for one constellation. Vulpecula: the fox.'" "Scully...." She ignored him. "'To this day, I can find it instantly in the sky. See the pointed ears, the bushy tail. I remember my father tracing the picture in the sky, one perfect Summer night. Since my son will have no grandfather to teach him the night sky, I want him - I suppose it is foolish, but I do - to have an unusual name to honor an unusual man. "'Teena thinks I am crazy to want to name the boy Fox. She likes the name Jeffrey, for some reason.'" Mulder snorted. "Oh, great. I could have been Spender's name twin." "'But I have made a deal with her. If we - when we - have a daughter, she gets to choose the name, and I won't say a word. And she got to give the boy his middle name, which I am glad to say is not Jeffrey. So, welcome to Earth, Fox William Mulder.'" Scully closed the diary gently and looked at Mulder. His back was still to her. "Are you all right?" His shoulders heaved with a sigh. "I don't know, Scully." He looked at her over his shoulder. "Aside from your brother Bill, do you know why your parents named the rest of you what they did?" "I never thought about it much, Mulder. But our names are pretty ordinary. I just assumed my parents liked them." "My father never taught me to love the stars, Scully. And he always said that Fox was a family name, but it's not my mother's maiden name. I don't know of any Foxes in our family, except me." He walked back to the couch and sat down. His expression was shuttered, his eyes dark. "Scully, what do I do with this?" He gestured toward the diary. She put it into his gloved hands. "That's up to you, Mulder. But it might be useful if you at least look at it, see if the handwriting is familiar." He opened the book and turned to the page Scully had just read. "It looks like his writing, Scully." He looked up at her, his mouth tight. "I'm going to have to read this, you know." She took his hand and squeezed it gently before she stood up. She needed to give him some privacy. "Yes, I know." Mentally redrawing that line in the sand, she asked, "Where's your laundry room?" By the time the linens and towels had been fluffed and folded, an hour and a half had gone by. Scully carefully maneuvered the overflowing laundry basket through the apartment door, trying to make as little noise as possible. She placed the basket on the floor and looked toward the sofa. No Mulder. He wasn't in the kitchen or the bedroom, either. Silently, she approached the bathroom door. She was relieved to hear the shower running, but then another sound caught her attention and she pressed her ear to the door. He was crying. Great, heaving sobs that tore at her heart. She tried the door, but it was locked. Her protective instincts kicked into overdrive, but she knew that they would do him no good. He needed to get the emotions out of his system, and that was something she couldn't help him with. She tiptoed away from the door and busied herself by stowing yesterday's clothes in her suitcase. She usually brought at least one casual outfit with her when they went out into the field, just in case. Unfortunately, they often had no warning before they had to go slogging through some muck, so her poor suits were most likely to bear the brunt of the wear and tear. This case had been no exception, so her casual outfit was still clean, as were the additional bras and panties she always packed in case they had to stay a few extra days. She dug out the clean, albeit wrinkled, clothes and went into the bedroom to change. Then she found her cell phone and dialed her mother's number. "Hi Mom, it's me." She paced the living room floor as she talked. "Dana! How are you, honey?" As always, the sound of her mother's voice soothed her. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your trip?" Margaret Scully relayed the latest family news. Matthew had said his first sentence, "Big boat go." One of Charlie's boys had broken his arm playing baseball, but he was so thrilled by all the autographs he had on the cast that he didn't seem to mind the fact that he couldn't play for the rest of the season. "Well, I'm just glad he's all right," Scully said, kneeling on the floor to zip up her suitcase. "Mom, I wanted to talk to you about dinner tonight." She heard Mulder come out of the bathroom and walk past her into the bedroom. "Something has come up, and I'm not going to be able to make it." She turned to watch him get dressed. "Do you mind if we try for next weekend?" "I'm sorry I won't see you, honey, but that's all right. I understand." She paused. "Is everything OK?" Scully watched as Mulder shoved his feet into socks and boots. She was sure he knew she was looking at him, but he avoided her eyes. "Sure, Mom. Just some work stuff we have to finish up. Can I call you on Monday?" "Fine. Dana, are you sure everything is all right? You sound a little strange." "Nothing's wrong, Mom, I promise," she lied. "I'll talk to you Monday- -I've got to get going. I love you." "I love you too. Bye." "Bye," Scully repeated, then ended the call. She walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed next to Mulder, who was slumped, his head in his hands. "Headache?" she asked, laying a hand on the back of his neck. He flinched at her touch and she jerked her hand back. "Yeah. The mother of all headaches." He rubbed his eyes and then looked up at her. "Mulder! My God!" His eyelids were red and swollen. New lines had appeared around his mouth. Worse of all, his eyes were dark and soulless with anguish. Unable to resist, she cupped his cheek with her hand. He started to move away, but then, to her horror, his face crumpled. He pulled her roughly into his arms and buried his head against her shoulder. Scully wrapped her arms around him and stroked the back of his head as he cried, murmuring softly. "It's all right, Mulder. Just let it out." After a minute, he pushed her away and wiped his arm across his eyes. "I'm sorry, Scully." He stood up and walked to the window. "My mother once told me she hated my father even in his grave. I know what she means now." He turned and looked at her, his ravaged face intense. "Scully, if you have any sense at all, you'll leave now. I don't want to drag you into this mess." She gestured at the bed. "Mulder, you might not have noticed, but I'm already part of this 'mess,' as you call it. Don't even think about trying to get rid of me now." He started to speak, and then stopped and shook his head. "Jesus, Scully. Have I told you lately that I love you?" "You just did," she said quietly. She rose and stepped over to him, taking his arm. "Come on, Mulder, you need to lie down for a little while." He didn't protest, and she knew then just how shaken he was. She plied him with aspirin and then made him lie down on the sofa, covering his swollen eyes with a cool, damp washcloth. "Just relax for a while," she urged. "I'll be right here." "If you want a little light reading, I've got a hell of a story sitting right there." She picked up the diary. "Mulder, if this is too difficult for you - if you don't feel you can share this...." He crossed his arms in front of him in an unconsciously protective gesture. "Scully, for once, I'd like it if we could start off on the same page - so to speak." With a sigh, she opened the book and began to read.
II. Epiphany "Sons have always a rebellious wish to be disillusioned by that which charmed their fathers." Thursday, 11:50 a.m. She was going to vomit. Steadying her shaking knees and roiling stomach, Scully reached out two tentative fingers toward his throat. There was no pulse. Carefully, she checked for lividity and rigidity. Judging by what she observed, he had been dead for 10 hours, maybe 12. She had been in his bed, waiting for him, while someone was beating him to death. Saturday Mulder must have slept for a while, lulled into relaxation by the cool rag on his forehead and the occasional crisp sound of a page being turned. When he peeled the cloth from his eyes, he noticed that the light in the room had changed from the brightness of midday to the shadows of late afternoon. When he sighed, Scully spoke from across the room. "Feeling better?" He sat up and stretched, rubbing the stiffness from his neck. "Yeah. What time is it?" "Almost five." She got up from the desk chair and went into the kitchen, returning in a minute with a glass of orange juice. "Here, drink this." He pressed the cold glass against his forehead for a moment, then took a couple of quick gulps. "Thanks." He looked over at the desk and noticed that the computer was on. "Find anything?" She sat down beside him. "Nothing much. Clare Murray is a real person, Mulder. She's 49, born in Ireland, a widow. She's been a resident alien since 1975. Her last U.S. address was in Edgartown, Massachusetts." Anger bubbled. "On the Vineyard? Jesus." He stared into the glass he still held, wishing he had some vodka. "So, Scully, did you read the diary? Dumb question. Of course you did. What did you think?" She toyed with the washcloth he'd dropped on the table. "Well, Mulder, I don't know. It became pretty cryptic." "Yeah. Just enough information to tease, not enough to prove anything. Except, of course, what he said about me." He slammed the glass against the table. "Why the hell did he write those things, Scully? He was almost - pathetic in how he described our relationship. If he was so damn proud of me, why didn't he tell me? It-it-" She slid her hand into his. "It would have mattered?" He swallowed hard and looked toward the window. "Yeah," he admitted finally. "It would have mattered a lot." He closed his eyes. "Scully, do you think it's real?" "Mulder.... I just don't know. But I hope, for your sake, that it is." Wiping up the spilled juice with the washcloth, she continued, "If you want, I can take it to the lab tonight." "Leave it alone for now, Scully. I don't know if I can take any more surprises today." Mulder went over to the computer and leaned toward the screen to read the information she had pulled up. Just then, the phone rang. "Dammit. Goddamn telemarketers," he growled, grabbing the receiver. "Hello?" "Fox Mulder, please." The voice was a woman's, a light alto kissed with a touch of an accent. His stomach turned over. "This is Fox Mulder. Who is this?" he snapped. The woman laughed softly. "It's Clare Murray. I'm sorry, did I interrupt something? I can call back." Fuck. "No, that's all right. I was just - er, watching a baseball game." He lunged for the remote and clicked on the television. "I got your package, Mrs. Murray." "I hoped so. I tried to call earlier in the week, but you weren't in, and I didn't feel right leaving a message." "My partner and I were in the field until late last night." "Ah." She paused. "Fox, did you read it?" He narrowly avoided throwing the phone out the window. "Yes, I did. It was very - illuminating." "I realize it must come as a shock, finding out about me." "You might say that." She sighed. "That was Bill's doing, I'm afraid. But now - now there are some things I would like to talk over with you, Fox. Some things you should know." "There's more?" "You might say that. Would you - would you be free for dinner tonight? I'd like to meet you at last." He shot Scully a glance. "You're in Washington?" "Yes - Georgetown, actually." She paused. "Can you make it by eight?" "Eight?" He looked at the clock. "Sure. But I won't be alone, Mrs. Murray. I have-" "A girlfriend? Fox, I-" Girlfriend? Was that what Scully was? His *girlfriend*? "No, I was referring to my partner. I'd like her to come with me." "If it would make you more comfortable, Fox," Clare said, "by all means, bring her along." He looked at Scully. "Yeah, I guess it *will* make me more comfortable." "Well, then, that's settled. I look forward to seeing you both. Let me give you the address." He scrawled the information on the back of an envelope. "All right, Mrs. Murray. We'll see you at eight." "Thank you. And, Fox?" He ground his teeth. "Yes?" "Just - bring an open mind. That's all I ask." He shook his head. "Mrs. Murray, I don't know what information my father fed you about me, but he obviously forgot to mention one fact: I am the king of the open mind." She laughed delicately. "Then we'll all get along very well. Until tonight, then." "Right." He hung up the phone. Scully took the envelope from his hand. "I take it we're meeting her tonight." "You never miss a beat, Scully." He clenched his hands into fists. "I'm sorry - you were having dinner with your mother tonight, weren't you?" "I already canceled it." She glanced at the address. "Mulder, I know this house. I jog past there sometimes. It's pretty - well - palatial." "Nothing but the best for Mommie Dearest, apparently." He looked back at the computer. "Scully, anything on her late husband?" "I didn't get very far before you woke up. Want me to keep looking?" He rubbed his hand over his jaw, testing the growth of his beard. "Yeah. I need to put on my face." He watched her sit at the computer and begin typing. "Scully...." "Hmm?" Her fingers never slowed. "Nothing." He stepped up behind her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're welcome," she said. "How the hell do you do that?" "Do what? Mulder, I'm trying to work here." "Read my fucking mind. Sometimes I wonder if-" "I can hear what you're thinking? Maybe I can." She was trying not to laugh, and he knew it. "Go get cleaned up, Mulder. I should have some more information by the time you're ready." "Damn bossy women," he muttered, stomping into the bathroom. After he got dressed for dinner, he loaded her suitcase back into the car and took her home to change. On the way, she filled him in on what she had discovered. "James Murray was a venture capitalist." She scanned a printed sheet.. "It seemed he inherited a little money and turned it into a fortune. He had fingers in a lot of pies - especially high tech companies, which made him extraordinarily wealthy. There's hardly a major Silicon Valley firm that he didn't help fund." "Hence the house." "Plural. Clare Murray inherited everything, as far as I can tell. She's got homes in London, Newport, Dublin, Rome, San Francisco and Seattle, besides the one here in Washington." "So, why the hell was she in some saltbox on the Vineyard when she could have been living the high life?" he demanded, swerving to avoid a bicyclist. "Jesus, Mulder! If you're not going to watch the road, then let me drive." He took a deep breath. "Sorry. Sorry. I'll pay attention." He was quiet for the rest of the drive. There was nothing to say. There was only the waiting. When they arrived at her apartment, Scully tried to get him to relax. She even plied him with wine, which would have earned her a cheap come- on line only hours before. Now he took two or three half-hearted sips and poured the rest down the sink. It turned his stomach. He brushed his teeth again to clear the taste from his mouth. Then he flipped through every channel on television, not once, but repeatedly, until Scully took the remote control from his hand, stuck it in the pocket of her robe and walked away. "How much time, Scully?" he asked, flexing his cramped fingers "Forty minutes," she called from another room. "How long will it take us to get there?" "Five, ten minutes." He followed the sound of her voice to the bathroom. She was painstakingly lining her eyes with a soft brown color, her hair still wrapped in a towel. "Why are you doing that? You looked fine earlier." She outlined the other eye. "Why did you put on a suit and tie on a Saturday?" Stepping behind her so he could see his reflection, he self-consciously adjusted his tie. "Because I didn't want to get my Knicks shirt dirty." She picked up a tube of mascara. "Mulder, you're going to make me poke my eye out. Go - go find me something to wear." He backed away, his usual humor asserting itself. "Uh-uh. If I start digging around in your underwear drawer, we'll never get there." "Not underwear, just an outfit. Oh, never mind." She quickly applied her mascara and ducked past him into the bedroom. She threw open the closet doors and began shuffling through hangers, finally selecting a blue pant suit that matched her eyes. She tossed the jacket and slacks onto the bed along with a thin cotton sweater shell in off-white. He watched as she dived into her dresser and pulled out a black bra and panties. "Black?" he asked. She pulled the towel from her hair and flung it at his head. "Get out, Mulder. I need to get dressed." He handed her the towel. "Now, Scully," he began. She turned him around and pushed him into the living room. "Just wait." She shut the door in his face. "Wait. Yeah, wait. I'm good at waiting." He paced the living room and counted his steps. After five circuits, he dropped onto the sofa and began leafing through magazines. When Scully opened the door fifteen minutes later, he looked up at her, thoroughly amused. "I never pegged you as a 'Cosmo' girl, Scully." "And I bet you read 'Playboy' for the articles." She picked up her purse. "I know it's early, but let's go." He became quiet again as he drove them to Clare Murray's. By the time he pulled into the driveway, he was almost deaf from the thick pounding of blood in his ears. Silent, he led the way to the door and put his finger on the doorbell, then hesitated. "Is this right, Scully? What is the point of...." She placed her hand at the small of his back. "Ring the bell. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't." He pushed the illuminated button. A moment later, a small, slim blonde woman opened the door. Her hair was in a sleek twist, and she wore a simple sleeveless black dress. A string of pearls circled her throat. "Fox?" she asked, a ringless hand going to her throat and worrying her necklace. "Yes." To his shock, she hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad to meet you at last. If you haven't guessed, I'm Clare." She looked past him. "And you must be Fox's partner." "Dana Scully." She extended a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Murray." The older woman laughed as she shook Scully's hand. "Please, call me Clare. Come in, come in. You're a little early. I hope you don't mind - dinner's not quite ready yet." She waved them into the house. Mulder shifted uneasily as they stood in the hall. "No, not at all. It's my fault, actually, Mrs. - er, Clare. I just couldn't wait any longer. You have a hell of a way of introducing yourself." A shadow passed over her face. "I know, and I'm sorry for - springing it on you this way. But I'm afraid I couldn't think of a better way." She led them into an expansive living room. "Please, sit down. Can I make you a drink?" She stood next to a sideboard covered in crystal decanters. He remembered the wine and grimaced. "No, thank you." "Dana?" Scully shook her head and remained standing after Mulder had sat on an overstuffed leather sofa. "Isn't there something I can do to help get dinner? I feel like I should let you two get better acquainted." Clare laughed, the tinkling sound grating to Mulder's already frazzled nerves. "No, my dear, but thank you. I think we have everything under control." She turned away from them to pour herself a drink. Scully sat next to Mulder on the sofa, and he took her hand in his. His palms were damp and cold. Footsteps rang against the parquet floor. A tall, slender figure bounded past them into the living room, skidding to a stop in front of Clare. "The salad's ready, Mom. Did I hear the bell? Is he here?" "Goodness, child, slow down for once. Yes, he's here." She turned back to Mulder and Scully. "Fox, Dana, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Grace." The new arrival pivoted on her heel, her face all smiles. "Fox! I can't believe it's you!" His heart stopped. He was on his feet before he realized he had moved, dragging Scully up to stand beside him. The girl was looking at him with his own eyes. III. Transfiguration "Miracles are spontaneous, they cannot be summoned, but come of themselves." Thursday, August 26 It had been difficult, but she had removed him from the body bag. Her arms ached as she draped his body in a sheet, tucking one end about his shoulders as if he were only sleeping. Whoever had arranged to send him here had cared for him, perhaps too well. The body had been washed, all traces of evidence removed - all except for the horrific bruises and gashes on his body. She had found a mark on his ribs that was the size and shape of the toe of a man's shoe. She had traced it with one finger, imagining those last terrible moments of his life. There was no way she could perform an autopsy on him. No one would expect her to, except perhaps Mulder himself. She wanted to find out who did this to him, but she could not execute that final, clinical act. She had loved him too long, too strongly, to be able to detach herself from the task. Even though she felt she was failing him in some way, she knew she would have to call someone else into the room to take over for her. She touched his hair again, smoothing it away from his forehead as she had wanted to do so many times. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "So sorry." Saturday, August 21 7:52 p.m. Scully stared at Grace Murray, the shock of recognition not fading as she searched the girl's face. Grace was perhaps 18, most likely younger. Her eyes had the color and shape of Mulder's, but the rest of her features - with the exception of her full lower lip - came from her mother. Her long brown hair - a shade lighter than Mulder's - was caught in a thick braid that twined over her shoulder and down to her waist. It was a shining ornament against her plain navy dress. Mulder's hand was contracting reflexively against hers, hard enough that she thought the fragile bones would snap. She squeezed once, a warning, and he loosened his fingers immediately. "You-" His eyes locked on Clare Murray. "This girl-" Grace took a step forward, the smile never leaving her face. "I'm your sister, Fox." She looked back at her mother, as if for strength. "Well, your half- sister, anyway." Scully felt the anger and betrayal begin to boil in him, and she murmured his name. He looked at her, his pupils dilated. "Not now," she warned in a whisper. "Not in front of that poor girl." "Scully-" "Let me take her into the kitchen, get dinner on the table. Whatever you have to say, you say to Clare. Do you understand me, Mulder?" He released her hand. Ignoring the ache in her fingers, she held it out toward the girl. "I'm Dana Scully. It's very nice to meet you." As her mother had done with Mulder, Grace enveloped her in a hug. "Dana - welcome. I'm really glad you could come for dinner. I've been so excited all afternoon, since Mom told me you both were coming." The instant she was in the girl's arms, Scully felt odd. Although she had been blindsided by Grace's existence, just as Mulder had, she suddenly felt as though she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. That she had known this embrace before. A tingle began at the points of contact and shot through her body, as though she were full of electricity. The sensation was not unpleasant, but it was unnerving. Before she could wrap her mind around what it meant, Grace had released her and the phenomenon faded. "I think we should leave your mother and your - your brother to get better acquainted," Scully said, striving to keep her tone casual. "Can I help you get dinner on the table?" Grace's smile got wider, if such a thing were possible. "That would be great. I've been cooking for hours - I love to cook. If you don't mind, that is?" "No, I'd love to see what you've prepared for us." She shot a glance at Mulder. He hadn't moved since Grace had entered the room. "Just lead the way." The girl bounded down the hallway, turning after a few steps to beckon to Scully. "This way, Dana. I can call you Dana, right?" Scully followed. "Sure." "My mother always reminds me that it's the polite thing to ask if I can address people by their first names, but we're in America now, and people here are much more casual, and...." She trailed off, blushing. "I'm sorry - when I get excited, I talk too much." "I didn't notice," Scully reassured her. "I was just wishing I still had your energy." Grace pushed open a swinging door. "You do. You just have to know how to tap into it." She went to a granite counter and took up a large clear salad bowl. "The table is back here. I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen - the dining room is being recarpeted." Scully picked up a silver basket of warm bread and a crystal butter dish. "No, we don't mind." She followed Grace into what in any other house would be called a breakfast nook. It had mullioned windows on three sides and a table big enough for ten. It was set with four places. "Your home is lovely," she said, placing the bread on the table. Grace fussed with the linen napkins, carefully rearranging their pink folds. "It's very nice, isn't it? And so convenient - I'm starting at Georgetown this fall." She straightened a fork. "I'm 16 - I'll be 17 in September." Scully started. "How did you know I was going to ask that?" Grace shrugged. "I don't know how, I just do." She smiled again. "You're also thinking that you're old enough to be my mother - barely, but old enough." A hand touched Scully's shoulder, and she again felt that strange tingling. "You're - you've lost someone. A child. You hate that I know - it makes all those feelings come to the surface on a night when you are already feeling so much. But - I am supposed to tell you that you don't have to worry about her. She's gone home, to a place where she's loved. It's a place you've only glimpsed. A place that Fox has seen, too - but he doesn't believe." The hand dropped away. "That must be difficult for you - him not believing when he has faith in so much." Scully nodded automatically, her fingers finding the tiny cross at her neck. The prickly feeling had been stronger this time, and it was taking longer to fade. Even more unnerving than the pulse of electricity was the light in Grace's eyes. They seemed to glow gold, then slowly changed to brown-flecked green as the tingle died away. "How - how did you do that?" Her hands began to tremble. Grace went back to the counter, sweeping her braid behind her back so that it parted her shoulder blades. "I just know things. Not everything. I couldn't tell you what you had for lunch today or what your favorite movie is. I just know what's important. What really matters. And not with everyone. I think Fox would be hard to read. He's - I think he's broken inside. His heart - there's something missing." She toyed with a small silver ladle. "But I would have to touch him to know for sure, and he isn't ready for that." "No, he's not." She sagged against the counter. The ladle hit the stone countertop with a dull clang. "I love him, you know? I've loved him my whole life, even though I hadn't met him. Dad was so proud of him. But he never told Fox. Dad was - even more broken than my brother. He was almost beyond fixing - but he wouldn't believe, either. Maybe if he had, things would have been different." She placed her hands in oven mitts and took a white porcelain dish from the oven, carefully placing it on the stovetop before tugging the mitts from her hands. "But I don't have to tell you all this. You already know. And you love Fox anyway, although you don't want to tell him so. You're afraid it will give him more power over you than he already has. It takes so much energy to keep your feelings to yourself that you're always tired when you're with him, and you worry about that, too. That you won't fulfill his expectations. That you won't be the kind of lover he needs." "Please...." Grace looked at her with ageless eyes. "I know. I'm only a kid, right? I shouldn't talk about these things." She sighed softly, taking Scully's hand. A stillness settled over the room. Scully felt as though even the air disappeared, but she could still breathe. "You - there was someone else recently, a man, who seemed to be able to recite your life story to you. He - hurt you. Because of this, you are afraid of me. And you are also afraid of me because of what I see, what I know. And you are afraid I will judge you because you are sleeping with my brother - your partner." She smiled, her oval face lit from some internal source. "But we both know that we are not to judge, Dana. Only God can judge us. And He-" She closed her eyes briefly. "What He tells me is that you are where you should be. That you will help save Fox's soul, when he cannot save it himself." She dropped Scully's hand reluctantly. "I don't think I've ever met someone who was so easy to read. Your faith and love are very powerful." Scully wrapped her arms around herself. "Grace, are you saying - are you saying that-" "That God talks to me? Sure." She said the words casually, as easily as she would have asked a stranger for the time. She plunged her hands back into the striped oven mitts and removed the cover from the baking dish. "Mmm. This smells wonderful. I hope you like beef." "Grace - I - I don't know what to say." She hugged herself more tightly. "How can you say that God talks to you? Logically-" "Logic doesn't have anything to do with faith." She stirred the contents of the dish. "But you already knew that. I need to spend some time with Fox, touch him, see if I can understand why we are all here together now." Scully tried desperately to understand. "Is that how it happens? You touch someone and you can - read them?" Grace laughed. "Dana, your science won't help you, not this time. Analyze me all you want. Try to find a rational explanation if it makes you more comfortable. But what you find in this house will defy your testing and theories every time." She moved the heavy casserole dish to the table and then stood back to admire her handiwork. "I think that's everything. I'll go get Mom and Fox." "Let me go," Scully requested, picturing the confrontation she suspected was taking place in the living room. The girl tilted her head to one side, as if listening. "If you go, Dana, he'll try to leave, make a scene. But he'll stay if I ask him to." "I wish I had your confidence." Grace pushed open the door, then hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at Scully. "All right, maybe we should go together." As they walked toward the living room, Scully heard a low murmur of voices. Well, at least no one is shouting, she thought as they entered the room. To her astonishment, they found Clare and Mulder sitting on a plush sofa, deep in conversation. They were angled toward each other so that their knees almost touched, their hands intertwined as if they had known each other for years. Grace whispered, "My mom is the greatest. It'll be all right now." She cleared her throat and said, "Dinner's ready." Mulder helped Clare to her feet, then crossed the floor to stand in front of them. "I don't believe I greeted you properly earlier, and I'm sorry," he said to Grace, his voice rough. "Forgive me?" The joy in her eyes brightened the entire room. "There's nothing to forgive you for, silly." She hugged him with her thin arms. "Oh, Fox." He wrapped his own arms around her. He mouthed something to Scully - it looked like "I love you." When Grace stepped from his arms and bounded toward the kitchen, he reached for Scully's hand. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "For what?" she asked, confused at his sudden change of heart. "For making me ring the doorbell." Grace laughed and chattered as they went to the dinner table. "OK, I've got this all planned. Mom, you sit on this side with me, and Fox and Dana will sit on the other side. That way, I get to look at you all I want," she said with a giggle. "I'm sorry - I'm sure you think I'm just being a kid, but-" Mulder held out her chair for her. "But you *are* a kid. Don't knock it. It's a great job while it lasts. The pay stinks, but the fringe benefits are superb." She wriggled in her seat. "I know, I know. I get to be an adult soon enough, when college starts. Until then, I want to make the most of every moment of the end of my youth." She sighed dramatically. "Goodness, child, *I* don't feel I've left my youth behind yet," Clare said, spreading a napkin over her lap. "Don't rush me along. I'm not ready for it yet." Grace looked at Mulder with adoring eyes. "Isn't my mom the best? I mean, you don't know her yet, but she is, trust me." He pushed in Scully's chair and sat in his own. "I'd like to trust you. I'd like that very much." Her eyes began to take on that peculiar glow, and Scully wondered if Mulder could see it. "But it's hard for you to trust anyone, isn't it? Except Dana, of course." He blinked, confusion spreading over his face. "Yes, that's right." He turned to Scully. "What in the world did you two talk about while you were getting dinner ready?" She shrugged. "Small talk, mostly," she lied. Grace winked at her. "She's just being nice, Fox. I talked her ear off. I wanted to know all about you, but she didn't tell me a thing." He grinned. "That's good. I'm pretty sure that Scully would tell you that I'm a complete crackpot." Scully looked down at her lap, embarrassed. "Mulder..." Clare looked from one to the other. "Forgive me if I'm being rude, but...I am under the impression that the two of you are...more than just partners?" Scully looked away, her face pink. Mulder put his hand on her knee under the table. "Yes. We are." "Then why on earth do you call each other by your last names?" He helped himself to salad. "Let me tell you the story of the scientist who was sent to spy on the rogue FBI agent." He kept them laughing throughout dinner, telling heavily edited tales of some of the cases they had worked on together. He managed to avoid any references to aliens or global conspiracies. Scully promised herself that she would reward him for that later. Grace hung onto every word, her eyes growing rounder as the story spun out. "It's no wonder you fell in love with each other," she said at last. "Who else would understand all that you had been through?" "Who else, indeed?" Mulder asked, sliding an arm around Scully's shoulders. "But that's enough about us. I think I speak for both Scully and myself when I say that we want to know more about you." Grace blushed. "Well, I don't know what there is to tell. I'm almost 17. I'm going to Georgetown in the fall - I want to study theology. I love to cook. I dance - ballet - and play the piano. I think Washington is neat, but I hate the heat." Clare agreed. "Three years in Ireland ruined me for this climate. I'll be glad when it's winter." Grace stared past them out the windows at their backs. "Snow. I can't wait for it to snow." "We're more likely to get ice than snow, I'm afraid," Scully murmured. "Although I love snow, myself. I spent too many Christmases in warm climates not to appreciate it." "Where did you grow up, Dana?" Clare asked. "All over, really. My father was a captain in the Navy." The conversation turned to places they had traveled, and again Mulder restrained himself, not mentioning their little jaunt to the Antarctic. They talked for hours about nothing at all, Grace plying them with dessert and coffee until Scully thought she would never sleep. Finally, Mulder pushed away from the table. "It's getting late, and I'm afraid we're keeping you ladies up." Clare took the napkin from her lap and dabbed at her mouth. "Not at all. We've loved every minute of it. I'm sure I can't wait to see you again." Grace's smiled turned down. "Oh, do you really have to go?" Mulder looked at Scully, his expression one of helplessness. She said, "I really would like to get some sleep. I need to be up early for Mass." Grace clapped her hands. "That's great! I'm going in the morning, too. Do you two want to come with me?" "I'd love to," Scully accepted. Mulder stiffened and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I won't be able to make it." "You don't believe, do you?" His sister's voice was gentle. "No." He stuffed his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. "But don't let me stop you and Scully from going." Grace hugged him tightly. "Like you could do that." When she released him, she looked into his eyes. "You know, Fox," she said sincerely, "just because God doesn't answer your prayers the way you want him to doesn't mean he doesn't hear you. Sometimes the answer has to be no - or, maybe, not just yet." He started. "How could you know-" He broke off abruptly. "Come on, Scully, let's go," he said gruffly. They said their goodbyes at the door, Scully making arrangements with Grace to meet at church in the morning. Before they went out to the car, Grace peeped out the window. "I bet it's still hot outside," she said, looking at Mulder. "I really can't wait for winter." Her eyes glowed in the lamplight. "Fox, do you think it's wrong wish for the impossible?" He suddenly looked tired. "Grace, I wish for the impossible every day." Her gentle voice followed them into the humid night. "Well, maybe that wish will come true for both of us." Mulder dug the car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Scully. "You drive," he said, his voice thick with fatigue. "I don't think I should." "All right." She put the key in the door, then looked at him more closely. "Mulder, are you OK?" He shook his head. "Just get us to your place, Scully, and we can talk there." As she opened the door, she felt something wet against her face. "I think it's going to rain." She turned to glance up at the sky. Her mouth fell open. "Mulder. Look." "I see it, Scully." It was 85 degrees. And it was snowing. IV. Visitation "I would far rather be ignorant than wise in the foreboding of evil." Thursday, August 26 Living without him would be impossible. Everywhere she turned, she would see him. Every phone call would cause hope to leap into her breast. His presence had so permeated every corner and crevice of her life that she didn't know how she could possibly cope with this staggering loss. Grief fades. She knew this. Time and distance had a peculiar way of drawing a curtain over the worst hurts, bathing them in a softer light. But where once the work would have been, as she had said after her sister's murder, "something to put her back against," now it held no meaning. Four years ago, when Mulder was missing in New Mexico, Frohike had asked her if she was being "passed the torch." Then, she might have taken it up, held it high and proudly. Not now. Once she found out who had killed Mulder, she was going to trade her badge for a stethoscope, deal in life instead of death. She looked at that beloved, battered face one last time. Then she swept the sheet over it. Before she could even begin to think of the future, she had a score to settle. Saturday, August 21 Scully drove the short distance to her apartment carefully, stopping and starting exactly when and where she should. She refused to let her inner turmoil affect her driving, risk their lives. Although she couldn't help but feel that, somehow, their lives were already at risk. Mulder had fallen asleep as soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat. It was almost as though he'd been drugged, but she knew that could not be true. They had eaten the same food, drunk from the same French press coffee pot, and she felt fine. No, that wasn't true. She was shaken to the core by what she had experienced. What had passed between her and Grace Murray had unsettled her. The snow that had clung to her eyelashes, kissed her cheeks, had completely thrown her world off its axis. Unlike Mulder, she wasn't sleepy at all - in fact, she was as energized as she had ever been. She wondered what had happened to Mulder that he had been so uncharacteristically calm throughout what had to be an enormously difficult evening for him. She remembered seeing Clare holding his hands as she spoke to him so earnestly. Could it be that Clare possessed some of the same power that her daughter displayed? Although Scully was the first to scoff at psychic ability, she knew that what she had experienced that evening would, as Grace had warned, defy any rational explanation. To be brutally honest with herself, she didn't want to apply her science to what had happened. She pulled into an open parking spot hear her building and touched Mulder on the shoulder. "No, Mom, it's Saturday. I don't have to get up for school," he muttered, turning his head away from her. A ghost of a smile creased her mouth. "Mulder, it's me. Wake up." He came awake with a start. "Scully?" He rubbed his eyes. "Where are we?" "At my apartment. Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get you to bed." He looked at her, his forehead creased with confusion. "Why? I'm not tired." She sighed. "Mulder, you practically passed out when we got in the car." "When we-" He looked out the window, craning his head to find the sky. "Scully, it was snowing. It's August. It does not snow in Washington in August. And it was snowing from a perfectly clear sky." She undid her seat belt. "Yes, it was snowing. For once, Mulder, we are in perfect agreement." He followed her into the apartment, fairly bouncing with agitation. "What did that mean, Scully? What do you know about the weather? Could it have been-" He threw his hands up in the air. "Hell, I don't know what it could have been." She locked the door behind them and turned on a lamp. "Don't look to me for some rational words right now, because I don't have any to give you." She shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her shoes. "Although I can tell you one thing - the snowfall was localized to the Murrays' front lawn." He tugged at his tie. "I noticed that, too. Scully, what the hell just happened to us?" "You tell me, Mulder. One minute you're ready to throttle anyone who looks at you funny and the next, you're the life of the party." He hung his suit coat on the back of a dining chair. "I - I don't know." He pulled the chair out and straddled it backwards, leaning his chin on his arms. "I was wondering that myself. I asked Clare a question after you two left the room - something about Grace, I think - and she came over to me, took my hands." He shook his head. "I know you're not going to believe this, Scully, but there was this odd sensation that came from her hands." "A tingle?" He looked surprised. "Yeah - did you notice it, too?" She shrugged. "You could say that. Go on." He laced his fingers together. "Well, the next thing I knew, I felt - calm. All the anger was gone. I can't explain it, Scully. It was similar to Modell and Linda Bowman, but - not. I wasn't seeing or doing what Clare was manipulating me to - I was feeling what *I* wanted to, deep down, under all of the hurt and betrayal. I wanted to care about this woman who obviously loved my father. I wanted to accept that girl as my sister. And I wanted to believe that my father really was proud of me." "Did Clare tell you that? That he was proud of you?" "To hear her tell it, I was a model child. But I'm sure you figured that out on your own, Scully." She was glad to hear a thread of humor in his voice. "So, what else did you find out?" He tugged off his tie. "Clare and my father had an on-going affair from about 1980 until his death. When she got pregnant with Grace, he was very upset. He wanted to marry her, but he was worried that some of his old friends would get wind of it and exact a payment to ensure his continued silence." "Grace." "Exactly. That's why they never lived together as a family, either. If you looked at her birth certificate, I suspect it would say 'Father Unknown.'" My father went to extraordinary means to keep them safe." "Including never telling you about their existence." "Clare said that he was afraid that, if I were ever taken, I could be - persuaded - to expose them." She looked down at her stockinged feet, the pale pink polish on her toes gleaming dully through the thin nylon. "I don't supposed she knew anything about Samantha." "Not really. Except to say that my father believed that she would not be returned as long as he was alive. And that he wasn't surprised to find out that the woman who claimed to be my sister was an imposter." He levered himself off the chair and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. "So, I noticed that you and Grace were doing a little bonding. What did you talk about?" "Oh, this and that," she said evasively. "She's very - precocious. It's rather unnerving." "That's the Mulder side of the family. We're inclined to brilliance." "Among other things," she muttered under her breath. He came up to her and kissed the tip of her nose. "And we've also got extremely sensitive hearing, so watch it." "You just need to develop some better selective listening skills." She plucked the bottom half of the sweater shell from her slacks. "I've got to get up early - I'm going to bed." He clutched the wrinkled hem of her sweater and pulled her into his arms. "Come on, Scully, it's still early." He nuzzled her neck. "Not if you're going to brunch with us tomorrow." His lips stopped caressing her neck. "Brunch? I never heard anything about brunch." "So much for that acute hearing. Grace and I are going to Mass and then we're meeting you at the Four Seasons for brunch. Her treat." His breath was warm against her ear. "Are you sure? I would have remembered the Four Seasons, Scully." She tugged her sweater from his hands and went into the bedroom, flicking the light switch. "Come on, smart guy. Time for all good FBI agents to be in bed." Mulder hovered in the doorway, watching her undress. "Are you sure that's not, time for all FBI agents to be good in bed?" "That, too." She dropped her sweater into the hamper and stepped out of her slacks. In her bra and panties, she went to her dresser and opened the bottom drawer, then hesitated. "I suppose it's foolish to put on pajamas." He had already removed his dress shirt and shoes and was yanking his undershirt over his head. "Oh, yeah." Her fingers grasped the hook at the front of her