Guilty as Charged
 By Vickie Moseley

Sun Dec 15 1996
 Summary: Mulder faces his worst nightmare and it's up to Scully to wake him
 up in time. 

XA Disclaimer applies.
 Disclaimer: I won't make any money off this. Big surprise, right? 

FOURTH SEASON WARNING: Some spoilers scattered throughout, mostly refering
 to Herrenvolk and Home. No romance. No significant others. Some bad
 words. Probably PG13 or there abouts. 

Comments to me:vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 

Guilty as Charged
 By Vickie Moseley
 begun Nov. 11, 1996 

An open field
 August 15, 1996
 3:00 pm 

The sun was beating down and not a breath of air was coming
 from the beaches to the east. Two men in suits and three men in
 blue uniforms were standing in far right field of an old baseball
 park. The rusted backstop cast the only shadow on the area. 

"I don't like this, I don't like this one bit," Det. Steve Marker said
 as he stood near one side of a slight mound in the large open field.
 "I mean, I've lived here all my life. I've played in this very field
 since I was old enough to ride a two wheeler. My brother's kids
 have played here. I know this field, Rick. I would have noticed
 something like a, a grave!" 

Marker was young, only 29, but he looked even younger. His
 casual good looks were in stark contrast to his superior, Rick
 Price, who stood beside him. Price was older by ten years and had
 made a career of looking the part of the hard bitten police
 lieutenant. Where Marker was dark, dark brown hair, dark eyes,
 Price was blond. Where Marker dressed in unassuming business
 attire, Price was dressed to the nines in designer suits and
 expensive hand tailored shirts. The young man sometimes
 wondered just where Price got all his money, God knew he wasn't
 relying solely on what the good residents of Martha's Vineyard
 paid him. 

"Steve, look. I know it was just an anonymous tip, but this
 damned case has been on the books for 23 years. Wouldn't it be
 worth digging in the dirt a little if we could close it?" Rick said as
 he watched the crew of forensic officers dig a hole in the ground.
 The hole was about three feet across and four feet long, just the
 size for a small child's grave. They were about 3 feet down when
 one of the men called out. 

"We got somethin'. Careful boys, don't mess this up," the older of
 the three said and each man put his spade aside and started the
 painstaking work of uncovering the objects with the care of
 archeologists at an ancient site. After another hour, the objects
 began to take shape. 

"It's a skeleton, all right. And look here." Price reached down
 and picked up a small pin from the dirt. He recognized it
 immediately, even before he noted the initals engraved on the
 back. 

"Don't tell me it's his," Marker said in disbelieve. "That's just too
 pat," he added shaking his head. 

"Yeah, well, I was there when he got this. I always knew that guy
 was looney tunes. Now I got proof." Price took out the evidence
 bag and dropped the 20+ year old Eagle Scout pin into it. "Call in
 an APB, Steve, and book yourself on the next shuttle. He's got
 some questions to answer. And maybe this time, he'll be awake
 enough to make sense." 

Fox Mulder's Apartment
 August 15
 7:30 pm 

"You really don't have to do this, Scully. I'll do fine all by
 myself," Fox Mulder assured his partner as he hobbled into his
 apartment on crutches. "It's not like I've never been on crutches
 before," he added as he made his way around the furniture and
 landed with a 'thump' on the couch. He dropped the crutches
 under the coffee table and propped the plaster encased foot and
 and ankle on the couch like a seasoned professional. Scully
 perched on the coffee table across from him. 

"I know that, Mulder, but the doctor said you were to stay off
 the foot for at least a couple of days. I know you. By tomorrow
 morning you're going to be trying to gimp your way down to the
 metro stop and ride the train into work. But for tonight, I expect
 you to follow the doctor's orders, if I have to hold you at gun
 point to make sure you do," she said forcefully. 

"You know how much that turns me on, Scully, when you talk
 about holding me at gun point," he teased. She shot him a
 scathing look and he grinned. "Lighten up, Scully. I broke my
 ankle. At least that means you get some time to clean up the
 paperwork that's be piling up in the office," he reasoned. 

"ME clean up the paperwork?! Mulder, if I remember
 correctly, at least HALF of that paperwork is yours," she cried. 

"Yeah, but Scully, I'm injured. You wouldn't make me do
 paperwork when I'm injured, would you?" The twinkle in his eye
 was enough to make her forget about any injuries. 

"Mulder, keep this up, and it won't be just a broken ankle," she
 growled. "Now, what do you want for dinner? My treat." 

"You are feeling guilty about this, aren't you?" he asked
 seriously. "Scully, it wasn't your fault. I was the klutz who fell
 off the fire escape. You had nothing to do with it," he said with a
 gentle squeeze of her hand. 

She looked at him for a second and almost seemed to believe
 him. Then, reality set in. "Mulder, it was my fault. I should have
 cut him off before he got to the fire escape. If I had . . ." 

"The guy would have done the same thing, Scully," Mulder
 reasoned. "He was too big for either of us. He would have tossed
 you off the roof. Besides, you didn't have your gun," he added
 pointedly. 

"I still can't believe I lost it," she sighed with exasperation,
 refusing to look at him. 

He grinned broadly. "Hey, it happens. I must be rubbing off
 one you." She let her eyes travel up to his face and smiled in
 return. He really didn't think she was to blame. He wasn't even
 bothering to forgive her, because for him, there was nothing to
 forgive. All she really needed to do was forgive herself. 

"OK, Mulder. You might just be rubbing off a little, but we
 are NOT getting anchovies on the pizza," she said and picked up
 the phone to place the order. 

Twenty minutes had elapsed and they were deep in discussion
 over the relative merits of Friday night television programs when
 there was a knock on the door. Scully got up to answer it. She
 opened the door, wallet in her hand, and stared right in the faces
 of a pair of uniformed Arlington policemen. 

"Can I help you?" she asked in surprise. 

"Is Fox Mulder at home, Miss?" a plainsclothed detective
 asked. She hadn't notice him at first, he had been standing out of
 her line of sight. 

"Yes, but he's indisposed. Can I help you? I'm his partner,"
 she informed them and noticed the looks that were exchanged
 between the detective and the uniformed officers. 

"Miss, if Fox Mulder is in that apartment, we'll have to ask you
 to step aside," the detective said in an official voice and started to
 move her to the side. She gave him a look that sent a shiver down
 his back, but she moved to allow him in. By this time, Mulder
 was struggling to find his crutches so that he could stand and see
 what was going on. He was on his feet, but wobbly and as he
 reached out a hand to steady himself, the detective caught his
 elbow. "Fox William Mulder?" he asked. 

Mulder looked down at the hand on his arm and then back at
 the detective's face. He had no idea what was happening, but he
 was sure he didn't like how it was going. "Yes," he said slowly.
 "I'm Fox William Mulder." 

With one swift motion, the detective's other hand whipped out
 a pair of handcuffs and snapped one ring on Mulder's left wrist.
 "Fox William Mulder, I'm Detective Steven Marker of the
 Chilimark Police Department. I need to bring you in for
 questioning regarding the murder of your sister, Samantha Ann
 Mulder. You have the right to remain silent." The rest of his
 rights were lost in the fog that surrounded Mulder as he realized
 what was taking place. Anxiously, he searched the room and
 finally found who he was looking for--his partner. 

"Scully?" he pleaded. 

Scully had been standing at the door, just behind the uniforms.
 She was in shock, but quickly came to her senses. "Detective
 Marker, there must be some mistake. Samantha Ann Mulder is
 my partner's sister and was kidnapped over 23 years ago. She
 wasn't murdered." By the time she had finished, Marker had
 effectively handcuffed Mulder to himself. 

Steve looked at the woman who had now crossed the room,
 standing close to him and the man in his handcuffs. His instincts
 put him on the defensive, but he could tell by the look on her face
 that she wasn't going to cause trouble. She was confused. As
 confused at the man he was handcuffed to. "Look, I'll go into
 more detail at the station. For now, I'll tell you that a body has
 been discovered, and there is sufficient evidence to assume that it's
 the body of Samantha Mulder, 8 years of age and that she was
 murdered. Based on evidence found at the scene, I've been
 instructed to bring Mr. Mulder here in for questioning." Steve
 turned to his captive and gave him a half smile. "Now, can you
 handle those crutches, or should I give you a hand?" 

Arlington, VA Police Dept.
 Precinct 4
 August 16, 1996 1:30 am 

Scully found him sitting on a wooden bench. Mulder's head was
 flung back, his broken ankle propped on his two crutches in an
 effort to keep it elevated, his eyes clenched tight with pain lines
 across his forehead. He didn't even startle when she sat down
 beside him. She shook his shoulder gently. 

"How did it go?" she asked, not wanting to sound as concerned as
 she felt. 

"What could I say? I don't remember. That's what I told them.
 About 50 times. I was beginning to think if I tried a different
 language it might make an impact, but the kid didn't look the Latin
 and Greek type," he said, stifling a tired yawn. 

"What evidence do they have that it could be you?" She knew he
 was exhausted, but there were so many missing pieces to find. 

"They found my Eagle Scout pin buried with the body. It had my
 initals on it." He had a faraway look and a noticeable shiver ran
 through him. 

That was enough to convince her that he needed sleep more than
 questions. "C'mon. Let's get you home," she said quietly. 

"Aren't I supposed to stay here, tonight?" he asked, his voice
 hoarse and raspy. "I mean, I'm such a desparate criminal that they
 brought me in 'cuffed." His sarcasm was the thin veneer keeping
 his anger and anxiety in check. 

"Detective Marker's a kid. He didn't know what to expect. And
 as for staying the night, I convinced them you weren't much risk
 of flight since your whereabouts have been common knowledge to
 the largest law enforcement agency in the free world for the past
 14 years. Besides, I don't know that they have enough evidence
 to charge you at the moment, forensics is still working with the
 skeletal remains. I told them I would be responsible for you.
 You're coming to my apartment, so I can make sure you get some
 rest." 

He started to object but she put up her hand. "It's that or the
 hospital, Mulder. The doctor at the ER wanted to keep you the
 night anyway. If you remember, you were under my care as it
 was. And this has hardly been my definition of 'resting'. So now,
 we're going home and you're going to rest, for real." 

"You did call Skinner, right?" he asked intently. He hadn't had
 much chance to talk to her once the interrogation began. 

"Yes, and he sent out a team from the Boston office to ensure the
 site is properly handled. Damn, I wish they had called us
 immediately." 

"What, and lose the biggest collar on Martha's Vineyard since
 Teddy Kennedy's little cruise on the Chappiquiddick?" he smirked.
 "Nah, I was never impressed with our local officers of the law
 when I was a kid. I'm still not that impressed with them." 

"Well, the Boston guys will take care of it now. They were called
 in the last time," she said with a sigh. More than anything she
 wanted to be up there, but other matters needed to be attended to
 first. 

As usual, he read her mind. "I need to get a lawyer, don't I?" he
 asked as she helped him with his crutches. "I mean, Chuck
 Peabody's a nice guy, he was great with my dad's estate and all,
 but he'll freak if I ask him to represent me in a murder trial. Hell,
 Scully, I don't even *know* any defense lawyers," he moaned.
 She helped him to his feet and propelled him out the door and to
 the parking lot. 

"One of the detectives recognized you from the Gregor case. You
 know, the night you got hit by a car? Anyway, she gave me the
 name of a defense attorney that we can call in the morning. But
 you realize, the trial will be in Massachusetts," she said as she
 opened the passenger side door and helped him in the car. 

"So I should just see if one of the Kennedy family lawyers is
 willing to take on another case and I'm home free, right?" he said
 with a ghost of that old twinkle faint in his eyes. She gave him a
 dirty look and he nodded in quiet embarrassment. 

"Mulder, you know there's been some mistake. That is not your
 sister in that grave," Scully said evenly. 

He looked at her for a moment. "How do you know that, Scully?
 How can you be so sure?" he asked, all open sincerity on his face. 

She looked at him in confusion. "Mulder, what do you mean?
 How could it be Samantha? After all you've seen, after all you've
 been told, how could you believe anything else?" Her hands
 gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles shone white
 under the passing street lights. "Mulder, you didn't kill your
 sister." It was a statement of fact, not open for discussion. 

"I wish I could be so sure," he whispered, just out of her range of
 hearing. He laid his head back on the seat and pretended to fall
 asleep for the rest of the ride. 

She got him in the apartment and he headed for the couch. "Unh
 uh, not tonight, mister. In the spare bedroom and move it," she
 ordered. 

He shot her a fierce glare. "No TV in there," he said, not really
 wanting to waste even that much energy on communication. 

"Yeah, that's why it's called a 'bedroom', Mulder. It has a bed.
 Now if it had a TV, I'd call it a living room. Look, I'm way too
 tired to be having this conversation, so get your ass in there and
 get in bed while I get you some water to wash down these pills.
 Or I'll use that blow dart gun we got off Samuel Aboah, if you'd
 prefer," she said with a nasty gleam in her eyes. 

"Never noticed how bitchy you are at 2 in the morning," he
 grumbled and hobbled into the spare bedroom. He sat on the bed,
 managed to hook his cast on his one sneaker heel so that he could
 work it free. He succeeded, but it jarred his ankle enough to
 really make it throb. He made a mental note not to try that again
 too soon, at least not until the ankle was better. Then he laid
 down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. In a minute, Scully was
 standing by his side, a handful of pills and a water glass in her
 hands. He made a great show of pulling himself up to a sitting
 position. 

"What are these?" he queried as he took the glass and examined
 the pills still in her hand. 

"Antibiotic, pain killer, sleeping pill. Want the PDR sites for
 them?" she growled. He glared back at her and took the pills.
 "And don't even think of 'palming' them, Mulder. I intend to
 check your pulse in a few minutes. Anything higher than 50 and
 you get a shot in the ass, got it?" 

"You have been watching too much 'Xena--Warrior Princess'," he
 muttered, but took the pills and made a great show of sticking
 them on his tongue, then sticking the empty tongue out at her
 after he swallowed. "Happy?" 

"To my toes," she said dryly. "Get some sleep. Don't worry
 about the alarm, I'm turning it off. You need the rest." She got to
 the door before she turned back to him. "It's gonna be all right,
 Mulder. I promise," she said and he was certain she meant every
 word of it. 

He wanted to tell her that no, he didn't know that. That to be real
 honest, he felt like he was in a bad remake of his worst nightmare
 and he wasn't sure of anything at this point. But she wouldn't
 understand. He couldn't tell her that, so he simply smiled his good
 night and let the drugs take him to sleep. 


Dana Scully's apartment
 August 16, 1996
 2:25 pm 

The phone was ringing by his head. In a second, before he could
 reach it, it stopped. "Let the machine get it," he mumbled and
 rolled over on to his side. He winced when the cast hit the surface
 of the bed too hard. "Damned ankle," he cursed and tried to go
 back to sleep. 

"Fox?" 

Somewhere in his sleep riddled mind he knew that voice, but it
 wasn't coming to him. He decided if he ignored it, it would
 probably go away, so he did just that. 

"Fox, wake up." This time the voice was accompanied by
 someone shaking his shoulder and he had no choice but to pay
 some attention. He turned his head and opened his eyes. 

Maggie Scully's blue eyes stared back at him then gave him a faint
 smile. "Hey, sleepy head. Dana's on the phone. She needs to talk
 to you." She handed him the cordless phone and left the room,
 closing the door behind her. 

Coming more awake, he looked around him. Scully's spare
 bedroom. His ankle in a cast. He glanced down and noticed the
 slight bruise that the handcuff had formed on his wrist where he
 had been shackled to Det. Marker. "shit," he whispered, as he
 remembered the night before. 

"Mulder? Are you there?" came the voice from the phone. Oh,
 yeah, the real world, he thought. 

"Yeah, Scully, I'm here. What time is it, anyway?" His voice was
 hoarse, like he'd been asleep for days. 

"Going on 2:30 in the afternoon," she answered. "How's the
 ankle? Mom knows where the pain killers are if you need one." 

"No, it's OK. I haven't walked on it, yet. I'll get some aspirin if it
 causes me any trouble. The hard stuff dries my mouth out," he
 said, scratching his shoulder and trying to position the pillow
 behind him so that he could get somewhat comfortable. "What's
 up?" 

He heard the sigh in her voice. "Mulder, I asked Mom if she
 could drive you down to the office. Skinner wants to talk to you.
 I've been in meetings all morning. The ME in Chilimark has
 positively ID'ed the remains found in a shallow grave in Hobbs
 Park as Samantha. At some point soon, we need to talk." 

He swallowed hard. It was Samantha. Oh, god. 

ohgodohgodohgoditwasSamantha. His chest was tight and it was
 hard to breath. 

"My Mom?" he croaked. 

Scully knew instinctively what he was asking. "Your mother
 called the office this morning. The police were at her door earlier.
 They want her to come in to the station for a deposition. I think
 she's nervous, Mulder, so I told her I'd get up there as soon as I
 can. She's allowed to bring someone with her to the station." 

"I'll go," he said firmly. 

"Mulder, you can't. She's going to be talking about the night Sam
 disappeared. You can't be in the room. They would think you
 were influencing her testimony," Scully reasoned. "Besides, I
 want you to stay here until they call for you. For now, it's
 probably for the best that you are several hours away. Stay put." 

"I don't like this, Scully," he growled low into the phone. 

"Neither do I, Mulder, but we don't have a lot of options. I'm
 convinced that you've been set up. But I can't do anything if you
 run off and look guilty." She let the words make their impact.
 "Mulder, I've called that attorney that the Detective gave me last
 night. He's seems like an OK guy . . ." 

"Oh, boy, what a recommendation," he interrupted with a sarcastic
 snort. 

"Mulder, listen to me! You need to talk to someone. Do you
 know of any lawyers on the Vineyard?" she asked sharply. 

"There are no defense lawyers on the Vineyard, Scully. Only
 estate and divorce lawyers. Everybody else goes to Boston," he
 said tersely, rubbing his hand over his eyes and coming away with
 sleepy crumbs. 

"Well, then you need to talk to this guy," she said firmly. "He's
 very successful, Mulder. He has a good number of acquittals
 under his belt and those who weren't acquitted got very good plea
 bargains." 

"Are you listening to yourself here, Scully?" he said, raising his
 voice. "This guy is one of those scum . . ." 

"Mulder you _need_ him." 

" . . . one of those two bit, slimey bastards who get people like
 Tooms out on a technicality! Who let fuckers like Monty Props
 escape the 'chair'! Who basically make our lives a living HELL!" 

"Are you through, yet," she asked in a quiet voice when he's run
 out of breath. 

"How much does he cost?" he asked weakly, exhausted by his
 outburst. 

"One hundred fifty an hour. And expenses." 

"Holy shit," he replied. After a moment he sighed. "OK, I'll talk
 to the son of a bitch. But only 75 dollars worth." He was quiet a
 moment. "Scully." 

"Yeah?" 

"Tell my mom . . . ," he choked. Even now, even with Scully, he
 couldn't say the words. 

"I'll tell her, Mulder, don't worry. But I'm pretty sure she already
 knows," Scully said softly and hung up the phone. 

