Begin: A Moment in the Sun, Part II

*~*~*~*

"You two are where?" Mulder asked, putting Scully's 
newly-installed phone to his ear as she went back to 
the kitchen.

"Vegas," Scully called over her shoulder.

"Vegas," Frohike repeated, as though it was the most 
logical thing in the world.  "How's it going with 
the little redhead?  You're at her apartment and 
alive, so it must be going at least fairly well."

Mulder shook his head, trying to clear out a few 
thoughts.  The last couple hours had moved much too 
fast for him. "You're where?"

"Las Vegas, Nevada.  So do I get to be a best man?"

"Or a bridesmaid?" Mulder heard Langly chime in the 
background.

"Am I paying for this?  Will!  William!" His son's 
head peaked out from the kitchen. "Stop eating 
Scully out of house and home, and get out from under 
her feet.  You're not starving to death."

Will shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen 
again. Phoebe had never willingly turned on an oven 
in her life, so Will was a little over-excited at 
the prospect of having a stepmother who cooked.  
When Scully had asked him, after opening the door 
and attempting to suck his father's face off, what 
he wanted for a late lunch, Will started making 
requests as though she was his personal short-order 
cook.

"Frohike, am I paying for this?" Mulder asked again.     

"Well, not the shows or drinks," Frohike replied, 
clearing his throat.  

There were a few crackles and thumps as Langly 
momentarily grabbed the receiver. "We're gonna see 
Sinatra!"

"Mulder- damnit, Langly, stop. Mulder, whatever this 
is you asked me to check out, it's big.  Get out 
here and tell me how much information you want to 
pay for, because it seems to be endless and I'm not 
sure what you're wanting to know."

"Define 'big'?  Big as in lots and lots of files or 
big as in you can tell me what happened to Scully 
and Samantha and why someone has been keeping tabs 
on my life?"

"Close tabs, Mulder.  Remember we're on a party 
line, but tell me if these names are what I think 
they are." Frohike reeled off thirteen women's names 
beginning with Phoebe Green and ending with Dana 
Katherine Scully.  Mulder had to think carefully to 
remember a few alcohol-soaked nights, both in the 
States and when he was in France during WWII, but 
all the names were correct: women he'd been with. 
"Tell me I'm wrong; tell me these are just random 
names."

"You're right," Mulder finally whispered, turning 
his back to Scully, Will, and Emily puttering around 
her kitchen.  He felt very dirty.  He and Scully had 
been together barely twelve hours ago.  Who had been 
watching? "It's exactly what you think it is.  My 
God: how would anyone know that?"

"More importantly, why would anyone care, Mulder?"

*~*~*~*

Some honeymoon.  

Mulder pushed his sweat-soaked clothes in a pile 
under the sink and turned on the shower, anxious to 
wash off a few pounds of grime.  Hanging on the back 
of the bathroom door was a sheer ivory nightie-
thingy which had probably had his name on it about 
seven hours ago.

Some honeymoon.  

Scully was curled in a little ball on top of the 
covers, swaddled in one of his t-shirts and her 
pajama bottoms and clutching the phone to her chest.  
He was amazed that she was even still there; any 
other woman would have been on a flight back to New 
York.  At least he'd had the foresight to reserve a 
suite with a nice, comfy couch, because he was sure 
that was where he was going to be sleeping.  The plan 
to get married this evening had been deterred by the 
absence of a groom: namely him.

Some honeymoon.

Her eyes opened a millimeter and she sighed, kissing 
the tip of his nose. "Oh, thank God."  

"I am so sorry, Scully-" he began.

"I think I should take this as a sign," she said, 
yawning and crawling underneath the covers. "Are you 
okay?  What happened?" 

"I'm okay.  Frohike wanted to show me something and 
I thought it would only take a few minutes.  You 
want me to stay or go?"  They weren't technically 
married yet; she might not even want him sleeping on 
the couch, provided she still wanted to be in the 
same room with him at all.

Scully took his hand and pulled him down on the 
mattress beside her. "I want you to stay, Mulder   
but are you sure that's what you want?  This is all 
happening pretty fast," she asked softly.  

Scully had no idea he'd been checking out Frohike's 
theories and sources as opposed to losing money at 
blackjack or sampling the Vegas showgirls half the 
night. "I want to stay.  It won't happen again: me 
going off and leaving you.  I promise."

She ran her warm fingers over his cheek, bringing 
her face close to his. "I was so afraid.  I thought 
maybe," she swallowed, "I thought the military had 
done something because I told you about Emily."

"No.  No one's going to do anything." He touched his 
mouth tentatively to hers, barely brushing instead 
of kissing. "Just business."

"Those men will kill you and not think twice.  I 
shouldn't have told you."

She closed her eyes and he kissed each eyelid as he 
felt her exhale against him. "I'm glad you told me."  
Scully tilted her face upward, opening her mouth for 
his and arching her back as his hands ran over her.  
"Nothing bad is going to happen: not to me and not 
to you." He took a shaky breath, already far too 
aroused to hide it. "Scully, the other night: I 
didn't know- I thought you'd been married or I would 
have done things different, slower."

"It's okay."

"No, no it's not.  That couldn't have been nice for 
you." He'd been ruminating on this, analyzing all 
the things he would have changed and trying to 
figure out how to tell her that. "I mean, some parts 
were, I think, but some weren't and that's my fault, 
not yours."

Keep talking, Romeo.  Maybe he could call Will long-
distance and have his son explain this to her more 
eloquently.  

"You're so good at guilt, Mulder," she whispered, 
kissing across the thinnest skin on his neck so his 
stomach quivered expectantly. "I wanted you.  I 
wanted to be with you, and I thought you'd never 
want to see me again after you knew about Emily.  I 
kind of-" she searched for the right word, "Ached, 
but that's all.  Not awful.  Not like you're 
thinking.  But I ache now." She kissed him again, 
this time exploring his mouth with her tongue. 

She made a contented sound in the back of her throat 
was he pulled her hips against his. "That kind of 
ache?" he asked, his breathing shallow.

"Oh, God."  

He laughed softly, pulling up her t-shirt so he 
could caress her breasts, lightly rolling the erect 
nipples between his fingers. "When I said you were 
amazing, I had no idea.  You set the pace, Scully: 
whatever you're comfortable with."

He glanced up at her, and saw her licking her lips, 
her face already flushed.  Jesus Christ give him 
strength if she wanted to stop.  When she opened her 
eyes to meet his gaze, her pupils were enormous with 
arousal, huge pools of black oil in a sea of blue.  
"Maybe a little slower this time," she requested.

"You still swear you'll marry me?" 

There was Mr. Guilt making his evening appearance.

"Um-hum.  First thing in the morning, provided you 
don't go off and leave me again."   

*~*~*~*

His first thought was that Scully was going to kill 
him, but then he realized the female form thrashing 
on the other side of the bed was Scully, so he 
breathed a little easier.

"Nightmare, Scully," he mumbled, not really awake 
himself. "Wake up.  You're having a nightmare."

"You leave me alone!  Don't touch me!  Emily?" she 
cried, "Don't you take her!"

"I won't touch you.  Emily is in New York with Mrs. 
Osborne.  She's safe.  You're safe; just having a 
bad dream."  

It took a few seconds for her to find consciousness, 
but she finally stopped struggling, her breath still 
coming in gasps. "Sorry."

"S'okay.  What was your dream about?" He asked, 
reaching out to stroke her hair, then pulling his 
hand back, not sure whether to touch her or not.  

"I don't remember.  Lights, men, tests."

"Tests like math tests?"

"No, medical tests," she mumbled, wiping her eyes on 
her sleeve. "A needle going into my belly. And a 
drill like a dentist would use."

He grimaced at the image, clinching his stomach 
muscles in sympathy and realizing he was completely 
undressed under the sheets.  Scully must have gotten 
up at some point during the night and put pajamas on, 
but he was very nude and very, um, awake.

"Is this the same dream as before?" he asked, 
pulling a blanket over them both, but leaving a 
large no-man's land in the middle of the bed.

"It's worse when I spend the night someplace new, or 
if I sleep without Em.  It's not you, so you can 
start breathing again."

On command, he exhaled, turned his face toward her 
on the pillow, and found her staring at him.  Her 
hand reached out, fingers running lightly, 
delicately over the angles of his face.  Mulder 
closed his eyes, relaxing his body and savoring 
every sensation.

"You are," She hesitated, trying to find the words.  
"You are precious to me.  Losing you would be losing 
a part of myself.  No more trips to the desert, no 
more asking questions, no more buying information, 
please.  If it were there to be found, I would have 
already found it.  All you're going to do is get 
hurt."

Obviously, Mulder wasn't as good at stealth as he 
thought he was.
    
*~*~*~*

He closed the car door and crouched down, arms wide, 
to pick up Emily as she ran across the street to 
tackle him.   

"Where's your mommy?" he asked, surprised to see her 
outside without her winter coat or supervision.  
Scully wasn't one to just let her daughter run loose 
and Em had been so sick two days ago that they'd had 
to postpone getting married yet again so Scully could 
fly back from Las Vegas. "Is she still packing?"

"Mommy had to go," Emily informed him, standing
on tiptoe to press the buzzer for Mrs. Osborne to 
let them into Scully's building.  Obviously, Mrs. 
Osborne was supposed to be watching Em and wasn't, 
which was odd.

"Go where? I think I found an apartment and I want 
her to look at it before I sign the papers."

Emily just shrugged, so he followed her inside and 
up the now-familiar squeaky steps.  Scully's door 
was ajar, and half-packed boxes were scattered 
around the normally immaculate apartment.   

"Em, where is your mom?"  

"She had to go," Emily repeated, as though that was 
an explanation, and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Go where?  To get more boxes?"

"She had to go with the men."    

*~*~*~*

When there was no sign of her by eight o'clock, he 
left Scully a note and took Emily back to The Plaza 
with him.  By ten, Mulder was carrying the phone with 
him as he paced so he didn't have to stop to check 
that it still worked.  For the two and a half months 
he'd known her, Scully's life had been her daughter, 
home, work, him, and, lately, trying to civilize Will 
a little.  There were no afternoons spent casually 
shopping, no ladies' teas or bridge clubs.  The woman 
didn't even have her hair done, for Christ's sake.

He went over every detail in his mind, trying to find 
something that might help the police, who were doing 
him a 'special favor' by searching for Scully this 
quickly.  Well, a 'special favor' after Mulder had 
called the mayor, a big baseball fan, at home.  The 
detective asked if Mulder was missing any cash or 
jewelry: in other words, had his pretty young 
girlfriend simply taken some money, abandoned her 
daughter, and taken off with another man?