bra. "Damn. I left the light on." He shimmied out of his pants. "I'll get it." While he was out of the room, she quickly shucked her underwear and made for the bed. But before she could climb in, he was back. She looked up at him guiltily, her hands going automatically to her abdomen. He leaned against the door frame, wearing only a pair of navy boxer-briefs, a quizzical look on his face. "What are you hiding there, Scully?" he asked. She wished desperately that he would turn off the light. "Nothing. Can we get some sleep?" He came over to her side of the bed and pulled her hands away from her body. "You know, I just realized that you never want me to see you naked. Not in the light, anyway. Why is that?" Her eyes involuntarily flitted downward. "No reason." He slid his fingers across the ugly scar that bloomed across her belly. "This? Scully, you can't be serious." He searched her face. "You *are* serious." "I know, it's - vain, maybe. I just wish I were - perfect. Perfect for you." He pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You *are* perfect for me. In fact, I'd say you're more than I ever deserved. One little gunshot wound doesn't change that." "Mulder," she whispered, moved to tears by the cracked emotion in his voice. "So, lady, if I ever find you scurrying around in the dark to hide from me again, I'll - I'll send your mother those naughty photos I was planning to take." She chuckled. "Like I'd let you do that." He dropped to his knees and kissed the scar gently. "If I enlisted Frohike's help, you'd never know. And I'd make him eternally grateful." She gasped as his mouth slid lower. "Shut up, Mulder." He kissed the curls at the top of her thighs. "Your wish is my command, Scully." Much later, as she began to doze off in his arms, she thought of something. "Mulder, did Clare tell you anything about why your father wrote about you the way he did?" she asked sleepily. He stiffened. "No. Why?" "Just curious. I thought that was one of the reasons we went over there." He sighed. "Honestly, Scully, I forgot all about it until just now. But I'll find out." She didn't like the steely tone of his voice. "How?" "I think that, while you're at church, I'll pay a little visit to Clare." Sunday, August 22 Mulder dropped Scully off at the Georgetown University chapel where she had arranged to meet Grace. "Listen, you two go ahead to brunch," he told her. "I'll meet you at the Four Seasons as soon as I'm done." She grasped her long skirt to keep it from blowing in the wind. "Don't you dare ditch us, Mulder. I don't care what happens." "I won't, I promise." He started to turn the car out into the street, but Grace bounded up to them at that moment, her long hair flying around her face in the breeze. She hugged Scully and then leaned into the car. "Hi, Fox!" she gasped, breathless. "How are you this morning?" "Not half as good as you look, sunshine," he teased, tugging on a wayward strand of hair. She laughed. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" He arched his neck to look at the clear sky. "Unlike last night, when the weather was a little - strange." She looked a little sheepish. "I couldn't help it. It was just too hot." "Wait a minute - *you* made it snow?" She looked at Scully helplessly. "Well, not *me,* exactly...." "If not you, then who?" His tone was dangerously even, and Scully knew she had to step in. "Mulder, we're going to be late." She put a protective arm around Grace's shoulders. "Didn't you have something you needed to do?" He started to protest, but the expression on her face stopped him. "Yes, I do. I'll meet you girls later and we can talk about it then." He peeled out from the curb and left the two of them standing there, mouths agape. Scully looked at Grace, one eyebrow raised. "*Girls?*" They burst out laughing. Clare didn't seem at all surprised to find Mulder on her doorstep. "I just made some coffee," she said, waving him inside. "Would you like some?" "Please." He followed her to the kitchen and sat at the table. "I thought you'd be here this morning," she said, placing a mug in front of him. "Why?" She sipped from her cup before answering. "Because I didn't tell you what you wanted to know. But Grace was so excited to meet you at last. I'm probably spoiling her, but I couldn't ruin her evening - and the discussion you wanted to have would have upset her terribly." He looked into the dark liquid steaming in front of him. "I'm having a hard time understanding what happened here last night, Clare." She sighed. "Your father always said you were a smart boy, Fox. I think you have figured out something about me, about Grace." "I believe you possess some kind of psychic power. An ability to connect to emotions, to - not exactly control them, but to influence them in some way." She sighed again and toyed with the pearls she wore again today. "In my case, yes, it's something like that. A minor talent, at best. It's something my mother, my grandmother could do as well." Her expression grew dreamy. "In Ireland, I think people have a healthy respect for the unknown. The women in my family were known as healers, although our abilities lie in the realm of healing the spirit, not the body. We were respected, trusted advisors." She got up and went to the refrigerator. "You Americans are a much more suspicious, skeptical people. If I hadn't married James, I never would have willingly come here. When he died, I didn't care much about anything any more, where I lived or what I did. So, I did - a lot of foolish things. Then a friend of mine who had a cottage on Martha's Vineyard offered to lend it to me for as long as I needed it." She slid a bowl of fresh fruit and a fork in front of him. She made sure he began to eat, then continued, "I had grown up by the sea, and I knew that the sea holds great healing power. So I went for a month." She smiled. "That month became fifteen years." "You met my father," he guessed. "In the waiting room at the dentist's office. Probably the most unromantic place in the world. Then we ran into each other in town occasionally - the post office, the supermarket. One day he asked me out to dinner." She paused. "I know you don't want to hear this. A son doesn't want to know about the woman who replaced his mother in his father's affections." Mulder shook his head, his stomach turning at the idea. "No. No, I don't." She drained her cup. "More coffee?" "Please." She fetched the pot and refilled their cups. "Anyway, I was as surprised as anyone when I realized I was pregnant with Grace. I thought your father would have a stroke when he found out. But once he became accustomed to the idea, he was very excited about it. He adored her. And he hated that he could not own up to being her father, but...well, you know why." Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Clare, how much do you know about my father's work?" Her slim shoulders shook delicately. "Just enough not to want to know more." "And how much do you know about his relationship with me?" It was her turn to squirm. "I know that there was a great strain between you. Because of your sister. I know that there were harsh words exchanged. That he thought your approach was too emotional sometimes, and that he felt that could be your undoing. He was very glad when Dana was made your partner. He felt she would have a steadying influence on you." He started. "I had no idea he knew about that." "Fox, your father was a very powerful man. He had connections in places you and I couldn't even dream of. He knew everything. I'm sure that, if he wanted to, he could have listed every meal you ate and recited the contents of every load of your laundry." He dropped the fork into the empty bowl with a clatter. "If he knew so much about me, if he cared that much...why didn't he tell me?" Her eyes clouded. "He tried. The night he - died - I think he would have told you everything." "But Alex Krycek got there first." She drew in a harsh breath. "You know the name of the man who killed him?" Mulder put his head in his hands. "He was my partner for a short time. But he had - another agenda. I wanted to kill him. Tried." "Why didn't you?" He was surprised by the undercurrent of hatred in her usually gentle voice. "Scully stopped me. I would have shot him with his weapon - the one he used to kill Dad - and it would have looked like I had killed my own father." He rubbed his shoulder in memory. "So, she shot me to prevent me from making a fatal mistake." Clare's eyes went wide. "She *shot* you?" "That's my Scully - always willing to go the distance." He took a sip of lukewarm coffee. "But I still don't understand the dichotomy. Why write such warm things about me, but be so harsh to my face?" She twisted her necklace. "I suppose it was to keep you focused. You were always trying to prove something to him. To make up for how you had failed to protect Samantha. Although, Fox, you know that you were just a boy. There was nothing you could have done to save her." "If I'd gotten his gun-" She shook her head. "That would have done nothing, except perhaps to get you killed. Someday, you'll have to learn to forgive yourself for that night. But, as I was saying, you were determined to prove your worth to him. He felt that, if he could maintain that distance between you - keep you believing that he hadn't forgiven you - that you would go on working to find her. To make yourself worthy in his eyes. You always had an extraordinary ability to focus, I understand. He exploited that tendency toward, well..." "Obsessiveness?" His mouth quirked. "Yeah, I understand that that's a strength of mine. Although I think Scully would describe it as a failing." She smiled. "I like your Dana very much. Grace feels that she is a kindred spirit." He pictured the wind-blown firebrand who had warned him against making a scene this morning. "She's - well, she's extraordinary. Stronger than steel and softer than silk at the same time. But go on about my father." Clare shrugged. "That's about all, really. Never doubt that he loved you, Fox. Never doubt that he was proud of you. But he knew that you had a fault - not a fault, but a weakness. When you felt you were loved, were secure, you would put the work he wanted you to do aside." "I don't understand." But he did. He understood far too well. "There was a woman about eight, nine years ago. Another agent." His face closed up. "I don't want to talk about her." Clare sighed. "I see now what he meant." He pushed away his empty cup. "If this is true, what about Scully?" "Dana will never make it easy for you. You'll always have to work for it. It doesn't mean she loves you any less. In fact, I think it means she loves you more." He looked out the window onto the perfectly manicured back garden. "She's never told me she loves me. I didn't realize that until just now." "Does that concern you?" He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. "Yes, it *concerns* me." She laughed. "So sarcastic! Fox, I'm sure she has a reason for not saying the words. I admit I don't know her every well, but I can tell that Dana's not the kind of woman who would embark on an affair lightly. You love very easily. It's much more difficult for her. Her emotions are so strong that she has learned to bury them. When she's ready, she'll tell you. I'm sure there are things you haven't told her about yourself." He looked down at his left hand. "Yeah." Clare glanced at the clock. "Fox, you should get going if you want to meet them for brunch. If you want any more questions answered, call me later and I'll be happy to tell you everything I know." He looked at her. "One more thing before I go. Last night, when we left - it was snowing. Did you do that?" She shook her head. "No, that was Grace." "So, she is like you." Clare smiled. "I suppose at some level, she is. But while abilities are inherited and bordering on simple tricks, hers are extraordinary. Whatever powers she has come from a completely different source." His blood ran cold. "She's - she's never been abducted, has she?" "Goodness, no! Why would you think such a thing? She's - I guess you'd say she has been chosen." He didn't understand. "Chosen? Chosen by whom?" Clare's hands made a helpless gesture. "By God, of course. God talks to her. Works through her." "What?" She gave him a pitying look. "I know you don't believe in God, Fox. Grace told me as much. But you have to understand this: God speaks to all of us. But unlike most of the world, Grace is listening." "...have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, do; and the God of peace will be with you. "The Word of the Lord." "Thanks be to God," the congregation said in concert. Scully rose to her feet as the priest approached the lectern to proclaim the Gospel. Grace stood next to her, her face aglow, hands pressed palm to palm in an attitude of prayer. As the priest spoke, she began to nod her head in agreement with the words. Scully forced herself to look away so that she could concentrate on the reading. But it was difficult. She felt a strange energy, similar to the experience she had whenever Grace touched her. It was almost as though the very air was vibrating, pulsing with it. She looked at Grace again. Her mouth fell open. She blinked, trying to understand what she was seeing. The girl, who had been the same height as Scully a minute before, was now half a head taller. She looked down at Grace's feet. They were not touching the ground. Scully sat automatically at the end of the reading, but she didn't hear a word of the homily that followed. Her head was spinning. She tried to convince herself that she had not seen anything out of the ordinary, but it was impossible. Grace had been levitating. She was trying to wrap her mind around that fact when she became aware that the girl had stiffened. "What is it?" she whispered. "He's here." "Who's here?" "The man." She took Scully's hand in a gesture that was touchingly like her brother's. "You'll see." After the service, Grace fumbled in her purse for a few moments. "I'm hoping he'll leave," she confided in a whisper. "But I doubt it. He waits for me." Scully looked around the emptying chapel. "Who? There's no one watching us." "He'll be outside, then." She squared her shoulders. "Come on, let's get this over with." They stepped into the bright sunlight. When Scully's eyes adjusted, she didn't notice anything at first. Then she saw him, standing apart from the small crowd of worshippers. He was completely average in appearance - brown hair and eyes, of medium build and height. He wore an open-collared, plain white dress shirt with a pair of dark slacks. But even after they slid into the air-cooled leather comfort of the chauffeured Mercedes that would take them to brunch, Scully could still feel the blast of heat that had emanated from him. He, too, projected an energy - but it was the antithesis of the field around Grace. Scully felt dirty, as though something rotten and slimy had brushed against her. "Who is he?" she demanded again. Grace shook her head, her eyes frightened. "I don't know his name. But I know about him. He thinks God talks to him, too. That isn't true, but he doesn't know the difference, and he doesn't care. He feels I am a threat to him. He can read me, Dana, and I've never met anyone else who could do that." "Grace, have you told your mother about this? Told anyone?" "No. But I need to tell Fox." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "That's why we're together now. This man - it's not clear. But it has to do with Fox." Scully's heart started beating more quickly. "What do you mean, it has to do with Mulder?" Grace's voice was soft, sad. "I don't know very much. But I don't like what I do see." "What? What is it you *do* see?" She looked out the window. "Blood. And tears." V. Passion Who feareth to suffer suffereth already, because he feareth. Thursday, August 26 There is a small comfort, when someone you love has died, in keeping busy. To that end, Scully began making a mental checklist. First, she needed to get Skinner involved in this situation, then arrange for another pathologist to perform the autopsy. When the investigation was under way, she would turn her attention to the other arrangements - although she had no idea what kind of funeral Mulder would have wanted. The thought made her sick, but she kept her focus on what had to be done. She tugged off her gloves and tossed them into a medical waste receptacle, then removed her safety glasses. She was just about to pick up her cell phone when Bob Mitchell pushed the door open. "Finished already?" he asked, surprised. "No, I just remembered that I needed to reschedule a meeting with A.D. Skinner," she lied. "Can I help you with something?" He looked down at a clipboard. "No, but I think your day just got a little more complicated. Another body just arrived for you." "*Another* body?" He shrugged. "I don't kill 'em, Agent Scully. Where you want it?" She sighed. "The more, the merrier. Bring it in." Sunday, August 22 To Scully's astonishment, Mulder was waiting for them in the hotel lobby. "Wasn't she home?" she asked. "You woefully underestimate my ability to be on time, Scully," he said. "Yes, she was home. I'll tell you about it later." Grace led them to the restaurant, chattering animatedly. Scully noted that, throughout the meal, she was constantly touching both of them - small, natural gestures of affection that seemed innocuous. Once you discounted the strange sensation that her hands emitted, of course. They were nursing cups of coffee after the meal when Grace suddenly stiffened. "He's here," she whispered to Scully. "He must have followed me. He's never done that before." Scully looked around. "Grace, I don't see him." "He just walked out of the room." Mulder looked from one to the other. "What they hell are you talking about?" Scully explained about the strange man they had seen at the church. Mulder's face grew stony. "Well, I'm not going to let some religious nut terrorize you." He pushed away from the table. "Mulder, where are you going?" Scully asked, even though she knew. "I just need a little fresh air." He strolled out of the restaurant, carefully composing his face to give away nothing about his intent. He spotted the man immediately, even though Scully hadn't given him a description. It was easy. There was only one man in the next room. Only one man, and, as far as Mulder could tell, only one ex-con. Mulder debated confronting him and then decided against it. He backed out of the room and returned to the table. "I saw him. His name is Calvin Minnick," he said. "I know a little about him from my work in Violent Crimes. Small time hustler, drugs mostly. He tried to run with the big dogs for a while, which is how he came to the Bureau's attention. He didn't want to go to jail, so he became an informant." He looked from one of them to the other. "But the *really* funny thing about Calvin Minnick - he died in 1990, three days before he was to go into the federal witness protection program." Calvin Minnick was a patient man. He likened himself to Job sometimes. He felt that he had been tested by God and found worthy. You see, eight years ago, he had died. A botched attempt at a hit. He had seen a tunnel of light, heard a voice. Then he had been slammed back into his body with incredible force. If Larry and Frank hadn't found him, nursed him back to health and helped him fake his own death, he didn't know where he would be today. Working some second shift factory job in Boise or Dubuque or some other witness protection shithole, probably. But God had bigger things planned for Calvin Minnick. Calvin knew it. Larry and Frank knew it. And soon the whole world would know it, too. The Voice had told him to find her. To go to church every day until he did. And he did, every day for eight years. Baptist, Methodist, Seventh Day Adventist. Buddhist, Bahai, Jewish, even Shinto, whatever the hell that was. Nothing. But three weeks ago he had gone into the chapel at Georgetown University and spotted her, known her immediately for what she was. She was just a kid, which he was kind of sorry about. It had been eight years since he had killed anyone, and never a woman. Yes, it really was too bad. But the Voice had told him what to do. When and how. Wednesday night, after 10:00, Grace Murray would die. And Calvin Minnick would inherit the world. After brunch, Scully asked Mulder to take her home. She had a pile of laundry to do, her plants were drooping, and everything in her apartment had accumulated a week's worth of dust. Besides, she hadn't been alone since Friday morning, and the weight of the weekend's events were pressing on her, closing in. She needed some downtime. Mulder protested, as she thought he might. But she was firm, and he eventually - and grumpily - acquiesced. He pulled her forgotten suitcase from the trunk of his car and carried it to her door, despite her insistence that she was perfectly capable of handling her own baggage. "I know," he said as she opened the door. "But I figured you didn't want me to kiss you in front of the whole neighborhood." "Were you planning on kissing me?" She took the suitcase from his hand and set it on the floor with a thump. "I thought about it, yeah." He cupped her face and kissed her thoroughly, his mouth teasing her, trying to persuade her to change her mind with his body since his words had failed. She knew what he was trying to do, and she gently disentangled herself. "I'll call you later. Go home, Mulder." "Yes, ma'am." He snapped a salute and strolled out the door, whistling. "Mulder?" she called after him. "Yeah?" "Don't call me ma'am." He turned around and grinned. "Then don't tell me to go home." She closed the door firmly. She spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and doing her laundry. She made a quick trip to the grocery store while the sheets and towels were in the dryer, then made up the bed with fresh, crisp linens. All the time she was trying not to think about what she had seen today in church, had experienced last night. It was like trying not to think of a blue elephant. No matter what she did, the knowledge niggled at her. By the time she had plopped down on the sofa with a salad that evening, she was in complete turmoil. She couldn't tell Mulder. He wouldn't believe her, which was so funny that it was positively twisted. But she couldn't *not* tell him, either. By nine o'clock she was ready to cave in and call him. Her hand was already on her cell phone when it chirped. "Scully," she said. "Kill all the dust bunnies, Scully?" Mulder asked cheerfully. "And replaced them with dryer lint," she answered. "I'm glad you've had a productive day. I have, as well." "Oh?" She muted the television. "I found out a little more about our friend Calvin. Seems there was no body found, but a couple of witnesses turned up at the time. They swore they had seen a hit go down, and then hid as they watched the shooter take poor Calvin away in the trunk of his car - presumably to sleep with the fishes. But the funny thing about these witnesses, Scully, is that they were Calvin's partners in crime - guys who were even lower on the totem pole than he was. Their names are Larry Mancuso and Frank 'Big Nuts' Simpson." "'Big Nuts'?" "Frank was an auto mechanic before he turned to a life of crime. Hey, I don't make this stuff up, I just investigate it." Mulder sighed. "Anyway, Frank and Larry are now leading the lives of upright citizens. You'll love this - they now run a mission for the homeless. They're both claiming to be ministers, that they had some big conversion in the slammer - although I don't know of an organized religion that would willingly ordain a couple of dumb, murderous thugs." "Not knowingly, anyway." "So, what do you say, tomorrow you and I take a little trip down to their crib - a place called Job's House." "Sure. Do you want to meet at the office first, or meet there?" He was quiet for a minute. "Well, actually, Scully, I was hoping that we could carpool over there." She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, you are just Mr. Subtle, aren't you? If you want to come over, why don't you just ask me?" "I'll be there in half an hour." The phone clicked in her ear and she looked at it in astonishment. "You could *ask,* you idiot," she grumbled. She looked down at her soft cotton pajamas and shook her head. "I'm not getting dressed for you, that's for sure." Then her home phone rang. It was Tara and Bill, and she managed to put Mulder out of her head as they talked. She was still on the phone when she heard a tap at the door, then the sound of a key in the lock. "Uh huh." She looked out the peephole and then quickly unlatched the door, motioning Mulder inside. "Well, it sounds like you and Mom had a great time. I can't wait to see the pictures from the zoo." She covered the mouthpiece. "Bill and Tara. They're very chatty tonight." He nodded and carried a garment bag into the bedroom, then went into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator, coming back with a tall glass of orange juice. He perched in a chair and crossed his legs, unashamedly eavesdropping. "Work? It's good. We just got back from South Dakota on Friday night." She crossed her eyes and Mulder chuckled. "Yes, I've still got the same partner, Bill. I'd be sure to tell you if that changed. You know I live to make your day." She pointed to his glass and mouthed, "Can you get me some?" Out loud, she said, "No, Mulder hasn't tried to kill me yet this week, but given enough time, I'm sure he'll try again. He's a ticking bomb just waiting to go off." Over Mulder's laughter, she heard Tara in the background saying something that sounded like "Leave her alone, Bill." Leave me alone is right, she thought as Mulder pressed a cold glass into her hand. Otherwise, I'll give you something to cry about. "Bill, it's getting late. I should think about getting to bed. OK, let me say goodnight to Tara. I love you, too." She sipped the icy juice. "Tara? You tickle my nephew for me, all right? Yes, I'll try. I know, I need a vacation. I have some time saved up, but - Thanksgiving? I thought I was having it this year." She nodded. "Uh huh. Well, I'll try, but I can't promise - maybe at Christmas." The thought of another Christmas in San Diego turned her stomach, but she didn't say anything. "All right, I'll talk to Mom about it. Really. I have to go, Tara. Yes, I am very happy for you. OK. Good night." She tossed the phone onto the coffee table and dropped limply onto the sofa. "She's pregnant again. Due in late February - right around my birthday, actually." "I thought your birthday was in April." She ignored him. "So she's already started about the holidays, Mom and I coming out to San Diego again since she'll be too pregnant to fly. She's sweet, really, but she doesn't think sometimes." He sat beside her and took her hand. "About Emily." "Yes." She spotted the opening she'd been looking for but hesitated, running a finger around the rim of her glass. "Mulder, Grace - she knew about Emily." "What?" "And Padgett. All about us. It was - uncanny." He leaned back. "Clare told me today that she - Clare - has some mild psychic abilities. Maybe Grace-" She shook her head and leaped up, pacing the floor, her feet sliding a little in their thick socks. "No, Mulder, it wasn't like that." She quickly related everything that had happened last night and today. "She *levitated,* Mulder. Explain that to me." His expression was closed off. "I can't, Scully. But just because she - *seemed* to float in the air, doesn't mean...." She threw up her hands. "Here we go again. Why is it that you cannot believe the evidence you know in your heart is real - is true?" "And why is it that you don't believe what you see with your own two eyes? Maybe you need more than just reading glasses, Scully," he snapped. "Look, I admire and respect your faith, I really do. Just don't ask me to share it." She remembered what Grace had said the night before. It suddenly became blindingly clear. "It's because of your sister, isn't it?" He made a harsh sound. "Which one?" "Samantha. You prayed for her return, didn't you? And when she didn't come back, you thought no one was listening." He stood up, quivering angrily. "No, I finally stopped believing when I prayed for my dad to come home after he left my mother and me. I made promises - oh, never mind, this isn't getting us anywhere." He turned away. "Leave it alone, Scully. You're not going to change my mind." She put a hand on his arm. "Of course I'm not," she said gently. "You're the only one who can do that. All I ask - all I ask is that you keep an open mind about all this." He jerked away from her touch. "Maybe it was a mistake for me to come here tonight. It's late, and I haven't had a decent night's sleep in days." She laughed humorlessly. "And whose fault is that, lover boy? Mine?" He had the grace to look ashamed. "No, Scully, I - look, maybe I should just go home." "You know as well as I do that you'll just haul your sorry ass over here in the middle of the night, wake me up and try to kiss it better." He smiled despite himself. "'sorry ass?' Damn, Scully." "Don't make me laugh, Mulder. I'm really pissed off right now." She tried to make a graceful exit and ended up slipping on the newly polished wood floor, nearly going to her knees. "So much for my dignity," she muttered. "I'm going to bed," she called over her shoulder. "If you want to join me, fine. If not, then I'll see you in the morning." Five minutes later, he crawled under the covers. "I'm sorry." "No, you're not." He sighed. "All right, I'm *mostly* sorry." "That's better." He twined his fingers with hers. "I just - I - it's hard for me to - I'll try to keep an open mind, OK?" "OK." "You know, Clare warned me today about you. She said you'd always make me work for it. I didn't realize until now just what she meant." Scully smiled. She'd have to thank Clare later. "Is that a problem?" "No. I just didn't realize you'd make me work so damn *hard.