"I'm standing on a bridge I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now
There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound

"Isn't anyone tryin’ to find me? Won't somebody come take me home
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won’t you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you…"

"Turn it off."

Special Agent Monica Reyes looked over at him briefly, her eyebrows knit in concern. "Bad day?" she asked as she merged into rush hour traffic.

"No," Special Agent John Doggett said, staring out the passenger side window. "Just don’t like that song very much."

"I'm looking for a place
Searching for a face
Is anybody here I know
'Cause nothing's going right
And everything’s a mess
And no one likes to be alo-"

Abruptly, Doggett reached over and turned the radio off.

Reyes folded her lips so tight they turned white. Before, his truculence would have prompted a heart felt, exasperated sigh.

Lately, his cantankerous attitude simply pissed her off.

But she didn’t say anything. As usual.

As Reyes fumed and Doggett sulked, they unknowingly passed a fellow federal agent on the road. Who was singing along with the radio the very song that had irritated Doggett to no end.

"Isn't anyone trying to find me? Won't somebody come take me home
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Wont you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
I'm with you…"

Special Agent Leyla Harrison happily belted out Averil Lavigne’s latest hit as she drove to the hospital.

The poor woman couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

"Oh why is everything so confusing
Maybe I'm just out of my mind
Yea yea yea

"It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you:

"Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you

"Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
I'm with you..."

She sang more for the need to bolster her courage rather than for the enjoyment of hearing her own voice. As the song mercifully ended, Leyla pulled into the parking lot. "Alright," she said out loud. "I hope I have everything," she said to herself as she unsnapped her seat belt before reaching over to get the massive bouquet of flowers, the cute little teddy bear and the box of candy from Fanny Farmer.

Putting her sunglasses on the top of her head like a hair band, she got out of the car, carrying her gifts and walked towards the hospital entrance.

Reyes looked up from her case file and sighed. "John," she said for what felt like the millionth time. "Put your glasses on."

"I can see just fine," Doggett said testily, his nose less than an inch away from his computer monitor.

His last eye exam revealed what he had been dreading. Eye strain was making him far-sighted. "You’ll only need them for reading, especially when reading off of computers," the eye doctor said helpfully.

Doggett didn’t even like wearing sunglasses, hated the feeling of something pinching down on his nose. But when he found himself inching his chair closer and closer to his television screen while trying to watch a NASCAR race, he knew that he couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer.

He thought the simple wire-rims made him look older than dirt. Reyes thought they made him look distinguished. "You’re biased," he had deflected her compliment deftly as he took them off and put them back in his briefcase.

He constantly forgot about them. After all, for forty-two years, he had never depended on anything to enhance his eyesight. One time, he had left them at Reyes’ apartment and had driven all the way home before realizing where they were.

Reyes.

Doggett looked over at her, sitting on the couch, highlighting crucial parts of a case file she was reviewing. Feeling bad for snapping at her all afternoon, he reached over and pulled his glasses out of his briefcase and slipped them on. Never a vain man, he still couldn’t help but think ::I look stupid:: as he caught a reflection of himself in the computer monitor as he continued to type up his field report. Then abruptly, he stopped, tapping his pointer finger against the ‘R’ key without actually hitting it hard enough to make the letter appear on the screen.

::I hate my job:: he thought again.

He looked over at Reyes, sitting on his couch, surrounded by files and papers. He knew she didn’t care too much for her new position either.

He chastised himself. He should be grateful. They could have transferred her back to New Orleans. Or him back to Atlanta. Or both of them to the other sides of the country, in some back water office where the most exciting thing was the tractor pull on Saturday nights.

Plus, Reyes was still investigating the paranormal… sort of. After the dissolution of the X-Files and after Doggett and Reyes had been cleared of assisting the fugitive Fox Mulder away from the long arm of justice, Reyes had been placed in VICAP, specializing with the smallest victims. Her current case load dealt with mainly claims of Satanic or other occult ritualistic abuse towards children. So far, Reyes discovered all of the current claims were false.

Rather tame after what the X-Files threw at her.

Meanwhile, Doggett, thanks to having both Kersh and Skinner in his court, not to mention Senators Matheson and Wesley-Bailey, was still the FBI’s golden boy. They moved him to the Terrorist Division, gave him a promotion, gave him more money and a useless title that Doggett forgot to use about as often as he forgot about his new glasses.

And he had to admit, it was nice to be able to date someone without having to sneak around worrying constantly who was watching. Since he and Reyes were in different divisions and actually different buildings all together, no body really cared too deeply that two federal agents were seeing each other after hours. They weren’t partners and he wasn’t her boss… or vice versa.

Partners… That was still a sore subject with Doggett and Reyes as well. They both hated their new partners passionately. Reyes, to her unending horror and disbelief, was partnered with Mr. Judy Fishe, the imbecile that mucked up the investigation into Doggett’s disappearance royally. She was not only surprised that he hadn’t been fired but that he was promoted. She wondered futilely everyday who’s butt he’d been wiping to get the position. Reyes was finally learning how to be a little more vulgar.

Doggett meanwhile, just wanted to choke the living breath out of his new partner. Every time something idiotic came out of her mouth, Doggett couldn’t help but think ::Jesus, no wonder the Taliban caught us with our pants down, with morons like her working in the Terrorism Division…::

Sometimes he wondered if he was being unfair to his new partner. After all, next to Starkweather’s intellect, anyone would look and sound stupid.

::Dammit, quit it:: he told himself, catching himself staring off into space.

He wasn’t really staring off into space. He was staring at his entertainment center. Staring at two small framed photographs, a plastic toy dinosaur and a Matchbox car. At what Reyes privately called "the shrine."

She caught him staring at "the shrine" again then shake himself and revert his attention back to his report. Soon the sound of fingers on keyboard filled the room again.

Reyes bit back the urge to scream. He had been doing that more and more lately. Normally a patient person, she knew this was not easy on him. Only three months ago, her death had been confirmed. And then William was given away to strangers, never to be seen again. And then Mulder and Scully finally, because of the Truth they had pursued, had to flee from their pursuers.

She hurt too. Scully and Starkweather had been her two of closest friends. Starkweather for her wit and never-say-die-attitude. Scully for her counsel and experience, Plus she helped Scully bring William into this world. Scully had made Reyes William’s godmother at his baptism. Reyes hardly knew Scully at the time and was extremely flattered not to mention nonplussed. "But I’m not really a practicing Catholic," Reyes had blurted out. "I mean, I was baptized but…"

"Agent Reyes," Scully said in her firm voice that would brook no argument. "You are the most spiritual person I have ever met. I know I could trust you with the spiritual guidance of my son."

And Reyes took that seriously. She never tried to drag William to church. Especially since she hadn’t stepped foot in a church in years. But she knew that she was an important role model for William.

Or was supposed to be.

She worried constantly about William. Was he safe? Was he happy? After bringing Scully home from the adoption agency, Reyes had gone back to her apartment in floods of tears as if it had been her own son that she gave up. She still shuddered when she recalled the almost violent argument Scully and Doggett had gotten into when he found out that she was going to give him away.

::"God damn it Dana, don’t you fucking dare… if you can’t take care of him… then give him to me. I’ll take care of him and I promise Dana… nothing would happen to him… I swear to God…"::

::… it’s too late… I already completed the paperwork… William is going away… he’s going to be safe… history is not going to be repeated. William is going to be normal…"::

Little Boo, almost two now, occupied a soft spot in everyone’s heart. Even self-pronounced child hater, Starkweather had melted in William’s presence.

::"Hey Prince William…"::

Was he still Boo? Or do his new parents call him Billy? Reyes hoped not. He was so not a Billy. Will was even pushing it. William… or the adorable moniker the dearly departed Lone Gunmen had bequeathed him… Boo… fit him so well.

Reyes continued to pretend to read as she mulled over the last year’s events in her head. If William’s adoption had ripped a hole away in everyone’s heart, then Starkweather’s death froze what was left of Doggett’s.

She’s not dead...

Reyes startled Doggett by suddenly getting off the couch and asking "When’s the pizza supposed to be here?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes, why?" he looked up at her.

She was still trying to adjust to Doggett with glasses. He didn’t squint so much anymore which Reyes liked. She always had a weakness for blue eyes. "I’m hungry," she told him. "Want a beer? I’m going to get one."

"Sure," Doggett said, grinning at her. Reyes gave him a housewifely peck on the cheek and went into the kitchen.

She didn’t get the beers right away. She stood in front of his kitchen sink and looked out the window. At the yard where almost two years ago, he and Reyes, Mulder and Scully, William, and Benjamin and Jerilyn Starkweather had lounged, enjoying a Labor Day picnic.

William was gone. Mulder and Scully were gone. Benjamin and Jerilyn were now both dead…

She’s not dead…

Reyes had to grip the sink to support herself. That feeling, that sentiment had always lingered, even after Jeffrey Spender gave evidence that Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather did indeed die in the same concentration camp that held Doggett. The concentration camp that Doggett couldn’t remember. Or wouldn’t remember.

That feeling had been steadily growing for days now, manifesting in dreams.

::"We have to talk":: she realized gloomily, thinking back to last weekend when her dear friend from college, Assistant District Attorney Nathalique Pontier came to visit…

"See you later, Monica," Doggett said, putting the truck in park, leaning over to kiss her. "Behave."

"Who me?" she said innocently, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Well behaved women never make history, Agent Doggett," Nathalique Pontier smiled wickedly from the backseat of his dual truck.

"Well, then ma’am," Doggett drawled, turning around, grinning at her. "You’re probably gonna be the most famous woman in the world."

"I plan on it," she said, her dark eyes flashing naughtily. "John, thank you for the divine dinner. You shouldn’t have."

"Well, least I could do, I’ve heard so much about you," Doggett said humbly.

"Tomorrow night, I’m cooking for you both!" Nathalique announced. "You like Creole, John?"

"Never tried it, actually," Doggett admitted.

"Ooh…. Virgin taste buds," she purred, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. "Your place or Monique?"

"Um… I don’t care, but you really don’t have to cook for me."

"You insult me! I love to cook. It’s no chore. Just have a good wine chilled by the time we get there."

"Yes ma’am."

"Now, if you’ll excuse me," Nathalique opened her passenger door. "I’m going to kidnap your girlfriend, corrupt her with alcohol and cigarettes and then chase sailors on shore leave."

"Have fun," Doggett told them.

"See you tomorrow," Reyes said, giving him another kiss before getting out of the truck.

As they walked towards Reyes’ apartment while Doggett waited, watching to make sure they made it safely to the door, Nathalique looped her arm through Reyes. "‘Chéri’, he’s yummy," she purred.

Reyes blushed as only Nathalique could make her blush. "Yeah…" "And does he…you know… un grand pénis?"

Reyes felt her blush heating up. "Um…"

"That’s a yes," Nathalique said. "So…"

"So?"

"What’s wrong with him?"

"Wrong? Nothing’s wrong… I mean… you met him… I thought you liked him." <>"Liked him? I love him. I wanted to grab him by his tie, fling him on the table and sit on his face. But you know me and making a scene."

"Nat…"

"Monique," Nathalique said as they walked up the stairs to Reyes’ loft. "I’ve known you for too damn long now. You’re not happy."

"I’m happy, Nat."

"Uh-huh, that’s why you were chain-smoking all through dinner. I thought you quit anyway?"

"I quit quitting."

"No body likes quitters anyway," Nat proclaimed as they entered the warm apartment building. Waiting for the elevator, Nat said, "So come on, dish a little with me, Monique. Que-c'est-quell une probleme, chéri?"

Reyes smiled at her pretentiousness. As much as Nat embraced all things français, Nathalique was one of the most intelligent and down to earth women Reyes had ever known. She had her funny little airs, sure, but underneath her Eurotrash posturing lay the brilliant mind of the premiere New Orleans Assistant District Attorney and an intuitive heart. Nat just liked being more than ordinary. Even when ordinary would have sufficed. Nat insisted that ordinary was ignored.

And what Reyes was feeling at that moment was far from ordinary. "Nat, the last time I confided something to you of this magnitude," she said softly. "My sister was murdered."

Nathalique’s face, already fashionably pale, drained to the color of chalk. "Chéri, let’s not go up to your apartment then. "Is there some place quiet that we could talk over coffee?" Nathalique dropped her flamboyancy, and displayed the practicality and astuteness that rivaling lawyers moaned about after losing to her.

"It’s not nearby, but it’s secluded," Reyes said. "And they make great chai."

Nathalique nodded approvingly. "Allez-vous, cher," she said, swiftly turning about face and walking back out the front doors just as the elevator doors slid open.

Reyes followed her, fumbling for her car keys. "I’m parked over there," Reyes said, shivering once the bitter January temperatures slapped her in the face. "And let’s not talk about this in my car either," Reyes said as the two women walked swiftly to Reyes’ SUV. "God knows these people are capable of just about anything." Nathalique complied, chattering on happily in the car about nonsense things. Clothes she had bought. Trips she had taken. Men she had slept with. The minute Reyes pulled into the "Coffee Is My Friend Twenty Four Hour Coffee Shop" parking lot and switched her vehicle off, Nathalique quit her bubbly chit-chat and quickly exited the car, rushing for the warmth of the coffee shop.

Reyes had guessed correctly and found that the shabby chic coffee bar was, as usual, deserted. She often wondered how it stayed in business, but then realized she always came in at weird hours when it wouldn’t be busy. Through the loudspeakers, John Lennon with a little help from his friends crooned "Picture yourself in a boat on a river… with tangerine trees and marmalade skies… someone calls you, you answer quite slowly… A girl with kaleidoscope eyes…"

After Reyes ordered her chai and Nathalique ordered a mocha latte grande, they sat down at the most secluded booth possible, with Reyes facing the door.

"Parlez-vous moi."

Nathalique watched Reyes take a heartening swallow of chai before speaking. Waiting to be surprised. And as usual, as always, she did.

"Why don’t you want to have children, Nat?"

Nathalique blinked. "Children? Well... I… " her mouth open and shut like a fish who had flung himself out of the nice wet safety of his bowl.

"I’m serious Nat. You’ve always known that you didn’t want to be a mother."

"I wouldn’t say always, chéri," Nathalique leaned her cheek on her hand, rolling her eyes. "But by the time I met you, I was pretty sure babies were not my cup of tea. And now, I’m most definitely sure I don’t want babies."

"But why? How do you know?"

Nathalique shrugged. Reyes drank in her chai and her friend’s words.

"I guess it ultimately boils down to pure selfishness. I’m set in my ways. I like my body the way it is. I spend a lot of money to keep my figure. The idea of my tummy stretching out and my breasts dropping to my knees horrifies me," she said bluntly, honestly. "Plus I like spending my time and my money the way I want to. I do not want to have to spend the time and money that’s necessary to make a creature completely and totally dependant on me turn out halfway normal, healthy. It was never a matter of not being able to find Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now or even Mr. Sperm Donor. It’s just that… mon Dieu this is hard to explain… it’s not that I’m a child hater. I’m a wonderful aunt. My nieces and nephews adore me and I love seeing them. All of them, my oldest sister’s three boys and my brother’s twin girls and my youngest sister’s new baby are all sweet children. Not spoiled at all… until I get there," Nathalique’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "I can spend all day with them and get them riled, play with them, buy them toys and sweets that they don’t need and get hugs and kissies and hear the ‘l love you Auntie Nat.’ But… I go home and it’s quiet and I can play the radio and it’s peaceful and I am responsible for no one but me. And I am happy. I have my work that not only keeps me busy but has the added boon of helping out humanity once in a while. I have the freedom and luxury to go visit my best girlfriend whenever I want to," she smiled at Reyes. "Or I can call up all my friends in New Orleans and whip up a house party. Or I can spend the entire weekend in my pajamas’ at my latest lover’s apartment. I can do whatever I want to and not have to worry about who’s going to watch the kids, can I afford to go on a trip and still be able to pay for whatever horrendously expensive activity my child is enrolled in at the time, be it band lessons or dance or soccer or whatever. It’s a selfish existence and I love it. Kids just don’t fit into the picture. As to explaining how I knew… well, not to brag… okay, I’m bragging. I was already a fairly self-actualized woman by the time we met in college. I knew that I was a very selfish person deep down. And that I didn’t want to sacrifice what you have to in order to be a good parent." She studied Reyes’ face. "Does that help?"

"Not really," Reyes said sheepishly.

Nathalique blew a raspberry at her. "Oh ‘vous gosse’. I don’t know what else to say to help you understand why I had my fetal factory shut down."

"Just that," Reyes unnecessarily stirred what was left of her chai before taking a drink. "Just that I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. Because I want to have children."

"What’s wrong with wanting children?" Nathalique sounded puzzled, as she should be. "The real question is what’s wrong with me for not wanting kids. Although, personally, I always believed that there was no right or wrong when it came to kids because of the glorious freedoms we have in this delightfully hypocritical country of ours, is that women have the choice to have either babies or careers or both or neither. Just one of the nice perks of being born an American girl," Nathalique said dramatically, trying to get Reyes to smile. When no smile was forth coming, Nathalique dropped her joking manner. "What’s bringing this on, chéri?"

"Just that I feel like such an outcast sometimes. Of most of my girlfriends, I’m the only one that isn’t completely career-orientated. Nat. I love my job, I love what I do, but sometimes it feels so empty. I come from a big family. And I always wanted a family of my own…"

"You’re only thirty-one, Monica. There’s time."

"No, you misunderstand me, Nat. It’s not that I hear the thunderous tick of my biological clock. It’s just that… two of my closest friends here in DC… Dana and Jerilyn… Well, Dana had a baby. Jerilyn was married. Two things that I want to have eventually… and," Reyes shook her head, not knowing how to finish her sentence. Nathalique waited for her. Finally Reyes said "Dana gave up her baby and Jerilyn gave up on her marriage. I understand that Dana felt William wasn’t going to be safe unless he went away and I understand now that Jerilyn’s marriage was going to hell. But before I knew of their problems… I was so envious, Nat. I really was. Dana had this perfect little person to go home to every night that loved her unconditionally. And Jerilyn had found someone that promised to stay by her side no matter what… and then it was just me. I didn’t even have a pet to come home to. Just houseplants and memories." She looked up at Nathalique. "I want to get married someday. I want to have kids. And I want to continue my career in the Bureau. I want it all. Not one aspect overpowering the other. But a perfect circle."

Realization rolled over Nathalique like a giant boulder "Oh lord, you and John had the "What Happens In The Future" talk, didn’t you?"

Reyes nodded.

"He doesn’t want kids, does he?"

"He doesn’t want kids," she said. "He said he would like to be married again, but he doesn’t want kids."

"Why not?"

"He already lost a son, years ago. Plus he thinks he’s too old to try and be a father again. He’ll be forty-three in April."

Nathalique snorted. "Please. Michael Douglas is still making babies and he’s what, three hundred years old?" When Reyes did not laugh she added "Well, you could always do the "Oopsies! I’m pregnant" tactic. Maybe he’d come around to the idea when he’d see you waddling around and can feel the bébé kicking."

"Nat, I don’t want to become a wife or mother that way," Reyes said coldly. "Besides, if what I’m feeling is right. … It’s not going to matter anymore anyway." Depressed, she shoveled a mouthful of cheesecake into her mouth.

Nathalique frowned, picking up her cup and sipping coffee. She felt that they were coming to the crux of the emotional crisis. "Feelings?" she said with no skepticism and no spitefulness. She had known Reyes too long to discount her feelings. The only counsel she ever gave Reyes about her psychic tendencies was to be absolutely one hundred percent sure it was truly a psychic moment and not Reyes’ own wishes and desires overpowering her common sense and reality.

"I’ve been having strange dreams lately."

"Dreams? Tell me about them, chéri."

"I’ll do better than tell you about them," Reyes said, reaching into her purse, a clearance conquest she had discovered at the Gap for only five dollars. It had been on clearance for a reason, it was hideous but Reyes loved its ugliness on sight, plus it was big enough to contain all the necessities and luxuries she liked to have with her as often as possible. She pulled out a small red book, a diary, the covers made out of faux leather and colored bright red, the word "Diary" embossed on the front in gaudy swirling script. The journal was something a teenager would buy for five dollars and she had found it at Wal-Mart marked down to a dollar-fifty. Reyes, descended from ostentatious wealth, had learned to become a penny-pincher during her hungry days as a rookie agent in New York. Her only true splurge was clothes, she loved pretty clothes, but even then, she’d rather shop during a massive sale or at a factory outlet mall.

As Nathalique eyed the cheap diary with interest, Reyes said "When the dreams started, I knew they meant something. So one day while running errands, I found this and decided that it would be my dream journal and I could write down my dreams as soon as I woke up and then I could analyze them later on in the day."

Nathalique nodded. "If you are of the Freud persuasion it’s either about sex or how it’s your mother’s fault."

"Well, the dream psychology book I have "A Dictionary of Dream Symbols" actually has an interesting preface talking about Freud’s take on dreams as well as Jung’s," Reyes said, opening the little book. Clearing her throat, she began to read.

"November 3, 2002. A boat.’"

Nathalique interrupted. "A boat? That’s it?"

Reyes shrugged. "That’s all I could remember. Actually, I had been having the dream about boats and water before then. I had the first one in September. But then didn’t have it again until sometime in October About the time Dana decided," she discovered that she was suddenly blinking back tears, surprised that her friend’s decision could still move her so deeply still. "To give her son up for adoption. And then it became reoccurring."

"Okay," Nathalique nodded. "So, on November 3, you had a dream about a boat…"

"And according to my dream psychology book, it could either be a sexual reference, or it could symbolize the classic "missing the boat" as in lost opportunities. Or," she took a deep breath. "Or it could mean this. I copied it verbatim from the book: "If the boat is crossing a narrow stretch of water, it may symbolize death or some other transaction: for example, moving from one phase of life to another, or making a new start and a clean break from the past.""

Nathalique rubbed her chin in thought. "You started having these dreams in October… could it symbol you finally ending things with Brad ‘baise sa mère’ Follmer and starting something with John?"

"I thought that too, Nat. Or rather, I hoped that."

"But?"

"But the dreams kept progressing. And I would remember more and more details.

"Such as?"

"Such as the next one I had." She started to read from her book again, "November 15. A boat, on a lake, the lake is surrounded by trees. November 22. A boat on a lake. A dock. The boat is tethered to the dock by a fraying rope.’" She looked up at Nathalique. "That detail spoke to me. The fraying rope."

"Slowly severing ties, perhaps? Maybe you haven’t let go of Brad ‘baise sa mère’ Follmer completely yet?"

"I don’t know… the book didn’t say anything about a dock or a rope, fraying and otherwise. And I remembered feeling very cold."

"Cold?"

"Yes. I woke up shivering and turned up the thermostat. I felt like I was freezing."

"Hm," was all Nathalique said as she sipped her coffee.

"I had the dream two nights later…." She turned the page. "A boat on a lake. The lake is surrounded by trees. It’s tied to a dock by a thick rope, but the rope is unraveling. There are two people standing on the dock. Male and female. I had sensed that I was very familiar with them.’"

"Was it your two friends, Dana and Mulder?"

"At the time, I didn’t know," Reyes said honestly. "I wasn’t sure. The only thing I remember clearly from the dream that particular night was feeling cold again but knowing the lake was a peaceful place."

"Interesting."

"Then, I didn’t dream about the boat for a while. I thought maybe the dreams were over, but they weren’t. Nat, I can’t explain it. It wasn’t…." She put her hand to her mouth as she struggled to find the exact words to describe perfectly what she experienced. "It felt like I was being voyeuristic. That I had somehow accessed privileged and confidential information from another source… from someone else’s subconscious."

"You were seeing someone else’s memories?" Nat asked.

Reyes held up a hand as if to say "I don’t know" as she read again from her little red book. "December 7, 2002. A chapel. People praying. Jerilyn is sitting in the corner of the chapel. Her suit is white but covered with blood.’" She looked up at Nat. "Nathalique, that really happened," she whispered. "December 7, 2001. Jerilyn Starkweather’s husband was gunned down in an assassination attempt on Fox Mulder when he was still Deputy Mayor. He died on the operating table. I had arrived at the hospital just as the surgeon told her that Ben was gone. She had pushed him away from her and walked away. When John arrived, he went after her. And he found her in the chapel.. And oh Nat. I remember. That she was wearing a white suit that day. And it was covered with blood, Ben’s blood. She tried to save him, but she couldn’t. But I never saw her in the chapel. I saw her when I drove us back to my place because she was staying with me at that time anyway. She and Ben had a huge fight the night before and she had moved out."

"Monica," Nathalique said quietly, seriously. "Are you positive that you did not see her in the chapel?"

Reyes shook her head. "John found her in the chapel, not me."

Nathalique licked her lips. "You better continue."

Reyes nodded. "Then the boat dream started to come back." Took a deep breath as she looked for where she left off. "December 15, 2002. The boat again. There’s someone sitting in the boat. In a black coat. Looking at the people on the dock. It’s cold again but I still can’t tell who the people standing on the dock are…. December 20, 2002. The person in the boat is definitely a woman. She is sitting patiently on the dock as the rope continues to unravel. She is looking at the people on the dock. I still can’t tell who the man on the dock is but the woman is definitely me. ‘"

Noticing that Reyes’ hands starting to tremble, Nat gripped her wrist and squeezed in a sign of solidarity and friendship. "Take a breather. I want more coffee."

Grateful for the break, Reyes exhaled as Nathalique went up to the ordering counter. Not only did she order another mocha latte grande, but another cup of steaming chai for Reyes and another large piece of mouth-watering white chocolate raspberry cheesecake and two forks.

"Cheesecake makes everything better," Nat proclaimed, putting the dessert in the middle of the table. "Go on, chéri," she said as she fished a pack of Morley Red cigarettes out of her trendy little purse, ignoring the big "No Smoking" sign right above their booth. But the poor soul behind the cash register paid no heed; he was too busy perusing his giant book of CDs, already bored with "Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Reyes held her hand out for a cigarette. Arching a disapproving eyebrow, Nathalique gave her one anyway. "It’s unleaded, chéri," Nat warned her as she pulled out her slim little gold Zippo. "You smoke Lights." She popped her cigarette in her dark red mouth and expertly lit it.

"I don’t care," Reyes leaned over the table. With a twinkle in her mocha eyes, she quipped "Just don’t set my hair on fire like you did on Spring Break."

"I said I was sorry," Nathalique successfully lit Reyes’ smoke without lighting Reyes. "But I did warn you beforehand that I had been doing shots of Liquid Cocaine." She left the Zippo and pack of cigarettes out, knowing that they would probably be needed during the rest of the night.

Using her empty cup of chai as an ashtray, Reyes took a puff before reading on. "December 24, Christmas Eve. I am standing on a dock, looking at a boat that is in the middle of the lake. There is a woman wearing a black coat in the boat. The boat is tied to the dock, but the rope is starting to break. There’s a man standing next to me on the dock. I think he’s Mulder, but I don’t remember. I just remember that he’s very tall and his back is turned to the woman on the boat…. December 25, Christmas. Same dream as last night, except I know that the man next to me on the dock is not Mulder… its John. December 26…. Same dream as last night. Except now I know that the woman in the boat is Jerilyn.’"

"Mmmmmmm," Nathalique sucked on her cigarette. "There’s that name again."

Reyes nodded and continued to read, "December 27. I didn’t dream about the boat again, this was worse. A dark living room. Music in the background, maybe it’s Jewel, not sure. A couple is lying together on the couch, surrounded by ghosts. It’s John and Jerilyn and something scares Jerilyn awake. John tells her to lie down and go back to sleep and Jerilyn kisses him and tells him she loves him and falls back asleep in his arms. He tells her that he loves her too and falls asleep. I see three ghosts. One a tall, slim man I’ve never seen before. The other is Benjamin Starkweather. He is holding Luke Doggett telling him that he will stay with Luke until John can join him.’"

"That’s twisted," Nathalique blurted out.

Reyes gave her a weak smile and put out her cigarette. Reached for the cup of chai that Nathalique had brought her and took a big gulp, burning her tongue in the process. "December 29. The boat dream is back. I can remember more details now. Jerilyn is definitely in the boat, wearing an old fashioned black coat. Her hair is long and loose. I don’t know why I’m dreaming about her with long hair since I know that…" here Reyes struggled. "That her hair had been cut off and mailed to John as a warning…’"

"Oh my God," Nathalique paled, understanding now why Reyes did not want to have this conversation in her apartment or car.

"Both John and I are standing on the dock, dressed in our normal clothes that we wear when we go to work. His back is turned to the boat. I am pulling on John’s arm, telling him to turn around and see. He doesn’t move. I woke up in tears this morning. John asked me what was wrong and I told him nothing and left to hurry and write this down before I started to forget the details.

"The colors are very bright. In the dream, it is autumn. The trees are awash with colors and the red, gold, orange and brown leaves are falling off the trees and into the lake. It is very beautiful. The autumnal trees contrast nicely with the bright blue of the sky. The lake water appears to be clean. There was no grass to be seen as it was covered by a layer of leaves. The dock John and I are standing on is very weathered as the boat Jerilyn is in. And the rope keeps becoming more and more unraveled every time I have this dream.’"

"January 1. No boat dream again. This time, John and Jerilyn are on an airplane. Jerilyn’s face is black and blue, particularly her chin. John is in great pain, he is gripping his upper arm and his lower abdomen,’" Reyes stopped reading, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the table. "Last year, on New Year’s Day, John and Jerilyn were flying back from the Black Hills, barely escaping with their lives. They had been brutally attacked by

Bravo, the assassin that later impersonated Jerilyn in an effort to abduct Scully. "An emotion alien to Reyes’ nature revealed itself in her doe eyes. Hate. Pure unadulterated hatred. Bravo had asked for a distraction to be provided because she suspected that Reyes didn’t believe her claim to be Starkweather. So the Syndicate arranged it for Teresa Reyes to be abducted and ultimately killed. Reyes looked at her hands, looked at the chunky silver rings that had belonged to Teresa first.

In a shaking voice, Reyes told Nat "Bravo had kicked Jerilyn in the face. Then she attacked Doggett and stabbed him in the arm." Reyes put her hands down and continued to read. "Jerilyn pulls John to her and tries to make him comfortable. As she holds him, she begins to cry.’" She took another sip of chai before reading on. "January 3, 2003. Eagle’s Ridge. John and Jerilyn are trying to get William to fall asleep by playing the guitar. John is sitting in the chair, strumming, as Jerilyn sits on the top of the chair, almost on top of John’s shoulder’s working the chords. She’s singing. When she stops, he gets out of the chair to face her. She covers her face with her hands. He pulls her hands away from her face, tells her it’s alright then kisses her cheek. Then he kisses her on the mouth.’"

"Lots of kissing going on," Nathalique said ominously.

"It gets better," Reyes replied. "January 8. John and Jerilyn are in John’s bedroom…’" here her voice faltered. Clearing it, she tried again. "John and Jerilyn are in John’s bedroom…’" she flipped the book over and slid it to Nathalique, putting her hand to her forehead as her elbow rested on the tabletop. In her other hand, the cigarette continued to smolder.

Nathalique quietly read out loud though why she did, she had no idea. "January 8. John and Jerilyn are in John’s bedroom. They are talking, reminiscing. She is sitting on the bed as he is looking through his dresser. He sits down next to her and they start kissing each other. Only much more passionate than any other of the dreams I’ve had with them together. And I don’t know how much more of these dreams I can take because they do not feel like fantasy but voyeuristic.’" As Reyes continued to chain smoke, Nathalique read on. "January 9. The boat dream again. John and I are standing on the dock. The dock is very weathered and does not feel stable. John is dressed in his good black suit with the light blue dress shirt and dark blue tie; he has his back turned to the boat in the lake. I’m wearing a black dress the same dress I wore on the Day of Mourning at the Cathedral after the September 11 attacks. I am looking at the boat in the middle of the lake. The boat is also very weathered and is tied to the dock by a slender rope that has begun to unravel. In the boat is Jerilyn in a thick black coat that looks almost vintage. Her hair is long again and hangs down her back. I am pulling on John’s coat sleeve, telling him to turn around and see. But he walks away. And then Jerilyn speaks for the first time since I started having these dreams. As John walks away, disappearing into the woods, she says to me: "You goddamned bitch." And then I wake up.’" Nathalique looked at the date of the journal entry again. "January 9… you had a nightmare last night?"

Reyes nodded. "When I heard her voice in my head, Nat, I knew it could only mean one thing…" In a voice barely above a whisper, she said. "She’s still alive Nat. I know it. I can feel it. And she’s near." Reyes guzzled the rest of her chai and then asked her friend "Now do you see why I didn’t want to talk about this at my apartment? The last time I had a premonition this strong, was when Bravo was pretending to be Jerilyn. I *knew* she was not Jerilyn. Just like I know that she’s still alive. That either Jeffrey Spender told gave us erroneous information or told an out and out lie," Her eyes looked feverish now. "She’s alive, Nat."

Nathalique took another puff of her cigarette. "What are you thinking, then?"

"That I want to re-open the X-File on Jerilyn Starkweather."

"I thought the X-Files were gone, chéri.’

The feverish light burned brighter. "AD Skinner and I have been working quietly with Deputy Director Kersh and one of our contacts within the CIA. We are close to reopening the X-Files Division. Kersh is helping us because he figures that he owes us a favor. Kersh even said he thinks we may be operational as soon as the first of March."

"You’ve been working on this without John’s knowledge?"

Reyes nodded although she said "He suspects something, but is keeping it to himself. And that’s what is truly bothering me, Nat."

"What? That he suspects you of duplicity?"

"No. Because, truly, it’s not duplicity. I am not lying to John. None of us are. However the less people at the Bureau know what we’re trying to do, the better. Plus we’re going to create a position for him, if he wants it. If not, completely understandable."

"A position?"

"Skinner has been lobbying for John to take over his assistant director position when he retires. When John and I were reassigned, John was given a promotion. If John goes back to the X-Files, that would be a step in the wrong direction. So Kersh came up with the idea of creating a "Section Chief" position in the X-Files. John would be more than just the senior agent. He would be-"

"Your boss," Nathalique finished.

"Kind of."

"Good God, it’s Brad ‘baise sa mère’ Follmer all over again," she groaned dramatically. "But we got off track, chéri. Is that what bothers you? That John is going to be your boss again if he accepts the offer to work in the X-Files again?"

Reyes shook her head. "No. I’m talking about how he suspects things. Or rather… how he senses things."

"Senses things?!?!?!?"

"They took John before they took Jerilyn. We have no idea what happened to him while he was missing. Or what was done to him. He refuses any kind of therapy, insisting that he’s fine and has put the experience behind him."

"But?"

"I believe that something happened to him during the time he was missing last year and I’m not talking about the time in Mexico where he had amnesia, I’m talking about the last case he investigated with Jerilyn with, in Oregon. Something traumatic, possibly experimental. Something that…. Woke up a part of his mind that he never used before."

"Woke up?"

Reyes nodded. "I have a theory about mental powers. Telepathy, telekinesis, psychic phenomenon. It has been documented that humans only use ten percent of the power our brains contain. And look what we’ve accomplished."

"Look at what we’ve also destroyed," Nat reminded her.

"I know… but it we could do all of that, good and bad with only ten percent of our minds in use… what could we do with eleven percent? Twelve?"

"Interesting theory…" Nat murmured.

"Ever since he came back, John has been different. Not personality wise. Not health wise. But… his aura is more…" she licked her lips. "Receptive to things that he was closed off to previously."

"Such as?"

Reyes shook her head. "He’ll never admit it, but he has become very receptive to… well, like this one case we investigated about demonic possession. When I first stepped into the victim’s home, I sensed pure evil. It was almost tangible. I felt like I was choking. And I know John felt it too. And in that same case, he was convinced that an inmate of an insane asylum that we were working with was lying but he had no proof. He only had the strength of his convictions. Then… there was a case where a man’s murder conviction was overturned. John had put this man away when he was still a police officer so when he received the news about the man… Bob Fassl… being released, he knew it was wrong. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t accept that the DNA tests proved Fassl innocent. He knew that Fassl was guilty."

"But?"

"He was conflicted. He knew Fassl was guilty, but didn’t understand why he knew Fassl was guilty. Even when the truth how Fassl was guilty was lying right in front of him, he still didn’t understand. How it could be. And there were other cases we’ve worked on. Like when we were trying to hide William and John saw a van parked a little away from Dana’s car. He sensed that there was something not right about it, so he sent Dana and me ahead so he could check it out. And he had been right. He almost paid with his life for being right. It was a spy and she ran John over… he was in a coma. And when he came out of the coma, he had a message from beyond, to give to Dana. Telling her that someone was going to come for her but don’t trust him. And when I had my car accident last summer, he was the only one that knew that I wasn’t brain dead. He had no explanations. He just felt it and ran with it. But… He still doesn’t understand."

"I thought you said he had a vision of his son’s body being nothing but ashes?"

Reyes exhaled politely out of the side of her mouth. As the smoke billowed up to the ceiling, she said "I think he was under duress when we shared that vision. That in a time of great sorrow he unknowingly opened himself up so he could share what I can sense. This… this is different. He doesn’t have empathic tendencies like I do. It’s…. actually more than what I’m capable of."

Nathalique pushed her trendy blue-rimmed glasses up her nose. "Clairvoyant capabilities?" the native of New Orleans’ French Quarter drawled. When Reyes didn’t respond, she pressed on "You truly, honestly believe that whatever John went through when he was missing, gave him essentially second sight?"

"He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, so he can’t control it," Reyes said in a small voice. She laughed silently, without any humor. "His mind doesn’t work that way."

"But you are convinced that he can sense things now. In a clairvoyant capacity?" "Yes," Reyes said firmly. "Which means…" she swallowed hard.

Then her face softened. "Oh mon pauvre bébé."

"Yeah," Reyes said bitterly. "He senses her too."

"Merde sainte," Nathalique muttered.

That’s what I said," Reyes tried to joke. "Only I said mierda santa."

"Monique," Nathalique said, tamping her dying cig on the edge of the giant empty chai cup. "Do me ‘une grande faveur’ and please find a nice boy to date who’s not fucked up."

Reyes bristled. "John is not fucked up."

"He’s a potential clairvoyant in denial in love with a dead girl who may not be dead after all. If that’s not the epitome of fucked up, then I’m the Pope." When Reyes began to blink back sudden and unexpected tears, Nathalique knew a pain of guilt. "Oh, chéri, I am sorry. But you do this to yourself all the time."

"Do what?" Reyes said bitterly, reaching for a napkin to dab her eyes.

"You are so intelligent and reasonable in every aspect of your life except for romance. You let men walk all over you." "I do not," Reyes snapped.

Nathalique contested her claim "Then what in the hell was that ‘connerie’ with Follmer and why did it last so long? And why are you repeating the same damn mistake with John?"

"What mistake?"

Nathalique spelled it out for her. "You are putting up with his shit in hopes that it will get better when in fact, it’s not going to. Just as Follmer didn’t change his lying, slimy ways for you, John is not going to change his secretive, stubborn ways for you. You think he’s clairvoyant. How do you think he’s going to react if and when you tell him?"

Reyes sniffed. "He’s going to tell me I’m insane and need to stop watching ‘Twilight Zone’ eps." She swallowed again. "And Nat, you’re not telling me I don’t already know," she said, proud that she wasn’t crying. "I had a feeling, even before I understood what the dreams were about, what was happening between me and John… that… it wasn’t going to work. Again." She shook her head. "I’ve known since Christmas or a little before then."

"The dreams?"

"No. Just good old fashioned reality," Reyes exhaled through her nose, looking like a lonely dragon. "We met for beers at a nearby bar after work for Happy Hour. We’re both really struggling with our new positions and new partners," she rolled her eyes, thinking of the vapid twit stuck with Doggett and her own pompous Agent Fishe. "So we needed to unwind. Badly. Plus Skinner was returning from his ‘trip’," Reyes glossed over the fact that Skinner’s "trip" was actually him hiding out from the long arm of the Syndicate.

After his spectacular escape from the Alien Replacements, the rebel Alpha and CIA Agent Lux Carlos did the Assistant Director the supreme favor of hiding him overseas while Deputy Director Kersh whitewashed his disappearance. When all felt it was quiet and safe enough for him to return, a nice publicity release went out, hailing AD Skinner for his Public Relations Campaign. In all honesty, Reyes and Doggett had no idea where Alpha and Carlos hid Skinner and didn’t ask. They were just relieved that he was finally able to come home.

If only everyone could come home…

… although Reyes strongly suspected that Skinner browbeat Carlos, Alpha and Kersh into letting him return. Skinner was not the type of man who could sit on his ass and wait for something to happen.

But she didn’t ask, was just grateful that he was home. And that it was one less animal she had to pet sit for. Not only had Caesar, Starkweather’s insufferable tabby cat eventually and predictably foisted onto her what she feared was permanent, but she had also inherited Baron, Skinner’s surly German Shepherd. At first, the big dog intimidated her then she realized that the dog’s personality matched his owner’s: gruff, protective and deep down, a marshmallow. And the amazing thing was Baron became Caesar’s best buddy. She would come home and find Caesar curled up next to or on top of Baron. She had half-hoped Baron would eat the destructive cat. But Baron miraculously regarded Caesar as just an overactive puppy and tolerated his existence. Caesar cried incessantly after Skinner came to retrieve Baron. So Reyes solved Caesar’s loneliness by bringing Caesar over to Skinner’s. Permanently. Skinner was less than thrilled with Reyes’ homecoming present.

"So we were going to meet him for drinks after work as well," Reyes continued, feeling bad she had to sort of lie to her best friend, but there were some things that she just couldn’t divulge. "Anyway, John and I were having a nice time and then they announced that there was going to be a band…

"And the band was awful. It was a cover band. The guitarist and the drummer were okay, but the singer couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket! So we weren’t really paying attention… until the singer tried to sing "The Space Between" by the Dave Matthews Band. And then John got this look on his face, I can’t describe it. Just abject… misery, I guess. I asked him what was wrong and he said nothing. So I let it go, but the mood changed. We stopped talking and sat there drinking our beer and it was so uncomfortable. I wished that Skinner would hurry up and get there. But it was rush hour by that time and probably caught in traffic… and so he watched the TV’s above the bar and I listened to the band. And they were so bad. And they were rabid DMB fans judging how many Dave Matthews songs they covered and killed. But then… they started playing this one song, and truth be told, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. John must have because he suddenly looked very uncomfortable and said he would be right back, getting up and leaving. Well, I followed him and he had gone outside. He was pacing on the sidewalk acting as if he was trying his damnest not to cry. I confronted him and asked what the matter was? He got upset. Angry at me for asking. ‘Prying’ was his word. We got into a fight, right there on the sidewalk. Then I told him maybe he should just leave before we make bigger fools of ourselves. So he left just as Skinner arrived. I made up some excuse for John but I don’t think Skinner bought it. He didn’t say anything, but he took me out to dinner and we just sat and talked and caught up. And that’s when he told me about the plan to resurrect the X-Files. He said that he had been half-hoping that he would be able to talk to be alone… but after John walked away from me… I knew. I knew it wasn’t going to work. That it was a big mistake. That I was just the rebounder."

Nathalique ached for her friend. "Then why?"

"Did I want to talk to you?" She laughed mirthlessly again. "I hoped that you would tell me that I was wrong. That my feelings about John were wrong, about Jerilyn were wrong…" Stubbing out her cigarette, she seized the fork and attacked the slice of cheesecake.

Nathalique put her fork down on her plate. "You’re going to look for her."

"I have to," Reyes said, tears coming back to her eyes. "She’s my friend. I’d do the same for you."

Nathalique smiled, tears welling up in her own eyes. "Oh sweetie, you’re a better person than I am. And, for the record… John’s a damn fool for mooning over this girl than not being appreciative of what’s in front of him."

"He’s not mooning," Reyes looked at her dirty fork, coated with raspberry drizzle icing and graham cracker pie crust crumbs. "He sensed that she was still alive even though he knew she wasn’t." Feeling her eyes watering up, she stuck the fork in her mouth and sucked off the icing and crumbs so she’d have something to do other than cry. When she took the fork out of her mouth, she said "That didn’t make a damn bit of sense, did it?"

"It made perfect sense, chéri," Nathalique said. "I just don’t understand what he sees in this girl. According to you, she’s snotty and arrogant and just an all around bitch. Plus she was *married* when he met her! And you’re so… you. I just don’t get it. He’s so stupid!"

"Actually, I think you had it right earlier."

"I did?"

Reyes took another bite of cheesecake. "About changing. I think they worked because probably because she knew his flaws and she never expected him to change. She was fine with the way he was. He was broken and she didn’t try and fix him. Whereas I…" She shrugged, holding up her cheesecake filled fork in a toast. "Here’s to being single again."

At a loss for words, Nathalique could only come up with "I’m sorry, Monique. But you’re doing the right thing. You can’t waste your life waiting for someone to change when they have no intentions to."

"I really thought it would work out this time," Reyes said despondently.

"It takes a strong woman to say no," Nathalique picked up her own fork and took a bite of the rich dessert.

"I know," Reyes said. "But it doesn’t make me feel any better."

"Just make sure you get one last roll in the hay with him before you dump him," Nathalique sagely advised her.

Reyes laughed out loud. "Nat, you’re incorrigible!"

"Well, I’m also guessing your reluctance to end things may be due to the fact that he’s good in bed."

Reyes blushed to the roots of her hair. "He’s not bad," she whispered. Then she sighed, "Sorry to be such a downer, Nat."

"It happens, chéri. And you never know. Someday, I may need your shoulder to cry on. "

"Can you be my shoulder for a bit longer? This is far from over."

Reyes jumped out of her reverie when she heard the doorbell. Heard Doggett call out "Just a minute" and make his way to front door to pay the pizza delivery boy.

Turning away from the window, from the view of the background, completed crusted over with refrozen slush and went to the fridge to retrieve the beers. Before going back to the living room, she peeked to see how much coffee Doggett had. He, typical bachelor, was hopeless at grocery shopping. He only ran to the store when he discovered he was completely out of something. And it was usually when he was actually cooking something or getting ready to run a load of laundry when he discovered he was out of milk or butter or Tide.

But then again, he also ate sparingly in the morning, whatever he could grab at the cafeteria or at a deli or fast food place during lunchtime and supper was either a pick-up or delivery. And he usually sent most of his clothes to the laundromat anyway because work kept him so busy that he rarely had time to do it himself. But he prided himself on still being able to keep his house immaculately clean. Anal-retentive clean in Reyes’ opinion, whose apartment was always cheerfully cluttered and if a week went by without dusting or mopping she didn’t go into fits of hysteria. However, she was prepared to have hysterics if Doggett didn’t have any coffee. Out of respect for him and his lungs, she rarely smoked in his presence anymore. And since tonight she was going to be unable to take in the comfort of tar and nicotine for a while, coffee was the next best thing.

After promising her that of course Reyes could lean on her all she needed to, Nathalique had counseled her that she needed to discuss this with John. And Reyes knew that Nathalique was right. And Reyes knew that afterwards, she was going to crave cigarettes badly. And probably a stiff drink. But those would have to wait until she got home. Coffee would tie her over until then.

Relieved she found that he had half a can left of Folgers’s Medium Roast. Granted it was one of those twelve ounce cans, but it would do for tonight. Also she discovered that the milk had not hit its expiration date yet and he even had a little bit of crystallized sugar clinging to the ugly sugar bowl.

As Reyes walked back to the living room with a bottle of cold beer in each hand she created an itinerary for this evening. ::We’ll eat. Then we’ll go back to work. I’ll finish up my notes for the Baylor case. Then I’ll make coffee. Then…. Then we’ll talk. And then I’ll go home…::

Reyes paused in the entry way of the living room, biting her lips to keep from crying before walking in.

Doggett was in the process of putting the greasy box from Pizza Hut on his coffee table. He had considerately moved Reyes’ piles of papers and files to the floor without disturbing her filing and organization system. Looking up at her as he flipped the box top open, he said "Hey, they finally got it right for once," in a way of a lame joke. And Reyes knew that he felt the discord raging within her. And she felt his confusion and frustration. She wished she could take all six-foot-four of him into her arms and shield him away from all hurt as if he was a child.

And thanks to her talk with Nathalique, she knew now that was truly the crux of the problem. She couldn’t make it go away; she couldn’t soothe him as if he was a child. She couldn’t wait for him to grow up and face up to the nightmares that plagued him, kept him awake at night. Then she felt terribly guilty for feeling that way because he was so much more mature than any other man she had been involved with in the past.

Mature, yes. Considerate, yes. Intelligent, yes. Perfect? Not by a long shot.

And Reyes was tired of settling for second best. Or in this case, to be treated as if she was second best. The consolation prize.

As she entered the living room and handed a beer to Doggett, she forced herself to be cruelly honest with herself. Chances are he didn’t even realize that he treated her that way. And in all honesty, he didn’t treat her badly at all. He didn’t ignore her, didn’t make her cry. Sometimes she’d find a carnation on her desk with a clumsily tied bow around the stem or a hastily scribbled note telling her that he loved her stuck inside her purse. Little things. Sweet unexpected things.

He tried. He honestly tried. He tried to let go of Luke and he tried to let go of Jerilyn, but something held him back. Something that made him tell her he didn’t want children again when she knew that was an out and out lie. She had seen him with William. She had felt the jealousy coursing through his body when he’d watch Mulder and Boo together. And with Jerilyn… He accepted Spender’s word as gospel but he refused to attend the memorial service the Bureau had for her and not only was the shrine still in tact on his entertainment center, but he also kept a photograph of her and the holy medal she had worn in his wallet.

Sadly, Reyes realized that he just wasn’t ready for release after all and she couldn’t wait for him anymore. Nathalique said that she was only thirty-one, but thirty-one was thirty-one. She was nine years away from forty. Nine years. Almost a decade. Unbelievable. And disconcerting.

No, she wasn’t a slave to her biological clock but she was painfully aware that her youth had been wasted on Follmer. Hoping wishing praying… That something would change. And now, with Doggett… well as Jerilyn would so inelegantly say "Same shit, different day."

Sitting down next to Doggett, reaching for a hot gooey pizza slice from the plain cheese half as he dug into the "Everything but the kitchen sink" side, she almost hiccupped with an ironic laugh as she realized at this moment, sitting next to Doggett, feeling his hip against hers, smelling his cologne, hearing him chew, that she had never missed Jerilyn more profoundly than she did right now.

As Doggett reached for the remote control for some mindless distraction while they ate, Reyes re-reviewed her itinerary for the evening. ::We’ll eat. Then we’ll go back to work. I’ll finish up my notes for the Baylor case. I still have to do my job and do it well. I can’t let the victims down just because I’m having problems with my boyfriend. So I’ll finish up my notes tonight. Then I’ll make coffee. Then we’ll talk. And then I’ll go home… and cry….

::And then I’ll go find Jerilyn…::

Meanwhile
The George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd St., NW, Washington D.C.

"Do you have to go now?" Ninety-seven year old Helenor Harrison wistfully asked her granddaughter in a frail voice.

Leyla thanked God that her precious grandmother wasn’t in the hospital for ailments that normally plagued the elderly. Cancer, Alzheimer’s, stroke, pneumonia and other nightmares of the aged.

No, stubborn old Grandma. Was giving her cherished little toy poodles, Snickers and Moxie their daily walk when a stray cat streaked out from the neighbor’s bushes, whipping Snickers and Moxie into such a frenzy that they ran around and around Grandma Harrison. Her legs tangled in their leashes, Grandma stumbled and broke her wrist and her hip. Fortunately, the neighbor lady saw it happen and ran outside as fast as she could. The same nice neighbor lady took Grandma to the hospital and was now dog-sitting the wretched mutts that Leyla teased were more spoiled than her grandchildren.

"Now, Grandma," Leyla said in placating tones. "I said I would come back tomorrow."

A naughty, almost girlish gleam appeared in the old woman’s eyes. "Better bring more candy," she teased her.

Leyla laughed. "You better believe I will. Although, this is so blowing my diet."

"Nonsense. Diet, schmiet," Grandma Harrison sniffed. "I never dieted. I knew when I got old, I’d shrivel up. So I ate what I wanted and was happy. Life’s too short to deprive yourself of a good piece of chocolate." She groaned. "And as soon as I get this darn cast off, I’m going to make my famous Black Forest cake for you for being such a sweet girl, coming to see your old grandma."

"Aw Grandma…"

"Bet your Granddad was laughing his patootie off from heaven when he saw me trip over my own dogs," Grandma pouted.

This was how Leyla wanted to get old. With all of her wits with her and surrounded by love and flowers…

… and yet… there was that romantic almost adventurous streak running through her that made her wish a dashingly handsome man from her past would come reclaim her and together they’d go into hiding to save the world.

The FBI Accounting Department was so boring without Mulder and Scully.

"Well anyway," Grandma sighed, resting her head against her pillow, reaching out with her liver spotted hand to pat Leyla on the arm. "I’m sure you have a date tonight or something more exciting than a silly old lady-"

"Oh Grandma."

"I’ll see you tomorrow?"

"Oh yes. And I’ll bring a treat."

"You are spoiling me. Those lovely flowers… and the little bear, the dear thing…" she said fondly, reaching over with her good hand to run a gnarled finger over the bear’s smiley fuzzy face. Then the wicked look returned to her eyes. "I like those Brach’s Turtles… those little chocolate clusters with cashews and caramel?" she said hopefully.

Leyla burst out laughing, getting up from her chair. "Okay, Grandma." She leaned over and kissed her cheek. "See you tomorrow."

"Be good," she admonished her, as if Leyla was five years old again.

Leyla did feel good as she left her grandmother’s room. She had been afraid that her breaks were worse than she thought. Or that her grandma would be sitting all by her lonesome in a cheerless hospital room. Leyla chided herself for being so overdramatic as usual. Grandma had flowers and cards from all her friends and children, grandchildren and even the one great-grandchild had managed to scribble something on thick creamy drawing paper for her. And the room itself looked more like a greenhouse than a hospital room.

Leyla sighed. She always blew things out of proportion. That’s why the FBI stuck her into the accounting department after she had blundered her way through Quantico. Thank God she was good with numbers or else she might have been scrubbed out of the Bureau years ago.

Lost in her self-pitying thoughts, she rounded the corner, not noticing the loud arguing voices at first. When she looked up, her mouth about hit the floor in total shock and horror when the angry voices bombarded her ears.

"What am I doing? Spending my hard earned money on a place that is doing NOTHING for my wife?"

"Mr. Kimble, please understand, we’ve done what we can."

"What you can is obviously not enough, Dr. Larutannu."

But the hostile verbal exchange was not what jarred her.

It was the antagonist perpetrating the argument.

As Leyla whirled around and turned around the corner again, the doctor, a handsome man with a weathered face decorated with a neatly trimmed goatee, sighed as he pushed up his glasses. Dr. Christian Larutannu unfortunately has had much experience with this kind of heated debate and his impatience and distaste for it showed clearly as he tried to explain what he felt was the obvious.

"Mr. Kimble," Dr. Larutannu said as patiently as fatigue would allow as Leyla peeped at them around the corner. "Your wife does not respond to voices, sounds, light or touch. Her GCS is at a three. She does not open her eyes. She does not respond to even painful stimuli and she does not speak."

Mr. Kimble’s voice was harsh. "I want to attempt alternative therapies."

Leyla saw the doctor’s shoulders, big shoulders, visibly sag. "Mr. Kimble, you are welcome to a second opinion of course. But professionally and personally speaking… you are delaying the inevitable."

"The inevitable?" Mr. Kimble snorted. "You want to give up. You want the plug pulled."

"I want," Dr. Larutannu sounded as tired as he looked. "To end Lily’s suffering."

The corridor was deadly quiet. Leyla was positive they could hear her teeth chattering.

Finally, Mr. Kimble spoke. "I want a second opinion. I want to also explore alternative medicines. You don’t know Lily. She is not a quitter. She does not give up. She wouldn’t want me to give up. I’ve searched so long for her…" He turned his head away from the doctor, towards Leyla’s direction. Leyla quickly pulled her head around the corner again, leaning up against it as tight as she could, her knees trembling.

Another silence, this one even chillier than the last. Finally, "As you wish, Mr. Kimble. I have several contemporaries I can refer you to for a professional medical second opinion." He emphasized the word ‘professional.’

"Very well. And tell those damn nurses to leave the radio on. All the time. Twenty four hours. Lily loved music."

"I will remind them. If there’s not anything else…" when the doctor was greeted with silence again, he said stiffly as a formal farewell, "Mr. Kimble," nodded his head and walked away.

Her entire body shaking now, Leyla peeped around the corner again to look at the tall man, standing alone in the hallway. Looked at his expensive three piece suit, with the jacket draped over on arm. Observed how deceptive his slender frame was, for she could see how the muscles of his arms and torso rippled underneath his shirt. But no drippy romance novel emotions rushed through her mind for she was too terrified by his face. Long, lean and misleadingly boyish despite smile lines by the mouth, the slight crow’s feet and the mad glint in his dark eyes. She knew that face, despite the bleached blond hair he affected. Of course she knew his name and it sure as hell wasn’t Kimble. Her employer, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, had his face embossed on an infamous list that hung in post offices across the nation. And here he was under their very noses.

::Davis Justin Leo:: Leyla swallowed.

Justin Leo seemed to be lost in thought, his free hand covering his mouth. He looked up sharply again, and again luck was on the hapless Agent Harrison’s side for she ducked back around the corner just in time.

Then she heard footsteps, walking away from her, down the hall.

Heart knocking, she grappled with herself on what to do next. FBI protocol dictated that back up be called.

::But I don’t think there’s time:: Leyla thought frantically.

Unable to come up with a solution on her own, Leyla fell back on her usual device of hero worship.

::There was this one case Mulder and Scully investigated where Mulder followed a crazy man named Robert Modell into a hospital to apprehend him but then Modell otherwise known as ‘Pusher’ used his mind power to force Mulder to play Russian roulette.::

Then Leyla felt an uncontrollable urge to laugh. ::Well, Leo doesn’t have mind powers, he’s just crazy.::

Mulder would follow the crazy man.

Leyla Harrison started to follow Justin Leo, desperately wishing she was somebody else, somebody stronger.

Someone like Agent Scully.

Meanwhile….
Somewhere in the Chiapas, Mexico

He said the blue of the lake reminded him of her eyes.

And she had laughed at first because she had never seen an unpolluted body of water before. And the lake did indeed seem to be the color of sapphire. But she had started bickering with him like usual, telling him not to be ridiculous because water can’t actually be blue, it was merely a reflection of the color of the sky above. He had shrugged and said she was no fun.

Sighing, she let her feet dangle in the crystal cool water, wiggling her toes. No worries of piranhas here. She could cool her feet and listen to tropic birds cackling and maybe even catch a glimpse of a monkey playing in the trees.

She pulled the giant battered straw hat over her lake blue eyes. Sun was still a worry. Or to be more accurate, sunburn. Her first concern was naturally, skin cancer. Her next concern was her appearance. When she burned, she turned into a giant lobster. A giant pain-wrecked lobster. And when the lobster skin sloughed off, there was nothing but a freckled mess left behind. And she despised her freckles.

But freckles and sunburn seem so trivial now.

Wrapping thin arms around thin legs, she put her chin on her knees and stared out at the unspoiled lake, the untamed and untutored world. The blistering sun was beginning to set; it would finally be cool enough to breathe. And the stars, harbingers of nightmares and love songs, would speckle the inky sky with silvery dots. But before darkness fell completely she would have to go back to their little cottage. He would pitch a fit if she came in after nightfall. With not only their own predators trying to hunt them down, the guerilla rebels roaming the rainforest would be very interested as to why a redheaded American girl was out alone at night. Despite the fact that this redheaded American girl was a good shot and never walked around unarmed.

There was, in fact, a Smith and Wesson handgun stuck down the back of the tattered denim skirt she wore. Loaded and un-safetied. At all times. She pulled the gun out and put it in the bright haversack she had purchased during her first and last visit to the nearest city, San Cristobel.

Lately, solitude seemed to be her only refuge against suffocation and loneliness. She abruptly stood up, took off the unbecoming hat and started to unbutton her blouse. After the shabby blouse was removed, she shrugged off the skirt and even stripped off the bra and panties that admittedly seen better days.

Making sure that her clothes covered her bag, she slipped into the healing waters and quickly dove underneath to escape the last punishing rays of the sun. When she could no longer hold her breath any longer, with a strong kick, she propelled herself to the surface, breathing in deep drafts of saturated air, the humidity attacking her once again.

Lazily, she swam in circles until fatigue finally set in. She dragged herself from the nice cool water back into the sweltering heat. But now the heat was a comfort, like the steam bath she had once enjoyed after a hard workout at the gym a lifetime ago.

Taking her clothes off of her haversack, she dug into the bag to pull out a ragged bath towel she had claimed as her swimming towel. After drying herself off, she put her bra, panties and skirt back on, but left the blouse off.

Sitting on the towel and blouse, she dug into the bag and took out what appeared to be a thick black wallet.

When she had fled the country she had left with nothing but the plum colored blouse, black slacks, black boots and long leather trench coat she had been wearing. But in the pocket of the coat, she had placed her FBI badge and identification.

Like that meant anything now.

But behind her ID photograph, she had slid in two photographs.

Feeling the last rays of sunlight beat down on her back as water trickled down from her damp head, she pulled out those pictures now.

The first picture was a wallet sized oh-so-cute mandatory picture parents take of their first babies when they are three months old. And he was oh-so-cute in the little jeans and Old Navy sweatshirt and the tiny baseball hat Grandma Maggie bought for him.

But the last time she saw him, he had been well over eighteen months old. On March 7, he’d be two. A big boy now. The little picture didn’t make her cry anymore. Her grief exceeded the sphere of tears.

The second picture was larger, a four-by-six. And very faded, almost yellowed. But the features of the two girls sitting by each other on rocks in a flowered field were still distinguishable, ivory skinned and strawberry blond. And matching outfits despite the howling cries from Maggie Scully’s teenaged daughters that they did not wish to be photographed as twins. But Maggie overruled them and nagged the girls into putting on the identical slacks and shirt that she had bought specifically for this one shot she wanted taken for Melissa’s senior portraits.

And even at the tender age of eighteen, Melissa’s eyes belied a timelessness and wisdom that her little sister knew she would never achieve. Because not only she would have to believe in the unbelievable and impossible but embrace it cheerfully and make it part of her life.

It was part of her life now and she did believe… to an extent.

As much as she could stand without going insane.

She believed and yet she still woke up in the middle of the night wondering where in the hell she was and why she couldn’t hear William babbling over the little infant intercom and why it was so stifling hot. Woke up not comprehending that this was her life now and her snug little apartment in Georgetown, her friends and her family was now the dream.

If that night, she had known that she was to run away, she would have grabbed more photographs and mementos. Pictures of her mother. And Ahab. And Charlie. And yes, even Bill. And Tara and their son. And more pictures of Melissa. And more pictures of William. Lots and lots of pictures of William. Especially the christening photograph where his father held him up high, admiring him in his baptismal gown as she admired them both.

And she wished she had a picture of Emily… Rowan… her first child. Her little girl. Stolen away. Twice. And not a quick snap a federal agent had taken to be rushed to the data base so it could be processed, hoping that there would be a hit and her identity would be revealed. A real picture. Opening Christmas presents. Or blowing out birthday candles. Evidence that there was once happiness and love in this mysterious little girl’s life. For a moment anyway.

And she would have loved to have a picture of the guys, even though she knew Langly would have been too paranoid to be photographed. Byers wouldn’t have cared either way and Frohike would have been all over it, would have been so excited to know that she wanted to keep a concrete image of him with her.

And John and Monica and Jerilyn. As she continued to study the photograph of her teenaged self and her sister, she fingered the chain of her necklace, feeling the tiny gold cross. Her memories of Reyes and Doggett were fading, as well as Starkweather. She had to struggle to remember not only their faces but their voices. The lilting cadence of Reyes’ serene voice but how oddly she would emphasize certain words and how she always mispronounced "Koran." Doggett’s hybrid voice, how some words had a distinct New York-tough guy nuance even though every other word contained that very distinctive Southern gentleman’s drawl. And Jerilyn’s husky voice, a voice that pumped out foul cuss words faster than a backed up toilet but then could caress the ethereal high notes of an aria and sound fairer than an angel.

She felt like she would kill to hear music again. And to have a hot bath filled with foamy bubbles from Bath and Body Works. And feel air conditioning on her face. And to drink a glass of white wine. And to hear her son’s laughter in the other room as his grandmother played with him. And to have the phone ring and it was Missy asking what she was doing as she studied a case file…

Slipping the photographs back into her useless FBI identification, she put the thick black wallet back into her bag, put her blouse on and took the gun back out. Standing up, she slid the gun back into the skirt’s waistband, slid her sandals back on. After picking up her bag, she slowly made her way back to the dilapidated little cottage she laughingly called home.

He had said he believed that the dead were not lost and at first she had agreed with him. Now she felt unsure because she was definitely lost and to the world, most certainly dead.

But then, like he said in that filthy hotel room so long ago…. Maybe there was still hope…

Hope was all she had left.

Meanwhile
Fifteen miles west of Sheridan, Wyoming
The Van de Kemps Residence

"Hey Hope?"

Hope McKenzie didn’t answer right away; she was too busy tussling with a very stubborn toddler. "Come on Billy-boy, one more bite…" She held the spoon of homemade applesauce in the air in front of his pouting lips.

"NO."

"Hope?"

"Yeah Mr. Van de Kemp?" she called out just as she shoved the little spoon into the boy’s mouth. The boy promptly spit it back out at her. "No appa-saws," he told her petulantly, his lower lip sticking out.

Hope McKenzie had years of experience dealing with stubborn little children, from her own two boys to the hordes of children she had babysat over the years after the divorce decreed that Adam and Kane stay with their father in Laramie. Not a satisfactory arrangement, but in the end they turned out well enough. Both her sons had been teenagers when the divorce was finalized and the decision for the boys to live with their father was an amicable one. Plus by then Adam had his driver’s license so, with their father’s permission, had driven over lots for long weekends. Now Adam had his own son to care for and Kane was in his final year of college. And Hope had managed to keep busy, with her garden, her bed-and-breakfast for the snowmobile fanatics that migrated to Wyoming in the winter and babysitting. She did adore little children.

But the Van de Kemps’ boy was something else. Not yet two years old and quite an extensive vocabulary. "What do you want then sweetie?"

"Ace cweem."

"Ice cream? In January? Oh sweetie, it’s too cold. "

"Peese?" the boy had the most beguiling blue eyes. Like a clear lake on a nice summer day. Hope knew that this kid was already a little charmer and the potential that he was going to be a heartbreaker was enormous. He already knew how to flirt.

"Maybe if you eat your applesauce."

"No appa-saws."

Hope sighed. This little tyke, adorable as he was, was so damn stubborn.

And it didn’t help that the Van de Kemps spoiled him shamelessly. And well, who could blame them. They had waited to adopt a child for so long now.

"There you are Hope," Mr. Van de Kemp came in, brushing snow off his coat. His face lit up at the sight of the boy making a mess in his high chair. "Hey buddy!" he ruffled the child’s dark brown hair. "Didn’t you hear me calling before?"

"I did," Hope said, "but I was a little occupied. Someone is being very naughty today," she said in a teasing, chiding voice, lightly tapping the boy on the nose to make him giggle.

"Billy? Acting up?" Mr. Van de Kemp feigned good-natured surprised. "He’s full of the devil, that’s for sure, aren’t ya, bud?"

Billy Van de Kemp grinned up at him and held his arms up so that he would be picked up.

"Hold on, bud, you’re all grubby," Mr. Van de Kemp crossed over to the kitchen sink to wet a wash cloth. Hope moved out of the way so that he could clean the boy’s face. After wiping the mess of Billy’s face, then Mr. Van de Kemp lifted him out of the high chair.

Hope watched with joy as Mr. Van de Kemp flipped Billy upside down then dropping him slightly and catching him deftly as the boy squealed with pure pleasure.

"Again!"

So Mr. Van de Kemp obeyed and then put Billy down. "Go find your mom bud," he said, patting the boy paternally and gently on the butt.

As Billy scampered off in search of Mrs. Van de Kemp, Mr. Van de Kemp turned to Hope and said "I was trying to find you to let you know that unless you plan on spending the night with us, you better beat feet home. Looks like we’ll be due for some weather tonight."

"I better head then," Hope said. "I don’t have anyone to feed the horses plus I have guests coming to stay this weekend. I still haven’t straightened the rooms from the last ones."

"Snowmobilers?"

"What else?"

"Well, if the weatherman’s right, they’ll have good powder this weekend. We’re supposed to get pounded tonight."

"Then I better get going," Hope pushed a graying lock of hair out of her eyes as she went to the closet to retrieve her heavy winter coat, gloves, hat and scarf. As she wound the knitted scarf around her neck, Mr. Van de Kemp said "Thank you for coming over on such short notice. You’re a life saver."

"No problem," she said brightly. "What are neighbors for?"

Mr. Van de Kemp escorted the plump lady to the door then watched her drive away after admonishing her that if the weather suddenly and freakishly turned bad during the ten mile drive from their home to hers, to turn around immediately and come back. Then he looked at the menacing clouds in the west, he whistled for the dog to come inside. Shivering, he waited for the dog to zip inside and as soon as Prince did so, he went inside as well.

He found Billy cuddled up in his wife’s arms, sucking his thumb as she read him a story. Wearing a self-satisfied smile on his face, he sank into his favorite easy chair and started reading the latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens WOOD magazine, losing himself in a fascinating article about building a hall bench. Prince, a mongrel shepherd mixed breed, came in, turned into a circle three times and flopped down by Mr. Van de Kemp’s feet, falling into a deep and comfortably warm sleep.

