Disappeared II: Resurfacing
by Laura Castellano
April 28, 2001

laurita_castellano@yahoo.com



This is a sequel to my original story,
Disappeared: Fighting Toward the Light,
which can be found at Mulder in Jeopardy.
You probably won't understand this one very
well unless you read that one first.

As always, thanks to my extremely patient beta
reader, Julie, for her insight and encouragement.

Rated R

Archive:  Sure, go ahead.

Disclaimer:  Not mine, never were, never will be.
Tyler and Brian are mine.

-----



Disappeared 2: Resurfacing
by Laura Castellano




The hell of it was--Tyler appeared to be a normal child. 
They didn't know that when they came after us, of course, 
and after I'd hidden Scully and Tyler away, and they'd 
captured me, they didn't care.  It wasn't about what they 
needed from us at that point.  It was about a game he didn't 
want to lose.  The smoking man.  An enigma, but always our 
nemesis.

Of course, carrying the special genetic anomaly that I did, 
I was still of use to them--I suppose they could have used 
me to breed countless children, hoping for the ones that 
would have the ability.  They could have done experiments on 
me and the children, in order to perfect their plan, and 
murdered the kids who didn't measure up.  They didn't have 
time to do any of that, but I'm sure if they had managed to 
keep me, it would have been in the cards.  And if they'd 
captured Tyler, they'd have simply killed him for being 
absolutely, perfectly normal.

But here I go again, skipping ahead when I should be 
starting at the beginning and writing about what happened. 
The truth is, it's more difficult this time around.  Even 
though I am able to see a real psychiatrist now, able to 
confess what really happened, able to go about my life as 
Fox Mulder rather than Andrew Jacobson--it's harder.  Every 
time I look at my son and think what they might have done to 
that beautiful, intelligent, amazing child, I find myself 
baffled at the level of evil in the world.  Me.  After all 
I've seen, Tyler has put it all into perspective for me, and 
I'm able to wonder at evil.

Scully and I had been living in Houston for three years when 
the shit hit the fan.  It's really tough to leave behind 
three years of a life in one day, but we had to do it.  Of 
course, when Asbrook released us from that facility in New 
York, we left behind entire *lifetimes* in the space of 
fifteen minutes, but that was different.  We'd been 
imprisoned for so long, we would have done anything just to 
get out.  Even if we'd been told in advance that we couldn't 
be Mulder and Scully any longer, we'd have taken the deal 
anyway, just to be free.  A person will do a lot, just to 
stay alive.

Of course, we've never really been free since the day they 
took us, but believe me, living in a strange city under an 
assumed name beats captivity in a colorless room all to 
hell, and freedom, I've found, is a relative term.  So there 
we were, living our lives, living our *lies*, as Andrew and 
Lisa Jacobson, when one day it all fell apart and we were 
forced to run again.  I had to hide Scully and Tyler and try 
to lure our pursuers into chasing me instead.  Only problem 
was, I was a little *too* successful--they weren't supposed 
to actually catch me.

I'm doing it again.

This record is actually genuine therapy this time.  My 
psychiatrist, a man with the unfortunate name of Hunter 
Green--(can you believe parents would actually do that to 
their kid?  Of course, it's really not much worse than Fox, 
but at least my surname is reasonably normal.  Now if I'd 
been Fox Woods, I'd say Hunter and I were in the same 
category, rotten-name-wise, but I do believe I came out 
slightly ahead in this one)--told me to start keeping a 
journal.  I said I'd do it, but that I wouldn't let him read 
it, and he agreed, on the condition that I promise to write 
down everything that happened to me from beginning to end, 
and that I had to actually *talk* to him about it. Hey, it's 
a tried and true method of therapy.  Where do you think I 
got the idea the last time?  I am Fox Mulder, and I have a 
degree in Psychology from Oxford.

How I love being able to write that.  I'd say it out loud, 
but the young mother across the playground would probably 
think I was crazy.  She'd gather her two beautiful, 
dark-haired little girls carefully into her car, and they'd 
find another park to frequent.  I wouldn't do that to 
Tyler--I think he has a crush on Mary Ann.  Mary Ann is the 
oldest of the two girls, and she's just about Tyler's age. 
The younger one can't be even two yet, and I don't know her 
name.  I know Mary Ann because her mother is constantly 
calling to her to be careful.  Not a timid bone in little 
Mary Ann's body.  She's gonna be a hellraiser when she grows 
up.

I hope to be reinstated at the FBI once Hunter clears me for 
duty, but I'll still have to be recertified with my weapon, 
pass a rigorous physical exam...hell, there are all kinds of 
hurdles to jump.  I'll gladly leap them all just to get a 
taste of my old life back.  Scully is still considering, and 
I'm not sure what she'll choose.  She might decide to go 
back to pathology, although she'd have some recertification 
of her own in that case, or she could choose to remain a 
full-time mom, at least until Tyler goes to school.  She's 
undergoing her own therapy right now, which is why Tyler and 
I are playing in the park.  Well, Tyler's playing with Mary 
Ann.  I'm doing my homework.  Poor Hunter--he has me 
Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and Scully Tuesdays, 
Thursdays and Saturdays.  The poor man never gets a break 
from the Mulder family.  

Yeah--we're an actual, *legal* family now.  Even though the 
false identities the Gunmen gave us when Asbrook released us 
had set us up as a married couple, until a month ago, Scully 
and I had never stood before anyone with any authority and 
said the words and signed the papers that made us legal.  We 
couldn't take the chance, and really, neither of us saw the 
need.  We couldn't very well invite our co-workers to our 
wedding, when we were supposed to already be married.  The 
moment I slipped that ring--the real ring, *my* ring--onto 
Scully's finger and spoke those simple words that joined us 
as man and wife, I knew the truth.  My life is nothing 
without her and Tyler.  Nothing.  And I was almost 
overwhelmed with a sense of love and joy, and relief that 
she was really, truly mine now, after all our years 
together.

But I digress.  Again.

Skinner recommended him to us.  Hunter, I mean.  Apparently 
Skinner has referred other agents in his charge to Dr. 
Hunter Green in the past--agents who'd undergone horrifying 
ordeals.  I remember one man a couple of years before Scully 
and I were taken who was kidnapped by a small terrorist 
group he'd infiltrated.  What they did to him made my broken 
finger at the hands of the New Spartans seem like a 
playground accident.  The guy will never walk again, but 
he's still alive, still employed, and according to Skinner, 
still sane because of Hunter's assistance.  I like those 
odds.

When I think of the monument and the times I used to 
consider taking a flying leap from its observation deck, I 
realize how very necessary this therapy is to me, even 
though I'm no longer in danger.  Just when I think I'm fine, 
something will cause me to freak out.  Scully has the same 
problem, and we talk about it, over a glass of wine, after 
Tyler has gone to sleep.  That's another thing Hunter 
insists upon--Scully and I have to talk to each other.  
About intimate things, sometimes hurtful things.  It amazes 
me, looking back over the years, how much of our 
conversation has been on the superficial level.  We always 
felt the deeper things, but neither of us had the courage or 
the inclination to say them aloud--not often, anyway.  Now 
it's homework.

I know from my own experience that the hardest part of any 
therapy of this type is getting started.  I've been writing 
for half an hour now and have managed to avoid any painful 
memories.  No pen and paper this time, either--I have a 
spiffy new laptop computer that Scully and Tyler surprised 
me with on my birthday.  She was so pleased with herself 
that I went out the next day and bought her one exactly like 
it.  Her face, when she opened the box, was surprised, but I 
gently reminded her that we were probably both going to be 
doing a lot of writing in the near future.  That was just 
before we each had our first session with Hunter, but I had 
told her what to expect.  I still have the record I wrote 
after we first escaped them.  One of these days, when I feel 
brave enough, maybe I'll go back and read it.  I haven't 
opened that notebook since the day I stopped writing in it. 
Some memories don't bear reliving.

Maybe, instead, when Hunter releases me from therapy, I'll 
have a small, private bonfire, and exorcise those memories 
for good.

I'd love to start right in with "I was rescued from the 
hands of the big, bad, nasty people again, this time with 
the assistance of..." but Hunter would never approve of 
that.  Even though he won't be reading this record, I'm damn 
sure going to give it my best anyway, my own integrity will 
force that.  Besides, I want to get well.  I want to get 
past this and try to grab what's left of my life back again.

Get well--what a phrase that is.  It can mean so many 
things.  'Get well soon,' we like to say, even if the person 
has cancer, or AIDS, or something equally incurable.  What a 
foolish sentence it can be, no matter how sincere the wishes 
when it is uttered.  If someone said it to me now, I'd want 
to punch them out.  Somehow I think it will take a little 
longer than 'soon' for me to recover from the past few 
years.  

