Only in the nether region between dreams and reality can I see you, 
remember you.  Caress your hand, touch your face, hear you voice.

But I feel you near, just as I feel my heart weakening and my breaths 
begin to falter.

I have lived an existance that was forced upon me, paper upon paper 
of a forged identity that bore a name that was not mine.

I have witnessed your dreams, and the dark places you have been a 
passing visitor to, tangible only to my imagination, a fleeting vision 
of you that only my senses could touch and feel. 

I have accompanied you in your constant retreats back to a time of 
innocence -- of baseball and balogna, of beaches and boats.  A past
where only time was our greatest enemy, where double-edged words 
were more powerful than blows, where the connection between innocent 
and innocent, child and child was at its strongest.  Was at its most
vulnerable.

I still remember, Fox.

Although my lips refuse to work, although my hands refuse to touch, 
although my head cannot rest on your hand, be sure in all your heart, 
that I *do* remember.

That I have nothing to forgive you for.

And that I have always, *always* loved you.

***

	Scully watched wide-eyed as her partner walked in with a 
boldness that he did not possess, with a walk that wore a distinctive 
limp, with a face that was an easel to violent markings that had 
started so long ago.

	He passed her without so much as a second glance, entranced 
by the woman laying in front of him.  Scully watched mesmorized, as 
the man in front of her allowed a hand to snake out, tremble with 
fingers slightly bent, not quite ready for the commitment of reaching 
out to touch.  She watched him swallow and move the lock of hair 
from her shiny, sweaty forehead.  Watched the doubt lines and the 
stiff posture melt away with a look at the porcelain face, at the hazel 
eyes, at the lips which were a mirror image to his.  

	She watched the tears start to form at his eyes, watched his lips 
begin to quiver, his face start to show a multitude of emotions, 
from happiness, to sadness, from concern, to elation.  His thumb 
traced her jawline, his fingers travelled across the bridge of her 
nose, his index fingered her lips, her hair travelled through nervous 
fingers which revelled in its chestnut color. 

	His hands travelled down her body, hovering only inches above 
warm flesh, coursing blood.  Shaking.  Trembling.  He moved back to 
her face, seemingly unable to part with the view for any longer than 
a few seconds.  He impulsively grabbed her slack hand, then rested his
head contentedly on top of it.  

	The woman moved, shifted closer to the smell that permeated to her 
nose, the new aura that had surrounded her.  Her lips parted, and air 
was exhaled, her tongue forming words that would only be audible by 
the man who was laying next to her.  

	Scully watched the tears course down her partner's face, 
revelled in the smile that played on his lips.  It was one that she had 
never seen before, one that caused his eyes to smile despite the tears, 
his lips to curve upwards despite their tremor.  One that he had been 
saving for this occasion, saving it for now, some twenty four 
long and arduous years later.  "I'm here, Sam."  He snuggled closer to the 
woman, kissed her hand, her cheek, kissed her hand once again, before 
laying his head back on the smooth skin which overlayed her knuckles, 
offering a rare set of pearls back to his partner.

	"I'm here, Sam.  And I'm back."

***

	Skinner watched the reunion, tempted to laugh and smile and 
giggle as Scully was doing at the moment.  Tempted to smile at the 
look of... of whatever it was that was playing on Mulder's face.  That 
was playing on Scully's face.  He was tempted to smile and sigh 
contentedly at the light which had entered his agents' eyes.

	But, instead, a small drop of saline fell -- unnoticed by
anyone else.  He was more than tempted to cry at the bodies which had 
been littered.  At the price one man and one woman had to pay for this 
moment.  For this reunion with a woman who was dying.  For this passage
in time, which in the grand scheme of things, was mere breaths long. 

	Soft words were passed between Mulder and Scully -- indecernible 
to Skinner.  Scully laughed, and the AD was forced to lower his head and 
reflexively look away.  

	It hurt.

	It hurt that he had been an obstacle and a barricade to these 
two more often than not.  A hinderence to this moment which could
have happened so much earlier.  Could have been so much happier.

	Skinner's head turned sharply at Scully's shout of protest. 
Mulder bolted upright, dropped the hand he had been holding, and was
now staring with eyes wide, with mouth agape towards his superior
and partner.  The Assistant Director had to lean forward to hear the 
words pass through his agent's lips, and Mulder soon roughly brushed
by his shoulder in his haste to leave the room.     

	Skinner, Scully and the three Gunmen went in persuit of the 
agent whose desperate steps were reverberating through the desolate 
hallways.  More often than not, Mulder was tripping over his dead legs, 
stumbling into the walls, using rubbery arms to push against unforgiving 
cinder block. 

	"Mulder!!"  The panicked voice of Scully could be heard, her
choppy footsteps falling out of time to her partner's.  "Wait!"

	Unlike Skinner who was following Mulder with confusion and 
concern etched on his face, Scully knew what her partner was looking 
for.  Her heart had skipped, her mind had screamed, when her partner 
had bolted upright, eyes wide, fingers cruelly dropping the slender 
hand that they had been stroking.  Mulder's whispered words were 
still running through the fissures of her brain, and their jagged 
syllables -- their ominous rhythm -- were travelling down to her feet, 
making her steps falter.  

	<The hybrids, Scully, the hybridsScullythehybridsScullythe...>

	Her tense fingers and trembling heart were unable to part with
their view of the rapidly retreating figure.  She was nervous -- 
scared -- as she had never seen such an abrupt change in emotions, 
had never seen his face metamorphose so quickly from explicit horror, 
to calm resolve.  

	As Scully turned the corner, as her high heels screamed on
the tile floor, the pounding in her ears grew faster.  Harder.  She bit 
her lip, eyes reluctantly scanning the hallways -- scared of she
would see, scared of what her partner could do.    
	
	But Mulder's limping gait continued -- his arms desperately 
opening every door, his mouth muttering nonsensical spells, coherent
only to those he was looking for.  He disappeared into one empty 
doorway, and the room engulfed him, the federal agent failing to 
reappear.

	Scully ran forward, suddenly reached out with one hand and used
the door frame as leverage to move her faster, to change her momentum 
faster, to see why Mulder had hesitated before he had entered...

	Scully blinked.

	Blinked again.

	She looked at the red hair.  The skin.  The eyes.  Perhaps some DNA 
that was her was in *her*.  Scully shook her head.  Ridiculous.  Not 
possible.

	So very possible.

	There was a ringing in her ears, a roar of blood, and Scully was 
suddenly acutely aware of the lack of sound, of the lack of 
movement.  Of eight thousand eyes on her partner, whose mirrors to the
soul had dulled, and darkened, and lost the sparkle that had been present
not more than two minutes ago.  Standing stock still, his lungs were 
still heaving with the effort expended during the short search through 
the hallways.