They'd only decided to get married a few days ago, 
and spent most of that time acting like they were 
already married, in spite of what Mulder kept 
swearing to himself.  He was looking for a place to 
live that didn't have the word 'hotel' in on the 
building, while Scully packed.  And as soon as Emily 
was well enough to play bridesmaid, there was that 
trip to the courthouse and a few vows he and Scully 
needed to get around to saying.     

Even if there was a reason for Scully to run off, 
which there wasn't, she never would have left Em 
wandering around the neighborhood.  The police 
detective didn't seem to believe that.

Emily insisted there were 'men' that 'Mommy had to 
go with.' Mulder's skin had started to crawl when 
she added, 'Just like before.'

Beyond that, Emily was as helpful as any other four-
year old.  Before New York, she and Scully had lived 
in 'a brown building' and Grandma's name was 
'Grammy.' Grammy lived 'near a big bridge.' Mulder 
knew Scully still kept in touch, very quietly, with 
her mother and sister, but he had no idea how to 
contact them or, given what they probably thought of 
her, if they wanted to be contacted at all.

Will had a good idea, and a midnight search of 
Scully's apartment turned up a carefully balanced 
bankbook, Emily's birth certificate with a strange 
man's name listed as the baby's father- he guessed 
she had to name someone- and Scully's diploma from 
nursing school.  Beyond that, and some random pieces 
of mail, there was just nothing.  He had left Scully 
and Emily to finish packing their things while he 
went to look at yet another apartment possibility.  
Three hours later, Scully had simply vanished.  

*~*~*~*

"Mulder?" Emily asked, appearing beside his bed in 
the pink pajamas he'd put on her after a very 
tentative bath.  Actually, it had been more of a 
soak than a bath.  Mulder wasn't sure which parts he 
was supposed to wash and which parts he wasn't, but 
the child had been starting to look like a street 
urchin.

"Em?" he blinked, reaching to turn on the lamp 
beside the bed.  Mulder hadn't been asleep, but he 
hadn't really been awake, either. "Are you sick 
again, honey?"

She shook her head 'no,' clutching her stuffed kitty 
and sniffing.

He yawned, pulling the covers up a little higher.  
"Thirsty?" he guessed. "Bad dream?"   

"Is Mommy coming back?"

Mulder considered a moment, and then said weakly, "I 
hope so.  We're looking for her."

Emily thought it over while she watched him 
with big, frightened eyes. "Can I sleep with you?"

"Emily, I don't know-"  

The little girl interpreted that as an affirmative 
and scrambled onto the bed, nestling contentedly 
beside him.  He stared at her, trying to decide what 
to do, and then finally lay down and rested his arm 
on her protectively.  Dr. Spock might not say it was 
all right for a little girl to do this, but it made 
Mulder feel better.

"Dad?" Will asked from the doorway. "It's hot in my 
room.  You gotta call the front desk tomorrow 
morning.  Is everything okay?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Mulder 
responded. "Come on, Will; it's a pajama party."

"It's cooler in here.  Below roasting, anyway.  I 
heard Emily get up," Will insisted, flopping across 
the foot of the big bed with an 'ooph.' "I was just 
checking on her."

"Sure you were.  Here," Mulder tossed the spare 
pillow at him and Will caught it one-handed.  

"I'm going back to my room so I can toast to a 
tempting, even, golden brown.  I was just-" Will 
trailed off. "Oh, move your big feet, Dad.  I can't 
sleep with you jabbing me in the kidneys."

Mulder moved his big feet.

*~*~*~*  

"I don't think that's the best plan," Frohike told 
him again. "I don't think it will help." 

"Do it.  Go to the papers, the television, anyone 
you can think of.  Offer a reward: just have Langly 
transfer the money.  Monitor the hospitals and-" he 
stopped, then stuttered, "Th-the morgues."

"I've had that covered since you called me, Mulder.  
She's not-"

"Flights.  Any flights out of New York," Mulder 
suggested.  "Train passenger lists.  Any-" 

"Mulder," Frohike said sharply, "Stop it!  You pay 
me to know what I'm talking about and I'm telling 
you she's not in New York and there's no record of 
her or any woman fitting her description leaving the 
city.  Either she's run so far even I can't find 
her, which would be unlikely for several reasons, 
not the least of which is that she adores you, or-"
   
"Or the 'men' Emily is talking about are military 
men and they took her because she told me about her 
daughter," Mulder finished for him.

Frohike nodded.   

"Then why leave her daughter?"

"Because Emily doesn't know where she came from, but 
Dana does," his press agent offered.    

"And so do I.  Why am I still here?  Why am I not 
missing?"

"You and me and Langly and probably Byers," he 
answered. "We all know something was happening out 
there in the desert.  I'm not sure Mulder; I got the 
impression that lots of unmarried women on that base 
were becoming pregnant and their babies weren't 
adopted through the usual channels.  There could be a 
number of explanations for the pregnancies, but none 
involve consent.  Then, they have files that have 
something to do with vaccinations for anyone I 
thought to ask about: me, you, your sister, the 
President, Hoover: everyone.  In your file was 
something not in mine: a list of women.  I never saw 
the files; I just paid to have them read to me over 
the phone.  And, there are some top-secret aircraft, 
which makes sense, given that it's an Air Force base.  
How that all ties together, I have no idea, but give 
me a few more weeks and I will."

"Byers said he just went in circles when he asked 
questions."        

"So did I, but I'm still looking."

"What if that's it, Frohike?  What if it's not that 
Scully told me at all?  What if it's that I'm high 
profile and still asking too many questions, which 
is exactly what she told me not to do?"  Mulder 
thought for a minute, trying to get his brain to 
focus on the three hours sleep he'd had in the last 
five days. "Back off.  Have Byers reverse everything 
he's done legally and you back off everything you've 
done illegally."

"But-"

"No 'buts.' Stop looking.  If you can't find Scully 
any other way, at least stop antagonizing the men 
that took her."

"There is something going on that the government 
doesn't want people knowing about!"

"And I don't care!" Mulder shouted back, more out of 
tension than anger. "I'm a baseball player, not an 
FBI agent, okay? I made my choices a long time ago.  
Let someone else spend their life chasing after 
Martians or conspiracies or whatever you think is 
out there on that base." He leaned forward, resting 
his face in his hands. "Maybe if it was different, 
maybe if there wasn't so much to lose-"

Frohike walked around from behind his desk to sit in 
the armchair beside the one Mulder was occupying.  
"Mulder, I've always told you that you don't get 
your money's worth out of me.  You have to be the 
most decent, boring, professional athlete I've ever 
known.  When that Private read me the list of women, 
I was surprised it was that long.  Hell, Mulder, 
you're the one client I can count on to be home in 
bed, alone, with a book by ten o'clock every night." 

"Do you have a point, Frohike?"  

"You don't fit in.  You're bright.  I know you 
don't like people to know how bright, but you're the 
only person I've ever seen do the Times crossword 
puzzle in pen and not make a mistake.  And it's 
almost spooky how much you know about people when 
you've barely met them: almost like you can read 
their minds.  Then there's that memory thing you can 
do: names, numbers.  What if you'd never met Phoebe, 
Mulder?  What if that night was just a fluke that 
ended up causing you to do something with your life 
you were never meant to do?"

"My son is not a fluke," he said through clenched 
teeth. 

"I understand that.  I understand you're a nice guy 
and a good father and you did what you thought you 
had to do, but what if this is a second chance?  
What if you're supposed to ask questions about what 
the government is doing? You are different, Mulder-"

"Yes, I'm different.  Take away my bat and glove and 
I'm just the brainy, obsessive kid with no friends 
who lives inside his own head and stutters when he 
gets nervous and can't ever say the right thing, 
anyway.  I finally got more than that, and I'm not 
losing it because of some hollow quest."            

"What if there's a reason for that, too?"

Mulder raised his face to peer at the little man. "I 
don't follow."

"Let's say the U.S. government is continuing, or 
even begun, the Nazi eugenics experiments.  They 
choose the smartest and the healthiest men and women 
and make sure they have children together, by 
whatever means necessary.  Then their children have 
children and they start to create a superior race.  
I think you're one of those 'arranged' children, 
just like Emily is."

"I think you're insane," Mulder replied, standing.   

"They're building a better human: smarter, 
healthier, more athletic.  And they're doing it 
against people's will.  Scully was easy: the 
government had no trouble with her.  You are more 
difficult to control, so they keep track of the 
women you're with, probably even arranging a few and 
hoping they'd conceive."

"So we're all just lab rats?" Mulder spat out.  
"First of all-" He lowered his voice to a growl, 
mindful that Emily was just in the next office being 
entertained by Frohike's secretary, "First of all, 
Dana Scully is a long way from easy.  Don't you dare 
say that!"  

Frohike opened his mouth to explain that Mulder had 
misunderstood, but didn't get a chance to speak.  

"And no one 'arranged' for me to be with any woman.  
Aside from the one I married and the one I'm gonna 
marry, I was either drunk off my ass or in the 
middle of a war getting shot at and scared to death 
I was going to die." Mulder was pacing now, as angry 
as Frohike had ever seen him. "So Emily and I are 
somehow superior humans, but Will is just some fluke 
that screwed up my life?  Go to Hell!"  

"You need to sleep, Mulder.  My secretary can watch 
Emily and keep tabs on Will for a few hours while 
you get forty winks."

"I don't sleep," Mulder replied, suddenly deflated 
after one of his rare outbursts. "Not anymore."   
 
*~*~*~*

Will fidgeted when he knew he was in deep trouble, 
just like his mother did, which meant it doubly 
annoyed Mulder.  He banged his knees into the 
dashboard, jostled Emily beside him in the front 
seat, which he had already been warned twice not to 
do since she was sick, and then started to change 
the radio station.  

A quick glance at his father's face in the driver's 
seat and Will decided to just suffer through a 
little more jazz.  After meeting with Will's school 
principal thirty minutes earlier, Mulder had 
achieved a shade of scarlet seldom seen in humans.

"The next time you come to school to pick me up, 
could you not wear that old baseball cap and jersey, 
Dad?" he whined, exhibiting the Mulder-family 
tendency not to know when to quit. "It's not like 
you actually play anymore, so it looks stupid.  
Everybody else's father is a senator or somebody 
important.  They don't have to know you're just a 
ballplayer.  I mean, it was kinda cool right after 
you won the World Series that last time, but now-"

Mulder tilted his head a quarter-inch to the left, 
the muscles of his jaw contracting, and Will closed 
his mouth.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Will tried, crossing his arms on 
his chest and slouching down. "It's not like we 
really did anything."

