TITLE: "New Millennium: Closure" (1/2)
BY: Ten
E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au

CATEGORY: V; Angst; MSR (Married); AU
RATING: R (for consensual adult situations that are not
described in blow-by-blow detail. Sorry <G>)
SUMMARY: Married life is mostly going well, but then
Mulder suffers the double loss of his mother and
sister...
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Set before, during and after
"Sein Und Zeit/Closure" with reference to "Signs and
Wonders", various of the conspiracy eps and "The
Unnatural".

This is part of the "New Millennium" series by Vickie
Moseley and me, which goes into alternate universe after
"Millennium".
Not every season seven episode occurs in this alternate
universe, and in some the events occur differently than
shown on the screen. This story can be read on its own,
but the rest are at Ten's website (see below).
ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be
archived anywhere as long as our names, addys and
disclaimer stay intact.
FEEDBACK: Love it.
THANKS TO: Vickie, Suzanne, Debbie, Mac, Gerry, Judie and
Sally.

The stories in this series are available at Ten's
website, thanks to the wonderful Arria:
http://www.4gigs.com/~tenxffic/index2.html
And the mirror site:
http://tenxffic.tripod.com

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder
and Scully and all other characters from the show belong
to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be
gained. Characters not recognized from the show are ours.


"New Millennium: Closure"
Written March-June 2002

xXx

Sunday Afternoon
Dulles Airport

The board shows that my husband's flight has landed. On
time, too.

Good. If luck and traffic are kind, within thirty to
forty minutes I'll be laid.

It *was* nice in some ways to have several days to
myself. But it felt odd being in the office alone, and
felt even stranger, not to mention lonely, going to bed
at night without Mulder. To wake up this morning and not
be able to lie there and snuggle. Or 'get mutual' and
wear a hole in the fitted sheet... Speaking to him on the
phone just isn't the same, but we made do.

We've already spent too many years apart.

Mulder has been away on a consult. Pathology Today Digest
and Penology Review had both slated me to write some
articles, so I stayed and worked on them. My husband
ended up near Greenwich, so when he finished the consult
he called his mother. He told me that he had been hoping
to drop in and see her, and if things went well to again
try telling her about him and me. Mulder is worried about
Teena - the abrupt and standoffish way she has been
acting. This was reinforced when he phoned and told her
he was in the vicinity. He said that she got panicky and
basically "fobbed me off - said it wasn't a good time".

He has been concerned about the effects of the stroke she
had years ago and the potential of another one occurring.
With Mulder living so far away and his mother wanting to
stay in Greenwich, one of Teena's friends, a woman who
lives next door, holds her Medical Power of Attorney in
case of emergency. Mulder spoke to the neighbor - Mrs
Delbert - this very weekend after the reaction he
received from Teena. Mrs Delbert assured him that his
mother was all right.

Mulder is also worried that Teena doesn't want to see him
for other reasons, ones that might have grown over time
and after various events. I've tried to reassure him, but
I really have no idea what is going on in Teena's head,
which has given rise to all sorts of possible
explanations in Mulder's mind. When we last spoke his
tone as he listed some off nearly broke my heart.

She might blame him for not finding Samantha; bitterness
at the way her life has turned out; anger over him
confronting his mother about her relationship with his
father's associate...

Contact between mother and son usually consists of Mulder
phoning her, not the other way around. So Teena doesn't
know that Mulder spends most of his time at my apartment.
Though he still goes back to his place regularly, and
when he doesn't, he checks his voice mail daily. Not just
for any messages from her - he has a bachelor cover to
maintain to the world.

Oh well, if nothing else, Mulder not having to visit his
mother means that he's home earlier...

Now I watch the arrivals gate. My husband doesn't know
I'm here. In our last phone conversation he said:
"Knowing my luck, the plane will probably be late. I'll
get a taxi to your place. Otherwise being so close to you
but not being able to show how much I missed you until we
get all the way home will drive me nuts. So just be
waiting at home." Then his voice dropped into a sexy
rumble. "And by the way, I'm in a lace mood..."

I'm wearing sexy lace underwear under my casual clothes.
The panties are crotchless to save some time - and to
prevent another casualty in the line of pleasure.

I know Mulder didn't want me to be here and I understand
his reasonings, but I just want to see him again. We can
catch up verbally in the car, conversation that we
definitely won't get around to the minute we shut my
apartment door behind us.

And we survived for so many years without having sex,
getting by on only minimal touching. (Though boy, did we
make a handhold worth a thousand words...) A state of
mind we have to re-enter regularly, since our marriage is
still a secret at the Bureau and we have to be
professional on the job. This will be good practice - and
it's not for long.

