***
                       
I wondered after I left Skinner's colony if he hadn't lied to me. 
Only woman or not, I couldn't see him taking advantage of my
trust.  He unquestioningly loved me - maybe he just wanted to
make sure I was safe.  But I'd heard Mulder give him permission 
to use my body as he wanted - as though Mulder was the one that 
got to give permission.  
                              
Regardless, I was leaving.

I sat in the passenger seat of the Army transport truck as they 
drove to my new home and marveled at the landscape.  I hadn't 
ever been out of the valley - it was too much of a risk.  The men 
brought me whatever I wanted or needed, although they all thought 
I needed lots of lingerie and perfume instead of long underwear 
and boots.  It was wonderful to have two hundred men know I 
preferred regular to deodorant tampons and there seemed to be a 
conspiracy not to bring me a decent bra.  A conspiracy in which 
Skinner was an active participant, I might add.

Bastard.

I wasn't sure where I was going - I'd thought the other colony 
was closer.  Herds of deer grazed beside the roads, free of the 
hunters that once kept them thinned out and the guards riding 
with us shot several from the back of the truck until the leader 
told them to stop.  Most houses I saw were still standing - whole 
and empty.  Just like me.   

My driver - Granger, the leader, saw me smile when he stopped for
a stop sign and used his turn signal, as though the old traffic 
rules still applied.  "No one's going to hurt you - we just need 
a doctor," he assured me.  Mister, as long as you aren't Walter 
Skinner, I don't care if you make me dig ditches, I remember 
thinking.
 
He kept his word.  No one harmed me and I wanted for nothing. 
Two weeks later he had a set of healthy identical twin girls and 
I was the colony hero.  My life went on as it had before - aches 
and pains, accidental cuts and the occasional gunshot wound.  
Lots of food poisoning as canned goods began to get too old.  
Deliver babies and care for the dying.  Much the same, except 
that Mulder came to me at night again, listening.

And I stopped praying.
                       
                    ***

Divinity is not playful.  The universe was not made in jest but 
in solemn incomprehensible earnest.  By a power that is 
unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet.  There is nothing to be 
done about it, but ignore it, or see.

-Anne Dillard 

                     ***

I heard Mulder chuckle deeply in the dark.  "Ah - to be fifteen
again."  Then I hear a girl's giggles upstairs and I understand.  
I kiss Mulder - it's been so long since I've heard him laugh.  I 
wasn't sure that he still could.  He kisses me back and I learn 
that forty-five knows a few things fifteen doesn't.  This is the 
man I always wanted to be my lover - not the Mulder that shot a 
child or slapped his son or even the one that saved me from the 
aliens.  Nestled naked in his arms, I wait for morning.

Dawn brought a change of vehicles and more silent west.  It's
colder in the mountains and Mulder gives me a winter coat and 
puts one on the boy - he's planned this trip for some time, 
although I'm still freezing with the top off the Humvee.  Gibson 
and the girl sit in the back seat dozing against each other as we 
drive.  There is no trace of the lover I'd heard laugh in the 
dark last night in Mulder - only a silent man with a grim 
expression and a driven look in his eyes behind the wheel.  

After lunch, Gibson drives while Mulder sleeps in the back seat
with me and the boy.  Neither of us slept much last night.  
Gibson didn't either, from what I heard, and I don't like him 
very much because of that.  He must be listening to me, because 
he defends himself:

"If she wasn't with me, she'd be a whore in some colony, Scully. 
Which do you prefer?"

I prefer a world where it's no acceptable to have sex with 
thirteen year olds, Gibson, but I don't say that out loud.  If 
Gibson heard me, he's ignoring me.

Gibson keeps the vehicle in the middle of the two-lane, as one 
who had learned to drive without other cars on the road.  Mulder 
did the same, as though he had erased any memory of Before.  The 
girl rides shotgun, literally, holding a rifle in her slim arms 
while the little boy stares fascinated as the mountains grow 
larger.  

I have so many questions.  Where have you been, Mulder?  Why
didn't you come for me?  Join the colony as my husband under
another name, if nothing else.  Was this child conceived with her
while you were listening to Skinner make love to me?  The timing
was right, but how could you do that to me?  What happened to
you to harden you into someone I barely recognize?  Are you a
killer, a martyr, or a victim?  Where are you taking me?  Why 
don't you talk to me?  Do you remember all those nights together 
– long talks in a rental car about anything and everything as we 
drove in search of the truth?  Gas station coffee in Styrofoam 
cups and Chinese take-out?  Basement offices and slide 
projectors?  Do you remember who we were, Mulder?   

