Any Other Name Part 4 – Chapters 8B, 9, & 10 by Louise Marin mibosh@earthlink.net www.angelfire.com/la/xspot EIGHT B: Scully slipped discreetly into FBI Headquarters. The security guard at the employee entrance seemed to take little note of her, and she was relieved to find the rest of the building unusually still and quiet, even for a Sunday morning. Feeling certain no one of importance had noticed her arrival, she rushed down to the basement office, still mentally scourging herself for leaving Mulder alone. She tried to tell herself she felt better having spoken to him on the phone. He's fine, she chanted to herself. He's fine. He's fine. He's at home playing with Ishy. He's fine. She tried. But she could not shake the fear that leaving him had been a mistake. He was not ready to be on his own, and she was not ready to be without him. Her fear of the intimacy and the bond she could feel forming between them be damned. They needed each other. What have I done? she asked herself as she unlocked the office door with unsteady hands. What have I done? Charging across the room to her desk and computer, she logged into the bureau's main database and ran a search. Her results showed twenty-one doctors with the first initial J and last name Hiram living in the United States. None of them specialized in anything close to plastic surgery. Scully hit 'Print' and then clicked off the computer screen and buried her face in her hands. Her frustration pushed tears into her eyes, but she shut them down quickly. They would not help her find the Clinic; they would not lead her to the Others. She had to be at the top of her game and unafraid, for Mulder, and for herself. "Agent Scully," came a gruff voice from behind her. Skinner. Apparently, she had not entered the building unnoticed after all. Turning, she looked up to see him hovering in the doorway. "Sir. Good morning, Sir," she said. Her voice was despicably raw. He studied her for a moment with a neutral gaze and then addressed her firmly. "Can I speak frankly, Agent Scully?" "Certainly, Sir." "You look like hell." "Sir?" "You called in sick on Friday." "Yes, Sir." "What are you doing here? Am I to assume you've recovered from your illness?" Skinner pulled Jon's chair over to Scully's desk and seated himself next to her, close but not intimately so. When Scully made no move to answer his question, he spoke again, his voice softening. "Look, Agent, I'm sorry I upset you the other day at Dinah's." "Thank you for your concern, Sir, but I'm fine. Feeling much better." Skinner grunted and leaned toward Scully, looking into her eyes. "Just tell me you're not ruining yourself searching for his body again." Scully pursed her lips but again said nothing, wishing Skinner had just left her to her own devices. She understood, though, that he knew better after so many years. "You are," Skinner said on a sigh. "Yes, Sir. Yes I am. I have a lead," she admitted steadily. It was a half-lie that she could live with. "Scully…" "I was actually hoping you might be of some assistance." Sighing, Skinner nodded noncommittally. He reached in front of Scully to switch on her computer monitor, and then he skimmed its contents. "These doctors… Are they your lead?" "They all share the right name, Sir, but as far as I can tell, none of them are the right person. I plan to begin performing background checks on each of them in my off time, but, as you know, that will be a very lengthy process. I was hoping you could use your…unofficial channels to determine if any of these doctors works in plastic surgery on the side, or if there might be a plastic surgeon that uses the alias Dr. J. Hiram." Scully wrote the name on a post-it and held the note out to Skinner. He sat back in his chair, his face telling nothing, and made no move to take the paper from Scully. "It's been a long time since I've had to use my 'unofficial channels' on your behalf, Agent Scully." "Yes, Sir. But has it been too long?" "Determining the fate and location of the body isn't going to bring him back, Scully," he said quietly. Scully rubbed her hand over her eyes. Oh God, she thought, if he only knew. She continued with her half-lie, "I need to know, Sir. For my own closure." And for Mulder's; she was no longer above begging. "Please, Sir." With a sigh, Skinner slipped the post-it note from Scully's fingers. "Our best agents worked on this for months, Scully. Don't expect too much. Please," he implored, rising from his chair and moving to the door. Before he left, he turned back to Scully. "I expect you'll be in tomorrow, Agent? You've left Agent Carr hanging on your new case." He held up her note and then slipped it into his pocket. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." "Enjoy your Sunday," Skinner said and then disappeared down the hall, leaving Scully to wonder how he would react when Mulder did actually make his return. She needed Skinner to accept the lie, needed him to accept that the new Mulder was indeed the true Mulder and to bring his lost agent back into the fold. Skinner had observed herself and Mulder over so many years. She feared that the only way to get him to believe the lie would be to believe it herself, even though Mulder's bank of experience and her own relationship with him outside of work were somewhat different now. The changes in the way she regarded him would be obvious without her own commitment. Additionally, Scully knew she could not ignore the gray-haired man's threat. She despised the thought of replacing Mulder, the real Mulder, in his own life, in her life, or in her heart. But unless she could find a way to bring the gray-haired man and those working with him down, the new Mulder had to become the old. If not, he could be lost again, a gift taken back, and Scully would be left with nothing. Regardless of the guilt that had seated itself heavily on her heart, she knew she would bring him back to the X-files out of nothing but simple self-preservation. She needed him; she needed to believe, somehow. The world began to spin uncertainly around her. She lay her head on the desk for a moment, wondering how she could reconcile the new relationship she shared with Mulder with the old one. She knew for certain that no matter what, the touching would not stop, and neither would the confiding and the constant chatter about everything and nothing. She had an intimacy with him now that she had desired but also feared for years. She feared it still, but she would not let it go. Despite everything, deep inside, in a place she was afraid to look, the touching and the talking made her happy. She would find a way to make it work with the touching. All they needed was a set of ground rules, detailing which body parts were off limits and which locales were not safe for them to behave casually. And he would be able to become Mulder, she assured herself. She could see her beloved partner, his passion and his relentless need to know, emerging from the past in him already. And God did she need that man back. With her help, he would gain the knowledge-base he needed to do the work just as well as he had before, and Scully would continue to be…whatever she was to him and for him at home. Foolish and despicable as she knew it was, Scully began to believe she could just about have it all. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered to the dead. After gathering her things, she rushed from the office to return home to her charge. She had missed him since the moment she had left him. Scully drove home planning to set up Mulder's old telescope and then to show him the stars come nightfall. She knew the moment she opened the front door, however, that something was wrong. The alarm did not call out the warning tone that would prompt her to disarm it. A red light flashed on its keypad, whispering that the alarm itself had been triggered and then shut down. Neither of her companions, not the tall one with the sweet smile nor the short, furry one, appeared at the door to demand her attention. Her own, elemental alarm began to sound inside her head. It wailed with the high pitch of panic, dread, and insufferable guilt. She had left him alone. "Mulder," she called weakly as she walked through the quiet house. "Ishy?" There came no answer but the whirring of the fan in the computer on her desk, which displayed a page of Mulder's journal. All the rooms around her were dead; her beloved wards were gone. At a loss, she surveyed the living room again. The red LED display on her answering machine told her she had one message waiting. She closed her eyes and pressed play. "Ms. Scully," came a masculine voice she did not recognize. "This is Robert from AMCO Security. We were notified that your security system was triggered thirty-four minutes ago. The police were dispatched to your home. Your back door was open, but they found no evidence of an intruder. The police closed and locked your door, but if you notice any evidence of a robbery, please notify us or the DCPD immediately. Thank you." The machine beeped and reset itself. "Shit," she muttered, feeling like a falling bomb had lodged in her throat and was waiting to go off. They had come. They had taken him back. Already. She had failed him already. What have I done? she asked herself again. What have I done? What have I done? The words thundered inside her as she hastened to the sliding glass door to look for footprints or fingerprints, anything. As she scanned the area for clues, the noise in her head reached a roaring crest and then gave way to a silent, desperate flash of clarity. The sliding door was not broken or damaged; the door had to have been unlocked and opened from the inside. She prayed to God that Mulder had simply opened it and wandered off. Covering her hand with her sleeve, she pulled the door open herself and stepped outside. The yard was empty and quiet, the back gate closed and latched. She called to Mulder and then to Ishmael, but received no reply, no arms wrapping around her shoulders, no wet nose in her hand. Heading back through the house, she grabbed her keys, locked up and then began to drive the neighborhood. She rode up and down the streets methodically. It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon, and people were out walking with their dogs or their babies or their children. She asked many of them if they had seen a tall, brown-haired man walking with a German Shepherd, but no one had seen a thing, and Scully's stomach was sinking and sinking deeper into hopelessness. Thirty minutes later she saw Ishy sitting alone on a corner near a school playground. He sat with his back to the street, his attention focused intently toward the school. Scully stopped the car and followed his gaze beyond the playground to an undersized basketball court. Four men played there. One of them was Mulder. It was disconcerting to see him out there, as if she was hallucinating a memory or living a seasoned dream, but at least she could breathe again. Opening her door and standing next to the car, she watched Mulder sink a basket. His shot was all net. One of the other players then taught him awkwardly how to give a high five. They smiled and laughed and looked happy, and Scully could feel herself crumbling inside. She stood there steadily while her body fluctuated between the urge to throw up and the need to shout with joy. The men continued to play, oblivious to their new bystander. Mulder had just stolen the ball from one of the other men when his eyes finally fell on Scully. "Dana!" he called from center court. He dropped the ball where he stood, abandoning the game to trot over to her. Wearing a soft, relieved smile, he reached for her. They pulled each other together and held on tight. "Dana Scully," he whispered into her hair. Scully took two deep breaths, trying to control her own flood of relief. Then, before she could stop herself, she let the anger fly. "God damn it, Mulder! I told you to stay in the house! Why?! Why did you leave? Why? What did I tell you?" she shouted into his chest as she pounded her fists against his back where she held him. At first he squeezed her more tightly to him, but when her tirade did not abate, he pulled abruptly away. Scully stopped his retreat by latching onto his forearms, but his face had already grown distant, and the distance only fueled her anger. She scowled and continued to chastise him, though the specifics of her rants were forgotten the moment they left her lips. She could see Mulder trying to explain, but her anger stole his words from her hearing. She could think of nothing but the terror that had filled her at his disappearance. It was fear like a hurricane inside her, fear the power of which she had never felt before in her life, and it all poured out onto him, beyond her control. In between lamentations, while Scully was taking a breath, she saw one of the ball players, Mulder's teammate, approaching. "Hey man, is this your little lady? Is everything all right, here?" the man asked. Scully took a deep breath and quickly tried to recompose