On the other hand, we've been through tough times before, 
Scully and I, and we've always managed to 'get well.'  
Whether recovering from an alien retrovirus, cancer, being 
gut-shot or a host of other illnesses, both physical and 
mental, we've always eventually gotten well.  Our track 
record is phenomenal, unheard of, even.  No reason to 
believe we can't do it again.  In fact, I have no doubts 
whatsoever as to Scully's eventual, complete recovery.  I'm 
never sure about myself, though.

With her to help me, I can probably make it back.  I can 
probably reach the point where I don't view strangers with 
absolutely distrust.  I can probably bring myself to let 
Tyler out of my sight long enough to attend school when it's 
time for him to start.  Probably.  That's all I'm willing to 
commit to right now.

All right--the hard stuff.

Tyler seems happy here in Virginia--of course, he's young 
enough that taking him away from the only home he'd ever 
known shouldn't really affect him much.  He still has his 
Mommy and his Daddy, and that's what every kid needs most.  
Poor Brian wasn't so lucky, although for a few years he 
thought he was.  Thought he had his Daddy, anyway.

I'm skipping.  I knew I'd do this.  Just do it 
Jacobs--Mulder.  Mulder, damn it, my name is Fox Mulder, 
former and (I hope) future agent with the FBI, graduate of 
Oxford, investigator of ghosts, goblins, vampires and 
international governmental conspiracies.  Just do it, 
Mulder.  Just jump right in.

But first, it's time for a soda from the cooler.  And as 
soon as Tyler sees me digging into it, he's going to want 
his sandwich and fruit juice.

*****

Can I peg that kid or what?  I had no more than gotten the 
car door unlocked when he was at my side.

"Hungry, Daddy," he informed me in his sweet baby voice, and 
I couldn't help ruffling his hair.

"Mommy packed your favorite, peanut butter and jelly," I 
told him, handing him the little sack with Mickey Mouse 
printed on it.  Where does Scully find this stuff?  Cartoon 
lunch bags?  All I ever had were plain brown paper.  And I 
had to pack them myself.  On the other hand, when I was a 
baby, I doubt my mom had decorative disposable diapers, 
either.  In fact, she probably didn't even have disposables. 
I have no idea, as my memory of diaperhood is somewhat 
limited.  Babyware has improved greatly in forty years--we 
have a stroller that I refer to as "Tyler's Lexus," because 
it has every gadget known to man installed somewhere on its 
frame.  I swear, there's a GPS receiver in there somewhere. 
I just haven't located it yet.

I suppose I should begin with the email accounts.  We had a 
separate, anonymous one for every day of the week.  Each 
day, either Scully or I would travel to a prearranged public 
location, such as the city library, campus library, or one 
of various internet cafes, and check our email account. Each 
account was hosted through a different free mail provider, 
and most of the time when we checked them, they were empty. 
That was a good thing. We wanted empty.  We prayed for no 
messages.  No messages meant we were relatively safe for 
another day.

We knew the guys had someone watching over us in 
Houston--they'd told us as much.  I didn't know who it was, 
or what he looked like, only that he was one of their 
oldest, most trusted friends, that they had known him almost 
as long as they'd known me, and that he was a reliable 
source whose information had aided me in the past on cases 
I'd investigated. That was good enough.  I trusted them. 
They'd gotten us this far.

We were given a code word--"Aspenwood."  If a stranger ever 
spoke that word to us, we were to follow him and do as he 
said, no questions asked. "Aspenwood" meant we were in 
danger, and our protector was going to try like hell to save 
us.

One Thursday, Scully and I had gone to lunch together at our 
favorite restaurant near the school, and stopped in the 
library on the way back to our classes to check on 
Thursday's email account.  It had become almost an empty 
ritual by then--we'd been in Houston for well over a year, 
and had received very few messages in all that time, none of 
which had been cause for undue alarm.  One of the messages 
had been Frohike passing on the happy news that Bill and 
Tara had managed to have another baby, a girl this time, and 
after reading it, Scully had grown very quiet for the rest 
of the day.  I kept out of her way, offering silent comfort 
but not even trying to find words.  She hadn't seen her 
family since we were kidnapped, and everyone back home 
thought we were dead. Scully's entire family, all our 
friends (except for the Gunmen), Skinner, all our colleagues 
at the Bureau--they all thought we'd been killed.  There was 
no reason for them to believe otherwise.  The people who'd 
taken us had done a masterful job of leaving behind 
absolutely no evidence.  If Asbrook hadn't freed us, we'd 
still be trapped in that facility, probably producing baby 
after baby for them to experiment on.

Damn. I still can't comprehend what they did, and what they 
tried to do to us.  And what they did to Brian and his 
family.

So Scully sat down at the computer and typed in the password 
while I read absently over her shoulder.  We both expected 
to find an empty mailbox (except for possibly a few messages 
congratulating us on winning a cruise, or how 'Hot Teen 
Virgins Want You'), but we were surprised. Among the junk 
emails, and there were a couple that day, I think, was the 
name we never wanted to see.  Melvin Fitzgerald. It was a 
generic compilation of Frohike and Byers' names. It meant 
trouble.

Scully's fingers trembled as she positioned the cursor over 
the name and clicked the mouse.  One sentence greeted 
us--one sentence that changed our lives, and took us off the 
constant state of "yellow alert" at which we lived and 
bumped us right up to "condition red" for the rest of our 
time in Houston.

"The boy is alive."

We stared at one another, each reading identical fear in the 
other's eyes.  It was what we had dreaded all along.  Brian 
could read minds. From how far away could he read minds? 
Could he read our minds from wherever he was now?  Could he 
park in front of the Lone Gunmen's hovel and learn from them 
where we'd gone?  We were obviously in danger, but just how 
much, and how immediate was the danger?

I leaned over to whisper in her ear.  "Get Tyler," I 
commanded urgently, and she was already nodding agreement. 
"I'll tell them you had to leave because he was sick.  Meet 
me right after school."

She was gone out of the library almost before I'd finished.

We had seven prearranged locations, in addition to our seven 
email accounts.  One for each day of the week.  If we had to 
run, and were separated, it was a way for us to find each 
other if possible.  Today was Thursday.  Scully would be at 
Location Four.  The Reptile House at the city zoo.  It was 
dark, and there were nooks and crannies in that old building 
where we could huddle together in whispered conversation 
without looking too suspicious.  We didn't know if it was 
safe to go home.

After Scully left, I fired off a message in reply.  "How bad 
is it?" I typed, and breathed a sigh of relief when I 
received an answer almost immediately.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, it's about a 4.  Sit tight.  More 
info tomorrow."

I deleted the message and glanced around nervously.  Nobody 
was in the library at this hour, but the classes would be 
descending upon us soon. It was technically my conference 
period, but since I had no meetings scheduled that day I 
decided to use the time to wrap up a little personal 
business.  I sent off one more message, this time containing 
the cryptic question, "Is it safe?"  I know...shades of 
'Marathon Man,' right?  Dustin Hoffman strapped into the 
evil dentist's chair--is it any wonder Americans hate to go 
to the dentist?  The image makes me shudder now, as it did 
when I wrote the words, but I had to have the answer.  I 
knew the guys would know the true nature of my query--was it 
safe for us to go home, or did we need to hide out that 
night.

The response--"Check back in an hour."

Great, just great.  I'd have to spend the rest of the 
afternoon on tenterhooks, one eye on the classroom door, 
worrying all the while I was trying to teach Texas History 
about whether or not my wife and son had made it safely to 
our meeting place.  I couldn't check back in an hour--it 
would be almost three hours before I was able to do that.

I went through my remaining classes on autopilot, lecturing 
mechanically, answering students' questions absently, all 
the while keeping watch as the clock dragged incredibly 
slowly toward three-thirty.  When the final bell rang at 
last, I was out of the room before most of my students, 
racing for the library and my email account.

I cursed the slow connection while I logged on, and finally 
accessed the mailbox to find the anticipated message 
waiting.

"Safe at home."

My shoulders slumped in relief.  They'd had our guardian 
angel check out our apartment, and as far as he could tell, 
it was okay for us to go home that evening.  All the same, I 
planned on keeping Scully and Tyler out as long as I could. 
We'd stroll through the zoo and then have dinner at Jack In 
The Box or something--Tyler would love that, and Scully 
would just have to live with the cholesterol.