I can feel Mulder listening as he sleeps, but I get no answers – 
only silence in the Army vehicle as the mountains pass.  Gibson 
slows as we round a blind turn and Mulder wakes quickly, picking 
up the rifle he used to shoot the geese yesterday.  The girl 
stands and braces herself, gun against her shoulder, ready as the 
boy gestures for me to get down.  As we cower behind the seat, 
the Humvee lurches forward and I hear the girl lay down a line of 
cover.  Several shots answer and Mulder fires twice.  There are 
sickening wet sounds as his bullets find flesh and the squeal of 
tires as we round the curve too fast.  Then it's over and the boy 
sits back up, pulling on my sleeve for me to follow.  Mulder 
leans the rifle against the door of the Humvee and goes back to 
sleep, his son curled against him.  Asleep, this man looks even 
more like my Mulder.

Gibson isn't as sensitive about taking bathroom breaks, so the 
boy and his girlfriend are squirming all over the place before I 
brave asking him.  He pulls over without a word.  What I wouldn't 
give for some of the friendly banter Mulder and I used to have. 
Actually, I'd settle for a good fight right now - all these men
listening to each other's thoughts is getting to me.  

I drag my feet as much as possible, taking the boy into a
rudimentary women's bathroom at a visitors' welcome center.  It's
in perfect working order - there are no women left alive to use 
it and it's hard to break a pit toilet.  There are still 
brochures in racks, so I get several to entertain the boy.  We 
walk around a little, working the kinks out of our legs, and I 
show him how to make and throw a snowball.  When we return, the 
girl is pacing and Mulder finally has an expression: annoyed.  

Mulder and Gibson fight without words, pointing at the girl and 
the vehicle.  The boy translates for me: "She's havin' the baby 
too soon.  Mulder wants to leave her here, but Gibson wants to 
wait and take her and the baby with us.  He says he won't leave 
without her and you can deliver the baby.  Mulder says she's 
goin' to die anyway and he should just shoot her now.  That there 
isn't sucha shortage of pussy that he needed to be fuckin' a 
child..."  

Mulder and Gibson freeze as the little boy says those words, the
argument instantly over.  Mulder unpacks several sleeping bags 
and unrolls them on the floor of the visitors' center and gathers 
wood for a fire - we're staying.

Hours later, the girl is still pacing across the orange tiles, 
rapidly getting weaker.  Gibson walks with her, worried, while 
Mulder sits with his back against the wall and stares straight 
ahead, his rifle on the floor beside him.  The boy sits on the 
other side of him, oddly silent, like the children that lived 
through the first holocaust.  

The next day comes without much change except that the girl is
laying in the floor now, no longer able to walk.  I have my bag 
with a scalpel and basic medical supplies, but nothing to perform 
a C-section, which is what she needs.  If we were near a 
hospital, I'd take her there, but we're in the middle of the 
Rocky Mountains.  Mulder's right - she's going to die.  I have 
some old Demerol with me, but I doubt it's enough to be fatal.  
Maybe I could ease her pain for a few hours, but eventually...

I see Gibson kiss her forehead and Mulder raise the rifle before 
I can finish that thought.  I open my mouth to say "no," but 
she's already dead in a pool of blood.  I can still take the 
baby, but Gibson shakes his head.  There's no way to save a 
premature baby here, anyway.  

No, this isn't real.  I'll wake up soon.
   
Mulder rolls up the sleeping bag he was sitting on and clears the
snow off the Humvee.  Again, I get in the passenger's seat, 
leaving a child's dead body to the scavengers.  By nightfall, 
we're through the mountains and I still haven't woken from this 
nightmare.  

We stop at dusk, Mulder choosing a Victorian-style house
strategically set atop a hill.  There are actually deer in the 
front yard, so a fat doe cooks while Gibson and Mulder put the 
top on the Humvee.  I don't know if he's pissed because the girl 
put us behind his schedule, or because he doesn't know this house 
and we're cold, or because the moon is full.  For whatever 
reason, frightening waves roll off of him whenever I get close.  
After we eat, Gibson grudgingly takes the boy to bed with him, 
still pouting over his girlfriend, and leaving me to Mulder's 
mercy.  He reminds me of a panther pacing restlessly back and 
forth across the room.