herself, hardly even sure where her terrible fit of anger had come from. She turned her head to steadily meet the man's gaze, hiding her torment behind a mask of confidence. "We're fine," she stated. "And I'm not his 'little lady.'" "Whatever," the man mumbled, holding his hands up defensively. Mulder wriggled one of his arms free of her grasp and turned to the man. "Thank you for the game, Dave," he said quietly. "You have to go," Dave said, glancing from Mulder to Scully. "I see. Maybe we'll see you here again sometime." "I don't know." Mulder looked down at Scully. "Maybe," she said stiffly. "Well, okay then. See you around, Ishmael," the man said, clapping Mulder on the shoulder. "Take care." He turned and went back to the court. Ishmael? Scully looked around for Ishy but found him napping under the jungle gym. "You told them to call you Ishmael?" she asked Mulder. He nodded, and Scully shook her head, amused. "That was wrong?" "No, that was good. Smart, Mulder, not to tell them your real name. Get in the car," she commanded, her knees feeling suddenly weak. Rubbing her forehead, she called Ishy over and then loaded him into the back seat. In the driver's seat, she left the keys dangling unturned in the ignition. She leaned forward to rest her head against the wheel and closed her eyes, still fighting to catch her breath. "Why did you go out, Mulder? I said I would be right home." Despite Scully's effort to calm down, her voice rose with every word she spoke to him. "I told you not to open any doors. But you opened the door, Mulder! Why?" "I wanted… I wanted to go out in the yard with Ishy. But the alarm. I did the alarm wrong, Dana…Scully. I'm sorry," she barely heard Mulder say. She did not know whether her inability to hear him was due to the softness of his speech or to the volume of her anger. "Mulder, you scared me to death!" she snapped. "Damn it, you always do this. Did this. You run off without thinking." She turned to look at him. He had recoiled badly. His shoulders drooping, he leaned against the car door, his arms wrapped protectively around his chest. He did not look at her, and the one tiny part of Scully which was not currently controlled by her fury suddenly felt ashamed at what she had done to him. As she watched him heave a big sigh and then slump in on himself some more, her treasured rationale began to return to her, and with it a different fear reemerged. "Please tell me they didn't come for you, Mulder," she demanded. When he spoke, his voice came in a hauntingly familiar detached monotone: "Men came in a black and white car. They were dressed in blue clothes like the guards at the Clinic. They were going to take me, and I had to leave, Scully." Police. He had run from the police dispatched by the security company. Scully released a long, relieved breath, but then something else hit her. "What did you say, Mulder?" Scully. "The guards came and I had to…" "No…" Scully shook her head and leaned toward him to study his face. He had called her Scully. Until now, he had insisted on calling her Dana. And she had let him, hoping that possibly through reading the journals something would eventually snap and he would realize on his own that he was supposed to call her Scully. He had called her Scully. He looked down at his hands. "I didn't like being alone and locked inside, Scully. It reminded me of the…" "Clinic." The Clinic. Scully took his arm and pulled him to her. "Oh, Mulder, who are you?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck, wove her fingers into his hair, and held his head to hers. "Those men were police, Mulder. They were not going to take you. I'm so sorry. I won't leave you alone again. I promise." He nodded and then looked down at his hands. His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. "I have to ask you a question," he said timidly. "Go ahead, Mulder." "I was reading in the journals, Scully. I read about your illness. Are you still… Are you still going to die soon?" His voice cracked miserably. "Oh, God, Mulder. No. No," she reassured. Pulling him even closer, she pressed her cheek to his and rocked him gently. "I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. I was very sick, but my illness has gone into what the doctors call remission. It's not gone, but I'm fine. Thanks to you. You saved me, you know. I won't leave you now, Mulder, I promise." She felt him sigh and then lean more heavily against her. Scully stroked his hair soothingly, watching the playground over his shoulder as two of the basketball players went one on one while the third sat on the sideline. "Mulder, do you want to go play ball some more with your new friends?" she asked gently. He pulled slowly away from her to glance out the window at the court. He nodded slowly. "Okay, Mulder. Go on. I'll watch," Scully encouraged, squeezing his arm. "Okay, Scully." He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Then he opened his door and left the car. Ishy jumped into the front seat and followed him out and back to the court. Scully's cheek tingled and tickled with pleasure and memories of dying. "Who are you, Mulder?" she whispered as she watched him return to his game. NINE: Scully had promised she would not leave him alone again, but the damage had already been done. Since they had left the basketball court, he had been all but sewn to her side, one step behind her or right beside her always. He cooked with her, cleaned with her, ate with her, sat with her while she made some phone calls, and helped her begin the background checks on all the Dr. Hiram's. At twilight, they went for a run together, and upon their return he even tried to follow her into the shower, at which point Scully began a second very awkward discussion about nudity and personal space. She ignored the neglected little part of her that insisted a shower with him might be a whole lot of fun. After dinner, they turned their attention to Mulder's journal. Scully could hardly force herself to read a single word. It was too much, and she knew she was not meant to ever read the private thoughts her partner had kept in his private journal. If he had wanted her to know the things he wrote, he would have told them to her. He would have told her. But she had vowed not to let the new Mulder read alone again. There were things in the journal that would frighten him even more than the cancer were she not present and ready to explain and reassure. She sat him down at the desk to read, intending to stay nearby on the sofa while she tried to watch the news, but his questions began in a matter of seconds and just never seemed to stop. Oddly, the journal started at their beginning, the beginning of herself and Mulder. She wondered if there were entries from before their time together which he had discarded. Had the start of her presence in his life meant so much to him that he had let go of everything prior to their first case together? Or had she, the little spy he had believed her to be, somehow prompted him to start keeping a record of their activities? The entries did not say. They just began. And they continued day after day, spilling his thoughts about their quest and about her, always about her. There was one passage, written just after their first case together, which trapped her attention and would not let go: "She's not here to hurt me, Sam. I'm more certain than ever that the people who sent her did so to further their own agenda, but she's honest. I never expected this. She told me she was on the case simply to solve the murders, and though it scares me a little, I believe she was telling the truth. When she came to my room half-naked and afraid, she trusted me, Sam. And, at least for that moment, she believed me. I think I could love her already. But I won't. I did tell her about you, though, Sam. How could I not, after that? Believe it or not, she didn't laugh at me or call me Spooky. She listened carefully and rationally, as I suspect she always does. Sam, did I mention she has pretty skin? Mosquito bites, or no…" Scully tore her eyes from the screen. It pained her to see now that he had been hers right from the start. She had spent their first year together trying to earn his trust and respect only to learn much too late that she had already had them. He had trusted her from the moment she had exposed herself to him so that he could look at her back and tell her the truth. Always, the truth. Scully and the new Mulder went on to cover the first couple months of their partnership, discussing how the trust had grown between them along with their passion for the cases they worked. Though Scully read as little as she could, she ended up recalling far more than she had hoped. His curiosity was unquenchable. The memories left her drained and aching, but he needed her knowledge and her support, and she would continue to give herself to him despite the tumult she felt inside. She was there, and none of the things he read that night seemed able to frighten him. When Scully had endured all the ache she could stand for one evening, she told him it was time for bed, and to bed they went, again together. The near loss of him earlier that day pushed Scully to cuddle him close despite her fear of the implications of their bodies and hearts pressed together. Mulder sighed, content and oblivious, and then fell asleep in her embrace, the corners of his lips curling up just enough to make Scully smile herself. In the morning, it was a job to pry herself from his arms. He held her more tightly than she had ever been held before, and when she told him that the time for her to return to work had come, he begged her to stay with him. He wanted her. Feeling sorry that the world often worked so cruelly, Scully explained that while he had been in the shower the night before, she had arranged to relinquish his care for the day to the next best thing: Mom. As Scully stopped the car in front of her mother's house, a nervous chill ran through her. Not wanting to shock her mother over the phone, Scully had been vague. She had explained only that she was being forced to work on a day she had planned to take off and that she needed a substitute baby-sitter. When her mother had asked just whom she would be watching, Scully had said they would be over in the morning and hung up. She worried now over her mother's impending reaction to Mulder's reincarnation and also chastised herself for belittling Mulder by saying he needed a baby-sitter at all. Pulling the keys from the ignition, Scully turned to look at Mulder where he sat in the passenger seat next to her. He gazed up at the house, his face grim, his knee bouncing in time to whatever nervous rhythm was in his head. Scully pushed her own apprehension aside to reassure him, reaching over to rub his arm. "Mulder, you okay?" "I want to go with you, Scully," he said for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. "Mulder, you can't. You know you can't, not yet. Now come on, you'll like my mom." She tugged on his arm. He looked at her skeptically. "You always liked her before. And Ishy will be there to keep you company." The dog in the back seat stirred restlessly at the sound of his name. Mulder shrugged petulantly and then started to pout. He had learned quickly that his bottom lip was the most effective weapon he had, and he popped it out whenever he really wanted his way, which was usually when he was afraid. Scully squeezed his arm. "Nice try, Mulder, but that's not going to work this time. Now, didn't you say you wanted to meet my family? This is your chance." He nodded slightly but did not suck the lip back in. Scully pulled him to her, placing a warm kiss on his cheek. Then she made him open his door and scooted him out onto the sidewalk. Stepping out herself, Scully unloaded Ishmael, the bag of dog toys, and Ishy's water bowl. Then she moved around to Mulder and straightened his navy blue sweater. He looked perfectly gorgeous, his clothes neat and new, his face clean-shaven, and his hair shining in the morning sun. "Don't worry, Mulder, she won't be able to resist you for a second," Scully said affectionately. Taking his hand, she led him up to her mother's house, Ishy bounding on ahead of them. At the door, Scully tried to deduce how to present Mulder to her mother without scaring her into an anyeurism. During the months of Scully's abduction, Mulder and her mother had grown close. After her return, Scully had noticed that her mother had grown to care for Mulder like he was her own very wayward son. But later, after Melissa's death and during Scully's cancer, things between them had become strained. It had seemed to just hurt too much for her mother to look at Mulder then. They had drifted, and the next year he was gone. But now, by a miracle of science or God or whatever, he was back from the dead. Sort of. Deciding the news had to be broken gently and slowly, Scully pushed Mulder to the side so he would be out of sight when Maggie opened the door. She shrugged; it had worked on the Gunmen. Sort of. After telling Mulder to