"Don't-" Mulder looked at him and held up one 
finger. "Don't speak.  In case you don't realize it, 
you're about two words away from a boarding school 
in Siberia, so do not say a word!" That order lasted 
almost three minutes before Mulder exploded, "What 
where you thinking?  Did you even think what the 
consequences of your actions could have been?"   

His son, if possible, managed to look even more 
miserable. "But she's my steady," he insisted, 
wondering if tears would be useful. "I really like 
her, Dad.  Really," he added with a surge of teenage 
hormones.

"Then act like it.  If you care about her, then 
respect her."   

Will shrugged, his chin digging into his chest as 
his shoe made angry scuff marks on the dash of its 
own free will.  

"I don't even know what to say to you.  Whoever 
this-" 'tramp' he thought, "girl," he said, "is, 
neither of you are old enough to be doing what you 
were almost doing.  You're not an adult, Will, and 
this isn't the way to become one.  You don't show a 
girl you care by-" 'getting her pregnant and ruining 
both your lives,' he thought, "ruining her 
reputation," he said. 

"But she's not-" Will hesitated, realizing Emily 
was hearing every word. "She's had other steady 
boyfriends.  I don't care, though, just like you 
don't care about Miss Scully.  I still think she's a 
nice girl, no matter what anybody else says."

He looked to see if his father understood, but found 
Mulder staring intently at the car in front of them.  
Two minutes later, Mulder was out of the Cadillac in 
front of The Plaza Hotel before the valet could 
reach the door. "Come on, Em," he said quietly, 
reaching back to pick up the miserable child, still 
in her pajamas at noon.    

"Can I drive the car to the garage?" Will asked from 
the passenger seat, aliens obviously having sucked 
out his brain.  Parking the car had been one of the 
perks of turning fifteen, but any perk not a 
mandatory bodily function has been revoked the 
moment the principal had explained to Mulder what 
his son and some girl had been doing while skipping 
third period.

"Out, Will.  Get out, go upstairs, go to your room, 
and don't come out for a long time."

Will got out, remembering for once not to slam the 
door, and followed his father and Emily through the 
revolving door to the lobby, trying to figure out 
what he had said now.
 
*~*~*~*

"So what did he do?" Frohike asked, still sitting at 
the polished-within-an-inch-it-its-life dining room 
table with Byers and Langly, pouring over stacks of 
papers, just as Mulder had left them an hour ago.  
Their weekly meeting had been relocated to his rooms 
at The Plaza so Emily would be more comfortable, and 
so Mulder would be there if Scully called, but no one 
had the nerve to admit that.  

"He made a mistake," Mulder muttered, as Will's 
bedroom door slammed and Emily settled herself on 
the couch in front of 'I Love Lucy.' After draping a 
blanket over Em and her stuffed kitty, Mulder resumed 
his seat. "Thank you for waiting," he said, 
indicating no further discussion of Will's escapades 
was forthcoming.

Byers took the hint, tapping a pile of typewritten 
pages into a neat stack against the tabletop. "Only 
a few more things, and then 'the three stooges,' as 
you call us, will be out of your hair." He looked at 
Frohike, not liking this next item at all.  Someone 
needed to say it, though. "The kids, Mulder: you 
don't have legal custody of Emily, and Phoebe let 
you have Will with the understanding Dana would be 
here to take care of him."

"They're okay.  Em's okay." Mulder answered, 
spinning a paperclip nervously.  Scully's definition 
of 'okay' would not include Em staring at the 
television in her pajamas all day or Will getting 
caught half-naked with a girl in the janitor's 
closet. "Why can't I just keep her?"

The three men tactfully ignored that question. "I 
found a grandmother in Washington D.C.," Byers said 
quietly.  "I should have contacted her a long time 
ago, but, well, you know why I didn't.  She wants to 
talk with you and it sounds like she might be willing 
to take Emily.  Like she might be open to the idea, 
anyway.  Talk to her, Mulder.  Emily needs a home, 
not a hotel.  Margaret Scully is a nice lady and she 
was very concerned about her daughter.  If nothing 
else, maybe she would take Emily for a week.  You're 
coming apart at the seams, Mulder, and it's showing 
in the kids."    
        
Focusing his eyes on the mahogany tabletop, Mulder 
held out his hand for the phone number, crumpling 
and shoving it into his pants pocket. "And Will?" he 
asked tiredly. "I thought Phoebe agreed he could 
live with me if I'd keep paying child support to 
her."    

"She's changed her mind," Byers answered softly. 
"She's his mother.  That counts for quite a bit."

"And I'm his father," he insisted, desperately 
grasping at his dream of a family as it dissolved
into mist.   
 
"You know what Phoebe's going to say." Frohike 
dropped his voice still lower. "You didn't even see 
William again until he was six.  Don't tell me that 
wasn't your fault, because I know it wasn't, but 
it's still true.  Phoebe's attorney is going to say 
you're a playboy with a history of alcohol problems- 
which means 'a drunk' to a jury- who's seldom 
spent more then twelve hours at a time with his son 
in fifteen years.  Will's getting in fights; he's 
skipping school-"

Mulder opened his mouth, but Frohike held up his 
hand. "I know, but it's my job to tell you what 
would happen if you went back to court right now.  
I'm certainly not saying he's better off with Phoebe, 
but I'm saying a judge might.  Especially now.  After 
Dana.  Do you realize how bad it will look when 
Phoebe's attorney says Dana abandoned her daughter?  
An illegitimate daughter that you let your son be 
around?  It would be a long, messy custody fight and 
you might come out not being able to see him at all."

"I don't care.  Will's not going back to her."

"Phoebe doesn't want him, Mulder.  She just doesn't 
want him with you.  She could care less about hurting 
that boy as long as she can use him to get back at 
you." 

Langly cleared his throat, and the men suddenly 
became aware of a teenager standing in the doorway.

"You're supposed to be in your room, Will," Mulder 
finally said shakily. "I thought I told you to stay 
in your room."

"I-I came to see if I could watch American 
Bandstand," Will mumbled, a crease appearing between 
his eyebrows. "I guess not, huh?"

"No."

Will turned away and walked quickly back to his 
bedroom without looking back.

Mulder laid his head down on the cool table, closing 
his eyes. "Shit, he heard that."

"I am so sorry, Mulder," Frohike apologized. "I'll 
talk to him.  I'll call him-"

"Out," Mulder replied, not looking up or possessing 
the energy to yell and cry at the same time.  It was 
one or the other, and the men suspected Mulder was 
leaning toward crying.

Frohike stood, his chair squealing across the wooden 
floor, and Byers and Langly followed his example, 
not knowing what else to say.

"Come to dinner tonight," Byers offered desperately.  
"I'll send our nanny over for the kids and Susanne 
can get some food into you before your clothes start 
falling off."

"Out," Mulder ordered.

*~*~*~*

Emily was running a fever and the raw air was not 
what she needed, so they waited inside the DC 
airport terminal.  Mulder shifted her on his hip as 
he looked around, trying to imagine what Margaret 
Scully might look like. He knew as soon as they 
stepped through the doors: a small, composed brunette 
woman with a tall, powerfully built redheaded man.  
Margaret touched her son's shoulder, wanting him to 
wait, as she walked toward Mulder and Emily. Behind 
her, Bill leaned against a wall, folding his arms in 
disapproval.

It looked like a wild west showdown.  It felt like a 
wild west showdown, except a child, not guns, was 
involved.

"Mrs. Scully?" Mulder asked, just to make sure. "I'm 
Fox Mulder. Look, honey: Grammy," he encouraged 
Emily, who kept her head buried against his shoulder. 
"She's a little shy these days.  And she's not 
feeling well."

"Thank you so much for bringing her.  She's gotten 
so big," Margaret said awkwardly.  

Mulder smoothed Em's blonde hair. "It's Grammy.  
Grammy doesn't know Kitty. Can you show her Kitty?"

Emily shook her head 'no,' clutching the threadbare 
stuffed cat and sniffing. "Thirsty," she insisted.

"Is your throat hurting again?"

She nodded, still keeping her face against the dark 
fabric of his trench coat.  Mulder signaled Will, 
who left his assigned seat across the terminal and 
came to take the child. 

"Get her something cold to drink while I talk with 
Mrs. Scully," he told his son, so on edge he forgot 
to introduce William. "Juice, maybe," he suggested, 
setting down Emily's new suitcase to dig out his 
wallet. "Go with Will, Em."

Will betrayed his cool exterior by picking up Emily, 
looking every inch the protective big brother he had 
wanted to be. "Come on, Squirt."

"She's sick?" Margaret asked, watching them walk 
away.

"She's been sick since New Year's.  There's um," He 
pulled the envelope out of his coat pocket. "I took 
her to my son's pediatrician, who referred her to a 
specialist in Allentown, Pennsylvania.  She's been 
to see him once, but Dr. Scanlon thinks it has 
something to do with her immune system. He wants her 
to see a Dr. Klemper, who's a geneticist.  They're 
still running tests, but their cards are in here.  
Her appointment with Dr. Klemper is in a week.  
There's also a number for Richard Langly, who 
administers her trust fund: he'll take care of her 
medical expenses, your travel arrangements, and 
anything else she needs; just call him or send him 
the bills."

Mulder examined the polished floor for any flaws, 
knowing better than to look directly at Margaret 
Scully.  

"You don't need to pay me to take care of my 
granddaughter, Mr. Mulder.  We've always been proud 
of Dana, and whatever mistake she made, it's not the 
child's fault."

He shifted his feet, shoving his hands deep in his 
pockets. "There's also a card from an FBI Agent 
named Arthur Dales here in DC.  He's been working 
with the NYPD to find Dana, so if you can think of 
anything that might be helpful-"

"Are you her father, Mr. Mulder?" Margaret asked 
softly, taking the envelope.  

"No. I'm not." He swallowed, glancing at Will and 
Emily at the counter in the airport cafe.  Mulder 
had even asked Dr. Scanlon to run his blood type 
against Emily's, just in case there was a match and 
he could lie to a judge.  No match.  

"My son and I are going to Boston for a few days: 
we'll be at my mother's house.  The number is in 
there, or you can contact John Byers: my attorney.  
And, um, sometimes Em just likes to talk on the 
phone, so call and reverse the long distance 
charges."  

Will returned, leading Emily and making his way 
across the terminal as slowly as possible. "I got 
her grape soda.  That was as close to juice as they 
had."