Passengers are appearing. My eyes zero in on a man's
snakeskin boots. That reminds me of our trip to Tennessee
not that long ago. The Church of God with Signs and
Wonders at Blessing. My partner nearly ended up dying
from snakebites. Fortunately he didn't.

I think about Mulder's miraculous recovery from the
bites. How for a second the monitors in his room
displayed symbols from the UFO I saw in Africa...

They disappeared too quickly for me to be able to read
what they said, or to see if they formed any coherent
message. I did tell Mulder about it when we were back
home at my apartment, safe and sound.

We've had a sign and now we're wondering about it...

I went to church with Mom this morning and she pointed
out where she had knelt in front of the statue of
Patrick, her favorite saint, to pray for Mulder while he
was in grave danger from the snake venom. How she had
called upon all the relevant saints she could think of
while lighting candles.

Faith or science. Or both?

I keep scanning the passengers. Still no sign of Mulder.
A woman appears, carrying a four year old boy. The boy is
in the middle of a spectacular temper tantrum. A number
of people in the vicinity look annoyed. The woman's face
is dark and impatient. She speaks angrily to the boy, who
keeps howling, overtired.

I just sit here, fingernails digging into my knee, and
think about how much I would give for that to be my
child, tantrum and all.

Well, perhaps I might be pregnant. The thought is in my
mind before I can stop it. I don't want to get my hopes
up so soon. It hasn't been all that many weeks yet (not
that I've dared make a detailed count) since I -

Mulder appears at the arrivals gate, pulling me from my
thoughts.

He looks tired. He's carrying his trenchcoat over his arm
and his briefcase in his left hand. He must have left the
blue suit for last because that's the one he's wearing.
And the tie Mom gave him for Valentine's Day. All I want
to do is grab him, throw him to the floor and rip every
stitch of clothing off him.

Hmmm, perhaps coming here wasn't such a good idea after
all...

Then again, with such a handsome, charismatic partner, I
would often feel that way even before we became lovers.
And that was all the more frustrating than now because I
wasn't able to satisfy those thoughts.

My mind is drawn back to the wonderful way he moves and
all his other attributes.

I notice all this within a few seconds - I have had years
to make a detailed study of him, after all. He doesn't
notice me. I know he's not expecting me, but FBI training
should make a quick scan of the vicinity automatic,
whether an agent is on duty or not...

Then I see that he is making a beeline for the baggage
carousel, his long stride so quick he's almost breaking
into a jog. And I realize. He's wanting to grab his
suitcase, get a taxi and get home to me, in the shortest
possible time.

I hurry to head him off at the pass, not before he's
snaffled his suitcase. The man moves fast when he has
sufficient motive. Thinking about examples of that makes
me feel like the airport temperature control has suddenly
been turned up...

"Hey, stud. Looking for a good time?"

He jumps and stares, then a beautiful smile lights up his
face. I feel satisfaction that he is so surprised and
happy to see me that he has no snappy comeback. For the
minute anyway.

Mulder drops his luggage - not out of shock or anything,
just simply to free his hands. He then hugs me in a very
non working-partner manner, actually lifting me off the
ground. Doing that in public is a risk, but at the moment
I couldn't care less.

"Scully..."

"I know you told me not to -"

He breathes me in. "Forget what I said. God, I missed
you! No more solo work..."

"Mulder, me going with you would have looked too strange
- there was no good reason," I remind him. Though I can't
make my voice appropriately stern.

I don't tell him about my lace underwear until we've
arrived at my apartment and I've pulled up in my parking
space.

Then in short order we are in the apartment and my
husband is in me.

xXx

We are on my sofa, wrapped in a blanket and each other's
limbs, holding, recovering in bliss. The phone rings. Due
to our current state, we let it, waiting for the
answering machine to pick up and screen the call.

It's Langly, talking about some convention he went to.

Even though it is hardly an urgent matter, Mulder picks
up and chats with him, doing a very good job of sounding
like he was just sitting here doing nothing more
strenuous than reading. The Gunmen know about our
marriage, but that doesn't mean Mulder has to broadcast
to them what we've just been up to...

My husband talks to Langly while drawing circles and
shapes on my stomach and abdomen with a finger of his
free hand.

As the conversation goes on I let myself concentrate on
the finger, which creates swirls on my breasts and then
on my behind. It feels good.

I turn a little and give Mulder a 'get off the phone NOW'
look. I don't want Langly to end up as part of a
'threesome', no matter how ignorant he is to the fact.

Mulder traces out 'OK' on my skin, the path of the 'O'
getting close to making me gasp out the same. But I
remain silent, biding my time. His face is close to mine
as he makes very plausible excuses to our friend, but our
covering performances are all for nothing as I am able to
hear Langly's amused reply: "Geez, you ought to donate
your libido to the Smithsonian for future generations to
marvel at. Or sell it as an alternative to Viagra. Bye."
Click.

xXx

A few hours later I discover that my period - or what
passes for it now - has started. The spark of hope I had
been carrying winks out.

