The guys didn't know a psychiatrist, it turned out, but "Dr. Jones" did, one who was willing to accept extreme possibilities, one who would deal with the problem at hand rather than focusing on what had gotten Mulder there. Thinking back to his psych training, Mulder thought it odd that Dr. Alexander accepted so much from him without question, but finally decided it didn't matter; all he needed was to work out his PTSD, and this doctor was as good as any when it came to that. He shoved aside his nagging suspicions that the guy was little more than a quack, and did his best to participate honestly in the therapy. It worked, too, and within a few weeks Mulder's nightmares and flashbacks had diminished to the point that he no longer feared endangering his son. Oh, it was bad, at first. The situation actually worsened after the first few sessions, because he was forcing himself to remember all the things he'd tried to avoid. In fact, it got so bad that Scully called her mother to come stay with them for a week to help her with Stephen. She was never sure when Mulder was going to wind up in the corner, blithering like an idiot, but she learned to leave him alone when it happened, keeping an eye on him to make sure he wasn't in danger, remaining nearby in case he called for her, and then allowing him to work through the flashback on his own. She had to hand it to her mother--Maggie took all Mulder's babbling talk of aliens and tests in her stride, never questioning anything, and even talking him out of a few episodes when Scully was busy with Stephen. To her immense relief, he never tried to hurt himself, nor did he ever mistake her or her mother for one of his alien captors. When he'd at last revealed the story of how he'd destroyed the hybrid fetuses, her immediate fear was that he might confuse Stephen with one of them during an episode. Thankfully, that never happened either. After six weeks of therapy, Mulder called Skinner and told him he was ready to return to work. He knew it would be desk work only, for a while--he still wasn't in top physical condition and he'd have to be re-certified for field agent status, but at least he could get back to his files. He'd missed them. Skinner readily agreed, knowing that if he gave Mulder something else to focus on, it could only do the man good. Scully would be out on maternity leave for another two weeks, so Mulder had the office to himself, and took the opportunity to dig through all his old file folders, organizing, discarding, prioritizing, and generally doing the type of clean-up that Scully accused him of always neglecting. He pulled a few cases that he wanted to investigate further when he was able, not time-critical things, just stuff he wanted to check into. He piled them on the desk, thinking he might be able to do a little research from the office, and gave a sharp laugh when he remembered that annoying little auditor, telling him he ought to be able to do his work on the Internet. Little bastard may have had a point, he conceded, but only a tiny one. Ninety-nine percent of their work still required a hands-on approach. Things began to settle into routine. Mulder went to work every day, leaving early two days a week to attend his therapy sessions with Dr. Alexander, and it wasn't long before he began to feel more in control of his life. He still had occasional flashbacks, but he was learning to deal with them. Stephen was the joy of his existence, along with Scully, and Mulder realized he was truly happy for the first time in his recollection. Since their one conversation about marriage, Scully hadn't brought it up again, and he found himself relaxing into the lifestyle they had--easygoing and comfortable. It wasn't that he didn't *want* to marry her, he told himself, it was just that...he didn't feel ready for another commitment. Parenthood had taken him by surprise and been thrust upon him suddenly--he hadn't had months to prepare for it, as she had. He would marry her, he insisted inwardly, he really would. Someday. ----- Mulder leaned back in his chair and stretched, stifling a yawn. It was Friday, the end of a long week, and Mulder was more than ready to go home, eat a good dinner, relax with his son in his arms, then go to bed and cuddle with Scully. They had only recently been allowed to resume their normal sexual activity, (although Mulder had to admit, Scully had come up with some creative ways to relieve their tension during the long six weeks after Stephen's birth) and he was hoping they could get the baby to sleep early and spend some quality time driving each other wild in Scully's bed. Or maybe on the sofa--he might not be able to make it to the bedroom. He could feel himself growing more aroused at the thought, and reached for the mouse, intending to shut down his computer and go home to his family. The email icon flashed, and he almost ignored it. He didn't want to work any more today. He wanted to be with his son. Frowning, knowing if he didn't check he would obsess on it all weekend, Mulder gave in to curiosity and clicked on the mail icon. Great, he sighed when the email folder popped up. Junk mail. How the hell do I get junk mail at a government email address? He wasn't going to open it, he intended to just move it to the trash folder, but the fact that there was no subject line wouldn't leave him alone. Wondering what get-rich-quick scheme could be so cryptic, he clicked the message, then sat back in his chair, breathing heavily through his sudden panic. His vision blacked out until the only thing he could see were the black words on the white background. "Tonight. Eight p.m. behind Casey's bar. Don't be late. Important to the welfare of your child. A.K." Feeling his stomach begin to churn, Mulder shut down the computer blindly, on auto-pilot, his mind racing with possibilities. Alex Krycek. What the hell could he possibly want, and what did it have to do with Stephen? Rubbing his forehead, he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. The smart thing to do would be to go home and ignore this message, he told himself. The only thing was, he couldn't do that. He couldn't take the chance...what if Stephen was in danger, and Krycek had important information that would help him save their child? With another heavy sigh, he shoved himself to his feet, feeling the weariness rush over him. Scully was going to give him hell, he knew, but he had to go. He had no choice. Chapter 3 He wanted to hide it from her, but she saw in his face the moment he walked into the apartment--something was wrong. "What?" she demanded when he shut the door and leaned against it wearily. She was walking Stephen, burping him after his afternoon feeding, and she bounced the baby in her arms while she waited for his answer. "Mulder, what is it? Did something happen to you at work?" He shook his head, turning around so she could see his face. The lines there were deeper, she noticed, and the circles beneath his eyes darker than they had been that morning. He'd been doing well, really making progress with his therapy--he'd learned to cope with the flashbacks to the point that he was even able to drive; they didn't swallow him up the way they had before. Using Dr. Alexander's recommended techniques, Mulder was able to keep himself grounded in reality enough so as not to endanger himself or anyone else. They had both been hopeful that by the time Scully was ready to return to work, Mulder would have his field-agent status back, but looking at him now, for the first time, she thought it might not happen. She lay Stephen carefully in his carrier and approached Mulder, walking slowly, uncertain of his state of mind, but instead of the extreme reaction she'd feared, he opened his arms to her. With relief, she realized that while he was obviously upset about something, he was at least clearly in his right mind. She went into his embrace, laying her head against his chest as his arms came up to hold her tightly. She could hear the rapid beating of his heart, could feel the slight tremor in his hands, and sent up a quick prayer that it wasn't all starting again. "Tell me?" she said against his chest, and his pocket rustled as he reached in and withdrew a sheet of paper. He'd printed out Krycek's message to show her, and as she read the words, her eyes first grew wide, then narrowed in anger. Krycek again. Would he never be out of their lives? "Don't go," she ordered flatly. "Krycek has nothing to do with us now. He has nothing to do with Stephen." "But what if he does, Scully?" he argued, following as she strode into the kitchen to stir a pot of soup. "How can we know? Can we take the chance?" Scully slammed down the spoon, turning on him angrily. It had been a hell of a long day, with Stephen fussing, not wanting to be put down for more than five minutes at a time, and she was not in the mood to have a discussion involving Alex Krycek. She was trying to have a normal family moment. "Mulder, Krycek is responsible for everything that's happened to you, everything that's happened to me!" she raged. "How can you even consider letting him involve himself with our child?" "Just calm down, Scully," he said, holding up in hand in a calming gesture, speaking slowly and reasonably. "All I want to do is talk to him, find out what he wants. He must have a reason for contacting me." "I'm certain of it," she told him coldly, turning away, pretending to give her attention to the meal so she didn't have to let him see the fear she felt. "But it isn't a good reason, Mulder. It's a reason to serve his own twisted agenda, and I won't have my son brought into it." "He's my son, too." She whirled around, her eyes snapping with sudden fury. "Oh yes, he's your son, all right! Where the hell have you been?" She advanced on him, and he couldn't believe the anger he saw burning in her eyes. "Don't you dare give me any shit, Mulder! Don't you even try it." Mindful of not waking Stephen, even as she shook with repressed anger at the man standing before her, she went on in a fierce whisper, "I threw up, I ached, my feet so swollen I couldn't even get my shoes on, some days. I had to give up coffee, I couldn't work for weeks at a time, and just where the hell were you? Where were you, Mulder, while I was doing all I could to make sure *your* son was born healthy? When I had to have Skinner go to my Lamaze classes, when I had to see the look of pity from everyone, when I couldn't look my own mother in the eye...I sat up nights telling myself...telling the baby, that you'd be back, you always came back, all the while terrified, not knowing how I could raise him alone, what I would tell him, how I could explain to him why he would never know his father--" She broke off, tears beginning to track down her face, and Mulder grabbed her, hugging her to his chest, stroking his hand up and down her back in a soothing gesture. She wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could never get away again, afraid if she opened her eyes, he would be gone. "I'm sorry, Scully," he whispered against her hair, but his words only made her sob louder. She had held herself in check for all these weeks, knowing Mulder needed her to be strong, knowing Stephen needed at least one parent who wasn't likely to flake out at any given moment, and suddenly the pressure had become too much. The dam had broken, and even as Scully mocked herself for her weakness, she could not stop the tears from continuing to fall. "I'm so sorry...I wish I had been here for you...you've been through so much all by yourself..." She fought to get herself under control, hearing the words Mulder was saying, knowing they were ridiculous, and yet at the same time, agreeing with every syllable. He *should* have been here, damn him, he *should* have been around to hold her head while she vomited up every meal, to rub her feet when her ankles were swollen, to reassure her that yes, women her age had their first child all the time, and that being older could only serve to make one a wiser parent. He *should* have been...but he wasn't. He would have been, though, if it hadn't been for Alex Krycek. Brushing the tears away with an angry hand, she pulled back a little. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said softly. "I guess I just needed to let it out." "You deserve it," he grinned. "I've had more than my share of the fragility in this family. I guess it's your turn." "Family," she repeated as if to herself, stirring absently at the pot, refusing to look at him. "Are we a family?" She heard him sigh quietly behind her. "We're more of a family than a lot of families," he told her. "We're more of a family than *my* family was, after Sam was taken--hell, even before that. We don't need a piece of paper to prove it." She nodded sadly, and he ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. "You don't agree with me." She put down the spoon and turned to face him, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms across her chest. He sighed inwardly. It was her verbal combat position. "It isn't that I disagree," she began. "You and I love one another, and that's more than a lot of parents can offer their child." "That's my point exactly." "But Mulder, while you're fond of pointing out that *we* don't need that piece of paper, you haven't really taken into account that *I want* that piece of paper. Maybe not right now, and I don't want to pressure you into a commitment you're not ready for, but I would like to know that someday..." "We will, Scully," he told her after a minute. "I promise you, we will. Just...let me get my feet back under me first, okay?" A timer bell rang, and she turned off the oven, pulling a pan of muffins out and setting it carefully on the stove. "Okay," she agreed, tossing the pot holder aside and pulling him to her for another kiss. "And I'm sorry, Mulder." "For...?" he prompted. "For losing my temper all over you a few minutes ago. I know you would have been here for every minute, if you could have been." "It's all right, Scully," he told her, smoothing the hair back from her brow, sweat-dampened from the heat of the kitchen. "You've put up with an awful lot these last couple of months. You deserve to blow off a little steam." Stephen started to fuss, then, and Mulder went to get him while Scully put the meal on the table. He held his son on his lap, giving him tiny sips of broth from his spoon while Scully informed him that babies that young didn't need table food. He ignored her; Stephen loved the stuff, and he didn't see how it could hurt the kid. He waited until the meal had been cleared away to bring up the subject from which they had strayed so far earlier. "About Krycek," he reminded her, glancing at the clock as he closed the door to the dishwasher. It was just past seven. "Screw Krycek," she called over her shoulder as she walked Stephen throughout the apartment. He was an adorable child, but lately it seemed he never wanted to be put down, and Scully was beginning to see why some new mothers were anxious to complete their maternity leave and get back to work--suddenly the X-files seemed a lot less stressful than motherhood, aliens and flukemen notwithstanding. "Does this mean you won't go with me?" he called as she started down the hall, and she turned on her heel and stalked over to where he stood, staring up at him angrily. "You are *not* going to meet that man, Mulder," she ordered, her eyes flashing. "I won't have it!" "I am, Scully," he contradicted softly. "I have to. If our son is in danger, if Krycek knows something..." "What kind of danger could he be in? He's perfectly healthy. And besides, even if Krycek does have information to give you, what will be the price of that knowledge, Mulder?" she demanded. "The last time you went somewhere at Krycek's urging..." He remained silent, watching as she patted their son's back, refusing to respond to her fear. "I don't want to lose you again," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm so afraid to let you go." "Krycek wasn't responsible for my abduction, Scully." "He was," she argued. "I've always believed he knew you would be taken. Why else would he suddenly want to work with you? What made him decide to be on your side, out of the blue? And the minute you were gone, he disappeared into the woodwork again, only resurfacing once in a while, to keep our hopes up. He knew, Mulder, I'm convinced of it." Her certainty shook him; rarely was Scully wrong when she was this positive. The memory of his abduction, however fuzzy it had grown, still haunted him--being pulled through the force field, being somehow drawn toward the circle, then being taken up with the others and all the pain and horror that had followed... He had stared into the bounty hunter's eyes and known--they had been waiting just for him. He closed his eyes tightly against the memory, pulling her close and burying his face in the shoulder not occupied by Stephen. "I can't," he murmured, his face pale, his hands beginning to tremble, "can't do it again can't let it happen again..." He felt himself slipping back into the madness, and brought himself up short by sheer force of will. "I can't let them take me again," he said, more clearly now, his voice positive. "No," she agreed firmly. "Don't go, Mulder. Whatever Krycek wants, it can't be good for us. Stephen is perfectly safe, we'll guard him with our lives. Nobody is going to hurt him, and nobody is going to take him from us. You said yourself that you didn't think they'd try to kidnap him." Krycek's message still worried him, but she was right, he decided. Meeting Krycek would be the height of stupidity--even if he wasn't...taken again, Krycek could have plans to kill him, or worse. What had he been thinking? The whole idea was ludicrous. He ignored the niggling feeling that he had been remarkably easy to convince, shoved it right back into the little, dark compartment of his brain from where it had tried to emerge and slammed the door, hard. Mulder took Stephen from her, cuddling the baby and talking to him all the way into the bedroom, where he lay the child carefully in his crib while he changed into jeans and a t-shirt; he'd been so engrossed in the Krycek problem that he hadn't realized until now that he was still wearing his suit. Stephen watched him curiously, his eyes, that had lost their baby blue and become a hazel, more flecked with green than his own, but still Mulder eyes, tracking him as he moved about the room. Occasionally Stephen would make a sound, and Mulder would respond, carrying on a one-sided conversation with his son that Scully found highly amusing. "Why the hell does he let *you* put him down?" Scully demanded, leaning against the doorframe, and Mulder grinned. "You just have to use the proper authority," he boasted. "He knows you don't fool around with dad." Stephen began crying again, and Mulder rolled his eyes as he picked up the baby. "This is your fault, you know," he informed Scully. "He only cried because he heard your voice." "Oh, well in that case, I'm going to a hotel for the night," she teased. "I'm sure he'll stop crying for you if you use the proper authority." He shot her a look of mock horror. "You leave me alone with this kid and I'll--I'll--tell your mother on you!" he threatened, and she threw up her hands in surrender. "Fine, I'll stay," she acceded, "but you have to hold him. My arms are worn out." Mulder forced himself to forget about Krycek's message, and the three of them spent the evening in front of the television, Stephen finally falling asleep around eight-thirty, and Scully carried him carefully to his crib. She covered him with a light blanket, stroked her finger lovingly across his silken cheek, and planted a kiss lightly on the top of his head before tiptoeing out of the room. She re-joined Mulder on the sofa, but soon found herself drooping. "I think I'm going to turn in, too," she yawned a little while later, raising her head from where it had been resting against Mulder's arm. "Been a long day." He followed her to bed, pulling her into his arms and holding her until she dropped off, but it was a long time before he slept. He couldn't forget Krycek's cryptic message--what had it meant? Mulder tossed and turned until four a.m. when he finally fell into a restless sleep, plagued by half-remembered dreams of Krycek, Stephen, and the smoking man. He was relieved when the baby cried at five, so he could give up the pretense of resting. After Stephen had been fed, and Mulder had fixed himself and Scully some breakfast, she went back to bed, yawning sleepily. Mulder, not ready to face that horror again, lay down on the couch with the remote control, hoping to lull himself into sleep--*real* sleep--with bad television. He found an infomercial touting the benefits of reducing everything you ate to juice, and gave it idle attention until his eyes at last drifted closed. He woke up around nine-thirty to find that Scully had already bathed and dressed Stephen and was sitting across from Mulder, holding the