As Mrs. Van de Kemp read, she peeked up over the large glossy children’s book at her husband. He looked so peaceful. But then, he was always a peaceable man. But now he positively radiated happiness along with the peace. Their sheltered little world was complete…. Well, almost.

Maybe they should try to adopt a little girl next. After Billy was more settled, of course. Right now, she had to admit, she adored lavishing all her attention on just one child. But to have a little girl to dress up…

But that was putting the cart before the horse. Right now, Billy was plenty. What a joy he was. Granted, he had them wrapped around his little finger, but he really wasn’t that naughty. Half of his naughtiness stemmed from the fact that he was naturally very curious and had to explore everything. And he was extremely stubborn when he had something in his head and by God, he was going to have his way come hell or high water. But he was absolutely captivating, could charm the pants off of almost anyone. And he was so smart… he talked so much! And he remembered almost everything.

But whereas her husband was perfectly content to let sleeping dogs lie, worry roamed through Mrs. Van de Kemp’s head. So many horror stories about the biological parents coming back to re-claim the child they put up for adoption. Billy’s adoption was almost totally anonymous except for his real name… William Christopher S. Mrs. Van de Kemp had asked what the ‘S’ stood for.

"Don’t know," the social worker had said crisply.

Mrs. Van de Kemp still pondered over what ‘S’ could be and what the boy’s last name had been. What if Billy wanted to find his birth parents when he was of age? They were not going to lie to him and not tell him he was adopted. And when he was eighteen, it was his right to pursue them if he so wished. But the social worker had stated that the birth mother was adamant. She did not want to be found and the birth father was dead.

So she should have been relieved. But she wasn’t.

Because Billy refused to say "Mama" or "Daddee" or any other childish epitaphs for mother and father.

It was as if he knew that this was only temporary.

Her husband broke into her morose thoughts. "I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?"

"Love some," she produced a smile for him.

Billy smiled too.

Doggett, concentrating on his case report, did not hear Reyes get off the couch and go into the kitchen. But soon he smelled coffee brewing.

::Oh shit:: he thought, moving the cursor over to "File", clicking on it to get to "Save As" so he could preserve the document he had spent hours working on. ::Here it comes:: he thought to himself as he closed out of Windows XP.

Reyes had been far too quiet all evening. He had wondered when she was going to want to talk. He had a feeling that she wanted to discuss something with him and it wasn’t going to be good. For him anyway. Figures.

Closing the laptop computer, he moved from the table to the couch, sinking back down, exhaustion causing the beginnings of what probably would be a massive headache. He half wondered if he was coming down with something, he felt terrible. All achy and shivery.

Reyes came back into the living room with two cups of coffee. She handed the cup of black coffee to him. She sat kitty-corner from him in the armchair. Not beside him on the couch. Not an encouraging sign. Reyes was a snuggler. She liked to be close. Most of the time, so did he.

She looked incredibly depressed. "John…" she said, holding her cup of well sugared and creamed coffee in her long lean hands.

"What?" His voice was instantly wary.

"We have to talk."

Doggett sighed loudly as he put his cup on the coffee table then taking the offending reading glasses off. Rubbing his eyes, he asked "Can it wait?"

Reyes felt his overtiredness. "No."

"Alright," he muttered, swiveling his head around so he could look at her. "Now what did I do?"

Reyes decided not to spare him any mercy. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t afford to. She had to reclaim herself. "First of all, stop being so defensive," she said calmly. "I’m not angry."

"Not yet anyway," he gave her a boyish grin.

She allowed herself a smile. This was true. "Granted. Not yet."

"What’s on your mind, Mon?"

Doggett stretched his long legs out, studying her. Reyes fought against shuddering, fought against that almost involuntary reaction when he turned those piercing blue eyes onto her as if he was dissecting her.

"Whatever is on your mind," Doggett said acerbically, "I’m not going to like it very much, am I?"

Reyes’ gut twisted. This was precisely what she had been trying to explain to Nathalique. Ironically as his visual perception decreased, his internal perception compensated. To the casual observer, it sounded like a smart assed remark. But Reyes knew better. She could sense his apprehension and frustration which was significantly more pronounced than his easy going attitude and dry humor belied.

::Or maybe:: she thought jadedly ::there’s just a good chance that I’m nuts.::

She swallowed some coffee, felt the scalding liquid burning her tongue and throat. She put her cup down as well. After a false start, she asked softly "Why aren’t you happy, John?"

::Oh Christ…:: he groaned to himself. Not this bullshit. Not tonight. He was not in the mood to be the subject of an armchair psychologist’s fascination. But then he looked at her face again. Judging by the depths of despair in her pretty doe eyes, she wasn’t just picking him apart to satisfy her own curiosity.

She wanted to know why they weren’t working out as a couple… again.

So he shrugged and hoped he could find the words to fix what he feared might be an irreparable situation. "What’s happy? If you mean happy like ‘And they lived happily ever after’… well, you and I both know that’s only in kids’ books. But in the real world… I don’t know. I’m tired, I guess. I hate my job right now. And I’ve taken it out on you and I’m sorry, Mon."

He really did look sorry. Reyes fought against herself, fought against smoothing things over, telling him that it was alright, that she understood.

"That’s what I don’t understand," she finally said weakly. "Why you’re taking it out on me. It makes me feel horrible… like I’m doing something wrong."

He was instantly contrite. "Oh God, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, you know that. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not."

Reyes nodded, still longing to say that it was okay and to curl up in his arms and make love to him right there on the armchair. But she had already had, as Nathalique so blithely put it "one last roll in the hay" with him last night so she really had no more excuses to delay the unavoidable.

"Then why do you get so angry when I ask you what’s wrong?"

"Because," he said wearily, "most of the time, there is nothing wrong and it gets old bein’ asked that. Then asked again as if the first time I say I’m okay wasn’t good enough."

"Because," Reyes countered, "more times than not, it’s not okay, you’re not okay. Like what happened at the bar right before Christmas-"

"I knew that was going to come back to haunt me," Doggett grumbled.

Reyes ignored the dig. "There was something bothering you John."

"Do I have to report every detail of a bad day to you?" His tone was cool now, signaling that he was not pleased with the direction the conversation was going.

"No. But you don’t have to lie to me. You could have just told me it was none of my business and I would have backed off."

"I did tell you it was none of your business."

"No. You yelled at me it was none of my business. There’s a big difference." When Doggett failed to respond, she added "After telling me that nothing was wrong when I asked you why you looked so upset."

"I just didn’t want to talk ‘bout it," he mumbled.

Reyes wondered if this is what it felt like to bang her head against a brick wall repeatedly. "Why couldn’t you have just said that?"

"Mon. Come on. You wouldn’t have let it drop."

"Yes I would have."

"No," Doggett said patiently. "You wouldn’t have."

"When have I ever done anything like that?"

"How about when you brought Fox Mulder my son’s case file, asking him to please see if there was something he could do?" Doggett reminded her. Now Reyes fell silent. Doggett, feeling his headache intensify, said "I know you meant well. You always mean well. And I love you for that, but sometimes you just don’t know when to leave it alone. And some things… I just want to keep some things to myself and sort them out on my own."

"But when those "things" affect ‘us’," Reyes protested. "Bringing Mulder Luke’s file was out of line. I see that now. That was a gross intrusion onto your privacy. But John, this isn’t about Luke anymore, this is…" she stopped, looked down at her coffee cup, took a big drink then stared down into the cup again.

Sinking lower into his couch, Doggett wished he could just go to sleep. Or into a coma and be completely unaware of everything. His fledgling headache promised to be excruciating later. "And?" he said, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. "Go on."

Reyes folded her lips, thinking. Then, out of nowhere, she blurted out "I had lunch with AD Skinner today."

Doggett looked startled, as he very well should be. "That’s nice," he said, befuddled at the sudden detour the conversation took.

"It was a business lunch."

"Oh?" he said blandly while the look on his face clearly said ::What the hell does this have to do with anything?::

"We’re working on a project."

"A project?"

"The X-Files, John," Reyes finally told him. "We’re working on re-opening the X-Files. He’s presenting our proposal to the Senior Staff tomorrow morning."

Doggett frowned. "And why are you two opening that can of worms?"

"Because it’s the only thing that they are afraid of," Reyes said calmly. "And if we can keep them afraid, we can keep Mulder and Scully safe. And William."

Doggett digested this. "Is it just you and Skinner workin’ on this?"

"No," Reyes told him.

"Who else?"

"Lux Carlos."

He snorted. "Figures." His eyes narrowed. "And you think the Senior Staff is gonna go for Skinner’s proposal? After all the trouble they went to cleaning out our office?"

"That wasn’t them."

"Scuse me?"

"Carlos got there first. He told us that he had received a tip from an anonymous source that the military was coming to confiscate the contents of the X-Files office. So Carlos, along with Agents Joshi and Merchant took all the paper files and computers. Then, when the military came, they took what was left. The file cabinets, the desks, the pictures… whatever they could carry."

"Are you sure?" Doggett asked skeptically.

"Very sure as I have seen them," Reyes told him. "When Skinner initially approached me to help him re-open the X-Files, he took me to the CIA Headquarters and Carlos showed me the storage room where the files were being kept. They are all there John. And Carlos had an administration staff working double time, to make not only paper copies, but digital copies."

"That’s great," Doggett said edgily. "That’s wonderful. That’s fantastic. And you were plannin’ on tellin’ me… when?"

"Initially when the Senior Staff gave their decision. But we have Senators Matheson and Wesley-Bailey breathing down their necks as well."

"Wesley-Bailey?" Doggett snorted again. He had, and understandably so, a very low opinion of Starkweather’s stepmother. "That woman doesn’t give a shit about anything except her own hide."

"Precisely. Which is why she’s willing to help her out now, she’s terrified that the Syndicate will come back for her. She believes that the X-Files can protect her."

"Let’s say that this fairy tale has a happy ending," Doggett said. "Let’s say the Senior Staff forgets that the nation is under the greatest security threat since the Cuban Missile Crisis and says ‘Sure, fuck preparing this country for war against Saddam and Bin Laden and let’s reopen the X-Files so we can pay agents to run around like damn fools chasing after bad dreams and a lot of nothin’…’ what does the epilogue to this happy story have to say?"

"First of all, AD Skinner would approach you to ask if you would be interes-"

"No. Wait. Lemme rephrase. Hell no."

Reyes glared at him then began her sentence again. "AD Skinner would approach you and ask if you would be interested in being promoted to Section Chief of the X-Files."

His ambitious ears perked up. "Section Chief?"

She nodded. "Only until Skinner was ready to retire. He’s going to retire in almost six months. That wouldn’t be very long for you to have to sit in the basement again. And since the position is Section Chief, it’s a promotion which means more money, of course and also would help your petition for promotion to AD."

Doggett couldn’t help think about that. What seemed unattainable now dangled irresistibly in front of him. "Of course, you would want me to make sure the X-Files stays open when I’m made AD."

"I don’t expect any less. As much noise as you make about damn fools and a lot of nothing, you know and I know that the X-Files are more vital than what is generally believed," Reyes sounded a lot calmer than she felt.

"I see," Doggett mulled this over. He had to admit, career wise, the offer would be tempting. Section Chief. Although his current position in the Bureau was more prominent than what it was in the X-Files, rank-wise, he was still pretty low on the totem pole. But Section Chief…

"What about you?"

"Me?" Reyes was prepared for his line of questioning but still waited for it.

"What will you do?"

"I will just be a field agent. I have no desires to become part of Staff," she told him solemnly. "And I will continue the investigations started by Mulder and Scully. To expose the truth so others will not have to go through what they went through… what we went through." When Doggett did not respond, she realized she had to go in for the kill. "And when the X-Files are officially re-opened, the first thing I am going to do is requested that Agent Starkweather’s file be put back as an active case."

She said this tranquilly, as if she was telling him she was going to bake cookies or she was going to go out for a jog, be back later.

Doggett’s eyes widened then narrowed again, studying her intently. As if he wasn’t sure he heard her right the first time, he said slowly "You’re gonna do what?"

"I’m going to have Jerilyn’s case be made active again."

"Why??" the anguish was plain in his voice. His ice blue eyes pleaded with her not to put him through that hell again.

"Because I don’t believe she’s dead."

"Monica… they sent me her fucking hair in box… they cut off her ring finger."

"Those aren’t vital organs." Now her voice quavered a bit.

Doggett continued to stare at her in disbelief. "Spender said that she was dead, that he saw her die. Why are you doing this?"

"Because," she repeated herself. "I don’t believe she’s dead."

"No," he cut her off, getting out off of the couch. "Don’t. Don’t you fucking start this, Monica. Not now. Not after all this time. After all this time when there was absolutely no hope and everyone’s tellin’ me to move on and to get on with my life… Don’t you start this psychic bullshit with me."

"You sense it too," she quietly accused him, staying in her seat.

"What?"

"You sense it too," she said again, slower. "You feel it. You dream it."

"Oh for God’s sake!" he exploded then sighed raggedly, drawing his hand over his face. "Monica…"

"On the Bob Fassl case," Reyes continued quietly "You told me that your mind didn’t work that way. But your heart does. And it’s telling you something that your mind just isn’t processing."

"Ever think about writing for a soap opera Mon?" Doggett asked caustically. "I think they pay better’n than FBI."

Reyes wanted to hit him. "John," she said, feeling a hot rush of anger course through her. As she stood up, she struggled to keep her voice controlled. It would be counterproductive to be baited by his aggravation and suppressed hurt. "Have you ever asked yourself why you couldn't give up? Have you ever wondered why you keep her necklace in your wallet, and that model car and that toy dinosaur and the photographs on your entertainment center?"

Doggett looked at the collection of photographs and the other mementos. The angry look left his face as he said softly "It's the closet thing to a headstone for her that I've got." He looked at her and tried to smile. "And besides, you keep her cat," he reminded her.

"No, actually Skinner has Caesar now."

"Poor bastard," Doggett said with real sympathy. With a sigh, he tried to continue with a light hearted attitude. "So, what are you gonna do? Make me go on that damn Dr. Phil show and pour my heart out to a bunch of housewives?"

Reyes fought a smile. He had the most unexpected sense of humor. One of the many reasons why she continued to struggle with herself over what she wanted and what she needed. "No. I'm not going to make you do anything John. The only person I can force change upon is me." The compulsion to smile evaporated. She watched Doggett’s facial expressions unconsciously mirroring hers, becoming serious, sad. "And I can't live like this anymore," her voice started to shake. "I can't be second place to a ghost... and I won't be second place when she comes ba-"

He interrupted, his voice shaking a little now too. "Don't say it Mon, not right now...just...don't…" he pleaded. "I’m tryin’ to put it behind me. I swear… this isn’t…"

Reyes interrupted his excuses. "I'd rather be the championship winner friend than the consolation prize girlfriend."

"Oh Jesus," Doggett rolled his eyes and turned his back to her as he walked towards the window. Looking out into the dark street, he asked "So it's the regular, ‘It's not you, it's me speech’, then?"

Reyes detected the slight hint of self-pity in his voice and felt irritation surge through her again. "No, John, this time, it's definitely you. But only I can walk away. And hope we can keep our friendship intact." ::Please don’t let this get ugly, please, please:: she begged.

He laughed without a hint of humor. "Oh, great. So I'm the bad guy. Again. Typical." He turned around and crossed his arms. "Well… Thanks for wasting time with me, I guess."

"You don't know how much I want to smooth things over, make them better, fix what I just said but I can't. I can't make you better," she sternly, more to herself than him, although he looked more and more miserable the more and more she spoke. "I can't spend so much energy playing emotional nurse, making so much effort trying to make things okay. A real relationship isn't about trying to make things okay, it's about things being okay no matter what...and that's what you and Starkweather had. Have."

Once she spoke her name out loud, his face became unreadable again. "You should really consider a career if not writin' soap opera scripts then at least romance novels," he said coldly. He then added "Besides Starkweather and I didn't HAVE anything! Jesus. Even now. Why doesn't anyone believe us... me," he amended himself.

The surge of irritation grew into wave of anger. "Don't lie to me John. Don't lie to yourself. Don't lie to her."

"What's there to lie about? Most of the time I knew her, she was married. And then she was a widow..... There wasn't time for anything to happen... not really... and... I swore to myself that I wouldn't make that mistake again. That if there was someone important to me, I wasn't gonna just let her slip away without telling her how much she means to me." He swallowed hard as he looked at her.

Reyes again fought with herself. ::Maybe this time….::

But she remembered Nathalique’s words :: You are putting up with his shit in hopes that it will get better when in fact, it’s not going to. Just as Follmer didn’t change his lying, slimy ways for you, John is not going to change his secretive, stubborn ways for you.::

"Now who's the romance novelist around here?" she snorted.

"It's not like I'm getting down on one knee and promising happily ever after."

"What's wrong for wanting that?" she asked, honestly wanting to know.

He shrugged. "Nothin'... except that it doesn't exist."

"Only if you're not happy with whom you're with and I don't believe you're happy. John, you've been miserable the whole time we've been dating."

"We didn't start datin' under the best of circumstances."

"We didn't the first time around either...so...I think it's time for me to stop being your Rebound Queen."

Helplessly, he lifted his hands out, up and then let them drop, hanging by his sides. "I told you. You aren't the Rebound Queen. You aren't the Leftover Queen. I wish I could get you to believe me."

"I want to believe," Reyes said sadly. "But I also want the happy ending... a good career, a house in the suburbs and kids..."

Her final words lingered in the air like cigar smoke. Kids…

Finally he made himself ask her softly "So you don't think I'm the happy ending?"

Reyes shook her head. "I love you, John. I want you to be happy. But I want.. I need to be happy too. I don't want you to resent me. I don't want you to blame me for not being Starkweather."

"That's not fair, Monica!" Doggett burst out, stung by the injustice of her accusation. "I don't blame you for not being Starkweather."

Reyes felt the traitorous tears building up. "But you do resent me."

"How!?!?!?"

"For occupying time that should have been spent finding her."

::Why is she doing this!?!?!:: Doggett thought as he said "She's gone Monica. She's just gone."

"No she's not," Reyes said between her teeth, tired of him not believing her visions, her unexpected and unasked for flashes of insight.

And he was getting tired of being ragged on for his common sense. "You're talkin' outta your ass now, trying to make up excuses to quit me." ::Dammit, Monica, if I’m that lousy of a guy, just say so…:: he thought tiredly. The encroaching headache was getting closer and closer to unbearable levels. He wished she would just hurry up and finish ruining his night and the rest of his life so he could go to bed. Alone, apparently.

"Do you have dreams about a lake?" she blurted out.

"What?" But he looked startled.

"Do you have dreams about a lake? And a boat?"

"Hell if I know what I dream about," he said as defiant as he could while his face became ashen.

"Have you been having dreams about a lake and a boat with a blond woman sitting in it?" When he didn’t answer, she yelled "Dammit, John, this is important!"

"Why the hell, all of a sudden are my dreams so goddamn important?"

"Tell me! Yes or no!"

"Fine! Yes! So???" he yelled back at her.

"Why," she choked out, "is it so hard for you to admit what's right there right in front of your face??" When she didn’t get any response, she demanded ""John, what happened to you during your abduction?"

"I don’t remember!"

"You don’t want to remember! Goddammit, John! Don't you get it?

"Obviously not," he said, coldly, his pale eyes becoming icier.

Reyes couldn’t help it, she was so angry at his self-inflicted blindness that she started to weep. "You can't let go of her yet because you know as well as I do she's not dead. And as long as you can't let her go, we will never be anything more than two people forcing emotions that really aren't there to begin with." She slumped back down in the chair, hand to her eyes, shoulders shaking.

Doggett felt his throat tighten as she continued to cry. Lowering his head, he began to walk out of the living room. But he ran his hand over her jet black hair as he passed her on the way out. That gentle gesture hurt Reyes more than the entire bitter argument.

Doggett wasn’t gone long. He had only left to get tissues for her. Sitting down on the coffee table in front of her, holding out the Kleenex box, he said quietly, "Well... if that's how you feel... then there's nothing more to say. I guess."

Reyes tried to smile as she pulled two or three tissues out of the Kleenex box. "At least this way, we won't hate each other, and we won't draw blood at the end of our divorce trial." She blew her nose.

"Cold comfort. Thanks." But his voice suddenly sounded thick, like he had a bad cold. A stuffed up nose.

Reyes looked up, at his familiar care-worn face, all the smile lines and crow’s feet she knew so well. The odd little scar on his chin. How gentle his eyes were now. "I don't want you out of my life," she whispered, balling the Kleenex up with one hand and reaching out to cup his cheek with her other. "I just want out of your bed," she tried to joke.

Doggett gently encircled her tiny wrist with his big hand. "Gee," he said dryly before turning his head to kiss her palm. "Thanks sweetheart, that made me feel better." The small kiss on her hand seemed to be his acceptance of defeat.

Tears began to fall down Reyes’ cheeks again. "I'm going to find her, John. I promise," she sniffled, hating herself for letting him go, hating herself for doubting her instincts, hating herself for wishing John was right and that Jerilyn was gone.

Doggett only looked at her despondently after she made her vow. "You know I love you, don't you?" he asked so faintly she almost couldn’t hear him.

Which made Reyes cry harder "Yes, of course, but you're not in love with me."

And after that proclamation, there really wasn’t any thing more to say.

Even the most seasoned federal agent shuddered at the mention of Justin Leo’s name. No matter what jurisdiction, Leo was every law enforcer’s nightmare. He was cunning, he was calculating, he had money at his dispense from an unknown source and he was criminally insane

The proper, polite clinical terms were obsessive-compulsive disorder coupled with manic depression possibly tinged with schizophrenia but as far as cops and feds and lawyers were concerned, all the euphemisms failed to drive in the point as well as the words ‘fucking crazy’ did. The man was dangerous.

The dangerous man pursued by Special Agent Leyla Harrison, Accounting Specialist.

Her area of expertise was fraud investigation, internal and external.

And here she was, on another X-File.

Had to be. Leo only cropped up in X-Files.

She hoped she wouldn’t throw up as she trailed him. She hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt as she stayed a respectable distance from him.

Until he reached the elevator.

::Oh God, now what?:: Leyla thought in a panic.

Once he got on that elevator, he could go anywhere. What if she lost him?

"Wait!" she blurted out as the elevator doors opened. "Hold the elevator!"

Startled, Leo turned and saw a pretty woman with big blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair walking quickly towards him. He waved his hand in front of the closing door, activating the sensor detector, causing the door to slide back open.

"Hurry," he said with a friendly smile.

Leyla rushed in. "Thanks," she said breathlessly as the doors closed behind her.

"What floor?" he asked pleasantly as he hit Button Number Seven.

Leyla realized that his instability could be easily cloaked by his polite demeanor. This was probably his secret in eluding the authorities all this time. Who would possibly guess that this clean cut, good looking, nice man was a psychopath?

"Eight, please," Leyla said, glancing at him quickly then looking straight ahead of her, her stomach churning.

"Visiting?" Leo said, making small talk as the elevator zipped up.

Leyla nodded. "My grandmother. She’s ill." Sometimes the truth was the best lie. "You?" "My wife," he said, looking at the floor. "She was in an accident. She’s comatose."

"I’m sorry."

"Me too." The elevator door slid open. Leo smiled at her. He had a very nice smile. "Hope your grandmother gets well soon."

"Thank you." Leyla was about to return the sentiment about his "wife" but the elevator door slid shut again, the elevator sending her to the eighth floor.

Legs shaking, she got out of the elevator and sought out a restroom where she instantly threw up into the sink.

Arms shaking just as bad as her legs, she gripped the sink and thought ::Okay, he’s probably not going to be going anywhere anytime soon. And, as Agent Doggett would say ‘Dollars to doughnuts’… there’s something important on the seventh floor.::

Agent Doggett… wasn’t there a rumor that he and Agent Starkweather were involved at one point? Leyla dismissed the thought. Agent Starkweather had been married and Agent Doggett wasn’t imaginative enough to contemplate an affair with either a married woman or a woman recently widowed.

::I have to get down to the seventh floor without Leo noticing me:: she thought. ::But how? He’s already seen me. How can I just appear on the seventh floor? Pretend that I got off on the wrong floor? No. Because then he’d wonder where my grandmother was…:: Leyla turned the taps on and washed the watery vomit down the drain and then cupped her hand to bring clean water to her mouth. After rinsing out her mouth, she thought ::What would Mulder do? Or Scully?::

And then it hit her.

Agent Scully.

Agent Dana Katherine Scully M.D.

Leyla pulled her sunglasses off her head and threw them into her purse. Digging in her purse more, she pulled out a pair of thick, God-awful-ugly reading glasses, a blue scrunchy hair tie and a tube of bright lipstick. She put the lipstick on, pulled what she could of her hair into a pony tail and then put the glasses on.

It was amazing what little it took to change your appearance.

Just as she entered a stall to hide her purse behind a toilet, Leyla heard two women enter. Leyla shut the stall door.

"So what shift are you working tonight?"

"Twelve hour."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, I worked a twelve hour shift yesterday too. Or I think it was yesterday. I can’t keep track of my days any more."

"God, tell me about it. I thought coffee was my friend in med school." There was a dual slam of stall doors.

::Medical interns:: Leyla realized, not believing her luck as she opened the door. Then she thanked God her luck was still holding.

One of the interns had taken off her white lab coat.

Without batting an eye, Leyla swiped the coat and put it on as she left the bathroom. But her heart was pounding again and her stomach was churning again. Still, her physical distress did not deter her from calmly walking past the nurses’ station and stealing an official looking clipboard and a pen, imitating Scully’s detachment infused with a bit of Mulder’s arrogance. The attending nurse didn’t even notice her.

Leyla decided to take the stairs to the seventh floor. As she hurried down the stairs she prayed ::Please let me pull this off, please please please please.::

As she entered the seventh floor, she could hear Leo yelling at the head nurse, who weathered his onslaught with dispassionate eyes and a frown.

"And furthermore, I WILL be speaking to your supervisor about this! This is unacceptable! This is intolerable!"

"Mr. Kimble," the nurse said with remarkable calm "As I’ve explained in the pas-"

"And as I have told YOU, I am damn tired of your underlings treating my wife as if she is not a person. She is a beautiful, lovely lady who deserves respect and understanding. Not to be moved around, prodded and talked over as if she’s not there. She is there, Nurse Ratched, I assure you."

"I understand, Mr. Kimb-"

"And she will wake up."

"Mr. Kimb-"

"And I want your nurses reprimanded!"

"Mr. Kimble," the head nurse finally snapped. "We have told you several times. Your wife is not being mistreated in the least. I apologize for any misconceptions you may have picked up from watching one episode of ‘ER’ too many, but we are treating Mrs. Kimble, as with all the patients on this floor, with the highest regards to ensure dignity. We work our butts off, sir, to make sure the patients are treated like people and not meat."

Leo’s eyes dropped down to the nurse’s sizeable posterior and said "Obviously you’re not working hard enough."

"Look here, Mr. Kimble, I’ve bounced your butt off my floor before for your attitude. Don’t make me do it again. "

Leyla pretended to be busy consulting a chart as Leo sized the nurse up. Disgusted, he turned and said "That was not an idle threat about speaking to your supervisor."

"Her name is Selina Rojas-Speigel and her direct extension is one-eighteen," the nurse said flatly.

A dangerous gleam appeared in his eyes. Clenching his fists, he turned and stalked away, towards the elevators.

As soon as he entered the elevator and disappeared, the nurse and Leyla exhaled audibly. Leyla made her way towards the nurse. "Are you alright?"

The nurse turned her head to face Leyla. "You new?"

"I’m an intern," she said. "I’m under Dr. Larutannu."

"Welcome to the Produce Department," she said, referring the ISU ward. When Leyla blanched, the nurse said kindly "You gotta get used to the black humor, sweetie. It’s the only thing that gets you through some days… Mr. Kimble doesn’t quite get that." She sighed again. "Of course, it was unprofessional to be making those kind of jokes when the families around. I’m gonna have to thump some pumpkins for that."

Leyla smiled weakly.

"Mr. Kimble kinda shook you up, huh?" the nurse said sympathetically.

::You have no idea:: Leyla thought as she nodded.

"Boy’s not right in his head," the nurse said sagely. "You get some strange rangers in this place. You’ll get used to it in time."

Leyla just nodded again, her stomach hurting even more. "I should… I’m supposed to um…" her mind went blank. What did medical school interns do anyway?? "Find Dr. Larutannu." That seemed safe enough.

"You may have missed him, he might have gone home for the night," the nurse said. "I can have him paged an-"

"NO!" Leyla burst out. When the nurse arched an eyebrow, she said pathetically. "The thing is, I’m lost," she said, amazed at how fast she was able to produce a lie. "And I’m embarrassed that I can’t find his office. That’s where I’m supposed to meet him, actually. I’m sorry."

"Why didn’t you say so? This is a big hospital. Easy to get lost." She gave Leyla a few simple instructions. "And I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name?"

"Um…" Leyla stalled. "Dana."

"Well, Dana, welcome aboard. My name is Faith Owens. I’m in charge here, so if you need anything, give me a yell." She smiled at Leyla and walked off.

Leyla put her hand on her chest for a minute as if that could slow down her galloping heart. Then she started to walk down the deserted hallway, peeping through the Plexiglas windows, skimming over the names in the charts placed neatly in the file holders on the doors.

Halfway down the hall, the name on one chart glued her to the spot.

Lily Kimble.

"Lily…" she whispered, looking into the window. Then she nervously looked around the hallway. What nurses were around were busy and what other families were there were too preoccupied by their own sorrow.

Leyla turned the door knob and let her self in.

The beeps and clicks of the life support machines surprised her. She didn’t expect it to be so loud. The curtain was neatly pulled around the bed.

Leyla, heart galloping even more, walked to the bed and pulled the curtain away.

"Oh my God," she said, her voice not even as loud as one breath.

She had never met her. But she had seen her on television and in the newspapers, had seen her photograph on case files.

So Leyla still could still recognize her. Despite the tubes in and out of her. Despite the awful hair, the dark brown roots almost four inches long, while the rest of it, barely below her shoulders, a brash yellowish color.

Despite the fact that she had all ten fingers, not nine.

Leyla reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. There was no response.

"Agent Starkweather," she whispered.

Reyes snapped on the lights and looked around.

Nothing but a couch, a coffee table, an entertainment center, a piano and neatly stacked boxes lined up along the wall.

When Starkweather first vanished, Mulder, out of his own pocket, had been paying the rent on the tiny attic apartment she moved into after Ben’s death. However, before he disappeared to search for her, Mulder, because according to Starkweather’s most current will, gave Mulder power of attorney over her finances if she was ever incapacitated or missing in action, set up a monthly bank draft on her savings account to her land lady’s checking account. A heavily inflated savings account thanks to the generous inheritances from her father and husband. Ben did not have time to change his will before he died. She literally had told him she wanted a divorce the night before his death.

After Mulder made sure that Starkweather would still have a small place to call her own when she returned, he moved the power of attorney from his hands, to Skinner’s.

As time went on, as it became more and more apparent that Starkweather and Mulder’s disappearances were permanent, everyone knew that realistically they should go through Starkweather’s things, keep what was sentimentally dear and dispose the rest to charity. Then release the bank draft to the savings so that the land lady could rent the space out to someone that was actually going to be physically living there.

Reyes, Doggett and Skinner were all guilty of making excuses why they didn’t do so. And then Skinner had to hide out for several months, so the bank draft couldn’t be removed anyway. Not without his authorization. Besides, the land lady was not complaining. For her, it was the perfect arrangement. An absent tenant who always paid on time.

Plus, it was not just Starkweather’s things that were kept here now. Many of Scully and Mulder’s possessions found their way into this small loft as well.

Except for the fish tank. Reyes claimed that. Unfortunately, Caesar had eaten many of the fish, which was another reason why she was glad to be rid of him.

Only Reyes had the keys to the apartment and that key was a spare. The main key was filed away in the evidence room. Her car and house keys, speckled with blood, had been sent to Doggett as a warning. Along with her FBI badge, gun and her hair. Twisted into a neat braid and stuffed into a box.

Reyes shuddered, remembering that awful day, trying to fight Bravo off of her as her apartment burned around her.

She closed her eyes to will the bad memories away. To open herself and her mind. To be receptive to whatever energy coursing through this place.

She came here tonight because she wanted to be close to Starkweather.

Opening her eyes, she looked around. Noticing that one of the boxes was open, she walked to it, not feeling like a snoop at all. She was not a snoop. She was a federal agent investigating the disappearance of a fellow federal agent. She was gathering information.

The box was full of CDs and audio cassettes. Music. Starkweather loved music. And she could play the piano and the guitar and she could sing…

Reyes rifled through the CDs and tapes. Some tapes and CDs so worn that the tape cases were cracked and the CD covers faded. Some of the CDs still in the cellophane wrapping. But there were mostly a lot of mixed tapes and burned CDs. Definitely eclectic tastes. Tori Amos. Metallica. Green Day. Beethoven. Aerosmith. Kid Rock. Dave Matthews Band. REM. Filter. Godsmack. Rob Zombie. Ozzy Osbourne. Mozart. Sheryl Crowe. Creed. Eminem. Nine Inch Nails. Sarah McLachlin. Tantric. Slipknot. The Beatles. Debussy. Alanis Morissette. Chopin. Elvis. The soundtrack to the first ‘Lord of the Rings’ movie.

Reyes put the CDs down and reached in again, closing her eyes. Felt her fingers close on a slender CD jewel case…

::Talk to me Jerilyn…::

She pulled the CD case out.

::Tell me where you are…::

She opened her eyes and felt her throat tighten when she recognized Doggett’s chicken starch handwriting on the cover.

"Not So Loud and Angry."

She pressed the CD case between her two hands. Then she walked over to the small entertainment center pressed up against the wall and lifted the quilt covering it. She blew the dust off the television set and CD player then checked to see if she needed to plug in the CD player and speakers. When she discovered that she didn’t have to, she turned it on and slipped the CD in, turning the volume down a bit so not to wake up the neighbors. Then she hit the shuffle button. Moved towards the nice leather couch covered with plastic tarp.

A soft snaffle of drums and a lonely saxophone caressed the guitar easing the melody along. Reyes sat down on the couch’s arm just as the singing began.

"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head
Slip into my lover's hands
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now
And sleep I would inside your mouth

Don't be us too shy
Knowing it's no big surprise
That I will wait for you
I will wait for no one but you…"

::This is it… this is the song in the bar we heard… the song that made John almost cry…:: she slid off the arm of the couch and sat on the floor, arms around legs, head against couch, wet eyes looking up at the ceiling.

Reyes was tired of tears constantly filling up her eyes, but she couldn’t help it. Dammit, she just dumped the best man she had ever dated tonight. And she missed her friends, not just Jerilyn but Dana too. She was entitled to be an emotional wreck. "Look please lover lay down
Spend this time with me
Together share this smile
Lover lay down

Walk with me, walk with you
Hold my hand your hands
So much we have dreamed
And you were so much younger
Hard to explain that we are stronger

A million reasons life to deny
Let's toss them away
See you and me we
Lay down look see
She and he
By my lover's side
Together share this smile
Each other's tears to cry
Together share this smile
Lover lay down

Oh please
Look please lover lay down
Oh please lover lay down
And you weep
Lover lay down
Cause it's over
Lover lay down
Say lover, say lover, say lover, say lover, say lover

Could I love you
Could you love me

Could I love you
Could you love me

Could I love you
Could you love me

Could I love you
Could you love me Darling it's
All the same
All the same
All the same
All the same
'Til we dance away…"

Reyes wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand and stood up. Wandered around Starkweather’s apartment until she found a blanket. Then she threw off the plastic covering the sofa and curled up on it, kicking off her shoes.

"Chasing me all around
Leading me all around
Leading me all around in circles…
Say..."

Reyes closed her eyes and tried to open her mind.

::Come on Jerilyn…:: she pleaded as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

I will wait for no one but you…

::Show me where you are…::

Reyes battled sleep, but sleep was the victor in this round.

Their house was an eyesore against the lavish jade green rainforest behind it.

Uneven planks of dung-brown wood hammered haphazardly in place. And a sagging roof made out of thatch, as if they were thrust back into the days of peasantry in the Ye Merry Olde England circa Late Elizabethan Era. The entire building screamed fire risk.

The building kitty-corner from their "house", "La Clínica", wasn’t much better but it was the only building that had a real floor. Granted, a concrete floor that was slightly uneven, but more sanitary than the dirt floor everyone else had.

He sighed heavily as he made his way up the dirt path to his "home." Today had not been a good day. Extremely unproductive. It would have been a complete loss if he hadn’t gotten the letter he had in the back pocket of his worn out khakis pants. He tried to wear shorts but since his legs hadn’t seen the light of day in years, the first day, the sun viciously burned the pale flesh and he was a moaning mess for about two, three days.

He thought she was going to kill him.

Another load on his mind, another burden.

::She shouldn’t be here:: he thought as he neared the shack. ::I should have never brought her here. I should have never involved her.::

The house was dark. For a minute he thought maybe she was working late in the clinic, as she often did, but realized that she must be home because the clinic was equally dark.

She slept a lot lately. That worried him. Granted, she kept long hours at the clinic, the queue of sick kids, crippled men and women pregnant-one-too-many-times was overwhelming.

But still…

The door was an old blanket hung from the top of the door frame. He pulled it aside and fumbled blindly in the dark towards the general direction of the table.

There was a battery operated camping lantern on the lopsided table that they used sparingly. They had candles and a kerosene lamp but the worm-eaten wooden walls and the thatch roof made them eschew all forms of fire inside their humble home.

Besides, on his last trip to San Cristobal, he got picked up a huge supply of batteries, along with some other luxuries Americans mistakenly call necessities. So as far as supplies went, they were set for a little while.

Besides, the next time he would need to make a supply run to the nearest major city, his appearance would probably be altered further. The beard he sported already changed his looks drastically as well as his longer hair which the harsh sun had lightened plus due to his new life style; he had a better body now than he did twenty years ago.

So much for that Deputy Mayor Desk Job Belly.

And it was thoughtful of Alpha, the little conniving bitch, to heal him of the side effects caused by his repeated exposure to the Black Oil. No more hallucinations. Joy to the world. All the boys and girls.

Once the little lantern began to glow, he turned around and looked down at the bed against the side of the wall.

When they were presented their one room shack, he had commented that it was a lot cozier than his old apartment. There was a table, no chairs, and two beds. Actually, to be accurate, a sagging mattress on top of a dubious box spring, no bed frame, just lying on the ground against one wall and across the room, an old Army cot with layers of blankets used as a mattress pushed plumb against the other wall.

Behind the table was a set of clumsily constructed shelves. One set of shelves, teetering less precariously than the other, held their food, jugs of clean drinking water, dishes and other supplies. The other shelves eventually gained books, boxes, rubbings and, miracle of miracle, a small battery operated radio. They didn’t use it often. Batteries were a precious commodity despite the huge store he had bought last time. Still, they turned it in one in a blue moon, fussing with the dial in hopes of catching an English speaking station. Hopes for information. Hopes for entertainment. Hopes for a commercial even, so starved for North American culture they were.

Then in the very corner of the room were two chests. The bigger one held what clothes they possessed. The other smaller one was padlocked shut. He kept the key on a string around his neck. Over the smaller locked chest was a brightly woven rug one of the indigenous women had given them and on top of the chest was some Mayan artifacts that he had discovered on their last dig. Fun little pieces. Museum quality pieces actually.

Like either one of them were going to run to a museum to offer them up to them anytime soon.

He walked over to the bed she was laying on, the bed made from the sagging mattress and questionable box spring. He had no idea where those modern things came from and didn’t care.

Sitting next to her, he took one of the flowers he had gathered during one of his many frustrated walks in the rainforest today, and slid the soft petals down her softer face.

She brushed his hand away, so he did it again, this time across her nose. Her eyes flew open, startled out of sleep.

He grinned at her. "Hi," he offered her the small bouquet of bromeliads and orchids he had found, both an impossible shade of pink, bright and electric. The bromeliads spiky like a sea urchin and the orchids bowing their heads as they emitted their exotic perfume.

She took the flowers into her rough hands. "Busy day?" she quipped, burying her nose in the blossoms.

"Last time I bring you anything." He pushed her hair, tamed by the heartless sun to her natural strawberry blond, out of her face. She felt warm. But then, everything in the tropics felt warm. "You feel alright?"

"I’m fine."

"You remember what "fine" stands for right?" He reached into his back pocket and pulled the letter out. "The day wasn’t a total loss."

She rolled over to her side and propped herself up on her elbow. "What is it?"

"It’s from Azucena," he said, unfolding it.

"Azucena?" she said, sitting up now. "What’s so important that she took the risk of writing us?" She put the flowers down on the bed.

"Gibson," he said simply.

"She’s bringing him here?" she said snatching the letter out of his hand. The letter was addressed to an imaginary relative who lived in San Cristobal. She read the letter quickly, her eyebrows arching as she spotted the code words they had devised before their friend Manny Ibarra and his brothers along with the shady ally, Alpha, Starkweather’s half-sister, arranged for their escape from New Mexico to this pretty slice of hell. "I wonder what could have possibly happened."

He scooped up the bouquet gently. "We’ll find out when Azucena and Gibson get here," he said, getting up to turn the lantern off again. As he walked he said "That letter was dated three weeks ago." He filled a small earthen jug with water, dirty rain water, not the precious clean drinking water, and then placed the flowers inside. He stood back to admire his work. "Hey Scully, if this fugitive thing doesn’t work out, do you think I could make it as a florist?"

"Mulder."

"If all went well, they should be here by tomorrow or the next day."

"If all went well," Scully said ominously as it became dark again.

Mulder didn’t speak until he was lying back down on the mattress, spooning Scully’s small body. "Remember Scully. She’s a traveling doctor. With all the shitty little rural communities she goes to, it’s very possible that she may be delayed. Not detained."

"I’ll believe they’re okay," she said haughtily "when I see them both standing in front of me."

He moved her hair so he could kiss her neck. "You never change," he whispered.

She didn’t respond.

Holding her close to him, he breathed into her ear "Scully, are you alright?

She had fallen back asleep.

Despite his pounding head, Doggett discovered that he couldn’t settle down. He tried going to sleep but closing his eyes did not close his brain down.

Getting out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom, dry swallowed two Excedrin tablets and walked into the living room.

After searching for the remote, he settled down his couch, clicking the television on, hoping for some mindless distraction to fall asleep to. Nothing was mind-numbing enough, not even PBS.

Besides, he wasn’t even looking at the TV. He was looking at ‘the shrine.’

::Alright, so I miss her. And I’m having fucked up dreams about her right now. Big deal. Why does that make me such a bad guy? She was important to me… still is. I wish… I wish a lot of things. I guess. I mean, Starkweather’s not the only one I want back. I wish Mul-duh and Dana could come back. And William. And my son. Luke would be… seventeen years old now.::

Ten years. Luke has been gone for ten years now. Gone longer than how old.

And Starkweather will be gone for a year in March.

And William would be two in March.

Doggett decided that he didn’t want to watch TV, he wanted a drink. Badly.

He turned the TV off, tossed the remote on the coffee table and with a groan he made his way to the kitchen.

As he opened the cabinet where the hard liquor was kept, he wondered if he should call Reyes to make sure she got home okay. It was late and she was upset and tired… and as he took out the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, he knew he was feeding himself a pile of shit. He didn’t want to call Reyes to make sure she got home safe. He wanted to call Reyes to ask her to come back. To stop from one more slipping through his fingers…

"So what about you and Reyes…you asked her to join you on the X-Files for a reason. Did you guys have something going?"

Oh hell, even snot-nosed, self-centered Starkweather saw that whatever it was between him and Reyes was completely and totally screwed up.

But somehow, she got him to admit it. Out loud.

"Yeah…" he admitted. "For a while…it was nice. I think it was fucked up as hell…but nice."

"Who’s healthy?" Starkweather said as she shrugged, finally not afraid to look at him.

Doggett nodded and took another gulp of his beer, "She was clingy, and I was usin’ her as a crutch, and she kept doin’ stupid stuff to get me to be her knight’n’ shinin’ armor. And I did—do love her. I think it mightta lasted for a while…" he took another nervous gulp of his beer. "Then Brad Follmer came back into the picture, and we just…stopped…"

"Reyes and Follmer?!" Starkweather guffawed.

"That’s news to you?" He said looking at her in surprise.

"You, Reyes and Scully are the only ones at the FBI who play with me, and we’re not exactly gossipers."

"Well…yeah…true…"

"Do you think you made a mistake when you asked Reyes to come?"

"No. She was good then. And she’s been good for the X-Files. Do you think you made a mistake when you married Ben?"

"No…he was my soul mate. He just didn’t have enough common sense to trust me. Barbara—is she your soul mate?"

"What the hell good does a soul mate do if you’re not on friendly terms with ‘em?"

"Good point."

"Think you’ll ever be happy with anyone again?"

Dave Matthews crooned over the jukebox, and in the dim light of the bar, they held their gaze.

"I think…I’m already happy with someone again." Doggett blurted out, and then immediately admonished himself, "I’m sorry…that was outta bounds…" he mumbled, ducking his head.

"You cannot quit me so quickly
There's no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love…

The Space Between
The tears we cry
Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more

The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain
But will I hold you again…"

"Doggett…" she said carefully, voice trembling, lifting his face so her eyes could meet hers again, "You didn’t say anything wrong…and…I think you know the rumors as well as I do. But I gotta watch my step if the X-Files Division is gonna stay put."

"These fickle, fuddled words confuse me
Like 'Will it rain today?'
Waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games we're playing

We're strange allies
With warring hearts
What wild-eyed beast you be

The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain

Will I hold you again?
Will I hold... "

"And you just buried your husband two months ago…" "Look at us spinning out in
The madness of a roller coaster
You know you went off like a devil
In a church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do, my love
Is hope we don't take this ship down

"The Space Between
Where you're smiling high
Is where you'll find me if I get to go

The Space Between
The bullets in our firefight
Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you

The rain that falls
Splash in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into...

The Space Between
Our wicked lies
is where we hope to keep safe from pain…"

"I know…" she whispered, inching closer to him now, bending underneath the booth to get her purse, unaware at first that his forehead was touching hers. When she realized this, she didn’t back away.

"Take my hand
'Cause we're walking out of here
Oh, right out of here
Love is all we need here

"Then why the hell aren’t I driving you home right now?"

"The Space Between
What's wrong and right
Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you

"You tell me…"

The Space Between
Your heart and mine
Is the space we'll fill with time
The Space Between..."

Then finally their lips touched. Apparently of its own volition, Doggett let his tongue explore her mouth, and she gasped in surprise, but welcoming the entrance. They wrapped their arms around each other, not breaking the contact or losing the intensity of the kiss. Her hands were racing up and down his back, raking through his hair, his caressing her face.

"What the hell did we just do?" Doggett panted, and they recoiled away from each other. Starkweather couldn’t even look at him.

"I think I better call a cab." She muttered as she bolted off the stool she was sitting on and pushed through the crowds to get out of the bar.

The freezing rain had evolved into light flakes and flurries began to scatter on the sidewalks and pavement. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and hit the instant-dial for a cab and gave them the address. She wrapped her arms around her and stood like that, rocking back and forth, but it wasn’t to keep warm.

Inside the bar, Doggett’s shoulders slumped for a second in defeat as she practically flew outside and he paled, "My God what the fuck did I just do?" he muttered.

"Doc!" Doggett yelled, scootching out of the booth and leaving a twenty, "Hey, Doc!" He shouted, running out into the street.

"Aw shit…" he said when he saw her waiting on the curb for the cab.

"Doc…look, I’m sorry about back there…I went over the line…" he started.

Silence.

"Honey…you gotta talk to me," he pleaded, "We’ve gotta work tomorrow. We’re going to Oregon. I wish I could take that back, but there’s nothin’ to do in Oregon but talk."

"It’s not like we aren’t involved because of some damn hang-ups like Moose and Squirrel," she said sucking in a deep breath, and turned to look up at him. "No matter how much I may have…liked that…I just buried my husband two months ago…and even if I hadn’t, we can’t do a goddamn thing. They’d use it against us…too much is at risk here."

"There’s always risks. And for what it’s worth…I’m ready for ‘em," he said softly forcing her gaze to meet his.

"That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a widow."

"Your marriage was dead long before he was, and you know that. Luke locked everyone away from me. Seems to me we’ve got two choices here. We can let the ghosts beat us down…or let them rest in peace. That’s all we want for our dead isn’t it?"

"What the hell are we going to do?" She took his hand in hers for strength.

"We’re adults, we can handle this." Doggett reminded her, putting his arms around her.

"Handle what?" she said, leaning into him, "sneaking around or trying not to be too obvious at work?"

Then he engulfed her in a more-than-companionable embrace and tenderly kissed her again, soft as velvet this time that left no promises for anything more than an affirmation.

"This is okay, isn’t it?" He asked, breaking away, running his fingers through her hair as she caressed his face, and wiped her lipstick smudge from his lips.

"It’s just going to take me time to get used to it."

"Ben’s not going to come out and jump at us from the shadows."

"In our line of work…don’t be so sure…"

He chuckled and put an arm around her, "You can be so God damn stubborn."

"Pot meet kettle…" she purred. "Can you drive me home?"

"What about your cab?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I’m sure some drunk will need a ride home."

He shook his head. "C’mon," he said, breaking the embrace but keeping his arm around her shoulders. As they walked to the parking lot, Starkweather suddenly began waving like a beauty queen, elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"Waving for those bastards who keep taking pictures of us together," she said pleasantly through clenched teeth.

Doggett only shook his head, unable to come up with an appropriate response. He gently closed the door after her once she clumsily climbed instead, muttering curses under her breath about how trucks were not friendly to short people. Once Doggett started the truck, Starkweather looked at him and said bluntly "Your place is closer than mine."

Doggett kept both hands on the steering wheel. Closing his eyes he said quietly "Don’t tempt me, Starkweather" as she undid the seatbelt she had just buckled and scooted over to him.

"It’s not about that," she said. "I just don’t want to be by myself anymore than you do." She placed her hand over his. "You are the only one I trust anymore. You’re all I have left now. You and the X-Files."

Doggett opened his mouth to protest but something in her eyes made him swallow the thought before it even went pass his lips becoming word. Looking down at the small white hand resting on top of his gloved hand, he asked "Where are your gloves?"

"I lost them."

Doggett lifted his hand, bringing hers to his mouth. "We can’t keep doin’ this."

"I know."

"You come with me tonight… it ain’t gonna stay G-rated."

"Oh darn."

"I’m serious, Jerilyn."

"Uh-oh, first name," she smiled.

"Honey, please. Be serious for just a minute and listen to me." When he was sure he held her complete attention, he said "We can both get into so much trouble at the Bureau for this. We could be reprimanded. Separated. Transferred. Maybe even fired. And what’ll happen to the X-Files then? It’d be one thing if it was just my ass on the line. But it’s yours too."

"I know," she said, interlocking her fingers with his.

"I don’t want anything happening to you just because… just because..."

She lit up like a Christmas tree and quoted Sandra Bullock from ‘Miss Congeniality’ "You want me… you think I’m sexy… you wanna date me…"

"Quit it," he chuckled as she scooted even closer, putting an arm around his neck. Reaching up to push a lock of hair out of her eyes he said softly "Damn, you’re a pain in the ass."

She responded by planting a kiss on his throat as he held her close, stroking her hair. "You say the sweetest things." She tilted her head up. "Really. Makes me feel special. All warm and fuzzy." She reached for his face and lightly stroked it with her fingertips before leaning in and kissing him the same way he did while they were standing outside waiting for her cab, velvety soft, promising more.

As they held each other, lost in the promise, they were blissfully oblivious to the rest of the world.

Until a cop tapped on the truck window with his flashlight.

Both Doggett and Starkweather jumped and Starkweather recoiled from him, sitting as far away as possible, creating a space between.

Doggett unrolled the truck’s window. "Yes Officer?" he asked sheepishly.

"License, registration and proof of insurance, please."

Doggett silently swore as Starkweather dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hand, obviously wishing she was somewhere else.

Doggett resisted the urge to shove the paperwork down the cop’s throat and politely handed it to him. He knew first hand how thankless a police officer’s job truly was. Especially a beat cop. But still… dammit, dammit, dammit.

The cop reviewed the license, registration and insurance card, and then looked at Doggett, then at Starkweather, arching his eyebrow at Starkweather’s youthful face. Starkweather bridled, knowing exactly what the cop was thinking and scowled at him. Doggett prayed she could hold her temper for at least five minutes, long enough for him to sweet-talk the cop and make him go away.

"I’m going to assume," the cop said "That you’re both old enough to not need me to contact your parents."

Starkweather’s face suddenly became scarlet, as if she was indeed a guilty teenager caught making out like the cop initially implied. Doggett felt his own face getting hot. "Yes sir," he muttered. "You’re assumin’ correctly."

"How much," the cop looked over at the bar next to the parking lot "Have you had to drink this evening?"

"Just one beer, sir" Doggett said truthfully, hoping to God the cop wouldn’t subject him to the sobriety test. Not because he thought he couldn’t pass it. Because the entire process would be even more humiliating than what it was right now. And he couldn’t recite the alphabet backwards even when he was sober.

"Miss?" the cop looked at Starkweather.

She summoned up every ounce of patience she possessed to try to remain civil. "I didn’t even finish mine…. Sir," she added through gritted teeth.

That seemed good enough for him. "I’m going to let you off with a warning Mr. Doggett," he said, mispronouncing Doggett. "Next time, you and the little lady find a motel room, alright?"

"Jerilyn," he hissed at her just as Starkweather opened her mouth, "don’t." To the cop he said politely "Thank you sir."

"Drive careful," the cop said as he walked away.

Doggett rolled his window up furiously as Starkweather pounded his dash with her fist. "Hey, careful!" he said. "I finally got all the dents on the outside taken care of. Don’t add any in here!"

"God-fucking-dammit!!"

Doggett leaned his head back on the seat. "That was just stupid."

"I feel stupid," she muttered. "Like I was sixteen again and my dad walked in on me and my first boyfriend," she said as Doggett put the truck in drive and started to pull out into the street. "And that wasn’t a pretty sight, let me tell you."

"I can imagine."

"Yeah."

"Am I taking you home then?"

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Maybe that was our reality check."

"No!"

"Doc-"

"No, dammit, Doggett. I understand the risk. And I’m just as scared as you are about it. And you have more to lose than I do. I lose my job. Big fucking deal. I can get back into medicine and practice in the private sector. You lose everything you’ve been struggling towards for years. And personally I don’t think the AD’s seat is worth losing over a walking disaster like me-"

" Don’t say crap like that."

"It’s true. As for the X-Files… that’s Mulder’s baby. Between him and Scully, nothing is going to happen to that division, Mulder won’t allow for it. And if I get canned, I can still work for the X-Files in an unofficial capacity."

"But your life is still is danger. Those bastards are still after you. I’m still not real happy about you going with me to Oregon tomorrow. Especially if me in the picture increases your risk…"

"What am I supposed to do? Take my cat and move to Costa Rica and hope they don’t find me? Let others dictate how to lead my life? Fuck that. No. I’m not hiding. I’m not…" she looked away. "When we’re on the job, we will be perfectly responsible and perfectly professional. But we are NOT on their time now, this is our time. MY time. It’s MY life. And I am damn tired of other people trying to run it. Ben. Mulder. The Admiral. The Syndicate. The Bureau. All of them. I’m sick of it. And I’m sick of letting something good get away from me just because of the risk." When there was no answer, she reached over and grabbed his coat sleeve since both of his hands were on the steering wheel. "Please Papa John, don’t take me home. I know you’ve got the future ahead of you but I’ve got nothing there but boxes of bad memories."

"I thought you said as long as you had the good memories, you could handle the bad?"

Her hand slid up and down his coat sleeve. "I need to make new memories."

Their last night together. Before Belle Fleur.

Doggett drained the rest of his drink, wishing like hell the guilt could be drained out of him as well. He half-wondered if the whole Catholic Reconciliation bullshit actually brought absolution. But the very idea of announcing his sins to a priest, despite the comfort of hiding behind a screen, struck him as absurd. What the hell was a priest going to do to fix his broken soul? Say a few Hail Mary’s maybe? And what the hell was a Hail Mary? He thought it was a football play until he met Reyes who dutifully attended Catholic school until she went to the college of her choice, much to the dismay of her parents.

Reyes. He hated himself for hurting her. Fixing another neat whiskey, he uncomfortably looked the phone. It was so late now. She would not be happy with him if he called right now. As if she was happy with him right now.

Starkweather on the other hand, was a night owl and had usually woken him up. Or called just as he stepped into the shower…

"Stop it," he said out loud. Reyes was right. Starkweather’s ghost had destroyed their relationship’s second chance just as Luke’s had ruined the first go-around.

::Why the hell am I torturin’ m’self like this anyway?:: he thought, screwing the cap back onto the bottle of Jack. ::I just fucked up a decent relationship with a really great gal because I want a dream. And John, no matter how bad you want her to come home, no matter how real it feels, that she’s alive… you know she’s not. So grow up. And get over it. Or else you’re gonna die a lonely old man.::

But he still could not make himself to move towards the phone.

Finally feeling the whiskey numbing his bloodstream, he put the empty glass in the sink and was ready to try to go back to bed when a huge crash came from the garage.

Doggett jumped. "What the fuck," he said, going for his gun.

After all the shit that had happened in the past couple of years, he had learned that guns were your friends if you were going to investigate a strange noise in a dark room.

Barefoot and wearing only a t-shirt and sweat pants that had seen better days, Doggett crept out towards the garage. Gun out and safety off, he quickly flicked on the light.

A mangy alley cat was advancing on something hiding behind the toolbox that had been knocked over. Tools were scattered all over the floor.

"Oh hell," Doggett groaned, feeling stupid that a stray cat was the culprit. He stalked over to the side door leading outside and opening it wide. "You!" he yelled at the stray. "Get!" he stomped his foot.

The cat, the ugliest specimen of feline on the planet, hissed at Doggett and then bolted. Doggett shut the door tight and locked it. "Wonder how’n the hell that thing got in," he muttered, safetying the gun and placing it on the workbench as he knelt down to pick up his tools.

Just then, the most pathetic little meow squeaked out from behind the upside-down tool box.

"What…?" Doggett said out loud, setting the tools down, slowly lifting the tool box up. "Well, so you’re the one causin’ all the commotion," he said to a little black and white kitten cowering on the floor, her gold eyes filled with terror. Even her long whiskers shivered from cold and fear.

"Alright, alright, c’mere," Doggett crooned, slowly reaching for the kitten. The kitten’s eyes widened even more and her little body shook even more, paralyzed with fright.

"Spooky little thing, ain’t ya?" he said, scooping up the kitten then standing up.

The kitten meowed.

Doggett shook his head. Another memory attacked him.

"I thought you hated cats."

"I don’t HATE cats. Just YOUR cat."

"I bet you’re nicer than Caesar," he said to the kitten carefully stroking his little head with his first two fingers.

The kitten stopped trembling and began to purr.

Doggett shook his head.

Well, Reyes said that maybe they should get pets.

And he did say he wanted to get a cat.

He needed something low maintenance. Something that didn’t expect too much from him so he couldn’t disappoint them.

Someone who didn’t count on him to watch her back.

She didn’t wake up the first time her phone rang.

The second time however, scared her to death. She bolted straight up off the couch, confused and half-asleep, wondering where she was. Then, as her phone continued to whir, she gathered her wits about her and tried to wake up more. She reached for her phone and answered just before the caller was sent to voice mail. "Lo," she said hoarsely. Then she cleared her voice. "This is Monica Reyes."

"Agent Reyes, this is Leyla Harrison. I’m so sorry to call so late."

Reyes squinted at her Indi-glo watch. "You mean call so early," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Agent Reyes, I didn’t know who else to call but I need your help."

Her trembling voice woke Reyes up completely. "Leyla, what’s going on?"

"How soon can you come to Quantico?"

"Quantico?"

"Please, Agent Reyes, I have something to show you. There’s no one else I can tell," Leyla said, holding the paperwork the fingerprint lab tech just handed her ten minutes ago. "I know I’ve sent you and Agent Doggett on a wild goose chase before and I’m so sorry, but this time… this time… please, Agent Reyes. I need you to believe me. I need you to trust me. This is important."

Reyes suddenly felt cold, the same cold she felt when she dreamed about the lake. She also felt the same sense of peace. "I’m on my way," she said, throwing the quilt off of her. "Don’t go anywhere."

::Jerilyn, I’m coming…:: she thought as she hurried out the door.

As the dim sun’s rays warmed his bedroom walls, lightening the paint color from the normal off-white to a creamy buttery yellow, it also warmed his face, making him open his eyes, seeing the new day at hand.

Then he realized his face wasn’t the only thing warm, his entire body was. And it wasn’t just warm, but stifling hot.

Because all the covers and sheets and extra blankets were piled upon him.

Every other man in the world complained about freezing to death because the woman stole the covers. He was the only one complaining about roasting to death because she kicked the covers off and they ended up all on top of him, in a heap.

Trying to sort out the blanket situation, he looked over at the culprit, still, amazingly enough sound asleep, on her side, back to him. Her long hair, yellow as the dawn’s early light, fanned out on the pillow and mattress.

Admiring the way the sun reflected off the unnatural yellow hue of her hair, the curve of her waist, the swell of hip and how the T-shirt he gave her when she complained of being cold had ridden up just a bit in her sleep, revealing a sliver of thigh and ass, he thought, ::This is a dream. This isn’t real.::

Then he decided ::Well, might as well enjoy the dream.::

He sat up a bit and threw the sheets, blankets and covers back over her. Surprisingly enough, she stayed asleep. Normally that slight movement would have woken her up.

He took advantage of her sleep to think and try to sort out this latest dilemma, this predicament. The whole situation unnerved him, Mr. Toe-the-Line, Mr. Rulebook, Mr. Straight-and-Narrow himself.

She was his partner.

This was strictly against Bureau guidelines.

This was against society’s guidelines too. Her husband wasn’t even cold. She was in denial. Denial that Ben’s death affected her. Of course it affected her but God forbid she reveals that softer side of her complex personality. The vulnerable side her bluff and bluster protected.

If she hadn’t broken down that night in the bar after Mulder and she came back from France, he would have seriously been concerned about possible deterioration of her mentality and her humanity.

And he had taken her home.

And he felt… he didn’t know how to feel. Would she be here right now if Ben was alive? If they were proceeding with divorce instead of funeral arrangements? He wasn’t sure. He had told Jerilyn that her marriage was dead before Ben was and it was true…

… but what if there was a chance, the slightest chance that Ben and Jerilyn could have worked things out? Was it his fault they fell apart this quickly?

After all, Ben’s jealousy was not totally unjustified.

But all they did was kiss. Kissed a few times while she was still a married woman and never again until Ben had been safely in the ground. Ben on the other hand, ran around on Jerilyn with his secretary.

Who was actually sent from the Syndicate in attempts to break up Ben and Jerilyn’s marriage, but shouldn’t have Ben said no, if he truly loved her?

God, he didn’t know. He just remembered how betrayed he felt when he found Barb in another man’s arms when he came home early. Unexpectedly early. Both Ben and Jerilyn had the luxury of suspected the other of infidelity so for Jerilyn, when she learned the bitter truth about Ben producing heat between the sheets with Noelle… Felitza… whatever her name was… she at least had some preparation, had some time to harden her heart. With Barb, it defied every cliché…. Out of the blue, slap in the face, rug pulled out from underneath. And then the nightmare known as divorce made the clichés seem even more banal.

So Starkweather was spared what he had endured. The time consuming nightmarish search for a lawyer who would prevent the ex-to-be from leaving him with nothing. Then the nagging worry on how to pay the lawyer’s highway robbery fees and wondering if it would be less expensive just to let the ex have everything. Also, the humiliation of standing in front of Justice personified draped in black robes and explaining why the vows they made to God and the state in front of all their friends and loved ones could no longer be honored. And why money, house and other material possessions they had accumulated over their time together should be divided in a certain way.

And finally, the newness of reliving failure again and again when explaining the divorce to friends and family. Or actually stating your marital status to strangers when they ask for whatever reason.

She was spared that. She just had to bury him instead. Much better.

And took that ache and locked up deep inside her, along with the unexpected loss of her father, not her biological father, an evil man who had overseen her creation for his purposes. But the man who took her in, the one she called "Daddy" and the one who died tragically in the Pentagon Attack on September 11. And she dealt with the dual loss the best way she knew how. She still wasn’t talking about it much. And he didn’t push. There was no finite timeline how long it would be until she felt completely well, completely healed and completely free. To push her right now would be like trying to spread the delicate petals of a rose per manum to make it bloom faster. All that would accomplish would be destruction.

On the other side, as she liked to remind him, she was not a child. She did not need to be coddled like a little girl; she was almost thirty years old.

She was almost thirty, not forty. Not even remotely close to forty which was another issue he had been grappling with. He had never dated a woman significantly younger than him, except for Reyes. And Reyes, well, was that really dating? Even now, he wasn’t sure. It was nice… fucked up beyond belief… but nice. Comforting. She was always there. Despite Follmer. Until New Orleans.

So since Reyes was so off-and-on, with him retreating whenever Follmer crooked his little finger at her, their age difference wasn’t an issue. Although their age span was just a large as the one between himself and Starkweather. Twelve years.

As if he didn’t already feel like a lecherous old man.

That was the question running through his mind over and over and over. The one that concerned him more about FBI protocol and society’s standards: Did I take advantage of her? Am I taking advantage of her?

It didn’t feel like it at first last night, at the Handle Bar, that annoying song by Dave Matthews Band he detested playing in the background, her fingers running through his hair while kissing.

But the cop reprimanding them for Overt Public Display of Affection, aka "Get A Room" Bust, made him wonder again, especially when she reached for him and begged him not to take her back to her apartment. Starkweather did not beg.

Hell, it was nice though. And it wasn’t as if they just went straight to the bedroom and that was it. They sat, like adults, and analyzed the case that had fallen into Reyes’ lap and started laying plans down for Oregon. They bounced ideas and theories off of each other. He was sprawled out on his couch, jacket and tie off, socked feet on the coffee table. She was curled up in his armchair, murderous heels off, her feet on his coffee table as well. She got up once to make a scathing phone call to Mulder, warning him not to try and tag along to Oregon.

"Mulder, do us all a favor, and don’t make any plans to go to Belle Fleur till this investigation is finished," she had snapped at him, pacing back and forth in Doggett’s living room, rubbing her stiff neck with one hand as she held her cell phone to her ear with the other.

"Starkweather what ever makes you think I’ll tag along?"

Starkweather had looked at Doggett, rolled her eyes. And then shook her phone as if she wished it was Mulder she was shaking. Then she put the phone back to her ear and said pleasantly, "Because you live for making my life more difficult. If you come with, Scully’s gonna spend all day in the office sulking, and that means double work for me. Look, I’m serious this time. A civilian can’t just join in on interrogations and investigations and fieldwork. You have absolutely no kind of protection if things get outta hand."

"So what else is new? Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can’t just twiddle my thumbs…I gotta…"

"Fuck you, Mulder. Who says I’m looking out for you?! I’m worried about ME here. If Kersh is gonna see that office as more than just a vehicle for your personal crusade, then you can’t be a part of it anymore. I need this job, Mulder—now more than ever. I gotta have something to put my back up against. Samantha was my sister as much as she was yours. I’m prepared to die before I let anything happen to Boo. Doggett and Reyes have proven already that they’re willing to make that sacrifice for Will with me, so please…" she released a ragged frustrated sigh, "just let this one go."

"He’s not gonna," Doggett had said quietly. Starkweather had glared at him and put her finger to her lips, telling him to hush.

"Jerilyn," Mulder insisted quietly, "this isn’t about the X-Files, or any damn personal crusade. It’s about protecting my family."

"If a restraining order is what it takes to keep you away from that town, then I’ll get one. I’m not above shooting you to stop you from doing something this astronomically stupid," she seethed. "I don’t give a rat’s ass about what happens to you out there, but I’ll be damned if I let you put Scully through hell again or leave that little boy. Believe me Mulder the best way you can protect your family is by staying with them in D.C."

"What about you?"

"I can take care of myself." Starkweather had shaken her head; this was exactly what she had been bitching about earlier that night in Doggett’s truck.

"You don’t know what you’re up against."

"Neither do you. Please…just don’t tag along, ok?"

"I’ll think about it." Mulder finally said and hung up.

And she had looked and Doggett and said with a shrug. "That went well."

And they started talking about the X-Files; how it managed to ensnare them even though neither one of them believe three-fourths of the shit that wound up in their In Box. Then eventually, the conversation strayed from work, to other topics. He asked her if she wanted to go to bed when she finally yawned and she had arched an eyebrow and made some smart assed comment at his expense. But got up from her chair, moved over to the couch, plunked herself down by his side, curled up next to him and rested her head against his chest and as he plucked hair pins out of her bun, he asked her if he wanted her to put in a movie or see if there was something good on HBO or Showtime. She had said no, the quiet was nice and had snaked her arm around his waist, closing her eyes.

When he pulled the last hairpin out of her hair, she shook her head so her hair would tumble down and he started running his fingers through the long slippery locks and she started kissing him and started to undo the buttons on his dress shirt the same time he started fumbling with the tiny buttons on her blouse. And, like the other few times they had crossed the line from platonic to intimate, they didn’t make it back to his bedroom. This time, they remained on his couch for the longest time, locked together. Even after it was all said and done, with their clothes surrounding the couch, he didn’t want to let her go.