"I'm not a monster, Scully."  

At last - he speaks!  I'm sure the angels are rejoicing.

"I survived, just like you did.  I don't question what you had to
do."  

I didn't shoot any children, Mulder.

"I did what I had to do.  Would you rather have watched her 
suffer for hours?  Would you rather have killed her?"

"Stop that!" I scream at him.  "Get out of my head!"

"I don't blame you if I frighten you, or even if you hate me, but
don't question my motives about you.  You're the one thing I 
still care about."

What about your son?  What about Gibson?

"I thought you might want the boy - Marita doesn't want him and
Krycek hates him.  He's a good boy, Scully, but you don't have to
take him.  I worried about that."

"Will you kill him too, if I don't want him?"  I will speak out 
loud!

"No, I'll take him back to his mother and kill Krycek."  He says 
it like it's the obvious choice.

"I just want some answers, Mulder.  Where you've been, what
you've done.  Why you didn't come for me sooner.  What you've
become.  I just saw my best friend shoot a teenage girl in the 
face without flinching - that's not the man I remember."

"I'm not the man you remember, Scully.  Not even close."

More silence as he leads me to the bed he's made, zipping two
sleeping bags together.  I let him undress me efficiently and 
wait while he takes off his own shirt and boots.  Mulder kneels 
and pulls me with him.  

"You know, this is the best way to keep warm, Scully," he says
flatly as his knees part my legs, hands cupping my cold, bare
breasts.

That was an echo of my Mulder, curled up beside me in a forest
with a sore shoulder, listening to me sing Three Dog Night off-
key.  Maybe there are really only echos of that man left.  Long, 
rough fingers that I remember being so elegant bend my knees up, 
opening me, exposing me.  Not asking - telling me this is going 
to happen.  He's hard against me, the bulge in his jeans pressing 
between my legs, insisting.  Mulder lays me back, takes both my 
hands, and pens them above my head with one of his, stretching 
the new scabs on my scraped elbows painfully as he holds me down.  

I can't help it - I'm scared and I feel tears in my eyes.  It's 
too impersonal, the way men touch prostitutes or the way I touch
someone as a doctor.  Just lay back and let your knees fall 
apart, ma'am.  

Please don't do it like this, Mulder.  Please, no.  I love you - 
I'll make love to you, but not like this.  Don't treat me like 
your property.  Please.

I will not cry.  I will not cry.
               
Mulder stops and gets up, leaving me to tremble in the dusty 
floor, only a thin sleeping bag under me.  I could pull the other 
sleeping bag over me, but I don't dare.  Suddenly there is a 
flash of brightness and Mulder returns with a dim lantern, 
setting it in the corner and lowering himself on top of me again.  
The gentle light plays over his face, lover's eyes and full lips 
against the shadows of his cheeks.  My Mulder is still beautiful, 
whether he thinks so or not.

Mulder isn't the only one who isn't completely sane.  This man is
basically about to rape me.  I try to tell myself that Mulder 
would never hurt me, but I can't make myself believe it this 
time.  

He raises my hands above my head again and my trembling gets
worse.  He moves like he's going to kiss me, but instead touches
his lips to the flesh on the inside of my elbow and the underside 
of my upper arm.  Lightly caressing, almost tickling me, he 
covers every inch.

"It's so soft, Scully.  Your skin is the softest thing left on 
this Earth.  I wanted to see it.  So beautiful and fair."  His 
arm is dark against mine as he holds me, kissing my neck and 
shoulders while his other hand searches through the tangle of 
curls between my legs.  I hear a whisper in my hair, "I do love 
you, Scully.  Only you.  Don't ever doubt it." 

In the floor of the looming house in the chiaroscuro, that is 
enough.  My trembling stops as my body warms to his.  He pushes 
farther into my mind as I hear a zipper unzipping.  "Tell me 
'yes,' Scully," he says, lips on my earlobe, "Tell me you want 
this."  The word is barely out of my mouth when I feel him 
penetrate hard, causing me to cry out in spite of myself.  Before 
my body adjusts, he begins to thrust roughly; oddly, it feels 
almost like my Mulder making love to me.  I will my muscles to 
relax, replaying his last twenty words as my mantra.