	Mulder suddenly turned around, heading for the door, heading for
the blizzard that was threatening.  The clouds which were looming.

	"Mulder, where are you going?"

	Her voice was unnaturally loud and Scully forced herself not to
flinch at the rebounding echo.  

	Mulder's mouth formed words, emitting sounds that were strained, 
that wavered in and out despite the silence of the beings surrounding him.  
"I have to do this Scully.  Don't come."

	Mulder continued towards the glass door and opened it, causing his
hair to fly haphazardly, causing the remnants of his clothing to 
flap wildly.  

	Scully heard the clip being checked, watched the gun enclosed 
arms pull closer towards the chest -- possessive, before her feet 
finally obeyed, before she could finally join Skinner in his persuit 
towards the quickly disappearing figure of her partner.

	Neither the female agent nor the Assistant Director noticed the 
four thousand hybrids who were dilligently following.

***

	The snowflakes had just started, and Mulder was still leading 
the masses outside.  The field was barren, and the women and the men with 
their T-shirts and their sun dresses barely shivered, did not notice 
the twenty degree weather which was quickly causing Scully to chill.

	"Mulder."  The voice came out shaky, unsure.  "Mulder, what
are you doing?"

	Two of the beings came forward and Scully watched mesmorized as 
their eyes focused on her partner, as they walked towards him as the 
federal agent grimaced.  Mulder suddenly turned towards Skinner, extended 
his hand.  "I need your pistol, sir."

	"Mulder..."

	The agent shook his head desperately, aiming his pistol towards
Skinner's chest with shaking, exhausted arms.  "I need it now..."

	The Assistant Director cautiously handed over the piece of metal,
and tried to analyse Mulder's intentions. 

 	Scully finally realized what her partner was planning, started
to shake her head in protest despite her blood which was beginning
to curdle.  "Mulder, you don't need to do th.."

	The strained voice passed through barely moving lips, but it was
overshadowed by the shaking hands which passed the pistols into two pairs 
of perfectly sculptured palms.  "They need to be killed, Scully.  They're 
meant to replace us."

	Scully watched silently as the two beings took the pistols from
Mulder's hands wordlessly -- watched Mulder's eyes, watched
how the rest of the hybrids lined themselves in a line.  She attempted
to swallow, the lump remaining in her throat when the two hybrids faced 
the line of beings, guns pointed.  Firing squad style.

	Scully's breaths were coming out noisily.  The snow was so loud; it
was roaring by her ears, by her eyes.  It was so hard to see... to see the
firing squad that her partner had set up.

	So blind.

	She wished Mulder would move closer; he was only a silhouette from
where she was standing, and the wind was threatening to blow him away.  

***

	Mulder closed his eyes, felt cold tears escaping when he could see
Scully turning away.  The shots were fired easily, mechanically.  

	Endlessly.  Seemingly for eternity.

	Time to reload.  Click.  Snerck.  Snap.  An endless torrent
of reloading and refiring.  Of bodies falling.  Of last breaths coming 
out as a soft exhalation. 

	The sound of the falling snow beat their dying breaths into 
obscurity.

	Mulder opened his eyes when the shots ceased.  Two pairs of 
expectant orbs remained fixed upon him, and Mulder's pupils dilated, 
then constricted.

	In the light of the moon, the two remaining hybrids started 
raising the butts of their pistols to their chins.  

	The snow would bleed red tonight.

***

	Skinner raised a hand to cover his eyes.  Too much.  The whole
thing was too much.  Too much like Vietnam.  Too much like the black of 
guns, the black of hair and enigmatic eyes, the black of charred bodies.  
The Stones had been right:  the world should have been painted black
a long time ago.

	The door opened and he flinched, reaching for a gun that had been 
long since given away.   

	The slight frame of the man who had been carrying, caring for 
Mulder's sister struggled with the heavy duffel bag across his shoulder.
	
	The Assistant Director extended an arm to help him, but Troy
waved him off, scowling.

	"There's a four by four just beyond the field.  We can get you
out of here.  Back home to family and friends."

	The man in front of him snorted.  "I don't have a family."  He
looked wistfully in Mulder's direction, back towards the brother his
friend had hidden.  "The only thing I've learned is that relationships 
hurt."  A book was still tucked underneath his arm, which he handed 
over to Skinner with disdain, without the reverence he used to
have for the worn-leather, dog-eared book of poetry.  Skinner
watched the man in front of him nod, and the Assistant Director 
accepted the book -- held it at arm's length, lest it want to burn.

	Troy shifted the duffel bag, pointing towards the book.  "You
know Tennyson's it's better to have loved and lost than not to have
loved at all?"

	Skinner nodded in recognition.

	Troy shook his head bitterly, shifted the bag once again, and 
reflexively looked behind his shoulder.  "Lies.  All lies."  The man 
nodded, more to reassure himself than the person he was speaking to,
then took a shaky step forward and began heading for the black anonymity 
of the forest.  His head was held a little too high, and his steps 
faltered as all confidence had long been lost.

	Skinner hugged the book closer to his chest, watching the snow and
the trees threaten to consume the retreating figure alive.

***

	"Mulder... where are you going?"

	Scully could hear her voice cracking, knew that it was barely 
audible with the fear that was tinging it.  With the fear that things 
had been destroyed beyond repair.  

	They retraced their route, leading back towards the slack, sweaty
figure of the woman who used to be called Sam.  Mulder picked her up, 
desperation and anger and pent up emotions fuelling a new found 
strength.  Scully watched him pick up her forgotten Glock and she felt 
her stomach drop.

	"Mulder... no."

	He smiled, a tear betraying it immediately.  "I have to."

	"We can help her... we can get both of you to a hospital.  We
can get Troy to help Pendrell to work for a cure."  Her voice edged
on hysteria, desperation.  "The Englishman is dead, Mulder.  He can't 
come back.  Krycek is dead.  So is the Cancerman.  There is no one 
left.  It's done."

	Mulder shook his head, running a gun enclosed hand underneath 
his nose.  "It will never be done, Scully.  Haven't you noticed?"  He
pointed in Skinner's direction.  "Pain and suffering and secrets get 
passed from one generation to another."

	Mulder started stumbling throught the white masses circling
around his feet, feeling the snow on his feverish face, hearing 
Samantha groan at the sudden temperature change.

	Scully followed doggedly -- the heavy sound of Skinner's 
following footsteps a minor distraction.  "Mulder, don't do this.  We 
can... we can..."  She trailed off before stopping in her tracks, before 
dropping the hand that had been futilely reaching for her partner.  
"We can do something."