* And, Scully?" "Hmm?" "I won't call you ma'am if you won't call me lover boy." She snuggled deeper into the pillows. "Fair enough." Monday, August 23 They were all business as they drove up to Job's House - in separate cars, at Scully's insistence. Mulder acted like their fight had never happened, but Scully still felt unsettled. But she put on her best "agent" face and followed him into the shelter. A reception desk - empty - stood just inside the door. Behind that was a door marked "Office." "Nice of them to make it easy for us, eh, Scully?" he murmured. They approached the door. Suddenly Mulder held up a hand and put a finger to his mouth. Now she heard them, too - men talking, apparently not concerned about being overheard. "Shut up, Larry. It'll all be over soon and we'll be living like kings then. You know, the meek inheriting the earth?" "Jesus, Frank! When the hell have you ever been meek? A few years on the outside and you go all soft." "Well, I'd rather be soft than an asshole like you, Larry." They broke into raucous laughter. Then Larry said, "We should be quiet, man. He could be listening." "Naw. He went to get breakfast. You know he won't show his face around here until he's had a pot of coffee. Dammit, Larry! I told you not to fuck around with the computer. Where the hell did the invoices go? If I don't get the bills paid today, he'll ream me a new asshole." "Frank, you are such a pussy. Don't you miss the old days?" "Hell, no. I got me a second chance and I ain't - I mean, I'm *not* going to blow it this time. Got a wife, got a kid. Makes you look at things a little different." Mulder chose that moment to rap lightly at the door. It flew open almost immediately. A tall, burly man scowled at him. "Can I help you?" he asked gruffly. Mulder flashed his badge. "I hope so. I'm Special Agent Mulder, and this is Special Agent Scully. We're here conducting a background check on a man named..." He pulled a notebook from his pocket and pretended to read. "Named Oswald LaRue Dinwiddie, Jr. This gentleman is applying for a government position and he says that he once was a short term resident here. He lists the Rev. Larry Mancuso and the Rev. Frank Simpson as character references." The large, grumpy-looking man said, "I'm Larry Mancuso, and he's Frank Simpson." He jerked his thumb toward another man, who waved nervously from behind a desk. "But I don't think I know anybody - what you say his name was?" Frank joined them, and Scully was astonished that two large men could share such a cramped office. Larry Mancuso was big, but Frank Simpson was at least six and a half feet tall of solid muscle. Larry was K2 to Frank's Everest. Scully stepped forward and smiled pleasantly at both men. "It's likely that Mr. Dinwiddie was known by a nickname. I believe he gave us both 'Junior' and 'Buster' as possibilities." Frank said, "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but half the guys in here are called Junior, Buster, Bubba - something like that. We're not big on taking names, you know, and some of these men, well, they been on the streets so long they might not even remember what their real names are. We're just here to help, not to pry." "I see," Mulder said. "Would you gentlemen mind showing us around? That way we can compare our notes with Mr. Dinwiddie's, to make sure he's not trying to put one over on us." "Larry, could you take these folks around?" Frank asked. "I gotta work on the bills." "Yeah, sure. You want to come with me?" Mulder and Scully followed Larry through the small facility. He gestured broadly as he spoke. "Not much to see. Kitchen back there, serves dinner every night. Lunch, too, when we got the funds. Here's a TV room, place to play some checkers, talk. Dormitory and chapel are upstairs." "You have a chapel here?" Scully asked. "Mulder, did Mr. Dinwiddie mention that?" He consulted his "notes." "Yes. In fact, he was particularly verbose about his, er, conversion. Rev. Mancuso, could we possibly...?" Larry shrugged. "I'll take you up." He led the way up a wide flight of stairs. "Dormitory here." The large room was spare and clean. "Chapel's at the end of the hall." He nodded toward a pair of oaken double doors. A persistent buzz came from the back of the building and Larry's perpetual scowl deepened. "Sorry, folks, that's the food delivery. Excuse me for a second, will you?" "Sure," Scully said. "We'll stop by the office before we leave if we have other questions. Otherwise, we'll see ourselves out." She offered her hand and he shook it firmly. "Thank you again, Reverend." "Yes, thanks. You've certainly been a great help to Mr. Dinwiddie's efforts," Mulder said. They watched Larry lumber down the stairs before walking down the short hallway to the chapel. "Oswald LaRue Dinwiddie, Jr.?" Scully whispered. "With a name like Smuckers, it has to be good." He pushed open the chapel door. The small room was dark, windowless. It smelled of lemons and beeswax and fresh paint. Scully groped for a light switch. "Nothing here." "Not on this side - oh, wait." A click, then soft light filled the room. At Scully's gasp, Mulder turned toward her and stopped. "Whoa." The walls and ceiling of the tiny room were blue and white, simulating the sky. The painted sky was full of angels - soaring, swooping, glorious angels. Scully approached one of the figures and peered at it closely. "My God, Mulder. These are extraordinary. Come here and look." She indicated the tiny dots of paint that made up the angel's face and robes. "Pointillism." "Right. French neoimpressionism - Georges Seurat. Can you imagine how long it took to do this mural, Scully? How much vision the artist must have had?" He stood in the middle of the room, neck craned. "This is amazing." "So's this, Mulder." She crouched down next to the back wall by a stained tarp and a cluster of paint cans. "He's not finished with the mural yet. But I don't like this particular subject matter." She pointed to a small figure garbed in pink robes. It fell from Heaven, a flaming sword protruding from its chest, as another figure rose. The ascending figure was clad in purple and had a familiar face. Mulder swore. "Scully, the purple angel is our buddy Calvin." Her stomach rolled. "And the pink one - Mulder, I think it's your sister Grace." "Shit. Scully, is there a signature anywhere?" He hunkered down beside her and carefully moved the canvas tarp away from the wall. "There. CM." "Calvin Minnick." She peered at the tiny date. "It's - Mulder, it's dated the 25th. That's the day after tomorrow. Mulder, he-" A sick suspicion formed in her mind. "I think this means he's going to kill her." VI. Lamentation "Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved." Thursday, August 26 Scully looked at the gurney holding the second body and shivered. When she glanced at the clock, she was astonished to see that she had been in this cold, clinical room for less than an hour. Fifty-odd minutes that had changed her life forever. She glanced at the shrouded body on the other autopsy table. She wasn't ready for this, could not possibly look at this other body. For once in her life, Dana Scully was stunned into inaction. All because Mulder's death had broken her heart. No, that was a lie. It wasn't broken. "Broken" implied that there was a fix, a patch. Her heart had been smashed, utterly ruined. A quote - Shaw, maybe - something long forgotten, sprang to mind. "When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more,'" she murmured. She gathered her strength and forced herself to step up to the second gurney, to grasp the tab of the zipper on the body bag between her fingers. "Forget the boats - the whole damn harbor's on fire," she said aloud. Taking a deep breath, she pulled. Tuesday, August 24 There was a light tap on her apartment door. Scully jumped up and peered out the peephole, then leapt to open the locks. "Mulder, where have you been? You look like hell." He rubbed his jaw, emphasizing the two days of stubble on his chin. "Stakeout. No sign of Calvin Minnick. Larry went home last night and didn't show today, but Frank's Mr. Punctuality. In at 8:30, out at 5:00." She pushed him down onto the sofa. "Have you been up since yesterday morning? Why didn't you call me? I would have relieved you. And, again, *why didn't you call me?* I was worried." He pushed his arms out of his suit coat. "I let the damn batteries in my cell phone run out, and the stupid car adapter broke last month. Forgot to replace it. I'm sorry, Scully. It wasn't intentional." "So, who's over there now?" "Nobody. It began to seem foolish to stake out a closed business. And I mean closed as in, doors shut for good. Some workmen came and boarded up the place about two hours ago. Seems their lease expired." He rubbed his cramped neck. "Damn, I'm tired. To be completely truthful, I passed tired at 10:00 this morning and went straight for exhausted." "You hungry?" "I hit the local drive thru on the way over." His face split in a yawn. "Mulder, go take a shower and get some sleep." He pulled off his tie and tossed it aside. "First, I want to hear what you've been up to. How was your day, dear?" "Besides wondering where the hell you disappeared to after work yesterday? Oh, just peachy." She sat down next to him and rubbed his neck. "I have to admit to a little breaking and entering at your apartment. I took your father's diary to the lab this morning. I have someone looking at the paper and ink." "What for? I thought we were sure it's genuine." "Come on, Mulder. Humor me." She kneaded a little harder. "When this wraps up, we're going to have to justify the time spent on the case. I'm just trying to make sure our asses are covered." "OK." Her hands stopped. "OK? Just like that?" "I trust your judgment, Scully. Keep going.". She moved her hands to his shoulders. "I also talked to Clare. She's hired some extra security. Grace has a dance class tomorrow night, but she's agreed not to go." "Damn straight she's not going." His head fell forward limply. "I'll be glad when this is all over. I can actually spend some time with her. Get to know her. Jesus, Scully. I have a baby sister." His voice was edged with wonder. She caressed his shoulder. "Yes, you do. You're very lucky." "First thing I want to do is take her to a ball game. I wonder if she likes sports." She concentrated on a knot above his left shoulder. "Judging by the autographed picture of Mark McGwire in her bedroom, I'd say so." "You've seen her room? Ouch, watch it." She eased the pressure of her hands. "Once I realized you had ditched me, I didn't see any reason not to take Clare up on her offer for dinner last night." "So, what's her room like? I'm picturing pink and frilly. Oh, yeah, right there." She focused on the spot, ignoring the building ache in her hands. "It's blue, actually. Very pretty. Typical teenaged girl decor - bulletin board crammed with postcards and pictures, a poster of Ricky Martin on the back of the door that I had to swear not to mention to her mother. A closet I'd kill for." She gave his back a pat. "I think that's the best I can do without taking up a course in Swedish massage." "You'd do that for me? Scully, I'm touched." He rotated his shoulders gingerly. "You're touched all right, Mulder." She pushed him until he stood up. "Go. Shower. Bed." He looked down at her. "You coming?" "I just need to make a phone call. I'll be along in a minute." She watched him cross into the bathroom and waited for the sound of the spray of the shower. Once she heard the water, she picked up the phone. Grace answered after one ring. "Dana? Is he home?" Home? Her apartment was rapidly becoming their base of operations, so she supposed, in a way, he *was* home. "Yes, he's here. Tired, but fine otherwise. He's taking a shower, or I'd put him on." Grace sighed. "Good. I mean, I knew he was all right, but..." Scully picked up his suit coat and smoothed the rumpled fabric. "I know what you mean. Listen, I'm going to bed. Tell your mom I called, OK?" "I will. Sleep tight, Dana. Kiss Fox for me, will you?" She smiled at the wistfulness in the girl's voice. "You can count on it. Good night." With a sigh, she hung his jacket over the back of a dining chair and turned out the lights. Wednesday, August 5 "OK, thanks." Scully hung up the phone. "That was the lab. They're still working on the ink, but the paper in the diary is consistent with the book being approximately 35 to 40 years old." Mulder didn't look up from his computer. "That's good, because *I'm* consistent with being 35 to 40 years old." Suddenly he grinned at her. "Despite my boyish appearance, of course." "Of course." The phone rang again. Mulder sighed. "This is becoming Grand Central Station." He grabbed the receiver. "Mulder." He listened, his eyes lighting with genuine pleasure. "She is? I'll be right there." He dropped the receiver and pulled on his jacket. "Guess who's coming to lunch?" "Judging by your expression, I'd say it's your sister." She glanced at his unusually neat desk. "Well, that would explain why you had the urge to clean." He looked embarrassed. "Well, she called this morning while you were up in the library. She said she was doing a little back-to-school shopping and that she would be free for lunch, so I-" She smiled softly. "So, what are you waiting for? Go get her." He was out of the office in two steps. In less than five minutes, they were back. Scully heard Grace's giggle before she saw her, the happy laugh mixing with Mulder's rumbling baritone. It should have been jarring, but Scully found it touching. She had prayed that whatever threat hung over Grace would be gone soon so that Mulder could get on with his simple plans to build a relationship with his sister. Moments of happiness were so rare in his life that Scully didn't begrudge him a single one. "Wow." Grace stood stock still in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the long, crowded room. "This is really neat! This is your office?" "And sometimes, it's mine, too," Scully said, rising to greet them. Grace wrapped her in an exuberant hug. "Hi, Dana! How are you?" Scully shrugged off the effects of the energy Grace emanated. "I'm good. And I can tell that you're doing well." The girl tugged her ponytail over her shoulder. "Oh, yeah. I love to shop. Although it's kind of weird having a driver/bodyguard - I feel like Chelsea Clinton." She smiled expectantly. "So, are you coming to lunch with us?" "If Mulder doesn't mind me intruding on your bonding time," she said, arching a questioning eyebrow. "It wouldn't be a party without you, Scully." He watched Grace examine the walls behind his desk. "Hey, short stuff, I'm gonna go wash my hands and I'll meet you back here in a minute, OK?" "Fine." She took her time looking at the articles and sketches, her eyes finally alighting on a photo of Mulder and Scully that was tacked up next to an article on spontaneous combustion. "This is really sweet, don't you think?" she asked Scully, tapping the picture with a short pink fingernail. "Sweet? Mulder? I never-" She broke off as the phone rang again. "Scully." She listened for a minute, disappointment clouding her features. "Yes, sir. I'll be right there." She straightened her jacket. "Grace, I'm sorry. I'm not going to be able to make it after all." Mulder hovered in the doorway. "Why not?" "Skinner - he's our boss, Grace - wants me to sit in on some task force meeting he's got going - something about retention issues with female agents." "Mmm. Dry catered sandwiches and even drier company." "Sorry, Mulder, it can't be helped." She picked up a legal pad and a pen. "I'll walk you out." Scully stood in the lobby and watched them leave, smiling a little at the sight of Grace holding hands with her big brother. They made an odd couple - Mulder in his regulation charcoal suit, Grace in short denim overalls, a striped t-shirt and Keds. As he ushered her through the revolving door, he said something that made her laugh, and she threw her head back. Her long ponytail swung out and brushed his collar. For a moment, they almost seemed to be connected by the rope of hair, as though they were one being. And then they were gone. Scully turned away slowly and walked back to the elevator, suddenly feeling very cold for no reason at all. Wednesday, August 5 Scully opened the door to their office, tossing her pad and pen down in disgust. The meeting had been a total waste of time, eventually degenerating to barely restrained name calling between the representative from Human Resources and an old-school chauvinist who thought that women should be seen and not heard. "At least it was a free lunch," she murmured. No Mulder. She wouldn't be surprised if he had decided to play hooky after lunch. Although they were both concerned about the date on the mural at Job's House, they had decided to play it cool with Grace. Mulder undoubtedly felt that, if he was with his sister, he could protect her from whatever threat Calvin might pose. Scully leaned over the phone on Mulder's desk to see if the message light was on. It was. She bet that there was at least one voice mail from Mulder, asking her to cover for him while he spirited Grace off to see the Orioles or D.C. United play. "You have...three...new messages," the recorded voice chirped. The first *was* from Mulder, time-stamped at 1:20, saying that they were on their way back to the office. The second was from the lab tech working on the diary. She confirmed that the diary and that some of the inks were consistent with the suspected age of the document, but that, since different pens were used throughout, more work was needed. "Next...message," the mechanical voice said. "Sent...today...at five...twenty-eight...p.m." "Scully, it's me." Mulder's voice was soft, intense. "Listen, I won't be able to make dinner with you. I ran into an old friend and we have a lot of catching up to do. So, go ahead and grab a bite and I'll see you at my place tonight, OK? I'll probably be late, so don't wait up. I love you, Dana. See you later." Her heart pounding, Scully pushed the buttons that replayed the message. She listened to it twice more, then carefully saved it. Dana. He'd called her Dana. Her own words slapped her in the face. <<"Maybe you can use my first name as a secret code. If you're in trouble.">> Calvin Minnick had found his angel. 