Afterwards, Mulder lays with me motionless until my breathing
returns to normal.  His hand covers my face for a moment and I
panic before I realize he's checking to see if I'm crying.  I'm 
not.  I'm going to be in pain tomorrow, but he asked me and I 
said "yes."  I didn't say "yes" to him being so rough, though, 
and I don't have to be psychic to know he's telling me he's 
sorry.  

Why did you do that?  What happened?  One second you were
kissing my shoulders like my lover; the next you were using my
body to forget you just killed a teenage girl so I didn't have to
watch her suffer anymore.

Yes, that is what you did.

Mulder, if it made you forget, even for one second, it was worth 
it.

You don't need to be sorry.  

I wrap his arms around me and sleep in the safety.  These are the
arms I want around me.

An old nightmare wakes me next - I can feel the implant throbbing
in my neck as I run from the aliens through the trees, searching 
for Mulder.  I have to find him before they do; I can't let the 
aliens take him.  Mulder is shaking me awake but reality blurs 
for a minute and I tell him to run.  Run before they get you, 
Mulder!

"They already got me a long time ago, Scully.  It's too late 
now."

I don't know why, but that makes me cry.  Big, loud sobs that I'm
sure are waking everyone up.  Mulder holds me, just like he did 
that night in the bunker, sheltering me in the valley of the 
shadow of death.  Eventually, I calm down, but Mulder doesn't let 
me go.  He's kissing my neck, running his fingers through my 
tangled hair.  He pushes me back and pulls my breast to his 
mouth, suckling gently, causing my body to reach in spite of 
myself.  He's not listening to me, so I have to say it out loud:

"Mulder - don't.  You were too rough.  Please.  I can't again - 
I'm too sore.  Do you want me too..."

He shakes his head violently "no" and moves down on my body,
kissing a path to my navel and then further and further down as I
forget to breathe.  He pushes me gently down on my back and runs
his thumbs from the inside of my ankles all the, all the way, all 
the way...   His tongue is so gentle against my sore, over-used 
flesh, flicking, licking, encircling and causing more cries 
unbidden from me.  It isn't a cursory act - it's more of an... An 
apology.  A gift.  Giving me pleasure as he tastes himself inside 
me, penance for his actions only a few hours ago.

Suddenly he stops, jumps to his feet and charges out of the room.  

Well, that was odd.

Come back, Mulder.  You owe me an orgasm.  Maybe two.
     
There are more quick footsteps and the boy is crawling into the
sleeping bags with me.  I try to cover myself, but the boy is
terrified.  I hear something hit the wall in another room and it
sounds like a body.  There are more sounds of fists against flesh 
– I don't know who is hitting who, but someone is going to die if 
they don't stop.  

"What's happening?" I ask the frightened boy.

"Gibson was listenin' to Mulder," comes the voice from the bottom
of the sleeping bags.

Oh God.  Gibson must not know what a mistake that was - Mulder
was going to beat him to death.  I wrap Mulder's big shirt around
me and follow the sounds as blow after blow lands.  Mulder put 
out the lantern, so I can't see a thing - only grope blindly.  I 
yell for Mulder and the punches pause.  The heavy breathing is to 
my left, and I reach out and touch Mulder's smooth, sweaty back.

"Let him go, Mulder.  He's not Skinner.  He's fifteen - he'll 
listen to cats mate and get turned on.  You remember fifteen, 
Mulder?"

I guess he does, because I feel him stand up and move back.  I 
can hear Gibson trying to catch his breath on the floor but I 
don't help him.  

I don't want to.

Mulder isn't the only one who has hardened.

The boy is somewhere besides our makeshift bed, so I lay down,
wondering what is coming.  Wondering if I'm going to be a way for
Mulder to release his anger again.  I can't stand another round 
of hate-sex, whether he loves me or not.  Literally - I won't be 
able to stand up tomorrow.  

I feel something wet drip on my face and I realize Mulder is 
crying.  I pull him down on me and he starts to shake violently.  
He buries his face in my neck and cries, sobbing for hours in the 
dark, never telling me why he's crying.

