TITLE:  Mobius 
AUTHOR: L.A. Ward
EMAIL ADDRESS: LAWard@aol.com 
URL:  www.hometown.aol.com/laward/eclectic.html
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Sure, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Anything through Season 7
including Requiem
RATING: R (for language)
CLASSIFICATION: X/MSR/A

                X-file casefile with Mytharc
                MSR
                Scully Angst/Mulder Angst               

SUMMARY: While investigating the disappearance of
a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't 
expect--Mulder.

DISCLAIMER:  Not mine.  Never mine.  Wish they were, 
but they belong to Chris.  Have no money so don't
bother to sue.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Thanks to everyone who encouraged
me when I began posting this as a WIP last summer.
Unfortunately I discovered I'm not a WIP kind of girl.
Sorry I disappeared for so long.  Also, I  cannot say 
enough nice things for the wonderful people who 
undertook the task of beta reading. Thanks to all of 
them, but special thanks to Shari, Rosemary, and Fran.



****************************************************
"All we communicate to others is an orientation
towards what is secret. . ."
                           Gaston Bachelard
                           The Poetics of Space
****************************************************

                      PROLOGUE

 
Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.          
4:15 am 
 
The dark was comforting. It was uniform, unchanging and 
peaceful with only the dull murmur of sound somewhere in 
the distance. No one sound was distinct. They all rolled 
together in a low, muted hum--white noise in a black 
room--and she listened to it intently as if by listening 
hard enough she could immerse herself in it. 

Someone shoved open the door and light blinded her.

"Doctor!" the nurse said. "We need you."

Grabbing her lab coat, she followed the nurse from the 
on-call room into the green tiled hallway.  "What have 
we got?" she asked as a paramedic crashed through the 
E.R.'s double doors leading a gurney.

"Male.  Mid to late thirties," the medic answered. "B.P. 
ninety over sixty.  Pulse one-ten and irregular. Appears 
to be in psychogenic shock."

"Transportation time?" she asked as they entered the 
trauma room.

"Twenty minutes.  Four liters oxygen.  One I.V. 
normal saline." 

She nodded and crossed to the other side of the gurney 
ready to transfer the patient to the examining table.  
"On my count.  One, two, now."  After the transfer she 
took out a penlight and shone it into the man's eyes.  

"Pupils sluggish."  She glanced at the nurse and 
instructed, "We need a chem 20.  Type and cross.  Two 
units."

"He's tachy," an intern called.  

She nodded and looked at the cardiac monitor
registering a pulse rate of 120 and rising. 
A heart couldn't sustain that rhythm long 
without failing.  She called for digoxin even
as the monitor hit 130 then 135. Her gut
clenched when his pulse spiked to 150.

"Is he going to crash?" the intern asked. 

Before she could answer the patient flatlined.  
Frown lines creased her brow as the high pitched 
whine filled the room.  She hated that sound.  She 
hated to admit defeat, and when she looked into her 
patient's face she refused to accept it.

"Crash cart," she called.

She grabbed the defibrillator paddles and rubbed 
conductive fluid over them. "Charge. 200 joules."

Everyone stepped back.  She shocked the patient.  He 
arched from the bed and her eyes rose to look at the 
monitor.  Grimacing she ordered, "300.  And . .  
.clear!"  Again the man arched from the bed.

The intern shook his head.

"Charge 360," she ordered and laid the paddles against 
the unknown man's bare skin.  Again electricity rushed 
violently through him, but this time it was different. 
His heart took on a normal rhythm. She nodded and 
systematically began looking for any sign of 
injury.  There was nothing obvious.  

The patient suddenly, miraculously became conscious. He 
grabbed her arm and looked her straight in the eyes.  Her 
breath caught. It was as if all motion in the room 
receded to some silent distance, and her entire being 
focused on this one glance.  She read recognition in his 
hazel eyes. 

"Scully," he whispered, then lost his battle for 
consciousness.











***************************************************
"God does not play dice." - Albert Einstein

"But all evidence indicates that God is an inveterate
gambler, and he throws the dice on every possible
occasion." 
 Stephen Hawking, "Black Holes and Baby Universes"
****************************************************

                   CHAPTER ONE

Cornell University
Ithaca, New York   
9:12am 
 
Special Agent Dana Scully parked the gray rental car in 
the administrative parking lot of Clark Hall.  She felt 
tired and cranky after yet another sleepless night, and 
if she was honest she also felt somewhat resentful of 
this assignment.  

Yesterday she had sat in Mulder's office reviewing old 
case files--and she still thought of it as Mulder's 
office.  Others had begun calling it hers, but not 
Scully. She had been on the verge of completing a stack 
of papers nearly as tall as herself when a stranger 
coughed to catch her attention. 

After nearly eight years of working in the basement, 
building maintenance had arrived to install her name on 
the office door. She had scowled, then waved the man 
away, saying that she was busy and didn't want to be 
disturbed.  The truth was she didn't want anything in 
the office disturbed. Something, even if it was just 
this dingy, cluttered room, had to remain the same.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a quiet southern drawl.  
"Don't know when I'll be by here again. 
 
"I'm sure," she said firmly. "The door stays the way it 
is."  

Scully's actions had obviously been reported to Skinner 
because an hour later he stood almost, but not quite, 
hidden beyond the doorway. She could see him shifting 
awkwardly from foot to foot looking reluctant to be 
there. Scully had become used to that look. Lately every 
person had it before crossing the threshold.  She could 
almost hear them debate, "Should I offer condolences? Or 
behave as if nothing has happened?" 

Of course, Skinner's choices were more limited. He 
couldn't behave as if nothing had happened. He knew the 
truth--or most of it anyway--and perhaps because of that 
he was more awkward than anyone else. Scully saw the 
moment of decision cross his face and straighten his 
spine before he manufactured a businesslike attitude 
and  approached her. He walked briskly into the room 
and placed a file on the desk.

"An X-File?" she asked.

"Not exactly."

Scully lifted her eyes and gave him a calm, questioning 
stare.  Seconds ticked by then Skinner explained,  "It's 
a missing person."

"Then why bring it to me?"

"Open the file."

She glanced down at the pages contained inside the 
manila folder.  A name jumped out at her. She lifted a 
surprised gaze.  "Steven Doerstling?"

Skinner nodded.  "He disappeared Tuesday, but the local 
authorities have kept this below the media radar."

Steven Doerstling was a brilliant mathematician and 
physicist whose name was frequently used in the same 
breath as Einstein's.  Always brilliant, after a spinal 
injury in his teens left him a quadriplegic, he had 
turned his focus inward and in the last thirty years 
had produced breathtakingly inspired leaps in 
theoretical physics.  His disappearance would spark 
a media feeding frenzy. 

"He's famous," Scully said, "but what does this have 
to do with me?"

"His research is funded by the U.S. Government through 
the National Science Foundation."

"So strings were pulled and the case was brought to the 
FBI," she concluded.

"Yes, strings were pulled."

"This isn't an X-File."  And the implication hung in the 
air that she was still committed to the X-Files.  She 
was more committed than ever. As long as Mulder was 
missing she would follow any thread for even the most 
tenuous link to him. As if to prove that fact, she had 
spent the last month in a futile search of Bellefleur, 
Oregon--the place where she had first come to trust 
Mulder and where ultimately she had lost him. In the 
end all she found was the orange X he had painted on the 
road nearly eight years earlier. 

Slowly Scully realized the office had been quiet for 
too long. Skinner stood staring at the poster behind 
the desk. "I Want to Believe" hung over her head, and 
she knew they were both aware of the irony in the words.  
She had never wanted to believe.  She resisted at 
every turn and used science as a shield.

"I realize that technically this isn't an X-File," 
Skinner told her.  "But there's no agent as suited to 
this case as you.  There aren't many of us with degrees 
in physics."

She should have known this was an offer she wasn't 
allowed to refuse when he had arrived in the basement 
instead of summoning her to his office as protocol 
demanded. Seeing no alternative, Scully had accepted 
the assignment and boarded a plane bound for Ithaca, 
New York at eight a.m. this morning.  

Even as she drove through the picturesque city Scully 
was aware of the underlying reason she had been given 
the assignment. Skinner had thought, "Take her out of 
the basement.  Give her something to do other than 
bury herself in silence and memories."  He was being 
thoughtful, kind, solicitous...and she hated it.   

She wasn't some porcelain doll that had been broken 
then pieced together.  She wasn't on the verge of
falling apart. Scully was a professional, a doctor, 
and an agent who knew how to keep the unbearable at 
a distance. Brick by emotional brick she built a wall 
between her functional state and her dysfunctional 
baggage. Of course by now the wall approached the size 
of the Hoover Dam, but Scully would deal with that 
later.  The point Scully kept stressing was that she 
was in control.  She could handle herself.  There 
was no reason for Skinner to look concerned. She 
was fine. She was just fine. 

Once she found a parking space, Scully glanced out 
the car window.  Unlike most of Cornell which tended 
toward Gothic Revival architecture, this building was 
stark and dated, looking like some uninspired 
regurgitation of textbook Modernism.  She stepped out 
of the car then stopped to fight a sudden wave of 
nausea. Laying her hand on the hood, she took a deep 
breath and waited for the world to stop spinning.  
When it did, Scully continued forward as if nothing 
had happened.  
 
                    X     X     X
 
Mike Stilgoe sat playing air guitar in his five by eight 
foot office on the third floor of Clark Hall--though 
calling it an office seemed like absurd exaggeration. It 
was a closet with a desk.  With his eyes closed he 
belted out the lyrics, "Black hole sun won't you come 
and wash away the rain--"  

He stopped abruptly and reached to turn down the volume. 
Shit, someone was in the hall.  He hurriedly exited the 
program. All he needed was Professor Blackwood on his 
ass about using department computers to download MP3s.  
"File Transfer Error!" popped up on screen. Well, of 
course there was an error. He was trying to exit for 
Christ's sake. The computer locked.  Damn. It crashed. 
Shit. And whoever it was out in the hall was closer. He 
could hear. . . 

He closed his eyes and called himself an idiot. That 
wasn't Professor Blackwood out there.  It was a woman 
and from the staccato clicks of her heels against the 
linoleum he'd guess it was a woman on a mission.  

Leaning back, Stilgoe opened the door a crack and 
revised his opinion. Make that a very striking woman 
on a mission.  She was dressed almost completely in 
black which around here usually meant a chain smoking 
art student spouting existentialist bullshit, but this 
one was dressed way too formally for that.  And she 
didn't look like an escapee from the architecture 
department either. Stilgoe frowned. She was too old 
to be a student, and too businesslike to be a 
professor. Maybe administration, but he doubted it. 
She looked out of place.  Around here, her crisply 
tailored appearance was almost exotic. 

She saw him, and as purposefully as she had searched the 
hall she now walked toward him. "Excuse me," she said in 
a low, mellifluous voice that suddenly made him glad 
that he was stuck logging statistics on a Saturday 
morning. "Would you know where I might find Professor 
Blackwood?"  

"In his office?"

She shook her head. "I knocked.  There was no answer."

"Must be out with CLEO then." 

"Is there a way that I could reach them?"

Stilgoe frowned. "Them?" Enlightenment dawned. "Oh, 
you mean Professor Blackwood and CLEO. CLEO isn't a 
person, Ms...?"

"Scully." She produced a badge. "I'm with the Federal 
Bureau of Investigation. I was hoping to speak with 
Professor Blackwood about a current case."

"Doerstling's disappearance, I bet." At her mildly 
surprised look he explained,  "Nothing escapes the 
physics department grapevine."

Scully nodded.  "You were saying about Professor 
Blackwood?"

"Oh yeah, well, CLEO isn't a person.  CLEO is part of 
the CESR--that's the Cornell Electron Storage Ring."

"He would be there now?"

"Well if he isn't in his office going over the results 
of last week's test, he'll be down there preparing for 
Monday's."

"How would I find my way there?" she asked.

Belatedly he jumped to his feet and extended his hand.  
"Oh, um, I'm Mike Stilgoe. I'm a grad student and sort 
of Professor Blackwood's assistant.  If you want, I'll 
take you down there."

"Thank you."

That's all she said. He shook his head. A beautiful 
woman who didn't talk much.  When did creatures like 
that start to exist?  As Mike gathered his books he 
glanced over his shoulder. "So what's it like being 
an FBI agent?" 

"Interesting," Scully answered in a way that made him 
think a million words could have been said but hadn't. 
She was a sphinx. Beautiful, enigmatic, and remote.

                 X      X      X

Scully waited patiently for the grad student to shove 
his books into his backpack. He was a gangly kid with 
a two day growth of beard and a bad hair day. She 
remembered the type from her own days in the physics 
department, but that had been a lifetime ago.  Idly 
she wondered if he thought her answers had been abrupt.  
If he did, he was probably right. But how could she 
describe her work when she couldn't make sense of it 
herself?

At some mysterious, indefinable point the X-Files had 
ceased to be a job and had become her life. If Scully 
walked away from the FBI tomorrow, the X-Files would 
still consume her. There was no escape.  There was 
nothing else. Everything Scully had ever loved or 
believed had been stripped from her with agonizing 
precision, and yet...And yet everything that gave her 
life meaning was also bound to this search for answers, 
for truth...for Mulder. All Scully knew was she couldn't 
stop. She couldn't rest, and there was nowhere to go 
but forward because looking back wasn't an option.

They stepped into the hall and Stilgoe locked his 
office door. Scully asked, "Has the physics department 
grapevine said anything about Dr. Doerstling's 
disappearance?"

He shrugged, "Oh it's said a lot, but not anything 
that means much.  I mean there's been a lot of 
speculation. How exactly does a guy who has almost no 
use of his arms and requires a constant caregiver just 
disappear without a trace? It's creepy, you know. It's 
not like he would go anywhere else.  This is where his 
work is, and his work is all he has."

Scully empathized.  "Did anything unusual happen the 
night he disappeared?"

"No, not really.  Well, there was this party.  The 
results of Tuesday's test came back and there was some 
bitching b quark data."

Scully searched through her somewhat dim memory of her 
time as a physics undergrad for some reference to what 
Stilgoe was talking about. A vague answer surfaced, and 
it struck Scully that if you asked what the universe 
was made of, your answer would depend on who you asked.  
If she asked Mulder, no doubt he would recite a list of 
creation myths as long as her arm. If you asked a 
biologist, there would be talk of cells, and a chemist 
would begin a discussion of molecules and atoms. 
However, theoretical physicists looked for something 
more fundamental.  Their grail was the indivisible 
building block of all things. Atoms had once been 
considered these structures, then protons, neutrons, 
and electrons. Now, like peeling away the layers 
of an onion, they had discovered something more 
elusive--quarks.

The problem with quarks was that though it was theorized 
that absolutely everything was made of them, they 
couldn't be seen.  Studying them was a bit like looking 
at a murder scene and theorizing who the killer had 
been. You couldn't see him, only the evidence he left 
behind.  

They stepped into the elevator and Scully imagined the 
discussion she would have had if Mulder had been there. 

"So these scientists, these men of logic, believe in 
something they can't prove exists." Mulder would have 
been gleeful at the contradiction.

"Don't equate quantum physics with Mexican goat 
suckers."

His hazel eyes would have filled with a teasing light. 
"I wouldn't dare.  They've been 'theorizing' goat 
suckers long before anyone thought up a quark."

"It's not the same thing."

"Why?"

"Because goat suckers don't exist." 

"But these little whatchamacalits that no one can see 
do? Why is that, Dr.  Scully?"

"Because their existence can be predicted by 
mathematical equations--" 

Mulder would interrupt, "Math?  You mean a system 
created by man to explain to themselves observable 
and non-observable phenomena?  Sounds a lot like the 
reason ancient Egyptians invented Isis, Osiris, and 
Horus.  That was their way to find order in the  
universe just as modern scientists point to 
invisible strings--" 

"Mathematics is not the same thing as a dog headed 
pseudo-god."

"You didn't meet my ninth grade geometry teacher." 

Scully heard the dinging sound signaling the elevator's
arrival at the first floor, and she became aware of the
physics student watching her with a little too much 
interest. Was her distraction obvious?  Something 
about his expression made her think so, and Scully 
worried that her inner turmoil was so close to the 
surface that even a stranger could see it.  She 
schooled her features into an impassive mask.  Her 
sadness and her memories were her own.  They 
were private.

As they exited Clark Hall Stilgoe explained that the 
CESR/CLEO was located fifteen meters below the alumni 
field.  It was a rather unglamorous concrete tunnel 
filled with magnets. Billions of electrons and their 
exact opposite--positrons--were circulated in the tunnel 
at something close to the speed of light in the hopes 
that a few of them would collide and annihilate each 
other. If they were lucky, they would catch evidence 
that a b quark existed. Of course usually nothing much 
happened, and even when it did, you couldn't see the b 
quark you produced. In the end the best you could do was 
study the aftermath of their decay in CLEO.

They entered the control booth. "Dr.  Blackwood," 
Stilgoe said grabbing the older man's attention. "This 
is Agent Scully with the FBI.  She's here to investigate 
Doerstling's disappearance." 

Dr. Arnold Blackwood was in his late fifties with 
grayish blonde hair in a surprisingly long, bowl-like 
cut. He was rather beige in appearance.  Not just 
because of the hair, but the skin, and the sort of 
colorless off-white shirt he wore with wrinkled khaki 
trousers.  

"Have you found anything?" he asked in a somewhat 
impatient tone. 

"Not yet. I was hoping I could see Dr. Doerstling's 
office," Scully answered. "I understand that was the 
last place he was seen." 

Blackwood took off his glasses and cleaned them on his 
shirt.  "It was?" 

Scully frowned. "According to the police report, Dr. 
Doerstling's assistant Lauren Rice left him in his 
office when she left for dinner. When she returned, 
he was gone." 

"Saw Lauren this morning," Stilgoe added. "She's really 
blown away by this.  Blames herself."

Blackwood shook his head, and Scully detected a note of 
aggravation in his voice.  "If Doerstling disappeared 
it's because he wanted to." 

"I would think his physical limitations would make that 
difficult," Scully pointed out.

The professor sniffed. "Don't bet on it.  In someone 
else--hell, in anyone else--what happened to Doerstling 
as a kid would have been a tragedy." 

"But not in his case?"

Somewhat defiantly Blackwood said, "It was a gift."

Scully eyes widened then narrowed as a frown creased
her forehead.

He began shuffling through papers as he explained, 
"I've known Steven since we were both freshmen in 
college. He was only fifteen years old. He was an
intellectual prodigy but in every other way he was
just a reckless kid."  Blackwood pushed the papers 
aside and looked up at Scully.  "Before the accident 
I don't think Steven ever sat still for five minutes 
straight, but paralysis didn't give him a choice. He 
couldn't use his body so he had to use his mind." The 
professor removed his glasses and cleaned them on his 
shirt.  "Steven had an extraordinary mind." 

She caught the fact that he referred to Doerstling in 
the past tense but didn't press the issue as yet. "So 
you think whatever happened to the doctor was by his own 
design?"

Blackwood laughed but it was a hollow, tinny sound. "For 
Doerstling everything was by design.  The whole fucking 
universe was built to exact proportions."

"I've read a little of his work," Scully told him.  

Blackwood looked surprised and perhaps even a little 
displeased.  "Hardly normal reading material for an FBI 
agent.  I'd think you'd stick to Clancy novels."

"What was the doctor working on before he disappeared?"

"You really want to know?" 

Scully took a deep breath and reminded herself that
saying what was on the tip of her tongue wasn't an 
option. Being cranky with someone other than Mulder 
usually didn't take her far.  Come to think of it, it 
didn't accomplish much with Mulder so she resorted to 
simply looking at the man with silent expectation. That 
usually met with some results.

Blackwood crossed his arms.  "How much do you know about 
M theory? Kaluza-Klein theory? Calabi-Yau space?"

"Very little, I'm afraid."  

"That's what I thought.  Agent Scully, I'm a busy man.  
I don't have time to teach remedial physics."  He tossed 
Stilgoe a set of keys. "Explain to her what she wants to 
know and let her into Doerstling's office.  I've got 
work to do."

As Blackwood walked away, Scully followed Stilgoe up the 
stairs into blinding white sunlight.  Shading her eyes 
with one hand she asked, "What was Dr. Doerstling's 
current project?" 

Stilgoe glanced away quickly.  "He was sort of 'out 
there' if you know what I mean."

She arched a brow, "'Out there?' Could you be more 
specific?"  

After all 'out there' could mean anything from seeing 
shadow conspiracies to anticipating an alien invasion, 
finding a five hundred year old genie with a sick sense 
of humor, or chasing a Mexican goat sucker across 
southern California. Scully needed specifics.

"Ever heard of the anthropic principle?" 

She cocked her head to one side.  "Isn't it the 
cosmological equivalent of 'if a tree falls in the 
forest...?'" 

Stilgoe laughed.  "Yeah. Sort of. Basically it says the 
universe looks the way that it does, because if it 
didn't we wouldn't be here to see it." 

"I suppose that makes sense.  We evolved under a 
specific set of conditions so we're intrinsically 
linked to those conditions."

"But you see Doerstling isn't interested in our 
evolution. He's interested in the evolution of the 
universe. Think about it.  If the big bang was an 
accident, then any set of parameters could happen--most 
of which wouldn't produce life.  Hell, they couldn't 
produce anything, not stars, planets, or even atoms.  
So why did this particular bang produce all those 
things in abundance?" 

Scully frowned and thought about that.  Her first 
thought was to remember Colleen Azar saying, "There 
is a greater intelligence in all things."  But what 
Scully said aloud was, "So Doerstling postulated that 
the universe we know is the result of an unimaginable 
game of trial and error?"

"The exact opposite, actually.  Maybe what we think of 
as 'the' universe is just one of many. A string of them 
all tied together. Each almost, but not exactly, 
identical to the ones tied to it."

Lines creased her brow, "Given the sheer number of 
possible results from a big bang, how could different 
universes be nearly identical?"

"Here we are," Stilgoe announced as he unlocked the door 
to Doerstling's office.  She looked back at the grad 
student, wanting to pursue the line of their 
conversation, but that could wait.  

The office wasn't all that different from any number of 
faculty offices she had seen before.  It was small, had 
only one window and was cluttered with papers and books. 
The police had already dusted the room for prints and 
had found few matches.  The only two matches they did 
find were physics students who had been arrested for 
drunk and disorderly conduct during their freshman year. 
Hardly a surprising event on a college campus. 

Scully walked into the room and wished she had some of 
Mulder's eerie intuition, some way to look at her 
surroundings and formulate answers out of thin air. She 
wasn't that lucky.  Instead she plodded along looking 
for evidence and clues that could lead her to a rational 
answer.

She paused and looked at a pair of greenish tinted 
etchings hung over the desk.  Scully vaguely recognized 
the prints as being by Escher. Both were plays on 
perspective and dimension showing stairs that ascended 
and descended at the same improbable time.  One print 
showed stairs and arches turning back on themselves.  
Not one world, but many intersecting and interacting. 
Each had a different orientation.  They were disparate 
realms existing in the same plane. After her discussion 
with Stilgoe, Scully could see why Doerstling had chosen 
these prints. And suddenly she was assailed by the 
memory of Albert Hosteen standing in her apartment 
saying, "There are more worlds than the one you can 
hold in your hand." 

***************************************************
Is everything determined?  The answer is yes, it is.
But it might as well not be, because we can never 
know what is determined.
                    Stephen Hawking
                    "Black Holes and Baby Universes"
***************************************************


                    CHAPTER TWO
 
Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
10:12 am
  
Dr. Dana Waterston stared at the C.T. scan on her
computer in a state of shock. What was in front of 
her was impossible.  It made no sense.  It was beyond 
belief. It had been beyond belief from the moment the 
paramedics had rolled a stranger into the E.R., and 
he had known her. 

Normally, Dana didn't work in the E.R. She had been a
last minute fill-in. It had been pure chance that she 
was on-call last night.  So how had he known her? 

Dana couldn't ask. The man had lapsed into a catatonic 
state, his single moment of lucidity spent gazing at 
her.  As a doctor Dana had looked into the eyes of a 
thousand patients and seen pain or need or gratitude, 
but when this man looked at her it was different. He 
saw her.  He saw into her.  It was as if he had reached 
through all of her defenses and touched something 
inside of her that she had forgotten existed.

"Dana?"

She turned and saw her husband Daniel at her office 
door.  

"You haven't slept," Daniel observed.  "You haven't 
left the hospital in days.  People are talking."

"I don't care what people say."

He clenched his jaw. "You should care." 

"Appearances don't matter, Daniel."

He gently touched her cheek.  "No, SHE doesn't matter."

Dana stepped back and massaged her neck with her left 
hand. "Is that what you said to Barbara about me?" 

"No.  Never.  I left her for you.  You know that."

Yes, Dana did know that, and looking back perhaps that 
was why she had stayed with Daniel for as long as she 
had. Dana wasn't particularly good at facing up to 
mistakes, and Daniel had been a mistake.  

As a third year med student Dana had been fascinated 
as she watched Daniel save a patient.  He had held 
the power of life and death in his hands and hadn't 
appeared overwhelmed by the consequences of his every 
word or action.  He had acted coolly and with great 
precision. Daniel was in control, and Dana had envied 
him.
 
When she had met him again as an intern, Dana had been 
surprised by his interest in her.  She had also been 
reluctant to become involved. It wasn't professional 
to have a personal relationship with the chief resident, 
and yet on some level the forbidden nature of the 
relationship had been its most potent lure. The night 
her first patient had died, Daniel had been there to 
pick up the pieces and offer temptation, and Dana had 
surrendered and crossed the line. When Daniel had 
announced that he was leaving his wife, Dana had been 
stunned.  And when that abandoned wife had committed 
suicide, mixed in with Dana's darkly confused emotions 
had been the single selfish thought, "Now I'm stuck." 

A woman's despair and death could not be over nothing, 
certainly not anything as petty as a man's ego or a 
younger woman's confusion. It had to be love or fate. 
Something--anything--of real importance. Surely for 
Dana to make this kind of mistake, to have caused this 
much havoc in this many people's lives Daniel had to 
be more than forbidden fruit.  She had to love 
him . . . didn't she? 

Looking back Dana could see that when she had decided 
on a course of action, or the penance or duty or 
whatever she had believed her choice to be, she had 
locked away some part of herself.  Her idealism and 
faith had been casualties of an indiscretion that 
had not only altered her life but her self perception.  

She became Mrs. Daniel Waterston wearing a beige linen 
suit in a courthouse wedding performed by a bored 
bureaucrat anxious to beat Friday afternoon traffic. 
That summer Daniel had accepted a position in the 
cardiology department of Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
where ultimately he was appointed chief.  They had left 
behind the city of his first wife's death and the laser 
like glares of his bitterly resentful college age 
daughter.  

"She doesn't need me," Daniel had once told Dana.  
"She doesn't want me."

Dana didn't believe it, but she didn't say that out 
loud, just as she didn't explain the way she resented 
having to pick up her own career and move simply 
because Daniel had accepted a position in Virginia.  
The move hadn't damaged her career as much as Dana 
had feared or as much as she secretly believed she 
deserved. Her path had simply changed, and she had 
earned a residency in the neurology department then 
specialized in neurobiology.

Earlier this week Dana had discovered Daniel having an 
affair with a young, rather brilliant intern. What had 
shocked Dana wasn't that Daniel was having an affair. 
Somewhere inside she admitted to herself that she had 
always expected that.  What had shocked her to the 
core--had horrified her in fact--was that she didn't 
care. It didn't touch her. She wasn't in denial. It 
simply didn't matter. If Dana was brutally honest she 
had to admit that when she discovered the truth her 
primary emotion had been relief. 

A nurse knocked politely on the door. "Doctor, 
someone is here about the John Doe."

Dana nodded. Daniel caught her arm. "We need to 
talk."

"Not now.  I have to see to a patient." Leaving 
her office Dana walked down the hall to the 
waiting room of the M.I.C.U.  

The nurse handed her the patient's chart. "They've 
identified him as Fox Mulder.  He's an agent with 
the FBI." 

Dana arched a surprised brow then thanked the nurse.  
She turned and entered the waiting room.  Two men 
faced her.  The younger man was bald with glasses 
and dressed as a bureaucrat but there was something 
about the set of his jaw and his muscular build that 
defied that simple description.  The other man was 
older with a lined, weathered face.  He didn't 
acknowledge her but stared out the window.  

She introduced herself to the younger man, "I'm Dr.  
Waterston."

He shook her hand.  "Skinner."  He didn't introduce 
the man who stood in the shadows.  "How is Agent 
Mulder?" 

She answered directly, "I'm afraid Mr. Mulder is 
gravely ill." 

"What's wrong with him? I asked the nurse but she 
didn't seem to know." 

Dana grimaced. "It's difficult to say exactly what 
is wrong with Mr. Mulder.  I know of no precedent 
for this case." 

The older man glanced at her as if she had suddenly 
caught his interest.  Her gaze met his levelly and 
didn't waver.  It felt like a contest of wills and 
Dana wasn't sure why she felt so determined not lose. 
Finally, the older man walked toward her. 

"What exactly is the nature of the problem that you 
have no precedent for?" he asked.

"I've run C.T. scans and high resolution EEGs to map 
the neuroelectrical outputs of his brain," Dana 
explained. "There is extreme hyperactivity localized 
in a specific area of his temporal lobe.  It's a 
peculiar area of the brain that we are just now 
beginning to map and understand.  Neurophysicists 
have begun calling it the 'god module.'" 

Something flickered in the older man's eyes and for 
a moment Dana thought she saw a look of satisfaction 
cross his face. 

She frowned.  "This hyperactivity won't allow his 
brain to rest. It disrupts R.E.M. sleep.  If he 
weren't catatonic he would be on the verge of a 
psychotic break."

"Mulder has gone insane?" Skinner looked aghast.

"No. But his brain can't sustain this level of 
activity. The more active this area becomes, the 
more the other functions of the brain are shutting 
down. To put it bluntly, Mr. Mulder is so alive that 
it's killing him."

Skinner grimaced.  "Can we see him?" 

"Visitation is limited to immediate family only."

"Mulder has no family."

Sadness pierced her. "I suppose there's no reason 
you can't see him.  However, he may not know you're 
there."

The older man's eyes never left her face, "Just show 
us the way, doctor." 

When they entered the room, Skinner looked surprised. 
"His eyes are open." 

"That's not unusual in some catatonic states," Dana
explained as she crossed the room.
                  
                   X     X     X

The world was dark but he was filled with blinding 
white pain. A deafening, roaring wave of sound 
enveloped him, drowning him. He couldn't even hear 
himself scream. . . and he was screaming. He was 
calling for help that never came. His only response 
was the shouts and whispers of a thousand indistinct, 
indistinguishable, and irrelevant voices.

However, beneath the uniform roar and separate from 
the melded screams were two distinct voices. They 
filtered into his mind and into his consciousness.  
In some ways they were a comfort.  He was not alone 
in this hell, this world of sound and despair.  He 
was adrift but not completely lost, because there 
were still those who could reach him.  Even here.  
Even now.

The first voice separated from the crowd hissed like 
a snake--low, dark, malevolent and in some horrifying 
way, omnipresent.  The second was softer.  Clear and 
calm. The eye of the hurricane.  He clung to her as 
the single safe harbor in a mental storm.  Within her 
he felt uncertainty but strength.  Confusion but clear 
direction. And overriding everything was compassion 
and concern.
  
Mulder fell into her like immersing himself in warm 
water, letting her wash away the dark night terrors 
and hold him in an unending embrace. Here was 
sanctuary.  Peace.

Somewhere in the distance Mulder thought he heard
Skinner ask, "What can you do for Mulder?"

The other voice--the softer voice--answered,
"I've arranged for a PET scan."

"PET?"

"Positron Emission Tomography.  It maps brain cell 
function."

"And this will help him?"

"No, but it may help us understand what's happening
to him."  Her voice receded as Mulder became aware of 
the Smoking Man now standing at his bedside. 

"I know you can hear me." The Smoking Man's 
thoughts echoed in Mulder's head. 

Mulder wanted to turn away from the old man's dark 
thoughts. He wanted to lose himself in the gentle 
female presence that whispered to him softly.  But 
there was no way to turn off the voices, and there 
was no way to turn away from the malevolence of this 
one.  

"We are reaching the crucial moment," CSM silently 
told him.  "We are close to the ultimate destination. 
Are you curious to know what it is? Ah, you moved.  
You are not as lost to us as the doctor believes."

Doctor?  What doctor? Mulder wondered.  

CSM came closer.  "Should I take this moment to 
explain all?  Like some villain in a 'B' movie, 
should I explain why you are doomed to this fate and 
what the ultimate goal truly is? That would be a kind 
thing to do would it not?  That would be compassion. 
If you are to be a martyr to a cause, you should at 
least know why."  

Mulder was cold now.  He had been pulled from his 
sanctuary into brutal, frigid isolation. He was 
alone.  Bereft.  