J. Edgar Hoover Building
 4:00 pm 

Walter Skinner didn't like what was happening. It was going too
 quickly for it to be anything but a frame job. But his
 responsiblities were clear. The best he could do for Mulder was
 make sure every eye was dotted and every tee was crossed. He
 didn't even look up when Kimberly knocked on his door. 

"Come in," he said, staring resolutely at the file folder on his desk. 

"Agent Mulder is here, sir," Kimberly said and stepped aside to let
 Mulder struggle through the door with his crutches. 

"Agent Mulder. I heard you had another, uh, injury," Skinner said
 evenly. "Have a seat." 

"I don't think I was called in so you could update me on the new
 managed care provisions of our health plan, was I, sir?" Mulder
 asked as he lowered himself into the chair. He noticed
 immediately that he was not alone in the room. Another man,
 presumably an agent, was also sitting in the other chair in front of
 Skinner's desk. 

"No, Mulder, you were not," Skinner said and looked directly at
 the young man before him. "I wanted to inform you of the
 progress of the investigation into this discovery in Chilimark." He
 motioned to the other man. "This is Agent Crowley from the
 Boston office. He has been out to the site this morning and wants
 to ask you a few questions." 

Mulder nodded, keeping his expression blank. Inside, his guts had
 just twisted into a knot that would have made his old scout master
 proud. "Agent Crowley," he said, and reached over to shake the
 other man's hand. 

Crowley was actually younger than Mulder, but sported the
 regulation Bureau cut on his medium brown hair and the
 conservative suit with the classic tie. Next to him, Mulder looked
 like a teen ager. "I've read some of your profiles, followed your
 work. It's good to meet the man," he said and Mulder could
 almost hear the unspoken 'behind the myth' that would have
 inevitably followed that statement if Skinner had not been in the
 room. Crowley reached down and pulled a folder out of his
 briefcase. "Agent Mulder, according to the statements made at
 the time of your sister's disappearance, you have no recollection of
 the events of that evening." 

Mulder nodded. "That's correct." 

"I notice this statement was given on January 29 of 1974. Was
 there some reason you weren't interviewed closer to the date of
 the disappearance?" Crowley had a bland expression on his face,
 but Mulder suspected he was already coming up with some pretty
 keen conclusions. 

"I was hospitalized immediately following the incident," Mulder
 said, his voice dropping low and his hands gripping the arms of
 the chair. 

Crowley's frowned and flipped some pages. "Were you injured?" 

"No. I was," Mulder stopped and cleared his throat. He knew all
 this was in his own medical records, it was all Bureau information.
 Either Crowley hadn't bothered to look there, or the bastard knew
 exactly what he was fishing for and was just making Mulder
 squirm on the hook. He gritted his teeth and started again. "I was
 in a coma for close to a week. Then I was unable to keep food
 down for three weeks. I was released from the hospital on Dec.
 24 of 73. The doctor felt it best not to question me on my sister's
 disappearance until I was stronger. That was about a month after
 my discharge from the hospital." 

"There was no physical cause for your illness?" Crowley asked,
 and Mulder noticed that his voice had now taken on the quality of
 silk. The bastard had him just where he wanted him. 

"The illness was thought to be related to hysteria following a
 traumatic event. Following that hospitalization, I had no further
 incidents requiring hospitalization," Mulder said firmly. He'd been
 through this a thousand times with EAP following some of his
 more traumatic cases. This was familiar territory and Mulder was
 a master at avoiding the many landmines buried beneath the
 surface. 

Crowley glanced over at Skinner who stared back with a steely
 glare. No help from that quarter would be coming. Time to
 redirect the attack. "Agent Mulder, what was your relationship
 with your sister?" The tone held more meaning than the words
 and hung in the air like an accusation. 

"What exactly are you implying?" Mulder growled, deep in his
 throat. 

"Agent Mulder, I don't think Agent Crowley is implying anything.
 And it's a question that will be asked again before this whole mess
 is cleared up," Skinner said in a warning voice. "I suggest you
 calm down and answer the man." 

Mulder swallowed hard. This was not what he expected, not what
 he wanted to think about. The years of guilt had tarnished so
 many of his memories of Sam. It was only recently, standing in an
 open field in Tennessee, that he was able to tell Scully with some
 fondness of the times he had shared with his little sister. He
 forced his mind in those back inner recesses, to where the good
 times lie wrapped in dust and cobwebs. 

"We had a normal relationship. She was four years younger, but
 she wasn't much of a pest. We fought, like all kids. But when she
 was scared, she usually ran to me instead of to Mom or Dad. We
 talked a lot, I taught her to play ball. Nothing noteworthy." He
 shrugged his shoulders. "What do you want to know?" 

"Were you attracted to your sister--I mean sexually?" Crowley
 asked and immediately sensed that he had tromped on the wrong
 toes. Mulder was out of his chair, and lunged at the other man
 with a look of sheer murder in his eyes. Crowley leapt out of his
 chair and only the fact that Mulder's cast caught on a chair leg
 saved him from having Mulder's hands firmly around his throat. 

Skinner was around his desk in a second and grabbed Mulder,
 who was trying desparately to untangle himself from the chair and
 reach Crowley where he was standing across the room. "Agent
 Mulder, that will be enough!" he said, holding the agent in a half
 nelson to keep him from getting to the other man. "And Agent
 Crowley, the next time you use that kind of interrogation
 technique, I suggest you have the subject handcuffed and wear a
 kevlar vest, because you are only asking for trouble," Skinner
 seethed. "Now, Crowley, you are dismissed. We'll talk about this
 later." 

By the time Skinner was able to turn his attention to Mulder, it
 was obvious that all the wind was out of the agent's sails. He was
 slumped against the overturned chair, breathing heavily. He was
 pale and shaking and he looked up at his superior with a cold
 terror in his eyes. 

"They didn't find anything like that, did they? No sign of sexual
 assault? Oh God, please, please, not that," he murmured and his
 voice trailed off. 

The AD was quick to reassure him. "No, Mulder. None
 whatsoever. There was nothing in the ME's report to suggest
 that. They've sent the remains down here to our labs, but so far,
 there is no evidence of that." 

"But if it's just bones, there wouldn't be any way to know for
 sure," Mulder whispered, his eyes dead. His chest heaved with
 each breath. 

"No, you're right. There wouldn't be any way to tell." Skinner
 knew he would gain nothing by lying to the man slumped beside
 him. "But there is no reason to believe it occured until we have
 evidence to support it, you know that Agent Mulder." He spoke
 the words as he would to a recruit, who had just asked a question
 on procedure. 

The tone got the desired results. Mulder drew a deep breath and
 straightened a little. Skinner helped him to his feet and then into
 the now righted chair. 

"Agent Mulder, in light of the recent discoveries concerning your
 sister, I think it would be best for all concerned if you took some
 time off." 

Mulder closed his eyes for a second. It was exactly what he had
 expected and precisely what he had prayed against happening. 

"I need to get to the bottom of this, sir," he said, trying to make
 that sound like a reasonable request. 

"And you are precisely the wrong person to do that, Mulder. You
 know that as well as I do. It's not a suggestion. It's an order." 

"Am I suspended," Mulder spit out the word and glared at his
 superior. 

He was leaving Skinner no choice and he knew that full well. "It
 appears that's the only way to get through to you," Skinner
 growled. "I don't want to do this, Mulder. But it's the only way I
 know to keep you out of this. You are hereby suspended, with
 pay." Skinner had to smile at the raised eyebrow that little
 addendum produced. "You'll need to leave your guns and your
 badge. You won't be able to go to your office unless you have a
 security guard escort you there," Skinner said evenly. 

"I understand, sir," Mulder whispered. He felt like he had just
 been punched in the stomach. Until that moment, except for the
 ride to Scully's apartment the night before, he had come close to
 convincing himself that it was just a bad dream. Even when he
 was arguing with Scully about talking to the scumbag lawyer, it
 hadn't sunk in, it wasn't real to him. But this, taking his job away
 from him, shutting him off from his X Files, just when he needed
 them most, it was more than he could deal with. His whole world
 was being ripped apart from the inside. 

He shifted in his seat, since he couldn't stand easily, and took his
 gun out of it's holster at his hip. He leaned down and removed the
 one that was holstered at his 'good' ankle. Then, slowly, with a
 forced blank expression, he opened his jacket and took his badge
 out of the pocket and placed them all on the desk in front of
 Skinner. 

"I look forward to returning these soon, Agent Mulder," Skinner
 said firmly. 

Mulder took a deep breath, pushed himself out of the chair and
 tucked the crutches under his arms. "I look forward to getting
 them back, sir," he said with more confidence than he felt. With a
 quiet dignity, he left the room. Once he was near the elevators,
 Kimberly heard the distinct sound of an ashtray hitting the far wall
 of her boss' office. 

Maggie was waiting in the lobby. She saw the slump of his
 shoulders, as if he were carrying the weight of the world and her
 heart went out to him. But she knew this young man. He was a
 very private person and would never allow her to offer her
 comfort. The most she could do was let him know that she was
 there and that she cared for him. She rose to her feet and went to
 meet him as he crossed the FBI emblem on the floor of the lobby. 

"Thanks for waiting, Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry it took so long," he
 apologized. "I feel bad that Dana pressed you into 'babysitting'." 

"It's all right, Fox. I had the afternoon free, I'm happy to help out.
 Do you need to get anything from your office? I could go get the
 car and wait for you outside," she suggested. 

"No, that's OK, Mrs. Scully. I can just tell Dana what I need and
 she can bring it home with her tomorrow. Has she called yet?
 She should have made it to Boston by now," he said, trying to find
 some threads of normalcy in the tulmult of his world. 

"I'm sure she'll call when she gets there, Fox. Come on, let's get
 you home. You haven't eaten yet and you must be starved." She
 held the door for him as he managed the crutches. 

He didn't have the heart to tell her that he really wasn't hungry. In
 fact, for all his purported insomnia, all he really wanted to do at
 that moment was go back to Scully's apartment and go to sleep. 


Chilimark Police Station
 Interrogation Room B
 5:00 pm 

"Now, Mrs. Mulder, I understand that it has been 23 years since
 the night your daughter disappeared from your home, but we need
 to have you tell us everything that happened that night," the
 Assitant District Attorney Andrea Caveny said with practiced
 ease. She was a young woman, not yet thirty, but this was a very
 high profile case and she was eager to meet the challenge. Andrea
 had grown up on the Vineyard, and knew the story she was about
 to hear. This would be the first time she would hear it without the
 multitude of comments that accompanied it as it had been handed
 down in the small seaside community of Chilimark. 

The Mulder family lawyer was in attendence, looking a little out
 of his depth. Charles Peabody liked dealing with wills and estates
 and trusts and ways to keep finances secure. He liked all that
 because it allowed him ignore the part of the law that dealt with
 murder and mayhem and destroying people's lives. But until he
 could find someone else to help her, he knew his client needed
 him. 

Mrs. Mulder looked over at Dana Scully and gave her a weak
 smile. Dana wasn't allowed at the interrogation table, but was
 seated against the wall, still in eye contact, if Mrs. Mulder needed
 her. Mrs. Mulder took a deep breath and began. 

"We were going over to the Gibsons for cards. It was something
 we did a couple of times a month. For years, we would have one
 of the high school girls come over and watch the children, but
 early in the summer, Bill decided that Fox was old enough to be
 left alone to watch Samantha. We were only next door, after all." 

"How far was the Gibson home from your house, Mrs. Mulder?"
 Andrea asked for the record. 

"I guess 'next door' is a bit of misnomer. We had one to one and a
 half acre lots in that subdivision. So the Gibson's house was
 several yards away. The lots were all wooded, mostly oak and
 maple. The leaves were still on the oak trees, but the maples
 leaves had all fallen by Halloween that year. I remember Fox and
 Samantha playing in them when they were ready to go Trick or
 Treating." Mrs. Mulder's voice took on a far away tone and
 Scully couldn't keep the smile off her face as she thought of her
 partner going Trick or Treating. She even gave herself the luxury
 of wondering what he had gone as that year. 

"So it's possible that you wouldn't have heard what went on at
 your house?" Andrea asked, breaking the illusion of happy
 memories that had settled on the other two women. 

"Yes, it's possible. I mean, Jack, Dr. Gibson, used to like the
 radio on so he and Bill could listen to the Celtics game or Red Sox
 or whatever team was playing. So Millie and I would have to
 almost shout to be heard. But we had a good time. A very good
 time," she said sadly. 

Once again, Andrea broke the spell. "Mrs. Mulder, what time did
 you go back to your home that night?" 

Mrs. Mulder looked up, as if she had just walked into the room.
 "Uh, it was eleven. I had called to make sure that Samantha had
 gone to bed. Fox was allowed to stay up. It was Friday and he
 loved to watch the 'ghoulie movie' as they called it then. More
 often than not, he'd end up sleeping on the couch with the lights
 on in the morning, but I didn't see any harm in it. Bill didn't like it,
 that he watched those things, but Fox was just a boy." 

"So at eleven o'clock, everything was fine?" Andrea asked,
 beginning to scribble on a yellow legal pad, even though the entire
 discussion was being recorded. 

"No, no it wasn't fine. The phone was dead. It wasn't all that
 unusual, the wind was strong that night. Bill said the lines must
 have come down, that was common enough in those days. But I
 was still concerned. I didn't want Fox and Sammi alone in that
 house without a phone. What if something were to happen, I said
 to Bill." The older woman turned to Dana, as if trying to explain
 her concerns, seeking reassurance for her actions. Dana nodded
 her encouragement. 

"So the phone was out, and you left the Gibson's?" 

"Yes. It must have been right at eleven because I remember the
 late news was just starting. We had walked over and so it was
 about five minutes before we got to the house." 

"Did you notice anything unusual as you approached the house?"
 Andrea prodded. 

"Yes. The lights were out. Even the stairway light. We kept that
 on until Bill and I went to bed. It was always on. And Fox would
 have left it on while he watched the movie. But the house was
 dark. I got scared and started to run, but Bill caught my arm and
 reminded me that if the phone lines had come down, the electric
 lines probably followed." She stopped and looked at Dana again.
 "But the lights were on at the Gibsons' and they were on the same
 transformer as us. We could tell if something was wrong at the
 transformer by looking out our bedroom window and seeing if the
 Gibsons' security light was shining." 

"So you don't know why the lights were out just at your house?"
 Andrea asked. 

"When we got in the house, we found out it the electric was out
 completely. The wall clock in the kitchen was stopped. It read
 ten till nine. We had come through the kitchen door, you see. I
 didn't like the children using the front door because we had a new
 carpet and it was hard to keep the sand off it." 

"Mrs. Mulder, I understand that you are trying very hard here, but
 please, you don't need to explain your actions. You aren't on trial
 here," Andrea said kindly. 

Mrs. Mulder gave her a stern look. "Young woman, I have to
 disagree. My daughter was taken from me that night. I have no
 idea what happened or when. She was my responsiblity. My
 child. My baby. You may not think I'm on trial for that, but
 believe me, I have tired myself, and found myself guilty. I have
 lived out my punishment, my sentence, every day since that night.
 And I will live that sentence until the day I die." 

"Of couse, Mrs. Mulder," Andrea said apologetically. "Please,
 continue." 

"When I saw what time the clock had stopped I got frightened. I
 ran into the living room, calling for the children. I tripped . . ." A
 sob caught in her throat and then broke free. " . . . I tripped over
 Fox. He was lying on the floor. His eyes . . ." another choked
 sob, "his eyes were wide open. He looked terrified." She shook
 with the force of the sobs that engulfed her. "I thought he was
 dead. I . . . I screamed for Bill." Her hands were wringing and
 twisting on the table top. The older woman looked up and saw
 Dana. She smiled weakly through her tears, seeing the tears
 mirrored in the blue eyes that greeted her. 

"Bill came in and tried to get Fox to stand up. He screamed at
 him to stand up. He shook his shoulders and screamed in his ears
 and tried to get him to stand up. But Fox just laid there. He
 couldn't see us. He didn't know we were there." She stopped and
 stared for a moment as the horror of that night washed over her
 again. "I held him. I got down on the floor and held Fox while
 Bill searched the rest of the house. He came down and told me
 that Samantha was gone. Bill was crying by that time. I'd never
 seen him cry before, not once. Never. He said he had to call the
 police, the ambulance. Fox was still not moving, not talking, not
 even acknowledging us. Bill ran to the Gibson's to make the
 phone call." 

The older woman took a sip from the styrofoam cup in front of
 her. "Jack and Millie came back with Bill. Jack was our
 pediatrician," she explained. "It was always so convenient when
 the children were sick. Jack would just come over when he got
 home and write out a prescription. Anyway, he said Fox was
 suffering from shock. Hysterical catatonia. When the ambulance
 arrived, Jack ordered an IV and some tranquillizers. Just before
 the ambulance left, Fox' eyes had gotten so heavy, I guess he just
 finally let them drop. Jack told me he was asleep, but I knew
 better. My baby boy was very, very far away from me that night.
 I don't know that he's ever really come back to me," she
 whispered. 

"Was there anything taken from the house, besides your
 daughter?" Andrea asked, making more notes on the pad for later
 questions. 

"No. Nothing was missing. My pearls were lying in the jewlrey
 box upstairs. My purse was on the kitchen doorknob, where I had
 left it. It contained $50 and some credit cards. Our silver, Bill's
 watch and good cufflinks were all in easy reach. No, they hadn't
 taken anything. Just one of the most precious things in the
 household," Mrs. Mulder said bitterly. 

"As the ambulance was pulling out, the police arrived. They
 brought dogs to seach the woods. We found Bill's gun, his
 revolver, under the highboy in the living room. The box, an old
 humidor, was on the floor. The police found Bill's fingerprints on
 it and Fox'. That was all. The revolver hadn't been fired, but it
 had a round in the chamber. I guess Fox must have tried to scare
 off whoever took his sister." Her voice was calm and steady now. 

"When did Fox regain consciousness, Mrs. Mulder?" 

She bit her lip and frowned. "Not for several days. By the next
 morning, Jack had called in a specialist from Boston's Children's
 Hospital. Fox was officially diagnosed as comatose. He didn't
 respond to any stimulus. His EEG was almost flat, very few
 spikes. Of course, we didn't have CAT scans and the like in our
 little hospital in Chilimark. Jack wanted to move him to Boston,
 but I was afraid. I was afraid that whoever had taken Samantha
 would try to take Fox, too. So I put my foot down. I wouldn't let
 him out of my sight. I slept at the hospital, in his room. I spent
 the days reading to him, talking to him, trying to reach him. On
 Wednesday morning, I felt a tug at my hand. Fox' hand was
 twitching under mine. By dinner time that evening, he was
 awake." 

"He cried at first. He wanted Sam. He didn't know why we
 wouldn't let Sam come see him. See, he had his tonsils out when
 he was ten and we brought Sam up to see him in the hospital. It
 was the only way we could get him to stay in bed, he hated
 hospitals." Mrs. Mulder shot Dana the ghost of a smile. Dana
 smiled in return. 