stay put, she rang the bell and held her breath. He mother answered with hugs and pleasantries which Scully suddenly realized she had missed over the past year. Her mother's smile was like a perfect balm, and she hugged her again. "You look different, honey," Scully's mother commented, touching her cheek. "What's going on? Are you all right?" "I'm fine, Mom." Maggie nodded and then let Scully go. She leaned over to pet Ishy, who wagged his tail and licked her hand. "Is this the mysterious boy I'm supposed to baby-sit today?" "No, Mom, not really." Scully took her mother's hands. "This is going to be a big shock, Mom." Maggie's eyes lit up. "Dana, you didn't. Did you adopt a child? I've been hoping that someday…" "No, Mom," Scully groaned. "Not really. I found…" For only the third or fourth time in her life, Scully was at a loss to explain and define. "I found someone. Just look… But be prepared, okay?" When Maggie nodded, Scully pulled Mulder into the doorway. She was about to explain that this man was not the original Mulder, but her words were trapped in her throat by the look of horror that spread across her mother's face. "Fox. But, you're dead," Maggie said to Mulder. "He's dead." She touched his arms tentatively, as if she expected him to be vapor. "Oh my God, Fox," she whispered as she poked and prodded his shoulders and her senses seemingly registered the consistency of his flesh. "Oh my God." Mulder looked a little startled but allowed Maggie to pull him into a motherly hug. Seconds later, Scully's mother erupted with questions, flinging them at Mulder's chest. They were innocent at first, dulled by shock. "How can this be?" she asked. "What happened to you? Why do you need to stay with me? Are you in danger?" Then, as the shock cleared, her questions took on an angry venom. "Where the hell have you been? You left my daughter alone to think you were dead. And you were alive, all this time! How could you do that, Fox? How could you?" Mulder whimpered when Maggie began to beat her palms against his chest. He reached up to the raging woman and traced the tears on her cheek. Then he looked at Scully, his own face full of dread. "Dana, I don't understand. Why?" Scully took his arm and gently pulled him back away from her mother, wrapping her arm around his waist. "It's okay, Mulder. It's not your fault. She doesn't understand," she said gently, giving him a poignant squeeze. "Mom, it's not his fault. This is not what it looks like. Let's go inside and I'll explain." Maggie nodded. She turned silently and lead them into the house. "Is Matty still asleep?" Scully asked quietly as they entered her mother's cozy, informal family room. "Yes. He's upstairs in Bill's old room," her mother replied numbly. She took a seat in Scully's father's favorite easy chair, her eyes never leaving Mulder's face. Scully tugged Mulder over to sit on the couch. He held her hand tightly and refused to let it go. Sighing, Scully tried to catch her mother's eye. "Let's start over, you two. Mulder, this is my mom. You can call her Maggie, okay?" Mulder nodded, watching Maggie warily, the lip threatening to make a repeat appearance. "Don't pout at her, Mulder. She's a wonderful person." Mulder leaned over to speak into Scully's ear. "You're a wonderful person, and you let me pout at you," he reasoned. Rolling her eyes, Scully turned back to her mother. "Mom, I'm so sorry we upset you. This is all going to sound shocking and unbelievable, almost as shocking as it would sound were I to claim Mulder had simply risen from the dead. I know it looks like he did, but we did some tests, and I promise you that is not the case." Scully took a deep breath, hating that she had to go on. But her mother had to realize the uniqueness of Mulder's needs. She had to know the truth, as painful as it was for Scully to reveal. "This is not exactly Mulder." "Who, then?" Maggie asked. Scully squeezed Mulder's hand, coveting the strength of his innocence. "He is a genetic clone of Mulder, a replica so exact that extremely in depth and unusual DNA testing had to be done to see the difference. He was created and rapidly aged in a bio-engineering clinic over the past year. A few nights ago he ran from the Clinic and has been staying with me. I don't believe the people there are going to come to take him back." Maggie shook her head. "We don't have human clones, Dana. We have Dolly the sheep. Look at him. Just look at him. It's impossible." "Not anymore," Scully declared. "But for all intents and purposes, he is Mulder. He has Mulder's mind, his heart, his body, and his blood." "And what about his soul?" Maggie asked quietly, her voice and features still flat with shock. Scully sighed. Leave it to her mother to go straight to the hardest issue. "I don't know, Mom. You know that's gray area, and we could argue it into eternity. The point is that this Mulder has hardly any experiences or memories, neither Mulder's nor his own, aside from his time at the Clinic and these last few days with me. Sometimes he seems a little lost, but he's learning. He has a lot to learn." Maggie shook her head. "But why, Dana? I don't understand why." Why did he exist? Why, indeed. "I don't know, Mom. There are men in our lives who get…something out of manipulating us. I received a phone call from one of them. They want him… They want me to bring him back to work. He said they were not ready to let Mulder retire from this world just yet." Scully sniffled joylessly. Mulder released her hand to wrap his arm around her. "I'm okay, Mulder," she told him, dabbing at her eyes. "It's okay." Maggie raised an eyebrow at Mulder's gesture of comfort but made no comment. Instead, she seemed to shake off her shock, and then she leaned forward to look gently into Mulder's face. "So, you need someone to keep you company during the day, do you, Fox?" Mulder half-nodded but then glanced at Scully uncertainly. Scully sighed, relieved but not surprised that Maggie was coming around. She had known that no mother could resist Mulder's gentle sweetness, especially not hers. "He's never been alone before, Mom. I mean that literally. I tried to leave him alone yesterday, but that didn't work out too well, did it, Mulder?" she asked, squeezing Mulder's knee playfully. "I'm sorry," he said, shrugging sheepishly. "Anyway, he's not a lot of trouble. He does ask a lot of questions when you get him talking. I thought he might like to help you with the baby today." Maggie reached across the coffee table and took Mulder's hand. "Have you ever seen a baby, Fox?" she asked gently. "No, Maggie," Mulder said shyly, shaking his head. Maggie smiled. "This should be a fun day, then. You should run along to work, Dana. You're going to be late. I think we'll be just fine. What about Ishy?" "He should be okay. Mulder, will you put water in his bowl and put his toys on the floor in the kitchen?" Scully requested. "Now?" Mulder asked. "After I go, okay?" "Please don't go, Scully." "Mulder, I can't take off work forever. I have to go. It's what people do, and Skinner should give us something about Dr. Hiram today." Scully turned to her mother. "I'm hoping I'll come home with some information about the Clinic where Mulder has been," she explained and then checked her watch. "I'd better go. I'm late already." When Scully stood, Mulder rose with her, taking her hand again. Shaking her head and trying to hide her amused smile, Scully hugged and thanked her mother. "When is Billy coming to pick up Matty?" she asked as they all went to the front door. "He'll be here around three. I should probably keep him away from Fox," Maggie said pensively. "I don't think he could handle the shock." Scully chuckled and shook her head. "No. And I don't think Mulder could handle Bill's shock either. Okay, you two, I really have to go now." Mulder whimpered at her words, his face turning dark. Scully took him in her arms, absorbing his warmth and giving him her own. She buried her face in his neck and then whispered in his ear, "I'll see you at six, okay? It won't be that bad, Mulder, I promise. She's my mom; she's family." "I don't understand family," he whispered back, giving her the puppy dog eyes. "You will." Scully pulled away from him, knowing that the more she clung and allowed him to do the same, the harder it would be for them both when she left. He looked so sad. Taking a deep breath, Scully told Mulder and her mother to be safe and to keep the doors locked and the alarm on. Then she reached for the door. The metal handle stole all the warmth from her body. Worrying that Mulder felt a similar chill, Scully turned back to him and took his hands. "You know I don't want to leave you, don't you, Mulder?" He hesitated and then nodded unconvincingly. "I know." Scully shook her head. "I'm so sorry about yesterday, Mulder. I'm so sorry. But Mom and the baby will keep you so busy today that I'll be back before you even realize I was gone. I promise." She kissed his hands, shot a pleading smile to her mother, and then fled the house, clutching at her deteriorating resolve before it could fade away completely. As she walked to the car, she pushed the soft, surfacing part of her which was capable of feeling and wanting down and away. Her game face back on, she told herself she was prepared to face the day alone. "Why does she lie to me?" he asked, staring at the door that had just closed in front of him. "I know she wishes the things she says were true, but… I feel her absence already. She said I would not even realize she was gone." He glanced at Maggie and then looked down at his shoes, worried he had spoken out of turn. "Oh, sweetie, she just cares for you, and she wants to make you feel better," Maggie said, taking his arm and pulling him gently away from the door. "She knows you miss her, but she wants to help you be brave. And she knows it's not healthy for you to spend every minute together." "Why not? The Original said…wrote that he wanted to." Maggie's eyebrow raised just like Dana's did sometimes. "The Original?" "Fox William Mulder. I have been reading his journals. He wrote many times that he wanted to be with her always," he explained, but then he frowned. "But he also wrote that he believed he was not a good presence in Dana's life, that he was not good for her. I don't understand that." "Well, a lot of bad things happened to Dana after she met Fox." "Like what things?" Maggie let go of his arm and looked away. Her kind face turned dark, and he was sorry he had asked the question. "Well, she was kidnapped once, and later her sister was killed," she said quietly. "And she was very ill once." "She said that I…that Fox William Mulder saved her. Did he make the illness go?" "Maybe. I don't know about that, Fox. I don't think we'll ever know what made the cancer go into remission." "But it wasn't his fault and he wasn't bad for her?" "It's always been difficult for Dana to let people get close to her. I think that she cared for him like she has never cared for anyone else in her life, and that was a very good thing. Their relationship was rooted in the work that they did together, and that was also very good. The work was exciting for Dana, Fox. It meant almost as much to her as he did, though she would never admit that she needed him so." Maggie smiled and shook her head. Then she looked up at him and her face turned serious again. "How do you feel about going to work in his place?" "I don't think I know," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He liked the pockets. They were a new, warm refuge for his hands when he did not know what to do with them. "I am a little afraid. I have not read about all their cases yet. Dana won't let me read without her there. But what I've read seems…dangerous. Dana said their work was to help people, but the Original wrote that they could not help everyone. That upset him. I think it would upset me also. But…" He hesitated, unsure how many of his feelings Maggie would like him to reveal. Maggie stepped closer to him, looking up into his face. "It's okay, Fox," she said gently. "You can tell me anything you want to and I won't judge you or get mad at you." He nodded gratefully and then paused to study Maggie's face and form. Her appearance was different from Dana's, though he knew Maggie was her mother and she had given birth to her. Maggie's hair was dark and her skin was a different color, but her eyes were like Dana's, beautiful, blue, and kind. He saw Dana in them, the same but different and older. "I think… I think I would like to go to work at the FBI because Dana is there." "You like her so much, don't you?" Maggie asked, touching his arm. "It's amazing." "Yes, I do. She is so wonderful… I don't know the words. But you said we can't be together always. And she leaves. I'm confused, Maggie." Maggie laughed lightly. "Life is a confusing thing, Fox. I think the only way you'll figure it out is if you start living it. Come on, let's go check on Matty." She took his arm and led him toward a set of stairs. "Who is Matty?" "Matty is my grandson, the son