"I am not kind," the voice hissed then went away.

Mercifully the softer presence returned.  She was
bothered by the Smoking Man's silence, because 
although Mulder had heard the bastard's every word, 
not one of them had been said aloud.  Now frustration
bubbled inside her because she thought something was 
happening that she didn't understand. She hated that.  
Intellectual curiosity was a passion for her. Mulder 
could feel it push her, prod her, urging her into 
action even as another part of herself fought to 
keep it within acceptable boundaries.

Mulder didn't know why this woman's thoughts and 
feelings were so clear to him. He couldn't explain the 
link they shared that made her stand in stark relief
to chaos inside him.  But now he knew that he was 
wrong to consider her a peaceful sanctuary.  As Mulder
touched her mind he saw that beneath her calm fa=E7ade 
was a raging sea of emotion. She simply kept it under 
control by sheer force of will.

She started to move. In a few moments she would leave, 
and he would alone in the abyss of  his own private
hell. "Don't go," Mulder thought with such intensity that 
he almost believed he had said it out loud. He saw her
eyes widen and her lips part with a surprised gasp.  

"Stay," he silently called through the cacophony of 
voices echoing in his head.

She gripped his hand with surprising strength and gave 
a small, almost embarrassed laugh.  "I can't leave this 
room," she murmured to herself.  "I've left my husband 
of nearly ten years without a backward glance, but I 
can't leave this room.  Why is that?"

Mulder was shocked. Had she heard him? Could he reach
her the same way that she reached him?

"Rest," she said softly. "I'll stay. For some reason I 
need to." 

And surrounded by her warmth and compassion he could 
rest.  His demons withdrew to a bearable distance, and 
in that moment he loved her.  More than life, more than 
breath, more than sanity--he loved her. 


**************************************************
"The universe seems. . .to have been determined
and ordered in accordance with number, by the
forethought and the mind of the creator of all
things; for the pattern was fixed, like a 
preliminary sketch, by the domination of number 
preexistent in the mind of the world-creating God.
                  Nicomachus of Gerasa
                  Arithmetic 1, 6 (ca A.D. 100)
***************************************************

                  CHAPTER THREE

Ithaca, New York
8:13pm

Scully pushed open the door to the pub. The hardwood 
floors shook with the low thrum of the music playing 
beneath the happy chatter of students. A male student 
signaled the bartender for another beer, and a young 
woman approached the stage to flirt with the band's 
lead guitarist.

Scully frowned and became acutely aware of her isolation. 
She was an island of stillness in the midst of motion.
She didn't belong here.  This wasn't her world, and 
no one here shared hers. 

She rubbed her neck and wished she could return to her 
motel room.  She felt exhausted after spending the day 
with the local police searching Cascadilla Gorge. Despite
the fact that she had never had much hope of finding 
Doerstling's remains, Scully had agreed to the search
because it was logical to investigate areas where a body 
might be dumped.  Scully sighed and reminded herself to
be grateful she had spent the day hiking instead of 
plumbing the frigid depths of Cayuga Lake.  

At sunset she had returned to her car to find a message 
blinking on her cell phone.  After reviewing it Scully 
dumped her blue FBI windbreaker in the back seat and 
walked to the pub.

"Hey, Agent Scully!" Mike Stilgoe called from across the 
room.  "Out here!" 

She made her way through the crowd and out to a patio 
that overlooked the waterfall cascades of Beebe Lake. It 
was an attractive view at twilight.  

"I said I'd track Lauren down," he told her as he led 
Scully to a table at the far corner of the patio where a 
young, thin blonde sat.  "Lauren," he introduced, "this 
is Agent Scully."

Strands escaped the clip Lauren Rice used to pull her 
hair away from her narrow face.  There was an unhappy 
cast to her features as she stared into a glass of white 
wine.

"Ms. Rice," Scully began as she took a seat opposite the 
younger woman. "I'm glad you agreed to speak with me." 

Lauren shrugged.  "No reason not to, but I have to tell 
you I don't think I'll be much help."

"Agent Scully," Mike interrupted.  "Would you like a 
drink?  I'm heading to the bar."

"Water would be nice."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

He arched a brow but said good naturedly, "Okay.  I'll 
be back in a minute."

Scully watched Lauren nervously tug her hair behind 
her ear, then fidget silently.  Scully asked, "Ms. Rice, 
can you give me any idea of Dr. Doerstling's state of 
mind before he disappeared? I understand from Mr. 
Stilgoe that some promising data had been collected that 
day."

Lauren rubbed her finger around the rim of her glass.  
"He usually didn't pay attention to test data. He was 
more interested in theory than research."

"He didn't care if his work was proven?"

"Most of his stuff can't be proven," Lauren explained.  
"There can be circumstantial evidence, but there's no 
way to see or test most of his theories.  It's beyond 
our technology."

"That must be frustrating."  Scully knew it was 
maddening to be a scientist and have the answers you 
sought always beyond your reach.  "You said that Dr. 
Doerstling usually didn't pay attention to test data, 
was that day different?"

Lauren lifted troubled gray eyes. "I think he's dead." 

"Why?" 

Lauren shrugged.  "He was an unhappy man. In the 
department you run across people who can't imagine 
life outside of physics. That wasn't Doerstling.  
The first time I met him, he showed me clippings 
about the people who tried to climb Everest.  You 
know, the ones who got trapped in the blizzard. He 
wanted to do that sort of thing.  Push the limits.  
Live on the edge.  He didn't want to be trapped 
in a chair."

Scully nodded thoughtfully. "Was he depressed?" 

"I'm not a doctor or anything," Lauren told her.  
"But I kind of think he was bi-polar.  He could be 
really up sometimes.  He would go for days working 
on some equation that no one else could possibly 
understand, and he would be so wrapped up in it 
that it was like the rest of the world didn't 
matter.  Then there were the down times. Those 
could get bad.  Really bad."

"Was he suicidal?"

Lauren bit her lip then nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes 
he was suicidal."

"Is there a way that Dr. Doerstling could have 
left his office without your knowing?"

"I've thought about that," she answered.  "Truth 
is, I'm not sure.  I guess so.  I mean, his chair 
was electric and he had ways of controlling it.  
There were these sensor things--" She stopped and 
waved her hand in the air as if saying that there 
was no point in going into detail.  "He couldn't 
go far though.  Not without help."

"Do you think he had help?"

"I can't imagine who."

Scully leaned forward.  "Is there anyone who would 
want to hurt the doctor?"

Lauren looked shocked.  "No!"

"Okay," Scully said softly, then more deliberately,  
"Is there anyone who might have helped him--"

Lauren stopped her.  "If you're thinking some Kavorkian 
euthanasia thing, no way.  I mean the doctor might be 
depressed from time to time, but he was amazing.  He 
wasn't just brilliant.  He was a genius--a bona fide, 
make your head spin genius.  No way would anyone help 
him cut his career short.  He can't be replaced."

Lauren climbed to her feet.  "Look, like I said, I 
don't think I can help you.  I don't know anything.  
One minute he was there and the next he was gone. I 
can't...I don't...I...I'm sorry."  She left Scully 
sitting alone at the table.

Scully turned and looked at the water rushing down the 
cascades. One minute he was there, and the next he was 
gone.  It was that simple and that devastating. She 
shivered and suddenly felt cold.

"Lauren take off?" Stilgoe asked as he handed Scully 
her water.

"She told me what she could."

Stilgoe turned in the direction of the door as if it
was still possible to watch Lauren Rice's exit. "She's 
taking this hard. She puts on this act like she's 
okay--like she's got everything under control--but 
it's just an act."

Scully's gaze fell to the floor.  He could just 
as easily be describing her.  Then again, she and 
Lauren Rice lived in a similar limbo.  They weren't 
allowed the luxury of grief.

Scully flinched.  It felt alien to think of grief as a 
luxury, especially when she remembered the pain of 
losing her father and her sister. Grief was a soul deep
ache, but in some ways it was easier than unexplained
loss.

Death had finality.  Scully didn't wonder if her
father or Melissa was in pain.  She didn't wake up
in the dead of night afraid that they needed her. They
were gone, and she could grieve.  She could allow 
memories to comfort her.  But memories were things of 
the past. Uncertainty was always in the present, and 
Scully didn't know what had happened to Mulder.  She 
didn't know what might be happening to him now.  

Melissa and her father didn't need her, but what if 
Mulder did?  What if every moment she wasn't searching 
for him, she was failing him? It was that thought that 
drove Scully through sleepless nights.  It wouldn't 
allow her rest.  Every tick of the clock might be 
the moment that changed the course of her life 
because it might decide whether Mulder lived at all.

Scully rested her hand on the patio's handrail and 
watched water crash against the rocks below.  Inside
the bar the band sang, "Out of sorrow entire worlds 
have been built.  Out of longing great wonders have 
been willed." 

If only longing could produce miracles.  If it could, 
she wouldn't be sitting here alone.  

Vaguely, Scully noticed Mike Stilgoe watching her and 
had to admit to herself that technically she wasn't 
alone.  It only felt that way.

Aware that the silence had grown awkward, Scully said 
briskly, "Yesterday you mentioned Doerstling's research.  
I did a little reading on his theory of multiple 
universes."

"Oh yeah."  Stilgoe nodded.  "Doerstling may not have 
been the first to come up with the idea, but his take on 
it was certainly unique."

"You mean his theory that if the circumstances for one 
'big bang' occurred then it's likely to have happened 
more than once?"

"Yeah.  Really, why couldn't it? Why couldn't it happen 
a lot?"

Scully mused,  "Didn't Andre Linde write a paper on 
multiple inflationary expansions?"

"That was sort of Doerstling's jumping off point," 
Stilgoe explained. "If Linde was right, there could 
be a whole maze of universes tied together."

"That still doesn't explain why Doerstling would 
believe those universes would be nearly identical."

"I can't explain it very well.  I don't know that anyone 
but Doerstling really could, but it has something to do 
with the fact that universes may be tied together... 
related.  The 'big bang' came from the inflationary 
expansion of a singularity.  That singularity could be 
anything from a black hole to a quark. What if the quark 
that sparked a bang came from our universe?  The next 
universe would share the properties of this one.  Or to 
be even weirder, what if we're the second universe?  
What if we're the millionth universe?  What if there are 
billions of them linked together like chain mail?" 

Stilgoe crossed his arms and leaned forward against the 
table.  "He had this theory that if one universe sprang 
from another for generation after generation, then maybe 
it's not just humans who evolve but the entire cosmos. 
That would mean that somewhere out there could be a 
universe or even many universes so tied to ours that 
they're almost identical."

                    X     X     X

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
10:18 pm

Dr. Dana Waterston stood at the nurses' station of the 
M.I.C.U. looking at a stack of phone messages left by 
her husband.  She really had no desire to answer them.  
Then out of the corner of her eye she saw movement.  
"Hey," she called. "What are you doing?"

The man hit the pad on the wall that opened the 
automated egress doors.

"Stop," Dana ordered as she hurried down the hall. "Who 
are you?  What were you doing in that room?"

The man never looked back but walked steadily away from 
her.  She had the urge to run after him but he had 
already reached the emergency stair.  Dana glanced toward 
the nurses' station. "Call security," she demanded. But 
when she reached the stairwell, Dana knew that it was 
too late. The man had disappeared. "Damn," she muttered 
under her breath.

She asked the nurse, "Who let that man in here?  The 
I.C.U. has restricted access."

"No one," the nurse answered.  "Honest."

Dana frowned.  It was entirely likely the nurse was 
belatedly covering up a mistake, but it was also 
possible the mystery man had entered the I.C.U. 
through the back emergency stair.  The stair was a 
security nightmare, but it couldn't be removed.  Dana 
knew that because the facility's administrator had 
once introduced her to the hospital's architect. The
architect had explained that several years ago a hospital 
expansion had taken out a stairwell at the other end of 
the corridor.  Because that stairwell had been removed, 
fire codes demanded that this one stay even though it
violated the spirit of the I.C.U.'s restricted access
policy.

When Dana entered Fox Mulder's room, she glanced at the 
EEG monitor and gasped.  She reached for Mulder's 
hand and took his pulse as she studied the EEG. It 
had changed. The hyperactivity remained, but somehow 
he had entered R.E.M. sleep.  He dreamed.

                    X     X     X

Mulder had seen the boy before.  He had dreamed 
this dream before. . .at least Mulder thought it 
was a dream. It had to be a dream. This couldn't be 
real. . .could it?

The boy played in the sand on the beach. Once the 
child had approached Mulder and said, "The child is 
the father of the man."  Mulder had thought the 
statement to be about as profound as your average 
fortune cookie, but if that was true, why did it 
continue to haunt him?  He kept thinking that if 
he understood it, he would understand all things.

Of course it wasn't that easy.  Nothing was ever 
that easy.  How could he discover some deeply 
hidden message in a child's words when he couldn't 
discover whether this place, this beach, was even 
real?  This was probably nothing more than a drug 
induced dream.

The child was angry with him.  The boy looked at 
Mulder with an expression of disappointment and 
disgust.  "You were supposed to help me," he said 
petulantly, then threw a handful of sand at Mulder 
and ran away.

That was when Mulder sensed her.  She wasn't far 
away--ten maybe twenty yards down the beach--and yet 
she felt impossibly distant.  She felt beyond his 
reach.  But she was there, and he knew her.  He 
could almost call her by name. . .except he couldn't.  
It was the sensation of knowing something, but feeling 
it slip beyond your grasp.  Her name was on the tip of 
his tongue and yet for the life of him, he could not 
produce it.

She didn't look at him.  She simply stared at the 
out at the horizon.  She was searching.  He knew it.  
He could sense it.  She was searching for something or 
someone out there.  He called to her but somehow his 
words were drowned by the sound of the surf. He started 
forward.  He had to reach her. He had to go to her side.  
He had to take her hand so that they could turn to 
search the horizon together.  He had to.


****************************************************
        "We shall not all sleep, 
           but we shall all be changed."
                             I Corinthians 15:51
****************************************************
                       
                    CHAPTER FOUR

Grayhaven Inn
Ithaca, New York
11:15pm

Scully was exhausted when she entered her motel room.  
Her back hurt.  Her feet hurt. And, if asked to state
her general condition, Scully would have to say 
miserable. To top  everything off, she didn't have a 
clue how Doerstling had disappeared.  

Scully thought about simply collapsing in bed and going 
to sleep but, as tired as she was, she couldn't 
contemplate sleep without first finding her toothbrush.

The phone rang. 

"Scully," she answered out of habit.

"Agent Scully, this is Mike Stilgoe. I...uh...I'm 
sorry to be calling you this late, but after you left 
the pub I came back to Clark Hall."

"Has something happened?"

"No.  Nothing's happened.  Actually, this place is 
pretty dead, but I was reviewing last Tuesday's CLEO 
data and ran across something I thought you might like 
to know."  She could hear him shuffling papers in the 
background.  "There was an unscheduled test the night 
of Doerstling's disappearance."

"What time?"

"Oh, um..." Again Scully heard him shuffling papers.  
"Looks like sometime just before nine."

"Do you know who ran the test?"

"No.  There's no official record.  I only noticed that 
there were results that didn't fit with the rest of 
the data.  It wasn't on my earlier readout so I did 
some cross checking.  This was something different."

"Any idea what?"

"No.  But I can check first thing in the morning if you 
want."

She glanced at the red digital readout on the clock.  
"Would eight be too early?"

"Usually," he admitted. "But with Blackwood scheduling a 
test first thing tomorrow that shouldn't be a problem."

Scully thanked him for calling then reached for the 
remote control to turn on the TV.  As she stood Scully 
noticed the flickering images on screen. Some cable 
channel was replaying the movie "Gattaca."  Not a bad 
movie, she thought as she fished her toothbrush out of 
her suitcase. Glancing up Scully saw Ethan Hawke 
challenge his on-screen brother to a swimming 
endurance contest.  Men, she thought as she rolled 
her eyes.  How did a suicidal race prove manhood?

In the bathroom Scully washed away any traces of 
make-up left after a day of trampling through the 
woods.  When she entered the bedroom patting her 
face dry, she noticed that the movie had reached 
its climax.  Ethan Hawke's character had finally 
achieved his life's ambition of boarding a rocket 
bound for the moon Titan. 

Scully's brow creased as she considered the story.  
She remembered once telling Mulder that she believed 
in fate.  Actually what she had said was that a 
person's character determined their fate.  However, 
in Gattaca a person was not judged by their character 
but by their genetic potential.  

Hawke played the hero, a man who exceeded expectations 
and proved that a man's soul was more than the sum of 
his parts. On the other hand Jude Law played a man of 
unlimited potential.  Nothing was deemed beyond his 
grasp. Law could do or become anything. However, without 
boundaries he was doomed to failure.  No one could be 
everything, and faced with that knowledge, Law's 
character had self-destructed.  When an accident 
robbed him of the use of his legs he saw no purpose 
in living, and as Hawke triumphantly blasted into 
space, Law climbed into an incinerator and committed 
suicide.

Scully gasped.  

She dropped her towel and blinked.  She thought about 
her line of reasoning, about the parallels between Law's 
character and Dr. Doerstling.  It seemed like such a 
Mulder-like quantum leap of logic, but somehow the
theory forming in her head just felt. . .right.

Grabbing her wind breaker, Scully headed to the door 
then down the steps to her rental car.  She had to 
look at CLEO.  Stilgoe had said there was a test 
scheduled for first thing in the morning, and another
test could destroy any evidence that might be inside
the CESR. She had to look at it tonight. 

Traffic was light as Scully drove to the Alumni Field 
which  was now deserted and pitch dark.  There were 
lights in the distance but not enough to penetrate 
the inky blackness here. After finding her flashlight, 
Scully stepped out of the car then flipped the switch 
so that a single beam of white light cut the darkness. 

The flashlight showed her the path to the door of the 
Electron Storage Ring.  Too late Scully realized that 
she should have called Stilgoe so that he could let 
her into the facility.  It was probably locked. But 
when she tried the door Scully was surprised to find 
that it was open. 

Feeling clumsily along the wall she searched for the 
light switch but one wasn't there.  Finally pointing
her flashlight's narrow beam into the darkness, Scully
cautiously made her way down the stairs.  When she 
reached the bottom Scully thought about going to the 
control room, but having seen it the other day she 
decided there was little evidence to be found there.  
Instead she turned to enter the curving, bunkerlike 
corridor of the CESR itself.  

The ceiling was low and curved like the walls of a 
tunnel.  There were surface mounted lights running 
along a track overhead but she had no idea where the 
switch for those lights might be.  Next to the lights 
ran a bundled black cable, and along the wall was a 
bulky contraption made of metal.  This structure didn't 
reflect the elegant aesthetics of sci-fi movies but the 
clumsy, inexact mechanics of experimental research.  

As her flashlight moved along the wall highlighting 
a red painted horizontal track with heavy blue supports, 
Scully noticed that fire extinguishers were located 
every few yards.  To her right stood another awkward 
structure, but she couldn't make out what it was and 
had no idea what it did.

Then she heard something.

Scully stopped and strained to listen for any movement 
or sound, but the silence was oppressive.  Flashing a 
beam of light behind her she searched the darkness, but 
the curvature of the tunnel made it impossible to see 
more than a few yards.  Scully switched off her 
flashlight and waited...but no sound.  Nothing. Seconds 
ticked by before Scully decided she must have imagined 
it and turned on her flashlight.

She walked down the hallway.  The sound of her 
footsteps echoed around her.  To her right Scully 
noticed a stencil on the wall announcing, 
"Synchronotron" then further down the line she found 
the words, "West Transfer."  Apart from the stencils, 
her surroundings remained unchanged.  The red painted 
structure still stood to her left as a bulky mechanical 
device ran down the wall on her right.  She stopped 
when she found a large, stainless steel structure 
labeled "CHESS West."  

Again Scully heard something.  Movement. Her light 
arced in the darkness as she turned only to find 
nothing changed.  She heard it again.  Her wobbly 
light darted from side to side.  Now the sound was 
constant . . . and it was close.  It was a small, 
desperate, scratching sound.

Without warning the overhead lights blinded Scully 
as they flooded the tunnel.  She squinted against 
the glare but just as suddenly as they had come on, 
they were gone.  Then a strobe light flashed causing 
an eerie, disconnected effect that made her flashlight 
useless.  A deafening horn blasted and echoed down the 
concrete tunnel.  Scully could no longer hear the 
scratching, but she didn't think it had stopped.

She pushed beyond the CHESS West and came to CLEO. 
When Scully placed her hand on it she could feel 
vibration.  The scratching came from inside CLEO.  

Laying her flashlight on the floor Scully felt for the 
latch.  There was no longer a scratching sound.  Now she 
heard moaning. Someone was trapped inside.  

Sirens blared.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.  Then a low 
hum began to rise as if some huge electrical device was 
charging. Scully felt the hairs on her arm stand on end. 
That couldn't be a good sign. She found CLEO's latch 
next to an orange fluorescent "Danger" sign.  Ignoring 
the warning, she turned the lever.

Somewhere there was a loud click and the electrical hum 
changed to an ear splitting whine. 

She pulled the lever.  The iron door was heavy.  It 
almost didn't move.  Using all of her weight Scully 
pulled harder. Slowly the hatch opened and she 
reached blindly into the darkness. She felt flesh. 

Pulling back Scully retrieved her flashlight and shone 
it into the drift chamber just as the sirens stopped.  
The strobe light stopped. It was still and dark and 
quiet.  

Scully's breathing quickened.  Instinctual fear raced 
down her spine but she ignored it to look inside the 
chamber. 

Terrified brown eyes stared back at her.

"Dr. Doerstling!"   

"Pull me out," he demanded.  "Now!"

A loud, ominous sound echoed down the corridor and the 
high pitched whine returned.  Only now it became 
steadily louder until it reached an excruciating pitch.  
Sound vibrated through her.  

"We're going to die," Doerstling announced.

"We aren't going to die," Scully countered as she 
strained to pull him from the chamber.

"The hell we aren't. Can't you hear it?"

"I can hear it."

"We're going to die!"

"No."  Using her body as leverage Scully pulled harder. 
She was determined dislodge him.

Then she saw it.  At first it was a vague, bluish-purple 
light, but it grew steadily brighter as it moved 
ceaselessly forward.  It became a menacing glare that
blinded her.  

Scully flinched and closed her eyes, but the white hot 
light pierced her eyelids and seared her brain. Sound 
and light exploded around her as her skin sizzled in 
effervescent agony.  

He's right, Scully thought numbly. We're going to die. 

Light rushed through her. 

It was mind blowing. Mind altering. Unimaginable.  

Pain and power rolled together in a devastating, 
omnipresent wave that crushed her. . .and became her. 

Scully clutched her abdomen and a single thought 
pierced her confusion.  "My baby."

Then energy exploded out of her, taking her breath and 
strength with it. Scully fell to the floor. It was 
everywhere. It was everything...and she was nothing.  

Darkness fell.

                  X     X     X

Something happened.  Something shifted.  Mulder felt it.  
He couldn't explain it, but he knew it. 

The woman on the beach turned and saw him, and he was 
captured by a pair of shadowed blue eyes.

"Mulder." It was just his name, but somehow she infused 
it with meaning.  

She knew him.  She had called to him, and suddenly Mulder 
found an answer.  "Scully."  He knew her name as well 
as he knew his own.

Scully blinked.  "What is this place?"

"I was hoping that you would know."

"A dream?"

Mulder shook his head.  "No.  If I was dreaming there 
would be more hot babes in bikinis--not that you aren't 
a hot babe, but you aren't exactly wearing a thong...are 
you?  Scully, does the G-woman own a G-string?"

Scully arched a brow and gave him a supremely feminine 
stare that said she had heard every word he had said, 
but was doing him a favor by ignoring it.

"So much for that theory," he drawled.

A thought or emotion darkened her eyes, and Scully 
turned away from him to stand at the water's edge.  
The silence bothered Mulder, and he approached her.  
He touched her shoulder.

"Mulder, this has to be MY dream," Scully said softly.

But that couldn't be true.  He had been here before 
her. Mulder asked, "Why do you believe it's your dream?
Is it impossible that this is real?"

"Yes.  It's impossible for many reasons, none of 
them good."  Unshed tears filled her eyes.

Mulder drew her to him, enveloping her in his 
embrace. Scully felt so small that he was surprised 
by the strength of her arms as they wrapped around him.

"It's okay, Scully."  Mulder had no idea where those  
words came from and was not at all sure he believed
them, but still he reassured, "Everything will be 
okay."

A single tear dampened her lashes, but Scully gave a
small, enigmatic smile.  It transformed her face,
and Mulder couldn't breathe.  He touched her.  He 
had to.  It was a compulsion he couldn't resist
as his fingertips gently grazed her temple then
followed the curve of her cheek.  Scully's lips 
trembled as his thumb traced the curve of her mouth.

She framed his face between her hands and rose to 
kiss him even as Mulder lowered his mouth toward hers.  
Five inches separated them, then three, then only
two. She was a breath away. . .and then she 
was gone.  As quickly as Scully had appeared, she 
was gone.

"Scully!" he called but his voice was drowned by the 
sound of the ocean.

                   X     X     X

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
6:50am

Scully gasped, dragging air into her oxygen deprived 
lungs. She reeled with confusion and blinked at the 
brightness of the room.

"Doctor, are you alright?"

Scully turned and looked at the nurse then glanced over 
her shoulder to find the doctor the nurse spoke to. 

Then she saw... "Mulder?"

In disbelief Scully approached him. Shock and confusion 
ricocheted through her.  How was this possible?  What 
was going on? But every question was second to the fact 
that Mulder was here.  He was alive.  

Scully laid her hand across his brow.  A hidden ache 
eased inside her as she felt the moist heat of his 
skin, the scrape of his stubble against her palm, 
and witnessed the even rise and fall of his breathing.  

An astonished smile curved her mouth. 

"You're back," Scully said in a low, choked voice and 
combed her fingers through his crisp hair.  "You 
came back."

"Dana?"

Scully looked to the doorway in disbelief. "Daniel? 
What are you doing here?"

Daniel crossed his arms and looked impatient.  "Since 
you haven't answered any of about two dozen messages 
and haven't left the M.I.C.U. in two days, I decided 
it was time for the mountain to come to Muhammad."

Messages?  M.I.C.U.?  What sort of bizarre dream or 
delusion was this?  The last thing Scully remembered 
was being caught in an electron accelerator with Dr. 
Steven Doerstling. Scully frowned.  No, that wasn't 
true.  She remembered something else.  She remembered 
standing on a beach with Mulder.  He had called her 
name and touched her. For one timeless moment they 
had stood together, and Mulder had reassured her 
that everything would be okay.

Now Scully looked at Mulder's pale, tortured features 
and wondered what was real and what wasn't. Which 
memory was true and which was only a dream born of 
too many sleepless nights and too much desperation?  

"I don't understand," Scully murmured.

Daniel's face set in angry lines.  "What's there to 
understand?  I'm your husband and I want to talk to 
you."

Her jaw fell.  "Husband?"

"Don't tell me you've already filed for divorce.  You 
haven't left the hospital since you walked out."

"Walked out?  What are you talking about?  I walked out 
ten years ago."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean--"

Daniel interrupted. "Dana, please, give me a chance." 
His voice became soft and cajoling.  "Have you filed 
for a divorce?"

"No!"  Scully looked around her in confusion. 
"No...I...why would I file for a divorce?"

"Dr. Waterston," the nurse said.

Scully waited for Daniel to answer her.

The nurse tugged at Scully's sleeve and repeated, "Dr. 
Waterston."

With a sudden sense of understanding Scully looked down 
at her hands and saw a gold wedding ring: SHE was the 
Dr. Waterston that the nurse addressed.

The nurse finished, "There's someone wanting to speak 
with you about Mr. Mulder." 

Scully heard the nurse but couldn't move.  Her mind 
was spinning.  What the hell was going on?

******************************************************
"We hover between awareness of being and loss of being.
And the entire reality of memory becomes spectral."
                                Gaston Bachelard             
                                "The Poetics of Space"
******************************************************



                   CHAPTER FIVE

Cayuga Medical Center
Ithaca, New York
7:12am

The world felt fuzzy and vague.  She knew it was there, 
but she couldn't hold onto it.  It kept slipping 
through her fingers. . .her aching fingers. 

Dana Waterston hurt all over.

"Doctor, I think she's coming around," she heard someone
announce.

Dana tried to push herself to a sitting position.  She 
was the doctor, and there was a patient who needed her
if only she could make her muscles work.  

"No," a kind voice said. "You just lay back.  You've 
been through quite enough, young woman." 

She managed to lift one eyelid to see a gray haired 
man leaning over her. "What. . .?" Dana croaked.

"From what I know, you walked into a rather unusual
situation.  Heroics are all well and good, but if 
you aren't careful, you might get yourself killed."

"Heroics?" 

"Here," the doctor offered.  "Take a drink of water. 
That should help."

Cool liquid slid down Dana's throat, and she was 
finally capable of opening both of her eyes. "What 
happened?" she asked.

"You don't remember throwing yourself into an 
electron accelerator to rescue Steven Doerstling?"

Dana blinked.  Rescue THE Steven Doerstling? Someone 
on the staff had to be making some sort of sick joke.

"No really, what happened?" Dana asked.

The doctor frowned.  "What day is it?"

"Monday."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"What's your name?"

"Dana Scully Water--"

He refilled her glass.  "You sound lucid," he announced 
and made a note in her chart. "Don't worry about 
forgetting the accident.  It's  relatively common to 
lose the memory of a traumatic event leading to a 
blackout. Then again after looking at your 
rather...shall we say 'eventful' medical history, I 
assume you know that."

He returned to her bedside. "I want to reassure you 
that all indications are that your baby is fine."

Dana choked on her water. "What?"

"When your medical charts were forwarded to us, I
noticed the tests you had run in Washington. I assumed 
this was a high risk pregnancy.  I ran an ultrasound, 
and, as I said, all indications are that the fetus is
fine."

She was pregnant.  Now how in the hell had that 
happened? Daniel had had a vasectomy before he had even 
met her.  He said that he didn't want more children, 
and, after witnessing the father he had been, Dana 
had decided his decision was a good one. She never 
wanted Daniel's child.  

So how was she pregnant?  For that matter how had she 
climbed into an electron accelerator?  This was nuts. 
Out of this world nuts.

Then Dana remembered the doctor saying her medical 
records had been forwarded from Washington.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Cayuga Medical Center.  We're in Ithaca."

New York.  Dana felt hysteria rise inside her. This 
had to be a dream or nightmare or. . .something. It 
had to be anything but what it appeared to be. Short 
of starring in an episode of Star Trek, no one 
disappeared from one location to miraculously appear 
in another. It defied the laws of physics. 

A young man stuck his head through the door opening, 
"Agent Scully, you awake?"

Dana frowned.  He looked to be somewhere around the 
age of twenty-four, two days overdue for a shave and 
in desperate need of a comb.  He was also a complete 
stranger.

"When I called you with the b quark data I didn't 
think that you'd run out in the middle of the night 
to check out CLEO."  Then he grinned.  "Good thing 
you did though. Gotta hand it to the FBI.  You pulled 
it off. I never thought to see Dr. Doerstling alive 
again.  Do you get a medal or something for pulling 
that off?"

He could as easily have been speaking Greek. Dana had
absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

"Hey, doc," the kid called just before her doctor left 
the room. "Can she go down the hall to see Doerstling?"

The doctor frowned a moment then looked at her, "You 
think you're up to it?"

Dana tested her limbs, and they felt sound. "What 
were my injuries?" she asked.

"Almost none.  Like I said, you're a lucky woman, 
Agent Scully.  You seem to have come through 
without a scratch."

Agent? She reviewed the last few minutes and 
remembered the younger man mentioning the FBI. Was 
this some bizarre dream brought on by several nights 
without sleep and at least one night sitting vigil 
over FBI Agent Fox Mulder?

The young man handed her a white terry robe. "It was 
in the bathroom," he told her.

While slipping it on, Dana tried to find her center 
of gravity as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"You okay?" the kid asked.

Dana took a deep breath.  "I'm fine."

He grinned.  "Well then, let's go see Doc Doerstling."

She moved slowly down the hall because her muscles 
still ached, but the young stranger assured her they 
weren't going far.

"Here we are," he announced as he pushed open the 
wide patient room door.

There was an older man with salt and pepper hair and
intelligent brown eyes sitting on a bed with a young 
blonde woman attending his every need.  "I'm okay, 
Lauren," he reassured.  Then he raised his head, 
and Dana thought he saw her. 

"Ah," he said, "the conquering hero."

Dana swallowed her confusion and stepped tentatively 
into the room.

The man's eyes narrowed.  "Why do I have the feeling 
I have the pleasure of greeting Alice just after she 
fell down the rabbit hole?"