baby in her lap and pointing out various objects in the room to him. Stephen watched her finger with rapt attention. "Hey," Mulder mumbled, turning on his side so he could watch Scully and their son together. It was a sight he knew he would never grow tired of enjoying. "Good morning, daddy," she smiled. "You were really out of it." He nodded and yawned. "I didn't sleep much last night." He pushed himself to a sitting position and stretched, then held out his arms for the baby. Scully deposited Stephen carefully on his father's lap, then went into the kitchen. "I'm starving," she called over her shoulder. "You want anything?" "No thanks," he told her, giving Stephen his finger and then making a mock effort to retrieve it from the baby's grasp. "I'm still full from that early breakfast. You've spoiled me for eating at five a.m." Scully laughed, assembling a sandwich, munching on it while she flipped through the Saturday paper and Mulder played with Stephen. When she was finished, he stood and stretched his free arm leisurely. "I'm going to shower," he told her, handing the baby back to her. He started for the bathroom, and was halfway across the living room when he suddenly dropped to the floor. "No, don't take it!" he cried, scrabbling backwards on his hands and knees, his eyes fixed in terror on the wall in front of him. Scully stared in horror for a moment--it had been such a long time since this had happened--then automatically flew into action. She placed the baby in his carrier and crossed slowly to where Mulder was crouched, huddling against the back of the sofa. "Mulder, it's ok," she said gently, reaching out a hand very slowly toward him. Inwardly, she cursed--they'd both thought this part of his recovery was over, but if the way he was cowering, his hands cupped protectively to his chest, was any indication, this one was going to be bad. "Don't take it, you promised me I could keep it!" he cried hysterically, dodging her hand and moving farther away. She dropped her hand immediately, and backed away. "I won't take it," she told him, briefly wondering just what "it" referred to before realizing with a start that Mulder was trying to protect something around his neck. Her cross. The bastards had tried to take her cross from him. She wondered how he had managed to hang on to it for all those months. "Scully...don't take it away...please...Scully...Scully..." he moaned, wrapping his hands around his head and curling into a ball. "Mulder, I won't take it." "You said I could keep it...you've taken everything else... don't take her away..." His piteous cries tore at her heart. Had the sons of bitches left him nothing? Had it really been necessary for them to destroy every part of him in order to do their damnable tests? She reached up to unfasten the chain from around her own neck, remembering when Mulder had given it back to her just a couple of weeks earlier. "I don't think I need it now," he had told her, fastening the chain behind her neck, precisely as she had done before he'd departed for Oregon. "It belongs to you." "It belongs to both of us," she had corrected him softly. "It's always been our good luck charm." "Well, you'd better keep it for us," he had joked. "I'll feel better about our good luck if it's in your possession." She had laughed and he had kissed her, and then they had made quick but passionate love while Stephen slept, undisturbed, at the foot of their bed. Now she removed it, holding out the gold chain like a talisman between them, letting the golden cross dangle before his eyes. "Look, you can have it back. Here it is." He dared to look up, and when he saw the charm swaying gently back and forth, his hand darted out and snatched it. "You said I could keep it," he said in a voice that was low and heart-wrenching. "Don't take it." "I won't take it again," she assured him. "It's yours." Mulder took the necklace and put it on, holding the cross protectively inside his fist. He rocked back and forth, eyes clenched shut, completely silent for several minutes before awareness began to creep back into him. "Oh, shit," he whispered when he finally realized where he was, and what had transpired. Scully's face flooded with relief. "You okay now?" "Oh god Scully they've started again!" The words rushed together in something akin to a quiet wail--his desperation was tangible. She pulled him into her embrace, holding him tightly, rocking him gently back and forth while she murmured soothing words. "You'll get past this," she assured him, blinking back her tears at his despair. "It's just because of Krycek's message, you weren't ready for something like that. It'll be okay. You know how to deal with the flashbacks now." "I didn't deal with this one," he reminded her flatly, but she shook her head. "You weren't prepared for it," she argued stubbornly. "How could you know they would come back after all these weeks? Now that you do, you can be ready if it happens again, mentally prepared. Emotionally prepared." He didn't contradict her, but inwardly he disagreed. How was he supposed to prepare for something that took him by surprise the way this episode had done? It was just like in the early days, when he hadn't known where he was half the time. The feeling of deja vu had been almost physical. Eventually, he began to relax, and she was able to coax him to sit beside her on the sofa. Stephen, who had remarkably quiet during the incident, still lay in his carrier, staring at them in quiet wonder. Scully marveled that he hadn't been terrified by Mulder's screaming. "Daddy's a psycho, son," Mulder said sadly as he dropped to the sofa, and Scully clapped one hand angrily over his mouth. "You are not!" she retorted. "Don't even say things like that, Mulder." "Sorry, Scully," he apologized, but he shook his head wearily. "When are they going to go away?" he asked in a voice that was almost a whisper, spoken to no particular person. "I thought they were finished." "Maybe you should write it in your journal," she suggested, knowing that putting the visions on paper was a good part of what had helped him previously overcome them, but Mulder refused. "I don't feel like doing that right now," he told her, leaning his head against the sofa and drawing her into his arms. "They make me so tired, all I want to do is sit here and hold you." She'd been surprised at how physically drained he was after the flashbacks at first, until she realized that the things they had done to him had been physically draining, as well, and he was, in essence, reliving those things. This one hadn't seemed quite as horrible, though, and it had a happy ending. It must have had; he'd returned with her cross. "You can tell me about it if you want, you know," she offered, rubbing the back of his hand lightly, and he nodded. "Maybe I should." "Only if you want to." He was silent for a long time before beginning. "They appeared to us--well, to me anyway, I'm not sure what happened with the others--as humans. It wasn't greys, gathered around me, hurting me, it was *people*, or at least it seemed to be. I knew they weren't really human, but after a while it was hard to remind myself of that. After a while I just didn't care. "I was always afraid they'd appear to me as someone I knew, but they never did. My biggest fear was finding someone I trusted leaning over me while I screamed and pleaded with them-- He broke off, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand, which she then took in her own, squeezing it tightly. "Anyway, that never happened, and I was always relieved when it didn't, and frightened that the next time it would be...you...or Skinner...or someone..." Scully slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him close and resting her head on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to," she told him softly, feeling unshed tears sting the back of her eyes at the thought of what he must have endured. "I do, Scully. I need to." Suddenly he extricated himself from her embrace, striding quickly into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open, then the 'past' of a soda can opening. He returned, taking a long swig from the diet soda, before settling back into her arms. He held out the can in offering, but she shook her head, so he shrugged, took another long drink, and resumed his tale. "The first day, when we were first taken, they were very polite. There were a lot of them, and we were heavily outnumbered, but they didn't appear to carry weapons of any sort. I was hoping a chance to escape would present itself--although now I realize I wasn't thinking clearly even then, because I knew we were on a spaceship. Even if I escaped, where the hell was I gonna go?" He laughed shortly and took another gulp of the soda. "They gave us all a room--single people alone, and married people together, all the rooms lining one long corridor. It was sort of like being at college," he grinned, and she gave him another supportive squeeze. "One by one, they took us away. They didn't even try to hide what they were doing, and by the time the third person was taken, we were all terrified. You could hear them screaming down the corridor, and when they returned--" He wiped away sweat again, breathing heavily. "When they returned, they were...broken. Subdued. You could see in their eyes that they'd suffered greatly, but none of them would talk. I was number nine. "By the time they came for me, I was ready, or at least I thought I was. I was determined not to go quietly, so I fought them, but Scully--they have incredible strength. You've seen it before." She nodded. "It only took two of them--would have only taken one, really, but I suppose two made it less of a bother for them--and they dragged me down that hall into a small room. They handed me those clothes, those white ones I was wearing when... They told me to change. I thought about refusing, but there didn't seem to be any point. All they wanted was for me to change clothes, and it was obvious they'd do it for me if I didn't cooperate. "When I took off my shirt, one of them reached out and touched your cross. I had almost forgotten it was there, Scully, but when that hand stretched out and those fingers touched it, I remembered your face when you hung it around my neck. It was all I had of you, and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again--" His voice broke, and he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. Scully rubbed a hand gently over his back. "You don't have to do this, Mulder." He took a deep breath, then jumped to his feet and began pacing throughout the room. She watched him quietly--it seemed to help him, this constant movement, and it was something Mulder had always been prone to do when agitated. "I slapped his hand away, and wrapped my fist around your cross," he continued as if she hadn't spoken at all. "They stared at me, and I stared at them, and then one of them shrugged and said 'Let him keep it, it doesn't make any difference.'" "But they tried to take it?" she guessed, and he nodded grimly. "That was later, though, after I knew what they were going to do, after they'd decided to leave the others alone and just concentrate on me." The tears had formed in his eyes, and were beginning to creep down his face now, in spite of his efforts to blink them back. "I fought them, Scully, I fought them as hard as I could...they tried to use mind-control on me, like they did with the others, but it didn't work for some reason, I was able to fight them, and that made them angry." He was babbling now, the words rushing out in a torrent of energy, as if his body wanted to expel them as quickly as possible. "They told me if I didn't fight, they'd let me keep the cross, but I couldn't--I *had* to fight, it was natural, it was reflex! They were angry that they couldn't make me do what they wanted, and they couldn't make me forget what they had done, like they did with the others. I remembered everything, and that made them angry, too, but they wouldn't stop--" "Shh, Mulder, relax," she said softly, seeing his terror increasing. "It's over now. It's all right. You don't have to talk about it." "One of them took your cross from me, and I got so upset, I think it messed up their tests--they couldn't keep me still, and they couldn't get into my mind, not even the little bit they'd been able to do before, because all I was focused on was your cross. Finally, they gave it back." He paused for a minute, breathing heavily, and then continued, as if anxious to reach the end of his tale. "They could get into my mind again, but never as much as they wanted, they could never control me the way they wanted, and they gave me drugs, Scully, drugs that paralyzed me so I couldn't move, I could only lie there but I could feel oh god I could feel everything..." He sank to the floor, his face buried in his hands again, and the sound of his broken sobs wrenched at her heart. Moments later, Stephen's cries mixed with his--Mulder's fear had touched him at last, and he gave high, piercing, terrified screams, waving his little arms desperately in the air until Scully picked him up and held him against her shoulder for comfort. She listened to her son screaming in her ear, watched his father sobbing on the floor, and felt like crying herself. How was she supposed to take care of both of them? ----- They were all in bed--it had been a long day, and all three were exhausted. Scully had finally gotten Mulder and Stephen settled down, and she'd wanted to give the baby to Mulder and go take a nap, but had been afraid. His flashback that morning had been so severe that she was reluctant to leave him in charge of Stephen. Mulder sensed her hesitancy, and it made him angry, she could tell, even though he never said so. The way his mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly, but she knew him too well, and the way he became quiet, focusing on the television and ignoring her attempts at conversation, revealed his state of mind quite adequately. It pissed her off, in a way, and yet she understood--it was hard for Mulder to admit weakness, and this latest bout with his flashbacks had disturbed him more than he wanted her to know. Now it was ten o'clock, and she lay in bed reading, trying to unwind from the tense day. Stephen was finally down for the night, and Mulder was stretched out on his back, snoring lightly beside her. His right hand pressed against her hip, and after checking to be sure he wasn't making amorous advances, but was really still sleeping, she shifted to give him room to stretch. A few seconds later, his legs stretched, and she put down the book to stare. "What the hell?" she asked the room at large. As she watched, Mulder was doing his best to spread-eagle himself, still in his sleep; she wondered if he was slipping into a nightmare. Her question was answered moments later, when his eyes flew open, an expression of pure agony on his face, and he let out a scream that chilled her blood. Stephen immediately began to wail, but Scully ignored him. He was safe in his crib, and right now, Mulder needed her help worse than her son. "Mulder, wake up!" she shouted, hoping he could hear her over his own cries, cries of pain that went on and on. She tried slapping him once, then twice, wincing when her hand left red marks on his cheeks, and still he did not come out of it. Tears began to leak from his eyes, and interspersed with his screams were heart-rending sobs, but other than his facial muscles and vocal cords, he didn't move an inch. It was as if he was paralyzed, and she remembered what he had said earlier that day about the drugs. Whatever they had done to Mulder when he was immobilized, it was apparently happening again in his mind. She tried everything she could think of--slapping him again, shaking him roughly, screaming directly into his face, and finally she even went so far as to lay their screaming child on his chest, hoping the sound and feel of Stephen would penetrate Mulder's consciousness where nothing else could. Every attempt she made at bringing him out of his flashback was a failure, and finally Scully just clutched Stephen to her chest, sobbing to herself as she watched Mulder's pain and torment go on and on. At last, after almost fifteen minutes had passed, his screaming stopped. The sobbing continued for several minutes, and then awareness began to slowly creep into his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, as if unable to grasp the fact that he could move, and then cautiously drew his arms and legs in. He turned his head to look over at mother and child, both crying, one softly, one in piercing wails, and the look on his face went straight to her heart. Slowly, seeming overcome with exhaustion, he pulled himself up from the bed and moved to take them both in his arms. He took Stephen from her, rocking him back and forth, speaking in a low voice, murmuring comforting, nonsense words until the baby finally closed his eyes and slept against his shoulder. He placed the infant in the crib, then turned to Scully and took her back into his embrace. "This one was really bad, Mulder," she whispered against his chest, and he nodded soberly. "What's causing this? Why is it happening again?" "I don't know, Scully," he answered grimly, his voice rough from all the screaming he had done earlier. Dimly, the thought occurred to him that they were lucky one of the neighbors hadn't called the police. "It's Krycek," she said flatly, cold anger in her voice. "It's because of his message. It's set you back. Mulder, you need to see Dr. Alexander again, soon." "I'm supposed to see him next week. He's out of town until Wednesday." "You might not be able to wait until then," she argued, holding him tightly against her, as if her arms could keep away the demons that threatened. "I'll be fine, Scully. You're probably right, it's Krycek's message. Just realizing that should help me deal with it." "You scared me, Mulder," she said, pulling him toward the bed and lifting the covers so he could climb beneath them. "It's never been that difficult to get through to you." His face, still pale, suddenly appeared wan and old. "It was like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from, Scully." His voice was hoarse, and she reached into a drawer of her night stand and withdrew a packet of throat lozenges, which he accepted gratefully. He popped one into his mouth and lay back against the pillow. "Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head, but then asked, "Do you remember that case we had with the artificial intelligence program?" She shuddered lightly. "Esther Nairn. I'll never forget her. I'll never forget *you*, trapped in that trailer, calling for my help..." her voice trailed off and she clutched at him again. That had been a horrible time for Mulder, one that she still didn't fully understand even to this day. "It was like that," he affirmed quietly. "It was like being stuck in the virtual reality prison all over again. I was reliving what they did, and I couldn't move, and they wouldn't stop, and I could feel it all." "What did they do?" "It's hard to describe," he answered shortly. "It was when they cut my bones." *Cut his bones*? she thought, but kept quiet, for hadn't she known, really, hadn't that been what the x-rays had revealed? Not breaks, not fractures, but precise cuts, scattered throughout Mulder's skeletal system. "How did they do that, Mulder?" she asked, wondering if she should press him, but knowing he needed to let it out, and damn it, she was a scientist, she was curious. "That's what's hard to describe," he said slowly. "It was kind of like when you see a laser on television--you know, it shows up as a red light? Well this was blue, but it was a definite stream of light. Sort of reminded me of a tiny light-saber." He grinned, and she gave a short laugh, more out of relief that he was acting normally than out of mirth. "It didn't cut the skin, or any of the tissues or blood vessels, as far as I could tell, but it cut straight through the bones." He stopped then, and she took a deep breath. "Why the hell would they do that?" she asked angrily. "What could they possibly hope to learn by doing that to you?" He shook his head. "Who knows? Maybe they didn't want to learn anything. Maybe I'd just really pissed them off by then." He gave the short bark of laughter this time, shaking his head a little as if to banish the memory. She pulled his head close to her chest, stroking through his hair over and over until he finally fell back into what, at long last, appeared to be a restful sleep. ----- When it happened again at 10 a.m. on Sunday morning, Scully became suspicious, and after he came out of that flashback, she broached the subject. "Mulder, doesn't it strike you as odd that you had these flashbacks at exactly ten yesterday morning, ten last night, and ten this morning?" He stared at her with exhausted eyes. "I guess I was too busy to notice the time," he muttered wearily. "What are you saying?" She blew at a strand of hair that insisted on falling in her face, exasperated with his obtuseness, with the fact that she hadn't had enough sleep in weeks, with life in general. "I'm saying," she explained with exaggerated patience, "the maybe someone is behind this." His eyes widened, and his hand crept slowly to the scar at the back of his neck. His face paled. "You think..." She shrugged. "It occurred to me." "But why? What would it accomplish?" His hand stayed there, lightly worrying the tiny bump on his skin, and he bit his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe..." She stared at her lap for a minute, angry with herself for not realizing the danger, for not listening to him, then took a deep breath and looked up. "Maybe it's because you didn't meet with Krycek." His eyes widened even more. "You think *he's* the one doing this?" he asked. "Well don't you? Doesn't it seem the obvious answer?" He shook his head slowly. "I never even thought...I just assumed it was *them*." Mulder was pulled from his musing by the ringing of the phone, and he grabbed for it before it could disturb the baby. "Yeah?" he muttered into it. "Mulder, it's Skinner. How are things in babyville?" Mulder's somewhat distracted, "Fine," immediately set up an alert in his boss. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern now evident in his voice. Why, he asked himself, had he been so intent upon giving Mulder space to work through the therapy? He hadn't even visited him down in his office, as if artificial distance made any difference. He should have been more available. "Listen, Walter, I'm kind of in the middle of something...let me get back to you." Skinner stared at the phone as the line went dead. "Damn," he swore aloud to the empty room. He started to press the 'redial' button, then just dropped the phone on the couch, snagging his jacket with one hand and his keys with the other. He was out the door before he allowed himself to give it a second thought. "That was Skinner," Mulder provided at Scully's questioning look, both their minds obviously still occupied with the previous conversation. "Mulder, has it ever occurred to you that maybe Krycek *is* one of them?" He gave a weak grin. "You think Krycek is an alien, Scully?" She rolled her eyes, muttering, "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. No, of course not, Mulder. But one thing I'm certain of--Krycek's motives are always a mystery, but his methods remain constant. He's a liar and a murderer, and he only has his own best interest at heart." He said nothing, still stroking at the chip, and she took his silence for disagreement. "Well, there's no question he's working for them, in some capacity," she insisted. "And we never did discover exactly what they wanted with you, exactly what all the tests were about." Suddenly he froze, went absolutely rigid, and she gripped his arms, fearing another flashback, a natural one this time. "Mulder!" His face grew even paler, if that were possible; it was positively ashen, and his voice, when he spoke, was rough with emotion. "Children. They wanted to make children from me. They *did* make them, Scully, I--I destroyed some of them." "Children from you and--?" "Alien ova. They've perfected the hybrid with human ova, now they're trying to make it work the other way. I was their first real success. That's why they concentrated on me and left the others alone." He spoke in a monotone, as if listening to his own words would give them meaning, and he couldn't bear that. "So they tried to make children from you...children like Emily...?" her voice was hollow as the implications sank in. "Didn't you hear me, Scully? They *did* make them, lots of them! I managed to break into the room where the fetuses were stored, and I destroyed some of them, but they caught me, and they--" He gasped as the full force of the memory hit him again, and Scully watched in horror as he retreated to the corner of the room, curling into a ball, hands protectively covering his head as if to hide from those who meant to harm him. He hadn't done this in weeks, until yesterday, she thought angrily, and the realization that not only was Mulder far from healed, but that Krycek's intervention was bringing memories to the fore that he was not yet ready to deal with only increased her resolve to kill Krycek if she got the chance. Quietly, Scully knelt near Mulder, talking softly to him until at last, softly sobbing, he came back to himself, and slumped against the wall. "Shit, Scully," he whispered. "What am I going to do?" A knock at the door brought both of them quickly to their feet. Mulder immediately went to the bedroom to grab Stephen, while Scully cautiously approached the door from the side. Both of them had the same thought--Krycek. Only when Mulder reappeared with the baby did she call out authoritatively, "Who's there!" She sagged against the door in relief when she heard Skinner's answering, "Scully, it's me." She reached for the lock and had only just unfastened it when Mulder's gasp from behind made her spin around toward him. He was swaying on his feet, the baby still held gently in his arms. "Take Stephen, Scully," he forced out, his panicked eyes spurring her into quick action. She grabbed the baby from him immediately, vaguely aware of Skinner coming through the door. Mulder's eyes remained locked on her face. He heard her call his name from what seemed like a huge distance, even though he could reach out his hand and touch her. It was with an odd fascination that he noted his vision closing in until there was only darkness, and Scully's eyes, which seemed oddly bright...then they, too, faded, and he felt himself slipping to the floor. Scully shoved the now crying baby into Skinner's arms and was on the floor beside Mulder in an instant. She quickly turned him over and searched his face. With horror, she realized this wasn't a flashback--it was different. His eyes weren't glazed over and focused on some past terror, they were closed. He looked like he was asleep. "Scully, what the hell happened?" Skinner demanded, gently bouncing Stephen in an attempt to soothe the infant. "I think he passed out. He's okay." She glanced up at the man towering over them, her hand brushing across Mulder's forehead even as she shifted him more fully into her lap, and held out her arms for the baby. "I've got him, you just worry about Mulder," was all Skinner said before he turned and began walking, whispering to the crying baby. Scully didn't have time to do more than smile at the picture they made before Mulder stirred, his eyes flickering twice before finding hers. "Hey, you," she whispered. "Scully...what happened?" he asked, attempting to sit up and failing because of the restraining hand she placed upon his chest. "Hold on," she ordered gently. "Just relax a minute. How do you feel? Did you hit your head, Mulder? Anything hurt?" He considered his condition for a minute, and decided that nothing did. "I'm okay, Scully, help me up." She assisted him onto the couch with some reluctance. "Where's Stephen?" he asked suddenly, remembering he had been holding the baby before he blacked out. Skinner stepped into his field of vision. "I have him, Mulder. Nice swan dive, by the way. I've never had anyone swoon at the sight of me. Thought I have to admit, I would have preferred it wasn't you," he finished with a smile. "In your dreams, Skinman," Mulder grinned. They both turned at a most unladylike snort from Scully. "I hate to break up this little love-fest, but Mulder--what the heck was that? It wasn't your usual flashback, I could tell." Mulder shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Scully. Everything just went dark." She felt his forehead with a soft hand, but he wasn't warm. "Maybe it's because you haven't been eating much," she guessed. "I'm fine now, and I don't want anything to eat. I'm not hungry, so don't even try." She watched him sink back against the sofa cushions, and had no doubt that he would resist any attempt she made to coax food into him. She decided to reserve that battle for later. Glancing toward her son, still held with ease by the big ex-Marine, she smiled. "What I wouldn't give for a picture of that!" Skinner glanced down at his drowsy charge and then back at Scully. "Don't even think about it," he warned with mock gruffness. She grinned, and turned her attention back to Mulder. "I think Stephen has the right idea," she commented. "You should follow his lead." Mulder peeked over at his son before saying, with a hint of indignation, "I am *not* cuddling with my boss!" She waited for the laughter to subside before clarifying. "Mulder, I'm serious. You need to get back into bed," she told him, holding out her hand to help him to his feet. "You're exhausted again. And Mulder, if we're right, then you have to meet with Krycek or it will never end. I'm sorry, Mulder, I'm so sorry. I should have let you go." "Krycek?" demanded Skinner, but they continued as if he wasn't there. Mulder shook his head. "You couldn't know, Scully. I didn't know. I thought meeting with him was a stupid idea, too. I was hoping you'd talk me out of it." "When it happens, I'm going with you. I won't let you face him alone." "Going where? Surely you're not thinking of going to meet Krycek?" Skinner asked, stepping closer so they would be unable to further shut him out of the conversation. "Where did you get a fool idea like that?" Scully spared Skinner an 'I'll explain later' look, and turned back to Mulder. Neither of them noticed when Skinner left the room. "Come on, Mulder. Right now. Bed. Doctor's orders." "Will the doctor be joining me?" he joked as she led him toward the bedroom. She only gave him a fierce glare in answer. He allowed her to position him on the bed and remove his shoes. "What about Stephen?" "I'm going to call my mother, and see if she can help us out again." She started to straighten up, and he grabbed at her arm. "Scully, Stephen's in danger." Her brow furrowed. "You don't know that, Mulder--" "They want him because he's my son. He might have...the same thing I have." With a gentle hand, she smoothed the hair from his forehead, placing a tender kiss there. "I'll take care of Stephen," she assured him. "You just rest now. You have to be ready in case..." She didn't finish the sentence, but he knew what she meant. He needed his rest, for when the next flashback occurred. It wasn't a case of "if" any longer. She returned to the living room, where Skinner had placed the sleeping baby in his carrier. His back was to her when she entered, but he seemed to sense her arrival. "What has Alex Krycek got to do with anything?" he demanded, swinging around to face her. His face told her he would tolerate no more bullshit. Scully took a moment to gather her thoughts, and sank down slowly to a chair. She drew in a deep breath and began. "We think...no, *I* think he is now controlling Mulder's flashbacks, causing them. They're too...reliable. You could set your clock by them. Somehow, Krycek can make them happen. Mulder was supposed to meet with him, but he didn't go--I wouldn't let him..." Her voice drifted off for a few seconds, then she looked him full in the face. "I think it's the chip." Her hand reached back to touch the spot where her own chip was implanted. "Either that, or it's the way he controls you," she finished. Skinner paled at her words. "Mulder told you?" She nodded. "You think he's controlling Mulder now...is Mulder getting sick? Sick like I was?" "No, but how do we know that's all he can do? We still have no idea what they did to him while he was gone...no idea of their capabilities...it's just beyond us, I think. And Walter, we'll never know it all, no matter how many tests we run." "We have to find Krycek. I have to find him." "No," she argued firmly. "Let us deal with it, Sir. You have too much at stake." "That's exactly why I have to do it, Scully--why I *need* to do it. You have a lot at stake, too." He nodded toward the bedroom. "I owe him. I owe both of you. I'll let you know what I find." Before she could protest further, he was out the door. ----- Scully's mind was still on Skinner, even when she picked up the phone to call her mother. He was a good man, a strong man, and after all they had been through, the three of them, she was amazed to find that he was also a good friend. She was grateful. She had needed him while Mulder was gone, and now...they both needed a friend like Skinner. Maggie came, naturally, and Mulder's flashback occurred at ten p.m., naturally, right on schedule. Scully was convinced now that Krycek was causing them, but it wasn't just his influence Mulder was dealing with. Krycek's artificially induced flashbacks seemed to have triggered an increase in the naturally occurring ones, meaning that Mulder was now having four or five a day. It was draining him, and they were getting steadily worse. On Monday morning, when he awakened with Stephen, Mulder was tense and irritable. The stress of knowing it was coming in a few hours caused him to pace the apartment, glancing repeatedly at the clock until Scully wanted to scream. "I have an idea," he finally told her, just after eight-thirty. "Those sleeping pills Dr. Alexander gave me." He'd finally worn himself out with activity, and had thrown himself to the sofa, his remaining energy focused on bouncing one knee up and down, while still watching the clock. She regarded him calmly, rocking the baby against her chest. "You want to knock yourself out? Do you think it will work?" He shrugged. "I don't know. If it doesn't...can it really hurt?" She shook her head, more at a loss as to what to do than in agreement with him, and he went to the bathroom, fishing the prescription bottle out of the drawer where he'd tossed it when he brought it home. He wanted to take two, but knowing his susceptibility to drugs, she insisted he only swallow one of the pills. She settled him in bed, propping him against the pillows, and gave the baby to Maggie. They were preparing as best they could for what they all knew was coming, and sure enough, it hit right on schedule. Mulder had fallen asleep within half an hour of swallowing the pill, and at first Scully was grateful. It wasn't until she realized that the flashback was occurring in spite of his drugged state that she understood what a truly horrible idea this had been. Mulder couldn't wake up. He was trapped in the flashback. He mumbled unintelligible words, his thrashing growing more and more pronounced as the vision took hold, and Scully slapped lightly at his face. "Mulder! Mulder, wake up!" Her efforts had no effect whatsoever, and Scully watched in horror as Mulder began to moan piteously, then to whimper, and finally broke out in loud screams that frightened her with their intensity. She couldn't understand the words he said, but he seemed to be pleading for the pain to stop. All her attempts at waking him proved useless, and finally Scully knelt beside him on the bed, screaming out her frustration at Alex Krycek and all the rest who had ever hurt Mulder. "Stop it, you son of a bitch!" she yelled at the ceiling, putting her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out Mulder's wails. "Leave him alone! Leave him alone!" Her demands were useless, of course, and as Mulder continued to struggle against invisible bonds, weeping at invisible pain, pleading with invisible entities to stop torturing him, Scully could do nothing more than huddle beside him on the bed, crying softly, and pray for it to end. At last it did, and Mulder fell into sound sleep again, not awakening until late that afternoon. He stumbled out to the kitchen, dressed only in his boxers and a t-shirt, seemingly oblivious to Maggie's presence. "Are you okay?" Scully asked cautiously as he sank into a chair. He gave her a little nod. "Guess that wasn't such a good idea," he managed with a weak grin, dashing Scully's hopes that perhaps he wouldn't remember this one. "Guess not." "How long until my next scheduled session?" he asked, rubbing at his forehead, and she looked at the clock. "Five hours, thirty-seven minutes," she reported quietly. He closed his eyes for a minute, as if searching for inward peace, and then announced, "I'm going to take a shower." While he stood beneath the steaming spray of water, Mulder considered his options. The flashback was going to happen, he knew--that was almost a given. He could wait for it, get through it as best he could, but the last one had been the worst yet, and he suspected Krycek was cranking up the volume, so to speak. He certainly wasn't going to drug himself up again--that had been a hellishly bad idea--but his greatest fear was that he would hurt someone he cared for. Two small women and an infant, against a man made mad by his memories and strengthened by adrenaline...sooner or later, something awful was bound to happen. That, too, was almost a given. By the time he had dressed, Mulder had come up with an idea, and he went to work right away. First, he began clearing everything out of Scully's large bedroom closet, laying her suits carefully on the bed, stacking boxes neatly along the wall, and piling everything else in the corner. Scully, hearing the noise, came to investigate, and stood with hands on her hips for a minute, watching Mulder's hurried movements. "What are you doing?" she demanded, surveying the disaster that had previously been her well-kept bedroom. "Get me that new deadbolt I've been meaning to put on the front door, would you, Scully?" She didn't budge. "Mulder, what are you doing?" she asked again, her voice turning icy as her suspicions grew. He swung around to face her. "It's the only safe thing to do, Scully. Sooner or later, I'm going to hurt one of you, and I can't--" He paused and took a deep breath. "I can't be responsible for that. I couldn't live with it." She shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to lock you in that closet, Mulder--" He took two quick steps over to where she stood, grasping her by the upper arms giving her an urgent little shake. "It's the only way," he argued. "We have to protect, Stephen, and I'm afraid--" He shuddered. "Mulder, you would never hurt him. You would never hurt your son. I know it." He swiped a hand across a suddenly sweaty brow. "I would, Scully," he contradicted solemnly. "I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I might think he was one of them, one of those..." She spun away, unable to endure the pain in his voice, but he grabbed her and turned her back to face him. "Scully, I have less than three hours. Just get me the deadbolt set and your toolbox. Please." The desperation in his voice was what finally spurred her on. She couldn't look at him as she did what he asked, and when Mulder began installing the deadbolt on her closet door, she left the room. The idea of locking him up was hideous to her, but she knew, in her heart, that he was probably right. It was a small price to pay to protect their son. At nine-fifty, Mulder kissed her and Stephen, and entered the closet, shutting the door firmly behind him. At ten on the dot, she heard him begin weeping, softly but constantly, and then the murmured words began. With horror, she realized it was her name Mulder was saying over and over. Her hand involuntarily reached for the doorknob and she stopped. "Don't open this door until you're absolutely sure it's finished," he had ordered just before entering the closet, and the look in his eyes had been one Scully feared to cross. If she'd listened to Mulder in the first place, allowed him to meet with Krycek, he wouldn't be in this position, she reminded herself. She resolved to listen to him now, no matter how difficult it might prove. The sobbing went on for a long time, and then Mulder began banging on the door, pleading for her to help him, only she realized he wasn't pleading with her to let him out of the closet, he was begging her to find him, save him from his captors, and bring him home. She sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the door, tears streaming steadily down her face, until at last the noises began to subside. Maggie, holding her grandson on Dana's sofa, cried as well. Stephen slept through it all. When Mulder finally knocked lightly on the door and called, "Scully, it's over. Let me out of here," she raced to obey. "Mulder," she breathed, opening the door and pulling him into her arms. She settled him on the bed, but he refused to release her. He was trembling all over. "They kept me in a cell," he said, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. "A little cell, just like that. That's where they took me after the testing. After the first day, I never saw my room again, they kept me locked in a cell..." She stared, open-mouthed in astonishment, and he shifted his gaze to her eyes. "Krycek knows what we're doing," he said flatly. "He's tailoring the flashbacks to fit the situation." Scully's eyes darted around the bedroom, and Mulder nodded. Somewhere in this room, and probably all the others as well, they were being