"When we told him that Samantha was gone, he was inconsolable.
 The vomiting began. While he was in the coma, they had been
 feeding him through a tube down his throat, and when he woke
 up, they took it out. But after we told him about Sam, he got so
 sick. He couldn't keep anything down. After a day, Jack and the
 specialist ordered the tube put in again. They sedated him so that
 he would sleep most of the time." 

"He slept. He slept for almost three weeks. It wasn't the coma,
 the EEG showed that there was brain activity. He had regular
 sleep cycles. He just shut himself off, drew into himself and didn't
 come out. The doctors kept the tubes in, since he couldn't stay
 awake long enough to eat and he only threw up if he did try to eat
 anything." 

"All that time, those four weeks, we searched. The police, then
 the FBI, everyone on the island, every one searched. Ms. Caveny,
 I know you think you've found my daughter's body in Hobbs Park.
 But let me assure you, we searched every inch of that field 23
 years ago and there was nothing. No dirt disturbed, no mound.
 Nothing. The FBI did more in the 70's than just tap the phones of
 war dissidents, you know," she said tersely. Scully was amazed at
 how quickly the woman had pulled herself back together. It was
 obvious now where her partner got his backbone. "And I really
 don't appreciate you dragging up all this hurt and heartache from
 my past just to make a political name for yourself," she added with
 a daring glare. 

Andrea shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but other than that,
 didn't acknowledge the comment. "Mrs. Mulder, just one more
 question. Would you say that Fox was a violent child? Did he
 ever show signs that he might hurt his sister or that he didn't want
 her around. And please remember, Mrs. Mulder, you are under
 oath and the courts have determined that there is no priviledge
 granted to the relationship between a parent and a child." 

The older woman's face flushed bright red and for a moment,
 Scully was ready to call the paramedics, fearing another stroke. 

Slowly, the older woman rose to her feet and leaned over the table
 so that she was just inches away from the Assistant DA. "How
 _dare_ you even suggest such a thing," she seethed, keeping her
 voice low, just as Scully was used to hearing her partner do when
 he was at his limit and beyond. "They were brother and sister. He
 loved her. She loved him. They played together, they worked
 together. He watched over her like a guardian angel. When she
 skinned her knee he carried her all the way home. When she got
 teased because of her freckles, he went to her teacher and
 complained about the kids on the playground. He would no
 sooner have harmed a hair on her head than he would have flown
 to the moon!" 

"I know what you're thinking. I know how easy this could be for
 you. He was alone with her. It makes a nice tidy murder mystery
 to have the older brother commit the crime. That way, you don't
 have to dig--you don't have to come up with who really took my
 daughter. But did it occur to you that my son was as much a
 victim that night as my daughter? That what happened, what he
 witnessed, put that boy in a coma, _a coma_ for a week. I don't
 know what was done to him. The doctor ran test after test but
 nothing was conclusive. Even so, he was sick, so sick we thought
 we might lose him, for weeks after that night. I almost lost both
 of my children to the bastards who did this and now you're trying,
 ONCE AGAIN, to blame my son! Well, young woman, you and
 everyone else on this God forsaken island can GO TO HELL!" 

Her words echoed off the cinderblock walls and faded off into a
 deafening silence. To his credit, Charles regained his composure
 before any one else in the room. "I think my client has had
 enough for one day," he said evenly and gathered his papers into
 his briefcase before getting up to join Mrs. Mulder, who was
 already standing at the door. 

Andrea swallowed and a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank
 you for coming down, Mrs. Mulder. If we have any further
 quesitons, we'll call you. You are free to leave." 

As they were leaving the interrogation room, Dana leaned over to
 her partner's mother. "She shoots, she scores! Two Points, Mrs.
 Mulder," she whispered with a proud smile. 

In a voice still slightly shaky, the older woman answered. "Thank
 you, dear. Coming from you, that means a lot." 


Dana Scully's apartment
 9:30 pm 

Maggie heard the key in the lock and jumped to her feet. She let
 out a relieved sigh when her daughter stepped wearily in the door. 

"Hi, baby, how was the flight?" Maggie asked, taking Dana's
 briefcase so that the young woman could shed her suit jacket and
 shoes at the door. 

"Bumpy, as usual," Scully replied, then looked around the living
 room. "Where's Mulder? I expected him to be waiting on pins
 and needles," she said with a worried frown. 

"Asleep. We got back from the office and he went straight to bed.
 He said he wasn't hungry. Didn't even ask for a pain killer. I don't
 know exactly what happened in Mr. Skinner's office, but Fox
 seemed awfully quiet on the ride back here. I figured with the
 night he had, he probably needed the sleep," Maggie said, but
 noticed her daughter's concern. "Should I have kept him up?" she
 asked, a worried look on her face as well. 

"No, no. It's all right. He's probably just exhausted. The only
 time he gets any rest is when he's banged up. The ankle's
 bothering him, I suppose and he's sleeping it off. I'll go in a wake
 him in a minute." She walked over to the couch and lowered
 herself into it with a groan. Maggie smiled indulgently and went
 into the kitchen, coming back with two glasses of iced tea. 

"Here, you look like you could use this," Maggie said as she
 handed a glass to Dana and sat down on the couch beside her. 

"Thanks Mom. You're psychic," Dana said with a return grin.
 She drank half the glass then put it on the end table and leaned
 back, letting her head drop back on the back of the couch. 

"How was Fox' mother? Is she all right?" Maggie asked after
 Dana had a minute to relax. 

Dana looked up and over at her mother and made a conscious
 decision not to correct her partner's name. She straightened in her
 seat and looked more at ease. "Yeah, she's all right. For now.
 You know, Mulder thinks his mother is fragile, but she's anything
 but. That woman is tough as nails. And after all she's been
 through, Mom . . . well, she gave as good as she got tonight. I
 was proud of her." She looked her mother straight in the eye. "I
 almost thought it was Maggie Scully in that interrogation room,"
 she grinned. 

Maggie let out a breath of air that sounded like p-shaw and
 grinned back at her daughter. Then she got serious again. "Did
 you see the remains? Did Mrs. Mulder identify the body?"
 Without realizing it, Maggie was grimacing. She couldn't imagine
 a worse experience than identifying your child's body, especially
 after 23 years. 

"The remains have been sent down here. They've ID'd them from
 dental and DNA records. I'll get my chance to see them
 tomorrow morning. I doubt that there will be much to see,
 though. The grave was shallow, which means it wasn't that good
 at protecting the remains. Oh, and one other item was found."
 Dana chewed on her lip a minute and stared out into space.
 Maggie reached over and put her hand on her daughter's lap.
 Dana looked up. "An Eagle Scout pin. From the looks of it, it's
 probably about 20 to 25 years old. There were initials on the
 back. FWM" 

Maggie clenched her eyes shut. "Surely they don't think . . ." 

"Mom, don't you see what's going on? Someone has gone to a lot
 of trouble here to make it look like Mulder killed Samantha and
 then buried her body in that field. But it's a fabrication, an
 elaborate lie," Dana hissed and stood up to pace the floor in front
 of her mother. "I'm not convinced it's even Samantha's bones they
 found in that grave." 

"Dana, how can you say that?" Maggie demanded. "How could
 you know something like that?" 

Scully thought for a long while before she answered. She knew
 these people and knew full well what they were capable of. How
 much could she tell her mother before she put her irrevokably in
 danger? But then, how did Scully know that her mother wasn't
 already there? Still, she didn't want to take the chance. 

"I don't know how I know, Mom, I just do. I know Mulder. I
 heard his mother's account of the night his sister disappeared. He
 was in traumatic shock. He couldn't have killed his sister. But he
 probably witnessed what happened." 

"He's taking this pretty hard, Dana. You'd better keep an eye on
 him," Maggie warned. 

She leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the forehead, then
 pulled her to her feet. "Why don't you head home, Mom. You've
 got to be beat. I need to wake up Sleeping Beauty in there. We
 have some work to do tonight." 

Maggie nodded, gathered her purse and left. 

Dana walked into the bedroom and turned on the lamp on the
 nightstand. Her partner was sound asleep, he didn't even move
 when the light came on. She sat down on the bed, careful to
 avoid hitting his left leg and jostling the cast. 

It never ceased to amaze her how young he looked when he was
 sleeping. He'd once accused her of drooling on him, but it was an
 ironic joke, at best. Mulder slept with his mouth open, as if even
 in sleep he had theories to expound, ideas to explore, truths to
 convey to the universe. And, as she knew happened on occasion,
 screams to release from the most tortured parts of his soul. 

This time, he appeared different. Oh, the hair was mussed as
 usual. Some strands standing up at attention, while the hair next
 to that was lying as if a stylist had just removed the brush and
 comb. His breathing was steady. She'd seen it ragged enough
 times in her life. She was grateful that this time, he didn't appear
 to be sick. It was his face that made her rethink that. His face
 wasn't relaxed. There were lines near his eyes, around his mouth.
 His face was held taut and rigid. Almost in pain. 

She could chalk it up to the ankle. Even if he had spent the better
 part of the day with it elevated, a broken bone always hurt worse
 the day after the injury. He hadn't been off it enough right after
 they had come back from the hosptial. It had swollen,
 undoubtedly. Broken bones don't forgive. If you don't pay
 attention to them right from the start, they will let you pay for it
 the entire long time it takes them to heal properly. She
 remembered that her mother had said he hadn't taken a pain pill.
 She'd make him take one before he went back to sleep. He would
 need it to get through the night. 

Right now, however, she needed him awake. 

"Mulder. Hey, come on. Rise and shine. I'm back, I need to talk
 to you," she said, gently rocking his shoulder so that he wouldn't
 startle on her. 

"mmhhmf," he said and rolled so that his face was buried in the
 pillow. 

"Mulder, come on. Mom says you went to bed the minute you
 got back from seeing Skinner. You've slept more in the last 24
 hours than you normally do in a week. Come on, I need to talk to
 you." Her voice was a little louder and she was leaning down
 close to his ear. 

" . . . wait till morning?" he pleaded, still muffled by the pillow. 

"No, it can't wait. We have things we have to do in the morning.
 You have an 9:30 appointment with Mike Chambers. He's the
 lawyer I told you about. But I want to talk to you now, Mulder,
 so shake a leg." She shook his shoulder again. "I'll even make
 you some eggs. I don't think you've eaten all day, have you?" 

Groggily, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Not
 hungry," he replied. Then he gave her a dirty glare that said she
 wasn't needed to help him out of bed and she beat a hasty retreat
 to the kitchen. 

She heard the crutches on the hardwood floor as he progressed
 down the hallway. She'd thrown a package of bagels in the
 microwave and put cream cheese and strawberry preserves on the
 table with a glass of milk. He ignored them and went in to sit in
 the living room. 

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, thinking once again that men
 really are pigs and followed him in to stand over him. "You'll get
 strawberries on the sofa. Come eat in the kitchen," she ordered. 

"Scully, I'm not hungry, really. Now, sit down and tell me what
 happened with my Mom." He pointed to the arm chair across
 from his place on the sofa and then settled back to listen. 

Scully frowned, but sat down. "The Assistant District Attorney
 took her statement. Her name's Andrea Caveny. Ring any bells?" 

Mulder nodded. "Her old man was mayor when I was kid. I went
 to school with her older sister, Leslie. Math whiz. Can't say I
 remember much about Andrea except she tended to be a bit of a
 snoop," he said, laying his head back on the cushions and closing
 his eyes. 

"Well, she's probably made it a life's work, then. Anyway, she
 asked the standard questions, had your mom go over the details of
 that night." Scully decided not to mention the question that
 provoked the violent outburst from his mother at the end of the
 interview. 

"They were at the Gibson's," Mulder supplied, not bothering to
 open his eyes. 

"That's what she said." 

"What did she say happened when they came back home?" he
 asked, finally taking the time to sit up and look at her. 

"I'm sure you've heard it before, Mulder," she said with a wave of
 her hand. "The electric was off. She went into the living room
 and tripped over you. You were in shock. You're dad searched
 the house and couldn't find Samantha. He went over to the
 Gibson's and called the police." She ticked it off matter of factly,
 hoping to lessen the impact the memory might have on him. 

He sat there listening as if it was the first time he'd heard the story.
 "She tripped over me?" he asked. "She said that. That she
 tripped over me?" 

"Yes, Mulder. You were lying on the floor in the living room,
 with your eyes open, but you didn't respond. Apparently your
 father tried to shake you to get you to look at them, but you
 were," Scully stopped and frowned. "Mulder, you've heard all this
 before, haven't you?" 

He shook his head slowly. "I wasn't real with it at the time,
 Scully. I read the file on it when I was assigned to ISU, but Mom
 and Dad's statements were pretty sketchy. Just said that they'd
 found me in an hysterical coma and that the lights and phone were
 out." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "How was she? I
 mean during the questioning?" 

"She did great, Mulder. She broke down a little when she talked
 about finding you. I guess at first she thought you were dead.
 But she's a tough lady. I don't think you give her enough credit,"
 Scully chided him lightly. 

"I probably don't," he admitted. "I was down in the living room,"
 he muttered, screwing his face in intense concentration. 

"Where did you think you were, Mulder?" she asked. 

He shrugged. "I don't know. I have different dreams. One time,
 I'm in my bed and Sam's across the hall in hers and there's this
 light and I can't move. I never see her, I can just hear her calling
 to me." He stopped and swallowed. "Can I have a glass of water,
 Scully," he asked apologetically. 

"Sure, of course, Mulder," she said, jumping to her feet. "Sure
 you don't want something to eat?" 

"You're dangerously close to turning into your mother, Scully," he
 smiled wanly. "Not that it would be a bad thing, mind you," he
 added with a wink. "No, just water. I'm just thirsty." 

Once she had given him the water and sat down again, she
 thought for a moment, then continued where they had left off.
 "You said you have 'different dreams'. What are the other ones?" 

"There are a couple that are what I call 'housecleaning dreams'.
 What ever case we're on, where ever we are, Sam's there and she
 floats in the air and I try to reach her. Or someone grabs her and I
 try to stop them, but I'm frozen in place. Stuff Carl Jung would
 put in textbooks. But the only other dream from the house is like
 you described. We were in the living room watching TV. We got
 into a fight over what to watch. The fuse blew and the lights went
 out. Then the whole house started to shake. There was a bright
 light coming in all the windows. It blinded me at first. When I
 could finally see, Sam was levitating. She floated out the picture
 window in the living room. I tried to get Dad's gun . . ." 

Scully sat forward on her seat. "Your Dad's gun? Go on, Mulder.
 What's the rest of the dream?" 

He took another sip of water and thought for a moment. "I had to
 climb on one of the extra dining room chairs because Dad kept his
 gun in an old cigar box on top of the highboy. I got it down and
 tried to get bullets in it, Dad always kept it unloaded. My hands
 were shaking so hard, the bullets kept falling on the floor. When I
 had it loaded, I pointed it at the door. Right then, the door blew
 open and there was the bright light again. Only this time, there
 was someone, something, standing in the light. It was tall, thin,
 with long arms that reached out to me." He stopped and looked
 over at her. "And that's the part where I wake up in a sweat," he
 said as casually as he could. 

"Mulder, that dream fits more with what your mother said they
 found. Did the file mention the gun? That they found it lying on
 the floor next to you?" she asked. 

"I don't think so," he said, frowning in concentration. "No, I don't
 think I saw that in there. That's weird, isn't it?" 

"Well, the gun hadn't been fired. Maybe the officer just didn't
 think it was pertinent, since it was obviously unused," Scully
 suggested. 

Mulder shrugged again. "It was the first major crime we'd had in
 Chilimark. I'm sure things got out of hand, and fairly quick. Like
 I said before, Chilimark's finest aren't that fine. I know the FBI
 didn't get involved for a day or two. It wasn't until the Chilimark
 police decided to label it a kidnapping that they entered into the
 picture." 

"Did they question you?" Scully asked quietly. 

He gave her a sad smile. "You mean after they decided I wasn't
 ready for a rubber room? Yeah. But it was in late January. I
 didn't get out of the hospital until Christmas Eve and the doctors
 wouldn't let anybody near me for a month after that. I missed
 almost two whole months of school." His face broke into a grin.
 "Took me three nights to catch up on all the homework," he
 added. 

She refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her grin
 back. She hid her smile behind her hand. But there were more
 serious matters to discuss. "So what did Skinner want?" she
 asked. 

The laughter faded from his eyes. "Not much. I'm suspended," he
 said flatly. 

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Mulder . . ." 

"Yeah, I know, it's to be expected. But Scully, that doesn't make
 it any easier to get used to, you know," he said through clenched
 teeth. "Oh, and I met the asshole in charge from the Boston
 Regional office." 

"Did that go well?" she asked, hoping that it did. More than
 anything, the agent in charge of this investigation would need to
 be an ally. Scully didn't know anyone at the Boston office and had
 no idea who had been assigned to the case. 

Mulder never answered her question, which meant the answer was
 no, it probably didn't go well. He got very quiet and she watched
 as he struggled with his thoughts. "Scully. Do me a big favor?
 Tomorrow, when you do the autopsy, would you look real hard
 for any evidence of sexual assault." He saw her start to raise an
 objection and he put up his hand to stop her. "I know it's hard on
 a body that's mostly bones, but . . . I just really need to know." 

She could tell there was more to this request than appeared on the
 surface, but she also knew he wasn't going to tell her the rest.
 She'd have to find out for herself. "Sure, Mulder. I'll see what I
 can find." 

That line of questioning was at an end, so she decided to change
 to another. "Well, Mulder, I want to look at your medical records
 from back then. I think you can build a solid defense on the fact
 that you were obviously suffering a deep trauma after seeing your
 sister abducted." 

He stood up and using just one crutch, he walked over to the
 windows looking out the front of the apartment. "Unless the
 trauma was killing my sister," he said so softly that she almost
 didn't hear the words. When she realized what he was saying, her
 blood chilled in her veins. 

"Mulder, what are you talking about?" she demanded. 

He refused to turn and look at her. Instead, he stared out the
 window, rubbing his arms up and down as if in an effort to warm
 them. "There's another dream, Scully." He didn't say anything for
 a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying to decide if
 he should make this confession, even to his most trusted friend. 

"What other dream, Mulder? What are you talking about?" she
 prodded. 

"I started having it after I started profiling. I'm out in a field. I
 don't recognize the place, it's like those movie sets in cheesy sci fi
 movies that are all fake mountains and volcanoes and stars above
 and a couple of moons for good measure. And I'm standing over
 her. Samantha. She's lying on her back. Her eyes are open,
 Scully, but I know she's dead. I scream at her, tell her to get up,
 that she can't die, I don't want her to die. And I start to get mad
 at her, because she isn't listening to me. I bunch my hand up in a
 fist and I'm gonna hit her to get her to listen. And then I notice
 what I have in my hand. My old knife. My Scout knife. There's
 blood on it." As the last words left his mouth, he started to shake
 so violently she was afraid he would fall. Scully ran to his side
 and helped him back on the sofa. 

He wasn't crying, but he wouldn't stop shaking. She took hold of
 his arms and tried to get his attention. "Mulder. Mulder, listen to
 me! That sounds just like those other dreams. The housecleaning
 dreams. You put yourself in the minds of killers back then,
 Mulder. One of them just got mixed up in one of your dreams. It
 doesn't mean anything, do you hear me, Mulder. Nothing. It
 doesn't mean you killed your sister," she said firmly, hoping at
 some point that he would look at her and calm down. 