What do you cry for, Mulder?  For listening as Skinner had sex
with me - for making me into a whore?  Because you would have
killed Gibson for being childish - for becoming so cold?  Because
you do remember being fifteen and how far away from that person
you are - for the loss of your soul?  Or do you cry for all those
things?
                                         
Gibson has vanished by morning, unwilling to continue to wherever
it is that we're going.  There are dark bloodstains on the wooden
floor where I found him and Mulder last night, but Mulder dresses
to fast for me to see if any of it came from him.  The boy woke 
me up - standing over me before dawn announcing he was scared of 
the dark.  Boy, you're not the only one, and there's a hell of a 
lot of dark out there.  We eat cold venison for breakfast and set 
off again.  I know Mulder sees me flinch when my hips hit the 
passenger seat, but he doesn't say anything.  I can't even tell 
that he feels guilty.

More west.  

                     ***

He saw God's foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and
thereafter his shipmates called him mad.  So man's insanity is
heaven's sense.

-Herman Melville

                     ****

I would feel Mulder listening to me, checking that I was all 
right.  It took him a while to locate me after I went to the new 
colony, but after he found me, I felt him often.  When the one 
man tried to rape me and I fought him off, I'm sure that it was 
Mulder that cut off his hands and left him in the woods to be 
found months later.  Others must have thought the same thing, 
because that's when I heard the first rumors about him.

The ex-FBI agent that could read minds.  Fought with the rebels
during the initial alien attack, using his gift to beat the 
aliens at their own game - or the other way around, depending on 
who was telling the story.  He'd been all over the Earth After, 
even crossing the oceans.  Now he roamed, searching for a woman.  
Others said he just roamed to kill for the highest bidder or for 
revenge.  If there was a war between colonies, Mulder was there, 
bringing death with him.  If you wanted something transported 
across the country, through the badlands, he was your man.  The 
legends said he was the cruelest person alive.

I didn't know what to believe, so I just waited.  I couldn't 
leave and I wondered of Mulder would ever come for me.  After a 
few years, I decided the answer was "no."

Skinner came, though.  There was some sort of treaty negotiation
between 451 and Alpha, and Skinner was sitting on my steps when
I got back from a house call that night.

"I'm sorry, Scully."  

That's it?  You tricked me into your bed and traded me like I was
livestock and you were just "sorry?"  I hit him as hard as I 
could.  Skinner just rolled with my punch and then stood there in 
case I wanted to hit him again.

You kept me safe, even killed for me when you knew I didn't love
you - that I'd never love you, held me when I was afraid and made
love to me so I wasn't, and you were just "sorry?"  

You let me believe that Mulder was out there wanting me for
months - giving me some light to hide away inside me as I watched
my world crumble.   All you wanted for that was sex that you
always made sure was good for me and you were just "sorry?"

He was right - I did want to hit something again - I wasn't even
sure who or what I was most angry at.   I doubted it was Skinner.  

"I wanted you to know that Mulder is searching for you.  I'll 
help him all that I can, but he's not at Alpha anymore.  And I am 
sorry, Scully.  All I wanted was for you to be safe."
     
We looked at each other for a few seconds before he started to 
turn away.  "Skinner?"   He hesitated.  "I wasn't unhappy.  And 
you always made sure I was safe.  You kept your promise to 
Mulder."

That's as close as I was going to come to "apology accepted."   

I got a nod from Skinner before he pulled his hood up and walked
away into the lonely rainy night.  I had to go inside and lock 
the door to keep from running after him - after the safety that 
was walking out of my life again.

                     ***

The universe would never have been suitably put together into one
form from such various and opposite parts unless there were some
One who joined such different parts together; and when joined, 
the very variety of their natures, so discordant among 
themselves, would break their harmony and tear asunder unless the 
One held together what it wove into one whole.  Such a fixed 
order of nature could not continue its course, could not develop 
motions taking such various directions in place, time, operation, 
space, and attributes, unless there were One who, being 
immutable, had the disposal of these various changes.  And this 
cause of their remaining fixed and their moving, I call God, 
according to the name familiar to all.

-Ancius Manlius Severinus Boethius (480-575 A.D.)

                     ***
     
"Are you my mother, now?" the boy asks as we cross from Utah
into Nevada, the "Welcome" sign still standing.  A few vehicles 
had approached and dropped back quickly when they saw Mulder
behind the wheel as we crossed the desert.  They watched, but
didn't threaten as he drove flat-out, pushing the Humvee as fast 
as possible.

His mother?  I suppose I am.  Always wanted a little boy - in 
fact, I always wanted one with Mulder.  A little boy with his 
hazel eyes.  Odd how things turn out.  

"Good.  I've listened to Mulder think about you a lot."