                      X     X     X

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
7:12am

"Sir," Scully said with vast relief as she pushed 
open the door to the M.I.C.U. waiting room to find
Assistant Director Walter Skinner standing there.  
"I'm glad you're here."

Skinner looked surprised then gratified by 
her statement. "I'm sorry I couldn't arrive sooner, 
doctor."

Doctor? 

Skinner continued, "Since you called saying there was 
an intruder in Agent Mulder's room, I've arranged for 
a guard."

Scully eyes narrowed.  "Mulder is in danger?  From 
whom?"

Skinner's gaze darted away from her, and he adjusted his 
glasses. "I'm not sure."  He paused, then took a breath.  
"Dr. Waterston, has there been any change in Mulder's 
condition?"

Scully ducked her head.  How was she supposed to answer 
that? She heard someone push open the waiting room door 
and looked to see who it was.  Then her spine stiffened, 
and her chin rose defiantly.  So the old bastard wasn't 
dead.  Why wasn't she surprised?

"Yes, doctor," the Smoking Man said in a quiet rumble. 
"Has Mulder's condition improved?"  He casually reached 
into his pocket, removed a cigarette, and started to 
light it.

Scully snatched it out of his hand.  "There's no smoking 
in the hospital."

She thought she saw amusement in the old man's rheumy 
eyes. "Yes, doctor."

Scully glared at Skinner, but he only looked away.  
She frowned. What was going on?  Skinner was acting
strangely. He was compromised. Scully knew that.  He 
had confessed it, but she still trusted him.  Skinner 
had saved hers and Mulder's butts too many times for 
her not to trust him.  But since he was compromised 
Scully had also learned not to depend on him.

She examined the Smoking Man. He wasn't dead, and that 
was the only revelation of the last few minutes that 
didn't shock her. In fact, the only thing about him 
that surprised her was the state of his health.  The 
last time she had seen him he had been pasty skinned 
and had announced that he was dying.  Later both 
Krycek and Marita Covarrubias described him as being 
wheelchair bound and having a trache. . .and that 
had been before he was murdered.  All in all he 
looked miraculously healthy.

Putting on her best poker face, Scully decided to 
bluff her way out of this situation.  "I'm not 
prepared to make any diagnosis at the moment."  
She looked at Skinner. "Am I to expect a guard 
in the M.I.C.U.?"

Skinner nodded.

When Scully moved to exit, CSM stopped her with 
a brush of his hand.  "Will you have a prognosis 
later today?" 

Her eyes glinted with rebellion.  "I don't know. 
Ask me later today."  

Once she left the room Scully took a deep breath.  
The world had gone insane.  Everything was upside 
down and inside out.  It was as if she had fallen 
into one of those parallel universes that Steven 
Doerstling had theorized.

Scully stopped walking and began shaking her head.  
No, that was impossible. Things like that didn't 
happen.  It was the kind of stuff Mulder liked to 
talk about but. . .

Mulder.

With renewed purpose Scully walked down the hall.  
At the nurses' station she demanded Mulder's 
medical chart before returning to his room.

Daniel stood waiting for her.  "I read the chart," 
hesaid.  "It's a fascinating case, but you're 
spending too much time on it.  You're making it 
personal."

"It is personal."

She saw a muscle jump in Daniel's jaw.  Over the 
years Scully had forgotten that quirk.  Then 
again she had forgotten many things about Daniel.

"What is this man to you?" he asked.

She refused to answer.  "Why are you still here?" 

"I wanted to speak with my wife."

"She isn't here."

Daniel crossed the room.  "Dana, I know you're 
angry."

"That's where you're wrong.  I'm not angry. I 
have no reason to be angry, it's just that my 
life has nothing to do with yours."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it happens to be true." She wanted him to 
go away.  Scully didn't know why Daniel thought she 
was his wife, and she didn't want to know.  She only 
wanted him leave. Mulder needed her.  "I'm sorry, 
Daniel. Whoever it is you're looking for, I'm not 
her."

"That's not true."

"It is true."  Scully faced him squarely. "You 
don't want me. You want an admirer. An admirer with
enough knowledge to be suitably impressed by your 
brilliance. I can't do that.  I can't be that.  
I've never been much of a yes woman. I need a 
partner, not an idol."

Daniel's gaze narrowed. "It's him."  

She ducked her head. "My relationship with Mulder 
has nothing to do with this."

"Your 'relationship'?"

"You aren't listening to me."  Scully sighed. "You 
never listened to me."

"You're having an affair." Daniel laughed and looked 
at her with what Scully thought was disbelief. "All 
the time I was feeling guilty, you were fucking 
another man."

"Daniel, please--"

He interrupted.  "Are you in love with him?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question." Daniel crossed his arms.  
"At least for most people it's simple. Though in your 
case perhaps I should rephrase it."  He paused. "Do 
you allow yourself to love him? I know you always 
secretly hated the idea of loving me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"It's always about control with you. Everything 
has to fit your little rules, your unbending ethics."  
Daniel walked around Mulder's bed but his gaze never 
left Scully.  "This won't work, you know.  You won't 
allow it to work.  If your self-righteous morality 
hasn't killed it, your need for control will.  You 
won't allow yourself to need anyone, or at least 
you won't allow yourself to BELIEVE that you do. 
Deep down you don't trust a soul."

Scully blinked.  She wasn't that woman.  She wasn't
deluding herself.  She simply wasn't the person Daniel
described, and Scully didn't mean that in the sense 
that he called her Dana and thought that she was his
wife. It went deeper than that.  

It was true that she had used excuses to explain 
her distance from her parents.  Scully had blamed a 
fear of disappointing her father.  She had pointed to 
the differences between Melissa's mystical nature and 
her own more scientific one.  She and Bill disagreed, 
period, and of course Charlie was better at creating 
emotional distance than she was.  But that had been a 
lifetime ago.

Scully looked at Mulder.  Daniel's analysis had some 
foundation in truth, but he was wrong in one vital 
respect.  She trusted Mulder absolutely.

"Do you allow yourself to love him?" Daniel asked.

Scully didn't look in Daniel's direction. "I won't 
discuss this with you."

"Typical."

Scully closed her eyes. This was turning into a bad 
soap opera. "Could you please go?"

"Yes, I think I will.  But one day you'll regret 
this."

"I don't think so," she murmured.  

After Daniel left Scully looked at Mulder.  "And I 
don't care if you are catatonic, you're smiling 
aren't you?"

Scully reached to pull her hand through her hair 
and was surprised to discover it pulled back with 
a clip.  It wasn't her style. "Mulder, I think 
your disappearing act has finally pushed me over 
the edge."  She sank into the chair next to his
bed.  "I've lost my mind."

Scully opened his chart and began reading.  It was 
ominously familiar.  She swallowed convulsively 
and reached for his hand. "Mulder," she rasped.  
"I hate to tell you this, but you're in big trouble."

Threading her fingers through his she repeated 
in an inexpressibly sad voice,  "Big trouble."
                 
                  X     X     X

Cayuga Medical Center
Ithaca, New York
7:43am

In an almost dreamlike state Dana stepped cautiously 
into Steven Doerstling's room.

"Tell me, Agent Scully," Doerstling said, "am I cast in 
the role of the Cheshire Cat?"

"I wouldn't know. It's been a very long time since I 
read Alice in Wonderland.  What exactly does the 
Cheshire Cat do?"

He laughed, though Dana wasn't at all sure anything 
she had said was amusing.  Doerstling looked at Lauren 
Rice.  "Why don't you and Mike go and have breakfast? 
I would like to speak with Agent Scully alone."

"But Doctor," Lauren began to protest.

"Give over, Lauren," Mike said impatiently.  "There's 
no point in arguing with the man.  We'll find an Egg
McMuffin or something."  Stilgoe escorted Lauren from 
the room.

"Agent Scully, don't hover by the door," Doerstling
admonished.  "Come in."

Dana took a single step forward.  "Why do you call me 
Agent Scully?"

"Aren't you Agent Scully?"

She took a shaky breath. "My maiden name is Scully."

"But you aren't with the FBI?"

"No."

"So you are Alice."

Dana gathered her courage and took two more steps into 
the room. "Exactly what rabbit hole do you think I 
fell through?"

"You better sit down Ms. . .?"

"Waterston. But Scully will do just as well."

He looked concerned.  "You have no idea what has
happened, do you? What am I saying? Of course you 
don't." His gaze met hers.  "Ms. Waterston, you are 
a living breathing example of something that is 
completely impossible. And you are a very long way 
from home."

"Is this where you tell me to click my heels three 
times and say there's no place like home?"

"Wrong story."

"Or the wrong dream?" she asked.  "Weren't Alice and 
Dorothy only dreaming?"

"This place is real, Ms. Waterston, and so is the place 
you were before.  They are interdependent worlds."

Dana arched a brow in disbelief. "Worlds?  As in the 
plural?  That's impossible."

He smiled. "So I said."

She shook her head.  "No, I mean it's really 
impossible. There's no such thing.  Alternate 
universes?  That's the stuff of science fiction, 
not real science."

"Most science fiction is based on real science."

"Based and then extrapolated out of all proportion.  
Alternate universes do not exist."

"But physics--science--theorizes that they do."

Dana shook her head.  "That's theory.  It's supposition.
It's not something that actually happens."  She 
swallowed and was far less certain than she sounded.  
"It didn't happen to me."

"But it did."

"I have no proof of that."  But even as she said it, 
Dana knew it was a lie.  She was pregnant, wasn't she?  
Pregnant with a child that she didn't remember 
conceiving. Dana frowned. "How. . ." She paused and 
took a deep breath.  "How is what you're proposing 
possible?"

"I don't know. And though I don't want to sound 
conceited, if I don't know then no one does. Please 
sit, Ms. Waterston, we have a great deal to discuss."


****************************************************
"When in dreams I still remember..."
                              Arthur L. Gilliom
****************************************************


                     CHAPTER SIX

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
7:43am

Scully's hands shook, but she ignored the tremor. She
walked around the nurses' station, past the charting 
kiosk, and into the med prep room. No one stopped her.  
No one questioned her right to be there.  They didn't 
so much as look twice in her direction. 

It disturbed her.

In medical school Scully had realized that if you 
behaved as though you belonged in staff areas of the 
hospital the personnel usually accepted you.  But this 
was different.  These strangers knew her.  She should 
examine that, but she wouldn't.  Not now. Some things 
couldn't bear scrutiny, and as far as Scully was 
concerned, this was one of them.

Scully didn't plan to ignore what was going on around
her. It was just that her surroundings had no bearing 
on the problem at hand. Her first priority was Mulder.  
He had a specific medical problem and that had to be
addressed first.  She couldn't allow confusion about 
her surroundings to distract her.  Mulder needed her. 

In medicine and in the FBI indecision could prove fatal.
Scully lived with that knowledge every day, and the only 
way to deal with it was to have a clear and simple set 
of priorities. A person's life came first. In a crisis 
situation anything else was superfluous, so Scully 
silenced the inner voice that warned her extraordinary 
things were happening if only she would stop and notice. 

Of course, Mulder would claim inexplicably bizarre 
circumstances weren't superfluous.

That was the difference between them--not that Mulder
would ever turn his back on a person in need.  It was
just that Mulder started with the idea of proving the
impossible.  Scully couldn't do that. She clung to some
semblance of objectivity, and she knew that tendency 
frequently drove Mulder up a wall. 

Scully had tried to explain it to him. As a scientist 
she had to rely on the scientific method--objective 
observation, coherent hypotheses, and quantifiable 
results. She couldn't allow was her own needs or bias 
to influence her choices. Scully wasn't allowed to 
predetermine the answer she wanted. Science demanded 
that she focus solely on the facts, and because of that 
there were questions Scully simply couldn't ask.

Maybe that was why she had found her niche in the 
X-Files.  Mulder asked those questions for her.  
He kept alive that part of herself that science 
demanded that she ignore. 

But Mulder wasn't here...or at least he hadn't been 
here.  Now he was, and that in itself was a question 
she should reflect upon.  Instead--as always--Scully 
took action. 

She punched a code she had found in Dana Waterston's
pocket PDR into the Pyxis machine, the pharmaceutical 
equivalent of a vending machine, and retrieved a 
sedative.  If Scully claimed what she was about to do 
didn't bother her, she would be lying. However after 
reading Mulder's chart, Scully had made a decision, and
in good conscience she could not make that decision 
alone.

She left the med room and nodded to the nurse. Then
she walked down the hall to Mulder's room.  Once 
inside Scully took a hypodermic from her pocket. Her
hands still shook as she inserted the needle the 
into the small glass vial and drew down the stopper.

Scully had performed this procedure a thousand times,
but this was different.  This was Mulder, and Scully 
hated what she was about to do.  She was about to 
inject Mulder with a near fatal dose of a drug for 
nothing more than a few moments of lucidity. It was 
necessary, but it felt wrong.

Scully looked at him.  His face appeared impassive,
yet she knew he was in pain. She remembered 
Mulder describing his mental anguish during his 
hospitalization last fall. He had been in hell, and 
now it was happening again. 

Scully's most vivid memory of that period was Mulder 
standing in a padded cell screaming her name.  Diana 
Fowley had barred her from seeing him.  Even Diana's 
later sacrifices couldn't expunge the bitterness Scully 
felt at being denied the chance to help Mulder. He had 
needed her.

Now it was happening again, and Diana Fowley was 
nowhere to be found. And nothing on earth--or anywhere 
else for that matter-- would keep Scully from reaching 
Mulder. 

She glanced at the EEG, reading the abnormal results 
on screen.  Something had been removed from Mulder's 
brain last year, and now it was back.  It was killing 
him. Scully could ignore every other horrifyingly 
bizarre aspect of her situation.  She could place 
in some controlled corner of her mind that Daniel 
thought she was his wife, that the supposedly deceased 
Smoking Man was alive and more well than the last time 
she had seen him.  Scully could even manage to deal 
with both Skinner and the hospital staff believing 
she was a neurologist.  The thing she could not 
ignore, could not deny was that Mulder was dying.

She would not allow that to happen.

Scully tapped the hypodermic needle and approached 
the bed. 

                 X     X     X

There was a flash, a blinding moment of pain, then
a prickling sensation not unlike the phantom pins and 
needles felt when a limb that had gone to sleep 
suddenly had circulation restored...only this was 
a thousand times worse. Agony pierced Mulder's mind and 
impaled his consciousness.  Then it slowly dissipated, 
fizzling like fireworks after a burst of light.  

He was free.

Mulder blinked and found himself staring up at two 
foot by two foot acoustical ceiling tiles.  There 
was movement at his side.  He turned and saw her.

"Scully," he croaked.

Scully smiled, and it softened the lines and curves 
of her face.  It gave her a muted glow that seemed 
to emanate from somewhere deep within, and when her 
smile reached the shadowed depths of her eyes they 
turned a pure, crystalline blue.

"You know me?" she asked.

Yes? No? Maybe? Mulder wasn't sure. He didn't know.  
He had no memory of her, and yet...

"You were in my dream--on the beach," he rasped.

Something flickered in Scully's eyes. Some complex, 
multi-layered emotion that passed over her then 
coalesced into a singular sadness.  

Mulder reached to comfort her. "Scully..."

She gripped his hand with surprising strength.  "We 
don't have much time," she told him. "Nowhere near 
enough time.  You're dying."

He gave a grim smile.  "Don't waste time with tact. 
Give it to me straight.  I can take it."

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't be." Mulder squeezed her hand.

"I didn't tell you this so you could act insanely
brave," Scully snapped.  "I'm telling you because I 
think there is someone who can save you."

"Does she have red hair?" 

"It's the Smoking Man."

He tensed. "No."

"Listen to me--"

"No. You can't trust that black lunged bastard."

"I know that."

"Do you?"  Mulder's gaze narrowed. "How? Who are you?"

"Your friend," she vowed. "Always your friend." 

He looked down at their clasped hands.  

"Mulder..."  On her lips his name was little more
than a breath, a sigh.  "I know something about what's 
wrong with you. I know you can hear what I'm thinking."

He attempted to sit up.  

"No," Scully protested and gently pushed him back 
against the pillows.  "I want you to look at me. I 
know you have no reason to trust the Smoking Man.  
I'm not asking that you do.  I'm asking you to 
trust me."

Mulder shook his head.

"Please, Mulder.  There are things I can't say. Things 
that I don't have time to explain, and even if I 
had the time, I don't know that I COULD."  Her grip
tightened painfully.  "But I need you to understand, 
and I need your trust before it's too late."  

Mulder gazed at her, and images tumbled through his 
head.  Her memories?  His memories?  Mulder wasn't sure.  
He couldn't know...No. They couldn't be his memories.  
He lived his life alone. Mulder was suspicious of his 
superiors and mocked by his co-workers. His sister had 
been abducted, his father murdered, and his mother dead 
by her own hand.  There was no one with whom he shared 
a connection or bond. 

He had a few friends--Frohike, Langly, Byers--but there 
was no confidante.  No one who knew his secrets or his 
terrible truths. No one who shared his path. 

He was alone.  

What an incredibly depressing thought.  It was true, 
but it was still depressing.  If he fell off the earth 
tomorrow, no one would notice except the FBI payroll 
accountant, and no one would care except his fish when 
the automatic feeder ran out.  Hell, now that Mulder 
thought about it, if it wasn't for survival instinct 
he had no reason to fight what was happening to him. 

So why did he matter to her? And how did he know her?   
How could he possibly remember Scully holding out her 
hand saying she had been assigned to work on the 
X-Files? 

Mulder also remembered responding snidely, "I was 
under the impression you were sent to spy on me."

Then the memory faded and another took its place. 

Wind howled in a low minor chord that resonated with 
despair as a blizzard raged in beyond a door.  It was 
the Arctic Ice Core Project, and Mulder saw himself 
holding a gun on a man, a woman...and Scully. "I 
don't trust you," Mulder yelled.  "I wouldn't turn 
my back on any of you."

Again his memory shifted, and Scully alone dared 
enter the room where he stood.

"I don't trust them," he had confessed. "But I 
WANT to trust you." 

Months passed. Or was it seconds?  Years? He 
didn't know and couldn't tell.  Mulder had no 
reference point as images sped by.  Images so 
vivid they seemed real...or were they real? Had 
they happened?

Scully lay ill in a hospital bed.  Her translucent 
skin had lost its glow, and her eyes looked tired 
and pained. She was dying. Dying because she had 
joined him in peering into the dark corners.  Dying 
because of him, and yet Scully was willing to 
sacrifice more.

"You have to say I'm the one who killed that man," 
Scully urged.

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. If I can save you, let me." 

Let her sacrifice herself for him? It defied 
Mulder's imagination.  

Then a miracle happened and Scully recovered. She 
hadn't left him, and something inside him that had 
come perilously close to breaking remained intact.

Somewhere in the recesses of Mulder's mind he heard 
Scully say, "When I met you, you told me that your 
sister had been abducted by aliens, and that event 
marked you so deeply that nothing else mattered."

YOU matter, Mulder thought.

"I didn't believe you," Scully confessed. "But I 
believed in you.  I followed you on nothing more 
than your faith that the truth was out there. Based 
not on fact, not on science, but on your memories.  
Memories were all that you had."

Just as memories were all Scully had now.  Memories 
that came to Mulder in an inexplicable rush. Small 
ones.  Inconsequential ones.  Happy ones.

Scully stood on a chair in his office raising her 
face to the sunlight spilling through a skylight as 
she relished a creamy white confection.

"Did you bring enough to share with the rest of the 
class?" Mulder drawled.

"It's not ice cream," Scully warned. "It's a non-fat 
tofutti rice dreamsicle."

Mulder made a face. "I bet the air in my mouth tastes 
better than that."  He leaned back in his chair, 
bracing his feet against the top edge of his desk.  
"Scully, you really know how to live it up."

"Oh yeah, and you're mister 'let's squeeze every last 
drop out of this sweet life,' aren't you?"

He arched one eyebrow.

Scully shook her head. "Here we are on a beautiful 
Saturday morning, and you've got us grabbing life 
by the testes."

Mulder almost laughed, and there was a look in Scully's 
eyes that said she was onto him. "Let sleeping dogs lie,"
she admonished.

He crossed his arms.  "I'm not going to sit idly by as 
you hurl cliches at me. Preparation is the father of 
inspiration." 

"Necessity is the mother of invention."

"The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom."

"Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die."

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for non-fat 
tofutti rice dreamsicles!" And he pounced, wrestling 
her for the ice cream as her crystal clear laughter 
echoed in his ears.

Later, at a baseball field Scully crossed the distance 
between them.  Mulder handed her the bat and wrapped 
his arms around her saying the most outrageous things 
he could think of. 

"You've got to remember," he murmured. "Hips before 
hands." Then he touched her and demonstrated what he 
meant.

Scully moved in rhythm with him.  

"We're going to make contact," Mulder whispered in her 
ear.  "We aren't going to think.  We're just going to 
let it fly."

Together they hit the baseball out of the park.  

With his arms wrapped around her, Mulder found 
himself talking and talking.  Nothing he said made 
much sense, but somehow it meant everything when 
Scully gave a rare, wonderful smile. 

"Shut up, Mulder."  Her soft voice washed over him.  
"I'm playing baseball."

And something fell into place. His jagged edges and 
asymmetrical outcroppings found their niche.  This
was it.  This was where he fit in that inexplicable 
jigsaw puzzle of life.  Mulder belonged beside her.

Another memory surfaced.  

"I never made the world a happier place," he murmured.

Scully took his hand and replied, "Oh, I don't know, 
I'm relatively happy."

But happiness slipped from Mulder's grasp as shadows 
lengthened and fell across his pathway.  The sun
dipped below the horizon, and they stood in the night
darkened halls outside of A.D. Skinner's office. "I 
won't lose you," he vowed to Scully, but somehow he 
knew that he had.

Scully's gaze filled with an emotion Mulder could not 
define but understood completely as he saw himself 
through her eyes.  Mulder was stunned. He saw his 
arrogance and his obsessions.  He saw the futility 
of his anger and witnessed his carelessness and self 
destruction. But--through her--Mulder also saw more. 

Scully saw strength in him. She found honor and 
compassion. She believed in his integrity, and 
valued his quest for truth. Scully saw more in Mulder 
than he had ever seen in himself. And though she 
knew all of his weaknesses and mistakes, Scully saw 
something he had never seen. She saw a man worth 
saving... 

And there was something more.  Something Scully 
would not or could not say.  Something awful and 
terrible and final--something exhilarating, and 
miraculous, and true.  It was beyond Mulder's reach 
and becoming more so by the moment as sanity slipped 
from his grasp.  

Mulder gripped her hand as the tide of the mental 
storm overtook him.  Wave after wave of thought 
battered him, choked him, and dragged him to murky 
depths. 

No, Mulder thought.  Not yet. Wait! There was something 
he had to say.

"Scully," he whispered.

"I'm here."

"I trust you."  

And the tide pulled him under.

                   X     X     X

A tear slipped down Scully's cheek as she stared at 
Mulder and knew without being told that he was no longer 
with her. Scully looked at their entwined fingers. Even
now they held one another fiercely, and she didn't want 
to let go.  Walking away wasn't a choice, but she 
couldn't stand still and do nothing.  Scully had to 
fight for both of them, so she brushed her fingertips 
across his lips and said a silent good-bye.  

Scully gasped when she opened the door to find a guard 
standing in the hall.  She nodded to him then made 
her way to the nurses' station.

Scully asked the nurse, "Do you remember the man 
who was here earlier? The older one with the 
cigarettes and the dark suit?"

"Yes."

"Good.  When he arrives, I want you to page me. 
I don't care what time it is.  Page me."  Scully 
started to walk away.

"Doctor," the nurse called.  "What name should I 
use when I page you?  I mean, who is he?"

"Spender.  Just call him Mr. Spender."  Scully pushed 
through the security doors prepared to make a deal 
with the devil.


******************************************************
"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice,
"because I'm not myself, you see."
                      Lewis Carroll
                      Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
******************************************************
     
                     CHAPTER SEVEN

Cayuga Medical Center
Ithaca, New York
8:12 am

Dana Waterston stared at her face in the mirror. Only 
it wasn't her face...not exactly. She looked thinner.  
Her features were slightly more defined, and her hair 
was a darker, more fiery red.  Dana glanced over her 
shoulder.  "How?" she asked Dr. Doerstling.

Doerstling was silent for a moment then said, "Grab 
the legal pad on the table."

Dana walked across the room.

"Rip out a page," he told her.  "Then fold it in half 
lengthways.  Now fold it again.  Make it about an inch 
wide." Once she had followed his instructions Doerstling 
added, "Now twist one side and bring the two ends 
together.  What do you have?"

Dana straightened the edges of the paper.  "It's a 
mobius strip." 

"You asked 'how?' That's my best answer."  Doerstling 
held out his hand, and she placed the strip in it.  He 
examined it. "A few minutes ago this sheet of paper was 
easily defined.  It had clear dimensions--a top and a 
bottom." 

"But a mobius strip only has one side."

"Exactly. A twist erased boundaries. Where once there 
was a top and bottom, now there's neither...and both."  
He handed her the mobius strip.  "A simple action 
changed everything."

Dana shook her head as the implications of his statement 
struck her and made an unhappy muddle in her head. She 
frowned.  "Sort of an incomplete explanation, isn't it?"

"A very incomplete explanation, but the best I can do
on short notice."

Dana felt herself questioning whether she had actually 
heard what she thought she had.  "A simple action
erasing boundaries between dimensions?"  Even to her 
own ears Dana sounded doubtful...which was good because 
that was the way she felt.

"That's it in a nutshell," Doerstling told her.

"I don't believe it."

"You may not believe it, but you're living it." 

She WAS living it. Dana wanted to deny it, but she 
couldn't. She could look out the window and see trees 
and sunlight.  She could feel the mobius strip in her 
hand. There was nothing vague or indistinct about her 
surroundings. This was real.

Doerstling continued, "I also have to confess that I'm 
the one who started this mess. It's my fault that you're 
here."  

Dana approached his bed.  "Care to explain how?"

"I would rather not, but I owe you an explanation." 
His gaze lifted to hers.  "I'm a difficult, arrogant, 
and self absorbed man."

"That's quite a confession."

"But a true one." He paused then added, "Arrogance and 
self absorption can lead a man to make foolish choices."

Dana wasn't sure how to respond to that.
 
He looked at the closed door. "You met my assistant
Lauren.  She's a very attractive young woman. It 
probably shouldn't surprise me that she walked into 
my office last week, and I felt desire."  Doerstling's 
gaze lifted to Dana's.  "But it did surprise me--and not 
because she's half my age or because in normal 
circumstances I would be more attracted to Mike Stilgoe."  

Dana looked toward the wheelchair in the corner.

"No," he said softly.  "Not even because of the 
monster in the corner." 

She took a seat next to his bed as Doerstling confessed,
"It didn't take long for me to realize that what I felt 
had nothing to do with Lauren and everything to do with 
youth. Tell me, Ms. Waterston, do you remember what it 
was like to be that age?  Do you remember the days 
before your path was set? A time when the world was 
full of possibilities, and you could do or become 
anything?"

Dana almost nodded, but Doerstling didn't seem to need
a reply.  With his gaze fixed on some invisible point
in space he said, "Year by year our options become fewer 
and change becomes less likely. At some point we realize 
that the path we're on is the path we must stay 
on.  It's too late to change.  There isn't enough 
time to start over."  He looked at her.  "Of 
course, you haven't reached that point yet. You're 
still relatively young."

While that might be true, Dana secretly admitted that
it didn't always feel that way.

"To make a long story short," Doerstling told her. "I 
looked at Lauren and it was like looking at all of 
the roads I didn't take.  What if I had zigged left 
instead of zigging right in that motorcycle accident? 
What if after the accident I hadn't locked myself in the 
physics department?"

He looked at the wheelchair.  "I allowed myself to 
become a slave to that contraption.  Without my
choice, my path was set and there was no going back."  

As if he felt her eyes on him, Doerstling snapped, "Don't 
look at me with sympathy.  It's easy enough for me to 
wallow in self pity without your help. That was what I 
was doing when I chose the most outrageous form of self 
destruction I could imagine."

"The accelerator," Dana realized.  

"Yes. The accelerator. You see, I remembered who I had 
been before the accident.  I was a kid who wanted to push 
the boundaries, to attempt the impossible. Explore. I 
betrayed that kid, and I owe him."

"To push the limits?"

"It's what I did, isn't it?  Who else--other than 
yourself--has been insane enough to jump into an 
electron accelerator?"

"I didn't jump into an accelerator," Dana insisted.

"Your counterpart did."

"To save you."

Doestling grimaced. "I'm sorry about that.  I dragged 
both of you into a mess. I ran an unscheduled test 
of the CESR and climbed inside it not caring if it 
killed me. I simply wanted to do something that had 
never been done." He smiled. "You have to admit I 
accomplished that quite spectacularly."  

"I thought I--"  Dana stopped.  "That is, I thought
Agent Scully stopped you."

"No, this was the week before.  I ran an experiment, 
and, like yourself, I became...someone else. Or to be
more precise, I became a version of myself who had 
lived a different life.  I could walk again, and I 
was no longer THE Steven Doerstling." He looked at 
the wheelchair. "I had never been introduced to the 
monster."

Dana looked at the mobius strip she still held in 
her hand.  A simple twist had changed everything.

Doerstling looked somewhat amused.  "I have to admit 
that as soon as I became used to anonymity, I hated 
it.  Without the monster, my other self never 
stopped moving long enough to become 'the' Steven 
Doerstling...and I missed the feeling of being THE 
Steven Doerstling."  He smiled self mockingly.  "I 
said I was egocentric."

"So what happened?" Dana pressed. "How did I become 
involved?" 

"While leading another life, I never stopped to think 
about what happened to my other self in this one.  
Thankfully some men have more conscience than I do."  
Doerstling cleared his throat.  "From what I've been 
told Arnold found my counterpart in the accelerator. 
My other half was disoriented and understandably 
perturbed with suddenly becoming a quadriplegic."

Dana frowned. "Arnold?"

"Arnold Blackwood.  A rather pedantic colleague of 
mine. I don't know. Perhaps I should give Arnold more 
credit.  He seems to have a fair grasp of the situation 
and kept it secret until he had a chance to run another 
round of tests." The professor smiled wanly.  "It seems 
that Arnold missed 'the' Steven Doerstling and wanted 
him back.  You have to understand, to Arnold, physics 
is everything."

"So you were reported missing while Blackwood hid the 
other Doerstling.  Meanwhile, Agent Scully was brought 
in to investigate."

Doerstling nodded. "She must have discovered some clue 
because she was caught in the accelerator trying to 
rescue my other self."

Dana shook her head in disbelief. "This is fantastic--and 
I don't mean that in a 'gee whiz' kind of way. This is 
beyond belief."

"I have to protest.  It makes a certain amount of 
scientific sense."

"Only in theory," Dana argued.

"You're here, aren't you?  How theoretical is that?"

"So how do I get back?  Another trip through the 
accelerator?"

"I wouldn't advise that. We don't know what would 
happen."

"It worked before."

"We think," Doestling stressed.  "Who knows what happened 
to that other me.  Did HE make it home successfully?  
There are too many unknowns, too many unforeseen 
consequences.  What if things don't go back to the way 
they were before?  What if you ended up somewhere else?  
Somewhere worse?  And then there are the physical dangers.  
Jumping into an electron accelerator isn't a reasonable 
course of action."

"You did it."

"I was also borderline suicidal, and before you mention 
the other version of yourself, she was trying to rescue 
me.  I wasn't joking when I said it was an act of 
heroism." Doerstling looked at Dana intently.  "If you 
go back into the accelerator it isn't just your own life 
you're risking."

Dana's breath caught.  How true.  She knew Doestling 
referred to the alternate version of herself, but Dana's 
first thought was of the life growing inside of her.  
There was a baby to consider.  Could she willingly risk 
a child's life?  Would her other self wish her to? 
Somehow Dana knew Agent Scully would be dead set against 
it. Scully would protect her baby above all things. The 
child could not be risked in a desperate attempt to 
climb out of a rabbit hole.

So now what, Dana thought with dismay.  Assume another
woman's life?  And do what?  Be what?  Who was 
Dana Scully?  Who was the father of this child? And
how would he feel about a stranger taking Dana Scully's
place?
 
                 X      X      X

Washington D.C.
10:58am

Scully sat alone in Dana Waterston's car in a dangerous 
neighborhood, but she hardly noticed.  She was too 
distracted by everything that had happened in the last 
few hours.  How could she think about anything as 
mundane as where she was parked?

When she had exited the hospital and walked into the 
physician's parking lot, Scully had realized that 
she had no idea what car she was looking for. Luckily 
the key chain in her pocket had a remote locking 
device so Scully had slowly walked through the 
parking lot clicking the button until there was a 
beep and a flash of headlights.