Mulder squatted down, buttoning up Emily's coat and 
putting on her red mittens. "You're going to stay 
with Grammy.  Okay?  Remember, we talked about it?"

Emily nodded, her purple lips pursed and a familiar 
furrow appearing between her eyebrows.  He frowned 
back, shoving his lower lip out clownishly and 
reaching in the pocket of his trench coat.  Putting 
his old Yankee's cap on her head, then twisting it 
around backward, he whispered, "You have my hat and I 
have Mommy's necklace.  When Mommy comes back, we all 
trade: you get the necklace, I get the hat back, and 
what does Mommy get?"

"Kisses," she managed, her chin starting to tremble.  
Emily pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking 
for the gold chain he'd shown her earlier.  

"Big kisses," Mulder said softly, pressing his lips 
against her warm forehead. "Go on with Grammy. 
Hurry, before it starts raining again." 

"You're gonna find Mommy?"

"I'm gonna keep looking," he nodded, his eyes 
getting moist.  Behind Mulder, Will cleared his 
throat, announcing their flight to Boston was 
boarding.

"Ready, Emily? You can call Mr. Mulder tonight.  
It's time for him to go. Is that all right, Mr. 
Mulder?" Margaret asked.

He nodded again, standing up and blinking as Emily 
took her grandmother's hand.  Bill picked up her 
suitcase, making a point to glare at Mulder before 
he turned away.

*~*~*~*

He was three-quarters of the way through his sixth 
repetition of 'Night before Christmas,' slightly 
modified for Emily's amusement, when Margaret Scully 
picked up the phone.  

"She's asleep, Mr. Mulder."

"Good.  Is she doing okay?" he asked hesitantly, 
rolling his tired neck from side to side.   

"Considering the situation, I think she's doing very 
well."

There were several seconds of awkward silence, and 
Mulder opened his mouth to say 'goodnight.'

"I don't think I said 'thank you,' Mr. Mulder.  I 
appreciate what you've done.  You seem to care for 
Emily and Dana very much."

He worried his lip until it started to throb, not 
sure how to respond. "They're important to me."

Another pause, then, "We'll call for a story 
tomorrow night, all right?"

"That would be great. Goodnight."  

"Dad?  You okay?" Will asked, looking up from the 
homework he was supposed to be doing while he was 
expelled from school.

Mulder exhaled, ran his fingers through his hair, 
and got up from the couch.  Going to the mantel, he 
looked over the framed photos his mother had 
assembled, noting they all predated Samantha's 
disappearance.  Life had stopped after Samantha, and 
hadn't really restarted until Halloween 1953 in the 
Mercy Hospital ER. 

"Yeah.  Just getting Em to sleep.  It sounds like 
she's doing fine.  Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good," Will answered, closing his textbook. "It 
shows."

*~*~*~*

"Try it again," Mulder requested from underneath the 
hood, re-tightening the plug wires. 

Will sighed and turned the key, getting only a 
sluggish coughing noise from the engine, which he 
conveyed to his father by yelling, "It's still just 
making that noise!"

"Are you giving it enough gas?"

"Was I supposed to be giving it gas?"

Mulder peeked his head around, looking at his son 
suspiciously.  He had just spent the afternoon trying 
to get his father's car to start: another in the 
series of projects his mother had assigned him the 
moment they arrived in Boston.  Teena Mulder didn't 
want to talk, but she could still make a to-do list.

"I was," Will admitted. "Had ya."

"Did not," he answered, returning to his mechanics. 
"Go see if Grandmother has a metric socket set."  

Ignoring that request, since it was only for show 
anyway, Will got out of the driver's seat, coming 
around to lean on a fender and watch Mulder 
tinkering. "How much longer before you tell 
Grandmother you have no idea what you're doing?"

"About ten seconds," Mulder said sarcastically, 
giving the distributor cap a well-placed whack with 
the wrench. "We tackle that dripping kitchen faucet 
after dinner.  Bring a mop."

"You are not able to fix it, Fox?" Teena Mulder said 
worriedly as she entered the carriage house the 
Mulders used as a garage.  

Mulder wiped his hands on a rag, rolling his 
shirtsleeves back down. "I think it's just sat for 
too long, Mom.  It's going to need new plugs, hoses, 
belts, a battery.  I'd rather a mechanic did it,
just so nothing gets missed.  Dad loved this car."
  
"You will call someone, yes?" Despite leaving Germany 
forty years ago, her pronunciation and bearing 
retained the elegance of the Old World. "Your father 
always took care of these things."

"Sure, Mom," Mulder said soothingly. "It's almost 
dinner time; may Will and I take you out?"

She looked tired, shaking her head slowly so the 
overhead light glinted off her coifed sliver hair. 
"I do not think so, Fox." 

"We could bring something back?  From the deli, 
maybe?" 

"As you like.  Do you need money?"

Mulder laughed before he could catch himself, then 
tried to conceal it with a cough. "Um, no.  I think 
I can cover it."

"Have a good time." She turned, making her way across
the snow-covered backyard and into the big, empty 
house.

"Wait, Mom-" Mulder hurried after her, catching up 
as she reached the back porch. "What should we bring 
for you?"

"Nothing.  I am tired.  I will go to bed, Fox," she 
dismissed him.

"You said it was okay for me to bring Will to see 
you.  I don't understand what's wrong or why you're 
avoiding us.  He's just having a rough time right 
now.  We both are.  Give him a chance: he's a good 
kid."

"I am sure he is." Teena patted his shoulder, 
then put her hand on the doorknob to go inside. 
"It is nice you spend time with him."

"Is there anything I do that lives up to your 
standards, Mom?" he said angrily, then bit his lip. 
 
She looked at him blankly, blinking a few times.

There was a frantic electrical whirring from the 
garage, two mechanical coughs, and then a warm 
purring ignition sound as Bill Mulder's sports car 
finally came back to life.  Mulder turned, and Will 
appeared in the back yard, ankle-deep in the snow 
and grinning from ear to ear.

"Good job, son.  What'd you do?"

Will shrugged, pretending to be perplexed. "Can we 
eat now?"

"Sure.  Mom-"  

The back door closed, leaving Mulder standing alone 
on the cold porch.

*~*~*~* 
   
"What about a cannon?" Will asked, only half 
listening as he scanned the menu board and daily 
specials.

"I said, don't take it as canon, but the last time I 
was here, just about everything was really good.  
That was twenty-some years ago, though.  Twenty-
three," Mulder figured, looking around at the 
familiar deli.  At less than two miles from his 
parent's house, almost every lunch and dinner his 
last few years in Boston had been ordered at this 
counter.

"That would have made you about sixteen.  What 
happened when you were sixteen?  I know you didn't 
learn to cook."

"I left for Oxford," Mulder said, thinking Scully 
would like fruit salad and a turkey sandwich on 
whole wheat, and quickly pushing that idea out of 
his brain in order to remain sane.

"It took you seven years to not finish college?" 
Will asked skeptically. "Maybe you should lay off me 
about my grades."

"Huh?"

"You left for Oxford at sixteen; you and Mother got 
married when you were twenty-three.  That's seven 
years."

"I have my AB; I was working on my Doctorate," 
he answered quickly. "How 'bout a Reuben, Will?"

Will raised his eyebrows. "Doctor Mulder?"  

"Yeah.  Isn't that funny?" he said lightly.

"How close were you to finishing?" Will pursued, 
moving down the counter so they were next in line.

Six months. "A long way.  Hey: they still have 
milkshakes.  They have the best-"

"You quit because of me."

"I quit to play ball for the Yankees; it wasn't 
exactly a hard choice," Mulder lied. "Come on, Will: 
figure out what you want to eat.  Emily's going to 
call in half an hour and I want to get back to the 
house."

"How is it your American League batting stats start 
when I was three months old, but your and Mother's 
wedding was six months before I was born?" 

"Come on: tell her what you want." Mulder gestured 
to the cashier, pretending he hadn't understood 
Will's math.

"You know, I'm not going to see her anymore when I 
go back to school. The girl I got in trouble with," 
Will said quietly, as they waited for their food a 
few minutes later. "I'm not going to cause any more 
problems."

Mulder had been scanning the room for something to 
talk about, and looked quickly at Will, only hearing 
the parts about 'girl,' and 'in trouble.'

"You what?" he said sharply.

"I'm not gonna get in any more trouble at school. Or 
at home.  I promise.  Can we just go back to New 
York?"   

"We'll go back in a few days.  I'd like for you to 
get to know Grandmother."

"Oh, she hates me!" Will insisted. "She treats me 
like I'm invisible."

"She doesn't hate you.  She's just been like that 
since my sister disappeared.  That was really hard 
on her."   

"Dad, am I not supposed to know Mr. Byers and 
Mother's attorney met today?  I grew up with my 
father on the front page of the newspaper, and I'll 
see the headlines in Boston the same as I'd see them 
in New York." 

"You know, maybe you should go to work for the FBI, 
Will," Mulder said, angrily picking a few napkins in 
anticipation of whenever the hell they finally got 
their food. "I can at least keep you away from the 
reporters.  Except for The Three Stooges and the 
Scullys, no one knows we're here."    

"What do you think anyone could say about you or 
Mother that I don't already know?" Will pleaded. "I 
want to go home.  Miss Scully isn't in a South End 
deli, Dad, and she's not in Grandmother's garage, 
either. How are you gonna find her if you're not 
even looking?"

Mulder stared at the short-order cook, psychically 
willing him to hurry, while he didn't answer Will.  
The truth was there was no place left to look.  No 
place to even begin looking: Scully had vanished 
without a trace.

The bell on the foggy glass door jingled, and a 
woman asked, "Fox?" sounding surprised. "I thought 
that was you.  Fox, so good to see you again."

Mulder blinked, as though he couldn't quite place 
her.  Fans often did this: assumed he knew them 
because they knew his face, but almost no one called 
him 'Fox.'

"Diana," she reminded him. "Diana Fowley.  We met 
last year."

He thought another moment, then nodded, not entirely 
pleased at the memory. "Diana.  Good to see you 
again.  It's been a long time."

"It's been too long," she said, sounding a little 
too warm for Will's taste. "What brings you to Boston 
again, Fox?"

"We're visiting my mother," Mulder answered, glancing 
again to see if their food might be ready. "Diana, 
this is my son, William."

"Hello, William."

"Good to meet you, Mrs. Fowley."

"Miss," she corrected, then turned her attention and 
chest toward Mulder.  Behind her, Will made a rude 
face at his father. "We should get together, catch 
up, Fox."