"Please don't listen to me think without permission - it's rude." 
The boy looks confused, but I feel him leave my head.  Mulder was
still there, though.  

"Okay - I was just wondering about you.  Mulder tried for so long
to buy you and I just wanted to know what you were like."

I see Mulder look back at the boy, warning him.  There is a 
bruise on his cheekbone - I guess Gibson got at least one punch 
in.  

"No, Mulder - I want to know.  Is that what happened?"

Mulder nods "yes," staring straight ahead.  "They wouldn't let 
you go, no matter what I offered.  I've tried for years.  You 
were too well-guarded to take and I couldn't fight an entire 
colony."

I wonder how many years he's tried.  Was it just Colony 451 that
wouldn't let me go, or did Skinner refuse too?  Continue fucking
me while he kept me trapped in the bunker clinic with no idea
Mulder was outside trying to get to me?  I think of the wooden
crate on the porch of the house I used to live in.  "What did you
finally trade, Mulder?"

"A man's head," a little voice in the backseat says, before 
Mulder silences him with another look and the last apple.  

Hours follow as Mulder turns south, following the coastline. 
California.  Lunch is silent; an unspoken battle between Mulder 
and the boy.  That boy needs a name.

"I want to be Barney.  I heard him in a book," he says with his
mouth full.

Christ - a nuclear war and an alien invasion and I can't escape
Barney.  Is there a second choice?

"John Doe.  That's what Mulder's thinking."  

I can live with John.  John it is.  

Get out of my head, John.
     
                     ***

As you do not know how the spirit comes to the bones in the womb
of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who
makes everything.

-Ecclesiastes 11:5
                     ***

Mulder was looking for me.  Mulder was looking for me.  

Those words gave me hope for weeks.  Then weeks stretched into
months and he still didn't come.  

Occasionally, someone from outside the colony would be brought
to me for help if they had something valuable to trade with the
leader for my services.  I quizzed those men mercilessly - had 
they seen a tall man with dark hair named "Mulder?"  One who was
looking for me?  Without fail, I got practiced blank looks and a 
nod "no."  Part of the deal to get to see the doctor must have 
included not answering any of her questions about outsiders.

I guess.

Maybe I was just paranoid.   

Maybe Skinner was lying.  

Again.

Someone brought in a young whore that wasn't from the colony - I
guess one of the guards took pity on her and let her in.  I 
watched her pile jewelry into my assistant/guard's hands - 
payment for whatever she wanted.

She wanted an abortion.     

No.  Not even a possibility.

I couldn't even ask her about Mulder with my guard there -
grinning because he was hoping I would have her undress to
examine her.  

I felt so sorry for her, just standing there looking broken.  I 
could have been her - a small, slim woman with delicate features; 
way too soft to survive in this world.  She was pretty under all 
that dirt, but she wouldn't stay that way for long.   
          
Without Mulder and Skinner, I would have been her.

When my guard's back was turned, I grabbed half the jewelry she'd
given him off the table and thrust it at her.  By rights, she 
should have gotten it all back, but that would never happen.  
This was the best I could do - that idiot guard couldn't count, 
anyway.

"Come back and I've deliver that baby," I told her.  

She just looked at me.  I doubted she would.

Then a few months later, she was back - in heavy labor and 
starting to bleed.  After five hours, she had a healthy, breech-
birthed little girl with brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes 
under that wrinkled red face, and I was feeling very good about 
myself.  
     
I barely had the baby cleaned up before she was trying to wipe 
off and get dressed.  I told her to lay back down - she could at 
least spend the night inside where it was warm.  No, she was 
leaving.  Before she left, she pressed something into my hand and 
told me it was for me - for helping her.  Then she walked out.  
Without the baby.  

I tried to run after her and my guard stopped me.  If she didn't
nurse the baby, it would die.  No one was going to go to the 
trouble of bottle-feeding goat's milk into a whore's baby and 
there weren't any nursing mothers in the colony that could take 
her.  

Maybe I could keep her.

Yes, I could keep her.  A beautiful little girl with eyes like
Mulder's.

I looked into my hand to see what she'd given me - probably some
gaudy bracelet.  Actually, it was just a plain, battered man's 
watch.  Like a thousand others sold all over the place Before.

Just like the one that Mulder had worn Before.  

I flipped it over to see if it was engraved - with what, I didn't
know.  How would I have known what was engraved in Mulder's
watch?  Nothing - it was blank.  I tried to remember - was this 
was the last one he had Before?  He smashed so many.  Was he 
wearing it in the bunker?