And suddenly I find myself breaking down in tears. Mulder
holds me as I haltingly explain about the toddler at the
airport. My husband knows that I don't blame him about my
infertility. We've talked about it. But he still feels
responsible - sometimes I think he feels responsible for
everything, including bad weather... He has to stop
blaming himself. Over time I am getting him to that
point, but there are occasional relapses. Small steps.

Mulder and I have pieced together that when I was
abducted and my ova taken, the 'doctors' did something to
my ovaries to ensure that I didn't suddenly start to get
menopausal symptoms or full-blown menopause, and so that
my cycle still did its thing. 'They' didn't want me to
burrow too deep and discover what was up, or find the
chip. They did that to all the Allentown women and
probably a lot of others too.

How considerate of them.

Things didn't even go haywire in that department when I
had the chip removed. Perhaps a little bit so, but I had
put it down to the stress of Melissa's death and all that
we had gone through. That certainly could have been the
case regardless. But then with the cancer developing and
the resulting treatments, things became very irregular. I
didn't have time to worry about that until after the
cancer was in remission. Then when it was, I discovered
that I was barren.

But I'm still... Unless something is still there... A
chance at motherhood.

Now, in Mulder's arms, in the living room, I have calmed
down somewhat. "I shouldn't be acting like this. I should
be grateful - I *am* grateful for what I have. You make
me so happy. I love being married to you. Apart from my
infertility, we're healthy and alive. I just..."

I want a baby. I want to give Mulder a child.

I raise my head from my husband's shoulder and look him
in the eyes. "Mulder, do you want children? I know you
like being around kids and you're so good with them and I
feel that you *do* want..." I realize that I am on the
verge of babbling. "We've never really talked
specifically about it."

He hesitates. Before he can speak, I jump in. "We have to
be honest with each other, especially about this. Please
tell me the truth. Even if you think it isn't what I want
to hear or even if you're afraid it will hurt me. No more
lying in an effort to protect."

Mulder looks down at our joined hands. "I do want kids,"
he says quietly. "If in the end we don't have any, I'll
be sad but still a very lucky man for what I already
have." He swallows. "Over the years my career hasn't
exactly been conducive to raising a family. Violent
Crimes, the BSU, the X-Files. The profiling, the
workload, my quest to find Sam and get answers - all of
it has taken up so much time. I knew and accepted that,
and the costs it would have on my life, especially
relationship-wise. But at the back of my mind I always
kept a dream alive. Of my search ending successfully,
then being able to live in a small town, and have a
family. Over time that dream came to feature a certain
redhead of my acquaintance..."

I smile, feeling relieved that he wants kids too, but
also upset that I might not be able to give them to him.
"I like that dream. We can do our best to turn it into a
reality. But I must admit that I can't picture you living
in a small town. Or giving up the X-Files even more so."

"I could." His voice is surprisingly firm. "We don't have
to live in a small town though. I just want to be where
you are. Small towns have their advantages. So do large
ones. Just a matter of working out what suits us best.
And as for the X-Files... There are things in there that
I want answers to, that need to be uncovered. But... It's
already cost us so much and so many years. It may be time
to find someone else to take up the baton for us, or for
us to cut back a bit. Time to start thinking about what's
passing us by."

We lean back on the couch, Mulder's arm draped around me,
my body turned into his with my head resting on his
shoulder.

"We could look into adopting. Or fostering," I suggest.
"Though with the long hours and danger that comes with
our jobs - that could count against us."

"We could shift to different sections. You could go back
to teaching or pathology and I could consider teaching as
well or a psychology practice. Supervising. Consulting."

I raise my head. "You really would give up the X-Files?"

"We might have to once our marriage is out in the open,"
he points out. "Or one of us could step out of it so
we're no longer work partners. I could still do cases
while you provided the lab backup. I guess it depends how
the higher-ups react. Being supervisor of the section
doesn't sound so bad - still keep an eye on things. Or go
for something completely different."

"But could we walk away? And should we?" I ask. "We still
have to find Sam." His eyes become upset at mention of
his sister, but he remains silent. I put my head back
against his chest and feel a deep and shaky inhalation. I
continue, "There's so much to do. Though I love you for
being willing to consider giving it up. I guess we need
time to think about our options: both work-wise and baby-
wise, and then make a decision. If we do have a child,
then I want to spend as much time as possible with him or
her. But on the other hand I don't want the Consortium or
other trouble brewing because no one was looking. I don't
want our child to grow up under the leadership of people
like that as a result. Or worse."