Once behind the steering wheel of a black Lexus, 
Scully had driven directly to a pharmacy and bought 
a pregnancy test.  As a general rule, Scully didn't 
put much stock in intuition, but she couldn't deny 
that even before she took the test she had known 
what the result would be.  

No baby.  

Scully had stared at the pink stick as a dark 
emotion washed over her.  It was as if that pink 
spot embodied every unjust and unfair thing she had 
ever experienced--which was ridiculous.  It was 
nothing more than a simple medical test. It wasn't 
the universe saying, "You can have Mulder or the 
baby.  You can't have both."  

Scully shook her head and forced herself into motion. 
She didn't like the direction of her thoughts or the 
sadness snaking through her. If everything was 
spinning out of control, Scully had to do something 
to set it right.

She opened the car door, and walked across the street 
to enter a small, cluttered pawn shop. A bell rang 
as the door closed behind her, and a painfully thin 
young man came out of a back room.

"What can I do for you?" he asked distractedly, 
glancing over his shoulder to watch the opening 
credits of "All My Children" on the television set 
in the back room.

"I was looking for a gun."

He pulled his attention from Erica Kane.  "Gun?"  
He looked at Scully, but his eyes were too vacant 
and distracted to look surprised. He walked around 
a glass case.  "Shotgun or handgun?" he asked.

"Handgun."

"Okay...um...you like any of these?"

He's not familiar with weapons, Scully quickly 
concluded. She was virtually certain he knew 
little or nothing about guns. She inspected the 
weapons in the case.  "These two."

He gingerly removed a Beretta 9mm and a Sig Sauer. 
Scully took the one he dangled from his fingertips.  
Did he think it was going to bite him?

Scully examined the Sig, then reached for the Beretta. 
She inspected the safety catch and tested the weapon's 
weight in her hand.  

"These will do," she said quietly then looked at the 
man who once again had his eye on the television in 
the back room.  "Ammunition?" Scully asked.

His gaze swiveled around.  "Huh?"

"Ammunition."

"Oh...uh... Dick keeps that stuff under the counter.  
I don't know much about it though."  The man pulled 
out the drawer. "Um...uh...whaddya want?"

Scully walked around the counter to where the man 
crouched and examined the boxes.  She pushed one or 
two boxes aside before finding what she needed. 
Scully handed the boxes to the clerk.  "I'll take 
these."

He frowned.  "Am I...uh...allowed to just sell 
these to you?  I mean isn't there a waiting period 
or something? Forms you've got to fill out?"

Scully had anticipated this.  After leaving the 
pharmacy she had rummaged through Dana's pocketbook 
and found a checkbook with the insignia of a bank 
on the checks. Scully had then driven to the bank 
and removed a relatively substantial amount of cash 
from the Waterston account.

"How much for the guns and the ammunition?" Scully 
asked briskly.

He frowned in confusion, then looked at the guns and 
the boxes. "Maybe I should call Dick."

Scully starting counting out cash, laying bill after
bill on the glass counter.  "I think Dick would be
satisfied with this amount, don't you?" 

The clerk's eyes were huge.  "Uh...yeah, guess so.  
But there's still those forms--"

She laid a hundred dollar bill on top of the stack.  
"That should cover it, I think."  She paused then 
lifted her eyes to his.  "Don't you?"

He glanced anxiously toward the back room as if 
looking for the aforementioned 'Dick.' When the
man didn't appear, the clerk seemed to come to a 
conclusion and picked the money up from the 
counter. He folded the cash in half then shoved it 
into his back pocket.  "What Dick don't know 
won't bother him much."

Scully frowned but silently picked up the gun 
and the box.

"You know how to shoot that thing?" the clerk asked.

Scully was actually surprised by the question. For
her, carrying a gun was more familiar than carrying 
a purse.  "I know what I'm doing." Scully nodded to 
him and left the pawn shop.

One more law broken in the space of a couple of 
hours, Scully thought with mild disgust.  Quite a 
record for a law officer.  She should be ashamed of 
herself, but she wasn't--not when Mulder's life hung 
in the balance.

After driving for about fifteen minutes Scully turned 
the corner at a familiar intersection and found 
herself in an area of crumbling warehouses.  There 
had been an effort for gentrification of the area in 
the eighties, but at some point the developers had 
cried surrender and allowed the district to sink to 
its natural equilibrium--urban grunge.

Scully stopped in front of a non-descript grayish 
building of indeterminate age.  Nothing distinguished 
the building from its neighbors. Everything indicated 
that the it was deserted.  Scully prayed it wasn't.

                 X     X     X

Melvin Frohike sat in front of the security monitor
watching a woman park a Lexus. She was conspicuously 
out of place in this neighborhood of seedy shops and 
abandoned warehouses.

"Twenty minutes and that car will be stolen," Langly
predicted.

"Fifteen," Frohike countered. "Tops." 

Byers asked, "Why is she sitting there without moving?"

Langly stopped chewing his nacho chips long enough to
mumble, "She's probably pulling a map out of the glove 
compartment. No way did she mean to end up here." 
Salsa fell on his Def Leppard t-shirt.  "Damn.  I'll
be right back."

Frohike glanced at Byers.  

"I did laundry yesterday." Byers assured and screwed
the lid on the jar of salsa. He looked at the monitor
and frowned. "She's staying."

Frohike watched the woman step out of the car and 
whistled softly. "A looker."

"What is she doing?"

"Crossing the road." 

The woman stopped below their camera and looked up.

"It's almost like she knows we're here," Byers said
breathlessly.

Frohike frowned. "I think she does."

"How?"

"How should I know?" Frohike headed toward the door.  
"But a woman in a Lexus does not drive to this part 
of town, park her car, walk to the door of what looks 
like an abandoned building, and look directly into a 
hidden camera without a reason."

"Do we let her in?"

Frohike straightened his slightly faded black t-shirt 
and glanced into the mirror.  He brushed back his hair
--or rather what was left of his hair--and adjusted his 
glasses.  "A gentleman does not leave a lady standing 
on the doorstep. I thought your mother taught you 
manners."

Byers bristled at the insult. 

"Just kidding," Frohike added but he wondered why his 
buddy wasn't as giddy over this chickadee as he had been 
over Susanne Modeski.  Then Frohike glanced back at the 
monitor and understood.  This woman was different. There 
was nothing soft or wispy about her.  Gravitas.  Yeah, 
that was the word.  She had presence and authority.    

Frohike waited, but she didn't fidget or give any 
indication that she was the least bit uncomfortable as 
she waited for the door to be answered.  In fact her face 
was almost unreadable, yet somehow she still managed to 
communicate impatience...or maybe it was urgency.

Byers unlocked the last of the seven locks on the door.

"Well, hello pretty lady," Frohike drawled.

She stepped over the threshold.  

"Is there something we could do for you?" Byers asked.

She looked Frohike dead in the eye.  "Yes, you can help 
me save Mulder's life."


********************************************************
"The shifts of fortune test the reliability of friends."
                                     Cicero
                                     De Amicitia XVII
********************************************************

                   CHAPTER EIGHT

Langly entered the room pulling a "Napster rules and 
Metallica Sucks!" t-shirt over his head.

Frohike shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the 
day."

"What?"

"The shirt." 

Langly shrugged.  "Screw the RIAA and Ulrich.  Music to 
the people.  Besides, I can to listen Limp Bizkit 
instead."

Scully cleared her throat and the Lone Gunmen looked at 
her.  Having caught their attention she wondered 
what she should do next. How could she convince them to 
help her when as far as they were concerned she was a 
stranger?  For one slightly insane moment Scully 
considered telling them  the truth.  Only there was no 
rational explanation for what was happening, and she 
refused to make an irrational one.  The Lone Gunmen 
might be paranoid, but they weren't crazy.  

"Who are you?" Langly asked.

"Scully."

"Is that like Madonna?"

"What?"

"No first name.  No last name, just Scully?"

"My name is Dana Scully," she supplied.

Byers approached her. "Okay, Ms. Scully, who are you, 
and why do you think Mulder needs our help?"

Scully paused and thought about what she needed to say. 
"I'm Mulder's friend and for the moment I'm also 
his doctor."

Frohike frowned.  "Doctor?"

Scully nodded. "Mulder is in the M.I.C.U. at Georgetown 
Memorial."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Anomalous brain activity."  She glanced away. "It's 
killing him."

"Shit."

Exactly.

Langly looked confused.  "You said we could help him.  
How?  We're not exactly brain surgeons."

The moment had arrived to convince them to trust her,
but Scully wasn't sure how.  She knew a great deal 
about them because when stuck on boring stakeouts 
Mulder liked to tell stories and the Lone Gunmen could 
be depended upon for an amusing anecdote. However 
blurting out that she knew private details about their 
lives would hardly inspire trust in three conspiracy 
nuts. It would scare the crap out of them. So what 
was she going to do?  What did she have to offer?

"I'm the only chance Mulder has," Scully told them.

The three men looked at one another, and as if by 
silent agreement Frohike asked,  "Could you excuse 
us for a moment?"

Scully nodded and the three men stepped away.

                  X       X       X

As soon as they stepped into the back room Byers
asked, "So?"

"So what?" Langley countered.  "She didn't say 
anything."

"Yes, she did.  She said she needed our help."

"Don't go mushy, white collar knight on me," Langly
snapped.  "Remember your little Matahari."

Frohike rolled his eyes.  "Don't throw Susanne in his 
face."

"Fine.  Sorry I mentioned her." Langly didn't look too
apologetic. "But what do we know about this woman?  
Nothing.  We have no idea what she's really up to."

"She said she's Mulder's friend," Byers insisted.

"Are you listening to yourself?  Mulder?  Friends?"

Byers dropped his gaze to the floor and began
shifting his weight. "You have a point."

"I believe her," Frohike told them.

Langly looked understandably confused.  "Why?"

"I don't know." Frohike glanced into the next room and 
saw Scully clasp her hands together so tightly that her 
knuckles turned white. "I just have this feeling that 
she cares about the big guy. A lot."

"A feeling? You're willing to bet your life on a 
feeling?" Langly looked shocked.

Frohike didn't answer but walked into the other room.  
"I have a few questions," he told her. 

Scully squared her shoulders. "Shoot." 

"How did you know to come here?"

"Mulder mentioned you." She said it without any 
elaboration then looked away.  

Frohike's eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher her 
body language. "Mulder sent you here?"  

"No."

"You just made the decision on your own?"
 
"Mulder isn't in any condition to send me anywhere.
Besides, I make my own decisions."

Fair enough.  "You said Mulder was dying. Exactly how 
bad off is he?"

The change in her expression was subtle.  If he wasn't 
watching her closely, Frohike would have missed it 
entirely.  It was almost as if a shadow crossed her 
face and darkened her eyes.  "Mulder slipped into a 
coma just before I left the hospital."  Scully took a 
deep breath.  "At his present rate of deterioration 
I estimate he has between forty-eight and seventy-two 
hours to live."

Scully's gaze locked with his and Frohike thought he 
read desperation in her eyes.

He came to a decision.  "How can we help?"

Scully reached into her jacket.

"Whoa!" Frohike raised his hands and backed away when
she pulled out a gun.

Scully smiled grimly and offered the firearm butt first.
"For a start, take this."

                   X     X     X

Cayuga Medical Center
Ithaca, New York
2:18pm

Dana Waterston sat fully dressed on the hospital bed.  
She had been discharged from the hospital, but what she 
was supposed to do now?  

She had spent the last couple of hours speaking with 
the local sheriff convincing him to drop charges against 
Arnold Blackwood. She had conceded to Dr. Doerstling's 
request to say that Blackwood hadn't known she was in 
the accelerator at the time of the experiment. That part
of the statement was true enough.  Dana Waterston hadn't
been in the CESR, but Blackwood had known that a--if not 
'the'--Steven Doerstling was trapped inside.  However, 
Blackwood had only been trying to set things right.  
He hadn't intended to harm anyone, and despite the 
upheaval his actions had caused in her life, Dana 
could see no purpose in condemning him.

So now what? Dana looked around the empty hospital room.  
Where was she supposed to go?  What was she supposed to 
do now that she was Special Agent Dana Scully?

The phone rang.  Dana reached for the phone on the 
bedside table only to realize that wasn't the phone that 
was ringing.  She stood and searched through the 
belongings that a deputy had thoughtfully shipped
from Agent Scully's motel room.

Finding a cell phone Dana tentatively said, "Hello?"

"Scully? Is that you?"

What a loaded question..  "Um, yeah, it's me."

"You're in the hospital again.  Are you okay?"

"Yes."  Who was this? 

"Is anything seriously wrong?"

"No."

"So EVERYTHING--" he emphasized the word "--is okay?

Dana blinked.  He's asking about the baby, she 
realized. For some reason he wasn't saying it out 
loud.  Dana didn't know why, but she was sure 
that was what he was asking. 

"Everything is okay."

She heard the man sigh on the other end of the 
phone and wondered if this was the baby's father.

"When will you be released?" he asked.

"I am now.  I...uh...I was discharged a few minutes 
ago. I was about to leave the hospital."  Just as 
soon as she figured out where the hell she was 
supposed to go.

His voice turned stern and authoritative.  "Scully, 
I'm used to this shit when you and Mulder work on 
a X-File, but I sent you on a missing person case, 
an ordinary missing person case.  How did you 
almost get yourself killed--No.  Don't answer that.  
Just be standing in front of my desk with a full 
report ready at 8am tomorrow morning. Is that 
understood?"

"Yes. . .sir," she belatedly added.

"Fine. I'll have my secretary arrange a plane 
ticket to be waiting for you at the Tompkins 
County Airport."

As the man hung up, Dana finally matched a face 
with the voice. Walter Skinner. When he had 
mentioned Agent Mulder's name she had made the 
association.  It seemed impossible that only 
yesterday she had stood in the M.I.C.U. 
explaining Fox Mulder's dire prognosis to 
Mr. Skinner. 

Did Scully know Mulder?  Was that why Mulder had 
seemed eerily familiar when he had been brought 
into the E.R.? Was that how he had known her name? 

Dana gave a bufuddled shake of her head. She was
overdosing on unexplained phenomena.  Dana was a 
logical person and everything around her kept 
defying logic.  For her own peace of mind, she 
needed to find answers.  But where was she 
supposed to start?

Dana pressed her hand against her abdomen and, 
not for the first time, noticed that she didn't 
wear a ring.  Given the fact that everyone 
referred to her as Scully, Dana felt she could 
safely assume that in this reality she was not 
married. Nice. She was sure her father would have 
been thrilled.  Bill would raise hell about it 
and would be on the war path against the father
...whoever the baby's father might be.

Pushing aside the mental image of her brother's
outrage, Dana wondered again how this baby's father 
would react to a Dana Scully who wasn't Dana Scully 
aat all.  That thought alone was enough to bring on 
a wave of nausea.  Dear God, how was Dana supposed 
to make it through this mess? 

Dana still pondered that question as she exited 
the hospital and ran into the student she had met in 
Steven Doerstling's room.  

"Agent Scully," Stilgoe called. "Dr. Doerstling asked 
me to give you a message."

Dana gave him a questioning look. 

Stilgoe looked a little confused.  "Doerstling said not 
to give up.  He's looking for another way out of the 
rabbit hole."  He frowned.  "Does that make any 
sense to you?"

"Yes," she answered.  "It makes sense. Thank you for 
the message."

"Okay then.  Um...It's been nice meeting you."

Dana watched the young man walk away then 
straightened her shoulders as a taxi stopped by 
the curb.  As she down in the car, she tried to 
prepare herself for what she might find in 
Washington, D.C.

                    X     X     X

Washington, D.C.
2:20pm

Langly asked, "Who do you want to be?"

Scully lifted her head. "Excuse me?"

"On the credit card, what name do you want? 

"I don't think it really matters."

He typed in L-A-R-A  C-R-O-F-T. Frohike smacked 
him on the head and snapped, "Don't be a butt 
munch.  Someone will notice that.  Put something 
inconspicuous on it."

"Mary Smith?"

"Not THAT inconspicuous.  Something normal." 

Byers announced to the room at large, "I've opened a 
bank account in the Caymans."  He looked at Scully.  
"How much money do you want transferred into it?"

Scully frowned.  This felt suspiciously like stealing,
but if she was going to protect Mulder she needed an 
untraceable cash flow. "Ten, maybe fifteen thousand."

Byers frowned.  "That won't last long." Byers said 
for her ears alone,  "I think D.C. usually splits 
divorce settlements straight down the middle. You're 
entitled to half."

Scully shook her head.  Dana Waterston might be 
eligible for community property, but Dana Scully 
didn't have the right to a dime of the Waterstons' 
money. Saying a silent apology for burning her 
counterpart's bridges, Scully insisted, "Ten 
thousand is more than enough."  She walked away.

With her back turned, Byers transferred half of 
the Waterston's bank account into the one he 
had opened in the Caymans.

Frohike approached Scully with a small flat strip 
of...something.  Scully wasn't sure if it was 
plastic, silicon, or metal.  

"What is it?" she asked.

"A miniaturized global positioning device. It will 
allow us to keep track of you.  You should probably 
attach it someplace where it won't be detected and 
you won't remove like...uh..."  He actually managed 
to blush.  

Scully almost smiled. "Would slipping it into the 
underwire of my bra help?"

His skin tone deepened.  "Yeah.  That'd do it."

"If you'll excuse me."  With the Lone Gunmen's 
eyes on her back Scully disappeared into the 
bathroom.

                X       X        X

Once Scully was out of the room Langly said, 
"You know there's one thing I don't understand 
about this."

Byers' expression looked like disbelief. "Only 
one thing?"

"Okay, a lot of things," Langley conceded.  "But 
the big thing I don't get is how Mulder ended up 
with a doctor that looks like THAT.  When I went 
in for appendicitis, I ended up with some ugly 
faced old man with icebergs for hands. How did 
Mulder get so lucky?"

"Lucky? He's dying." 

Frohike's eyes stayed glued to the bathroom door.
"And she's willing to risk her life to save him.
Like Langly said, Mulder is a damn lucky dude."

Langly frowned.  "Does she really seem like someone 
who just happened to cross paths with Mulder?" 

Frohike shook his head. "Byers thinks she must be 
Mulder's chickadee."

Langly's eyes widened.  "Sonofabitch. Mulder's 
got a woman and never said anything?"

"Is he supposed to keep us updated on his lovelife?" 

"Hey, I don't have one, I'd sort of like to live 
vicariously through his."  Langley paused.  "You 
think he was embarrassed to introduce her to us?"

"Three handsome dudes like us?  Not a chance."

Byers looked distracted.  "I'm still not sure about 
this idea of hers. It sounds dangerous."

Frohike reminded him, "She didn't act like she'd 
take no for an answer."  

"She could get herself killed."

Frohike nodded grimly. "There's nothing we can do 
about it.  We can't stop her, and we can't take her 
place. We couldn't pull it off. We just have to hope 
Scully knows what she's doing." 

Scully exited the bathroom just her cell phone rang.  
"Scully," she answered then amended, "Um. . .I mean, 
Dana Waterston speaking."

She nodded at whatever the person on the other end
of the line said. "I'm on my way."  She looked at 
the Lone Gunmen.  "I've got to go."

They walked her to the door.  

"Thank you for everything."  Scully gazed at 
Frohike, and he felt himself standing just a little 
bit taller.  "And please feed Mulder's fish."

"You bet," Frohike answered to the spot where 
Scully had stood only a moment before.


******************************************************
  ". . .since love and fear can hardly exist together,
if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be
feared than loved."
                               Niccolo Machiavelli
                               "The Prince"               
 
******************************************************
                     

                   CHAPTER NINE

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
6:14pm

Scully walked through the doors of the M.I.C.U. waiting 
room to find the Smoking Man standing by the window. He 
took a long drag off his cigarette and released the
smoke slowly.

Scully crossed her arms. "I told you there was no 
smoking in the hospital."

He didn't acknowledge her by any gesture.  "Where did 
you discover the name Spender?"

Scully restrained a bitter smile. "I have my sources." 

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "And 
those sources would be?"

"I really couldn't say."

"Do you fear for their safety?"

"No."

The Smoking Man turned to face her. "Perhaps you 
should."

Now she smiled.  It felt good to be the one 
withholding secrets for a change.  "I'm afraid not 
even you could reach my sources."

"You're sure of that?"

"Very sure." 

Something flickered in his eyes.  She couldn't quite 
read what it was, but it sent a shiver down her spine.  

He raised the cigarette to his lips. "There are those 
who would say knowing the name Spender could prove 
hazardous to your health." 

"There are those who would say that it already has."
Scully shrugged. "We all take risks. I'm sure you've 
noticed the warning on that pack of Morley's in your 
hand, but you're still smoking."  She approached him
slowly. "Also, let me warn you that I know more than 
a name, and I've made arrangements that if anything 
happens to me or to Mulder a few of those 'other 
things' will find their way to light."

Silence was her answer as he rolled the cigarette
between his fingers. Scully watched the length of 
ash grow longer and longer until it defied gravity. 
She waited for the ash to drop and scorch the floor.  
It didn't.  Raising her gaze to meet his, Scully 
realized this was a waiting game. He wanted to her 
step down, to step back.  He wanted a weakness to 
exploit.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

With a flick of his index finger he dumped the ash 
into a potted plant. "What do you want?" 

"Mulder's life."

He arched a brow. "You're the doctor. You have more 
control over his life than I do."

"I don't think so.  I think you know exactly what's 
wrong with him and what needs to be done to save him." 
 
The Smoking Man smiled. "And why would I want to save 
him?" 

"Because you need him. I'm not na=EFve.  I don't 
expect you to do anything out of compassion. You
have reasons for what you do.  All I'm asking is 
that you release him to me when you're done." 

"And if there is nothing left to release?"

Was that a threat, a warning, or a harsh dose of 
reality?  How close had Mulder come to dying the 
last time?  The experimental procedure had been 
risky.  What if something had gone wrong? What if 
something went wrong now?  Could she live with 
the consequences?

Scully heard the quiet ticking of the clock on 
the wall. She had told the Lone Gunmen that 
Mulder had between forty-eight and seventy-two 
hours to live.  What she hadn't told them was 
that was an optimistic diagnosis.  Trusting the 
Smoking Man was the only chance Mulder had.

She straightened her shoulders.  "As I said, choices 
mean risks. I'll accept the odds if you'll agree 
to my proposition."  

"And if I don't?"

"Then you won't have Mulder."  Scully circled the old
man.  "If you want him you'll have to go through me.  
It's that simple."

"Doctor, if I want to remove Mulder from this 
hospital I'm quite capable of accomplishing it 
without your help."

Scully shook her head. "Skinner has two guards posted 
outside of Mulder's room, and I can have Mulder 
transferred to another wing of the hospital at a 
moment's notice."  She looked at him challengingly. "I 
can have him transferred to another hospital and can
keep doing that until it's too late."  

"He would die."

"Yes, but not by your hand."

The Smoking Man watched her contemplatively. "You 
won't go through with that threat."

Scully arched a brow. "Won't I?" 

He took a last drag of his cigarette then crushed it in 
the potted plant.  "Exactly what would accepting your 
offer entail? "

"That I stay with Mulder 24/7."

The Smoking Man watched her and Scully knew he was 
calculating the advantages and disadvantages of her
offer.  He didn't really need her.  If he refused her 
request, the best she could offer were inconveniences 
and delays...and considering that delays would cost 
Mulder his life, she wouldn't even do that.  All Scully 
could hope was that she had intrigued him. If she had 
played her cards right, the Smoking Man would allow 
her presence simply to satisfy his curiosity or 
perhaps--if Scully presented a challenge--to break her.  
She didn't care which as long he allowed her to 
stay with Mulder. 

Finally, he nodded and Scully released the breath she
hadn't realized she was holding.

"The nursing shift changes in a half hour," she
explained.  "I can arrange for Mulder to be removed 
from his room at that time. Would that be acceptable?" 

He gave a disquieting smile.  "It is acceptable."

"I'll be waiting." 

When Scully entered Mulder's room, she didn't need the 
EEG to tell her that his condition was worse.  He 
looked like a corpse. Only the monitor beside his bed 
and the warmth of his skin gave any indication that 
he was alive at all.

"You have to hold on," she demanded. "If you die 
on me, I'll kick your ass."   

She didn't see the wisp of smoke that drifted just 
beyond the doorway.

                    X     X     X

Dana Scully's Residence
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
6:14 PM

Dana Waterston slipped the key into the lock and 
breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened.  After 
arriving at Dulles she had given the taxi driver the 
address on her driver's license.  Dana could only hope 
Scully hadn't moved...and that she wasn't leaving a 
car in the airport's long term parking.

Walking into the apartment Dana flipped the light 
switch and bathed the room in soft golden glow.
No lover waited for her return. There wasn't even 
a dog wanting to be fed. The metallic clatter 
of the keys landing on the console table mercifully 
shattered the silence.  

This apartment had nothing in common with the sleek, 
Modernist house she shared with Daniel. There was 
no pretension here. The upholstery was slightly faded 
and a few of the shelves in the bookcase were stacked 
two deep. Dana doubted any decorator--or even great 
thought--had been used to select the eclectic mix of 
furnishings.  Still, the overall impression was one 
of warmth. 

She found the thermostat, and lowered the 
temperature until she heard the soft hum of the 
air conditioning kicking in.  Dana hoped it would 
clean away the musty smell of disuse. Trailing her 
fingers through a thin film dust on the mantle,
she decided this apartment might be a retreat for 
Scully, but it wasn't a home.  At least not a 
home that had anything to do with the day to day 
living of Scully's life.

Dana found herself drawn across the room by the 
relentlessly blinking light on the answering machine.
Squelching the feeling that she was invading Scully's 
privacy, she hit play.

The first message was Goodwill asking for a 
clothes donation.  The second offered better
long distance rates.  The third and the fourth
were hang ups, and the fifth was her mother 
calling 'just to check in.' Dana was kneeling in 
front of Scully's CD player when the answering 
machine beeped and went on to the sixth message.

"You're pissed aren't you?"

Dana jumped at the sound of the man's voice and 
accidentally hit the power switch on the CD player. 
She turned to look at the answering machine--which 
was a nonsensical thing to do.  It wasn't like he 
was standing in the room.

Only there was something about the man's voice...
There was implied intimacy in the way he began 
talking in mid conversation.  No introduction or 
social niceties, just his saying, "I know you're
pissed. That composed act doesn't cut it with me. 
You wanted to go to Oregon. Yeah, you made supportive 
noises, and it's not like we don't go separate ways 
half the time...It's just for some reason this feels 
different."

Dana could hear him take a breath before he said, 
"None of this changes the fact that you didn't want
me to go alone, or that I deliberately misunderstood 
what you were saying when I dragged Skinner to go in 
your place. You wanted to go and didn't care about 
the risks." 

There was a long pause, and for a moment Dana thought
the message had run out.

"This wasn't a ditch," he stressed. "I want to make 
that clear. I wasn't ditching you, so don't pace 
around your apartment second guessing yourself. You 
didn't give into to some macho bullshit so I could 
play protector. You can take care of yourself. I 
know that. This wasn't about protection...at least 
not about protecting you." 

He sighed. "Scully, we both know a lot about losing 
things--too many things and too many people. I 
just...I couldn't risk losing you too."

There was a long moment filled with unsaid words and
unexpressed feelings.  They squeezed her chest and 
made it difficult to breathe.

He coughed.  "So we're straight on this, right?  
I didn't ditch you to go searching for little green 
men--even though we both know they aren't green. 
Well, I know they aren't green.  You never see them. 
Why is that?  Oh well, look at it this way, since you 
never see them you aren't missing anything...Are you 
at least cracking a smile by now?  No, probably not.  
I bet you're glaring at the answering machine thinking 
about how you'll kick my ass when I make it back." 
There was amusement in his voice. "I'm looking forward 
to that."

Dana heard Scully's CD player change tracks as she
waited for him to continue.

"Scully..." 

That's all he said.  Maybe that was all that needed 
to be said. 

She heard another man in the background yell, 
"Mulder, get your ass in gear!"

"Duty calls.  The Skinman's looking antsy, and
I've got to listen to the boss--bet you didn't know 
I could do that.  You still aren't smiling are you? 
Figures. I'll be sure to be prepared for a hell of an 
ass kicking when I make it home. Oh, and charge your 
cell phone, will you?  I hate answering machines."

A click and he was gone. The machine announced the 
day and time of the message.  It was over two months 
old. 

Without warning, some preternatural instinct told Dana 
that Mulder had never made it home. That was why Scully
had saved the message.

As the melancholy sound of Sarah McLachlan's voice
filled the stillness, Dana realized she was crying.  
She couldn't explain it. She didn't know Mulder, but 
she could remember the look in his eyes when he had 
called her name in the E.R.  He was a stranger 
yet it felt like Dana knew him, like she had always 
known him. And now she grieved for him.

Dana sank onto the sofa. She couldn't separate her 
emotions from Scully's. They felt the same. They
felt real. They felt like they would tear her 
apart as she wrapped her arms around herself and
silently rocked back and forth as tears streamed
down her face. 

                 X      X      X

The sky darkened to a blue-violet night and a
crescent moon hung just above the horizon as Mulder
watched light spread across a black glass sea. There 
were no waves now, and there was no tide. Everything 
was strangely still.

He didn't stop to think about the oddity of it, just
as he didn't bother to wonder if his experience in the
hospital had been real...if SHE had been real. Why 
accept one reality and reject another?  Dreams and 
reality both held elements of truth.  He had no desire
for an easy explanation. He only wanted to know why? 

He turned to see a figure approach him...

                  X     X     X

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, D.C.
7:20pm 

Scully approached the guard and smiled.  If he had 
known her, he would have been worried by that smile. 
Scully didn't smile, at least not often and certainly 
not since Mulder had left for Oregon.  No, the smile 
was a signal that something was up, and it WOULD have been 
a signal if the guard had known her a tenth as well as 
Mulder. 

"The CAT scan shouldn't take long," Scully assured the 
guard.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure that it won't take long?"

"Sure that you don't need me along.  The A.D. would 
have my butt in a sling if anything happened."

Another thing to feel guilty about.  Scully was all 
too familiar with Skinner lectures, and she was 
sorry to sentence an unsuspecting agent to one. 
However, she didn't feel guilty enough to change her 
plans.

She looked over at the orderly who wasn't an orderly 
at all. He had been sent by the Smoking Man to help 
remove Mulder from his room.  He told the guard,
"I can watch out for her from here."

The guard glanced at Scully, and she nodded.  She 
even managed another smile.  

The guard relented.  "I could use a coffee break."  
  
Scully followed the 'orderly' down the corridor.
Once out of sight of the guard, instead of turning 
toward the main bank of elevators they stopped
in front of the service ones.  Scully shifted from
foot to foot as she waited for the doors to open
and almost groaned when she saw Daniel approaching.

"Another test?" Daniel asked and, to give him credit,
Scully thought he was trying to keep some of the
resentment out of his voice.

"Yes, another test."

Daniel scratched his chin.  "Realistically, what 
are his odds?"

"Not good."  Again Scully punched the elevator call 
button.

"I'm sorry."

She glanced at Daniel in surprise.

He explained, "I've never seen you like this.  You've
lost objectivity. For a doctor, that's not a good 
thing, but on a personal level. . ."  Daniel shrugged.
"He's gotten to you in a way I never did."

"I suppose I should say thank you."

Daniel picked up Mulder's medical chart and glanced 
through it one more time.  He handed it back to Scully. 
"I'm sorry," he repeated and walked away.

Scully heard the ding of the elevator arriving and 
joined the orderly in pushing Mulder into it before 
the doors closed.  Three seconds passed before she 
hit 'Full Stop.'  Because the elevator was used for 
linen and service carts that required extended stays 
on each floor there was a delay on the alarm. They 
had two minutes.

The orderly handed Scully a black body bag he had kept 
concealed beneath his surgical greens. He turned Mulder 
on his side as Scully lay the bag on the stretcher.  
Something in the pit of her stomach clenched as she 
drew the zipper over Mulder's face.  If anything went 
wrong this grisly sight could become real.

There was ten seconds left before the alarm would 
ring when Scully pulled the stop button so that 
the elevator would continue to the ground floor. They 
exited into the corridor that lead to the morgue. Only
they walked passed the morgue to push through a set of 
heavy metal doors.  

Stepping into a cavernous room with unfinished concrete 
floors and exposed cinderblock walls, Scully fought 
the urge to cover her ears to block out a fraction of 
the roar of med gas pumps and emergency generators. 
The noise was deafening.

"Where are we going?" the orderly yelled, trying to 
be heard over the pneumatic pounding.

Scully pointed in the direction of a sign marked 
"Switchgear."  

The man nodded and followed her lead.  When the 
switchgear door slammed behind them, she said,  
"Check to see if they're here."

"Where?"

"Through there.  It leads to the loading dock."  

Scully had scouted this path before leaving the 
hospital this afternoon.  She had known that they 
needed a route out of the hospital that would 
avoid as many security cameras as possible.  Of 
course there was a security camera on the dock 
itself, but she had taken care of that as well.