I found her quickly when I reached the Reptile House.  She'd 
retrieved Tyler from the sitter's place, and now the two of 
them were examining a large python in a glass case.  When 
Tyler saw me he broke out in a huge smile.

"'nake, Daddy," he said proudly, pointing at the python.

"Yes, it's a 'nake, all right, a big one," I agreed, and 
caught Scully's wince.  She hates it when I don't use proper 
pronunciation with Tyler, but some of his words are so 
endearing I find myself responding in kind without even 
thinking.

"Mommy say look all the animals," he reported, eyeing me 
anxiously, as if afraid I might disagree, but I swung him up 
into my arms and gave him a big hug.  It was just so nice to 
see both of them alive and well--I didn't realize how tense 
I'd been all afternoon until that moment.

"What's the word?" Scully questioned quietly, while Tyler 
pointed at the next reptile on display.

"Safe at home."  I let Tyler down so he could examine the 
exhibits more closely, and Scully reached for my hand, 
giving it a sharp squeeze.

"What do we do now?" she whispered, never taking her eyes 
off our son.

I didn't know.  Neither of us knew exactly what we were 
dealing with, and neither did our friends.

"I guess we wait and watch," I answered somberly.  "And 
protect him with our lives."

"If they only knew he didn't have it--" she began, and I cut 
her off sharply.

"You know what they'd do.  And they'd want to try again and 
again. Personally, I could live the rest of my life without 
seeing white walls and die a happy man."

I felt her shudder and knew she was remembering her own 
imprisonment. Scully'd had a hard time of it, but she didn't 
have the memories I had. She hadn't been tortured by those 
people, aside from her prolonged isolation.  Given the 
choice, I'd have gladly stayed in my cell to avoid the other 
treats they'd had in store for me.  To this day I've never 
told Scully what went on in that testing room.

I never will.

I'm trying to forget it, myself.

*****

We stayed out late that night, and by the time we finally 
made it home, Tyler was asleep in my arms.  Scully went 
inside first to check the place out, but all appeared to be 
normal.  As far as we could tell, no one had visited while 
we were out.

I remember I took forever to fall asleep that night, 
wondering if we would have to pull up stakes and run again. 
 It wasn't home, but we liked it there in Houston.  We had 
some sort-of-friends, (not the kind you're really close to 
but people to joke with and do the occasional dinner out,) 
our jobs were okay, and we had each other.  On the other 
hand, neither of us was ever able to leave behind the 
longing for our old lives, and Scully missed her family 
terribly.  More than once, we discussed the feasibility of 
her giving her mother a call, but we always rejected the 
notion.  We were afraid of revealing our location, but more 
than that, Scully feared we would place her mother in 
danger.  She felt it was better for Maggie to believe her 
dead than to face possible kidnapping and torture if the men 
who hunted us thought she could tell them where we were.  I 
respected her decision, but not a day passed that I didn't 
give some thought to a solution to the problem.  

I never found one.

The next day dragged for me, and for Scully too, I'm sure.  
We weren't able to get to our location for checking our 
email until after school, so all day long we had to wait and 
wonder what the guys had to tell us about Brian.  All we 
knew for certain was that he was alive, and we were in more 
danger today than we had been yesterday.

When we were finally able to access our email account, both 
of us were nervous wrecks.  I pretended to remain calm, as I 
always did, but Scully knew that inside I was a mass of 
nerves.  I never can fool that woman for long.

The message we received from Melvin Fitzgerald was 
brief--too brief for my liking, and yet the information it 
contained told us everything and nothing at all.

'The boy is alive.  His father is apparently alive as well. 
They are moving from city to city searching for you.  Last 
spotted in Los Angeles a week ago.  Will send more 
information when we have it.  Be ready to move at a moment's 
notice and don't forget your word.'

Aspenwood.  We weren't likely to forget.  It certainly 
wasn't a word you'd use in general conversation, especially 
in Texas, where there were no Aspen trees to be found.

I slumped back into my chair and felt Scully's soothing 
hands on my shoulders.

"We'll be all right, Andrew," she whispered in my ear. 
"We've beaten them before and we'll beat them again if we 
have to.  Nothing is going to happen to us or to Tyler."

"Let's go get him now, Scully.  I don't like the idea of 
leaving him alone with a babysitter any longer.  We need to 
discuss this."

I could see the look on her face.  It meant I wanted her to 
give up teaching to stay at home and be a full-time mother 
again.  She'd done it for a year after Tyler's birth, and by 
then she'd been ready to get out of the house and into the 
world again.  Scully just wasn't cut out to be a housewife, 
I guess, and I respected that decision, too.  At least up to 
a point.  I would do anything to keep our son out of danger.

"Look, I know what you're thinking--" she began once we were 
in the car.

"I was wondering if we could live on your salary," I 
interrupted, glancing her way.  "Lisa, I'm not asking you to 
do anything you don't want to do, but we have to protect 
Tyler."

She nodded somberly.  "I know, Mulder."  Rarely did she slip 
up and call me 'Mulder', which told me exactly how upset she 
was.  "Sorry," she said, almost as an afterthought.

I reached over to squeeze her hand.  "I love you," I told 
her sincerely.  We rarely spoke of our feelings for one 
another, and it was a long time after we began our lives in 
Houston before I began to believe that Scully really did 
love me in a romantic sense.  I mean, I always knew she 
cared deeply for me, but we were more or less forced into 
our relationship, and I often wondered if she'd have 
insisted we go our separate ways after Asbrook sprung us, if 
it hadn't been for the baby.  She probably would have, 
except I didn't give her a chance.  No way was I letting 
Scully out of my site again, and certainly not after we 
learned she was carrying our child.

She squeezed back and said softly, "I know you do."  After a 
pause, "I love you too."

I could relax then.  It seemed I always needed reassurance. 
Hell, what am I talking about?  I still need it now, and I 
suppose I always will.  Probably comes from not having 
enough of it as a child.  It's not as though I feel I don't 
deserve her, or anything--I mean, let's face it, we both 
have our days when our behavior is less-than-stellar.  Both 
of us have come to realize, without a doubt, that we were 
made for each other, that we *must* be together, so it's not 
the fear that she might leave me.  It just fear 
of...something.  I don't know what.  I've lost her too many 
times before.

"We can't live on my salary, but we can live on yours," she 
said after a few more minutes of silence.  "We've done it 
before."

The sadness in her voice struck me, and I thought of how 
sexism was so ingrained into our society that none of the 
Gunmen thought it odd that, in our new identities, I had a 
master's degree and Scully didn't.  They had automatically 
given me a higher education, although in our real lives, 
Scully was actually the more educated of the two of us.

"Look, we don't have to do it the way we did before," I 
argued.  "Maybe you could continue teaching and I could get 
some kind of a night job to supplement."

"That wouldn't work, Andrew.  Tyler would have you all day 
and me all night, but we'd never see each other.  I want him 
to experience a normal family life."  The way she stressed 
the word 'normal' told me that she was making the best she 
could of our situation.  Living in a strange city under 
assumed names is far from normal.  "I'll give my notice 
tomorrow."

I squeezed her hand again, unable to draw her into my arms 
and give her the hug I wanted to give her because I was 
driving.  I knew how much she was sacrificing for our son, 
and I was overwhelmed with love for her.

"I'll do everything I can to make it easier for you," I 
promised, and she smiled.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," she assured me.

So our lives changed again, and after Scully's two weeks 
notice to the school were completed, she became a full-time 
mommy again.  Tyler was overjoyed to have her nearby, and 
Scully seemed to find that, as he grew, she was able to 
experience more things with him.  She wasn't as restless 
this time around.  When she'd stayed with him after his 
birth, it had been nothing but diapers and feeding and lack 
of sleep.  Now that Tyler was almost two, he was talking and 
walking and getting into things, and opening up a whole new 
world to both of us.

Things went on this way for over a year.  Occasionally we 
would receive a report from the guys about Brian's 
location--they lost sight of him at times, and we all 
collectively held our breath until they found him again.  So 
far he hadn't made it to Houston.  They seemed to be working 
their way east across the country, beginning with Los 
Angeles, then Seattle, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, 
Denver...they were getting closer.

You know something that occurs to me now, that none of us 
thought of at the time?  Why the hell didn't we go to a 
place we knew they'd already searched?  Once they'd left the 
west coast, we could have settled in Seattle or somewhere, 
and possibly never been bothered by them again.  Or, once 
they made their way across the entire country, they could 
have started over in LA.  Or they could have begun searching 
Canada.  Now that I mention it, the possibilities were 
endless, and so uncertain, that it's probably best it worked 
out the way it did.  Hell, I *know* it's best it worked out 
the way it did.