Laying there in the morning’s light, he felt his chest tighten as he realized there was one more fear, one that outweighed everything else.

Someone was gunning for her. For her and Mulder. And William. Just as he didn’t want Starkweather to go through the agony of divorce, he definitely didn’t want Dana to experience the hell of burying your own child. And then, the risk to Mulder on top of that… the bullets killing Ben Starkweather were meant for Mulder.

And Starkweather…

Selfishly, he realized he still didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to anything to happen to Mulder, Dana and Boo… but it was Starkweather that captivated him and it was Starkweather they wanted captured and he didn’t know how to deal with that.

That one day, this could all be a memory.

To reassure himself, he reached over and stroked her upper arm with the back of his hand. That slight touch woke her up and she rolled over to her back, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Then she rolled over to her side, facing him.

"Mornin’ Doc," he said.

"Hi," she smiled, snuggling down under the blankets.

He draped an arm over her, drawing her closer. "We should probably get up soon."

"Why?" she asked sleepily. "It’s early."

"Yeah, but I gotta get you home and we both need to pack for Oregon."

"Oregon hasn’t been approved yet," she reminded him. "We still got to run that by Heil Herr Kersh."

"He’ll approve it," Doggett said. "But we’ll probably end up leaving tomorrow instead of today. And I don’t know about you, but I got a pile of shit I got to get done today."

"Yeah. And I should probably go feed Caesar before he destroys the place."

"Do you want anything to eat before I bring you home?" He was touching her face now, running his hand down her cheek, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb and then repeating. "Or drive through something?"

"No, I’ll just get some coffee when I get to the office." She yawned and stretched a little. "But I may jump in the shower quick here, to save time."

When she stretched, the covers had fallen away from her. Doggett then noticed what shirt he had given her last night and grinned.

"What?"

"Look what you’re wearing, Airman."

Starkweather, retired from the Air Force, looked down at the enormous gray t-shirt with the word "MARINES" stenciled across it. She snorted, then, coyly, looked up at Doggett, fluttering her eyelashes dramatically at him. "Why… I can’t wear this," she protested with a smirk as she reached out for his shoulder, pulling him towards her as she rolled over to her back again.

"No, you can’t," Doggett said, settling himself into a position comfortable for himself as well as her. Another albeit minor concern, was that she was the smallest, in every sense of the word, height and weight, woman he had ever been with. He worried sometimes he was going to hurt her.

One of her hands was stroking the small of his back, the other the back of his neck. "It would be inappropriate."

"Very," he said, his lips grazing hers, "inappropriate. Can’t have that, can we?" he said he reached down for the hem of the shirt and began to tug on it, pulling it off of her.

"Oh heaven forbid," she tried to say after the shirt went over her head, but he was already kissing her so she just wrapped her arms and legs around him and forgot about the world outside the door.

Until the world rang the doorbell.

Doggett and Starkweather both jumped then froze. "It’s five-thirty in the fucking morning," Starkweather whispered, her heart beginning to pound harder than it was already, fear a more powerful adrenaline catalyst than desire. "Who the hell?" she said as she reached for Doggett’s handgun lying on the nightstand. A huge no-no when Luke was in the house, but now an even bigger yes with the X-Files looming over him while he lived by him self.

Her FBI issued weapon was lying on his dresser, neatly next to the small snub nosed Beretta she wore on an ankle holster.

"Hey, Doggett!" Mulder’s voice was muffled as he yelled outside the door. "I know you’re home, open up!" He rang the doorbell again.

"I’m gonna fucking kill him," Doggett muttered as he started to get out of bed.

"Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away," Starkweather whispered, putting the gun back down then reaching for the blankets.

As he pulled his boxers and a pair of sweatpants on, he looked over at her. "You of all people should know you can’t ignore Mulder."

Sure enough, the doorbell rang again. "Doggett, come on, this is important. Don’t make me pick your lock."

"Oh great," Doggett bitched. "Hold on!" he yelled. To Starkweather, he said "Stay here."

"Oh gee and here I was going to go make waffles for us all," she snapped at him, swaddled in the sheets like an Indian.

Doggett shut the door behind him as he rushed to the front door. He opened it just in time to see Mulder pull his credit card out of his wallet, ready to really pick his locks.

"Mulder, what’n the hell is so damn important that it couldn’t wait until later on this morning?"

"Starkweather," Mulder said simply.

Doggett leaned on the door frame. "What ‘bout her?"

"I think she should stay home. Stay here in DC."

"What? I’m supposed to go to the Enchanted Forest by myself? Thanks."

"No," Mulder said seriously. "I’ll go with you. In her place."

"I don’t think Starkweather will appreciate being unofficially reassigned."

"Doggett, listen. You and I both know what we’re up against. Starkweather has no clue, plus, emotionally, she’s a wreck. Her father, Ben. The truth about her mother. It’s getting too much."

"Starkweather and I talked about this. She said she needs to work. She said if she sits at home all day with her cat, she’ll go nuts."

Meanwhile, Starkweather had gotten dressed and was listening to Mulder and Doggett’s exchange with her ear pressed against the door.

Just then, her cell phone, lying on the floor next to her shoes, began to ring.

Starkweather dove for it, hoping Mulder didn’t hear. "Hello," she whispered.

"Jerilyn? It’s Dana."

"Scully?" Starkweather’s brow furrowed in confusion as she continued to listen to Doggett and Mulder debate heatedly whether or not she should go with Doggett to Oregon. "What’s up?"

"Are you alright?"

"Alright?" ::OH FUCK:: she thought, squeezing her eyes tight. "Oh, Scully, I’m sorry, I totally forgot…" she whispered castigating herself for forgetting about the plans she had made with Scully to go for an early morning run today. "Where are you?" ::I blew her off I can not believe I blew her off. My God, I’m an asshole.::

"In my car," Scully lied, with her ear pressed against Starkweather’s apartment door. She could hear Caesar meowing, but that’s all. "I knocked on your door but you didn’t answer. So I went to get my phone and call."

"I’m sorry…" Starkweather felt like an inch high.

Scully smiled to herself, backing away from the door. She decided to be nice and let Starkweather off the hook. "You don’t sound like you feel very well anyway."

"Yeah, I do feel kind of lousy. I think I’m just overtired."

"We can do this again some other time, it’s no big deal," Scully said, turning away from the door and walking down the narrow flight of stairs. "Get some rest Agent Starkweather."

"Okay," Starkweather said lamely. "Bye."

Scully shook her head as she hung up. ::Three guesses where she’s at and the first two don’t count:: she thought as she went outside and walked towards her car.

She contemplated calling Mulder to collect on the bet they had on how long it would take Doggett and Starkweather to get together. Then she remembered she was still pissed off at him. Well, not really, she decided as she reached up to touch the necklace she was wearing today instead of her usual gold cross. A tiny anchor charm on a silver chain. Mulder had attached a note to the gift box, begging for her forgiveness. Which he had already without asking, of course.

But she decided she was going to make him sweat a little longer. Little did she know that she would never get the chance to tell him her suspicions.

Meanwhile, Doggett was the one sweating and not Mulder. Doggett decided finally to just be rude. As he started to shut the door, he said, "Mul-duh, we’ll talk ‘bout this later. Right now, I just wanna go back to bed for another hour before having to start the day."

Mulder stopped Doggett from shutting the door. "Doggett, if you really give a damn about my sister, you will not let her go to Oregon."

"I give a damn ‘bout your sister," Doggett said. "But she’s not a child. I can’t tell her what to do. Jerilyn and I talked about this last night. Over and over. It was like beating my head against a brick wall. I told her she’s at risk. She’s fully aware of the risk. But she says she’s got a job to do and she’s gonna do it and no matter how unhappy that may make the both of us… we just have to deal that she’s gonna do what she’s gonna do. Short of hog-tying her and locking her in a closet, she’s going to Oregon."

"Well," Mulder said in the most arrogant tone of voice his monotone could produce "Then short of hog-tying me and locking me in a closet-"

"That can be arranged."

"I’ve gotten out of worse spots than being hog-tied and locked in a closet, although that does sound kind of kinky. So even with that obstacle thrown in my path, I will do what I have to do."

"Mulder, don’t you dare go to Oregon."

"Then talk Jerilyn out of going."

"I can’t! Don’t you think I haven’t tried?" When Mulder didn’t respond, Doggett asked him quietly "Do you really think I want her to go? Don’t you think, after the bullshit in Arizona, I’d rather have her stay here?"

Mulder nodded. "Maybe we should just hog-tie her."

"Mul-duh… I’m not gonna let anything happen to her."

"Neither am I," Mulder said as he turned to leave.

"Dammit," Doggett whispered and then yelled "You’re a civilian!!!"

But Mulder ignored him.

Doggett shut the door and went back into the bedroom to find Starkweather sitting on the bed, fully dressed and braiding her hair. "I heard everything," she said darkly.

"Honey," he said, sitting next to her. "He’s got a point."

"Not you too," she moaned.

"I’m not telling you what to do," Doggett said. "I’m just telling you like it is. It’s dangerous. Those same bastards who tried to kill you are gonna be swarming around Belle Fleur. I…I don’t like it that you’re going. But I can’t stop you either."

She looked up at him and said bluntly "Scully called me while you were arguing with Mulder."

"About what?"

"I blew her off. I forgot we were going to go running with her this morning so I made up this bullshit excuse and lied to her which she probably didn’t believe if she was smart." She finished braiding her hair and wound the tail of the braid into a thick knobby knot at the nape of her head, Fishing hairpins out of her pocket, dropping some on the floor, she asked "Is this what you want?"

"Is what what I want?"

"This?" she said as she forced hairpins into the knot of hair. "Sneaking around, lying, covering tracks…. For what?"

Doggett looked at the floor. Saw one of the hair pins she had dropped but he didn’t make a move to pick it up. "I dunno," he said. ::Because I’m in love with you, you stubborn little pain in the ass:: "I dunno."

Starkweather shook her head, "It’s always going to be like this, Doggett," her voice was quavering as if she was on the verge of tears. "We’re always going to have to worry who’s knocking on the door, who’s calling…"

"Aw, honey," Doggett said. "It’s not always going to be like this."

"Yes. It is." She clutched the comforter with both hands and looked up at the ceiling. "There is always going to be someone watching. Because of bullshit beyond my control, there is always going somebody keeping tabs. Remember what Charlie said in the first time we spoke to her at Waldenbrooks? ‘Spoiled brat, spoiled fricken brat. That's what Alex and Bravo always called you. The 'little brat.' 'Gotta go do surveillance on the little brat today.'’ Who else could those two people be but Alex Krycek and that bitch Bravo? And how else could all those pictures of us be taken and then sent to Ben? What happens if pictures are still being taken? Only this time they get sent to the Senior Staff when you apply for A.D.?"

"I don’t want it," Doggett said. "The A.D. spot. I don’t want it anymore."

She faced him. "You lie like a rug."

"Jerilyn," he said softly, cupping her face in his hand, looking her eyes, watching the amber irises start to swim in tears. "I don’t want it."

"Oh, so a basement office with no heat and no prestige suddenly became attractive to you?" She pulled away from him. "Even if you weren’t lying your ass off about being A.D. it wouldn’t matter. Because it’s never going to stop. It’s never going to get better. Mulder said that I wouldn’t be free until I learned the truth but the more I learn the worse it gets and I drag everyone I give a shit about down with me." She blinked her eyes in that weird fluttering way which prevented tears from falling. "Do you really want that? To constantly be looking over your shoulder? Throwing away an incredible opportunity. I mean, Jesus, Doggett. From the X-Files to Assistant Director of the FBI… and you’re perfect for the position. You have the background and the training and enough years at the Bureau now. With Skinner backing you, you’re in. Why throw that away?" When he still didn’t answer, she said "You’re lying if you say you don’t want it any more. You’re lying to me and for me… you’re turning into a liar because of me."

He still held her face in his hands. "I’m not lying about anything."

"Then why aren’t we telling anyone else what’s going on with us?"

Doggett slid his hands down her cheeks and throat. One hand rested on her small shoulder as the other one became to stroke her hair, smoothing back the strands that had escaped her braiding. "Checkmate," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she said faintly. "Checkmate. Game over," she got off the bed.

"Starkweather…"

"Listen to me," she said. "I’m not letting you destroy your career chances for me. It’s not happening. I know you believe you’re stuck in the X-Files forever but you’re not. Skinner told me you’re not. In fact he has warned me several times not to fuck around with you and make it seem like we’re more than friends because that could screw up your chances. I’m just don’t want you to see me as the last resort because you think what you want is gone. It’s not. I swear. The A.D.’s chair is waiting for you. And I can’t handle it if you lose it because of me."

Doggett got off the bed and walked to her. "And what about you?" he asked.

She looked at the floor. "I’ll be fine. I’ll have the X-Files."

"Is that all you want?"

She wanted to lie to him so bad she could taste the tang of deceit in her mouth. "No. But until we find Gibson Praise plus secure William’s safety and your position in the FBI, we… I can’t contemplate what I want." She looked up at him. "Right now, I have no future." She looked at the floor again. "We’re going to be late. We should get going," she turned away from him again and left the bedroom.

Just then the phone rang...

… but Doggett didn’t wake up for real until the tickling sensation against his nose became unbearable. Then he became aware of not just the phone ringing but the howl of a winter storm.

Opening his eyes, he batted at the little kitten’s tail that kept whapping him in the nose. "Hi kitty," he grumbled as he scooped the kitten up off his chest and set her down on the empty side of the bed. The kitten mewed a complaint as the phone continued to ring.

Sitting up, he glanced at the clock as he grabbed the phone. ::What the hell does Skinner want?:: he thought as he grabbed the phone right before it dumped the call into his voice mail. "John Doggett."

"Agent Doggett, its AD Skinner. I need you to come to my office as soon as you can this morning." Skinner peered out the window, watched the snow pelting the other federal buildings. "I know the weather’s a bitch this morning, but it’s important." Skinner sat back down at his desk and waited for Doggett’s answer. When he didn’t respond right away, Skinner said "Agent Doggett."

"I’m on my way," was the quiet answer.

"Drive careful," Skinner said, hanging up and dialing Reyes’ cell phone.

"Monica Reyes."

"Agent Reyes, its AD Skinner, where are you?"

"We’re to the DC city limits," Reyes said, looking over at Leyla, who was maneuvering her car through the increasingly dismal weather. Her knuckles grew whiter and whiter as she continued to clench the steering wheel. "It’s slow going, but we’ll be there. Did you call the hospital?"

"Yes, as we speak, we have federal agents surrounding Agent Starkweather’s room," Skinner said. "No one is getting in or out. Plus the attending physician is on his way." He paused for a moment. "So is Agent Doggett."

Reyes also missed a beat. "Good," she said. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Be careful," Skinner told her as well before hanging up. Then he got up again to watch the snow brewing outside. The skies looked harsh, desolate and stark, the weather absolutely miserable.

He snorted to himself as he realized the play on words he inadvertently made.

Starkweather.

Of course she would return in a storm.

Meanwhile…
January 14, 2003 Animaji, Chiapas
Sunrise…

Animaji was her least favorite village to visit. Only a few miles south of San Cristobal, it was also the least developed, the most war torn. Further down the way, the villages were poorer, yes, but the people seemed to have a "been there, done that" attitude and moved in accordance with sun and moon and stars and earth. Not exactly mystical, but definitely in tune with not just a higher power, but there own good common sense. What is politics and how can that help us feed our families, keep clothing on our backs? As long as the urban demon stayed away from their rainforests and lakes, there were not bothered by the affairs of the educated and civilized.

However, Animaji had suffered cruelly at the hands of the deforestation in the name of progress. Also dark rumors abounded that Animaji was a safe haven for the Zapatista rebels, which meant the Mexican military made numerous unwelcome appearances.

She wasn’t pro-Zapatista or did she sing the praises of the Mexican army. Both carried weapons, creating work for her. And she hated digging bullets out of people in such barren conditions.

Animaji was just as poor and backwards as the other villages. But they no longer had the rainforest and clear lakes to comfort them. Plus they had the added bad luck to be exposed to Western culture. America was not just a funny sounding word to them, but a hated symbol of opulence, arrogance and betrayal.

She couldn’t wait to leave.

God willing, she only had to spend one more day in here. As long as nothing too terrible happened, that is. No great medical tragedy.

The clinic was a joke, she harbored strong suspicions it had been a chicken coop in a former life. But it had beds and a table worthy enough to be an examination table and she was able to set up practice and vaccinate the children, check on the progress of the unending pregnancies and more or less try to halt the threat of epidemics that tended to ravage tropical regions.

This was her life.

And she loved it.

At first she had been afraid that she was going to be rejected because of her femininity. And true, many of the indigenous people had scowled at her, what right did an ‘ali’, trying to be an ‘ajq’ij’? Slowly, with the help of medicine, food and time, she had won them over.

And it helped that she was one of them.

Well, almost. Her ancestors were Aztec, not Mayan, but close enough.

She would have been exceptionally pretty if she didn’t work so hard. Her jet black hair was cropped short, almost boyishly. Her figure was also boyishly slender, breasts nonexistent. Her hands were rough and her bones seemed to jut out in some places. But she had full lips that often curved into generous smiles and lovely dark brown eyes.

This morning though, there was no smile but a frown as she regarded the empty bed across from her. She didn’t like it when he went off alone.

Then she sighed. He was, after all, almost seventeen.

Some kind soul from the village had left them a jug of water and a bowl of fruit. She did not take the water because she wasn’t sure if it was sterile, but she picked up a piece of fruit and went outside. And sighed again when she saw the boy sitting only a few feet away, with his cherished Walkman over his ears.

She walked up behind him and laid her rough hand on his shoulder. He jumped, pulled the headsets off and turned the Walkman off to conserve the precious batteries. "Morning," he said, his voice still undetermined whether it was going to be a tenor or a bass.

She held out the fruit to him, but he shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose. She sat down on the log next to him. "Alabanza," she said affectionately, "You knew you were going to scare me to death if I didn’t see you in your bed this morning." Her English was very good, almost accentless.

He shrugged like a typical teenager. "Sorry."

"Just be careful," she said, completely aware of his abilities and saw no reason to undermine them. "You stupid kid," she added affectionately.

He blushed, but not at her words but at her thoughts. He knew that she admired him and pitied him at the same time. And was quite fond of him in a maternal way he hadn’t felt since he first met Agent Scully.

"Sorry," he said. "I was up. Got a lot on my mind."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah…"

"Sometime else?"

"Yeah," he looked at the ground. "I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately." He liked talking to her. She didn’t push. In a way, it was a lot like being with Agents Scully and Mulder again. A balloon of excitement swelled in his belly. Despite the risk, he couldn’t wait to see them again.

"Do you miss him?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Kinda hard to miss somebody you don’t know." Irritated at the billows of sympathy radiating off of his new friend, he said bitterly "And don’t feel sorry for me. It’s better this way."

"Gibson," she said, keeping her voice soft, partially because she was a tender hearted soul and saw that this poor boy with unasked for gifts and a scarred head needed some gentleness in his life, and partially she didn’t want to risk anyone hearing her call him by his real name. "It doesn’t have to be that way. We can contact him. We can tell him. He is a powerful man. He can help you just as much as Mulder and Scully can, maybe more."

Gibson Praise shook his head. "He’s a good guy, Azucena. They’ll kill him if I come back." When Azucena said nothing, he said quietly, with the resolve of an child making his first mature decision, taking his first step into adulthood, "It’s better that he thinks I’m gone."

Dr. Azucena Cielo sighed. "I can not argue with that," she said needlessly. Seeing that he still looked worried, she said to him "I heard that the village of Kawak has a telephone now."

He looked at her in surprise. "That’s where we’re going next, isn’t it? After here"

She nodded. "It’s a half a day’s journey from here. If you would like, once we get there and if the telephone is working, I can call Manny in DC to check in and find out how everyone is doing."

"Is it dangerous?" he said fretfully. "To call?"

She smiled. "It will be alright. I will call his cellular phone." She looked around him and said "Big day ahead."

Gibson turned and saw women and children making their way towards the clinic. "Want me to help?" he asked sincerely, although there was a devilishly glint in his eyes.

Azucena smiled; glad to see his mood had lifted with the promise of a call to Washington DC. "Not too many miracles though," she told him in a conspirator’s whisper. "Or else you’ll put me out of a job." She stood up and waved to the first family, greeting them in colloquial Spanish with a few Mayan slang words thrown in. "Come on," she said to Gibson. "Work to do."

Gibson watched Azucena walked towards the ramshackle clinic. He knew she was not happy if she was not working.

And to his surprise, he liked it too. And wondered if he had what it took to maybe become a doctor himself…

… but he shook his head. He had been yanked out of school by the eighth grade. The last formal school he had was at the school of the deaf in Arizona. If high school wasn’t even a reality for him, then college was more than just a dream, more like a hallucination.

::But:: he thought, getting to his feet, walking towards the clinic ::I have my own kind of medicine. I don’t need a degree to make people well…::

He wondered why Alpha was always such a bitch about being a Healer.

He rather liked it.

"I dunno," Gibson mumbled as Lily Stratford maneuvered through traffic. "I kinda like it. Being able to heal people."

She gave him a disparaging look before reverting her focus back to the road but said nothing.

Gibson tried to look inside her mind but she immediately thought ::Don’t even try it buster. Keep your prying mind-reading eyes to yourself.::

He sighed. "I just wanted to know where we’re going."

Everything had happened so fast. First they were in the empty X-Files office, Agent Doggett rolling up Agent Mulder’s ‘I Want to Believe" poster, angrily demanding what the hell was going on. Then the sick realization as they watched AD Skinner enter an office full of Super Soldiers and alien replicants that Mulder and Scully were not out of the woods yet.

Then being stopped by a slender man with a slight Indian accent as Doggett and Reyes hustled Gibson out of the J. Edgar Hoover building. "I was sent here by Agent Carlos," he had said, "to get the boy."

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" Doggett had asked, hand firm on Gibson’s shoulder as Reyes reached back and unsnapped her gun holster.

Gibson had looked at the man with the straight black hair and swarthy skin. Regarding him, he told Doggett and Reyes. "It’s alright. He’s who he says he is. I’ll go with him."

"Gibson," Reyes tried to say but Gibson had interrupted her.

"Really, Agent Reyes. It’s okay. It’s cool. I’ll go with Agent Joshi. Go help Mulder and Scully."

That convinced them, since Agent Joshi did not give his name at first. Doggett nodded at him and had given him his business card "It’s got my cell number and my email on it. Holler if you need anything,’ he had said before looking at Joshi and saying "Anything happens to this kid your ass is grass."

"Duly noted," Joshi had said. "Mr. Praise, if you please…"

Gibson had followed Joshi down the stairwell to the parking garage. They entered the garage just as AD Skinner and Alpha were getting off the elevator. Alpha had instantly begun issuing orders. Skinner had been white as a ghost.

"Get him out of here," she had said jerking her head towards Skinner. "Out of the country. Today. I’ll take the kid."

It happened that quickly. No sooner had Alpha finished her sentence, Joshi escorted Skinner to a waiting SUV as Alpha grabbed Gibson’s upper arm and pulled him towards a black Pontiac Grand Am. Soon, they were zooming out of the garage, through downtown traffic and out on to the freeway.

And now they were on the way to the airport. With no idea what was happening with anyone. Mulder, Scully, Reyes, Doggett, Skinner, anybody.

He didn’t like it.

"Where are we going?" he said again, since she had made it quite clear she didn’t like him snooping in her mind.

"New Mexico," she finally said, reaching for her pack of Morleys. "We got to find Mulder before anyone else does. Before even the good guys do."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Mulder’s not in his right mind," she told him, pushing in the cigarette lighter. "He hasn’t been able to take the drugs that counteract against the Black Oil in his system. He left before I had a chance to… help him," she spat out. Turning to face him again, she said "We need your brainwaves, bud. We need your help in tracking him down. Right now, he’s a danger to himself. And Scully." She reached down and pulled out a black baseball cap and tossed it at him. "And put this on so nobody’s looking at your head."

Gibson stayed quiet the rest of the trip, even when Lily morphed into a benign looking older man, although he had been enormously impressed while watching the transformation. He stood by Alpha, very much looking like the typical sullen teenager as she bought tickets to Santa Fe and handed over the suitcases to be loaded onto the plan.

Once airborne, she told Gibson, "Rafael Ibarra and his fiancée Atzi Cielo will be meeting us at the airport. Then we’re heading out towards where we think Moose and Squirrel are going."

Gibson was going to ask what Moose and Squirrel were, but then realized that it was probably a code name for Mulder and Scully. For amusement, he pictured Scully in a blue aviator’s hat and Mulder saying "Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of this hat," and smiled.

Then the smile died. If New Mexico was anything like Arizona, then it was a huge span of nothing. And a lot of things can hide in nothing…

Where in the hell would they even start to look? Then he grinned. "I know where to look," he told Alpha.

"Yeah, me too," she said in her friendly old-man’s voice through gritted teeth. "The fucking idiots. That’s the first place they’re going to look."

A rare desert thunder storm rolled through the heavens, obscuring the bright stars and other secrets of the sky. The rain pelted the motel, making the windows rattle and the walls shake.

The sound of the rain made her sleepy, but still, she needed to completely clear her mind before she could succumb to the temptation of sleep. "What are you thinking?" When he didn’t answer right away, she said "Mulder?"

"I'm thinking ... I'm a guilty man. I've failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes."

"You don't believe that," she said softly while thinking ::If you do, then I gave everything up for nothing::

With a sigh, he said "I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you when we first met and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but ... in every other way," he turned to look at her, her smooth face, her big cerulean eyes, eyes like his son, their son. "I've failed."

"You don't believe that, either."

"I've been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net. You heard the man - the date's set. I can't change that."

"You wouldn't tell me. Not because you were afraid or broken .... but because you didn't want to accept defeat," she said stubbornly.

"Well, I was afraid of what knowing would do to you. I was afraid that it would crush your spirit," he said, afraid that it was already too late to stop that.

But there was a fierce determination in her eyes that had been absent for almost two years now, "Why would I accept defeat? Why would I accept it, if you won't? Mulder, you say that you've failed but you only fail if you give up. And I know you, you can't give up. It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's what made me follow you ... why I'd do it all over again."

"And look what it's gotten you.

"And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you've set out for. But you won't give up, even now." She seized his hand, clutching at it as if he would disappear again if she didn’t hold on. "You've always said that you want to believe. But believe in what Mulder? If this is the truth that you've been looking for then what is left to believe in?"

Thinking of everyone precious he had lost along the way, he said ‘I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us - greater than any alien force. And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking; it can give us the power to save ourselves."

"Then we believe the same thing." Finally, they believed in the same thing.

Scully kept eye contact with Mulder as he mulled over her words. Finally she gave him one of her rare smiles as his fingertips lightly grazed over the little golden cross she wore on a delicate chain around her neck then sliding his fingers up her neck to her lips, stroking them gently.

He got off the floor and lay down on the bed, facing her. Soon, their arms and legs became loosely tangled as they held each other for all its worth.

In a hoarse whisper, he told her "Maybe there's hope."

She didn’t respond, just closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him. Soon her breathing became deep and regular. Mulder smoothed a stray strand of hair away from her face. "Night, Scully," he whispered as he tried to sleep.

But his normal levels of paranoia had risen; every thing was making him unsure and wary. He didn’t know for sure if he and Scully were truly safe here. Plus he felt cold, goose bumps covered his body.

As the night wore on, he felt worse and worse. Around three AM, as Scully slept by his side he realized he wasn’t battling his fears but the virus that had been introduced into his system years and years ago via exposure to the Black Oil. A virus that had been tamed by a serum he had no access to once he severed his ties to the CIA during his search for Starkweather.

"Scully…" he tried to say, but his head throbbed so badly, he couldn’t get the words out. There was a weird fluttering sensation in his chest, right behind his sternum as if he couldn’t get enough air. The headache started near the crown of his head, squeezing his skull but then the pain traveled down to this face, closing off his sinuses, compressing his face into a mask of pain.

"Scully," he tried to say again but the ringing in his ears began and he couldn’t speak. He just closed his eyes and surrendered to the pain.

Scully’s eyes fluttered open. As sleep faded from her, hunger crept in. She realized she had not eaten anything since Doggett told her that Mulder had been condemned to die by lethal injection. Food seemed of little import then. Now, she was weak kneed and light headed with hunger. Rolling over on to her back, she reached into her pants pocket to see if she had change for the vending machine.

Then the reality of the situation slammed into her. She could not just walk out of this motel room and get a snack. She could not go to a grocery store and buy even a bottle of water. She could not go through a drive-through.

Her face was going to be added to the list of fugitives the FBI diligently tracked.

Her stomach felt like it had just plunged into a pit of molten lava. Fugitives. On the run. Evading the authorities.

Her childish side railed ::But we didn’t do anything wrong!:: as the more mature side started to plan and calculate and scheme on how in the hell where they going to get out of the country and which what money and passport? Who could help them now?

She didn’t dare contact Skinner or Reyes or Doggett. Her stomach dropped even more as her imagination conjured up horrific scenes for her friends. Then the hot burning feeling in her gut intensified as she imagined her mother and brothers being grilled on her whereabouts. Bill rattling off all of Mulder’s sins and how he knew Mulder was going to destroy her life in the end. Charlie just being nonplussed and confused, so detached from family life he was. And her mother… her eyes welling up with tears as they told her…

She pushed that thought out of her mind. She could not think about her mother right now. Or the lies that she was being fed.

She sat up and realized that she heard the shower running. Getting off the bed, she walked towards the bathroom. "Mulder?" she said, lightly wrapping on the door. She tried to joke "Need help washing your back?" but as she was rarely good at innuendos, the joke fell flat.

But she became worried when Mulder didn’t provide one of his wicked retorts. "Mulder?" she said, knocking a little harder this time.

The door wasn’t locked. Hand on door knob; she tried one more time "Mulder? Are you alright?" hoping for him to yell out "Gotcha" or something dumb. Something reassuring.

She opened the door and pushed it open and all of her breath left her in a whoosh as she goggled at Mulder.

The shower curtain wasn’t drawn and the shower was on full blast. Mulder was sitting on the floor of the bathtub, still in his t-shirt and jeans, looking up at something and what seemed to be him having an absolutely lucid conversation with… with what? The taps?

"Mulder?" she said again, struggling to keep her voice from shaking as she remembered Mulder in the prison...

"I want to talk to her for just a minute…"

"Mulder, God…what the hell is going on here?"

"She’s here."

"Who??"

"Jerilyn. She’s here."

"Mulder…I can understand why, and certainly after all that you’ve been through making you irrational, but…Mulder…I’m here now, so is Skinner, and we’ll get you the best doctors…"

"For the first time in my life, I know the truth."

"Mulder…I think…once we get the serum…it might be easier for you to distinguish…"

"I think this is the most rational I’ve been since Samantha was taken from me, Scully. I don’t think it is for us to understand. It’s impossible to put into words for any sort of explanation. It’s just…the truth…no layers to it…no complications…just…to accept."

Accept? Accept what? That he’s lost his mind?

"Mulder," she said again, not bothering to keep the trembling out of her voice.

"Hold on a second," Mulder said to the taps over the roar of the water pelting him. He turned to Scully. "Hello Clarice…"

"Mulder," she said, not sure if he was messing with her or not. "Who are you talking to?"

He blinked. "I’m talking to you, Scully." Then he pressed his hands to his temple as if by squishing his own head, he could alleviate the pain.

Scully reached over and turned the taps off. "Mulder," she said, sitting on the edge of the bath tub. "Come on," she took his hands.

Helpless as a child, he let Scully lead him out of the tub and back into the main room. She peeled off his wet clothes and put him to bed, trying to block out the memories of mothering William in the same way. As she spread his wet jeans, shirt and underwear on the dresser to dry, she said to Mulder "We’ll leave here tonight. When it’s dark. We’ll… we’ll cross the border and then we’ll find a way to contact Agent Carlos. He’ll be able to help."

"Can’t trust him," Mulder said thickly, a light sheen of perspiration covering his face. "Trust no one."

"Mulder," she said, turning around. "We have to trust somebody."

His response was to throw up.

This was going to be a very long day.

Gibson’s mouth watered as the waitresses carried out pizzas to the dine-in customers. He looked longingly at the lunch buffet, but both Rafael and Alpha had nixed that. Better to stay in the booth, unnoticed. Did not want to risk the chance of being noticed, recognized if they were up and about and walking around making trips to the buffet. Gibson couldn’t help but lapse into a sulk. He was an exceptional boy but at the same time, still a tired, hungry teenaged kid.

The drive from Santa Fe to Roswell had been long, hot and miserable. As promised, Rafael Ibarra and Atzi Cielo were waiting for them in a Range Rover that seemed to Gibson to be held together by duct tape and pixie dust. Once safely inside the SUV, Alpha morphed out of her old man disguise back into her usual feminine form. The ride was silent as Alpha chain smoked; the silence punctuated by Atzi asking Rafael brief questions in Spanish and Rafael giving her even briefer responses.

When they finally rolled into Roswell, there was a general consensus amongst the group that they were all starving to death.

And just when Gibson was convinced he was going to start chewing on his fingers to get nourishment, the waitress finally appeared with two orders of cheese bread sticks and a large piping hot pizza, thick pan crust covered with gooey cheese and pepperonis. Everyone was too tired and too hungry to haggle over toppings so they just went with the old stand-by.

"Where should we start?" Alpha said, popping a hot greasy pepperoni in her mouth when the waitress finally walked away.

"Outskirts of town, I would think," Atzi Cielo said.

Gibson, when he was conscious, could not keep his eyes off of Atzi. There was no other word for her, she was absolutely gorgeous. And absolutely in love with Rafael, Gibson could tell that without even invading their minds. And sadly he realized that he was no match for Rafael, who was long and lean, with hard muscles and good bones. Gibson felt deflated; he was just a pasty kid with a bad crush on a beautiful girl. Not the first boy that this had happened to but this was the first time that it had happened to him.

He stopped gaping at Atzi to pay attention to the conversation. This was important. Alpha said they needed him and because they needed him, she wasn’t treating him like a little kid, but as an equal in his own right. He needed to act like an adult and not some lovesick kid.

"Probably right," Rafael said, attacking his pizza with a vengeance. "Still going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack," he said, chewing.

Gibson decided to keep his ears open and mouth shut for the time being. He didn’t want to just butt into the conversation without having anything worthwhile to contribute. Besides he could eat and listen at the same time.

"Don’t worry," Alpha said before taking a big gulp of soda. "These needles have a knack of appearing with you least want them too, poking you right in the ass."

"Well," Rafael said. "We might as well start at the top. Go to the north side of town and start cruising through." He looked at Gibson. "This is where you come in, Alabanza."

Gibson nodded, understanding now. They needed him to pick up on either Mulder or Scully’s brainwaves. No problem.

No problem except this haystack had a population of nearly fifty thousand people. And he was supposed to filter out Mulder and Scully’s thoughts out from all those other people. No problem. No problem at all.

::Sure, fine, whatever,:: Gibson couldn’t help think, spirits sinking lower.

Atzi seemed to harbor doubts as well. "Lily, are you sure there’s no other way? With just the four of us, it could take days. Days we don’t have."

Swayed by the words of his ‘novia’, Rafael said "Maybe we should split up."

"Absolutely not," Alpha said firmly. "It’s too dangerous right now. Strength in numbers."

"Then I should have brought Quinto and Isobel."

::Who are Quinto and Isobel?:: Gibson wondered, reading Rafael’s mind. The quick glimpse inside told Gibson that Quinto and Isobel were his siblings.

"Four is plenty," Alpha said shortly, pushing away her plate, no longer hungry.

Gibson continued to eat, although not as enthusiastically as he had been, his mind on his friends instead of his stomach. The idea of Mulder being a danger to himself and Scully chilled him to the core.

Meanwhile, a delivery boy was making his way down the aisle. He was halfway to the door when the shift manager yelled at him wearily "Tommy, how many times do I have to tell you, deliveries don’t go through the restaurant, you’re supposed to go through the backdoor?"

"Hey, man, c’mon," the pimply faced kid whined. "My car’s out front and I gotta go out to the boonies to deliver this. It’s gonna be cold by the time I get there."

"Why?" the shift manager boomed, oblivious to the fact that his shouting was making the dine-in patrons uneasy. "Where are you going?"

"One of the Sleep Inn Motels, edge of town," the kid said sullenly.

Gibson then made his first Mulder leap…

… when he accidentally looked into the mind of the pizza delivery boy…

This damn bitch better tip me good for driving all the way to butt-fuck-nowhere. God damn Sleep Inns. Fucking nasty place. Fucking druggies and crooks and runaways only things there

"I know where they are," Gibson said.

"Thank you," Scully told the delivery boy as she snatched the pizza box away from him and shoved a twenty dollar bill in his hand. "Keep the change."

"Awesome," the delivery boy said, exulted that he just made a nine dollar tip on a ten dollar plus tax pizza. "Later."

She sighed as she locked the door behind her. Her hands shook as she brought the pizza box to the dresser and opened it. The aroma of melted cheese and a sundry of vegetables and meats filled the room. "Mulder?" she asked him, "Are you hungry? Do you want some?" ::Since you paid for it:: she thought. She had no money on her. She had left her purse and wallet at home, all she had with her was her FBI badge. Mulder, somehow, had a wallet in his jeans, perhaps Skinner or Doggett gave it to him. There was sixty dollars in cash. Well, now forty. Scully now kicked herself for being so stupid for giving the kid a twenty but who knew that ordering a pizza could be so nerve wracking? And she never had to debate about the simple task of ordering a pizza but finally when her hands started to shake from nerves and lack of food, she finally bit the bullet and picked up the phone. And sat and worried incessantly about her decision until the pizza boy knocked on her door.

She had bent the rules several times before, but never to this magnitude. Never were she had to run like a common criminal.

She made her decision that she and Mulder were leaving tonight, whether Mulder was in shape to travel or not. They couldn’t stay there any longer. God only knew who and what were looking for them. And honestly, she wanted to leave now, but knew it would be better to escape under the cover of darkness.

She tried to eat but as hungry as she was earlier in the day, she lost her appetite halfway through the slice she had grabbed. Just as well, she really hadn’t had much of an appetite since Jerilyn’s disappearance. The hollows in her cheeks and abdomen proved that. But her hands stopped shaking and she didn’t feel light-headed anymore.

She went over to check on Mulder again more out of nervous boredom than concern. She didn’t dare turn on the television or the radio. She didn’t want to disturb Mulder’s sleep or bother any potentially nosy neighbors. There was nothing to read except for the mandatory Bible in the nightstand drawer. So she fell back on her own devices and played doctor.

Mulder had been coherent enough earlier to ask for his boxers back. They were slightly damp still but he had been so whiny about it, she complied just to get him to shut up. Good thing too because he kept kicking the covers off.

Scully pulled the sheets and quilt back over him and then sat down beside him. Smoothing his hair away from his brow, she said to him in a whisper "We’ll leave tonight, Mulder. Then we’ll get some help for you I promi-"

Her words were choked off. Literally.

Mulder, keeping a firm grip on Scully’s throat, sat up. "Who the hell are you?"

Meanwhile…
November 5, 2002
The Hotel Metropol Moscow
Moscow Russia

Skinner jumped as the door opened and only relaxed slightly when Agent Satish Joshi of the CIA entered. "Mr. Skinner," the agent said cordially, as if his life was not in immediate danger. "I need you to come with me now."

"Why?" Skinner said, understanding why Mulder felt so paranoid all the time. Everything Mulder had feared had come to pass. And more was on the way. "Now what’s going on?"

"Please, Mr. Skinner, I will explain outside," Agent Joshi had not removed his coat, scarf or hat. "We control this hotel but it would behoove us to err on the side of caution, especially in these critical times."

Skinner nodded. Robotically, he put on the thick black coat Joshi had provided for him as well as the equally thick scarf around his neck. After pulling on the heavy leather gloves, he said "Whenever you’re ready, Agent."

Skinner followed Joshi, trying like hell to keep focus but after no sleep for almost three days, in between breaking Mulder out of prison, watching Mulder and Scully run away, then being herding into the office filled with monsters and traitors as Doggett, Reyes and Gibson watched helpless and now here, his mind was whirling.

Any doubts he may have still harbored after Mulder’s initial abduction, back in 2000 disappeared when a roomful of men stared him down while the Toothpick Man told him "A.D Skinner, we regret to tell you that your position has been eliminated." Skinner’s mouth went dry as the sycophants chuckled at the lame joke. He had been the last line of defense for the X-Files. Now the last line was being eliminated… Mulder, Scully, Doggett and Reyes were on their own. William was safely hidden away and Starkweather was safely dead…

… so he prayed.

He, however, had not prayed for a miracle for himself but got one anyway. The Toothpick Man stood up from the desk he was at. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, there was the undeniable sound of a silencer muting the sound of a bullet forced from a gun chamber and out into the world. The Toothpick Man grabbed his chest and collapsed. A few of the men had raced to help him, but then quickly all backed away as the Toothpick Man started what appeared to be the beginning of a seizure but then his body went completely out of control and quickly disintegrated.

The men had begun backing away from Skinner slowly, some of them twitching and clutching their chests as if they couldn’t breath.

One man stood beside Skinner. The man holding the gun.

The gunman grabbed Skinner’s wrist "Do everything I tell you," he ordered. "And you won’t die today." The command was for everyone in the room.

When the gunman had pulled on his wrist, Skinner slowly walked backwards towards one of the side doors, the gunman staying by his side. "Go," he had said when Skinner reached the door. Skinner had bolted just as the gunman fired again and again and then he ran out the door.

"This way," the gunman said, but it wasn’t a man’s voice anymore, but distinctly a woman’s voice. Skinner had looked and sure enough, Alpha had come back.

"You’re supposed to be in prison," he huffed as he ran with her to the elevator.

As she had reloaded her revolver with magnetite bullets, she had replied "And you’re supposed to be dead. Things don’t always work out the way they’re supposed to."

Then the whirlwind trade in the parking garage. Joshi appearing with young Praise but then handing the kid off to Alpha while she ordered Joshi to take Skinner out of the country as she herded the boy to her vehicle.

And you can’t get anymore out of the country than Russia.

The cold was excruciating. Despite the warm coat, Skinner still shivered. He couldn’t even feel his toes anymore. "Where are we going?" he demanded. He was tired, he was scared, for himself and his friends and he didn’t like being kept in the dark. He wanted to know if Mulder and Scully found safe haven and if Reyes and Doggett dodged the bullets, literally. He wanted to know where Lily was taking Gibson. And he wanted to sleep. For a thousand years.

"The Kremlin," Joshi was, walking briskly. "There is something I have to show you." Looking over at Skinner, he told him, "You might want to get a hat. It will help you bear the cold a little better."

The Kremlin was only five minutes away from the hotel but it was the longest and coldest five minutes of Skinner’s life. But the blistering chill woke him up, made him feel alert and grateful. ::I am alive. I’m not a religious man, but there must be a reason. God kept me alive when I should have died in Viet Nam and He kept me alive when I should have been executed mob style. There’s work to be done. And I know I am up to it.:: he told himself as Joshi lead him through a side door and down a flight of stairs.

"You don’t know how wonderful it is that the Cold War is over and the KGB will actually cooperate with us now," Joshi commented, showing his credentials to an unsmiling guard and then speaking to the guard in Russian for a moment. The guard eyes Skinner warily, then nodded and unlocked a heavy door.

"What is this?" Skinner said, eyeing the long dark hallway uneasily.

"Where diplomacy goes to die," Joshi said, gesturing to Skinner to enter.

Skinner’s stomach lurched as he stepped inside just as the unhappy guard turned the lights on. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that he was standing in the hallway of the smallest and most miserable prison he had ever been in. The United Nations would have gone into hysterics if those noble diplomats had known this place existed.

The stench of human waste and spoiled food assaulted Skinner’s senses and his eyes watered as the odor seeped up from the floor and wafted to the low ceiling.

The cell size was atrocious; dogs at animal rescue shelters had bigger cages then these. The men moaned as Joshi lead him through the hall.

A hand suddenly shot out through the bars as Skinner passed him, clutching his coat sleeve. Skinner saw the man’s breath as he spoke.

"Help me, man, please…. Get me back to the States…"

Skinner did a double take and then looked closer at the man’s bearded face and scraggly locks. "Blade Connor?"

"No… not anymore. I’m a civilian, I swear," Connor aka "Blade" Saint Claire pleaded. "Please, please. Extradite me, I’ll tell you everything…everything…"

Joshi looked at the guard and tilted his head towards Connor. The guard took out the key ring and a heavy riot baton and started screaming something at him in Russian as Connor cried "No! No! No! NO!" But the guard paid no heed. Unlocking the door, he dragged Connor away while he still screamed.

As Skinner watched Connor being led off, Joshi said to him "He is of no import to us. Come." When Skinner still stalled, Joshi said "Please, Mr. Skinner, come."

So Skinner looked away and tried to deafen himself to Connor’s pathetic cries and the moans of the other prisoners as Joshi lead him to the very last cell on the right hand side. "Mr. Skinner, I wish we had better accommodations for you to speak to this prisoner but unfortunately we do not trust him to be held anywhere else." He moved aside.

Skinner walked up to the cell. The cold wind of Moscow was nothing compared to the chill Skinner experienced when he saw the ragged man inside the cage. Struggling to master his composure, he said "Hello Krycek."

Alex Krycek, not dead, not by a long shot, smiled sardonically at Skinner. He had not been in the hole as long as Connor and some of the other prisoners had been so he still looked relatively healthy. "Hello Walter," Krycek said. "Looks like we have some catching up to do." He folded his arms across his chest.

Both flesh-and-blood arms.

"Yeah, Krycek," Skinner said through his teeth, "I guess we do."

Scully had to go to the bathroom. Badly.

"Mulder," she said her voice rough and raw, her throat bruised by his hands.

Mulder was peering out the blinds again. He had barricaded the door with the dresser. He had disconnected the phone. He trembled, he sweated, he talked to himself. He held a gun.

How the hell did he get a gun? Did Kersh or Skinner slip him one before they ran away? Or did it belong to Doggett or Reyes and Mulder had found it in their SUV? And, most importantly, was it loaded?

"Mulder," she tried again.

"Shh," he told her, walking over to her, stuffing the gun down the back of his pants. "Shh," he said again, kneeling down and stroking her face. "They can hear you. They can hear you breathing…"

Fear was not an unknown factor in Scully’s world and she prided herself on her ability to defeat fear. This… this was beyond fear.

She forced herself not to recoil from his touch. She took several deep breaths as he continues to stroke her face. "Mulder," again her voice shook. She took another breath before she felt confident that her voice was calm and steady. "Mulder, I’m going to go the bathroom." When his eyes widened and he stopped stroking her face but clutched her head, his wild eyes staring into her she told him "I’ll be right back."

He took his hands off of her and walked to the window to peep out of the blinds again as she bolted into the tiny bathroom.

Scully locked the bathroom down and after relieving her poor bladder, washed her hands and lifted her hair to examine her neck. She gingerly touched the purplish hand shaped splotches on her throat and winced. She wanted ice. She wanted to get Mulder to a hospital. She wanted to go home.

Her mind whirled as she tried to seek a logical solution to this nightmarish problem. Leaving Mulder to seek out Lux Carlos or anyone else that could help was out. There was no way she could leave him alone without him hurting himself or someone else. She couldn’t bring him to a hospital under an assumed name either. The FBI probably had already sent their photographs to all major hospitals in the Southwest.

And she wasn’t safe if she stayed.

And her life hadn’t reached the point of depression where she had no sense of survival. Hope and faith were her best friends right now. Her only friends.

Then it struck her. She closed her eyes and said a small prayer of thanks to Saint Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

Mexico was not that far away. And Manual Ibarra, annoying as he was, was a well-connected man who fortunately idolized Mulder.

::He and Leyla Harrison should hook up:: Scully couldn’t help think as she let herself out of the bathroom and returned to her spot on the bed.

If Mulder was on his way to melt down like he was a few years ago, then the frenetic activity in his temporal lobe would not let him shut down, not let him sleep. He would become even more of a danger. But she had overpowered men and creatures stronger and more dangerous than Mulder. She would just have to wait for her opportunity to strike. Once out, she’d use the sheets as restraints, hog-tie his ass and get him into the SUV and drive to the nearest border town, find someplace to lie low and call Manny to help them get the hell out of the United States and to Mexico. Manny had a cell phone. The Bureau didn’t have a way to put a trace on a cell phone yet. Once in Mexico, then she could network and somehow contact Lux Carlos to get the serum to begin treating the Black Oil’s side effects and to hurry. In the meantime, while waiting for Carlos, maybe she could find Phenytoin in a Mexican Black Market. Michael Kritschgau had told Skinner to give it to him when Mulder was shut up in the asylum, and it had helped.

A little. Until he had a seizure.

It was just the waiting part that was going to be the hard part. Scully touched her throat again as she watched Mulder pace, muttering under his breath. Her heart pounded, knowing that she was taking an awful chance, that he could have another psychotic moment.

When his hand had started to squeezed her throat, she honestly thought he was going to kill her.

"Mulder," she had choked out, before graying out, "it’s me…"

And he had let her go. That time.

Mulder stopped his pacing and went over to the other bed to check his shirt. It was finally dry so he put it on. Why he waited for his shirt to dry when he put his jeans back on while they were still wet was beyond Scully. She figured it made sense in whatever La-La-Land Mulder currently resided in.

Then he flipped up the pizza box and regarded the cold pizza laying there. Mulder sat down beside the pizza box and started to wolf down cold pizza as if he hadn’t eaten for years. "Wan’sum?" he garbled out, crumbs spraying out of his mouth as he held out a half-eaten slice to Scully.

Scully shook her head. Even if she had been hungry, she doubted she could swallow. She wondered how much damage to her vocal cords and larynx had been done.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Mulder bolted up and pulled the gun out of his pants. "Who is it?"

"Housekeeping."

"Go away, we’re busy," Mulder yelled.

Scully silently echoed the sentiment. ::Go, before you get mixed up into something you can’t get out of.::

Did she really say last night she didn’t regret the last nine years? Well maybe the last nine years she didn’t regret but she was sure regretting the last day or so.

"Lo siento," the voice on the other side of the door droned.

Mulder and Scully waited, both holding their breath until they were positive the voice was gone. Mulder walked over to the shades again and peered through them, then grunted in satisfaction that whoever was there had left.

He put the gun back into the waistband of his jeans and rubbed his head again. "We’re leaving tonight," he said bluntly.

Scully blinked but said nothing.

He cocked his head as if he was listening to something or someone, nodding as if he agreed with him. Then he grabbed his head as he fell to his knees in agony.

Scully got off the bed and opened the drawer where the mandatory hotel Bible was and snatched it out the drawer. As Mulder moaned in pain, she walked over to him, clutching the Bible with both hands. ::Let this be heavy enough:: she prayed. ::Let it be heavy enough…::

She swung down as hard as she could on the back of his head. Mulder fell to the floor with a thud.

"Sorry, Mulder," she said, letting the Bible slip from her hands.

She figured he forgave her for shooting him in the shoulder; he’d forgive her for knocking him out cold too.

The Bible fell to the floor and opened to Psalm 55:

"…Far away I would flee
I would lodge in the wilderness
I would hasten to find shelter
From the violent storm and tempest…"

She carefully reached down and pulled the gun out of the waistband of his pants. He didn’t move. She took the magazine clip out and turned to go to the bed so she could make ropes out of the sheets.

He reached out and grabbed her ankle, tripping her. The gun and the clip flew out of her hands and skittered across the floor.

Scully fell on her face and kicked at Mulder while trying to crawl away. But Mulder scurried over to her, grabbing her shirt and pulling her to him, then flipping her over. "Mulder, wait!" Scully cried out as he pinned her to the floor.

"I’M NOT GOING AGAIN!" he screamed at her, holding her upper arms, lifting her up off the floor a little and then slamming her down again and again. "I’M NOT GOING AGAIN!"

Scully struggled, squirming and trying to kick, crying out in pain as Mulder jerked her up off the floor and dragged her across the room. Scully clawed and even tried biting him, but he slammed her up against the wall. He grabbed her by her hair and forced her to look at him. "I’m not going again," he said again softly.

"I know, Mulder, I know," Scully said, voice shaking, tears starting to roll down her face, losing her composure, her detachment. She had hurt her head in the fall; she felt blood trickling down her face as well as tears. "Please, Mulder. You have to trust me. You’re sick. I can help you."

"TRUST YOU?" he yelled at her. "You hit me on the head with a God damned book and I’m supposed to trust you??"

"I’m sorry," Scully whispered. "But Mulder, please, please listen to me…"

"You're just like all the others, aren't you?

"Mulder…"

"You say you believe me..."

"Mulder, I do believe you. "

"...but you don't!"

Why did this conversation feel so familiar? "I believe you!"

"You lie just like everybody else!"

"No! I believe you, Duane!"

Oh God.

"Mulder! I need your help!"

"Shut up!"

"Mulder!"

"Come on, lady... "

"I need your help!"

::Somebody help me…::

"I trusted you!" Mulder continued to scream at her. "I trusted you like a fool."

"Mulder, listen to me!" Scully screamed back at him. "You have to trust me!" She kneed him in the groin. Mulder collapsed. Moving away from him, she yelled at him "This is for your own good!" She knelt back down and grabbed the Bible again. "You’ll thank me later, Mulder."

"What, you’re going to bore me into submission by reading me the Word of Job?"

Scully froze. "Mulder?"

Mulder clutched his head. "Scully, run. Get the hell away from here…"

"Mulder, I’m not leaving."

"Scully… I can’t control this… I can’t control… myself, please… get out of here. Go back to Washington, tell them I kidnapped you, tell them… tell them anything. Sing like a canary. Get Doggett and Skinner to back you up. Tell I took you by force… I can’t… I’ll hurt you Scully if you stay."

"Let me restrain you," Scully pleaded. "Mulder, I can bind your hands and feet long enough to get us both to Mexico. We can contact the Ibarras. We’ll get the serum. But we’re doing this together, Mulder. You wouldn’t leave me if the tables were turned."

"That’s because I’m bigger than you, I can fight you off," Mulder quipped as he got to his feet. "Scully, please… before something else happens…" he began to cry when he saw the blood on her face and her torn shirt. "Go. Now."

Scully nodded and put the Bible back down on the floor, slowly walking towards the door, eyes on Mulder at all time.

"You don’t understand Scully," Mulder said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands as Scully struggled to move the dresser Mulder barricaded the door with. "They’re still after you. They want to test you. Examine you. They don’t know how you were able to conceive."

"Mulder, I want you," she said after getting the dresser out of the way. "To stay here," she went over to the other dresser to get the car keys. "I will be back soon. I’m going to call for help. Please don’t go anywhere."

"Go anywhere… I don’t want to go anywhere," Mulder said dreamily. "Fox Mulder doesn’t want to go anywhere."

::Oh, God… what the hell, never mind, Dana, run. Run like hell.:: she thought as she clutched the keys and strode towards the door.

"Maybe if Fox Mulder takes you to Them, They won’t be able to touch Fox Mulder anymore…" He began walking towards Scully. "I’ll be free…"

"No!" Scully shouted as she pushed through the door, escaping Mulder only by half an inch, his fingers grazing her hair.

She ran across the parking lot, towards the SUV, Mulder hot on her heels. She fumbled with the keys as she ran, getting the door key ready. But Mulder had caught up with her and smashed her body into the side of the vehicle, then let her drop to the ground. The keys fell out of Scully’s hands as Mulder roughly grabbed her and started yelling he wasn’t’ going back again as he shook her.

Another car, a Range Rover pulled up beside them. Scully couldn’t see who pulled Mulder off of her, but she felt soft hands catch her as she almost collapsed and while being led into another vehicle, another voice, familiarly boyish, telling her "It’s okay, Agent Scully, it’s gonna be okay."

"Gibson," she croaked out.

A woman’s voice then said "We’ll need to take her to my sister. She’s hurt."

"Reyes?" Scully said, disorientated. Her head swam.

"Shh, shh," the voice that sounded like Reyes said as this mysterious lady and Gibson helped her into the van then making her lie down on the back seat. "Don’t talk. Gibson, stay here."

Gibson sat on the floor next to Scully. As Scully lifted her hand to stroke Gibson’s buzzed haircut, he told her. "She didn’t want me to see Mulder out of his mind like this. But it’s going to be okay, Agent Scully. Alpha’s here. She can help him."

Alpha and Rafael were cornering Mulder. Mulder walked backwards towards the motel, crouched over like a cornered rat. "You can’t take me. Fox Mulder is not going back," he raged at them.

Just then, a man, a truck driver who had consumed too many Ding-Dongs and Ho-ho’s on his journeys across America stuck his head out of his door. "What fuck is this horseshit?" he yelled.

Alpha pulled out her gun and yelled at him. "You didn’t see this. This didn’t happen. You say anything and you’re a dead man." She squeezed a round off at him, barely missing him by an inch. The man fainted as Alpha turned her gun on Mulder. "Don’t make me shoot you."

"Starkweather’s dead," Mulder said. "You can’t trick me. This is a trick. You’re not Jerilyn. You’re not my sister. You’re not Samantha. You’re nobody."

"Es loco," Rafael muttered, advancing on Mulder.

"No shit," Alpha said. To Mulder, she yelled "I will fire. I will shoot your fucking knees if you don’t stand still!"

Mulder tried to run. Alpha, true to her word, squeezed off two rounds, blowing out Mulder’s kneecaps. Mulder collapsed and howled in pain as Lily holstered her gun and ran with Rafael to help Mulder. "Hurry," Lily said suddenly, shuddering. "They’re coming. I feel them."

"¿Quién viene? ¿Los extranjeros?" Rafael asked as he slung a moaning Mulder over his shoulders, then lifting him up with a grunt.

Running back as fast as they could to the SUV, Alpha responded "No. Peor. El Sindicato. Y el policía"

"Cogida," Rafael swore, then yelled "¡Atzi! ¡Consiga en el carro!"

Atzi ignored Rafael’s request and ran around to the back to open the back door before getting into the Range Rover. Alpha got into the passenger side and Rafael got back into the driver’s seat, throwing the ancient vehicle into reverse before Alpha could even shut the door all the way.

The cloud of dust from their escape hadn’t even settled when two police cruisers and an official looking black sedan pulled up in front of the Sleep Inn.

Two federal agents got out of the black car, looking around, peering into the empty motel room as the police began questioning the suspects.

"We’re too late," one agent said to the other.

The other simply said "They can’t hide forever."

The room was dim. Scully felt a cool soft washcloth on her face, wiping down her cheeks and head. The cloth smelled slightly like roses. Slowly she opened her eyes and blinked in surprise. "Reyes?" she whispered, staring at the profile of a young woman with high cheekbones and sharp nose. Scully touched her throat, amazed that it didn’t hurt anymore. "Reyes, is that you?"

The woman’s arm reached out and turned on the small lamp next to Scully’s bed.

She blinked her eyes again and was disappointed to see the woman sitting next to her bed was not Reyes, but tall and thin like Reyes with deep brown eyes. "Thank you for the compliment, but I am hardly a king," she chuckled. "My name is Dr. Azucena Cielo." She dipped the washcloth in a basin of cool, scented water again, wrung it out and dabbed at Scully’s face again.

Scully touched her throat again. "You must be some doctor."

Dr. Cielo laughed, again, reminding Scully painfully of Reyes. Not so much her looks really, but the sense of serenity and the ability to laugh in adversity. "Actually, that would be Alpha you would have to thank for healing your bruised throat and cut head. And Mother Nature was the one who made you sleep… with only a slightest bit of assistance from me. I figured psychologically, you needed a good sleep. So I gave you a mild tranquilizer. Out like a light."

Her hand still on her throat, she asked "Where am I?"

"Safe," Dr. Cielo assured her. "I promise you." Seeing the skeptical look on Scully’s face, Dr. Cielo explained, "My sister Atzi is engaged to Rafael Ibarra. You and Agent Mulder helped Rafael and his brother Quinto on the island of the dinosaurs."

"La Luna Blanca," Scully said with a shiver. "You are friends with Manual Ibarra."

She nodded. "He called us right after he had testified for Agent Mulder. He asked us to be on standby to help out in whatever way we could. Of course, Rafael, Quinto and Izzy agreed immediately and it didn’t take long for the rest of the family to agree."

"How much do you know?" Scully asked.

Dr. Cielo leaned back in her chair "Too much."

"What’s too much, Dr. Cielo?"

Dr. Cielo smiled. "Do you always ask this many questions?"

"Yes. It’s my… it used to be my job to be inquisitive."

Dr. Cielo’s smile faded. "I was engaged. To a dreamer. We met at university. He grew up in San Cristobal. He conquered grinding poverty and made his way to university. Architecture. Mythology. His fascination with the past made me believe we had a viable future. But also he dreamed. Of the stars, of the possibilities that lay beyond. Through his studies, he came up with a theory about how the ancient Mayans were somehow connected to extraterrestrial phenomenon. He wanted to go, to the United States. To study the ancient culture of the Anasazi and see if there was any connection. But there was no money. So… to earn enough money to obtain a visa and live indefinitely in the States, he took a menial job on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. For a company called Galpex." She looked Scully straight in the eyes. "I never saw him again."

"What… happened?" Scully said although she already knew. Her hand reflexively rested on her abdomen. ::William. I was still pregnant with William.::

"At first his letters were sweet, full of homesick longings and inappropriate innuendos of what he wanted to do when he got home… but then, they became strange. Paranoid. He started to write in phonetic Mayan to me instead of Spanish. And the letters were cryptic, riddle-like. Then. No more letters. The oil rig had exploded. No survivors, except two Americans. Federales."

"Mulder…. John…" Scully whispered.

Dr. Cielo nodded. "Once he had translated the letters, Manny went underground. Illegally immigrated to the States in hope he would be able to find someone to help him." She smiled. "He was very surprised to find help in his prison cell when an immigration officer busted him for his bad green card." She got up and went to the small closet. She fished a key out of her jeans pocket and unlocked the door. Intrigued, Scully sat up in bed, watched Dr. Cielo unlock the door, disappear inside and come back out lugging a heavy fireproof Sentry lockbox. She sat down beside Scully and unlocked it.

Scully’s eyebrows rose when all she saw was a scratched up old Gateway2000 Solo laptop computer. Dr. Cielo flipped the computer over and said "After he died, Manny and I gathered all his research and spent days and days," she slid the narrow rectangular button on the front of the lap top to the right and lifted the screen open. Lying on the keys were two bright orange CD-Rs, "Transcribing his notes and his letters to a disk. And then we also made copies of the research on this computer’s hard drive to disk. We made copies of these disks and have hidden them strategically. Throughout our country and yours."

"How many copies are there?" Scully asked.

Dr. Cielo did not answer right away; she was lightly stroking the space key and mouse pad screen of the outdated computer with a far away look in her eyes. "These copies are yours," she said softly, closing the computer and putting it back in the lock box. "And the computer. To take with you when you and Agent Mulder leave." She closed the lockbox, making sure it was secure.

"Leave? But I thought you said this place is safe?"

"It’s safe for now, Agent Scully. But not forever. They’re looking for you. We are making arrangements for you and Agent Mulder to leave…"

"Mulder…" her hand was back at her throat.

Dr. Cielo reached over and gently pulled her hand away from her neck. "You also can thank Alpha for taking the sickness from Agent Mulder’s mind." She squeezed her hand. "He’s free, Agent Scully."

"Dr. Cielo, where is he?"

"Outside," Dr. Cielo picked up the lockbox and rose off the bed. "Beating himself up with guilt. Alpha can heal the body but not the soul." She nodded to the modest dresser along the wall. "There are clean clothes for you to change into. And we’ll be having breakfast soon. I’m sure you’re hungry. Oh. And call me Azucena, please."

After putting the lockbox back in the closet, Azucena left Scully along.

Pushing back the covers, Scully sat in the middle of the double bed, looking around the room. Sparsely decorated, only a single framed picture of Mary, Ever Virgin to adorn the stark white walls. The bed frame was very old as was everything else in the room. But it smelled deliciously clean, like sunshine and fresh air and felt deceptively safe.

Scully put her hand to her neck again and realized that her neck felt strange not because it had been healed of its injury but because her necklace, her tiny gold cross was gone. Her chest tightened in panic until she saw it hanging from one of the knobs on the dresser.

She slowly got out of bed. She took off the well mended nightgown that someone had been kind enough to give her and rifled through the drawers for suitable clothes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her plum colored shirt and black slacks folded neatly on top of an old trunk. Her dress socks and black boots were right next to her clothes.

She put her necklace on, selected a simple dark blue short sleeved loose fitting blouse and a blue and white and black peasant "broomstick" skirt that was fashionable about ten years ago. Clean clothes never felt so pleasurable.

Barefoot, she slipped out of her room and peered down the hallway. No one was around but she could smell coffee brewing and she could hear the sizzle of something being fried. Her stomach finally woke up with the rest of her and growled in complaint.

But first…

She found the door easily enough and stepped outside. The sky was just starting to warm up to the bright blue morning color while a hot yellow orb still made it’s ascent, streaking the east with pinks and lavenders and hints of gold.

His body was dark against the dawn. The gravel hurt her feet as she walked towards him. He heard her coming before she spoke one word and he quickly turned around, framed by the light from the altar the earth worshipped and revolved around.

He was barefoot too. His jeans, same as the ones he had worn when they escaped, had been washed and the holes in the knees where the bullet holes had been were mended. He wore a different shirt. His face was unshaven.

She looked around. There was literally nothing for miles and miles and miles. Except desert and sky and the house behind her and the man in front of her.

She didn’t come any closer. An unexpected breeze ruffled her hair and played with her skirt. She stared at him unwavering, mouth set, arms crossed.

"Scully," he finally said, "it’s me."

Her eyebrows rose then fell quickly as she tilted her head to the side. "I came to see…" she said slowly, still not moving any closer to him, "If you had your butterfly net ready."

Mulder’s mouth dropped open a little, but he quickly shut it. Half of his mouth quirked up in an awkward beginning of a smile as he ambled towards her. "It’s ready," he said simply when he was only inches away from her.

She looked up at him, her eyes uncompromising and lovely as ever. "Good. Because we have a lot of work to do."

Mulder reached out and tentatively rubbed her upper arms. He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

As he pulled away, the front door of the humble house opened. The partners turned around to see Gibson Praise standing uncomfortably in the front door.

"Breakfast is ready," he said shyly. "Everyone is waiting…."

January 14, 2003
Animaji, Chiapas

"Alabanza?"

Gibson Praise turned around to see Azucena Cielo standing in the doorway of the clinic. Then he turned around and looked out over the village.

Azucena looped her stethoscope around her neck and walked back out towards the boy. "Alabanza, come on," she beckoned him. "Everyone’s waiting."

"Sorry," Gibson said.

She put her hand on his shoulder and turned him around to face him. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to you know," she reminded him. "It’s of your own free will to help these people or not. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to."

"It’s not that," Gibson said. "I just got a lot on my mind… and…"

Azucena looked into his troubled face. "What’s the matter?"

"I think… we should leave for Kawak tonight."

"Tonight!" Shocked, Azucena said to him "It’s dangerous to travel at night."

"It would be more dangerous if we stayed."

"Are you sure?" she whispered, casually looking over Gibson’s shoulder, her eyes darting here and there briefly, looking for spies.

"I can’t explain it Azucena. And," he said stonily, looking into her mind "It’s not because I’m impatient for a phone so you can call Manual and check up on my father and the others back in DC… but… please, Azucena, you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a kid. "It’s really important that we get to Mulder and Scully as fast as possible. Something… something’s happening."

Azucena nodded. "Alright. Alright Alabanza. But we’re not leaving tonight. We’ll leave at noon. We’ll reach Kawak by nightfall. I will not travel in these jungles in the dark. The Zapatistas could mistake us for Mexican militia and vice versa."

"Gracias, Azucena," Gibson said gratefully.

Azucena beamed. "Bueno mi amigo, bueno. We’ll have you fluent in no time." She looked at the clinic and sighed. "Come. We have to fit a day’s work in half the time."

Gibson trailed Azucena into the clinic and set to work, hoping that nothing would delay their escape from Animaji."

Skinner watched the snow continue to assault Washington DC.

"Should we begin?" his guest, Dr. Larutannu asked while looking at his Rolex.

"No," Reyes said, not caring that she was being rude. "We’re not doing this withou-"

The door opened and Doggett, wearing a somber suit and jet black tie entered. "Sorry I’m late," he said. "Weather’s hell."

"Have a seat John," Skinner said, turning around.

As Doggett took the chair next to Reyes, he looked around the room and saw Agent Leyla Harrison, white as a sheet, sitting next to a very haughty looking man whose goatee needed to be trimmed, the only sign that he had been hauled out of bed at an ungodly hour. "Monica," Doggett said lowly to her as Skinner sat down. "What the hell is going on?" He looked Monica up and down and realized she was in the same low-riding jeans and low-cut black sweater she had been wearing last night. Reyes always pushed the envelope as far as FBI Approved Dress Code was concerned but even she wouldn’t come to work like that unless… "What did you do?" he demanded.

"It wasn’t Monica," Skinner corrected him. "It was Agent Leyla Harrison."

Doggett looked over at Leyla. Still ashen faced, she had a look of pure terror on her face, as if she had come face to face with the devil himself. "You called this meeting, A.D.," Doggett said, looking away. "What’s going on?"

Skinner looked Doggett dead in the eye. "I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is we found Agent Starkweather and she’s alive."

"Where is she?" Doggett said instantly.