of my son, Bill. He stayed with me last night because his mommy and daddy wanted some time alone together while Bill is on shore leave. Bill doesn't live here anymore, Fox. Just like Dana has her own house now too." He nodded. "I understand. Bill is Dana's brother." "Yes. That's good, Fox." He smiled as they climbed the stairs. "The teachers taught me about family members at the Clinic. Will I meet Bill today?" "No. I'm sorry, Fox, but Bill and the original Fox didn't get along. It would really upset him to see you here. Let's be quiet now in case Matty's still asleep." "Okay," he whispered as Maggie led him into a small room filled with more possessions than he thought Dana kept in her whole house. "This is Bill's old room," Maggie explained. At one end of the room was a kind of cage. It had lots of brown wooden bars, but it strangely had no top. He started when the tiny little person inside the cage giggled and poked its head up above the bars to smile at Maggie. "Gramma!" the baby squealed. "Good morning, my little monkey," Maggie said as she lifted the baby from the cage. "Ooh, somebody needs a change. Here, Fox, you hold him while I get his diapers." Before he could protest, she thrust the baby into his arms. Matthew wriggled around a bit and then settled down against his chest. Holding him carefully with one arm, he brushed his thumb over the boy's little leg. He was warm and his skin was so soft. Looking into his face, he saw that Matty had the blue eyes too. Matthew giggled at him and patted him on the cheek with a chubby little hand. He felt something tighten in his chest, and he had to smile. Smiling herself, Maggie took the baby from him and lay his little body on the bed. When she tickled Matthew's belly, the baby released a high pitched laugh. It was the second sweetest sound he had ever heard. Missing Dana terribly, he tore his damp eyes from Maggie and Matty and inspected some of the things in the room. On a shelf he found a small ball. Its shape and heft spoke of basketball, but its size and smell were completely different. He dropped it to see if it would bounce, but instead it hit the carpet with a dull thud, rolled a few inches, and stopped. When Maggie gasped, he bit his lip, afraid he had done something wrong. "Fox! It's okay. You just startled me," she said. "What did you find there? Bill's old baseball?" He scooped the ball up from the floor, smiling despite himself. "This is a baseball?" "Yes. Do you know about baseball?" "No, not much. I read that the Original and Dana played baseball together the day before he became…before he died. The baseball made them very happy, it seemed." He studied the ball. It was dirty and scuffed and tattered, and he wondered what the game involved. He cradled the ball against his chest. "I have been wondering how it is played. We played basketball at the Clinic. But this 'baseball' sounds different." "It is, Fox. I'll try to find a game for you to watch on TV later. You can keep that ball if you want. Billy won't miss it." "Thank you, Maggie. What is TV?" Maggie looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Dana hasn't showed you the television yet? I don't believe it. You two must have been busy since you arrived. You always… I'm sorry, Fox. The original Fox always loved his television. I'll show you when we go downstairs. Come over here now, I want you to learn how to change Matty." "Maggie, will you explain family to me?" he asked as Maggie showed him how to change the baby's diaper. She glanced at him curiously. "Fox, you said they told you about family at the Clinic." "They did. They explained the technicalities. But, what is it like? To be in a family?" "Oh, Fox. It's like having lots of people who you've known forever and who love you no matter what." She finished with Matthew's diaper and began to change his tiny clothes. "I'm so sorry you've missed out on that, Fox." "Love you? I don't understand, Maggie." Maggie looked up at him for a moment, her face still as if she was thinking. "Love is a feeling, Fox. In your heart," she finally explained. "It's a deep affection for and acceptance of another person. When you love someone, you cherish them and you want to be there for them no matter what. You never want to hurt them, but you forgive them when they hurt you. You accept the bad things about the person you love along with all the good. Love is what makes family so strong, Fox." She placed Matty into his arms and gestured for him to follow her downstairs. "I love Dana," he said confidently as they walked. Maggie stopped moving down the stairs to turn and look back up at him. Her face looked strange, and for a moment, he feared she would tell him that what he had said was wrong, even though it felt right to him. He got things backwards sometimes, he knew. To his relief, Maggie's strange look quickly disappeared and she smiled softly. "I know you love her, Fox. Have you told her how you feel?" He shook his head. "Do you think that I should?" Maggie sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't know, Fox. I wish I did." "Did the Original?" "I don't know. I don't think so. Come on, let's go feed the little guy. What do you think about that, Monkey?" Maggie asked Matty. The baby giggled and then wrapped his little arms and legs tightly around his much larger chest and neck as he held him. "Maggie, what's a monkey? An animal, right?" he asked. "Oh, Fox. Come on, I'll show you a book." Smiling, Maggie turned and they finished their descent into the living room. After Matty ate breakfast, he took him into the family room where they sat on a blanket on the floor and played with Matty's toys. There were many; there were big blocks, and littler ones which fit together, and tiny, plastic men in strange, green clothes. There was also an odd, oblong toy which Matty insisted on throwing to him many times. He still had the baseball, and he gave it Matthew to play with. The baby inspected the ball, giggled, and then tried to chew on it like Ishmael, who lay next to them, chewing one of his own toys. "Maggie, he's putting things in his mouth," he called. "Is that okay?" "Try and stop him, if you can, Fox," came Maggie's reply from the other room. He took the ball away and tried to tempt Matty with some colored blocks. They built a tall structure by stacking the blocks one on top of the next. When they were finished, Matty used one of the little plastic men to knock the blocks down. They fell with a crash and he and the baby laughed and hugged each other. Ishmael wagged his tail. Some time later, Matty's soft little face stretched into a yawn. Then the boy curled up next to Ishy and fell asleep. He shook his head, smiling to himself, brushed his palm over Matty's soft head, and then went into the kitchen to find Maggie. She brought him back to the family room, sat him on the couch, and showed him television. It was a box with a screen, like the screens the security men had watched at the Clinic. But this screen showed colors and played sounds, and it showed different people and places all over the world. Maggie explained to him the remote control, and then on channel thirty-seven she showed him a baseball game. "Is this real?" he asked, excited to see the men the cameras showed, with their sticks and the now familiar baseball. "Is this happening right now?" Maggie sat next to him on the couch and took his hand. "This is going to be a hard thing for you to understand about television, Fox. It's probably why Dana hasn't taught you about it yet. You see, not all the things on the TV are real. Some are, like this game. Those are real men playing a real game to see who wins. But other things are just make believe." "Make believe? I don't understand." "I know." Maggie sighed and explained to him about scripts and actors and people who told stories through television to entertain the people watching in their homes. He thought he understood, but it was very confusing. Why would they show things that were not real? Maggie told him to ask whenever he was not sure if something was real or made up. He promised that he would, and she went back into the kitchen. The baseball game was not as exciting as he had first thought. It was slow to watch and the men did not move around very much. He took the remote control and began to look through all the channels. It was strangely mesmerizing to watch the different pictures flash before him whenever he wanted a change. Maggie returned shortly with lunch for him and Matthew, though Matty was still asleep. The lunch was something very tasty called grilled cheese. He would remember to ask Dana to show him how to make it at home. Dana. Scully. Realizing that his thoughts had not focused on her since before Maggie had shown him the television, he missed her now more than ever. "Fox, did you and Dana go shopping for your clothes?" Maggie asked as she ate her lunch next to him. He nodded. "At the mall." "How much did you buy? Do you have enough clothes, sweetie?" "I don't… I don't know. How many is enough? Why wouldn't Dana have bought as many as I need?" Maggie chuckled. "Clothes cost money, Fox. And Dana had to work for the money she spent on your clothes. You understand about money, don't you?" "Yes. She explained." "Okay. Well, how many shirts do you have?" "Five shirts with short sleeves and three with long sleeves. Is that enough?" "I think you could use more. I'll go upstairs and see if any of my boys' old clothes will fit you," she said as she took their plates from the coffee table. He followed her into the kitchen and helped her clean up the lunch. They saved one grilled cheese for Matty. "Maggie?" he asked before she left to go upstairs. "Why do you call me Fox and Dana calls me Mulder?" Maggie frowned and rubbed his arm soothingly. "The original Fox said he didn't like the name Fox. But the name Mulder was very special for Fox and Dana. It was like she had a special name that she called him. I think it made him feel like he was special to her. Sometimes, though, other people called him Fox because that was his first name and we usually call people by their first names when we are familiar with them. Does that make sense?" He nodded. "Now, will you tell me why you call my daughter Scully when she's here and Dana when she's not?" Maggie asked. "Well, I like the name Dana very much. But the Original called her Scully, and I thought she wanted me to call her Scully also. She was very upset with me yesterday, and I felt so bad, Maggie. But then when I called her Scully like the Original did, she was not upset anymore." "Oh, you poor thing," Maggie said, squeezing his arm. "This must be so confusing for you. I don't think, though, Fox, that it's very healthy for you to try to be like him and act like him. You don't need to. This is a difficult time for Dana, but she won't leave you or make you go away. She won't, Fox." "But I could be him. Couldn't I? And he made her happy, and I would like to make her happy." He wondered why things had to be so complicated and confusing. All he wanted was Dana's love and his own freedom. Not for the first time he wished that he had been born as a regular man, an individual. "Fox," Maggie whispered. Her eyes were shiny with tears. "What a predicament you are in." She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him to her. "Do you think, Maggie, that I should find my own name? An original name for just me?" he asked timidly. "I think you should think about that, Fox. Maybe it would make things a little easier on you," she told him. "Do you want your own name?" "I don't know. And I don't want to upset Dana." "Well, you think about it. I think Dana would be okay." Maggie smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm going to go upstairs to look for those clothes I promised you. Will you keep an eye on Matty and give him his grilled cheese and some milk when he wakes up?" "Okay." He went back to the family room. It was not long before Matty woke up with an unhappy wail. Then he sat up, looked up at him where he sat on the couch, and began to cry. Wondering if the boy had suffered a nightmare, he went quickly to him and lifted him into his arms. He sat back down on the couch, and Matty settled against his chest, wrapping his little arms around his neck and whimpering into his shirt until he fell back to sleep. He held Matthew close and leaned his cheek down against his soft head, wishing him more pleasant dreams and wondering when and why people decided to make a baby. He was still sitting with the sleeping boy when a deep, masculine voice rang through the house. "Mom! Matty," the voice called. Mom. It must have been Bill. He remembered Maggie saying that he should not meet Bill, that Bill would not like him. He intended to leave or to hide, but the man swiftly entered the room before he could even shift Matty from his lap. The man was big, tall and broad, and his skin was light like Dana's. He had the blue eyes too, but his were not so kind. When he saw him sitting on the couch, the man froze right there in the middle of