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)