watched. She leaned close to him, snuggling next to his ear. "I'm going to get Mom and Stephen out of here," she said in a barely audible whisper. He didn't move, but when she raised up again, his eyes agreed. "Will you be all right?" she queried softly, and he nodded. "I should be fine until ten in the morning." She leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "I won't be long." ----- "Mom, would you bring Stephen and come with me to the store?" Scully asked as she returned to the living room and slipped on her shoes. "I need to pick up a few things and I'd like some company." "Are you sure you want to take him out, Dana?" Maggie asked anxiously. "He's sleeping so well." Scully nodded. "I'm afraid to leave him here with Mulder," she said clearly. "In case something happens. Please, Mom, I just need to get out of here for a while." Maggie saw the warning look on her daughter's face and didn't argue further, picking up her purse and Stephen's baby quilt and following Dana to the car. "Let's take yours," Dana suggested, and Maggie nodded, allowing her daughter to take the lead as she slipped behind the steering wheel, leaving Maggie to deal with Stephen. She strapped Stephen carefully into his car seat, tucking the quilt around his tiny sleeping form, then climbed in beside him, watching silently as Dana steered the car, not toward the market, but in a direction unknown to her. She didn't say a word when Dana stopped the car twenty minutes later in front of a ramshackle building, she just picked up the baby and followed, waiting while the numerous locks on the door were unfastened and they were ushered into the oddest room she had ever seen. Computers and technical equipment were everywhere, as were stacks of bizarre-looking newspapers and magazines, and in one corner stood an old-fashioned printing press, unused now, by the look of it, abandoned in favor of the more efficient computer printers, but still not forgotten. Dirty clothes were flung here and there, and empty coffee cups littered the table. "Oh, sorry," Byers apologized as he stood back for Scully and her mother to enter. "We didn't expect company. Where's Mulder?" She quickly explained what had been happening, how Krycek had been torturing Mulder, and Mulder's theory that their son was in danger. Then she turned to her mother. "Mom, I know you have a life of your own. I wouldn't ask this if it wasn't the most important thing in the world, but--" Maggie held up her hand. "You want me to go away? With Stephen. Hide him, isn't that it?" Scully nodded, her eyes brimming with tears, and Maggie pulled her daughter into a fierce hug. "Don't you know that I'd do anything for you?" she asked. "Anything for my grandson? Of course I'll do it, Dana." Scully gave a little nervous laugh, wiping away her tears. "These guys can take care of everything, can't you?" she asked, turning pleading eyes to them. "Consider it done," Frohike answered immediately. "We'll have to stop for supplies for the baby," said Maggie firmly. "Bottles and formula, for one thing." Scully's eyes widened and she gave a little gasp--that hadn't even occurred to her. "Mom, he's never had anything but the breast--will he make the switch?" "He's had water from a baby bottle, hasn't he?" Her daughter nodded. "Then he'll make the switch to formula, because I'll tell him to, and I'm not in the mood to argue." Scully grinned at the words--they were almost exactly the same thing she'd told the guys when they were planning to drug Mulder to bring him home, and suddenly she remembered where she had heard them before. It was something her mother had said when they were children, whenever they were asked to do what seemed impossible--like clean their rooms before suppertime--and always managed to do it, because Mom told them to, and Mom wasn't in the mood to argue. "I'd better get back to Mulder," Scully said then, a note of reluctance in her voice. "Guys, we're talking about my son and my mother," she reminded them as she kissed her mother and prepared to leave, stroking the soft brown hair on Stephen's head. "No chances." "No chances, Scully," Langly agreed. "We'll take care of 'em." Scully went into her mother's arms for one more lingering hug. "I'm so sorry to have to bring you into this," she whispered tearfully. Maggie shook her head with a smile. Her eyes twinkled with excitement. "This is a chance to make myself useful, and it's a bit of adventure in an old woman's life." "Mom, you're not old!" "Well, not too old to have fun, anyway," Maggie agreed. "Now go on home to Fox. It's almost time." Scully looked around at them all, gave another sad smile, and turned to leave. "Where are you taking us, anyway?" Maggie asked curiously as the door closed, and Scully barely heard Frohike's reply--"We'd tell you, but then we'd have to kill you." Her mother's laugh drifted back and Scully smiled. Then she bit her lip to keep back the tears that threatened. Why, she asked herself angrily, did the people she loved always find themselves in danger? It had been that way ever since she'd hooked up with Mulder, and yet the thought of not having him in her life brought a pain so fierce it cut straight through her heart. When she got home, she undressed and slipped into bed beside Mulder, who pulled her into his arms without saying a word. He gently rubbed her back until some of the tension eased, and eventually the two of them slept. The phone woke them at nine the next morning. "Are you ready to meet with me now?" "Krycek! You--" "Save it, Scully, I know what you think of me. Just remember that I can make this happen as often as I want, and I can make it last as long as I want. You meet with me, and we'll talk about how I can make it all go away." She was quiet for a long moment, reviewing her options, realizing that if she wanted to save Mulder, she really had none. "When?" she asked at last, and he gave a satisfied chuckle. "Tonight. Eight o'clock. Behind Casey's. Both of you. Oh, and Scully? Bring your kid, too." He disconnected, and Scully let the phone slip numbly from her fingers to fall to the table. She stared straight ahead, wondering how they were going to get through this. Mulder was right. They did want Stephen. As ten a.m. approached, Mulder again retreated to the closet, and Scully sat down in front of the door, prepared to ride out the vigil as close to him as she could get. She even managed to chuckle at his werewolf jokes, but after almost half an hour it became clear that Krycek intended to give him a reprieve--the scheduled flashback never occurred. Scully fixed lunch, which neither of them could eat, and toward mid-afternoon they found themselves staring blankly into space, not talking, just waiting. They were too nervous to do anything else, and concentration was impossible at that point, anyway. At seven, they dressed in dark, comfortable clothing, and armed themselves, still unspeaking. It was not until they were ready to leave the apartment that Scully finally spoke. "Mulder, I'm sorry." "Scully--" "No, Mulder, it's my fault you've had to go through these past few days. If I hadn't convinced you not to go..." "It's not your fault, Scully. Krycek would do anything to get what he wants, you know that. If it hadn't been this, it would have been something else." He zipped up the front of his jacket and gave her a weak smile. "Let's get this over with." "Skinner's going to be pissed when he finds out we're doing this. He won't even want to hear the reasons why we didn't call him. He wants to be involved." He grinned more broadly. "How does that song go...you can't always get what you want," he sang, and she laughed. "Relax, Scully. He'll get over it." They strolled casually into the bar, glancing around, seeing nothing and no one amiss. On a Tuesday night, there weren't many people here, only the regulars who hit Casey's most evenings, and after glancing at the nice-looking young couple who'd just entered, the bartender went back to his conversation with an old man at the end of the bar. The rest of the patrons had their eyes glued to the large television over the bar, where the Knicks were beating the Lakers 78 to 64. Mulder gave Scully a slight nod before slipping into the shadows toward the back of the bar. Scully pretended interest in the game for a few minutes before joining him. They exchanged a look before Mulder pushed open the door leading to the back alley, and both of them hurried through it silently. Krycek was waiting. "Where's the kid?" he asked, eyeing the two of them. "If you think you're getting anywhere near my son, Krycek, you're crazier than I thought." Mulder's voice was hard. Krycek grinned, leaning against the brick wall. "I didn't really think you'd bring him anyway. Doesn't matter. Let's tal--oof!" Suddenly Krycek slumped against the cold brick wall, grasping his middle and eyeing the angry redhead who stood before him, shaking out her hand as her partner looked on with a broad grin. He could plainly see her calculating whether it would be worth her while to see what kind of effect she could have on his ability to father children, so he forced himself to stand upright. "I'll give you one, Red, but just the one," he ground out. "You bastard--" Mulder began, but Scully interrupted. "Let's cut the crap," she suggested coldly. "What do you want, Krycek?" "Haven't you guessed?" "Mulder. They want Mulder back." Krycek gave a snort of amusement. "Not quite, Scully. But we are prepared to offer you a sweet deal, in exchange for what we do want." He turned to Mulder, who glared at him but waited silently. "I can make it all end, Mulder," he said softly, his voice gentle and beguiling. "All of it. I can fix it so you never have a flashback again. In fact, if you want, I can even do a selective memory wipe so you don't even remember your time on the ship. Wouldn't you like that?" "What the hell are you talking about, Krycek?" Mulder demanded. "What is it you want, in exchange for messing with my mind?" Krycek sneered. "Are you kidding, Mulder? What do you think we want? We want your son." Scully started toward him, but Mulder put out an arm to stop her. "For what?" Krycek gave a short bark of mirthless laughter. "You don't really need to ask, do you, Mulder? I mean...he's like you! He's like something they've never seen before, something they want. Something they need. At least, they hope he is." Mulder's eyes widened at Krycek's words, then narrowed in anger. "Get lost, Krycek, before I let Scully put a bullet through your head." "I don't see that you have any choice," Krycek called as they began to back away. "Sooner or later, you'll have to give us what we want." Mulder and Scully reached the end of the alley, turning toward the front of the bar where they'd left their car, and Krycek yelled after them. "It can get worse, Mulder. You have no idea how much worse it can get!" They ignored him, but Scully felt her stomach turn to ice at his words. She knew they were true. Krycek would never leave Mulder in peace, not until they gave him what he wanted. Or until she killed him, she thought darkly, her hand resting momentarily on her weapon. Mulder refused to drive them home. "It's going to start again, Scully. You know it is. We don't have any way of knowing when. I won't endanger you..." She took the wheel without further protest, swallowing the lump in her throat. Knowing he was right. A feeling of impending doom shadowed them, unshakeable--both knew it was only a matter of time before the torture began again, both wondering how long Mulder could hold out before they were forced to take some sort of drastic action. "I don't understand," Scully complained later, watching as Mulder pace the apartment, occasionally fingering the scar on the back of his neck. "Why would they demand something so absurd? They must have known we'd refuse." "They knew," Mulder said grimly, stopping to stare out the window into the darkness, hands on his hips as he gnawed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "But...why, then?" Scully asked, confused. He turned toward her suddenly--it had clicked in his mind all at once. "Krycek doesn't want Stephen," he said flatly. "At least, he doesn't expect us to simply hand him over." She stared at him for a minute. "Mulder?" she asked, giving him that sideways look she sometimes used when she couldn't think of a delicate way to ask if he had finally gone off his rocker. "No, Scully, listen to me," he insisted, beginning his trail through the living room again. "Krycek wants something. We know that for sure, but I don't think he expected us to hand Stephen over to him--he knew we wouldn't do that. No, he wants something else. Something more subtle. He asked us for the impossible, knowing we would refuse." "But why?" "So his next request, his real one, would sound more reasonable by comparison." Her eyes narrowed as she considered his words. "Sonofabitch is smarter than I gave him credit for," she said grimly. Mulder gave a snort of disgust. "It's not intelligence, Scully, it's self-preservation. Even a cockroach possesses that. Somehow, Krycek is trying to save his own ass." "But if not Stephen, what does he want, Mulder? What does he really want?" He shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Scully, but we have to figure it out, and soon." He glanced at the clock on the wall, his jaw clenching slightly. "I suspect I don't have much time." Chapter 4 Mulder was right, he didn't have much time. Not long after their discussion, the next flashback occurred. Scully rode it out grimly, but she had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn't be quite as regular now. She was right. Mulder had no more than recovered from one when the next one hit. Now she was frightened for real. They really had no idea what these flashbacks were doing to him. She couldn't just sit there doing nothing, so she picked up the phone and called Skinner. "Walter, can you come over?" she began, just as Mulder began moaning in the background. "What's wrong, what's happening? Is it bad?" She sighed. "It's actually his third since we got home." "Home? Home from where?" he demanded gruffly. Scully winced slightly before revealing, "Our meeting with Krycek." She held the phone away from her ear for a moment, expecting an explosion, but to her surprise, Skinner was silent. After a minute, during which she could almost see the expression of fury on his face, he said, "I'll be right over. Pack a bag for the three of you." She sighed sadly. "It's only two of us, Walter. I sent Stephen and my mother to the guys. I'm sure they're somewhere nice and safe by now." Her voice almost broke, but she controlled it. "We need to be somewhere safe, somewhere...away from neighbors." That deadly silence again. "Then get the two of you ready. I'll be there in ten minutes." Hanging up the phone, she turned to see that Mulder had emerged from his flashback and was now staring up at her from where he huddled beneath the dining room table. "Are you going to make it?" she asked, crouching before him. "Scully," he whispered, reaching out a hand for her, the other holding his head as if to keep it from exploding. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this." The expression of agony on Mulder's face was heartbreaking, and she believed him. She wasn't even sure how much more *she* could take, and suddenly she felt very inadequate, realizing that in all likelihood, there was not a damn thing she could do to help him. "Skinner's on the way," she said softly. Mulder glanced up at her again, and she saw a brief glimmer of hope in his eyes. "What can he do?" he asked, and she could hear the unspoken pleading behind the words. 'Please,' his eyes beseeched, 'tell me there's something he can do.' "Not much," she confessed reluctantly, "but at least he can get us out of here. If this keeps up much longer, we're going to have neighbors calling the police." He crawled out from under the table, standing slowly, swaying slightly on his feet before regaining his balance. "I'm surprised they haven't already," he muttered as Scully reached for his arm. He tried to shake her off, but she refused to allow his resistance, and after a moment he accepted her hand with good grace. "Is it over?" she asked, leading him slowly toward the bedroom. He nodded. "Maybe...for now," he told her grimly. "My guess is Krycek's giving me a little while to regain my strength before he attacks again." "Then let's make the most of it." She helped him sit on the bed, handed him an empty overnight case, and began tossing things for him to pack into it beside him on the bed. Mulder arranged the items in the case as quickly as he could, mindful of the fact that his torment could began anew at any time. By the time they finished packing, Skinner was at the door. Scully let him in, carrying the case, while Mulder followed more slowly. "Come on I have a place we can go," Skinner ordered. He looked Mulder up and down, taking in the other man's haggard face and obvious exhaustion. A quick glance at his watch told him it was almost midnight. "Look, we have a two hour drive ahead of us. Can you stand another few hours? I know it's late--would you rather wait until morning?" Mulder's disgusted, "Let's get the hell out of here," seemed to cement their plans. Scully grabbed another small leather bag from a closet while Skinner slung their case over his shoulder and led the way to his car. Scully held back in case Mulder needed her assistance, but he managed to make it to the car without swaying too badly on his feet. She doubted he would tolerate her helping hand now, in front of Skinner, so she walked cautiously behind him instead. Skinner tossed the luggage in the trunk and climbed into the front seat beside Scully. Mulder had taken over the back, stretching out as much as was possible, his eyes closed and his face full of exhaustion as he leaned against the door. The short walk seemed to have sapped him, and Scully watched worriedly as he settled himself. "Where are we going?" she asked as they drew away from the curb. "I'm taking you to a safe-house," Skinner answered. "If nothing else, it will give us some privacy while we try to decide what to do next. Now, suppose you tell me why the hell you went to meet Krycek without any protection?" "He called us after you left," she answered, staring out the window into the darkness. "He wanted to meet with us again. We decided we had no choice but to see him." "But Mulder's flashbacks haven't stopped." "No," she said flatly. Skinner drove on in silence for a few minutes before asking softly, "What kind of deal did the devil offer to make them go away?" Scully shook her head slightly, as if still unable to believe the bargain they'd been offered. "He asked--Walter, he wanted Stephen!" Skinner swore under his breath--it had been what he'd expected, but to hear it voiced so bluntly--he'd dared to hope he was wrong. "So he really did it. He really expected you to just hand your baby over to him." She gave him an odd look at the statement, but made a gesture of denial. "Mulder thinks he wanted something else, something that would sound more reasonable when compared to such a ridiculous request. But we don't have any idea...the flashbacks began again as soon as we arrived home, and he had three of them in succession." Skinner risked a look back at Mulder, who appeared to be asleep. "So what happens now?" he asked her in a low voice, hoping not to wake the slumbering agent. "Any ideas at all?" "Krycek tortures me for a few days, then he contacts us to tell us what he really wants," said Mulder softly from the back seat. Skinner was silent again for several minutes. "Maybe if we get you away from him, maybe if he can't find you..." he offered hopefully. "We don't know what kind of range his control has. He has to be nearby in order to--" "Sir, this is different," Scully cut in gently. "It's not the same as what Krycek did to you, not at all. They were able to summon me, and all the other people to that bridge, no matter how widely we were scattered. I'm afraid this chip doesn't have any range limitations." "But you don't know that." "No," she agreed reluctantly. "We don't know. We don't really know anything." Mulder's voice drifted up to them again, weaker this time. "Scully, did you bring your medical kit?" She turned around to give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "With you in attendance? Always. Why?" He shook his head, closing his eyes again. "Just checking. I have a feeling we might need it." ----- They arrived at the safe house just after two in the morning. Skinner had been there before, it turned out, so he knew exactly where the house was situated--far enough away from any neighbors that Mulder should be able to scream without disturbing anyone. From a distance, it looked like a normal farmhouse. Even close up, a person would have to know what they were looking for in order to see all the surveillance devices surrounding the place. The door they entered led into a small kitchen, and Skinner