the room. The man's face turned even whiter and his mouth dropped open. "You're dead," he said. "You son of bitch! You're supposed to be dead." Frightened, he squeezed Matty tighter to him. The baby stirred, awoke, and began to cry. "What the hell are you doing with my son?" the man asked, his voice loud and angry. In two long steps Bill crossed the room and snatched the baby from his arms. He put Matty down on the blanket in front of the TV and left him to cry, stepping over to the couch. "What are you doing in my mother's house, Mulder?" "I don't… I was… I was helping Maggie with the baby?" he stammered, looking everywhere but up at Bill's red face towering over him. "You know, Mulder, if anyone was going to rise from the dead, I should have guessed it would be you. And now you turn up here. Why can't you just leave my family alone? Where's Dana?" "I'm not… I don't understand, Billy," he said, silently pleading for the angry man to back away. "You don't understand? It's a simple question, Mulder. Where is Dana?" Bill asked again, his scowl deepening. Without warning, Bill reached down, grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. Surprised and off balance, he stumbled forward, his shoulder striking Bill in the chest and pushing him back. With an angry grunt, Bill hit him. The two punches came before he could even regain his balance. Pain shot through him and his ears began to ring. He slumped back down on the couch, covering his head with his arms. The guard at the Clinic had hit him, and he had hit back in order to escape, but he did not want to hurt Bill Scully. Confused and afraid that Bill would hit him some more, he closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and waited. He could still hear the baby crying. When no more blows came, he peered out through the crack between his elbows to see Ishmael growling and baring his teeth at the big man. Bill backed slowly away from the couch, and Ishy followed, his head low and the hair standing up on his back. "What the hell, Ishmael?" Bill asked loudly. Ishmael barked as Maggie arrived. In her arms she carried a brown paper bag like the ones from the grocery store. She stopped when her eyes fell on Ishy and Bill. "Bill. You're two hours early. Where's…" Then her eyes fell on him where he had curled up into himself on the couch. She scanned his head, the unobstructed bits of his face, the blood on his hands, and then she glanced over at Matty. "William Patrick Scully, Junior," she said, her voice cold, "your father and I taught you better than this. Are you all right, Fox?" He let his arms fall away from his face and neck. When he nodded slowly, Maggie turned back to Bill to stare at him silently. Bill blinked at his mother. "Mom, this man is responsible for Melissa. And for Dana. All this time." Bill's voice grew louder and louder, like Dana's had when she had struggled to control her anger when they were at the basketball court. "Why the hell is he here, Mom? He's supposed to be dead!" As Bill's voice rose, Ishmael growled and took another step toward him. Bill backed further into the corner with a growl of his own. "Well, he's not dead," Maggie said. She shook her head. "Nothing is as it seems, Bill, but I don't feel like explaining it to you right now. Now why don't you take your son, civilly, and go on home." "This damned dog," Bill grumbled. "Ishmael, down," Maggie commanded, but the dog did not relax his aggressive position. "Ishy, come here," he said quietly from the couch. The dog eyed Bill for another moment and then turned and moved back to the couch to sit at his side as his loyal guard and protector. He tried to comfort the animal, stroking his soft head, as Bill crossed the room and gently scooped up Matty. He was grateful that Bill's rage did not extend to the baby. Without another look at Maggie or him, Bill swept from the house. Maggie stood there for a moment, her face blank, and then she crossed to him, dropping her bag on the coffee table. "You're bleeding, Fox," she said, looking at his face. He could feel the wet blood running down his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, smearing red across his wrist. "Do you hurt anywhere else?" Maggie's voice was tight, and he was so sorry he had not been faster, had not hidden himself from Bill. He pointed to his ribs where Bill's second blow had hit. Maggie left and then returned with a wet cloth and two bags of ice. She cleaned the blood from his face and hands and then pressed the ice against his throbbing mouth and side. Grateful for the relief and comfort Maggie gave him, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The television was still on and playing sounds, but the house seemed very quiet. "Matty's gone," he whispered. Maggie did not reply. "Why did Billy do this, Maggie?" She sighed. "Remember earlier when you asked about the original Fox being bad for Dana? And I told you I didn't think that was true?" He nodded, and she continued, "Well, Bill believes Fox was not good for Dana, that his presence in her life and in her work was going to get her hurt, had already gotten her hurt and sick. But Bill didn't know Fox or Dana well enough to see that these things were not Fox's fault and that Dana had made her own choice to be with him and work with him. The work was dangerous, like you said, but Dana loved it. Anyway, Bill didn't want Fox around any of us anymore, and today Bill thought you were him. Does that make sense, Fox?" "I'm not really him, am I, Maggie?" "No, Fox. But I think there are parts of him in you. What do you think?" "I'm not. I don't know who… I'm not him." And he was not. But Dana wanted Fox William Mulder, and he could not forget the discomfort his own presence and appearance and ignorance often caused her. "Am I bad for Dana?" he asked, looking down at his lap where his fingers toyed with the hem of his sweater. "Oh, no, Fox," Maggie said, putting a reassuring hand on his head. "You could never be anything but good. I just worry about your relationship with Dana. I don't think she ever allowed herself to grieve for the original Fox. Whatever happens, though, I think you should be yourself, okay?" He did not answer, and he did not look at her. He did not know who he was, but he knew he needed to find definition, somehow. He was unsure whether Fox William Mulder had been good for Dana or not, despite Maggie's reassurances. Dana did not seem to want to remember the Original, did not like to speak of the happy times or the sad ones, and she did not want to cry for him. She simply wanted his return, wanted him more than anyone. Fox William Mulder made her happy. He wondered if he could be the Original for her. He wondered if it would be the right thing to do, for himself and for Dana. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be safe. And he wanted to tell her he loved her. "You've got blood on your sweater, Fox," Maggie said. "Take it off and I'll throw some detergent on it." "Okay." He removed his sweater, and Maggie left him alone with the television and the bags of ice. Maggie returned with fresh ice for him a while later. He complained that his jaw hurt, and Maggie told him it was swollen and that he would have another nice bruise. She apologized again for Bill's behavior. "When is Dana coming?" he asked. "Not for a few more hours, sweetie." He sighed and directed his attention back to the TV, letting it take him somewhere else until Dana could return. TEN: Scully's first day without Mulder glued to her side had been empty like she had lost him all over again. But she had gone to work carrying the hope that Skinner would come through with some information on Dr. Hiram. She thanked God now that Skinner had not let her down. Scully had spent the day trying not to miss Mulder and forcing herself to keep from calling her mother's every ten minutes to check on him. She had to work hard to practice restraint, but she managed to keep her total down to one call, which she placed that afternoon. The way his deep voice had sounded tickled with happiness when he told her that he was fine, that he was watching television and waiting for her, made the closing hours at the office hell for Scully. Had Jon not noticed the atypical excitement in her voice and thrown her a suspicious leer, she was certain she would never have found the strength to put the phone down and end their simple, meaningless, beautiful chatter at all. She had left the office twenty minutes early, immediately after Skinner's courier had arrived and departed. She never left early, and again she had drawn Jon's unwanted attention. But she wondered what it really mattered. Jon would find out in the end, would be properly replaced in the end. She wondered when Mulder would come back to work. It would happen, had to happen, but she wondered how. He had such a long way to go, and she could hardly wait. It was nearly winter, and the world was already dark around her as she approached her mother's doorstep. She raised a shaky fist to the door but hesitated before her knuckles could make meaningful contact. The usually fleeting butterflies of apprehension were building a nest in her stomach. Every time she looked away from Mulder or went away from him, she was convinced she would turn back to find him gone. She stood now, poised to knock, to summon him, terrified that in the few hours since she had spoken to him, they had finally come. They would have taken him and her mother, and Scully would have lost everything and more all over again. Or perhaps, she thought, her raised fist shaking, it would be something simpler. The door would open and she would find that she had awakened from this wonderful nightmare to see that he never was at all. Surely he wondered why she spent so much time staring at him, watching his mouth move, watching him breathe, watching his mind and his soul at work in his eyes. Certainly he wondered why. Or maybe he already knew. Driven finally by the raw need to see his face again, she let her fist fall against the door. Her knock was quick and sharp, and not one second passed before the door flew open in front of her. "Scully!" Mulder greeted, his voice deep and full of glee. Scully startled slightly but recovered quickly. She gave him a once over. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from her mother's living room and shifting from foot to foot. His face was shadowed, but she could make out his shining, shy smile, his nervousness, his excitement, and the stiffness of his pained restraint. He looked as if he wanted to jump into her arms. "Mulder," she sputtered. "Didn't I tell you not to open the door to anyone?" "Yes," he stammered, looking down at his feet. "I'm sorry. But I could not wait any longer, Scully. I saw you come, through the window. And Maggie said you would make a noise at the door when you were ready to come inside. But you were taking so long, Scully, and I…" He trailed off, looking embarrassed. When he curled his fists into tight balls, Scully could see him trembling. She shook her head, picturing him on the other side of the door where he had waited for her knock while she had been struggling to believe in his existence. "It's okay. I'm right here," she tried to reassure, sorry for censuring his enthusiasm. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, looked back up at her, and smiled the sweetest little smile Scully had ever seen. Even in the darkness, his eyes were filled with light, and Scully could see that his mind was turning within them. He had something to say now, something important. "I wanted to tell you…" he began, but then he fumbled the words. "I just… Do you feel… I wanted to tell you…" He clenched his fists tighter and bit his lip. He took a tiny, unsure step toward her. Scully smiled at his awkwardness and his hesitation. "I missed you, too, Mulder." Confusion flashed across his face, but Scully was unable to keep herself from him, as amusing as he was, one moment longer, and she pulled him into her arms. He buried his face in her hair as they sank sighing into each other. She had no idea how she had made it through the day without him, and she was suddenly surprised to find that her need for him did not frighten her at all. Instead, she wondered who she should be thanking for him, for the heart beneath her ear that she could hear and feel like a thunderstorm. A miracle. His body was warm and hard in her arms. She found herself running her palms up and down his back, checking again for substance and reality. She was holding a miracle. She wondered if God was watching them there, and then she wondered not for the first time if God had anything to do with them, with him, at all. It was Mulder's heart thundering against her, but was it his soul that writhed around his pumping flesh and rode his blood to bring life to his impossible body? It felt like him, like Mulder, but Scully wondered if she was simply feeling what she wanted to. She pulled back, carefully breaking their embrace. Thankfully, he did not seem upset or hurt by her withdrawal. "What did you do today at the FBI, Scully?" he asked, still smiling. "Oh, looked for cases that are close to home so I won't have to leave you, argued with my part…with Jon, who I work with." She sighed and shook her head. It had been a tedious, almost pointless day. "You did not enjoy your work?" Mulder asked, placing a concerned hand on her arm. She shook her head. "It will be better when you can come work with me." "When?" he whispered, sounding excited, boyish, and not quite like he should. Scully was sorry that he had such a long way to go. She wanted him back at work yesterday. But she was glad that despite the distance, he seemed to want to get there. "When you're ready, Mulder." He looked down at his feet again. "When I become like him," he said so quietly she almost missed it. Before Scully could even think of a response or a way to reassure, she heard her mother approaching. "What have you found here, Monkey?" Maggie asked Mulder as she slipped into the doorway. "Hi, Mom." Scully pulled her mother into a hug. "Thanks for letting him keep you company today. Monkey?" "Oh, he was carrying Matty around on his back like a monkey. Only he didn't really understand about monkeys," Maggie explained Mulder grinned and said in a flurry, "And then we looked at a book with animals and pictures, and Maggie called me Monkey, and Matty also. And later I watched the Discovery Channel on the television. Scully, monkeys are cute." Scully laughed and shook her head. "Mulder, you're cute." She was smiling as she admonished her mother, "He's not a child, Mom." Then she turned to Mulder. "Mulder, we should get going. We have an appointment tonight. You ready?" Shaking his head slightly, Mulder took Scully's briefcase from her, slipped his hand into hers, and drew her gently into the house. Somehow, amazingly, he had managed to learn to be a gentleman at the Clinic. But then, he always was so essentially noble, before, and Scully knew she should not be surprised. "Maggie is making a dinner of lamb and potatoes for us, Scully," he muttered into her ear conspiratorially. Scully turned to her mother. "Mom, is it almost ready? We really do need to get going." Maggie nodded, and Mulder asked, "Where must we go, Scully?" "My boss, a man that we work with, gave me some information on Dr. Hiram today like we had hoped." She handed Mulder the slip of paper Skinner's courier had delivered. "J. Hiram," he said, looking at the paper with bright eyes. "Is this his address?" "I hope so. We need to go track down the good doctor tonight before he finds out we know his location and heads for the hills." Mulder grinned down at her, blinking away happy tears. "If we speak to Dr. Hiram, maybe we will find the Others tonight?" "I think that's a possibility, Mulder," Scully said, trying to smile for him. She felt some apprehension now at the idea of seeing the other clones, at seeing with her own eyes what this Mulder in front of her really was. But he wanted them. They were part of him, and she could not ignore his desires or the other clones' needs. They were all Mulder. Mulder gave Scully a quick, fierce hug and then pulled her further into the house. When he turned slightly, light from the hallway lamp fell across his cheek and jaw. With a tiny gasp, Scully stopped him and gently took his chin, turning him completely to the light. "Mom," she said a bit sharply, "I left him here with one split lip, and now he's got two. What happened? Bill?" Maggie sighed and ushered Scully and Mulder into the living room where she explained the slight 'altercation' Mulder had had with her bastard of a big brother. Mulder was very excited to explain that it had been Ishy who saved him from Bill, but there was some uneasiness in his excited eyes as he related his misadventure. Scully decided she would pry into it later. For now, she tried to keep him happy and excited, asking him how he had liked little Matty. He smiled, and Scully could see him remembering his day with the baby. They must have had quite a good time. "He made me very happy, Scully," he said. "And he wasn't hard to care for. Maggie showed me what to do, and we played and ate grilled cheese and napped. But then Billy came and took him. When I know more things, I think…" He swallowed hard, and for the first time since Scully had arrived to collect him, he looked inconsolably sad. "I think I would like to have a baby someday. When I know more things." Scully's stomach hit the floor. She wondered if she would look down to find her intestines oozing around between her feet. Empty now, she could not decide whether she was disturbed more by the fact that she could not give him the baby he said he wanted or by the fact that Mulder was standing there telling her he wanted a baby at all. In haste to change the subject, Scully took her briefcase back from Mulder and pulled out a gray and red file folder, an X-file. "You want to know more things, huh, Mulder? Let's get you started, then. I think you'll like this," she said as she sat him down on the couch and handed him the file. "This is a case Jon and I haven't been able to solve. But I think you might have some insight into this that will help us. You studied paranormal phenomena at the Clinic, right?" He nodded as he rubbed his hands over the file. "I can help?" "Yes, Mulder. I think you would have been able to solve this, before. Only you." He fingered through the file, scanning quickly, stopping when he came to the pictures. "These are babies and children, Scully. What are these markings? Did someone do a surgery on them? Did it hurt them? They look sad, Scully." Scully touched his downcast cheek. "They were hurt, Mulder. Burned. Like you were on the stove the other day. Remember how that hurt?" Mulder nodded, his eyes wide. Scully worried she was scaring him, but she had to go on, had to make him see and make him care. "This hurt them more, Mulder. Their injuries were worse, severe enough to leave marks on their skin forever." With his fingertips, he traced the pictures of the children. "What should I do?" "Just read the file over, Mulder. See if you can find anything Jon and I missed that would help us find out who did this to the children. We want that person to be punished, and we want to know why he or she did it so that the children's families can understand. Okay?" "I don't know if I can do it," he said timidly. Scully bent over and kissed him on the cheek, finding his five-o-clock shadow deliciously abrasive. She leaned her forehead against his affectionately. "Don't worry, Mulder. Just try for me, okay?" He nodded and then dotted the tip of Scully's nose with a tiny kiss. She moved away to let him get started on the file. He seemed especially interested in all the pictures, in the children, their injuries, and the crop circles. "Dana, why don't you come help me set the table?" Maggie asked after Scully had spent a minute or two watching him. Her mother's commanding tone told Scully that 'no' was not an acceptable answer, and she followed Maggie into the kitchen. Scully knew her mother had something to say, and she waited for her to speak as they set the table. Minutes passed, but Maggie seemed lost in her own thoughts, and Scully's curiosity eventually got the better of her. "So, Mom, what do you think of him? Seems like he did okay here today." Maggie took a seat at the table, and Scully followed suit. "I think, Dana, that he's wonderful. He's quick as a whip, sweet, generous, tenacious, stubborn, insatiably curious, noble, and a decent human being. But that's not really what you want to know, is it?" "Mom?" "You want to know, Dana, if I can see Fox in him as you can. And my answer is yes, I can. The original Fox had all the wonderful qualities I just mentioned in almost exactly the same way. So, yes, Fox is in there somewhere. How could anyone who knew him deny it?" Maggie shook her head and threw Scully a sad look that filled her with fear. "Is that a problem, Mom?" "Dana, in the other room, you asserted that you need Fox, need his mind and his abilities, to get your job done. You've never admitted that before. Don't you think that's a lot of pressure to put on him?" Her job. It was her job, not theirs, not now, not even to her mother. Tears stung the corners of Scully's eyes, and she blinked them away. "He wants to come to work, Mom. I don't see why he shouldn't, when he's ready." "Dana, don't you see? He doesn't really know anything about your work, or work in general, for that matter." Maggie grasped Scully's hand from across the table. "The only reason he wants to go to work at the FBI is because you're there, Dana." "That's exactly why I brought him the file, Mom. So he can learn. He's a grown man, and he needs to get his life back." "Oh, Dana." Maggie scooted her chair around and pulled Scully into her arms. Scully pressed her cheek to her mother's shoulder and allowed herself a moment of comfort. "I know you miss him," Maggie went on quietly, "but you're not looking at this clearly. This Fox is both a man and a child. And I don't think we should push him to give up the child so quickly. I know this is hard, honey, but he needs time to find his own path." Scully bit back an anguished whimper and pulled from her mother's arms, feeling suddenly betrayed. "No, Mom. You said yourself that Mulder is in him. He's going to come back. He has to." "Dana, he's wonderful. He adores you. You are the entire world to him. Why isn't that enough for you?" Scully shook her head. "Because I can't lose him again, Mom. I just can't. Because if Mulder doesn't return to work, the men who made him will take him back. And because I miss… Because I want him…" Scully trailed off, her throat feeling strained and her tongue disobedient. When she heard the patter of footsteps in the hall, she snapped her gaze up to see Mulder approach and step hesitantly into the kitchen. His face hung like the world was ending, and he hugged the Santa Fe Abductions case-file to his chest. "Hi, Mulder," Scully managed to say. "What's wrong?" "I'm sorry, Dana," he mumbled, fingering the file folder. "I can't do it." Frowning, Scully went to him and led him to his seat at the table. "Tell me, Mulder," she commanded as she rubbed his back comfortingly. He opened the file and spread the pictures over the table, carefully avoiding the plates and utensils. "I was unable to think of anything you have not already presented here, Scully. I could not… Maybe this work is not meant for me," he said, his voice strained and distressed. He traced the edges of one of the crop circle pictures with a trembling finger. "Shh, Mulder. It's okay. You don't have to figure it out right now. You just keep thinking about it, okay? It's okay." "I'm sorry the children were hurt, Scully." "I know. Let's have dinner, okay?" Mulder nodded, and Scully looked to her mother for confirmation that the meal was ready to set out. Maggie had snagged some of the pictures of the Santa Fe children. She studied them with a look of disgust, and then with her eyes she lifted that same sentiment up to Scully. When she spoke, her voice was hard like stone and stung like venom. "He should not be exposed to this kind of thing." Scully took the pictures from her mother's hands. "He's not your child, Mom." "He's not yours, either." "Mom, he can handle it. He's handling it right now." "It's too soon, Dana. He doesn't know enough. He doesn't understand violence, or people, or justice." Maggie slid Mulder a look of apology and then shot her gaze back up to Scully. "I read a couple of books about criminal profilers after I met Fox, during your…while you were gone. These people can see the darkness in a person's soul more clearly than anyone in the world. Fox Mulder spent three years as the FBI's top profiler. You know he could see the darkness, but do you think he became that man overnight?" Scully released a frustrated groan. "You think I'm going to ruin him." She slapped her palm on the table and then stood up abruptly, her chair screeching across the floor behind her. She had not raised her voice to her mother in years and years, but she could not seem to stop herself now. "You think I'm going to ruin him, as if…as if Mulder was so damaged by everything before. He didn't live the most conventional life, but Mulder was fine, Mom. He handled it all just fine." "That must have been why he held you at arm's length all those years," Maggie bit. "Must have been why he preferred to concentrate on revenge and on his quest rather than on letting you know that he needed you. Because he was just so fine." "We were fine," Scully growled through clenched teeth. "You just go on believing that, Dana." "Mom!" Before Scully could say anything more, Mulder wrapped his hand around her forearm. His grip was tight and firm. "Stop! Please, stop. I don't understand. You are family. Stop," he pleaded, looking from Maggie up to Scully. His face was red and his eyes quivered with bright, unshed tears. Time seemed to stop, and the world froze around them. "I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully finally said, taking a deep breath. She dragged her chair over next to him, sat down, and pulled him to her, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," she whispered into his ear. Then she glanced over to her mother, who seemed to have calmed as well. "You and Maggie are so angry. You don't want to be family anymore?" Mulder asked timidly. "What?" Scully chuckled softly at his innocent concern. "No, Mulder. We do. We do. It's okay." Maggie took Mulder's hand from across the table. "Remember when we talked about family earlier, Fox?" she asked gently. Mulder nodded against Scully's shoulder, and Maggie continued. "Just because we get angry sometimes, Fox, and we argue sometimes, and we yell, and maybe we even storm out of the house, that does not mean that we stop loving each other. Ever. Do you understand that?" Mulder sat back up in his chair, letting Scully's arm slide from his shoulders. He took her hand and laced their fingers together, all the while watching Maggie, his head cocked to the side. "Storming out of the house. Yes, Maggie. I think I do understand now," he finally stated. "I think I understand." "Good." Maggie released his other hand and stood. "Let me just get the lamb out of the oven and we'll get this dinner going." "Maggie," Mulder called as Scully and her mother were setting the food on the table, "there is another thing I don't understand. You said before that the Original was a good man. But just now you spoke as if he was not." "Oh, no, Fox. He was a very good man. But we all have our faults," Maggie said, glancing quickly at Scully. "Oh. Scully, if you and Maggie are angry with each other, can I still come stay here again tomorrow while you do your work?" "Of course you can, Monkey. If you want to," Maggie answered. Mulder looked to Scully for confirmation, and she nodded stiffly. She still felt the urge to argue with her mother, to argue over Mulder and his care and his fundamental identity. Deep down, though, Scully knew that there was essentially nothing to argue about. Mulder was who he was, and he needed all the support he could get. "Let's eat, you two," she said. "We've really got to go." The world was dark like there were no stars or moon in the sky. Scully was emotionally exhausted and shamefully glad that Mulder spoke only once during the hour long drive down to Charlottesville. "I'm sorry you argued with Maggie over me, even if you are still family. I did not want that," he stated when they were about halfway there. "It wasn't your fault, Mulder," Scully murmured. Mulder nodded and turned to the window. They found that the address the courier had delivered belonged to a residence in a small suburb. The house itself looked far too modest to belong to a wealthy plastic surgeon, and Scully wondered just what they were walking into. The little street was lined with cars, making it difficult and frustrating to park. "Looks like someone's having a party," Scully commented, nodding to all the cars as they finally found a space. "What's a party?" Mulder asked as he slid from the car. They locked Ishy in and headed toward the specified house. "A party is when friends and acquaintances gather to have some fun and to socialize. Sometimes people throw a party to celebrate something, like a birthday or a wedding." Scully looked around the desolate street, wondering where all the people were. "Seems pretty quiet around here, though. Must not be a very exciting party. This is the house, Mulder. Time to get to work." "This is work? I'll come?" "Well, yes. We're going to question Dr. Hiram or whoever is here about the Clinic. Most of the work we do involves talking to people in order to gather information. Tonight I need you to identify Dr. Hiram as the man who worked on you, okay?" Mulder nodded, and they stopped at the house's front door. "Let me do the talking, if you can, Mulder." Scully's knock was answered by a man in his thirties wearing a black suit and a sorrowful expression. The man was so tall and muscular he filled the entire doorway, and Scully could not see into the rest of the house. "Are you here to pay your respects?" the man asked after scrutinizing Scully and Mulder for a moment. "Pay our respects. No," Scully said, fishing her badge out of her coat and displaying it for the man. "I'm Agent Dana Scully with the FBI." "Oh, hum. Is this about the murder, then?" "No, we're looking for Dr. Hiram. There's been a murder?" The man rubbed his palm over his forehead. "Dr. Hiram was killed two nights ago by a couple of street kids. The funeral is tomorrow morning. You didn't know?" Scully's stomach sank hopelessly. "No, we didn't." They, the shadow men, had gotten to Hiram already. They knew Mulder had seen his name, and they had taken care of him the next day. Mulder began to shift around nervously next to Scully. Casually, she brushed up against him with her arm and shoulder, trying to still him. "Do the police have a suspect?" she asked the man at the door. "They have a few ideas, but no one in custody yet." "Are you a relative of Dr. Hiram's?" "Distant. He was my wife's uncle. Listen, is there something specific I could help you with?" "We just need to get some information. Is there a Mrs. Hiram we could speak to?" The man nodded, looking anxious but also relieved to be done with them. "She's not in great shape, but let me get her." When the man moved from the doorway, Scully was able to see that the house was full of black-clad mourners munching on cold cuts and potato salad. Mulder leaned over her shoulder to peer into the house as well. "Is this the party?" he asked. "The people are socializing, but they look sad." "You understand that Dr. Hiram is dead, right?" Mulder nodded solemnly. "This is a party in honor of a dead person," Scully explained. "It's called a wake." "I don't understand." "These people came here to show their respect and love for Dr. Hiram by remembering him. I told you people live on inside us after they die. Remembering him this way helps keep Dr. Hiram alive in the hearts of his family." "Scully?" "Hmm." Mulder turned to look pointedly into Scully's eyes. "Do people live inside a person even when the living person doesn't want to remember?" Scully sighed and rubbed her chest just below her collar bone. There was a dull ache and a heaviness there that just refused to go away. "Yes, Mulder. Even then." Moments later, a woman appeared at the door and introduced herself as Anabel Hiram, Dr. Hiram's widow. She looked to be in her forties and was anything but the stereotypical plastic surgeon's wife. She was small, shorter than Scully, with graying hair, average lips, an average nose, appropriate wrinkles, and thick eyeglasses. There appeared to be nothing enhanced about her. She was not hysterical, but behind the glasses, the woman's eyes were ringed with the red and gray circles of grief, and her swollen cheeks were evidence of the tears that had washed away any makeup she might have worn. "Mrs. Hiram, my name is Dana Scully," Scully explained, showing the woman her badge and hoping Mrs. Hiram was too distraught to think to ask for Mulder's name as well. "I'm very sorry about your loss, and I know this is not the best time…" "Sonny said this isn't about the murder." The woman's voice emerged as a raspy monotone that dared Scully to remember the death in her own voice when she had attended a similar wake just eighteen months before. "No, Mrs. Hiram. We were just hoping we could ask you a few questions about your husband " "I don't understand. Was Jacob in some kind of trouble?" Jacob. "No, not at all. We think your husband may have witnessed a crime we're investigating." Mrs. Hiram sniffled and then blew her nose into a delicate little handkerchief. "Well, Jacob never mentioned any crime." "Maybe he was not aware that he had been present when the crime was committed, which is not an uncommon scenario at all. Could you tell me what kind of work your husband did?" "He was an emergency plastic surgeon. For half the year, anyway. The other half he spent overseas, volunteering his time and his skill as a surgeon to different third world countries." "That's very noble. It sounds like your husband was a very good man. I know this is difficult, but when was the last time you saw Jacob?" "Just before he left for the store. I sent him out after dinner for…bananas. He loved my banana bread." Mrs. Hiram's face finally crumbled. "Such a mundane thing. I had no idea…no idea…" she forced out around a sob. "I think you should go. He can't help you now." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hiram. I'm sorry, but is the body here for viewing?" Scully tried to see around the woman and into the house. "We'd really like to see it for, um, to verify that your husband's appearance matches the description of the witness we've been trying to contact. It will only take a moment." "I suppose," Mrs. Hiram granted. They followed the woman into the house, Mulder's hand falling naturally to the small of Scully's back. It raised a heat up her spine that almost made her forget about the loss they had just suffered. She forced herself to focus. Their only good contact regarding the Clinic had been taken away like every good piece of evidence Scully and Mulder had ever collected. Mrs. Hiram stopped just outside the large double doorway that led from the living room to what Scully guessed was normally the dining room. She could see the solemn, black casket taking up the space where the table should be. "There are people in there now. I'll ask you to wait out here until they're finished." Mrs. Hiram wiped at her tears with her handkerchief and then walked away to collapse onto the couch and into the arms of an older woman who Scully hoped was her mother. Scully glanced up at Mulder where he leaned against the wall next to the doorway. He had shoved his nervous hands into his pockets, and his brow was creased with confusion and doubt. Afraid that touching him like she wanted to would look suspiciously unprofessional, Scully tried to soothe him with her voice. "This was unexpected, Mulder, I know. Did you understand everything?" "Yes. Doctor Hiram has died. You and Anabel Hiram made it sound like he helped people for his work, like you do. It sounded like he was a good man, Scully." "So it seems. But…" "But we all have our faults?" he asked, quoting Scully's mother. "Sometimes I wish my mother would just mind her own business," Scully muttered. Mulder's eyes widened, and he cocked his head as if he had just barely understood Scully's words. "Don't you tell her I said that, Mulder." "I won't." "I'm serious. Sometimes people say things they don't mean, and I didn't really mean that. Yes, we do all have faults, but what I was going to tell you was that sometimes people only do good things so that other people won't notice when they do something bad." "Meaning you think Doctor Hiram helped people so that other people wouldn't notice he was going to do the surgery on me?" "Something like that. Maybe. We don't know anything for sure right now, Mulder." "Right. Scully? Does it work the other way as well? Could a person miss all the good things someone does because they are too busy looking at the bad?" "Of course, Mulder." Mulder nodded and then looked down at the floor. "That happened to the Original a lot, didn't it?" "Sometimes. Hey, didn't I tell you to let me do the talking?" Scully joked. She squeezed his arm playfully but prayed that her stomach would stop sinking. There had been far too much talk of 'the Original' that evening, and she could feel the memories pushing at her. "I assumed you meant I should not speak with the other people here. Was I wrong?" Scully rolled her eyes. "No, Mulder. I was joking just now. You weren't wrong. Forget it." Mulder nodded. Scully watched him use his fist to rub his tired- looking eyes. Then he looked around the living room, studying each of the mourners. Eventually, his gaze fell onto Mrs. Hiram where she wept into the shoulder of her companion. "These people look so sad, Scully. Did you have a party like this for the Original?" Scully sighed. "Yes, but there weren't as many people and we didn't have his body there." "Right. Anabel Hiram is upset because she lost her husband. He was her mate, for life. But now he's gone, and she is still alive," he said quietly. "What will she do?" "I don't know, Mulder." "Were you upset like she is when you lost the Original, Scully?" he asked, touching her shoulder supportively. "Yes. But he was not my husband." The viewing room was clearing out, and Scully gestured for Mulder to follow her. "You ready?" "No, not very," he said, shrugging. "Let's go." They were halfway to the casket and the body it clearly held when Mulder stopped abruptly and shoved his hands into his pockets. Scully looked up to find him biting his lip, his eyes shining with what appeared to be both fascination and dread. "I think it's him, Scully. Can we go home now?" "No, Mulder. I want you to get a closer look to be sure. Come on, it's okay." She tugged on his sleeve and he reluctantly followed her up to the coffin. Scully regretted bringing him closer the moment the tears began to roll down his cheeks and fall onto the casket's white silk lining. He was calm, though, and did not seem to be trying to control his natural emotional reaction. His mouth hung open in awe and his eyes were filled with terror as he leaned in close to study the body. Dr. Hiram was a plump, bearded, graying man in his late fifties. Scully thought that he appeared quite ordinary, but she knew well that death showed no character and told few secrets. Were he alive, she could have come to some educated conclusion as to what kind of man he was, but they would get nothing from Hiram now. Next to her, Mulder passed a hand through the air above Dr. Hiram's body. "Men look so different in death," he observed. His detached monotone chilled Scully. "I told you I saw his body. The Original's body. He looked different as well, different from us." He slipped his hand into Scully's. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze and then pulled gently away. "How do they look different, Mulder?" "I don't know. Wrong? I don't know. Scully, did Doctor Hiram get killed because I saw his name?" Scully took a deep breath, finding herself suddenly on the verge of tears right alongside Mulder. "That is a possibility," she said, and then she watched something die inside Mulder's eyes. Suddenly, she wanted to do nothing but take him home where she could wrap him in her arms. "Mulder, is this the man you saw?" Mulder bent down very close to Hiram's face. Scully watched him pore over the man's every feature, no doubt recalling a perfect picture of the man from the Clinic in his photographic mind. He rubbed his eyes again and then whispered, "No." "No?" "This man looks like him. Very much. I thought it was him. But it's not. The features are slightly different, longer in some places, shorter in others. This is not him, Scully. What are we going to do now?" "Well, first we're not going to panic. Are you sure it's not him? Absolutely sure?" "Scully, I don't forget things. I know when people look different, and the same." "I know you do, Mulder. But sometimes rigor mortis and loss of internal pressure can cause outward appearances to shift slightly. Maybe you're too emotionally involved here to effectively adjust your thinking to reconcile those tiny shifts," Scully suggested gently. "No, Scully. It's not him. I know it's not. Why won't you believe me?" "Shh, Mulder. It's okay. We have a full name to work with now. Tomorrow I'll request an autopsy report and a background check, and we'll see if we can find anything that confirms this is not the man you met at the Clinic. That is what we do, you and I, after all." "What do we do?" "You bring me an impossible theory, a gut feeling, and I prove it. That's what we do. God, Mulder, if you're right and this is not Hiram, your Hiram, we are in the middle of a profoundly tedious setup. And to think I thought those days were over. At least, until you came." "I don't understand. What's a setup?" "Let's go home, Mulder. I'll tell you on the way. Let's go home." Scully reclined on her bed, propped up against some pillows and the headboard. She was trying to read a magazine article before bedtime, trying to spin down her busy mind, but her eyes kept wandering to Mulder where he wrestled with Ishy on the floor. He and the dog had a rapport that Scully had not expected. Animals always liked Mulder well enough, but Mulder never seemed very fond of them. She had always wondered if something had happened in his childhood to turn him away from them, but her curiosity had never been strong enough to push her to invade his personal space with her questions. This Mulder, though, treated Ishy like family, and Scully was suddenly so glad to have them both. After a moment, Mulder seemed to notice Scully watching them. As he held Ishy pinned to the ground, he popped his head up to look at her. His hair was cutely mussed, his pajamas were crooked, and his goofy Mulder-grin had finally returned after the difficult evening they had shared. "Scully, should I read more of the journal tonight while you are here?" "No, Mulder. I'm not up to that tonight. I'd like to finish this article and then get some sleep. Is that okay?" "Yes. I could… Where will I…" He let Ishy up and scratched his own head self-consciously. Scully chuckled, wondering how she could help him get over his timidity. "You can sleep here with me if you want to. It's okay, Mulder." "Good. I'll read first, like you," he smiled and then disappeared down the hall and toward his room. They had unpacked the secondhand clothes, books, and games her mother had sent home with them, making his room seem more friendly and lived in. Scully had also let him set out some of the things from Mulder's boxes, and then they had consolidated the remaining items and moved the repacked boxes into her closet for safekeeping. He returned now with a pillow and one of the big text books Maggie had given him. As he approached the bed, Scully scooted back, sitting more upright. She spread her legs and then patted the mattress between them. "Come here, Mulder." Smiling, he climbed up on the bed and settled down in front of her, leaning back against her chest and tucking his head into her neck just below the side of her chin. "Am I too heavy?" "No. You're perfect." "Okay. This book is about animals," he stated, opening the book in his lap. "That was my little brother Charlie's book. He wanted to be a vet when he was younger." "A doctor for animals. Did he become a vet?" "Nope. He's a naval officer like Bill. Only Charlie's a PJ, that's the navy's elite search and rescue squad. They work constantly and he doesn't make it home very often." Mulder shook his head against her shoulder. "The Scully family members like to help people, don't they?" "Well, yes, I guess we do, Mulder. My father was very dedicated to the navy, to protecting his country and people who could not protect themselves. I guess we all learned it from him." Scully absently brushed her fingers through his clean, soft hair as she turned back to her magazine. Mulder fingered through his book for a few minutes and then stopped. "Scully? "Hmm?" "I know you want me to be the Original, but Maggie said maybe things would be better if I thought about a name for myself, a name all my own. What do you think about that?" Scully dropped her magazine. "What? Um, I think maybe you should think about that some more, Mulder. Because, well, I think you might be putting yourself in danger if you decide to change your name because…" Scully was cut off by the ringing of her phone. Rolling her eyes at its bad timing, or good, depending on how one looked at it, she snatched the receiver off the night-stand and held it to her ear. "Because," she heard before she could even say hello, "we want to see the end of his metamorphosis just as much as you do. Is that what you were going to say to keep him from changing his name, Scully?" "God damn it!" she hissed. Mulder startled in her arms and then threw her an anxious look over his shoulder. 'Gray-hair,' she mouthed to him and then leaned her head and the phone forward so he could hear. "You're still listening." "Among other things. The two of you look awfully cozy there, Agent Scully. You've grown quite attached to him, haven't you? Not surprising, I suppose. What's not to love?" "Indeed." Hardly thinking, Scully wrapped her free arm around Mulder's shoulders and squeezed him to her. "I noticed you haven't made a man of him yet. Why is that? I know you wouldn't want to lose him again before you had the chance." "Shut up." "Not yet." "Is there a point to this phone call? This forwardness is so unlike you," Scully challenged sarcastically and with very little of her precious self-control. The man's answering laugh made Scully want to go deaf. "You think you know so much. How did you like your visit with the Hiram's, by the way?" "Fuck you." The man gasped dramatically. "Such language, Agent Scully. How very unlike you," he said with emphasis. "Must be the lioness, the one that emerges whenever you have someone to care for. You need to protect your den, and your cub. I understand." "I'm hanging up now," Scully stated. "Oh, I wouldn't do that. Don't you want to know what I want?" Scully wanted nothing more than to hang up and forget the man had ever called. But as she looked down at Mulder's frightened face, at the way his body slumped and he seemed to cower into her, she knew she had no choice but to relent. For him. To keep him. "What do you want?" "Think of it as a chessboard." "And you're the King." "No. I'm the player. Eighteen months ago I lost my knight." "I'm sorry, did you say knight or pawn?" The man chuckled condescendingly at her question. "Knights hop, Agent Scully," he went on. "They jump over other pieces and right into the lion's den. They move two steps forward and one to the side, whenever I see fit. They can get into the right space when no other piece can." "The right space for you." "For all of us." "Don't give me that 'greater good' bullshit." "I want my knight back. You have three weeks." "Three weeks." Scully felt dizzy with fury, and she tightened her grip on Mulder. "I've set up a little test. He passes it, or you kiss him goodbye. Do you understand?" "What's the test?" "Oh, nothing too difficult or dangerous. I've arranged for him to meet with an old friend, one that is unaware of our boy's true identity, or lack thereof." The man chuckled, obviously amused at the game he had set up. "And this 'friend' must come away believing that Fox Mulder is back from the dead, is that it?" Scully asked. "That's it. Simple really, don't you think? I know that Mulder's return is what you want as well. Why fight it? I will contact you again with a time and location. Three weeks, Agent Scully. Make them count." There was an abrupt click, and the man was gone. Scully put down the phone and let her head fall back against the headboard. "You can forget about that name thing, Mulder." He nodded and reached up to twine his fingers with hers. "I must become the Original." "If you want to stay here with me." "I do." Without warning, he rolled over in her arms and tugged on her hips until she lay horizontal beneath him, her head propped up on the pillow. Seeming shy to meet her eyes, he settled himself onto her and pressed his cheek to her chest. His fingers caressed the silk covering her shoulder. "I wanted to ask you a question, Scully. And to tell you something," he said quietly. "I tried to when you came to get me at Maggie's house, but… I don't know what happened." Scully gazed down at him and tried not to ponder her enjoyment of his long body on top of hers, of his hips resting between her legs. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, scratching him lightly between his shoulder blades. "What is it?" Slowly, he lifted his head to rest his chin on her breastbone. He stared at her throat for a long time, his thoughts hidden from her by his long, kissably beautiful eyelashes. When he finally raised his gaze to hers, Scully's heart nearly stopped. His eyes sang of adoration, affection, trust, and dependence. For the first time since Emily, Scully felt like a mother. For the first time ever, she felt like a wife. With a gentle smile, she touched Mulder's cheek, and he finally spoke. "Are you my family, Scully? I want to have a family. I love you." "Oh, Mulder," Scully whispered, hugging him around the shoulders and blinking tears from her eyes. "What about Samantha? You always believed she was still alive. She's your sister. Don't you want to find her?" "I want you to be my family." He shook his head slightly and then looked down at her throat again shyly. "Do you love me?" Scully closed her eyes. "I have always loved you, Mulder." After a moment, she felt him bury his face in her chest once more. She expected to feel his body relax and to feel his breathing shift as he fell into sleep. But he remained tense in her arms, and before she knew what was happening he was rolling off of her. Scully opened her eyes to find him curled up on his side, facing away. She pulled at his arm and his hip, but he would not turn back to her. "Mulder?" Sliding up behind him, she pressed herself to his back, slipped her arm beneath his, and rubbed his chest firmly. "What is it, Mulder?" He shook his head against the pillow. "He wrote that he never touched you. Not like us." "Oh, but Mulder, I always wanted him to. I want you to." Scully tried again to roll him back over to her, but he still refused to move. She felt him take a deep, quivering breath within the circle of her arms. "I need to be him for you," he said quietly. His voice was dark and surprisingly smooth. "But I don't know if I can do it. I am afraid." Scully sighed and held him more tightly. She settled her head onto the pillow and buried her face in the back of his collar and the nape of his neck. "I'm afraid too, Mulder," she whispered. "I'm afraid." (End Chapter 10 – End Part 4)