Finally he stopped shaking. He closed his eyes and leaned back.
 "I'm so tired," he whispered. "So tired." Before she could get
 him off the couch and to bed, he had fallen asleep in a sitting
 position. 


August 17, 1996
 8:00 am 

The phone started ringing as she stepped out of the shower. For a
 second, she thought maybe Mulder would pick it up. He was still
 sleeping on the couch, where he had fallen, exhausted, the night
 before. 

She still wasn't sure what had happened. She didn't think it
 qualified as convulsions, the actions looked more like severe
 tremors or the chills. He had been aware enough to tell her that
 he was tired. But the speed in which he had gone from tremors to
 sleep had frightened her. At first, she thought he might have lost
 consciousness. She pinched his earlobe, just to see what would
 happen and he batted her hand away, but had not opened his eyes
 or changed the rhythm of his breathing. It wasn't that long
 afterward that she noticed as he slipped into a REM sleep cycle,
 something even Mulder would have trouble faking. 

His pulse was strong, his heart was steady, his breathing was even.
 She chuckled to herself when she considered how many times
 when he had kept her up all night with his crazy theories, that she
 had wished to have him just fall asleep and leave her alone for a
 few hours. Now he was doing that and she just wanted him
 awake enough to talk to her. 

The phone was still ringing as she grabbed her robe and tied it
 around her waist. Mulder was still sawing logs on the sofa. And
 drooling on her good chintz pillows, she noticed. She reached for
 the phone and made as much noise as possible answering it. He
 was oblivious to her actions. 

"Scully." 

"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner. Is Agent Mulder
 there with you?" 

"Yes, sir. He's asleep in my sofa. Do you need to speak with
 him?" she asked, almost hoping for an excuse to dump some cold
 water on her slumbering partner. 

"No, he probably needs the sleep," Skinner said. "Actually, I'm
 calling more for your benefit. I got word that the Detective from
 Chilimark will be coming to take Agent Mulder into custody in
 about an hour. I know you were counting on being at the
 autopsy, but I thought it best to put a rush on this and you were
 still in Chilimark. There were a number of scorings across the
 ribcage. COD is down as stabbing." Skinner took a deep breath
 before he continued. He didn't notice Scully was holding her
 breath, too. "And Scully. The team I sent out from Boston found
 something else. A metal detector picked it up. It was a knife." 

Scully closed her eyes and almost dropped to her knees. "A Boy
 Scout knife," she whispered. 

"Yes, that's right," the AD said with some surprise. "It has Agent
 Mulder's initals _and_ his prints on it. And a good amount of
 dried blood." 

"Samantha's blood," Scully said in a shaky voice. 

"Yes, it was a positive match. The knife was found only 4 feet
 from the grave. I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I hope you were able to
 contact that lawyer you mentioned yesterday." 

"We have an appointment this morning. I'll call him right now,
 maybe he can get over here before Marker does," Scully said with
 a sigh. "Thanks for the warning, sir," she added. 

"You know I won't be able to do much more than this, don't you
 Scully?" he said quietly. 

"Yes sir. I understand." She hung up the phone and looked over
 at Mulder. The optimism of her morning was quickly being shot
 to hell. 

"Mulder, wake up. We've got company coming and you look like
 something the cat hacked up," she said, giving his hair a tug as she
 dialed the number of the defense attorney. 

While she waited for the other party to pick up she looked at him.
 "Det. Marker is coming to take you into custody." 

"I heard you talking to Skinner. They found my knife," he said
 flatly. 

She didn't have a chance to say anything else, because someone
 picked up the line. "Hello, may I speak to Michael Chambers?"
 In a few short sentences, she relayed what had happened and
 Chambers had promised to be there within the half hour. 

By the time she was off the phone, Mulder was making his way to
 the bathroom. "Do I have any clothes left over here?" he asked
 meekly as he glanced down at his rumbled sweatclothes that he
 had slept in for the night. 

"Not pants, but I think you have a clean shirt that got mixed up
 with my stuff when your luggage got trashed a while back," she
 called from her bedroom. "It's hanging in the closet. You weren't
 in your suit long enough yesterday to get it _too_ wrinkled, were
 you?" 

He smirked ruefully at the memory of his little altercation with
 Agent Crowley the day before. "Nah, and besides, you don't need
 good clothes to go to a hanging," he remarked grimly and went
 about trying to shower with a cast on his foot. 

She got dressed and went to fix breakfast. The bagels were still in
 the refrigerator, but she wanted him to eat something a little more
 substantial. She grabbed a couple of eggs, some shredded cheese
 and a little milk and whipped up an omlet. Some toast and coffee
 went on the plate and she placed it all on the kitchen table by the
 time he made into the room. 

"Eat. And that is _not_ a request," she said with a stern glare. 

He sighed heavily and sat down on the kitchen chair. "An egg,
 Scully? What happened to 'your cholesterol count must be equal
 to the national debt, Mulder'?" he said sarcastically, pushing the
 egg around on his plate. 

She pulled a chair out and sat across from him. "OK, that's it. I
 have no evidence that you have eaten anything since lunch two
 days ago. I know you, Mulder. You are avoiding food. But you
 can't do that and expect to remain conscious for very long. Now
 choke down that egg or . . ." 

"Don't threaten me, Scully," he growled and stood up, pushing the
 chair back so hard that it skidded across the floor, banging against
 the cabinets. He glared at the chair, then at her and hobbled into
 the living room with one crutch. 

She sat there for a moment, trying to figure out how to reason
 with him, but a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She
 ran a hand through her hair and got up to get the door. 

"Ms. Scully? I'm Mike Chambers," said the older man standing in
 her doorway. Scully blinked a couple of times. Except for the
 hair color, which was more gray than dark brown, and the steel
 wire rimmed glasses, the man before her was spitting image of
 Mulder's friend, Frohike. She realized she was staring and
 fumbled to cover. 

"Ah, Mr. Chambers. Yes. Thank you for coming on such short
 notice," she stammered and ushered the man into the room. He
 made a bee line for Mulder. 

"Mr. Mulder. A pleasure to meet you," he said sincerely, taking
 Mulder's hand into firm shake. "I'm familiar with your work in the
 Behavioral Sciences Unit. Exemplary." He was grinning from ear
 to ear and looked like a happy elf about to grant Mulder's every
 wish. 

Mulder was not impressed. "Did I come too close to any of your
 other clients, Mr. Chambers," Mulder groused, releasing the man's
 hand rather abruptly. It did nothing to deter the older man's
 enthusiasm. 

"No, no, can't say I've had the joy of trying to undo your
 handiwork. Not yet, at least," Mr. Chambers added with a wry
 grin. "I've talked to a few collegues who would love to be on
 your jury, however." The smile just would not leave the man's
 face. 

"I'll just bet they would," Mulder retorted with a scowl. 

Mr. Chambers sat down on the arm chair across from Mulder and
 opened his brief case. "Now, let's see. I took the liberty of
 digging around a little yesterday. This kidnapping case is from
 November 27, 1973, is it not?" he asked. 

Mulder nodded. 

"And you were how old at that time?" Chambers had taken out a
 small tape recorder and set it on the edge of the sofa, so that it
 would pick up Mulder's voice. "Oh, I'm recording this, of
 course." 

"Of course," Mulder said dryly. "I was 12 the night it happened." 

"Good, good. Now, Mr. Mulder. Tell me everything you can
 directly remember from that night," Chambers said calmly. 

Mulder sat still as stone. Almost imperceptively, he started
 chewing on his upper lip. Dana had come in from the kitchen and
 sat next to him on the sofa. She noticed his hands starting to
 tremble. 

"Mulder?" she whispered. 

He sat there. He said nothing. 

"You don't remember anything of that night, do you Mr. Mulder?"
 Chambers said gently. "It's OK. I'm on your side. You can tell
 me." 

"I don't. I can't remember any of it," Mulder said in a voice so
 low that it was difficult for Scully to make out the words and she
 was right next to him. 

"I understand you've tried hypnoregression," Chambers said. 

Mulder shot Scully a fierce look but she shook her head in the
 negative. Chambers broke the silence. "Mr. Mulder, I have
 sources beyond your partner. And I don't believe I've violated
 your privacy by contacting them in this matter. I've no idea what
 you learned in those sessions, but I do know that you did go
 through the therapy. Didn't you?" 

"Yes," he answered relunctantly. 

"Did you learn anything?" Chambers asked. 

"It was muddled. Nothing was clear," Mulder said tersely. 

"Mr. Mulder. I have to ask this. After I do, the matter will be
 settled as far as I'm concerned. Did you kill your sister on Nov.
 27, 1973 and bury her body in Hobbs Park in Chilimark,
 Massachusetts?" 

A loud knock on the door obliterated the sound of Mulder's
 whispered answer. 

Steve Marker looked very uncomfortable standing in the hallway
 of Scully's apartment building. He had been getting bad feelings
 about this case from the minute he'd been put on it. This case was
 just too pat, all the pieces were coming together to form a nice,
 neat, little . . . frame. Marker might be on a little poedunk police
 force, but he had all the instincts to take him farther. As far as he
 was concerned, this case stunk to high heaven. 

"Good morning, Agent Scully," he said when the door opened.
 "I'm sorry for the intrusion at this hour." He stood just inside the
 door after Scully had opened it to allow him in. "I won't take up
 too much of your time. Is Agent Mulder here?" It was a
 formality, he could see the back of Mulder's head from where he
 was standing. But there was another man in the room and Steve
 wanted to make it clear he wanted to know who the guy was. 

"Yes, he's in the living room. Go right in," Scully. 

Mike Chambers stood up when the young detective entered.
 "Hello, Detective Marker. My name is Mike Chambers. I'm
 representing Agent Mulder." Mulder didn't miss the fact that he
 had been 'Mr.' just moments before and was now 'Agent' when in
 the presense of the detective. 

Steve took Chambers outstretched hand. "Mr. Chambers. I take
 you will be meeting us in Chilimark?" Steve asked. He wanted it
 clear from the outset that he wasn't running a bus service. The
 lawyer had to find his own way, he was here to escort Mulder and
 no one else. 

"Yes, I'll be flying up this afternoon. Of course, I'm
 recommending to Agent Mulder that he refrain from discussing
 the case while you and he are in the car. Wouldn't want to miss
 out on any of the good stuff," Mike said affably. 

"Of course not," Steve said flatly. "Agent Mulder, I hope you'll
 agree to come along willingly. I'm sorry about the cuffs the other
 night, but I had no idea what to expect. You can understand, can't
 you?" The young man was almost pleading. 

Mulder looked him over. He was tall, almost Mulder's height. On
 the slim side. Looked like he had spent his share of time on the
 beach during the summer. Suddenly, the way Marker held his
 head clicked a mental image in Mulder's mind. "You're Gary's
 little brother," he said at last, a note of surprise in his voice. 

Marker blushed. "Yeah, I am. I didn't think you'd remember. I
 was in grade school when you left for Oxford." 

Mulder smiled. "I remember Gary coming to school and saying
 his parents kept talking about getting a surprise, but he'd found
 out that it was just a baby brother." 

Steve supressed a chuckle. "Yeah, that's like him. He's an
 architect in Las Vegas now." 

"Wow. Someone who managed to get a real job," Mulder said
 derisively. 

Scully pulled him aside. "Remember what Mike said, Mulder.
 This is not the time to have a class reunion. Don't say anything
 unless Mike or I are in the room, got that?" 

"Don't worry, Scully. The minute we're in the car, I'm planning on
 falling asleep," he said with a wicked grin, and followed Steve out
 the door. Scully noticed that the crutches weren't slowing him
 down a bit. 

Scully walked them to the main entrance and watched as Mulder
 got in the detective's car. When they were out of sight, she went
 back into her apartment. 

"Agent Scully, I hope you're able to get a few days off. I think I
 might need your assistance in Massachusetts," Chambers said
 when she came into the living room. 

Secretly, she had planned on being there whether she was wanted
 to not. But the expression on the lawyer's face caused her
 concern. "That's not a problem. What is it, what's the matter?" 

Mike turned on the little tape recorder. He played the question he
 had posed to Mulder--had he killed his sister. 

There on the tape was the whispered answer no one had heard
 earlier. With the volume up, it echoed off the walls of the now
 sunny apartment. 

"I just don't know." 

FBI Headquarters
 9:30 am 

"Agent Scully, thank you for coming in. I'm Agent Crowley from
 the Boston Regional Office and this is Agent Collins. He
 performed the autopsy last night." Crowley offered Scully a seat
 at the conference table and she took it and sat down. 

"I thought I made it clear that I wanted to perform the autopsy on
 the remains," Scully said in an even tone. She was trying her best
 to avoid ripping the arms off this particular fly and beating him
 about the head with them. 

"Yes, well, AD Skinner mentioned that you were interested, but
 we wanted to get right on this. Since it is a Bureau matter, and
 there is an Agent involved directly in the case, we thought we
 should proceed as quickly as possible. Now, I understand that
 you've had a chance to review the body." He smiled, but only his
 teeth showed any encouragement. 

"Yes. I have," Scully answered tersely. 

"Did you find anything that might cause you to disagree with our
 initial findings?" Crowley asked. Scully shot a look over to
 Collins and wondered again if clones might be a reality. Or maybe
 just androids. 

"No, I did not. However, there are a number of lab tests that I
 would like to see performed on the samples that were taken . . ." 

"And I'm sure each and everyone of them will be performed in
 good time, Agent Scully. But as it currently stands, we have in
 our possession the remains of Samanth Mulder. And we have the
 murder weapon and physical evidence linking your former partner
 . . ." 

"My _current_ partner," Scully interrupted sharply. 

"My mistake, I apologize. You current partner is linked directly
 to this murder. Now, I fail to see what these test you wish to
 perform are likely to tell us." 

"For one thing, it will positively identify Samantha's remains,"
 Scully said tersely. 

"The DNA match was exact, Agent Scully. Those bones belong
 to Samantha Mulder," Crowley said with a slightly bemused tone. 

"Then we don't know exactly _when_ she was killed," Scully said
 in a deadly calm voice. 

"She disappeared in Nov. of 1973. I think it's a safe bet she was
 killed at that time," Crowley said, no longer bothering to hide is
 amusement. 

"But we don't know that, do we Agent Crowley?" Scully seethed. 

Crowley leaned forward in his seat and stared Scully down. "I
 don't know what you're trying to pull here, Scully, but I think I
 have a pretty good idea of where this is going. I wouldn't worry if
 I were you, though. I hear they allow even Death Row inmates
 conjugal visits now in many states." 

"You son of a bitch!" Scully yelled and was halfway across the
 table when the Assistant Director walked into the conference
 room. 

"Agent Scully! What is the meaning of this?" Skinner demanded
 and Scully had the presense of mind to pick herself up off the table
 and straighten her jacket. 

"Sir. It was . . . a misunderstanding, sir," she said, and shot
 Crowley a look that would have turned sand to glass. 

"Agent Scully, I want to see you in my office. Now," Skinner
 ordered and didn't bother to see if she followed him out of the
 room and into his office. 

"What just happened in there?" Skinner asked, once the door was
 closed. 

Scully was still seething, but took a second to calm down. "Agent
 Crowley made an allegation that I found inappropriate, sir." 

"And that allegation concerned what, Agent Scully?" Skinner
 hated the way Scully could beat around a bush and still end up
 smelling like a rose. 

"The allegation concerned my relationship with Agent Mulder, sir.
 Agent Crowley was under a commonly held mistaken assumption
 and I was merely attempting to stop an unfounded rumor." 

"I think you can accomplish that without bloodshed in the future,
 don't you, Scully," Skinner said. It took Scully a minute to see the
 twinkle that played in his eye. 

"I think you have a point, sir. I will endeavor to be more
 controlled in my persuasive techniques in the future." She, too,
 could hold back a smile when she needed to. 

"Now, about this request to have this case reassigned. I
 understand your concern, Agent Scully. But I cannot assign you
 to this case. It is being handled by the Boston office," AD Skinner
 intoned to her. He was standing in his shirtsleeves, even though it
 was only early morning. He had that look which spoke to hours at
 his desk. 

"But sir. This case _is_ an X File. And as such, we, or rather, I
 have jurisdiction," she said evenly. 

"Agent Scully, you are not the head of that division," Skinner
 reasoned. 

"No, sir, I am not. But, as in the past, in Agent Mulder's absense I
 have worked on cases by myself," Scully countered. 

"Scully, be reasonable. That was when Agent Mulder was
 hospitalized during an investigation. An ongoing investigation.
 Not one that has been gathering dust for 23 years," Skinner cried,
 pacing the space between his desk and the window behind it. 

"Sir. Please. We both know what is occuring here. If I don't
 have the your blessing when I go up to Chilimark and start asking
 questions, they will hand me a one way ticket back. And Mulder
 will be behind bars before either of us can make a move to prevent
 it." She took a deep breath. "Sir. I know you think I'm too close
 to this. But please, no one else knows the details like I do. I need
 to be on this case, sir. Mulder's very life may depend on it." She
 hated using the emotional approach, but she was running out of
 options. 

Skinner turned to stare at her. "How is Agent Mulder holding
 up?" he asked, the concern showing through his usually gruff
 exterior. 

"I'll be honest with you, sir, not that well. He's not eating and he
 seems to sleep all the time," she said slowly. This particular card
 might just turn against her, it was a risk to play it. 

"Sounds like depression," Skinner commented. 

"Actually, it sounds exactly like the symptoms he displayed when
 he woke up in the hospital following Samantha's disappearance.
 I'm afraid this whole incident has triggered something in his
 psyche that's causing him to withdraw, however incrementally. I
 want to avoid that at all costs." 

"As well as a conviction, I might add," Skinner said grimly. 

"That goes without saying, sir," Scully nodded. 

Skinner picked up the file folder from his desk and glared at it.
 Samantha Mulder's smiling face stared back from the picture
 paperclipped to the folder. The AD sighed and shook his head. 

"You have three days, Scully. I think I can hold off the troops for
 that long. Expose this for the farce it is and get Mulder back here
 ASAP." He looked at her over the folder. "It's the best I can
 offer." 

"I hope it will be enough, sir," she said sincerely, and left the room
 as quickly as she had come in. 

Cracker Barrel Restaurant
 Sayerville, New Jersey
 August 17, 1996 12:05 pm 

Steve Marker pulled the unmarked squad car into the restaurant
 parking lot. "Agent Mulder?" he asked, shaking Mulder's arm.
 "Agent Mulder, come on. Time to eat." 

Slowly, Mulder came out of his sleep induced fog and coughed a
 little. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and grimaced at the bright
 sunlight. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Just before the I 287 interchange. Thought we'd eat here before
 heading through New York. Besides, this is the last Cracker
 Barrel we'll hit." Steve gave him an impish grin. 

"Oh, gee, wouldn't want to miss that," Mulder said dryly. He
 glanced at his watch. "We didn't make bad time," he noted. 