	His voice started out low, hollow, and Scully tentatively leaned 
forward, feeling her throat tighten at the lack of inflections in
her partner's voice.  "When you came back, Scully... your genes..."  He
paused to hold the woman in his arms tighter.  "Your genes, Scully,
were infected.  Branched DNA that was poisoning you."

	Scully's lips flinched, and she reflexively studied the ground.  
Mulder turned suddenly, eyes momentarily flashing into hers.  "I had...
I had a hard time accepting the terms of your living will... but I came
to respect it."  Mulder eyebrows furrowed, and his words were spoken 
with more deliberation.  "What's in me and Sam will poison us, Scully.  It 
will kill us and everyone else."  Mulder's thumb started to play with the 
safety, started to turn it on, off, on, and off in time to his words.  His 
voice suddenly deflated, becoming barely audible in the swirling wind and 
snow.  "And I'm tired of fighting, and I cannot live like this.  And I 
need you to respect that."

	Scully shook her head.  "I can't do that..."

	Mulder shifted the woman in his arms.  Worked the right arm 
free to remove the safety one last time.  "I'm tired of dealing, Scully.  
I'm tired of having to live my life one deal at a time.  I hate having 
to make a choice.  I hate having you to make decisions just because 
they are forced upon you, because they use me against you.  Because 
they use you against me."

	The woman groaned underneath once again, her words miraculously 
clear and coherent.  "Read me a poem, Fox."

	Mulder smiled, sadly.  His tears fell as fast as the snow.

	His voice deepened, the tone was a forced whimsical, back to
a time when a boy and a girl thought the moon was made of cheese.  
It was a voice that spoke in terms of boats and castles and moons, 
and of the promise of a new day -- despite the demons and shadows which
lurked overhead.  "Winken, Blinken are two little eyes..."

	There was a male voice yelling -- a demon in the distance and 
the story teller laid his head against the cool forehead of the angel in
his arms.  His index finger trembled as the pistol was raised.  

	Again, there was the shouting.  A female this time.  Mulder bit
his lip as his hands shook, as there was a flash of light, a squeal of 
sound.  

	The fairy tale was cut short.

	As a finger depressed the trigger.

***

	The Bounty Hunter fell on top of her.

	And as she cried, and felt Skinner next to her, hovering, she
felt a hand on her back, felt another on her stomach.  Mulder was still
muttering, and the black metal in his hand was moving closer to the 
target.  

	She tried to yell at Mulder, tried to see what Skinner had shot
at, tried to move and extend a hand towards her partner whose arm was
getting closer and closer to his head... 

	Two hands held her down -- restrained her.  And as Scully tried to
squirm away from the Bounty Hunter's groping hands, she felt a jolt of 
warmth as the morph suddenly retreated, mumbling his apologies.  Mumbling:  
"Because it's right."

	Scully absently held her stomach, clutching the residual warmth that
was lingering there.	

	The Bounty Hunter walked away into the distance, never to be seen 
again.

***

	Mulder's hand was shaking, his index finger starting to turn
white underneath the strain.  The question was agonizingly desperate -- 
what it lacked in volume was made up in intensity.

	"Scully... why can't I do this?"

	The bloody hand still clutched the gun as a dagger.  Still 
held it -- galvanized rosary beads between bleeding fingers.  Mulder
remained kneeling, rocking, eyes looking up towards an unmanned sky, 
asking for forgiveness from an omniscient God who had never 
existed.

	He shook his head, clutched the gun tighter, the carnage 
starting to blur underneath a saline cover.  Mulder's fingers numbly
maneuvered the piece of metal until the click of the clip being
removed was heard.  The two pieces were dropped into the snow and 
the man lowered his head, crying softly.

	Scully hastily pocketed the two pieces, trying to ignore the body 
sprawled ten feet away, the mustache starting to turn white underneath 
the snow, the snow starting to turn red underneath the gaping hole in the 
chest.

	She rubbed her wrist absently, felt it start to burn as the 
Bounty Hunter's weight had fallen on top of it.  Felt her eyes
start to burn in rememberence of Skinner's mad dash for the pistol,
his perfect shot that landed between the eyes of the armed mustached
gentleman.  His hands had been painted red and black with blood
and carbon residue at the same time the tendons in Mulder's arm 
strained to bring the gun closer to his and his sister's head.  

	Scully leaned in, put her forehead against Mulder's hot flesh, 
felt Samantha's shudder pass through her brother's body and then
into her own.

	She spoke slowly, feeling her heart pump blood to her words,
feeling Mulder listening even though his eyes were miles away.  "If they 
come, Mulder.  We will protect you.  We will protect Sam.  She won't go 
away."  Scully felt the bite of her naive words as Mulder's back stiffened,
as his hands groped once more for a pistol that was no longer there.  "We 
have to try, Mulder."  Scully gingerly laid a hand upon Sam.  When Mulder 
didn't move, she tried to pull her away from the snow, from the brother 
who was still wondering why his finger couldn't pull the trigger.  "Just 
try."  The female rolled her forehead against his, and bent her fingers 
so that they now held Samantha's hand.  "Please."

	She felt the creases in his forehead lower as his eyes closed.
Felt the submission, once again, as his shoulders dropped, as his hands 
stopped searching.

	Scully nodded in approval.

	Mulder's voice came out hollowly, on the verge of exhaustion.
"One try, Scully.  Only one more."

	She nodded, stepping back when Mulder scowled at her attempt to
pull Samantha away.

	Scully kept her hand extended, absently watching the snowflakes melt 
into water droplets.  In the backgroud, she could hear the wind scream, 
an engine come to life -- could hear the snow roar as it passed by
her ears. 

	She felt a hesitant hand on her shoulder, saw the military
style black boots come into view.

	"Agent Scully."  A hesitant pause.  "Agent Mulder, we should go."

	Scully nodded, eyes threatening when the young woman's pale 
throat was exposed as her head hung over her stumbling brother's arms.  
Something roared again in the distance.  Scully wasn't sure if it
had been the engine or the snow this time.

	Skinner's arm laced over her shoulder and soon she was
sitting in stifling warmth, the object of the Langly's and 
Frohike's blank stares.  Byers' words of comfort blurred in the 
backgroud in time to the wipers squealing.  The motor hummed, the 
tires played percussion, but Scully would remember nothing of 
the trip back home except for the roar of snow hitting glass.

	Mulder would notice nothing but the faltering beat of his
sister's heart.

***

		"In international news, a blast rocked the Russian 
	Department of Security and Defense early this morning.  
	It killed nineteen memebers of the Russian cabinet, and 
	an investigation has been launched into the cause of the 
	explosion.  It is suspected that a frozen gas line had 
	cracked, acting as a catalyst for this tragic event.