When the man left, Scully moved to Mulder's side and
lowered the zipper.  Seeing his pale, still face she 
had to confess,  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  I'm sorry
about a lot of things."

The orderly returned.  "They're here." 

Scully pushed the gurney passed bright aqua carts 
marked "Sani-Trux" and red fiberglass ones labeled 
"biohazard" to exit onto the dock.  A dark UPS van 
waited, and the Smoking Man gave a disturbing smile 
as he opened the van's rear doors.

The interior was nothing like a glorified mail 
truck. Despite it's outward appearance, the van 
was the most sophisticated ambulance Scully had 
ever seen.  Clearly even now the Syndicate was 
well funded.

When the doors closed behind her, the Smoking Man's 
smile grew more pronounced.  Scully hated that smile.  
It made her think she had been tricked--and she knew 
that in some respects she had been. There was no way 
Scully could anticipate this man's every move.  The 
trick would be to lose only a limited number of 
battles so that she could win the war. 

"Doctor, you appear nervous," the Smoking Man 
drawled.

"I'm cautious, not nervous."

"And the distinction would be?"

"You're nervous when you don't know what someone 
is capable of.  You're cautious when you know 
someone is capable of killing you without batting 
an eyelash."

He arched a brow.  "You think I would kill you?"

"You COULD kill me. I'm hoping you decide against it."

He came close to her.  Too close. "You intrigue me."  

That was the plan.  

Scully lost her balance as the van started moving. 
The Smoking Man reached to steady her but she 
steadied herself and stepped out of his reach. 

He lit a cigarette. "No questions about where we 
are going?"

"Questions would be pointless."

"Yes, they would.  But aren't you curious?"

Scully leveled a cool glance in his direction. "I'm 
cursed with a serious lack of curiosity."

"And here Mulder has more than his fair share."

Scully ignored him.

"He can't feel you, doctor."

A frown creased Scully's brow. "Excuse me?"

He looked down and for the first time Scully noticed 
that she had unconsciously unzipped the body bag and 
now  held Mulder's hand.  She thought about letting 
go to cover whatever instinct had led her to such  
revealing action.  Instead she looked defiantly at 
the Smoking Man. 

The lights in the van flickered out, and Scully could 
only see a small pinpoint of red as the old man inhaled
the cigarette. She came close to demanding he extinguish 
it, then decided it would help her keep track of him in 
the darkness.  Besides, if she made a demand it would 
become a power struggle.  It was best to avoid that if 
she possibly could. 

Scully sat down and struggled to forget about another 
trip she had taken with this man. Scully had wanted 
something from him then as well...and she had failed 
miserably.  Against her will a memory rose of the 
Smoking Man asking, "How do you explain your 
fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a 
life alone?"

She hadn't answered so he had observed, "You'd die for 
Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."

Scully could have the wording wrong.  It had been 
months ago, and she had tried very hard to forget...but 
she couldn't. The Smoking Man had seen something she 
hadn't wanted him to see--something SHE didn't want 
to see.  It had shaken her in a way that Scully had 
been unwilling to acknowledge.

She watched the tiny spark of red in the darkness.
Little wonder Mulder hated this man who found someone's
secrets and either withheld them or laid them bare for
his own amusement or advantage. He was ruthless.  
He was dangerous. 

Scully squeezed Mulder's fingers and rhythmically 
moved her thumb across the back of his hand.  She 
could feel the Smoking Man watching her and
could see him doing so in the brief moments of 
light near street lamps. 

Let him see, she thought.  Let him know that I won't 
allow Mulder to be sacrificed for his cause.

The tiny spot of red disappeared as the Smoking Man 
extinguished another cigarette and when they passed 
the next streetlight Scully saw him cross his arms 
and close his eyes.

She watched him.  She wouldn't be lulled into 
complacency, not like the time she had allowed herself 
to be drugged and removed her from the car.  The 
Smoking Man had undressed her.  Scully shivered at the 
memory, and looked down at Mulder's face. She had 
made a mistake in trusting the old man once.  Was 
she making the same mistake again?

****************************************************
Everything about you demonstrates a careless
desolation. . .
                        William Shakespeare
                        "As You Like It"
****************************************************
 
                    CHAPTER TEN

Dana sat on a couch in an unfamiliar apartment with a 
handsome if only vaguely familiar man sitting next to 
her.  Mulder.  He looked different from the pale, 
agonized man she had seen in the E.R.  He was smiling 
and looked relaxed.  There was a sparkle in his eyes as 
if he had found something she had said amusing.  That 
was unusual. Actually, that was strange.  As a general 
rule Dana wasn't known for her sense of humor.

"I go away for two days and your whole life changes," 
he complained.

"I didn't say my whole life changed--"

"Speaking to God in a Buddhist temple and God speaking 
back?"

"I didn't say that God spoke back.  I said I had some 
kind of vision."

"For you that's like saying you're having David 
Crosby's baby."  Mulder smiled and there was a sudden 
ache inside her. Dana lost track of the conversation, 
as tended to happen in dreams, but everything fell 
sharply into focus when he asked, "How many different 
lives would we be leading if we made different choices?"

The ear splitting buzz of an alarm clock dragged Dana 
from sleep.  Sitting up in bed she looked blearily 
around the room. It came to her that she should feel 
disoriented by her surroundings. Only she wasn't. This 
bedroom was as familiar to her as the dream she had 
been having, a dream where she had been speaking to a 
man who should have been a stranger to her but wasn't. 

Dana pulled herself from the bed knowing that she didn't 
have the time to wonder about yet another strange event 
in her trip down the rabbit hole.  Somehow she knew that 
her counterpart would frown on her being late for her 
appointment with Walter Skinner. 

Throwing open the doors to the closet, Dana stood 
staring at Scully's wardrobe for a long moment.  Did 
Scully own anything that wasn't black?  Pushing aside 
several black skirts, black pants, and black jackets, 
Dana found a couple of beige outfits shoved into the 
back corner. Those had to be Scully's "thin clothes" 
or things she simply never wore. Wasn't that what the 
far corner of any woman's closet implied?

Selecting a tailored black skirt and blazer she 
could pair with soft green silk blouse, Dana muttered
"Scully, you're a wild woman," before heading toward
the bathroom to take a shower.  An hour and a half later 
Dana entered the J. Edgar Hoover building through the 
front door.

She had used the taxi trick again.  It was the easiest 
way of dealing with the question of where would she 
park?  Did she have an assigned parking space?  Was 
there a designated FBI Agent parking lot? What did
her car look like and where was it parked? There was
an endless list of questions Dana had about Scully's 
life, and if taking a taxi reduced that list by just 
one, it was worth the cost of the ride.  

Of course when the taxi pulled away the curb, Dana had 
another question.  Did she enter by the front door or 
was there another entrance for agents?  Not knowing the 
answer, Dana chose the front door.  Everyone had to go 
through the front door at some point, didn't they?  

When she passed through the metal detector it beeped. 
The security guard glanced up.  "Agent Scully, should 
I bother?"

Dana frowned and tried to not look confused. 

He gave a "here we go again" sigh.  "It feels like such 
a waste of time to scan you when we always know what 
it will say."  He ran a hand held detector over her.
It beeped when it reached the nape of her neck.  The 
guard didn't even blink.  "Go on in."

Dana wasn't sure why he waved her through the security
check. How had she set off the metal detector?
Dana found herself rubbing her neck as she walked 
toward the main bank of elevators.  She wasn't even 
wearing her necklace.  

When the elevator doors closed behind her a male agent 
asked, "Catch any mutants this week?"

Mutants?  Was that some FBI slang for a criminal?

"Not this week," Dana answered.

"No half man half fluke?  What about killer tobacco 
beetles?  E.T.?"

A woman with hair slightly less red than Dana's 
snapped, "You're an asshole, Agent."  The man backed
off and stepped out of the elevator at the next floor.
After the doors closed, the woman smiled.  "I really 
enjoyed doing that." 

Dana stared at the stranger.

The woman explained, "It's been a hell of a morning. 
Mr. Skinner has sent me for coffee three times.  He 
never sends me for coffee. I finally told him that he 
may be the A.D. and I'm only his secretary, but I'm not 
at his servant."  She paused then shook her head.  
"I'm glad I'm not you. Mr. Skinner's in a hell of a 
mood--which explains my mood. He's been pacing the 
for a half hour."

Dana swallowed convulsively.  "Not a good sign, I
take it."

The secretary shrugged.  "Fairly typical where you 
and your partner are concerned."

The elevator bell rang just as the doors slid open, 
and Dana followed the woman down the hall. When 
they entered the office the secretary buzzed her 
boss. "Agent Scully is here."

Dana heard a gruff voice say, "Send her in."

When Dana had met Walter Skinner in the M.I.C.U., 
he hadn't struck her as being an authority figure. 
He had deferred too easily to the older man carrying 
the cigarettes...but that seemed liked a lifetime 
ago.

Looking at this Skinner, Dana still saw a tall, 
well muscled, pleasant looking man, but there was 
something more.  She searched for a way to describe 
it.  Steely? Determined? Whatever the elusive 
difference between the two might be, this version 
of Walter Skinner appeared somewhat intimidating 
as he sat behind a large mahogany desk flanked by 
the American flag. 

"Sit," he commanded.

Dana almost preferred to stand.  You were 
supposed to stand when facing a firing squad, 
weren't you? 

"Scully," he said more softly. "Sit."

He laid a manila folder on his desk and leaned 
back in his leather clad chair.  "This report on 
Doerstling's disappearance doesn't say much."

"I'm sorry."

He waved his hand negligently.  "I'm used to vague
reports--at least when they involve X-Files--but 
this wasn't supposed to be a X-File."

Dana refrained from asking what constituted a 
X-File.  Clearly Scully would know.

Skinner shook his head.  "I thought I was doing 
you a favor forcing you out of the office. I can 
see now it was a mistake."

"Why was it a mistake?"

"Because you came damn close to getting yourself 
killed! Damnit, Scully, I'm used to doctors 
calling to say you or Mulder have been brought 
into the emergency room.  It's depressingly 
familiar, but this is the first time I've ever 
wondered..."

"Sir?"

"There has always been a fearless quality to yours 
and Mulder's work.  Fearless," he stressed, "not 
careless."

"Was I careless?"

He leaned forward. "I don't know, Scully, were you?" 
He stood and walked to the window. "I knew when I went 
to Oregon with Mulder that I was there to watch his 
back. I was supposed to make sure he returned to 
Washington in one piece."  Skinner looked at her
and now his expression was anything but intimidating.
He looked regretful. "I failed."

Skinner never broke eye contact. "I won't fail Mulder 
the same way.  If he ever does come back there's no 
way in hell I'm going to tell him that you got 
yourself killed. So please, Scully, tell me you 
weren't being reckless."

Was that a request?  Dana noticed the concern with
which he watched her.  What was he really asking, 
and why did he look so worried? Then Dana remembered 
the despair she had felt last night as she rocked 
herself on Scully's couch.  She stopped cold.  Surely 
he didn't believe. . .No. Absolutely not. Whatever 
emotional pain Scully might feel she would never 
knowingly risk the life of her unborn child.  It 
simply would not happen.

Again a strange sensation washed over Dana.  How did 
she know with such certainty what Scully would and 
would not do?  She wasn't Scully.  She was Dr. Dana 
Waterston.

Wasn't she? 

A sense of panic hovered just beyond the edge of her 
consciousness.  For the sake of her sanity, she had to 
be Dana Waterston...but being Dana Waterston made no 
sense. Logic dictated that she was a FBI Agent named 
Dana Scully.  Everyone knew her as  Dana Scully. She 
had an apartment, a job, a life--a life that in no 
way resembled the life of a neurobiologist. What's 
more inside her grew a life that was extraordinarily 
precious to Dana Scully.  It was insane to think she 
was anyone BUT Dana Scully.

Skinner watched Dana intently.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she insisted.  "I'm just fine."  For a 
woman losing her mind. 
       
                 X     X     X             

Syndicate Research Facility
Location Unknown, 8:10am 

Scully startled awake as the van came to a halt.  
She glanced at her watch and realized that she had 
dozed for no more than a few minutes but was still 
unnerved to find the Smoking Man staring at her. She 
shifted uncomfortably and glanced down to see that 
she still held Mulder's hand. Even in sleep, she 
couldn't let go.

"We've arrived," the man announced as the orderly 
swung open the doors.  Men in lab coats grabbed 
Mulder's gurney and pulled him from the van forcing 
her to let go of his hand.  As his fingers slipped 
through hers something inside Scully ached.

Pulling herself together, Scully stepped out of the 
van while attempting to assess her surroundings.  
There was very little to see.  To the right and left 
of this rather non-descript red brick building was 
nothing but trees.

"Rather bucolic, isn't it?" The Smoking Man stood 
silhouetted against the dark outline of a forest too 
dense to be penetrated by the hazy morning light.  
It disturbed Scully that he had caught her scanning 
their surroundings for a possible means of escape, but 
that was the least of her worries. Scully would cross 
that bridge when she came to it.  What disturbed her 
more was the fact that this was not the facility where 
she had found Mulder last fall.  Scully had no idea 
where they were.

The Smoking Man indicated the door to a small, 
nondescript red brick building that stood at the 
foot of what looked like a forestry observation 
tower. Scully followed him inside only to pass 
through a metal detector just inside the doorway.  
She was mildly surprised that the detector didn't 
go off.  She had grown used to that happening 
whenever she passed through such devices.  It was 
unsettling that it didn't happen now.  Then Scully 
wondered about the flexible metal strip that Frohike 
had given her.  What had it been made of that it 
didn't trigger the metal detector?

Pushing her questions to the side, Scully descended 
the long ramp that opened to an almost endless 
corridor. What had looked small and inconspicuous 
on the surface was in fact a cavernous subterranean 
facility. She shouldn't have been surprised.

They entered a scrub room with windows that looked 
into the O.R. as a nurse indicated a cabinet filled 
with surgical greens.  Without thought, Scully 
performed the familiar ritual of donning the greens 
and sterilizing her hands.  Her eyes never left 
Mulder as he was transferred from the gurney to 
the surgical table.  The table looked like no 
medical table Scully had ever seen. To be honest, it 
looked like a deconstructivist's version of a cross. 

When she pushed through the doors of the O.R., Scully 
found the Smoking Man was only a step behind her.  She 
stayed out of the way of the doctors that prepared 
for a surgery that would either save Mulder or kill 
him. She was here to observe, at least that was what 
the Smoking Man told the doctors.  

A nurse shaved a small area of Mulder's scalp then 
cleaned it with Betadine as the Smoking Man circled the 
table.  The look on the man's face frightened Scully 
more than the impassive glance he sent in her direction.
As he watched Mulder there this look of...of...the only 
way she could describe it was affection-a sick, 
frightening form of affection.

"A father has high hopes for his son," he murmured.  
"But he never dreams his boy's going to change the 
world.  I'm so proud of this man--the depth of his 
capacity for suffering."

Horror washed over Scully.  Surely not.  This couldn't 
be true.  This man was not Mulder's father.  It was 
only his egomaniacal pathology that made him claim 
what he could not destroy. 

"I'm sure Bill Mulder was quite proud of him as 
well," Scully responded.  "And not for his capacity 
to suffer."

The Smoking Man gazed at her speculatively.  "And why
are you proud of him, doctor?"

Scully lifted her chin. "For his capacity to do what
is right."

"What has made you so sure of what is right?"

Scully's brow knitted as she thought of how she 
should respond.  As the nurse picked up a bone 
drill and carried it toward the surgical table, 
Scully found herself saying, "Needless suffering 
is never right."

"Needless?" The old man had the audacity to look 
insulted.  "I am not a cruel man, Dr. Waterston."

Her look was doubtful if not outright disbelieving.

He defended himself.  "What could be more 
admirable than saving mankind from extinction?"

"Not being the one to choose who will live and who 
will die."

His eyelids drifted over his rheumy eyes. "My dear, 
you oversimplify the problem.  It takes a great 
man to shoulder the burden of making difficult 
choices."

A shiver moved through Scully as she remembered 
her own desperate claims of objectivity when it was 
time to make difficult choices.  But then 
objectivity was not the same as ruthlessness.

She looked at Mulder's pale face as the nurse set the 
surgical halo over his head and tightened the titanium 
screws. Scully murmured,  "It takes a heartless man 
to value someone for their capacity to suffer." 

"He would be dead a hundred times over if not for me."

Scully crossed the floor to stand directly in front 
of the Smoking Man. "If this was your ultimate goal, 
does it matter how many times you spared him? 
Sometimes it's not the action but the intent that 
is the measure of a man."

"A question for the philosophers."  He rolled up his 
sleeve and sat at the other end of the cross-like table.  
"I see where Mulder would find you appealing.  
Intelligence, sternly defined morals, and an unshakable 
sense of purpose are irresistible to a man obsessed with 
becoming a martyr."

"Mulder isn't a martyr."

"Yet." With that ominous statement the old man offered 
his arm to a nurse who inserted an I.V.  He didn't 
even flinch when the needle pierced his skin.

"Why Mulder?" Scully asked.

He turned his head to look at her.  "I've been asked 
that many times. And now I have vindication.  The 
ultimate vindication."

The project's surgeon looked at him uncertainly.  "There 
is no way you could have predicted this," the surgeon
protested.  "This is a something none of us ever 
expected, let alone hoped for.  After all these years 
of trying to develop a compatible hybrid, to have one
ready made--"

The Smoking Man's smiled.  "All these years, all the 
questioning why? Why keep Mulder alive when it was so 
simple to remove the threat he posed--"  The old man
lay back on the table. "The fact remains, Mulder has 
become our savior.  He's immune to the coming viral 
apocalypse.  He's the hero here."

The surgeon warned, "He may not survive the procedure."

"Then he suffers a hero's fate."

Such a statement revealed the Smoking Man's claims of
compassion as lies. He would watch Mulder suffer 
without a moment of pity or compassion. Could there be 
any act more cruel? But then what else could be 
expected of a man willing to sacrifice most
of the world's population for his own sick sense 
of glory?  

An anesthesiologist took a seat at the side of the 
table as the nurse handed the surgeon the bone drill.
He looked at the Smoking Man.  "We are ready to 
proceed."

The Smoking Man turned to Scully.  "Be proud of him.  
Think of what he is giving the world."

"He wasn't given a choice."

"You think he wouldn't have chosen this?"

Would Mulder willingly die to change the world? 
Scully closed her eyes as the answer became painfully 
clear.  Yes.  Mulder would sacrifice himself for 
others.  Mulder had compassion.  He had empathy. He 
had honor...Scully just wasn't willing to lose him.

The Smoking Man fixed his gaze on the ceiling. 
"Besides, Mulder's task is nearly complete. I'll 
carry the burden from here."

                    X     X     X

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
9:16am

The elevator doors opened on the basement level, and 
Dana stepped out.  She had spent a half hour searching 
the building directory for her office and had never 
found one listed.  She did find name Fox Mulder, however. 
Dana walked in the direction of his office.  She stopped 
when she saw a maintenance man.

"Agent Scully," he drawled, "you're just in time."  He 
stepped back to show her a plaque bearing her name... 
or rather bearing Agent Scully's name.  Dana looked 
at the man in confusion.

"Since you were outta town, I figured you wouldn't be 
disturbed while I was changin' the name plate."  He 
seemed a little nervous under her stare.

"What's that?" Dana asked indicating an object the his 
hand.

"Um...It's Agent Mulder's name plate."

"May I see it?"

"Sure.  You can have it if you'd like."

Dana traced the white lettering on the black background.  
"Thank you."

"Sure thing...uh...I'll just be goin.'"

When she opened the door, the room was dark except 
for the light spilling through the skylight along the 
back wall. It was a small kindness from the designer 
because the office had no windows. It was a cluttered 
hellhole Dana decided after she turned on the light.

There were stacks of files littering the desk and 
posters on the wall. Posters were common in dorm rooms, 
but in an FBI agent's office they were...unexpected. 
Dana inspected the small poster of Neil Armstrong's 
first walk on the moon half expecting to read "one 
small step for a man, a giant leap for mankind." It 
wasn't there, but somehow she felt the sentiment was 
implied. On the other wall, dominating the room, was 
a picture of a flying saucer with "I WANT TO BELIEVE" 
emblazoned across it. 

Dana looked at the files littering the desk and 
quickly understood what the term "X-File" meant. Every 
case number began with an X.

It all seemed familiar.  It felt familiar, but it 
shouldn't BE familiar. 

Dana reached for the phone.  She needed someone to tell 
her she wasn't crazy.  "Yes," she said breathlessly when 
someone answered the phone.  "Can I speak to Dr. 
Doerstling?  Yes, I can hold."  Dana drummed her nails 
against the desk as she impatiently waited. "Doctor, 
this is Dana Waterston."

"Alice," he said with evident pleasure.

"Doctor, I need your help."

"Okay."

"Tell me I'm not crazy."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. 
"Why do you need me to say it?"

"Because I don't know.  Am I crazy?  Have I had some
sort of mental breakdown and didn't recognize it?" 
She raked her hand through her hair. "Do you know
who I am?"

"Dana Waterston."

"Are you sure?  Because I'm not." 

Doerstling said patiently, "I'm sure that after 
everything that has happened, you feel disoriented."

"Saying it that way sounds like we're talking about 
a car  accident.  We're talking about an alternate 
universe. I'd have to be insane to believe I'd 
dropped into one."

"So you've decided you no longer believe what's 
happened to you?"

"How can I believe it?  If I am Dana Waterston, how 
can I be carrying a child I didn't conceive?  How can 
I have memories that aren't mine? Dreams that aren't 
mine?  This is Dana Scully's life.  This is Dana 
Scully's body, so I must BE Dana Scully.  It's the only 
logical explanation.  I must be experiencing some 
form of schizophrenia."

"You aren't schizophrenic," Doerstling said sternly.

"Then explain how it's possible for me to be two 
people at the same time because I AM Dana Scully.
How else could I know what she knows?"

"Remember the mobius strip--"

"The mobius strip is a metaphor.  It isn't an 
explanation."

He didn't say anything. She could hear him breathing
on the other end of the line.

Dana rubbed the bridge of her nose.  "I should go to a 
psychiatrist.  The FBI has to have a therapist.  Maybe 
A.D. Skinner is right to be concerned about my mental 
health. Maybe grief has driven me off the deep end."

Doerstling said urgently, "Ms. Waterston, don't do 
anything rash."

"I would hardly say seeing a psychiatrist is rash."

"A psychiatrist won't help.  This problem can be 
answered with science.  You don't need touchy-feely 
'let's discuss your feelings' mumbo jumbo.  Give me 
time to look over the CLEO data.  Maybe I will find 
something."

She stared at the words, "I WANT TO BELIEVE."  

"A few hours," she conceded.  

After giving him the number listed on the phone, Dana 
sat staring at the poster. She needed to believe 
Doerstling could find an answer.  She clung to the 
hope that science could explain everything that had 
happened, but Dana placed her faith where it had 
always been.  She prayed.

                  X     X     X  

Mulder stood on the beach in near total darkness. There
was just enough light to see the shadow of someone 
standing several yards away. At least Mulder thought 
someone was standing there.  It could be an illusion.  
Like the times as a child when he had lain in his bed 
believing the monsters had returned to take him just
as they had taken sister. Countless nights his eyes had 
strained against the darkness as Mulder denied himself 
the right to yell for help or comfort because he hadn't 
screamed for Samantha.  Only back then the night 
terrors had been his imagination.  The creatures that 
took Samantha had never returned for him, and when 
Mulder had gathered the courage to turn on the light 
he had only ever discovered empty rooms.  

Was the beach empty now?  Was the shadow 
nothing more than his overactive imagination?

Mulder took a step forward, and if he wasn't fooling 
himself the shadow took a step toward him.  He didn't 
speak.  Maybe he should have.  Maybe he should call 
out and demand that the shadow identify itself...but 
he didn't.  Mulder felt that if he spoke, he would 
shatter the illusion, and if he did that he would 
lose his only chance to know the truth.

Mulder took a step and then another.  The shadow did 
the same. It was an agonizingly slow process made
more disturbing by the eerie silence on the beach.  
There wasn't even the sound of water lapping against 
the shore. There was only silence--potent, ominous 
silence.

He stopped moving.  As if on cure the clouds that 
obscured the crescent moon moved so that blue-white 
light spilled onto the ocean. The shadow emerged 
from darkness, and Mulder saw...himself.
  

*******************************************************
I have seen no more evident monstrosity and miracle
in the world than myself. . .
                        Michel Eyquem de Montaigne

When you look for the miracle you've got to scatter
your blood to the eight points of the wind. . .
                             Giorgos Sefiriades
*****************************************************           
 


                  CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Mulder stood face to face with himself.  He was only 
supposed to do that in his shaving mirror, but here 
he stood in this...this...whatever the hell this was.  
He wasn't really sure what to call it, what it was 
supposed to be. Fantasy? Reality? Alternate reality? 
Mulder didn't know.  Maybe it was all three at once. 
What he did know was that it was damn eerie facing 
himself across a stretch of white sand. 
 
He was actually relieved by the fact that he--the 
other him--looked as shocked as he--this him--felt. 
The other thing Mulder noticed was that his counterpart 
looked like shit. To be precise, the other him looked 
like he'd been drop kicked off the edge of a cliff and 
scraped from a canyon floor to stand on this beach.  

Mulder took a step forward only realize something held
him back.  Actually something was tugging his sleeve.  
He looked down into the dark hazel eyes of the boy he 
had first met on the beach.

"Hurry," the boy urged.

Wasn't that what he had been doing before the
boy stopped him?  Mulder looked back at the shadow
version of himself only to find him gone.

"Hurry," the child urged again.  "She needs you."

That caught Mulder's attention.  

The boy held Mulder's hand in a vice-like grip as he
pulled him down the beach. "She needs you before it's 
too late."

                   X      X      X


Syndicate Research Facility
Location Unknown, 9:20am

Scully held Mulder's hand tightly as she watched the 
surgeon drill a hole into Mulder's skull. He couldn't 
feel it--the drill or her hand--but Scully felt it.  
She flinched. Scully had seen similar procedures 
performed several times before.  She had performed 
nearly identical procedures herself. But this was 
different. This was Mulder.     

Other than a local sedative there was no anesthesia.  
That was frequently the case in neurosurgery.  There 
was no need.  There were no nerves in the brain to 
transmit the sensation of pain. Scully consciously 
knew these things, but the knowledge did her no good. 
This went beyond the realm of science and facts.  
This wasn't being done to a stranger.  This was 
someone whose mind she treasured.  Seeing him like 
this was almost unbearable.  

The surgeon glanced at the Smoking Man before 
inserting the shunt into Mulder's brain. "He 
may not survive this procedure," he warned.

The Smoking Man didn't appear perturbed. "Don't 
think of the man. Think of the service he is 
performing for mankind."

The surgeon inserted a syringe-like instrument into 
Mulder's cerebrum.  She didn't ask the doctor to 
explain what he was doing.  She didn't need an 
explanation--which was an oddity in itself.  Scully 
was aware of knowledge within her that was not her 
own.  Yes, she had a degree in medicine, but she 
had never specialized in neurobiology.  At this 
moment her knowledge exceeded her education.  A 
fact that under any other circumstance Scully would 
find strange and disturbing.  In fact even with her 
current distraction she found it strange, disturbing 
and frightening. However she couldn't allow it 
to distract her.  There was too much at stake. It 
would simply have to be added to her list of things 
to face at a later date.  Inside Scully was a 
Pandora's box of questions about things she had seen 
or heard, and sometimes Scully feared that if she 
dared to open that box, she would destroy herself...
or at least destroy the skepticism she clung to so 
tightly.

The surgeon performed the curiously bloodless 
procedure with admirable delicacy, and when he 
removed the needle from Mulder's temporal lobe 
Scully caught her breath. There was no spinal fluid, 
only a thick, black, and viscous liquid that began 
to drain from the shunt. Scully itched for a 
microscope so that she could examine the it. Would 
she find any similarities to the virus? 

As if sensing her insatiable curiosity, the Smoking 
Man smiled.  "You are the witness to something that 
can save the world."

Scully refused to give him the satisfaction of a
response.

"We're forcing the next step in evolution to save 
mankind," the old man explained and the expression
on his face was almost hopeful.  It was as if he
wished for her blessing.  "We're doing God's work."

"Do you often liken yourself to God?" she asked dryly.

CSM glared. "Without this immunity, everyone would 
die."

Click.

The sound was nothing more than the nurse counting 
surgical instruments as she laid them on a stainless
steel tray. For Scully it was a familiar, methodical 
procedure yet this time she found herself hypnotized 
by the nurse's motions.  As each instrument clicked 
against the tray, time seemed to slow. Thoughts came 
to her, and pieces fell into place.

Scully remembered sitting in a car with the Smoking 
Man as he said, "I must tell you something. Something 
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know it 
is to look at the entire world anew."

"What?" she had asked.

"It's not just the cure for cancer. It's the holiest 
of grails. It's the cure for all human disease."

Click.

The surgeon approached the Smoking Man with drill in 
his hand, and CSM's face took a strangely calm, almost 
exultant, expression. 

Scully's hands tightened into tense fists as the  
anesthesiologist moved to take a seat beside his new 
patient.

"This knowledge is God's blessing," the Smoking Man 
reiterated emphatically. 

Click.

In her memory Scully stood in a mahogany paneled 
office that had been designed to impress.  In fact, 
it had been designed to specifically impress her. 
The Smoking Man had calmly announced he was dying. 
"Cerebral inflammation," he explained. "A consequence 
of brain surgery I had in the fall."

Click.

"I'll carry on for Mulder from here."

Click.

Months ago Scully had sat in an elegant restaurant as 
the Smoking Man's eyes moved over her in a disturbingly 
covetous manner.  "Can you imagine what it's like to 
have the power to extinguish a life?" he had asked. 
"Or to save it and let it flourish?  And now to give 
you that power, so you can do the same."

Click.

What had he done to her?  Dear God, what had the Smoking 
Man done?  

Scully touched her abdomen and felt for the child that 
was no longer there.  Because of men like the Smoking 
Man--and very possibly because of the Smoking Man 
himself--Scully had lost the ability to have children, 
and yet sometime last spring she had been given one.

How had this miracle been accomplished? Could the 
Smoking Man have returned what he had taken? 

Click.

"The holiest of grails." ... "the cure"..."without 
this immunity everyone would die" ... "we are 
forcing the next step in human evolution"... 
"something that can save the world"..."something 
that's so unbelievable, so incredible that to know 
it is to look at the entire world anew"..."carry on 
for Mulder from here"..."Now to give you that power"
..."God's blessing."

A miracle.

Mulder's child. 

                  X      X      X

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
10:15am

Dana Waterston laid a file folder neatly on top of the 
stack. Okay, so now she knew what was involved in
a "X-File," and it was more than the simple fact that
each case number began with a "X." Every case was... 
well...strange.  No, strange was too kind of a word.  
Every case was unbelievable and scientifically
unexplainable, and most unbelievable of all was that
she found her own name--or at least Agent Scully's 
name--signing off on nearly every one them.  Oh yes, 
Scully's version of a case tended to be more vague 
than Mulder's and her explanations were couched in
scientific terms, but even Scully's scientific 
explanations defied reality.  

Dana Scully was part of a world that Dana Waterston 
could not begin to imagine.  Names swirled in her head.  
Padget, Tooms, Pfaster, Bludht.  Then there were the
names that appeared repeatedly: Krycek, Covarrubius, 
Fowley, and Spender.

So many names.  So many horrors.  Melissa had been 
murdered, and so had Mulder's father.  Scully herself 
had been taken by forces unknown. Terrible things had 
been done to her.  A child named Emily had been created 
and had died. And Mulder had disappeared.  There were 
shadow governments and global conspiracies. There was 
a dark, ugly, ruthless world out there that Dana 
Waterston had never known existed.  She wished she 
could return to that state of naivete.

Dana jumped when the phone rang and breathed a sigh of 
relief when she discovered Steven Doerstling on the 
other end of the line.

"I pulled the CLEO data for last Monday and Tuesday,"
he announced. "There's no anomalous b quark data." 

Scully asked, "How can that be? Neither test was 
properly executed.  Shouldn't the fact that people were
trapped in the accelerator throw off the results in some
way?"

"That's what I expected," Doerstling conceded. 

"But?" 

His voice had contained a note that was almost 
inevitably followed by a 'but.'

"But the data doesn't bear that out. I had to adjust my
theory. I started thinking.  The CESR was created to 
slam sub-atomic particles into one another then
measuring the oscillation of the b quarks. I'm not a 
neurologist but what if one of those particles 
happened to be a neuron? The oscillation would still 
change and be recorded in the b quark data. CLEO 
wouldn't know the difference. 

"Only the b quark would be in my brain," Dana
muttered.