My guard saw that I had it and took it from me, explaining 
patiently that payment was made directly to the colony as he 
slipped it into his pocket.  No, this was a gift to me - the 
colony already got paid.  He wouldn't give it to me.

I tried to take it from that big ox.

I almost had him, Mulder.  I was an FBI agent, you know.  I got 
in several good jabs while the baby screamed miserably.  But I 
didn't have a weapon and he did.  And he was a man and I was a 
woman - his word against mine if I hurt him.  

I did all I knew to do.  I dodged past him out the door and found
Granger.  I yelled and I begged as the leader promised me he'd
bring me any watch I wanted.  The entire colony stared as I
dragged him back to the house I lived and worked in.  Fuck them, 
I wanted that watch.

My house was too quiet when we got back - the baby wasn't crying
anymore.  My guard was tossing an empty hypodermic syringe into
the trash and the child was turning pale.  I checked her, but she 
was already dead - one bubble of air to the brain was all it 
took.  

I tried to tell myself it was a fast death instead of a slow one.  
I tried not to look weak as I slid down the wall, holding the 
body of a dead little girl with eyes like Mulder's.

"Give her the damn watch," Granger growled.

Idiot Ox threw the heavy wristwatch at me, cracking the glass on
the floor, and jerked the baby away by its little ankle.  I just 
crushed the broken watch to my chest and cried until I ran out of 
tears. 

That couldn't be Mulder's child - he wouldn't do that to me.  The
whore had brown hair and hazel eyes, too.  But that had to be his
watch.  It had to be.

It had to be.

                     ***

Why should we demand that the universe make itself clear to us? 
Why should we care?... It is something about understanding the
totality of existence, the essential defining reality of things, 
the entire universe and man's place in it.  It is groping among 
stars for final answers, a wandering the infinitesimal for the 
infinity general, a deeper and deeper pilgrimage into the 
unknown.

-Julian Jaynes 
                     ***

Mulder stops again within an hour, surprising me.  It's a tiny, 
no-name town with an abandoned gas station, a few stores and 
houses and not much else.  John Boy hops out and disappears 
between the buildings - it must be safe.

"It is safe, Scully," Mulder assures me.  

He's refilling the Humvee's tanks with diesel and loading more 
fuel and water behind the back seat.  He finishes and takes me by 
the hand, leading me behind the store where he had the fuel tanks
hidden and through the weeds.  There's an old stone Spanish
church and Mulder pushes the door open, then waits for me in the
foyer.

I cross myself and kneel.  It's been so long since I've been in a
church that I don't know where to start.  Words learned in
childhood form silently on my lips as I pray.  I pray for my 
mother and Bill and Charles - whether they are alive or dead, I 
pray they find peace.  I pray that Mulder and I find peace.  I 
pray for the little boy I've just inherited and for the friends 
I've left behind - Frohike, Langly.  I even pray for Skinner.  
Ahab and Missy and Byers and so many others among the dead.

Mulder shifts behind me and I look back and silently ask him to 
join me.  He shakes his head "no."  

There are still candles, so I take Mulder's hand and lead him 
this time.  I light it with his lighter and give it to him, the 
small flame bravely glowing.  He sets it safely in the middle of 
the table under the Virgin and asks me what we're praying for.

"Our survival," I tell him as we walk out, tugging the warped 
door closed behind us. 
                    
I start to call for John Boy when we reach the Humvee, but I'm 
not sure what to yell.  Deserted town or not, I'd feel stupid 
standing in the middle of main street yelling for "Boy."   

I've barely thought it when John Boy appears at the end of the
street, peddling a two-wheeler with training wheels for all he's
worth.  I glance at Mulder quickly and see the smallest hint of a
smile.  I like his method of calling his son - if all fathers 
were psychic, Wal-mart would have been a much quieter place 
Before. 

Boy arrives breathless and grins as Mulder puts the bike in the 
back of the Humvee without a word and shoves the gearshift into 
drive.

The sun is setting as Mulder turns off the main road through the
wine country and into the soft hills.  I'm surprised again when 
he turns on the headlights - he must know the area where we are 
very well.  Forty-five minutes later, where we are is parked in 
front of a cabin in the middle of nowhere.  America is mostly 
dark middle-of-nowhere now days, but this was several miles past 
middle-of-nowhere.  We walk inside and Mulder flips a light 
switch and, wonder of wonders, lights come on.  The cabin has 
power.  