I am Fox Mulder.

And then one day, we got word they were in Dallas.  Just a 
few hours' drive north of us.  We were on constant alert 
then, convinced that they would show up in Houston any day 
now.  We had already begun quietly preparing to flee.  Bank 
accounts were depleted, little by little, savings accounts 
closed out, possessions minimized.  We hoped that if we had 
to run this time, we'd have a little warning, at least, and 
wouldn't have to leave everything behind.

I kept waiting for a stranger to approach me and speak the 
dreaded word, but it never happened.  All the time we spent 
focusing on that one word, and it was never used at all.

In the end, Frohike saved our lives--if it hadn't been for 
his phone call, we'd have been sitting ducks when they came 
for us.

-----

If you've ever driven from Houston to Dallas, or back again, 
you know what an incredibly long, boring drive it can be. 
There's very little in the way of scenery along the route, 
and most of the time you spend on auto-pilot, operating the 
vehicle in a mechanical fashion, just trying not to fall 
asleep.

When word came to us that Brian and his father were in 
Dallas, I got the bright idea that I should take a few days 
off and drive up there, hoping to spot them and perhaps find 
out why they were searching for us.  I could understand 
Brian being brainwashed by the smoking man and his 
crew--he'd been just a little boy when we escaped--but what 
I didn't comprehend was why his father was involved in the 
search for us.  It didn't make any sense.

Scully, naturally, objected to the plan.  Rather forcefully, 
if you want to know the truth.  Threatening to handcuff me 
to the bed on a permanent basis seemed a little extreme, I 
thought, but at last, after hours of discussion and more 
than a few frightening looks from her icy blue eyes, I 
finally came to my senses.  Going to Dallas was a bad idea, 
I agreed, if only to get that look out of her eye.  Still, I 
really wanted to know.  Somehow, I thought it might help us 
elude them if we only knew *why* they were after us. Knowing 
how they had been convinced to hunt for us, I thought, would 
give us an advantage.

Okay, so I was wrong.  I didn't have any way of knowing 
that, did I?

It turned out that the lies went so deep, nothing we could 
have said or done would ever erase them.  And we weren't 
dealing with a human being, after all, except in the case of 
Brian, and being a child, he had no say in the matter.

The next time I was able to get away and check email without 
Scully there, I sent a message to the guys, telling them 
what I had wanted to do.  Frohike responded, naturally 
telling me I was a total idiot, and that Scully should 
seriously injure me if I even considered such a stupid plan 
again.  Then, of course, being the man he is, Frohike 
decided to try it himself.  He took off for Dallas that very 
afternoon.

Then came the waiting again.  You would think, after all 
I've been through in the past few years, that I would be an 
expert at waiting, but I find it still makes me crazy.

Maybe 'crazy' isn't such a good word to use when you're 
journaling for a psychiatrist.  Oh well.  Per our agreement, 
he'll never see it.  I hope.

It tries my patience greatly, how's that?  Waiting sucks, 
pure and simple, and if Scully ever gets a glimpse of my 
language in this journal, she's liable to do just what she 
promised before and wash my mouth out with soap. Although in 
this case, it might be more appropriate to wash my hands, 
but I can't really see that teaching a valuable lesson. 
She's a real stickler for polite speech in front of Tyler.

I'm not avoiding as badly this time around, am I?  Of 
course, I don't have a monument to gaze at now, all I have 
is my beautiful son, sliding down the slide behind his 
friend Mary Ann, his blond hair shining in the sun.  I so 
badly wanted him to turn redhead like his mother, but 
instead, his locks resemble neither of us--they are as 
yellow as the morning.  His facial features are pure Scully, 
with one exception--his eyes are mine.  I'm pretty sure I 
learned, ages ago in Biology class, that it takes two 
blue-eyed parents to make a blue-eyed child.  Whether that's 
true, or simply one of my scrambled memories (some of them 
are, these days), Tyler got my changeable hazel.  It's a 
good thing for us, actually; they tend to reveal his moods. 
 I wonder if Scully judges my own temperament by the color 
of my eyes?  I'll have to ask her.

All right, all right.  Frohike went to Dallas.  It took him 
over a week to find the boy and his father, but find them he 
did.  No cheesy motels for the Consortium's flunkies, 
either, they were staying at one with a reputation as far 
away as Houston.  The kind where you tip everyone who even 
resembles an employee, to avoid looking like a total idiot. 
I guess if you tried to tip another guest, you'd look like 
an idiot, wouldn't you?  

Needless to say, whether at the FBI or on teaching salaries, 
Scully and I have never stayed at such a place.  Wait a 
minute...there was that one time in Boston, the case where 
Phoebe Greene came back into my life, but to tell the truth, 
I don't remember much of the hotel.  My mind was full, of 
Phoebe at first, and later on, of smoke and shame and 
Scully.  How I regretted the way I'd treated her.

It wasn't half as bad as the way I treated her over Diana. 
I'm surprised she didn't walk out on my sorry ass that time. 
No matter how much evidence Scully presented pointing toward 
Diana's duplicity, I refused to believe it until I could no 
longer deny.  And then, of course, she was dead, so my 
belief meant nothing.

Scully forgave me, though, the way she always does.  Wait a 
minute, what is this, bash Mulder day?  I'm not supposed to 
be beating up on myself, and Scully and I are pretty evenly 
matched in the "who-can-be-the-bigger-ass" department.  
She's just a little more refined about her asshole-moments 
than I.  Why the hell am I even thinking about this? I 
suppose it's easier than writing about what Frohike found in 
Dallas.

It took him several days to locate the kid and his father, 
and that was using all the techniques the guys seem to have 
perfected--I sure as hell wouldn't want to try to hide from 
them, although they never did find Scully and me when we 
were held captive in that facility.  Then again, those who 
took us were expert at leaving absolutely no evidence.

Anyway, when Frohike did find them, he hung back, followed 
them around the city for a day or two, and then sent us 
disturbing news.  Apparently, the father was putting the boy 
in the car every morning and they would just drive around 
the city, methodically, following a map and crossing off 
sections where they'd already searched.  The boy was...well, 
I don't know if 'scanning' is really the right word, but for 
lack of a better term, Brian was 'scanning' the area for us. 
For our minds, our thoughts.  I guess the only way he missed 
picking up on the fact that Frohike was following them was 
that he was intent upon us.

Must be nice to be able to focus that kind of thing.  Gibson 
was only partially successful at it, and for the brief time 
I had all those voices in my head, I never learned the skill 
at all.  It nearly drove me crazy, in fact.  It was like 
being in a stadium, with thousands of voices talking to you, 
and you are forced to listen to them all, you can't tune 
them out.  It may not sound all that bad when I describe it, 
but believe me, it was pure mental torture.

Their method was terrifying in its simplicity; all they had 
to do--or at least, *they* believed all they had to do--was 
drive past our apartment, or the school where we worked, and 
bam! we were found.  (Hey, I've occasionally watched The 
Food Network, when Sesame Street became too much to bear.  
Tyler does a great Emeril imitation.)  Then, presumably, 
they would tell the bad guys where we were and step back.  
The frightening part was that it had taken the guys so long 
to locate Brian and his father (in spite of what I said a 
minute ago about them being able to find people--finding 
someone in a city is a lot different than finding them in an 
entire country, I guess), and what if they lost them again?

Best case scenario, we were going to have to leave what had 
become our home, what was Tyler's place of birth.  (Yes, my 
son is a native Texan--yeeehaw!)  We didn't want to do that, 
unless it meant going *home* home--going back to our old 
lives where Scully could see her family, where I could shed 
this hated name and just be Fox Mulder again.  We didn't 
want to live the rest of our lives on the run, and it's 
funny too, that when Asbrook released us, when we were 
making our plans, it never occurred to either of us that we 
might have to do just that.  We both had the misconception 
that we'd find a place, a safe place, and stay there 
forever.  Well, there was that Chicago thing, but that was 
at the beginning.  Before we'd begun to feel safe, or 
relatively so.

Now it was all threatened again, for surely Houston could 
not be far after Dallas in their search plan.

I told Scully about it that night, after Tyler was safely 
tucked into bed, pulling her close to me on the couch, 
shoving aside the papers I'd been grading to snuggle close 
to her.

"What's the matter?" she asked, wrapping her arms around my 
waist and leaning tiredly against my chest.  It had been a 
long day for her, with Tyler especially active, and we'd 
ordered pizza for supper to give her a break.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" I countered, hoping 
to put off the inevitable for a few more seconds.