"At my hospital, Mr. Doggett," the man with the scruffy goatee told him smoothly. "Under heavy guard as requested by the Assistant Director." He stood up now and picked up his briefcase, taking control of the meeting. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Christian Larutannu. I am head of Neurology at George Washington University Hospital where Mrs. Starkweather is at right now, which, as the Assistant Director stated, is the good news. The bad news, is that she is in a coma which as time goes on, seems to be more and more… irreversible."

He walked over to Skinner’s desk and placed his briefcase on top of it. Opening it, he said "Let me start at the beginning, or at least, my beginning of this unfortunate ordeal…

"Middle of August, I receive a frantic call from a Mr. Kimble. Seems that a renegade doctor had been terminating unconscious patients in an organ harvesting spree and even though the doctor had been caught, Mr. Kimble felt his wife, a coma patient, was in mortal peril in that hospital and wanted to transfer over to George Washington. He told me he also felt that my hospital was superior over the one his wife was currently in. So, without much further ado, she was transferred and I must say, in all my years as a doctor… I have not seen a more… pitiful case than this.

He took a thick file, medical records, out of his briefcase and said "This is a compilation of medical records taken from the hospital Mrs. Starkweather was in before and our records. I told AD Skinner that I would be happy to turn them over as state’s evidence." Leaving the thick file on Skinner’s desk, he took out a slimmer folder. "I made a brief outline of her history, to save time on going through her files during this discussion however I am fully aware you will want to read the entire case history on your own time."

He walked from agent to agent, starting with Skinner and ending with Leyla, handing them a single sheet of paper. When Leyla, with shaking hands, took the outline from Dr. Larutannu began to lecture them even as he reminded himself they were laymen and not medical school students.

"Mid August," he took another stack of papers out of his briefcase, photographs this time, "when Mr. Kimble first brought Mrs. Starkweather to the hospital, the first concern was to treat her for the starvation, dehydration and infection wracking her body. Mr. Kimble claimed that his wife had been abducted several months ago and someone had just dumped her on his door step a few days ago… and a police officer did speak to Mr. Kimble. Took his statement. The usual procedure. We had no idea," he said without a trace of apology in his voice.

"Who’s this Mr. Kimble?" Doggett asked.

"Justin Leo," Leyla said faintly. "Kimble was his alias."

Reyes felt Doggett tensing up beside her as Dr. Larutannu continued. "After stabilizing Mrs. Starkweather, they began make a full assessment of her injuries." He looked at the stack of photographs in his hand. "I must warn you. These photographs… may be difficult to view." He gave the stack to Skinner first, who scanned through the pictures silently, his face not moving a muscle. Then he handed them back to Dr. Larutannu and nodded at him, signaling him to pass the pictures out.

Dr. Larutannu first walked over to Leyla, but she shook her head. "I don’t want to," she said weakly. "I’ve already seen Agent Starkweather."

Dr. Larutannu walked back over to Reyes and handed them to her. "Oh God," she said softly. She looked over at Doggett and held out the first photograph, her hand shaking.

As Doggett reached to take the photograph from Reyes, Dr. Larutannu began speaking again. "An arthroscopic wrist surgery was preformed to correct a wrist fracture that had obviously been neglected. The surgery was further complicated when the surgeon noticed as he worked that the wrist had been broken before. However, the surgeon was able to align the broken bone fragments and stabilize them with pins. The surgeon felt that with physical therapy, she would be able to regain at least eighty-five percent full usage of her wrist."

Doggett grasped the photograph in his hand as Dr. Larutannu spoke…

… but no longer saw Skinner’s office, only a bleak gray room instead, with a single stainless steel table in the middle of the room instead. Dr. Larutannu droned on like a bad voice over…

… as Doggett watched the door of the gray room burst open and Knowle Rohrer enter, dragging Starkweather with him. Starkweather, cradling a broken wrist, blood trickling down her face, her ragged hair, only chin length now. Starkweather, kicking and struggling and swearing…

Rohrer, you cocksucker, you fuck, you’re going to burn in hell, you fucking son-of-a-bitch, you fuck, you bastard, you…

"Mrs. Starkweather had layers of bruises and lacerations on top of older bruises and lacerations on her back, her buttocks and back of her upper leg and calves…"

Rohrer, grabs Starkweather by what was left of her hair, forcing her, dragging her almost, to the table. The table with thick leather straps.

"Oh no… Oh God, no… Rohrer… fuck… Oh Jesus, come on…"

"Then we discovered strange markings on her back…"

Rohrer lifting her and throwing her on the table, face down. Two men come from nowhere, tying her down. One of them purposely tightens the strap imprisoning her broken wrist more than necessary and she screeched in agony, trying to kick the other man as he struggled to tie her feet down.

"And her feet…"

Once tied down, the man by her feet pull off her shoes while the other man takes out a wicked pair of scissors and cut through the fabric of her suit jacket, her blouse and her bra, letting the fabric flop open and fall, sliding down her arms as her back, already striped black and blue and purple was aired. Open and defenseless...

"Which were determined to be cigarette burns…"

The Cancer Man enters, lighting up one of his Morleys. Rohrer and the other men move to get out of his way. The Cancer Man takes a drag, looks down at Starkweather then looks at his cigarette.

"As entertaining as your bravado was, Agent Starkweather, it was for nothing, I’m afraid. We will get what we want from you. One way or the other."

"So, what is this then? Your sick idea of "Bring Your Daughter To Work" Day?" Faint voice, weak. Gasping for breath. Lots of pain…

"You could join us, Agent Starkweather. Think of the possibilities. No? Well, perhaps…"

Holding the glowing cigarette inches away from the tender skin of her lower back. A flake of ash falls on her flesh.

"… I haven’t been very persuasive. Let me give you my sales pitch…"

Lowering the cigarette to her back…

… and the room disappeared when Reyes took the photograph from him, her big brown eyes, bigger than usual as she searched his face. Doggett didn’t realize that he hadn’t moved since he took the picture from Reyes and that his face was the color of chalk.

"But the most disturbing discovery made was the oophorectomy scars-"

"Wait," Leyla interrupted, "I.. I hate sounding stupid, but what does oophorectomy mean?"

"Don’t worry Agent Harrison," Skinner said grimly. "I was about to ask the same."

"An oophorectomy. Also known as an ovariectomy. The surgical removal of an ovary."

"What?" Reyes said, looking down at the photograph of a malnourished woman’s torso with an ugly, six inch long scar from the navel to the pubic bone. "Why?"

"At this time, we still don’t know," Dr. Larutannu admitted. "We performed an ultrasound and had a gynecologist examine her. And it’s undeniable. Someone had recently operated on her and removed one ovary. And did a… less that professional job…"

"What do you mean?" Reyes said.

"I mean, first of all, assuming Mrs. Starkweather was a healthy young woman before this unfortunate incident, there should be no reason for the surgery at all. Normally this kind of procedure is only necessary to remove cancer, larger than normal cysts, an abscess or endometriosis. Second of all… the operation was executed so shabbily… We believe that poor sanitation and improperly sterilized equipment from this surgery was the cause of the massive infection Mrs. Starkweather was suffering when Mr. Kim- I mean, Mr. Leo first brought her in. Also if Mrs. Starkweather were to recover from her comatose state and be able to resume a normal life style; her ability to conceive and bear children has been greatly diminished."

"But she’s not barren?" Reyes said while thinking ::It’s not like Scully. This barbarism was performed by men, not aliens…::

"No, but fertility drugs would be necessary for conception and the chances of her carrying the child to full term, very slim. However, Mrs. Starkweather’s reproductive state is the least of our concerns."

"Please explain," Reyes said as coolly as possible while thinking ::You cold hearted bastard. Some butcher only ripped her open and forcibly took away what was her biological right, nearly killing her in the process. We all knew Jerilyn didn’t want children, but that was her choice. Not theirs. How can that be the least of our concerns?::

"Her coma," Dr. Larutannu said "Defies medical explanation. Physically, there is no reason for her to be unconscious. A heavy antibiotic routine cleared her of any infection. The toxicology report completed on her initial admittance to the first hospital came back clean. No visible sign of brain damage in the CT scans. And yet. She is unresponsive to light. To touch, even painful stimuli… needle pricks. To sound. To anything. We’re at a loss.

"Which Mr. Kimble could not accept. He was adamant on continuing treatment, keeping her on life support. Exploring alternative treatments. At the same time, he stated he wanted to explore the possibilities of harvesting what was left of her ova so that he could conceive a child of his own through a surrogate mother."

"Oh dear God," Skinner moaned.

"Rest assured, A.D. Skinner," Dr. Larutannu said quickly. "It never moved beyond the discussion phase. I don’t think Mrs. Starkweather’s body could handle another invasive procedure at this point."

"How," Doggett found his voice at last. "Did you figure out it was Leo? Was it Leo that had her all this time?"

"I saw Leo," Leyla said in a small voice. "At the hospital. When I was visiting my grandma…" she looked at Skinner pleadingly.

"Your grandmother has been moved to a different hospital," Skinner told her. "And there will be a guard at her door until further notice."

Leyla relaxed, but only a little.

"Please, Leyla," Reyes said warmly, sensing Leyla’s fear, "Go on."

Leyla nodded, swallowed and said in a small voice. "I took a wrong turn," she said sheepishly. "I had things on my mind and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. And I heard Dr. Larutannu arguing with Justin Leo. About Justin’s wife Lily. Well, I recognized Leo’s face even though he altered his appearance…"

"How?" Skinner asked, pulling a yellow legal pad towards him then reaching for a pen.

"He… uh, have a goatee now and his hair is bleached blond. And he was wearing glasses now. But still, I recognized him from the FBI Most Wanted posters we have out on him. And because I remember this one time, when Agent Mulder was accused of murdering Agent Starkweather’s husband to prevent him from prosecuting Galpex for the oil rig explosion that Agents Mulder and Doggett accidentally caused… Justin Leo was supposed to be Agent Mulder’s attorney but in reality, he was trying to set Agent Mulder up."

"I’m lost," Dr. Larutannu admitted.

"Gets better," Doggett muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the floor.

"You see," the unofficial X-Files expert turned to the baffled doctor. "Justin Leo is obsessed about a woman named Lily Stratford. They were high school sweethearts. On prom night, they left the dance early to go…um… anyway," she said, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. "After they left the dance, Lily disappeared. And to this day, Justin Leo believed that Lily was abducted by aliens."

"Aliens," Dr. Larutannu said with a skepticism that Scully would have been proud of.

"That belief," Reyes came to Leyla’s rescue. "Eventually drove Leo insane."

Skinner concurred. "Our profilers have determined that Leo possibly suffers from a host of mental disorders. Obsessive-compulsive disorder, manic depression. Possibly schizophrenia."

Dr. Larutannu nodded, stroking his goatee. "Thinking back to previous conversations with Leo, I can concur with the obsessive-compulsive and manic depression or rather, bi-polar… however, schizophrenia," he shook his head. "I disagree. He’s too coherent. He lives solidly in this world, not one of his own."

"Anyway," Reyes said, "he’s to be considered very dangerous. Which is why we had Leyla’s grandmother transferred and federal agents guarding her hospital room," she looked away from Dr. Larutannu and back to Leyla. "Go on."

"I followed Leo to the elevator…" she recounted the harrowing moments of being in the same elevator as Leo, then stealing an intern’s coat and ID and sneaking back down to the ICU where Agent Starkweather was…

"… I knew it was her, I just knew it. But I knew," she looked over at Doggett and gave him a small smile. "Because of the case of mistaken identity last spring… I had to have proof it really was Agent Starkweather this time. Especially since… well, she has all ten fingers."

As Doggett’s eyes widened in surprise, Dr. Larutannu said mildly "Well, why wouldn’t she?"

"Dr. Larutannu," Skinner said, taking control of the conversation. "Now it’s your turn to receive information that may be difficult to hear." He cleared his throat and got up from his desk. "Justin Leo has been pursuing Agent Starkweather because he believes that she is Lily Stratford. He will not relinquish this belief; even though it is proven that they are not the same person. While Lily Stratford was enjoying her senior prom, Agent Starkweather was starting her first day of Basic Training for the Air Force.

"Leo believes that Agent Starkweather is Lily Stratford because they bear remarkable physical similarities. The reason, as we later discovered, for the similarities is because they are sisters."

"Sisters?"

"Yes," Reyes said. "You see, Agent Starkweather was adopted by the Baileys when she was an infant. She knew nothing of her blood family until she was transferred to the X-Files. Then she learned she had a half-brother, a half-nephew and four half-sisters."

"Which is why," Leyla butted in, "I had to find proof to bring back proof that it really was Agent Starkweather there. And where the finger came from."

"Excuse me?" Dr Larutannu said.

"Dr. Larutannu," Skinner said, "Agent Starkweather grew up in unusual circumstances. Circumstances that may have caused her initial disappearance."

Now Dr. Larutannu looked concerned. "The mob?"

"Something like that," Skinner downplayed the Syndicate’s capability for destruction. "After she vanished, we had been sent warnings not to look for her. One of those warnings was a severed finger with her wedding ring still on it."

"So I had to think," Leyla chimed in again. "Where could this finger come from? Not Lily. Not Bravo or Charlie, they’re both dead and have been cremated. So that leaves…"

"Delta," Reyes closed her eyes.

Skinner nodded. "I’ve ordered the exhumation of Mrs. Saint-Claire. But the snow may delay it…"

"Who’s Mrs. Saint-Claire?" Dr. Larutannu demanded. "Who’s Delta?"

"Another one of Agent Starkweather’s sisters," Leyla said. "She was murdered by Bravo, who in turn, was killed by Alpha."

"Who’s Alpha?"

"Lily Stratford."

Dr. Larutannu stared at Leyla. "Young lady, you baffle me."

"Let me clarify," Skinner said, shooting a look at Leyla that made her shrink in her seat. "Bravo was the alias of a deadly assassin that worked for the organization that we believed took Agent Starkweather. Under orders, she assassinated a young woman named Samita Saint-Claire, who was also Agent Starkweather’s sister. After murdering Mrs. Saint-Claire, she attempted to assassinate two of my own agents, one of those agents being Agent Reyes."

::And the other one being Dana:: Reyes silently applauded Skinner for skating around other pertinent truths. Such as Bravo was also Starkweather’s half-sister. That Scully was a fugitive. For not calling the Syndicate by its name. By completely avoiding saying the word "alien".

"When Agent Doggett pursued Bravo, he witnessed her death by someone who claims to be Lily Stratford, going by the alias Alpha. She is not part of the organization Bravo was, but she is also considered dangerous." ::Because you never know whose side she’s on:: Skinner thought while gritting his teeth, thinking of how to get away from the strange Mulder-Starkweather family tree. "However, Justin Leo is also part of that organization. Another reason why he’s dangerous and why we need your cooperation in his apprehension."

"Absolutely," Dr. Larutannu was pale but still had complete control of his wits. "You have my word. But why the exhumation of the other woman?"

"Because when we received the finger with the wedding ring, we ran a DNA test to make sure it really was Agent Starkweather, but… mistakes have been made in the past. As Leyla had said, three of Agent Starkweather’s sisters are dead. Two have been cremated. One was not. Mrs. Saint-Claire. I suspect that when Mrs. Saint-Claire’s body is exhumed, we’re going to discover that she’s either short one finger, or her body’s not going to be there at all."

"But what other proof," Doggett finally spoke up again. "Was there that it’s really Agent Starkweather this time?"

Reyes could feel him stealing himself against disappointment.

Leyla brightened up a bit. "There was this one time where Mulder and Scully were asked to examine a body but the body’s identification was never released to them. So Agent Mulder, when no one was paying attention to him, took his reading glasses and managed to get the body’s fingerprints on the lenses. Well, I had put my reading glasses on to sort of alter my appearance, just in case Leo was still in the hospital. And so I took off my glasses, took Agent Starkweather’s hand and pressed the pads of her left index finger and right thumb onto the lenses of my glasses. I remembered that in one X-File, when Eve Charlie, another one of Agent Starkweather’s sisters," she said helpfully to Dr. Larutannu, "Killed an owner of a liquor store, Agent Starkweather was asked by local police to come in for questioning because, again, she looked so similar to Charlie. Cooperating with the police, she agreed to be fingerprinted. Naturally, her fingerprints did not match Charlie’s but because she had been fingerprinted, that meant her prints were in our national fingerprinting system, so I got out of the hospital as soon as I could and went straight to Quantico. And the prints I put on my glasses were a perfect match. Once I received the news, I called Agent Reyes." She looked at everyone in the room, but let her gaze linger on Agent Doggett when she said "It’s her, it’s really her."

There was a silence for a moment as the truth finally started to sink it.

Then, Reyes asked "Now what, sir?"

Skinner leaned against his desk. "First order of business, Agent Starkweather is to be under twenty-four hour guard. No one goes in or out of that hospital room without us knowing about it. Dr. Larutannu, I do apologize for the inconvenience that will cause but-"

"Understandable."

"Second order of business," Skinner said. "We find Leo. We find out how he got Agent Starkweather. Third, we find out why they did what they did to her."

"How?" Reyes asked.

"There is someone here, waiting outside my office who said he will be able to help us," Skinner said. "And also, there are two prisoners that I’m having extradited to the United States. They’ll be here the day after tomorrow."

"Who are they?" Reyes asked. "And who’s waiting outside?"

Skinner walked over to the door where the ominous Smoking Man used to make his entrance. Opening the door, he said, "They’re waiting for you."

Skinner moved to the side as his guest entered the office.

Doggett, Reyes and Leyla all bolted out of their seats in shock. Dr. Larutannu stayed seated, in utter shock. "Good God," he mumbled, staring at the melted face that calmly regarded the others in the room.

"Jeffrey Spender, you lying son of a bitch!" Doggett snapped, moving towards him, but Reyes reached for Doggett’s arm, halting him.

"John, don’t," she said softly. "Sit down."

"You said she was dead," he spat at Spender but he sat down.

Reyes stared hard at Spender as he started to speak. There was something different about him…

"I thought she was dead. I was told she was dead. I was with her the second to last night she spent in the camp with us," Spender said in his hoarse broken voice.

"Camp?" Dr. Larutannu asked.

Spender looked down at the confused doctor. "A death camp essentially. A place where human beings are sent to be experimented on."

Doggett shifted in his seat, feeling something in his mind and heart pushing against a barrier he had created.

"Surely that’s not possible," the doctor protested. "Or legal."

"Are you through wi’ me? I’m an FBI agent and you’re in serious shit if you don’t tell me where I am right now and show me the way out."

Reyes looked over at Doggett again. He had turned pale again, his finger rubbing his collar, as if he wanted to loosen his necktie but didn’t dare.

She placed her hand on his arm…

"The FBI does not exist in This Place. We are the law."

… and jerked it away just as fast as she could.

::He’s starting to remember… John… don’t fight it…::

"It is possible and it’s not legal," Spender said gently, as if the doctor was a child arguing about Santa Claus’ existence. "But our government is not aware of it." He stroked his face. "It’s how this happened."

It then struck Reyes why Spender looked different to her. "But you’re healing," she blurted out. "You’re not as burned as you once were."

"That’s not possible," Dr. Larutannu argued. "Burns of that severity do not just… heal."

Spender ignored the doctor. "I’ve undergoing an experimental chemotherapy. So far, it seems to be working. Slowly, He grinned, his smile transforming his face into a nightmare that would have sent Freddy Kruger running home for his mommy. Leyla visibly shuddered, then looked shamefaced that she reacted in that manner.

"And like I said, I thought she had died. They told me she had died. They gave me that little box and told me to make sure it was delivered to Agent Scully. I had no idea what was in there. All I knew was that I had a chance for escape, and freedom. And the chance to save my nephew."

Now Reyes shuddered, remembering William’s ear-piercing shriek of pain and terror when Spender injected him with magnetite.

"But when I learned that Agent Starkweather… my sister… was alive, I knew I could not sit and do nothing. After all they’ve stripped from me… I couldn’t just stay on the sidelines." He looked longingly at the coffeemaker on of Skinner’s shelves. "May I?" he asked timidly to his old boss. "I start to lose my voice after talking so much."

"Help yourself," Skinner grunted.

As he shuffled over to the coffeemaker, he said "I was supposed to kill her, you know. Many years ago. They made me a deal when I unexpectedly recovered from my old man shooting me in the head. Who knew he was such a bad shot," he chuckled to himself. "They told me to eliminate this girl, a half-breed, a danger to the human race. And I would be free."

"So I slipped into her wedding reception. She didn’t look to be a threat. She looked happy, like a typical bride." He reached for a mug and clumsily poured himself a cup of coffee, dripping some on Skinner’s nice carpet.

"But by that time, I knew looks could deceive. And I believed them. I was set to take her out but nobody told me that she was a federal agent. Or that she had CIA protection. Two CIA agents discovered me and nabbed me. One of them was one of the Syndicate’s double agents, Knowle Rohrer. He was the one that took me to the camp. He was the one that," he touched his face. "Started this."

"And then I learned the truth about Agent Starkweather. That she was more than just a threat, she was my sister." He turned around. "Of course I was too late to stop anything when I learned that.

"One night, shortly before I was told to go to Washington DC, one of the inmates that helped take care of the really sick ones, the ones most abused told me that they needed me to find Joe Shepherd…"

Doggett’s mouth went dry as he thought ::I know that name… but how?::

"… because there was a girl that was just brought in. They thought she was dying."

"At first I laughed. This was right after my last ‘burn’ treatment and I told her to let the poor girl die. Why keep her alive for more hell? And she said ‘You’ll want this one to live.’

"So I found Joe…"

August 3, 2002
Somewhere in Nevada…
11:51 PM Mountain Time

A voice hissed at him. "Hey, come on…"

Under the cover of darkness, Jeffrey Spender scurried from one building to another. There were five dorms or bunkers, divided by the sexes. A regular dorm where prisoners could come and go as they pleased as long as they completed their backbreaking work and stayed inside once the evening curfew was put into effect. Then the prison dorms, where the inmates where stripped of their clothes and locked up in cells that made Alcatraz look like the Hilton. Although beatings and torture were encouraged in all the dorms, it was most prevalent in the lock down dorms.

Spender had heard a rumor that the FBI’s Golden Boy, Agent John Doggett, had been incarcerated in the men’s lock down dorm, but so many rumors flew about in this hell hole.

Joe Shepherd was supposed to be in the lock down dorms but he somehow always managed to pull a Houdini when one of the others needed him.

And the newest prisoner needed antibiotics and clean bandages badly or she’d die. That simple.

Spender wondered what was so special about this one as he trailed Shepherd, dodging the giant spotlights that canvassed the camp.

The fifth dorm was laughingly called the Infirmary. It’s where most of the inmates went to die. Still, a few stout hearted women tended to their wounds and tried to ease their mental suffering before their broken bodies finally gave up the ghost.

As they reached the Infirmary, the door opened. A skinny, nervous looking woman, wearing a frayed dress that may have once been pink hissed at them "Hurry. Before the guards." She pulled her scarf over her head to hide her face better. Spender shuddered, seeing the new bulbous lumps on her hands.

Shepherd and Spender darted in. "Where is she, Tamara?" Joe asked her, reaching down and touching her hand as if the skin was smooth and soft, not dry, cracked and tumor ridden.

"This way," Tamara said, leading them to a dark corner of the infirmary. "She’s delusional. She’s calling for her father and for someone named ‘John’."

Spender felt ashamed that he had to look away from Tamara, especially with the condition his own face was in. She tried to keep her hair long to hide her own scalded face, but a few days ago, a guard got hacked off with her for some imagined insult and shaved her head. The first time Spender saw her without her hair, saw all the tumors and blisters, he felt sick. Then he felt pity and scrounged around until he found cloth big enough to cloak her poor mutated head. He wondered if she had been pretty once.

There weren’t many inmates in the infirmary, Spender noticed as he trailed behind Tamara and Shepherd. Then he realized it must be because most of them had died.

As they came closer, a raspy whisper assaulted their ears.

"Papa… John… where are you… please… someone…"

Tamara pointed at the cot in the corner, the whisperings’ source.

As Shepherd knelt down to examine her, Spender looked over his shoulder.

"Oh my God," Spender thought he was going to be sick as Shepherd pulled the ratty blanket away from her.

The last time he saw her, she was dressed in a white wedding gown. Her hair had been curled and she wore a wreath of roses. No more roses and no more long hair either, someone had cut the tresses away and the greasy remains stuck to her sweaty face. And no more white dress, she wore a strange combination of what looked to be a hospital scrub shirt and a black dress skirt. There was blood all over the scrub shirt. Her legs and feet were bare. There were cigarette burns on the bottom of her feet and her hands were clenched in fists.

"Here now, sweetheart," Shepherd crooned lifting one of her hands as she continued to mutter under her breath, now, to Spender’s shock, calling for Mulder and Scully by their first names. "Let’s take a look… oh, God," he said in a helpless rage as he unfurled her hands.

Spender blanched when he saw the blood-encrusted half-moons in the soft palm of her hands. "What is that?" he asked.

"She clenched her hands so tightly when they were torturing her, she cut herself with her own fingernails," Tamara said stonily. "Then they brought her here, figuring that the lice and the germs would finish her off. And they’re probably right."

Meanwhile, Shepherd continued to talk to her as he lifted up her bloody shirt, assessing the ugly red gash down her abdomen, hastily stitched up and still seeping blood, "Alright, sweetheart, it’s going to be alright, you’re doing just fine," he lowered her shirt again and stroked her clammy forehead as he stood up.

"Bullshit," she suddenly rasped out, her eyes fluttering open.

Looking into her hazel eyes was like looking into Mulder’s mind. A scary notion even under normal circumstances, Spender felt his legs give way and Tamara had to help him sit down on an empty cot.

"Tammy," Shepherd said, as if it was a pleasant Sunday afternoon out on the porch, "Could you be so kind and get us some water?"

Tamara nodded and left them alone.

"What’s your name sweetheart?"

"Jerilyn," she said feebly.

"Jerilyn, that’s a really pretty name," he told her. "Now, Jerilyn, I need you to lie still and don’t move. You’ve got yourself a nice cut on your belly that we’re going to fix up for you…"

"I’m a doctor," she said wearily. "I know what those fuckers did," she weakly started to cry. "They kept me awake for it." Her hands balled up into fists again.

Spender covered his face.

"Oh you poor girl," Shepherd whispered, pushing her bangs away from her face.

"They were supposed to take everything out," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "Halfway through, there was a panic. I don’t know what happened, but they had to evacuate. And they just sewed me up as fast as…" she started to fade out a little bit.

Tamara returned with a mug of warm water and handed it to Shepherd. Shepherd cradled Starkweather’s head with his arm and tried to get her to drink but she threw up the few mouthfuls he managed to get inside her.

"How did you get here?" Shepherd said, feeling her forehead. She was burning up. "What did they want with you?"

"My partner was lost," she said. "But it doesn’t matter anymore."

"Why not, sweetheart?"

"Because they told me they killed him," she said as Tamara lifted up her bloody shirt again, pressing a clean cloth to the bleeding incision. "Because I wouldn’t tell them shit, they told me they had him killed. That it’s my fault he died."

"Who was he?" Shepherd asked her. "You’re partner?"

"He was a federal agent," she said, shivering as her body began to lose the fight against the infections raging within.

Shepherd stared at her. "A federal agent?"

"Yes."

"What’s his name, sweetheart?"

She looked up at him. "Oh God, was he here?"

"What was his name, Jerilyn?"

"He wasn’t here… please don’t tell me he was here…"

"Was his name John Doggett?"

She closed her eyes as two fat tears rolled down her dirty cheeks. "Is he still here?" she finally asked as Tamara pulled her smock decently down again and pulled the covers over her again.

"Oh sweetie," Shepherd said softly, feeling his self-protective shell cracking around his heart. "I’m sorry, but… what they told you was true… he was my roommate. He tried to organize an escape but they caught him and…" Shepherd found himself not being able to go on. One day, he was there, the next he was gone. That simple. You didn’t ask questions. You just knew.

"Jerilyn," Tamara said gently, "Do you have anyone else out there? Family?"

She was fading away again. The three of them waited anxiously for her to finally mumble out "My brother. His son…"

"Who are they?" Shepherd said urgently. "Stay with us Jerilyn. Who is your brother?"

"Fox Mulder," she finally whispered.

Spender felt his throat constrict and his eyes well up. ::Then it is true. My God. They wanted me to kill my sister…::

"Why?" he blurted out. "Why are they doing this to you?" ::To us?::

"Because I can read…" she said as her eyelids drooped again and she succumbed to fever-induced coma.

Shepherd stood up. "There’s a guy inside that owes me a favor. I’m going to arrange for her escape."

"Oh Joe," Tamara’s lip trembled as she clutched his ragged shirt.

He took her hands and gently made her let go of him. "It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. She won’t live much longer if she stays… and if she dies… we’ll all die with her."

"What do you mean?" Spender asked.

"Because," Shepherd said. "My guys inside tell me that a UFO cult is after the boy she was talking about. Fox Mulder’s son. If Mulder is still alive, which I personally doubt, but if he is, he’ll do anything to protect the child and he will not survive. That girl over there is the last one in her line. The last one that can tell the truth."

"No she’s not," Spender burst out. Then he told Shepherd and Tamara his secret.

Knowle Rohrer stood over Jeffrey Spender’s cot for several minutes before kicking its flimsy frame, scaring Spender awake.

Rohrer’s appearance always meant another dose of ‘treatment’ so understandably Spender cringed.

Rohrer holding a small wooden box sneered at Spender’s cowardice. "Get up."

Shaking, Spender got off his cot and stood in front of Rohrer, feeling the eyes of the other fellow lab rats staring at him. Pitying him and yet grateful it was him and not them.

"Agent Starkweather is dead," Rohrer announced loudly.

Spender opened his mouth then shut it, hanging his head.

"The old man’s got a job for you," Rohrer told him, holding out the wooden box.

Spender stared at it dumbly.

"You know who Agent Scully is, correct?"

Spender nodded.

"Give this to her."

Spender looked up Rohrer. His scarred hands shook as he reached up to take the little box from him.

Rohrer roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, pushing him towards the door. "You’re a lucky son-of-a-bitch Spender," Rohrer laughed as he guided Spender towards freedom. "The old man is feeling sentimental because he lost his little girl. He figures that since you’re such a pussy, you can take her place as a daughter…"

Back to the present…
January 14, 2003
Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC

"And so, that’s how I managed to escape the prison. Of course, I ran like hell. I hid out for a while. I kept tabs on Scully and William. Discovered that Doggett really wasn’t dead," he looked at Doggett sheepishly. "Then… when I had a chance… I broke into the X-Files office, last October. And met Agent Doggett for the first time and needless to say, I didn’t make a very good first impression."

Doggett snorted but kept silent.

"I want to help," Spender said. "I’m still a federal agent. I was a good agent. I know I was," he said defiantly to Skinner.

"Agent Spender," Skinner said "has been working with me for the past few months, compiling evidence that can help clear up a certain misunderstanding. Once the misunderstanding is cleared up then status quo can be resumed."

Doggett and Reyes looked at each other as Leyla sucked in a breath in surprise.

Skinner had been covertly working with Spender to find a way to clear Mulder and Scully’s names.

"And Agent Starkweather’s return just might be the final nail in the coffin," Spender said. "I know Rohrer and the Cancer Man are dead, but there are others we can bring down. Others that hold high positions in our government. We may just be able to stop this."

"I have a question," Dr. Larutannu said.

"Go ahead," Skinner said.

"How are you going to get a dead woman to testify?" Dr. Larutannu asked. "Because essentially… and I’m sorry to be so blunt because from listening today, I can see that Mrs. Starkweather was a valued member of the FBI as well as a dear friend and sibling… but essentially, she’s dead. Machines are eating for her and breathing for her. Once the machines are turned off, her body will cease functioning. If her heart and lungs manage to work on their own, then she will most certainly starve to death. Mrs. Starkweather left us all a long time ago."

"There are possibilities that we have not yet explored that could bring her back," Reyes snapped at him, tired of his pompous attitude. She rather enjoyed it when their X-Files talk had befuddled him. "We just found her. She’s my friend. I’m not giving up now."

"Not you too," Dr. Larutannu groaned. "Miss Reyes, I understand your distress, but please understand that alternative treatments to coma have not been validated by most medical establishments."

"Most alternative treatments have been around longer than most medical establishments, Dr. Larutannu," Reyes countered. "And if she’s as far gone as you claim she is, what can it hurt?"

"None," Dr. Larutannu sighed. "But I do need to ask something else."

"What?" Skinner said.

"Mr. Leo said that Lily Kimble did not have a living will. Does Mrs. Starkweather?"

Skinner sighed. "I have power of attorney over Mrs. Starkweather," he told him. "I will have to contact her lawyer and go over her legal papers with them."

"It would be selfish," Dr. Larutannu pointed out, "To keep her existing in limbo if she did not want to be kept in this sort of suspended animation. Especially if she is an organ donor."

"I have to contact her lawyer," Skinner reminded him. "I don’t know what her will states off the top of my head. But as soon as I do, I will let you know. The decision to keep her alive on machines ultimately falls to me if she does have a living will."

"Sir," Reyes said. "Please, if she does have a living will, give us a little time to try alternative treatments." When Dr. Larutannu groaned, Reyes spat back at him. "Agent Starkweather came back to us for a reason. I strongly believe that. I am not just going to sit here and watch her die. Not until every option has been explored. Including the extreme possibilities."

"I can help too," Leyla volunteered. Reyes gave her a warm smile.

"This isn’t over yet," Spender said, crossing his arms. "Whether she dies or not, this is far from over."

Everyone fell silent again. For the longest time, the only sound was the howling blizzard wind and Kimberly’s phone ringing outside of Skinner’s office.

Then Doggett finally broke the silence.

"Can I see her?"

Reyes had gone home for a little bit to take a shower and change into more FBI-appropriate clothes. The blizzard had slowed down a bit but the snow still came down heavily. Traffic still moved at a snail’s pace.

Stepping off the elevator, Reyes saw that the ICU was organized chaos. Federal agents and police officers were everywhere. Most were questioning the staff and other potential witnesses. Two were firmly planted in front of Starkweather’s hospital door. Two other federal agents were escorting a nosy newspaper reporter away. The reporter was screaming "First Amendment, you Fascist bastards! Freedom of the press!"

::Oh shut up:: Reyes thought wearily, as she looked down the hall, wondering if Leo had come back yet. There were plain clothes agents and cops at all entrances, waiting for him. He wouldn’t get past them.

The elevator beeped behind her. Reyes jumped a little and turned around as the doors opened.

Doggett stepped off the elevator. "Hi," he said.

She nodded, not sure how to act or what to say. "Hi."

"Have you…" he began to unbutton his trench coat.

She shook her head. "Just got here." She took off her gloves and put them in her coat pocket. "Are you ready for this?"

He smiled at her and shook his head. "Looks like a three ring circus around here," he said as he unwound his scarf from around his neck.

There were snowflakes glittering in his spiky hair. Reyes resisted the urge to brush them off. "Come on," she said, turning to go hang her coat and scarf up on the coat rack in the visitor’s waiting area.

A nurse stopped by them as they were finished hanging their coats up. "And you are?" she asked.

Doggett and Reyes fished out their FBI ID and held them out for her.

"Thought so," she said with a sigh. "I’m telling everyone to make sure their cell phones are turned off. The frequency cellular runs off of can interfere with the equipment we use for patients." She stood there like a sentry until Doggett and Reyes produced their cells and turned them off. "Thank you," she said curtly as she went to check on her less notorious patients.

"I wish Scully was here," Reyes said as they walked closer to Starkweather’s room. "We could really use her expertise right now."

"Maybe Scully and Mulder might be able to come home soon," Doggett said as they stopped to show their FBI ID to the scowling federal agents posted in front of her door.

"Maybe," Reyes said. They both stood their, staring at the door. Then Reyes turned her head and said again "Come on," softly as she reached for his hand, squeezing once, then letting go, reaching for the door knob.

Doggett let Reyes go in first then followed her.

The door closed out the babble of frustrated doctors and nurses and angry federal agents and cops. There was nothing but the sound of whirring life support machines and some tinkling music from a radio.

Reyes closed her eyes. ::I don’t want to see her like this:: she thought suddenly as she forced herself to move closer to the bed.

When she was at the side of the bed, she felt hot, burning tears rise up again. Rage ripped through her as she reached down and ran her fingertips down Starkweather’s arm, avoiding the IV needles.

"Hi Jerilyn," she croaked out. "We’re here. We’re here now. It’s okay."

Doggett, standing at the foot of the bed, silently stared at the wasted form in the bed. Gripping the baseboard of the hospital bed, he looked from her to the ventilator, back to her again. Then he closed his eyes and lowered his head, folding his lips tightly, as if he was holding back a scream or tears or both.

"John…" Reyes said.

He shook his head. "Don’t…" he said in a tremulous voice.

Reyes looked away from him and reached down to take Starkweather’s hand. Her eyes widened when she saw the crescent shaped scars in her palms. "Oh God," she said softly to herself, enfolding Starkweather’s hand in both of hers.

Doggett, with his eyes still closed, suddenly said. "Why is the radio on?"

Reyes looked over the radio. "Oh… one of the nurses said Leo insisted on it. He said that music is supposed to help coma patients…"

Doggett stalked over to the radio and fumbled with the dial. Pretty soon, angry rock music spewed from the speakers.

"… when you are with me, I’m free
I’m careless, I believe
Above all the others, we’ll fly
This brings tears to my eyes
My sacrifice…"

"If that God damned thing has to be on," he choked out, "at least have it be playing something she likes." He left the room.

"I’m sorry, Jerilyn," Reyes whispered. "He’s having a hard time with this. You know John," Reyes kissed Starkweather’s hand and placed it gently back down on the bed. "I’ll be back. I promise."

She watched Doggett walk back towards the coat racks and then chased after him. "John, wait," she said when she reached his side.

He already had his coat on. "I’m going to go talk to Lux Carlos," he said, wrapping his scarf back around his neck, "And tell him he better damn well give us all the X-Files that have anything to do with Justin Leo."

"John…"

"Monica, I can’t sit here and just watch her die." Jerkily, he put his gloves on. "I can’t just do nothing."

"You wouldn’t be doing nothing if you stayed by her," Reyes said, suddenly realizing that this was why she broke up with him. Her premonition of Starkweather’s return was, granted, a huge factor, but this… this was the real problem. What she couldn’t handle any more. Her temper broke. "Why are you so god damned selfish?"

"Me?" Doggett stared at her in shock. "Selfish?" Then he glared at her. "I am not being fucking selfish, Monica. That’s not Starkweather in there, alright? You heard Dr. Larutannu. Starkweather left us a long time ago. That’s just… it’s just a body being kept alive by machines. Starkweather is gone."

"She’s only gone because she doesn’t believe she has anything to come back to," Reyes said.

"She’s gone," Doggett said with his teeth on edge, "because those bastards cut her up and played mind games with her."

"You know Jerilyn’s a fighter. All she has to have a one good reason an-"

"There isn’t a good reason. Not anymore. Everything she had is gone. Her husband, her father, Mulder, Scully, Boo, the Gunmen…"

"You’re still here," Reyes said tersely. "And so I am."

"And just what are you planning on doing Monica? Huh? Prolong her suffering? For what? Jesus Christ… she’s been through enough. I don’t want her to hurt anymore."

"No, John, YOU don’t want to hurt anymore." Reyes said loudly.

A few people turned to stare.

Reyes reddened but repeated herself. "You don’t want to hurt anymore. You’re giving up on her because you’re tired of dealing with loss."

"I’M not the one who’s broken," Doggett snapped at her. "Don’t try and fix me and don’t fucking psychoanalyze me."

"What can it possibly hurt to be there for her?" Reyes demanded.

"Holding her hand and saying mumbo-jumbo is not going to bring her back. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not possible."

"Why not? A doll’s house brought me back from my coma. Scully’s prayers brought you back from yours."

Just then, a federal agent interrupted. "You Agents Doggett and Reyes?"

"Yeah?" Doggett barked at him. "What do you want?"

"Leo’s been spotted in the parking garage."

Doggett and Reyes both sprinted away, bursting through a side door to a stairwell running as if their lives depended on it.

Leyla Harrison pulled into the parking garage. She had just gotten back from the library with the books Reyes told her to go get. There were a few that weren’t at the library so she had made an unexpected stop at the nearest Barnes and Noble and bought them there. She hoped that Reyes wouldn’t be upset that she was a little late.

She scooped up the books and her purse and her briefcase and struggled to get out of her car. She used her rear to shut the car door and started walking towards the elevator door, trying to hold onto the books, feeling them slip out. Soon, sure enough, all the books slid out of her grip.

"Oh great," she sighed, kneeling down, picking up the books.

"Need a hand?"

"Oh, that would be," Leyla looked up and froze. "Wonderful," she said faintly, staring up at Justin Leo.

"Well, hello again," Leo said affably, kneeling down besides Leyla. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Um… just didn’t expect to see you again," Leyla said, trying to produce a smile.

Leo handed her the books. "Funny how things like that happen."

"Yeah," Leyla stood up slowly. "Funny."

"You okay?" Leo looked at her quizzically. "You really are kind of pale."

"Um, I haven’t been tanning lately," Leyla lied pathetically. "I’m white as chalk when I don’t visit the tanning bed on a regular basis and I’m so busy at work it’s just been murder trying to get away…" she babbled on while thinking ::Leyla! Shut up! Shut up!::

"What do you do?" Leo asked, just making conversation.

Meanwhile, Doggett had made his way down the stairwell and was peeping through the small glass window in the stairwell door. "Aw, great," he said, pulling his gun out, clicking the safety off. "Fucking great."

Reyes couldn’t see around Doggett. Pulling out her own Sig Sauer, she whispered. "What is it?"

"Leyla’s out there. Leo’s talking to her."

"Oh no," Reyes moaned. "Does Leo-"

"No, I don’t think Leo thinks Leyla’s FBI yet, but Leyla’s gonna crack," Doggett predicted. "She’s gonna blow it."

"Leyla’s a lot stronger than-" Reyes started to argue but then realized that Doggett wasn’t being pessimistic but prophetic. His second sight again reared its ugly head. "How do you know?"

Without thinking, Doggett replied "She’s gonna drop her purse or her briefcase and her ID’s gonna fall out, dollars to doughnuts."

Just then, the soft sound of a briefcase landing on concrete reverberated throughout the parking garage. "Oh dammit…"

"Let me help," the sound of papers being snatched up.

"No, it’s okay, really!"

"What the hell is this?" Leo picked up Leyla’s FBI credentials. Then he grabbed Leyla’s wrist. "What the hell," he shoved the badge in her face before throwing it onto the ground. "Is this?"

"Shit," Doggett groaned, crouching down.

"John, what are you doing?" Reyes breathed.

"Something heroic and stupid," Doggett muttered as he slowly inched the door open, gun out, pointed towards Leyla. "Cover me," he muttered to Reyes. "And any shot you can get on Leo, take it." He slid out the door and crept behind the first car he saw. Crouching low, he moved silently from car to car, getting closer and closer to Leo. Reyes stayed where she was, trying to get a clear shot at Leo, but Leyla was in the way.

"Dammit," Reyes muttered.

Meanwhile, Leo had reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a snub nosed Beretta. He pressed it hard against Leyla’s face. As she whimpered, he asked "Who are you, FBI?"

"Please," she gasped. "Please, I work in accounting."

"Accounting huh," Leo yanked her closer to him. "And why are you here instead of at J. Edgar, Miss Accounting?"

"Please, I told you the truth! My grandmother…"

Leo squeezed her wrist and pushed the gun barrel into her face harder until she cried out. "But you know who I am, don’t you? You see my face every day on the Ten Most Wanted List."

"Please, I told you! I’m an accountant! I work with fraud. I don’t…"

"An FBI agent who works in fraud comes to see her sick granny and bumps into me," he sneered at her. "And funny, here you are, FBI. Again. What a coincidence."

"Yeah, Leo," Doggett stood up and pointed his gun at Leo’s head. "What a coincidence.

Two other federal agents who have been monitoring Leo’s movement ever since they spotted him in his car two blocks away materialized, pointing guns at Leo. Reyes burst out of the stairwell, pointing her gun at Leo.

Leo whirled Leyla around and pinned her against him, pointing his gun at her temple. "Don’t make me hurt her!" he yelled at them.

Leyla tried desperately to think of what Scully would do in this situation and realized that even Scully would be helpless if a gun was digging into her head. She squeezed her eyes tight.

"Leo," Reyes said calmly, "Let her go and lay your weapon down. We are prepared to use deadly force if necessary."

"So am I," Leo yelled, moving the gun barrel from Leyla’s temple to her cheek.

"Justin!"

Everyone jumped.

The voice came from behind Doggett.

A very feminine, familiar husky voice.

Everyone turned and looked at the small blond woman standing there, long black leather coat, belted around her tiny middle. Her hazel eyes flashed dangerously.

Leo’s eyes widened in shock, "You’re awake," he gasped out. "Lily, you’re alive."

Keeping his gun pointed at Leo, Doggett looked behind him and thought ::Well, Leo, you finally fucking got it right for once.::

Lily Stratford was indeed awake and alive and well. She stood a few feet behind Doggett and Reyes, her hands behind her back.

"I think she’s armed," Doggett murmured to Reyes lowly, focusing his sight back on Leo. "Be careful."

Lily advanced. "Come on Jus, let the girl go, we’ll get out of here."

"Stop right there!" one of the other federal agents called out.

The spiked heels of her black vinyl boots clicked loudly on the pavement as she kept advancing. She held her hands out, showing them that she had nothing to hide. Doggett and Reyes didn’t buy it though. Doggett kept his gun on Leo but Reyes pointed hers at Lily.

"Agent, you’re pointing a gun an unarmed woman!" one of the federal agents yelled at her but Reyes ignored him.

"Justin," Lily said, continuing to walk closer to him. "Come on, let her go. "

Leo walked closer to her, forcing Leyla to walk with him. The other agents backed off but kept their weapons pointed at Leo as he and Leyla got closer and closer to Lily who had put her hands down. Doggett watched Lily like a hawk, his eyes on her hands, which were perilously close to her pockets.

Still clutching Leyla, Leo stared at Lily suspiciously. "How did your hair grow back?" he asked.

"Please, Justin," Lily said "There’s no time. There’ll be more feds and cops soon. Let the girl go and come with me, now. Right now."

Leo narrowed his eyes. "Your hair was short when you were in the hospital. And it was turning brown."

::Oh God, he’s starting to lose it:: Reyes held her breath and moved her gun slightly, away from Lily, keeping the aim nice and steady on Leo’s head… but it was still too risky of a shot, no matter how confident Reyes was that she could make it. All Leo would have to do in a split second is move half-an-inch and Leyla would be dead.

"Leo, that’s not me up there. Look, please, they tricked you," Lily said, her left hand going into her pocket.

"Alpha," Doggett bawled out. "Keep your god damned hands where we can see them!"

But Leo pulled the gun away from Leyla’s head and pointed it at Lily instead. "You are not Lily," he said harshly. "Stop fucking with me."

"Shit," Reyes said.

"Leo, put the gun down!" Doggett said, prepared to fire. He knew that a mere bullet wouldn’t kill Alpha.

But how could he explain that to all the other federal agents surrounding the scene. His ass would be grass for firing on a seemingly unarmed female, no matter how much she deserved it.

And the bitch would probably fake her death too, just to see him get bounced out of the FBI and maybe even go to jail.

Before Doggett could contemplate further, Lily quickly pulled out a sub-compact coal black gun, a 3032 Tomcat Beretta, out of her left pocket and cocked it, pointing it at Leo’s head. "Don’t be stupid," she hissed at him. "Don’t throw your life away, let the fucking girl go!"

"Leo!" Reyes cried out. "Listen to her!"

Leo turned his head to look at Reyes. Lily threw her gun in the air, lunged forward, shoved Leyla out of Leo’s grip while grabbing Leo’s gun out of his hand. Then she stepped back, caught the falling gun with her left hand as she fired the Tomcat in her right hand twice, injuring two federal agents. Leo managed to scrape together some sanity and started running as Lily covered him.

Landing hard on the ground, Leyla covered her head with her arms in a futile self-defensive motion. When Leo and Lily took off running, Reyes ran to Leyla to check on her as Doggett began pursuing the latest twist on Bonnie and Clyde. Meanwhile, the other injured agents, feebly searched for their two way radios so they could call for back up.

"Stop!" Doggett yelled as he ran after Lily and Leo through the garage. Sirens began to fill the air. Lily fired at Doggett. Doggett felt something fly by his cheek, cutting him, but he didn’t notice.

"The red car," she panted, throwing Leo’s gun back to him. "The Grand Am," she then threw the keys at him. "Go! I’ll find you. Just get the hell out of here." She stopped in her tracks, stood there as long as she could so that Doggett could clearly see her then took off in the opposite direction of where Leo was running.

"Dammit!" Doggett cried out as he watched Leo get into the Grand Am. But he chased after Alpha who was sprinting towards the elevator.

"Lily Stratford, you’re under arrest!" Doggett yelled at her, only feet away from her. "I’m armed, I will fire!" Lily turned to shoot at him again but Doggett had the quicker trigger finger and squeezed off two rounds. The force of the bullets slamming into her chest knocked Lily down to the ground.

As blood pooled around her, ruby red stains on the dirty concrete floor, Doggett kicked her gun out of her hand and pointed his own at her, waiting.

Soon enough, the blood stopped gushing out of her body. She took a deep, whooping breath as her hands crept up to examine the wounds as they healed. The sounds of frantic medics and other federal agents came closer to him as Doggett waited over Lily, his gun still pointed at her.

"Sir, are you alright?" a medic asked, seeing the gunpowder burns and blood seeping down Doggett’s cheek as the other medic looked at Lily and said "Oh man…"

"She’s fine," Doggett said, holstering his gun and roughly grabbing Lily by the bloody lapels of her ruined coat. "Aren’t you? Alpha?" He yanked her to her feet.

Lily, knowing that to fight now would be pointless, opened her eyes, which were still hazel. "That’s right Agent Doggett," she sneered. "You only grazed me."

"What," he asked her softly. "Did you take over for Bravo now?"

She blinked her eyes, the hazel swirling away into blue. "Why would I do that?" she asked him as the crescent shaped scar melted away from her forehead.

Reyes and Leyla came running. "Leyla, you alright?" Doggett asked her. When Leyla dumbly nodded, Doggett snapped at Reyes. "Monica, do you have handcuffs?"

"John, your face…"

"I’m fine. Just give me the damn handcuffs. Miss Stratford now is back in federal custody," he slammed her into the wall. "You have the right to remain silent," he said as Reyes took a pair of handcuffs out of her coat pocket and handed them to Doggett. Doggett finished reciting her Miranda rights just as he finished cuffing her. "Before I haul your trigger happy ass in," he breathed in her ear, "There’s something you need to do."

"Why the fuck do you think I came here in the first place, you asshole?" she snarled at him as Doggett dragged her back inside the hospital.

Meanwhile, as the paramedics tended to their wounds, the first injured federal agent said as he watched Doggett force Alpha onto the elevator while Reyes and Leyla followed, "Man, did you see what that chick did?"

"Thought I was seeing things," the second agent said, wincing at the paramedic checked his wound. "That was a move straight out of ‘The Matrix.’"

Doggett told Reyes and Leyla to wait outside as he shoved Alpha into Starkweather’s room. Leyla meekly obeyed, but Reyes, sensing that Doggett’s last nerve was about to snap, followed.

As Doggett un-handcuffed Alpha, he said "Thought I told you to wait outside."

"Thought that might be a bad idea, John," Reyes said defiantly as she sat down in a chair in the corner.

He scowled at her, but then turned to the petite woman rubbing her wrists. Pointing at Starkweather, he said to Alpha in a low voice. "Make her come back."

Rubbing her wrists, Alpha slowly inched away from Doggett and towards Starkweather’s bed. Her eyes, still blue, never left Doggett. "Like I said," she said when she was next to Starkweather, "Why do you think I’m here?"

"Sorry, you kind of threw me when you helped Leo escape," Doggett said, his hand resting on the holster of his gun. Reyes saw that the safety was still off and bit her lip.

Alpha stared at him vindictively for a moment before raising her hand and then lowering it on Starkweather’s forehead. She closed her eyes for a second.

Then opened them again. Her face openly revealing her confusion and bewilderment, she lifted her hand off of Starkweather and stared at it as if it was a never-before-seen object.

Turning away from Doggett and Reyes, she put her hand back on Starkweather’s forehead again. Then took it off again. Then walked towards Doggett.

Doggett’s gun was instantly out of his holster and pointed in Alpha’s face. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"John, no." Reyes was on her feet.

Alpha placed her hand on the barrel of Doggett’s gun and said quietly. "See that silver thing over there? Next to Agent Starkweather’s bed? That’s a cylinder of pure oxygen. You fire that gun and the spark could possibly blow us all to kingdom come."

"John, put the gun down," Reyes said.

Doggett looked at Reyes then put the gun back into his holster.

Alpha raised her hand to his cheek. "I need to check something…"

Her fingertips grazed the bullet nick on his face and Doggett then felt a sharp burning sensation flaring throughout his face and then as quickly as it struck, it retreated. Doggett touched his check and only felt flesh.

Alpha, meanwhile, still stared at her hand. "I can’t bring her back."

"You’re lying," Doggett said.

"No." Alpha closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they were silver. "Not this time."

"Why?" Reyes asked. "You just healed John’s face."

"I can only heal bodies," Alpha finally said. "Not souls."

Doggett parked his truck on the curb and let it idle for a moment, thinking.

After it finally sunk in that there was nothing that Alpha could do for Starkweather, Doggett remanded Alpha to Reyes’ custody and went out to the parking lot to make a phone call. To make sure that someone would be around if he happened to drop in unexpectedly.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, today was a snow day due to the miserable weather. So they’d be home.

Tightening his scarf around his neck, Doggett turned his nice warm truck off and got out, walking towards the respectable little house, trudging through the snow drifts, jamming his cold hands into his coat pockets.

Just as he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, a medium sized dog with perky ears and a shaggy coat rounded the corner of the house, plowing through a snow bank to greet him. Doggett grinned. He was not nervous. He knew this dog.

"Hi girl," he said, crouching down to scratch her ears. He still, to this day, could not bring himself to address the dog by its unusual name.

"Tummy!!!" a boyish voice called out. "Where are you?"

Doggett stood up, "Over here, Peter!"

Peter Sedai trudged through the snow. His cheeks were pink from the chill. "Hey, I didn’t know you were going to come over today!" the young boy said with a grin.

True to his word after he and Starkweather (along with Mulder, Scully, Langly, Dr. Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm) had rescued him from La Luna Blanca, or as Starkweather once called it "Jurassic Park Version 2.0", Doggett visited Peter as much as time would allow. Starkweather, Mulder and Scully had too, until their disappearances. So it was up to Doggett to dutifully attend whatever ball game or music recitals, work schedule allowing, of course. It wasn’t like being a parent, but it was like being a nice uncle. Which wasn’t so bad.

And little Pete was growing like a weed. All arms and legs now, he did not resemble the stuttering, doe-eyed dirty little boy that had materialized in Mulder’s hotel room on the island. But he still possessed a very sweet disposition, tempered with boyish unruliness, of course.

And he had to wear a retainer now, so the stuttering was now replaced by almost slurring speech. But Peter often conveniently forgot to put his mouthpiece in. Like today. "Is the weather so bad that they closed the federal places too? Like they did last week?"

"Nope, we’re still open. I just needed to talk to your mom for a little bit." Doggett said. "So what have you been doing all day?"

"Oh, Mom said I had to take Tummy out for a while because she was driving her nuts. But then she said I could go to my friend Sam’s house in a little while," Peter said as Tummy trotted over to Peter’s side. "He’s got the new ‘Twisted Metal’ game for Playstation Two."

"Um, that’s nice," Doggett said, having no clue what Peter was talking about. "When’s your next game?"

Peter was on his elementary school’s Pee Wee basketball team and was utterly hopeless. But then so were most of the other kids, the games were more about teaching the kids the rudiments of the game and displaying confidence in front of crowds. The drive to win would be hammered in by their future middle and high school coaches if they chose to pursue basketball throughout their schooling.

"Next Saturday," Peter said. "D’you think you can come?"

"I really would like to," Doggett said honestly. "If work doesn’t send me anywhere, I’ll be there."

There was no point in telling him about Starkweather. The boy had fallen into deep deep puppy love with both Scully and Starkweather. Doggett felt it would be an act of cruelty to get the child’s hopes up that one of his grown up friends had essentially returned from the grave.

Fortunately, Peter understood that ‘femeral’ agents sometimes had to travel out of town and couldn’t always be there for their friends who were kids. Now if it had been his mom or his dad that bailed, THAT would be a whole other story. But Ana and Harry, despite a miserable marriage and a rough separation, had now a very amicable divorce. Mostly for Peter’s sake, but also their own sanity. Doggett envied their divorce. He wished he could be like that with Barb… but…

"Hey, Pete," Doggett said, shivering. "I’m freezing to death, so I’m going to go in and say hi to your mom real quick. I’ll let you know about the game."

"Well," Peter said, pulling his red stocking cap firmly over his ears. "I got ‘nother game not just this Saturday, but the one after that. And then, I gotta a piano recital after that." Then he dropped his voice conspiratorially, "But if you don’t wanna come to the piano one, that’s okay. I don’t wanna go to the piano thing but Mom makes me. I hate piano. I’d rather play basketball."

Doggett nodded, taking the boy’s words very seriously. The irony was that Peter excelled in piano. "I will do my best, Pete to see you," he said honestly.

"Cool," Pete grinned. "Gotta go. Mom said I had to shovel the walk before I could go to Sam’s. Come on Tum!" With a wave, Peter ran to the garage to get a shovel, his beloved dog, a gift from Mulder, on his heels.

Doggett looked around the neighborhood, half-afraid that Leo would suddenly appear on the doorstep of his dearly used and abused relations. Ana had told him that occasionally Peter has horrible nightmares of Leo putting him down that hole into a cavern and then being left to die in the dark.

Doggett waited until he saw Peter exit the garage, armed with a shovel, Tummy, like a faithful bodyguard not leaving his side. Doggett waved and then let himself inside. "Anyone home?"

"In here!" a cheerful voice beckoned him from the kitchen.

Doggett followed her voice and found Ana sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by thick text books. "Hi Ana," he said, unbuttoning his coat. "Sorry to drop in like this."

"No," Ana stood up and stretched. It was definitely a lazy day at the Sedai’s. Potato soup was simmering in a crock pot, bread was baking in a bread machine and Ana was wearing a giant sweat shirt and comfortable old jeans. "This is just the excuse I need to quit studying." One of Ana’s resolutions after the divorce was to go back to school and get her law degree. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Ana," Doggett said seriously. "We need to talk."

"About?" she tried to sound light.

"Leo."

She looked at the floor. "I knew it," she said softly. "It was too good to be true." She looked up at Doggett, square in the eyes. "What has he done?"

"Agent Starkweather is back," he told her.

Ana put her hand to her throat, her mouth falling open in shock. "Why… that’s wonderful news… isn’t it?"

Doggett shook his head. "She’s in a coma. She’s been badly injured…. Mistreated. Leo had her. He had Starkweather registered under an alias. We found her by sheer dumb luck."

"You think Leo did… you think Leo hurt her?"

"I don’t know," Doggett admitted. "We don’t know what… we know what was done to her… but we don’t know why and we don’t know how Leo got a hold of her in the first place. Ana, we need to get inside your half-brother’s head."

Ana nodded. "I’ll make that coffee," she said. "After what he did to Peter, I’ll tell the FBI anything and everything I know. Harry too. You know that."

"Yes I do," Doggett said, watching Ana measuring out coffee grains and then carefully pouring them into the filter. "That’s why I came here."

"Do you mind if we talk in the living room?" Ana asked, suddenly nervous. "I would like to keep an eye on Peter. I can watch him through the living room windows."

"I figured as much."

"Did you tell him?"

"About Leo. No. I didn’t talk to him about Starkweather either. I didn’t…" he sighed. "I didn’t wanna field questions that I don’t have answers for yet."

Ana nodded again. "You what’s funny? After we got him back from that island, he had his heart set on learning how to play the piano. He said he wanted to be able to play like ‘Mrs. Jeri.’ But when Agent Starkweather disappeared… well, it’s been a real fight for us to get him to continue. But Harry and I agreed that he needs to stick with music lessons at least another year. If he still wants to quit, we’ll see. He might not even have time for lessons once he hits middle school anyway. They keep kids so damn busy now. That’s why Pete is only in piano and basketball. We don’t want to stress him out. He’s still a kid…"

Doggett recognized that she rambled out of nervousness and politely waited for her to trail off. "Ana, I’m sorry that I had to drop such a bombshell on you," he said.

"Do you think Peter’s in danger?" she asked sharply as the coffee began to brew.

"I don’t know," he said honestly. "That’s why I’m here. Ana, I gotta know what makes Leo tick. And I gotta know as much about Lily Stratford as possible. Why is he obsessed with her?"

Ana leaned against the kitchen counter watching the coffee dripping out into the glass pot. "Justin," she said after a pregnant pause, "is my half-brother. My father got remarried embarrassingly quickly after he divorced my mother. Justin’s mother was my father’s receptionist and they had been quietly conducting an affair behind my mother’s back for years."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m not," Ana said. "My mother was very cold hearted. She cared more about propriety and image than about people. My stepmother was very caring, very loving but naïve. She didn’t understand why Dad’s family and Dad’s friends didn’t accept her or their baby. She couldn’t comprehend how cut throat and back stabbing upper class society could be. And the rejection of Dad’s world was insult to injury because her own family was very religious. The fact that she got pregnant out of wedlock was down right disgraceful. They disowned her. They still don’t speak to her."

"So Leo’s mother is still living?"

"Oh yes. She and my father divorced shortly after Lily Stratford’s disappearance. She moved to DC, started her own business, met a very nice man, they got married and live a peaceful life. I stayed in touch with her. She helped me get through my divorce with Harry. We’re friends."

"Would she know where Justin would go?"

Ana shook her head. "She wouldn’t know anymore than I do."

"So he doesn’t contact her anymore either?"

Ana shook her head again. "Not after the Ben Starkweather case, when he tried to set up Deputy Mayor Mulder. Actually, she told him not to contact her."

"So he did contact her?"

Now Ana nodded, "He called her but he didn’t speak long, he figured that the FBI may have tapped her phones. It didn’t matter. She didn’t give him a chance. She told him she was ashamed of him, that she didn’t raise him to be a liar. That he needs to let Lily go and get on with his life and until he does so, then never to call her again and she hung up on him."

Doggett frowned. "Did she not understand that Justin may be mentally ill?"

"She does now. At the time, she thought she was doing, you know, tough love. Coffee, John? It’s ready."

Doggett, still cold from his stint outside, said yes and Ana poured two cups. Handing him one, she asked if he minded they moved to the living room now so she could watch out for Peter.

"No, I don’t mind," Doggett said. "Lead the way."

Once in the living room, Ana sat down stiffly in a very cushy looking arm chair and Doggett sat across from her in the love seat. Periodically looking out the window for her energetic son, Ana continued her story.

"Justin adores his mother. He truly is… was… a mama’s boy and he’d do anything to make her happy. So he tried to do what she couldn’t. He tried to fit in with the rich kid’s crowd in hopes that vicariously, if he was accepted, then she would be too. Or at least, that’s what I think what was going on subconsciously. I’m not a shrink. I do know that Justin had a talent of getting in over his head. My school career consisted of bailing Jus out of trouble, covering for him so Daddy wouldn’t get mad. When he got older, he became more… subtle about climbing the social ladder. I think eventually his aspirations had less and less to do with his mother and more and more about himself."

"The Stratfords," Doggett said slowly. "It was symbolic for him, wasn’t it?"

Ana got up and went to the window when she couldn’t see Peter any more. When she saw him frolicking in the snow with Tummy, she took a deep breath of relief and continued. "The Stratfords represented everything Justin dreamed of and was cut off from because his mother’s side of the family was bigoted and his father’s side was snobby. The Stratfords were a very old family in Virginia. Old money, old houses, old businesses… farm lands that had been in the Stratford family for years and years. And the Stratfords doted on their daughter. That was genuine. They loved her. Mr. Stratford was a diabetic, which hampered his ability to procreate so they ended up adopting Lily. And she was the light of their world."

"What was Lily like?" Doggett asked.

Ana leaned against the giant picture window and looked up at the ceiling. "Beautiful. Tiny little thing. Light hair, blond. Gray eyes. But it’s been so long, I don’t remember… wait…"

Ana crossed to the other side of the living room to a bookshelf and pulled out a very dusty school annual. "This was from my senior year, so Lily would be… eighth grade? No, ninth. Anyway, to give you an idea…"

She sat down beside Doggett on the love seat and flipped through the old book until she found the junior high section. "I was right the first time. Eighth grade. But… here. Here she is," Ana pointed.

Doggett stared at the small black and white photo of a beautiful girl with a heart face, her hair curled especially for picture day. He could see resemblances between Lily and Jerilyn, but in this picture, the differences stood out. He had seen pictures of Jerilyn as a young girl and she, to be completely honest, had been a rather plain looking girl. Lily, even in this grainy photograph, seemed to dazzle.

::Or maybe:: Doggett pondered as he flipped through the book to find if Lily had any worthwhile high school accomplishments ::It’s the personality coming through.:: Starkweather had said she had been too serious and too brainy for her own good during her school years and really kept to herself. Here Lily looked as though life was one endless party.

Doggett read aloud Lily’s junior high school accomplishment. "Class president, Junior High School Choir, Junior High Speech Club, Junior High Band, Flutist, First Chair, Junior High Spring Play, starring role in ‘Li’l Abner’, Cheerleader for the Junior High Wrestling Team and Class Valedictorian."

"I know it’s only junior high," Ana said, "but that’s still quite a bit for a fourteen year old girl to accomplish. And she was like that all through junior and high school and all the boys had crushes on her and Justin fell for her hard."

"Did Lily reciprocate?"

"Hard to tell. Their first and last date was the Senior Prom."

"And then she disappeared."

Ana got up again and looked out the window. "I wish I could tell you more, John. I wish I could tell you exactly why he obsesses over her so much. But I’m just speculating. And I’m afraid."

"I don’t blame you," Doggett said, continuing to flip through the high school year book.

Ana shuddered "Peter still is afraid of the dark, you know. He won’t admit it, but he won’t go to sleepovers with his friends because he doesn’t want them to know that he’s afraid. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but he’s still afraid. It used to be he had to have the lights on all the time and with the dog. If he woke up and it was dark, he has hysterics, he’s half-asleep and he thinks he’s back in the cave with all the dead bodies and the bones," her voice cracked. "It’s better now, we can turn the light off once he’s asleep and as long as Tummy is at the foot of the bed… but a few nights ago, she had to go outside and Peter woke up while Tummy was out and…" she took another deep breath. "It wasn’t a good night."

"Ana," Doggett said, helplessly. "I wish to God we could have gotten there and gotten him out sooner."

"I don’t blame you. I mean… my God, John, he shot you, and he tried to kidnap Jerilyn and Peter too… I blame Justin. And I’m afraid of Justin. Peter said that Justin promised he would never call me or Peter again… so far, he hasn’t… but… and he was here, in DC all this time… " she looked at Doggett earnestly. "John, if there was something I could tell you, or… or a way to find out where Justin is hiding, I would do it in a heartbeat. God forgive me, he’s my brother, but I’d feel safer if he was behind bars. Where he can’t hurt anyone again. So my son can sleep in the dark."

But Doggett wasn’t listening. He was staring intently on some scribbling on one of the back pages of the annual. "Ana, what does this mean?" He then read out loud:

"Fat Tuesday
Made the news today
For two
Fled
Archaic Anarchy
To live in an everlasting party
And two
Found two
A king for her
And a princess fair for me
And the four had a yacht
And floated forever in the Gulf sea
During eternal Mardi Gras"

The poem was neatly printed out but the signature was barely legible. Doggett struggled to make sense of it. "Someday, sis, it will be you and me and Mardi Gras. Love Jus." He looked up at Ana.

"Oh," Ana smiled. "Mardi Gras. We both as kids, before we fully understood what it meant, what it was all about, wanted to go to Mardi Gras. We both said we were going to have a boat on the bayou and eat jambalaya and crawfish and sing in the streets. I’m not even sure how we got New Orleans in our heads as kids. I think I had to read about it in social studies or something and Jus, he was such a little sponge…" she then looked at Doggett’s face. "What is it?"

"Ana, I think you told me where Justin is going."

The little black kitten leapt off Reyes’ lap when Doggett opened the front door. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he walked towards her carrying his briefcase and a large sack from PetCo.

"Waiting for you," Reyes said simply, getting off the couch and brushing cat hair off of her. "I see you have a new roommate," she pointed at the little kitten who was intent on stalking a scrap of paper on the floor.

"Yeah… well," Doggett set his briefcase and PetCo bag on the coffee table. "Stray cat cornered her in the garage last night after you left so I…" Doggett unknotted his scarf and took off his gloves as he continued sheepishly "Well, it was freezing out and she’s such a little thing… I’m not completely heartless."

His last comment irritated her. "I never thought you were heartless."

He turned his mouth down, as if he tasted something incredibly sour. "Could have fooled me," he said as he took off his coat. "If memory serves, in the hospital you said I was being selfish."

Reyes felt her irritation spreading through her body, starting from her chest and moving to her face, toes and fingertips. "I didn’t come here to argue and I certainly didn’t come here to be the target for your anger."

"I’m not angry," Doggett lied as he sat down on his coffee table. As he reached into the Pet Co bag, he added "And I don’t want to fight either. So if that’s the case, what are you doing here?"