He nods into my hair and says, "We have an idea of what
to look for. I think it's time we were allowed to teach
others." After a pause, he continues, "Anyway, what are
our options, baby-wise?"

"We could look into adopting a baby or a child. That's
such a long process though. I should set up some more
medical tests and exams to see whether there is any
chance of me conceiving naturally, or whether perhaps IVF
is an option. I may still have... There might still be
some good eggs in the 'basket' that just need to be
helped along." That is my hope. Those 'Curts', the clones
that Mulder encountered, told him that all ova are
harvested from a subject. But how can they tell if *all*
of them have been removed? Surely some must be left. And
hopefully my cancer treatments didn't nuke the
remainder...

"I'd better get tested too," Mulder says, breaking me out
of my thoughts. "Just to make sure that my run ins with
retroviruses and such haven't affected my reproductive
abilities."

Both of us stay in each other's arms, worrying that we
won't be able to give each other the gift that we want so
much.

I keep listing options. "Another avenue would be having a
donor egg with your sperm."

"Dana, there's still a chance that we can locate the
other vials of your ova. If only I'd grabbed all of them
when I had the chance... Then again, in the state I was
in, with you so sick, all three might have been ruined
instead of the one. But I should have... I should have
known better."

"You know I don't blame you."

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and I follow
gently with my own fingers. "I know," he says hoarsely.
"I've had the Gunmen keep an eye out for any leads. There
hasn't been much luck. And other events have kept us
pretty busy and distracted." Then his voice becomes
fiercely determined. "But I think it's time to lean on
some people again. Harder. There's bound to be some Curts
still out there. If need be, I'll plaster their 'face' on
the front cover of every newspaper in the country."

Uh oh. "Mulder, I do want my ova back, but not if it
means I end up a widow in the process."

"I won't lean that hard. Yet." He gives me a reassuring
look, but I can see beyond it. He is already formulating
a strategy. But I can't expect it to yield immediate
results. Especially not after all this time. And if the
Gunmen haven't been able to find anything...

I stretch. "Well, I'll arrange an appointment. If we get
tested, then we'll know what's going on in our
reproductive departments." We have to at least try this
avenue, with people we trust. Hopefully it will yield
results and we won't have to go looking for my stolen
ova. Though I really don't want it left in Consortium
hands, if there is a Consortium anymore...

My husband nods and kisses me. We hug tightly, and that
conversation ends.

xXx

I make the appointment. The soonest we can get is in two
weeks time.

A lot can happen in two weeks, and it turns out that it
does.

The case of a missing child. Amber Lynn La Pierre.

Then if that wasn't close enough to home, I answer the
phone in the basement office and am told that Teena
Mulder has killed herself.

Oh God. The bottom drops out of everything as I stand
there.

How can I tell Mulder?

I want to rage at the world. Why? Why do this to herself?
To her son? After everything else they've suffered.

But I bundle my feelings away, knowing I will have to
concentrate on helping Mulder deal with the news.


xXx

Conducting an autopsy is one thing on a stranger...

I autopsied my mother-in-law.

I had to. I know I had to. Not just for Mulder's sake, but for my
own. To know for sure that nothing was overlooked. But there was
no evidence of murder or foul play.

Apart from her terminal illness. Cancer. Another link between her
and me.

Then we found the message on Mulder's answering machine. The one
Teena must have left just before she...

"There's so much that I've left unsaid for reasons I hope one day
you'll understand."

I don't think we'll ever be able to.

The case is digging up more than memories of Mulder's past. It
might also be digging up answers. But are they ones we want?

Is Amber Lynn dead? Is Samantha dead?

Amber Lynn's mother said she saw her daughter's ghost. In her home
on the night of the abduction a note was found containing an odd
phrase: 'Nobody shoots at Santa Claus'. The same phrase also
appeared in a previous case that Mulder shows me the file of. It
leads us to Kathy Lee Tencate She is in State Prison for the death
of her own son, though there was no body. Kathy Lee says she saw
his ghost.

My mind tells me that both women are spinning stories to cope with
their loss, or to cover up their roles in the deaths.

But my heart reminds me of the times when I have seen spirits of
the dead. My head tells me it was in times that I was under great
stress, giving me a logical way 'out', but my heart will not
dismiss them so readily.

Mulder and I are told the theory of walk-ins by Kathy Lee and also
separately by a man claiming to be a psychic, Harold Piller. Walk-
ins are old souls looking for new homes. They live in the
starlight. We are told that they have spirited both girls away,
converting their bodies to energy. In this way the walk-ins have
kept them safe from terrible fates.

My husband seems willing to embrace this idea, even if it means
accepting that Sam is dead. "I just want it to be over," he says
to me. So we can know, finally, and move on.