She raised her head to stare at me for a minute, that 
'you're kidding, right?' stare that she gives me sometimes, 
before nestling against my shirt again.

"You've been tense and edgy all evening," she said.  "Give 
it up."

"Lisa," I asked, choosing my words carefully, in case the 
walls were thinner than I imagined and some neighbor was 
listening in, "would you ever want to leave Houston?"

This time her arms tightened about my waist momentarily, and 
I knew she knew what I meant.

"I'd want to be wherever you and Tyler are," she whispered. 
"As long as we can be together, and safe."

Lowering my head so I could speak softly into her ear, I 
explained what Frohike had found not far to the north of us. 
 Her face drained a bit, and she cast a few anxious glances 
down the hall toward Tyler's bedroom.

"What do they suggest we do?" she asked uncertainly, her 
eyes full of fear, and it struck me that having a child 
changes a woman.  This woman, my woman, my Scully, who would 
have stood to fight at all costs before backing down, was 
ready to turn tail and run at the first sign of danger to 
her son.  If I hadn't loved her with all my heart already, I 
would have after that.

"Sit tight, for now," I answered, still in my low voice. 
"They'll keep us informed if they head toward Houston, or if 
they should lose sight of them."

She stared at the phone then, and I knew we were both 
thinking of 'aspenwood.'

"I'll call in sick tomorrow," I said, pulling her against me 
again.

"No, you can't," she argued.  "We have to go on as if 
everything is normal.  The last thing we want to do is look 
suspicious now."

"But Scully, if they're searching for our thoughts, it won't 
matter what we look like.  They'll know if they've found 
us."

"Then maybe what we have to do is completely *become* Andrew 
and Lisa Jacobson," she pointed out.  "Convince ourselves 
that's who we are, and purge all thoughts of who we used to 
be from our consciousness."

"How the hell do we do that?" I demanded, wincing when she 
glared at me for my profanity.  "Heck, Scully, how the 
*heck* do we do that?"

"I don't exactly know, but I do know this--we've created a 
life here out of nothing more than the identities that were 
given to us.  Tyler is happy here.  I'm not going to yank 
him away from his home unless it's absolutely necessary. 
Maybe we can find the kid and kill him."

My mouth must have hit the floor at that statement, but I 
saw in her eyes that she meant it.  Little Dana Scully, who 
had always been so kind and gentle toward crime victims, 
always had a strong sense of justice and the law, was 
suggesting we commit a felony if it would protect our son. 
And the sad thing was, I agreed.  I knew I would strike down 
anyone, even a ten year old boy, if Tyler was in danger from 
him.

I'm telling you, what I think of as "mama bear" mode is very 
powerful.  Men, be afraid.  Be very afraid.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said with some 
humor, but Scully's eyes were serious.

-----

Life went on as normally as it could, under the 
circumstances, for several more days--almost a week, I 
think.  Then one night, while we were sitting around 
digesting our supper--I remember there was still a sink full 
of dirty dishes, because Scully and I usually did them 
together after Tyler was asleep--the phone call came.  It 
was Frohike.

"Coming your way," he said, injecting a note of 
cheerfulness, for the benefit of anyone who might be 
listening in.

"When can we expect a visit?" I asked just as jovially while 
giving Scully a worried look.

"One day, maybe two.  I have a couple of sections to finish 
up here first.  I need you to make me a reservation.  The 
nicest hotel in town."

I knew what Frohike was trying to tell us--he'd emailed me 
that Brian and his father were staying at the Wyndham Hotel 
in Dallas--perhaps not the finest accommodations in the 
city, but damn close.

Darn close, Scully.  I said darn close.  Honest.  Jesus, 
that woman has me whipped!  I should begin spending an hour 
a day standing in front of a mirror, using profanity, just 
so I don't lose the old touch.  Yeah right, like I'm really 
going to do that.  She might catch me.  Or Tyler might hear.

It's amazing how fatherhood changes a guy.

"What name would you like the reservation under?"

"The usual."  Brian and dad were using their real names. Not 
subtle.

"How's the aspen this time of year, old buddy?"

"Could bloom at any moment," Frohike replied, and hung up 
the phone.

After we disconnected I turned to Scully, who looked 
prepared to hear the worst.

"Pack a bag for yourself and Tyler," I told her.  "I want 
you out of here."

"No way," she said stubbornly.  "We're not leaving without 
you."

I pulled her into my arms and buried my face in her hair so 
I could whisper into her ear.

"Scully, please do as I ask," I begged in a barely audible 
voice.  "One of us has to survive."

"Why can't both of us survive?" she demanded, just as 
quietly.

I gave her an extra hard squeeze.  "That's what I'm aiming 
for."

-----

To my great surprise, she gave in rather quickly, but before 
Scully had even finished packing, all hell broke loose.

There was a knock at the door.  I was in the middle of 
something--what?--yeah, I was getting Tyler a drink of 
water.  He'd awakened when Scully started moving around his 
bedroom, and called to me.  I hollered, "Just a sec," and 
after quickly giving Tyler his water, grabbed my gun from 
its hiding place.

I approached the door cautiously, not knowing who might be 
waiting.  We didn't have a lot of unannounced visitors, so 
an unexpected knock, especially under the circumstances, was 
cause for alarm.  Friends-but-not-close-friends rarely drop 
in without calling first. As I made my way back to the 
living room, I heard a loud thump outside the door.  When I 
looked through the peephole, I saw nothing.  Cautiously, I 
opened the door.  Good thing it opened inward instead of 
outward, or I might have been trapped by the weight of the 
body.

I wasn't really surprised at finding a dead man on my 
landing, and that's sad, in a way.  I think part of me knew 
it was going to happen even before it did.  It didn't take 
an enormous leap in logic to guess that this was our 
protector, the one who would approach us and take us to 
safety, should we ever need to be spirited away.

I took a quick look around, saw nothing, and slammed the 
door, latching it with trembling hands.  We were on our own 
now.  Quickly, I drew the curtains, keeping low in case 
someone should take a shot at me.  You know the biggest 
problem with apartments?  Most of them, including ours, 
don't have back doors.  If you live in a place without a lot 
of trees or a fire escape outside your window--like we 
did--you're damn well trapped.  We were only on the second 
floor.  I knew I'd survive a jump, and Scully probably would 
in spite of her shorter stature, but how the hell were we 
(heck, I mean heck) supposed to get Tyler out?

Scully came down the hall carrying two bags just as the 
phone rang.  I was almost afraid to answer it, but I could 
no more have ignored it than I could have stopped breathing. 
I crawled across the floor and pulled it down to myself.

It was Frohike, and I've never heard him in such a panic, 
not even that time I nearly got killed in that fertility 
clinic because the guys had trouble unlocking a door.

"Get out," he said urgently.  "Get out now.  I just heard 
from my contact, and I miscalculated.  I thought you had at 
least another day, but the kid is already in Houston.  He 
could find you at any time."

"Your contact is dead on my front doorstep," I told him 
grimly.  "What are the chances of getting out alive?"

"If you leave right now, you might make it."

"Frohike, the person who killed him is still out there!"

"I doubt it.  He was probably a hired gun.  I think he did 
the job and cleared out right away.  He's not there to get 
you, just to get rid of your protection, so you can't be 
warned."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It probably would, if we had all the facts."

"Then you'll be in danger as well."

"I'm disappearing into the woodwork even as we speak," he 
promised.  "Don't worry about me.  Just get you and your 
family to a safe location."

Then he was gone, and we *were* truly on our own.

I slammed the phone down on its base and grabbed Scully by 
the arm.  Dragged her into the hallway, where nobody could 
see us.  With all the intensity I could pour into my voice, 
I told her exactly why she had to leave with our son and get 
to one of our pre-arranged locations.

"Mulder, you are *not* staying behind!" she argued, but I 
could see in her eyes she knew it was pointless.

"I have to, Scully," I told her flatly.  "This has to end 
somewhere.  We can't keep running forever.  Maybe if I can 
just talk to Brian and his father, I can convince them to 
pretend they never found us."

She was shaking her head mutely, disagreeing with everything 
I said.  "And if you can't?" she demanded.  "They'll have 
you then, Mulder."

"But you and Tyler will be safe.  And when it comes down to 
basics, I'm really the one they want."

Her lips tightened at that.  I kissed her quickly, hoping to 
reassure her, even if only a little.

"Look, I'm not going to do anything stupid, I promise."

"The whole idea is stupid," she insisted.  "And I know you, 
Mulder.  You give yourself up to them just to guarantee our 
safety, and I'll never forgive you."

I pulled her into my arms, feeling her tears wetting my 
shirt, tears she would deny shedding, should I mention them.