		"Also, Anne Horner will explore cults, such as the 
	one that was discovered in Worland, Wyoming.  She will 
	explore various reasons why four thousand individuals were 
	driven to commit mass suicide, and what the use of a pistol 
	implicates, in terms of other famous cults such a Jonestown, 
	Waco, and the Temple of the Seven Stars.

		"All of this after the commercial break with Al on 
	weather, and Ron with sports and a preview of the Trappers 
	game tonight."

***

Scully's Apartmnet
Annapolis, Maryland

	Scully let the faint curls of steam wrap around her ankles as she
stepped out of the shower.  Allowed the bath towel to fully engulf her
from the shoulder down to mid calf.  She took another towel off the 
rack, proceeding to wipe the white cotton clouds from the bathroom vanity 
mirror.  

	And did an inventory of the woman in front of her.

	Four years ago, her hair was longer.  Straighter.  She was
a bit more plump.  Had less freckles.  She was sans abduction scar
then.  Had less wrinkles.  

	Where had the four years gone to?

	She didn't know.  It felt like they had been going in circular
motion.  Round and round they had went, and where they had stopped she 
sure as hell didn't know.  They passed numerous road marks that were 
different, but not -- had taken their pit stops at Betsy Hagopian's,
in North Dakota, in Tunguska, in Lombard.  She had driven shot gun with 
a man who was currently in the hospital with his sister waiting for the 
abracadabra of Quantico's labs and technicians.  

	Scully opened the cupboard and stared at the package of maxi 
pads in front of her.  She was bleeding.  And she had clutched her
belly when the Bounty Hunter had fallen on her.  And the feeling was
so... warm.  Nice.  

	Healthy.  

	The plastic package started to crumple in her grasp, and Scully 
felt the tears start to fall, her face start to crumble as the steam 
started to disappear and show her naked face in the stark light of 
the bathroom mirror.  

	The phone rang in the distance, and her elecronically enhanced
voice answered the phone after three rings.  Scully braced her hands 
against the sink as Pendrell's voice filtered through the answering 
machine's speaker and into the bathroom.  

	They had made a monoclonal antibody.

	Come quick and approve the procedure.

	Isn't science great?
    
	Scully looked at the cross on her neck and stared at it.  Eventually 
she raised her hands and put them behind her neck.  Undid the clasp and
slid the cross off.  The small gold pendant was carefully placed in a 
nearby jar of cotton balls, before the female slid the necklace back on 
and redid the clasp.

	Scully ran a finger over the dark areas underneath her eyes, down
her nose to where the cancer had been, past the back of her neck to where
the implant had been removed.

	Trying to get a grasp on the emotions that she was feeling.

	Uneasy.  Angry.

	Empty.

	The package of maxi pads fell off the counter, and Scully shook
her head to clear all introspection.  With a sigh, the federal agent
dressed for yet another visit to the hopsital, to her partner and her 
partner's sister.
	
	To the truth that, despite the monumental events of the past few
days, remained as elusive as before.

***

West 46th Avenue
New York, New York

	"Jesus Christ... he's dead.  The man is dead."

	"I don't know where the Bounty Hunter went.  He doesn't pick up the
phone."

	"Christ... Donald is dead too."

	"The hybrids... are... just a sec... the reception is bad...
Fuck.  They're dead."

	"Mulder isn't anywhere to be seen, neither is his partner."

	"No trace of Skinner either."

	"No Troy Archer.  His body isn't there."

	"Fuck... Derlum's not there.  She's gone."

	The man in the shadows sat passively.  He had no bourbon.  No 
cigarette.  But his eyes gleamed unnaturally amongst the black bulk
of his body.  He listened to the news, failing to react.  By 
all outward appearances, operations were normal.

	"God, we'll have to make a new template again."

	"We need new hybrids."

	"We have to get Mulder back."

	The man stood up from his chair suddenly -- his salt and pepper 
hair standing out.  His steps were sure, his face and voice had the 
markings of the mafia, his large figure made him all the more menacing.  
From the first word that the Englishman was dead, he had taken the ball 
and run with it.

	"We're not going to get Mulder.  We'll make a new catalyst."

	The other men stood wide eyed as the man continued to speak.  
His hands rubbed together deliberately, and the man's face drew into
a sneer.  He wanted nothing more than to wash the Consortium of the
Mulders' blood.     

	"Destroy them.  Destroy them all."

***

Holy Cross Memorial Hospital
Washington, DC

	The air smelled funny.  Not at all like the filtered air of her 
room.  And the sheets were light.  Thin.  Not at all like the duvet she 
always slept with.  And what the hell was around her knees... cloth-like.  
A night shirt.  She hated night shirts... always wore boxers.

	Her mouth was dry, and she absently wondered if she had had another 
nightmare.  There was a background mumbling -- words made indescernible
by the buzz and hiss of the air around her.  No... no nightmare this time,
as paper thin sheets had replaced Troy's comforting arms, and as  
indecipherable whispers had replaced her friend's coos of comfort.

	The woman opened her eyes, squinting at the sudden onslaught of 
light, at the bright red hair that swam into vision.

	Red Hair looked kind of worried, then put on an awkward smile.  "Hi.
I'm Agent Scully."  The business-suit clad woman extended a hand, and 
continued to talk, undaunted, when Amanda did not reciprocate the gesture.
"Do you know where you are?"

	The woman felt her neck protesting from disuse as she swung her head
around.  She took in the bed pan on the table above her head, the vinyl 
chair at the foot, the water pitcher -- and resisted the urge to groan.

	"A hospital?"

	Red Hair smiled again, some relief showing up on her face, her
eyes suddenly growing wider in anticipation of the next question.  "Do 
you know who you are?"

	"Amanda Derlum."

	The patient watched the woman's smile falter.  She watched federal
agent Scully repeat the name over in confirmation, while a pained 
expression shadowed her face momentarily.  "And... where are you from, 
Amanda?"

	"I'm from Great Falls, Montana."

	The woman in the business suit swallowed, put a hand to her mouth
and took a breath.  Amanda watched her worriedly.  It seemed it wasn't the
answer the fed had been looking for.

	"Do you know how you got here?"

	Amanda shook her head.  "Last thing... last thing I remember...
is um... eating maccaroni with a friend of mine in the cafeteria."

	The federal agent nodded grimly.  "That was a week and a half ago."

	Amanda balked.  "A week and a half ago!"  Her words started to
sputter.  "Then what.. what happened.  How did I get here..."

	Scully sighed, hugging Amanda's chart closer to her chest.  "You 
were found unconscious... delirious.  You had a severe chemical 
imbalance in your bloodstream.  Apparently a gene that was being
expressed was acting as a toxin."