He wants to see if Harold Piller can back up his claims. As much
as I doubt Piller, especially when I find out that his own son is
a missing child, I am not going to leave Mulder here alone. The
Gunmen are helping us out, working on scraps of official looking
documents that we found in the trashcan that Teena burned her
family photos in.

They have found that some of the documents *are* official.
Treasury Department records, no less - and I am able to have the
files sent out to us. Records calling off the search for Sam,
signed by our nemesis, Mr Spender, the Cancerman. Bastard.

And one of the documents that Teena tried to destroy was the
original.

I can see in Mulder's expressions, actions and words that his
feelings keep seesawing. I want to know/I don't want to know/She's
alive/She's dead/I don't know.../Perhaps there weren't aliens
after all./Perhaps there were.

And there are the heartbreaking excavations of the mass graveyard
of children at Santa's North Pole Village.

After a day spent supervising the crime scene and dealing with so
much on so many levels, Mulder and I go back to our motel. I
manage to get some food into him. We have two adjoining rooms, but
there is no way I'm leaving him alone tonight, even if we are on a
case. I hold him.

My husband stares at the framed photograph he brought along with
him, which is on the bedside table. It is of his family, back when
he was ten years old. The four of them looked happy, normal...

Mulder is still wondering whether the alien abduction scenario he
has clung to for so many years is true or not. "Perhaps it's what
my mind came up with to explain what happened - the bright lights.
To give me some hope that Sam was still alive. I only came up with
it after..." He trails off.

"After your regression hypnosis."

"Yeah, but before that... About a month beforehand was the first
time I met the Gunmen - *before* they were the Gunmen. At that
Expo when I was trying to arrest Susanne Modeski. There was an
exhibit that was going on about aliens..." He strains to recall
it. "They were selling 'high tech electronic alien detectors'.
Some loud speaker was droning: 'They're here! Aliens are among
us'. That might have planted the seed... I never really thought
about that possibility until now."

"One little exhibit led to all that? How?" I ask.

"I know it doesn't seem like much, but then that night I tracked
Susanne and the Gunmen to a warehouse. They were ambushed by men
who wanted Susanne... there was shooting. I ended up being sprayed
with a hallucinogen that Susanne had helped develop - she was
trying to expose the people who were behind its manufacture. They
were going to ship it out to the public in asthma inhalers. Some
bullets hit the container the inhalers were in. So I was coated
with this stuff, this huge dosage, and started hallucinating about
aliens... And the police report said that I was yelling: 'They're
here!' over and over."

I've heard about his first encounters with the guys before, but
not from this slant. "And you think that might have influenced you
in the hypno-regression therapy you had about a month later?"

Mulder shrugs helplessly. "It could have. I always thought that
the regression unlocked memories that had always been there. I
didn't think that they were...altered... I could have interpreted
them the wrong way... I should have accepted that there was the
possibility! I'm a psychologist! But I didn't want to think... I
was so sure. It all seemed to add up. But I've been looking in the
wrong..."

"No, Mulder. You've seen so many things over the years to do with
the paranormal. And the spaceship in Antarctica. The craft in
Africa." Seeing the latter for myself helped me accept that a
spaceship was the prison that Mulder freed me from, even if I
couldn't admit it at the time. I can no longer deny what I have
seen over the years. "Proof that there is something out there. And
we found out years ago about the Consortium. That was definitely
the right track."

"Just not the one leading to Samantha..."

"Mulder, even if people took her instead of aliens, she was still
taken. Something definitely happened. And all the things you've
seen can't be dismissed. That exhibit about aliens might not have
led you astray - it might have been just the trigger you needed.
Aliens could have been mentioned by one of Sam's abductors that
night, but they did something to block the incident in your mind
or the trauma did it."

Finally I am able to soothe him to sleep, only for us to be
interrupted at 3.00 am by Harold Piller. I am beyond worrying what
Piller thinks of me being in Mulder's room - if he's a real
psychic, he knows what's going on. If not, let him think that I
came in through the adjoining door when I heard the knock. Who
really cares?

Piller says he senses Mulder's mother, that she has a message. And
then we find that Mulder has written down the words 'April Base'
without conscious knowledge of doing so. Piller says Teena has
channeled a message through to him.

We find April Base - a deserted military housing facility. There
we also find a house with Sam's handprint in cement and Jeffrey
Spender's below it. Sam's diary is behind a hidden panel that
Mulder says he was lead to. The diary is by Sam as a fourteen year
old, talking about unwillingly being subjected to tests, and
planning on running away.

Back at the motel room, we are so exhausted we phone Skinner and
then collapse onto the bed. I don't know where Harold is.