flipped on a couple of lights so they could find their way through the house. All three were too exhausted to do more than murmur "good night" and go their separate ways. Skinner took the bedroom at the end of the hall and Mulder and Scully the larger one next to it. Entering their room, Scully quickly pulled off her clothes before reaching to help Mulder, who was nearly asleep on his feet, with his. They fell into the bed and into each other's arms immediately. Scully was holding him tightly, perhaps too tightly, she knew, but she needed it just then, and Mulder didn't seem to mind. He clutched her as desperately as she did him. Both were thankful that he was getting a break from the torment, at least for now. ----- She awoke with a start the next morning, jumping from the bed worriedly once she realized she was alone. She searched through the house, calling for both men, then dressed quickly, trying to quell her uneasiness. She was just about to go outside to look for them when the door burst open and Mulder exploded into the room. "Yes! Yes! I win! Sucker!" Arms raised in triumph, Mulder did a victory dance around the kitchen. "I let you win, Mulder," came Skinner's voice as he tramped into the kitchen. Scully stood back, watching Mulder do his thing, and couldn't help thinking how gorgeous he was. She always enjoyed the sight of Mulder fresh from a run--a sight so few were privileged to see--but she realized now, seeing him so exuberant and carefree, how much she had missed this side of him. She hadn't seen him this unguarded in weeks...except when he was with Stephen. Mulder finally noticed her standing there and announced again, "Hey Scully, I won." He flashed a smile at her that she was certain would fell a weaker woman, and then just like a flash of lightning, he was down. She approached him, Skinner right behind her, and he scrambled away, racing to press his back against the wall, drawing his knees protectively to his chest, trembling as he glared fearfully up at them. "Not again!" he begged hoarsely. "Not that again! Why are you doing this to me?" Scully and Skinner exchanged a glance--it was clear that Mulder thought they were his tormentors. "Mulder," she said, speaking slowly and gently, "it's me. It's Scully. I would never hurt you." She approached him cautiously, hoping he would recognize her before the visions in his mind captured him completely. It was too late. "No, not her, don't you dare look like her!" Mulder yelled furiously, and jumping unexpectedly to his feet, he attacked. He lunged toward Scully, throwing her roughly against the opposite wall, jabbing his forearm into her throat. "Don't you dare look like her!" he screamed into her face just before Skinner grabbed him from behind. Skinner pulled Mulder away from Scully, twisting his arms behind his back to keep him still, and Mulder stared over his shoulder for a second with a look of pure panic on his face. "Not him either!" Throwing his weight backwards in an attempt to knock Skinner off his feet, Mulder only managed to move the two of them a couple of steps. Skinner braced himself to offset the move, and Mulder began to struggle wildly against his grip. Skinner had the bulk, but Mulder was still a formidable opponent, and he was quick. Skinner almost lost his grip a few times, but luckily, Mulder wasn't yet in his peak condition. The run had taken a lot out of him, and he didn't have much left, so he quickly began to tire. Finally, Skinner began to slowly force Mulder down a corridor toward one of the bedrooms. When Mulder realized they were moving, he stepped up his efforts to free himself. "No, not again, don't cut me again!" he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as he flung his head from side to side, trying desperately to escape Skinner. "This is not research--what can you learn from that? You're not even testing me, you're just torturing me! Stop! Stop hurting me! *Stop looking like them!*" They reached the bedroom quickly, and Skinner threw Mulder face down on the bed, holding the agent's hands behind his back. He straddled the squirming man, thwarting Mulder's efforts to writhe away, trying to hold him as gently as he could. He didn't want to hurt Mulder, but he wasn't going to let Mulder hurt him or Scully, either. Once Skinner had him secured, Scully knelt beside the bed, trying to talk softly to Mulder in the hopes of bringing him out of the flashback, but her efforts only drove him further into his frenzy. He didn't recognize her at all; he was convinced his tormentors had taken on the form of those he cared about in order to increase his agony. Finally giving up, Scully backed away. It was clear her presence was only exacerbating the situation. Suddenly, Mulder's struggles stopped. He twisted his head around violently, staring up at the ceiling out of the corner of his eyes, a mask of pure terror on his face. "No no no no no," he babbled, his eyes fixed on a device visible only to him. "No not that please I promise I won't fight you I promise I'll be good don't cut me again please *please*--" "I won't cut you, if you'll behave," Skinner said suddenly, gaining a flash of inspiration. Scully stared at him, astonished, but Mulder finally seemed to hear. His entire body relaxed all at once, his head dropping to rest on the bed. "Please don't cut me please--" he muttered tonelessly, eyes closed and seeping desperate, quiet tears. "I won't," Skinner replied. "I won't cut you again, but you have to stop fighting me. If you don't fight me, I won't hurt you." "What do you want from me?" Mulder asked, beginning to sob softly into the bedspread. "You've taken everything, what more do you want? Why do you have to hurt me?" "I don't have to hurt you. I won't, if you'll calm down." "But you always do." Skinner climbed off him slowly, watching to see if his agent was going to slip toward hysteria again. He didn't, he just lay there, and once Skinner had stood to one side, Mulder's arms and legs spread themselves out on the bed. The movement looked jerky, involuntary, and Skinner and Scully stared at each other, bewildered. "Don't hurt me this time, you said you wouldn't hurt me you promised..." Mulder kept his eyes tightly closed, and the tears had all but dried up, but they could hear them, thick in his voice still. "No, I won't hurt you, Mulder," Skinner assured him gently, crouching beside the bed. "I know you're afraid, but I promise not to hurt you. Just go to sleep, and when you wake up, it will be all over." "You look like him," Mulder said in a pitiful voice, and Skinner sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would upset you so. I thought it might help." "Don't look like them again," Mulder whispered, giving in to exhaustion at last. "Please..." Seconds later he was asleep, as if he'd fallen into an artificial unconsciousness, and Scully wondered if Mulder thought he had been drugged by his tormentors. "What the hell was that?" she asked as Skinner rose and backed away from the bed. "That was carefully crafted to fit the situation, if you ask me," he replied grimly as he led her from the room, leaving the door ajar so they could catch any sounds Mulder might make. "Scully, I don't like to bring this up, but I'm afraid...we have to be prepared to restrain him. He's getting more violent, and the fact that he thought we were them..." She rubbed her forehead with a weary hand. "I hate this," she muttered. "I don't know how much more either of us can take." "So do I," he told her, rubbing his hand gently up and down her back in a comforting motion. "So," she said, pulling back and giving a quick swipe at her eyes. "How are we supposed to restrain him? I didn't bring any cuffs with me, did you? Besides, we couldn't leave him in them for long. It would hurt him." "Especially the way he's bound to struggle," Skinner agreed. "I'll find something," he told her, glancing around the small house. "There must be something around here somewhere we can use. Maybe if we're lucky, if *he's* lucky, we won't need it." He left the small bedroom to begin his search, and Scully stared at Mulder, still sleeping soundly. They wouldn't be that lucky, she knew. They never were. Skinner returned a few minutes later with a length of thick nylon rope he'd discovered in the basement. Scully saw it, gazed at it sadly for a moment, then turned away. "You'll have to do it," she said, her back to Skinner, and he nodded, as if she could see him. "I can't. I already had to lock him in the closet at home, and that's as far as I can go." "I know. I can do it." "Mulder would want you to." "How long do you think Krycek will keep doing this to him?" She gave a heavy sigh, rubbing her hands over her face as if to wash away the weariness. "I don't know. A few days, probably. He'll contact us when he's ready--when he thinks *we're* ready to agree to his demands." "Will he know where to find you?" "He has my cell phone number." Skinner's eyes narrowed. "You gave it to him?" "No. But he has it. He's used it before." "We should have some lunch," she announced suddenly, realizing it was nearly noon--they had all slept later than usual. "Mulder will be hungry after he wakes up." She wandered into the kitchen, roaming around the room pulling out ingredients randomly, putting some of them back, really concerned more with occupying herself than in the preparation of a meal. She wasn't hungry, and she doubted if Skinner was, either. Mulder was ravenous, though, as she predicted. He woke up about an hour later, stumbling into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, looking like a man who had been denied sleep and food for days. "Don't know whether I'm more tired or more hungry, but something smells great," he commented quietly. "It's fried chicken," she told him, indicating a chair while she fetched him a glass of juice from the fridge. "The kind you bake in the oven." She tried to act as if the situation was completely normal; she didn't know what else to do. He took the juice with a grateful smile, downing it rapidly. Oven baked fried chicken. He'd had it many times--a bachelor's staple. He glanced toward the counter and saw the telltale box, nodding slightly in recognition. Same brand, even. Scully saw his eyes fix on the box, and she swept it into the garbage guiltily, as if she should have done it before, as if she was solely responsible for the kitchen because she was the only female in their group. She shook off the thought angrily. She had prepared their lunch--Skinner could make supper. She wondered who had been in charge of stocking the house with food, and supposed the lack of fresh items was due to the fact that the house usually went unoccupied for weeks at a time. She'd made the juice from frozen concentrate, knowing Mulder would like it. Still, she longed for a salad with her chicken, something other than the canned green beans she opened, something better than the boxed "mashed" potatoes she threw together, using water instead of milk, because there simply was none. This wasn't even a lunchtime meal, she reflected, but she knew Mulder hadn't eaten since early the day before, and she wanted to get as much into him as she could--while she could. Mulder wouldn't care, anyway, as long as it was edible. As for herself, she couldn't have cared less what she was putting into her mouth--everything tasted like cardboard these days. She allowed herself a few seconds of worry over the other man in her life before shoving the thought forcefully away--Stephen would be fine. He was with her mother, and the guys would do anything to keep them safe. A flicker of a smile crossed her face, and Mulder picked up on it immediately. "What do you find amusing?" he asked with a wry smile, sipping at the juice. "Tell me, I need to laugh." "Picture Frohike, changing a diaper, or Langly singing lullabies...I hope he knows some clean ones." They both smiled at the thought. Skinner returned, and Scully nodded toward the table where Mulder sat. "Sorry," she said, "lunch isn't done yet. It's not much, but it's the best I could find." "Smells great. I'll go to town tomorrow and get some food," he said apologetically, but she shook her head. "It might be too dangerous," she told him grimly. "And if Mulder's suspicions are correct, we won't be here that long anyway." "What are you going to do after Krycek contacts you?" Skinner asked. "Listen to his demands," Mulder put in softly. "We have to hear what he wants before we can make a decision. Then, if it's completely unacceptable--there are other options." "What other options?" Mulder just shrugged. Scully gave Mulder a hard stare, as if trying to get him to back down from something, but he didn't waver. Skinner glanced back and forth from one to the other, convinced they were communicating silently, a conversation to which he was not privy, and perhaps one to which he had no right to be. Maybe even didn't want to be. He changed the subject. "Mulder, do you remember what happened this morning?" he asked bluntly, and Mulder shook his head. "Not really," he admitted. "I remember winning." He flashed a brief smile at Skinner before continuing, "then being afraid, but after that...it's just a blank." "You thought we were them," Scully told him, taking the seat beside Mulder while she waited for the food to finish cooking. "You attacked me." His eyes widened. "I what?" "You didn't hurt me," she assured him quickly. "Walter pulled you off, but...Mulder, you thought we were them. Or that they were us. Or something." She shrugged helplessly. "If Walter hadn't been here--" "If Walter hadn't been here, I might have injured you. Or worse," Mulder said stubbornly. He rubbed his stubbled jaw thoughtfully, his eyes gazing off into space for a moment before they settled on Skinner. "Walter, did you bring any cuffs with you?" Skinner stared, amazed that Mulder would hit on the very conversation he and Scully had shared earlier, before realizing--this had been their silent communication. After all they'd been through, they were trying to make it easier on *him*. Damn. "No, but I found some rope," he replied, doing his best to act as if the conversation was normal, as if his agents ask him to tie them up on a regular basis. He stifled a mirthless bark of laughter. If the situation wasn't so deadly serious, it might be grounds for losing their jobs. "After we eat," Mulder told him. "Maybe I can make it through a meal before Krycek has another go at me. I'm starving." Mulder downed two servings of everything, drank another glass of juice, and visited the bathroom. Then he dressed in comfortable sweats and called to Walter from the bedroom. "Wanna tie me up, Sir?" he grinned, watching as Walter approached him with the rope. "No, I do not," Skinner answered, his face impassive as he reached for Mulder's left wrist. "How are you going to do this?" Mulder asked curiously. "Well, I want to allow you enough freedom of movement that you don't get cramped and sore," Skinner said, making a loop of the rope and slipping it over Mulder's hand, "but not enough that you're able to escape or hurt yourself." "Or anyone else." "Or anyone else." Skinner fastened the rope to Mulder's wrist with a complicated knot that Mulder had never seen before, and he studied it carefully. "Don't worry," Skinner told him. "You're not getting out of this without assistance." Mulder glanced at the table next to the bed, where he had deposited the contents of his pockets before undressing. His knife lay there, gleaming silver beside his watch and a pile of loose change. Skinner reached over and slipped it into his jeans pocket before going to work on Mulder's other wrist. Mulder sat impassively while Skinner worked, and when his boss had finished with him, found that he had very limited movement of his arms and legs. The bed had no head or foot board, so Skinner had threaded the ropes down and tied them to the legs of the bed. Mulder's ankles had been given the same treatment as his wrists, so now he was loosely spread upon the bed. He could turn on his side, sort of, and if he bent his head over he would be able to feed himself, but he definitely wasn't going anywhere. "Where'd you learn to do this, Sir?" he asked, examining the bonds admiringly. "I've never seen knots like this." "You learn all kinds of things in the Marines, Mulder," Skinner told him brusquely. Scully entered the room then, saw Mulder, and stopped cold. Her eyes took in his bound form, the way he could barely sit up against the pillows Skinner had stacked behind him, and she bit her lip hard. Mulder, seeing her expression, winked at her. "Now's your chance to have your way with me," he joked, and she gave him a weak smile. She knew he was only trying to lighten the mood, but seeing him there, completely helpless, knowing they had done it to him, knowing he was not only going to have to endure the horrible images in his mind but that his body was going to be restrained--*really* restrained this time--made her feel like hell. "Mulder, I--I'm sorry--" He shook his head firmly. "Don't apologize, Scully." "What, then?" she asked helplessly, staring at him, unable to tear her eyes from the sight. "What should I do?" "I think," he told her in a carefully neutral tone, "that I would like it if you'd come over here and just hold me." She lay down beside him and snuggled against him immediately. Putting her arms around his neck, she pulled his head down and gave him a kiss on the temple. He rested his head against her lips for a minute before she moved away and he heard a small sigh escape. "What?" She shrugged. "Nothing. I just wish..." "So do I, Scully, but--" He never got to finish his sentence, and almost before they realized what had happened, he was immersed in another terrifying flashback. This time he didn't scream, he just lay there, rigid on the bed, not tugging at the ropes that bound him, and it occurred to Scully that Mulder believed, in his mind, that he'd been given the paralyzing drug again. At first his head thrashed back and forth, then after a few minutes it went still, facing directly up at the ceiling, and she wondered if they had restrained even that small movement. He didn't make any noise other than an occasional whimper, but his face was almost as pale as the sheet upon which he lay, and tears seeped from his closed eyes yet again. She sat next to him for ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour, and at last his strength and natural stubbornness seemed to give out. He began whispering her name over and over again, like a mantra, and Scully reached out to gently touch him, smoothing her hand over his forehead in a soothing gesture over and over again. "I'm here, Mulder," she whispered softly through the tears that wanted to fall at his suffering. "I'm right here with you." After another fifteen minutes, he stopped whispering, stopped moaning, and his rigid muscles and tormented face relaxed as he fell into a deep sleep. She looked over at Skinner, leaning his chair back against the wall. Their eyes met across the room. This had been the longest of Mulder's flashbacks yet, and while to them it had not seemed as horrible as some of the previous ones, Scully suspected in Mulder's mind it might have been the worst of all. When it ended, Scully tugged at the ropes that bound Mulder to the bed, finally giving up in frustration. "Cut him loose," she ordered Skinner. "If we do, and he has another--" "Cut him loose, Walter. I can't stand this. I don't care if he hurts me. Putting up with a little pain would be better than this. Besides, I don't think he's going to hurt anyone. Not if we pay attention, not with both of us here to stop him. We'll just have to be more vigilant." "Scully, we can't. Besides, if he wakes up and finds himself loose, he'll give us both hell." "Do it!" she exploded. "Or give me the knife and I will! If Mulder wants to argue with me, fine, but I won't keep him tied up like an animal unless it's absolutely necessary." Reluctantly, Skinner cut the ropes that bound Mulder to the bed. "There aren't any more," he told her. "Once these are cut, it's over." "Good." "Scully--" "Look, Walter," she said patiently, "I know you only wanted to do the right thing. I did too. I agreed to this, remember. It's just that...seeing it actually happen... what were we thinking? Were we really going to keep him tied up here for days? It was a stupid idea." "I know." "We just have to find another way to keep him from hurting himself." "He was more concerned about hurting you," Skinner pointed out. She gave a sad smile. "Mulder has always said I could take care of myself, all the while he would sacrifice his life, if need be, in order to protect me. But he would do that for anyone," she finished softly, her gaze resting on the now sleeping man. ----- The next two days were straight out of hell. Mulder only had a few hours between the flashbacks, and he would pace the house, restless, waiting for the time when it would begin again. They weren't regular any longer--he never knew when the next one would