"Yeah, well, the conversation in the car certainly didn't slow me
 down any," Steve retorted. If anything, the silence in the car,
 broken only occasionally by Mulder's snores, had almost put the
 young detective to sleep a couple of times. In desparation he had
 finally turned on the AM only radio and listened to garden reports
 for the rest of the trip. 

"Hey, my lawyer said not to talk to you, so I'm not talking to
 you," Mulder grinned. Slowly, he unbuckled the seatbelt and
 opened the door. As he stood, a wave of dizziness hit him hard
 and almost dropped him to his knees. His arms flailed and he
 grabbed the car door for support. 

Steve was out of his door in a flash. "Jesus, Fox! Are you OK?"
 he asked anxiously. He helped Mulder sit back down on the car
 seat and looked him over closely. 

Mulder waved him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just hotter than I
 expected," he lied. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself
 and then stood up again, much slower this time. The parking lot
 swam and shimmered a little, but he remained on his own feet.
 Steve had reached into the back seat of the car and extracted the
 crutches, which he placed under Mulder's arms. Mulder shot him
 a grateful look and the two men headed off to the restaurant. 

The smell of food did nothing for Mulder's stomach. It twisted
 and turned and threatened to jump right out of his mouth. Still, he
 recognized the dizziness for what it was--he was running on
 empty in his blood sugar fuel tanks. Scully would skin him alive if
 he passed out on the kid and ended up in a New Jersey hosptial.
 For that matter, he would rather crawl to the Vineyard than face
 that himself. So, regardless of how it smelled, he was going to
 have to get something in his stomach. 

It was a large restaurant and since it was a weekday, fairly
 uncrowded. They were seated rather quickly by a matronly
 woman who looked to be in her late fifties. She took one look at
 Mulder and started to cluck. 

"You ain't feeling that great, are you, hon?" she crooned. "Here,
 let me get you some hot tea. Settle that stomach right up." In an
 instant, she was back with a cup of hot tea and lemon. Mulder
 smiled at her, and nodded. She left to let them look at the menus
 and get Steve's diet coke and Mulder took the opportunity to fish
 all the ice cubes out of his water glass and dump them in the tea
 cup. Then he added three packets of sugar and drank it all in one
 gulp. 

Steve watched in silence, shrugged and looked at his menu.
 However odd his captive's actions might seem, they didn't appear
 to be illegal. "So, you still like meatloaf?" Steve asked. 

Mulder had been staring at the menu, hoping he could find
 something, anything that his stomach would accept and was taken
 by surprise by the question. "Yeah, I guess so. How'd you
 know?" 

"You stayed over for dinner a couple of times when you and Gary
 were in Scouts. I remember you raved over Mom's meatloaf so
 much the first time that she made a point of making it for you
 everytime you came over." Steve looked at Mulder over the
 menu. "It's about the only time she'd make it on a weeknight," he
 added with a grin. 

Mulder nodded, placing the memory. "Your Mom was a great
 cook. How are they--your folks?" Mulder asked, grateful that he
 didn't have to read any more food descriptions for a moment. 

"Fine, fine. They moved out to Las Vegas. Gary's married and
 has a couple of kids, so they get to play the doting grandparents
 and miss out on the lousy weather. Perfect retirement." Steve ran
 his tongue around his mouth and then set the menu down on the
 table. "Fox, ah, about this case . . ." 

Mulder put up his hand to stop him. "Steve. That's not a good
 idea. I don't want to get in trouble with my lawyer and my partner
 and I don't want to get you in trouble if I end up having to accuse
 you of entrapment or coercing a confession. Let's not talk about
 it. OK?" 

Steve swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. I guess you're right," he
 admitted, chastened. "It's just that . . ." 

Mulder grinned at him and shook his head. "You always were a
 pesky little brat, you know that?" he teased. "Steve, it's bad form.
 Really. How are you going to end up Chief of the Chilimark
 Police if you don't learn this stuff early?" 

"I don't want to be Chief," Steve said, staring down at the table
 with a frown on his face. "I want, . . . or at least I thought I
 wanted . . ." 

"What?" Mulder asked, wondering why the kid was suddenly
 feeling so self-conscious. 

"I thought I wanted to go into the FBI. I mean, I've got two years
 of community college. I'm working on getting my BA in
 psychology from Boston University. But now . . ." 

Mulder looked shocked. "Steve, I had no idea," he stated. He
 regarded the young man closer. "What makes you think you don't
 want that now?" 

Steve took a deep breath and looked at his prisoner hard in the
 eyes. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that before him sat an
 innocent man. And he also knew that the evidence was being
 stacked against him. It hadn't taken Steve very long to figure out
 what was happening. All he really needed to figure out now was
 the why and the who. But Mulder was sitting there, expecting an
 answer that Steve didn't think he could give him right away. 

"Let's just say I'm not that impressed with police work at the
 moment and drop it, huh?" Steve answered and went back to
 reading his menu. 

Mulder nodded and did the same. 

Martha's Vineyard Airport
 1:15 pm 

Mrs. Mulder waved to Scully as she walked into the airport.
 "Over here, Dana," she called. 

Scully adjusted the suitbag on her shoulder and the briefcase and
 overnight bag in her hands and quickly walked over to the older
 woman. "Mrs. Mulder, you didn't have to meet me. I was going
 to rent a car," Dana insisted. 

"Nonsense. Bill's car was in the garage anyway. No one else is
 using it. One of these days Fox has got to take some time and get
 rid of some of Bill's junk. I refuse to do it, I'll probably sell or
 give away something Fox values," she said ruefully and led Scully
 out into the glaring sunlight of the parking lot. 

Once in the car, with the air conditioning going full blast, Mrs.
 Mulder reached into her purse and handed Dana a key ring with
 two keys. "Here. I'm going to drive us over to Bill's house. I'm
 staying there until this thing is settled. My car is there. You can
 take this one and do as you please. And I insist that you stay at
 Bill's with me. The place is a mausoleum at night, I'd feel much
 better knowing someone else was around," she lied blatantly,
 giving Scully no choice but to agree. 

As they pulled in front of Bill Mulder's home in West Tisbury,
 Scully couldn't help but feel a chill run down her back. It was in
 this house that Bill Mulder was murdered while he was trying to
 tell his only son about the truth behind his sister's abduction.
 Scully didn't like the idea of staying there, but liked the idea of
 letting Mrs. Mulder stay there by herself even less. The place is
 not haunted, she reminded herself, but not all spooks disappear in
 thin air. With a shake of her head, she took her bags out of the
 trunk and followed Mrs. Mulder up the mutitude of steps. 

The house itself was beautiful. A full wraparound porch hugged
 the main living area. Several doors led out to the porch from
 different rooms. The sunlight poured through from dozens of
 open windows. 

"Bill was lucky, he got a house that catches the breeze. The ocean
 is over that way," Mrs. Mulder said, pointing at one set of
 windows toward the back of the house. "He never needed to
 install A/C. Of course, in the winter, it's deadly cold here," she
 added almost spitefully. She motioned for Scully to follow her
 into the area off to the left from the front foyer. 

>From a narrow hallway, four doors, two on either side, opened
 into three bedrooms and a common bath. "Here, Dana. You can
 sleep here. This was Fox' room, when he'd stay with his father.
 I'm in the guest room, just next door. The bath is across the hall,
 towels in the pantry next to the shower. Please, make yourself at
 home." She smiled and left Dana alone to put away her things. 

The room was sparcely furnished. There was only single bed, a
 desk and a bureau. When she was settled, she sat down at the desk
 and unpacked her laptop. Oddly enough, everything looked
 cleaned and dusted in the room and Dana realized that Mrs.
 Mulder must have spent the morning making the place liveable.
 She got up from the desk chair and looked around. 

There was a bookcase near the bed, five shelves filled with
 textbooks. Mostly psychology books, some history. She didn't
 see any evidence of 'UFO' or paranormal texts and realized he
 probably kept those at his mother's house. She wondered what it
 had been like for him, if he had hidden his interests in the
 abnormal from his father as he grew up. From the little she had
 seen so far, it didn't look like his relationship with his father had
 been very open even before Samantha was gone from their lives. 

On the second shelf of the bookcase, near the end, tucked neatly
 between a treatise by Carl Jung and one by B. F. Skinner, she
 found a photo album. Taking a moment to make sure Mrs.
 Mulder was occupied somewhere else in the house, she sat down
 on the bed and opened the album. 

She stifled a giggle at the pictures. Color pictures of her partner
 at a much younger age. His hair was lighter, sun bleached in some
 of the oldest photos. Riding a shiny new two wheel bicycle as
 autumn leaves shone in the background. He must have been six or
 seven at the time. His father, looking on proudly, Fox a little wary
 as his concentration focused on keeping himself upright and
 moving forward. Wary, but never thwarted. Always determined
 to succeed. 

In the later pages, Sam became a prominent feature in the photos.
 From the odd angles and poor exposure on some, Scully
 determined that her partner had been the photographer. As she
 turned the pages, the pictures weren't so haphazard and she could
 see that he had probably taken time to frame them and set shutter
 speeds. But always, Sam was there. She wondered for a moment
 if her own older brother had pictures of her that had been taken
 with such care, such love. 

It broke her heart to think that after all this time he was doubting
 himself. Something was wrong here. Something was happening
 in him that blinded him to the conspiracy around him. She almost
 laughed at the thought that _she_ could see the set up, and he
 couldn't. But it wasn't funny. It was frightening. Because if he
 didn't believe fully in his own innocence, how could she expect to
 prove it to anyone else? 

"You didn't kill your sister, Mulder," she said aloud, softly
 speaking to the little boy in the picture. "And I guess I'll just have
 to prove that to you." 

A thought struck her. She searched the bookshelf once more and
 was thrilled when she found what she was looking for. An old
 yearbook. A book of names--connections with people on the
 island. She grabbed it and ran into the other part of the house,
 looking for Mrs. Mulder, and a phonebook. 

Chilimark Police Station
 5:30 pm 

Mike Chambers wasn't smiling when he walked in the door of the
 police station. He looked around and spotted the young woman
 he was seeking and made his way over to her. 

"They get here yet?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
 Even he knew the value of billable hours. 

"No, but Marker called in about an hour ago and said they should
 be arriving around 5:30. So I expect them any minute," Scully
 said, offering Mike a seat next to her on the wooden bench
 outside the main squad room. "Did you come up with anything?" 

Scully had called Mike immediately upon the discovery of the
 yearbook and the two had agreed to split up the list of names she
 quickly compiled with Mrs. Mulder. She and Mike had spend the
 rest of the afternoon talking to people still on the island who knew
 the Mulders, who might remember the night of the abduction and
 who could possible spread some more light on the whole matter. 

"Fox' teachers alternately loved and hated him, depending on how
 badly he bruised their own egos. His second grade teacher had
 wanted to adopt him after Sam disappeared, she said he just
 looked so lost all the time. Then his seventh grade teacher
 informed me in no uncertain terms that he knew the kid killed his
 sister by the way he could correctly identify all the parts of the
 frog's digestive tract _before_ they had covered that section in
 science class." Mike shook his head. "I hate dealing with cases
 this old. No one has a clear picture of anything. Time erases and
 changes too much. And the fact that he was not exactly the
 normal kid in any class only makes matters worse. Smart kids
 may be teachers pets, but everyone secretly wants them to fall on
 their asses. It's easy to pin something like a murder on them
 because they're suspect in the first place." 

Scully shook her head in agreement. "And a good number of
 serial killers have high IQ's, which has been widely publicized in
 the press. That doesn't help Mulder, either," she reasoned. "But
 the neighbors all loved him. Apparently, he was the most helpful
 boy in the subdivision. He was always raking leaves for older
 folks and shoveling snow. He and Sam had a regular little snow
 shoveling business for a couple of season. And they seldom
 charged for their services. Said they just liked playing in the
 snow." She smiled sadly. Snap out of it, Starbuck, she
 commanded herself. She didn't want to have to go back to
 Skinner and admit that the case was just too much for her because
 it hurt too much. Mulder needed her help, she could offer tea and
 sympathy later. 

"I did get something rather odd," Mike said, breaking her out of
 her private musings. "The people that lived on the other side of
 the Mulders, not the Gibsons. Farrells. Yeah, here it is," he said,
 flipping legal pages and finding what he was looking for. "Tom
 and Clara Farrell. Tom's gone, cancer, ten years ago, but Clara is
 still living, though she moved from the old house. Anyway, she
 claims she saw something that night, but that no one would take
 her seriously." 

"What did she see?" Scully asked, curiousity brightening her
 previous dark mood. 

"Said she saw lights. Bright lights. She reported it to the police
 when they came by to question her about Sam's disappearance,
 but they told her it was just lightning. From all accounts, it was a
 stormy night that night." 

"Windy," Scully corrected absently. Lights, just like Mulder had
 said. And no one had recorded that Mrs. Farrell had reported
 them. She felt like she'd just found the church steeple in a 1000
 piece jigsaw puzzle. 

"Well, on a windy night, you can still have some sheet lightning,"
 Mike commented, wondering why the young agent now had a
 faraway look on her face. "Agent Scully? Are you feeling all
 right?" 

She looked at him, startled. Then she gave him a big smile.
 "Great, Mike. Just great. And please, call me Dana. Now, what
 is Mrs. Farrell's address. I want to talk to her a little more." 

Steve Marker pulled up to the parking spot for his car and killed
 the engine. He looked over at his prisoner and winced. The guy
 looked like hell. Worse than hell. 

When they stopped for lunch, everything seemed to be fine. There
 was that episode in the parking lot, but after that, Mulder had
 been conversant at lunch and had eaten a small, but respectable
 portion of the daily special, a reuben sandwich with chips and cole
 slaw. Marker noticed that Mulder didn't touch the cole slaw, but
 he didn't eat his either, so he didn't make a big deal of it. 

As they were leaving the restaurant, Mulder asked to go to the
 restroom. Marker stood outside in the hallway, figuring there was
 little chance of the agent escaping from a windowless room.
 Mulder had been in for several minutes, and just as Steve started
 to get worried, he reappeared, with the collar of his shirt slightly
 damp and looking pale. He wasn't as steady on his crutches on
 the way back to the car, so Steve helped him across the parking
 lot. As soon as they were on the way, Mulder had pushed the seat
 back as far as it could go and had fallen fast asleep. 

Now that they were in Chilimark, Steve was feeling even more
 uneasy. He knew the arraignment was scheduled for the morning.
 Since bail would be set at that time, it meant that Mulder would be
 sleeping in the jail. 

He was in no danger, Steve knew that. Dangerous criminals were
 seldom held in the small city jail. For the most part, Steve figured
 Mulder would be the only occupant of the facility. And Steve was
 certain that Mulder would be able to make bail in the morning. It
 was common knowledge that the Mulders were well off, and since
 Fox was the sole heir to his father's estate, it would be no problem
 to come up with the cash to get out of jail until the trial. 

Even so, Steve worried about Mulder spending the night at the
 city's expense. Mulder was a cop. A Federal cop, but a cop none
 the less. And from their short conversation at lunch, he was one
 who took his job very seriously. Steve wondered how he would
 feel if suddenly he ended up on the wrong side of the steel bars.
 The thought made him shiver, even in the late afternoon heat.
 This whole situation must have been a waking nightmare for the
 FBI agent, and Steve couldn't help but feel sympathetic. 

"Come on, Fox. We're here. Let's get you processed. You can
 have some dinner and then sleep the rest of the night away, if you
 want." 

Mulder woke up slowly and stared around him for a minute or
 two. Finally, it seemed to come to him that he was in a car and
 needed to get out of it. He opened the car door and swung his
 feet around, but as he stood up, his knees buckled and he
 crumpled to the pavement. Steve shook his head and ran around
 the car. He helped the agent to his feet and then got the crutches
 out, but didn't bother giving them to Mulder. He just hooked the
 older man's arm around his shoulder and helped Mulder to the
 door of the police station. 

Scully and Mike Chambers were waiting just inside the door. One
 look at Mulder and Scully was on her feet, running over to him
 and taking his other arm to help him to a bench in the squad room.
 Mulder didn't seem to know her at first, but then smiled weakly at
 her. 

"Scully, you made good time," he murmured, somewhat
 breathless. He was almost sheet white, his eyes were glassy and
 dialated. She put her hand to his forehead and it was cold, a
 greasy slick of sweat covering it and dampening his forehead. 

"Has he eaten anything today?" she demanded of Steve, who was
 standing nearby, not really knowing what he should do. 

"We stopped for lunch. He had a reuben and chips. And three
 glasses of iced tea," he added. 

"He kept it down?" she asked, checking Mulder's pulse. It was
 rapid and faint. 

Steve was surprised by her question. "Yeah, I guess he did," he
 said, not too sure of his answer. Then he thought back to the little
 time before they left the restaurant. "Unless he got sick in the
 bathroom," he muttered, almost to himself. 

"Was his collar or hair wet when he came back out?" she asked,
 not taking her eyes off her partner, who had thrown his head back
 against the wall as if keeping it forward was too taxing. 

"Yeah, it was," Steve nodded, remembering. "What does that
 prove?" 

"That he vomited and had to rinse his mouth out," she said tersely.
 "Damn you, Mulder, when are you gonna cut this shit out," she
 seethed under her breath. She looked up at Steve. "Look, he's
 sick. He hasn't eaten, or kept anything down for three days now.
 He's passing out from hypoglycemia, low blood sugar. And
 something tells me you don't have an infirmary here." 

"He got dizzy in the parking lot at the restaurant and he fell
 getting out of the car just now," Steve interjected. 

"Yeah, and he just lost consciousness," she retorted. "We need to
 get him on an IV. He should probably be in a hospital, not that
 he'll like that much," she said with an exasperated puff of breath. 

"How do we know this isn't just his way of staying out of a jail
 cell?" a voice inquired from the far end of the squad room. Scully
 looked up, fierce and ready for battle. 

A tall man, very well dressed, with a receding head of blond hair,
 walked around the various desks and came over to the bench.
 Steve swallowed, then addressed him. 

"Rick, I don't think he's faking. He slept all the way here. And he
 was really dizzy in the parking lot. He can't stand up. I don't
 think you can fake unconsciousness," he added, but his voice had
 grown smaller as the other man's stare became more intense. 

"He faked four weeks of it about 20 years ago. You don't know
 the Fox Mulder I know, kid. This guy should have gotten an
 Oscar or an Emmy by now. Best Dramatic Performance by a
 Lunatic," Rick said in a deadly calm voice. He turned to Scully
 and favored her with a leacherous stare. "I'm Lt. Rick Price,
 CPD. I'm heading up this investigation. And you would be . . .?" 

Scully didn't bother standing, just glared hard at Price. "Special
 Agent Dana Scully, MD. I'm with the Washington Office of the
 Federal Bureau of Investigation." She made a point to enunciate
 each and every word of her title, just so there could be no mistake
 of exactly who she was. 

If Rick was impressed, he did a good job of covering it. "I
 thought this was being handled by the Boston office," was his only
 comment. He turned to Mike and raised an eyebrow. 