Watching him take out a box of Purina Kitten Chow, Reyes replied "AD Skinner called me after you had briefed him about where you think Leo may have fled to."

"What’d he say?"

"Not much. Just for us to go to his office as soon as possible. He wants to put together a task force."

Doggett fumbled with the box of kitten food, trying to open the top with his big hands. "What else did he say, Monica? You’re holding out."

"Skinner and Kersh are in a meeting right now with the Director, petitioning him to re-instate the X-Files with you as Section Chief of the Division and me as Senior Agent."

"Small division, big titles," Doggett snorted as he sat down on the coffee table, trying to open the small box of kitten food with his big hands. "What else?" When Reyes didn’t answer, he locked his piercing eyes onto her face

Reyes took a breath. "One of the agents briefed him on your behavior while apprehending Lily Stratford."

"And? What? They’re going to take my badge for roughing up a suspect after she shot at me? They might as well suspend half the Bureau and all of DC’s police force for that." He finally tore open the top of the box lid. The kitten mewed happily. "Hold on, hold on," he said to the kitten as she darted across the floor towards him so she could weave in and out of his ankles. Reaching back into the bag for the small food dish he bought her, he said to Monica. "That surprises me that Skinner would send you to tell me he wants me off the case instead of telling me to my face."

"He didn’t send me to tell you you’re off the case. He’s worried about you. He’s thinking of you as a friend, not as a subordinate. He knows that this thing with Jerilyn isn’t easy, for either of us." Doggett didn’t look at Reyes as he poured kitten food into the little red dish. The kitten meowed happily and was practically dancing as he set the dish down. When Doggett still didn’t answer, when he still watched the kitten instead of looking up at Reyes, she added, "Jerilyn was my friend too, John. I feel just as guilty as you do."

"Guilty?" Now Doggett looked up at her. "What the hell should you feel guilty about? This isn’t your fault."

"I knew the risk to Jerilyn as much as any of us. And… there’s something that you… well, there’s something we didn’t tell you."

"What?"

"While you were still missing, Jerilyn just about resigned from the FBI. But Dana and I talked her out of quitting. And… sometimes I wonder, if I had just stayed out of it and let Jerilyn quit… maybe…"

"That’s ridiculous, Mon," Doggett said earnestly. "Starkweather’s stubborn as hell, if she really wanted to quit, she would have. There’s nothing you could have done to stop her if her heart was really into it."

"Just like there was nothing you or Fox could have done to stop her from going to Belle Fleur," Reyes said gently. "Or from her getting on that plane to Russia."

Doggett looked down at the kitten again. "I can’t just stand back and watch her die, Monica. I won’t sit this one out. And I’ll tell Skinner that."

"Skinner already guessed that. But there’s something else."

"What?"

Now Reyes made the sour face. "There’s a problem."

"What is it?"

"Agent Fishe received a tip on the location of Mulder and Scully."

Doggett’s eyes about fell out of his head, "Oh no."

Reyes nodded. "That’s why Skinner and Kersh are petitioning to re-open the X-Files sooner. Fishe, of course, thinks he’s doing the right thing in investigating the claim, but of course, it’s making everything worse."

"How?"

"Well, the tip came from the New Mexico field office."

"Shit. That’s where we last saw them. Do you think they’re still there?"

"No. They were in a town called Agua Prieta. In Mexico."

"How did you know?"

"I just found out. Skinner thinks that a mole, maybe two, had seen Mulder and Scully in Agua Prieta earlier but lost their trail now. And are now using the FBI to flush them out again."

"But how do they know that they were in that town?"

"Because Gibson Praise was there," Reyes said. "Mulder and Scully had left him behind with the Ibarras to protect him."

"Oh God. Why didn’t Manny or any of the others call?"

"We just found out. And Manny is probably lying low since his green card is a forgery." In a misguided act of kindness, the dearly departed Lone Gunmen had created a false green card for Manny Ibarra so he could stay in the United States. "The New Mexico field office did have Rafael Ibarra and Azti Cielo in for questioning. Skinner said they threatened them with deportation, but Rafael and Atzi held there ground."

"Do we know where Gibson is now?" Doggett asked. "Or Mul-duh and Dana?"

"Skinner told me that Gibson had a feeling trouble was coming so he left with Azucena. But it’s not a secret that Azucena does charity work in Mexico, especially near Chiapas…"

"Oh crap," Doggett said, rubbing his face. "They’re sitting ducks."

"Well, more like crawling ducks. Skinner and Kersh are doing their best for damage control but Fishe is still pushing to conduct a full blown international investigation. He still holds a big grudge against Dana."

"Dana didn’t take any of his bullshit, did she?" Doggett said with a grin even though he felt his throat tightened. Despite their rocky beginning, Scully, over time, became one of his dearest friends and he missed her almost as much as he missed Starkweather. Almost.

"Oh she took it, and threw it right back in his pompous face," Reyes said with satisfaction. "One thing in our favor is that with the threat of terrorism being first and foremost with the FBI, it is doubtful that Fishe will be allowed to conduct the investigation just because the type of undertaking he wants is enormously expensive. Plus, we just don’t have the manpower. Also, if we’re right and Mulder and Dana are in that part of Mexico, well, it’s no walk in the park. Between the Zapatistas and the Mexican military, not to mention the wild animals and tropical diseases, it’s an extremely dangerous part of the world."

"But, okay, so the FBI investigation gets stalled, that’s great. What about the Syndicate? What’s stopping them now from going after them?"

"Prayer, I guess," Reyes said in a small voice.

"God, I hope so," Doggett said.

"And speaking of prayer," Reyes added "Promise me one thing John."

"What?" he said warily.

"Before going into the field to track down Leo, promise me you’ll at least see Jerilyn again before you go. You never know… Dana prayed for you… it could work. If not the power of prayer, maybe the power of suggestion?"

Doggett nodded as the kitten pawed at his leg, asking to be picked up. Absently he reached down and scooped the kitten up. "I’ll see her," Doggett promised.

Later
Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC
6:01 PM Eastern Standard Time

Kimberly looked up from her transcribing when Doggett and Reyes walked through the door. "Are we late?" Doggett asked.

"Traffic was horrible," Reyes said apologetically. "The weather…"

Kimberly looked behind her and saw nothing but whirling snowflakes. "The Assistant Director still wants to see you," she said, rising from her seat.

"Which means we were late," Doggett muttered.

Kimberly nervously tapped on Skinner’s door before opening it. "Agents Doggett and Reyes, sir," she said, standing aside to let the agents walk in.

"Thank you Kimberly," Skinner said, getting up from his desk.

Doggett and Reyes entered the office. When Kimberly shut the door behind them, Doggett said, "So where is everyone?"

"The briefing ending twenty minutes ago, Agent Doggett," Skinner said quietly.

Before Doggett had a chance to explode, Reyes interjected "Sir, we apologize, the weather is really bad out ther-"

"Agent Reyes, I don’t think I have to impress on you or Agent Doggett the real risks that we are running in pursuing Justin Leo. There are still threats to Agent Starkweather. And Mulder and Scully. Within and without these walls."

"The task force," Doggett said. "It’s a smokescreen."

Skinner nodded. "The manpower we demanded in pursuing Leo effectively hurt Fishe’s request for agents in his pursuit of Mulder and Scully."

"But where are they?" Doggett said. "Mul-duh and Dana?"

Skinner shook his head. Doggett and Reyes didn’t know if that mean he didn’t know or wasn’t saying or couldn’t say.

"Wherever they are," a raspy voice from the corner of the office suddenly chimed in, "they aren’t safe."

Doggett and Reyes turned around and saw Jeffrey Spender. "Well, thanks for the update," Doggett said. "My question is how do we make ‘em safe?"

"By capturing Leo and having him testify that Mulder and Scully are innocent of any wrong-doing," Skinner said. "I already have two others being extradited that can help clear their names."

"Well, that’s great," Doggett said. "Who?"

Skinner only looked at him, his mouth twisted into a frown. Doggett took that as his cue to shut up.

The side door to Skinner’s office opened up and Alpha was escorted in by none other than Deputy Director Alvin Kersh along with two other very burly federal agents. Doggett was pleased to see Alpha dressed in bright penitentiary orange from head to toe and accessorized with leg irons and hand cuffs.

But the biggest shock was the man dressed in a sharp suit with his dreadlocked hair tied back in a pony tail at the nape of his neck, walking in behind Kersh, the guards and Alpha.

Because the last they saw of him, he couldn’t walk.

"Agent Carlos?" Reyes said, barely concealing her astonishment.

Agent Lux Carlos of the CIA regarded Reyes with a curt nod. Reyes remembered then that he trusted her as far as he could throw her. She bridled a little bit at the unfairness of it. Mulder and Starkweather had known about her past with the Syndicate and had not held it against her. They realized that she had made a youthful albeit deadly mistake.

However, if Doggett ever found out, especially now…

"It’s finalized," Kersh said in his oily voice, handing Skinner a folder. "The Director’s signed the necessary forms. All we have to do is make the official offer."

Skinner nodded, flipped open the folder, skimmed it and then turned to Doggett and Reyes. "The X-Files, as of today, have been re-instated. This," Skinner held up the folder, "is a formal offer to you, Agent Reyes and you Agent Doggett, to be transferred back to the X-Files Division. Reyes, for you the move would be lateral, but Agent Doggett, this position would be a promotion from Special Agent to Section Chief. Do you both accept?"

"Yes," Reyes said immediately.

After a tense moment, Doggett said so lowly they could barely hear him. "Yes, I do."

"Alright," Skinner said. "Your first case back on the job is find Leo and drag his ass back here and to ensure Agent Starkweather’s safety in the meantime. We’ll discuss who is going to New Orleans and who is staying behind to guard Agent Starkweather later. Agent Carlos and Agent Spender have volunteered their assistance. As well, as Miss Stratford," he glowered at Alpha. Alpha merely stared back at him, her strange silvery eyes glimmering.

"Why?" Doggett burst out. "So she can get a second shot at me?"

"Agent Doggett," now Alpha glared at him. "If I wanted you dead, you would have been. I’m just as good of a shot as Bravo was."

"Or maybe you just want the chance to hand me and Starkweather back to those bastards like you did the first time," Doggett countered.

"It wasn’t supposed to happen like that," Alpha struggled to keep calm. "I was told that they had no interest in you. That you would have been returned the second they had you. I was trying to throw them off Starkweather’s trail."

"And yours," Doggett said. "Face it, Lily, the only person you care about in this room is you, and I," he turned to Skinner and Kersh, "have a real problem with Miss Stratford being involved in this mission in any way, shape or form. No fricking pun intended."

"She’s needed," Carlos said testily, "because she can draw Leo out of hiding."

"She helped him go INTO hiding!" Doggett fired back. Reyes then remembered that there was no love lost between Doggett and Carlos either.

"Both of you stop it," she said calmly. Skinner and Kersh gave her grateful looks as both Doggett and Carlos lapsed into silence. "Sirs," Reyes said, addressing Kersh and Skinner. "Perhaps you could explain why Miss Stratford will be joining us in New Orleans since she does have a history of being…" she looked at Alpha. Alpha stared stonily back at her, reminded her so much of Bravo’s heartlessness at that particular moment that she shivered. "Uncooperative?"

"Because she is the only one capable of coaxing Leo out into the open. And I want to nail him to the wall." Kersh told her. "I am tired of the Syndicate," he added and he did look exhausted. "The President of the United States had made it crystal clear that our first priority is the War on Terror. And the Syndicate is just as much as a menace to our country and our way of life as any other terrorist group. They have pulled our strings enough. I want them stopped. Bringing in Justin Leo, finding out how he acquired Agent Starkweather and what knowledge he may have about her condition is the first step."

"When do we leave for New Orleans?" Reyes asked.

"Tonight," Skinner said. "And Section Chief Doggett," he said, glowering at Doggett. "A word. Outside."

"Yes sir," Doggett said, feeling like the kid being sent to the principal’s office.

Doggett followed Skinner out the side door and into the cramped hallway. "You’re acting like an ass, John."

Doggett leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "I don’t want that bitch going along," he said through gritted teeth. "She’s not trustworthy."

"She’s the only ace we’ve got left," Skinner told him. "The only other person that can draw Leo out is Agent Starkweather herself and she’s not exactly in any condition to do so right now."

Doggett snorted quietly and looked at the floor.

Exasperated, Skinner said "If it makes you feel any better, I have misgivings about Alpha too, but. We. Don’t. Have. Any. Choice. Unless you have a better idea."

"I’ll let you know the minute I do," Doggett said.

"There’s something else."

"What now?"

"Lose the attitude, John. I’m not talking as your superior; I’m talking as a friend now."

"Sorry," Doggett mumbled.

"I would feel better if Reyes would go to New Orleans and you stayed behind to monitor Agent Starkweather."

"Why?" Doggett said.

"Because Monica is familiar with New Orleans."

"And you think I would be better to guard Starkweather."

"Yes. I do. Not that I don’t trust Monica. It’s just that…" Skinner struggled for words.

"I can’t," Doggett said helplessly. "I can’t stand by her and do nothing."

Doggett saw Skinner’s shoulder’s slump. "I figured that. That’s why I said we’d discuss who goes to New Orleans and who stays later. I was hoping…"

"I’m sorry," Doggett said. "But I can’t."

"I could order you to stay you know."

"I know."

Skinner folded his lips together tight. "I owe you an apology though."

"An apol… for what?"

"For back last August. I told you to let Starkweather go. I told you to give up."

"Yeah, well…" Doggett looked uncomfortable. "Forget it."

"No," Skinner said. "I won’t. I can’t because now I have to tell you not to give up. Not now."

"You’ll call me," Doggett asked "if anything changes?"

"Yes, of course."

Doggett stepped off the elevator and saw a very tired Leyla Harrison sitting on a couch in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine as she sipped coffee. "Hi," he said, approaching her.

"Agent Doggett," Leyla dropped the magazine to the floor next to her bulging briefcase as she got up.

"You look exhausted," he chided her. "You should go home."

Leyla shook her head. "We’re not leaving Agent Starkweather unattended. I’ll get some sleep when Agent Reyes arrives. Until then, I have ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ and coffee."

"Thank you."

Leyla shrugged. "Part of the job, Agent Doggett."

"No, not just… I mean…" Doggett struggled for words. "For everything you’ve done so far. You put your ass out on the line for Agent Starkweather and… well… Jerilyn’s important to me and I really appreciate what you’ve done. What you’re doing."

Leyla’s tense face suddenly softened. "Its part of the job, Agent Doggett," she said again in a softer, gentler tone. "Are you part of the task force going to New Orleans?"

Doggett nodded. "I just wanted to… you know…" he tilted his head towards Starkweather’s hospital room.

Leyla had always been slightly intimidated by Agent Doggett but now she wanted to give him a bear hug. She had a feeling he would not appreciate such an overbearing display of emotion so she settled for awkwardly patting him on the arm and saying "It’ll be alright, Agent Doggett. We’ll take care of her."

Doggett nodded and walked off towards Starkweather’s room. He showed his FBI ID to the very large and very unhappy looking guard posted outside of Starkweather’s hospital door. But at least it was a federal agent and not some rent-a-cop. Skinner was taking Starkweather’s safety seriously and Reyes and Leyla were already making plans to basically live in the hospital until… until whatever happened next, Doggett supposed.

The guard let him inside. The radio had been turned off, much to Doggett’s dismay because the music served as a wonderful distraction from the awful noises of the machines helping Starkweather stay alive.

Doggett walked over to her and stood at the side of the bed. Looking down at her almost skeletal body and her ruined hair he thought ::Remember this. Remember this when you get your hands on Leo. Don’t you forget what that son-of-a-bitch did to her.::

He reached down with his hands and let his fingertips graze across her knuckles. :: Come on Doc:: he thought. ::I’m here, say something… do something. Anything. Get up. Cuss me out for failing you. Tell me what I already know. That I didn’t watch your back… I don’t fucking care… just… move. Something. Jesus Christ, Jerilyn, don’t just lie there…::

He found he couldn’t bring himself to vocalize his thoughts. But he did bend down and whisper "Hey, Doc? It’s me… listen, honey, it’s… we’re… we’re going after Leo, okay? And I know you’ll want to give him hell for what he did to you so you better be up and around when I get back, okay?" In an even softer voice, he added "I missed you, you know."

He found his resolve slipping so he took her hand, squeezed it for a moment and said "I’ll be back, I promise," and left the room.

Starkweather opened her eyes.

Looked up and saw blue skies and grayish-white cirrus clouds drifting by. She shivered slightly and pulled the thick black coat around her tighter as she sat up in the boat.

Looking across the lake, she saw two people standing on the dock. A man and a woman. A woman with dark hair and eyes like Reyes and a man, tall, tall like…

… who had just turned and started walking away despite the dark-haired woman’s pleading with him, pulling on his coat, asking him to stay.

"Son of a bitch," Starkweather spat out at him just as the rope binding the boat to the dock broke. Starkweather looked behind her, towards where the boat was drifting and saw nothing but fog and water for miles and miles. She looked back over at the dock, which was getting farther and farther away.

The fog beckoned and threatened her at the same time. Starkweather hated boats in the first place, so floating along in an old rowboat was not filling her heart with joy and peace at the moment. Terra firma was only a swim away. Out there… God only knew what was out there. Maybe it was the abyss Nietzsche had written about.

But Starkweather had no desire to look into the abyss or to float into it rather. She stood up in the boat and almost fell into the lake as the boat rocked. She shrugged off the heavy vintage coat, similar to one she had owned in a past life, when she was a medical student at Iowa University. Underneath the coat was nothing she had ever owned, a soft filmy white dress, sleeveless, with an Empire waistline, not a flattering cut for her athletic figure.

But she was too concerned about getting back to shore to worry about what she was wearing. She jumped into the lake and gasped as the freezing water seemed to slice open her skin. She felt weak even before she completed one stroke as she began to paddle her way back towards the door. She couldn’t see. Her hair and lake water kept getting into her eyes.

Miserable, cold, exhausted, she forced herself to keep going, to swim against the current. Her arms and legs ached, it was becoming tempting to let the current swept her back into the foggy wet abyss….

"Reyes…" she called out, lifting her head out of the water, her sodden bangs hanging straight down making her look like a sheepdog. "Reyes…" She felt hands, strong hands suddenly gripping her wrists. Miraculously, she had overcome the powers of the tides and arrived at the shores. She let herself be led out of the water like a blind child learning how to walk. Her eyes stayed closed, it was too much effort to keep them open now.

Gently, she wrested her hands away from her helper to push her wet hair off her face. She rubbed her eyes, but the mysterious hand took her own hand again and then a familiar husky voice said "Don’t do that angel, it’s bad for your eyes."

Starkweather’s eyes flew back open and focused. Her mouth dropped open as her entire body started to shake.

"Mom?"

Lynnette Bailey smiled and held her daughter’s hands.

"Alabanza. Despierte."

"Mmm…" Gibson tried to ignore the voice beckoning him. "Five more minutes."

"Alabanza," the voice sounded more insistent as he felt someone shaking him gently. "Debe ahora despertar. Tenemos que irnos. Inmediatamente. Hay peligro."

Gibson only caught one word: peligro. A memory from his childhood, specifically ‘Sesame Street’. "Danger?" Trying not to yawn, Gibson rose from his bed to see Azucena kneeling on the dirt floor beside him, her bony face taunt with worry. "What’s happening?" he asked automatically although he was already reading her mind. But she was thinking in her native tongue and he unfortunately was still not proficient in Spanish yet. "Is it Mulder and Scully?" he whispered.

"It’s all of us," she said, urging him out of bed. "If we leave for Asilo Seguro right now, we may be able to make it by nightfall."

"What’s going on?" Gibson reached for his glasses which were laying on the crate next to the cot he laid in. "Did you call Manual?"

She nodded but she said "I’ll explain on the way," as she got up and brushed the dirt off her khakis pants. "We’re leaving as soon as I let them know that we can not stay."

Watching Azucena leave, Gibson reached over and tightened the laces of the hiking boots she had gotten him. It hadn’t been fun sleeping in his shoes but as Azucena explained to him, if they suddenly had to run, he did not want to be running through the rain forest barefoot. Besides, spiders and other creepy crawlies like to climb their way into shoes and boots. And the grand majority of the spiders and creepy crawlies in this area were poisonous.

Gibson then reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, feeling shaky with a sudden rush of fear.

The news from home must have been very bad if Azucena wanted to light out of here without treating a single patient.

"¿Cäpe, Chichu' Doctora?"

Scully looked up from the ancient medical text she was reading and smiled at the young girl with a big florid face and a dirty dress approaching her, holding out an earthern cup of the strongest coffee Scully had ever tasted in her life. "No, thank you Meztli," Scully said to her. "It’s too hot for coffee."

The girl, barely thirteen, maybe fourteen at most, gave Scully a very puzzled look. "Pero el tiempo no es hoy caliente, doctor..." She held the cup out again. Va a llover. C'äx tew… Será frío."

One of the things that helped Scully occupy her mind and time was learning Spanish. The colloquial Mayan the locals mixed in with their Spanish was beyond her, but many of the Spanish phrases brought her back to her college Spanish classes. She surprised herself by remembering many of the Spanish vocabulary words. It was just trying to string those words into a sentence.

Scully sighed, gave up trying to remember and reached for the battered "Spanish to English" dictionary that one of the locals had given her. Unfortunately, the book had been published in 1987 and half of the pages were missing. She found the word ‘caliente’, which meant hot. Perhaps Meztli was telling her to drink the coffee while it was still hot? Scully searched for the word "tiempo" but unfortunately, the ‘T’ section of the book was one of the many sections that were missing. Scully decided to wing it.

"Um… it’s… Soy caliente. Or is it estoy... " she murmurred to herself. Then she smiled at Meztli. "Lo siento." That was one word she learned quickly, the word she used most whenever she knew she fouled up the language.

Meztli grinned at her, shyly tucking a coarse lock of jet black hair behind her big ear. Setting the cup on the table next to Scully’s book, she went to the corner of the room and got the rusty bucket. Holding up the bucket, she announced "Tengo que conseguir el agua y entonces volveré para fregar los pisos."

Scully had no idea what the girl said but it didn’t matter. She was more than just hot, all of a sudden, she was sweltering. "No, I’ll get it," Scully said, getting off the rickety chair she had been sitting on since sunrise. "I’ll go get water. There are no patients right now."

Meztli held the bucket to her, as if she was afraid Scully was going to take it away. "You O… K… Chichu' Doctora?" she stammered out.

Scully smiled, or tried to smile. Another one of her time-burning projects was the education of Meztli, per her father’s request, a man that had befriended Mulder during their exile here in Chiapas. Scully didn’t have the heart to tell the man that the girl was a very slow learner. Meztli would proudly chant the ABC’s in English on Monday and promptly forget them all by Tuesday.

But catch phrases and slang words she managed to grasp. Barely.

"I’m fine, Meztli," Scully said, steadying herself by grasping the chair. "I’m just hot. Caliente."

"Ohh..." Meztli said, "I go get Achajil?"

Scully shook her head. While traveling down to the remote rainforests of Chiapas, Mulder worked incessantly on cover stories and aliases. Only to discover that here in Asilo Seguro, it didn’t matter. They could have announced their real names, birthdates and social security numbers and the people would still call them Mrs. Doctor and Husband. As far as they were concerned, they were Americans and the only reason why Americans would come to stay with them is because they need to hide. And as long as they didn’t cause problems, they could hide here.

"No," Scully said, approaching the girl. "You don’t have to get Achajil. I’m fine." Scully carefully pried the girl’s hands off the bucket. "Why don’t you go read? Um… leer. Leer…. Um… libro? Yes, Leer libro," Scully said while thinking triumphantly ::If if i can learn the names of every bone in the human skeleton, surely I can master learning another language.::

Meztli was undeniably in a sulk. Not only was she a slow learner, but she realized she was and therefore despised her lessons. Still she was a good girl and obedient daughter who let Scully teach her out of filial duty.

But what good educating Meztli was beyond Scully. A boy was already giving Meztli "the eye" and many, many girls Meztli’s age were already married and pregnant.

And America thought they had a problem with teen pregnancy.

Scully left the clinic, pausing only at the front door to put her sandals on. As she bent down to slide them on, her head began to throb. ::The heat…:: she thought as she straightened up with a groan. God, she was sick of the heat.

Slapping at a mosquito on her freckled arm, Scully started to walk towards the lake. No one had come to the clinic yet today. As hot as she was, she was tempted to slip into lake and cool down for a little bit. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and her thin cotton dress stuck to the rest of her body.

Soon, the wretched shacks began to blend into the rainforest trees and soon Scully walked along the trail to the lake surrounded nothing by tall trees, exotic flowers and the strange sounds the endangered animals made as they went about their daily business. The monkeys chattering and the birds calling had frightened to Scully to death the first night she and Mulder spent in their miserable hovel of a home here. Now, it was all background noises to her.

But an unfamiliar noise made Scully stop in her tracks. The snuffling sound made Scully realize how very small she really was in the scheme of things, literally and figuratively. Kneeling down, she put the bucket on the ground and pulled out the gun she kept on an ankle holster. She stood back up and un-safetied her weapon, standing in an FBI firing stance as if it was back in the day when she was Special Agent Dana Scully wearing a black suit, high heels, her hair neatly cropped to her jaw line and dyed a vibrant red.

"Hello?" Scully called out, peering into the foliage. "Is anyone there?"

The snuffling sound became louder. Then the unfamiliar became recognizable. Someone was crying.

Still keeping her gun out, Scully left the trail and started to push her way through the brush towards the source of the weeping. "Hello?" She called out again.

The crying was getting louder. Scully peeped around a tree and saw the back of a woman, sitting on a boulder, doubled over and sobbing.

Scully debated for a moment, looking at her gun. Taking a deep breath, she clicked the safety back on and knelt down to put it back in its holster. Then she carefully slid around the tree and slowly walked towards the woman. "Excuse me?" Scully said. "Miss? Are you alright?"

The woman turned her head, big fat tears rolling down her perfect cheekbones. Then she turned her head away from Scully and grabbed fistfuls of her curly raven hair and started pulling while keening loudly something in Spanish Scully couldn’t understand. But then, the woman could have been crying in English and Scully still couldn’t understand her.

"Please… its okay, it’s okay," Scully walked quickly towards the woman as the woman folded her legs up close to her body. The skirt of her white dress rode up enough to show nicely bronzed, shapely legs.

Scully now stood in front of her and gently took the woman’s wrists into her own hands. "Please…" Scully said, the pounding in her head increasing with the woman’s loud sobs. "Can you speak English? ¿Usted habla inglés?"

"¡Mi hijo! ¡Mi hijo!" The woman wailed. "¡Maté a mi bebé!"

Scully caught the word "hijo" and recognized it. "Your son? Something happened to your son. Is he hurt? I’m a doctor… una doctora. I can help… oh God…" she sucked in a breath when the woman jerked away from Scully and got off the rock, standing before her.

The front of her dress was splattered with blood. The woman, still crying, gasped out "My son… my son, I’ve killed my son. Have you seen him?"

"What?" Scully suddenly wished she hadn’t put her gun away.

"I have to find my son!" she screamed as she turned and ran into the foliage.

"Wait!" Scully cried out, following her.

Soon, they were back on the trail leading to the lake, the woman running as fast as she could, howling all the while: "¡Guillermo! ¡Guillermo, donde está usted! ¡Lo siento! ¡No quisiera que usted muriera!"

"Wait!" Scully panted as she lagged behind the running woman. She was obviously very disturbed. Scully feared what could happen to this unfortunate creature running loose in such a hostile environment. And if nothing got to her, if she was this disturbed, she could easily harm herself or someone else. Another child maybe…

Plus her screams could raise the dead.

Scully lost sight of the bloodstained woman the closer she got to the lake but her anguished screams were still clearly audible.

Scully finally reached the lake.

And it suddenly became unearthly quiet. No leaves rustled, no animals chattered.

An unnatural chill filled her body as she slowly made her way to the lake, following the woman’s footprints.

Shaking now, Scully edged closer to the lake’s edge, her common sense telling her to go back to the village and get Mulder and if not Mulder, then someone else… but something, some magnetic pull pushed her towards the lake.

Toes on the very edge, the clear lake warm lapping on her toes, Scully leaned forward, afraid of what she would see.

Two decaying hands shot out of the lake water, grabbed Scully by her ankles and pulled her in.

Scully felt her head slam onto the ground and then the burning rush of water forced up her nose and down her throat as the rotting hands pulled her along. At first her head and her back scraped along the lake’s rocky bottom and then there was a sudden drop off and Scully flailed with her arms, trying to swim back up towards the surface while trying to kick free of the dead hands pulling her down.

Then the dead hands let go of her ankles and with a swift aquatic movement, grasped her wrist and pulled her close. Scully struggled, trying to free herself. In the struggle, her eyes flew open.

A rotting face stared back at her, her black hair billowing around her decomposing head like seaweed. Her dress fluttered around what was left of her body with the current. One of her grayish hands still clutched Scully’s wrist. The other hand held the hand of a very small, very decomposed child. A young boy… about the same age as…

Scully screamed. As bubbles of water left her mouth, she used every ounce of strength she had to kick at the corpse. The corpse let go when Scully’s heels connected with her solar plexus and Scully swam away as fast as she could.

With a gasp, she broke through the surface. Normally a very powerful swimmer, Scully paddled like a panicked beginner to the shore and crawled onto dry land.

She got away from the lake as fast as she could, still crawling. When she was far away enough so nothing could reach out and grab her again, she continued to spit out lake water and wheeze when she wasn’t spitting out water.

The lake sparkled innocently under the hot morning sun.

Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Scully tried to stand up and found that she couldn’t. So she sat there, transfixed by the lake and shivered until…

"Chichu' Doctora!"

Scully whipped her head around and saw a bow-legged man with sun-beaten skin, salt-and-peppered hair and wearing clothes from a church mission but no shoes sprinting towards her. "Atlacatl," she said, still shaking.

Atlacatl, Meztli’s father and one of the friends Mulder had made during their exile in Chiapas crouched down by her. "What you doing Chichu' Doctora?" he scolded her as he helped her up. His English was better than his daughter’s but not by much. "Achajil worry. Le han ido un rato largo." He gasped when he saw how her hands and arms and legs were all cut and scratched up. "We go to La Clínica."

Scully didn’t bother arguing with him because she wasn’t sure what he all said, but she guessed it had to do with her being gone for most of the morning. She let Atlacatl lead her back to the village.

The pounding in her head returned the minute she saw Mulder coming out of the clinic. Suddenly, she felt the oppressive muggy heat of the jungle pressing down onto her skin again plus her stomach began to twist uncomfortably.

"I’m alright," Scully said before Mulder could even ask. "I just… I think I have heat exhaustion. I need to lie down with my feet elevated and have cold compresses if we have them and salt water every fifteen minutes…"

"Scully," Mulder murmured as Atlacatl relinquished his responsibility of her and went to stand by his bewildered daughter. Mulder cupped Scully’s face in his big calloused hands and said "It’s not that hot out today. It’s supposed to rain."

"The heat can affect us all differently," Scully said shortly. "I overdid things this morning, got too hot. I thought I’d wade in the lake and I ended up falling in."

Mulder pressed his palm to her forehead and frowned. "You’re warm."

"Fever is a symptom of heat stroke," she argued. "Please, Mulder. I just want to lie down. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing."

"Scully, you haven’t been feeling like yourself for days," he said.

"Mulder, I just want to get out of this God damned sun," she finally snapped at him. "Okay? I just need to…"

She suddenly covered her mouth with her hand.

"Scully?"

"I’m going to be sick," she said and she rushed past Mulder as fast as her trembling legs could to the clearing behind the clinic. She sank to her knees and threw up more lake water.

Soon she felt big hands holding back her hair and rubbing her back. "Are you sure it’s just heat exhaustion?" she heard Mulder asking her.

She nodded her head. "I just need to lie down," she said again but this time tears were welling up in her eyes. Her entire body ached.

She let Mulder pick her up and carry her into their house. She garbled out some instructions on how high her feet had to be elevated to and how many teaspoons of salt per quart of water she needed to have and finally lapsed off into a troubled sleep as Mulder pressed wet cloths to her forehead, neck, armpits and groin area. "This would be fun if you were awake," he tried to quip as he pulled her dress down decently again but his brows were furrowed together and he found himself biting his lower lip in frustration.

What the hell was going on with her?

"I wish we knew exactly what the hell was going on with her," Leyla lamented to Reyes as they left the cafeteria, both carrying coffees. "I mean, I thought Agent Starkweather was supposed to be all tough and stuff."

"Jerilyn is strong, but she’s human like the rest of us," Reyes said while thinking ::In theory she’s human anyway…::

She couldn’t help but remember what Doggett told her the things that he and Starkweather had found in that cave in South Dakota. Or about the eerie prediction Krycek made: "More human than human…"

"Yeah, I guess her body could have only taken so much," Leyla said, nodding her head as they stepped on the elevator. "So this guy that’s coming… um… can we trust him? I mean, how do we know that he, you know… isn’t one of the bad guys?"

::Good question:: Reyes thought to herself as she replied "I personally checked out his credentials as thoroughly as possible and submitted Jerilyn’s case to him under an assumed name. Plus he’ll be doing all his work here in the hospital. Under our guard."

"So what’s this guy’s name? The doctor?"

"Dr. Hsiang," Reyes said which of course fired up Leyla’s imagination as she tried to picture what this doctor may look like.

Just as her imagination produced an image of an elderly man resembling Pat Morita, hovering over Agent Starkweather’s bad, uttering "Wax on, wax off," the elevator doors slid open and slender, good looking middle aged man with jet black hair turned around. "Hello," he said, with a smile as Reyes and Leyla got off the elevator. "I’m Dr. Kevin Hsiang."

Leyla felt incredibly stupid as she took Dr. Hsiang’s hand and mumbled hello.

"Dr. Hsiang," Reyes said warmly as she shook his hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice.

"No trouble whatsoever," he returned her warmth with another smile. Reyes felt heartened by his quiet demeanor immediately. It was as if he actually cared about the patient whereas Dr. Larutannu seemed to consider Starkweather a living corpse. Reyes shuddered at the thought.

"This way," Reyes said, leading him towards Starkweather’s hospital room. "I must warn you, Dr. Hsiang, you will be monitored at all times while working with Agent Starkweather. This is a sensitive case. Either myself or Agent Harrison will be with you during treatment."

Leyla seemed to brighten when Reyes included her.

"Understandable," Dr. Hsiang said and he patiently stood still as the surly guard quickly patted him down and then requested his briefcase and his bag to be handed over so it can be searched.

"Thank you," the guard said, and he moved aside so the agents and the doctor could enter.

Dr. Hsiang placed his briefcase and his bag on the little table in the corner of the room and then walked over to Starkweather’s bed. He checked her pulse, studied the monitors for a moment and then went to retrieve her charts. "Hmmm…" he said, rubbing his chin.

Reyes and Leyla waited nervously.

Then he looked up and smiled again. "I think Agent Starkweather is an excellent candidate for Coma Arousal Therapy. Also, I would also like to discuss the possibilities of other alternative treatments. Acupuncture, for example."

Reyes nodded her head. "We’ll have to wait until Assistant Director Skinner comes to discuss that, he has power of attorney, he legally is in charge of making decisions for Agent Starkweather while she’s incapacitated… but… if you believe that it’s worth a shot…"

"It doesn’t matter what I believe," Dr. Hsiang said, putting the chart down and returning to Starkweather’s side. Looking at Reyes and Leyla, he said "It’s what you believe… and what she believes."

Meanwhile…

"Mom?"

Lynnette Bailey smiled and held her daughter’s hands. "Hi sweetie."

Starkweather pulled her hands out of hers and stumbled backwards, splashing lake water everywhere. "What the hell is going on?" Then she looked down at her outfit. "And why am I wearing this stupid dress?"

Lynnette sighed. "You’re not dead, if that’s what you’re wondering."

"Oh. Well. That’s good… I guess," Starkweather said as she trudged her way out of the lake, towards her mother.

Lynnette looked as she did when before she got sick. Before the nasty little tumor between her brain and sinus passage started to grow out of control. Before the chemo, before the pain, before the dementia. Her eyes were a soft grayish color and her curly hair a rich auburn that was speckled a little bit with white here and there. Crow’s feet surrounded her soft grey eyes and laugh lines framed her mouth but other than that, she looked fit and healthy.

Not sick, not dying. Not raving like a lunatic…

"Oh, Jeri, they're coming for me again, there's no time, no time left, there's nothing, oh, they're coming, they're coming..."

"Mom, please… Please, nobody's here, nobody's gonna hurt you. Nobody's coming for you…"

"So…" Starkweather stood uncertainly in front of her mother. Then looked around at all the trees and blue skies surrounding them. "What is this place?" She looked around again. It seemed that they were standing in a valley, lush with trees and greenery, but no animals. It also seemed oddly dark despite the blue sky, but the air felt cool and comforting.

"It’s what you decide it to be," Lynnette explained. "You’re on an abyss, angel."

Starkweather’s brow furrowed, trying to think back. Everything was such a blur, but blurred on purpose, she didn’t want to remember some of the horrors she experienced… the abuse… the torture… the cigarette burns… her hair… Rohrer, cutting her hair off… unconsciously, Starkweather reached up and ran her hand over her head, feeling her hair all the way from her bangs down to the ends hanging an inch or so above her rear end. Then her hand rested on her abdomen…. Remembering…

"I’m in a coma," she finally said slowly. As Lynnette nodded, Starkweather went on, "and this… thing… which is very possibly my subconscious going nuts as I sink deeper and deeper into an unconscious state… is a devise for me to figure out whether or not I want to live or die."

Lynnette smiled indulgently as she shook her head. "Always rationalizing. Always looking for the logical reasoning."

Starkweather frowned. "You say that as if that’s a bad thing."

"It’s not, but it does close your mind to other possibilities."

"But saves my ass from certain tragedies." Her mother frowned at her when she said ‘ass’ and Starkweather instantly said "Sorry," like a chastised teenager, looking down at filmy white dress she was in. Looking up at her mother again, Starkweather asked "Is this thing part of the dress code here?"

"No," Lynnette told her. "You can wear whatever you want to," she said as she started to walk away.

Starkweather then looked down at herself and saw that she was now in a red t-shirt, a pair of faded Levi’s and a pair of sandals. "Oh," she said, putting her hand to her throat and feeling her medal of Saint Christopher hanging around her neck. Then she held up her left hand and saw her wedding ring. "Well. That was kind of cool… in a creepy sort of way." Then she noticed her mother walking further away from her. "Hey! Mom! Wait up!" Starkweather ran after her.

Lynnette slowed her walk down but did not stop. Looking over her shoulder, she said "I wish you hadn’t colored your hair."

The topic change threw her. "What?" She looked at a lock of her long blond hair. "What’s wrong with my hair color?"

"Your natural color was so pretty."

"But I like being a blond."

"But it really doesn’t suit your complexion, dear," Lynnette said gently. "It washes you out."

"Mother," Starkweather said, trying to conceal her impatience. "I think my hair color is a secondary concern right now because I have no idea how to make this big life-and-death decision. Or, I guess ‘life-or-death’ decision would be a better way of phrasing that. Is there a yellow brick road or a light I’m supposed to go towards?"

"Just start walking," Lynnette advised her. "You’ll find your way. There’ll be others along the way to guide you."

"Others? Other dead people?"

"We prefer the term ‘breathing-challenged.’"

Starkweather laughed out loud. "And people ask me where I get my warped sense of humor from." Then she stopped walked. "Hey Mom?"

Lynnette turned around. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Um…" Starkweather bit her lip for a moment and stared at her mother’s face.

Why *didn’t* she see the resemblance all these years? Was it because she and everyone else saw Lynnette’s red hair and gray eyes and then looked at Starkweather’s own dark brown hair and weird whiskey colored eyes and thought no blood relation could exist? Or that the phrase ‘adoption’ was a blanket cover for their relationship? Starkweather saw the subtleties now, the heart-shaped face, the long hands, the arched eyebrows. The tiny details that complete the picture but are so well-blended in that people rarely notice.

"Um…" Starkweather said again, then took a great big gulp of air and said in a rush "Did you know that I was really your daughter?" When Lynnette didn’t respond, only looked back at her, Starkweather felt her throat tighten as she went on. "I mean, because, last year, I found out that, biologically, I am. Yours…"

Lynnette approached her again. "It never mattered to me where you came from," she said softly. "Some twist of fate brought you to our home and nothing else mattered."

"It was no twist of fate," Starkweather felt a familiar emotion building inside her, an emotion that drove her and too often, drove her over the edge. "It was Dad, Mom. Dad and a group of men were part of a conspiracy. They were practicing illegal genetic experiments that they subjected you and me to. And that’s why I’m here," she burst out. "In this God-damned La-La, Mom. Because these same men seem to think all one-hundred-and-twenty-pounds of me is just a huge fucking threat that they… they took me… they took… my friends…

"MULDER WHERE ARE YOU? DOGGETT?"

"And they did terrible things because they were afraid of what they did to me over twenty-nine years ago-"

"Thirty."

"What?"

"You’re thirty years old now, Jerilyn. Not twenty-nine."

Starkweather stared at Lynnette incredulously. "I’ve been gone long enough to have missed my birthday? Well, that’s just great!" she bitched. "Not only am I mostly dead, but I also turned thirty on top of it. My twenties bit the dust without me knowing about it. I’m in a coma and I’m middle-aged. Jesus Christ, what other shitty things happened while I was out of it? Did someone kill my cat while I was gone too?"

Lynnette wrinkled her nose. "I don’t like your language, Jerilyn Michelle."

Starkweather rolled her eyes. "I’m sorry, Mother, I don’t mean to offend you, but you know what? I’m not the lady you wanted me to be. I curse like a sailor. I dyed my hair blond because I wanted to. I drink like a fish. I royally fucked up my marriage. I carry a gun to work and I think autopsies are fun. I’m short-tempered, I’m mean, I’m impatient…" her rant expired when she finally said helplessly. "I’m just not… you. And I can’t be." Sheepishly, she added "I think that was my repressed teenaged rebellion phase spewing out all over the place."

Lynnette spied a pair of boulders and with a wave to indicate she wanted Starkweather to follow along; she walked over to the rocks and sat down. Starkweather followed, but did not sit. Rather, she stood in front of her mother, with her arms crossed.

"That was something I regretted," Lynnette said heavily. "You never really got a chance to be a teenager. You were fourteen when I first got sick. And a lot of adult responsibilities got dumped on your shoulders."

Starkweather shrugged. "It doesn’t matter. I didn’t like high school anyway."

"It’s not about school. We knew you were miserable at your high school because you were too bright for the classes you were in. It was…" Lynnette sighed and rested her chin on her hand. "With me being so sick, you were so busy helping your father out with the house… you never really had a chance to meet kids your own age through other ways than school. We should have gotten you into some sort of organized sport. Or back into dance. Or something just so you could be around kids. But… I don’t know… you were so quiet and never really complained. You usually just hid in your room with a book. We had no idea you were so unhappy until you asked us if you could graduate from high school early and join the Navy."

"Oh… well. It really wasn’t THAT bad. I mean, you know how kids can blow things out of proportion, right? Besides, I was never the epicenter of popularity anyway. Navy Brat Syndrome and all that. So really, Mom, it was no big deal. And anyway," she hastened to add. "I got a life, kind of, once I left home. I mean, Basic kicked my ass and school kept me busy, but I went out and had friends and dated and stuff. So my self-esteem isn’t a mangled mess or anything." Then she sat down beside her mother on the other boulder. "So there’s nothing to regret really. I mean, if you think about it, I could have gotten involved in druggies and drunks and whatnot and gotten myself all screwed up and completely messed up my life… not that my life’s not messed up NOW, but a lot of that was out of my control… well, okay, Ben wasn’t outside of my control… but anyway, you know what I’m saying?"

"I think so."

"Good, because I’m not sure what I just said."

Her mother laughed but then sobered up quickly. "Can you believe," she said, taking her daughter’s hand. "That it’s been almost fourteen years now?"

Starkweather suddenly found the grass on the ground interesting. "Time flies."

"I could sit here all day with you. I want to hear so much. I want to… but you have to get going soon. There isn’t much time for you to linger here. You’ll have to make your decision very soon."

"Why so soon?"

"Because of your will, angel."

"You mean my living will," Starkweather said tonelessly. "To terminate life support if there is no viable way I’m going to come out of an incapacitated or comatose state." She sighed. "Wonder why they haven’t pull the plug sooner?"

"Because for the longest time," Lynnette told her, "a man named Justin Leo had kept you in the hospital under an assumed name. He told them there was no living will."

"LEO!?!?!?!" Starkweather screeched, jumping off the rock. "That piece of shit kept me? Like what? Like Snow White in her glass coffin? Oh that sick twist! I’m going to kick his ass when I get back… or at least haunt him if I don’t come back…" she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Her mother sighed "That temper of yours…"

"Is going to get me in trouble one of these days, I know, I know," Starkweather sighed. "Well, if there’s not a lot of time, I suppose we should get going."

"Yes," her mother said softly. Now she was the one studying the grass. "You should."

Starkweather suddenly felt her throat tightened. "You’re… not going with me?" When Lynnette shook her head, Starkweather’s throat tightened more. She could barely get the word "But-" out as tears distorted her vision.

She felt, rather than saw her mother reaching out with her hand. Touching her daughter’s face, Lynnette whispered. "Angel, don’t cry…"

Starkweather closed her eyes tight like she did whenever she was trying to suck back in the overwhelming emotions trying to force their way out of her. "Sorry," she said in a quavering voice. "But like you said…it’s been fourteen years…" she broke down completely.

She felt her mother wrap her arms around her as she buried her face in her mother’s shoulder and sobbed. Starkweather tightened her arms around her mother’s neck as she felt her stroke her hair. "Oh sweetie, sweetie, don’t cry," her mother shushed her. "No matter which way you go, it’ll be alright. I’m here. I’m always here." She broke away from Starkweather and wiped a big fat tear rolling down Starkweather’s cheek with her thumb. "The dead never really leave us, you know."

Folding her lips tightly and squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded.

"I love you, Jerilyn," her mother whispered. "And you’ll be alright."

She felt Lynnette kiss her cheek. Starkweather opened her eyes.

There was no one around.

"Mom?" she called out in a soft, broken voice, looking around. Then she said back down on the boulder and covered her face in her hands, sobbing softly to herself.

Scully woke up later on that day, not feeling refreshed but groggy and damp. Her head still pounded. Then she realized the pounding came not from her head but from actually outside. A ferocious thunderstorm was hammering down on the rainforest and the tiny village.

Mulder was working by the light of one of the battery operated lanterns. He saw Scully moving on the bed and called out "You feeling better?"

"Mm," she said noncommittally as she lay back down.

Mulder had been using one of the trunks as a chair so he could sit by the table. Getting up, he walked over to Scully and sat down beside her on the mattresses. "Want something to eat?"

"No," she said. "I’m not hungr-" she started to say but then stopped herself when she heard the unfamiliar sound of a car engine coming from outside. "What is that?" she said tersely.

"Don’t know," Mulder said, going back over to the table and grabbing his gun. Stuffing it down the waistband of his pants, he pulled his tattered shirt over it and went over to the doorframe, pulling the blanket that served as a door away just a little bit so he could look outside. "I can’t see," he said. "It’s raining too hard."

Suddenly, headlights illuminated everything. Scully reached down and pulled her own weapon out of the ankle holster and cocked it.

"Scully," Mulder said, "there’s a loose board on the back wall. I think you can squeeze through the opening if you need to run."

Scully didn’t answer, just clutched the gun.

The headlights died as the engine was turned off. Then, a feminine voice yelled out "Alabanza! Vamanos! Come on!"

And Mulder saw two people leaving the vehicle running towards their humble shack, being pelted by rain.

With a sigh of relief, he said "Scully, it’s okay, it’s Gibson and Azucena."

"Thank God," Scully said, holstering her gun. "But I thought they weren’t going to be here until tomorrow at least."

"Oh, like we have to worry about straightening the house," Mulder quipped just as Gibson and Azucena burst through the door. "Hey stranger," Mulder ruffled Gibson’s hair, to Gibson’s annoyance.

"You’re soaked," Scully said, getting off the bed. Her legs still felt wobbly but other than that, she felt fine. Or so she told herself. "Let me find you some dry clothes."

"We’re okay, Scully," Gibson said as he dripped all over the dirt floor. As Scully smiled at him and crept towards the trunk where she and Mulder kept their clothes, Gibson frowned, stretching out with his mind without really interfering with their thoughts or prying into their privacy. He was becoming pretty good at controlling his freakish gifts.

::Something’s wrong…:: he thought as his brain waves lightly touched Scully as she knelt down in front of the trunk, opening it. ::Her son, maybe?::

"We have news," Azucena said through chattering teeth as Mulder draped a blanket around her.

"Bad news or really bad news?" Mulder said dryly as he went to get the small camping grill that they rarely used. The entire hut was a fire risk, but Azucena and Gibson were now a hypothermia risk. Mulder figured hot coffee or the shack burning down around them would warm them up either way.

As Mulder placed the grill on dirt floor and added some used papers and some of their precious charcoal supply, Azucena took down the blanket-door so the smoke could escape. "Good and bad news."

"This is a first," Mulder said as Scully filled a camping coffee pot with some fresh drinking water.

"They found your sister, Mulder," Azucena told them.

Scully stopped pouring water in as Mulder stared, holding the book of matches in his hand. "Starkweather?" he said. "They found Jerilyn?"

Azucena nodded as Gibson took the matches from Mulder and lit the fire. The coals began to smolder nicely as Scully got herself together enough to put the coffee pot on the grill.

"I called Manny Ibarra early this morning. We couldn’t talk long. He’s lying low, he’s afraid that the authorities will find out that the green card he has is a forgery."

"Where… how… is she okay?" Mulder babbled out.

"She’s alive, from what Manny heard. He said that she is in a coma. He said that her injuries were… extensive."

Mulder swore and started to pace. Scully tried to see the bright side. "But she’s alive and she’s safe?"

"Yes. She’s under guard."

"How?" Mulder said again. "How did they find her?"

"A man named Justin Leo had her. He admitted her to the hospital under an assumed name. He told the staff she was his wife."

"LEO!?!?!?!" Mulder squawked "That piece of shit had her all this time? Like what? Like Snow White in her glass coffin? That sick twisted son of a bitch! I’m going to kick his ass when I get back… or … something…" he grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Mulder," Scully said, "Calm down. Let Azucena talk."

"There isn’t much more to tell," Azucena said. "She’s alive. That’s all Manny had time to tell me."

"Did you know this before or after you sent us the letter," Mulder interrupted again, receiving a stern look from Scully.

"After. Agent Starkweather was literally found two days ago."

Mulder sat down on the trunk he had been using for a chair.

"Why did you leave?" Scully asked.

Azucena looked warmly at Gibson. "We had advanced warning," she said as Gibson blushed.

"What happened?"

"We left Agua Prieta as soon as possible. We found out later that the federales had arrested my sister Atzi and her fiancé Rafael and held them for a few days. Fortunately they had to be released… but…"

"But what?" Scully prompted her.

Azucena shrugged. "They were deported. Manny told me today that immigration came to their house and gave them the news that their green cards had been revoked. That’s why Manny’s hiding out. He won’t be sent back to Mexico as a free man if he’s caught with a fake green card. He’ll go to prison."

"Gibson," Mulder turned his attention to the shivering boy, who had sat down now beside Scully on the stack of mattresses. "What gave you the head’s up?"

Gibson shrugged. "I went to town with Isobel one day. We went to a store to pick up a few things and there were some guys there… and, well we saw them before they saw us. Isobel heard one of the guys asking the store clerk in Spanish where the Ibarras lived. Izzy told me to get inside the guys’ head and one of them was a federal agent named Judeth Fishe."

What color was left in Scully’s face drained away, "Oh God. Not him."

"Who’s Judeth Fishe?" Mulder asked.

"Mulder, he’s the federal agent in charge of finding Agent Doggett when he disappeared in Belle Fleur.

Mulder closed his eyes. "That’s right. I remember you telling me about him. He’s an idiot."

"He’s an idiot with a grudge, Mulder," Scully said. "Agent Reyes and I were… less than professional with him."

"You ate him for breakfast, didn’t you," Mulder said affectionately.

"I don’t understand," Azucena interrupted. "Who is this Fishe?"

"Agent Judeth Fishe-" Scully started.

"Unfortunately named," Mulder jumped in.

Scully scowled. "Was made agent-of-record for the Agent Doggett disappearance case when the original agent, Phineas Adler was no longer able to carry out his duties as a federal agent."

"It’s kind of tough to go after bad guys when you’re dead as a hammer," Mulder added helpfully.

"Anyway," Scully said, "Fishe and I butted heads. A lot. Agent Reyes also did not get along with him."

"Okay, so we have an agent with a grudge coming after us. That’s nothing new," Mulder said, crossing his arms. "Gibson, sorry, go on."

"There’s not much more," Gibson said. "This Fishe guy was thinking he hoped he could find you guys before they noticed he wasn’t in DC like he was supposed to."

"O-ho, so he’s breaking a few rules and spending some unauthorized Bureau bucks trying to track us down," Mulder grinned. "Scully, you must have really pissed this guy off."

"And he was really nervous because his flight left within a few hours. But the other guy… I don’t know… he… I don’t think…" he trailed off.

"Spit it out, Gibson," Mulder said, not unkindly.

"I don’t think he was human," Gibson said. "His mind… it was… weird," he finished lamely.

"Super soldier?" Mulder asked but Gibson shook his head.

"It’s not like… well, it wasn’t like the alien I saw in the power plant when I was a little kid…"

"There WAS an alien there!?!?!" Mulder said. "I knew it!"

"Mulder, please…" Scully said, feeling tired.

"And it wasn’t like at your kangaroo trial," Gibson said to Mulder. "It was just… I don’t know… and I told Izzy we better get out of there. So we went back to the hacienda and told Azucena what had happened. Azucena wrote you guys that letter while Izzy and I packed and we left that night."

"Where is Isobel?" Scully asked, suddenly worried about Manny’s ditzy little sister.

"She went back to her mother’s house," Azucena assured him. "She’s safe."

Mulder got off the trunk and walked over to the shelves that housed their dishes. Grabbing two cups, he said "Scully, how far will this Fishe guy go for payback?"

Scully blinked. "I’m not sure. He’s ladder climber… a sycophant… and he’s a fool who thinks he’s brilliantly intelligent. But he’s a stickler for protocol too."

"Yet he came down to Mexico on his own time, to look for the Ibarras," Mulder murmured, more to himself than to Scully or his guests. He reached for rag they used for a potholder and crouched down by the grill, grabbing the coffee pot.

"Mulder," Scully said as she watched him pour Azucena a cup of very strong coffee. "What’s going through that mind of yours?"

"Do you think that Fishe would use illegal methods to find us?"

Scully folded her lips together and thought hard, reaching deep down into the pool of her memory, trying to remember a man not worth her time and effort. A man responsible for not just hindering the search for Doggett, but prompting Jerilyn to go off on her own.

"Illegal as in… misuse of Bureau funds… or… something else?"

"Something else," Mulder said. "From what you’ve told me, Scully, Fishe strikes me as the little-man-as-a-bully type. For some reason he feels inadequate as a person. Perhaps due to excessive verbal abuse during his childhood, a rejection that crippled his self-confidence and self-esteem or a failure to establish lasting relationships with women. Instead of finding positive methods to improve his low self-image he goes for the sorry cliché of tearing people down to build himself up. However, in his tearing down, he will only tear down if he’s got the bigger bullies on his side as well."

"The Senior Staff?" Scully suggested. "We’re not that popular with them."

"Bigger bullies than the FBI," Mulder said.

Scully wrapped her arms around herself. "The Syndicate. You think Fishe would align himself with the Syndicate to get back at us… at me?"

"That’s what I’m asking you Scully."

She shook her head. "I don’t know, Mulder. I’m sorry. I just know that Fishe was a pompous ass whose incompetence nearly cost John’s life and helped to lose Jerilyn."

"Maybe," Mulder said, "that was the plan all along."

"I don’t know, Mulder, I really don’t." Suddenly Scully felt very tired again. She wanted what little light was on to be extinguished so she could sleep.

"Gibson," Mulder turned his attention back to him. "I don’t think you should stay here. Not beyond tonight. I have a feeling that this place won’t be a safe haven for much longer."

"Where else can we go?" Azucena said. "We can’t keep running forever."

"Well, we won’t have to run long," Mulder said, getting up and going towards the smaller of their two trunks, the one that was padlocked. He stuck his hand down his ratty shirt and pulled out a silver chain that hung around his neck. On the chain was the padlock key. "We may have found something."

"You did?" Azucena said as Mulder knelt down and started to take the little Mayan artifacts off the top of the trunk. "What did you find?"

Mulder pulled the blanket away and unlocked the trunk. Flipping the lid open, he pulled out sheaves of paper, piles of rubbings. Some taking from ancient Mayan ruins…

… others stolen from the X-Files office.

"Axular found these a few days ago on his last expedition to the ruins," Mulder handed a rubbing to Azucena. While Azucena frowned over it, Mulder explained "They match perfectly the rubbings Scully had acquired last August."

"I thought those rubbings came from an alien craft," Azucena said in a hushed voice as she handed the paper back over to Mulder.

"It appeared to be so," Scully said noncommittally.

"What does this mean?" Azucena asked.

"I don’t know," Mulder said, putting the papers back into the trunk. He pulled out an old GatewaySolo laptop computer. "We’ll need time to translate the text. And I don’t know how much time is left. Especially… now, with Jerilyn back…" He stared at the computer then handed it to Gibson. "This is important," he told the teenager as he took the computer from him.

"What is it?" Gibson asked.

"My fiancé had compiled a list of vocabulary words," Azucena said softly. "From the North American Anasazi Indians and the Mayan Indians. He then took those words and translated them into English and Spanish."

"You’re holding an electronic Rosetta stone," Mulder told him.

Scully read into Mulder’s thoughts before Gibson could read his mind. "Mulder, are you sure that’s a good idea?"

"He’ll be safe," Mulder said. "He’ll be safer with Axular and Atlacatl hiking to the ruins than sitting here like big bull’s eyes."

"You think they’ll find us?" Scully asked.

"No," Mulder said. "I know they’ll find us, if we stay here. Especially if the man Fishe was traveling with us isn’t a man."

"I’ll be okay, Scully," Gibson tried to reassure her.

"Besides, we’ll be going out there in a few days. I would prefer that Gibson would have a head start. And, you too, Dr. Cielo. If they’re putting the heat on Rafael and Atzi, they’ll be looking for you too."

"I know," she said simply. "It was inevitable."

They all sat in silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Mulder had gone to the door frame and leaned against it, looking up at the sky through the canopy of rainforest leaves and haze of clouds, trying to see the stars, watching the rain taper off. Gibson remained next to Scully on the bed, clutching the computer, lost in thought. Azucena sipped at her coffee, her mind a million miles away.

Finally, Gibson, handing Scully the computer, said, "I’m tired. I’m gonna go get our sleeping bags and stuff."

"Need a hand?" Mulder said.

Actually he didn’t but Gibson sneaked a peek into Scully’s mind and saw that she was dying to speak to Azucena alone. "Yeah, couldja?" he asked.

When Mulder left with Gibson, Scully leaned forward on the bed. "Azucena? Did you have a chance to ask about any thing else? Anyone else?"

Azucena smiled at Scully. A sad tired smile, but a smile nevertheless. "A little. Your mother is fine. Your friends are fine."

"And?" she said hesitantly.

"No news is good news," Azucena said. "Just remember that."

Scully nodded. "I know."

"From what you told me," Azucena said gently. "You did the right thing. This kind of life is no life for a child."

"But what I told you," Scully said "Was from my point of view."

She got up and walked out just as Mulder and Gibson walked back in. "Scully?" Mulder called out but she ignored him.

"She’s depressed," Azucena said bluntly. "She can’t keep living like this."

Mulder handed the other sleeping bag to Gibson and went back outside.

He stood behind her quietly for a moment, watching her just stand there, being bathed by a list misting rain and starlight, her bare feet sinking into the soggy ground, the tattered denim skirt she wore most of the time now flapping in the slight breeze. She rubbed her bare arms as if she was cold.

Mulder finally approached her. "Hey…" he said softly.

She turned her head. "Azucena’s right, Mulder. We can’t keep doing this."

Mulder put his hands on her shoulders. "Scully, I told you. You have an escape hatch. All you have to do is go back to DC and tell the Bureau I kidnapped you."

"I’m not going to lie just to have a half-life," Scully said flatly.

"Better a half-life than no life," Mulder reminded her.

"But what about you?" Scully asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I have my work," he said simply.

Sometime hot began to boil down inside of her, something hot, irrational and furious. Beyond rage. Beyond fear.

::Oh yes, Mulder. Your work. Your crusade. Your God damn X-Files. While you go off and play Superman, I’m supposed to just sit here and be your Lois Lane. Lois Lane who gets her sister killed, who gets cancer, who loses two kids while you fly around like a jackass, basing your beliefs off of the words of a crazy old man who wanted me to sit on his lap while he told us a ‘scary story’. God damn you, Mulder. And God damn me for not waking up from this nightmare.::

"I’m not leaving, Mulder," she said heavily. ::Because I have nothing to go back for… well… :: "Unless Jerilyn wakes up and can clear our names, there’s nothing to go back for."

::Jerilyn… oh Christ, what did they do to her?:: Mulder felt his chest tighten in guilt the minute Scully said her name. "Maybe there’s hope still," he said, giving Scully’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze. "Maybe our Hurricane can still blow everyone away, right?" His voice sounded odd, not tearful, not angry, somewhere in between.

"Maybe," Scully’s voice sounded funny too.

"I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong."

Scully opened her mouth to say nothing, she was fine, but instead she started to cry. "Mulder, I just don’t feel well, that’s all," she sobbed, putting her hands to her eyes.

Mulder turned her around and held her close, letting her cry into his dirty shirt. "Why didn’t you say something sooner?" he chided her as he stroked her hair. "You know that Gibson can heal people now," he whispered.

She shook her head. "I think this is beyond Gibson’s powers."

She did not tell him that she hadn’t felt this sick since she was first pregnant with William.

Leyla had gone home to catch some sleep. Reyes felt too wired to even make the attempt, so she had just pulled up a chair beside Starkweather’s bed and found a magazine.

Dr. Hsiang spent most of the day "getting to know Jerilyn" asking about her likes and dislikes, taking copious notes.

Then he began therapy on Starkweather. Armed with a penlight, he pried open Starkweather’s eyelid and flashed the light over and over, studying the reaction of her pupils, frowning because there was none.

"Does that hurt her?" Leyla had asked nervously.

Dr. Hsiang grinned at her. "Just as much as it would hurt either you or me, Miss Harrison. But if Jerilyn doesn’t like it, she’ll let me know, won’t you Jerilyn?" he said to Starkweather in a normal conversational tone of voice.

Reyes couldn’t help but think ::Yeah, she’ll let you know. She’ll punch you and tell you to knock it off.::

Reyes had to wonder if the doctor was going to annoy her into waking up.

Hell, whatever worked.

Now, sitting alone in Starkweather’s room, with the CD player going, Reyes couldn’t help but let her mind wander off. Wondering how the task force was doing in New Orleans. Wondering what was going to happen next when Jerilyn woke up. What would happen if she didn’t.

Earlier that day Reyes had given Leyla Starkweather’s house key and told her to go get as many CDs as possible. Leyla came back with two grocery sacks full of them. Right now the soundtrack to the first ‘Lord of the Rings’ was playing.

"You know what we need to do, Jerilyn?" Reyes asked her, as if she was awake and sitting up. "We need to have girls’ day out. We need to go spoil ourselves at a beauty salon, get our hair done, and get a pedicure, maybe even a massage. Then go to a restaurant we’ve never been to and eat whatever we want to without moaning about calories… although you’ve always been able to eat whatever you want and not gain a pound. I hate you for that you know." Reyes waited, hoping for a response.

Nothing but the hiss of machines and instrumental music from the CD player.

"Anyway," Reyes said. "Then go to a movie and then the bars. I’ve already seen it, but I will go see ‘The Two Towers’ again, just to drool over Aragorn. And the elf, Legolas isn’t too bad either. He does this thing to a horse… well, let’s just say I wanted to be the horse." Reyes paused again. Then said "Oh come Jerilyn, that was funny, you know it was. And if you don’t think so, then you should say something."

Reyes leaned forward in her seat. "I believe you can hear me. I don’t believe that you are gone. I wish I knew what to do to get you to believe that you should come back." Then she slumped in her seat. "Well, I know what would get you to believe, but Jerilyn… I can’t control him. It’s up to him and… this is hard for him." She shook her head and looked at the floor. "This is hard for me too," she admitted. "And I’m so damn sorry that I-"

A nurse stuck her head in the door. "Excuse me, Agent Reyes?"

"Yes?" Reyes said wearily, lifting her head to look at the round little nurse.

"You have a telephone call."

"Thank you." Reyes stood up then leaned over to whisper in Jerilyn’s ear. "I’ll be back. It’d be nice if you would be back when I get back."

Reyes left the hospital room, walking past the surly FBI guards posted by Starkweather’s door and went to the nurse’s station. "My name is Agent Monica Reyes, I was told I have a phone call," Reyes said politely.

The nurse smiled, hit Line One, said into the phone, "Here she is," and handed the phone to her.

"Agent Reyes."

"Monica," a sniveling voice oozed out. "It’s Agent Fishe."

Reyes closed her eyes. "Hello."

"Congratulations. I hear that you’ve been moved from VICAP back to the X-Files. Must be nice to be working with your boyfriend again."

"Agent Doggett and I have a strictly professional relationship," ::Now.:: "Since we’re not partners any more I don’t need to you to help me anymore Agent Fishe so-"

"It’s what you can do for me, Agent Reyes."

Reyes felt her stomach jiggle with nerves all of a sudden. "What I can do for you?" she repeated. She pressed her ear harder against the phone. She could hear background noise. ::Where is he calling from? Not the office…::

Fishe continued speaking. "This could be your chance to avoid prosecution."

"Pros… what?!?! On what grounds?"

"Why… aiding and abetting, of course. Helping a fugitive evade the long arm of the law."

"I don’t have time for this," Reyes said.

"You’ll make the time," Fishe snapped at her. "I have a lead on the whereabouts of Fox Mulder. And I am going to pursue that lead."

"Do you have the approval of the Bureau to follow this lead?" Reyes asked.

"I will. Just give it time."

"I don’t think you will," Reyes said. "In light of the current state of the nation, preparing to go to war against Iraq, I think the whereabouts of Fox Mulder are very low on the list of FBI priorities."

"We’ll see about that, once I bring him in," Fishe said. "I could bring him in faster if I had your assistance… and also retrieve the good Agent Scully… who I am sure is an innocent party to all of this."

"Who are you working for?" Reyes demanded, still trying to figure out where he was calling from.

"Help me, Agent Reyes and save your pathetic career as well as your skinny ass. Sleeping with the boss won’t help you out THIS time, sweetie."

"Go to hell," Reyes blurted out.

"Refuse my request for help and maybe we can arrange it where you share a cell with AD Follmer."

Fishe pulled his cell phone away from his ear when he heard nothing but dial tone. "Touchy, touchy," he said, putting the cell phone in his pocket.

He had made the token offer. He knew she would turn him down, but now when he testified, he can say how he had probable cause to believe that Agent Reyes did have knowledge of Fox Mulder’s location and refused to divulge it. Well, she wouldn’t be so high and mighty once he dragged this renegade Mulder in. Sleeping with her superior wasn’t going to save her skinny ass this time.

Fishe actually had no issues with Doggett, since he had never met him. After Doggett’s return and Starkweather’s disappearance, Fishe was transferred and had no contact with anyone with the X-Files. But he paid attention to the direction of where the X-Files was going, and had rejoiced when the basement office had been shut down.

He was going to deliver Reyes, Scully and Mulder to hell personally.

With some help.

He stepped out of the telephone booth and looked at his traveling companion. "I’m ready," he told him.

"Our flight is about to leave" Agent Gene Crane said.

"Let’s go on a fox hunt," Fishe snickered.

As Crane rolled his eyes at the over-obvious pun, Fishe entertained himself with images of Reyes sweating, panicking and trembling with fear.

Reyes did tremble but not from fear. Unwelcome but not unfamiliar hatred made Reyes’ body shake. She picked up the phone again, and, hoping the nurse wouldn’t notice, reached over the counter to dial a long distance number. Fortunately the nurse was busy with a chart but even so, Reyes spoke quickly and tensely when she got an answering machine.

"Hi, it’s me. Call me on my cell when you get this. I need to talk. It’s off but I’ll be checking my messages. Bye."

She hung up and balling her hands up, she stalked back towards Starkweather’s room.

Calm, soft and pretty music filled the room.

"May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How are you from home

Monie utùlië (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantië (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now

May it be the shadows call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun

Monie utùlië (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantië (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now

A promise lives within you now…"

"Dammit Jerilyn," Reyes said. "I kept my promise. It’s your turn."

Section Chief Doggett really didn’t see very much of Jeffrey Spender or Lux Carlos after they got off the plane. The task force had arrived early yesterday morning and Doggett’s mission for that day was to get everything and everyone situated and briefing the various law enforcement agencies regarding Leo.

Getting the police and the New Orleans Branch Office of the FBI to cooperate was no problem. It was getting them to understand all the security measures needed for housing Miss Lily Stratford.