	Amanda closed her eyes and leaned her head further into the 
standard hospital pillow.  "So, where am I now?"

	"You're in George Washington University."

	Scully watched Amanda's eyes snap open in surprise.  "Yes, it's 
a long way from Wyoming, I know.  But, there are some... legal and
medical matters we need to clear up.  GWU is one of the best hospitals
in the country, and there's an investigation being mounted regarding how
well your facility followed FDA protocol."

	A grimace passed over Amanda's face, and the patient ran a hand
over her eyes.  "Can you please call a man named Troy Archer?."

	Amanda watched Red take a step back.  "I'm sorry, Amanda, but we
couldn't find Troy when... some federal agents searched through the 
facility."

	Amanda bit her lip to keep from crying.  

	"Is there any other family you would like us to call?"  Scully
felt her shoulder lean forward in hope... anticipation.  "Anyone
at all?"

	The patient's head shook.  "No... I have no family.  Troy was
the only family I had."

	The woman nodded, absently replaying all the times she had woken
up with his arms securely around her.  She looked up to the federal agent
to meet her troubled expression, and smiled.  "He was the brother I never 
had."

***

	Mulder turned his head once again to look at the jeans and shirt
that were resting impatiently on the hospital dresser.  His lips
twisted, and his neck moved so that his eyes were facing the ceiling
once again.  

	The fingers of his right hand laid listelessly on the scar on
his left wrist -- a small ciricular puncture mark courtesy of the
IV and Pendrell's magic medicine.  

	He absently looked towards the window and sighed restlessly, 
knowing that he should have been changed by now.  Scully 
had been eager to tell him that according to all tests, he was cured.

	She had been less eager to talk about her visits with Samantha.

	There was a tentative knock on the door, and Mulder inwardly
cringed, hoping it wasn't the doctors with their multi-coloured sedatives, 
or even Scully with her Amanda's-been-through-a-difficult-time speech.

	His body relaxed into the bed when Byers' trench coat
nervously walked into the room. 

	"Byers."  Mulder nodded his greeting, his voice still recovering
from the abuse it had endured during the past week.

	Byers smiled as he approached the bed, settling into the nearest
chair.  "It's good to see you, Mulder."

	Mulder's eyes fell away from the Gunman's face, his reply 
mumbled non-commitedly.  "It's good to see you too."

	Byers was the first to break the uncomfortable silence that was
threatening to settle.  "Do you have any news on your sister?"

	Mulder shook his head.  "She... Scully says she doesn't remember
anything.  She won't let me see her because... whatever... Scully says it 
would be difficult for her."

	The bearded man nodded, taking in the folded clothes that were
lying beside him.  

	Mulder was in no hurry to get out of the hospital this time.

	"So how are Frohike and Langly?"

	Byers took a deep breath.  "They're... fine.  They were a little
shaken... but they'll be okay."

	"That's good."

	Byers nodded, watching the usually-intense federal agent stare 
outside the window, rubbing his wrist with the opposite thumb.

	"Mulder... "

	"Mulder."

	The breathless voice of Scully soon gave way to her footsteps.
Byers quickly noticed that Mulder turned to stare at the wall, his 
back towards Scully, his posture clearly saying, "leave me alone".

	Scully approached cautiously.  "Mulder?  How come you haven't
changed yet?  You've been discharged."

	The federal agent nodded, reluctantly turning to sit up, reaching 
for the clothes with a pained expression.
	
	Byers heard Scully's impatient sigh before she turned to him and
offered a weak smile.  Whether it was genuine, or out of courtesy, Byers
was unsure of.

	The air had suddenly become charged.  Tense.  It reeked of things
that had not yet been said as Mulder, Scully, and Byers stood in a 
triangle.  Three was a crowd, and Byers found himself subconsciously
shuffling towards the doorway.  

	He offered a weak wave, and then stopped, sobered.  He nodded
to Mulder and Scully when he addressed them.  "Mulder.  Scully.  I
want you to know... that everything that's happened... it won't be
printed.  No matter what.  None of it."  Byers' face grew pensive 
as he thought of his next words.  "We understand now.  And we respect
your wishes as federal agents.  As friends."

	Mulder nodded once again, and Scully smiled her thanks.  Byers 
glanced between the two then hastily reached for the door and left.	

	Mulder instantly sagged, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns
on his clothes.  "They won, Scully."

	Scully shook her head.  "What do you mean?"

	"I mean, the Englishman and the Cigarette Smoking man and Krycek
are dead, but they still won.  I don't have anything to show for the
past four years.  I'm healthy.  You're healthy... my family is still 
torn apart... we're at the same spot we were in four years ago."

	"Amanda could be suffering from amnesia... I mean she could always
maybe..."

	Mulder shook his head.  "I don't think so, Scully."

	"So you're just going to give up?"

	Mulder shrugged his shoulders, setting his clothes upon the 
mattress, obviously uninterested in changing out of the regulation
hospital gown.

	Scully clamped down on the urge to roll her eyes.  The silence
was broken by the door suddenly opening, by a breathless heavy set 
nurse bursting in.  "Dr. Scully, we're having a problem with your 
patient..."

	Scully instinctually looked to Mulder, who merely sagged and crossed
his arms protectively around his chest.  Scully nodded to her partner once 
before running out of the room, towards the screaming from the other side 
of the hall.

***

	The girl closes her eyes, fingers twitching from the foreign metal
invading flesh, from the effort being expended to remember the vestiges 
of a place that existed so long ago.  The graininess of the sand, the 
whine of the sea gulls, and the vibration of the waves around her.  There 
is a bright sun that envelops her, that glistens on the water.  There is 
penny candy which causes her teeth to stick.  There is a slight sunburn 
on her legs which is soothed by calamine lotion, by a poem only one person 
can recite perfectly.

	"Winken and Blinken are two little eyes, and Nod is a little head.  
And the wooden shoes that sailed the skies is the wee one's trundle bed.  
So shut your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sight that be.  And 
you shall see the beautiful things as you rock in the misty sea."

	But his face contorts, and his limbs begin to grow.  His skin
stretches taut and deathly grey, and then his eyes die, and widen 
hideously.  Her body is yanked upwards and shrieks of the gulls 
becomes worse, the roar of the waves is replaced by an incessant hum.  
She cannot even say good bye to her brother as she is engulfed by the 
white hot light of the sun.

	The pain sears through her legs.  It starts from the top of her
thighs and bolts to her knees, making her legs tremble with the 
effort to stand on them.  