hit. Scully and Skinner could do nothing more than watch, knowing that trying to make him sit was useless; Mulder needed the movement. Whenever the visions would hit, they would hold back, staying out of his way as much as possible while making sure he didn't hurt himself, until he would finally curl into a ball, usually under the kitchen table, and whimper to himself until he fell asleep. At first, when he'd awakened and discovered the ropes had been cut, made useless, it was as Skinner had predicted--he had been furious. "Don't you see, it's not safe to leave me loose!" he had practically shouted, shaking one of the now-shortened lengths of rope in Scully's face. "I don't want to hurt you!" "I won't let you!" she'd shouted back, then had put her hand on his arm, speaking in a softer, calmer voice. "Mulder, I know you want to protect us from yourself, but I can take care of myself. You're not going to hurt me." Her words, accompanied by just the right amount of steel in her voice, had the desired effect. With a sigh, running his fingers through his hair in that agitated manner that she found so endearing, he had tossed the rope aside and given a grim nod, indicating that, while he didn't necessarily agree with her decision, he would go along with it. For her. Surprisingly enough, though, he hadn't become violent again, nor had he mistaken Scully and Skinner for his alien captors. Apparently, in his mind, he was in the later phases of his abduction; the characteristic Mulder-fight was gone, and in its place was a dreadful acceptance. He endured whatever happened in his flashbacks, simply because he had apparently learned from long months of torture that there was simply no way out, and that it hurt less if he didn't fight them. Scully thought it was worse, really, seeing this defeated Mulder, than it had been to watch him scream and struggle. At least then he had showed signs of life. Every time Mulder curled into a whimpering ball of humanity, or stretched himself out on the bed, chained by invisible bonds, she cursed Krycek anew. She swore to herself she would see him dead one day, if not by her own hand, then by Mulder's. She prayed for that gift--revenge might belong to the Lord, but in this case she wanted it...just this once. She supposed she should be horrified at all the evil ideas swirling around in her head, all the vicious ways to do Krycek in--certainly her mother would be--but then, her mother wasn't watching this. The very idea that the bastard had separated them from their son, had tortured Mulder so ruthlessly, was enough to condemn him to death in her mind--should Krycek somehow turn out to be the savior of the universe, she knew she would still never forgive him for this. During one of his lucid moments, after the memories had come fast and furious all morning, Mulder stared up at her weakly from the bed. He reached for her hand, falling short of his goal, and she reached down to enfold his fingers in her own. "What is it?" she asked softly, smoothing back the hair from his sweaty brow. He'd barely had a peaceful moment today--less than an hour between the last three flashbacks. "I want you to do something for me." She smiled. If only she *could* do something for him, she lamented inwardly, but instead of voicing that thought, ready to promise him anything, she merely asked, "What is it, Mulder?" "I want you to kill me." Shocked, she dropped his hand and drew back with a little gasp. He grabbed for her again, pulling her close with all the strength he had left. "Please, Scully. It's never going to end. It's the only way." "But you said Krycek would contact us, you said--" "How do we know he'll stop?" Mulder asked, his eyes locked on hers, trapping her, forcing her to acknowledge the truthfulness of the hated words. "How do we know he won't keep on with this, once he's gotten what he wants? Or that we can even give him what he wants? He could drive me completely mad...Scully, I'd rather be dead than crazy. At least this way, Stephen will have one parent who can devote all her time and energies to his well-being. Scully, look at us! We don't even know where our son is! But more importantly, *he* doesn't know where we are. I know he's just a baby, and maybe he doesn't exactly know what's happening, but he has to know we're not with him. Don't try to make me believe that *you* believe it doesn't matter. Scully, he *needs* you. He can survive without me." "Bullshit!" she declared, angry enough at his suggestion that the usually shunned profanity slipped out without a thought. "That's just bullshit, Mulder!" Mulder ignored her outburst. "He doesn't need a father. I practically had no father, and look how well I turned out." She ignored his weak grin, his attempt at humor. "It's not just us anymore, Scully. We have to think of him too," he finished quietly, refusing to break eye contact and somehow forcing her to hold his gaze. She stared at him for a long moment, her expression changing from stubborn, to angry, to sad. Finally she gave a little shake of her head, and he saw that she would refuse him still. "Scully...don't make me beg..." "Mulder, have you forgotten that I have the same implant you have?" she asked gently. "What makes you think they wouldn't do the same thing to me, if you were gone? Who would protect Stephen then?" She could tell from the way his jaw tightened that he hadn't thought of that possibility. "Besides, I can't, Mulder," she added, bending down to rest her head on his chest. "I couldn't. You mean too much to me. We'll get through this, I promise we will." He didn't speak, but turned his head away, and she tried not to see the tears trickling down his face. He didn't argue with her; defeated Mulder was back. She wondered just how long they could fight Krycek. ----- After two more days of almost constant visions, they stopped, and the three of them waited, mentally holding their breath, to see what would happen next. Three hours after the last flashback ended, Scully's cell phone rang. They all stared at it, Mulder from the bed where he lay, exhausted from his latest battle, and Scully and Skinner from the respective chairs where they sat watching over him. The phone lay on the table next to Mulder's bed, small, black, innocent, and all of them knew the devil was on the other end. Finally, after four rings, Scully picked it up and jabbed viciously at it. "Scully," she ground out, squeezing the phone so tightly she thought it might break. For a moment she envisioned Krycek's throat between her fingers, then, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down; there was nothing to be accomplished by expending energy on a small piece of plastic and electronics. She needed to save her fury for when she was face to face with the real Krycek. "Are you ready to talk to me?" How arrogant of the little bastard not to even identify himself, she thought randomly, and yet, arrogance was Krycek's stock-in-trade. That and murder. And torture. And-- "You can't have my son, Krycek." The cold fury in her voice should have cut through him, but he seemed unaffected by her anger. "You know, Scully," he said with what had to be rehearsed casualness, "I was thinking--maybe I did ask too much. Maybe I was a little unreasonable. I'd like to make you another offer, one I think you'll be more inclined to find...acceptable." With narrowed eyes, she gave Mulder a curt nod--Krycek was doing exactly as he'd predicted. "And in exchange for whatever it is you want today...?" she goaded. "I'll make Mulder's flashbacks disappear." She fought for control, clenching her eyes tightly shut, forcing her voice to remain steady. "And what is it you think we'll find more acceptable?" she demanded coldly. "Look, Scully," he said, and now there was an almost cajoling tone to his words. She wondered just what game Krycek was attempting to play with them. "You know Mulder is special. His son is special. All we want to do is give him a thorough medical exam. Blood samples, tissue samples, head to toe exam, that's all. You and Mulder can both be right there with him the whole time." She waited for a minute, barely breathing, waiting for Krycek to drop a bomb on her, but it didn't happen. "That's all?" she demanded harshly at last. "We let you do a medical examination of our son, and you free Mulder from all this torment?" "That's all." "Why?" He snorted into the phone. "Why? Do you really need to ask *why*, Agent Scully?" She was quiet for a long minute, thinking furiously. There had to be some way to stall for time, a way they could use this to their advantage. "Scully?" he asked sarcastically. "You, speechless? I never thought I'd see the day." "You have to give us some time," she insisted, trying to make her voice sound believably desperate. "I can't make a decision like this on my own, Mulder has to be involved. You have to let him--let him alone for a little while so we can talk about it." He appeared to consider, and Scully seethed, knowing that Krycek had already made his decision on this issue--he'd expected them to ask. Either he would grant them time or he would not, but drawing it out in this cruel charade only made her desire to kill him grow stronger. "You have twenty-four hours," he said at last. "I'll call you, same time tomorrow. And Scully--you try anything, and I'll drive Mulder completely insane. Trust me, he won't be any good to the kid...or to you." He disconnected before she could answer, which was probably just as well. The things she wanted to say to Krycek were not things a person should say to someone who held a loved one's life in his hands. "What does he want now?" Mulder asked, his eyes closed still, his face pale and etched with the agony he'd suffered. "He says he wants to give Stephen a complete medical exam, take blood and tissue samples, that kind of thing. He says we can be with Stephen the entire time." Mulder nodded, as if he'd been expecting this. "If they get their hands on any part of him..." He didn't finish, and Scully didn't need to ask. The idea of Krycek with their son's DNA at his disposal was horrifying in the extreme. "How long do we have?" Mulder asked, opening his eyes to look up at her. "Twenty-four hours." He nodded again, and slowly pulled himself to a sitting position. "That should be enough time for us to get away," he said. "Walter, help me, please." He held out his arm, and Skinner took it while Scully assisted him from the other side. "Enough time for what?" she demanded once they'd seated him at the kitchen table. "Get away to where? Mulder, what are you planning?" "First, I want to know what you think we should do," he said, looking from Scully to Skinner. "Both of you." Skinner shook his head slowly. "I only see one solution to this, and it's not pretty," he stated flatly. "Well I don't see a solution at all," Scully argued. "If we don't let him examine Stephen, he's going to turn these flashbacks up in intensity and frequency until you go insane, Mulder. I don't want to let him near our son either, but I don't see that we have a choice--" She broke off as her voice cracked with emotion. The way Scully saw it, this was a lose-lose situation for them, no matter what course they chose. "They've planned this from the beginning," Mulder said softly, his eyes faraway, as if lost in memories, not torturous ones this time, but not pleasant either. "What?" asked Scully, confused at his sudden, apparent change of subject. "They've known this about me for years. Maybe all my life. They've wanted my child all along. Scully, how could I have been so stupid?" He rubbed his face with his hands, sliding them through his hair, gripping at the strands as if pulling on them would exorcize the demons in his head. "Mulder, I don't understand--" "I never told you just how close Diana and I used to be." She sat back, surprised to hear Diana Fowley's name spoken after all these months. "It wasn't hard to see that you had been...very close." He raised his head then, looked her straight in the eye. "We were married," he told her bluntly. "For a very short time, but for a while, I really thought I loved her. I really thought she loved me." "I think she did," Scully admitted softly, her finger worrying at a loose thread on her blouse. "In the end, she died because she wanted to save you." "She may have, but it wasn't the kind of love I needed," he declared. "I don't want a woman who can't be loyal to me. I never did. I always knew Diana had betrayed me, but now I think the betrayal was...different from what I always believed." Scully waited silently for him to continue. "We hadn't been married long, only about six months, when she came to me with the news that she was pregnant. I was excited--I'd always wanted children. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be a good parent, I guess, and I've always enjoyed being around kids. Diana didn't seem to be quite as happy as I was with the news, but I chalked that up to hormones." He gave a weak smile. "I was incredibly stupid back in those days." Scully covered his hand with her own, still not speaking. "A month after that, she came to me and told me she'd had an abortion. She didn't talk to me about it beforehand, never told me she didn't want to have the baby, she just hit me with it after the fact. Said she was just getting started in her career, and she wasn't ready to have kids yet. I was furious, hurt--I hated her. I left her that night, and I never went back. I called a lawyer the next day, and the divorce went through quickly." He paused, took a deep breath, and plunged onward. "Diana left the country as soon as our divorce was final. I thought it was because she didn't want to be around me, but now--" He looked her straight in the eye, intently. "Scully, I wonder if she aborted that child in order to save it from the same danger Stephen faces. I wonder if she knew what they planned to do with my child, and rather than let it happen, she sacrificed her child, our marriage, any relationship we might have had..." Scully considered his words. As much as she had disliked Diana Fowley while she'd known her, she had gained a modicum of respect for the woman after her death. She still believed it had been Diana who had slipped the card-key beneath her apartment door, the key that had led her to Mulder. If she hadn't been given that key, hadn't found him when she did...he would probably have died. The belief that Diana had been murdered for that action had moderated her hatred of the woman--she might have been a cold-hearted bitch, but she had apparently sacrificed herself for Mulder. Maybe she did love him after all, as much as she was capable. Scully was reminded of a scripture, the one that said no man could serve two masters, and felt a wave of sadness wash over her, sadness and weariness at once. How had Diana been pulled into this web of lies, she wondered, and did she know, when she married Mulder, that they wanted him to father children for experimentation? Did she marry him, intending to go along with their plans, or did she discover, after committing to him, that she really did love him too much to allow the atrocity to occur? Had she planned all along to abort any pregnancy, or had it been a spur of the moment decision? The answers were long dead and buried, lying in a grave in Oklahoma, and they would never know them. "So you believe the smoking man made me fertile again so we would have a child?" she asked. He still gazed at her steadily. "They waited until we became lovers, didn't they?" he asked quietly. "Not long after we began an intimate relationship, Cancerman calls you with the one thing he knew you couldn't resist, to lure you into his clutches. He knew I would see through his scheme, but hoped you were too blinded by your own experience with cancer, that's why he demanded I be told nothing. At the end of it all, you ended up with nothing, apparently." "But if they wanted you to father a child..." "The opportunity was right in front of them," he confirmed grimly. "But in that case, why return you just before it was born?" she demanded. "Why not just abduct me, hold me until the baby was born, and take it from me? Why were we allowed to have the child at all?" "For that matter, why bother with natural conception at all?" he queried. "Surely they could have taken what they needed from me and from you, on many occasions, if they wanted us to have children together..." Mulder rubbed his hands wearily over his face. "I don't know all the answers," he murmured. "I don't even have the energy to try and puzzle them out right now. I only know that we can't let them get their hands on Stephen." "Which brings us back to the original problem," Skinner cut in. They both turned in surprise at the sound of his voice-- they'd been so intent upon their conversation they had forgotten he was in the room. "What are you going to tell Krycek when he calls back tomorrow?" "I would rather die than give Krycek five seconds with our child," Mulder said firmly. "I would too," Scully agreed, blinking back tears, "but what can we do, Mulder? We can't let him keep torturing you until he drives you completely mad, or worse." He bit his lip, then forced his face into the emotionless mask he wore when things simply hurt too much to face. "There is another solution," he stated blandly. They stared at him, both confused. Mulder rose and left the room, returning quickly with her small medical bag, which he placed in the middle of the table. "Mulder..." she managed after a moment, her voice choked, but he pressed interrupted her. "You have to, Scully," he insisted. "You have to remove the implant." He looked from Scully to Skinner, an expression of unrelenting determination on his face. Scully shook her head slowly in refusal. "I can't," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Scully, I know what you're thinking, but we don't *know* that my chip is the same as yours. We don't *know* I'll get cancer." "I do," she insisted stubbornly. "I know. I know you will, and I'll lose you." Her fists were clenched at her sides, her entire body stiff with tension. "We don't know for sure," he continued patiently, "but we do know what will happen if you don't remove it. Krycek will continue to torture me until I either go mad, or we give in and let him do what he wants with Stephen." "You would never let him--" "It's going to get harder to keep saying 'no' as the days go by," he reminded her forcefully. "For both of us. And I can't live like this, Scully, you know that. The idea is ridiculous." "You won't live the other way." She turned her back, pretending to stare out the kitchen window, blinking back her tears while Skinner looked on, quietly taking in their conversation. "*If* I get sick, I'll still get some time. A few years, maybe--you had that long, before it nearly took you." "That's another thing, Mulder," she replied, swinging around to stare accusingly at him. "What about my chip? They can summon me with it, what if they can make me bring Stephen to them? We don't have any idea of the full capabilities of this thing." Mulder just stared at her without speaking. He knew the answer--*she* knew the answer. He was simply waiting for her to reach the same conclusion he had. She did, seconds later, and her eyes widened as his meaning sunk in. Skinner, having received the same inspiration at the same moment, looked away, taking Scully's place staring out the window into nothingness. Scully sank down into a chair, her face white and her lower lip tight to keep it from trembling. "He'll have us for a few years," Mulder murmured, moving to crouch down in front of her chair, putting his hand on hers and rubbing the backs of her fingers lightly. "We can give him that, at least. Maybe your mother--" He broke off, fighting back his own emotions, and Scully nodded. Her mother would. They both knew that. And so would Skinner, or the guys--no matter what happened to his parents, Stephen would be loved and cared for. "I can't believe the two of you are really contemplating this," Skinner said flatly, still refusing to look at them. "I don't see that we have any choice, Walter," Mulder replied. "Do you?" Skinner had no answer. None of them had answers. It all came down to the decision--did they sacrifice themselves for their child? There could only be one possible solution to the problem they faced. Before she could change her mind, before she could remind herself that life was precious and she had already nearly lost it once, before she could give herself reasons to hesitate, Scully opened the medical bag and withdrew a small kit. She smiled sadly as she unzipped it--it was a field surgery kit. Mulder had given it to her once as a joke, because he sustained so many small injuries while they were in the field and she was constantly overseeing his repair. "Now you can sew me up and I won't have to go to the emergency room," he had joked. She had laughed with him, and tossed the kit into her medical bag because it had seemed appropriate at the time, it had fit the joke. Later, looking