"Come on," one of the guards had complained to Section Chief Doggett as Alpha, hands and feet cuffed, was being escorted into a solitary confinement cell. "Twenty-four hour video surveillance? Plus another guard posted at her door? Christ, do you know how much manpower that’s going to take? She’s in chains, she’s in solitary. She’ll be fine."

"No," Doggett had scowled at the whining guard. "She won’t be fine. She’s dangerous. And conniving. You have to be on your toes twenty-four-seven. And if you aren’t, then I’m going to shove a boot up your ass, are we clear?"

As Doggett had stormed off, he heard the guard muttering something about "asshole fibbies" but Doggett decided that it wasn’t worth pursuing. As long as they made sure that little Miss Thing there stayed put, he didn’t really care.

Actually he found that he really didn’t care if the little bitch disappeared from the face of the earth. It’s hard to like someone who not only stabbed you in the arm with a hunting knife but then almost blows your head off.

::But if she really wanted me dead:: Doggett had found himself thinking at the end of the day as he walked to his hotel room ::she would have just let Bravo finish the job that day in the church… ::

Not sure what to think and finding himself more and more distrustful of not just Alpha but also his other two companions, Spender and Carlos, Doggett fell into a troubled sleep around two in the morning.

However, he was up with the sun, as usual. Dressed in a pair of dark blue slacks and a lighter blue shirt with his shoulder holster on, Doggett sat at the little guest table, sipping his second cup of coffee, re-reading an older case file written by Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather:

"File X-GAE10131121 Field Report From: Agent Jerilyn M Starkweather Agent of Record: Agent Dana K Scully
Assisting Agents: Agents John J Doggett, Jerilyn M Starkweather
Consultant: Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder

"In 1998, former President Clinton passed a bill outlawing cloning which states that those responsible for such acts would be sentenced to ten years in prison for each individual act, but the specifications were loose as to the definition of cloning. There were at least thirty species cloned on La Isla Luna Blanca, and an estimated population of one thousand. The Mexican government denies any responsibility for allowing the corporation to exist. Also there are no moves being made on their parts to file charges. This act took place outside federal jurisdiction, which makes them inaccessible. Even if charges could be pressed, there was no proof.

"While no one can be charged with cloning, the responsible parties can face charges of nine counts of involuntary manslaughter, three charges of attempted murder, drug trafficking, money laundering, and cruelty to animals.

"Justin Leo, if recovered, will be facing charges of espionage, four counts of attempted murder, and kidnapping. He arrived on the island with his nephew Peter Sedai, who was unharmed. Leo was collaborating with the Unigen Panel architect, the late Andrea Nowark, who was killed on the island. He stated to Agent Scully that he arrived on the island looking for the key to life, but exactly what the key to life is remains unclear. The Late Roald Schabasser, who was also killed on the island, is responsible for covering the tracks of a major drug cartel in Mexico City.

"Investigations into this drug cartel are currently under way. Deputy Mayor Mulder, who aided us in this investigation, theorizes that profits from the drug cartel support Unigen Corporation, the responsible party for these acts. Whether or not the real monsters are the predatory creatures on the island or the corporation that sponsored their origin remains to be questioned."

Doggett picked up his pen and underlined the last sentence. Then went back and underlined the word "monsters" again.

::I know you’re here, you sonuvabitch:: Doggett thought as he stared out the window. "Dammit," he said out loud, tapping his pen against the thick case file documenting the strange events on Luna Blanca.

Lost in his thoughts, Doggett didn’t hear the knock on the door at first. The second time though, he turned his head and called out "Yeah?"

"Open up, it’s me."

"Great," Doggett muttered, getting out of his chair and walking over towards the door. Reaching for his gun, Doggett first peeped through the eyehole then he re-holstered his weapon and unlocked the door. "Good morning Agent Carlos," he said formally as he let Lux Carlos in.

"We have a lead," Carlos said, shutting the door behind him. "Spender’s already alerting the field office."

"What’s the lead?"

"Leo was spotted late last night."

"Who, where?"

"In the French Quarter and man, the worst possible person saw him. Worst for Leo, good for us."

"Who?"

A slow grin transformed Carlos’ serious expression into a smug one. "The Assistant District Attorney."

"Miss Pontier?"

Assistant District Attorney Nathalique Pontier looked up from the law book she was consulting. "Yes Wendy?" She reached up to tuck a fly-away lock of sleek black hair behind her ear.

"The agents are here, ma’am."

Nathalique folded her lips tight together. Slowly removing her trendy glasses, she said crisply "Send them in, chéri."

She had closed her book and set her glasses on top of it when Doggett, Spender and Carlos were escorted in, "Gentlemen," she said, rising from her seat. She walked around her desk to great them. "Welcome to New Orleans."

"Miss Pontier," Carlos came forward, extending his hand. "We understand you’re very busy, we won’t take up much of your time."

"Anything I can do to…" she trailed off slightly when she noticed Jeffrey Spender’s misshapen face but recovered as quickly and politely as possible. "To help. Of course," she nodded her head, folding her arms across herself.

The cool exterior Nathalique now affected was unexpected but not unsurprising. Doggett realized that Reyes’ friend carefully concealed her girlish boisterous side when the time dictated that she act the professional.

That, and Doggett was willing to bet she had talked to Reyes about the entire… situation… and per the "Best Friend’s Clause" in the contract of femininity, Nathalique had a moral obligation to hate his guts.

But at least she was being polite about it for the time being.

"A friend of mine met me for dinner last night at Arnaud's," she began.

"Where is that?" Spender asked in his husky voice.

"The French Quarter," Nathalique said, her voice softening a little when she addressed the disfigured man. "We met after work, had a few drinks, then dinner and then went to the parking lot. My friend had gotten a ride from work and he had asked me if I would give him a ride," she bit her lip, then sighed and went on. "Just as I pulled out into the street, another car pulled out in front of me. I slammed on my brakes and a taxi cab ended up rear-ending me.

"I got out of the car to exchange insurance information with the cab driver and my friend got out to make sure no one was hurt. He’s a doctor," she added.

"Leo was in the cab?" Carlos cut to the chase.

Nathalique nodded. "He had gotten out of the cab just as we were walking towards them and he had begun an argument with the driver. We found out later that it was because he didn’t want to pay the cab fare. My friend had noticed that he was injured…" Nathalique pressed her first two left fingers to her forehead. "He had a big cut here, along the hair line. He approached him, asking him if he was okay, if he could help and he shoved my friend down hard enough to make him fall to the ground. Then he climbed over the hood of the cab, ran past me and down the alley.

"The cab driver, furious, that he had gotten stiffed, had asked my friend and I to also give a description to the police officer. So my friend called the police, and after the officer assessed our accident scene and determined who was at fault, he took our statement regarding the man who ripped off the cabbie."

"And the police station got a hit off the hotline with Leo’s description and whereabouts," Carlos said. He nodded at Nathalique "Miss Pontier, I know you only saw him for a few minutes but can you tell us anything about his behavior? Was he acting erratically?"

Nathalique put her finger to her lips as she thought for a moment. Then shook her head. "I only saw him long enough to see his face. He was pale. There was a lot of blood."

"But you could still see his face."

"Oh yes," she said confidently. "I could pick him out of a police line up."

"Any word from any ERs ‘round the French Quarter?" Doggett asked Carlos and Spender.

Spender shook his head. "Nothing. I called them this morning."

Doggett, brow furrowed, turned to the window and looked out.

"Miss Pontier," Carlos said seriously, "thank you for your time."

"It doesn’t feel like I’ve done that much," she said, re-crossing her arms. "Who is this man? Should I be concerned?"

The agents looked at each other. "Justin Leo is a dangerous man," Doggett said. "I advise you to exercise extreme caution the next few days, Miss Pontier."

With her eyebrows shooting high, almost disappearing into her hairline, she asked "Would this man have anything to do with the disappearance of your former FBI partner, Section Chief?"

"He’s a suspect in several federal cases," Doggett said.

Carlos, smelling trouble, intervened, "Miss Pontier, again, thank you. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch."

"Actually," Nathalique, unruffled, now glaring murderously at Doggett, "I wouldn’t mind a moment of Mr. Doggett’s time when possible."

"Not today," Carlos said, walking towards the door.

As Spender and Carlos left Nathalique’s swanky office, Doggett paused to give Nathalique his business card, an old one that still listed him as "Special Agent Doggett", there wasn’t any time to print new ones. "My cell is on there," he told her. "How much did Monica tell you?" he asked in a low, angry voice.

"Enough," she hissed back at him. "You piece of shit."

"I’ll be looking forward to your call, ma’am," Doggett drawled as he walked towards the door.

Doggett shut the door behind him and found Carlos and Spender staring expectantly at him. "Gentlemen?" Doggett asked.

"What the hell did you do to piss her off?" Carlos asked.

Doggett rolled his eyes. "Best friend of ex-girlfriend."

Both Carlos and Spender flinched.

"You’re fucked," Carlos said cheerily.

Before Doggett could retort, his cell phone rang. Angrily he yanked his phone off his belt and snapped "John Doggett."

"John, it’s me," Reyes said. "There’s a problem."

"Yeah," Doggett said, walking away from Carlos and Spender. "There is. Why the hell did you have to tell Nathalique everything."

Reyes closed her eyes. "Her bark is worse than her bite, John. Just… leave it for now, okay. There’s something else going on. More important things."

"Like what?"

"I got a call from Agent Fishe last night," Reyes was pacing back and forth in the still empty X-Files office. She had gone from the hospital to J. Edgar and hadn’t left yet. She needed a quiet place to think…

… and to feel Mulder’s presence.

"What the hell did he want?" Doggett asked, knowing damn well that it was partially Fishe’s fault the Bureau took so long in finding him and in the process, lost Starkweather.

"He threatened me, John," Reyes stood in the spot where Mulder’s desk used to be. "He threatened to prosecute me with aiding and abetting a fugitive if I didn’t tell him where Mulder and Scully are."

"Oh shit," Doggett cried out. "That’s the last thing we need!"

"I know. I called Skinner as soon as possible. He went to the Senior Staff to try and stop Fishe’s investigation. But it just got worse, John."

"How could it get worse?"

"Fishe is gone, John. No one can find him."

"Oh great. Is there any way to get a message to them… that…" he struggled for words, not wanting the wrong ears to overhear.

As if he could see her, Reyes shook her head. "I don’t know where they are any more than you do."

"God…" Doggett wracked his brain. "Well… just hang tight, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out."

Reyes closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I know," she said thickly. "I’m not worried about that. I just wanted to warn you. I think Fishe is going to try to shut down the X-Files."

"Wow, that would be the fastest re-open and close-down in the history of the FBI," Doggett said dryly. "Where are you?"

"In the X-Files office."

Doggett paused. Looked over his shoulder. Carlos and Spender were deep into conversation. "Listen to me Monica. There’s something I need you to do."

"What is it?" she said, hating herself for sounding so eager.

"There’s something in the office that I need you to get out of there."

"What?" Reyes looked around. "There’s nothing here but dust bunnies."

In a low voice, he said, "It’s not in the office actually. Is that rack of shelves still out there?"

Reyes walked to the door and looked out. "Yes. With all the boxes of files."

"Under that shelf is a loose tile. In the floor," Doggett explained. "There’s something Starkweather and I hid there. If Mulder and Scully are in trouble… you got to get that out of there and get it somewhere safe. It might be the only thing that could clear Mulder and Scully’s name if they get caught."

"What is it?" Reyes asked.

But Carlos and Spender had started walking towards him. "I gotta go," and he hung up on her.

Reyes stared at the phone then stuck it in her coat pocket. She looked down the hallway, making sure, hoping that it was desert. Then, with a grunt, she started to move the metal shelves.

As the metal squealed loudly against the concrete floor, Reyes could hear the voices from the past…

"Shh! Not so damn loud!"

"Relax, Doc, there’s no one here…"

I don’t like this….

**

May 30, 2001
J. Edgar Hoover Building
The X-Files Office
9:47 PM Eastern Standard Time

"… I don’t like this at all," Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather said nervously as she held the flashlight in her left hand, keeping her right hand, the wrist encased in a heavy cast, close to her chest.

Doggett stopped moving the shelf. "I don’t like it either, Doc. But, look, something weird is going on. All the other samples of that green shit disappeared from Quantico. And then something with that same green shit in his veins attacks you in the park… I don’t like it at all. Someone is doing a damn good job trying to cover something up. And it has to do with you."

"But why?" she asked, her voice a low whisper. "What did I do?"

"I have no idea," Doggett confessed. "But I would feel better if what little evidence we have stays put somewhere."

"You sure no one is going to find it here?" Starkweather asked as Doggett started to move the heavy shelves again.

"Yuh-yeah," he grunted as the shelves scraped loudly against the floor. "Okay, that’s all the farther I can move it," he confessed. "But there should be enough room for your skinny ass to slide between." He took the flashlight from her and shone it on the shelf. "See on the floor? That loose linoleum tile?"

"Only the finest décor for the FBI’s Most Unwanted."

"I think this stuff will fit under it."

"Won’t there be a lump?"

"No one will notice with all these boxes and this heavy-ass shelf on top."

"I think we’re taking a terrible chance putting this shit here," Starkweather said handing the flashlight to Doggett. "This isn’t the most brilliant hiding place."

"It’s the perfect hiding place," Doggett argued. "No one would think that we’d hide anything in the office."

"Jesus, I hope you’re right," Starkweather said, scooting past Doggett and sliding in between the wall and shelf. "Urggh… I can’t go any further," she said. "My cast."

"Can you find the tile that’s loose?" Doggett shone the flashlight over her, making her blond hair seem dazzlingly yellow.

"Um," she squatted down as far to the floor as the space between the wall and shelves would allow. "Yeah… I think so… ow! Fuck. Found it."

"You okay?"

"Sliced my thumb open on the tile… um… okay" Starkweather said. "Got it."

Doggett tucked the flashlight under his armpit as he reached into his coat jacket and pulled out a bumpy brown envelope. "I’m handing it to you, Doc," Doggett warned her as her hand reached out for it. "Be careful. That green shit is toxic."

"Trust me," she said dryly, accepting the envelope. "I know."

Doggett watched nervously as she squirmed around, trying to put the envelope in it’s hiding spot. "Got it?"

"Hold your horses, just about," she grumbled as she fussed with the tile. "Okay, got it… it’s a tight fit but it works… did you dig a hole or something under that tile?"

"No, the dip in the floor was there when I first moved the shelf to see if it would work as a hiding place."

"The only dip here is you. You’re being paranoid."

"I didn’t like you keeping that shit at your apartment and my place has already been broken into once."

"Really? I didn’t know that. And help me up." She waved her hand around.

Doggett, careful of her broken wrist, grasped her hand and helped pull her out of her tight spot. "It was right before Scully’s baby was born."

"Did you get robbed?"

"No. Just had some crazy motherfucker duct-tape a gun to my back and force me to take him to the Federal Statistics Center and Christ, Starkweather, you’re bleeding all over the place!" he exclaimed when he saw the blood running down her left thumb in slow thick droplets.

"Oh shit," she wiped the blood off on her dark blue jeans and then brought her dirty thumb to her mouth and sucked at the wound. "Ow," she complained before blowing on it and then putting it back against her lips.

"Is that sanitary, Dr. Starkweather?" Doggett quipped, moving aside so she could walk into the office. "Come on," he said "I think I’ve got Band Aids in my desk."

"Why did the crazy motherfucker take you hostage like that?" Starkweather asked, going inside, letting Doggett follow her.

"I have no idea," Doggett sighed, leaving Starkweather to stand in the middle of the office while he went to his desk. Rummaging around in his desk drawer, he said "Mul-duh thinks I was set up so the guy would get killed."

"Killed?"

"He thought he was some sorta prophet for… never mind, it’s insane. Here’s a Band-Aid."

"I’ll need your help with that and by the way, I was recently tossed around like a rag doll by something that looked like a little bitty woman that suddenly turned into a very large and ugly looking man so I’ll be the judge of what’s insane and what’s not thank you very much." Starkweather held out her bleeding thumb, her right hand hanging uselessly by her side, weighed down by the cast.

Doggett walked around the desk, ripping open the Band Aid wrapper. "He was some sort of doomsday alien cult. They called him the Prophet. Mulder thinks that he was killed to hush up this whole damn alien conspiracy bullshit. At first he thought I helped get this guy killed but now he thinks I’m just being used like he and Scully are being used."

"Used for what?" Starkweather stood still as Doggett clumsily wrapped the Band-Aid around her little thumb.

"Well, Mul-duh swears up and down that the world is on the verge of bein’ taken over by little green men."

"Shock, surprise," Starkweather said, a little more venom in her voice than intended. "Jesus, I hate him. I’m sorry, I know he’s your friend and all…"

"Not really," Doggett confessed, finishing wrapping up her thumb. "I was just assigned to find him. When we first met face to face, he shoved me into the couch in Skinner’s office and accused me of getting Absalom killed."

"Absa- who?"

"The crazy motherfucker that duct-taped a gun to my back. How’s that?" he let go of her little hand. "Good, bad? Too tight?"

Starkweather flexed her thumb. "It’s fine. And I thought you and Mulder… I mean, well, you and Scully…"

"Dana and I are friends," Doggett said. "It took her awhile to come around but yeah, we’re friends. Mulder…" he sighed. "I kinda just put up with him."

"Why the hell does Scully put up with him?" Starkweather asked him. "She seems so… and he’s so…"

"I have no idea," Doggett confessed.

"Is it because of the baby?" Starkweather asked. "Not that it’s any of my business, but Scully hasn’t exactly advertised who the sperm donor was but is it safe to assume…"

Doggett shrugged. "Who knows. While we were still searchin’ for Mulder, I was dying to ask her ‘cause she was so damn touchy about the subject. But then when we found him… at that point I thought it would be rude to pry. Plus we weren’t really that good of friends yet for me to be prying. As for now… I figured whatever is going on with them and the baby, that’s their deal and none of my business, you know?"

"What’s the kid’s real name? All I ever hear anyone call him is ‘Boo.’" Starkweather committed the ultimate sacrilege by moving some files and Mulder’s name plate to the side of "his" desk then sat down on top of it, swinging her legs like a little girl.

Doggett, noting that Mrs. Starkweather wasn’t exactly racing to get home, pulled up a chair. "William."

"God, I hope they don’t call him ‘Billy.’"

"I don’ think so. Both Dana and Mulder are kind of intellectuals so I see ‘em either callin’ him by his full name, maybe Will. Plus Monica told me that Dana has an older brother named Bill that she’s not so fond of so…"

"Who’s Monica?"

"Oh, I forgot, you haven’t met her yet. She’s a friend of mine from when I lived in New York. She’s on TDY here, but she hopes to get assigned here, she’s working on an official transfer request while she’s laid up."

"Laid up?"

Doggett’s lips quirked up in a smile. "Monica’s one of the nicest people in the world. Too damn nice for her own good."

"Oh?"

"She had some friends ask her to help paint their house. An old two-story Victorian monster. She fell off a ladder while painting. Busted her tailbone." Starkweather cringed. "Ooh. And I was bellyaching about this." She held up her right hand. Then an evil little smile appeared on her deceptively sweet face as she brought her hand back down. "So. Are you and Monica friends or are you-" She brought up both hands now and made the quotation marks signs with both sets of pointer and middle fingers. "Friends?"

Doggett chuckled. "We’re just friends."

"How come?"

"Aw, well, you know…"

"Is she ugly?"

"No, actually she’s pretty damn looking."

"What’s wrong with her then?"

"Nothing. Bad timing more than anything else. When we met I was married, she was involved with some guy so… you know…" he shrugged, hoping she’d get off this awkward topic.

"How did you meet her?"

Now Doggett looked distinctly uncomfortable. "We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances. She… uh… was the agent-of-record into the investigation of the disappearance of my son."

Starkweather didn’t avert her eyes from his face like he wished she would. "I’m sorry," she said simply.

He made himself look away. "It’s not your fault."

"I know but I have no tact and don’t know when to quit," she said bluntly.

Now he looked up at her with a grin. "Really? Could’ve fooled me."

"Oh bite me," she said with a smile and a roll of her whiskey eyes. Then she turned her head rapidly, staring at the X-Files office door.

Seeing her demeanor change from light and joking to serious and concerned mercury quick, Doggett stood up and looked at the door. "What is it?" he asked.

"I thought I heard the elevator door," she said lowly, pulling her pants leg up then reaching down for the snub nosed Beretta strapped to her ankle.

Doggett cocked his head and strained his ears. Just as he was about to say "You’re hearin’ things Doc," he heard the soft clicks of shoes on linoleum.

Pulling his Sig Sauer out of his own holster, he murmured to Starkweather, "Stay here," and walked towards the door.

"Like hell," she snapped, jumping off of Mulder’s desk. "I’m covering you." She clicked the safety off her weapon and crossed the room, standing at Doggett’s side.

"Starkweather I’m serious, stay here," he hissed at her as the footsteps came closer.

"Fuck you, I’m your partner whether you like it or not," she replied. "Not some stay-behind damsel in distress."

"Actually," Doggett rethought his position. "We’re both staying here. Go sit at your desk, act like you’re lookin’ for something. Go," he said, cocking his head towards her desk.

Starkweather caught on quickly. Her desk had the advantage that she could open fire and still have plenty of cover. Mulder and Doggett’s desks were more exposed.

Doggett unbuttoned his jacket all the way and quickly put his gun (safety off) back into his holster. He leaned against the front of her desk, providing additional cover for Starkweather as he began talking in a normal conversational tone. "So yeah, thinking ‘bout trading in my truck."

"As you should," Starkweather said, clumsily opening a desk drawer with her bad hand while clutching her gun in her good hand. "Gas guzzling monster that it is- oh!" she said when she looked up, sounding surprised and not pretending either. "Deputy Director, sir."

Deputy Director Alvin Kersh, still dressed impeccability in a conservative blue suit, stood in the door way of the X-Files office, glowering at two of his agents, both dressed extremely casually: Doggett in a white T-shirt, dark blue Levi’s and his unzipped black leather jacket and Starkweather in an enormous gray T-shirt with the words "AIR FORCE" stamped across the front, a pair of faded Lucky’s jeans with a hole in the knee and her hair hanging down her back.

"And why are you two here at this hour?" Kersh asked quietly. Then, glaring at her, he asked "Especially you, Agent Starkweather when you’re on medical leave?"

"We just got back from Quantico," Doggett drawled lazily.

"Oh?"

"Firin’ range." This was not a lie; they had both been to the firing range earlier that day.

"The firing range," Kersh said in a tone of voice that communicated to the both of them how little he believed him. "You and Agent Starkweather were out at the firing range today? And Agent Starkweather was able to practice her marksmanship with a broken wrist?"

"I’m ambidextrous," Starkweather explained. "But I normally use my right hand as my gun hand. So, since my right hand is going to be considerably weaker when my cast comes off, Agent Doggett has been kind enough to spot me as I train my left hand."

"Ah," Kersh said in that same supercilious tone. "And you’re both here now because?"

"I left something here before going out on medical leave," Starkweather said. "So I asked Agent Doggett to stop here so I could get it." She looked down into her desk drawer and said "Oh, here it is," she pulled out a CD jewel case. "Found it. I knew I left it here."

"You came back her for a CD?" Kersh sniffed.

Starkweather held it out to him so he could see the label "It’s the soundtrack to ‘The Crow’," she said as if that explained everything.

Doggett rolled his eyes. So did Kersh.

"Well, now that you’ve found what you came for…" Kersh said.

It was on the tip of Doggett’s tongue to ask "What brings you down here, Deputy Director?" but instead he said "Actually, I think, now that I’m here, I’m gonna grab some of the paperwork I’m behind in and finish ‘em at home. Might take me a bit to gather things up, sir."

Kersh looked at the "In" box on Doggett’s assiduously neat desk. It indeed, looked to be overflowing. "I see," Kersh said stiffly. "Well, then I’ll be on my way. Agent Starkweather," he said stiffly. "Good to see you on the mend."

"Thank you sir." The "sir" sounded very forced. Doggett wondered again how a fiercely independent personality like hers survived the rigidity and regulations of the military.

"Agent Doggett…" Kersh seemed to be struggling for words. "Have a good night."

"Good night sir," Doggett responded, hoping he looked as cool and unruffled as he did not feel.

Kersh turned away and left. Both Doggett and Starkweather held their breaths until they heard the "ding" of the elevator door. Doggett bolted to the door, looked around and then came back into the office. "He’s gone."

"What in the hell was he doing down here in the first place?" Starkweather demanded.

"God only knows," Doggett said. "But it will be an interesting fact to add into my investigation."

"Investigation? You’re investigating Kersh???" When Doggett nodded, she whistled. "You have some kahunas, my friend. A lowly field agent digging into the DD like that."

"I think he may have had some information that hindered the search of Agent Mul-duh and that he was double-dealing in some others, severely compromising national security."

Her eyebrows rose. "I thought you didn’t like Mulder."

"I don’t. But I don’t hate him either and like him or not, a crime was committed against him on a federal level and since I was dragged into it, I wanna know why. And if Kersh is rotten… I want him out."

She snorted "So they can put someone worse in?"

"I’ll take that chance. Besides, it’s not just Kersh," Doggett stood in the middle of the office and looked around. Looked at all the crime scene photographs, the posters and the memos hung here, there and everywhere. "For something that’s so small and insignificant in the scheme of things… somebody’s spendin’ lots of time and big bucks in trying to shut this place down. First they recruited Agent Scully to debunk Mulder-"

"Then Mulder brainwashes her," Starkweather injected.

Doggett shook his head. "You don’t know Dana very well yet. She does not bend. At first I thought she was just as nuts as Mulder. But once I got to know her… she doesn’t do shit until she’s got some kind of proof to back her up. And it’s usually hard scientific data. Stuff that you’re into."

"What about you? How did you get involved?"

"Me? I think I was the second attempt to discredit the office."

"To become to Scully what Scully was once to Mulder?"

"Kinda."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I got theories but that’s all. Nothing strong to back me up."

Starkweather folded her lips. "Then there’s me."

"Yeah…" Doggett said as Starkweather put the safety back on her gun and slipped into her ankle holster. "Then there’s you." As she shut her desk drawer and stood up, he said tentatively "Hey, Doc?"

"Yeah?"

"You and me… we’re… well, we’re friends, right?"

She nodded her head, looking straight up at him. "Right."

"Okay. Then don’t… don’t take this wrong. What I’m going to say. Alright?"

"Alright." Her gaze didn’t waver but her eye color seemed to be changing, deepening into a darker brown.

"I don’t understand how the X-Files can be seen as a threat because most of the cases are bullshit. But after bein’ here for a while and reading the cases that weren’t bullshit… there’s something going on Starkweather. I don’t know what exactly except for that it’s got to be illegal as hell and people are dying because of it. That they went after a baby to kill it before it was even born."

Starkweather paled. "Scully’s baby." She shoved the CD down her back pocket, looking at the floor.

Doggett nodded. "And now… after what happened in Scotland… Doc… I don’t know what the hell is going on but it involves you somehow, I’m positive."

She looked up at him again, her face still looking peaked. "I know my dad’s involved in some shady dealings. I love him, but I’m not fooled by him."

"Maybe, I don’t know… it’s just that… well, that’s why I wanted that stuff moved from your apartment to here. One less reason for anyone to go after you."

She nodded.

"Doc, I just want you to be careful, okay? I… I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, alright?"

She attempted a smile. "Why would I have taken that wrong?"

"Because… didn’t want to you think I thought you were incompetent or anything."

"Well, I know I’m not incompetent," she said pompously.

"But you’re arrogant," he told her. "And short-tempered. And don’t look wounded, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I’m just… I… you have a bad habit of getting pissed off and overconfident then running off on your own. And right now, I think that’s just a bad idea."

"So wait for the cavalry before doing anything?" she drawled.

He grinned. "At least wait for me."

She nodded. "Speaking of being careful… good God what if Kersh would have come down while we were hiding that stuff?"

Doggett’s stomach twisted. "He didn’t though. So let’s not get riled up about what-ifs." He shivered involuntarily. "Let’s get outta here. The cellar gives me the creeps after hours."

Starkweather agreed with him wholeheartedly. "Don’t have to ask me twice." She trailed after Doggett out the door and down the hall. "Any big plans for the rest of this exciting evening?"

"Oh huge," he drawled sarcastically. "I think I have some left-over pizza I can scrape the penicillin off of."

"Mmm, yum," Starkweather said, making a face.

"What ‘bout you and Ben? Gonna go out when you get home?" Doggett asked when they reached the elevator doors.

Starkweather pointed to her AIR FORCE shirt. "Does it look like I’m dressed to go out? Besides, Ben already said he had to work late tonight so…" she shrugged and hit the "UP" button.

"Would he be mad if I borrowed you for a beer and a burger?" Doggett asked.

"I don’t think so," Starkweather grinned. "Why should he? If he does then he has serious security issues...."

January 16, 2003
J. Edgar Hoover Building
The X-Files Office
9:47 AM Eastern Standard Time

The voices from the past faded away from her when Reyes tugged at the loose tile. Groping blindly she felt around until she touched dusty paper.

Quickly pulling the package out, she replaced the file and scooted from out behind the shelf. She dusted herself off, then placed the package on the shelf as pushed it back into place.

Looking around, she hurried out of the basement and out of the FBI building.

She didn’t look into the contents of the package until she was in one of the parking garages at George Washington University Hospital. Making sure she kept the package down on her lap, away from curious idea, she opened it carefully. "Oh God," she whispered, seeing a vial filled with a strange glutinous green substance and a strange looking piece of glass inside an evidence bag.

Reyes’ mind reeled. Their first case… the downed fighter plane in Scotland… the pilot’s body had been missing from the plane… but the cockpit canopy never opened… the glass had looked wrong to Agent Starkweather… as if it had been heated up to a point where it liquefied but then cooled down in a hurry… then Scully, Doggett and Starkweather were all attacked by what Scully claimed to be an Alien Bounty Hunter… it almost ran Starkweather over in a van… Starkweather had shot him before getting out of the way of the speeding vehicle… but when the wreck was recovered there was nothing there but a strange noxious green chemical… Doggett had volunteered to bring the samples to evidence… and then he and Starkweather had gone back to look at the fighter plane again but the United States Army was there and told them their access had been denied… later Doggett confessed to stealing one of the samples he was supposed to send to Quantico and Starkweather somehow carved a chunk of the cockpit glass out and smuggled it with her.

The samples disappeared from Quantico and the fighter place was never seen and heard of again. All that was left of that case was what was lying in Reyes’ lap.

Heart pounding, she put the vial and the glass back in the small paper sack and thrust the sack in her purse. She hurried out of her car and raced inside, feeling as though her purse magically became invisible and all could see what was inside.

"Agent Reyes!"

Reyes whirled around, her hand instinctively reaching inside her coat for her coat. When she saw who called her name though, she felt like a moron and dropped her hand. "Sir," she said to Assistant Director Skinner and jogged towards him. "I’m so glad you’re here. I have something to tell you."

"So do I, Monica," Skinner said tiredly.

Reyes then noticed his eyes were very red and rimmed with sleepless shadows. "Sir?"

"I just got back from the Carter, Adams and Spangle Lawfirm, Monica," he said, trying to soften his gruff voice.

His words instantly sunk in. "Oh no," Reyes said.

"Per her living will, dated March 7, 2001, she expressively states that if she becomes mentally and/or physically incapacitated in anyway, shape or form to a point where she can no longer breathe on her own and no longer make rational decisions for her own wellbeing and if there is no hope for the condition to reverse, she does not want to left on life support. Her living will also states that she is an organ donor."

"March 7, 2001… that was before she joined the X-Files… before she knew about the possibilities out there…. Please sir," Reyes began to beg. "Don’t. Not yet. There’s still hope."

"Monica," Skinner’s voice sounded heavy. "The doctors said there was no hope."

"Dr. Larutannu said there was no hope," Reyes said stubbornly. "Give Dr. Hsiang a chance to try."

"Monica, I know how difficult this is for yo-"

"NO YOU DON’T!" Her voice echoed throughout the parking garage. "You have no idea how hard this is!"

Skinner looked down. "No. Guess I don’t…" he said quietly.

"Jerilyn said if there was no hope left," Reyes said, her voice trembling as if she was undecided whether or not she was going to cry or to scream with rage. "There is still hope."

Skinner, used to Mulder and Starkweather temper-tantrums and Scully and Doggett iciness, didn’t know the correct to respond to Reyes’ brand of determination. "Legally," he said slowly, "if there’s someone out there who needs Starkweather’s organs…"

"She’ll be awake before that happens," Reyes said resolutely. "And besides, after all the experimentation, would they be even viable? Her heart and lungs are weak. And thanks to all the genetic experiments they preformed on her when she was a baby, do you think she’ll even match anyone?" While Skinner thought about that Reyes reminded him "Starkweather said "if there is no hope for reversal." Dr. Hsiang hasn’t even had a chance to try."

"Monica… I’m… I’m just afraid you’re trying to delay the inevitable."

"And where is the harm in that, if I am?" Reyes countered. "Sir, please… please, just a little longer. Once Jerilyn believes that she’s safe and there… there’s a reason to wake up, she will. She will, I believe that." She then, unbelievably produced a smile. "And sir, if she wakes up, she will more than happy relieve you of Caesar."

Despite himself, Skinner chuckled. "Alright, you win."

::For now…:: Skinner thought as he followed Reyes inside the hospital.

God only knew how long the established medical community would put up with Dr. Hsiang, especially if there are legal documents stating clearly the patient’s wishes.

Meanwhile…

Tired of sitting on the boulder, Starkweather eventually slid off and started walking. Wandering was a more accurate term since she had no idea where she was going or supposed to go.

Starkweather kept looking warily to the left, to the right and behind her as much as possible, not sure what possibly could creep up on her next and really wasn’t in the mood for another surprise.

She continued to plod along, rubbing her arms as a cool breeze played with her long hair.

::Well, this is just fine and fucking dandy… if I decide to rejoin the land of the living… how the hell do I get from here to there? Spirit world my ass… this is some warped dream…::

"But I don’t know if I want to wake up," she admitted to herself.

Just then the ground began to slope upwards. As Starkweather started to climb the hill, the cool breeze carried over voices from the other side of the hill.

Angry male voices.

"And precisely what do you intend to do, Jeremy? We’re all already dead."

"Yeah, well maybe I can make this purgatory your personal hell you smoking bastard. God, I’ve been waiting for this…"

Then there was a small "oof" and the sound of a body hitting the earth. And then the thudding sickening noise of shoes meeting gut and ribs cage.

Starkweather scrambled over the hill and looked over in disbelief at the sight of Admiral Bailey, clad in a Naval full dress uniform beating the Cigarette Smoking Man into a pulp while an unfamiliar man with a receding hair line and wearing very Mr. Rogers-like cardigan and polyester slacks watched on in grim amusement.

Then the Mr. Roger’s wanna-be looked up and saw her. "Oh," he said, the dark pleasure leaving his hazel eyes only to be replaced by regret and guilt. "So you were supposed to be my daughter."

The Admiral stopped kicking the Cancer Man and turned around. "Jerilyn?"

"Please," she said dryly, walking down the hill towards them. "Don’t stop pounding the shit out of him on my account. And," she looked at the man in the cardigan. "What did you mean ‘supposed to be my daughter’? Are you… are you Bill Mulder?"

He nodded. Hesitantly he reached out with his hand as if he was going to touch her face but he changed his mind and let his arm drop foolishly to his side. "You look like your brother," he said finally.

"That’s not the best way to try and win me over," Starkweather said, staring at the man who was supposed to adopt her.

"I’d like to talk to you," Bill Mulder said hopefully, then looking over at her shoulder at the Admiral, fists still clenched and the Cancer Man, lying on the ground, clutching his ribs. "If no one objects…"

"That’s fine. That will let that Dad some more quality time with Smoky the Bastard," Starkweather said, also looking over her shoulder.

"Let’s… go over here, then," Bill said, leading Starkweather a little bit away from the Admiral and Cancer Man.

"So," Starkweather said, when they were far enough away from her adoptive father and her biological father. "What do you want to talk about?"

"It’s not really…" he sighed. "I tried to tell Fox everything. But," he rubbed his temple ruefully and Starkweather, horrified, noticed for the first time an ugly scar shaped like a bullet entrance point on his head. "I ran out of time."

"So you want me to go back with a message for Mulder?" Starkweather shook her head. "Oh good lord, that’s not an incentive to live."

"No," Bill said. "Fox has already discovered the grand majority of what I wanted to tell him. And then some."

"So why…?"

"I just…" He looked at her sadly and shook his head. "Curious."

"Curious," she repeated flatly.

"Just wondered what might have been, if everything went according to plan."

"Plan? What plan?" Starkweather raised her eyebrows. "I thought the plan was for a bunch of pathetic, cowardly men was to sacrifice a sect of women and children so you could buy time to save your collective asses from a government conspiracy cover-up?"

Bill Mulder ignored her jibe. "The plan was to send Fox. As a guarantee that we would cooperate with the Visitors and once our end of the bargain was completed, Fox and the others would have been returned to their families. You, in the meantime, were meant to be sent to live with me and Teena and Samantha until you were eighteen. Then…"

"Then what? You were going to send me back to these…" she sniffed haughtily, "Visitors?"

"By the time you were eighteen, the threat of invasion was meant to be brought under control if not completely neutralized."

"Are you sure Mulder’s not your natural son?" Starkweather asked, becoming more and more disinterested in what Bill Mulder had to say.

Bill Mulder grimaced. "Very sure," he said quietly.

Starkweather turned her back on him, looking off to the eastern horizon which grew steadily darker, just like an approaching storm.

::But that’s weird, storms come from the west usually, unless you’re near the Eastern Seaboard…:: she thought as she said slowly. "But plans change, don’t they?"

He nodded. "When I thought it was set in stone that Fox was leaving, they called me to a meeting and explained to me that perhaps it would be better to send in Samantha. Either child would do, they told me. I just had to pick one."

"Why did Mulder go from being the Chosen One to Leftovers Boy?"

"I don’t know why I was told to choose between Fox and Samantha. But I knew, that if something went wrong… the chances of Fox finding Samantha outweighed the vice versa."

"You knew," Starkweather said softly, turning towards him. "You knew there something… different… about Mulder, didn’t you?" When Bill Mulder averted his eyes, Starkweather said. "He wasn’t your kid but you were trying to protect him anyway?"

"I was trying to protect them both," he said. "And I knew Teena and I could have kept you safe, if we had gotten you."

"But you didn’t," Starkweather said. "The Admiral did."

"We were told you had died. I knew it was a lie. One of the traitors to the inner circle had told me about the fiasco in the Black Hills, with Delta disappearing, with the testing done on you and the eventual collapse of the Eden Project Labs," he sighed. "I thought it was over. I thought you and Sam were both safely dead."

"Well, Samantha is, per Mulder."

He produced a humorless smile. "I wouldn’t say ‘safely’, Jerilyn." Then he frowned. "Jerilyn… that’s an odd name."

"What would you have called me?" Starkweather asked.

"Miriam," he said immediately.

Starkweather made a face. "Miriam Mulder?"

"Miriam means ‘wished-for child’," he told her gently.

"Oh."

He shrugged. "Jerilyn seems to suit you better though. In hindsight… you were probably safer with the Admiral than you would have been with us…" he rubbed his temple again. "On the night…. This… happened," he lowered his hand. "I was going to tell Fox about you. I was going to tell him where you were… what you were and to find you and tell you everything. I was going to tell him to protect you at all costs."

"Why?" she spat at him. "What the hell is so God-damned great about me?"

"Because," he said softly. "You’re the human Rosetta stone."

Starkweather felt her heart leap into her throat as her stomach took a nosedive down to her ankles.

"You’ve heard that expression before, haven’t you?" he asked her in an even softer voice.

Swallowing hard, trying to make the pounding feeling her throat and the empty feeling in her belly go away, she nodded.

"Then you understand why they want you," he said quietly. "They showed you the strange writings…"

Starkweather wrapped her arms tighter around herself as she felt herself starting to shake. "Yeah…" she said faintly, remembering how that piece of metal shot out of the box, flying towards her then stopping in mid-air, spinning around slowly. And the words… the words from the rubbing and the piece of metal jumping out at her…

"And they know that you understand the writings. Of course they did," he said, putting his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. "They manipulated your DNA so you would be able too."

"How," she said, her voice trembling "is that possible?"

Bill Mulder looked at her sadly. "Maybe you don’t resemble Fox as much as I thought. You’re a hybrid. Before even conception, they genetically altered the genetic makeup of human ova and sperm with alien DNA…

"You are not human Jerilyn."

"You," she said, her voice shaking with disgust, contempt and fear, "Are fucking insane."

"The Visitors wants to make us into their slave race," Bill continued as if she never verbally assaulted him. "So we, in an effort to stave that off, created our own slaves to work against them. The problem is, we still haven’t figured out how to wipe out the very human traits of free will and independence."

"Reading and languages are acquired tendencies!" she shouted at him. "Not inborn! You can’t engineer a person on what language they are able to read before birth! It is impossible! The science doesn’t exist!"

"On this planet."

"GOD!!!" she shrieked. "THERE IS NO ALIEN CONSPIRACY!"

"Then how were you able to learn how to play the piano without any instruction?" Bill asked her. When Starkweather was unable to answer, he continued "Or the guitar? Or violin? Or the other instruments you play? I understand you are also fluent in Spanish, French and Italian. Who taught you?"

"No one, I-I.. just picked up along the way…. I learned by ear…"

"Perhaps you learned the alien’s language by sight?" Bill suggested.

Starkweather balled her hands into fists. "I thought the Admiral was misguided and I know the Cancer Man is a piece of shit," she raged at him. "But you… you were the dangerous one all this time."

"The truth," he said quietly "can make anyone dangerous."

"Rot in hell," she seethed at him and turned her back on him again, hurrying away.

"I’m already there," he said to her retreating figure.

Starkweather heard him but didn’t care. She started to run, not watching where she was going, not caring either…

::It’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie…:: she told herself over and over until she tripped over something and fell flat on her face.

She felt hands gently picking her up and a familiar voice crooning "Jeri, angel, I’m so sorry…"

Starkweather pushed the Admiral Jeremy Bailey away and got up on her own. "Why?" she cried out at him. "Why did you lie to me all this time?"

"You wouldn’t have believed me," the Admiral said in a defeated voice.

"I came to you right after I joined the X-Files," she accused him. "I asked you for the truth… I asked for Mom’s journals and you told me you destroyed them all. But Jenny had them! And Jenny was Lily Stratford’s adoptive mother?? And Mom IS my mother! How… why…"

"Jerilyn, please, all I ever wanted was to protect you."

"Bullshit! You felt guilty!"

"Guilty?"

"Those girls," she said hollowly. "The girls from the Eden Project."

December 31, 2001
The Eden Project Labs
The Black Hills, South Dakota

Doggett stood up and clicked on the flashlight. "So, what the hell do you step on?" Doggett shined the light on the ground. His eyes widened. "Oh my God."

Starkweather inhaled, "Holy shit." She looked around the cave. "Shine the light everywhere on the ground."

Doggett complied. "One... two... three... my God... there's nine..."

Doggett and Starkweather were surrounded by nine skeletons, lying on the hard, cold cavern ground… Doggett stood over her, holding the flashlight over Starkweather so she could have light to work by. "What's the word Doc?"

"Well," Starkweather was crouched over one of the remains, her hands clad in latex gloves, examining the bones visually. She had just finished taking pictures with the small digital camera she had brought along. "It's female, you can tell by the pelvis. Woman generally have wider hips than men. Judging by the layer of dirt, dust and animal droppings, she'd been here for awhile. But I have no way of telling just by topical exam. Um..." she put the camera back into her belt bag and moved over to the skull. "Oh, Jesus... Doggett, look..." Her gloved fingertip lightly circled the back of the skull.

Doggett crouched down beside her. "Bullethole... this woman was killed execution style..." he muttered, shining the light up and down the skeleton. "Look how it's spread eagled, as if she was on her knees, then *bang*, and she falls..." his face twisted in disgust.

"They're ALL lying like that," Starkweather said. She gently picked up the skull. As she did, something dropped out of the jaw. Starkweather put the skull down and reached for what fell out. "Look," she said again to Doggett, holding up her prize.

Doggett stared at the bullet. ".22-caliber. Not a lot of power but enough to get the job done."

Starkweather put the bullet in one of the vials she brought along. "Doggett..." she said quietly, putting the skull back in place. "That video that Dad made..."

"Doc, don't go leaping to conclusi-"

"NINE girls," Starkweather interrupted him. "He said there were nine girls kept by the Syndicate as surrogate mothers."

"Starkweather-"

"Doggett, open your eyes, look around here!" she snapped. "There are NINE bodies here. And I bet YOU 'dollars to doughnuts' that they're all female and they've all been killed execution style and they're all connected to that Eden Project bullshit. I don't believe the crap about little gray men and Mars and outer space and colonization and... whatever... but..." she shook her head. "Samita Saint Claire, another one of MY mirror images, gets abducted and that same night, Skinner gives us a tip off about THIS place. Why?"

"The tape you so thoughtfully made for me," Jerilyn said softly. "You said you were in charge of the Eden Project’s security. Apparently security means killing innocent girls."

"I was in over my head, Jeri," the Admiral pleaded. "Please, understand. They threatened your mother’s life, I couldn’t-"

"Couldn’t what? Just let them go? They were poor. They were uneducated. Most of them didn’t even speak English. They were purposely selected to be surrogate mothers because of those reasons! And even if they tried to tell anyone what had happened, nobody would have believed them! That kind of technology didn’t exist in mainstream science back then. But no, you shot them each in the head, one by one, execution style!"

"If I didn’t follow orders, they were going to kill your mother," he yelled at her.

"She was already killed!" Jerilyn yelled back at him. "All the shit they did to her before you met her guaranteed that she was going to get cancer!"

"And how in the hell was I supposed to know that! My God, Jerilyn, this isn’t black and white, good and evil! Those girls, illegal immigrants, most of them prostitutes, weren’t chosen because nobody would believe them. They were chosen because no one would miss them."

"So, what, you tried to absolve yourself of nine murders by lying to me all my life?"

"If that’s the way you chose to see it, Jerilyn, fine."

"How else am I supposed to see it?"

"Jesus Christ, Jeri, how would you have reacted if I told you, well baby, the reason why everything is happening to you is that your mother was a part of an illegal genetics experiment and because they wanted to study the experiments’ effects on her offspring, they stole her ova, manipulated it with a foreign DNA and made you and four other little girls in an ongoing effort to stave off an alien invasion. You would have been calling the men in the white coats to haul me away," he said scornfully.

"And that justifies everything, doesn’t it? My God… Dad, what about Ben? You knew he was alive and you didn’t do a damn thin-"

"That’s not true, Jerilyn, I was working very hard against the Syndicate in trying to retrieve Ben. I was the one who tipped A.D. Skinner during the investigation. But because I was in so deep with the Syndicate, I had to make Them believe I worked for Them, which meant I had to lie to you."

"Bullshit," Starkweather said coldly. "You liked the money. You liked the power."

"The money and the power protected you and your mother."

"Really? Then explain how that money and power protected Mom and I when we disappeared for SIX MONTHS!" she shrieked at him. "My first fucking memory is lying in a field next to Mom and she’s covered in blood."

The Admiral put his hands to his face, his fingers massaging his forehead. Dropping his hands he said "I didn’t know you and your mother had disappeared until I returned for shore leave. I had been at sea when you and your mother disappeared. No one told me you were missing until I came back to base. Your mother and I had been having problems and everyone thought that Lynnette had just taken you and… well, I knew better. The minute I was told you both were gone; I started to push for a massive search campaign. And then… we found you… you had been sick, Jerilyn."

"I was psychotic," she said in the same cold voice. "I’ve read my own files, thank you very much."

He nodded. "But you weren’t… psychotic… anymore when I came to get you."

"But I didn’t know who I was."

"No. You had told the nurses your name was…"

"Echo," Starkweather finished softly.

The Admiral cautiously approached her. Reaching for her, touching her face he whispered "You’re not supposed to be here, angel. Not yet."

"Don’t," she batted his hand away. Then, looking at the ground, she asked "Does Mom know? About… everything?"

"She does now," he said quietly.

"And?"

"That’s between me and your mother," he said firmly.

"Oh," she said with a bitter laugh. "But let’s leave me in the dark, even though it’s my life we’re talking about."

The Admiral shook his head. "How did I manage to raise such a selfish woman? Not everything is about you, Jerilyn Michelle."

"Right now it is," she said, lifting her eyes to his face. "I trusted you."

She tried to steel herself against the wounded look on his gentle, wrinkled face, the sadness in his blue eyes. She tried to hold onto her righteous anger despite his words:

"I thought that the ends would justify the means. But if you’re here now… and you’re not fighting very hard to reclaim what they stole from you… then I failed in every aspect of my life."

"On the bright side," Starkweather found herself saying. "You seem to be excelling in your new sport… Cancer Man Kick Ball."

He chuckled. "I was always pretty good at football. I probably would have been good at soccer too, but in my day, real boys didn’t play soccer." Then he sighed. "Jeri, there are so many things I’d do different… but I don’t know if it would have made things better or worse."

She nodded.

"All I can do now… is hope that you … I don’t know if you’ll ever understand. You’ve never been a parent so I don’t think you will… understand… I just hope that you’ll forgive me…"

"It’s not going to happen overnight," she said thickly. "There’s… a lot’s happened."

"Whenever you’re ready," he said, reaching for her again, this time putting his hand on her shoulder. This time, she didn’t push him away. "Whenever you’re ready, angel, wherever you are. I’m not going anywhere anytime fast."

"Okay," she said softly, reaching up with her hand, resting it on top of his hand resting on his shoulder. "Okay…"

"How touching," a scornfully elegant voice interrupted their moment.

The Admiral and Starkweather turned their heads and saw the Cancer Man, dressed as he had during the epitome of his power, a suit and tie, with a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Starkweather, scowling at him, marched right up to him. The Cancer Man, smug even in death, smiled at her patronizingly, expecting her to make some virtuous speech, similar to the ones her elder brother had given him over the years.

Starkweather simply balled up her hand and cold-cocked him with a hard left hook, smashing the tender spot where the nose and cheekbone seemed to connect. As the Cancer Man groaned in pain, Starkweather pushed him hard so that he fell over and then she delivered a swift kick to his sternum.

Puffing out his chest with pride, the Admiral said "That’s my girl."

Mulder had been at the lake, writing in his journal, trying find reasoning behind the insanity that was now his life when his friend Atlacatl came running towards him, his normally round jovial face ashen with worry. Seeing his face, Mulder stood up and shoved the small book in his back pocket. When Atlacatl gave him the news, Mulder could feel the blood draining from his own face as he said "Thanks" while patting Atlacatl on the shoulder before sprinting towards the grungy little clinic where Scully spent most of her days.

Scully looked up from the screaming toddler she was examining as Mulder came into La Clínica. Not noticing his pale, sweaty face, she said shortly "Just a minute," to him before turning to her willing helper but unwilling student Metzli. "Tell Xoc," Scully said as she handed the wailing child back to his mother, "That her son has rickets and he needs to be fed more foods with Vitamin D for his condition to reverse. More fish, more milk. More sunlight. Less porridge."

As Metzli haltingly translated Scully’s diagnosis to Xoc, Mulder approached Scully and grabbed her hand, which to his dismay, was ice-cold. "Come with me for a second," he said to her as Xoc squawked back at Metzli in confusion.

Scully, as politely as possible, wrenched her wrist away. "Not now, I’ve got a lot of work to do."

"Scully, this really can’t wait…"

"Chichu' Doctora?" Metzli interrupted them hesitantly.

"Yes?" Scully said testily.

"Xoc no un… under… unda… stuh.. unda-st..st.. No comprenda … wh… wh-why no m-m-medicine for hijo?"

"Because there isn’t any," Scully snapped at her. The medical supplies were so low; she didn’t even have aspirin to treat the headache that felt like it was crippling her. "Send Xoc on her way and bring in the next patient."

Mulder gave Metzli and Xoc what he hoped was a winning smile, then grabbed Scully by her upper arm and said "This can’t wait, Scully," and he ushered her out of La Clínica.

"Mulder," Scully snapped at him, "This better be important,"

"We have to go," Mulder said tersely. "I was just told that Agent Fishe is in Chiapas."

"What? How?"

"One of Atlacatl’s friends was in San Cristobal. He said a man matching Fishe’s description along with another man where asking around the market place, asking if they had seen us, showing them pictures. Atlacatl’s friend lit out of there and made a call to Kawak shortly after Azucena and Gibson left to come here."

They were inside their hut now. Mulder had opened one of the trunks and pulled out two hiking backpacks, tossing one to her. Beginning to pack quickly as Scully watched while holding the backpack, Mulder continued "I’m not so worried about Azucena and Gibson, they had enough of a head start to Palenque. I’m glad they left with Axular at sunrise instead of waiting until later in the day like they had originally planned. But there’s a good chance that Fishe may have made it as far as Kawak by now and I want to get going while the going is good... Scully? Scully, you’re not packing."

Scully collapsed.

"Oh my God," Mulder dropped his bag and ran to her. Crouching down, he patted her cheeks, "C’mon Scully..." Her face felt as cold as her hands. "Scully, please..."

Instead of getting up or whispering "Gotcha" like he hoped, her arms and legs started to twitch uncontrollably.

Meanwhile
Kawak, Chiapas

"Agent Fishe," Agent Crane interrupted Fishe’s useless interrogation of an elderly indigenous man who did not understand a word of English. "Come with me."

"I’ll be back for you," Fishe threatened him, shaking his finger and the man’s face.

The man shrugged and lit his pipe. "Bese mis nalgas, gringo," he muttered under his breath as Crane led Fishe away.

"Agent Fishe," Crane said in an exasperated tone. "How in the hell did you get through Quantico?"

"My grades were extraordinary," Fishe said stuffily.

"Oh, so you studied the theory but had no actual experience," Crane grumbled. "Out of curiosity, what field did you work in before being assigned to find Agent Doggett last winter?"

"I was a special agent in the division that monitored music and video theft," said Fishe, "Especially the piracy rampant on the Internet."

"That explains everything," Crane grumbled as he led Fishe towards a skinny woman with a hard face and pigeon-toed feet.

"This," Crane said in a soothing voice "is Ixchup. She has agreed to help us. She speaks English. She told me that they had visitors yesterday."

"Did…" Fishe flung off his back pack and excitedly unzipped the front pocket. "Did they look like this?" He thrust photographs of Mulder and Scully towards her.

Ixchup did not move. "No…" she said. "No man. Only boy."

"Boy?"

"Boy come with Ajq’ij Ali," Ixchup said firmly.

"And," Fishe said scornfully. "What is so special about a boy?"

"Boy white," Ixchup said softly.

"Ajq’ij is Mayan for "medicine man" or "shaman". There is a woman, Mexican, named Dr. Azucena Cielo that travels around treating the poor in this area. The natives call her "Ajq’ij Ali" or "Shaman Girl". Dr. Cielo is the sister to Atzi Cielo, engaged to one Rafael Ibarra. The Ibarra Family has an unsavory reputation for interfering with American affairs. Senorita Cielo and Senor Ibarra were recently deported for refusing to cooperate when the FBI questioned them about their knowledge of Mulder and Scully’s whereabouts."

Realization started to slowly sink through Fishe’s thick skull. "The boy… Gibson Praise."

"Exactly," Crane said crisply. "Ixchup," he said turning to her, noticing that she flinched when he said her name, which made him smile. "Where did Ajq’ij Ali and the boy go?"

She hung her head. Fishe noticed that her forehead was covered with some sort of pox scars. "Asilo Seguro," she said lowly. "Only place to go."

"Gracias," Crane said, turning away from her. "Fishe," he said "get the Jeep ready." Once Fishe scampered away, Crane turned back to the woman, who flinched again. "Gracias, Ixchup," he said venomously. "I’ll have your son released immediately."

He walked away from the woman who fell to her knees, sobbing copiously. He disappeared into the lush forest where his guide, a foul man named Ruben Cerdo held a small boy, no more than maybe four years old, at gunpoint.

"Well?" Crane said. "How was our little friend?"

"Pissed himself, but other than that, good as gold," Ruben leered at the child, who was huddled up beside a tree.

Crane crouched down by the dirty child. The child had indeed soiled himself. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he forced himself to say softly "Ahmok," as Ruben lowered his gun. "Go find your mama." He made a shooing motion with his hands. Ahmok didn’t need to be told twice. With one terrified look to Ruben, he ran off back towards the village.

Crane straightened himself up. "Does the name ‘Asilo Seguro’ mean anything?"

Ruben folded his cracked lips together. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his stubbly chin. "Yeah, I do. It means a pack of trouble."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Government. Laws. All of that don’t mean shit. It’s herd mentality. Survival of the fittest. That bullshit," Ruben dug into the pocket of his dirty khakis shorts for a pack of Mexican cigarettes. "Neither the Zapatistas or the Mexican military will go there. It’s that intense. The Asilo Segurans don’t want nobody there fucking with them. Unless you can blend in with the scenery and let them be. Great place to hide, lousy place to raid."

"Mr. Cerdo," Crane said silkily. "Do you want your money?"

Ruben hesitated. "Well… it’s all talk, y’know," he muttered finally.

"And if Mulder and Scully believe the talk about the ‘great place to hide’ wouldn’t that be logical place for them to be?"

"Probably…" Ruben said, trying to conceal his nervousness.

"What is it, Mr. Cerdo?"

"It’s just that… well… it’s stupid but they say Asilo Segura is haunted."

"Haunted?"

"Yeah… it’s dumb, just more talk, but… ah… ever hear of La Llorona?"

"No," Crane said impatiently. "Nor do I have the time to listen to quaint Mexican folklore. "If you enjoy living and wish to continue living, only as a wealthy man, you will take me and Agent Fishe to Asilo Seguro." He paused. "What does Asilo Seguro mean anyway?"

"Safe haven," Ruben muttered. "Or safe asylum."

A cruel smile appeared on Crane’s thin lips. "Not anymore."

Meanwhile
Aldea del Asilo Seguro…

Mulder was powerless to halt Scully’s seizure. All he could do was move everything out of her way and watch her body jerk and spasm. When her body produced its last tremor and her head rolled limply to the side, Mulder dropped to his knees, "Scully," he said in anguish, wiping the slick of drool off of her flushed face. Her entire body now felt like it was on fire. "Scully, get up... GET up!"

But after the seizure, Scully had fallen into a deep unconsciousness, exhausted by her body’s betrayal.

As Mulder futilely patted her burning cheeks, Atlacatl burst in through the doorway. "Achajil! You and go now! Vienen, Achajil, vienen!"

"She’s sick," Mulder said, gathering Scully up in his arms. "She can’t travel."

Atlacatl ran back out only to return moments later with a frightened looking Metzli in tow. After barking orders at his bewildered daughter, Atlacatl turned back to Mulder and said firmly. "We go. Now." He stooped down and lifted Scully out of Mulder’s arms as Metzli frantically finished packing.

Displaying a strength that belied his bowlegs and spindly arms, Atlacatl hoisted Scully’s limp form over his shoulders. Metzli hoisted one heavy backpack over her shoulders and mutely held out the other backpack for Mulder.

Mulder looked around the shack quickly just to make sure nothing important was left behind. "Okay," he said breathlessly. "Let’s go."

He thanked God that he had sent the computer along with Gibson and Azucena when they left for Palenque this morning.

Later on that day
Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC

His phone rang. "A.D Skinner."

"Sir, the prisoners are here," Kimberly told him, her voice shaking a little.

"Thank you," Skinner said, hanging up the phone. He sat at his desk for a minute, either meditating or praying, with someone as equivocal as Skinner, it was hard to tell at times…

… but soon, he unfolded his hands, polished his glasses, put them on and then straightened his tie.

"Kimberly," he told his receptionist before leaving, "no calls. I’m out on appointments the rest of the afternoon."

"Yes sir," Kimberly said quietly, watching Skinner walk away.

Alone, Skinner took the stairs downstairs to the main entrance where Agents Satish Joshi and Bonaventure Merchant were waiting for him.

"Any problems?" he asked.

Agent Merchant, better known by the alias "Bunny" from when she had posed as Mulder’s ditzy receptionist, shook her blond head. "Everything is going as expected, Assistant Director."

"That’s a first," Skinner said as he let the CIA agents lead the way to the waiting car to take him to the Pentagon where the prisoners were being held.

The car ride was silent. Joshi drove, Bunny sat in the front seat and Skinner in back. Skinner watched the snow-covered landmarks of Washington DC sail past serenely. Man made symbols and testimonies to this country’s greatness. A country he had nearly died for in Vietnam. A country he still served.

::And dammit, I will not let those bastards undermine what I went through while serving this country…:: Skinner thought as his jaw slowly began to tighten. ::Those sons-of-bitches will not win. There is still hope…::

At least he wanted to believe that there was still hope. A chance of Mulder and Scully to come home. A chance for Gibson Praise to have a normal life. A chance for Starkweather to resume her life….

He also wanted to believe Reyes that there was a chance for Starkweather’s coma to be reversed. ::And you should believe:: Skinner told himself sternly as the car pulled up to the Pentagon. ::You saw Mulder come back to life after being six feet under. And if that’s not a God damned miracle, I don’t know what is...:: he thought as the MP standing by the unrolled driver’s side window told Joshi for everyone to produce photo identification.

After being waved through by the MP, Joshi and Bunny led Skinner through various security checkpoints before even being able to leave their car. Then the three of them were led by two very brusque and burly Marines down to the prisoners’ barracks… the area of the Pentagon the military didn’t normally admit existed to outsiders.

Unlike the prison in Moscow, this was a spick and span hell, the linoleum floors, cinderblock walls and overhead lights were blindingly white. The prison doors were triple locked with a thin flap in the middle where the food trays were passed in and out. There were small Plexiglas peepholes into the cells and big black numbers painted on each door.

The Marines paused in front of Door Number Four. "Sirs and ma’am, the other is in Cell Five," the shorter of the two Marines said curtly.

"Thank you," Joshi said. Deferring to Skinner, he asked. "Who first?"

Skinner peered through the peephole of Door Number Four. "Let’s get this over with," he said with gritted teeth. "This one."

The taller of the Marines dug into his pocket for the keys as the shorter pulled his sidearm out and pointed at the door in case the prisoner tried to make a run for it. After unlocking the door, the tall Marine entered first, barking "On your feet!" There was a rattle of chains and click of locks, then the Marine shouted "Sit!"

When the tall Marine came back into the hall, he said "Sirs and ma’am, the prisoner is secure and ready for interrogation. We will be in the hallway for your protection."

"Thank you," Joshi said in his silky voice. Making a small gesture with his hand, he said "After you, Assistant Director."

Skinner squared his shoulders and marched into the cell.

The prisoner looked up and gave him a devil-may-care smile. "Hello Walt."

"Krycek," Skinner said as Bunny and Joshi stood behind him. "We need answers."

Krycek’s eyebrows rose in amusement. "I knew there was a price to pay for my extradition back to the United States."

"According to AD Skinner," Bunny acted as if Krycek had not spoken. "After you had been shot in the parking garage, your back up had retrieved your body and taken you to Jeremiah Smith?"

Krycek sighed. "Are we going to rehash what was already discussed in Russia, Walt?"

"Don’t call me Walt," Skinner said. "And answer Agent Merchant’s question."

"Yes," Krycek said in a pleasant voice. "After the unfortunate altercation with the former Agent Mulder and Assistant Director Skinner here… after they had left my back up retrieved what was left of me and brought me to Jeremiah Smith. He was our prisoner at the time… a traitor to the Cause, so to speak. He was told to heal me."

"And your arm?" Bunny added skeptically.

Krycek smiled. "The technology available now is mind blowing."

Skinner asked "Would this technology be able to revive a comatose woman?"

"Ahhh…" Krycek leaned back in his metal chair. He would have crossed his arms across his chest however the chains prevented that. "So which damsel is in distress, lady and gentlemen? The good and noble Dana Scully or the strong-willed Monica Reyes?"

"Agent Starkweather," Skinner said curtly.

Krycek stared at him as his cheeks paled. "No…"

"Oh yes, Krycek," Skinner said softly. "We found her."

Krycek folded his lips tightly and looked away from the trio.

"Mr. Krycek," Bunny walked closer to the prisoner. "We have reason to believe that you have information regarding Agent Starkweather’s condition. How she came to be."

"Oh I do know how she came to be…" Krycek said softly, still not looking at Bunny. "More than you realize. If you knew what I’d knew you’d just let her die."

"We can’t do that, Krycek," Skinner felt his fists and teeth clenching as he fought down his primal murderous rage.

"Why not?" Now Krycek faced Skinner. "You were more than willing to pull the plug on Fox Mulder to save Scully and her then unborn son." He sighed. "William… another mistake."

"Mr. Krycek," Bunny tried again. "What did they do to Agent Starkweather?" When Krycek didn’t answer, Bunny said "If you can’t provide answers, then maybe your companion can and we’ll just return you to Russia."

"You," Krycek told her "don’t frighten me. I was actually safer in Russia than I am here."

"Perhaps you would be willing to tell us why the Syndicate still pursues Agents Mulder and Scully?" Joshi said. "Since it is apparent to me that you care not if Agent Starkweather lives or dies."

"I would prefer that Agent Starkweather died, actually," he spat at them. "And if you had any sense, you would feel the same way."

"Why was she operated on?" Skinner asked. "The oophorectomy. Why not just kill her instead?"

Krycek sighed and said nothing.

"Forget it," Skinner said. "Let’s go."

Back in the hallway, as the guards locked up Krycek’s cell door, Skinner said "Well?"

"I don’t know…" Bunny said. "Satish, Mr. Skinner, are you positive that is really Alex Krycek? I mean, for God’s sake, his brains were all over the parking garage floor… um, sorry," she said sheepishly to Skinner.

"So I am," Skinner muttered. "Believe me…"

"You both believe that this is Krycek?" Bunny looked at them incredulously.

"The body had disappeared that night," Joshi reminded her. "And the video surveillance tape had been doctored which removed evidence of Mr. Skinner shooting Mr. Krycek and Mr. Rohrer pursuing Mr. Doggett."

"Then let’s do DNA testing," Skinner said. "That should resolve everything."

"How?" Bunny said. "With nothing to compare it to? Plus, this man has BOTH arms."

"If he was brought to Jeremiah Smith to be healed, then limb regeneration may have been possible," Joshi said quietly. "Unfortunately, I feel he is not going to reveal information regarding Agent Starkweather."

"Then let’s go ask Mr. Connor," Skinner said grimly. "I think he might be more pliable." Skinner heralded the guards. "Door Number Five, please."

Soon Skinner found himself face to face with the man that had led him and Reyes on a wild goose chase through Nevada. "Hello Mr. Saint-Claire," Skinner said smoothly. "Or do you still prefer Blade?"

The thin, ragged man shook his head. "Those days are over."

"I take that you are willing to cooperate?" Joshi asked.

"I have nothing left," ‘Blade’ Connor Saint-Claire closed his eyes.

"Do you know why you have been returned to the United States?" Bunny asked.

He shrugged. "I’m guessing something to do with the X-Files."

"Very good," Bunny said patronizingly, as if she was praising a puppy for sitting on command.

"We need you to tell us everything you know about Agent Starkweather," Joshi said.

"I don’t know a whole lot," Saint-Claire said softly.

"What you don’t know could probably fill up the Library of Congress," Skinner said testily. "Get on with it."

Speaking in the slow, deadened voice of a man who had lost everything, Saint-Claire said "I was approached by Marita Covarrubias. She was trying to take down the Syndicate. After what had happened with Samita earlier that year, I was more than willing to help out."

Skinner nodded. This made sense. The Saint-Claires had led a quiet life with their two small children until strange men came and took Samita away. Up until that point, neither Connor nor Samita realized that Samita was part of the greater conspiracy that also shrouded Mulder, Starkweather and William. After her spectacular rescue from the Syndicate, the FBI placed Samita and the children into one of their safe houses. But it was not safe enough from Bravo, a Syndicate sanctioned assassin who had impersonated Agent Starkweather and brutally murdered Samita and her two small children. Samita was not only Bravo and Starkweather’s half-sister, but also Marita’s. After Samita’s death, Marita seemed to have no loyalty left to the Syndicate.

Saint-Claire was still speaking "But the plan had backfired and I lost Samita and the kids. All I could think of was revenge. So after breaking out of prison I sought out Justin Leo."

Skinner, Bunny and Joshi suddenly became very interested in what Saint-Claire had to say. "Why Leo?" Bunny asked.

"His reputation preceded him. He was obsessed with finding Lily Stratford. He was… is convinced that Agent Starkweather is Lily. I thought if we could team up, we could both get our wish. He would retrieve Lily, I would have revenge. I knew that if I could help get Agent Starkweather out alive, that would cripple them."

"How?" Skinner asked.

"Because they believe she has what they want. They believe she has the ability to translate the alien writings on the spaceships that have crashed here."

"How do you know?" Bunny asked.

"Leo still has some contacts inside the Syndicate. They told him that they had interrogated her, demanded that she translate some rubbings they had taken off a ship. She refused."

"But could she read them?" Skinner asked.

"I don’t know. She was unconscious when I saw her."

"Unconscious?"

Saint-Claire nodded. "Like I said, Leo still has some contacts within the Syndicate. He was told that Agent Starkweather had been brought into one of their concentration camps and left to die because she kept refusing to cooperate. She… uh… was in really bad shape when we got her."

"The surgery," Joshi jumped in. "What was the purpose?"

"I think it just another way to torture her. An unnecessary surgery," Saint-Claire said softly. "They were finally done with her, I think. So they dumped her in one of those camps to rot. When he heard this, Leo got in touch with some guy from an alien cult named Zeke Josepho to make a deal with the Syndicate."