"Mike Chambers. I'm Agent Mulder's attorney. And I believe
 that you are under state and federal statute to see that this man
 receives immediate medical attention. Now, if a licensed
 physician, like Dr. Scully here, thinks my client is in need of the
 medical facilities only available at a hosptial, I firmly suggest that
 you contact the nearest hospital and make arrangements for his
 transfer as soon as humanly possible. Unless this county enjoys
 civil rights lawsuits, that is," Mike said evenly. 

Scully almost laughed out loud. Gone was the friendly gnome of
 the morning. The man sitting next to her now was more like the
 evil troll that ate the Billy Goats Gruff. And she was loving every
 minute. 

For a second, Rick looked like he was going to bring the
 conversation to a standoff. But Steve was faster. He reached
 over to the nearest phone and dialed the ambulance company
 before Rick could stop him. Rick gave him a scathing look, but
 remained calm. 

"Marker, since you're such a bleeding heart, you can sit guard
 duty. I'll send a uniform to relieve you at midnight, if they admit
 him." He smiled at Scully, all teeth and no humor. "Hope you
 like hospital food, Ms. Scully," he oozed. 

Scully closed her eyes to keep from punching the guy in the
 stomach. They all remained in their places, no one talking, until
 the ambulance arrived, some five minutes or five hours later--
 Scully would never be sure which. 


Dukes County Memorial Medical Center
 9:30 pm 

His eyelids were too heavy to move, but he wanted to know
 where he was. It smelled like a hospital, sounded like a hospital.
 He prayed to everything holy it wasn't a hospital, but he'd had that
 prayer shot to hell too many times to put any faith in it now. 

He heard voices. Quiet. Feminine. For some odd reason, it
 sounded like his mother and his partner were talking. That didn't
 make any sense to him. The last time he was in a hospital with his
 mother and Scully, his mother was the one lying down. He
 considered that he had fallen asleep on a couch or something, but
 it felt like sheets under him and his feet were bumping up against
 the regulations corners at the end of the bed. Bed. This was
 definitely a bed. 

After he expended the energy to figure out his location, he pushed
 his woozy mind to the task of considering why he was there. It
 came back in bits and pieces. The handcuffs had made a big
 impression and he tried to remember why he had been handcuffed
 to Gary Marker's kid brother. 

Samantha. They had found Samantha's body. It was the one thing
 he had managed to convince himself, that she was alive and that if
 he kept looking he'd find her. But they found her body. Positive
 DNA match, the words echoed in his head a thousand times. 

There had been times, many times in the past 23 years of his
 existence, when he was at rock bottom and started to dig. In
 those times, he had let his mind torture him with the thought that
 Sam had died all those years before. That what he had in fact
 witnessed was a simple kidnapping and murder of his baby sister.
 The psychologist in him knew that kind of trauma would be
 enough to cause the hysteria he had suffered and blockage of the
 memories of the event. He's seen it in family members of crime
 victims all of his career. 

But he didn't want to believe it. So much evidence weighed
 against it. But was it evidence? What did he really have? The
 word of murderer aboard a dead sub in the Arctic Circle. His
 father's assurances in a fever dream when he was close to death in
 the New Mexico desert. Actually meeting dozens of little girls
 who were exact images of his little sister, but could not have been
 her, any of them. The word of a man who could raise people from
 the dead, but was in all likelihood dead himself by now. Not
 exactly irrefutable proof, by any standard. 

It was no evidence at all, he decided. 

Samantha. If she really was dead, what else had he blocked from
 his mind? Could he have killed her? Probably by accident, he was
 certain. He had never been physical with his sister, she was
 always too little, but a shove every now and then between them
 had been common. He could have shoved her. It was possible.
 She could have fallen. It happens all the time. She could have
 fallen on his knife. Then, in the panic that followed, he could have
 buried her so that no one would know of his crime. Was the
 dream, the one Scully refused to acknowledge, the real events of
 that evening some 23 years before? 

The thought that he could have done something that horrid chilled
 him to the bone. If I really did that, if I really killed her, just let
 me die, he begged all the forces of the universe. Just let me die. 

Once again the darkness below him looked a lot more inviting
 than the light above and he allowed it to pull him down and fold
 him in its comforts. 

"Why isn't he waking up, Dana? He's been on the IV for over four
 hours now. Surely this isn't hypoglycemia any longer," Mrs.
 Mulder contended. She was sitting next to his bed, a protective
 hand on his arm, in case he should move, in case he should need
 her. 

Scully had defered to the older woman's position and had pulled a
 chair up to the foot of the bed. From there she could watch the
 monitors that were encompassing him. She could see his face,
 which was still as death at this moment. It also afforded her the
 opportunity to reread his chart, which was telling her absolutely
 nothing. 

She was furious. Furious at her partner for not telling her that he
 was sick. Furious at the Bureau for only giving her three days to
 come to the bottom of this mess. Furious at that son of a bitch
 police lieutenant, the bastard AIC from the Boston office and that
 bitch Assitant DA who were all hell bent on locking Mulder up
 and throwing away the key. But more than anything, she was
 furious at the shadow people who had taken her partner's sister in
 the first place and who were now determined to ruin her partner's
 life, if not help end it outright. 

She realized a moment too late that Mrs. Mulder had not asked a
 rhetorical question. The woman expected an answer. "I can't tell
 you what the problem is, Mrs. Mulder. His blood sugar was
 almost normal the last time the nurse came in to check. His
 temperature is still low grade, at 96 degrees. I don't suspect an
 infection. It's possibly a virus of some sort." She was drawing at
 straws and she hoped her voice didn't reveal that. More than
 likely, Mulder himself was causing his illness, his mind taking
 control of his body. It was pure speculation and not really
 grounded in medical science, but she knew it with a certainity she
 could never deny. And she seen it herself a time or two. 

She could almost see Mulder at this point in the discussion,
 leaning in close and staring right into her eyes so that she rambled
 and finally trailed off in a rush of red faced embarrassment. She
 felt a faint blush touch her cheeks and that only served to make
 her more angry. She needed out of that room and quickly. 

"Mrs. Mulder, I'm sure you must be hungry. I'm starved. And
 neither one of us can afford to end up like Sleeping Beauty here.
 I'll run down to the cafeteria and see if I can find us some
 sandwiches." She picked up her purse and headed out the door
 before the older woman had a chance to reply. 

She closed the door softly behind her, waiting to hear the click.
 Steve Marker was still where she had left him, over 4 hours
 before. He had found a straight backed chair and was leaning
 back on the back legs. "How's he doing?" he asked in a stage
 whisper. 

"The same," she answered shortly and started down the hallway. 

"Agent Scully," he called after her, trying to keep his voice low. 

She stopped. She turned and faced him, bringing her arms up to
 cross her chest. It was not her most receptive posture, and she
 was using it to her full advantage. 

Steve swallowed and almost decided not to pursue his line of
 thought. But there was too much at stake. "Agent Scully, I want
 to talk to you, if I may." He felt like a kid asking the teacher for a
 ride home from school. 

"If this is about the case," Scully said quietly, not wanting to boil
 over in the middle of the hallway. 

"It is. You see, there are some things I think you should know,"
 he said and unconsciously brought his thumb to his mouth and
 chewed on the cuticle. 

Scully looked around the hall and spied another chair. She
 brought it over to sit next to Marker. "OK, Detective. What is it
 I should know?" 

"You partner isn't supposed to be found innocent," he said simply. 

"I think that's the point of an indictment, isn't it?" she asked, her
 patience slipping with each word. 

"No, you don't understand. From the beginning. Before we found
 the body, before the ME examined the body, before we found that
 knife. He was never supposed to be found innocent. The only
 possible outcome from this investigation is that your partner will
 be found guilty. Now, I figure, he'll be able to plead temp insanity
 or some nonsense and manage to escape capital punishment. But
 he won't be walking free. And he won't be an FBI agent.
 Probably not for the rest of his life." Steve was trying to keep his
 calm, but he was seething at the injustice and even more so at the
 fact that the woman before him didn't grasp the seriousness of the
 situation. 

"I want to know exactly what brings you to that conclusion,"
 Scully said through clenched teeth. 

"OK, I was called in on the field work," Steve said evenly. 

Scully's face screwed up with a confused expression. "So?" 

"I've never done that kind of foresnics work, Agent Scully. Now,
 it was an anonymous tip and all and it could have been a hoax, but
 wouldn't they call in the State Police? Or you guys? I mean,
 afterall, this was an FBI matter and as far as I know, it remains an
 FBI matter. Regardless of if she were murdered or not." 

"OK, I can see where that might cause some suspicions. But you
 sound convinced. What convinced you?" 

"The second tip. The first one was just the body. The second one
 was to find the knife." He set the chair down on all four legs and
 leaned forward so that he was inches from Scully. "The body
 wasn't enough to connect him to the crime. They had to plant
 something else. The knife. It was found a few feet away, but not
 with the body. That confused me. If he buried the body, why not
 bury the knife there, too?" 

"Unless he didn't want the murder weapon found if and when the
 body was uncovered," Scully reasoned. 

Steve shook his head. "Pretty convoluted thinking for a 12 year
 old kid, I'd say. Especially one found in a catatonic state the night
 of the incident. And besides, I'm almost positive that Fox Mulder
 had that knife long after his sister disappeared. I'm sure he had it
 the summer after she went missing." 

"How do you know that?" Scully asked, now intriqued. 

"Because I saw him bury it. It and some badges and that Eagle
 pin. In a little cigar box. By the light of a full moon." 

"Tell me," Scully demanded. 

"We had this oak tree behind our house. One night, the summer
 after Sam disappeared, Fox stayed over. Fox didn't have many
 friends, and he and Gary hung out some, but nothing close. He
 and Gary were talking about witches and spells and Druids and
 stuff. Friday night and time to scare the crap out of the little
 brother, I guess." 

His eyes unfocused, remembering a time in his early childhood.
 "Mom made me go to bed at 10. I was just a little kid, probably 6
 or so. I was in the room right across the hall from Gary's. I woke
 up in the middle of the night from a bad dream. Druids sacrificing
 me or something stupid. Anyway, I went over to Gary's room,
 like I always did, but he wasn't there. I got scared and ran over to
 the window. I mean, I figured the kidnapper was back and had
 taken Gary. All the kids in the whole town used to have bad
 dreams like that. But when I looked out the window, I saw Gary
 and Fox, out under the tree with a shovel, digging in the dirt.
 They put Fox' old lunch box in the hole and buried it." 

"I remember distinctly seeing Fox bring that lunch box into the
 house when he got there earlier that night. I snuck a look inside
 when the older guys weren't looking. He had his Eagle Scout pin,
 his Boy Scout knife, a scuffed up baseball, just kid stuff, ya
 know." 

"Why haven't you said something?" Scully growled. "That knife is
 the only solid evidence they have connecting Mulder to the
 crime." 

Steve rolled his eyes. "Agent Scully, think about it. Do you really
 think a judge is going to trust the memory of somebody who was
 only 6 at the time? And besides, I don't know that he _didn't_ kill
 her. I just know that the knife they found didn't have blood on it
 when I saw it and that was a good six months after the
 kidnapping." 

"Steve, that's enough to cast doubt on the prosecution's case,"
 Scully tried to persuade him. "If we can find the rest of the lunch
 box, the other items, it would help. And if your brother would
 testify to being there when Fox buried the items. But why did he
 do that in the first place?" she wondered aloud. 

"Agent Scully, I honestly don't know," Steve replied, shaking his
 head. 

Scully wondered about that all the way down to the cafeteria.
 Surprisingly, it was farily busy at that time of night and it was
 almost half an hour before she was able to get back up to Mulder's
 room. 

When Scully arrived back at the door to Mulder's room, she had
 two sandwiches and two cups of coffee balanced in her hands.
 Mrs. Mulder was sitting with Steve in the hallway. She got up as
 Dana got closer. 

"Dana, I was about ready to come find you. Fox started having
 problems a little bit ago. His fever shot up. The doctor's in with
 him now." She accepted the sandwich and the coffee, but put
 both on the floor beneath her chair without even looking at them. 

Dana sighed. The pieces were starting to fall into place, at last.
 Just as she was finding the proof that she needed to blow the lid
 off this farce, Mulder had convicted himself without benefit of a
 jury and was in the process of sentencing himself. With a squeeze
 of her heart, she knew he had more than likely given himself a
 death sentence. He was giving up without a fight. "Now I have
 to convince him that he's innocent," she muttered to herself. 

"What, dear?" Mrs. Mulder asked, looking up anxiously at Dana. 

Dana smiled faintly and gave Mrs. Mulder's shoulder a pat. "I'm
 sure he'll be fine. This is probably a virus, as I said earlier. He's in
 good hands here, Mrs. Mulder. Believe me, I won't let anything
 happen to him. I have too much time invested in training him to
 do his half of the paperwork," she said lightly and got the desired
 smile in response. 

"Look, I need to call Mike," Scully said when she was sure Mrs.
 Mulder was feeling a little better. "He was doing some research
 tonight. I better call him and let him know what's going on.
 They'll have to postpone the arraignment until Mulder's condition
 improves," she said hastily. "I'll be back in just a few minutes." 

Scully called Mike and asked if he could meet her at the hospital
 first thing in the morning. She didn't trust the phone lines to his
 hotel enough to tell him what Steve had revealed. She also
 needed to get Gary Marker's phone number from Steve. If it came
 to that, Gary would be able to provide eye witness testimony that
 Mulder was in possession of the alleged murder weapon, minus
 the incriminating blood evidence, six months after the alleged
 crime had been commited. That fact alone made the carefully
 constructed frame start to come unglued. 

Mike, in the meantime, had been busy finding some connections
 he was anxious to share with her, as well. They agreed to meet
 outside Mulder's room the next morning. 

The doctor was waiting for her when she got back to the room.
 "Agent Scully, Mrs. Mulder wanted me to talk to you about your
 partner's condition," he said, wasting no time and escorting her
 down the hall. To Scully's experienced eyes, he had all the
 markings of an overworked young doctor in desparate need of an
 additional set of hands. 

"How's he doing?" she asked, taking the seat her offered her in the
 small family lounge down the hall from Mulder's room. 

"I'm afraid his condition is deteriorating at an alarming rate. His
 fever spiked, it's 103.4 when I checked it just five minutes ago.
 He doesn't seem to be responding to stimulus. B/P is slipping,
 too. I've ordered an EEG to see what's happening. I've done
 some preliminary blood work when he came in this evening and it
 has me very confused. His white count is slightly elevated, but
 nothing to suggest the symptoms we're seeing now. Aside from
 the low blood sugar and electrolyte imbalance that he came in
 with, he seems to be well within normal ranges. I did notice an
 antigen that I'm not familiar with, but it doesn't seem related to his
 problems. Do you know anything about it? Could this be a
 relapse of something?" 

Scully flushed slightly. "He had a rare virus a couple of years ago.
 It was a bad time, but he recovered fully. I'm sure that's what
 you're seeing," she assured him. "As for a relapse, I just don't
 know." It hadn't occured to her that the retrovirus might rear it's
 ugly head again, when Mulder was most vulnerable. 

"Well, I'm running out of ideas. It's not an infection. I don't
 suspect tumor, because most of the symptoms seem to contradict
 that, but I've scheduled a PET, just to make sure. If you can think
 of any bases I haven't covered, please speak up and I'll order the
 test. I'm at a loss and if he keeps sliding, I'll have to recommend
 sending him to Boston. They're better able to handle the tricky
 cases than we are here on the Vineyard." 

Scully frowned and shook her head. "I hope that won't be
 necessary, Doctor. But do you mind if I have a look at the lab
 results?" 

He shrugged his shoulders. "His wallet has you listed as
 emergency contact, I don't see why not," he said and handed her
 the sheaf of papers in his hand. "If you see anything, please tell
 me immediately." 

"Of course. Can I keep these?" she asked. 

"Sure, I can pull another set off the computer. Take your time,
 look them over." He smiled apologetically. "I just don't have the
 staff or the time to dig into a weird case right now. That's why he
 might be better off in Boston," he added. 

Scully was already concentrating on the pages in her hands. She
 looked up at the mention, for the second time, of moving her
 partner to Boston. Was it a good idea? It just didn't feel right.
 "No, if it's all the same, let's wait on that decision. I'll talk it over
 with his mother, but I'm sure she'll agree. I think he's better off
 right here for the time being." 

After the doctor left, Scully glanced at her watch. She had
 promised her mother that she'd call her when she got settled. It
 was already almost 10 o'clock. She pulled out her phone and
 dialed. 

"Hello," Maggie Scully answered, slightly out of breath. 

"Mom, are you all right? You sound out of breath," Scully asked
 with concern. 

"Oh, hi, sweetheart. No, I'm fine. I just got back from taking Mr.
 and Mrs. Spellman to the Senior Center. Tonight was a movie
 night for them and they couldn't get their car started. I had just
 opened the door when the phone started to ring. How was your
 flight?" 

"Still bumpy. Oh, Mom, I'll be staying at Mulder's father's house
 with Mrs. Mulder and there isn't a phone connected there, so call
 me on my cell if you need me." 

"Always, sweetheart. How's everyone doing? Did Fox arrive
 safely?" 

"Safely, but not intact. He's sick, Mom. He hasn't been keeping
 food down, when he's bothered to eat. He lost consciousness
 almost the minute they got here. I'm at the hospital now." 

"Oh, sweetheart," Maggie said sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I
 knew I should have pushed him to eat last night," she added,
 chiding herself. 

"He wouldn't have kept it down, Mom. He ate at lunch and lost it
 just a few minutes later." 

"What's the matter with him? He was fine, before this all came up,
 wasn't he? I mean, could that broken ankle cause all this?"
 Maggie asked. 

"No, it's more than an ankle. Mom, I think he's doing this to
 himself. This whole case is just too much for him. He's never
 really known what happened to his sister . . ." 

"And this makes it look like UFO's had nothing to do with it,"
 Maggie said sadly. 

Scully gulped. "Mom, how do you know that?" 

Maggie laughed sadly. "Fox told me a lot of things when we were
 . . . looking for you. He was very forthcoming with information.
 And we talked a lot about his childhood. He said you were the
 only other person who knew those things and that might be why
 they took you. I think he saw it as some sort of confession,
 honey, purifying his soul. But I tried to tell him that all of that,
 your disappearance, Samantha's disappearance, was not his fault.
 I can see where he might be doubting himself now. You don't
 think he's given up, do you?" she asked anxiously. 

"I'm afraid so, Mom. I think he has. And I'm so close to solving
 this, too. One of his neighbors saw lights that night. But there
 were no reports in the police records," Dana sighed. 

"Hmmm," Maggie murmured. "The police records didn't show
 it?" 

"No, but she reported it. I don't know, they may have been lost or
 something. If I had something else to back up her story," Scully
 said, thinking out loud. "Well, right now, I need to work on
 getting Mulder to a point where I can at least ask him about some
 of the things I'm finding out. He's not conscious right now and
 he's got a high fever. I really need to go, Mom." 

"I'll say a prayer for him, sweetheart. I always pray for both of
 you, but I'll say an extra one tonight," Maggie assured her. 

"Thanks, Mom. We probably keep them hopping up there," she
 added with a resigned smile. "I'll talk to you later, when I know
 more. I love you." 

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Bye." 