Water comes out of the kitchen tap and there's enough freeze-
dried food for years in the pantry.  And a shower and an indoor 
toilet.  When I open the closets, there are functional clothes 
for me and the boy and extra linens.  A big bed downstairs and a 
smaller one in the loft, both made up and ready.  A stove on the 
center of the cabin for heat and cooking, a ham radio to 
communicate.  Firewood stacked outside the back door and a rifle 
over the front door.  Toys in a toy chest.  Books.  

This is Mulder's home - this is where he was taking me.  

Now I'm home.  We're home.  Mulder, me, and the John Boy.

I smile at Mulder and I see a faint light behind his eyes.  
"You'll be safe here, Scully," is all he says.  

Mulder sleeps with me in the big bed and John Boy sleeps in the
loft.  There is a silk nightgown in the closet and I put it on - 
it still smells of a Victoria's Secret store.  Mulder runs his 
hands over it, the roughness snagging against the fabric as he 
kisses me.  Our love-making is unhurried, the way I always wanted 
it to be.  Slow and sweet.  I can see my Mulder in this man.  

When I wake, Mulder is gone - both physically and from my head -
and John Boy is asleep beside me.  The Humvee is still sitting in 
the driveway, the tank refueled with diesel and Mulder's supplies 
are on the table where he left them last night.  Initially I 
think he's just gone hunting, but John Boy says he isn't coming 
back.  No note, no explanation, just gone.

I realize that there are no clothes for Mulder in the closets, no
books that he would read on the shelves.  He never intended to 
stay here.  He probably didn't intend to stay with me last night.  
I realize that I've never told him I love him out loud and now 
it's too late.  Mulder saved me from invading aliens and insured 
my safety by trading his soul and that still couldn't shake those 
three words out of me.  Once again, I lose my battle against the 
lump in my throat and spend the morning sobbing.

I put a kettle on for coffee, still watching through the window 
days later.  John Boy wants to have coffee with me - sure, why 
not?  A four-year-old- almost five, he informs me - that has seen 
people murdered and listened to Mulder's thoughts could handle a
watered-down cup of coffee.  

We sit in the swing on the front porch as the sun rises over the 
hills, charging the solar panels on the roof.  

"Is he not coming back right now, or is he still never coming 
back, John?"

"He still doesn't know.  He doesn't think you can forgive him."

"What for?"  I could forgive Mulder anything.

"Oh - lotsa things.  Helpin' the spacemen catch people so they
wouldn't hurt the ones in the bunker.  Leaving you.  The man
havin' sex with you- he feels really bad about that.  Killin' 
lotsa people, 'specially the sex man."

The sex man?  Skinner?  Mulder killed Skinner?

"Uh huh.  That was the head in the box.  Oh - sorry.  I won't 
listen anymore."

I sit in shock as my coffee cools.  He killed Skinner in exchange 
for me - that was the trade he made - so the leader of Colony 451
could take over the bunker and Alpha Colony.  Mulder killed his
friend and cut off his head and brought it to the leader in a box 
like a birthday gift.  

That was how bad he wanted me.

I can still see Skinner standing in the rain, telling me he was 
sorry.  Just sorry - for everything.

Mulder is wrong - I can forgive even that.  

I watch the road that runs up the isolated hill to my cabin, 
linking me to this brave new world.  Maybe one day Mulder will 
come driving up that dirt road in his Jeep, coming for me like he
promised.  John Boy goes out to play in the dewy grass as I sit,
remembering to sip my tepid coffee.  There is a tire swing in the
tree beside the Humvee and a tree house that Mulder must have
built for him.  A labor of love by a man who thinks he's lost.  
                       
As I finish my coffee and the cup that John Boy forgot, I feel a
familiar pressure behind my forehead.  

Mulder is listening.  

                     ***      

There are many windows through which we can look out into the
world, searching for meaning...  Most of us, when we ponder on
the meaning of our existence, peer through but one of these
windows onto the world.  And even that one is often misted over
by the breathe of humanity.  We clear a tiny peephole and stare
through.  No wonder we are confused by the tiny fraction of a
whole that we see.  It is, after all, like trying to comprehend 
the panorama of the desert or the sea through a rolled-up 
newspaper.

-Jane Goodall

                     ***