9:48 p.m. Calvin Minnick was a patient man. But now, the end of the waiting was near, so close he could almost taste the sweet fulfillment. Larry had done well. It had all gone remarkably easily. They had watched as the girl had instructed her chauffeur to wait for them while they walked to a nearby deli. The driver of the girl's car had dozed off in the warm sun while waiting for the FBI agent and the girl to finish their lunch. Larry, dressed as a police officer, had merely to lean into the car as it waited at the curb and inject the driver with a little cocktail Calvin had designed. The poor fellow would never wake up from his little nap. When the agent and the girl returned to the car, they had found the driver dead. The agent understood immediately what was happening, but before he could reach for his weapon, Larry had pressed a gun to his back and cuffed him. Calvin himself had the pleasure of placing restraints on the girl and putting her in the back of the police car they had "borrowed." It was the job of a lifetime. He had kidnapped two people - one of them an FBI agent - in broad daylight, right next to the Hoover Building. The next order of business was to dispose of the police car and change clothes. They had left a second vehicle - a van, purchased for cash under an alias, of course - at a parking garage in Arlington. As soon as the man and the girl were stowed in the back, they had driven away, stripping off their uniforms to reveal the plain white t-shirts and jeans that they had worn underneath. It was Frank who knew about the isolated cabin near the Maryland shore. It might have been foolish to begin in DC, head to Virginia and then backtrack to Maryland, but Calvin knew he would have hours to kill - no pun intended - before the final showdown would take place. It had been Larry's idea to give the FBI agent a last request. Life had not always been fair to Calvin, so he was open to being fair himself when push came to shove. When they made the offer to the man, he had not hesitated. "I need to call my girlfriend," he had said, once the gag had been removed from his mouth. "My cell phone's in my jacket pocket. She's expecting me for dinner. If I'm late, she'll assume the worst." "The worst? That's funny, bud!" Larry had said. "This that little redhead you were with the other day?" "Yeah," the man had admitted. "Nice legs. I bet she's hot in the sack, huh? Does she go down on you dressed in nothing but a holster and a gun?" Calvin had to admit Larry's tactics were crude, but effective. The agent had flushed in anger, but managed to keep his cool. "OK, you can call her, but tip her off and you're a dead man." Larry cocked his gun and held it to the man's head, taking the cell phone from the agent's coat with his other hand. "What's the number?" The agent's little conversation with what was obviously an answering machine had been touching. If he had felt more generous, Calvin might have let the man go. But the FBI agent was dangerous. It was a pity, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. He looked at his watch. Only six minutes to go. He got to his feet and started to walk into the other room, where Frank was waiting with the girl. The FBI agent saw him move and said, "Minnick." "Yes?" He lit a cigarette. "Shut up, asshole," Larry said sharply, brandishing his pistol at the agent. "It's all right, Larry. Let the man say his last words." He looked at the agent expectantly. "Why?" the agent asked. "Why her? Why now?" "It just has to be today. I don't know why. It's what God told me to do." "God talks to you, Calvin?" He drew in on his cigarette. "Of course He does. But the Devil talks to that little girl, which is why she has to die." The agent's voice was thick with pain. "Calvin, that girl is my sister. If she has to die, please help me to understand why." "Because she would stop me, of course. It's very simple, really. Most things are, when you break them down." He gestured with his cigarette as he spoke. "Next Summer, this country will choose its candidates for President and Vice President. There will be - an incident at each of the major conventions. I had thought about explosives, but they are easily detected. I believe sarin or some other nerve gas might be better. Neater. In any case, this will leave the door open for an old friend of mine - someone who owes me a few favors." "Someone you never informed on." The FBI agent was not as dumb as he looked. "Yes," Minnick conceded. "The country will be in turmoil, and God tells me that my friend will rise to power. Once that happens, I will be free to pursue my own projects, with no fear of being caught." "More acts of terrorism? Maybe a corner of the world to call your own?" Minnick looked down at the bound agent, a look of pity on his face. "You're a smart man. I could have used you." He took a last drag on his cigarette, then ground it out under his heel. The agent said, "I don't understand. How could a 16-year-old girl stop you? You're the man with the plan. You've got connections, backup, weapons. How could she be a threat to someone like you?" Minnick looked surprised. "You really don't get it, do you? She's evil. Satan works through her. She would tempt the righteous to deviate from the plan, and I can't have that happen. Ingenious for the Devil to work through a child, don't you think? To use those big eyes and that innocent face. But I've felt her power. I know what she is." He heard the digital watch on his wrist chime the hour. "But now, it's time. Larry, he's all yours." He oozed out of the room. Larry cocked his gun. "I'm going to enjoy this," he said. He aimed the gun at Mulder's head. Then they heard a scream of rage. Minnick raced into the room, his thin face scarlet with anger. "She's gone! They're both gone!" he shrieked. "What the hell did you do?" He kicked Mulder viciously in the ribs, enjoying the sharp crack of bone and the agent's deep moan of pain. Minnick and Larry fell on Mulder like a pair of wild dogs. He tried to avoid their blows, but with his limbs bound, it was impossible. He heard his ribs crack, breaking like china under their kicks and punches. They pummeled his face, pounding the back of his head against the wall until his head rang with pain. Breathing was almost impossible - they must have punctured a lung, maybe both. Thoughts and images began to stream through his head. His parents. Samantha. Grace. Scully. People he'd loved, people who had loved him. He felt he was on the verge of understanding something, some greater truth, even as he felt himself slip toward unconsciousness. <I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry. Grace, I didn't know. I didn't - > There was a shout, then the crack of a gunshot. And another. <Scully, I'm sorry. I love you. Remember. Believe. Alway - > And everything went dark. Thursday, August 26 Dana Scully turned over in her fitful sleep, one hand stretching, reaching even in unconsciousness for the warm form of her lover. When her fingers touched only cold sheets, she jerked awake. She had slept an hour, maybe less. Skinner had called at 2:00 to say that they had found an abandoned stolen police car in Arlington that was involved in the crime. Grace's purse had been in the back seat. Scully had begged him to let her join the field investigation, but he was adamant that she remain at Mulder's apartment as Mulder himself had instructed, in case he returned home. Clare was beside herself. She had called Scully almost every hour all night, looking for news. Scully hated that she had none to give her. She finally abandoned all hope of sleep and took a quick shower. As soon as she was dressed, she dialed Skinner's number. "Sir, I'm going to the office," she said as she locked the apartment door. "I can't sleep, I can't think. Maybe if-" "Agent Scully, I - fine, go ahead. I'll call you if I hear anything." His voice was almost normal, but she detected a thread of fatigue and - was that panic? "Thank you, sir." And so she sat in the X-Files office, fighting her fear and fatigue with cup after cup of coffee. She spent hours just staring at Mulder's poster. "I want to believe," it mocked. <So do I.> she thought. She looked at her watch, saw the seconds creep toward 10:00. Grace Murray and Fox Mulder had been missing for almost 21 hours. The phone rang, and her world came to a crashing halt. VII. Mysterium Fidei "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Thursday, August 26 Scully steeled herself as she inched open the zipper of the body bag. She pictured Grace as she had last seen her, strolling out of the Hoover Building hand in hand with her brother - happy, laughing, so alive. Scully didn't want to believe that Grace was dead, but she knew that it was likely. Probable, even. She squeezed her eyes shut as she finished opening the bag. She said a quick prayer and opened her eyes. It wasn't Grace. It was Calvin Minnick. He had been shot once in the head, half his skull blown away. It was the type of injury that kills immediately. Scully was surprised at how angry she was by what might be termed "a clean kill." She wanted the bastard to suffer. Suffer long and hard for what he had done to Mulder. To Grace and Clare. To her. To God knows how many other lives. She turned on her heel in disgust. As she did, the door of the autopsy bay flew open and a figure skidded to a halt, asking breathlessly, "Am I too late?" It was Grace. Dirty, disheveled, her clothes torn and legs scratched. And wonderfully, beautifully alive. Scully felt her mouth work, heard all the words she wanted to say jumble in her head like pieces of a puzzle. But she could say nothing. Silent, she opened her arms and Grace stepped into them. "Oh, Gracie," she murmured. "Thank God. Thank God." Grace buried her head in Scully's shoulder, a few hot tears dampening Scully's scrubs. Then Grace stepped back, her face oddly composed despite the tears. That otherworldly, ageless look was back in her eyes. "He's - he's dead, isn't he?" she asked softly. When Scully didn't answer, Grace looked over Scully's shoulder and saw the two bodies there. Unerringly she chose the one that Scully had so carefully draped in a sheet. She went to the gurney, drew back the cloth and gasped, a grimy hand covering her mouth. Scully went to her, tried to pry the fabric from the girl's fingers. But Grace was surprisingly strong. "No," she said. "Not yet." She traced his face with trembling fingers, much as Scully had done earlier "This wasn't supposed to happen," she said quietly. "There was something else. *Someone* else. I didn't know. Couldn't know." "Know what? What someone?" Scully began to shake, her teeth chattering as her stomach muscles clenched. "Grace, talk to me. *What happened?*" The girl never took her eyes from Mulder's still, broken face. "They took us. To a cabin someplace. There were two of them, and a third one met us there. The man - *that man*-" she pointed to Minnick's body " - and one of his friends stayed with Fox. The other one watched me. He kept looking at me. Staring. He was upset. He kept saying, 'Nobody said anything about killing. He never said anything.' He took a picture out of his wallet and looked at it - it seemed like he looked for a long time. It got dark. And then he picked me up and carried me out of there. He was big - really big. He carried me like I weighed nothing at all. He hid me in - some woods." She drew in a deep, hitching breath. "Then he said something about his destiny. I didn't understand. I couldn't read him at all, except his anger and betrayal. And then he told me to wait, he'd be back. A while later, a long way off, I heard two shots. Some crashing in the brush. Another shot. A long time went by, and then he came back." "Grace, you don't...." Scully put a hand on the girl's arm. Grace continued as if Scully had never spoken. "While he was gone, he- -he cleaned up the cabin to destroy the evidence, took Fox's cell phone, his badge and wallet and gun. Then he carried me to a car. We drove for a little while before he pulled over and looked at me. Like I would know what to do. So I told him." "What did you tell him to do, honey?" Scully's voice was soft, cautious. Tears slipped down the girl's face, tracking through the dirt on her cheeks. "I told him that he needed to pretend he was Fox. To call the police and report what had happened. And that he needed to make sure that my brother got to you." She looked at Scully then, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. "I didn't know he was dead, Dana. I should have known, but I didn't. I just felt that he was waiting. Waiting for me, waiting for you. I didn't know they would send him here, like - like some lost luggage." Her voice cracked, then steadied. "Then he took me to his house. Put the car in the garage. Made me wait in the back seat for a long time. Then he drove me to a shopping mall parking lot not too far from here and let me go. He - he left Fox's things with me. I - I couldn't figure out how to work the speed dial on the phone to call you, and I couldn't think