"Oh, my life's pretty boring.  Not much to tell," 
Mulder replied, gratefully grabbing the bag of soup 
and sandwiches off the counter. "It was good seeing 
you again, Diana."

"You know where to find me if you change your mind. 
It's still the same hotel," she said, smiling and 
turning to get in line. 

Mulder nodded hastily, backing out the door and into 
the snowstorm.

*~*~*~*

"Take your foot off the gas before you flood it," 
Mulder suggested, watching through the driver's side 
window of the Porsche to see what the boy might be 
doing wrong. "Is the clutch in-"

"I know how to do it, Dad," he shot back, 
exasperated. "I'm telling you it won't start!"

"It's been running fine.  Let me try."

Will hopped out of the driver's seat, angry at being 
second-guessed, and stood beside Bill Mulder's silver 
sports car with his arms folded.   

Mulder turned the key several times, not even getting 
the engine to turn over. "It won't start, Will."

"Gee, really?"

"Yes, really," Mulder answered with an equal amount 
of sarcasm, popping the hood so he could stare at 
the engine knowingly before he gave up and walked 
back to the house.

"Are you having car trouble?" the woman from the 
deli asked, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. 
"What a beautiful machine.  Is this yours, Fox?"

"My late father's.  Will and I got it running this 
afternoon, but now-" He leaned over the engine, 
looking for things to fiddle with.

"He just decided to do a quick tune-up," Will-the-
smart-ass answered, flashing a winning smile.  This 
Miss Fowley looked like one of those women Will 
wasn't supposed to know about when his father had 
been drinking. "While we're waiting for our soup to 
cool." 

"Fuel line's frozen," Mulder announced, slamming the 
hood down as Will mouthed, 'Yeah, right,' from behind 
Diana. "I guess we walk."

"I have a car," Diana offered, gesturing across the 
street.

"No, that's all right.  It's not far.  Come on, 
Will." Mulder pulled his gloves on and buttoned up 
his coat, picking up the bag from the deli and 
locking the car.

"Really, it's no trouble." She leaned close to 
Mulder, whispering. "For pity's sake, I don't bite. 
No hard feelings, okay?"

Mulder shrugged, realizing he was going to miss Em's 
call if they had to walk home. "Um, okay.  Thanks.  
It really is just a few blocks."

Will put his hands on his hips, looking like he 
smelled something rotten, then slunk after his 
father.

"Would you mind driving, Fox?" Diana asked, handing 
him the keys to the Chevy. "I'm a little afraid to 
drive in the snow and it's really coming down now."

Glancing in the rearview mirror as he slid behind 
the wheel, Mulder saw Will doing his swooning heroine 
impression in the backseat and mouthed 'Stop it now!' 

"The main roads are clear," Mulder answered, slowly 
easing out onto the slippery street. "There's a gas 
station near the house.  I'll stop there and you 
should have no problem after that.  I really 
appreciate this, Diana."

"You can't drive me back to the hotel?"

There was frantic kicking in the small of Mulder's 
back from a William-sized sneaker.

"No, sorry.  I have phone-date with a four-year-old 
who can't go to sleep at her Grammy's house without
her story."  He looked back again to see Will, who 
must have thought his father had just fallen off the 
turnip truck, giving him a 'thumbs up.' 

"How sweet.  I didn't realize you had a little girl, 
Fox.  William, your father talks about you all the 
time, but I didn't realize you had a sister."

"Stepsister," Will piped up. "She will be soon, 
anyway.  Right, Dad?"

"As soon as possible," Mulder replied, making a 
slow, slippery turn onto Columbus Avenue.  

"I have a son who does the same thing: not going to 
bed," Diana said, changing tactics so quickly Will 
could almost hear the gears grinding. "I hate it 
when work takes me away from Gibson, especially 
overnight, but there isn't a choice now." 

Mulder perked up, more comfortable with this topic 
of conversation.  He hadn't known she had a child, 
but there hadn't been much talking that weekend, 
either.  She had been flying up to Boston 'on 
business,' he was going up to check on Mom and feel 
sorry for himself, and the scotch had been flowing 
in first class section of the plane. Of course, they 
were supposed to 'get together' once they got back to 
New York, but that never quite happened.  Actually, a 
few weeks later, Dana Scully had happened. 

"It's hard," Diana continued sadly, "I know he's 
safe with my mother when I'm working, but that 
little face in the window watching me leave-"

"How old is he?" Mulder asked, carefully stopping on 
the snow-covered lot of the closed filling station.

"He just turned six.  He'd love to meet you someday.  
He's a big baseball fan.  It would be a huge thrill, 
and there haven't been many of those since his father 
died."  

Will was already out of the car, holding the 
sandwiches and looking in a hurry to get anywhere 
else.  

"You're sure you'll be okay, Diana?" Mulder asked, 
watching the heavy snowflakes reflecting in the 
headlights. "If you have chains, I'll put them on 
real quick before I leave."

"No, go on." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, 
sliding across the seat and behind the wheel as he 
got out. "You can't keep that little girl waiting. 
I'll be fine."

"You're sure?  Okay.  Um, we'll be back in Manhattan 
in a few days.  Let me know where to find Gibson and 
I'll teach him how to throw a curveball some 
afternoon."

"I'll do that.  He'll be so excited."
 
Mulder hesitated, holding open the driver's door as 
she put the transmission in gear. "Diana- I think I 
misjudged you before. I want to apologize; I'm 
different now. Scully, my fiancee: she's really good 
for me.  I did some things before she came along that 
I'm not proud of, and I'm sorry if you got hurt."

She smiled. "I told you: no hard feelings."

He nodded, closing the door and watching as she 
drove away.  Beside him, Will breathed an audible 
sigh of relief.

*~*~*~*
              
"You know," Frohike muttered, sounding like he'd 
knocked over something spillable scrambling for the 
phone in the dark. "I do have office hours, Mulder."

"You might be busy if I called you at the office," 
Mulder responded, flipping through the book he had 
just confiscated from Will, trying to find the 
objectionable parts: because he was a good father 
and he needed to know these things.  

"Well, I might be busy at eleven-thirty at night, 
too."

"Uh-huh.  What are the odds?"

"Tall, dark, handsome, wealthy, athletic, and tongue-
tied doesn't do it for every woman, Mulder."

"So short, furry, tenacious, and shifty does?" Mulder 
challenged. "Hey, should a fifteen-year-old boy be 
reading something called 'Lolita?"

"Yes, but he shouldn't let his father catch him 
doing it," Frohike replied, yawning. "How did it go 
talking to your mother about Samantha?  Would she 
tell you anything?"

"Well, she told me hello, asked me if I was still 
playing baseball, and then she gave me a list of 
chores."

"Not well, then?"   

"Um, no.  How did the preliminary stuff go today?"   

"We got nowhere negotiating until Byers presented 
his witness and evidence lists for the hearing, and 
then Phoebe's attorney almost had a stroke.  She 
seems to have forgotten to mention a few things that 
Langly and I just happened to come across. I think 
Phoebe may come around." 

"You're an evil little troll, Frohike, and I respect 
that."

"I'm an evil little troll who likes to win.  And I 
take this kid's life personally."        

"So do I," Mulder said softly, fanning the pages of 
the book with his thumb. "Thanks.  I know this goes 
above and beyond."

"Don't thank me yet. It could still go either way if 
she doesn't back down.  If we go to court, it's open 
season on Fox Mulder, and both you and Will are 
going to have to testify."

"Still, thanks anyway."   

"Go to sleep, Mulder."

"Did you find anything new about-"

"If I find anything about Dana Scully, I will call 
you immediately," Frohike assured him. 

"You're still looking, right? You've talked to Agent 
Dales at the FBI?"

"I'm still looking." They had this conversation every 
night for the past three months and the script never 
changed.

"Agent Dales is a little insane, but he seems to be 
the only one willing to help."

"I don't know: some of what he says makes perfect 
sense to me, Mulder."

"And they just let you walk around on the streets?" 
Mulder said sarcastically. "'War of the World's:' 
that wasn't real, Frohike.  It's just a radio show 
and a metaphor for the Russians.  And The Creature 
from the Black Lagoon-"   

"Goodnight, Mulder."

"I don't want to find the Gill-man on my payroll."

"Goodnight, Mulder."

"You know, even Frankenstein got a bride."

"Goodnight, Mulder."

"Night." 

Will, who had been eavesdropping in the next room, 
chose that moment to materialize in the kitchen to 
check for leftovers and news.  Finding neither, he 
proceeded to assemble the most elaborate roast beef 
sandwich in history while he stalled.

Mulder opened his mouth to say something that seemed 
witty, at least to him, when the phone rang. 

"My God.  Who calls people at almost midnight?"

"You," Will answered, the butter knife clinking 
repeatedly against the inside of the mayonnaise jar 
in a way carefully calculated to annoy his father. 
"Me.  And tall brunette models who can't manage to 
find their hotel in the snow without a big, strong 
man to help them, Fox."

Despite himself, Mulder made a strangled snorting 
noise as he reached for the phone. 

"Oh, hello Mrs. Scully," Mulder managed, trying not 
to notice as Will did his hair-flipping, doe-eyed 
Diana impression. "No, I was awake.  Is Emily all 
right?"

There was a pause, and Mulder waved Will away, 
listening closely. "How is she?"

Will stopped his sex-kitten posing against the 
counter and stood still, his brown eyes focused on 
the change in his father's posture.

"I will be right there," Mulder finally said, hanging 
up the receiver with some difficulty, then sitting in 
stunned silence for a few seconds.  

"Dad?"

"They, um, they just found Scully.  She's in a 
hospital in DC."

"Where was she?"

"They don't know.  And they don't know what's 
happened to her," Mulder said shakily. "Just that 
she's weak and the doctors aren't sure- Mrs. Scully 
said I should probably hurry."

"We're never going to get a flight out of Boston in 
this snowstorm."

"We aren't; I am."    
 
*~*~*~*
 
"Nothing?" Mulder asked again, leaning over the 
counter in case there might be a plane hidden on the 
other side.

"The next flight isn't until morning, and that's 
tentative based on the storm."

"It doesn't have to be a direct connection to DC.  
Just get me out of Boston and I can go from there."

"Nothing is taking off or landing in Boston at this 
time due to the storm," the woman said tiredly, 
obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation.

"What about a private plane? Can I charter a flight?" 

"There is nothing taking off or landing-"

"I heard you! Find something! I don't care if I'm 
sitting on a stack of airmail."