"What kind of deal?" Skinner asked.

"Jerilyn Starkweather for Fox Mulder. The Syndicate, of course, agreed wholeheartedly. They had released Jeffrey Spender from prison to send a message to Agent Scully that both Mulder and Starkweather were dead so she and the rest of the X-Files Division would stop searching for them. But it was the ultimate double-cross. Get her the hell out of there but then not delivering Mulder to the Syndicate or to Josepho."

"Why not?"

"Because," Saint-Claire said wearily "Leo has a bone to pick with Mulder. He wanted to kill him himself.

"I was sent in disguise to Nevada to get Agent Starkweather. She was half-dead and unresponsive. I drove like hell until I got to the rendezvous point. When I got out of the van, Leo pulled a gun on Mulder and so did I. Then we all heard a baby crying in the distance. Mulder took advantage of our surprise and took my gun. Leo shot Mulder. Mulder shot me. Leo and I ran. I stayed with Leo and Starkweather until we reached DC. Then I booked a flight to Russia to seek out Alex Krycek."

"You need to raise your standards when choosing friends," Bunny told him.

"I still want revenge against the Syndicate. And Krycek with the two remaining Covarrubias sisters are still working against them. I wanted to join them. The Syndicate made a mistake with the Eden Project and now they are trying to cover their tracks. And part of that track-covering involved killing Samita. There were only two reasons why Bravo impersonated Agent Starkweather last year. To kill Samita and to abduct Agent Scully." He took big gulping breaths. "You don’t understand. None of you understand… Samita never… she was a wonderful person… she was a person, not a lab rat that needed to be disposed of because it was defective…"

"Connor," Skinner said as kindly as the situation would allow. "We understand your loss. But Agent Starkweather is in the same situation that Samita was placed in. She is a person that was treated like a lab rat. We need to know what happened to her so we can help her."

"I don’t know what happened to her," Saint-Claire said helplessly. "I don’t know what they did to her. Like I said, she was unconscious when I got her. Leo and I went our separate ways once we reached Washington DC. I got patched up and then I left for Moscow."

"Just out of curiosity," Skinner couldn’t resist asking "How did you and Krycek wind up in prison at the Kremlin?"

A sour expression crossed Saint-Claire’s face. "Marita and Felitza double-crossed us."

Once again, Skinner, Bunny and Joshi conferred out in the hallway as the Marines re-secured Saint-Claire in his cell.

"This was a giant waste of time, not to mention money," Bunny complained. "We should have left them both in Russia to rot."

"It was not a complete waste of time," Skinner said. "We now know that Marita Covarrubias is back in action. Along with Felitza."

"But whose side are they on?" Bunny asked.

"Don’t know, which makes them more dangerous. And now… now we have some sort of theory to run with on why the Syndicate pursued her for so long."

"Yes…" Joshi frowned "But is it true? Can she read the alien text or do they just believe that she can read the text?"

"Until she wakes up, we won’t know," Bunny said. "AD Skinner? How is she?"

"Honestly," Skinner rubbed his forehead. "Honestly…" He wanted to hope… he wanted to believe… but… "According to the doctors, she’s slipping away. We’re just delaying the inevitable…"

"And where is the harm in that, if I am? Sir, please… please, just a little longer. Once Jerilyn believes that she’s safe and there… there’s a reason to wake up, she will. She will, I believe that."

"… but we haven’t given up hope yet. Not yet.." Skinner said more to himself than the CIA agents.

Much later…
January 16, 2003
En route to Palenque, Chiapas
11:59 AM Chiapas Time

"Mulder?"

She felt a calloused hand against her cheek. "Look who rejoined the Land of the Living."

"Where are we?" Scully tried to move but discovered that she was wrapped up in a blanket. She opened her eyes but since it was dark there was nothing to see. She had been leaning against a tree but now she shifted her body so she could lean against Mulder

"We had to leave for Palenque," he reminded her.

"That’s right," she said faintly. "Agent Fishe." She shivered. "Mulder, I’m freezing."

"I don’t have anything to warm you up with," Mulder said apologetically, wrapping his long arms around her awkwardly.

"You must be worried," Scully said thickly, "if no innuendo followed that remark."

"Scully," Mulder rested his bearded cheek next to hers. "You don’t remember your seizure?"

She froze. "I had a seizure?"

He nodded.

"I don’t remember anything after you told me Agent Fishe was in Chiapas," she was shivering uncontrollably now. "Mulder…"

"Scully, what did you mean… that what you think is wrong with you is beyond Gibson’s powers?" When she didn’t answer, he pressed her. "Scully…"

"I’m late," she said bluntly.

There was a sharp intake of breath before he asked "How late?"

"Four weeks, going on five."

Now an exhalation, long and shaky. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

"Because I didn’t want to worry you," she told him. "And to be honest I wanted to be sure. I was hoping that Azucena could give me a check up while she was here, but…" she sighed. "Mulder, how far will Fishe go?"

"Nice segue."

"I’m serious. Mulder, do you think he has a chance of making it to Asilo Seguro? Or to Palenque? I thought we’d be safe here."

"We are safe," he re-assured her. "Besides, they’ll have to try and get through to Asilo Seguro. I didn’t just pick that place out of thin air, Scully. It has an unsavory reputation that scares off not just the tourists."

"Oh?"

"It’s haunted."

"Haunted?"

Mulder couldn’t help but grin. She was beginning to sound like herself even if she still sounded a little weak.

"Ever hear of the natives talk about La Llorona, Scully?"

She sniffed. "I’m still trying to learn the language, Mulder. I studied German, not Spanish. And languages really aren’t my forte anyway."

"La Llorona" Mulder began to drone. Scully, despite her fatigue and stiffness stifled a sigh. "Is a Mexican legend of a woman who has murdered her children, usually by drowning, although some stories say stabbing, and then kills herself in remorse because of what she’s done. There are many variations of La Llorona, even a version in the American Southwest but the fundamental plot is the same. The woman murders her children; usually she wants a man who doesn’t want any children. She becomes anguished over what she has done, she commits suicide and her ghost wanders across the land, weeping and wailing. The name itself means "She who weeps" in Spanish and supposedly can be heard crying in the night. The natives of Asilo Seguro believe strongly that their village is the origination point of the La Llorona myth and to keep strangers away from their way of life, have encouraged and spread this belief throughout the area … Scully?" Mulder noticed that Scully’s shivering had intensified. "Scully, are you okay?" he asked in a calm voice as he thought wildly ::Oh God, not another seizure, please God, give me one damn break in life and let her be okay…::

"I’m okay," Scully finally said as she broke out into a new feverish sweat. "I just don’t fell so well and I want to sleep."

Mulder cradled her as she snuggled up to him. "It’s okay," he murmured into her dirty hair as she tucked her head under his chin. "Atlacatl is on look-out. Get some rest."

"Achajil?" Meztli’s husky voice pieced the darkness. "Jampa' xurik c'äx?"

"Mezzie," Mulder butchered the girl’s name in a soft gentle voice. "I don’t understand. "No entiendo Mayan."

Meztli repeated herself in Spanish. "¿Cuándo era enferma para la primera vez?"

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Mulder mumbled wearily as Atlacatl hissed at his daughter to be quiet and go to sleep.

No one could see Meztli’s frown in the darkness as she curled up at the base of the large tree nearest to where Mulder and Scully lay intertwined.

However Meztli understood a lot more English than she let on even though it was difficult for her to speak it and she suddenly felt angry and afraid all at once which confused the simple girl.

But this much she knew… a few weeks back, right before Chichu' Doctora began to complain about the heat and showing lassitude, her friend Che'p said that his brothers heard that La Llorona had awaken again and at night they could hear her wailing by the lake Chichu' Doctora liked to take her walks. And then a few days ago, her father had found Chichu' Doctora by the lake, shaking and scared and sick looking.

Meztli drew her knees to her chest. After listening to Achajil talk tonight, Meztli, deep in her heart, just knew…

The nice American lady had seen La Llorona.

She was cursed.

January 17, 2003
The George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd St., NW, Washington D.C.
Agent Starkweather’s room
8:15 AM Eastern Time

"Find some relaxing music, Miss Harrison," Dr. Kevin Hsiang said pleasantly as he placed his bag on the little table next to Agent Starkweather’s bed.

"Should we wait for Agent Reyes?" Leyla asked; her pretty blue eyes bloodshot. She hadn’t been able to sleep so by four in the morning when she finally got tired of tossing and turning, she had showered, dressed and drove to the hospital to where her beloved grandma had been transferred to for her safety. Confident that Helenor Harrison was sleeping safely and soundly, she drove to George Washington University Hospital to relieve Reyes. Reyes muttered something about a shower and a nap and with garbled promises about bringing coffee and bagels, she left.

"No, I think it’s important to start right away," Dr. Hsiang said as he took out a long velvet pouch out of his medical bag as Leyla rifled through the CDs that she had brought from Starkweather’s apartment.

Just then, the guard opened the door to let Reyes in. "Good morning," she said in a husky voice, one hand holding a drink holder with three to-go-cups precariously set inside of it and the other a big white bag with the "Coffee Is My Friend 24 Hour Coffee Shop" logo on the front. "Sorry I’m late," she said. "And that I couldn’t remember whatever one liked to drink. I just got the house blend and brought creamers and sugars for everyone to doctor their drink at will."

"Agent Reyes, you are an angel," Dr Hsiang said with a grin, pulling a long, thick silver needle, wrapped in sterile packaging out of a long velvet pouch.

All the CDs slid out of Leyla’s hand as Reyes said noncommittally "Acupuncture?"

Dr. Hsiang nodded. "After what you had divulged to me yesterday, Miss Reyes, regarding the… legalities of the current situation… I thought it would be prudent to try more extreme methods of coma therapy."

Looking green, Leyla asked as she knelt down to retrieve the CDs she had scattered everywhere. "H-h-how does it work?"

"What acupuncture does is encourages the body's natural ability to heal itself."

"How?" Leyla said, trying to look interested but looking sick instead. "Poking them with needles to make them forget what was really wrong?"

Dr Hsiang laughed. "No, no. Most patients don’t feel a thing. Some feel some tingling. Acupuncturists insert very fine needles at very precise points on the body. Sometimes stimulation is applied to these points through the needles. Like a weak electrical current."

"What does it all… treat?"

"Anything from allergies to help quit smoking to sexual dysfunction to tennis elbow. You name it and a qualified acupuncturist can help your body heal what ever ails you."

Reyes, very knowledgeable in acupuncture theory, as she had utilized it almost two years ago during her physical therapy after she had broken her tailbone, did not listen to Dr. Hsiang’s lecture. Unhappily her mind wandered back to the conversation she had with Doggett last night as she set out the bagels and cream cheeses she had gotten for everyone…

January 16, 2003
The George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd St., NW, Washington D.C.
Agent Starkweather’s room
8:15 PM Eastern Time

"Wait another minute.
Can't you see what this pain has fucking done to me?
I'm alive and still kickin'.
What you see I can't see...
and maybe you'll think before you speak.
I'm alive for you.
I'm awake because of you.
I'm alive I told you.
I'm awake swallowing you..."

"Jerilyn," Reyes put down the information on alternative coma therapy she had printed off of the Internet. "I have a really bad headache, do you mind if we not listen to Godsmack for a while?" She pretended her unconscious friend had given her some smart assed comeback. "Well, I don’t care if you’ve been through hell and back. Here in the Land of the Living, I have a splitting headache and if I keep listening to this kind of stuff, I’m going to be joining you in Coma Land…"

As she got out of her chair, putting the papers down next to it, she said "Jerilyn… I have a question to ask you and I’d really appreciate if you could answer me. Of course that means you have to wake up… but…" she crossed over to the other side of the room where the CD boombox was. "When John was in a coma he said that he remembers a woman telling him to warn Scully about a man coming after her and Boo, that he was not to be trusted. Was that you? Are you still watching out for us?" She turned off the CD player. "You know, I still remember seeing you in Audrey Pauley’s hospital," she said lowly. "And you said to take care of your favorite lost cause… but… I can’t…" angrily she spun around to face Starkweather, lying in her bed. "He won’t let me." She stalked over to her bed. "He. Wants. You. Can’t you understand that? And you know what? I’m not always the nice, tranquil woman everyone seems to think I am. I’m not always giving. I want things too. And I’m not calm either. I get angry too and do you how damn mad I am at you right now? For being so selfish and not coming back when we need you here? Fox and Dana are on the run for something Fox did not do, you can help John and I clear his name. William is gone and I don’t think he’s safe. As a blood relative, you can contest the adoption proceedings and bring him home. And I’m going to say the one thing everyone else is afraid to. John is in love with you, Jerilyn. And I think you reciprocate his feelings. And how dare you just leave him when he needs you, you selfish bitch." She wiped her hot tears with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she whispered. "I’m just upset because I love him too…"

There was knock on the door. Reyes quickly composed herself before saying "Come in."

A portly little nurse poked her head in. "Miss Reyes? You have a telephone call."

"Who is it?"

"John Doggett."

Reyes felt her entire body sigh. "Speak of the devil." Looking at the nurse, she said "I’ll be right there." Looking at Starkweather as the nurse left, Reyes said "And I expect you to be sitting up and cussing me about for what I just dropped in your lap, Jerilyn."

Reyes, wrapping her long arms around herself, walked to the nurse’s station. The portly nurse said "We transferred the call to the nurses’ break room. We thought you’d have some more privacy in there."

"Thank you," Reyes said as the nurse pointed her to where she needed to go. When she reached the break room, she hit the "Line One" button and said "This is Monica."

"Hi, it’s just me."

"Hey John," Reyes sank down into a battered easy chair. "How’s New Orleans going?"

"We got a couple more leads. We think we’ll be able to nail him tomorrow night. Turns out his half-sister Ana did a little more digging. She’s afraid that Leo might come back for her son so she’s more than happy to help us get Leo. She had called Skinner a little while ago and told him that Leo had a college buddy who was from Chalmette, Louisiana." Doggett reached for his reading glasses so he could read the case file notes better and look at the picture. "A Lester Flinker. Friends call him Chuck."

"Why?"

"Would you wanna go as "Lester" all your life?" he said as he put his wire-rimmed frames on.

Reyes smiled "Good point. Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, Chuck Flinker washed out of college but not before meeting one lovely Heather Leroux, old money from New Orleans. So he wines, dines and sixty-nines her right before he flunks out and she thinks she’s in love with him and marries him. They move back to New Orleans. He uses her money to front popular nightclubs and strip clubs and to entertain his various mistresses."

"Sounds charming."

"Yeah, real prince of a guy. Anyway, Leo was a groomsman at Flinker’s wedding and Skinner followed up on Ana’s tip. He said that Flinker’s has had skirmishes with the IRS time and time again but they always seem to evaporate."

Reyes’ brow furrowed. "Leo?"

"That’s what Skinner and I think. Spender’s digging deeper into it, using some of his contacts with the Syndicates and Carlos is borrowing a little CIA muscle with help from the Patriot Act to get his home and business phones bugged and the same Patriot Act is assisting with Quantico hacking into Flinker’s home and business computers… but yeah, that’s our theory. Leo had a shitload of shady connections or he did before he tried to bring Mul-duh down on those trumped up murder charges when Ben Starkweather disappeared. Flinker owes Leo for saving his ass. Now Leo is callin’ in on the favor." Doggett pulled his laptop computer closer to him and maximized one of the screens, bringing up a detailed map of New Orleans’ French Quarter. "He just opened a new club on the very outskirts of the French Quarter. Called ‘Fourche’. The New Orleans are not happy with him ‘cause they feel his modern clubs are destroying the ‘feel’ of old New Orleans. Carlos went to talk to your friend," there was a lot of venom injected into the word ‘friend’ "Miss Pontier regarding Flinker and she said the police and DA are building a case against him regarding a strip joint that’s not too far away from Fourche Seems like Flinker’s gentlemen’s clubs are finishing schools for hookers. Plus there’s the minor problem of heavy drug trafficking so we may be able to kill two birds with one stone. Nathalique was quite pleased with this news. Maybe if we can bring in both Leo and Flinker, she won’t castrate me."

Reyes closed her eyes. "John, I’m sorry for what she said to you this morning."

"Why’n the hell did you have to say anything to her in the first place? Honestly, she’s been a real thorn in our backside since this thing started."

"How was I supposed to know that she would spot Leo?" Reyes said heatedly.

"Well, you’re psychic, aren’t you?" Doggett spat out nastily.

After taking several deep breaths, Reyes said as calmly as she could "I’m not in the mood for your immaturity. Or your wounded ego. I talked to Nathalique because I was upset. Unlike you, I am not strong enough to handle my burdens by myself. Sometimes I need someone else’s shoulders to slide them on."

"What are you saying? That I wasn’t there for you?"

As if he could see her, she shrugged and said "You said it, not me."

"Oh, god dammit Monica, that’s a pile of shit and you know it. I was too there for you. I would still be if …"

"Weren’t what? If Jerilyn wasn’t here?" For once, Reyes wasn’t sorry she was losing her temper. "If she was really dead? Or if she does die? Is that it?"

"You’re jealous…" he said finally, slowly.

"You’re missing the point, John," Reyes snapped at him. "Jerilyn is dying, okay? As hard as we’re trying to bring her back, it’s not working yet. Right now I’m here, by myself at the hospital, watching her die, okay? And I didn’t mean half to her as to what you did. And you’re acting like…like… like an asshole because my best friend got a little snippy with you but I’m supposed to be strong while I’m watching Jerilyn slip away? And. I. Can’t. Do. This. By my self. THAT’S why I called Nat. I needed someone to help me with this and YOU can’t. You won’t."

Reyes almost hoped he would hang up on her. Instead, with an anguished voice, he changed the subject. "Umm… you found that stuff okay that I told you about, right?"

Reyes closed her eyes again and swallowed a big lump in her throat, "Yeah… I did. I moved it to a different location. It’s safe. No one saw me."

"Okay."

"And I fed Moo."

"What?"

"Your cat. I fed Moo."

"Why… are you callin’ her Moo?"

"Because she’s black and white like a cow and I thought it… sounded cute and didn’t think you were going to call her anything other than Kitty so…"

"Her name’s Spooky," Doggett said lowly. "I didn’t get a chance to tell you before I left."

"Oh." She said, swallowing the lump down again. "Spooky’s cute too. Um… suits her better too. She’s kind of shy…" she suddenly, unexpectedly sniffled.

"Monica…"

"I gotta go."

"But-"

She hung up on him and sat in the lounge until she stopped crying enough to go back to Jerilyn’s room.

Back to the present

"So," Leyla asked Dr. Hsiang nervously as Reyes put in "The Essential Billy Joel, Disc Two" into the CD player. "Where are you going to stick that needle?" She still looked green.

Dr. Hsiang lifted the covers and sheets away from Jerilyn’s feet. Reyes had to turn her head away when she saw the ugly scars on the bottom of her feet, the cigarette burns from the Cancer Man. "Here," Dr. Hsiang said, pointing out to the bottoms of her feet.

"Are you sure that’s not going to hurt her?" Leyla was swaying a little. Reyes bolted to her and guided Leyla to a chair.

"Put your head between your knees if you feel faint," Reyes ordered her.

"Actually, this point, what is known as the "bubbling spring" or K1 point is the most painful part of the body for needling," Dr. Hsiang explained. "However coma patients can tolerate it and therefore it has been used as an effective tool in coma therapy and also with treatment of hysterical aphasia and hysterical paralysis. Typically the patient should be lying face down or kneeling when performing this but…" He took the needle out of the sterile wrapper and poised it by her foot. Then he began speaking conversationally to Starkweather as if there was hope of her revival. "Alright Jerilyn, you may feel a bit of pressure when I insert this needle into your foot. However if there’s pain instead of pressure I want you to sit up and yell your head off for me to quit it, alright?"

Starkweather was pushing her way through a field of tall grass when the pain struck. It felt like as if she had stepped on a nail. "Ouch," she cried out at first. But when she bent down to inspect whether or not she had really stepped on a nail, the pain intensified, as if a knife had been plunged through her foot instead. The pain then radiated from her foot up her leg. Then her other foot began to throb as well.

Starkweather collapsed, the grass cushioning her fall. In a convulsive motion, she managed to kick off the shoes she had been wearing. But to her horror, she saw Christ like wounds in her feet with blood gushing everywhere.

"Oh God…" she moaned as she tried to get up, but she collapsed again.

Soon though, she felt hands helping her up, half-carrying, half-dragging her out of the grass. The pain in her feet nauseated her but when she gibbered out about wanting to throw up, soothing voices said "Just hold on, we’re almost there…. Hang on…"

Soon Starkweather was lying down on the ground again, but her feet were no longer being stabbed by invisible blades as someone gently guided her feet into water. All Starkweather knew was cool water rushing over her feet and soft hands smoothing her hair away from her face and a softer voice saying "It’s all right, it’s going to be all right, shh… just relax."

Starkweather opened her eyes. And saw a familiar face.

Two familiar faces, actually.

Her mirror images.

Almost.

"Charlie?" Starkweather gasped, sitting up, gaping at the woman with dishwater blonde hair and blue eyes. Then Starkweather looked at the other woman next to her with blue eyes as well but light brown hair. "You must be Samita."

Samita Saint Claire wore a crisp looking white blouse with short sleeves and a long denim skirt. There was a pink and lavender and dark purple scarf neatly knotted around her neck. Eve Charlie, however, was wearing a pair of comfortable looking pair of khakis cargo pants and a tight black shirt that left nothing to the imagination. Starkweather had a feeling that Charlie was wearing the clothes she would have preferred if she had ever had a chance to have a normal life.

Charlie actually looked quite calm and peaceful as Samita said "That’s right. We never had a chance to be properly introduced," while they sat down in the grass next to Starkweather.

"Well, you know," Starkweather said. "Manners were really never a strong suit of mine…"

"We know," Charlie and Samita chorused.

"Thanks," Starkweather grumbled, sitting up more, seeing the pond water her feet soaked in turn pinkish by her blood. "What in the hell happened here?"

"They’re trying to bring you back," Samita explained. "Your friends are trying extreme methods to bring you back to their world since established medical techniques failed."

Starkweather rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot Reyes," she grumbled.

"I liked her," Charlie said. "She always stayed calm. Even when I slit my wrists in front of her. If I hadn’t been insane, I think Monica and I would have been friends."

"Birds of a feather…" Starkweather muttered. Then she said out loud "This is turning out to be some family reunion. Anyone else here I should know about?"

"Actually we were sent to find you," Charlie said. "When they found out you were here, they wanted to see you."

"They?" Starkweather said warily. "Who’s they?"

But they were interrupted by a dark-haired little boy running towards them. Flinging himself into Samita’s arms, he said "Mom, guess what? We had a race and I won!"

"You did?" she said, hugging him close to her. Then looking around. "Where’s your sister?"

"Oh, she’s coming," the little boy said nonchalantly. Then he looked up at Starkweather. "Hi, I’m Drew."

"This is my son," Samita said, smoothing his hair. "And…" she smiled when she saw a beautiful little girl with almond shaped eyes, stick straight black hair and a big smile toddling towards them. "Is my daughter, Kory."

"Kids…" Starkweather said faintly, feeling nauseated again. "You had kids…"

Samita held out an arm and Kory collapsed into it, giggling. "I couldn’t have children so Connor and I adopted."

"How…?" Starkweather wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

"Bravo," Charlie said. "Was sent to impersonate you. Her mission was to kill Samita and abduct Agent Scully so the Syndicate could continue their experiments on her."

"You mean…" Starkweather looked at the two children. When Samita nodded Starkweather seethed "That bitch. Where is she now?"

"Dead," Samita said, holding her kids tight to her. "Lily Stratford killed her."

"Mommy," Drew complained. "You’re holding me too tight."

"Sorry baby," Samita loosened her grip and kissed the top of Drew’s head.

"We haven’t seen her around here though. We think she went straight to the Hot Place," Charlie grinned.

"They sent her to Iraq?" Starkweather asked.

"You would have starved to death if you tried to make a living at comedy," Charlie said woefully.

"I liked you better when you were crazy," Starkweather grumbled. Then she looked away. "Charlie…um… I’m sorry I wasn’t able to… do anything for you."

"You did," Charlie said. "You did more than what you realize. You gave a damn. That’s more than anyone ever did for me in life."

"Speaking of life," Samita said. "We better get going. They’re waiting." She kissed the kids again. "Go play." When the kids scampered off, Samita said "Jerilyn you should be able to walk now."

Charlie helped her stand up. Starkweather tested her weight on her feet and winced a little. But the pain wasn’t any worse than a bad blister from wearing insensible shoes, so while it wasn’t great, it was tolerable. "You didn’t answer me," she said as she hobbled behind her half-sisters. "Who’s they?"

"You’ll see," Samita said with a Mona Lisa smile.

"They wanted it to be a surprise," Charlie added.

"I don’t like surprises," Starkweather said.

"We know," Charlie and Samita chorused again.

"And stop that, you freak me out when you do that."

"Sorry," Charlie said in a flippant voice.

"Whatever," Starkweather muttered.

"Just over that hill," Charlie said, pointing.

"Are they alive with the Sound of Music?" Starkweather asked before starting up it.

Samita grabbed her arm. "Before you go," she said in a little voice. "If you decide to wake up… please give a message to Connor."

"What kind of message?"

"He needs to stop," Samita said. "I don’t know how he got mixed up with these gangs and spy games, but he has to stop. He has to get one with life. Revenge can not be his life."

"I don’t know if he’ll listen to me," Starkweather said.

"He will," Samita said. "You are his last link to me." She let go of Starkweather’s arm and folded her hands, standing there motionless as a sudden breeze picked up and the sky became darker.

"What’s going on?" Starkweather said, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Your journey is nearing the end," Charlie said. "You have to hurry. You’re running out of time."

Starkweather took one last look over her shoulder over at her half-sisters and started to climb the hill, wincing with every step. The higher she climbed, the more the wind calmed down.

Soon she heard voices.

"I’m sick of the wind blowing these damn cards everywhere."

"Hey, if we would have been playing ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ like I suggested, we wouldn’t have this problem…"

"Oh dear God…" Starkweather said as she began to scramble over the hill.

When she reached the top, she looked down and saw three very familiar faces sitting around a card table.

"Alright," Frohike said, taking a swig out of a flask. "Where were we?"

"It was Byers turn," Langly said, re-arranging his cards in his hand.

"Hey, Blondie, I can see your hand," Frohike grumbled. As Langly tried to hide his cards from Frohike’s cheating eyes, Frohike asked Byers "What do you got?"

"Jack of Hearts," Byers said, his brown hair ruffled by the breeze.

"Go fish," Frohike muttered. "That does it. When this hand is over, I’m teaching you boobs to play poker. I’m not playing Go Fish for all eternity."

By this time, Starkweather had made down the hill. "Well," she said "This is reason enough for me to go back."

Beaming, the Lone Gunmen abandoned their card game and rushed at her for a clumsy group hug. "Mrs. Starkweather," Byers said warmly as the three men engulfed her.

"Hey there, sweetie," Frohike said.

"Get your hand off my ass, Melvin," Starkweather threatened him sweetly.

"It’s not me, it’s Langly," Frohike said.

"Bullshit," Starkweather said as she tilted her face up to kiss Langly on the cheek.

As Langly turned beat-red, Starkweather escaped their arms and said. "So what happened to you guys? Who did you finally piss off to do you in?"

"We died as heroes," Langly managed to spit out.

Starkweather gave them all a look that clearly conveyed her disbelief.

"We did, actually," Byers said. "We contained a biochemical weapon from spreading when it detonated."

"Problem was, we were part of the containment," Frohike said.

"You sacrificed yourselves?" Starkweather asked.

The Gunmen nodded.

"How did you guys get involved in something like biochemical terrorist prevention anyway? I thought you worked in conspiracy theories. Who killed Kennedy, what’s really in Chicken McNuggets and stuff like that?"

"Well," Byers looked uncomfortable. "We’re a watchdog for lots of government agencies, calling their bluff."

"Or we did," Frohike muttered.

"Jimmy and Yves are handling it now," Langly said.

"Jimmy was that idiot that came with us to see ‘Lord of the Rings, the Fellowship of the Rings’, wasn’t he?"

"Yeah," Langly said. "And I now missed ‘The Two Towers’ and gonna miss ‘The Return of the King and Star Wars Episode Three’…"

As Langly began to sulk, Starkweather said "But I don’t think I ever met Yves."

"You’d like her," Byers said.

"No she wouldn’t" Frohike said. "Yves and Starkweather would be at it like wet cats. I wonder if that could be put on pay-per-view…"

"But still… biochemical warfare seems to be out of your guys’ league," Starkweather said. "So how…?"

"Does the name ‘Morris Fletcher’ ring a bell?" Frohike asked her.

Starkweather shook her head.

"He’s a government figurehead who works for at Area 51," Byers began.

"He’s an ass-wipe," Frohike interjected.

"Anyway, Fletcher got busted for violating the Federal Secrets Act," Byers said.

"Ooh," Starkweather winced. "That’s sedition. That’s the death penalty."

"He wanted to deal," Langly said. "He said he had information regarding Super Soldiers."

"Oh Jesus," Starkweather bitched. "I HATE the term Super Soldiers, makes me think of the Power Rangers. And let me guess, because this Fletcher dude said he had info on… genetically altered human beings… they called in the X-Files. And then they called you."

"Well yeah…" Langly put his hands in his jeans pockets and began rocking back and forth on his heels. "Kinda…"

"What do you mean… ‘kinda’?" her eyes narrowed.

"It was a scam…" Frohike said lowly. "He only made up that shit about Super Solders to weasel his way into a deal that saved his hide."

"Agents Doggett and Reyes didn’t believe what Fletcher had to say," Byers said slowly. "Until Fletcher played his trump card."

"Which was what?" Starkweather demanded.

"Fletcher told Doggett that he had information on where you were," Byers said. "He told him that you had been taken and… turned into a Super Soldier."

"Tell me he didn’t buy that pile of shit," Starkweather said. "Byers…"

"I’m sorry, Starkweather," Frohike did truly sound sorry. "But… hook, line, sinker."

"Fletcher is slime," Langly said. "Since he had top level security clearance he knew about your disappearance. He also heard the rumors about you and Agent Dogbert and…"

"Stop it," she said weakly.

"He told Doggett and Reyes that if we found our friend Yves, that we would find you. He said that both of you had been turned into Super Soldiers and working for the Syndicate. But really, it was a lie. Fletcher just wanted to find Yves. She was chasing a man who had a deadly toxin implanted into his body. When the toxin’s organic container disintegrated from within him, the toxin would have become airborne, killing everyone in a five mile radius," Byers said.

"So we corralled him and shut the fire door," Frohike said. "And contained the toxin. And us…"

"Dying totally sucked," Langly finished.

"So… what you’re saying," Starkweather said through her teeth "is that it was essentially Doggett’s stupidity that got you guys killed? Because he believed Fletcher’s lies?"

"Yes!" Langly said. But changed his answer when Frohike elbowed him. ‘Um, no. Not really."

"GOD!!!" she suddenly screamed. "I DON’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT!" She turned her back to the guys and started ranting to the sky, the grass, the trees and the hills.

"GOD DAMN YOU! YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER! WHEN WILL YOU START LISTENING TO ME!" she screamed.

"Starkweather?" Frohike said apprehensively.

She turned around, her face red with rage. "I told him," she said in a tremulous voice "Not to go after me. So who else has died because of his stubbornness?"

The Gunmen exchanged nervous looks. "Um…" Frohike said. "Before you go completely ape-shit nuts on us, there is something else we have to tell you about. It’s kind of weird."

"Weird?" Starkweather said. "AND THIS IS NORMAL?!?!?!"

"She’s got a point," Byers mumbled.

"Stop being helpful," Frohike snarled back at him.

"When we finished dying and got to here," Langly said. "We were told that we weren’t supposed to be here."

"So I thought we were going to hell at first," Frohike said.

"We were told our deaths were a mistake," Byers said. "That we were not supposed to die."

"And it’s gonna get fixed," Langly said. "I don’t know how, ‘cause I thought death was kind of, you know, permanent."

"Are you in comas too then?" Starkweather asked.

The guys shook their heads. "Nope, we’re dead as hammers as the luscious Agent Scully would say." Frohike said.

"Had funerals and everything," Langly said.

"Buried in Arlington, no less," Byers added.

"So how can death be fixed?" Starkweather asked.

"We don’t know," Byers said. "We were told to just sit tight and wait."

"Wait for what?" Starkweather asked.

Frohike said "For the guy who is going to be sent to put right what once went wrong."

"Scully!"

Scully looked up. She was lagging behind again.

"Scully, c’mon," he said. "We got to keep going."

She nodded. "I’m sorry," she said in a feeble voice. "I ache everywhere."

"We’ll be stopping soon," Mulder said.

"Okay."

She looked terrible. Her face and eyes seemed to be the same color as used teabags. She kept falling behind Mulder, Meztli and Atlacatl. But determinedly she kept plodding behind them.

Mulder wondered if she had been this sick with William. He tried imagine her pregnant and sick, all alone and shoved the guilt inducing image from his mind. "Come on, Scully," Mulder took her hand and then looped her arm over his shoulders. "We’re almost there." He knelt down and picked her up.

"Mulder," she protested. "It’s too hot, you’ll over exert yourself."

"Nah," Mulder said. "This is a great cardio-aerobic workout. Carrying a hundred and thirty pound woman in a jungle where the humidity reaches a hundred and ten percent while carrying a full backpack on top of it? Maybe I can make a career switch and become a fitness instructor in the wild." He hurried as much as possible to catch up with Atlacatl and Meztli.

"Too hot to walk," Atlacatl said shortly. "So are we going to hop all the way there instead?" Mulder asked.

"Water over there," Atlacatl said. "Caves. Safe. Eat. Hide until cooler."

"Lead the way, amigo," Mulder said, feeling slightly light headed. They had a meager breakfast (stale crackers and fruit Meztli had gathered at dawn) and had been traveling ever since, stopping only to drink from their canteens and to go back for Scully whenever she fell behind.

Mulder wasn’t sure what to expect when Atlacatl had said "Water" and he certainly wasn’t expected to be blown away by what he saw when he came out of the jungle and stood on the river’s edge. But he had an inkling of what it could be when he heard a roaring sound that reminded him of La Luna Blanca and not the dinosaurs.

The waterfalls.

Out of jungle, standing on the shore, Mulder looked up as he felt the water spray on his face.

Huge waterfalls that would dwarf Niagra Falls surrounded them. It definitely overshadowed the Agua Azul waterfalls near Palenque. The water looked too blue to be real as it cascaded down the sparkly granite terraces.

"Caves behind water," Altacatl said. "Come."

"Scully," Mulder murmured. "Do you see this?" He pointed to one of the larger waterfalls. Three giant fonts of sapphire water flowed down a giant slab of rock high in the air crashing down to earth.

Scully looked up, her eyes widening in horror.

A woman stood on the edge of the waterfall, her bloodstained dress getting soaked by the water’s spray.

"Oh God…"

"Scully?"

"I… my head hurts," she said, closing her eyes tight.

Mulder looked and saw Meztli and Atlacatl maneuvering what looked to be a very precarious trail cut next to the towering almost-mountains along the river’s edge to the caves behind the waterfalls. He asked her. "Do you think you can walk? I don’t know if I can carry you."

"I’m fine, my head just hurts," Scully said. "Put me down."

Mulder did as she said but held on her hand. "Hang on," he said. Then he looked at the trail to the cave and said "I don’t know Scully, maybe we shouldn’t…" he looked back at her and saw that Scully was still staring at the top of the waterfalls. "Scully?"

"Let’s go Mulder," she said shortly.

Mulder, never letting go of her hand, lead her down the slippery trail to the caves. There were a few precarious moments when Mulder thought he was going to lose his footing and when Scully thought she was going to faint, but they made it inside the cave with no incident.

Mulder, Metzli and Atlacatl ate dried beef wrapped up in corn tortilla shells while Scully sipped at water. The smell of the heavily salted meat nauseated her. But the cave felt cool so she curled up in a corner, away from them and drifted off for a little bit.

She woke up from her siesta before the others however; her body feeling like it was on fire. She sat up and leaned against the wall, touching her face and looking at the others. Near the entrance, Atlacatl was sound asleep, laying flat on the stone floor. Metzli used his belly as a pillow, her round face tranquil.

Mulder used the backpacks as his pillow. Scully stared at his sleeping face. She definitely did not like the beard. But she liked his hair longer. Better than that porcupine look he sported for a while. He was tanner and leaner, more like he was when she first met him.

::But he hasn’t changed… not really…::

Scully stood up as much as she could in the cave. Carefully, so not to wake anyone, she crept towards the entrance.

"Scully, where are you going?" Mulder murmured.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she lied.

"Make sure it’s not poison ivy before you wipe," was all he said as he faded back to sleep.

Scully had to pause at the entrance. She felt so sluggish, so tired…

She forced herself to keep going. On shaky legs, she went back on the trail leading out to the open. With a pounding head, a tumultuous stomach and quivering legs, it was slow going. But eventually, she made it to the river’s edge safely and she sank to her knees in relief.

Looking up at the waterfalls, she searched and searched but saw no one. Shivering and sweating at the same time she called out softly. "Llorona? Are you here?"

Howler monkeys in the trees started chattering scaring the hell out of her for a moment. Then it became silent, with the exception of the twittering tropical birds.

Scully leaned towards the water. "Llorona, please, I’m ready…"

A hand gently grabbed her shoulder. Scully jumped and swiveled her head around and saw La Llorona, her face sweet and sad at the same time, her beautiful black hair rippling down her back. Her dress, snowy white except for some sanguine splotches here and there.

La Llorona helped Scully to her feet. "I’m ready," Scully repeated herself.

Holding her hand, La Llorona led Scully into the lake. Scully clutched Llorona’s hand tighter and tighter, especially when the water went over her head and Llorona kept pulling her down.

Meanwhile…

Because of the lingering pain from the attempted acupuncture in "the real world" Starkweather was still limping along when she came across the small pond that the creek she had soaked in her feet in earlier fed into.

As she got closer and closer, she heard a burbling sound, as if there was a spring or a foundation embedded in the pond’s bottom.

"Okay…" Starkweather said. "In the movies, whenever the heroine gets closer to a spooky noise, she usually gets eaten."

She hurried past the pond as fast as her aching feet would allow but then the burbling noise became louder as the pond began to ripple and bubble.

"God damn it, Reyes," she cursed as she tried to get around the pond. "You WOULD stick something sharp in my feet to try and wake me, wouldn’t you?"

Then she tripped over a rock.

"This can’t get any more cliché," Starkweather groaned as she tried to get back up. Then she looked over her shoulder.

The pond was turning blood red.

"Oh my fucking God!" Starkweather tried to get up but her body wouldn’t obey her mind as she watched sanguinary arms reaching up through the water.

A woman in a white dress with long black hair rose from the pond. She eyed Starkweather through the long black bangs that obscured her face.

Starkweather knew she was hyperventilating but she couldn’t stop herself.

The woman kept rising from the water until she stood on its surface, Christ-like, still staring down at Starkweather. Then she knelt and stuck her hand through the water and started to pull on something. The red began to recede as the person she pulled up rose from the water.

Starkweather cried out when she saw the familiar mop of red hair. "Scully!"

Forgetting about her feet, she ran to and into the lake as the woman with black hair let go of Scully’s hand. Scully sank back into the water but Starkweather caught her and pulled her out as La Llorona descended back into it’s depths.

Starkweather dragged Scully to shore. "Scully? Scully?" she said, panicked.

Scully’s eyes fluttered open. "Jerilyn?"

"Oh Jesus, Scully, what are you doing here?"

"I… I don’t know," Scully sat up, looking around. "Where is here?"

"Got me." Starkweather looked around, saw that the sky had become darker yet. "It’s not heaven, that’s for damn sure."

"Maybe it’s purgatory?"

"You sure it’s not hell?" Starkweather asked.

Scully shook her head. "No… hell is what I left behind…" she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

Startled, Starkweather said softly "Scully?" Then she realized that Scully wasn’t shivering, she was weeping. "Scully?" she said again as Scully covered her face with her hands. "Jesus, what happened to you?"

"My son…" she sobbed, "my son. I killed my son."

"WHAT?" Starkweather reached over and grabbed Scully by the shoulders, turning her towards her. "Scully, what happened to William?"

"I gave him up," she wept.

"You what?"

"I gave my baby up," Scully said, "I couldn’t protect him anymore. People wanted him… Jerilyn, I didn’t want him to grow up to be like you."

"Like me?"

Scully nodded. "Hunted. I wanted him to have what you and Mulder didn’t. A normal childhood. But without the FBI and the X-Files… I think I gave him a death sentence instead of freedom," she sobbed.

Starkweather wanted to feel rage, so she could rail at her for her actions. But for once, the raging fires inside of Starkweather had been extinguished by pity.

"Oh, God… Scully," Starkweather said as she reached over and gave her friend a clumsy hug.

Scully clung to her. "I didn’t know what to do… they told me Mulder was dead. They told me that you were dead. My… m-m-my muh-mother got beaten up while babysitting Will…"

"Maggie?" Starkweather said incredulously. "They went after Maggie?" When Scully nodded, Starkweather said "Oh Jesus God… nothing is sacred."

"And I know Mulder resents me giving William up. He said he understands but I think he’s lying to me and himself."

Pity dissolved and was replaced by a familiar flare of irritation, igniting the flames of rage again. "Mulder can go fuck himself," Starkweather said. "Where the hell was he when all this shit with William was going on?"

Scully swallowed. "Looking for you."

"Oh."

"I told him to go. I thought he was the only one that could find you. And I honestly thought I could keep William safe."

"Where is he now?"

"I don’t know," Scully shook her head. "But I’m so afraid… I’m so afraid I made a mistake. That I should have kept him… but the adoption is finalized."

"No it’s not," Starkweather said shaking her head. "It’s null and void. The father didn’t consent."

"The father is on the run," Scully’s tears receded; she began to sound more like her brisk, efficient self. "Along with the mother."

"You ran off with Mulder?" Starkweather groaned. "God, I get kidnapped and lay around unconscious for a few months and all hell breaks loose."

Despite herself, Scully chuckled. "I wish I wasn’t dreaming."

"You and me both," Starkweather sighed, settling down in the grass. "My subconscious is a scary place."

Scully looked up and looked around. Looked up at the building storm clouds in the east. "I’ll say," Scully muttered, drawing her knees up towards her chest, resting her chin on her knees. After a while she finally said "Jerilyn… I’m sorry for being so emotional. It’s just that… after you… disappeared and after Mulder left… I really had no one to talk to. I wasn’t totally alone but it’s an unspoken rule with my family that we don’t discuss my work."

"What about like Skinner? I thought you guys were friends?"

"We are. Skinner had so much on his plate though. It’s not just the X-Files he has jurisdiction over. Ever since Nine-Eleven, he has been run ragged. I didn’t want to burden him."

"How about Monica or…" Starkweather let her sentence trail off.

Scully nodded. "Monica was always there. Even," she smiled wryly "when I didn’t want her to be. But she gives so much and doesn’t take. She…" the smile slowly faded away. "Is going to burn out soon if she doesn’t learn how to take as well…" she rolled her eyes. "As if I have room to criticize."

"I know," Starkweather said. "Reyes is trying something weird to try and get me to snap out of this coma."

"Wouldn’t surprise me," Scully said. "This is the same woman that tried to make whale sounds to soothe me while I was pregnant with…" she closed her eyes.

"Aw, Scully…"

"Did I make a mistake?" Scully whispered. "That’s what I need to know. Did I do the right thing, as William’s mother, for giving him away?"

"You… " Starkweather chose her words carefully. "Did what you felt had to be done. But… that doesn’t mean you stop thinking about him. Or missing him."

"I just wanted the best for my son," she said. "That’s all I ever wanted. I just wanted to protect him."

Starkweather stared across the pond, her face troubled.

"I thought that the ends would justify the means. But if you’re here now… and you’re not fighting very hard to reclaim what they stole from you… then I failed in every aspect of my life… Jeri, there are so many things I’d do different… but I don’t know if it would have made things better or worse…All I can do now… is hope that you … I don’t know if you’ll ever understand. You’ve never been a parent so I don’t think you will… understand… I just hope that you’ll forgive me…"

::Maybe I do understand, Dad… a little more than before…::

"I think..." Starkweather said. "That when he got older… if William would ever find out about all what has happened to him when he was little… he would be upset at first… maybe even get pissed off… but then eventually understand why. It… it wouldn’t happen overnight but I believe that he would eventually understand that you acted the best way that you could under the circumstances."

"Do you really believe that Jerilyn?"

"I think I do," she said. "I also still believe in what you said a while back to me… how you said you believed nothing good never really dies."

Scully nodded. "That’s right."

"I hope you still believe that," Starkweather said. "Because I clung to that belief when everything went to hell."

Lightening suddenly streaked across the sky, then thunder crashed, resonating throughout the entire valley. Both Scully and Starkweather jumped in fright and scrambled to their feet.

"What is happening?" Scully cried out.

"I don’t know…" Starkweather looked up at the sky. But when she looked back down, Scully had vanished.

"Scully?" Starkweather called out. She opened her mouth to shout out again, but closed it.

"I have to get out of here," she whispered to herself. Then she raised her face to the skies again. "DO YOU HEAR ME? I WANT OUT OF HERE!"

Meanwhile
The George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd St., NW, Washington D.C.
Agent Starkweather’s room

"She moved."

Both Dr. Hsiang and Leyla jumped when Reyes spoke.

"What did you say?" Dr. Hsiang said.

"Her hand… it moved," Reyes said wondrously.

"Are you sure?" Leyla said "It wasn’t just a reflex?"

Reyes pointed. "Unless balling your hand into a fist is a reflexive motion…"

Dr. Hsiang hurried to the side of the bed. "I’ll be damned…" he said, pulling out his little flashlight. Prying open her eyelid, he shined the light straight into her eye. "No response to light though…" he murmured. "Strange…"

"No…" Reyes said. "Not strange. Stubborn. She’s finally starting to fight back."

"I have an idea," Leyla blurted out. "I’ll be back."

"What idea could Miss Harrison have?" Dr. Hsiang asked.

"I’m not sure if I want to know to be honest," Reyes said. "But I’m sure that there was this one time Mulder and Scully investigated a comatose patient and…" she trailed off as she placed her hand over Starkweather’s fist.

"Come on, Jerilyn," Reyes said.

Meanwhile…
North of Palenque, Chiapas

"Achajil!"

Mulder spun around when he heard his Mayan nickname. He ran quickly towards the sound of Metzli’s panicky voice.

Mulder pushed through the heavy jungle foliage and leapt over large rocks and logs littering the trail. "I’m coming!" he yelled.

Mulder soon reached the river just in time to see Atlacatl pulling Scully out of the water. Metzli stood on the nearby shore, sobbing hysterically.

Mulder sprinted to her side as Atlacatl laid her down on the ground. "Scully!" Mulder cried out, kneeling next to her. "Scully!" he shook her and then was surprised that she took a huge breath all on her own without the aid of CPR or prayer or anything.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Oh…" she said faintly. "It was a dream…"

Then she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Cradling Scully in his arms, Mulder asked Atlacatl "What happened?"

"Dunno," Atlacatl shook his head as Metzli’s weeping began to calm down. "She fall in water maybe?"

"God," Mulder breathed, pushing her wet hair off of her hot face. "I hope she only fell into the water." He then looked up at the father and daughter. "Get the bags," Mulder ordered them brusquely as he lifted Scully up while he stood up. "We’re leaving now. She needs Dr. Cielo."

But to himself, he thought ::She needs to go home…::

A little later…
The George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd St., NW, Washington D.C.
Agent Starkweather’s room

Reyes was in her usual spot, sitting in the uncomfortable chair nearest Starkweather, absently chewing on her thumbnail, ruining her manicure when Leyla returned.

"Where have you bee-" Reyes started to ask but then she saw the cat carrier. And then she saw Leyla’s clumsily bandaged hands. "Oh no."

"What harm could it do?" Leyla said. "To Jerilyn, I mean…" she looked down at her hands and sighed.

"What did AD Skinner say when you asked for Caesar?"

"Um," Leyla turned pink as she walked towards Starkweather’s bed. "He doesn’t exactly know that I have Caesar."

Feeling like a strict schoolteacher, Reyes gave Leyla a stern look while asking "How did you get into the Assistant Director’s house?"

"Well, I remembered that one time, when Agents Mulder and Scully were investigatin-"

"Never mind," Reyes cut her off.

"I remembered that Agent Starkweather was fond of her cat." Leyla said, setting the carrier on the table. Reyes couldn’t help but shudder when she heard an unholy cat yowl from the carrier. "So maybe if her kitty was near…"

"At this point in time, it can’t hurt," Reyes said as she heroically went to open the door of the carrier. She figured that Leyla had been sliced and diced enough today by the Cat from Hell. "How did you get him by security? And the doctors?"

"I used my mind powers like Robert Modell and forced them to see only a brightly wrapped present." When Reyes gaped at her, Leyla gave her a mischievous grin. "I’m joking. I used the service elevators instead of the regular elevators. I went to the same FBI Academy as you did, Monica. I know how to be sneaky."

Reyes smiled back at her and opened the cat door.

Caesar slithered out of the carrier and leapt down to the floor. Watching the orange cat prowl around; Reyes said "Dr. Larutannu is going to have a fit if he finds a cat here. I’m sure there are rules about animals and sanitation."

"Isn’t now the time to break all the rules?" Leyla said nervously as Caesar began to climb his way up to the bed.

Nervous that Caesar’s wanderings could dislodge the feeding tubes or the oxygen tubes or the IVs, Reyes said "I’m not sure this was such a good idea, Leyla…"

"No! Look!" Leyla pointed.

Caesar had sniffed Starkweather’s body inquisitively and then curled up into a big fuzzy orange ball on her stomach, wrapping his fluffy tail around his body. Soon his contented purrs filled the room.

"He knows," Reyes said. "He knows it’s her this time."

"Of course he knows," Leyla said. "She’s his mommy."

Reyes devoutly hoped that Caesar’s mommy would acknowledge him before the doctors and nurses came in to check on her…

Meanwhile…

Starkweather had curled up beside a boulder, eyes closed. Not really sleeping, more like resting, waiting…

Soon she felt something kneading his paws into her arms.

She opened her eyes and saw Caesar’s big furry face staring up at her.

Excited, she squealed "Hi baby!" and scooped the cat into her arms. Reveling in the soft fur against her face, she said "What are you doing here, pusskins? Or is this one of your nine lives that bit the dust, hm? Did you miss me?" she pulled the cat away to look at him again. "Hm? Did you miss, sweetie? I missed you…"

Caesar rubbed his face against hers and then squirmed out of her arms, playfully romping through the grass.

Feeling a freedom she hadn’t known since she was a little girl, she followed her cat. "Kitty, kitty!" she called out as Caesar frolicked through the fields. "Come on, kitten-critter, stay put…"

Caesar bounded back to her, wound himself around her legs a few times and then darted through the field, moving like his bigger, wilder feline cousins.

"Caesar!" Starkweather cried out. "God dammit! Even here you’re evil!" she groaned as she gave chase.

But it wasn’t long before she heard more voices.

Smaller voices.

Giggling voices.

"Tag! You’re it!" a little boy crowed. "Aw man… hey, that cat’s back…"

"Kitty…"

Starkweather recognized the first voice as belonging to Samita’s son Drew. And the third, piping little voice was Drew’s little sister Kory. But the second little voice she had no idea…

Starkweather made her way slowly towards the children’s voices, not wanting to scare them. When she was close enough, she started to call out "Hi there!" but her voice dried up when she saw the source of the second little voice.

As Caesar sat down protectively next to Kory, Luke Doggett looked up at Starkweather.

"Hi," Starkweather said tentatively.

Luke’s face contorted with fierce incomprehension. "NO!" he said, stooping down to pick up a rock. "Not you!" he yelled as he threw the rock at her.

"Ow!" Starkweather yelped at the rock hit her upper arm. "What the hell?" she said as Luke ran away.

"He’s mad," Drew said knowingly.

Starkweather struggled not to curse any more in front of the boy. "No kidding," she finally said. "But what did I do?"

"Nothing," Drew said. "He’s mad at his dad. It wasn’t s’pposed to be you here. He thought his dad was finally coming." Drew walked over to his sister and Caesar slunk out of sight through the weeds. Kory tried to crawl after the cat but Drew picked her up around the waist and said "C’mon Kory, let’s go…"

After watching Kory and Drew disappear through the weeds, Starkweather turned her head towards the direction Luke had run off towards.

"Oh God dammit," she said under her breath as she started to trail after Luke.

"Luke…" she crooned softly as she came closer and closer to a grove of trees. "Hey Luke, come on out, I want to talk to you…"

"Go ‘way," a petulant voice said above her.

Starkweather looked up and saw Luke brooding on a tree branch. "Look, I’d love to go away but I can’t. So why don’t you tell me why you chucked a rock at me?"

"Dunno," came the sullen answer.

"Do too," Starkweather retorted, then she felt like an idiot for saying that. ::Patience…:: she told herself. ::Patience, patience, patience….:: "I’m not mad at you for throwing a rock at me…" she lied through her teeth. "I just want to know why you did that. Because it wasn’t very nice. But if it was because you’re mad at me, then I want to know what I did to make you mad." When Luke didn’t answer, Starkweather asked "Or are you mad because I’m your dad’s friend and I’m here instead of your dad and mom?"

"I guess," came the sulky answer after what felt like an eternity.

"Either you know or you don’t," she snapped at him, then closed her eyes, castigating herself. ::Jesus! Jerilyn! He’s a little kid!...:: she told herself however she also couldn’t help thinking ::… but he’s not quite the angel Doggett made him out to be…:: "I’m sorry," she finally said. "I’m just… I… I don’t…"

"You don’t like little kids," he accused her.

"I don’t like little bratty kids," Starkweather countered. "And you aren’t acting very well behaved right now."

"Don’t care," he said, but he sounded sad instead of angry now.

"I think you do," Starkweather said. "Luke, I’m sorry your dad’s not here. I know you miss him. And he really misses you too, but he has things that he needs to do before he can come here. He has work to do an-"

"He ALWAYS has work to do!" Luke exploded. "He doesn’t miss me. He’s always too busy…"

Starkweather’s mouth fell open. "What…?" she said faintly. Then she said in the same faint voice. "Oh, honey, that’s not true."

"Yes it is," Luke’s voice sounded wobbly now. "He was s’pposed to take me to the park. He promised me we would go ‘cause I could ride a two-wheeler all by myself without the training wheels. But he always had to go to work and would say that he’d take me the next day. But he never did. He was never home." Luke finished bitterly. "He never came for me. He don’t care."

Starkweather felt hot and cold all at once. ::So… the guilt isn’t exactly misplaced… oh dear God, Doggett… and people criticized me for my ambition…

… which killed Ben…::

"Yes he does," Starkweather’s voice was just as wobbly as Luke’s now. "Your daddy loves you and misses you so much it hurts him… But sometimes grown-ups," she clutched her left hand with her right, feeling the diamond of her wedding ring cutting into her flesh. "Don’t always do such a great job telling people how important they are to them…"

"Jeri?"

Jerilyn turned around and saw Ben standing behind her.

Closing her eyes, feeling the tears leak out, she blindly walked to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Everything is going to be alright, Jeri," Ben said, holding her tight. "I promise."

Later…
Orleans Parish Prison,
New Orleans, Louisiana
7:15 PM Central Standard Time

Section Chief John Doggett and CIA Agent Lux Carlos watched through the two way mirror as Jeffrey Spender explained to Lily Stratford exactly how the wrist and ankle bands being on her body worked.

"… now these wrist and ankle bands contains a mapping device that not only can tell us where you are, but also your pulse and temperature. They will be locked on and need a key to be removed. You will also be wired. We will be able to hear everything you say and what is said to you and that will be recorded…"

"All she has to do is shapeshift into someone bigger or smaller to get out of those bonds," Doggett said to Carlos. "This is insanity. We shouldn’t trust her."

"We can trust her," Carlos said.

"Why?" Doggett said hotly. Lowering his voice, he went on "She doesn’t give a fuck ‘bout anything but her own skin. If killing one of us would guarantee her freedom and safety, she’d do it."

"Doggett," Carlos said. "She is only shot we’ve got to draw Leo out. We think he’s hiding out at Fourche but we don’t have confirmation. So if we get Lily to start cruising the French Quarter, Leo is going to come out panting like a dog… no offense intended."

The inadvertent pun sailed right over Doggett’s head. "We don’t have time to have Lily cruise the Quarter. Let’s just get a damn warrant and flush the nightclub out."

"But where is the fun in that?" Carlos asked, watching Lily and Spender through the glass.

"Any questions?" Spender asked Lily.

"Your treatments are going well," Lily said, staring at Spender’s molten face without a trace of repulsion. "The scars are fading on schedule. You’re even starting to have hair re-grow on your face, I see."

"Anything else, Miss Stratford?" Spender tried to ignore Lily’s remark but it was easy to tell that her comment rattled him.

"Not today," she said, turning her head to look at the mirror.

Doggett glared at her as if she could see him through the mirror. "We’re making a mistake," he said. "She’s going to double cross us."

He could feel it with every fiber of his being, from his hair to his toes.

After the guards came for Lily, Spender returned to the conference room behind the mirror. "I don’t know about this," he confessed. "Those bracelets seem ineffective."

Doggett shot Carlos a "toldja-so" look but said nothing.

"Lily is just as wanted by the Syndicate as Agent Scully’s son and Agent Starkweather," Carlos said. "We are her last line of defense. If she wants to live, she’ll help us capture Agent Starkweather’s kidnapper. End of story. Like you said, Agent Doggett, she only cares about her own hide. This way, her hide stays attached to her body. We get Leo, we get the information we need and hopefully that helps Agent Starkweather."

"What if it doesn’t," Spender said softly.

Carlos simply walked away.

So Spender looked up at Doggett. "What if it doesn’t?"

"What do you care?" Doggett spat at him, another one he didn’t trust. "You tried to kill her."

"And you shot a man in the back last year," Spender said quietly. "I’m surprised that hasn’t come back to haunt you yet. Also your pursuit of Regali. What would have happened if A.D. Follmer hadn’t beaten you to killing him. Or if Miss Stratford hadn’t killed Bravo in the church that night."

"What’s your point?" Doggett said through clenched teeth.

"I’ve never killed anyone before," Spender said. "I’ve drawn my gun in the line of duty, but I never killed anyone... human anyway."

"There was an official inquiry regarding my shooting Custer in the Kobold case," Doggett said coldly. "I was cleared of any potential wrongdoing. I acted within FBI protocol."

"Good for you," Spender said faintly. "So did I, when I was in charge of the X-Files. My point is we all have the potential to be killers, even if we’re playing by the rules. You look at me and you tell me that given the opportunity, tonight, you, Leo and a gun in your hands…" He shook his head and said "Excuse me" as he left the conference room.

His exit left Doggett alone with his warring conscience.

An unhappy female prison guard watched as Lily Stratford put the finishing touches on her makeup. Watching her out of the corner of her eyes she said "Maybe if you invested in just a little bit of cover-up, you could hide those hairy moles on your face that scaring off all the boys."

"Watch your mouth, Stratford," the guard snapped at her. "And if you’re done primping, get your ass over her so I can get your jewelry on."

Lily looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. "Not much longer…" she whispered.

"What’d you say, Stratford?"

"Just complaining about a pimple I saw," Lily lied as she walked towards the prisoner guard, wrists out. She stood patiently as the guard handcuffed her, then put the surveillance wrist and ankle bands on. If one didn’t look too closely, as one won’t in a dance club, they looked like simple silver bracelets and anklets.

"Move," the guard said, unlocking the door, and pointing out the door with her riot baton, she added "Your escorts are waiting."

Lily looked up and saw that Doggett, Spender and Carlos were standing outside her cell, waiting. "Lily…" Carlos said looking at her pointedly.

Lily nodded and turned her head to smirk at the guard as her hair faded from strawberry to sunshine blond and her eyes brightened from molten silver to a sparkly topaz. The guard’s mouth dropped open a little and she backed away slightly.

"Let’s get this over with," Lily said as Doggett took her by one arm and Spender by the other with Carlos bringing up the rear.

Later… Fourche Night Club
Near the French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana
10:14 PM Central Standard Time

"Got your sandwich," Lester "Chuck" Flinker said to his worried friend. "Best mufflettas in the city." He tossed a greasy sack onto his desk. The personal effects on his desk shook slightly from the intense bass beats coming from the music in the main dance hall outside.

Leo, sitting in Flinker’s chair, reached over and took the sack. Opening it, he was pleased to see not only a wonderful looking sandwich but the thick stack of tens, twenties and fifties and an airline ticket. He had shaved and dyed his hair jet black. He looked up at Flinker and grinned. "Thanks."

"Hey, I owe you for bailing out on dinner tonight," Flinker sat down in the client’s chair in front of his own desk. "And after everything you’ve done for me. Shame you can’t stay longer."

"Yeah, well, you know. Work."

"Tell me about it," Flinker rolled his eyes. "I’ve got everyone breathing down my neck, pulling me in ten thousand directions."

"I’ll see if there’s anything I can do," he put the envelope into his coat pocket. "To help out."

Leo and Flinker had set up a system of double talk years ago when Flinker suspected that his offices and homes were being bugged by the authorities. Armed with his knowledge of the law, Leo helped Flinker devise almost a new language that at most the law could label as circumstantial evidence.

"Whatever you can do," Flinker said periodically turning his head over his shoulder to peep at the security surveillance monitors on the wall behind him. "I’ve got book, man. The wife’s bitching at me for not being home and tomorrow I promised to take the damn kids to the zoo so…"

"Hey, no worries," Leo said. "I’m cool. I’m going to hang out at the club for a while."

"I already told the bartenders and waitresses to give you VIP. Everything’s on my tab. Have a little fun before you take off for your hotel."

"Hey, thanks for everything you’ve done," Leo said.

"Take it easy," Flinker said, turning to leave.

In reality, Leo had planned on staying in Flinker’s office until one of his contacts came for him in the morning to bring him to Baton Rouge. He had no intention of taking a step out of Flinker’s office.

Until he saw Lily’s face on the monitor.

His mouth fell open as he watched her walking around the bar in a tight top and short skirt as the DJs spun their records and the crowds on the dance floor moved to the beat in a frenzied movement. He watched her sit down at the bar, order a Cosmopolitan and ignore a handsome man trying to flirt with her. She did, eventually, accept the cigarette he was offering her but she kept looking around the bar… searching…

Then Flinker’s office phone rang.

Leo sat there and let the answering machine take the call. A strange voice said "Leo, pick up the phone."

With a cottony mouth, Leo reached over and answered it. "Hello?"

"She’s not alone," the strange voice said into his ear. "You have to help her get out of there. The FBI has her wired. She is their prisoner. Be careful what you say."

"Who are you?"

The phone line went dead.

Leo then crawled under Flinker’s desk and pulled up a loose floorboard where Flinker kept all his guns. He selected a small snub-nosed Beretta, similar to the one Agent Starkweather carried on her in an ankle holster. He put this gun into the waistband of his jeans and then un-tucked his shirt.

After erasing the message on the answering machine, Leo slipped out of the office.

The music deafened him. His heart pounding as hard as the bass beat, Leo tried to blend in with the crowd, eyes pealed for feds and for Lily.

Unfortunately for Leo, Doggett saw him first. Ensconced in a booth, he spotted Leo right away when he came out of Flinker’s office. Pretending to smoke, he kept his eyes on Leo as he made his way through the bar. "I see him," he said into the tiny microphone clipped to the collar of his good black dress shirt.

"Where?" Doggett heard Carlos say through the tiny earpiece.

"Heading for the bait," Doggett said, pretending to lift the cigarette to his lips again, watching Leo.

"Doggett… I don’t see him…" Carlos said. "Confirm visual."

He watched Leo make his way to Lily as the DJ started to play a re-mixed version of Madonna’s latest effort:

"I'm gonna wake up, yes and no
I'm gonna kiss some part of
I'm gonna keep this secret
I'm gonna close my body now

I guess, die another day
I guess, die another day
I guess, die another day
I guess, die another day…"

"Doggett," Carlos said again. "Where is Leo? We don’t see him."

Doggett blinked. Lily was still sitting alone that the bar. Leo was no where to be found.

"I saw him, he…" Doggett’s voice trailed off as he saw Leo leave Flinker’s office, again.

"I guess I'll die another day
(Another day)
I guess I'll die another day
(Another day)
I guess I'll die another day
(Another day)
I guess I'll die another day …"

::What the fuck?:: Doggett thought as he watched Leo make his way towards Lily. ::Am I losing my god damned mind?:: he thought as he asked "Do you see him now?"

"Yes," came Carlos’ terse answer. "Nobody moves until on my signal. Wait for me."

"Sigmund Freud Analyze this
Analyze this
Analyze this…"

But Spender’s words buzzed in Doggett’s head:

"You look at me and you tell me that given the opportunity, tonight, you, Leo and a gun in your hands…"

Doggett stubbed out the cigarette, then reached down as if he dropped something but really to pull out the gun in the ankle holster he got for this special occasion. "Carlos," he said lowly, hiding the gun under the table in his lap. "He’s going to get away…"

"No he’s not," Carlos argued heatedly. "Stay put, Doggett."

Doggett closed his eyes for a second and saw Leo slipping Lily a gun.

"I'm gonna break the cycle
I'm gonna shake up the system
I'm gonna destroy my ego
I'm gonna close my body now

Uh, uh

I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go…"

"She’s going to help him get away," Doggett said when he opened his eyes and saw Leo next to Lily now.

"Lily," Leo yelled in her ear.

Lily jumped and turned around. "Hey," she said warmly, as if greeting an old friend. She reached around and gave him a hug. "Long time no see," she said as she pulled the gun from out the waist band of his jeans.

"SHIT," Doggett yelped, getting up as Lily pointed the gun at Leo’s head. For a minute, he was afraid that he might be seeing things again but the scattering bar patrons reassured him that he was not hallucinating…

… that he was right and Alpha was going to fuck them over once again.

"For every sin, I'll have to pay
I've come to work, I've come to play
I think I'll find another way
It's not my time to go

I'm gonna avoid the cliché
I'm gonna suspend my senses
I'm gonna delay my pleasure
I'm gonna close my body now…"

Pulling out his badge and his gun, Doggett rushed toward them. "Lily!" he cried out, struggling against the panicking party goers. Carlos, Spender and the other police officers and federal agents came out of hiding. Lily’s eyes flicked over to them and then back at Leo. "Move, now," she said, pushing him. "Go over the bar." Leo nodded and hopped over the bar, with Lily right behind him.

They ran through the back storage room towards a fire escape. "Hurry!" Lily said, looking behind her only to see John Doggett bursting through the door, closely followed by Carlos.

"Lily," Doggett yelled over the music. "You’re surrounded."

"I was surrounded last time too," Lily said, her eyes never leaving Leo’s, as if she was trying to communicate a message to him.

"Lily," Carlos said, "Put the gun down."

"Go ahead and fire," Lily said, her voice slightly hysterical as Leo paused by the fire escape. "You know I can’t die." "I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day

I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go…"

"Lily," Carlos said to her. "Girl, don’t do this. There are cops everywhere…"

"I’m sorry, Lux," she said, taking her gun away from Leo and pointing it down to the ground. To Leo, she said "Go, hurry!"

As Leo ran out the door, Doggett fired. He hit Lily square in the chest but all she did was flinch. She pointed her gun at Doggett and Carlos pushed him out of the way just before she fired, missing both men by inches.

"I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess, die another day
I guess I'll die another day

Another day…."

Following Leo outside, she found him hiding near a dumpster. "There are cops everywhere, Lily," he panted, wild-eyed with fear.

"It’s okay…" she said, taking him by the hand. "Come on…"

As they were leaving the alley, a police cruiser pulled up, blocking the way. A female officer and a male officer got out of the car, pointing their weapons at them. "Freeze!" yelled the male. "Stay where you are!"

Leo blanched but Lily said "It’s okay."

The female approached them. "Get in," she said. "Hurry."

Startled, Leo looked at the female cop and realized he was looking at Marita Covarrubias.

He allowed himself to be ushered into the backseat of the squad car with the male officer while Lily got in front with Marita.

As the police cruiser sped off, Lily said "I need to get these damn things off," referring to the tracking bracelets and anklets and the wire Spender had put on her. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled off the tiny microphone from her body, wincing as the tape peeled away from her skin.

"Key’s are in the glove box," Marita said. "That was a close one."

"Tell me about it," Alpha said, finding the keys and undoing the bracelets and anklets. Unrolling the window, she threw them out. "I just wish John Doggett wouldn’t be so damn stubborn. This could have been so much easier if he would just stop acting like a cop…"

"Where are we going?" Leo asked nervously. He trusted Lily but he wasn’t so sure about Marita or the man sitting next to him.

Lily turned around, her hair becoming light red again and her eyes silvery. "You’ll see," she promised him. "Somewhere safe."

Later…
An undisclosed location
In the French Quarter…

Marita lead Leo and Lily up the fire escape. "In here," she said, opening a window from the outside. She waited for Leo and Lily to climb in first before entering.

The apartment was empty except for some crates. Leo turned around to face Marita. "Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You and your sister helped screw over Blade and Krycek."

"Blade and Krycek are both in federal custody," Marita informed him. "Blade is probably singing like a canary about your involvement in Agent Starkweather’s abduction."

"I saved her," Leo said. "That cult was going to cut her up into little pieces."

"Not necessarily," Lily said.