"The b quark was always in your brain.  It just changed
vibrations.  It's like a tuning fork being struck."

Dana wanted to say that what Doerstling was proposing 
was impossible, but there were legitimate medical 
studies suggesting neurons were not simple, isolated 
cells.  Recent experiments showed that a single neuron 
could perform surprisingly complex functions including 
causing a cascade effect where a change to one cell 
would transmit that change to others. 

"It's our simple twist," Doerstling said excitedly. 
 
"What?"

"The simple twist that makes the Mobius strip." He
continued.   "It's the small change that profoundly 
effects the whole."

The change in vibration of a single neuron had changed 
her from one person into another? It should have been 
absurd, yet researchers had shown that even a monkey's
brain cells could detect a neuron firing difference as 
little as one hundredth of a second.

Was it possible? Could all that separated Dana Scully's 
world from Dana Waterston's be a single oscillating 
quark?  Could a miniscule adjustment in frequency 
could shift a person's consciousness as easily as 
changing channels on a radio? 

Dana thanked Dr. Doerstling for his help. Yes, she 
felt more calm now.  No, she didn't think she would 
go to the FBI staff psychiatrist. No, she would 
never mention Doerstling's near suicide attempt 
to anyone.  She understood how such a revelation 
could destroy a famous scientist's reputation.  

Dana said good-bye and thought that if she was 
Agent Scully, she would just add another case file 
to the stack...But she wasn't Dana Scully.  She 
couldn't assign the bizarre to a neatly categorized 
box.  Dana couldn't close the case--at least 
not where it concerned herself. Why was she here?  

In Dana's mind's eye--or rather deeply embedded in 
Agent Scully--was the memory of Reverend Robert 
Gailen Orison saying, "Everything has a reason.  
Everything on God's earth."

But if that was true, what was the reason for this?  
What lesson was she supposed to learn...or was the 
lesson for Agent Scully?

                    X     X     X

Syndicate Research Facility
Unknown Location,  4:56pm

The procedure was over.  Scully watched dispassionately 
as the last stitch was completed in the Smoking Man's
scalp.  She had tried but failed to understand what
the purpose of this surgery had been. He had spoken
of Mulder's immunity to the virus, but while there 
had been some success using gene therapy for 
immunodeficiency disorders, Scully didn't see how 
Mulder's genetic material could produce the results 
the Smoking Man desired.

Of course...it hadn't. This surgery had failed and
the Smoking Man had been fatally damaged by this 
experiment. It was the cause of the brain 
inflammation he had claimed was killing him.  That 
was why he had sought her out last spring.

Surgery couldn't play a part in evolution. For
evolution there had to be offspring, and if Mulder 
was the starting point, his child would be the next 
step. Would his child--their child--be immune from 
the plague?  Was Scully's private miracle part of 
a miracle that could change the fate of the world?

The implications astounded her...and terrified her.  
What would happen if the shadow men who had haunted 
hers and Mulder's lives discovered the truth about 
her baby? What would they do?  And how could she 
protect that child when she was trapped in a world 
where she didn't belong?

Scully's breathing hitched. Did she actually believe 
she was in an alternate universe?  Was she seriously 
considering the possibility that there were at least
two versions of herself?  It was insane, but, God, 
Scully hoped it was true.  If it was, her child might 
still exist.

Against her will Scully allowed longing to slip passed 
her defense.  She felt consumed by her need to hold a 
tiny, warm body close to her own, to feel her child's 
sturdy weight, to touch infinitely delicate skin and 
hear a soft gurgle in reply.  Scully wanted the 
chance to search her son's or daughter's face to see 
if he had her hair or if she had her father's eyes. 

Thoughts and feelings that Scully had held at bay 
since discovering her pregnancy spilled over her 
emotional dam.  She had held back for so long, 
afraid to face what had happened to Mulder...and 
what was happening to herself. 

Scully had never been much of a fan of Gone with the 
Wind.  Never in a million years would she have thought 
she shared a trait with Scarlet O'Hara. But she did.  
Like Scarlett when anything she could not emotionally 
bear happened, Scully filed it away saying she would 
face it tomorrow. Now, 'tomorrow' was upon her, and 
Scully had to claim it.  

This was her baby.  This was Mulder's child. This
was the fight she had to fight, the battle she 
could not lose.

Scully gazed at the anesthetized Smoking Man.  Months
ago he had come to her saying that the chip in her 
neck held the cure for all things.  She had to 
conclude now that one of those things had been her 
infertility. She could explain the ways a cure was 
not possible, but then a cure for her cancer had 
also not been possible. Somehow a cure for both 
had been found and in both cases she could point to 
God or to the Smoking Man.  But whatever the Smoking 
Man had or had not done, Scully would not allow her 
child to also become his pawn.

Scully snapped out of her reverie as the surgeon pulled
off his gloves announcing, "You can take him into 
recovery." The nurses removed the Smoking Man 
from the room and the surgeon glanced back at Scully. 
There was something in his gaze made her shiver. It 
was pity. 

Scully moved to Mulder's side.  His head was crudely 
bandaged, but when she touched his neck she found his 
pulse to be steady.  This was the condition in which 
she had found him last fall in the Department of 
Defense.

A potent silence enveloped the room after the surgeon 
and anesthesiologist left. Scully didn't look behind 
her. She didn't need to.  There was no one left but 
Mulder, herself, and the hulking orderly.  Scully also 
didn't need to be reminded that it was at this juncture 
that Diana Fowley had met her death.  

Scully had known the risks from the moment she had 
considered approaching the Smoking Man to save 
Mulder's life. It was the risk she had been willing 
to take and would gladly take again.

The orderly stepped toward her, and Scully took a 
step back.  The future was upon her.  She gauged the 
man's height and weight and calculated what she would
need to do to defend herself.  Considering the man
outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds Scully 
knew that her odds weren't good.  Her best chance 
was to run, but Scully couldn't do that.  There 
was Mulder.

What Scully really needed was her gun, but she hadn't 
attempted to smuggle a weapon into the facility. 
Her opponent was too canny for such a clumsy plan.  
Besides she had needed to look as defenseless as 
possible to convince the Smoking Man to take her 
with him.  No, that wasn't accurate.  Scully had 
needed to project an aura of being defenseless 
while also appearing to be a threat. She had 
needed to make it impossible for the Smoking Man 
to leave her behind...and now it was time to pay 
the price.


****************************************************
Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves,
and it is tiresome for children to be always and
forever explaining things to them.
                            Antoine de Saint-Exupery
                            "The Little Prince"
*****************************************************

                  CHAPTER TWELVE


The orderly took a step toward Scully as she debated 
whether to retreat or stand her ground.  Then again, 
Perhaps her best option might be to go on the offensive.
Attack first.

"Lady, we can do this easy or we can do this hard," 
the orderly told her.

Scully would have preferred the option of not "doing 
this" at all.  While she knew how to defend herself, she
preferred using her head to physical confrontation
...especially when her opponent could bench press her 
body weight without breaking a sweat.  Scully searched 
for something to say to distract the man or at least to 
act as a delay tactic.  

Her mind went blank. 

                  X     X     X

Mulder pulled away from the child holding his hand, 
and the puzzled way the boy looked at him struck 
Mulder as familiar...but Mulder couldn't place where 
he had seen such an expression. There was just something 
about the way the child watched him with a curious 
mixture of expectation and doubt.

"Where are you leading me?" Mulder asked.

"Don't you know?"

Mulder knelt in the sand and placed his hands on 
the boy's thin shoulders. He turned the child around 
to look at the vast expanse of sand and ocean. "There's 
nothing here."

The boy looked back at him and said with simple faith,  
"Yes, there is."

"I don't see anything."

"Then you aren't looking hard enough."

                  X     X     X
 
Scully pressed herself against the wall.  Beneath 
her hands she could feel the rough lines of grout lying
between ceramic tiles and knew there was nowhere to go. 
A tray filled with medical instruments stood on the
opposite side of the room behind the orderly. She 
had no hope of reaching it to find a makeshift weapon.

Her attacker's smile filled with a sick kind of pleasure 
at seeing Scully helpless.  Of course it would be 
unrealistic to expect CSM's henchman not to enjoy 
intimidation and violence, and Scully was nothing if 
not relentlessly realistic.

"This isn't personal," the man told her.

"Of course not."

"I got orders."

"I understand perfectly."

He cocked his head to the side. "You're gonna fight 
though, aren't you?" 

"Yes."

His smile grew wider.  "Good."

He lunged for Scully.

                  X      X      X

Mulder frowned as he looked at the boy.  "What am I 
supposed to see?"

"What you're looking for."

And Mulder had thought "the child is the father of the 
man" was an enigmatic statement. At the moment Mulder 
wasn't sure if both statements made some Zen-like 
logic or were simply Star Wars derived pseudo-philosophy.  
Surely any minute now CSM would to walk down the beach to 
announce he was Mulder's father...Mulder blinked as a 
shudder raced through him.  Something about that last 
thought seemed all too real, almost as though it had 
actually happened.  

"You want something from me," Mulder said to the child.  
"What?"

"Help."

There was such earnest vulnerability in the boy's gaze
that Mulder couldn't doubt him.  "Help with what?"

"With everything."

Mulder waited.  He wanted--no, he needed-- the boy 
to say more, only the child turned and continued 
walking down the beach.  Moments later the boy paused 
and looked back at Mulder with a frustrated expression. 
"I can't do this without you."

"Then tell me what you need and don't sound like Yoda
while doing it, and maybe I'll consider helping you," 
Mulder insisted.

The child didn't answer.

"You said 'she' needed me," Mulder added. "Who's 
'she'? Scully?"

The boy bit his lip and nodded.

"How can I help Scully?"

"I don't know."

Mulder raked his hand through his cropped hair.
"You aren't making this very easy."

Tears filled the boy's dark eyes.  "I don't know what 
you want me to say.  I don't know the answers." It
was a plaintive, helpless cry.  "I just know I need 
you...and her."  

Regret flooded Mulder.  He felt like an asshole.  This
was just a kid after all.  He lifted the child's
trembling chin.  "I want to help you.  Can't you give
me an idea how?"

"Help her, first.  If you help her, you help me.
I need her. We all do."

"Who's 'we'?"

The boy lifted a small, fragile hand and touched 
Mulder's temple.  "We're all the same."

What the hell?  What kind of answer was
that?  

Then Mulder fell.  

                     X     X     X

Mulder's eyes flew open and he realized he wasn't 
really falling.  It was just the strangely weightless 
sensation that hovered around the edges of sleep, but 
the single moment of terror had jerked him back to 
consciousness and to life.  

Mulder squinted against blinding lights...surgical 
lights he realized with only mild surprise.  He 
turned his head and as his vision came into focus 
Mulder noticed a woman standing against the wall 
with a beefy behemoth standing over her.  

"Scully," Mulder croaked.

She didn't hear him  but stood glaring at the stranger 
who trying intimidate her.   Good luck, Mulder thought.
Scully wasn't easy to intimidate.  

"You could turn the other way and let me escape," 
Scully told the man who menaced her.  "I can disappear 
with my friend.  No one will ever hear from us again."

"Not good enough," the behemoth grunted. "I was told 
to off ya."

At least the man didn't strain his intellect by
lying, Mulder thought.  

The henchman explained to Scully, "If I don't kill 
you, they'll be pissed; and, around here, if you 
piss someone off you wind up dead."

"And I pissed someone off?" Scully asked. She sounded
genuinely surprised, which could only be an act. Too
bad her dark sense of humor was completely lost on
her would be attacker.

"Don't know who you pissed off, lady.  Don't much 
care.  Like I said, I got my orders."

"So you're just going to attack me?"

"Damnit, woman, do you got to be difficult?"

"I'm afraid that I do."

The orderly was visibly confused by Scully's unshakable
calm.  He rubbed his hand over his forehead as he 
muttered incomprehensibly.  Scully was clearly driving 
him nuts. Taking advantage of the man's distraction 
Scully shoved her knee into the man's crotch. 

Mulder grinned. Scully was a class A ballbreaker.  He 
liked it.

Scully's attacker doubled over in pain, but when she 
began to pull away the man grabbed her.  Twisting in 
his grip, Scully lost her balance and fell to the 
floor with a loud, inelegant grunt.  Her normally calm 
face was marred by a flash of panic that was quickly 
hidden by a mask of fierce determination.  

Scully rolled over and kicked the son of a bitch.
If Mulder could have moved his head without screaming 
he would have shaken it in disbelief. Scully used
her feet to land the blows her small fists couldn't.
This bastard would be lucky if he could still father
children after this fight.

"Bitch!" her attacker growled between clenched teeth. 

Scully didn't waste her breath with a response.
She slammed her leg into the back of the man's knees.

With one hand clutching his testicles and another
grabbing a surgical cart, her attacker fell to the 
floor as medical instruments clattered around him. 
Scully scurried to her feet, and finally her gaze 
locked with  Mulder's.  

She stopped moving.  Her lips parted. Scully looked
astonished as she took a breath.  Light seemed to 
enter her shadowed eyes. "Mulder?" 

Scully's attacker grabbed her from behind. Thrown
off balance, and they both tumbled to the floor with 
a solid thud.

"You fucking bitch!"  the orderly growled and hit 
her in the jaw.  Hard.  

Mulder saw red.  Gritting his teeth, he tried to 
force his muscles to work. Scully lifted her head, 
and there was blood at the corner of her mouth where 
her lip had been split.  There was also an ugly red 
welt on her cheek that would lead to an even uglier 
bruise. 

Shit.  Scully was having the hell beaten out by an 
idiot in a steroid rage, and  Mulder couldn't lift 
a finger to help.  Silently screaming from blinding 
sparks of pain, Mulder forced himself to sit.  He 
probably looked like Frankenstein's monster as he 
stiff-leggedly lowered his feet to the floor.  

The bastard grabbed Scully's hair.  As painful as it 
must have been, Scully didn't yell.  The man pulled 
her to her feet and slammed her into the wall. The 
son of a bitch was grinning!

"I'm gonna kill you, bitch," the man threatened.

"Not today," Mulder growled while whacking the bone
saw beneath the s.o.b.'s chin then bringing it 
crashing down on his head.  

Scully looked uncharacteristically speechless as her 
attacker slumped to the floor.  Mulder grinned, 
then slipped to the floor himself.  Scully blinked 
owlishly for a moment but quickly gathered herself 
together.  "Hold him down," she ordered.

"What?"

She knelt on the floor and reached into her pocket.
Mulder pulled himself toward her.  Scully looked
at Mulder pointedly until he lifted himself and 
parked his keister squarely in the middle of the 
henchman's back. 

"What's that?" Mulder asked when Scully pulled 
a syringe out of her pocket.

"Insurance," she said breathlessly. "I couldn't 
smuggle a weapon into this place but narcotics 
are a different story."

Given his mind-splitting headache Mulder was tempted
to ask if she had any to spare.  "How long will 
this guy be out of commission?" he asked.

Without a trace of gentleness Scully jabbed the 
needle into the man's neck.  "Long enough."

"Good, because I don't believe either of us are up 
for another round of this fight."

Sitting back on her heels, Scully's businesslike 
expression disappeared.  Her steely gaze turned a
soft, compassionate blue as she reached to touch
his face.   "You look like hell, Mulder."

"That's good.  Wouldn't want my looks to be 
deceiving."

She gingerly brushed her fingers across his brow.  
For a moment Mulder almost thought he saw her hand 
tremble. 

"You should be in bed," she said softly.

"Didn't look like the best time for a nap."

Her warm palm cupped his cheek, but Scully didn't 
say anything.  She simply looked at him, as
if she was trying to memorize his every feature. 
Mulder felt his flippancy wash away.
  
"Thank you," she whispered earnestly.

"You're welcome."

She touched his bandage. "Now, lean your head back."  

After giving her a questioning look, Mulder did as 
she asked.  Scully rose to her knees, and Mulder 
realized she wasn't gazing at him in loverlike 
devotion. She moved with the brisk efficiency of a 
doctor.  

"Good," Scully murmured as she examined his stitches. 
"Now lower your head."  As she inspected his bandages 
Mulder contented himself with contemplating the 
shadowy cleft between her breasts which was barely 
visible due to the gaping collar. Okay, so that it 
was sexist and inappropriate given their situation, 
but, hell, he was a man!  

Scully sat back, and Mulder tore his gaze from her 
soft, inviting skin. 

"We can't stay here," she announced.

"I gathered as much."

Scully stood and offered her hand.  Mulder looked 
at it, then up at her. He searched her pale, battered 
face and her tired, desperate eyes.  Despite looking 
like a wreck, Scully was beautiful...at least to him.  
He saw more than the red mark across her cheek or the 
dark circles under her eyes. There was so much more 
to her than disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.  
She was a pint sized Valkyrie. A woman who stood 
her ground and gave no quarter.  Fierce intelligence 
lit her eyes even when they were filled with affection 
and concern...and most astounding of all the concern 
was for him. 

Damn.  It felt strange to matter to someone, to see 
someone worry and fret and care.  It felt surreal.  
When was the last  time someone had cared about his 
fate? Okay, so he had a not always unconscious habit 
of pissing people off. Over the years he had become 
quite adept at alienating people. Yet here stood a 
woman who had walked into a death trap...for him. How 
could one small person embody so much loyalty?

Mulder hoped he deserved it.  

Scully still stood offering her hand.  Mulder took 
it and was surprised by the supple strength of the 
fingers that laced with his. 

"We need to go." He was only saying out loud what 
they both knew to be true.

Scully asked, "Where?"

"Out."

"Easy answer, but out where?  Out how?"

"You didn't have the time to scope the place?"

Scully shook her head. "Not the time or the 
opportunity."

Mulder grimaced. "Do you know where we are?"

"They didn't blindfold me and spin me around 
three times, but they may as well have."

There was a sound in the hallway.

Mulder's senses sharpened.  "We can't stand here 
debating.  We'll just have to go for it and hope 
our luck holds."

"Since when do we have luck?"

He looked at Scully.  Somehow her statement came off
half serious and half teasing. She was a complete
mystery to him. They turned as the sound from the 
hallway moved into the scrub room.  Without a word, 
Scully helped Mulder to his feet. 

Pausing to check that the coast was clear Mulder was
gratified to see that their luck held.  The corridor 
was empty.  Mulder squeezed Scully's hand.  He hadn't 
even been aware of holding onto her until he had 
squeezed. Turns out he hadn't released his grip since 
Scully had laced her fingers with his. Mulder looked 
downat her small, well manicured nails, at the 
paleness of her skin against the unnatural paleness 
of his own.  He felt the caressing way her thumb 
unconsciously moved over the back of his hand. He 
liked it.

"This way," Mulder pulled her down the corridor.

Scully didn't question why.  Mulder was happy 
about that because he didn't have a good reason 
for choosing one direction over another. He just 
knew they couldn't stay where they were.

The hall looked endless with countless identical 
corridors bisecting it.  They turned left.  They 
turned right. It made little difference.  Everywhere 
they went looked essentially the same. Mulder hoped 
like hell they weren't walking in circles.

"I hope we aren't going in circles," he heard Scully say 
under her breath. It was unnerving to hear someone give 
voice to his thoughts.

"We're not going in circles," Mulder assured her.

She looked at him with a curious mixture of hope 
and doubt. "Sure about that?" 

Mulder's breath caught at the impossible familiarity
of the expression.  "I'm certain."  

Sure he was. Right. Who was he fooling? Certainly 
not her. He was only enacting the timeless male 
ritual of refusing to stop to ask for directions. 
Then again, it wasn't exactly appropriate to ask for 
directions in this situation.

"Someone's coming," Scully warned.

Mulder tried a door they came to.  It was locked.  
The next one was locked as well.  The third opened 
easily.  They slipped inside just as footsteps could 
be heard turning the corner.  

Mulder leaned against the door as Scully's hand 
slipped free of his.  Her fingers slid upward, wrapping 
around his wrist.  She's checking my pulse, he realized.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Scully complained 
softly.

"I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday 
afternoons."

"It's Tuesday."  She looked exhausted. "You've been 
under anesthesia most of the day, and have just had 
major surgery.  You should be in a recovery room."

"Doesn't look like that's an option."

Scully pushed her hand through her hair. 
"Unfortunately, you're right."

Mulder wavered on his feet.

"At least sit down," she insisted.

They looked around.  There wasn't a place to sit.  
They were in a small, cramped space filled with 
oversized air handling units that had foil wrapped 
ducts protruding out of them and running in all 
directions.  Sliding to the floor with his back 
braced against the air handler, Mulder looked up at 
the ducts.  "Think we could climb out through one 
of those?"

"Only if we were trapped in a Bruce Willis movie." 
Scully looked at the galvanized metal with serious 
consideration. "I don't think those hanger wires 
would hold us and the ducts look like they might 
cause claustrophobia.  Besides, where would they 
lead except to here?  Aren't these the units feeding 
the ducts?"

"Beats me.  Ask a mechanical engineer."  Mulder 
closed his eyes and rested his head against the 
HVAC unit. "I suppose now we resort to Plan B."

"I don't have a Plan B," Scully confessed  "Do you?"

Mulder shook his head wearily as water splattered on 
his face.  He opened his eyes.  Mulder was sitting 
directly beneath a sprinkler head. "I've got it."

Scully looked at him questioningly.

He pointed to the sprinkler.  "Plan B."

Now Scully looked at him like he was crazy.  Mulder 
couldn't help himself. He grinned.

*******************************************************
Long is the way.  And hard, that out of hell leads up
to light.
                                    John Milton
                                    "Paradise Lost"
*******************************************************

                  CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Dana Scully's Residence
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
5:08pm

Dana paid the taxi driver. She really needed to track
down Dana Scully's car and begin driving.  It made no 
sense to continue paying the outrageous price of a 
taxi.  It felt wasteful.

Dana started up the steps to Scully's apartment 
building then came to a halt when a young woman 
approached her. "Dana, I'm not sure if you remember me." 
 
"Maggie," Dana whispered in a state of semi-shock. 
"You're Daniel's daughter.  Of course I remember you."

Maggie looked uncomfortable and dropped her head to 
stare at her shoes.  "I found your address in my 
father's things..." Her voice trailed off.

Dana wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about 
that.  For all that Dana had gleaned about Scully's
relationship with Mulder, she had no clue about what 
relationship Scully may or may not have had with 
Daniel.  

Maggie shifted anxiously on the balls of her feet. 

"Would you like to come inside?" Dana asked. "I 
can offer you tea or something."

Maggie looked up and there was an impossible mix of 
emotions in her improbably bright eyes. For Dana it
was like felt watching a deer trapped in headlights
...which was a strange thought. Under most circumstances 
a deer wasn't the first animal Dana would associate with 
Daniel's daughter.  In Dana's experience Maggie had 
always been a sullen and resentful young woman.  But 
this was a different life and Scully had never married 
Daniel Waterston.  Things were different here, and
as the two of them stood in the fading light of dusk
Dana saw that the previously recalcitrant Maggie
Waterston now looked as fragile as glass.  If Dana 
said the wrong thing she wondered if Maggie would
shatter. 

Maggie glanced up at the apartment building, 
With her hands shoved into her jeans' pockets 
she decided, "Tea would be nice."

                   X     X     X

Syndicate Research Facility
Location Unknown, 5:13pm

"Have you got it?" Mulder asked.

"No."

"Here, let me help."

"No."

"You need help."

Scully glared at him. "And you need to sit down."  

Mulder sighed as Scully pushed against the heavy 
steel panel over her head.  

"You can't push that open," he repeated.  "You don't 
have the upper body strength.  If you would just let 
me help--"

"I said SIT DOWN!"

Mulder stepped back.  How did such a little person 
contain such a big "don't give me any shit" voice?  
Mulder crossed his arms and decided that the voice 
probably came from the same place as her dogged 
determination.  One way or another Scully was the 
unstoppable force intent on moving the immovable 
object. He should help her.

Almost as if Scully heard his thoughts, she looked 
Mulder dead in the eyes.  "You just had major surgery. 
I won't allow you to injure yourself."

"I think I could be severely--if not mortally--injured 
if they catch up with us."

"I can open this," she insisted. And, amazingly, Scully 
could. The heavy steel cover began to move.  

Impressive, Mulder thought...but he could still claim 
credit for being the one to find their means of escape.  
When he had pointed to the sprinkler, Scully had 
looked at him as though he had lost his mind.  Exactly 
what was he suggesting? Were they supposed to crawl 
through a sprinkler pipe.

"The stand pipes," Mulder had explained.

"Huh?"

"Several years ago I profiled a case where the prime 
suspect was the maintenance engineer at a hospital--"

"The janitor."

Mulder shrugged.  "Yeah, the janitor, but he saw 
himself as a mercy killer."

She arched a brow.  "Involuntary euthanasia?"

"Succinylcholine in the IVs. Very nasty.  He took out 
three ICU patients, two terminal cancer patients, 
and one particularly bitchy nurse.  When I caught up 
with him he tried escaping through a tunnel that ran 
under the hospital."

He had Scully's attention. "What sort of tunnel?"  

"One where the fire suppression stand pipes connected
to the city water system."

"The sewer," Scully concluded.

"Fire sprinklers run on a separate high pressure water
line that ties directly into a city water which 
requires an exterior manhole."

"So we follow this sprinkler pipe to the stand pipes 
and escape through the sewer," Scully had reasoned.

"Yeah." Mulder had dragged himself to his feet while 
ignoring his splitting headache.

The plan had sounded simple and luckily it had been. 
The sprinkler pipe that had dribbled on him in the 
mechanical room had lead directly to a chase that 
had dropped into the tunnel--or as Scully insisted on 
calling it--the sewer.

At the moment, Mulder couldn't bring himself to argue 
with Scully's description of the tunnel as a sewer. The 
passage was dark, dank, and had a distinctly sewer-like
smell.  He couldn't leave it fast enough.  

Without a flashlight both Mulder and Scully had 
depended on the pale stream on light bleeding through 
two of the holes of what they hoped was a manhole cover.  
They also hoped the sewer exit was a safe distance away
from the Syndicate's research complex. Mulder had no
desire to slosh his way through a sewer only to
deliver himself directly into the hands of the 
Cigarette Smoking Man.

Scully gave one last groan and finished opening
the manhole.  Self sufficiency was a real bitch.  
Scully might feel quite empowered by her competency, 
but Mulder felt useless.

Okay, so he had just come out of surgery, and he was
none too steady on his feet. He also had a blinding
headache and his bare ass was hanging out his surgical
gown, but it still went against his grain to watch 
Scully struggle while he twiddled his thumbs.

Scully's breathing grew strained and loud in the 
silence of the sewer as she pushed the cover aside
and poked her head through the manhole.

"Anyone out there?"  Mulder asked.

"Not at the moment."

After Scully climbed through the opening, Mulder 
looked at the workman's outfit in his hands. Just 
before exiting the mechanical room Scully had found 
the discarded clothing. Mulder hadn't been thrilled 
with the idea of going commando in a stranger's 
clothes, but he was somewhat less thrilled by the 
idea of exiting the sewer with his ass hanging out.

Scully looked over the edge.  "What's the hold up?"

"Costume change."  He looked in Scully's direction.  
"Aren't you going to avert your eyes or something?"

"You don't have anything I haven't seen before.  I'm
a doctor, remember?"

When her steady gaze didn't move, Mulder muttered
good naturedly, "To hell with chivalry."  He began
stripping and Mulder thought he saw Scully smile just 
before she disappeared from view.

A few minutes later Mulder pulled himself out of the
tunnel. "It's still daylight," he realized in mild
surprise.

"Barely." Scully gazed at the hazy gray-blue sky 
peeking through the dense foliage of towering pine 
trees.  Their manhole was in the middle of nowhere.

This wasn't what Mulder had expected. "Where the hell 
are we?" 

"I don't know," she said softly.

He frowned.  "You don't know?  How did you get here?"

"A UPS van."

He stepped back. "You're kidding."

Scully shot Mulder a look that told him she was 
definitely not kidding.   "It wasn't a normal UPS
van.  It was a modified ambulance of some sort, and it 
didn't allow for much sightseeing."

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in the dirty white work
coveralls.  "So we're lost in the wilderness."

"Looks like it."

Noting the darkening sky he muttered,  "We should
start moving.  We don't have much daylight left."

Scully started walking west at a slow but steady
pace.  However, even with their slow  movement
it didn't take long for Mulder to begin breathing hard.
"Shit, I'm in better shape than this," he insisted.

"You've been unconscious for days. You've--"

"Had surgery.  Yeah, I remember that."

Scully's brows drew together creating a frown line.  
"How much do you remember?"

"Of what? Of what happened or of you?"

He watched Scully's face, mesmerized by the way 
emotions and thoughts momentarily shaded her
features then hid behind a calm mask.  

"Either." But under her breath she added, "Both."

"The last thing I remember is the rubbing of the 
African artifact." He noticed that Scully nodded as 
if she knew exactly what he was talking about...which 
was strange because she hadn't been there. Then again, 
that was only one strange thing in the midst of 
hundreds. Mulder confessed. "After passing out in the 
lab the only memories I have are disjointed and 
disconnected."

Again Scully nodded as if she understood.  And any way
Mulder looked at it, Scully understanding what he was 
saying should have been impossible.  He hadn't given 
her any details. His explanation was half assed at best, 
but Scully seemed to know the story almost as well as he
did.  She understood...almost as if she had been there. 
That should freak him out or at least make him feel 
suspicious.  

It didn't.  

It felt...right. 

Mulder gazed at Scully speculatively. "Is it my 
turn to ask questions?" 

Her blue eyes met his as she gave an almost 
imperceptible nod.

He asked, "How can I have memories of you? Is it 
some sort of previous life regression thing?"

She laughed. "As in 'I was born in 1843, and we knew 
each other then?'"

He nodded and watched her expectantly.

"No, it's nothing like that." 

"Damn."  He couldn't help it.  He was just a little
disappointed.  He couldn't help thinking that past 
life regression would make a great X-File.  However, 
noting Scully's frown it was clear she didn't feel 
the same way. Mulder sobered. "So tell me, what is 
it like?"  

Scully didn't answer. 

They faced one another across an extremely small 
distance.  All it would take was one lifted hand 
and they would touch.   

Mulder sighed. "Before I landed in the hospital, I 
had never met you. But I have memories of you--memories 
of us.  Can you explain that?"

Scully began picking at the bark on a tree, but
still didn't say anything. Finally she turned 
scrambled up an outcropping of rocks.  She didn't
stop until she could stand and look out at the horizon. 
It was only then that Mulder noticed that they were 
standing on a ledge at a very high altitude. 

Scully asked, "Where do you think we are?" 

"You didn't answer my question."

She acted as if he hadn't said a thing. "We're too 
exposed here. The Smoking Man's men can't be far 
behind us."

She isn't going to explain, Mulder realized.  He 
wondered why?  Scully didn't seem like an evasive 
person.  In fact she seemed to pride herself on 
being as straightforward as humanly possible.

Falling back on his profiler skills, Mulder decided 
that perhaps Scully wasn't avoiding HIS questions...she 
was avoiding her own.

                   X      X      X

The surgeon shone a penlight into the Smoking Man's 
eyes.  After a moment he nodded then stepped away from 
the bed.  "Welcome back," he said while removing his 
latex gloves.

Though he felt like hell, the Smoking Man managed a 
grim smile.  "It's good to be back."

The doctor didn't respond.

"You look concerned," CSM added.  "Was the operation 
not a success?"

The surgeon frowned. "This was an untested procedure. 
There is no way to tell at this point whether 
it will accomplish more good than damage."

"There has been damage?"

"When foreign matter has been introduced to the body, 
there is always the potential for damage."

The Smoking Man gave a low, rumbling chuckle.  "Do not
say that at this late stage of the game you're worried 
about your Hippocratic oath."

"First, do no harm."

The old man smiled. "I'm alive, aren't I?"  

The surgeon glanced away. 

"Tell me, Doctor, what is your definition of harm?  The 
extinction of the human race?" The Smoking Man frowned.  
"Or perhaps Mulder has not fared well.  Is that it?  
Have you lost a patient after all?"

The surgeon turned sharply as if reluctant to face his
patient, making the old man wish he could reach for a
cigarette. He could use one, but no doubt the doctor 
would refuse him.  Few people refused the Cigarette
Smoking Man and lived, but then this was his doctor...
and of course there was oxygen in the room. 

"Is Mulder gone?" the old man asked again.

"Yes.  So is the woman."

CSM slanted his gaze toward the doctor. "Mulder is 
alive?"

"We have no reason to think otherwise."

He nodded. "So lovely Dr. Waterston accomplished 
her goal after all."  

The surgeon's brow knitted in a questioning frown.  

"The only reason she came here was to rescue Mulder,"  
the old man explain in his low, emotionless voice. 
He stated flatly, "She won't succeed." 
   