Mulder wonders aloud about the clones of Sam he saw on a farm that
Jeremiah Smith led him to several years ago. The clones at the
fertility clinic. And how the Bounty Hunter told him in the Arctic
that she was still alive. "They must have got the genetic material
from the tests to make the clones. So in a way she was still
'alive'. And if she vanished into the starlight, they'd have had
no idea what happened to her..."

Mulder goes to sleep clutching me and the diary. At one point I
half-wake because I think I feel a hand gently brush my cheek. But
I can feel my husband is asleep next to me. I decide I must have
been dreaming and open my eyes to check the time. Sunlight is
coming in through a gap in the curtains and for a moment it seems
like someone is standing there in the light, bending over Mulder.
I blink and go to sit up, but there is no-one there.

It looked like Teena.

xXx

I am chasing up information for Mulder, trying to locate any
documentary evidence of Samantha in hospital records in the area.
I return to the motel room and find that Mulder is not there, but
Spender Senior is. A very sick looking Spender Senior.

He tells me we should give up the search. That Mulder won't like
what he will find. That Spender has kept the hope alive all these
years as a kindness.

Perhaps he too hasn't been able to admit that she is gone. That he
lost her.

Spender looks over at the framed photograph. There is sadness in
his eyes, but I have no idea where the lies and fakery end or
begin with this man.

Hours afterwards it occurs to me that I should have asked him
about my ova. But, like with Mulder, would I get an answer that I
wanted? Would I get the truth? And at the moment, the quest for
Samantha comes first.

xXx

We are on our way home.

I almost wish that Mulder still believed that his sister was
abducted by aliens, that she is still out there somewhere.

"In a way good spirits - walk-ins - are aliens. A paranormal
explanation after all..." he says quietly as we sit in the
airplane. "It just happened six years later than I thought it did,
and when I wasn't around..."

Well, we haven't found Sam's body, but he said he saw her ghost as
well as the spirits of little Amber Lynn and Piller's son. They
were safe and happy. 'Alive', in a way.

Mulder has time off - bereavement leave and to arrange and attend
the funeral. A double funeral, because Samantha's name will go on
the headstone too.

Since I am not a relative in the eyes of the FBI, I have to take
the time off as 'vacation time' instead.

These are not the circumstances under which I wanted to see
Mulder's uncle and aunt again. I really like them. Uncle Jacob is
a justice of the peace. He's the one who married us. Jacob is
Teena's brother, but they weren't in close contact. Mulder and I
have spoken to him on the phone occasionally and he was aware of
the 'situation'. So knowledge of our marriage never reached Teena
via Jacob or his wife.

Teena had put the house in Mulder's name several years ago,
eliminating the necessity of probate on it, and avoiding
inheritance taxes. Decisions about the house and its contents are
still to be discussed. We won't be doing anything about that this
week. But I hope that Mulder won't put it off too long, for his
own sake.

I don't think it has all fully hit Mulder yet. With the Amber Lynn
case going on, and how it grew even worse once we found the mass
gravesite... So many things to juggle. Something is going to drop
soon. Hard.

As for me, I'm still juggling frantically, keeping certain balls
on the move so I won't examine them too closely. Yet. My pain
about Teena's death is one of those.

Other balls I have in the air are the questions that keep popping
into my head. Just how close were Teena and Spender Senior? Was
Samantha his daughter? How could he let her be treated like a lab
rat? Does he know about Mulder and I being involved, being
married? Did Spender know that Teena was dying? Was it something
beyond all his connections or the Consortium's power? Or did she
hide it from him, preferring to die rather than accept his help?

"Mrs Delbert must have known..." Mulder says, staring absently out
the airplane window, breaking me out of my own thoughts.

Mrs Delbert? His mother's next door neighbor. "Known what?" I ask,
gently rubbing his arm.

"That Mom was dying. She held the Power of Attorney. But I'd
spoken to her on the phone a few times when I was worried about
Mom, before Mom..." He can't say the words. "And Mrs Delbert
never..."

As I hold Mulder, I think about our conversation about having
children. I will cancel our appointment with the doctor - for now.
This is not the right time. We need space to grieve and accept and
perhaps rearrange our plans. Rushing in headlong will serve no
purpose.

As if reading my thoughts, Mulder suddenly turns away from the
window and asks when we are supposed to see the doctor. I tell
him. "But it's okay, Mulder. I'm going to phone and cancel."

"No. No, you're not. We're keeping that appointment." His voice is
firm and determined.

"Mulder, after what's happened, I think you need to take some
time."

"We've already lost so much time. And for what?"

He looks at me. He is upset, but I understand his reasoning,
because I spoke similar words to him when I returned to work after
my abduction. Now the quest for Samantha's fate has ended. The
quest for ourselves can resume. And at this stage the appointment
is more to find out our options than actually rushing in right
away to have an IVF procedure.