of your number. Then I remembered that your boss' name was Skinner and I called 911. They got me through to him and he asked me to wait, told me that they would send the police to pick me up. Mr. Skinner was really nice. He listened to me when the police wouldn't, and he arranged to bring me here. I knew that this was where Fox was waiting for me." "You told him you were Mulder's sister," Scully guessed. Grace nodded. "I guess my mom is on her way here, and they're looking for the man who saved me." She traced a cut high on Mulder's cheekbone. "Dana, it wasn't supposed to happen this way. I was supposed to save Fox. Instead, he died trying to protect me." "Grace...." The girl pushed the sheet down to Mulder's waist and swept his chest and ribcage with delicate fingers. Her eyes began to change color, and Scully took an involuntary step backward. "He's so cold. There are others there, but he is so alone. He's waiting. Lost." She looked at Scully then, her eyes fiery yellow. "We can still save him, Dana. Save him from himself." She put both her palms flat on his chest and closed her eyes. "Oh, God. He's so far away. I can't.... He doesn't see me. I'm not strong enough." Suddenly one of her hands shot out and grabbed Scully's arm. "Here. Put your hands on top of mine." When Scully didn't move, she screamed, "Now, Dana! If you want to help him, do what I say!" Scully placed her shaking hands over Grace's. The room went dark. Time passed. Hours, days, seconds - Scully didn't know. She found herself walking down a long gray hallway, her hand tucked firmly in Grace's. "What is this place?" she asked. "A waiting place," Grace replied. "We'll be there soon." They trudged along, the hallway gradually widening. The light began to change, to become brighter. Finally they came to a room without walls. There was a wide white line down what Scully could only believe was the center of the room, but she couldn't tell for certain. The room - if it was a room - seemed to go on forever. On their side of the line, there was a great commotion. People stood at the line, their wails and keening cries battering her ears. "This is where we go when we grieve," Grace said softly. "You see, don't you? They're trying to bring their loved ones back." Grace stopped a pace from the white line. "Fox," she called, her voice gentle. "Fox." Scully spotted him immediately. He stood on the other side of the line, his naked shoulders slumped in defeat. Alone, where others in his half of the room clung to each other in terror. Then he turned and saw them. Scully could read every emotion in his face as he walked over to them. Sorrow foremost. Relief. Fear. And a quiet joy. He stopped in front of them. "You got away," he said to Grace, his voice unsteady. Grace smiled. "I got away." He gestured with his hands. "Where am I?" "A safe place. Somewhere to wait. To gain understanding. Eventually to let go." He looked at Scully. "I can't let go. I'm not ready. There's too much to do." "I'll take care of it, Mulder. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything." Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady. He laughed. "Always my brave little sailor, aren't you? Sorry, Scully. Not yet. I'm not finished. I'm not ready," he repeated. "I'm not like the others. I'm not supposed to be here. Something went wrong." Grace nodded. "I know. But now you have to make it right, Fox. You're the only one who can fix this. We can guide you, but it's up to you." His forehead creased. "I don't understand." Grace looked at him pleadingly. "That's why you are here, Fox. Because you don't understand. But you have to try. You have to believe in something." "I believe in the truth," he said shortly. "That seems to have gotten me exactly nowhere." Scully felt her throat constrict. She felt that everything was closing in around her, that their time in this place was short. "What about me, Mulder? Do you believe in me?" He turned to her, and at that instant, all masks and walls dropped away. His naked soul was in his eyes. "Always. With everything that is good in me. Sometimes I think you *are* what's good in me. And I never told you. The words would have been so easy to say, but I never did. Why was that, Scully?" His face was childlike, puzzled. She reached out a shaking hand, watched his hand stretch toward hers. "I don't know. But I never said what you wanted most to hear, either, and I'm sorry for that. But I can say the words now. I love you. I always have. And I will never stop." Their fingers touched. Grace put both of her hands over theirs. Then Scully felt herself thrown backward, tossed away violently as if by a giant wave. She screamed his name, heard his answering cry before everything went black. Thursday, August 26 For a minute after she awoke, Scully didn't know where she was. Then her fingers found the cold metal of the gurney, and she remembered. She tried to get to her feet, but there was a weight across her legs. Grace. She rolled the girl onto her back and frantically checked for a pulse. Grace's heart was beating rapidly, but her pulse was strong. Scully let out a thankful sigh, then scrambled to her feet to call for help. Before she could reach the door, she heard a tiny moan from behind her. She looked at Grace, but the girl was still unconscious and immobile on the tile floor. Then she heard a harsh, raspy breath. A deep, thready voice. "Not ready," it said. "Not ready." She leapt over Grace's still form. And gaped in astonishment as Fox Mulder's lips moved. She burst out the autopsy bay door. "Agent Mitchell! Anybody!" Mitchell's head popped out of a nearby office door. "Agent Scully? Are you OK?" She knew she was crying, and she didn't care. "Call the paramedics. Now!" Wednesday, September 1 7:38 a.m. Walter Skinner opened the door to his office, carefully holding his dripping umbrella so that he did the least damage to his clothes. He half-turned to put the umbrella in the closet, then stopped. He wasn't alone. Dana Scully was perched on the edge of a chair, her hands folded on top of a briefcase she held in her lap. "I'm sorry to come unannounced, sir, but I needed to talk over an urgent personal matter with you, and I couldn't get an appointment until Friday." He put the umbrella away and closed the office door. "What's on your mind, Agent?" She slid an envelope across his desk. With a frown, he opened it and read the contents. When he finished, he put the letter down gingerly, as though it would explode in his face. "Agent Scully, you - to say that I am surprised is understating the case. If you had come to me with this request first, I would have approved-" She cut him off smoothly, her pale face perfectly composed. "I thought so, sir, but I felt that Karen Kossoff's recommendation would carry some additional weight. After all, Agent Mulder will not be able to return to work for some time yet, and you might have felt uncomfortable if both of us were unavailable." He sighed. "Agent Scully, I - I wish you could give a little explanation. Why - why not-" Any words he chose would carry a sting. Why not after your father died? When your sister was murdered? After your abduction? While you were fighting cancer? After that little trip to the Antarctic? He settled on, "Why now?" Her eyes were heavy, shadowed, and he knew that she hadn't slept well in days. "I don't know, sir. I just have to trust my instincts, and they tell me that I am not fit for duty. Karen Kossoff agrees with me." He refolded the letter and handed it back to her. "Very well. One month's vacation, effective immediately. If you need more time, please don't hesitate to call me and we can arrange a leave of absence." She rose gracefully and shook his hand. "Thank you, sir." She had her hand on the doorknob when he stopped her. "Agent Scully." "Sir?" He looked down at the carpet, uncomfortable. "Grace Murray - how is she?" Scully looked small and fragile. "The same, sir. The doctors don't know.... She could wake up today or...never." Skinner's eyes met hers, his expression fierce but his voice oddly soft. "I'm sure there's room for hope, Agent." He cleared his throat. "I'll see you in a month." "I hope so, sir." She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Walter Skinner to wonder if he would ever see her again. Wednesday, September 1 Scully unlocked the door to the basement office and quickly closed it behind her. She didn't want to be interrupted, and she didn't have much time. She opened a drawer and stuffed most of the contents into her briefcase, leaving only a few office supplies and a half-empty box of latex gloves. Then she stepped behind Mulder's desk, her eyes searching the wall until she found what she wanted. She removed the pin from the creased photo and slid the picture into her purse, then carefully replaced the pin. When she reached the door, she didn't turn around for a last look. If she did, she wasn't sure she would go. Two minutes later, she slid into the passenger seat of a waiting car. "That didn't take long," Clare Murray said. "No, it didn't," she replied. "Let's go." She didn't look back. The hangar was small and empty - empty because the Lear jet was already waiting on the tarmac. Clare parked the car and turned to her, waiting. When Scully was silent, she said, "If you change your mind and you want to come home early, you just call. I can have the plane there in a few hours." Scully unbuckled her seat belt. "I won't change my mind." "Well, then." Clare popped the trunk and got out of the car. Scully followed her automatically, pulling two large suitcases out of the trunk. Clare added a small leather valise to the stack. "There's a cell phone in there. I figured that you wouldn't want to use your own, and there's no phone at the house." "No, I wouldn't want to use mine," Scully said softly. "I left it at my apartment." "Well, everything you need is in here." She patted the bag. "Keys to the house, the car. A list of phone numbers. Road maps. There's also a gas station credit card and some money-" "No, Clare, really. You've done enough as it is." "Nonsense. You use it. I have more money than we'll ever need. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. The lawn care man comes on Thursdays. Trixie will bring groceries on Mondays, and she cleans on Wednesdays. If you need anything, call." "I will." Impulsively, Scully kissed her cheek. Then she pulled a thick envelope from the outside pocket of her briefcase. "Could you - I know Mulder is getting out of the hospital today. Could you give him this?" "Of course." Scully blinked back tears. "And call me if anything changes with...when she wakes up." Clare patted her arm reassuringly. "Soon. Soon." She tucked the envelope under her arm. "I don't know if Mr. Skinner told you - Larry Mancuso is still missing, but Frank Simpson turned himself in last night." Scully's eyes went wide. "No, Skinner didn't tell me. What did - did he make a statement?" "He handed the detectives a picture of his little girl and said, 'I did it for her.'" "That's odd." Clare shook her head. "Not really. It makes perfect sense with what my daughter told you. His little girl has hazel eyes and long brown hair." "Like Grace," she breathed. "But what was it Frank said - that this was his destiny?" Clare smiled. "That's his daughter's name - Destiny." 2:15 p.m. The chauffeur helped Fox Mulder out of the car. "I could have done that on my own," Mulder said grumpily. He hated feeling weak, hated the strapping around his ribs, the persistent ache of his muscles and bones. "Of course you could, sir," the chauffeur agreed smoothly. "But Mrs. Murray-" "- insisted. Yes, I know. You've said that about a dozen times since you picked me up. Where is she, anyway?" The chauffeur followed Mulder up the stairs of his apartment building. "She should be waiting for you in your apartment, sir." "Great." He hobbled into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. When they reached his apartment door, he fumbled for his keys and realized he didn't have them. Resigned, he looked at the chauffeur, who unlocked the door with a flourish. "Thanks." He looked around, sniffing the air appreciatively. His apartment was as clean as he'd ever seen it, and he could swear he smelled chicken soup. "Honey, I'm home!" he called. Clare immediately came out of the kitchen, her face warm with welcome. She cupped his bruised face tenderly with her hands and kissed both his cheeks. "I'd hug you, but...." He sank into a chair carefully, his ribs protesting. "I'll take a rain check on that." He looked around expectantly. "Where'd you hide Scully?" She fiddled with the tie of her apron. "Thank you, Greg. I'll be down shortly," she said to the chauffeur. He nodded and left the apartment, the click of the door latch echoing in the silence. "Fox...she's gone." His stomach clenched. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? She was at the hospital until ten o'clock last night, finding ways to trick me into eating Jell-O." He searched her face, saw only truth in her eyes. "Where did she go?" "She asked me not to tell you. Not to tell anyone, even her mother." He sucked in a breath, ignoring the bite of pain. "I don't understand." Clare crouched down next to him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "I don't quite understand, either. But she came to me and asked for help, and I gave it to her. She's hurting, confused. She's not capable of making rational decisions right now. For someone who is used to being in control, who must balance life and death every day, that's an impossible situation." He swallowed hard. "Yes, I know." He looked down at his lap. "Did she - did she say how long she'd be gone?" "Mr. Skinner gave her a month." A month. His throat was dry. "I see," he croaked. She took a manila envelope from the table and handed it to him "She left this for you." She stood up and pasted on a smile. "Now, I'll see about getting you some soup." "Fine," he murmured, running his hands over the envelope. When she was out of the room, he tore open the flap and tipped the contents into his lap. His father's diary and a flat package fell out. He shivered with a heady sense of deja vu. He picked up the diary first. A yellow sticky note was attached to the cover. Scully had written, "All the tests indicate it's genuine, Mulder. But there is one strange thing. Look at the last page." He flipped the book open. The last 20 pages had been blank when he had first read the diary. But now, on the final page, four words were written in a familiar, slashing hand. His father's hand. "God bless you, Fox," it said, and no more. He dropped the book as though it had turned to fire. Then he took up the flat package. It was wrapped in plain blue tissue paper, a small card attached. "Share this with Grace when she wakes up," she had written on the tag. "Don't you think it's time you learned to love them, too?" He ripped the paper. A folded map of the stars visible in the Northern Hemisphere fell into his lap. "Clare?" he called, blinking away tears. "Yes, Fox?" He looked up at her, his eyes anguished. "She's not *coming* back, is she?" Clare wiped her hands on her apron. "I don't know. I wish I did." Mulder looked out the window, his face frozen in grief. "So do I. So do I." The End Followed by Thirty Days Hath September
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