                    X     X     X

Dana Scully's Residence
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
5:40pm

Dana sat at the dining table watching Maggie Waterston 
stare into a cup of green tea.  Dana didn't say anything. 
She was still in a state of shock at finding Daniel's 
daughter standing on Scully's doorstep.

"I'm not sure where to start," Maggie told her.  

Dana wasn't sure how to help her start.  She had never
been able to talk to Maggie.  Every encounter she had
ever had with her stepdaughter had been awkward and 
tension filled. 

Maggie lifted her startlingly bright eyes and announced 
in a stark voice, "My father died two weeks ago."

Dana was speechless. Daniel was dead?  It was the last 
thing she had expected to hear.  Her husband was dead...
only he wasn't her husband. Or rather he wasn't Scully's 
husband. The sheer perversity of her situation made 
impossible for Dana to feel possessive of anything. But
still, in another time, another life Daniel Waterston
was her husband and now he was dead.

The logistics of this nightmare were beginning
to make Dana's head hurt, but one thought began
a quiet litany inside of her.  Daniel was dead. How
was she supposed to react to that?  This shock 
coming after so many others simply left Dana 
feeling numb.

Maggie nervously fingered the handle of the antique
china cup.  "Maybe I should have called you when it 
happened."  The younger woman glanced up anxiously.  
"Is that what you would have wanted? Or would you 
prefer that I not be here now? The last time I saw 
you, I had the impression that you had moved on 
with your life.  You didn't seem interested having my 
father in it."  

Dana searched in vain for something to say. 

Maggie pushed the tea cup away, stood, and began
pacing. "Then again maybe the reason I didn't call 
you had nothing to do with you. Maybe I didn't 
contact you because I knew my father wanted you 
there."  She stopped and asked, "Was that cruel?"

"Cruel?" 

"My father didn't mention you by name, not after the 
alternative medicine incident. But I know he wanted you 
there.  I knew it but I never did a thing about it.  I 
denied my father his dying wish.  Is that cruel?"

"If he never mentioned me, what makes you think he 
wanted to see me?" Dana asked logically.

Maggie laughed harshly.  "Oh he wanted to see you. He 
wanted one more woman weeping at his bedside.  It 
would have completed the picture since Mom refused 
to play along."

Dana was startled.  "Your mother?"  Barbara Waterston 
was dead.  She had committed suicide years ago.  She 
had done it just after...Dana sighed.  Those incidents 
had never happened in this world.  Scully had made 
different choices.  How many times must Dana face that
truth before it became real to her?

Maggie's smile twisted bitterly. "Mom told Dad where 
he could stick it.  She did come to his funeral though.  
She even cried.  She just refused to give him the 
satisfaction of SEEING her cry." 

Dana picked up Maggie's cup and walked toward the sink 
to rinse it out. "Maybe you didn't call me out of 
respect for your mother," she theorized.

Maggie shook her head. "Mom wouldn't give a damn if 
I called you. Not any more. No, I...I didn't call 
because I didn't want you there."

Then why are you here now? Dana wondered.

Maggie's hand moved jerkily, nervously as she paced.
"I didn't call because I didn't want to.  But that 
doesn't seem fair.  You saved his life."  She stopped
pacing. "He may not have wanted to admit it, and he
may have mocked you for it.  But I know you saved his 
life, and at the end he wanted you there."

"What about what you wanted?" 

Maggie shrugged. "Dad never bothered with what I 
wanted."

That was true of both Daniels. His priorities had
been simple--himself, THEN everyone else. The world
could go to hell and unless it directly involved him.  

Dana said tentatively  "Maybe you're not calling me 
was your way of finally getting what you wanted. For 
once your needs came first."

"Maybe."

Almost definitely.

Maggie rested her hands on the back of one
of Scully's dining chairs. "I...want to thank 
you," she said haltingly.

Dana blinked. "What?"

"I want to thank you.  More than anything else, more 
than telling you of my father's death, that's why I 
came here tonight."

Dana was surprised and confused.  The one thing 
she had never expected out of Maggie Waterston was 
gratitude. For that matter she had never even 
expected respect, yet somehow Dana Scully had earned 
both.

"You gave me a chance," Maggie confessed. "A chance
for my father and myself to correct our mistakes."  
Her eyes filled with unshed tears.  "He may not have 
taken that chance but still, there was one, and I 
have you to thank for it."

"I'm sorry I couldn't have helped more," was all that
Dana could think to say.

Maggie shook her head. "It was enough.  It may not 
have been a happy ending, but I think it was a valid 
one. Given the way my father was, I can't imagine a 
different one.  At any rate, you gave me time to come 
to peace with who he was, to accept him warts and all.  
Now I'm free to move on, and I have you to thank 
for it."

Dana shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, and I've probably 
said too much.  I probably should have just sent a 
card--" 

"No," Dana protested.  "No, it was good to see you.  
I'm glad you came by."

                   X      X      X               

Pisgah National Forest
6:13pm

Mulder leaned against Scully, and he hated it.  Yes, 
there was physical pleasure in being close to her, 
but it bothered him to feel helpless, to be dependent 
on another person.  Call it male ego, but shouldn't 
he be capable of ignoring a migraine and blurry 
vision? Mind over matter and all that.  

Mulder had been through some harrowing situations 
in his life and had always dragged himself out of 
them without leaning on a slender pair of female 
shoulders. Of course in the past he had no choice. 
There had been no one to lean against, no one to 
help shoulder the burden. 

He had to admit that it felt good to have 
someone beside him. 

Besides, it was easier to play tortured superhero 
when you had a black rubber bat suit, and Mulder 
was fresh out of latex.  Not to mention the fact
that at the moment the best secret identity he 
could qualify for would be 'Migraine Man.' 

Trying to distract himself from his headache Mulder 
asked, "Exactly how long did it take that modified 
UPS van to reach the research facility?"

Scully stopped moving. "We left D.C. around 8pm and 
it was daylight when we arrived."  Closing her
eyes momentarily, she took a deep breath. Mulder 
could feel her exhausted muscles trembling beneath 
him. Scully's energy reserves were running out.

Ignoring his headache and dizziness, Mulder shifted 
his weight onto his own feet. If the two of them were 
going to make it, he needed to carry his own weight. 

Unsteady on his feet, Mulder focused on questions 
that needed answers.  "So we're somewhere that can
be reached by car in  ten to twelve hours."  After 
filling his lungs with the thin air, Mulder added, 
"Somewhere with a fairly impressive elevation."

Free of Mulder's weight Scully bent over and rested 
her hands on her thighs. Mulder thought her breathing 
was more labored than before, but he didn't think she 
would appreciate his pointing that out.  "We're 
lost in some mountain range south of D.C." Scully 
concluded raggedly. 

"South?"

Scully stood. "Don't ask me why. But this seems...I 
don't know. Wouldn't it be colder than this in 
mountains ten hours north of D.C.?"

"Maybe," he agreed.  "But when it gets dark, I have a 
feeling this will be more than cold enough."

Mulder watched the sun sink relentlessly toward the
horizon, a jagged, indistinct edge hidden by sparse
cloud cover. Soon the glowing orange orb would 
disappear entirely, leaving them in a dark, near 
moonless night.
 
Mulder frowned. "If this is south of D.C. we can rule 
out the Adirondacks."

"The Appalachians, maybe?"

Mulder faced Scully. "Where?  The Appalachians 
cover a lot of terrain." 

"I don't know." Scully gingerly touched the ugly 
bruise beginning to mar her jaw.  She flinched and
dropped her hand.  "We should keep moving."

Mulder didn't argue.  In silence they followed a trail
that sharply descended the mountain.  Picking their
way down this path in the dark was going to be 
dangerous if not fatal. Even as Mulder thought it, 
Scully's foot slid, sending pebbles plummeting over the 
rock ledge. Mulder caught her arm and pulled her sharply 
toward him. Her small body collided with his. He stepped 
awkwardly to the side but maintained his balance as his 
hand clasped her shoulder. For a moment Scully rested 
against him, her bright head pressed his chest. However, 
only seconds passed before Scully pulled away.  

Mulder missed the contact.

"We're going to have to stop for the night," Scully 
announced. "If we keep going in the dark, one of us 
is going to break his neck." She looked up at the 
gray-blue sky that was deepening to a misty shade of 
violet.  "And, Mulder, you don't need to be exposed 
to the elements.  Under any other circumstances you'd 
be hospitalized right now."

"Yeah, well, I specialize in 'other circumstances.'  
I'll survive."  He looked around them. "It wouldn't 
hurt to have a better idea where we are though." 

"Considering the lack of development, I'd guess some
national park," she surmised. "It would make a certain 
amount of sense. Government owned lands could be a 
a convenient place to hide a federal research 
facility."

Mulder looked at her sharply.

"What?" Scully asked.

"I'm not used to a normal person taking my shadow 
government conspiracies seriously. A militia nut 
might buy into it, but most rational people call me 
paranoid and crazy."

Scully frowned and looked offended for him. "You may 
be overly enthusiastic, but you aren't crazy." She 
looked around them. "So do you buy the theory that 
our mystery men set up shop in a national forest?" 

Mulder didn't miss her saying 'our,' as if the two 
of them could possess something together, as if the 
search was shared.  The question of who this woman 
could be was fast becoming his new obsession.  
Suddenly pain shot through Mulder's temple and he 
became aware of a faint buzzing noise.

"Mulder, you need to sit down," Scully insisted.

The buzzing grew louder until a helicopter passed 
overhead.  Mulder caught Scully's hand and pulled 
her beneath the canopy of fir trees.  

"Looks like they discovered we skipped out without 
paying the bill," he muttered.

Scully glanced in the direction they had hiked. 
"There can't be much distance between us and a 
search party. We haven't exactly made record 
time."

"And we aren't about to begin to. We're going to 
have to lie low."

"Where?"

Another helicopter passed overhead.  Pulling Scully
deeper into the shadow of the trees, Mulder searched
for a path of escape. "Somewhere out of sight of those." 

A third copter buzzed by.

Scully pointed up the rock face. "Is that a cave?" 

In the deeply shadowed light it was hard to tell, but
Mulder was willing to go on a hunch.  He took Scully's 
hand, and abruptly changing direction, they headed up 
the mountain instead of down.  

He drawled, "Let's hope we're not disturbing Yogi and 
Boo-Boo."
                  

*****************************************************
To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, 
manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most
radiant beauty, which our dull facilities can 
comprehend only in the most primitive forms--this 
knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true
religiousness.  In this sense, and in this sense only,
I belong to the ranks of the devoutly religious...
                                     Albert Einstein
******************************************************

                   CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pisgah National Forrest 
9:53pm
            
Scully sat on the flat, slightly damp stone floor of the 
cave as she watched beams of diffused light float in the 
darkness. 

"They're still searching," Mulder noted as he looked at 
the woods below them. 

Scully nodded. "They've been at it for hours." 

He leaned his head against the stone wall and closed
his eyes. "So they get brownie points for persistence."  

Scully didn't answer but tried to focus on the lights 
in the fog only to find her own eyes drifting shut. 
When she felt her breathing become deep and even, 
Scully realized she was on the verge of falling asleep. 
Swiftly jerked herself to an erect sitting position,
she glanced over her shoulder to see Mulder watching
her through one open eye. 

"How long since you've slept?" he asked. 

"Months."  Scully saw him frown and amended her 
statement, "I mean it feels like months. Actually, 
it's only been a couple of days."  

She had told the truth the first time. She hadn't 
had a good night's sleep since he had disappeared.

"You need to rest." Mulder's voice was warm and 
soft and comforting.  For a moment Scully almost 
believed she could rest.

"I'm okay," she reassured. "You're the one who 
needs to lie down. You--"

"Just had brain surgery."

Scully glanced at him sheepishly. "Have I repeated 
it that many times?"

He smiled. "I lost count at thirty-four."

She crossed her arms. "So when are you going to 
follow my advice?"

"Immediately after you follow it.  Do you really
need me to say 'physician, heal thyself?'"

Scully tilted her head toward the glowing lights. 
"I'll follow my advice as soon as they leave."  

Mulder moved closer to her.  "You know watching them 
search doesn't prevent them from finding us or make 
them go away any faster."

"Perhaps. But I feel better standing guard."

"Okay, then." He shook himself a little and sat 
up straight.  "Seen any good movies lately?"

"No."

"What about television?  Anything good on?"

"It's summer re-runs."

"Found any aliens?"

"Not a one."  After a heartbeat Scully turned to 
face him. "Mulder, we don't have to make small talk."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Good. I suck at small talk."

They sat in companionable silence for a very long 
time.  They didn't say anything. Maybe they didn't 
need to say anything.   Scully surreptitiously 
looked at Mulder.  From the moment she had met him 
they had shared the ability to sit in silence without 
the silence being awkward.  It wasn't that they 
lacked for things to say. They debated. They argued.  
They discussed, but they were able to sit side by 
side in perfect peace without a word passing 
between them. Silence felt comfortable and comforting.  
It felt safe...which was rare...which was very rare.

                  X     X     X

Pisgah National Forrest 
11:48pm

Mulder watched Scully bring her knees up to her chest 
as lights swiveled and danced, illuminating the
jagged outline of trees in the forest below the 
cave where they sat. The searchers moved away
and the lights dimmed.

As they plunged into total darkness Mulder asked, 
"Shouldn't we have knit caps and a handheld camera?" 

Scully frowned.  Mulder couldn't see the frown, but 
he knew it was there. 

"Blair Witch pop-culture reference," he explained.  
"You know, weird sounds in the woods followed by 
impenetrable darkness." When she didn't answer Mulder 
added,  "Okay, as pop references go, it's a couple of 
years out of date, but give me a break, I just had 
brain surgery."

Now she smiled.  He couldn't see the smile any more 
than he could the frown, but he knew the smile 
was there.

A helicopter with blinding white lights buzzed by, 
momentarily silhouetting the ghostly skeleton of dead 
trees against a deep indigo sky.  "What do you think 
caused that?" he asked, indicting the trees.

Scully shrugged.  "Insects. Acid rain. Forest fires.  
Who knows."

"I read somewhere that it's a common problem in the 
Southern Appalachians, particularly above fifty-five 
hundred mark in the Black Mountains."

Now he had Scully's attention. "You think that's where 
we are?" she asked.

"From the time frame you gave, it sounds about right."  
Mulder winced and massaged his temple.

"Don't."  Scully gently caught his hand then stretched
over him to check his bandage. "Are you in much pain?" 

"I have the headache to end all headaches, but it's
manageable."

"Go lie down.  Get some rest."

"You first."  

She didn't move. 

"Scully," he said softly.  "The lights are moving down
the hill. They aren't coming back."

"They always come back," she said with the kind of 
resignation that made Mulder wonder how long Scully had 
been running from black helicopters.  How long had 
she been peering into dark corners? Long enough to 
know the monsters that lived there were real.

Mulder recognized Scully's complete emotional exhaustion 
even as he felt the determination that drove her.  He 
shared it. It was in him, and it was in her.  Somehow, 
fundamentally, they were the same. For so long his quest 
had been a lonely one.  No one understood, not really, 
until now.  But from the moment he had gazed into 
Scully's tired blue eyes it was as if he had never 
been alone, as if she had always walked by his side.  

Unbidden, Mulder remembered the visions he'd had in the 
hospital, memories of this woman taking his hand,
of standing by his side in the midst of more nightmares 
than he cared to count.  There were memories of her 
sacrifices, and of Scully earning his absolute trust. 
Memories that both were and were not real--as implausible 
as that description sounded.

Mulder touched the bruise marring Scully's cheek.  
"That must hurt like a sonofabitch."

"Only when you touch it."

He drew his hand away.

"That guy had a pretty hard left," Mulder sympathized.

"I'll survive. And after you whacked him with the bone
saw, I'm sure his headache is worse than yours."

Mulder arched a brow.  "You think that's possible?" 

"If there's justice in the world, it's possible."

"That's the best thing I've heard all night."  His
eyes had grown accustomed to the dark so Mulder 
could make out the lines and curves of her face.  
"So... "

She tilted her head to the side. "So?"

"It was a conversational gambit."

"No talking.  You need sleep."  Scully pulled away 
and stretched across the cave's floor.  Mulder 
watched as she twisted one way then another.  She 
looked uncomfortable.

Mulder remained where he was. "I'm not sleepy." He 
wasn't sure if he said it because it was true or 
just to have her turn and glare at him.  He waited 
patiently for her to say something, to say anything. 
She didn't, and for a moment Mulder thought Scully 
really had gone to sleep. He looked closly.  No, 
even considering how exhausted she must be, Scully 
looked too uncomfortable to sleep. 

He pressed, "You never explained how I know you."

The silence remained unbroken for a very long time. 
Finally Scully asked--and from the tone of her voice 
it was clear that she was reluctant to ask-- "DO 
you know me?"

"Yes."  It was that simple and that true...despite
the fact that knowing her was impossible.

"You're not him," Scully whispered in the darkness.

"Who?"

"Mulder. You're not him. You're not real."

"I'm just doing an amazingly lifelike impression 
of him? Come on, Scully, what you're saying doesn't 
make sense."

Her voice sounded small and hesitant. "Don't ask me 
to make sense of this."

"Just resign ourselves to confusion?"
 
She turned over. "I can tell you what happened, but 
I can't make sense of it."  And she explained how 
she had been assigned to investigate the 
disappearance of Steven Doerstling.  She described 
her conversations with Mike Stilgoe, and her 
decision to venture into the CESR.  Then Scully 
described finding herself in Georgetown Memorial's 
M.I.C.U. gazing at him.

"You're saying you've fallen into an alternate 
universe," Mulder realized.

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"I never once said that," Scully snapped.  "I said 
that I was investigating a case where a physicist 
theorized the existence of alternate universes."

"And then you fell into one."

"No." She shook her head. "That's impossible. Even 
if alternate universes do exist, a person couldn't 
fall into one."

Mulder watched her carefully. "So what's your 
explanation for what's happening?"

"I'm probably in the I.C.U. of some hospital in 
Ithaca. Odds are this is nothing more than a 
desperate dream."

"Why would you be desperate to dream about me having 
a headache the size of Alaska? And if it's your dream, 
why am I the one with a headache? For that matter, 
why would I be in your dream at all?"

"Because I'm desperate to find you," Scully confessed. 

That pulled him up short. Her words held the 
unmistakable ring of truth. Mulder blinked. "Why 
would you want to find me?" 

Her sad eyes moved over him.  "Why wouldn't I? Do
you have any idea how much I want to save you, to 
bring you back? This is nothing more than wish 
fulfillment."

Mulder gazed at her doubtfully. "Exactly what wish 
are you fulfilling?  A latent desire to see me 
lobotomized?"

Scully's expression made Mulder feel like an ass for 
teasing about her.  There was a world of pain in her 
eyes telling him that Scully was dead serious when 
she said she was desperate.  

"Mulder, when you disappeared, I wasn't there to 
save you. I can't help you. I can't find you.  Now 
suddenly I can do all three? Don't you see?  Your..." 
She took a deep breath. "Your abduction was connected 
to the anomalous brain activity you experienced last 
fall.  It only makes sense that my desire to find you 
has become mixed up with my memories and your 
descriptions of your surgery.  That would explain why 
I arrived at this point in time--"

"Arrived," Mulder repeated. "You don't 'arrive' in a 
dream. This is real, Scully, and you know it."

"No, it is a dream. It has to be.  It's not even an 
unusual one. Do you have any idea how many times 
I've dreamed of having you back?"

The fervor in her voice affected him.  Her loyalty to 
him was astounding and unexpected and beyond anything 
Mulder had ever known.  And despite what Scully was 
saying, it WAS real. "This isn't a dream, Scully. I'm 
here. I exist."

"Then maybe I don't.  Maybe I'm her. Maybe I'm Dana 
Waterston and not Special Agent Dana Scully."

"Now you're grasping at straws."

"I know things that Dana Waterston knows," Scully 
explained.  "I'm aware of medical minutia outside 
of my specialty, but not outside of hers. Maybe she 
is the one who is real and Dana Scully is the dream."

"Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly or a 
butterfly who dreamed he was a man?"

Scully slanted a glance in his direction. "Don't be 
flippant."

"I'm not being flippant. I'm trying to figure out why 
you would diagnose yourself as being schizophrenic 
rather than admit to an extreme possibility."

"Mulder, this isn't paranormal."

"No, it's science so why aren't you buying into it? 
Just say it, Scully.  Say you've fallen into an 
alternate universe."

She shook her head.  "It's impossible."

"Impossible?  You can see it.  You can touch it. It's 
all around you.  How can you not believe your own 
eyes?"

"Senses can lie.  There are all kinds of hallucinogenic
substances that--"

"You can't do it, can you? Even with the evidence 
staring you in the face, you can't believe."

Scully's eyes snapped with blue fire as she demanded, 
"Instead of passing judgments on what I choose to 
believe, you might ask yourself why you need to force 
me to believe as you do." 

"I don't--"

She cut him off.  "Why do you need me to agree with you? 
It's not my loyalty you want.  You have that.  And my 
agreeing with you wouldn't make your beliefs any more or 
less true.  Beliefs are personal.  Belief is faith, and 
faith can't be proven."

"That's religion, not truth."

"And truth is your religion."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully stopped him.  
"Don't mock faith, Mulder. You might not believe in 
religion, but you've always functioned on faith.  Always. 
You couldn't martyr yourself to something you don't 
believe in, something you don't have faith in. And, 
damn you, you martyred yourself in this quest."

"I'm not dead."

"Aren't you?  How the hell am I supposed to know?  
You got on a plane to Oregon and never came home!" 
Her voice broke, and she began to shake.

"Scully..."

"Damnit, Mulder, how could you? You dragged me into 
your mad crusade then walked away!" She angrily wiped 
away her tears. "Did you see the chance to find 
answers? Is that all it took?  You left me behind, 
and don't give me that excuse that you didn't want to 
lose me.  You lost yourself.  It's the same thing in 
the end, and it's no more bearable...only I'm the 
one who has to bear it."

"Scully, please--"   

"You son of a bitch, you ditched me."
 
He dragged her into his arms but Scully struggled 
against him.  

"Let go." She pushed against his chest. 

"No."

"Let go.  Ditch me.  It's what you do best."

"No."

"Damnit, Mulder!"

He held her tightly and threaded his fingers though 
her hair,  "I know I didn't mean to leave you," he 
said urgently.  "I would never willingly do that."

"Ha!  You do it all the time."

"But not like this."

She stopped struggling. 

He held his breath.  "Scully...?"

"You never left me like this," she whispered. "This 
time you didn't come back." 

He cupped the back of her head and rocked her gently. 
"I'm sorry."

Mulder felt a shudder pass through Scully as she buried 
her face against the crook of his neck.  He felt 
her hot tears against his bare skin, but Scully never 
made a sound.  Not a single cry. Her grief was terrible 
in its silence.  There was no solace in her tears or in 
his embrace.  There was only agony and silence.

Helplessly he whispered,  "I'm sorry."

A single sob escaped her.  Her arms wrapped tightly
around him as her fingers clutched his shirt in
tight fists. Mulder searched in vain for words of 
comfort, but what could he say that could compare to 
the eloquence of her tears. .. so he held her.  His 
body wrapped protectively around hers, holding her 
close, keeping her warm.  They clung to each other, 
providing anchors in a sea of loneliness and confusion.  

Scully gave a huge sigh that seemed to pass through her 
entire being before she fell limp against him.  Silently 
Mulder urged her to let go over her superhuman self-
control, to relax, to rest.  Scully seemed so very 
tired--tired to the depths of her soul.  

"Rest," Mulder murmured as his hands moved over her 
back.  He felt her breath against his throat growing 
soft and even.  She didn't move but appeared content 
to stay locked in his arms. Mulder let the silky 
strands of her hair pass through his fingers.

"You aren't him," Scully said into the darkness.

"No, I'm not."

"He's still missing and now so am I. This isn't 
home."

"Just an incredible facsimile."

Scully started to move away, but Mulder held her 
against the wall of his chest.  She didn't struggle. 
It was as if Scully no longer had the energy or the 
strength.

"You feel like him."  She said with her palms pressed 
flat against his chest and her head resting on his 
shoulder.  "You even smell like him.  If I close my 
eyes tightly enough I can almost believe you are him, 
that you've come back...that this isn't a dream."
 
"It isn't a dream, Scully," he insisted gently.

"Maybe not, but you're still not him." 

Mulder pressed his lips against the top of her head. 
"Some part of me must be. Otherwise how can I feel 
what he feels? Know what he knows?"

She lifted her head and gazed at him with tearful 
eyes. "Do you?"

"Yes."

"How can one being be two people?" she asked before
giving a watery smile. "Other than garden variety
schizophrenia, that is."

"Light can be both a particle and a wave, right?
Can't this be something similar?"

"I don't see how."

Mulder frowned as he concentrated. "Contradictions are 
part of the universe--or the multiverse as the case may 
be--and every action has an equal and opposite reaction--"

"Don't talk science to me, Mulder, you're creeping 
me out." 

Without letting her go Mulder shifted their weight so 
that he could lean back against the wall of the cave.
He closed his eyes. "Okay, what if I say that mystics 
have pondered the true meaning of consciousness since 
the human race wandered around in caves drawing on 
walls--and, yes, I'm aware that at the moment we're 
wandering around a caves but please note we aren't 
drawing on walls."

"Your point being?"

"My point being that maybe only a thin veil separates 
your world from mine.  Maybe there are times when our 
realities are close enough to see or touch, or maybe 
even pass through. The Australian Aborigines believe 
in the Alchera/Tjurjunga--the dreamtime. Their myths 
describe people's spirits making journeys through the 
void." 

"As in someone's consciousness traveling to another 
universe?"

"Maybe."

"That might explain why I'm not me." Scully paused and 
looked dismayed by what she had just said. "I mean--"  
She stopped and shook her head.  "This isn't my hair 
cut." She held out her hand and exposed a nearly 
invisible razor thin scar on her forearm.  "I didn't 
have that. And there's no chip in my neck and...and 
there are other things." 

"Meaning even though you have Scully's memories, this is 
Dana Waterston's body?"

"Yes." 

"So only your consciousness, your sentience went from 
one universe into another. What if whatever happened 
in the CESR completed some cosmic circuit creating
a consciousness loop making it possible to be two 
people at the same time?"

"So why would you be affected?" Scully asked. "You 
weren't in the accelerator."

"Anomalous brain activity. If it was enough to read 
the thoughts of everyone around me, maybe it was enough 
to also reach through the veil."  He opened his eyes.  
"The beach. The figure I saw on the beach. It was me."
He paused.  "That is, it was Mulder.  Your Mulder.
Maybe the connection was made there, in dreamtime."

Scully sat up with an intent searching look on her 
face.  "So you might really know what Mulder is 
thinking?"

"Knew.  Whatever was done to me in the operation 
quieted the voices, including his.  I just remember 
everything I've experienced up until that point."

"But you heard him thinking?  He's alive?"

"I'm Mulder too, you know."

"Is HE alive?" she pressed urgently.

Mulder cupped her cheek, his thumb resting along
curve of her jaw. "Yes. He's alive"

"Thank God."  Scully closed her eyes as her forehead 
fell against his chest. "Thank you, God." 

                   X     X     X

Syndicate Research Facility
12:13am

The surgeon entered the recovery room then rushed 
forward.  "You shouldn't be sitting up." 

The Smoking Man eyed him with a cold stare. "Have 
our fugitives been found? 

"Your men are still looking."

"Tell me, Doctor, how many acres of national 
forest are outside our door?  Enough to conceal two 
people who don't want to be found?"

"I'm sure your men are well-trained."

"Oh yes, they're well trained but our fugitives 
have need on their side.  Never underestimate 
desperation as motivation."  He leaned back against 
the pillows and closed his eyes. "I miscalculated."

The Smoking Man opened his eyes to see the surgeon 
looking at him questioningly. "I underestimated Dr. 
Waterston," he explained. "I knew she had a plan 
of action, but I thought to outmaneuver her.  Now 
I find she can think on her feet.  Mulder has 
acquired a formidable ally."  The old man motioned 
for a nurse to fluff his pillow and straighten his 
sheets.  Settling back against the cool, white 
linens he announced without inflection.  "They
both have to be eliminated."


****************************************************
Look and remember. Look upon the sky;
Look deep and deep into the sea-clean air,
The unconfined, the terminus of prayer.
Speak now and speak into the hallowed dome.
What do you hear?  What does the sky reply?
The heavens are taken; this is not your home.
                              Karl Jay Shapiro
                              "Travelogue for Exiles"
*****************************************************

                 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Pisgah National Forest
6:40am

Scully came awake slowly.  First she was aware that
half of her body was freezing while the other half
was comfortably warm. Then she felt the weight of 
something lying across her. Finally, her synapses 
began to fire, and Scully remembered that 'something' 
was Mulder. 

He was pressed against her back with his knees drawn 
up behind hers and his arm draped over her shoulder; 
hence the reason her back was warm and snug while her 
fingers and feet were freezing.

Briefly Scully remembered the verbal tussle preceding
their sleeping arrangements.

Mulder had noticed, "You're shivering." 

"We're in the mountains. It's cold. I shiver.
It's perfectly normal."  

"Is it normal to ignore the fact you're freezing?" 

It was at that moment Scully had realized Mulder would 
wrap his arm around her and settle himself against her 
back. He would surround her with his warmth and 
wordless comfort...and she would allow it. She longed 
for it.  Mulder had held her in exactly the same way 
on their last night together in Oregon...which was 
why she should say no even as he moved toward her.
Her memories were too painful to be resurrected. 

Scully had warned him, "Don't try the 'let's share body 
heat' excuse. I've heard it before."

Mulder gazed at her with an all too innocent 
expression.

"It isn't raining sleeping bags," she had snapped.

"Is sleeping bag precipitation a common problem in 
your reality?" He had grinned.

"It's a very rare phenomena," Scully said darkly. 
"Almost unheard of."

"But not impossible," Mulder said as he settled against
her.  "Besides, what's the alternative?  Hypothermia?" 

Scully had known she should push him away.  For her own 
sanity she needed to keep this familiar stranger 
at a distance...The problem was she didn't want Mulder 
at a distance.  Not this Mulder.  Not any Mulder.  She 
wanted to touch him and reassure herself that he was 
here.  Scully knew that he wasn't her Mulder, and yet 
somehow he was...he most definitely was.

Scully rubbed the bridge of her nose.  Now she was the 
one with a headache.  She was tired of trying to find 
explanations for the impossible.  She was sick of trying 
to find order in chaos, of divining reason where there 
was none.  She wanted to close her eyes and believe. 
Even if it was only for one short, deluded moment, she 
wanted to believe that everything would be okay;
so when Mulder touched her, Scully hadn't pulled 
away. She had sighed and allowed her eyes to drift
closed enjoying the feel Mulder's long fingers 
intertwined with hers. As Mulder squeezed her hand 
Scully let go, if only briefly, of her confusion and 
allowed herself to be lulled into peaceful slumber.

Now it was morning.  Sunlight was visible at the 
mouth of the cave.  It was time to sit up, stand
up, and face the day.  Scully didn't want to.

She felt Mulder shift behind her.

"We should plan our strategy," Scully said still 
clinging, though no longer quite as desperately, to 
the rational side of her nature. "We aren't out of 
this yet."

"What's there to plan?" he asked. "We leave the cave 
and avoid the bad guys."

She started to move away. "So simple."

"It is if you let it be."  Mulder pulled her back 
against him. They lay in silence.  Scully could hear 
the sound of his breathing. It was so steady and 
reassuring, so utterly and infuriatingly calm.  

"Mulder, don't you ever plan for the future?" she
asked quietly as she glanced at him over her
shoulder.

His eyes remained closed. "I don't think about it."

"Never thinking about the future is the same thing as 
not planning for it."

Mulder rolled onto his back. "Okay, I don't plan much 
for the future."

"Why?"  She leaned over him, bracing her arms on either 
side of him. Only inches separated their mouths.  "I've 
been thinking about this a lot lately.  Ever since--" 
Scully stopped abruptly as Mulder brushed a strand of 
hair away from her face.


Scully was momentarily distracted, but determinedly 
pulled herself back to the point she was trying to 
make.  "At some point after you disappeared I realized 
we've never been very interested in the future."
Her gaze locked with his.  "Knowing what we know, 
isn't that strange?  You would think we'd be obsessed 
with it.  Instead we only seem to look to the past." 

When it looked like Mulder would protest Scully added,
"Think about it.  What are the questions we ask until 
we're so sick of them that no answer would be enough 
to satisfy us? What happened to your sister?  Who took 
me and put the chip in my neck? Who killed your father? 
Who killed my sister? All of it is in the past. If the 
answers were handed to us tomorrow, it wouldn't change 
a thing."  

Uncertainty almost overwhelmed her. "What if we've been 
asking the wrong questions? What if we've been fighting 
the wrong fight?"

Mulder's dark eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"We've spent so much time fighting the future, that
we never stopped to wonder if we should fight FOR it.
Why is that?" 