"There is-" 

He dropped his head, hands braced on the counter, 
and took a deep breath. "Look: I am Fox Mulder.  
I've flown all over the country with the Yankees, 
and I know there's always some fool willing to take 
off for the right price.  My fiancee is in a hospital 
in DC and the doctors have no idea how to help her.  
Waiting for the eight a.m. flight is not acceptable.  
You have carte blanche: anything the pilot wants. 
Find a plane. And a pilot. And get me off the ground 
so I can tell her goodbye before it's too late."

The woman's face changed, softening. "I will see 
what I can do.  If you'll wait in the executive 
lounge, I will come get you."

"Thank you," he said quietly, turning away.

He looked around the empty bar as he sat down, 
spinning his stool restlessly from side to side.  
The bottles lining the wall were filled with various 
levels of warm, soothing, amber love: the kind that 
burned going down and was gone by morning.  

The wrong kind.  Not the kind he wanted. 

Deciding it wasn't a good idea to test his resolve 
this morning, Mulder moved across the room to the 
huge glass window, sinking into an overstuffed 
leather chair and propping his feet up on a low 
table.  He watched for a while, disinterested, as 
the snow melted off his shoes and made puddles on 
the expensive wood, probably leaving water stains.  
Someone should think to put down heel coasters.  

His mother would have heel coasters.  Scully would 
have the kind of table that didn't get watermarks.

The clock on the wall marked one, and then two, the 
seconds seeming to echo in the over-decorated room.  
He flipped through a few magazines, then tried 
Will's 'Lolita' novel until the words started to 
blur.  Finally, Mulder just stared out at the 
blowing snow as he waited, and, as the clock edged 
toward three, resting his elbows on his knees, 
covered his face with his hands, and cried.

*~*~*~*  
 
He squatted down, stroking the child's hair as she 
dozed amid a patchwork of winter coats on the 
waiting room sofa. "Hi there."

Emily shifted, then tentatively opened her eyes. 
"Mulder," she decided, sitting up and wrapping her 
arms around his neck, nuzzling against his five 
o'clock shadow. "You're scratchy."

"Yeah, I'm scratchy, honey," he murmured, closing 
his tired eyes. "Where's Grammy?"

"With Mommy and Uncle Bill." Then, remembering her 
news, added, "Mommy's back, Mulder. She's sick."

He nodded, and Emily fished through scarves and 
gloves for the Yankee's cap, putting it on and then 
turning it around backward before she lay back down.  

He draped his trench coat over Emily as she drifted 
back to sleep, the stuffed Kitty, now missing an eye 
and part of an ear, clutched tight. In four-year-old 
little girl dreams, Mommy was back and all was right 
with the world.

The hallway seemed to stretch infinitely long as he 
walked: each room a held breath, a skipped heartbeat, 
and another name that was not 'Scully.' His shoes 
echoed obscenely quickly on the polished floor, the 
inevitable Truth with a capital 'T' rushing at him 
much faster than he could process it.  He wanted to 
snatch it back and have time slow into a lazy 
Saturday afternoon lie: to have one more sci-fi 
matinee with Emily clutching the popcorn and dozing 
in the seat between them, or to sit silently with 
Scully in Central Park and just watch the snow 
cocooning the city. 

"Mr. Mulder," Bill Scully said wearily, stepping out 
of a hospital room and closing the door behind him. 
"What are you doing here?"
   
"Your mother asked me to come. How is-"  

"She made a mistake," Bill said coldly. "So did 
Dana."

Mulder started to go around him, but Bill moved with 
him as though they were dancing, blocking his path.  

"Look, my sister's probably nothing special to you, 
but she is to us. You've had your fun, now I'm asking 
you nicely: leave her alone."

"I don't understand.  She's very special to me." 

"I'm sure." Bill folded his arms, but looked away, 
ashamed. "Mr. Mulder, the doctor just told us Dana's 
recently been, uh, that she's been pregnant.  The 
hospital didn't tell Mom when they called, so Mom 
didn't know when she called you."

Mulder blinked, an orange numbness forming at the 
crown of his head and spreading through his body 
until his fingertips tingled.  
 
Faltering, Bill continued, "They're also saying Dana 
didn't lose the baby, that a someone has- That she's 
had an abortion and then been left to die. And she 
almost did.  Once she's better, the police are 
pressing charges." 

Mulder stood in the middle of the hall, slowly 
shaking his head from side to side in disbelief.  
This was not real; this was not happening.  They'd 
talked about it: Will would start college soon and 
Emily would go to kindergarten and maybe another 
baby would be nice.  There was some mistake. 

"I didn't know-"

"Bullshit you didn't know!  The doctor says she was 
at least five months along.  You probably knew when 
she took off in January."  

"No, uh, I didn't. She shouldn't b-be- We'd, um-" 
It took him several seconds to put all the pieces 
together: "Then the baby wasn't mine."
 
Bill finally looked up, jamming his hands in his 
pants pockets and meeting his gaze. "Of course it 
wasn't.  It never is.  You're free to go, Mr. Mulder.  
Just walk away.  Thank you for all you've done for my 
sister," he added sarcastically.

"I want to see her," he stammered. "I want to know 
what happened."

"You can leave or I can kick your ass myself, you 
son-of-a-bitch," Bill hissed. "Make a move, because 
I'd love to have a reason."

*~*~*~*

"One more time: this is a horribly bad idea," 
Frohike protested, his hand poised over the phone in 
his office. "Pending assault charges; restraining 
order: do these words mean anything to you?"

"Dial," Mulder ordered, perching nervously on the 
edge of the chair, chewing the skin off his lower 
lip.

"If Phoebe's attorney gets wind of this, you won't 
stand a chance in court.  And you're going to give 
John Byers a heart attack." 

Mulder pointed at the phone.

He held his breath as Frohike bluffed his way 
through the hospital's front desk, then through the 
nurses' station, and finally to Scully's bedside. 
He waited a beat, then handed Mulder the phone.  

"Mr. Marty Martin," Scully's tired voice said, 
"That's a lousy alias."   
   
"I'm not very creative.  God, it's nice to hear your 
voice," Mulder managed, stabbing the rug with the 
toe of his shoe. He chose the optimistic "Do you 
feel like talking?" over the more appropriate 'do 
you want to talk?'

"Just for a few minutes.  I want to apologize," she 
answered quietly. "Mom said you and Bill got into a 
fight."

"We had a discussion, yes."

"Mom also said you've been taking care of Emily."

"Yeah." He found a nice, new, loose piece of skin on 
the inside of his lower lip and set about slicing it 
away with his teeth. "I don't think I did too bad a 
job."

"And I'm betting you're behind the police dropping 
the charges against me."  

His press agent, hovering close enough to hear that, 
gestured frantically, looking like he was having a 
seizure while being attacked by bees.

"My handler is advising me not to comment. Or he 
wants me to steal second base.  Or bunt: it's hard to 
tell."

"Thank you."

"I missed you, Scully.  I still miss you.  I'm glad 
you're okay.  Are you- um, when are you going to get 
to go home?"

"In a few more days. I'm going to spend some time 
with Mom until I'm up to chasing Emily again."

"You could come-"

"No," she said quickly. 

He swallowed, trying to get the lump in his throat 
to go down, tilting his chin upward with the effort. 
"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I.  Scully, I don't understand-"  

"And you're not going to understand.  I have to go 
now."

"Can I call you?" he said quickly, and found himself 
talking to a disconnected phone line.  

After listening for a moment, Mulder finally handed 
it back to Frohike, who gently set the receiver back 
on the cradle.

"Take care of her hospital bill," he told Frohike. 
"Anonymously."

*~*~*~*

"I thought you were room service," Mulder muttered 
as he walked back to the living room in his sock 
feet, leaving his press agent standing in the foyer.  

"You're looking better.  That's good."

"How is that good?" He returned to the sofa, turning 
up the game show on television before he flopped back 
down. "Who cares how I look?"

"You're not drunk. You're not standing at home plate 
in Yankee Stadium hitting baseballs in the rain."

"It's still early and it's not raining," Mulder 
answered, helping the contestant on television by 
suggesting, "Belgium." 

'Belgium,' the host announced, and Mulder nodded in 
approval. "What do you want, Frohike?"

Frohike set his briefcase on the coffee table, 
snapping the locks open. "To show you something.  
You know, Agent Dales says this game show is 
rigged."

"Agent Dales also thinks aliens are among us."

There was another tentative knock, and a door 
opened, revealing a bedroom that looked like a 
tornado had just blown through Versailles.  The 
Plaza took pride in her gilded French Renaissance 
decor, and his son took pride in horrifying the 
housekeeping staff.  Will waded through the dirty 
laundry and sneakers, looking even more morose than 
his father, and the waiter made a hasty retreat.    

"Don't take that to your room; we have a table," 
Mulder ordered from the sofa. "We aren't animals-"

Will complied by taking the room service tray back 
to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

"Cute kid," Frohike commented, sorting through his 
files.

"He's a peach.  Handel," Mulder informed the 
television, frowning when the contestant guessed, 
'Bach.'  

"What'd you tell him about Dana?"

"That she's back, she's okay, and we won't be seeing 
each other anymore. I didn't know what else to say."  

"And how's he taking it?"

In answer to Frohike's question, Will reappeared, 
holding his plate in front of him as though held 
live crickets instead of an uneaten sandwich.  
Making sure his father was watching, he carried it 
to the kitchen and dumped it into the trashcan. 

"What's wrong, Will?" Mulder asked, already knowing 
the answer.  Will would generally eat anything as 
long as he could add pickles and ketchup to it. "How 
was that not up to your standards?"

"That's not how Miss Scully makes grilled cheese 
sandwiches.  Hey, Frohike," he added.

"Do you want something else?"

"Yeah.  I want to call Brooklyn Heights and tell 
Miss Scully I'd like a grilled cheese.  Bye, 
Frohike." Will slammed his bedroom door again, 
turning his Hi-Fi up full blast.

"Any questions?  And this has been a good week: he 
was only expelled for two out of the five school 
days," Mulder told Frohike, getting up from the sofa.  
He opened Will's bedroom door, said something, and 
the volume of the record player decreased slightly. 
Returning, he nodded to the file, "What did you 
interrupt your Saturday to show me?"

"Dana Scully's medical records."

"Frohike, I thought I told you to leave it alone.  
It's been a month.  She's won't talk to me, she 
won't see me.  Trust me, I've tried.  Whatever 
happened, it's over." 

"Phosphorated hesperidin," Frohike announced. 