it over in the privacy of her home, she had decided to leave it there. You never knew when a scalpel and sutures might come in handy. She had never really thought she'd have to use it. "There's no anesthetic," she said helplessly, taking out the scalpel and holding it up to the light. It wasn't sterile, and she crossed to the sink automatically, turning on the tap, running the water as hot as she could and holding the scalpel beneath the stream. It wasn't good enough, it wouldn't kill all the bacteria, but if she waited while a pan of water boiled, she knew she would lose her nerve. Maybe it would be better, anyway, she thought mutinously, if he died now of an infection, rather than the horrible, lingering death of cancer. Mulder didn't reply. He removed his shirt slowly, while Skinner fetched a towel from the bathroom. Then Mulder turned himself around on the kitchen chair, straddling it, facing away from her, waiting. "Just do it," he commanded calmly, knowing she was hesitating, knowing he had to be the strong one this time. He felt her fingers probe his skin, pinpointing the exact location of the implant. He heard her slip on a pair of rubber gloves. Seconds later he felt the coldness of an alcohol swab against the back of his neck, then the pain of the incision. Mulder closed his eyes, gripped the back of the chair, and tried to ignore it as he forced himself to think of his son. Chapter 5 Two years. It had been two years since the night they cut out each other's chips. Two years in which they had been lucky to see their son once a week, in which they'd been afraid to have any contact with Skinner for fear that Krycek would begin torturing him next, two years during which time the cancer had begun to ravage both their bodies. Stephen was a wonder; he walked early, he talked early, and according to Maggie, at the age of twenty-eight months he was already beginning to read a few words. Scully hated Krycek more every time she realized all she was missing--one short visit each Saturday was not the equivalent of raising her son. Krycek had stolen that from all three of them. The guys had found Maggie and Stephen a place--not far from Mulder and Scully, but very secluded--and so far nobody had tried to get to them. They rarely left their house. Every Saturday morning, Maggie drove them to a different bus stop, where they climbed aboard a city bus and traveled to a prearranged location. The guys would meet them there, and while two of them took Stephen to meet with his parents, the other would take Maggie on her weekly shopping trip. Neither Maggie nor Stephen was left alone while in the city, and as far as any of them knew, no one had ever made an attempt to hurt them. Mulder and Scully both wondered at Krycek's apparent surrender for a while, hiding out at the safe house for several weeks after removing their chips, but when he made no further attempt to contact them, they began to venture out, cautiously at first, and eventually with more certainty. They went back to Scully's apartment, but the memories there were too painful, and they ended up buying a small house together, far away from where Maggie and their son were living so as not to endanger them by their presence. After a couple of months, they even went back to work, first Mulder, then two weeks later, Scully, and things appeared, on the surface, to be normal. If their co-workers knew they were living together, without the presence of their son, nobody ever mentioned it. Skinner transferred their division to another AD--not Kersh this time, a woman, Jayna Robins, and she seemed to take their odd cases in stride. Mulder suspected Skinner had had a long talk with her before transferring them over. They rarely saw Skinner, even at work, and when they did, all were afraid to engage in more than a polite nod. Life went on, apparently, but at times life could be sheer hell. Scully watched her son playing on the swings, marveling at the wonder of him, the beauty of this life that had begun inside her and now breathed and walked and talked on its own. He was growing so fast, and she was missing so much of it. His light-brown curls blew in the wind; Maggie kept wanting to cut his hair, but neither Scully nor Mulder could bear to do it just yet. He looked so innocent, with his wide hazel eyes so like his father, and his chubby face framed by the curls. He looked over at her now, and smiled, waving to her as he pushed himself off the swing. "Scully?" Byers said from behind her, and she turned quickly at his voice. "It's almost time to go." She nodded sadly and held out her arms for the little boy to run into. He hugged her tightly, then offered her the prize he'd been clutching all morning. She took it and examined it--a small, brown, bean-bag squirrel. "His name Corny." She smiled. "Corny?" He nodded soberly. "He eats corn. Grandma gives it to him." Scully felt her eyes tear up at the memory of her mother doing that very thing when she had been a child. Maggie would gather her children around the big kitchen window that looked out on their backyard, pointing out the little furry animals as they scurried about the yard, collecting the corn their benefactor had left them, as well as any edible morsels they discovered on their own. It was one of her most precious memories of childhood, and she was at once fiercely glad that Stephen could experience it, and fiercely jealous that she had not been the one to give it to him. "Sleep with him," Stephen confided, breaking into her thoughts as she watched Maggie approach. It was time. Time to leave her son again and go back into the real world, the world of lies and deceptions and danger, for another week. She sighed and turned to give her little boy another warm hug. "I'll see you next week, Cricket," she whispered, kissing his soft face over and over. "I'll miss you." "Miss you too, Mommy," he answered, snuggling into her neck for a moment. "Will Daddy come next time?" "Oh, I hope so, baby. He wasn't feeling well this morning, but he said to tell you he loves you very much." The cancer had begun growing in them both, but it had attacked Mulder more ferociously than Scully. She was still able to function almost normally, but poor Mulder--she sighed, thinking of his condition. He wouldn't be able to work much longer, she knew, and that was going to kill him. The tumor had begun pressing on his optic nerve, and he was already having difficulty seeing. He wore his glasses more and more these days, and squinted too much even then. At times, he said, it looked as if all the light fixtures had twenty-watt bulbs in them. "Daddy share Corny. Sleep with him." "Yes, Cricket, Daddy and I will share Corny. Thank you very much. Now give me a kiss, and go with Grandma." She held back the tears admirably as Stephen threw himself into her arms once more, smacking wet, loving kisses all over her face. Then he broke away and ran for Maggie, calling over his shoulder, "Bye, Mommy!" Frohike and Langly bundled the two into their car and whisked them away toward safety while Scully gathered up the small bag she carried when she was to see Stephen. It contained snacks, small gifts for him, her identification, and her weapon, always her weapon. "Ready?" asked Byers, and she nodded again, standing up and reaching for his arm. She tired so damned easily these days. The only reason she and Mulder had been able to keep their jobs was because their new supervisor understood the situation. She had assigned them to desk jobs when they became too ill to continue working in the field, with the understanding that, should they somehow, miraculously recover, field-agent status would be re-obtainable. Scully was sorry she'd never had a chance to thank Skinner for AD Robins--the woman had been a godsend. "Do you need anything before I take you home?" Byers asked, settling her in the passenger seat of his car. "I guess we should stop at a grocery store," she said listlessly. "Mulder was really ill this morning. I need..." She let the words trail off, but Byers understood. They needed things that would rest easily in Mulder's stomach. He pulled in at a supermarket and left her in the car while he ran inside, grabbing up cans of soup, packages of prepared gelatin and bottles of ginger ale. He added a few more necessities he thought they might need, paid for the purchases, and loaded them into the car quickly. When he climbed behind the wheel, he noticed Scully had fallen asleep. Byers drove her home, ever watchful to be certain they weren't followed, although the location of Mulder and Scully's residence was hardly a well-kept secret from someone determined to find them. It was a precaution they always took, just in case. She woke up when they pulled into the driveway. "Oh," she muttered, blinking sleepily. "I must have been out." "You looked like you needed the rest," he said sympathetically. Byers came around to open the door for her, and was pleased to find she'd already shoved it open and begun to climb out of the car. That was the old Scully, he realized, the one who was too proud to allow a man to pamper her. Lately, as her cancer progressed, they saw less and less of her. She did allow his arm again as they made their way into the house, and he walked her toward the bedroom while she called out, "Mulder?" "Back here," came the weak response, and when Byers entered the bedroom, he was met with a shock. For the past two visits, Byers had been the one to take Maggie on her shopping trip, so he'd barely gotten a glimpse of Mulder or Scully. Now, looking at his friend's ravaged body, he was afraid Mulder didn't have much time left. The man was thin, so thin that his cheeks looked sunken. His eyes were bright behind the glasses that he wore even now, lying in bed. "How are you feeling?" Scully asked, reaching down to brush the hair from his face. Mulder needed a haircut almost as badly as his son, but neither of them felt like taking care of little chores like that lately. It was all they could do to drag themselves to the office every day. Both knew they should be on disability leave, but neither was ready to give up the small amount of work they were able to do, and Jayna had kindly put them in an office together, away from prying eyes, allowing them to do as much as they felt they were able without pressure. "Well, I'm not throwing up any more," Mulder reported, reaching up to capture her hand in his. "How was Stephen?" Scully smiled. "Beautiful. Active. He wore me out within the first half-hour and I had to sit and watch the rest of the time." Mulder grinned. "That's our Stephen." Byers disappeared to carry in the groceries, and when he returned to the bedroom, Mulder beckoned at him. "Wanna talk to you," he said softly. Scully, realizing Mulder had things to say he didn't want her to hear, went to the kitchen to put away their purchases. She thought she knew what Mulder was going to say to Byers anyway, and she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to discuss death, which was drawing nearer day by day for both of them. "What is it, Mulder?" Byers asked, seating himself in a chair beside the bed. He studied his friend, so weak and pale, but still Mulder beneath it all. "I don't have much longer," Mulder said bluntly. "A couple of months, at best. Scully...she'll last a little longer than me. It hasn't hit her as quickly." Byers nodded and waited. "I want you to make sure Stephen..." "Mulder, you know we'll take care of him. All of us. He'll be cared for and protected." A brief smile flickered across Mulder's face and was gone. "I know that," he said softly. "And I thank you for it. But I want you to make sure...make sure he knows about us. About his parents--what we were about, why we weren't with him... Make sure he understands, Byers. I'm so afraid...he'll grow up not knowing..." Mulder broke off, biting his lip hard, and Byers took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a moment to force the moisture in his eyes to drain away. "I'll make sure he knows everything, Mulder. I promise you." "Thank you, my friend." Mulder's voice was little more than a whisper now, and it was obvious he was fighting back his own tears. Standing quickly, Byers gave Mulder's shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room without looking back. When Scully returned to the bedroom, she saw Mulder wiping his face. She lay down on the bed next to him and placed the stuffed squirrel on his chest. "What's this?" he asked, examining the toy with interest. "This is Corny," she explained. "We're to sleep with him." He closed his eyes briefly, overcome with emotion, then pulled her into his arms. "Scully, what were we thinking?" he whispered into her ear, holding her tightly as a few unwanted drops seeped from beneath his eyelids. "Did we make the wrong choice?" She shook her head sadly, turning on her side so he could snuggle against her back. "No, Mulder. We didn't have a choice. It was the only thing we could have done." "He'll never really know us." "Mom will make sure he knows. The guys...Walter..." There didn't seem to be anything more to say. Scully cuddled the small squirrel to her breast, and Mulder's hand reached up to stroke the plush fur over and over. Eventually both fell asleep, thinking of the little boy with the hazel eyes and brown curls who owned their hearts, and would never know them as friends, as fellow adults, as real people. Their time was almost out. ------ Scully sank to the sofa, exhausted by the afternoon's visit with Stephen. She propped her feet on the coffee table and accepted the cold can of soda Mulder placed in her hand. He insisted upon doing things as if his vision wasn't nearly gone, and she had no choice but to let him stumble around the house, feeling his way, biting her lip to keep back the words when he stumbled, muttering curses and bruising shins. He took a seat beside her, sprawling himself out in a position she found wildly attractive, legs spread, jeans tight against his groin, head thrown back, eye closed...Scully swallowed hard and forced herself to think of other things. He'd been getting weaker and weaker, and even though he still wasn't feeling well, he'd insisted on visiting Stephen today. Missing two weeks in a row with his son was simply unacceptable, so Mulder swallowed the anti-nausea medicine his doctor had given him and braved the park. "So what did your mother slip in your bag as we were leaving?" he questioned, taking a sip of the ginger ale he favored when his stomach was unsettled. "I don't--what are you talking about, Mulder?" she asked, confused. "I saw Maggie hide something in your bag while you were hugging Stephen. I thought you knew about it." "No." She dug into the bag she'd dropped beside the sofa, and pulled out a large yellow fabric-covered book. "Oh my god." "What is it?" he demanded squinting at the object in her hands but able to only make out a rectangular shape. "It's Stephen's baby book," she said, her voice lowered in awe. "I didn't even realize he had one." "What's in it?" he asked, stroking the book gently with his fingers. "Read it to me, Scully." She opened the book carefully, flipping past the front page that listed their son's name, date of birth, and their own names as his parents. "There are pictures," she said, smiling through the mist in her eyes. "You've seen them before. Remember the one where Mom was bathing him and she put the washcloth on his head?" Mulder nodded, grinning at the memory. "He was about ten months old then, wasn't he?" "Yep. And here's the one where he had grabbed his giant teddy bear--" "Mikey." "--Mikey, and was trying to drag him out the front door." Mulder laughed. "He was running away from home." "Because Mom wouldn't let him take the dirty forks out of the dishwasher." "Does it have the picture of him typing on the computer keyboard?" She flipped another couple of pages and smiled. "It does. He looks so much like you in that photo, Mulder, especially with Mom's glasses perched on his nose." "He's so perfect..." She stared at him, grinning at what he'd inadvertently said, until he realized his words and blushed. "I didn't mean--" "I know what you meant, Mulder," she giggled. "And you're right, he is perfect." She leaned her head against his shoulder and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her closer. "So are you." "Did your mom write things about Stephen?" he asked, nodding toward the book, uncomfortable with her praise. "She sure did. Here, I'll read some of it to you. "April 7 - Stephen said his first word today. At least I think it was a word. "Kirl" sounds a lot like "squirrel" to me. And he was pointing at the squirrels at the time. He loves those little animals--I'll have to see if I can find him a toy one." "Corny," Mulder whispered, and Scully nodded. "Here's another. May 23 - A big day in Stephen's life." She stopped, drawing a breath that shuddered slightly, taking a long drink of her soda before returning to the book. "He took his first steps today. I wish--" Her voice broke, but she controlled it quickly. "I wish Dana and Fox could witness these wonderful times in his life. They are so brave to sacrifice these things for his safety. I pray that one day soon, they can all be together as a family." Mulder swiped his hand across his eyes, surreptitiously sweeping away the tears that had formed there. Scully paged back in the book, closer to the beginning, and read from the page her fingers stopped on. "December 25 - His first Christmas. I wanted to take Stephen to Church this morning, but Mr. Byers said it might be too dangerous. Instead, I sang some children's hymns to him while we opened his presents. His favorites were the toy train that makes noise, and the ball he can put different shaped blocks in. His mommy and daddy picked that one out. I had the photograph of Fox and Dana on the dining room table while we ate breakfast, and Stephen kept pointing to it and smiling. He seems to know--" "Don't read any more, Scully," Mulder whispered, wrapping his other arm around her and drawing her so close against him that she was forced to lay the book aside. "I can't..." "Don't, Mulder." She wiped away the tears that were beginning to fall freely from his eyes, ignoring the ones that ran down her own face. "We're missing it all," he said sadly. "He's the most beautiful, perfect thing that will ever happen in our lives, and we're going to miss it, all of it, his growing up, his first date, driving..." Scully buried her face in his chest as she lost the fight with the sobs that wanted to emerge. It was true--everything precious had been stolen from them, and there was not a damned thing they could do about it. For one brief moment, Scully wished she'd never heard of the X-files, wished she'd gone into medical practice instead of joining up with the FBI--maybe she and Mulder would have met in another capacity, maybe they could have had that normal life they wanted so badly now. In the next breath, she corrected herself; it wasn't *them* who had made mistakes, it wasn't *their* choices that were faulty. Sometimes, the world did bad things to good people. They were targets not because of anything they had done, but simply because of forces around them over which they had no control. She didn't know if it was wrong or right, and as their time grew shorter she found she cared less and less--she still prayed for Alex Krycek's death. ----- Skinner looked up when a noise at the door startled him. He was working late, and everyone should have already departed the building, even the janitorial staff. When he saw who stood before him, his mouth tightened. That was the only outward sign of his distress. "Krycek," he said at last. "I thought you were dead." Krycek was thinner than the last time Skinner had seen him, his skin browned from the sun, his face a little harder than before, but his eyes still shone bright green and the hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, appeared clean. Wherever Krycek had been hiding, apparently it wasn't the gutter this time. Krycek's mouth twisted in the semblance of a grin. "You hoped I was, you mean." Skinner said nothing, merely leaned back in his chair as Krycek approached. Krycek removed the palm pilot from his jacket pocket, and Skinner kept his face carefully neutral. "Let's make this easy, old man," Krycek suggested. "Tell me where Spender hides out these days." Skinner shrugged. "I don't contact him. He contacts me." Krycek moved his fingers toward the controls on the palm pilot, and Skinner watched silently, mentally preparing himself for the torture he knew was about to come. Instead, Krycek allowed his hand to hover over the instrument, his head cocked slightly to one side. "How often does he contact you?" "Every so often," Skinner answered noncommittally. There really was no answer to the question anyway--the smoking man had little use for him these days. After nearly dying from a fall down a flight of stairs, he had managed to fight his way back to a reasonable level of health. The tumor that had