Maggie put the phone back on the table and stared at it for several
 minutes. She knew her daughter well, and she could hear the
 frustration and the worry in her voice. Maggie liked the young
 man her daughter was partnered with, and was upset that anyone
 would cause him this much harm. She wanted to do something,
 something more than just offer prayers. "God helps those who
 help themselves," she muttered to herself. Then she picked up the
 aged address book that sat next to the phone. Quickly, she flipped
 a few pages and came to a name she hadn't seen in quite a while. 

"In the morning, I guess I'll have to pay a little social call," she
 said aloud and smiling, turned to watch the late news. 



Dukes County Medical Center
 10:00 

Mrs. Mulder sat holding her son's hand and let silent tears roll
 down her cheeks. Why him, she asked herself for the thousandth
 time since that night. Why was it always Fox that had to suffer so
 for other's sins. 

Angrily she wiped the tears away with the tissue she had gripped
 in her other hand. Twenty three years and the story was the same.
 They knew no more than they had back then. And so many times,
 Fox had been put in danger. So many times. Of course, she only
 heard about many of those incidents after the fact. Her little
 network of informants was growing fewer and fewer. More often
 than not, she suspected that her son's partner conjoled him into
 calling her, once he was out of danger. She knew that he called
 her from countless hospital beds and quarantine rooms. She had
 come to recognize the way his voice sounded, so tired, often
 weak. She would wonder silently how close it had been that time.
 Was it a bullet? A unknown disease? An explosion, a fire? What
 occurance had almost stripped her of the only person in her life
 that she valued? But she would never ask. She played the game,
 went along with his blatant lies that he was fine and just calling to
 find out how _she_ was. 

A good little soldier. That's how she saw him some times. Doing
 the duty that he had forced upon himself. So often, she had
 wanted to fold him in her arms and tell him to give it up. It wasn't
 worth it. She didn't want to find Samantha if it cost him his life. 

It wasn't that she didn't want her daughter returned. But she had
 been promised. No harm would come to her. None. She had that
 on the utmost authority. She could never tell her son how she
 knew that, he would be killed immediately. She had to keep that
 knowledge to herself even though that secret put her son's life on
 the line. 

Now that secret was killing him. She knew, with a certainity that
 only a mother could have, it was not Samantha's remains they had
 found in Hobbs Park. She'd had her doubts about the young
 woman who had shown up at Bill's door just a few years ago, but
 she was certain that was a more probably occurance than to dig up
 the body now after 23 years. And in Hobbs Park of all places.
 She had helped raise the money for the baseball diamond there. It
 was slap in her face, as well. 

She looked over at her son. He's so handsome, she thought. He
 looks so much like Dad. He had the same strong profile her father
 had carried, the same mannerisms, the same boyish wonder at
 each new discovery. And, sometimes, Bill's mannerisms would
 surface, too. The way he would take everything into himself,
 shutting out the rest of the world. Maybe, if Bill had learned to
 trust her, had turned to her when he's gotten involved with the
 project, maybe things would have been different. 

"I love you, baby boy," she whispered, clutching his hand to her
 chest. "Please, wake up, Fox. Mama really needs to talk to you.
 There is so much you don't know. So much I've never been able
 to tell you. It wasn't your fault, baby boy. Never your fault. You
 have to believe me, darling. It was never your fault," she
 murmured over and over again. 

He laid there and didn't move. Not an eyelash, not a breath any
 deeper than the last. The tears had become a steady stream now
 and she knew what she had to do. God, how she hated the
 thought, but it was her only recourse. 

She heard the door click behind her and knew that Dana had
 entered the room. 

"Any change," the young woman asked, hopeful. Then she took
 one look at the older woman sitting next to her partner's bed and
 all hope vanished. 

"No change," came the sad reply. 

"The doctor wants to send him to Boston," Dana said slowly and
 was taken back by the look his mother gave her. It was
 frightened, like she had just suggested pulling the plug on her son. 

His mother shook her head vigorously. "I'd feel better if he were
 here. Smaller hospital, easier to keep track of people," she said
 cryptically and Dana wondered what she was talking about. 

After a moment, she leaned over and kissed her son lightly on the
 forehead. "Dana is here with you, Fox. I have to take a break,
 but I'll be back. I love you, Fox. I love you." She straightened
 and then motioned for Dana to take her place. "I'm too old to sit
 in these chairs for hours at a time," she smiled sadly. "Would you
 mind taking my place for a while. I just need to stretch. I'll be
 back later." 

Dana sat down and reached over to take Mulder's hand in her
 own. "Not a problem, Mrs. Mulder. Besides, we've got a lot to
 talk about," she said, nodding toward her partner. She smiled
 faintly and the older woman returned the gesture. 

"Well, don't let him monopolize the conversation, dear. He has a
 habit of doing that sometimes," she grinned. 

"To tell you the truth, tonight, I might let him get away with it,"
 Dana said lightly. Mrs. Mulder nodded in agreement and left the
 room. 

Averman's Pier
 Seashore Drive
 August 18, 1996 2 am 

It was chilly, even though the day had been hot enough to break
 records. The North Atlantic wind blew across the pier and
 brought gooseflesh to her skin. 

She heard the match strike behind her and didn't give him the
 satisfaction of startling at the noise. She turned slowly, measured,
 and regarded him with a look of pure malice. 

"I didn't really expect to hear from you after our last encounter,"
 he said mildly and drew on the cigarette in his hand. 

"Probably because you thought I was dead," she returned with
 venom. 

"I would have regretted that deeply, my dear," he said softly. Was
 that sincerety she saw in his eyes, or only the lights from the pier?
 She could never be sure. 

"Well, I really doubt there are many things you have ever come to
 regret," she spat out. 

He toed the sand at his feet and then looked at her. "You didn't
 call me all the way up here just to fling insults, did you?" he asked. 

She took a deep breath, let her anger built and then unleased it on
 him. "Why are you doing this to him? I was promised. I was
 promised that he would be safe. You lied to me, and I'm calling
 you on it. All bets are off. The truth comes out, NOW!" she
 shouted angrily, shaking her finger in front of him. 

He grabbed the hand and held it tight. "I'm not the one hurting
 him," he growled. She struggled briefly, defiantly, but he held
 fast. Finally, with a grim smile, he released her arm. "I'm not the
 only player in the game. You know that. I've kept my part of the
 bargain, because you have kept yours. Balance of power. It's
 worked for years, even kept us from destroying ourselves on more
 than one occasion." 

"I'm not talking world affairs, damn it! I'm talking about my son!"
 she hissed. 

"I'm not talking about world affairs, either. Just ours," he said
 with a sad smile. 

She glared at him. "He's not your son," she said in voice low and
 filled with venom. 

"I know that," he answered lightly. "If he were my son, he'd have
 killed me when he had the opportunity." 

"What do you want? What chip do I have to bargain to get you to
 save him?" she asked, and the pleading sound to her voice caught
 him off guard. 

"I would have thought that you had learned not to grow attached
 by now," he said with all seriousness. 

"You bastard! I'm begging you. Save my son. Please. I'll do
 anything," she was crying now and her tears clouded her eyesight
 so that she couldn't see the torment on his face. 

He was silent for a long moment. "I'll see what I can do," he said
 simply. He turned and headed back to his car. 

"At what price?" she called after him, the bitterness of the words
 falling as quickly as her tears. 

He stopped and turned toward her once more. "Why, the same as
 last time, my love. Your continued silence." He turned his back
 on her and got into his car, then drove away. 

She fell to the sand and sobbed. 

Dukes County Medical Center
 August 18, 1996 7 am 

He was so hot. The heat was scorching him. For a moment, he
 thought he might be sitting in an electric chair and the warden had
 already thrown the switch. Every nerve in his body felt as if it
 were on fire. He tried to scream in pain, but no words came from
 his mouth. 

He'd been tortured all night by fever dreams, but his body was too
 weak, too frozen to allow him any expression of his torment.
 Visions of the knife, in his hand, coming down and striking
 Samantha. Of her eyes, the look on her face as she died by his
 hand. The feeling of total dispair when he realized what he had
 done, and that nothing could ever change it. Just once, just once
 he wanted to plunge the knife into his own chest, feel his own
 blood soak his hand and seep from his body to let him fall, dead
 instead of his sister. But the dreams never allowed him that
 luxury. 

There were sounds. Just on the edge of his hearing. He could
 make out mechanical noises, beeping and bleetings. He knew all
 too well that when he heard those sounds, he was not faring well
 physically. This time, that thought gave him a small modicum of
 comfort. He didn't want to live this time. He hoped he was dying
 and that soon it would all be over. 

There were other sounds. Soft voices. Again, just beyond his
 understanding. One sound he knew. It was Scully's voice.
 Gentle. Sturdy. No tears, just calm. It assured him that she was
 there, but didn't get all weepy on him. It was one of the things he
 treasured most about their friendship. She didn't get all weepy on
 him very often, if ever. 

Anger, that was another matter. Sometimes, she'd be so pissed at
 him that he'd swear she was gone from his life for good. But she
 would always come back, always be there when he needed her. 

He needed her desparately now. 

Scully, he thought, I killed her. I killed my baby sister and I can't
 live with that. Scully, please make it stop. Make the visions stop.
 Make the dreams stop. Scully, please help me. Please help me
 slip away. I don't want to do this anymore, I don't. My search is
 over, as it was at the beginning. My search, he thought with
 disgust. The fiction of my mind so that I could live with myself. I
 can't believe I duped myself so completely. The mind can play
 truly vile tricks, he knew that. But to hide his actions so
 completely, to fabricate such a perfect concealment, that was
 astonishing, even to him. 

It only made the pain of the truth that more unbearable. Please,
 Scully, he pleaded again and prayed that she would know what he
 was thinking. Please Scully. Let this end. 

"Has the doctor been in?" Mrs. Mulder asked. Scully had been
 surprised when the older woman had returned, eyes red from
 crying, at 3 in the morning, and offered to sit up the rest of the
 night. Dana had insisted that she take the nurse up on the offer of
 a cot in the break room and with great relunctance, the older
 woman had done that. Now she was awake and sitting by her
 son's side again. 

"He was in at 6:30. Little change in the blood chemistry, except
 pyrogens are through the roof." She smiled self-consciously.
 "Sorry, that's just a marker of fever. It really doesn't tell us
 anything that we couldn't figure out with a thermometer." She
 glanced back over the blood work. "At least the virus appears to
 still be dormant," she muttered. 

"Virus? What virus?" his mother asked. Ears on mothers were a
 wonder of medical science, Dana had long decided. 

"He had a particularly nasty virus a while back, but it's not
 showing any signs of activity. That's the good news," Dana said
 evenly. 

"And the bad news?" his mother asked. 

"He's getting weaker and we don't know why. This fever is
 sapping him of his strength. It's starting to affect other systems.
 Doctor Thompson has given this to the resident neurologist, Dr.
 Grant. He's suggesting we put him on antipyrretics and work
 agressively to get the fever under control. The usual methods of
 treatment aren't working on him." 

"Because he doesn't want to get better," Mrs. Mulder said bitterly. 

"We don't know that, Mrs. Mulder. It's been my experience that
 your son has a very strong will to live," Dana tried to reassure the
 older woman. 

"That was when he felt his life had a purpose. When he had a
 duty to continue the search. But now, he feels the search has
 ended and he feels that he is responsible for her death. He
 couldn't live with himself, with that knowledge. He's trying to die.
 He wants to die," Mrs. Mulder said flatly. 

The sound of her voice, certain beyond any hope of correction,
 frightened Dana even more than the woman's words. 

"Then we just have to convince him that he's wrong. That it's not
 Samantha they found. That she is still out there, waiting for us to
 find her," Dana said quietly, confidently. Mrs. Mulder didn't miss
 the fact that she had used the word 'us' instead of 'him'. This
 young woman truly was her son's partner, in every sense of the
 word. 

"I hope we can convince him of that before it's too late," Mrs.
 Mulder said with a tired sigh. 

Dana patted her shoulder and glancing over to at her partner, she
 left the room. 

It was short walk down the hallway to the nurse's station. She
 had been granted access to the hospital's fax machine stationed
 there. Seeing no papers in the tray, she pulled out her cell phone
 and dialed a number from memory. Thank God I remember my
 spare batteries this time, she thought to herself as she listened to
 the phone ring. 

"Lab," came the voice in DC. 

"Agent Pendrell, it's Agent Scully. Do you have those test results
 I requested?" she asked, as always dispensing with any greetings. 

She was quite certain she heard a sigh on the other end of the line
 before Pendrell spoke. "Oh, hi, Agent Scully. Yeah, sure. I did
 those tests myself. Results came in about 6 this morning. I was
 just compiling them when you called. Do you have modem
 access?" he asked. 

"No, but I have fax access," she said and gave him the number of
 the fax machine. 

"How's Agent Mulder?" Pendrell asked, rather hesitantly. 

"He's in the hospital. He's got a pretty bad fever," Scully said
 shortly, not wanting too much information going out to the DC
 office before she could talk to the AD. 

"Gosh, on top of everything else," Pendrell said sadly. "Tell him I
 said hi, OK?" 

Scully smiled sadly. "Sure thing, Agent Pendrell. And thanks for
 sending me this. I really appreciate it." 

"Any time, Agent Scully, any time. Good bye," he said. 

"Bye," she returned and disconnected the line. She turned and
 waited for the fax machine to come to life. In a second, it was
 spitting out papers. She gathered them and had just started to
 glance at them when the double doors at the end of the hall
 opened. 

Mike Chambers looked downright chipper as he hurried over to
 her. "Dana, come here. You have to see this," he said, taking her
 arm and leading her to a small conference area. 

"What?" she asked as he pulled out a chair and she sat down. He
 handed her couple of stapled pages. "What are these, Mike?
 They look like bank statements," she said. 

"First, let me explain. Do you know who initiated this
 investigation?" he asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders. "The Chilimark PD when they
 received an anonymous phone tip," she offered. 

"No, not exactly. The tip didn't go to the police department. It
 went to one individual. Lt. Rick Price. He received it at his home
 some four days ago now. He had the 'presense of mind' to let his
 answering machine record it. Rather clever for a guy who buys
 overpriced suits, don't you think?" he asked happily. 

Scully frowned. "What are you getting at?" she asked. 

"Well, I didn't like the guy on sight so I decided to ask a few
 friends of mine to do a little digging. Those papers you have are
 his bank statements. You'll notice that he has some rather large
 deposits scattered throughout, from something called COS
 Industries. Five thousand here, ten thousand there. Nothing that
 would pop your eyes out. But look at the deposit on August
 15th." 

Scully's eyes scanned the paper and then grew wide. "Half a
 million dollars?" she said in amazement. She looked up at Mike.
 "But this doesn't tell us anything," she said, throwing the paper
 back on the table toward him. "Who is COS Industries?" 

"Good question. My friends are very good at finding out deep
 information. They hunted down COS and discovered that it's not
 a registered company. As a matter of fact, aside from an account
 in the Cayman's, it doesn't seem to exist." 

Scully's forehead furrowed. "How can that be?" 

"Well, according to my friends, and they can't prove this, but they
 are pretty sure of their information, COS is one of the names used
 during the Iran-Contra deal a few year back. Now, it may just be
 coincidence . . ." 

"What did they teach us the first day at the Academy, Agent
 Scully," she whispered. "Pretty damned good set of prints, don't
 you think, Mulder," she said, still talking to someone not even in
 the room. Finally, she came back to herself and looked at Mike.
 "Mike, just who are these friends of yours?" she asked with a sly
 smile. 

"Sorry, Dana. I never reveal my sources," he smiled in return. 

Her grin grew even broader. "That's OK, Mike. And the next
 time you talk to them, tell Frohike that I'm changing my e-mail
 address because of him." 

Mike's grin now mirrored her own. "I'll be sure to relay the
 message, Dana." 

***** 

Maggie put the last of the groceries on the shelf and folded the
 paper bags. "All done, Mrs. Gerts. Now, if you run out of
 anything, you just give me a ring, all right?" 

The ancient woman smiled from her reclining chair. "Oh, thank
 you, Maggie. I'll do that." 

Maggie waved her goodbyes and walked to her car. As she
 started the engine, she thought again about what she was doing. 

"Bill, I'm doing this for Dana. It can't be wrong if it helps her, can
 it?" she asked aloud. A reassuring peace settled over her and she
 smiled. Message received, loud and clear. 

It was short trip from Mrs. Gerts house to the Pentagon. It had
 been years since she had been there. Bill had retired in 90 and the
 last time she had set foot in the doors was to attend his farewell
 party. But surprisingly, the guard was the same man she'd known
 back then. 

"Mrs. Scully! To what do we owe this pleasure?" the guard,
 whose name badge sported simply the name 'Jim' asked as she
 approached his desk. 

"Hi, Jim, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I was hoping to catch
 Admiral Stevens. Could you ring his secretary?" She stood by
 the desk, admiring the few wall paintings while the call was made.
 A few seconds later, a young naval lieutenant appeared out of
 nowhere. 

"Mrs. Scully, the Admiral will see you in his office," she said in a
 clipped, professional tone. Maggie smiled at her and followed her
 down the hall. 

"Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," Jack Stevens sighed as he stood up
 and walked around his desk so he could take her into a friendly
 hug. "It's been entirely too long. Come in, take a load off. How
 is the brood of yours? Let's see, Bill Jr's married, any more follow
 him to the altar?" 

"Charlie's pretty much married to the sea, Jack," Maggie laughed. 

Jack grew serious. "I'm so sorry about Missy. Such a tragedy. I
 was stranded out in the Mediterranian when it happened. I
 apologize for not being there," he said sadly. 

Maggie nodded and smiled bravely. "I know you would have
 been there if you could have, Jack. And the flowers were
 beautiful. I know Missy probably appreciated the donation to
 save the rainforest more, though," she smiled. "You were a good
 Godfather to her. She loved you very much." 

He nodded in his sorrow, then shook it off. "So, who's left?
 Starbuck. How is Dana? Still the G-woman or has she come to
 her senses?" he joked lightly. 

"No," Maggie smiled. "She's still with the FBI. She loves it, Jack.
 She thrives on it. Not much chance she's going to change her
 mind on it now." She sat for a moment and twisted the hem of her
 sweater in her hand. "It's really something that Dana is working
 on that brings me to see you." 

Dukes County Courthouse
 Edgartown, MA
 10:30 am 

District Attorney Camden Garfield leaned back in his faux leather
 chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. 

"I was under the impression that you had this case well in hand,
 Andrea," he said to the young woman sitting in front of his desk. 

"Sir, this was unavoidable. Fox Mulder is seriously ill. I've
 spoken to the doctor myself. They are thinking of sending him to
 Boston." She was nervous, but sure of her standing in this case. 

"What's wrong with him?" Garfield asked, feigning indifference. 

"The doctor isn't certain, sir. He's exhibiting a high fever.
 Vomiting. Apparently his other major systems are having
 problems now too. They aren't certain he'll survive, sir," she said
 evenly. 

"Save the state the cost of putting the little bastard to death, I
 suppose," Garfield said lightly. "Well, the arraignment is
 postponed until he's well enough to stand trial. But I want to
 keep the police guard posted. Just in case we are witness to a
 miraculous recovery," he said derisively. "Have the FBI labs
 given you the data from the body?" 