So I nod my assent and keep holding him.

"I know there's going to be a lot happening, but we'll make time.
It's important," he says. "More important now than ever."

"All right. But you've still been through so much -" I begin.

"I have you. It would be so much worse if I didn't have you..."

However, when we arrive back in D.C. and collect our luggage,
Mulder's thoughts have turned instead to temporary solitude,
because he says, "Scully... I need to be alone for a while. You go
home. I want to go to my apartment. Perhaps overnight." His eyes
are pleading for my acceptance.

"Mulder, I understand. Really, I do." As much as it hurts me.
Because I have done the same in the past. Though at those times we
weren't married... Still, there is a cover to keep - but under
these circumstances... "I think it would be best if I was with you
though."

"You will be. Just a phone call away." He squeezes my hand.
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really need some
space - some time to myself. I promise that I'll phone you in a
few hours and tell you whether I'm coming home or sleeping there
tonight." Upon seeing my hesitation, he does his best to convince
me that he will just be away for a few hours and not the night. I
reluctantly agree to the compromise.

xXx

I go home, but feel restless and upset. It isn't very long
afterwards that I decide to go to Hegal Place. I can't help it.

The drive seems even longer than usual.

And as I step out of the elevator on the fourth floor of his
apartment building I hear the faint sound of a police siren.

It could be going anywhere. But I just know that it is on its way
here.

That gut feeling hits me a second before I hear a thud and a
crash. I run down the empty hallway. All the doors are shut - the
neighbors are most likely lying low at this latest drama. More
thuds - they are coming from Mulder's apartment. Violent thuds,
something being struck with force.

I pull my gun with one hand and my key with the other, then
position myself. I should wait for the police, for back up, but I
can't if Mulder is in danger.

Twist the key in the lock, push the door open -

- in time to see my husband hurling one of his lamps. Not at an
intruder, not at anyone. He throws it into the wall. A wall which
has fresh impact marks in it - like a baseball bat has been taken
to it - as well as a framed print that is now barely hanging on,
listing, glass broken.

"Mulder!"

He does not speak; he does not acknowledge me as he stands just
before the entrance to the living room. I don't think he even
knows I'm here.

I can't see anyone else and I know there is no one else, apart
from the ghosts of his past. "Mulder!" I call louder, and edge
into the room, holstering my gun.

His face is contorted with pain and tears as he seizes his
telescope and throws it into the kitchen. Possessions and
furniture are scattered across the floor, some of them smashed.

And in a flash of insight, I understand. This is more than him
pouring out his anger and grief. In a way he is now destroying his
past life, the monk-like one he forced on himself for so many
years while searching. All the sacrifices he made...and for this
to be the outcome...

The police. I can hear the siren outside - the police car is
pulling up below.

I go out into the hallway and remain standing outside the door so
that I can keep an eye on Mulder while waiting. I keep my hands
visible and out from my sides. With the history of Mulder at Hegal
Place, odds are good that one of the police that shows up will
know Mulder and me.

Fortunately that is the case. Two policeman appear and I am
recognized immediately. I know Officer Wilder will listen to me.
Thank you, God.

"It's okay. No guns needed," I say.

"Agent Scully, what's happening here? We got a call from a
neighbor," Officer Wilder says as he approaches. He still has his
gun out, which does not surprise me. He will wait until he knows
for sure what the situation is.

"There's no attack in progress - it's just Mulder. My -" I almost
say 'husband'. "My partner is causing all the noise. There's no
one else in there."

Officer Wilder looks around the doorframe and raises his eyebrows
at the sight. If I was in his place I know I would be wondering
about alcohol or drugs possibly being the culprit.

"Mulder found out this week that both his mother and sister are
dead. One death would have been hard enough to deal with," I start
to explain.

"He's still disturbing the peace and damaging property. That has
to be stopped and he has to be calmed down. Before he hurts
himself. If he hasn't already."

"The only property he's damaging is his own. All right, the
landlord won't see it like that and there will be repairs to be
paid for, but don't rush in there. You'll make it worse. Look at
him. He's almost worn himself out. I'll go in. Please stay out
here."

Wilder hesitates, then nods. It's not like there's much property
left to save. "Okay. But the first sign of any trouble and we'll
be in there."

And have Mulder pinned face down to the floor.

I call out Mulder's name again, but he does not respond. He is now
in the living room, having stomped over bits and pieces
uncaringly. I cross the floor towards him, trying to give the
police line-of-sight while I do so. He stares hard at the fish
swimming in the still-intact tank on the bookcase.

Mouth set, he reaches out and takes hold of the tank.

"Mulder, don't!"

He stops and blinks, then drops his hands to his sides. I'm not
sure if it was me or his own inner voice that made him stop. But I
know that Mulder would not intentionally hurt innocent living
things. There has been enough death.