"God bless you."

"A synthetic combination of estrogen and 
progesterone.  It's a contraceptive still in the 
developmental stage and it showed up in her blood 
work, along with a dozen other bizarre substances.  
That's why the doctors couldn't figure out exactly 
what was wrong, and why she was so much sicker than 
she should have been.  She'd been given something 
that basically convinced her body it was super-
pregnant."

"A contraceptive?" Mulder said skeptically. 

"Birth control.  Didn't the Army show you those VD 
films?" Frohike asked. "Anyway, it should never have 
been in her bloodstream.  Not in those extreme 
levels.  And she wasn't necessarily five months 
pregnant: the doctors were just guessing by the size 
of the uterus.  She could have been pregnant with 
more than one baby."

Mulder processed for a few seconds, trying to 
separate thoughts from emotions. "Okay, Scully got 
pregnant in January with twins or triplets.  I'll 
buy that.  Are the doctors sure that she, um, about 
the, um.  That she didn't just miscarry?"

"Well, that's another interesting tidbit.  They said 
she had an abortion, but what they really mean is 
the babies were removed very carefully, like they 
were delivered rather than miscarried.  Whoever did 
it did a good job; she just didn't get the care 
afterward that she should have."

Mulder ran his fingers through his hair, scooting to 
the edge of the sofa. "So what are you telling me?" 

"That she was kidnapped, which you already believe, 
and that she was pregnant with your children, which 
you've already said was possible.  I'm saying 
someone gave her drugs that did God-only-knows-what 
to her body and to the babies, and then surgically 
removed the fetuses.  And once they had what they 
wanted, they left her to die, except that she didn't.  
So, they're threatening her: with Emily, with her 
family, even with you, maybe.  It's just like before: 
Scully kept Emily, but there was a price. Now, 
they'll let her live, but she can't see you."   

"Say that's true, which is saying a lot.  Who are 
'they?' Who would know she was pregnant before she 
did?  Who would want the babies?  Those evil aliens 
again?  Were there mind control rays?  UFO's?  Don't 
forget those super-humans they're breeding.  Scully 
got cold feet, took off, and when she figured out she 
was pregnant- I think you're reaching, Frohike."

"I think you're afraid to look any further."

Mulder watched him for a few seconds, then leaned 
back, propping his feet back up on the coffee table 
and crossing his arms. 

"Mulder?"

"Joe Lewis," Mulder answered, staring straight at 
the television and the new game show contestant. 

"Come on, Mulder "

"A boxer who started fighting in 1937: it's Joe 
Lewis."

Frohike sighed, closing his briefcase and standing 
up. "I'm not dropping this.  There's something here, 
and I'm going to figure out what it is."

"The Dutch West India Company," Mulder responded, 
answering the $64,000 Question.

"Keep sitting there. Maybe they'll send you a check," 
Frohike suggested, closing the door behind him.

*~*~*~*

Fifteen year-olds always had the most profound ways 
of summing things up: "You know, I'm not your built-
in excuse to get out of life, Dad."

"I'll owe you," Mulder responded quietly, idly 
fiddling with the baseball and wondering what in the 
hell he was doing here.  
 
In some universe, he was watching Gibson feeding 
bread crusts to the eager, already over-fed ducks 
while Diana went to 'freshen up.' Obviously, this 
was someone's life, and it didn't seem half bad: a 
beautiful Saturday afternoon picnic in Central Park 
with a mostly-normal teenager, a lovely woman, and 
her eerily silent kid.  A perfectly acceptable life: 
it just didn't feel like his, and it hadn't in 
months.
 
And life went on, he told himself, looking for 
comfort in cliches and expanding the metaphor to 
fill up some space in his head.  There would be life 
after Dana Scully; it was just, excepting Will, like 
storing a single leftover pea in a one-gallon 
Tupperware container: a vast waste of space.  

That was it, Mulder decided, waxing philosophical: 
he was a mostly-empty, over-sized waste of space in 
the rusting, tepid Frigidaire of life.   

"So, are you going to start seeing Miss Fowley 
again?" Will asked, "Because I could just kill myself 
now and save some time."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic.  She's an old friend and 
I promised I'd meet her son, that's all.  He's a 
cute kid.  Just play nice for a few more minutes, 
and then we'll go.  And if I say the codeword, come 
down with a sudden case of stomach cramps."

"Do you know how many different ways this is 
traumatizing my malleable young mind?"

"You poor, abused, deprived child," Mulder responded 
sarcastically, watching Diana sauntering back from 
the public restroom, flashing her thousand-watt 
smile at them.

"I think I just felt a pang," Will muttered, 
stretching out on the warm grass. "Could be my 
appendix."

"There isn't any more, honey," Diana told Gibson 
when he ran back to get more bread. "Did you want 
your sandwich, William?" 

"No thank you, Miss Fowley; the ducks can have it," 
Will answered sugar-sweetly. "Something seems to be 
making me nauseated."
 
Gibson looked at the three of them curiously from 
behind his glasses, and then turned away without 
comment, hurrying back to the pond.  Mulder supposed 
meeting the big baseball star wasn't nearly as 
fascinating as feeding the duckies.   
 
"Is it Miss or Mrs.?" Mulder asked as Diana sat 
down, smoothing her skirt underneath her shapely 
legs and looking Life-magazine-perfect in her 
impractical ivory linen suit.
 
"Hum?" she responded, leaning back, bracing herself 
on her hands, and tilting her face toward the sun.  
As she arched her back, pushing her chest out, Will 
put his hand on his abdomen and flinched in pain for 
his father's benefit. 

"I was just curious, Diana.  You told Will to call 
you 'Miss,' but then you talked about being a widow."

Diana blinked, hesitating. "I was married, but 
professionally it's still 'Miss.' It's just easier 
that way: to use my maiden name.  My husband died in 
Korea when Gibson was a baby, and I had to go back 
to work."  
     
"And no one ever asks questions: that you and your 
son have different last names?"

Diana turned to study Mulder, glanced at Will, and 
then said quietly. "Look, I know you've had a bad 
experience.  Manhattan isn't that big. I know what 
happened with your fiancee.  And William is 
obviously taking it hard.  I can't even imagine how 
that feels: letting someone into your life and 
family only to discover they're not who they say 
they are.  I'm not an angel, but that weekend with 
you was the exception, not the norm.  And I don't 
get to spend as much time with Gibson as I'd like, 
but my mother does a good job with him.  There aren't 
going to be any surprises: I'm just as boring as I 
say I am." 

"Me too," Mulder answered casually, finding her face 
so close to his, he could smell her perfume. "I'm 
even less exciting than a duck."

From his seat against the trunk of a shade tree, 
Will moaned, curling into a ball and falling to one 
side in pseudo agony worthy of a B-grade movie star.   

In deference to Will, Mulder cleared his throat and 
moved away. "Where did Gibson go?" he asked, looking 
for an excuse to be somewhere else.

Will interrupted his theatrics to say that he wasn't 
a built-in babysitter, either, and had no idea. 

"Are you okay, Fox?"

He nodded, basing that judgment on some outlandishly 
liberal definition of 'okay.' "I'll go see where 
Gibson went. He must have wandered off." 

"I'm sure he's fine," Diana answered, which struck 
Mulder as an odd answer for a mother to give.  He 
got as far as thinking 'Scully would never have let 
Emily out of her-' before he quashed that thought, 
stamping it out like before it could spread and 
eradicate entire emotional castles in the sky. 

What was the saying they'd taught him at Oxford? 
Neurotics built castles in the sky and psychotics 
lived in them?  He'd always thought his mother 
cleaned those castles.  Scully was somewhere in the 
ivory tower, but it didn't matter, since they'd 
never lower the drawbridge for him, anyway.  

Diana's drawbridge: that went down.

Deciding yet another metaphor had ended badly, 
Mulder tried to think simple, clean thoughts as he 
searched for Gibson.        

After a few minutes, he spotted the boy near the ice 
skating rink, waiting his turn at the water 
fountain, and for an instant, thought he saw Scully 
and Emily in front of Gibson in line.   

He blinked, but they lingered, looking deliciously 
imperfect with Scully's wind-blown hair and the 
grass stains on the knees of Em's denim overalls.  
Emily couldn't reach the fountain, so Scully boosted 
her up, balancing Em awkwardly on her thigh while 
their thumbs battled over whom should hold the 
button down.  Water arced fitfully, and Emily chased 
it up and down with eager, rosebud lips while her 
mother waited patiently.

It was a snapshot out of any happy family album, 
lacking only Norman Rockwell's signature in the 
lower right hand corner.  

Emily spotted him as Scully sat her down, and 
smiled, wiping her dripping mouth on her sleeve.  
While her mother was busy trying to master the 
hydraulics of a NYC fountain, Emily ran to Mulder, 
leaping into his arms in a frenzy of worn, butter-
soft denim and sun-warmed little girl smells.  

Realizing her daughter was missing, Scully looked 
around, calling her name, but stopped short when she 
saw Mulder holding Emily.  Her mouth still open, 
lips still damp, Scully stared at him in shock, as 
though she also wasn't sure if he was real. 'Mulder?' 
she mouthed, looking like she might cry.  Einstein 
was wrong: time paused, and the world was a single 
precious soap bubble moment he could hold in his 
hand.    

"I found something of yours," Mulder finally mumbled 
awkwardly, setting Emily down as he stared at her 
mother.  

"Thank you," Scully murmured politely.  She pulled 
Emily in front of her, putting her hand protectively 
on her daughter's shoulder. "I'm sorry she bothered 
you."

"No bother," he heard his voice say, amazed at how 
steady it sounded. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she answered, admirably keeping up her 
end of the inane conversation. "We're fine."
 
"Uncle Bill took my cap," Emily informed Mulder, 
looking like he was supposed to do something about 
that. "He says you're a sorry S-O-D." 

"I'll get you another cap. Come on, honey." Scully 
tried, getting neither her feet nor daughter to move.  

It was no accident they'd both chosen this part of 
the park: they'd often taken Emily ice-skating on 
Wollman Rink during the winter.  A few nights, the 
two of them had just sat, watching the snow 
glistening silver in the streetlights and enjoying 
the solitude.  It was full of happy memories of a 
time he categorized simply as 'before.'   

"Scully-" He put his hand on her upper arm, 
caressing it lightly with his fingertips. "Please 
talk to me.  Tell me what happened.  What changed?  I 
thought you wanted marriage, more kids. I thought you 
wanted me." 

"Nothing changed." She paused, noticing Diana 
approaching and Gibson standing close by. "Be 
careful, Mulder."