been growing in his brain had miraculously gone into remission, and while he was still confined to a wheelchair, he was no longer in danger of imminent death. "I thought you'd want to know about Mulder and Scully." Krycek grinned. "First things first. I've spent the last few years of my life in and out of a Tunisian prison because of that smoking bastard. Before I take care of the Mulder situation, I want to make damn sure Spender can never send me back there again." "How do you know his people won't do the work for him?" "His people have drifted away. He's alone now. A tin god sitting in a chair with wheels, reliving his glory days." "And yet, he's always managed to get the better of you, Krycek." Skinner gasped at the suddenness of the attack; he hadn't expected it this time. He felt the veins in his body bulging, protruding, felt the blood pound as his vessels were blocked. With great effort, he sucked in enough air to keep himself alive for a few more seconds--every breath was a battle. Then it was gone, and he collapsed across his desk, his head spinning from the episode. "Just want to remind you who's boss," Krycek said softly. He handed Skinner a scrap of paper with a telephone number written on it. "The minute you hear from Spender, you contact me. I'm going to find him, if it's the last thing I do." He grinned again. "Then we'll talk about the Mulder kid." He was gone a moment later, and Skinner lay there, his head on his arms, cursing life and death and everything in between. Once he'd gathered his strength, he packed up his briefcase and left the office, tucking the scrap of paper carefully into his shirt pocket. Skinner made certain he wasn't being followed, taking a roundabout route to the seedier side of town, following a course of turns and retracing his path several times until he arrived at a lonely phone booth. Checking to be sure his weapon was loaded and easily accessible, he climbed from the relative safety of his car and hurried to the phone. Breathing a prayer of thanks that it was in working condition, he dropped some coins in the slot and dialed a number from memory. "He's here." On the other end of the line, the smoking man smiled to himself. "Wait three days. Then bring him to me. Make sure he thinks it's his own idea." The line went dead, and Skinner gripped the receiver handle tightly for a few seconds before slamming it down, climbing back into his car and starting for home. If Krycek discovered his deception, he would be killed immediately, he knew. On the other hand, he had no assurance that the smoker wouldn't kill him as well. Skinner found he didn't really care. ----- "Mulder, we've never been able to discover who Krycek was working for when he wanted Stephen. It could be the boy isn't in any danger any longer." "As long as Krycek is alive, Stephen's in danger," Scully cut in. The gunmen had arrived with the news that Krycek was back in town, had been spotted by one of their spies, and yet so far he had made no move to try to get to either Stephen or his parents--at least none of which they were aware. "Skinner--did Krycek..." Mulder let the sentence hang, but they all knew what he meant. "As far as we can tell, he's okay," Frohike reported. "He's gone to and from the office on a regular schedule for the past two days. Although he did take a weird route home the night of Krycek's visit--we lost him for a while." Mulder felt around on the coffee table for the glass of water Scully had poured him. His vision was almost totally gone now--he could discern varying degrees of light, but that was about it. Scully watched, forcing herself not to help him--Mulder hated it when she treated him like an invalid, but watching him try and fail at so many activities that used to be routine for him was painful. His condition was deteriorating faster than hers; at this rate, he wouldn't have time to accustom himself to the blindness before death took him. He found the glass and raised it to his lips with trembling fingers. The idea that Krycek was back, and Stephen in danger again, while he was helpless and dying, was almost more than he could bear. He felt a few drops of the water spill on his shirt and grimaced; it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. "Keep watching him, guys," he said softly. "Both of them. If Stephen's in danger from Krycek...you may have to take him and Maggie away." Scully stared out the window, refusing to meet the eyes of the men as she considered their last-ditch emergency plan. If Stephen was threatened and the guys felt they could not protect him, they were to take her mother and son and disappear--she would never see them again. She only had a couple of months left, and Mulder even less time, and every minute spent with their child was precious. The knowledge that Krycek was nearby would make even their Saturday afternoon visits impossible. "We'll take care of things, Mulder," Langly promised as they rose to leave. "You don't have to worry. We won't let anything happen to Stephen. Or to your mom," he added, looking at Scully. She nodded acknowledgment, sitting quietly beside Mulder as the men let themselves out, not speaking until she heard the sound of their car disappear down the road. "We're never going to see him again, are we?" she asked sadly. "Well, I'm not," Mulder joked weakly. When there was no answering laugh, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms until her head rested against his chest. "It'll be all right, Scully. He'll survive. They'll take care of him." "I know," she sighed. "But I just--" "What?" he whispered, stroking his fingers gently through her hair. "I just want the chance to raise our son," she said sharply, with more than a touch of anger. "Is that so much to ask, that you and I live out our lives, our *normal* lives, and raise our only child? We haven't hurt anyone! We haven't endangered anybody--why is this happening to us? It's just not fair, Mulder!" "Shh," he said, beginning to rock her, trying to calm her from her outburst. He felt her tears drop to his shirt and clumsily wiped them away with one hand. "At least we've had a couple of good years. We knew this might happen." "I know," she answered in a choked voice, "but it still makes me furious. If I could put a bullet through Krycek's head right now, I wouldn't even think first." He grinned. "You should have let me do it while I had the chance." She did give a small snort of laughter at that. "And let you go to prison for murdering your father? Leave me all alone with those lunatics on my trail? Fat chance, Mulder. We're in this together, all the way." "Yeah. We are." He pulled her closer and they sat, listening to the clock on the kitchen wall as it ticked away the last days of their lives. There was nothing more to be done. ------ Skinner phoned the number Krycek had given him three days after he'd been visited in his office. "He wants to see me. Tonight." He could almost hear Krycek salivating at the chance to confront the smoking man. "Do you want me to pass on a message?" he asked carefully, hoping Krycek wouldn't need the gentle nudge he was trying to supply. "I'll give him the message. Tell me when you're to meet him. I'm going with you." Feeling strangely exultant, Skinner gave Krycek the information, and later, when he left the office and went to his car in the parking garage, he found Krycek waiting. "Get in," Krycek ordered, one hand resting suggestively on a lump in his jacket pocket. "And don't try anything." Skinner obeyed, putting the car in gear and calmly driving out of the garage, turning west, making for the secluded cabin where Spender had been living for the past two years. Skinner had known where to find him--Cancerman had not been the threat, however, and Krycek's whereabouts had remained a mystery to him all this time. Now, leading Krycek toward what Skinner hoped would be his death, Skinner felt oddly detached. It could be his own death, as well, he realized. He still didn't care. They drove in silence for forty-five minutes, until Skinner parked the car in the gravel drive of the small house. It was isolated, surrounded by trees and fairly well hidden from the small road that led to it. He started to open the door, and Krycek stopped him. "Wait," he said sharply. "I want you to go in first. I want to take him by surprise." Skinner nodded and exited the car, walking calmly toward the front door. He rapped sharply on it three times, then twisted the doorknob and entered. The room was dim, a small light burning in a back hallway the only illumination. "Ah, Mr. Skinner," came a voice from the shadows, and Skinner stepped to one side, allowing Krycek to come in behind him. The report from the gun took him by surprise, deafened him for a few minutes, and he dropped to the floor out of reflex before realizing that the shot had come not from Krycek, but from Spender, and that it had been aimed not at him, but at Krycek. The younger man's body was driven backwards slightly, falling to the floor with a thump, an expression of hatred still on the dead face. Blood and gore had splattered onto Skinner's clothing, and he brushed at it absently, feeling as if he was walking through a dream. "Good shot," he said, and the words had a weird quality to them--it was a feeling of deja vu, although he was certain he'd never played this scene before. "Nothing wrong with my eyes," Spender replied casually. "Come here, Mr. Skinner. I have a job for you to do." ----- "Walter!" Scully exclaimed in surprise when she answered the knock at their door. "What are you doing here? It's not safe--" She grabbed his arm and tugged him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. "I have some news," he told her. "Where's Mulder?" She gestured toward the living room, and Skinner entered to find his former agent reclining on the sofa. He, like Byers, was shocked at the way the flesh hung on the thin frame. Mulder's skin was pasty white, and he barely had the strength to raise a hand in greeting. "Walter, what's going on?" he demanded in a voice that was both weak and urgent. "Krycek's dead," Skinner reported, taking a seat on a chair near the sofa. "So is the smoking man." Scully gave bark of unamused laughter. "We've heard that before," she reminded him. "But this time it's true," he said flatly. "I was there. I saw it." "Who killed who?" asked Mulder curiously. "The smoker killed Krycek, then he shot himself, but not before he gave me a message to pass on to you." He took a large plastic box, which Scully hadn't even noticed he was carrying, and placed it in the center of the coffee table. When he opened it, vials of medicine and a number of disposable syringes were revealed. "What is that?" asked Scully, eyeing the box with distrust. "There's a letter, addressed to Mulder." Skinner picked up the paper and held it out toward the man on the couch. "You'll have to read it, Sir," Mulder told him grimly. "My eyes are gone." Skinner closed his eyes, shook his head briefly in repressed fury, and opened the letter. "Dear Fox," he began, and it was Mulder's turn to laugh. Skinner waited for him to quiet, then continued. "Enclosed with this letter, you will find medicine that will cure the cancer that has afflicted you and Dana. You should each inject one ampule of the medication directly into the bloodstream, twice daily for two weeks. This is a cure with no strings attached--nobody will be able to control you, and you will regain your health rapidly. "Also, I feel compelled to tell you that I have taken care of the Krycek problem for you. He will not trouble you again, and those who sought the information to be gained from your son have received it from other sources. Stephen is no longer in danger, and as soon as you are well, you may bring him home to live with you without fear. "It may be difficult for you to accept that I give these things with no expectation of repayment, but do not credit me with altruism. I do it not for you, but for Samantha. Stephen is her last remaining blood relative, after you, and I think of him as a grandson in many ways. "You once questioned your mother about your parentage, and she turned you away without the answers you sought. I can give them to you now, and I will, simply because there is no longer a reason to keep the secret. You are Bill Mulder's son, but Samantha was mine. Bill knew it, although he never admitted that, and because he was jealous of me, hated me for having a relationship with his wife, he sent Samantha away. I was prepared for it to be you, Fox, because I knew that you were strong and you would survive, but when Bill insisted it be Samantha, there was nothing I could do. "I failed her, failed my only daughter. My son, Jeffery, endured the testing because he was weak and spineless, and Cassandra because she believed it was for the good of humanity, but Samantha possessed the indomitable spirit that made me love your mother. Samantha could not endure, so she left. She *refused* to endure. "I see that same spirit in you, and have always admired you even though we were bitter enemies at times. I hope you have passed it on to Samantha's nephew. "I do this for him, that he may grow to adulthood in the loving care of his parents. As I said before, there are no conditions attached to this cure. "Do this for him, because he deserves the kind of family life you never had, Fox. Do it for Samantha. It's the last thing you can ever do for her. "With regards, C. G. B. Spender." There was complete silence in the room for several minutes, all of them taking in the words that the smoking man had left for Mulder. Finally, he reached out a hand, groping for the box on the table. "Scully?" he asked softly. "What do you think of this?" "I'm not sure," she answered, her eyes locking with Skinner's. "What do you think, Walter?" Skinner shrugged. "It's not my decision." He reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a palm pilot. "I got my cure when Krycek was killed." Scully picked up one of the ampules and studied it--the medicine inside was light amber, clear, and could consist of anything. She could take it to be analyzed, she knew, but that would lead to questions she didn't want to answer. Besides, Mulder might not have time. He had only a week or two left at best. He tried to tell her he felt no pain, but Scully knew the truth--sometimes his head would ache so badly that he'd be as pale as a ghost, and she'd seen him popping aspirin like candy when he thought she wasn't in the room. "Mulder, I think you should decide what you want me to do. I can give the injections to myself, if I'm careful, but I'll have to do them for you as well. We don't know what this stuff is. I won't put it into your body until I know it's what you really want." Mulder held out a hand, and she placed the ampule in his palm. His fingers closed around it, feeling the glass carefully, a look of studied concentration on his face, as if he was attempting to get a psychic reading from the object. Finally he handed it back to her. "We have nothing left to lose, Scully," he stated softly. "Maybe you should give Mulder the treatment and see what effect it has before you do it to yourself," Skinner cut in, but Scully shook her head firmly. "No," she told him. "We're in this together all the way." Skinner nodded slightly; he'd known that would be her answer. Mulder shoved the sleeve of his T-shirt up to his shoulder and stuck his arm out for her. "Go ahead," he ordered, his voice steady. Scully stared at his arm, at the way the skin hung loosely, remembering how strong he'd once been. If this was truly a cure, he could be again, and if not... Setting her jaw firmly, she picked up a syringe, broke open the ampule, and prepared to inject him. It's easy to gamble everything when you have nothing to lose, she thought as she watched the amber liquid disappear into his bloodstream. When she had finished, bandaging the injection site with a piece of clean cotton, all three of them sat silently, listening to the ticking of that infernal clock. Only time would tell. ----- Mulder smiled as he watched Stephen run across the yard, chasing after the dog they'd given him for his fifth birthday. A German Shepard puppy, she'd been given the unimaginative name of Spot, after one of the characters in Stephen's favorite storybook. She didn't seem to mind. Scully would be home from the hospital soon, and Mulder had just put the finishing touches on the article he was writing for one of the paranormal publications that solicited his opinion from time to time; it was his main source of income since his early retirement from the FBI, that and the lectures he was frequently asked to give. Scully had taken her retirement at the same time, and seemed more than content with her current position as Chief Pathologist for the County Medical Examiner's office. Contentment, Mulder reflected as he observed his son, was highly underrated. Three years ago, they'd been prepared to die. Although Scully hadn't trusted Cancerman's alleged treatment, she'd bowed to the inevitable reasoning that they had little choice; without it, they were certainly going to die. She'd injected both him and herself faithfully every morning and every night for two weeks, and at first, Mulder had been afraid her suspicions were correct. While she reported a marginal increase in her energy level by the end of the first week, Mulder could detect no change in his condition at all. "Maybe I was just too far gone," he told her as she'd given him his nightly shot at the beginning of the second week. "You might be wasting your time." "We're halfway into it," she replied stubbornly. "There's no point in stopping now. My biggest fear was that it would kill you instantly, and that didn't happen. And I do feel a little better, Mulder, although it could be the power of suggestion." He had nodded and drifted off to sleep--he'd been sleeping almost round the clock then, and Scully was glad. At least he wasn't in as much pain. By the middle of the second week, Mulder called her into the kitchen excitedly to tell her that he was able to make out the shapes of the furniture. "It's all grey, but I can see it!" he insisted. Scully had figuratively held her breath, afraid it was false hope, but by the time she'd given him the last of his injections, his vision had almost completely returned, and his energy, while still low, was noticeably better. As for herself, she felt almost well again. It was as if a true miracle had occurred, and Scully lay in their bed at night, hearing Mulder's steady breathing beside her, and thanked God. She didn't know how much of it was His doing, but she certainly wasn't going to give the credit to the smoking man--not after all he'd put them through. Her fingers found the small cross around her neck, and she prayed through her tears, begging God to make this recovery real. And He had--or someone had. To whomever the praise belonged, there was no doubt that they were cured. Their oncologist called it a miracle, and Mulder and Scully kept their own counsel. They regained their health, after a time, and finally dared to bring Stephen home to live with them. Maggie stayed with them for a few months to make the transition easier, then moved into a nearby apartment. They were extremely vigilant with Stephen's security at first, gradually relaxing it as the months passed and nothing happened. Finally, they dared to hope they would be left alone. There was no indication that they were wanted by anyone, for any purpose. Mulder turned away from the sight of Stephen playing with Spot when he heard the front door open. He smiled at Scully when she came in to drop a kiss on top of his head. "All finished with the article?" He nodded. "Just one more read-through and I'll be ready to send it off." "Good." She held out her hand to him, her eyes sparkling, and he took it, wondering what she was up to. "Let's take a walk." Mulder followed her out into the backyard, past the sandbox and swing set, until they settled themselves on the ground beneath a shady tree. It was one of their favorite places to be, in nice weather--they could keep an eye on Stephen and still have the privacy to converse quietly. "Remember when Stephen was born, and my mom asked when we were going to get married?" she asked without preamble. "Yeah," he answered warily. They'd never spoken of the topic after that one discussion at Scully's apartment, and he had pushed it to the back of his mind in the years that followed. He realized once that he already thought of them as married--there was no need, in his mind, to make it official. It just *was*. "Well, tomorrow we go into town and make the arrangements, and on Friday morning, at ten o'clock, we have an appointment at the courthouse. We're going to do it, Mulder." "Okay, he said after digesting her words for a minute. "Do you mind if I ask why, though? I mean, why now?" She gave him the brightest smile he'd ever seen, and he could have sworn there was a mist in her clear eyes. "Because," she said simply, "I'm pregnant." The End