	Her eyelids are heavy.  Grainy.  It hurts to close them, to move
sandpaper eyelids over senstive corneas.  But the light is so bright -- is
reflected off so many mirrors and panels that the colors of pain flash
before her -- a multitude of harsh greens and oranges.  

	Her teeth are being drilled.  Her mouth is forced open by long
leathery appendages that scratch her face.  The leather sticks carress
her body, her torso, her back, her neck -- only to be replaced by 
obstrusive metal that squeals and grinds and drills sickeningly into bone 
and sinew.

	The noise is unbearable.  A constant hum that makes her ear drums
vibrate, and a high pitched whine that sears into her auditory canal.  
Their eyes are loud in their intensity -- they tell her things, they
give her commands despite her body which is broken and torn.

	Masked men with masked intentions that make her cry.

	White red pain that shrouds the memory she desperately attempts
to grasp with trembling fingers.

	And the lurking demons of the eternal night around her, reeking 
of a fate much worse than death...

***

		"Regression hypnosis -- sci fi or credible 
	investigation technique?  An increasing number of 
	people are thanking the procedure in helping them 
	retireve buried memories.  

		Are these people merely seeking an outlet for 
	their repressed memories?  Or is hypnosis and the 
	metaphysical world finally getting credibiltity in 
	this scientific and technologically driven society?

		Caitlen Bowman will talk to a hypnotist, a 
	neurologist, and a patient -- in an attempt to 
	determine the fact from the science fiction."

***

	The sheets flew off when Amanda woke up with a gasp, with sweat
rolling down her face and cooling on her heaving chest.  She stared 
at her hands, allowed herself to calm down while she willed the trembling
to stop.  

	Agent Scully was there with a pastel-painted nurse, and Amanda
wondered how often the federal agent had seen nightmares to make her 
look so unperturbed.  Meanwhile, the nurse mumbled, shoved the unopen
syringe into her pocket, and shuffled nervously back towards the 
hallway.  

	Red looked from the door back to the patient and smiled an 
I-understand smile.  "Bad dream?"

	Amanda hicupped, then reluctantly nodded.  

	Scully studied the female in front of her, and drew a steadying
breath.  "I've heard that you've had these nightmares before."

	Amanda studied the sheets before mumbling an affirmation.

	Scully licked her lips, preparing for the next question.  "I've also
heard that you were given constant physicals during your tenure in 
Wyoming.  Do you know..."

	"Who is that man?"

	Scully turned around quickly to see Mulder's startled expression 
disappear from the viewing window.  The federal agent narrowed her 
eyes.  "Why?"

	Amanda shook her head.  "I don't know... He looks familiar."

	The patient noticed the change of expression on the federal
agent's face, but it was quickly squelched.  "Maybe it would help
if you talked about your dreams."

	The answer was marred by a shuddering breath, but the response
was still a resounding, "No".  
	
	Amanda watched the female agent run a tongue through the inside 
of her mouth, and the patient turned once again towards the window -- 
looking for... him.  She squinted, clenched her fingers tighter in 
an attempt to remember.

	The clicking of heels against tiled floor drew her head up, and
the happy faces of two new anchors could be seen bantering.  The 
red haired woman shrugged.  

	"I thought maybe the TV would help you sleep.  My partner has 
bad nightmares... and according to him, it helps."

	Scully watched Amanda's eyes divert -- pay close attention to 
something so fascinating that it caused her hicupping to cease.  

	She closed her eyes as soon as regression hypnosis was mentioned, 
praying that Amanda wouldn't ask, even though the geneticist
was studiously watching the story, had turned towards her with a new
gleam in previously dull eyes.  

	"Agent Scully."  Her voice came out haltingly.  "Do you know where I 
could get in touch with someone like that?"

	Scully resisted the urge to groan, and instead, exhaled.  "Regression
hypnosis... Amanda, is very risky.  It can be very misleading.  What you 
think is the truth... may not be."

	The patient shook her head, not caring.  "Do you know where I could
get in touch with someone like that."

	Scully sighed, finally relented.  "I know just the man."

***

West 46th Avenue
New York, New York

	The decision to kill Skinner had come rather easily... it was by 
which method that was currently causing unrest.

	Elaborate devices had been concocted -- bombs in the office, in
the telephone.  Perhaps poison in the food, perhaps an induced heart
attack.  Maybe a tragic suicide, or perhaps death by a fiery car 
accident.

	In the end, all means were considered not worth the effort.  A
low life, a dingy informant that had long since outlived its purpose.

	With a silencer in hand, a solitary hit man was dispatched.

***

Dr. Werber's Office
Washington, DC

	Amanda woke up.  Refreshed.  Like the feeling you got when you just
stepped out of the shower.  She looked towards Agent Scully whose
expression was pained, whose lips were turning the same colour as her
paling skin with the force she was pressing them with.

	"Agent Scully, where's Agent Mulder?"

	Scully continued staring towards the couch, before shaking her
head upon realizing the question had been directed at her.  "Um... he
had to go to washroom."  Scully smiled shakily, remembering how Mulder
had to excuse himself, had run towards the washroom with a hand over his
mouth.

	Amanda looked towards Werber who was gazing back at her with 
concern.  "I think that we may need to some X-rays for impla..."

	Agent Scully shook her head quickly, motioning for the doctor 
to just shut the hell up.  The tape recorder had been turned off, but 
there were two tapes beside it.  Amanda's eyes opened incredulously.  
"I've been under for more than two hours?"

	Scully nodded meekly.

	Amanda exchanged glances between the doctor, between Agent Scully.  
Her head turned at the arrival of Mulder, and she did not fail to 
miss the pink that tinged his eyes and nose.

	The dread grew in Amanda's stomach as she stared at the tape 
recorder in front of her.  At the two tapes which were lying innocently
beside it.  At the look of apprehension and guilt that was playing on  
Agent Scully's partner's face.
	
	When she finally spoke, she instantly regretted it.  Perhaps it
was best not to know.

	"What did I say?"

***

	"...And what is your name?"

	"Samantha Ann Mulder."

	"And how old are you Samantha?"

	"I'm eight... my birthday was a month ago."

	"Wow... can you tell me where you live, Samantha?"

	"I live in 5327 Westshire Street, Chilmark, Massachusettes."

	"Do you have a family?"

	"I have a brother and a mommy and a daddy."

	"Okay, Samantha, I want you to imagine yourself as a bird.  A 
small, carefree bird that can fly fast and high in the sky.  And 
whenever things get too scary, you can fly away to the safe place that
you found when I started talking.  Okay?"

	"Okay."

	"I want you to go back to your house... about one month after
your birthday.  You're playing your favorite game with you 
brother, and Fox's favorite show is on TV.  I want you to tell me
what happened after that."