"No, um, she's not- Her son wanted to meet me," he 
tried to explain, but Scully looked away, not fooled. 
"Come on, Scully.  Don't do this.  Will's ditching me 
this afternoon, and I was planning on going to the 
movies. Would you like to come?  It's either ''Abbott 
and Costello Meet the Mummy,' or 'Revenge of the 
Creature.'  Considering what happened to the creature 
in the last movie, his revenge should be pretty 
good."
 
"Take care of yourself, Mulder." She gave Emily's 
hand a determined tug, refusing to meet his eyes. 
"Goodbye."

"Bye," he said automatically, watching her walk 
away, leading a reluctant Emily. The soap bubble 
moment continued to quiver in the spring breeze, 
reflecting a warped pastel version of life, and then 
was gone.   

"Are you okay?" Diana asked from behind him, making 
Mulder jump and allowing life to return to normal 
speed instead of playing in vivid Technicolor slow 
motion.

"I'm fine," Mulder answered tersely. "Why wouldn't I 
be?"

"That was Dana Scully, wasn't it? And Emily?"

Still on edge and looking for a target, he demanded, 
"How did you know that?"

"I saw the pictures in the society pages.  When you 
were dating her. Calm down, honey."  

Once Scully and Emily were out of sight, Mulder 
turned away, looking critically at Diana. "But how 
did you know her daughter was named 'Emily?"

She shrugged, casually tossing her hair back from 
her shoulders. "You told me."

Mulder considered, folding his arms and stepping 
away. "No, I didn't.  And her name wasn't in the 
papers."

"Oh, of course you told me.  What are you getting so 
upset about?" She moved like she was going to take 
Mulder's hand, but then changed her mind.  

"Diana, I didn't tell you.  I'm sure of it."

"Then how would I know?"

Mulder stepped back, tilting his chin up slightly. 
"I don't know, Diana.  How would you?  Why would you 
drive to the South End of Boston for a cup of coffee 
when your hotel was across town?  Were you following 
me?  Having a child, being a widow: you keep remaking 
yourself into exactly what you think I want in a 
woman.  Jesus, you're even wearing Scully's perfume."   

"Do you have any idea how insanely paranoid you 
sound, Fox?"

He wet his lips, trying to put the pieces together, 
but not quite succeeding. "Yes, I do.  And I didn't 
tell you Emily's name, Diana." 

*~*~*~*

He had spent entire afternoons leaning on the call 
button, trying to get Scully to buzz him in, so he 
didn't bother.  Fortunately, she'd chosen an 
apartment building full of trusting old ladies, and 
he had no trouble shoving his foot in the security 
door and stumbling in after one of them.  
  
"Mulder?" Scully asked, pulling her robe closed and 
staring at him in shock.  As though intoxicated, 
estranged, ex-fiancees didn't break into her building 
and show up on her doorstep every night at exactly 
ten o'clock.

"I, um, I have a splinter," he bumbled, wondering 
how no one had ever revoked his English language 
privileges.  He held out his thumb as proof, 
stretching the skin taut for her inspection. "Hi, 
Scully."

"Have you been drinking, Mulder?"

"I-I have been drinking," he confirmed, poking at the 
sliver of wood in Mr. Thumbkin to make sure it still 
smarted. It did. "Will's spending the night with a 
friend and I was, uh, sitting around this evening, 
you know, fiddling with the phone, so I could call 
you again and you could not answer-"

"You need to leave, Mulder."  

"So, I started fiddling with the phone," Mulder 
continued, leaning against the doorframe to help 
keep the room level and trying not to lose his place 
in the story. "And I, uh, unscrewed the little cover 
on the receiver."  He pantomimed unscrewing the top 
of his thumb for clarification, then just reached in 
his pocket and handed her the small electronic 
device. "I don't think that's standard issue from Ma 
Bell."

Scully examined the bug, then gestured for him to 
come in, closing and locking the door behind him.

"That woman I was with at the park today: I thought 
she was just a fan who got a little carried away.  
But she was bugging my phone, listening to my life, 
and she set herself up as something completely 
different from what she really was.  You weren't a 
set-up, though, were you?"

"No, I'm not a set-up," she said quietly.
 
Scully steered him to the kitchen, parking him in a 
wooden chair and turning on the burner under the 
teakettle.  A calico cat strolled in, hopping up on 
the table and arching his back to be petted.

"Em's cat came back," Mulder mumbled, stroking him. 
"I searched the entire neighborhood after you 
disappeared, but I couldn't find him."

"He just keeps showing up," Scully commented, 
rummaging through the cabinets for the tea bags.

"That's what happens when you feed them." He pursed 
his lips, making sloppy kissy-faces at the scruffy 
cat, who looked at Mulder with great disdain.   

"You're drunk, Mulder.  When you sober up in the 
morning, you're going to realize how bizarre this all 
sounds."

"I know now how bizarre it all sounds now.  How. 
Now." Mulder blinked, sensing something hadn't quite 
been right with that sentence.  He formed a few more 
silent 'ow' sounds with his mouth, just for the 
pleasure of it and the cat's amusement.

Scully sighed, then turned away, but he caught the 
sleeve of her robe, pulling her back to him. "Tell me 
'bout the babies, Scully "

"Babies?"

Still holding her left cuff so she couldn't escape, 
he ran his fingers over the front of her robe, over 
her soft abdomen. "Babies.  Baby.  I wanna know."

"I don't remember.  It's just a blur."

"Then tell me about the blur. Tell me," He pushed 
aside the soft fabric of her robe and pajama top so 
his palm was against her bare stomach. "Tell me why."

Instead of slapping him for being so forward, she 
stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his 
shoulders.  
   
"I found, the, um, Will thought we should search 
your apartment: after you were gone.  I found your 
admission letter.  You start this fall:  Georgetown 
University Medical School.  I didn't really think 
about there being a connection until Bill said you'd, 
uh, you know.  But it makes sense: you couldn't go 
back to school with a baby coming."  He exhaled, 
leaning his head into the curve of her waist. 
"Babies.  With babies coming."

"Is that what you think happened?"

"I thought it was," Mulder mumbled, nuzzling against 
her. "Now I'm not so sure.  Everyone's right: I don't 
know you that well, just like you don't really know 
me, but-" He let his head fall back, then rotated it, 
trying to redistribute the thick liquid in it. "Ah, 
Jesus, Scully: I'm not crazy, am I?"

"Not crazy: inebriated.  And you need to go."

"Why?  Why won't you just talk to me?"

Instead of answering, she helped him to his feet, and 
led him to the back of the apartment, opening the 
door to Emily's bedroom.  Scully had a vaporizer 
going, and the comforting scent of menthol filled the 
dim room.

"She started getting sick right after you were gone," 
he commented quietly.

"And she's going to get sicker.  Today was just a 
good day; that's why we went to the park.  Her immune 
system is malfunctioning: attacking her own red blood 
cells.  The doctors say they can help her, and I want 
to believe them."

"But you don't?"

"The others- No, I don't believe them."

The teakettle gurgled purposefully, and Scully 
hurried back to the kitchen to soothe it, leaving 
Mulder staring at Em's flushed face.  He watched her 
sleeping, her mouth moving in pleasant dreams, and 
then turned away when his chest started getting 
tight.

"I'm sorry, Scully." 

"So am I." She'd lost the sugar and was conducting a 
thorough, focused search of the cabinet. "Sit down, 
drink your tea, sober up, and go home."      

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't want any damn tea.  I'm sorry about 
Emily, but you didn't answer my question.  Why are 
you avoiding me?"

"You're not going to let this drop, are you?"

"No, it doesn't look like it."

She slammed the cabinet door closed, flushing. "Why 
don't you know when to quit?  Do you know how quickly 
you could become a communist? Or a homosexual?  Maybe 
a pedophile?  If you keep asking questions, it 
doesn't matter who you are: they will get to you."

"But I'm not a communist, homosexual pedophile."

She looked at him, holding his gaze. "You are if 
they say you are."

Emily, awakened by the banging cabinets and raised 
voices, called out sleepily. 

"I'll get her," Mulder mumbled, heading for the 
bedroom.  

"What?" he asked, pulling Em's door closed behind 
him ten minutes later. Scully was standing in the 
hallway, watching him, her expression a mixture of 
longing and sorrow. "She's fine.  A few months ago, 
she was living with me.  Just because you don't want 
me anymore doesn't mean that Will and I don't miss 
her.  And you."

Scully closed her eyes as though she was making a 
wish, then exhaled. "Stay tonight," she whispered, so 
soft he barely heard her. Then, with a little more 
conviction, "Why don't you stay tonight?"

His head started shaking 'no' before his mouth even 
formed the words. He went for the easy out: "My car's 
parked outside. What will your neighbors say?"

"You mean the same neighbors that baby-sit my 
illegitimate daughter? Or the ones that sent me get 
well cards at my mother's house while I was 
recovering from an abortion? I think my reputation's 
shot."

"Jesus, Scully."

She stepped closer, resting her hands on his hips and 
her forehead against his chest. "Please.  Stay with 
me."

"You have no idea-" He put his arms around her, 
trying to protect her from this unnamed, unformed 
'them.' "If you want to go to med school, go to med 
school.  If you don't want to be married, we won't 
get married.  I don't know what I'll tell Will, but 
we won't.  But, um, I want to be careful: about 
another baby."

He followed her into her bedroom, stepping out of 
his shoes as he told himself how drunk he was and 
what an amazingly bad idea this was.

"I won't." She slipped her robe off, helping him with 
the buttons on his shirt before they lay down face to 
face and pulled the blankets over them. "The doctor 
said I'm not going to be able to have any more 
children."

Mulder stared at her, suddenly a lot more sober, and 
finally remembered to take a breath. 

"I'm sorry: that's all I can tell you," she finally 
whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"Okay. I uh, " He touched her soft cheek, then rested 
his hand on her waist. "Okay.  I'm right here; I'll 
be right here. Go to sleep."

"You're sure?"

He exhaled. "I'm sure. Sleep."

Scully scooted closer, shifting several times before 
she found a comfortable position.  Even with all that 
had happened, sharing a bed was still a novelty. 
"There will be a price, Mulder," she murmured, 
already half-asleep.  

"Everything has a price," he answered, closing his 
eyes, feeling the warm night breeze from the open 
window on his face. "The trick is knowing what's 
valuable, what's worth it."

"So what do you think I'm worth?"

"Anything I have," he responded, relaxing.

*~*~*~*

End: A Moment in the Sun, Part II