"Hey, in spite of previous evidence to the contrary, I don't 
have a death wish," I joked.

She said nothing.

"I won't," I whispered into her hair.  "I swear, I won't do 
that unless it's the last resort.  We both want Tyler to 
live.  He's got to have at least one parent, and right now, 
he needs you more than he needs me."

"Bullshit," she countered.  "He needs you.  We both do."

(Please note, for the official record, that Scully swore.  
She did not stop at "bull" the way she normally did.  She 
said the "S" word after it.  I heard her.)

I kissed her again, more deeply this time, trying not to let 
myself think it might be the last time.

"Well if I do end up getting caught, I'll be waiting for you 
to come and save me," I told her with a small grin.

"It's what I do," she sighed, a hint of a twinkle in her 
eyes.

Finally, knowing I was right even though she was loathe to 
admit it, she nodded.  She squeezed my hand, took Tyler, and 
departed.  I covered her from the balcony until they drove 
off in the car, but didn't see a single sign of trouble, 
other than that pesky dead body at my feet.

I didn't know if I'd ever see them again.

-----

I didn't want to call the police about the dead man, because 
I didn't want to draw attention to myself, but the 
alternatives were few.  If I'd ignored the situation, it 
most certainly would not have gone away.  Our neighbor would 
have come home, seen him, and raised the alarm.  I finally 
decided my best choice was to come as clean as possible.  If 
I had disappeared without a trace, I'd have been an obvious 
suspect, and being accused of murder one time is enough for 
me, thank you.  At least this time, I had clear memories of 
what had happened.

I called them, they came, and I played the part of 
shaken-up-schoolteacher to perfection, if I say so myself.  
Told them my wife and son had gone to Denver to visit her 
parents.  Told them I had been taking a shower, and when I'd 
opened my front door to go down and pick up my mail, there 
was this dead guy lying there.  Told them I'd never seen him 
before in my life, which was the truth, and that I had no 
idea who he could be or who would shoot him, which was a 
lie.  My wonderful neighbor came home in the midst of the 
interview, and after expressing shock and horror at the 
site, vouched for my honesty with such sincerity that I 
think the cops bought her story.

Thank god.

I was never treated as a suspect during the entire 
interview--and if they'd run a simple background check on 
me, they would have discovered the "past" the Gunmen had 
given me, which was above reproach.  They'd have had to dig 
a lot deeper to discover it was all an exercise in 
creativity, and they never did that.  I guess I didn't have 
that "murderer" look about me.

*****

My plan was to wait in my apartment, doing my best to 
"broadcast" to Brian my whereabouts, and that I'd like to 
speak to him.  I hoped he would have enough sense and 
compassion to take me up on my offer, rather than simply 
reporting us to the baddies, and I was right--the kid came 
through like a champ.

Less than six hours after Scully and Tyler left, they 
knocked on my door.  Brian had told his dad he needed to 
talk to the people in this apartment to find out where we 
were hiding, and dear old Daddy believed the kid.

I let them in, and Dad immediately started raving at me, 
claiming I'd been responsible for his wife's death, their 
incarceration, everything.  I couldn't argue--in a way it 
was true.  If I hadn't been investigating Brian's unusual 
ability, the Consortium might not have known about him.  On 
the other hand, considering all my own family had suffered, 
I wasn't prepared to become a martyr to this man's cause.

"Sir, if you'll just listen to me, let me explain--"

All the while Brian's dad was railing at me, I was letting 
the truth run through my mind, hoping Brian would pick up on 
it.  Apparently he did.

"Let's go, Dad," he interrupted, tugging at his father's 
hand.  "He didn't kill Mom.  They lied to us."

Johnson looked down at his son with a severe expression, 
then pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

"Son, I don't expect you to understand this, but it's what 
we have to do," he said, with just the right amount of 
regret in his voice.  He might have been about to turn me in 
for petty larceny, rather than arranging to have my family 
killed and myself imprisoned and tortured.

Before he could dial, I attacked him.  I thought I could 
take him--I was still in pretty good shape, and he was 
shorter than me, and slightly pudgy.  He looked like the 
kind of guy who wouldn't have a lot of endurance.

What is it they say about appearances?  Don't let 'em fool 
you.  Take my word on that.

The next thing I knew, I was sliding down my living room 
wall and shaking the confusion out of my head, which turned 
out to be a big mistake.  The shaking, I mean.  Those walls 
were surprisingly hard.

I don't know if I realized he was a clone because of his 
superior strength consciously or subconsciously, but without 
thinking, I pulled out my weapon and shot him in the 
shoulder.  My only intent was to injure him, to give me time 
to get away.

I should have used more judgement, because the green goo 
pouring from the wound wasn't even really a surprise.  It 
was only when I saw it that I remembered what it could do.

Brian stared at the man he'd though was his father for all 
those months, his face white with shock.  I didn't have time 
to reason with him.  I just grabbed him around the waist and 
hauled him out the door with me, shielding my nose and mouth 
as best I could.  Luckily, we were fast enough that neither 
of us was affected.

Scully had taken her car, so I threw Brian in mine and 
squealed the tires tearing out of there.  I knew we wouldn't 
have long before the guy was on our tail.  I was surprised 
he'd let us get this far.

It was the middle of the night, so traffic was relatively 
light, although anyone who's ever lived in Houston can tell 
you New York isn't the only city that never sleeps.  We made 
good time out of the city, and were on our way north, 
heading toward the rendezvous point with Scully when they 
caught up to us.

There hadn't been time for much conversation, but Brian had 
picked up most of what he needed to know by reading my 
thoughts.  I didn't try to cloud them--he needed to know the 
truth.  He needed to understand that the man he'd thought 
was his father was simply a monster created by Them in order 
to use him.

He didn't say much, but occasionally, out of the corner of 
my eye, I could see him wipe away tears.

We had reached a more sparsely populated area when I saw the 
other car coming for us.  It was clear they intended to ram 
us or run us off the road, and I made a snap decision.

"Hold on!" I yelled to Brian before gunning the motor and 
driving straight toward the other car.  My hope was to 
disable the occupants enough to allow us to get away, while 
not injuring myself or Brian unduly.  We were both wearing 
seatbelts, and my car was equipped with dual airbags, so I 
considered it a calculated risk.

Okay, maybe that was dumb, but what other choice did I have? 
To stop would have been unthinkable, and I doubted we could 
outrun him for long--his car was far more powerful than 
mine, with a larger fuel tank.

The screech of metal on metal was deafening, and the impact 
much harsher than I'd expected, but according to plan, we 
both escaped relatively unscathed.  We were shaken up, and I 
was favoring my right ankle, which had been jammed between 
the brake pedal and the floor, but it only took us a few 
seconds to get our bearings and jump out of the car.  I 
guess adrenaline--not to mention knowing your life is in 
imminent danger--will do that.

Unfortunately, my Honda was useless to us then, so not 
knowing what else to do, we set out across a field, running 
toward a distant wooded area.  If we could reach the trees, 
I thought, perhaps we could elude him.

We had a fairly decent head start, but unfortunately, I 
wasn't able to put Johnson out of commission, and moments 
after we began to run, bullets sliced the air around us.

"Stay low and keep running," I ordered, not letting go of 
Brian's hand, and he obeyed.  We were maybe twenty yards 
from the trees when I felt the tug on my hand that told me 
he had fallen.

If I was nothing but a robot, I'd have dropped him and gone 
on, trying to save myself.  I'm not a robot, however, and 
for all his special abilities, Brian was just a ten-year-old 
kid.  There was no way I could just leave him there in the 
dirt to die or be captured.  I cast an anxious glance over 
my shoulder at the approaching men--somewhere along the way, 
Johnson had called up reinforcements--then dropped down 
beside the boy.

He'd been shot through the lung, near his heart, and the 
amount of blood pouring out of him coupled with his labored 
breathing told me he only had a few minutes to live.  I 
looked toward the forest with longing, but I already knew it 
was over.  I couldn't leave him alone.  I just couldn't.

He reached up for me, and I thought at first he wanted me to 
carry him, but instead, he placed one hand against my face. 
It was only then I realized just *how* special this kid was, 
because instead of taking my thoughts, at that moment he was 
*giving* me his.  I closed my eyes and could see, as if they 
were my own memories, the night his family was taken from 
their home, the way C.G.B. Spender had convinced Brian and 
his "father" to hunt for us, guaranteeing retribution for 
the supposed murder of Brian's mother, the months and months 
of searching...I could see it all.