"Yes sir, and I'm a little confused by it. According to the data, the
 DNA is an exact match of Samantha Mulder. But the body
 appears to have only been deceased for 15 years. The age of the
 child is determined to be approximately 8. She would have been
 16 years of age 15 years ago. It's confusing, sir," she admitted. 

"Just a mistake, Andrea. Believe me, even the all powerful OZ in
 Washington has been known to make a mistake now and then," he
 smiled and dismissed the young woman with a wave of his hand. 

Martha's Vineyard Retirement Village
 10:30 am 

After her discussion with Mike, Dana had been more convinced
 than ever that she needed to talk to Mrs. Farrell. While the
 information on Rick Price was damning, it was not enough to
 convince her partner that he hadn't killed his sister. Mrs. Farrell's
 testimony, however, would be a good start to proving to Mulder
 that he was right in his regressions, that the dream of the house
 shaking and Samantha floating out the picture window had
 actually happened, was the real experience. 

She laughed for a moment. For almost four years, she had taken
 that story with a grain of salt. If that was how Mulder had to
 perceive it to get through each day, she could accept it. But to
 actually prove it's validity as an actual report--the thought made
 her head spin. This was putting her skeptical nature in a very
 precarious position. 

Dana got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the little
 one story condo. She knocked smartly on the screen and was
 greeted in a few seconds by an elderly woman in her early
 seventies who smiled brightly upon seeing her. 

"You must be Fox' little friend," Mrs. Farrell said happily as she
 opened the door and let Scully enter. "Fox always did like pretty
 girls," she added and motioned for the younger woman to sit
 down. 

"Actually, Mrs. Farrell, Fox and I met through work," Scully felt
 the need to set the record straight, though she couldn't give a
 reason for why that was important. 

"Well, I know he's doing well, where ever he is. He was always a
 smart boy. Smart and a hard worker. Why didn't he come with
 you? I would have loved to seen him again," Mrs. Farrell said as
 she handed Scully a glass of lemonade. 

"He's not feeling very well right now, Mrs. Farrell. He sends his
 regards, though," she lied. 

"This whole mess about little Sammi, I bet that's what's bothering
 him. Poor boy. He did love his little sister so. It hurt the whole
 town the night those things came and took her." 

Scully gulped. "Mrs. Farrell, did you see anything that night? The
 night that Samantha Mulder disappeared." 

"Why, the lights, dearie. I saw them more than just that once.
 They'd come and go, regular some years. Like Christmas tree
 ornaments, you know. Sometimes they would hover and blink
 blue and green and red. Other times, like that night, it was just
 bright white--so bright I thought the Ruskies had finally dropped
 the big one, don't you know. The Kennedy's always on the island,
 they probably thought this was the seat of government or some
 such nonsense. More lemonade, dearie?" 

Dana shook her head. "No, Mrs. Farrell, this is fine, thank you.
 Now, on the night Samantha disappeared, do you remember what
 time it was when you saw the lights?" 

"It was just before 9, I remember. That was a Friday night. I do
 love to watch TV on Friday's. I remember back then, the
 Magician was on at 9. Bill Bixby was so cute. He was on that
 cute little show with the Martian on it. But those lights, I don't
 think they were cute little Martians. I think they were evil, what
 ever they were. Taking that poor little girl away from her mother
 and daddy and brother. She was so sweet. They used to come
 visit, Sammi and Fox. I would always make them oatmeal
 cookies. Tom and I were never blessed with children, so Sammi
 and Fox were the closest we had to children of our own." Mrs.
 Farrell stopped and wiped her eye. 

"He didn't kill her, you know. Fox would never do that. He loved
 Sammi, he loved her so much. He was a good brother, always
 looked out for her. He could never hurt her, never," she assured
 Scully. "Tell him that I know he didn't do it. He needs to know
 that. He needs to believe it." The look she gave Dana went
 straight through to her soul. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Farrell. I'll tell Fox what you've said. You've
 been a big help. Thank you." She shook the old woman's hand
 and left. 

"Well, Mulder, at least someone in this town believes in you,"
 Scully muttered as she got in the car and headed for the hospital. 

Dukes County Medical Center
 11:00 

When she got to the Mulder's room it was empty. Frantically, she
 searched for one of the nurses she had seen come on the floor at
 7. She found one at the nurses station. 

"Oh, yes, Agent Scully. Dr. Thompson had Mr. Mulder moved up
 to ICU. He developed respiratory problems an hour ago. It's on
 the second floor, north corridor. Just take these elevators and you
 turn right. Then follow the signs. His mom is up there with him
 now," she added and went back to filling out a chart. 

When she got to the second floor and finally found Mulder's bed,
 her worst fears were realized. He was on a respirator. She
 noticed another bag of clear fluid hanging next to the normal IV
 solution. 

"He wasn't getting enough oxygen," a sad voice said behind her.
 She turned and Mrs. Mulder walked over next to her and looked
 down on her son. 

"I talked to Mrs. Farrell. Mrs. Mulder, why didn't the police
 include her statement in Samantha's file?" Dana demanded. 

"Clara Farrell," the older woman smiled. "Such a dear woman.
 And completely insane. Her husband Tom was the only reason
 she was never commited." Mrs. Mulder looked at Dana and
 shook her head. "She was pregnant about the same time I was
 expecting Fox. But she fell down the basement stairs. She lost
 the baby. Something snapped. She was never the same. Always
 talking about lights in the sky." 

"So the police just discounted her testimony," Dana said with a
 deep sigh. 

"Probably. She'd call them every time Tom had his back turned.
 But she wasn't violent. She'd never hurt a fly. She made cookies
 for Fox and Sam all the time. Sam loved to listen to her stories of
 when she was a little girl living in the midwest on a farm. But
 basically, she's a crackpot. A sweet, gentle crackpot. I'm sorry,
 Dana, if you got your hopes up over this, but whatever Mrs.
 Farrell told you must be taken with a large grain of salt. And a
 good dose of sanity." 

Dana nodded and chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep her
 emotions in check. So close, so close. She closed her eyes and
 blinked back the tears. She would find it. She find the proof that
 would convince him. She just had to keep looking. 

"Oh, dear, when we were moving Fox to this floor, the nurse
 found this on one of the chairs. I figured you must have left it
 behind." Mrs. Mulder handed her the fax pages she had received
 from Pendrell earlier in the morning. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Mulder. I would have been looking for these
 soon," she admitted. She said down in a chair near the curtained
 divider and for the first time, really looked at the sheets of paper. 

At first, she couldn't believe what she was reading. She went back
 again and double checked. It made no sense, but then, knowing
 some of the things she knew, it made all the sense in the world.
 Pendrell had put an asterik next to one set of figures and
 extrapolated them out. Her heart was pounding as the numbers
 formed images in her mind. This was exactly what she had been
 praying for. 

"Mrs. Mulder, could you do me a tremendous favor?" she asked
 suddenly, and the older woman looked up at her curiously. 

"Of course, dear," she said quickly. 

Dana thought hard, this had to be good. "Could you ask the
 uniformed officer sitting guard if he would contact Det. Marker
 and have him come over here to the hospital?" 

"Certainly, dear," and she stood and walked to the area where the
 police guard sat, outside the Intensive Care Unit. 

Wasting no time, Dana hurried over to her partner's side and
 leaned close to his ear. "Mulder. Mulder, listen to me. That was
 not Samantha in that grave. It was a . . ." she stopped for a
 breath, she couldn't believe she was saying this. But it was true.
 She was staring at the proof right in front of her. It was all true.
 "It was a clone, a clone, Mulder. You didn't kill you sister. I
 don't know what's going on, but I have to talk to you. Mulder,
 Samantha is still out there, waiting for you and if you die now, she
 will always be waiting for you. Don't do this. Don't you dare
 chicken out on me now when I finally have proof of this. I mean
 it, Mulder. Don't make me pull my gun," she hissed, half joking,
 half serious. She took a breath, regaining her calm, her strength.
 "You gave me the strengths of your beliefs once, Mulder. Now
 it's my turn. Let me return the favor. Take my strength, Fox. I'm
 here and I'm waiting, too." 

She sat back and held his hand and prayed with all her might that
 he had heard and understood. 

The dream was repeating itself again and he was so tired. The
 only good thing now was that the dream seemed to be fading
 around the edges. Everything was growing darker, now. A gentle
 curtain was falling and he welcomed it with open arms. A blanket,
 one he could curl up in and be safe, one that would protect him
 from the dreams and make them end. Make it all end. But until
 the curtain fell completely, until he could cower under the blanket,
 he was forced to relive the dream. It made him ache, even though
 he had long forgotten the pain his body was going through. 

As he watched with his mind's eye, no longer curious, knowing
 what to expect, the dreamscape changed. This time, when he
 plunged the knife in his sister's chest, instead of red blood flowing
 over his hand, it was green. It bubbled and oozed and burned to
 the touch. And as he looked at Samantha's face, it changed, into
 the face of the one he knew as the alien bounty hunter. It wasn't
 Samantha at all that he was killing. It was the alien. 

It all came together like the sunrise after a night of violent storms.
 In the buffer of his mind, he replayed the sounds he had ignored.
 "Let me give you my strength, Fox." Scully. Scully had the
 answers. Scully wouldn't trick him, wouldn't betray him. Even
 though he couldn't trust his own mind on this, he could trust
 Scully. Just as he had once before, in a lonely SETI outpost in
 Puerto Rico. 

But he was so tired. His mind realized with a certainity that his
 body was too weak. He would need Scully's strength this time.
 He didn't have any of his own, he had let it all slip away from him
 in his depression and dispair. He had to focus on her voice, on her
 words. He had to follow her, let her guide him back. 

Scully's phone was chirping in her pocket and she frowned. Mrs.
 Mulder was still sitting by her son, trying to keep him bound to
 the earth even when it was clear that he didn't want to be bound
 here any longer. 

Scully's whole body ached with the realization that she had failed.
 He wasn't listening to her. He couldn't hear her. It was only a
 matter of time. 

She didn't want to leave, but the damned phone would not let up.
 She looked over at his mother and gave her an apologetic look as
 she stood and walked out into the corridor to answer the phone. 

"Scully," she said tersely. If it was the Bureau, great. It would
 save her the cost of the phone call to resign. 

"Dana, honey. It's Mom," came the excited voice on the other end
 of the line. 

Scully's heart sank a little lower. She wasn't ready to tell her Mom
 that her partner was dying. It would put a measure of reality on it
 that she wasn't ready to accept. "Hi, Mom. Look, this is a really
 bad time . . ." 

"Oh, well, I won't keep you. I just need your fax number. I have
 something for you." 

Dana frowned in confusion. What on earth could her mother be
 faxing her at a time like this. 

"Mom, I don't think . . ." 

"Dana Katherine, this is important. Now give me the fax number
 and then you can get back to whatever it is that you think is so
 important," Maggie said in a distinctly 'mother knows best' voice. 

It took Dana back for a moment, to her early adolescence, when
 that voice was the only voice her mother ever used. "OK, here,"
 she said and quickly rattled off the number of the nurses station
 fax machine. 

"Now, Dana, I want you to go down there now and get this. I
 don't want anyone else seeing it, do you hear me?" Maggie
 ordered. 

"Yeah, Mom, but what is this all about?" Dana asked, confused. 

"You'll see when you read it. Tell Fox I still have him in my
 prayers. He'll be fine, sweetheart. He's a very strong young man,"
 Maggie assured her daughter. "Well, gotta run. I'm behind
 schedule today. Take care and I love you." Maggie had
 disconnected the line before Dana could respond in kind. 

Dana walked back into the ICU in a confused daze. "Mrs.
 Mulder, I have to run down to the nurses station to get a fax. I'll be
 right back. If anything happens," she said, but couldn't complete
 the sentence. 

"I'll have someone come get you immediately, dear," Mrs. Mulder
 said firmly and then smiled a quick reassurance. 

Dana didn't want to wait for the elevator so she took the stairs,
 two at a time. She was slightly winded when she got to the floor,
 but beat her mother's fax by several seconds. As the paper fell
 into the tray and Dana saw the letterhead of the cover sheet, her
 eyes widened and she gasped. She grabbed the sheets of paper,
 quickly scanned the attached copies and ran as fast as she could
 back to the stairwell to make it to Mulder's bedside, in time, she
 hoped. 

Mulder's condition had changed in the few minutes Scully had
 been gone. She ignored the curious look his mother gave her and
 ran over to the opposite side of his bed. "Mulder, wake up, damn
 it. You have to see this," she hissed in his ear. "Mulder, look
 what I have. Proof! Proof that Mrs. Farrell isn't a crackpot,
 Mulder. The Navy had a couple of cruisers running field exercises
 off the coast of Masschusetts the night of Nov 27, 1973. Two
 entire crews reported seeing a bright set of lights hovering above
 Martha's Vineyard. My God, Mulder. The lights. The lights
 were there, Mulder. They took her. Not you. You had nothing
 to do with it. Nothing." 

She was out of breath and didn't even notice that his mother had
 brought a chair over for her to sit in. Mrs. Mulder gently guided
 her down into the chair and squeezed her shoulder. "Why isn't he
 listening," Scully cried, looking to Mrs. Mulder for an explanation.
 "I listened to him. Why isn't he listening to me?" she demanded. 

"Maybe he's listening, but he just doesn't have the strength . . ."
 Mrs. Mulder's words were cut off by the sound of her son
 struggling against the respirator. A machine set off it's alarm and
 for a split second, Scully thought it was over, that he was gone.
 But then, she realized it was just Mulder, coming back. She
 looked over at her mother and they both broke into relieved
 laughter. 

"He heard", they said in unison. 

Dukes County Medical Center
 August 20, 1996 8:15 am 

"Green is definitely your color, Mulder," Dana joked as she pulled
 up a chair next to his bed. He pulled out the neck of his hospital
 gown and squinted at it, then shrugged. His mother was beaming
 at them from the opposite side of the hospital room. 

"I want out of here," he rasped. His fever had broken, but his
 body would take a while to get over the effects. His voice was
 still hoarse from the respirator and he stomach was still sensitve,
 but the doctor had assured him that in a couple of weeks he would
 be good as new. 

"One of these days, I'm buying you business cards with that
 printed on it, so you don't waste your breath," his partner smiled
 maliciously at him. "Couple of more days here, and then back at
 your apartment for a week or so. By that time you'll be down to a
 walking cast on your ankle and we can get back to work," she
 promised. 

"I want that in writing," he groused and smiled when his mother
 laughed at him. 

Mrs. Mulder got out of her chair and leaned over her son. "Well,
 baby boy, as much as I love to watch you sleep and be grumpy,
 I've had my fill lately, so I'm going over to clean out some of the
 junk in your Dad's house." She kissed him on the forehead. "He's
 in your hands, Dana. God help you," she added with a wink. 

"Mom," Mulder sighed. "Please don't call me that." 

"What? Baby boy? I've called you that since you were born. You
 don't like it when I call you Fox. What am I supposed to call
 you?" 

"Never late for dinner?" he replied with a wicked grin. She
 slapped him gently on the shoulder, kissed him again and left. 

"Spill the beans," he commanded, settling back on his pillows. 

"The District Attorney has dropped all charges. They were all set
 to hit you with murder one, possibly going down to voluntary
 manslaughter. But the case fell apart," Scully said with a smile
 and pulled a set of papers out of her briefcase. She shifted
 through them and pulled out a couple. 

"When they checked the age on the bones, it didn't fit the timeline.
 Now, it's not that exact, but fairly good to a couple of years.
 Those bones were only in the ground no more than 15 years.
 Since the age of the child was obviously pre-adolescent . . ." she
 handed him the papers and he glanced at the highlighted sections. 

" . . . it couldn't have been Samantha," he said, completing her
 thought. He puffed out his breath. "But the DNA match?" 

"A clone would have a perfect DNA match, Mulder. That's how
 they are created in the first place. But the blood would have been
 a problem. The marrow had dried out, it wasn't useable. Now, if
 we'd found a blood sample . . ." 

"But you did, I thought. The knife," he reminded her. 

"Mulder, I made them do that blood test twice. Often, siblings
 have the same blood type. So it would be a match for Sam, but it
 could also have been a match for you. I made them compare it
 against the DNA markers and guess what? It wasn't Sam's blood
 at all." 

"It was mine," he said nodding slowly. "How could I have
 forgotten that?" 

"You were confused," she suggested. "You were confused at the
 time, and then you were confused at the accusation. You were so
 frightened that it could be true, that you really did kill your sister,
 that you forgot all the evidence that disproved that premise." 

"How did you find out? About the blood, I mean," he asked, not
 bothering to hide the rush of admiration he felt for his usually
 skeptical partner. 

She smiled self-consciously. "Really, it was Steve who made the
 link. He remembered the night you and Gary did your little
 'sacrifice' to their oak tree. I can only cringe at the infection that
 little stunt must have caused," she said with a shiver. 

"Hey, it's not a sacrifice without blood," he said lightly. "And my
 hand never got infected. It hurt like hell for a couple of days, but
 I kept putting alcohol on it and it cleared right up." 

She bit her tongue and looked down at her hands. She had to ask,
 but didn't know if he would answer her question. "Mulder, why
 did you bury the knife, your Scout pin and the baseball?" 

He shrugged and looked embarrassed. Still, after all she'd been
 through for him, she deserved an answer. "I thought it would
 bring her back. I'd tried everything, I'd even gone to church a
 couple of times. Snuck out early on Sunday mornings before
 either mom or dad woke up. Nothing was working. I figured, it
 was worth a try." 

"Sacrificing your most beloved possessions to an oak tree?" she
 asked, trying to cover his embarrassment with a sly smile. 

"At least it was before I found out about Playboy. Now, that
 would have made an interesting discovery," he said, using humor
 to hide the pain of that memory . "Did they find the rest of my
 box?" 

"In Lt. Rick Price's garbage can. Good thing the garbage men
 missed it, although they probably wouldn't have taken it anyway
 since it's a recylcable item. I didn't know you were into 'Johnny
 Quest', Mulder" she teased. 

"It was a phase," he shot back. "Keep it a secret and I won't tell
 Pendrell that you had Mickey Dolenz posters plastered all over
 your closet door when you were nine," he bribed. 

She blushed deep red. "Deal. And I have to have a long talk with
 my mother and see what other family secrets have been revealed." 

"What happened to Price?" he asked, deciding that it was wiser
 and healthier to change the subject. 

His partner's face grew dark and she let out an exasperated breath. 

"No, don't tell me," he said, and sank further back in his seat.
 "Gone, vanished, no sign, no trace," he checked off on his fingers. 

"And the body, too," she admitted. 

"Right out from the FBI labs," he sighed heavily. "And I bet in a
 couple of days, the computer will be purged off all that lab data,
 too." 

"Mulder, maybe it's just as well, this time. I mean, it would have
 answered our questions, but would it have led us anywhere?" she
 asked. "We know the truth, Mulder. They can't hide that from us
 because we already know." 

He looked over at her and gave her a weak smile. "You're right.
 We already know." 

The end.