	"The sun... it was really bright... started to shine so... white.
And the sea gulls were so loud... I couldn't hear Fox talking.  I...
he started to go away... he got so small.  And... it hurt.  Their 
arms hurt, their arms shined the light into my eyes and would
turn hard in my fingers..."

	"It's okay Samantha... go to your safe place if it becomes to..."	
	
	"Samantha's gone."

	"...What do you mean?"

	"Samantha's got a new name.  And a new family.  And I'm gone...
I'm gone and Amanda Derlum is coming..."

***

Dr. Werber's Office
Washington, DC

	Amanda stared at the recorder grimly, ignoring the high 
pitched squeal of the end of the tape hitting the playing heads, 
preferring rather, to set a lazy hand over her eyes.  She could hear 
Agent Scully and the doctor talking in subdued tones in the room 
next door.  

	She had yet to hear Agent Mulder's voice.

	She played the name on her tongue.  "Samantha... Samantha...
Mulder... Mulder."  She tried to imagine Troy calling her Samantha, she
tried to imagine her parents in Colorado calling her Samantha, she tried
to imagine Agent Mulder, the mystery man at the window that one day in 
the hospital, calling her Samantha.

	She could not.

	The door opened, and Mulder stepped in, awkward.

	"Would you like me to leave?"

	Amanda hesitated then shook her head no.

	"Are you okay?"

	There was another shake of the head.

	Mulder sat gingerly beside her, silent, before pulling a
picture out of his wallet.  "I don't know if this helps, but you do 
look like my sister."

	Amanda's nose flared, and she didn't dare look.  Could not bear to
look, because it would mean her whole life had been a lie.  Her head 
shook minutely as if trying to deny what was fast becoming the inevitable.

	Mulder took in a breath, placing the picture carefully back into the
pocket of his wallet.  His jaw clenched, and he could feel the stifling 
awkardness.  Perhaps he should have taken up Scully's offer to come with 
him.

	"Do you have anywhere to stay in DC?"

	Amanda shook her head.

	"Agent Scully offered a bed at her apartment until your ready
to leave.  That offer stands at my apartment as well, but I don't know
if you'd like that."

	Amanda swallowed.  "I think... I'd like to see if this could work.
Maybe... maybe being around you could give me answers... one way
or another."

	Mulder hid his look of surprise and nodded, hopeful.  "Okay... 
sure."

	Mulder started to get up when Amanda interjected sharply.  "Just 
don't... I don't want to get anybody's hopes up."

	Mulder looked towards the tape player and nodded his agreements.

	Scully was watching from the doorway, and Mulder reached out
to put his hand on Derlum's back, but stopped last minute.  Instead, 
his fidgety hands were shoved hastily into his jacket pockets where
they broke into a nervous sweat.

	Scully trailed behind the two figures during the walk to Mulder's 
car -- saw how miserable both were as they awkwardly maneuvered the 
doors and seatbelts.

	No words were passed during the trip home.

***

West 46th Avenue
New York, New York

	He used to like picking the legs off of the beetles that crawled
across his family's kitchen floor when he was little.  

	He liked to yank the braids of the girl sitting in front of him
in sixth grade.  The more she cried, the more he always wanted to do it 
again.

	When he was in high school, his father came home from Vietnam and
told stories of raping and plundering in the Saigon forest.  The more
it hurt, the more they would hurt back -- eye for an eye, torture
to torture.

	So when confronted with the proposition of terminating two 
federal agents, the man from the mafia was not content to simply send
a hit man and bullets.

	No... no... he would have some fun before the kill.

***

Scully's Apartment
Annapolis, Maryland

	Scully expelled a litany of swear words as she jiggled the key
into her lock, still unable to get the wooden panel to open.  With a 
sharp sigh, she lowered her briefcase and forced her fingers to take their
time, and deliberately started to turn the key -- relieved when her
living room finally beckoned her.

	Her answering machine flashed annoyingly -- eleven messages.
Scully shook her head, wondering how many of them were *not* from
Mulder.

	She punched the play button, settling in the couch, feeling the
expelled air from her coat fly up into her face.  

	"Um... Hi, Agent Scully.  This is Pendrell... you know, from the
crime lab.  Anyways, I've finished the DNA analysis of the two samples
you've given me..."

	Scully immediately straightened, holding her breath, listening
to the air molecules collide as Pendrell droned on about experimental
procedure and method.

	"... and your initial conclusions were correct, Agent Scully."

	Scully absently mumbled her thanks and suddenly, she could no 
longer hear the remaining messages, her mind passing through the dozens 
of text books on nucleotides and alpha helices, histones and DNA-DNA 
hybridization.

	The federal agent shook her head, wondering how four nitogen 
base compounds could form a long chain of a heriditary mass called DNA.
Wanted to marvel at how science had progressed, and allowed the 
lab techs like Pendrell to analyse blood, and these four nitrogen 
compounds to determine all sort of conclusions.  

	Her science proved one thing, irrefutably.  And when Pendrell
had confirmed her suspicions, Scully did not want to wonder, or 
marvel.

	She wanted to cry, and wail, and scream that it was not
supposed to be like this.

	But science was her sacrament, even if it meant affirming that
Amanda Ann Derlum and Fox William Mulder, were indeed, brother and
sister.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

	It was the favorite place of Norman Rockwell-esque authors.  The
famed place of licking cake batter from the bowl, of cookies baking in
the oven.  Of children hiding behind the aprons of their mother while
their older sibling tried to tickle them.

	Mulder couldn't help but smile bitterly at the irony as he picked 
through the Chinese food with his wooden chopsticks, watching Amanda 
doing likewise.  He glanced at the folders he had left on the 
kitchen counter and cleared his throat.

	"Dr. Werber thinks that we should get some X-rays done."

	Amanda raised her head, her eyes clearly asking why the hell
she would he want to do that.

	"He thinks that if your story is true, then you probably have some 
residual implants in you."

	The chopsticks dropped onto the table -- one rolled onto the
floor, ignored by both parties.

	"No."

	"Why not?"

	"Because..."  Amanda started to gesticualte wildly.  "Because that
tape was a confabulation.  My mind must have made it up."

	Mulder swallowed, setting his chopsticks down with a patience he
did not currently possess.  The whole thing was a disaster -- from the
time she had come in to see his videos on the floor, to last night 
when both tried, overly politely, to get control of the remote control.  
Mulder sagged in his chair, wondering if Amanda had only come because
he had guilted her into trying.  It was painfully clear that she refused 
to believe the validity of what she had said to Werber.  

	He cautiously walked up to the counter and reached for the
solitary file.  He handed it to Amanda while keeping his eyes diverted.  
"We had to take X-Rays when you were admitted to the hospital after
Wyoming.  You can..."