I think I've done a great job of not avoiding this morning, 
but now it's time to take Tyler and pick up Scully from 
Hunter's office.

-----

After we picked up Scully, we all went out for ice cream.  
It feels great, knowing I don't *have* to be looking over my 
shoulder every second, but at the same time, the habit is 
there, and so I do.  So does Scully.  Tyler just eats his 
ice cream, like a normal kid.  Which is all we really want 
for him.

When we got home, it was time for a nap, and then after 
supper, we played with his toys for a couple of hours before 
giving him his bath and tucking him into bed.  Scully yawned 
hugely, and went to sleep soon after, but I told her I 
wanted to stay up a while, maybe catch some CNN or 
something.  The truth was, I was too keyed up about my 
session tomorrow to sleep.  I'm going to have to start 
talking for real soon.  I've been doing the avoidance-dance 
with Hunter for far too long, and we both know it.  I plan 
to open up to him a little, before he starts forcing my 
hand.

Now it's after midnight, and I still can't sleep.  The image 
of Brian, dying, keeps running through my head, and I want 
to get past that part of the narrative so I can put it to 
rest.

As soon as his hand fell from my face and his eyes glazed 
over in what I knew had to be death, I jumped up and ran.  I 
didn't get ten steps before they brought me down with a 
bullet to the fleshy part of my thigh.  Seconds later, they 
were on me.  

I'm still not sure if they injected me with something, or 
hit me on the head--I do know when I woke up I had a killer 
headache, but that could have been from falling down. I was 
a lot more concerned with the pain in my leg at the time.

What I know for certain is that I woke up in that damned 
white room again.

God, I can't do this.  I can't revisit that place, not even 
in my own private journal.  If there is a hell, it is a tiny 
white room where you are completely alone.  I have done my 
time there, and I don't want to do it again, even in my 
thoughts.

I'm going to bed, even if I can't sleep.  At least I can 
snuggle up beside Scully and remind myself that I am once 
again free.

I am Fox Mulder.

*****

Daylight makes things less creepy, somehow.  Of course, 
everyone knows that, but it's rare that we actually put the 
theory to the test.  Last night, sitting in front of this 
computer with thoughts of my prison in my mind, I could feel 
the walls closing in on me.  And they were painted white, 
not the dark paneling of our house here in Virginia.

This afternoon, I am sitting in the park again, although 
Tyler isn't here, nor is Mary Ann.  In fact, I don't 
recognize any of the current occupants of the swings and 
slides, but that's fine.  We're morning-park people, and 
these are obviously afternoon-park kids.

My session with Hunter was brutal, because I allowed it to 
be.  He didn't push me, I pushed myself.  I found myself 
telling him all about the white room, glancing nervously at 
the white walls of his office as I spoke.  Finally, he had 
me turn my chair so I was staring out the window, and I did 
most of my talking from that position.  It was easier that 
way, with visual evidence that I wasn't trapped.  He even 
offered me the door, at one point, when I was growing 
agitated.  "Mulder, you're a free man.  You can leave 
anytime you choose, and we can pick this up next session.  
Or not."

His eyes were gentle, but there was something in them I 
recognized, something that told me if I didn't speak now, I 
never would, that I would run far and fast from this place 
and never come back, and my life would never be recovered.

I sighed heavily, and threw myself into the chair--I'd been 
pacing, and I didn't realize until just this moment that I 
was pacing in much smaller dimensions than Hunter's office 
allowed; in my mind, I was pacing in the white room.  That's 
when he had me turn the chair to face the window, and it was 
better.  There's a small garden outside Hunter's office 
window, and the serenity of it allowed me to distance myself 
from the horror enough to talk.

It was the same cell in which I'd been imprisoned before.  I 
could tell by the unique pattern of cracks in the ceiling.  
My leg had been bandaged, but it hurt like a sonofabitch, 
and I wondered how much blood I'd lost.  I didn't feel 
particularly light-headed, so it couldn't have been much.

I lay on my cot, staring up at that ceiling, fists clenched 
at my side, willing tears of absolute frustration and 
despair not to spill.  That lasted all of maybe five 
minutes, until I came to my senses enough to realize I had 
no idea what fate had befallen my wife and son.

I immediately threw myself at the door, yelling, "Scully! 
Scully!" at the top of my lungs until I was hoarse and my 
shoulder was sore.   Finally, I forced myself to calm down 
enough to think.

The chances of being rescued from that place again by a 
disloyal Consortium stooge were one in a million, I knew 
that.  I didn't know if I could depend on Scully to track me 
down because I didn't know if she was safe.  And even if she 
was, how was she to find me?  We had never tried to pinpoint 
just exactly *where* the facility was once we'd escaped from 
it; we only had a vague idea of its location.

In spite of my certainty that I was on my own, I couldn't 
help grabbing the hand that shoved my meal tray through the 
slot at the bottom of the door.

"Please help me," I asked in a voice that was just this side 
of begging.  "Please, just tell me if my wife and son are 
here."

Naturally, there was no answer, and I responded by flinging 
the tray against the wall in fury.  As before, my fury 
gained me nothing.

I expected them to come for me immediately to begin the 
procedures, but instead, they made me wait.  At first it was 
agony, but gradually, I began to formulate a plan.  I would 
wait for them to come for me, then make my move.  More than 
likely I'd still be overpowered, but at least I'd give it my 
best shot.  I could do nothing more than try.

It must have been nearly three days before they finally came 
for me.  I had managed to choke down enough food to keep my 
strength up, but I was so nervous about putting my plan into 
action, and so worried about Tyler and Scully, that I did 
little more than eat and pace.  (Eight steps by four steps, 
remember?)  

Not to mention the fact that there was no care for my wound, 
and no relief for the pain.  I took the bandage off, cleaned 
the area as best I could, and tore the first day's clean 
shirt into strips so I could bandage it again.

Have I pointed out how painful a gunshot wound is, sans pain 
relievers?  I'd have given a lot for some morphine during 
that time.  He'll, I'd have even been satisfied with some 
aspirin, but I had nothing.  During the worst bouts of pain, 
I lay on my back on the bunk, staring up at the ceiling, 
trying to disassociate my mind from the ache, and breathing 
deeply and slowly.

It wasn't much help, but it kept me from going completely 
insane.

Every time I heard them coming, I prepared myself to attack, 
and every time, it was just another meal, until at last the 
time was at hand.  I heard the lock being thrown back and I 
tensed, ready to pounce.  I ignored the pain in my leg, 
which had diminished somewhat over the past couple of days, 
and with exercise.

The instant the first of my captors stepped inside, I was on 
him, wrestling him into a headlock and disarming him.  
Looking back on it, I'm kind of proud of how I managed it; 
it had been years since I'd been called upon to use a move 
like that, but apparently once you learn it, it becomes 
second nature.  It did for me, anyway, for which I'm 
eternally grateful.

The guy got a good lick in to my stomach first, though, and 
I gasped for breath as I pulled the man into position in 
front of me.

The second guy immediately pulled out his own weapon, and I 
attempted to use his partner as a shield.  I was only 
partially successful--the man I was hiding behind was shot, 
but the bullet went through him and clipped my arm.  I was 
lucky--it was the second time I'd been shot in the past few 
days and both times they had been flesh wounds.

I may have screamed, I don't remember, but I do know I 
wouldn't let myself miss a beat.  It was a carefully timed 
choreography, this escape plan of mine, and if it was to 
work, there was no time to succumb to pain.

Almost before the bullet hit me, I'd fired at the guy, and 
he dropped to the floor, blood gushing from the hole in his 
chest.  I let go of the man I held, leaving him dying on the 
floor, and limped down the hallway.  I knew they'd be coming 
any second, summoned by the shots, and if I was going to get 
out, this was my only chance.

To my surprise, the place was quiet.

I peeked around the corner, and seeing nobody, took the 
chance and opened the other cells.  I had to find Scully and 
Tyler if they were there.  I didn't find them, but I did 
free a couple of shell-shocked test subjects, both of whom 
stared at me, as if not comprehending freedom. I wondered 
how long they'd been there, if they were part of the group 
being held while we were there before.  If so, they'd spent 
over four years in those tiny white cells.  No wonder they 
didn't react when the door flew open.

I left them to their own devices for the moment, and it's 
interesting to note that neither of them came out of their 
cells until it was all over.

Finally deciding Scully and Tyler weren't there, I hurried 
around the corner, hoping for an escape route, and came face 
to face with C.G.B. Spender.

I halted, pointing the gun directly at him, and he gave me a 
slight smile as he raised his hands slightly in a token nod 
toward my authority.  He was unarmed, but cool, calm and 
collected, at least outwardly.  We'd been in this position 
before, he and I, but in the past I'd had no family to 
protect.