A frown creased the area between his eyebrows. "Well, 
there's always the old cliche about ignoring the past 
and being doomed to repeat it."

"There's also a cliche about beating dead horses." 
Scully sat up.  "I just don't know if there are 
enough answers for all of our questions. Maybe at 
some point we have to say enough is enough and stop 
looking to the past."  Scully touched her flat stomach, 
her depressingly flat stomach. "At some point shouldn't 
we start looking to the future?  If we had done that 
I--"  She stopped, frowned, and quickly turned away.

Mulder touched her shoulder and waited for her to
turn to face him.  "If we had done that, what?"

"I wouldn't have lost you."  

                 X       X      X

Glenwood Cemetery
Washington, DC   
10:13am

Dana Waterston had driven down Lincoln Drive three 
times.  The first time she had told herself she had
only intended to drive by the cemetery.  The second 
time Daba had resolved to see Daniel's grave, only at 
the last moment to decide against it and drive away.  
Finally, on the third try Dana crossed the grass 
reading the names on tombstones as she went.

She pulled at her shirt collar. It was impossible to
ignore the rising heat of the late summer day.  With 
Scully's endless collection of black clothing Dana felt 
a bit like she had slipped into an oven set on broil.  
There was a bead of sweat rolling down her spine when 
she finally found the grave she was searching for.  

Waterston was emblazoned across granite.  She stared at 
the headstone in dazed disbelief.  The man who had 
never been Dana Scully's husband lay six feet below the 
earth. Dana knelt to lay lilies on his grave and 
wondered what she was supposed to feel.  

What was the rational response for a situation like 
this? For that matter, what was the irrational response?  
Miss Manners had never written the appropriate etiquette 
for such patently bizarre circumstances.  Exactly what 
should she be feeling?  What should she do? There were 
so many ways to react, so many ways to feel.

"I never loved you."  Dana was shocked at the words 
that came out of her mouth...but they felt true.  

"I was infatuated once," she confessed. "You were 
fascinating.  You had such control. I envied that.  
I wanted that. I always wanted control."  

Somehow she found herself sitting on the grass. It
might stain Scully's suit, but Dana found she didn't
care as a sense of self awareness began to overtake 
her. "I was fourteen when Charlie decided that he 
wanted to buy a motorcycle. Dad didn't want to hear 
anything about it, but Charlie wouldn't give up.  
He took a job as a bagboy at the supermarket.  He sold 
magazine subscriptions." Dana smiled. "He was 
determined, and in the end he did it.  It was old and 
beaten up, but it was his.  He was so proud." 

Her smile disappeared. "Then Dad found out about the
bike and took it away.  He said it was dangerous and 
irresponsible.  Dad sold it and said how disappointed 
he was in Charlie."  Dana noticed that she was 
fingering the delicate yellow petals of the lilies, 
bruising their soft buttery color.  She pulled her 
hands away. "My father was an admirable man, and I 
loved him.  I never wanted to disappoint him.  I 
never wanted him to look at me the way that he looked 
at Charlie.  So I had to keep myself under control.  
I had to follow the rules.  I was taught to admire 
order and control."

Dana looked up at the way light filtered through the 
leaves of the cherry trees shading this corner of the 
cemetery.  

"I never rebelled," she admitted. "At least not much, 
not in public...not like Charlie."  Dana smiled 
ruefully. "Not even like Scully. At least she followed 
her own path and joined the FBI.  I, on the other hand, 
followed my infatuation with control all the way to 
you."

She laid her hand on the vibrantly green grass.  "But 
I never loved you."

Dana rose to her feet.  "I realize that now. In 
fact, I realize a lot of things.  Charlie wasn't 
irresponsible.  Look at what he did to earn that 
bike.  He worked his ass off, and before Dad came 
home Charlie took me for a ride. I loved it. I 
loved every minute of it.  I loved the freedom, 
the wildness, even that thrill of danger. It was 
exhilarating."  

Dana looked at her hands clasped together so tightly 
it turned her knuckles white. She deliberately 
relaxed her grip and stretched her fingers.  "For a 
long time, I've denied that part of myself. I chose 
control over everything, even my own spirit."

She stepped back from the grave.  "I chose wrong.  
That's the difference between what I'm feeling, and 
what Scully feels about losing Mulder.  Control is an
illusion. What's between Mulder and Scully is real. 
It's visceral and constant and true. It's right.  If 
there is any sort of reason why this has happened to 
me, I think it's to show me that I don't belong with 
you, Daniel. I never did, and finally I'm strong 
enough now to face that."

She turned and walked away.

                  X       X       X

Pisgah National Forest
The Black Mountains, North Carolina
10:45 am

Mulder stood reading a marker.  "Bee Tree Gap."  He 
looked at Scully.  "Should we take that as a sign?"

"I'd rather take the sign pointing us toward the trail 
leading to the visitor's center.  They probably have
toilets."

He looked at the glyphs on the sign.  "And a picnic 
area.  Good. I missed breakfast."

Scully gave him a look that said he was straining her 
patience. So Mulder decided not to add how intrigued 
he was that the sign also told them they were in the 
Pisgah forest. If he believed in omens Mulder might find 
significance in the fact that Pisgah was the name of 
the place where after wandering the wilderness for 
nearly 40 years, Moses finally saw the promised land.

Mulder looked at Scully. What a strange, contradictory 
creature she was.  She seemed to have such fierce 
loyalty and affection for him and yet she also seemed to 
consider him to be her personal cross to bear.  She 
sought out the irrational and then insisted on applying 
logic to it. She could believe one moment and deny it 
the next.  She was an enigma and Mulder was damn glad 
he had found her.

"So what are we going to do when we reach that road 
below us?" Mulder asked.  "Hitch a ride?"

"Something like that if we're lucky."

They slowly made their way down the steeply sloping 
trail while also keeping an eye on what was behind 
them.  They may have found a way to hide in the 
forest, but they hadn't found safety.  Though there 
was no sign of the searchers who had scoured the forest 
last night, Scully and Mulder had agreed it was highly 
unlikely that CSM's men would just give up.

Mulder reached the road first, but Scully was only a few
steps behind him.  It was at least another mile to 
the visitor's center.  "I hope that visitor's center has 
a hot shower and a Denny's," he muttered.

She grimaced.  "Can't you do better than Denny's?"

"IHOP then."

Scully grumbled something about a bran muffin and 
fresh honeydew melon. The idea didn't seem so great 
to Mulder.  He was thinking more along the lines of 
a grand slam cholesterol fix.  Just three quarters of 
a mile to go. Then he heard something. "Car," Mulder 
warned.

"Shouldn't we hide or something?"

He shrugged.  "I was thinking more along the lines of 
hitching a ride.  I'm too tired and filthy to think 
about hiding."

Scully didn't argue, that must mean she felt the same 
way.  A car came around the bend. No, actually it was 
an ancient, battered VW van.  In fact Mulder could
almost swear it was. . . 

"You two look like hell," Frohike announced as the van 
came to a stop. 

Mulder shook his head.  He must be hallucinating. "What 
the--"

Langly jumped out of the van and demanded, "Are you 
two going to just stand there?"

Scully nudged Mulder, and he started across the road.  
Then it struck him that Scully didn't seem surprised 
to see the Gunmen.  As a matter of fact, now that 
Mulder thought about it, the Gunmen didn't seem 
surprised to see Scully either.

"What's going on here?" Mulder asked as he climbed 
into the van.  "And where's Byers?"

"He's waiting at the visitor's center with a rental 
car," Langly explained as he threw a duffle bag at
Mulder. "Frohike and I have been up and down this 
stretch of road half a dozen times in the last hour 
looking for you."

Mulder unzipped the duffle bag. "How did you know 
where to search for us?"

"GPS tracking device," Scully explained as she 
took a seat next to him and buckled her seatbelt.

With a nonplussed look Mulder asked, "What tracking 
device?"

Frohike snickered as he put the van into gear. "The 
one in her bra."

Mulder's eyes widened in a look of amazement.

Langly was riding shotgun, but turned in his
seat to look at Mulder and Scully.  "Oh yeah, 
we've had a bead on you two from the beginning, but
we couldn't get close to you until now. Rangers wouldn't
allow us on the back roads but they couldn't keep us
off the public one.  We've been up and down this
pain in the ass until we know each and every pothole 
by heart.  Nice hat, Mulder."

Mulder self consciously touched the dirty white 
bandage wrapped around his head..

Langly added, "And that's quite a shiner, Scully."

Mulder almost smiled when Scully touched her bruised 
cheek and looked as self conscious as he felt.  Mulder
said, "The guy who gave her that shiner probably 
looks much worse than she does this morning, and is
walking crooked to boot."

Frohike glanced over his shoulder.  "Oh yeah?"

"Eyes on road, Frohike," Mulder warned.

Looking toward the duffle bag in Mulder's hands, Langly
told Scully, "Everything we talked about is in 
there--passports, credit cards, bank book. Everything 
you need to go totally MIA."

"Guns," Mulder noticed as Scully removed a Sig Saur P226 
9mm pistol from the duffle bag. He arched a brow. "Any 
other surprises in there?"

Scully handed him a 9mm Beretta. 

"Thanks."  Mulder tested the weapon's weight in his 
hand, then  checked the clip. Rummaging through the 
bag he found six additional magazines of ammo, a pair 
of Maglight rechargeable flashlights, two cell phones, 
two Swiss pocket knives, and a pair of handcuffs.  He 
glanced at Scully. 

"What?" She looked defensive. "I liked to be prepared."

"So I see." He returned to inspecting the contents of
the bag. "Hannibal and all his elephants didn't pack 
this much gear to cross the Alps." 

She zipped the duffle bag.  "Hannibal and his elephants
are a couple of millennia out of date."

This was certainly a woman who believed in planning 
ahead.  Mulder caught Frohike's gaze in the rear view 
mirror.  "Where are we meeting Byers?" Mulder asked.

"At the picnic grounds."
 
Langly tossed a map to Mulder.  "Those are the 
directions to a safe house near Cape Lookout.  Pirates 
used to hide there during the 1700s. It should hide you 
too."

"A friend of mine made a killing with a dot com," 
Frohike answered Mulder's unspoken question. "He has a 
summer place on the Banks. I told him I needed a 
vacation so not even he knows that you two are there."

Mulder glanced at Scully. "Sounds like you made 
kickass vacation plans without telling me."

He thought he saw a sparkle in Scully's eyes as 
she said dryly, "You were difficult to reach at the 
time."

The van came to a halt.  "Here we are," Frohike 
announced. "Hey, who's that with Byers?"

"Shit," Langly said in a low hiss as a stranger 
out from behind Byers.  The bastard had a gun held
to Byer's temple.

"Hit the deck," Mulder ordered. 

He didn't have to say it twice.  

Once on the floorboard they all looked at each 
other. "That's the guy who gave Scully the 
shiner," Mudler explained.

The VW's floorboard was littered with empty beer 
bottles and Cheetos bags which Scully gingerly
pushed to the side before reaching to straighten
Frohike's glasses.  Frohike smiled.

I think Frohike's in love, Mulder mused.

"Now what?" Langly asked. 

Mulder reached up to the seat and dragged
the duffle bag to the floor.  He opened it
and began searching for the guns.

"You know what I want," the hitman called
from outside. "Get out of the van."

Scully's expressive blue eyes met Mulder's, and 
he searched his suddenly blank mind for something 
to say.  Something meaningful.  The kind of thing 
the hero always said before he went to the shoot-out 
in the O.K. Corral.  Unfortunately the only words 
wandering around his heard were R-rated expletives.

"Mulder's hurt," Scully called in a voice far too 
large for her small body.  "He began hemorrhaging 
right after we left the research facility. I can't 
move him."

"What the hell?" Frohike asked under his breath.

The hitman insisted, "You get out then."

Mulder grabbed Scully's hand as Frohike cried "No!"

"Look," Scully said calmly.  "It's not Byers they want."

"No, it's the two of us." Mulder's gaze narrowed. "I 
can't let you take this kind of risk."

"It isn't your choice."

"Let me do it," he insisted.

She gave a ghost of a smile.  "I already told him 
you're injured."

"Scully--"

"You can't stop me this time, Mulder. Not so long 
ago I did what you wanted. I stayed behind. I've
regretted it ever since."

"At least you lived to regret it.  I'd like the 
same result this time."

She handed Mulder the Baretta. "That's going to 
depend on you."

"This is dangerous," he growled as he checked
the ammunition.

"I know." Again Scully's expression lightened
with what could almost be called a smile. "Look 
at it this way, for once you have my full 
permission to protect me."

Mulder looked at the gun in his hand and then up 
at the woman whose small form held the heart of 
a lioness. "There won't be much time," he warned.

"Almost none."

"Seconds."

Her gaze held his.  "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"I believe in you."  With those words she opened the 
van door. 

Scully gazed at Mulder for just a moment.  Her skin was 
pale and translucent in the morning sunlight.  Mulder 
wanted to reach out and haul her back into the 
van, back into safety.  There was a pain in his chest,
as if an unseen hand had grabbed him and was sqeezing the 
last drop of blood out of him. He hurt, and he didn't 
need to be told that he hurt because of her. 
Mulder didn't want was to lose her.

"Scully..."

Her foot hit the ground and it was as if time slowed 
down as Scully stepped from the van.  Every moment
seemed to stretch like those in a car accident when
you could see the crash coming but could do nothing
about it.  Every second stretched into an eternity.

Mulder saw the determination in Scully's eyes as she 
pulled away.  He watched the way a single strand of 
her hair fell into her face as Scully straightened 
her spine and stood her ground. He saw the hitman 
shove Byers to the side, dragging the gun away from 
Byers' temple and aiming it directly at Scully.

There wasn't time to think, just react.  

Mulder raised his gun and fired.  And with the sound 
still ringing in his ears Mulder saw Scully fall to 
the ground.


******************************************************
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye. . .                  
                           Antoine de Saint-Exupery
                           "The Little Prince"               
******************************************************


                  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cape Lookout, North Carolina
5:14am

It was funny but Mulder had never before noticed how 
similar dawn was to dusk.  Light streaked the clouds 
in various warm hued pastels even though half the sky 
remained dark.  It was a precarious balance that would 
last only moments, but Mulder found himself wishing the 
twilight would linger just a little longer...which was 
curious for him. Usually it was the darkness that 
inspired his imagination. 

Seagulls cried overhead, and as Mulder turned to watch 
their flight, his attention was caught by the beacon 
in the distance. It was the Cape Lookout Lighthouse 
which had stood vigil over the coast for over a hundred 
years. It rose above the dunes and the sea grasses in 
picturesque isolation.

Mulder sat alone on the beach contemplating all that 
had happened. So much had changed and had changed him.  
Mulder knew he should consider what 'they' had done 
to him and why,  but somehow the questions seemed 
less important than searching his mind for 
memories of Scully.

Mulder had always been alone.  And then suddenly he 
wasn't.  And now?

"You've never been an early riser," Scully said. 

Mulder turned to watch her approach across the sand.  

"Have you slept?" she asked.

"I've slept."  They had spent the night at the 
'safe house' Frohike had arranged for them on 
the Outer Banks.

Scully wrapped her windbreaker more tightly around
herself.  "You slept well and yet turn up on the beach 
at the crack of dawn? Why am I not buying this?"

"I never said I slept 'well.'"

Mulder stretched his legs in front of him and waited
for Scully to sit.  When she did, she curled her arms 
around her knees and joined him in watching the horizon.  

"What are you doing out here?" she asked softly.

"Thinking about the future."

"Found any answers?"

He gave a half smile. "So far I'm stymied by the fact
that I can't find a way to talk about changing the 
world without sounding like a hippie." 

Scully smiled.  "Now that's a question for the sages."

Damn, he was glad she was here. The memory of Scully 
hitting the ground outside the Lone Gunmen's van would 
remain seared into Mulder's brain forever. He hadn't 
even paused to check whether his shot had found its 
mark before bailing out of the VW to go to her side.  
As Mulder had felt for Scully's pulse, Byers had 
stumbled toward the van.  Looking up, Mulder had seen 
the assassin laying in an ever-growing pool of blood.

Then Mulder had felt movement at his side and turned 
to find Scully gazing at him with an amazingly calm 
expression.  She had shown not one sign that her near 
death experience had disturbed her in the least.  In 
fact she had sat up and matter of factly dusted off 
her clothes.  "I thought it was best to give him as 
small a target as possible," Scully had explained.

Mulder hadn't been sure whether to hug her or shake her
until her teeth rattled.  Instead of either option he
chose to give what he thought she most deserved--respect.  
Then Mulder blew the moment by saying dryly, "Well, you 
ARE short."

Scully had nudged him.  "I meant falling to the ground."

"Oh, yeah."  Mulder had stood and offered her his hand. 
"I knew that."

Okay, so he had been full of shit.  The bravado act was 
to cover the fact that this incident would revisit him 
in sweat-drenched nightmares for years to come.  He had 
nearly lost her. Mulder couldn't forget that as he 
watched the sun rise over the water, so he blindly took 
Scully's hand.  She didn't say anything, just laced her 
fingers with his. 

The sun was considerably higher in the sky when to his 
own surprise Mulder said into the silence, "They're 
coming, you know."

She didn't ask who. "I know."

"They have to be fought."

"I know that too."

He looked down at their clasped hands. "Are we going 
to be fighting alone?"

Scully tilted her head.  "Meaning you here and me...
wherever I'll be?"

"Yes."

"The answer is yes."  It was that simple, succinct,
and painful.  She pulled away, and Mulder watched as 
Scully studied the way sand slipped through her 
fingers.  

"I won't be here," she announced quietly.

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure." Now Scully looked at him. "She'll be 
here."

"Dana Waterston."

Scully nodded.  "I have more of her memories every 
minute. I've even begun to 'remember' what she's 
done in my life since I've been here.  She and Dr. 
Doerstling have developed sort of a consciousness 
rubber band theory."

There was a sinking feeling in his gut and Mulder
intuitively knew what she was trying to explain. 
"You'll be snapped back to your own life."  It 
wasn't a question.

"In theory." Scully stood and walked to the water's 
edge. Mulder didn't follow, but he contented himself 
with watching her back.  

Finally he couldn't stop himself. He had to say it. 
"Stay."


                   X     X     X

He doesn't know, Scully reminded herself.  He doesn't 
know how profound or cataclysmic a single word can be--
a word like 'missing' or 'pregnant'...or 'stay.' 

A single word could change your whole life.  It had 
changed hers. She and Mulder had sat on his sofa 
discussing her experiences at the Buddhist temple 
while he was in England searching for crop circles. 

Scully remembered Mulder asking, "How many different 
lives would we be leading if we made different choices?  
We don't know."

"But what if there was only one choice?" she had 
countered. "And all the other ones were wrong, and 
there were signs along the way to pay attention to?"

The last thing she remembered was Mulder saying, "All 
the choices would then lead to this very moment.  
One wrong turn and we wouldn't be sitting here 
together. . ."

Later Scully had discovered that she'd fallen asleep
on the sofa and that Mulder had covered her with a 
blanket. The clock on the VCR flashed twelve but that 
gave her no clue about what time it really was. 

She had started to rise then noticed Mulder standing 
silhouetted in the doorway, his back against the light.  
He'd had a towel slung low across his hips as if he 
had just stepped out of the shower, and he held a 
toothbrush in his hand. Mulder had said, "It's late."

"Too late?" 

Something had flickered in his eyes before he shrugged.  
"I don't know. You've driven over here in the middle of 
the night more times than I can count.  I suppose you 
can drive home the same way now.  There's nothing to 
stop you."

"Do you want me to go?"

He'd looked surprised by the question.

Mortification washed over her. Scully jumped to her
feet and began looking for her shoes.  "I shouldn't 
have said that.  I shouldn't--"  She glanced at him
anxiously.  "Forget I said that.  

Scully was half way to the door before Mulder said, 
"Stay."

She didn't look at him.  She was afraid to look at him.  
She felt stupid and awkward and the only thing she 
could think to say was, "What?"

"Stay."

She wanted to.  The desire had been there before, but 
now it felt like compulsion.  "I should go."  She
breathed into the silence.  "This would change 
things."

Mulder shrugged.  It seemed like such a nonchalant 
gesture, but there was nothing casual in his eyes. 
"Things change." 

And there it was.  A moment. A path. A choice. Go 
forward into the future or stand where she was, staring 
at a door, reluctant to walk though it but afraid to 
stay where she was.  

Scully looked at Mulder, at his thoughtful, searching 
gaze.  There was tension in him.  There was a hint of 
uncertainty as he watched her. Oh, he tried to look 
confident and unconcerned.  He tried to look as if he 
was in control.  If she denied him, Mulder would laugh 
and pretend that this was just one more innuendo in a 
string of many. But Scully knew him too well. There was 
something in the way he fixed his jaw and held his 
shoulders. He was serious. He was waiting for her 
answer. 

God, why was it so difficult? What held her back?  
This was Mulder, the man whose face she had seen almost 
daily for nearly eight years. There was almost nothing 
she didn't know about him or he about her.  It wasn't 
even like they'd never had sex.  The night he had come 
to terms with his sister's death they had sat holding 
each other until the embrace had turned into something 
different--something heartfelt and warm and giving. 
Something they had both desperately needed. 

The next morning in silent agreement, they hadn't talked 
about what had happened. They had stepped back into 
their normal roles in each other's lives. It wasn't that 
what had happened had been a mistake. It had felt too 
right to ever be called a mistake.  No, they had pulled 
away because they had both known that to acknowledge 
what had happened would be to change things.  Forever.

That was what held Scully back as she stood halfway to 
the door. This wasn't a moment shaded with loss or grief 
or desperate need.  This was the silence of the night. 
Stillness surrounded them and the only sound to be 
heard was that of their own breathing. Nothing pushed
or pulled them to make a decision or a choice. Nothing 
but themselves.

Scully looked at Mulder.  At the way he held himself 
motionless, as if he knew that to move would be
to make this moment slip away, and it was a very 
important moment.

Stay or go?

But why go when she would only return here tomorrow?  
She always did.  Scully returned time after time. 
She'd had a million opportunities to walk away,
but she never did. Scully could have gone anywhere 
tonight, or countless days and nights before it, but 
she had chosen to be here...with Mulder...where she 
would always choose to be.

Scully blinked.  How strange to realize that the most 
momentous decision of her life had been made so long 
ago that she couldn't remember when.  Which was the 
the moment when she'd looked into his face and seen
more than a partner, more than a friend?   Which was
touch of their hands that had started to mean more than 
comfort or understanding?  Did it matter?  Or was all
that mattered was that it existed now?

Some things only became clear in hindsight. Scully 
couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had turned her 
back on any life save this one, but now she knew it 
didn't matter.  It was as inconsequential as trying 
to pinpoint the exact moment when a child was 
conceived. All that mattered was that something 
extraordinary had been brought into existence. 

Scully smiled at Mulder.  Would it be enough?  Please, 
let it  be enough because if she had to find the 
words to describe how she felt, she would only 
garble them.  Words could not equal her emotions.

Moments passed, and Scully saw the tension ease in 
Mulder's shoulders. A relaxed expression crossed his 
face. Scully gazed into his familiar eyes and saw all 
the understanding she would ever want or need.  

Mulder reached his hand out to her, and Scully 
took it.  She felt the warmth of his palm pressed 
against her own as he pulled her near. She felt his 
breath across her face, and the gentle pressure of  
his hand at the small of her back. And without a 
single word, her decision was understood 
by them both. 
She stayed.

Mulder, this Mulder, brought Scully crashing back
to the present as he stood and crossed the sand.
"We can fight this," he told her. "You don't have 
to go."

"I don't have a choice. I can feel it."

"But do you know it? Do you know without a shadow
of a doubt that this can't be fought?" 

Scully shook her head, but it wasn't a denial. It was
only an expression of internal confusion. "Dana 
figured it out with Dr. Doerstling," she explained.  
"The switch between us was like a note being played, 
and now the vibration is fading.  The very fact that 
I know this means that with every moment that passes 
more of her is here.  What I knew of her before 
was long term memory. This was recent. My time here 
is almost up."

"Fight it.  Damnit, Scully, what's there to go back 
to?  A lone crusade?"

She lifted her chin.  "Someone has to fight the 
monsters."

"Alone?" Mulder demanded. "Is that what we're reduced 
to? Fighting the 'good' fight but always alone?" Mulder 
seemed unaware of the way he began to shift and move 
as if there was more energy in him than he could 
contain.  "Stay, Scully, and we'll fight the monsters 
together."

She gave him a watery smile.  "Side by side."

"Marching forward one cursed step at a time."

Her smile died as Scully pulled away. "We have to 
think of the future."

"Funny, I thought that was what I was doing."

"No, I..." She lifted her hands helplessly.  "I'm 
thinking of a different future."

"Yours and his?"  Mulder said that like he thought
her Mulder was an entirely different person. Then
again wasn't that the way she had always referred
to Dana Waterston? "He isn't there, you know," this
Mulder pointed out with brutal honesty.

"I know." And the knowledge hurt. If she returned 
home, Mulder would be lost to her...again.  Standing 
in the vibrancy of his presence it was possible to 
keep the loneliness at bay. Her grief, though still 
very real, seemed like little more than a figment 
of her imagination. This Mulder was real, and he was 
standing beside her.  If she returned home, she would 
be alone.  This could be the end.

Mulder approached her.  Scully turned her head and
held up her hand as if that would hold him back. It 
didn't. He gently swept his fingertips over her temple.

"Please," Scully said out loud while inside she pleaded, 
please, don't ask me to stay...and please don't let 
me go. It was a contradiction, but then her entire life
was a contradiction. Science and faith. Skepticism 
and belief.  Contradiction was her nature...and 
Mulder's.  God knows, Mulder was a contradiction.

The heat of unshed tears burned her eyes. "Mulder..."

He kissed her.  

Surprise rocketed through her, but as Scully felt 
Mulder's lips pressed against her own, she relaxed. 
Their  mouths met, melded, then released only to meet 
again...and again...to taste, to touch, to cling. 
To break apart and to reunite.

Scully's hand moved over Mulder's shoulder.  His hand
smoothed over her back.  She pressed herself against 
him, and he answered by holding her closer still.  
When Mulder lifted his mouth just a few inches above 
her own, Scully found that the limits of her vision 
was Mulder's face, and that his face was all that she 
needed or wanted to see.

"I have to go," she whispered and hated herself 
for doing so. "There's no choice in this."

Mulder threaded his fingers through her hair. 
"I want to say there is a choice." 

"But there isn't."

"There are still questions to be answered," he told
her. "The future to think of."

Scully confessed, "The future I'm thinking of isn't 
ours, Mulder.  It's our child's."

Mulder stopped breathing.  He pulled back
and looked at her. There was no way to describe 
the way he looked at her.  A lifetime of loneliness 
and searching and pain shadowed his eyes, mixing
with something else.  Joy?  Satisfaction?  Bemusement?
All those things and more must shadow her own gaze 
as well.  

Mulder pulled Scully against him.  His arms enveloped 
her, holding her tightly.  So very tightly.  She held 
him too.  

He placed an exquisitely tender kiss on her forehead
as they stood being battered by the wind kicked up 
by the surf.  They stood against it unbending and 
unbreaking. 

At last Mulder said, "So you have to go."

Scully nodded because she couldn't speak.

"It'll be okay," he promised.  "Do you believe
that?"

Swallowing hard, Scully managed to say, "There's no 
acceptable alternative."

He smiled as he cupped Scully's face between both his 
hands. With his thumbs he gently brushed away her 
tears.  They stared at each other for a wordless 
moment before Mulder kissed her one last time.  It 
was an infinitely gentle benediction. 

Scully sighed and rested her cheek against his 
shoulder. And reminded herself to breathe as the 
sun rose over the ocean and seagulls cried overhead.

This wasn't the end.


****************************************************
"Skepticism is the chastity of the intellect, and
it is shameful to surrender it too soon or to the
first comer: there is nobility in preserving it
coolly and proudly through long youth, until at last,
in the ripeness of instinct and discretion, it
can safely be exchanged for fidelity and happiness."
                    George Santayana
                    Skepticism and Animal Faith IX
****************************************************


                     EPILOGUE
 

Dana Scully's Residence
Georgetown
Washington, D.C.
6:45pm


Scully slammed her hand over the snooze button 
of her alarm clock, abruptly cutting off the music.  
She didn't move. She didn't open her eyes.  She 
waited--and prayed--for her nausea to pass.  Maybe
if she laid there long enough...

No.  It was hopeless.  A few minutes after running
into the bathroom she walked out with a towel in
her hand. Absently dropping it on the floor as she
climbed back into bed. Then she stopped dead in her
tracks.  

Scully blinked and looked around herself.

It was her bedroom looking exactly as her bedroom
had always looked.  Nothing was different.  Nothing.
Her hand drifted down to her stomach.  Her baby.
She had her baby.  She closed her eyes and took
a deep, contented breath...then doubts began
to creep in.  Had it all been a dream?

She had told Mulder that it was entirely likely
that everything she had experienced was just
wish fulfillment.  As Scully sat in her own
tangled sheets looking at the familiar curve
of her own headboard she had to admit that the
dream theory made far more sense than any
"alternate universe."  It was beyond belief that
a human being could fall into a parallel world, 
much less do so unharmed. Then to return to her 
old life in the blink of an eye?  Impossible.

Scully looked at her relentlessly familiar 
surroundings. She gazed at herself in the mirror 
hanging over her dresser.  Nothing had changed.
There was not one anomaly she could point to 
that supported the idea that somehow she had
defied the laws of logic to experience something
that had never been definitively proven to exist.

How could anyone believe in something so extreme?

Scully did.   

She lay back against her pillows with her hand 
resting on her stomach, intently aware of the tiny 
life that dwelled there. She gazed out her window 
and almost laughed at her epiphany.  "I believe,"
she said out loud, and Scully was amazed at how
good it felt to finally admit it.  Then, more 
solemnly she whispered again, "Mulder, I DO 
believe." 

               X      X      X

Cape Lookout, North Carolina
5:14am 

Dana Waterston sat with her toes digging into the
sand as she studied the brooding expression 
of Special Agent Fox Mulder, a man who should
be a stranger to her but wasn't.  A man she had
only met once in the emergency room.  A man
for whom she had shed countless tears as she
sat in another woman's apartment.

Mulder looked over his shoulder at her.  "I've
been thinking. . . "

She looked at him expectantly.

He turned and approached her then crouched
to meet her eye to eye.  "About that evolutionary
universe theory of Dr. Doerstling's, is it me or 
does it bear some similarity to the idea of a 
Platonic Ideal?"

Dana frowned and searched her memory.  She had
only read Plato in college, but from what she
remembered Plato had said something along the lines 
that somewhere there existed a universal ideal, a 
template, and everything else simply imitated or
reflected what truly existed in an ideal state. 

Dana tilted her head to the side and said, "I'm not 
sure I follow."

"If all these universes are evolving, and evolving 
similarly, exactly what are they evolving toward?"

"The Ideal?"

A light entered his eyes.  "The Platonic Ideal.  
The single destination that all of us are trying to 
reach.  There may be billions of possibilities,
billions of universes, billions of versions of us,
but there is only one right answer."  

He stood and offered his hand. "What do you 
think, Waterston?"

"That it sounds an awful lot like fate."

Mulder shook his head. "Not fate. We have free will.  
We make our own choices and mistakes.  We can go 
down the wrong paths."

Dana felt his hand tugging at hers, pulling her 
toward him with gentle, constant insistence.  As she 
rose to her feet she asked, "And exactly what is the 
right path?"

Mulder shrugged.  "I don't know, but I have the 
feeling that I'm supposed to look for it with you."

She didn't say anything.  But she didn't pull her hand
from his as they walked down the beach...and somehow
Dana Waterston found herself believing that at 
long last she had a sense of direction.  She knew
where she wanted to go and where she needed to stay
--by his side. 

                     THE END





AUTHOR'S END NOTES:

Andre Linde (who is mentioned in the story) is
an actual person who has written papers detailing
a theory for multiple inflationary expansions.
The theory of "evolutionary universes" was proposed
by Lee Smolin of Penn State University. Both 
theories have been manipulated with a sci-fi/X-File 
slant and are not accurately portrayed in this 
story. Literary license was taken. The real theories 
are nicely summarized and explained in Brian Greene's 
"The Elegant Universe" ...which is an excellent book 
for any non-science professional like myself who is 
interested in learning more about string theory and 
the way it relates to the Theory of Relativity.

The song that the character Mike Stilgoe is 
singing and downloading off of Napster is 
"Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden.

The song Scully hears in the bar is "(Are You)The One 
I've Been Waiting For" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

The songs that are implied to be playing on
Scully's stereo were "Do What You Have to Do" 
and the acoustical version of "Possession"
by Sarah McLachlan.

And if I could choose closing credits I would
probably pick Sarah McLachlan's "Elsewhere."