A sob breaks loose from him and his body shakes. He is back.

Thank God he came back to himself in time. Otherwise the fish
flopping around, dying amongst the broken glass, would have done
the same - I have an image in my head of Mulder frantically
scooping them up and rushing for the sink, yelling at me to help
him.

As it is, the words are the same. Now Mulder sinks to his knees,
staring at the tank, and he whispers, "Scully, help me...
Please..."

I hug him to me and rock him.

Where do we go from here?

I doubt that Mulder will ever stay here again. No more overnights.
The amount of time it will take us to clean it up and clear it out
will be more than enough for him to stand. He has severed himself
from it and what it represents.

And I know that with this, the days of us hiding our marriage from
the world are numbered.

But for now I push that aside and forget about the mess and the
police and just concentrate on trying to keep my husband from
breaking into more pieces than are on the floor already.

xXx

Epilogue:

The funeral was a few days ago.

I keep waiting for Mulder to have another meltdown. He's had a
few, but fairly minor ones compared to what I can sense is brewing
under the surface. Even if I didn't know my husband as well as I
do, I would be able to pick up on this pain. The look in his
eyes...

He has snapped at me for watching him all the time. I can't blame
him and from the expression that he gets on his face after the
words are out of his mouth, he doesn't blame me, but we are both
human...

"Don't worry, Scully. I'm more likely to die like Clyde Bruckman
foretold than by jumping off a bridge."

And in the times that he has expressed his pain or talked about
the past, it has mainly been to do with Sam, not his mother.

So for now I'm still in juggle-mode. I will deal with my reactions
at some stage; I know they can't stay up in the air forever.

There has been some good along with the bad. When I comforted
Mulder at his apartment I had been worried that in the process of
his 'redecorating' that he might have inadvertently hurt himself.
So many things lying around broken and sharp, or being held while
they were reduced to rubbish... Fortunately his hands were spared
any bad cuts and he was wearing sneakers at the time.

Another piece of good news: the fish handled the move well. They
and the tank look nice on the side table we bought especially for
them to live on. They 'go' well with the rest of my - our -
apartment.

Mulder still has his apartment, by minor miracle, but he is not
living there. That's probably why the landlord is still willing to
rent it to the Number One Trouble Tenant, for the moment anyway.
Once we've finished removing everything from the rooms and have
the place repaired, I think Mulder will be given his marching
orders.

He said that the fish were the only thing he wanted from his
apartment. "Everything I need is already at your place anyway.
Most of my clothes and my favorite stuff. You."

"What about your basketball? Your..." I start to say 'baseball
bat', but then I remember that it was most likely used to inflict
a lot of the damage.

"I can buy new ones. What's in the apartment can be thrown out or
given to charity."

I have rescued a few things though and will probably find more
when we get the chance to work our way through the chaos properly.
I am saving all the photos I have come across so far, especially
of Mulder's childhood, of his parents and Sam. The ones that are
damaged I will get restored or reprinted. One day surely he will
want to look at them again.

Over a year ago Mulder and I came back from a dud case in Area 51
and he found that his apartment had been radically and
mysteriously transformed. A waterbed. A lot of his things were
gone. He managed to track down some boxes containing his things,
piled next to an overflowing dumpster, and I remember how relieved
he had been to get them back. Not anymore.

And there is something else that I found in the rubble that has
set off an idea...

The next night I tell Mulder that I want to take us somewhere.

"Tonight? I really don't feel like going out..."

"I know. But just come with me for a little while, and then if you
don't want to stay, we can come back. I promise. Please?"

He looks at me, intrigued despite himself, eyeing the bag I am
holding and trying to work out its contents. Not even great
tragedy can completely get rid of Mulder's curious nature. Not for
long, anyway.

I pull up at a sports park. Mulder follows me as I walk. When I
reach the batting cage I have reserved, complete with a few bats
leaning against the wire, I turn. Mulder is staring at the young
man standing beside the pitching machine. "You got Poorboy."

"He'll be 'Richboy' after the amount I've paid him to pitch balls
for us for the next hour. Here." I pull Mulder's Roswell Grays
baseball jersey out of my bag. For a moment he doesn't take it. He
just stares at me and fear rises up inside me that I've made a big
mistake in doing this...

Then I see so much emotion in his eyes - love and gratitude the
strongest - and a few tears.

Mulder takes the jersey with one hand and squeezes my hand with
the other. He gently pulls me into a kiss. "Let's play ball."

This is one gift that is in my power to give him. We both need
this.

Under the starlight we swing at the balls together. Some we miss.
Some we hit. Some we send sailing. We keep at it. Together.

That is one thing, like the starlight, that will never change.


THE END