He was also alone, and I discovered later that, after 
Asbrook freed us, the staff in the facility had been cut 
back to the bare minimum.  The two men I'd left dead in my 
cell were the only personnel on duty, and Spender was there 
to supervise the tests they'd been about to put me through.

I let my finger rest on the trigger and demanded, "Where are 
Tyler and Scully?"

He shrugged.  "I have no idea."

Somehow, something in his face, in his eyes, told me it was 
the truth.  My heart jumped in my chest; it was my best 
indication yet that they might be safe.  I gestured toward 
the door.

"Let me out of here and you get to live."

Now his amusement was quite visible.  "How long do you think 
you'll last out there, Mulder, you and your child?  We know 
you carry the ability.  What about your son?  Does he have 
it?"

"No," I ground out, my teeth clenched in anger and pain.  
"He's a perfectly normal child.  Leave him alone."

"I'll agree to leave Scully and the child in safety, if you 
walk back into that cell and cooperate with the program," he 
offered.  "Kill me now and you'll never be safe again. There 
are others who will stop at nothing to get their hands on 
you.  There is nowhere you can hide where they won't 
eventually find you."

I hesitated, struck by the truth in his words.  It was 
exactly what Scully had feared I would do.  Besides, I 
wasn't thinking all that clearly at this point; the wound in 
my arm was bleeding enthusiastically, and my leg was 
throbbing.

"It's you we want, Mulder," he went on in a coaxing voice. 
He was almost hypnotic, and I found myself wondering how 
many people he had persuaded to his will simply by speaking 
to them like this.  "Think about it--you can guarantee their 
safety with your cooperation.  I'll even see to it that 
you're unconscious for the procedures in the future.  You 
won't suffer any pain."

"And how many unwilling women will you use as mothers?" I 
demanded roughly, shaking myself out of the trancelike state 
into which I was slipping.  "How many perfect children will 
you kill, simply because they lack the "ability" you're 
trying to achieve?  Your program is a failure!  Brian was 
the only success you've achieved, and he's dead now, dead at 
the hands of your own people."

In the next moment, I could have sworn I was in a dream, or 
a movie, or some other situation where the heroine shows up 
just in time to save the hero from doing something 
incredibly stupid.  Like giving up, which would have been 
dumb as hell, considering I could have just shot the guy and 
run.  I didn't want to live on the run anymore, but I *did* 
want to live.

Then Scully showed up to take the decision out of my hands.

After all that's happened to us, I shouldn't find it so hard 
to believe in miracles, but I still have trouble grasping 
what happened next.  That Scully should arrive just at the 
right moment, with Skinner and the guys in tow, stretched 
credibility to the limit.  But I swear, that's what 
happened.

Before old C.G.B. could even answer me, the door to the 
outside burst open and Scully was yelling, "Freeze, you 
sonofabitch!"

Hey, she did it again!  Scully swore!  I'm never going to 
let her live this down.

Shit!  (Take that, Scully, even though I have no reason for 
saying it just now.  It's a joke, okay, just a joke!  
Sheesh, lighten up!)

(Okay, *now* I'm beginning to worry about myself.  I could 
call this computer 'HAL' and have long conversations with 
it, but that's just creepy.)

So where was I?  Oh yes.

Scully came riding in on a white horse, so to speak, to save 
me.  Now *that's* the woman of my dreams.  I was so relieved 
to see her that I stood there in shock for a few minutes, 
but Skinner didn't seem at all fazed by being confronted 
with an agent he'd believed dead.  I guess Scully had broken 
the news to him already, and it wasn't as if we hadn't been 
*there* before.  Come to think of it, the whole scenario had 
a sense of deja vu about it.

"Inside," he ordered Spender, gesturing toward one of the 
cells with his weapon, and after sizing up the situation, 
Spender obeyed.  Skinner threw the massive bolt on the 
outside of the door and turned back to me.

"Mulder, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do," he 
commented.

All I could do was pull Scully into my arms and murmur, 
"Yes, sir."

-----

Scully eased me into a chair, and while the guys quickly 
downloaded all the information they could from the computers 
at the site, Scully and Skinner filled me in on the past few 
days.

Scully and Tyler had made it safely to the rendezvous point, 
waited until the next day, and managed to hook up with 
Frohike through the help of Byers and Langley.  Putting 
their heads together, they'd determined what must have 
happened to me. The police had found my wrecked car, and 
Brian's body in the field, and once things died down, I had 
a hell of a lot of explaining to do to *them* - how do you 
tell the police about clones and governmental conspiracies? 
Between myself and my friends, we finally came up with a 
scenario they would buy, and they did.

The guys spirited Scully and Tyler back to Washington and 
hid them away in a hotel with her mom, who was 
understandably delighted to find that not only was her 
daughter alive but she had a beautiful grandson as well.

Then, between Scully's description and the Gunmen's 
expertise at snooping, they managed to locate the facility 
where I was being held. Skinner's skill at surveillance and 
his Marine experience got them in the door, where they just 
happened upon me holding a gun on C.G.B. Spender.

Neat, no?

-----

That's basically the end of the story.  Hunter would want 
more, of course, but what else is there to say?  Skinner 
basically told the smoking man that it was the same 
arrangement as before.  He'd distribute the information the 
guys took, and if anyone harmed so much as a hair on any of 
our heads, the facts went public.  Even if he had us all 
killed, there would be someone, somewhere, who would know 
what had happened and would spill the beans.

Why he accepts that I don't really know, but maybe he's not 
as all-powerful as I once believed.  Maybe he's afraid for 
his own life, should even a hint of their dark secrets get 
out.  They've certainly killed enough people to prevent 
leaks in the past.

We left him locked in that cell, and took the other test 
subjects to a local hospital, where Scully concocted some 
kind of plausible story I didn't even pay attention to.  I 
was too busy making certain Tyler was okay.  (You know, we 
could all become famous authors, with the stories we've put 
together recently.)  

I didn't really expect to find myself admitted, although I 
knew Scully would insist I let them look me over and bandage 
me up.  I sort of thought if I gave in to that gracefully, 
she'd let me go home, but the next thing I knew, I was lying 
in a hospital bed wearing nothing but one of those hateful, 
backless gowns.

"You need to be here, Mulder," she said firmly, ignoring my 
protests.  "That leg wound could easily become infected.  
You're lucky it hasn't already.  You need some prophylactic 
antibiotics and some rest, among other things."

I felt to weak to even make a "prophylactic" joke.  
Pathetic.  I'm losing my touch.

I couldn't stand the idea of leaving anyone locked up in 
those cells to die, and since we had no idea when, or even 
if, someone else would show up there to let him out, I sent 
Skinner back the next day to free Spender.

What he told me when he came back should have amazed me, but 
it didn't.  I made him take me there once I was released 
from the hospital.

The place was abandoned.  When I say 'abandoned' I mean 
*really* abandoned.  There was a thick layer of dust on 
every surface, careful "disrepair" had been crafted to some 
of the doors and walls--if I didn't know for certain I 
wasn't insane, I'd think...well, let's just say anyone 
wandering in for the first time would never question that 
the place had been empty for years.

I don't know how they did that.  I don't even care.

So now, here I sit in my home, with my wife and child safely 
asleep down the hall.  As safe as they'll ever be, anyway. I 
suppose we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of 
our lives, but somehow I don't think they'll try to hurt us 
again.  Besides, if all they wanted from me was offspring, 
I'm sure they have enough of my sperm stored up to produce a 
small army.  They didn't even need me for that part--they 
only wanted me for the testing, I think.  To try to perfect 
their project.  Or maybe just because I've been a pain in 
their ass, and they wanted to be a pain in mine.  I'll never 
really know.

It hurts to think children might still be created from my 
sperm and an unwilling woman's ova, but there's nothing I 
can do about it at this point.  Maybe, after I'm back behind 
my desk in my basement office--my most immediate goal!--I'll 
begin quietly digging into the matter.  I won't put Scully 
and Tyler in danger, though, no matter what.  Not in more 
danger than they already are, anyway.

I adore my wife, I dote upon my child, and I am beginning to 
love life again.  I *will* get my career back, and I *will* 
hang on to my sanity.  They stole precious time from me, 
from both of us, but I won't let them steal the future.  I 
will be the person I was before, with the happy addition of 
my family, and I will not let them drive us underground 
again.

I am Fox Mulder.  And I'm by damned going to stay Fox 
Mulder.

(Darn.  I mean darn.  Honest.)

END