Leo turned around at the sound of her voice. "Who are you?" he asked. "I know Lily is still unconscious in DC. I want to know who you are."

"I think the better question is ‘what are you’ instead of ‘who are you’," Lily said softly.

Leo just stared at her for a minute before walking towards the window. Looking out into the black alley, hearing the police sirens wailing down the main streets, presumably looking for him, he said softly "I don’t understand why you’re helping me," as he closed the blinds.

"We need you," Lily said simply.

"For a mission," Marita added.

Leo turned around. "What kind of mission?"

Lily fixed her eyes on him. "If you love Lily as much as you claim, you won’t question us… you’ll just do it."

Leo asked, hands in pocket, eyes to the floor. "Who do I have to kill?"

"Anyone who gets in your way."

Caesar went undetected until late at night when one of the nurses came in.

"Oh my God!" she had shrieked. "You can’t have a cat in Intensive Care!"

Despite Reyes and Leyla’s arguments though, the nurse demanded Caesar’s removal. "What about the other patients?" she had cried. "Have you thought about what germs from an animal could do to them?"

With that comment, guiltily and shamefaced, Reyes and Leyla had managed to get Caesar back into his cat carrier with minimal damage to themselves and a teary-eyed Leyla drove him back to Skinner’s house.

After that incident, Reyes found herself spending another sleepless night at Jerilyn’s bedside. After a long tearful telephone conversation with her friend Nathalique, she tried watching TV but there was nothing worthwhile on. So she tried to read the book she wanted to but "Tuesdays with Morrie" seemed too depressing to try and get through. She ended up doing the same thing she did the night before and play countless CDs while flipping through out-dated magazines while trying to talk to Starkweather.

Just when she started to contemplate going out to get some coffee and a muffin before Dr. Hsiang arrived, there was a tap on the door and Skinner, dressed in a dark grey suit, walked in. "Agent Reyes," he said formally.

Reyes was on her feet instantly and didn’t bother to beat around the bush. "What’s wrong?"

"The raid failed. Leo got away," Skinner said softly.

Reyes put her hands to her mouth. "What happened?"

Skinner shook his head. "John was right," he dropped formality, exhaustion forcing familiarity on to him. "Lily. She fucked us over."

"No…" Reyes felt her mouth go dry. "She helped Leo escape?" When Skinner nodded, Reyes asked "Why?"

"I don’t know."

"Do we need to increase security for Jerilyn? More guards?"

Skinner hesitated. "That… won’t be necessary Monica," he said gently.

Reyes put her hands on her hips. "Why not? With Leo on the loose and with Lily aiding him now?"

"Monica… sit down."

Reyes let her arms drop. "No."

"Monica, Dr. Larutannu approached me today…"

"No!" Reyes cried out. "Sir! No, not yet! She’s starting to come around! She moved! She moved her hand, she’s starting to respond, you can’t!"

"Monica, listen to me," Skinner said, moving closer to her. "Dr. Larutannu said there is a sixteen year old girl is dying. She has a disease called Eisenmenger's syndrome, have you ever heard of it?" When Reyes shook her head, Skinner explained "Dr. Larutannu said that it’s a condition that attacks both the heart and the lungs. Basically, the blood is going backwards through the heart. The "good" blood, the oxygenated blood goes back through the right ventricle and to the lungs instead of going to the left ventricle and to the rest of the body. And eventually this extra blood flow to the lungs destroys the vessels, which somehow makes the blood pressure sky-rocket enough to where deoxygenated, "bad" blood goes out to the rest of the body instead of the "good" oxygenated blood."

"So someone with this disease actually slowly gets suffocated by their own body because not enough oxygen is being received," Reyes said slowly, turning away from Skinner and back to Starkweather.

Watching her walk over to Starkweather’s bed and gripping the bed rails, Skinner said slowly. "This poor kid has fought this disease all her life. Her heart and lungs are failing. The antibiotics and blood transfusions aren’t working anymore. Dr. Larutannu said that if she doesn’t get a heart and lung transplant soon, it’s only a matter of time." He then said in a hushed voice," She just turned sixteen, Monica. She’s a match with Starkweather."

"What if Starkweather’s heart and lungs are defective due to what has happened to her?" Reyes said. "Do we take one life to destroy another?"

"Agent Starkweather is this girl’s only chance," Skinner argued with her. "Agent Starkweather also made out her will with a sound mind and clear conscience." He took a deep breath. "I don’t want to lose her again either, Monica. But Mulder trusted me to make decisions on her behalf in his absence if Starkweather was unable to care for herself. So… the choice, to me, is pretty clear. Although it is a choice I don’t want to make."

Reyes reached down and took Starkweather’s hand into both of hers. "Can we at least wait for John to get home?" she finally whispered.

Skinner nodded. "I told Dr. Larutannu that nothing was to happen until John gets here." He stood there in the middle of the room, watching Reyes cling to Starkweather’s hand. He mumbled "I’m sorry," before walking away.

"Jerilyn," Reyes said instantly when Skinner left the room. "You’re running out of time. Please… open your eyes." She squeezed her hand tight but there was no response.

Later>
Crescent On Canal Hotel
1732 Canal Street
New Orleans, LA
7:13 AM Central Standard Time

Doggett had barely entered his hotel room when his cell phone rang, again. "John Doggett," he answered wearily while starting to unbutton his dress shirt.

"I understand the sensitive nature of the case you’re working on," Nathalique Pontier’s Creole voice oozed out of his phone. "But you’re not off the hook just yet."

::Oh God dammit:: Doggett groaned to himself. ::Not this bullshit. Not after last night… :: "Miss Pontier, I promise you I will let you have your pound of my flesh, but right now’s not a good time."

He, along with Carlos and Spender had spent the entire night searching for Leo throughout the French Quarter to no avail. He had disappeared into thin air.

Nathalique did not know this nor would she have cared if she did. "I was on the phone with Monica," she retorted. "We spoke almost all night. And she cried the entire time."

Doggett felt his heart leap up into his throat and then fall spirally down to his stomach but didn’t say a word. He let Nathalique continue with her threat.

"And when a man makes my friend cry, I want my pound of flesh now."

Doggett felt his shoulders slump. It had been a long night. It was going to be a longer day. Closing his eyes, he said firmly. "Nathalique, Monica confided in you because she needed someone to talk to. Not because she wants you to interfere."

"What are you saying?"

"That what’s going on between me and Monica is none of your damn business." Doggett said icily. "We don’t need you to referee, thanks."

"So this was all a game to you, then?" Nathalique screeched through the phone. She took a big breath before beginning to harangue him for his transgressions against her friend.

But Doggett didn’t hear her listing off his sins.

He didn’t hear anything. He was suddenly deaf and in another room all together. Nathalique’s office. Someone was pointing a gun at her…

As his mouth went dry and the hair on the back of his neck rose, he said "Nathalique…"

Nathalique’s office dissipated and sound returned to his world. "And furthermore, you ’fils a puitan’, I can not wait for yo-"

"Nathalique," Doggett said more insistently. "Leave your office. Right now."

"What?"

Realizing how insane he just sounded, he amended himself. "I… uh… don’t talk about this over the phone. I wanna meet you."

"Why don’t you come here instead vous damnez le lâche?"

"Nathalique," Doggett gave up subtlety. "You gotta get out of there. Now. I’m not kidding around."

"Neither am I. I have a lot of work to do. Unlike Monique, I am not at your beck and call and ‘damnez-le’ Wendy, I told you to knock."

The next thing Doggett heard was a sharp intake of breath from Nathalique and the sobbing of a woman in the background. "Nathalique? Nathalique?"

"Section Chief Doggett," Justin Leo purred. "You will be here… alone… in exactly forty five minutes."

Then the phone went dead.

"Oh God," Doggett said, hurrying out of the hotel room.

Crescent On Canal Hotel
1732 Canal Street
New Orleans, LA
7:40 AM Eastern Time

"Go about your business," Leo said lazily as he kept his gun on Nathalique. "Do what you always do. Listen to CDs, review case files. I do have to admire your dedication to coming into the office on a Saturday."

"It’s rather difficult to go about business as usual when there’s a gun pointed at me," Nathalique said heroically as her assistant Wendy sat in the corner, shivering and sniffling.

"Do as I say," Leo said, pointing the gun at Wendy. Wendy gulped and gripped the bottom of her seat as she leaned away from the gun, as if she could dodge the bullet.

"It will be okay, Wendy," Nathalique said as she rose from her desk, slowly reaching for a CD jewel case on her desk without even looking at what it was. "Stay calm. It will be fine." She walked over to her stereo and slipped the disk in. "You are not going to escape you know," she said coolly. "Your face is everywhere, Mr. Leo. Killing us will not guarantee your freedom." She hit "Random" button on the CD player.

Leo’s face softened, became almost friendly even though he pointed the gun at her and not Wendy now. "Miss Pontier," he said gently. "You’re not going to die."

As Nathalique stared at him incredulously there was a sharp knock on the door. "Miss Pontier?" a graveled voice called out.

"Invite him in," Leo ordered her.

"You’re going to kill him," Nathalique felt all the air pushed out of her body.

Leo’s face became hard again. "Invite him in, Miss Pontier." He pointed the gun at Wendy again.

"Nathalique, open the door," Doggett called out.

Nathalique closed her eyes. "Come in," she said in a shaking voice.

She heard the door open and close. She braced herself for whatever could possibly come next.

It was not what she expected.

"You little lying bitch," Doggett roared.

Nathalique’s eyes flew open. Leo was gone. In his place was a woman with long strawberry blonde hair and strange gray eyes in a man’s suit. She was putting the gun back into its holster and was saying "I’m sorry, Section Chief, it was the only way."

"The only way WHAT?"

"What is going on?" Nathalique cried out, looking over at Wendy who was in a dead faint, slumped over in her chair. "Did you hurt my assistant?"

"No she fainted when she saw me shape shift."

"WHAT!?!?!?!"

"Where the hell is Leo?" Doggett demanded.

"He was right here!" Nathalique spluttered.

"Leo’s long gone," Lily said. "I needed him for something else. I’m sorry."

"Something else? WHAT something else?" Doggett yelled.

"Somebody tell me what the hell is going on!" Nathalique demanded.

"She," Doggett pointed at Lily. "Is the reason why Leo got away last night. Is the reason why," he started to roll up the sleeve of his dress shirt. "Is why Leo got away the first time. Is the reason why Starkweather is the way she is now because," he pushed his shirt sleeve as far up as it would go. "if THIS hadna happened," he pointed to a jagged scar in his upper arm. "She would have never gone after me."

"What?" Nathalique hated feeling completely lost.

"Bitch stabbed me, lured me, Mul-duh and Starkweather to the forest. Then all hell broke loss. Because of that… thing… there."

Lily had the decency to look slightly remorseful. "That backfired completely. They weren’t supposed to keep you. You were supposed to be returned. You were only supposed to lose nine minutes."

"I lost a fucking month because of you."

"You lost more than just a month because of her," Nathalique said darkly, rage replacing fear now that she knew that she wasn’t going to be shot.

Doggett didn’t hear Nathalique. "What’n the hell do you, of all people, need Leo for?"

Lily answered "Because he’s the only one crazy enough for a mission I need completed."

"What mission."

"Confidential."

"Bullshit."

Lily’s fair eyebrows rose. "There are some things that are just better than you don’t know about. I would have liked to tell you to stop pursuing Leo but you don’t trust me."

"Why should I?"

"Because," she said patiently "I saved Carlos’ and your lives that night in the church when I killed Bravo. Because I healed Carlos of his paralysis and also Connor Saint-Clare of his. Because I saved Skinner’s life the day the X-Files Office was raided by the military. Because I had been actively looking for Agent Starkweather since the day she disappeared and covering for Agents Mulder and Scully since they went into hiding. And, I’ve been protecting William ever since Scully gave him up for adoption." She crossed her arms. "Is that reason enough?" When Doggett didn’t answer, she said in a soft, firm voice "Do not pursue Leo. It won’t help matters. With Agent Starkweather anyway."

"Why?"

Now Lily looked at the floor. "I expect that Agent Reyes will be calling you soon. But maybe its better that you’re prepared for it…"

Doggett turned his back on Lily. "Why should I believe anything you say?" he muttered although his head lowered and his shoulders slumped.

"Because I just found out from AD Skinner. That’s why I said Reyes will be calling soon. There is a girl in Georgetown with Eisenmenger's syndrome. Her heart and lungs are failing her, there’s not enough oxygen in her blood. Her doctors determine that although there is a good chance that she would not survive the surgery, she will live for only few more days without making any sort of attempt. She matches with Agent Starkweather. They’re going to turn off her life support."

Nathalique leaned weakly against the wall. Doggett didn’t move.

"I’m sorry," Lily said brusquely and walked out of the office.

It was only then Doggett noticed the lyrics of the song playing from Nathalique’s stereo: "Years go by will I still be waiting
For somebody else to understand
Years go by if I'm stripped of my beauty
And the orange clouds raining in my head
Years go by will I choke on my tears
Till finally there is nothing left
One more casualty

You know we're too easy easy easy…"

His cell phone rang.

Taking deep, controlled breaths, he reached for it and read the Caller ID. "Monica, I already know."

"John, I’m sorry… I tried to stop them, they won’t listen to me… I’m sorry…" she sobbed.

"I’m coming home," Doggett said flatly. "Ask them to at least wait until I get there."

"They will, Skinner already told them to," Reyes wept.

"Okay," Doggett said. "Okay… see you soon." He hung up on her then looked at

Nathalique. "Call Monica," he turned to leave.

She shook her head. "I will."

Doggett nodded and turned to leave.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m sorry," she said quietly.

Doggett didn’t know what to say so he just left without saying a word.

Nathalique exhaled a breath she didn’t know she had held. Just then, her receptionist came to. "What happened?"

"Wendy, go home for the rest of the day," Nathalique said, sharper than usual. "You are ill. Take tomorrow off as well."

As soon as Wendy managed to stagger out of her office, Nathalique got on the phone. "Monique? It’s me… yes, John just left… Oh chéri… listen. I’m coming to DC… yes I am. I’m on the first flight I can get out of here." Nathalique surprised herself by feeling tears pricking her eyes. "I’m on my way."

As Doggett rushed towards his rental car so he could hurry back to the hotel and make flight reservations, Lily changed into the guise of a non-descript male and blended into the pedestrian traffic. Soon, she hailed a cab which took him back to the French Quarter and to the apartment where she and Leo went to last night. She shifted back into the form of a woman and quickly entered the building, rushing up the stairs to the apartment.

She knocked on the door. "It’s me."

The door opened, revealing a cagey looking Lux Carlos. "So?"

"It worked," she said shortly, hurrying inside. "Where is Alpha?"

"In here," came a smoky feminine voice as the real Lily Stratford, dressed in a black sleeveless sweater and dark blue jeans with her strawberry blond hair pulled back in a severe pony tail, came out of the bedroom. "Did you say it worked?"

The false Lily shapeshifted to his true identity. "Yes," Rho said. "It worked. And I tell you what; Doggett hasn’t changed a bit since I first met him in the concentration camp in Nevada."

Rho, one of the by-products from the Syndicate’s several experiments to create a human weapon during the height of the conspiracy, had tried to help Doggett and Joe Shepherd organize an escape while Doggett had been incarcerated in a Syndicate prison. Unfortunately, the escape backfired horribly but it did prompt the release of Doggett. Who woke up in a hospital with no recall to what happened to him after chasing after Lily in Belle Fleur.

"Still a stubborn jackass, huh?" Lily said nonchalantly as she pulled an elegant silver cigarette case out of the back pocket of her jeans.

As she flipped the case open and helped herself to a smoke, Carlos said "Lily, I don’t like this. Doggett’s not stupid. It’s almost like the guy’s psychic or something. He’s going to figure out that something up."

"Hopefully by the time he figures out what’s going on, everything will be straightened out," Lily said. "I don’t like it any more than you do that we have to rely on Leo, but facts are facts. He’s got the contacts that we don’t. Plus he’s crazy enough to pull it off. And if he gets caught, who cares? He’ll die. One way or another." She looked at Rho as she put the cigarette in her mouth.

Rho produced a match book. "It’s a big risk, though Alpha." He walked over and lit Lily’s cigarette.

"Life is risk," she said blandly. "Ask Agent Starkweather. She took the biggest of them all."

"Yeah," Carlos said, turning to leave. "I know."

Stricken, Lily said, "Lux, I don’t… I didn’t… I’m sorry."

He looked at her coldly. "So am I."

After he left, Lily said to Rho. "There was nothing you could do?"

Rho shook his head. "I thought I lost the ability to heal humans. But I touched Doggett’s face where I shot him and healed it instantly. Whatever is wrong with her is beyond us."

Lily took a deep breath. "Then we did all that we could," she said shortly, inhaling her cigarette. On the exhale she said, "We have to keep moving forward."

Rho nodded.

"Keep me updated on Leo’s progress. He should be nearing his destination. We got him a direct flight. Carlos will manipulate it that he gets a military flight across the border after he completes Phase One." She looked at him. "I’ll be in D.C. if anyone needs me."

She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it with the heel of her boot. Her face changed to a dark skinned, pretty middle aged woman with springy black curls and hazel eyes. She picked up the suitcase and purse sitting next to a set of crates and walked out of the apartment, head held high.

To the empty room, Rho said "We didn’t do everything we could Lily. We could still pray…"

But then he shook his head. What else could be done if faith alone wasn’t enough?

Normally Hope McKenzie delighted in babysitting Billy.

But today she rigorously regretted it as he crawled out of his crib for a third time and ran crying into the living room, grabbing her pant leg and sobbing, pointing at doors and windows.

"Out!" he kept wailing. "Out! Out!"

"William Van de Kemp," she roared, her patience severely diminished. "No outside. Its nap time," Hope put down her knitting and picked Billy up who instantly began kicking and screaming.

"For heaven’s sake, what is wrong with you?" Hope sighed. She knew he wasn’t sick, she had already taken his temperature and there was no fever. "What has gotten into you?" she said as she carried him back to his nursery.

Placing him back in the crib, Billy instantly started to struggle to climb out of the crib again, crying hysterically, as if something terrified him. "Enough," Hope said sternly. "Or you’ll get a spanking."

Billy just stood up in his crib and howled.

Hope didn’t know what else to do but turn her back on him and leave him to hopefully cry himself to sleep.

But when the crying didn’t stop after another five minutes, Hope began to debate whether or not to call his parents. But Mr. and Mrs. Van de Kemp had gone to Helena, Montana for the weekend to visit Mrs. Van de Kemp’s married and had decided to leave Billy at home because it didn’t sound like a very "kid-friendly" weekend as Mrs. Van de Kemp’s sister and husband hadn’t started a family yet. Plus it was such a long trip from Sheridan to Helena.

Hope didn’t want to needlessly worry the Van de Kemps when they were so far away… but Billy was definitely not acting like himself.

Then Prince started to bark wildly outside.

Then just as suddenly he started to bark, he stopped.

And Billy stopped crying.

Hope suddenly felt very small but still, she moved with purpose. She knew all the doors were locked as she began to go around the house, pulling the blinds and curtains shut. Not relying on the landline, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 9-11.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"I’m alone with a toddler fifteen miles west of Sheridan, Wyoming and I think there’s an intruder on my property," Hope said crisply as she went into the living room and went into the gun cabinet, pulling out one of the lighter weight Winchester rifle. Tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she gave the 9-11 dispatch the exact address as she loaded the gun. "Please hurry."

"There’s someone from the Forest Services in the area coming out there and we have the local police from Sheridan on the way," the dispatch said calmly. "Please remain calm."

Then the picture window in the living room shattered as one of the patio furniture sailed through it.

Hope dropped the phone and pointed the gun towards the window.

No one came.

Hope heard another window breaking, this one in the kitchen.

Gun still pointed, she cautiously made her way slowly to the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, she saw the glass everywhere, but again, no one there.

"Take whatever you want," she said loudly. "Just take what you want and don’t hurt nobody."

Those were her last words.

After breaking the kitchen window, Leo had run back around the house and climbed through the first window he had broken. He made his way easily to the kitchen, thanks to the floor plans of the Van de Kemps’ house he had studied extensively on his flight from Louisiana to Wyoming.

And as Hope was staring at the broken window and making her request, Leo had soundlessly put his gun to her head and fired.

As Hope’s body slumped to the floor, Leo said softly "Well, you said to take whatever I wanted."

Leo left the kitchen and crept to the nursery. Slowly he opened the door and saw the boy in the crib, staring at him with wide blue eyes as the white-buffalo mobile above his head moved without any visible assistance.

"Hello William," Leo said.

Later that day…
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport

During the lay-over from New Orleans to Washington DC, Doggett picked the most secluded seat possible in the Budweiser Bar Pub, a trendy bar so thoughtfully provided by the airport, ordered a beer and proceeded to nervously watch the clock when he wasn’t checking his watch. Not because he was afraid of missing his flight because he had a three and a half hour layover. But because he was afraid of not being able to get home in time and he resented every second he had to wait.

He had sat alone for about an hour, the frost on his beer mug slowly melting away as the beer warmed when a hand on his shoulder surprised him.

"Thought I’d find you here," a familiar voice drawled.

Doggett whirled around. "Melanie?"

His beloved older sister smiled at him as she sat down across from him, letting her heavy carry-on bag fall to the floor with a thump. "Are you flyin’ United to DC too?" She pulled out her ticket. "My flight leaves in ‘bout two and a half hours."

"Must be the same flight," Doggett said. "Mel, what are you doing here?"

"Monica called me," she said simply.

"Oh," Doggett folded his hands, looking down at the table.

"Don’t be mad at her for interfering."

"I’m not."

"Well, she’s scared you might be."

"I know," Doggett said. "She shouldn’t be but I know why she is. I didn’t… treat her very good, Mel. She’s… she’s a great person and one of my best friends and I treated her like shit."

"How?" Melanie asked. "You always seemed to treat her nice around us."

"Sure, holidays, family gatherings, going out. That’s easy. It’s when push came to shove. It’s when she needed me to trust her, to believe her. And time and time again, I couldn’t. I’d just go right on doing what I do best, head up my ass, refusing to see what was ahead of me because it didn’t make sense." He looked up at her. "Did she tell you why she thought you should hunt me down?"

Melanie nodded.

"You don’t have to come back to DC with me, Sis. I mean. I appreciate it. But… I’m gonna be fine."

"Maybe I’m being selfish," Melanie said lightly. "Maybe I have an ulterior motive for flying to DC."

"What’s that?"

"Maybe I want to get a look-see at the place I plan on movin’ to in a few months." When Doggett only stared at her, she said "I told you I was seriously thinking about moving to Washington DC a while back, didn’t I?"

"Well, yeah, but that was a while back, a long while back."

"Well, soon there’s not gonna be much left in Savannah, except memories. The money from the hospital settlement was nice, but it went towards mostly Parker’s funeral expenses. I didn’t want to take very much from the hospital. It wasn’t their fault what happened to Park. It was that bitch Delilah," her blue eyes clouded over with bitterness. "And whatever money was left from the funeral expenses is being fed to the lawyers to continue my lawsuit against the good Dr. Kullervo. I’m havin’ trouble keepin’ up the house payments by myself. Plus, Mama, yeah, she makes noises about staying put in Savannah until she turns up on her toes and dies, but she’s getting along in years now and her sister is still bugging her to stay with her in Atlanta. And… I hate to pile bad news upon bad news… but Chris and Mike are having problems."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough that Mike was offered a transfer to their Baltimore Branch Office. And Mike accepted."

"Oh."

"But Chris and Laura aren’t going with."

"Oh hell."

"It’s a trial separation."

Doggett snorted. "Barb and I had one of those. There was a trial, then we separated."

"So it’s gonna be rough for Laura bein’ stuck in the middle. If Mama moves to Atlanta like she’s threatening, then Chris will probably take off to Atlanta too, with Laura during the school year. And Laura will probably go to her daddy’s in the summer. So Laura will be in the area. Which would be nice for you."

"Yeah, she’s a nice kid."

"So if that all comes to pass, there won’t be much left in Savannah."

"Except Stevie," Doggett said with a wry grin.

"Poor Stevie," Melanie said blandly. "Anyway… I’m not a big fan of Atlanta. And I’m too much of a chicken shit to move anywhere by myself so…" she looked up at Doggett. "I thought it’d be nice to live somewhere with family nearby."

"Mel. I told you I’d love to have you move up by me. It’d be nice to have…" he trailed off, looking at his hands again. "It’d be nice," he said lamely.

"John…"

"Don’t. Mel. Don’t try and make it better. I’m glad as hell you’re here but, there’s nothing… I thought I could make it better, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just… let her lie there, after what those bastards did to her and do nothing. She… I liked her so much because despite everything. How smart she was and whatever else that made her better’n everyone else, she just wanted to be treated like everyone else. And they took that from her. They took that from her, they hurt her and they told everyone that cared about her that she was dead so we’d give up on her. And on a fluke, we find her. And she’s alive but not awake and I thought this was my second chance. That I could make this right. I owed that to her. Mulder told me she went after me, even when everyone else said there wasn’t a chance in hell. The least I could do was to find the sons of bitches and show them what hell payback really is….

"But I couldn’t even do that. Fucking Leo slipped through our fingers again. That bitch Lily fucked us again. But then even that’s not so bad because I got her back, Doc’s home, she’ll wake up and then everything will be okay. I kept tellin’ myself that until this morning I get the call that I need to come home. Because she’s not gettin’ better. And that the decision has been made not to… to prolong her life anymore. That they were going to turn off the life support ‘cause there’s a kid who will die without Starkweather’s heart and lungs. But Monica told them to at least wait ‘til I got back…. So…. now …I’m going to lose her all over again…" Hiding his face with his hand he said thickly, "Sorry," as he softly began to cry, bowing his head.

Melanie got up from her seat and stood in front of her little brother and took him into her arms. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, Melanie stroked his hair but didn’t say anything. Couldn’t think of anything to say.

A little later
En route to Asilo Seguro

Ruben Cerdo chain-smoked all the way from Kawak to Asilo Seguro. The closer and closer they got to the rag-tag village, the more and more his body tensed up until he got to the point that he had crushed his own cigarette as he tried to light it.

"Want me to drive?" Agent Fishe piped up.

"Man, shut up, I’m fine," Cerdo grumbled at the annoying federale Americano. He liked the other agent. Or to be more accurate, he preferred Crane. Sadistic monster, yes, but at least he was quiet.

But even the quiet became less and less comforting the closer Asilo Seguro became. "Wow," Fishe said with a nervous laugh, wiping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. "Kind of nice that it quieted down, huh? Those birds and monkeys were about to drive me nuts." He looked out the windshield and yelped "Cerdo! Look out!"

Cerdo’s eyes widened as he ground his foot into the brake. The Jeep squealed to a stop, spraying dirt every where.

"What is it?" Crane said, sitting up. He had been laying down in the backseat. Not that he needed sleep but he used exhaustion as an excuse so Fishe would leave him alone. Then he saw what the others saw. "What in the world…?"

A woman with wild black hair stood in the middle of the road. Her white dress was splattered with blood. In her arms was a decomposing body of a two year old boy.

"Back up," Fishe said hoarsely.

Before Cerdo could even put the Jeep in the correct gear, rocks began to pelt the Jeep from on high.

Then the natives leapt out of their hiding places and rushed the van with whatever weapons they had available, clubs, machetes, rocks, their own bare hand. Screaming and whooping, they pushed on the Jeep, smashing out the windows and slashing the tires. Finally they all were able to push the vehicle over and they scrambled to pull Cerdo, Fishe and Crane out.

Crane went through the motions as they tortured him along with Fishe and Cerdo and pretended to writhe along with them as gasoline was poured on all of them. When the people started them on fire, Crane ceased all motion as Fishe and Cerdo screamed into the night.

The only thing that Crane could not comprehend was who the woman with the dead child was. But somehow her presence protected their attackers. Crane knew that even after he regenerated back into full form, that he would not be able to touch the people of Asilo Seguro.

Which meant that Mulder and Scully were beyond him…

For now.

Gibson tried vainly to get comfortable on the camping cot. But first of all, it was a cot intended for a child, not a teenaged boy going through a growth spurt. Second of all, it was not padded very well. And finally it creaked so loudly ever time Gibson moved he was afraid the next creak would be followed by a cracking noise as the cot collapsed.

Sighing heavily and tired of his feet dangling over the edge of the cot, he kicked off the covers and swung his legs up and over. Then he leaned down and began to lace up the ragged old hiking boots still on his feet.

A sleepy female voice admonished him. "Alabanza, Vaya a dormer" from across the tent.

Gibson had no idea what Azucena asked him so he continued to tie his laces. Then he grabbed his backpack and left the tent.

Azucena sat up and made a move as if she was going to chase after him. Then she sighed and lied back down.

Gibson meanwhile, went outside and stared up at the outlines of the Mayan pyramids against the diamond starred night. The clouds had completely cleared up and the moon shone down benevolently on the sleeping world.

He saw Axular Búsqueda, the man that had led him and Azucena out of Asilo Seguro, sitting on a rock, drinking out of a flask while contemplating the universe and the ruins ahead of him. Nearby were the other tents and decrepit campers making a circle around the ashes of a long extinguished camp fire. Gibson envied other researchers for their sound and dreamless sleep. The ability to turn off the mind.

Sensing rather than seeing the boy, he turned and smiled. "Alabanza… can’t sleep?" When Gibson shook his head, Axular beckoned him. "Well, neither can I. I wouldn’t mind company, unless you want to be alone?"

Gibson looked around at the surrounding jungle and hear the chattering animals lurking within the foliage. "Uh… no. Don’t want to be alone," Gibson said nervously as he walked closer.

Gibson stood awkwardly by the rock that Axular sat on. When Axular held out his flask, Gibson shook his head and resisted the temptation to look in the man’s mind.

::Gotta learn how to act normal:: he told himself sternly as he asked "So… why are you up? Can’t sleep either?"

"Oh, I’m a night person. I think best at night."

"What are you thinking about?" Gibson asked.

"Don’t you already know?" he asked in a light joking voice.

"Um… I’m trying to control that…" Gibson muttered, "People think its rude if you, y’know, just pop into their thoughts and all."

Before Axular could comment, there was an ominous rustling from the left of them, coming from the rain forest. Axular put the flask down and reached for the Winchester rifle at his side. "Stay here," he ordered him as he stood up, pointing the rifle towards the source of noise.

Soon the rustling included voices. Familiar voices.

Axular swore in Spanish and lowered his rifle just as Azucena’s head popped out of the tent. "Axular?"

"It’s alright, Doctora Cielo," Axular assured her as he walked towards the rainforest, rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

Gibson, manners set aside, stretched out with his mind to determine who in the rainforest was making all the noise…

::A big stupid grin crossed Gibson’s face but instantly faded away as he started to run towards the rainforest’s edge just as Atlacatl, still carrying Scully burst through the trees, followed by a girl burdened down by a heavy rucksack and Mulder bringing up the end.

Scully looked dreadful, her body was limp in Atlacatl’s arms. Even in the faint starlight and moonlight, Gibson could see her face and arms were wet with sweat. Gibson tried to see inside her mind and knew a thrill of horror when there was nothing to see.

Some of the worry disappeared from Mulder’s face and mind when he saw Gibson standing behind Axular. "We’re fine, Mulder," Gibson said before Mulder even asked. "What’s the matter with Scully?"

"That’s what we need to find out," Mulder said grimly while Atlacatl ran with Scully in his arms to the waiting Azucena.

"Oh my God," Azucena breathed when she saw how flushed Scully’s face was. "What happened?" she demanded as everyone piled into the tent. Even though it was an eight-man tent, it was still a tight fit.

As Gibson turned on the camping lantern and Atlacatl laid Scully down on Azucena’s cot, Mulder said "She’s been sick a lot lately. She complained of hot flashes and chills and muscle aches… She had fainted and then she had a seizure a few days back. And she’s been slipping in and out of consciousness, but we haven’t had any food or water for awhile now so I don’t know… "

"Gibson, go get my medical bag, please," Azucena murmured as she rested her hand on Scully’s sweaty brow. "Good lord, she’s burning up," she said to herself as Gibson gave her the medical bag.

As he went to the bag, Gibson asked "Is there any thing else I can do to help?"

"Scully said this was beyond you," Mulder said as he watched Gibson hand off the medical bag to Azucena. As Azucena pulled out her thermometer, Mulder said hesitantly. "She had very irritable and nauseous lately… she… I thought maybe…we thought that maybe she could be having another baby?"

Azucena looked away from her shivering patient and up towards Mulder. Hating herself for taking the hope out of his eyes she shook her head. "I don’t think so. I think she has malaria."

For the first time, Gibson realized that Mulder was on the harbinger of becoming an old man. Despite the dark beard and the full head of hair, Gibson saw the ravages time and disappointment started to carve into his face, especially the lines around his sad eyes. "She said she was late."

"Severe illness can throw a menstrual cycle out of balance," Azucena told him.

"But if it’s only off by a month," Mulder said "Maybe…" but he trailed off, knowing that Azucena had to be right.

And then he remembered a conversation he had with John Doggett once:

"Doggett, you ever think about having more kids?"

"You bein' a smartass or you bein' serious?"

"Yes."

"I dunno. I don't think so. My ex, well, she wanted more kids, but after we lost our boy, I just... it just didn't feel right. To me anyway. Anyway... water under the bridge. 'Bout you and Scully? Y'all think about havin' more kids or is Will gonna be it?"

"Will's it whether we like it or not," Mulder said. "After things settled down... well, before Starkweather joined the X-Files and after I was assigned the Deputy Mayor post, Scully and I did talk about trying again... so we went to a fertility clinic to get everything checked out. My guys were okay, but Scully..."

"Nothing?"

"The doctors can't figure out how she got pregnant with William in the first place. She is still, medically speaking, barren."

"So, how in the hell..."

"Exactly. How. How did this child come to be? Scully and I have gone around and around about it. I want the truth. But she's afraid the truth will jeopardize William's safety."

"If Starkweather's right, it already is."

Mulder looked at Gibson then looked away, hoping that he had enough decency to stay out of his mind.

But Gibson learned that night he didn’t necessarily need to be a telepath to know the hopes and desires of mankind.

"If it’s just malaria," Gibson said softly, "Then I can help."

Azucena put the tools of her trade back into her bag. "You’ll have to, Gibson. I have no quinine with me. The people of Kawak used up what I had left," she moved aside so Gibson could work.

Gibson smoothed back Scully’s hair from her sweating brow. She was almost too hot to touch. But touched her face he did and soon, the crinkled eyebrows relaxed and the muscles in her face seemed to smooth out. She took a deep breath and fell into a deep restful sleep.

"She’s been very sick for a long time," Gibson said. "She’s going to sleep for a long time."

"But, she’s okay now, right?" Mulder asked.

"Her body is," Azucena said. "Not her soul."

Mulder started to ask why, but then shut his mouth, looking very sad and foolish at the same time. Gibson experienced his first pang of disillusionment upon seeing that his hero was flesh and bone and fallible like every other unaltered human on this planet.

"Mulder," Azucena crossed her thin arms, all business now. "She’s been very depressed for a long time now. I am concerned for her."

"Well… this hasn’t been easy for either of us…" Mulder turned his back on Azucena, as if he was about to leave.

So she raised her voice slightly as Gibson covered Scully with a blanket. "If I was practicing medicine in the United States and Agent Scully made an office visit, I would have prescribed Zoloft for her along with a rigorous therapy routine."

Mulder paused at the tent door, slowly turned his head, glanced at Azucena, then looked down at Scully.

Softly Axular said "Hombre, she can’t keep living like this. You need to let her go. You need to make her go."

Neither Atlacatl nor Metzli said anything; they just hung their heads and looked at their dirty bare feet.

Mulder left the tent. Gibson followed.

Mulder sat down on the boulder Axular had been sitting on only a few minutes later. Gibson stood next to him and both of them sat and looked out into the night, staring up at the velvet black sky.

"So…" Mulder said. "What do you think?"

Gibson shrugged. "I don’t know."

"That’s a kid’s answer," Mulder lightly chided him. "You haven’t been a kid in a long time.

Gibson nodded, relieved that finally someone saw the changes in him. That his skin had been tanned by the cruel Mexican sun, that he had shot up nearly a foot in height, that he needed to shave. That he wasn’t the cute little chess child prodigy with big glasses.

"I guess…" Gibson said slowly. "That maybe they’re right… but Scully’s gonna be the one to decide to go back home or not. And if she decides not to go home and say and be miserable…" his next statement made him feel disloyal but he also knew that Mulder expected nothing but the unvarnished truth. "… that’s her own fault."

Half of Mulder’s mouth crooked up in a smile. "Yeah…" He looked towards the direction of the pyramids. Their presence was tangible; Mulder almost expected them to start glowing, the light reaching out to push away the night. "My life was my work. After being forced out of the X-Files, I had to learn to separate life and work. Then push came to shove and to save my life, I had to leave my work in Washington DC. I have my work here now… and my life is inside that tent." He sighed. "Once again, I have to choose."

"So did I," Gibson said softly. "I had to choose between here and DC too."

"I don’t understand," Mulder said.

"When I was little, I would have really weird dreams."

"Dreams?" Mulder asked, puzzled by the direction the conversation took.

"Yeah. I’d dream about me riding a bike. Around my block. Waiting for my dad to get home. And then some guy grabbing me and throwing me in a van… it would feel so real. I used to tell my parents and they’d just laugh and tell me it was only a nightmare. So eventually I just blew it off." He looked up at Mulder. "When the whole… mind-reading thing really started to kick in, bad dreams kind of got put to the back burner."

"At least you have your priorities in line," Mulder tried to sound flippant but he was hanging on Gibson’s every word.

"Well… then I met you and Agent Scully. And then… all that other stuff happened," he self-consciously ran his hand over his head.

"I was held prisoner for a while in Arizona, along with Samita Saint-Claire, Felitza Covarrubias and the women and children randomly abducted throughout the country. When the Smoking Man received word that you, Scully and the others had disappeared, he ordered that I be removed from the prison cell, be sedated and confined to his office while he figured out what to do with me. Before I was taken away though, I read his thoughts…"

Gibson closed his eyes…

"I know you can read my thoughts and now you know the truth. Too bad HE never will"

"My dreams, my bad dreams were real, Mulder." Gibson fell quiet. Mulder resisted the urge to push him into continuing. His patience was rewarded because eventually Gibson began speaking again, in a slow, stiff voice.

"I was handed over to Bravo. She knew the truth too. That the people who raised me weren’t really my parents and who my real dad was. She brought me with to the insane asylum to help her find out from Charlie where you guys were hiding. The CIA tried to catch her then. Lily Stratford was there. She stabbed Bravo in the stomach. I tried to run away…"

"But you didn’t get far…" Mulder said softly. "Bravo found you and forced you to heal her."

Startled, Gibson asked "How did you know?"

"I… you’re not the only one who has bad dreams," Mulder told him.

Gibson nodded. "I remember wishing you were there to help me, but… anyway… Bravo told me that if I didn’t cooperate, they would kill my father. My real father. He’s… he’s a good guy. I mean… I never got a chance to know him… but… I don’t want anything to happen to him."

Even though Mulder thought he knew the answer, he asked anyway "Who is it?"

Again Gibson was quiet for a long time. Finally he said "I think I better not say. Everyone else who knows is dead. But… if the wrong people found out…" He shook his head as if to clear his mind. "But that’s why I had to choose between DC and here too. Because me staying in DC puts him in danger."

"Do you want to be here," Mulder asked him slowly. "Or do you want to go back to the States? Try to have a normal life?"

Gibson shrugged. "What’s normal?"

"You don’t have to go back to DC," Mulder said. "The United States is a big country."

"Actually," Gibson said wistfully. "I’d rather go to Canada… I’m tired of being hot all the time."

::And Canada is still far away from DC, right Gibson?:: Mulder thought.

"Yes," Gibson answered. "It is." Gruffly he said "Sorry."

"It’s okay," Mulder said. "We’ll see what we can do to get you to Canada, eh?" he quipped.

"What about Scully?" Gibson asked softly.

"We’ll have to deal with that when she’s better."

Another long silence passed before Gibson asked in an even softer voice "What about you Mulder?"

Mulder didn’t supply an answer, verbally or otherwise.

Meanwhile…

Underneath a weathered oak tree, Ben held Jerilyn as the skies grew darker still.

Resting her head on Ben’s chest, Jerilyn murmured "You know what this reminds me of?"

"What’s that?" Ben asked her idly as he stroked her long hair.

"The day we drove to the Bridges of Madison County so you could take pictures to send to your mother."

"Oh yeah," Ben said. "She loved the book."

"The book sucked."

"The movie was worse."

"Oh, amen to that. God. Like I want to see a six-hundred-year old Clint Eastwood without a shirt."

"Meryl Streep didn’t exactly do anything for me either, hon." Ben grinned. "That was a fun day though…"

Jerilyn smiled too. "We stopped by that abandoned farmhouse and ate lunch by those trees before going onto to see the bridges."

"Then we made it to the famous one at about sunset…"

"Took pictures of it to make your mom happy…"

"Had sex on the bridge…"

"Had amazing sex on the bridge…" Jerilyn sighed. "Ben… why did we stop doing stuff like that?"

"Stuff like what?"

"You know," she sat up to face him. "Spontaneous stuff like that. Just going off and… " she struggled for words. "Doing things together."

"It was hard to be together with me when you left for Quantico."

"Yeah, but Ben, we did the long distance thing when you were living in Des Moines and I was in Iowa City. And besides… I came back."

Ben reached out and stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand. "Maybe we were so used having the other so far away, we didn’t know how to deal with having the other within arm’s reach?" He let his hand drop. "I don’t know Jeri. God, you don’t know how many times I used to drive around Minneapolis and go through Dinkytown or the Warehouse District and think "Hey Jeri would like that, we gotta come here sometime" but then I’d come home and you’d be working late or you’d have your nose stuck in a file… or I’d be so damn worn out and depressed because I fucked up the bar exam the first time and working a job I hated until I could re-test, I just didn’t have the energy." He looked at her. "I know, lame."

"Maybe instead of not enough time, neither one of us was willing to make time?" she said hesitantly. "You were so worried about the bar exam and then finding a job once we got to DC… and then…" she closed her eyes. "God, I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint exactly where everything started to go to shit."

"I didn’t want a divorce," Ben said quietly. "I would have fought you every step of the way."

Jerilyn moved away from Ben a little. "How did you expect me to stay married to you after you screwed that little tramp? And don’t you dare say it was because you thought I was fucking Doggett because you know that was a bunch of shit."

"While we were married," he countered in the same quiet voice.

Jerilyn couldn’t look him in the face after that. "But…" she said in a hurt voice. "I didn’t sleep with someone else out of spite. To get back at you for being a lousy spouse."

"Is that what you think?" Ben said incredulously. "That I… oh Christ, Jeri. No. I didn’t… it wasn’t out of spite. God no… it was… it was fucking stupid and immature and idiotic and I wish to hell… I…" he ran his fingers through his hair. "I hated myself so much after every time I was with Noelle. I tried to convince myself that I was falling out of love with you and into love with Noelle but I couldn’t even sell my lies to myself… and I’m a lawyer," he said depreciatingly.

"She loved you," Jerilyn said bitterly.

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said miserably.

"I think she still does."

"What’s not to love?" Ben tried to quip. Jerilyn gave him a nasty look and Ben sighed. "Lighten up Jeri. I’m dead and you’re mostly dead. Eternity’s a lot more bearable if you have a sense of humor."

"I have a sense of humor," Jerilyn retorted. "And what do you mean ‘mostly dead’? I thought I was partially dead."

Ben reached up to stroke her face again but she backed away from him a little. "Jeri, time’s running out for you. The doctors discovered your heart and lungs are a match for a teenaged girl who’s dying from heart disease."

Jerilyn’s eyes became far away. "So they’re finally going to turn the machines off."

Ben nodded. "Jeri, your body is healed. Weak because you’ve been bedridden for so long, but physically there’s nothing wrong. It’s just that your mind’s been messed with so much…"

"My mind?" Jerilyn said, started to panic. "I’m brain-damaged? Oh God…"

Quickly Ben re-assured her. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. You’re still a super-fucking-genius." He sighed. "You’d still kick my ass in Trivial Pursuit."

"Ben, an amoeba could kick YOUR ass in Trivial Pursuit." She grew serious. "What would happen if I woke up?"

He shook his head. "I don’t know Jeri. I guess pick up where you left off with your life…"

"What life did I have left to begin with?" she said sorrowfully. Walking away from him, she said in a quavering voice. "I mean, seriously, the only thing I can really see going back for is to find William because I don’t think he’s safe. I know what I told Scully that William would eventually understand that she did what she had to do under the circumstances… but it still feels wrong that strangers have him and not Scully. Not after everything she went through just to have him."

"But…?" Ben prodded her.

In a small voice she said. "It might be better for everyone involved if I don’t come back."

"Why?" Ben walked up to her slowly.

"Because… oh Christ, Ben, they were right. They were right. My dad, Mulder… I’m not normal."

"Jeri…"

"I don’t know how it happened… I can’t explain it. I could never explain how easy it was for me to pick up on foreign languages or music or anything… but when those men were interrogating me, they wanted me to translate this rubbing… I don’t know where it came from, but it was similar to a rubbing Scully had on file from an older X-File…" She blinked her eyes rapidly to prevent tears from falling. "They wanted me to translate the markings… the writing on the rubbing. And… I don’t know how, but I could understand perfectly what the rubbings said... but it was a writing, a language that I’ve never seen or heard of."

"What did it say, Jeri?" Ben asked.

"It was … um…" she pushed her hair out of her face. "Directions."

"Directions?"

"Instructions, actually."

"For what?" Ben took another step closer to her. "Jerilyn, honey… instructions for what?"

"A weapon," she said finally, dropping her eyes to the ground. "A weapon more lethal than any type of nuke, chemical or biological weapon man can create at this point in time."

"And that’s why those men took you. That’s why they’re been after you since you were a little girl," Ben said, horror in his voice.

"They want that technology translated. God knows what they could do with that kind of information. Because… the beauty of the formula behind it is it’s simplicity… scientifically speaking. All they would need is a lab and the right chemicals."

"It’s organic?" Ben asked. Jerilyn nodded. "It’s a virus."

"It’s virus that can be manipulated. And is also parasitic, similar to the Black Oil."

"What’s the difference?"

"It’s airborne."

Ben inhaled sharply. "Holy shit," he whispered.

She nodded again.

"And you can read how to make it."

"Not only can I read how to make, I CAN make it," she shook her head. "It’d be so easy. The hard part would be obtaining the correct chemicals."

Ben couldn’t help but smile ruefully. "I love what you consider ‘easy’… Jeri, can anyone else… read the rubbings?"

"I don’t know. Lily Stratford, maybe. But…" she shook her head. "She’ll die before revealing that information."

"How do you know?" Ben asked.

"I just do," she said cryptically.

"I see," Ben said in a voice that implied that he really didn’t see at all. "So… Jeri, what are you saying?"

"I’m saying… if I stay here… then what I know stays here," she looked up at him again and tried to smile. "And if you’re here, maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I mean… here… we have what we were missing… eternity is nothing but endless time right?" her voice cracked. "That’s what we needed to make us work. A thirty-six hour day to fit our careers and our home life in. Here, there’s no career to interfere."

Ben held out his hand and Jerilyn reached out to him, interlocking her small fingers with his large ones. Stroking her hair out of her eyes he said "God, Jeri, you know I would love to keep you here. I always wondered how in the hell was I going to be able to hold you to me… but… it’s not that simple."

"It’s not?" Her weepiness vanished instantly. "God fucking dammit, is NOTHING easy here? Jesus, I thought I just had to decide if I wanted to kick the bucket or not and I thought I made the choice!"

"You can’t," Ben said. "Not until you see everything."

"Everything?" she said frailly. Then something behind Ben caught her eye. "Ben… why is there a door in the middle of a field?"

"Come on," he said, tugging on her hand.

She froze. "Uh-uh. No fricking way."

He chuckled. "You’ve been hanging out with Reyes too much. Not that you’ve had much of a choice since she’s been living in your hospital room since the X-Files crew found you." He tugged on her hand again. "Come on. All you have to do, is see this and then you decide if you live or die. It’s all in your head… and your hands, Jeri."

Jerilyn warily followed Ben through the door.

"Is this the hospital?" she asked stupidly after walking through, watching all the doctors and nurses milling about in the hallway.

"George Washington University Hospital to be exact," Ben said, still holding her hand, still leading her. Leading her towards a door that had two very large and very unhappy looking men standing side by side of it, wearing blue windbreakers that had "FBI" emblazoned on the front in bright yellow letters.

"Well, this was fun, lets go back now," Jerilyn said with false cheeriness, trying to turn around.

"Jeri," Ben said, holding on to her. "Come on."

"I don’t wanna," she said pathetically.

She could hear music from the other side of the door, guitars and plaintive singing:

"Could you stay long enough for me to say goodbye
You can be free as long as you're with me
If you could see the real me you'd bleed
If you could see the real me I'd breathe
Could you still breathe long enough for me
Could you still be long enough for me

When do you think I'll be okay?
When do you think I'll be okay?

If I should stay when do I pray?
If I should stay where do I begin?
Do you think I should watch you die?
Should we close our eyes and say goodbye

When do you think I'll be okay?
When do you think I'll be okay…"

"Ben, I don’t want to do this, let’s go back," she tried to struggle out of his grip. While twisting she had turned around just as the elevator doors slid open and Doggett walked out, followed by a woman Jerilyn recognized as his older sister Melanie.

Jerilyn’s knees buckled. "Oh God…"

"Jeri," Ben breathed into her ear, "I can’t go with you."

"Please," she whispered as Doggett and Melanie walked past their spirits. "Don’t make me do this."

"It will be over soon," he promised her. "Go on." He let her go.

"Hey you Miss Blue
You think that I'm well to do
Hey you Miss Blue
I fell in love with you
Hey you Miss Blue
I think about you as true
Hey you Miss Blue
I hate it when you cry
Hey you Miss Blue
I hate it when you say goodbye
Hey you Miss Blue
I hate it when you say goodbye…"

Reyes didn’t pay attention to the music or to Skinner standing at the window, staring intently at the world outside. She was too busy focusing all her energy, her mind, body and soul on connecting with Starkweather. ::Come on Jerilyn, get up. Get up, get up before the doctor comes. Please. We need a miracle. We need you. You can’t leave us. You can’t leave…::

Reyes looked up and saw Doggett coming through the door with Melanie behind him. Skinner also turned to face Doggett. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better and closed it again.

"Sir," Doggett said awkwardly. "This is my sister, Melanie Davis."

"Hello Mrs. Davis," Skinner said formally. Melanie nodded and smiled and then went over to Reyes, still seated in the chair next to Starkweather’s bed.

Pecking her on the check, she said "Hi there darling." "Hi Mel-" she started to say but her face froze in horror.

Standing behind Doggett, was Starkweather.

Reyes turned her head back to the bed; saw Starkweather’s body still laying there. Then she turned her head back towards Doggett and still saw Starkweather. But it was Starkweather as she once was, in comfortable jeans, a crumpled cotton T-shirt and long blond hair.

"When do you think I'll be okay
When do you think I'll be okay

You say goodbye
You say goodbye yeah
Don't say goodbye
Say goodbye

Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye..."

"Can someone turn the CD player off?" Reyes said faintly as she continued to stare at Starkweather’s spirit beside Doggett.

Starkweather, meanwhile, didn’t notice Reyes at first. She was too busy looking up at Doggett.

::Dear God, he looks like hell.:: she thought, her stomach twisting.

The door opened and Dr Larutannu walked in, followed by two nurses. Reyes stood up and glared at him. He looked at everyone in the room except for Reyes and said "I hope you understand… I wish things could have been different."

No one said a word but Reyes thought wildly ::It can be different! It can! Dammit! Jerilyn, don’t give up! Wake up, wake up….::

"Let’s begin," Dr. Larutannu said, walking towards the respirator.

It took maybe less than twenty minutes for all the machines to be turned off and all the tubes and IVs removed.

But Starkweather kept breathing and Reyes kept praying.

After the doctor and the nurses left, Skinner mumbled an excuse and slipped from the room. Melanie walked up to Doggett and said "I’ll get a cab and bring out luggage to your house and then I’ll come right back." Doggett only nodded and watched her walk back out of the room.

Reyes felt Doggett rather than saw him walking to stand beside her. She looked down and saw that he was reaching for Starkweather’ limp hand. "John-" she whispered, trying to warn him.

"Oh God," he whispered, when he flipped it over, palm side up.

Starkweather watched in horror as Doggett struggled to keep his composure as he studied her brutalized hands. Slowly, she turned her hands over and gasped as she saw eight scars that were not there before. Eight perfect little crescent moons. Where her fingernails had dug into her flesh while she had screamed in agony. Still holding her hands up in front of her, she looked over at her body again, feeling ill as Doggett continued to look down at her poor mutilated hand.

"Can she hear me?" he finally asked her in a completely defeated voice.

Reyes couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to betray to him how much this was killing her. Starkweather’s dying was a double-edged sword, slicing Reyes apart.

After all, she was losing more than just a friend here.

Reyes squeezed her eyes tight. Still not being able to look at him, she lifted her head, averted her red-rimmed eyes from Starkweather’s wasted form on the bed and up at the window.

Starkweather met Reyes’ eyes and realized ::She can see me… wow, that psychic babble bullshit isn’t psychic babble bullshit after all. Damn. I hate being wrong.::

Reyes began to blink her eyes rapidly when she saw Starkweather’s spirit standing across from her and Doggett on the other side of the hospital bed, looking just as she remembered her. Her hair long and blond, not this butchered piebald bob. Eyes wide open, sparkling and wicked, not closed. T-shirt and faded jeans, not a cheap hospital gown. The medal of St. Christopher around her neck, not in Doggett’s wallet. But her spirit was holding up her hands, as if she had never seen them before. Her witch hazel eyes connected with Reyes, silently asking her "What the hell is going on here???"

Starkweather balled up her hands into fists and held them close to her chest, crossing her wrists over her body. ::Reyes, what the fuck?:: she thought desperately. ::I don’t like this out-of-body experience bullshit at all…::

"She’s been waiting for you," Reyes said as she looked away from Starkweather’s spirit. Still not looking at Doggett, she quietly slipped out of the room.

Now it was just the two of them.

Doggett continued to stand there, tracing the scars on her palm with his thumb. He looked away. For a minute, Starkweather thought he was going to leave as well, but he only dropped her hand for a minute so he sit in the chair Reyes had occupied most of the time. Quietly, he set the chair next to the hospital bed, then picked up her hand again. Tentatively, with his other hand, he reached out to push a half-blond, half-brown lock of hair off her face.

::My hair!:: Starkweather wailed to herself as she watched Doggett stroke the tangled mess on top of her head. ::Rohrer, you cocksucker!!!::

"Hey Doc…"

"Hi Papa John," Starkweather blurted out before she remembered he couldn’t hear her.

"Um… um… honey, you’re gonna have to bear with me… I’m… I’m not real good at this kind of thing…" Doggett averted his eyes from the ravaged figure on the bed for a minute then forced himself to look at her. Look at her bony face, her scarred hands, her ruined hair. This is Starkweather. This is still Doc. This is still Jerilyn. Not some shell. Not some organic machine waiting to be turned off.

"I’m sorry, Doc. I’m sorry they hurt you." He whispered, trying to control his shaking voice. Starkweather wouldn’t like that; she wouldn’t like anyone crying over her. "I’m sorry… that I… that I wasn’t there. That I couldn’t stop them," he reached out and lightly touched her cheek. "Um… the doctors… well, the doctors… um… they said you aren’t doing so good. And that… um…" Doggett squeezed her unresponsive hand. "That chances are, you’re probably not gonna wake up. So… that… um… I should… they called me back to DC to say goodbye." He took his other hand away from her face and pressed his thumb and forefingers against his eyes as if that would create a dam against the tears. Taking a few deep breaths, he finally took his hand off his eyes and gently picked up her hand again and, holding it with both of his hands now, lifted it up to his face. Kissing her fingertips, he said gruffly. "And that I should just let you go. Tell you it’s okay to go…" His eyes narrowed. "But you know what, Doc. It’s not okay. It’s not okay for you to go," he shook his head, continuing stubbornly, "I know I’m being a selfish bastard, and I should just let you go… but dammit… Jerilyn. You’re not a quitter. You are such a stubborn… obstinate… pigheaded, arrogant pain in the ass… and you don’t give up. Not like that… not like this… and… I know… I know if you’ve got your mind set on doin’ something, you’re gonna do it, no matter what anyone tells you and if you’re hell bent on leavin’… fine… leave. But I tell you what… if you die on me Jerilyn… I am going to be so god damned pissed at you. I mean… come on…" his voice finally broke. "Honey, I just got you back… I need you here."

Starkweather couldn’t take it anymore. She sprinted to the door, desperate to escape.

The door suddenly slammed shut. Doggett jumped and looked up at it bewildered.

He couldn’t remember it being open after Reyes left.

Starkweather, meanwhile, was back in the valley as the storm clouds were dissipating and the stars were coming out one by one. "Ben!" she cried out. "Ben, where are you?"

"Right here," he said softly, behind her.

She whirled around. Ben stood inches away from her but didn’t reach out for her. She tried to go on but she couldn’t.

So Ben spoke for her. "You want to go back," he said in a deaden voice.

She nodded, "I’m sorry," she said as her face started to crumple. "But… I need to go home." When he didn’t reply she began to babble incomprehensively. "I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. But you were right, all this time. And I just didn’t want to make a mistake or make things worse or…" she began to cry. "I’m sorry," she whimpered. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," he said in a thick voice. "That’s what made it worse." As she continued to sob, Ben went on. "I know earlier I had said I would have fought you ever step of the way with the divorce… but that was before I knew what I know now. And there’s no way I could have held you to me. I think that’s why I proposed to you after we had only dated for such a short time. I knew your mind and your ambition and got scared."

"Scared?" Jerilyn snuffled.

"That you would eventually leave. And I didn’t want you to leave. But that’s not a good enough reason to get married."

Jerilyn wiped the tears off her face with the back of hand. "Are you saying we should have never gotten married?"

"Yeah," he said in a cracking voice. "I guess that is what I’m saying."

Jerilyn couldn’t stop sniffling. "I wish it could have been different."

"Me too. Then I wouldn’t be dead." He finally reached out to her and stroked her wet cheek. "Just promise me one thing, okay Jeri?

"What’s that?"

"Just don’t forget about me… don’t pretend that I didn’t exist."

Reaching up to clutch his hand resting on her face, she said "How could I forget about you? It wasn’t all bullshit. I did love you. I still love you, Counselor." She smiled, looking up at his face. "You made me who I am. You made me Starkweather."

"I love you too," he gathered her into his arms one last time. "You big bad FBI broad," he said gently as he stroked her hair.

She laughed, despite the tears, clinging to him. "So… how do I get back?"

"Just open your eyes."

Later…
Palenque, Chiapas

Torrential rain lashed the outside of the little trailer that Axular convinced some archaeologists to give up for the sick woman and her partner. The thunder shook it so hard, not just the windows but the cupboards and the shelves rattled.

Mulder wondered how Scully could stand to sleep through all the noise, but then realized that she must be worn out. The bursts of lightening illuminated her face eerily, highlighting the bone structure and the worry lines. She almost looked ghoulish. But mostly she looked deathly ill. Although Azucena and Gibson both did promise the worse was over…

Mulder reached over and smoothed her hair away from her brow, hoping that Azucena and Gibson got a head start on this storm. As he continued to stroke Scully’s dirty hair, he felt a sharp stab of pity for Gibson. Different not by his choice, always running, hiding… Azucena, with the help of her sister and the Ibarra clan, were going to try and smuggle the boy back to the United States under an assumed name and find some place, some place for him to take his GED so he could go to college, start a normal life somewhere… maybe not permanently in the United States… perhaps Canada as Gibson wished. Maybe even Europe. According to Azucena, Gibson had expressed a desire to become a doctor… but with the monsters pursuing him, would it be possible? The Ibarras and the Cielos were willing to stake their lives on it to at least try to give the boy the semblance of a normal life…

… and all Mulder could think was "Thank God William doesn’t have to live like that…" as he tried to convince himself he believed his lie when he told Scully he understood her motivations to do what she did…

His thoughts were halted by a pounding on the door. Then shouts in Spanish.

Mulder got up slowly. Scully stirred a little. "What is it?" she asked sleepily.

Mulder’s response was drowned out by the thunder as he left the small back bedroom and walked through the little camper to the front door. He peered through the windows and all he saw was a blur of faces. The trailer was completely surrounded.

Mulder, feeling crushing defeat starting to sink in, opened the door. And started at all the men standing unmoving in the pelting rain, their faces covered in cloth, holding semi-automatic assault weapons. As if on cue, they pointed them at Mulder.

"Whoa!" Mulder said, arms shooting up. "The Jehovah’s Witness just got a little more aggressive in their campaigning," he quipped while thinking ::Checkmate.::

The men then parted like the Red Sea, letting a Moses-figure sans the long grey beard and dressed in a heavy rain slicker, walk towards him. He was unarmed but he held something large and heavy underneath the rain coat, shielding it from the rain.

Mulder watched the strange man come closer and closer. The closer the man came, Mulder could discern some features through the heavy rain, a pale, uncovered face, a wiry build. When the man was face-to-face with Mulder, he spat at him "Leo, you son-of-a-bitch!" but he looked warily at whatever it was underneath Leo’s rain coat. It was moving.

"I’m doing this," he said, awkwardly unbuttoning his rain coat "as a favor."

When the coat opened to reveal what Leo hid inside, Mulder let his arms drop and whispered "Oh my God…"

He was bigger, so much bigger than he saw him last, but Mulder knew those big cornflower blue eyes and that shock of wild brown hair.

Sleepy, confused, cold and scared, William looked around wildly, snuffling. Then his eyes locked on something familiar and he reached for him.

"Daddy."

Leo held William out to Mulder. "Scully made a mistake," he said. "And I was asked to fix it. As a favor."

He didn’t have to ask Mulder twice. He took one step and snatched William out of Leo’s hands and out of the rain, clutching at him. William, still scared, wrapped his arms around Mulder’s neck and began to whimper as Mulder began to rub his back and said "It’s okay," in a soothing voice as he continued to glare at Leo.

Leo stared back at Mulder evenly. Finally he said something in Spanish to the gun men and they disappeared back into the rainforest. Without a word, Leo followed them.

Mulder didn’t move until the strange men and Leo were completely swallowed up by the darkness of the forest. Then he shut the door and locked it as fast as possible.

Part of him felt guilty for not taking the boy to his mother right away. But selfishly, Mulder decided that he needed a moment. A moment with his boy that he could savor and call his own. He had so few…

"Hi Boo," he said in a choked voice, holding him tight, touching his hair, his puppy fat cheeks, making sure this was real. That this was really happening. "Hi buddy. Oh God, I missed you... "

The boy squirmed so Mulder loosen his hold on him. "Hi Daddy," William responded, then looked around the trailer, frowning. "Where fissy?"

"Where what…?" then through his tears, Mulder began to laugh.

William wanted to know where the fish tank was.

Still laughing softly, Mulder said "Well, the fish went bye-bye, Will, but you know what? There’s someone here who’s going to be very happy to see you…"

And he took their son to the back room of the trailer, softly calling Scully’s name.

As the feeble light from the dawn stole into the bleak hospital room, Doggett unwillingly opened his eyes. He had dozed on and off all night long. And throughout the night, she hadn’t moved.

After his homespun soliloquy, Doggett hadn’t said much more to her through the night. When he was awake, he would lean over to touch her hair occasionally but he didn’t say anything else to her.

And during one of his longer periods of wakefulness, Doggett had examined the small hand he refused to let go. Thanks to Leo’s obsessive care, it was a lady’s hand, with buffed nails and smooth skin. Doggett ran his thumb over her knuckles with a wry smile. This hand did not belong to Starkweather because she was no lady. She did not need hands for shopping or picking flowers. She needed hands that could wield a scalpel, carry heavy research books, type long case files, load and fire a gun. And yet, these were the same hands that tossed William up in the air to make him laugh, stroked her cat until he flopped over on his belly, purring in pure contentment and touched his face with reverence.

Hands that now lay limply in his.

Only one person disturbed his vigil. Melanie had come in around eleven o’clock at night to deliver a cup of coffee and a kiss to his temple. Doggett had looked up at her, grinned but didn’t, couldn’t say anything. She didn’t push him, just squeezed his shoulder affectionately and left.

As she had shut the door behind her, Melanie had asked Reyes sadly, "Do you need anything, Monica, honey?"

Reyes sat next to Nathalique, head on her friend’s shoulder. Still, she had managed to smile at Doggett’s sister and say "No, I’m alright."

"Call if anything changes," Melanie had said, buttoning up her coat. "I’m going back to the hotel."

Both Reyes and Nathalique had thanked her and continued to sit outside Starkweather’s room, neither one of them going in. Nathalique’s face had expressed nothing but concern for Reyes while Reyes had concentrated with all her might, as if she could will Starkweather awake.

"Chéri," Nathalique had finally said about three in the morning, "there’s nothing more we can do. It’s up to her now."

After going outside and chain smoking for about twenty minutes, Reyes finally had urged Nathalique to go back to the hotel. When the cab finally came for Nathalique, wearily, Reyes had wandered back to her lonely bench outside of Starkweather’s room only to find A.D. Skinner sitting there, wearing jeans and a faded sweater that had been fashionable when "The Cosby Show" was still making new episodes.

Startled by his casual appearance, Reyes had said tentatively, "Sir? How long have you been here?"

"I’ve been around," he said brusquely. "Are you alright?"

"Yes sir."

Skinner looked up at Reyes wearily. "Please. Can the ‘sir’ crap. Right now, I’m not your boss."

Nodding like a child, Reyes had sat down next to Skinner, burying her face in her hands but not crying. Clumsily, he had tried to comfort her, rubbing her back hesitantly while muttering it was going to be alright. Eventually, she had righted herself, smiling at him as she leaned back into her seat, waiting for the inevitable. No matter the outcome, she steeled herself for a broken heart.

So did Doggett. As his eyes adjusted to the weak light, he looked down at the pathetic figure lying on the bed. And felt his chest and throat constrict.

Sometime during the night, her head had rolled over on the pillow, facing the window and away from him. She felt cold.

::She’s gone:: he thought dully. ::Just like that. Thank God she wasn’t in any pain and now nobody can hurt her ever again… and Jesus, get a hold of yourself:: he scolded himself ruthlessly as he felt his eyes burn with tears. ::She wouldn’t like it, you gettin’ all weepy over her.:: He squeezed his eyes shut tight and put her hand to his lips one last time while thinking ::Fuck that. This is bullshit. This is not happening. She didn’t have to die. This didn’t have to happen…:: He kissed her fingertips.

And gasped in shock when he felt her fingers move against his mouth as they weakly gripped his first two fingers.

"Doc?" he said, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Her head slowly rolled back to face him. Doggett waited anxiously as her eyes slowly fluttered open. Not daring to believe, he thought wildly ::Is this real? Is this really happening? Or is this a dream? Oh God, let this be real…::

Once they were opened, her hazel eyes seem to take up her entire face. She squeezed them open and shut a few times as if that helped her focus. Then she stared up at him blankly.

A new thrill of horror ripped through him. ::Oh Jesus, she doesn’t remember me…:: "Jerilyn?"

She closed her eyes again as she started to speak. Her voice was unrecognizable, harsh and out of tune.

"So… who won the Super Bowl?"

She opened her eyes again as her pale lips curved into a small smile.

Doggett’s jaw dropped open. Then he closed it again swiftly as he moved from the chair to sit on the side of the bed. Moving a half-blond, half brown lock of hair out of her face, he said softly. "Atlanta Falcons."

"Bullshit," she responded wearily as he started to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. "They weren’t even in the playoffs." Closing her eyes again, she whispered "Papa John..."

Despite his earlier resolve, the minute her pet name for him slipped out, Doggett broke down. As hot tears of relief began to course down his face, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Welcome back, Agent Starkweather," he told her gruffly.

Reyes watched through the small window in the door as Doggett helped Starkweather sit up. Watched as Starkweather wrapped her bony arms around him and rested her thin face in the crook of Doggett’s shoulder and neck. Watched Doggett stroke her messed up hair.

Reyes smiled as tears slid down her perfect cheekbones. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned back to Skinner.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It’s okay," Reyes said with a tight throat. As Skinner’s eyes widened, Reyes added "Give them a minute though. They have a little catching up to do."

And Reyes turned away and walked down the long hallway until she reached an exit. Continued walking until she was standing in the parking lot as the raw January wind blew over her. But she did not feel the cold.

She tilted her head up and closed her eyes as a new day began.

"… It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you

Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you…"

The End

Bibliography:

La Llorona http://www.koolpages.com/bedlam/llorona.html

Quiche Mayan-Spanish-English Wordlist http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Thebes/6085/mayaword5.html

AltaVista Translator http://babelfish.altavista.com/babelfish/tr

Acupuncture http://www.holisticalliance.com/Services/Acupuncture.htm

Acupuncture on Yong Quan http://alternativehealing.org/sole_of_foot_acupuncture.htm

Information on Tracking Devices/Wristbands http://my.webmd.com/content/Article/52/50224.htm?printing=true

More on Tracking Wristbands (you’ve got to see this site to believe…) http://www.kidsandkaboodle.com/features/trackingdevices.htm

Eisenmenger’s Syndrome http://www.ucsfhealth.org/adult/medical_services/heart_care/cong/conditions/eisenmenger/print.html