	Mulder trailed off, as he saw the woman open the folder then 
abruptly close it.  "That's not me.  Those have been doctored."

	Mulder shook his head.  "I guaran..."

	"It's a mistake.  That is not me."

	Mulder stepped closer towards Amanda, trying to keep the whine
out of his voice.  "Why can't you believe this?"

	Amanda looked at the federal agent incredulously.  "Why should
I?  I can't even remember it."

	Mulder opened his mouth for a retort, but stepped back, taking a 
breath.  "You don't even want to know what that is in your legs?  In
your fingers?"

	Amanda grimaced.  "I broke my legs before when I was a kid... 
they're just pins."

	"What about your skull."

	Amanda held her head up resolutely.  "Abnormal tissue growth."

	"That's rod shaped?  Oh, come on..."

	Amanda took the file off the table and stomped towards the garbage
can, unceremoniously stuffing the offending film into the trash.  "That. 
Is not.  Me."

	Mulder looked towards the garbage can and sneered.  "Then why are 
you here?  To appease me?  'Cause you feel sorry for me?"

	Amanda shook her head, tears starting to form.  "Feel sorry for
*you*?  Why?  Why would I feel sorry for *you*?"  The female's hands
started to wring together; something was niggling in the back of her
head, saying that fighting with this man was familiar -- had happened
many times before.  Her lips twisted as the memory failed to materialize,
as the man in front of her remained a stranger no matter how hard 
both were trying.  "I want to see if I... I want to work this out."

	Mulder snorted, the biting tone of a twelve year old overshadowing
any mature response that may have been forthcoming.  "Well, we've surely 
made excellent progress haven't we, doctor?"

	Amanda's nostils flared and she raised her hand to slap him, 
watching him almost lean into it, anticipate it.  The two stared at each 
other, breathing hard at the fleeting familiarity, before Amanda turned 
on her heels -- her right hand still tense, still waiting for the 
physical contact with a sibling's cheek.  

	Mulder sagged back into his chair upon hearing his bedroom door 
slam.  He looked back defeatedly to the boxes of Chinese on the table,
unable to bring himself to comfort the woman sobbing in the next room.

***

Scully's Apartment
Annapolis, Maryland

	Scully held the phone in her hands, silently reciting what she
would say to Mulder.  When it rang -- shrill, loud, seemingly echoing 
through the expanse she called an apartment -- she almost dropped the
offending object in shock.

	"Scully."

	There was nervous breathing on the phone, and Scully held the
phone closer to her ear.

	"Hello, is anyone there?"

	Her voice was timid, nervous.  It shook and trembled, and Scully 
found she had to plug her other ear just to hear the woman speak.

	"Uh... my name is Carolyn Dumain, and I... I was a part of 
MUFON.  Um... I was there when you came to Allentown and, I..."  The 
proceeding pause made Scully wonder if the woman had hung up.  "...uh...
I have cancer."

	Scully's innards groaned, her nose instantly started to throb
with the nose bleeds it would no longer have.  Scully nodded into
the phone.  "What can I do for you?"

	"There's no one in MUFON now... and no one believes me... and 
the doctor I'm seeing tomorrow is from the DC area, and I was wondering,
if at all possible..."

	Scully smiled tightly into the phone.  "I'll come with you.  Now,
what's the doctor's name?"

	The phone slipped as the doctor's name was uttered and Scully 
was forced to brace herself on the couch when her legs threatened to
give.  When the onslaught of Duane Barry induced images left, Scully could
do nothing but breathe the name through her lips in confirmation.
	
	"Dr. Scanlon."

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

	The snow has started to fall.

	It catches on his eyelashes, temporarily blinding him.  The 
passage of snowflake over snowflake causes a small rustle over rustle,
and everything is deathly silent. 

	There is a woman in the distance.  An angel.  She is chanting, 
beckoning him to come to her, but he trips and falls.  His hands start
to slide on the snow, and he wipes his palms across his chest -- gasping 
in horror as it leaves streaks of read over his jacket.  

	There is body underneath him.  And he turns it over, staring at
the blank eyes of a young boy with a bullet wound through the eye.  He 
truns it back over, trying to forget about it, trying to continue with 
his quest towards the angel who is just over there.

	Suddenly the ground is littered with bodies.  With obstacles.  And
the man tries to side step them, but some are groaning.  Are wailing like
the cries of the dying.  And the angel is suddenly laughing because the
man can move no further.  Cannot move because it is his hands that are
holding the gun.  And it is his hands that hold the weapon of these 
people's demise.  

	There is someone else in the background.  She is almost oblitereated 
by the snow.  Her face turns porcelain, her eyes turn into ice.  The only 
indication that she is there is her red hair.  She's crying, shaking
her head, and she suddenly turns around and walks alway.

	He tries to follow, but his feet are planted.  They cannot move,
and the people have started to stir.  Have started to rustle like the 
snow around them.  They get up, and they rise.  The headless, the mindless, 
the limbless -- all after one man, wanting nothing more than to engulf him
alive...

	Mulder woke up to stare into Amanda's worried eyes.  He 
shuddered and closed his eyes, not willing to allow himself to speak.

	He felt a hesitant hand across his shoulder, and a whisper of
words.  "Bad dream?"

	He nodded and took another breath.

	She was in a night shirt and she smiled, and Mulder almost cried 
at the familiarity of it all.  Amanda smiled once again, and extended
a hand to the federal agent, helping him sit up.

	"Come on... I have some food made."

	Mulder allowed himself to stare in wonder at how the sunlight 
still played upon the long brown hair of the woman currently heading
towards the kitchen.  

	With a slight twist of the lips, Mulder could do nothing but 
follow.

***

Smitty's Restaurant
Washington, DC

	Scully forced her hands to stay still as the woman in front of
her dabbed at her nose.  She forced herself to ignore the pale skin that
was stretched over portruding cheek bones.  She forced herself to
surpress the shudders that threatened to overcome her everytime the
woman mentioned Dr. Scanlon and the wonderful possibilities that 
chemotherapy and radiation would give her.

	She forced herself to ignore the woman who was a painful reminder
of what little she was three months ago.

	Carolyn Dumain was entering the final stages of a losing battle
with a pharyngeal mass that was growing in her nose.  

	The woman spoke calmly, the only inflections in her voice coming 
whenever she mentioned the new experimental treatment she would be
receiving.

	From the wonderful saint-of-a-man Dr. Scanlon.

	Scully nodded, all the while toying with the snap on her holster.
She absently wondered if the oncologist would become another Luis
Cardinal.

	"... you?"

	Scully turned to meet the questioning gaze of the slight woman.
"Pardon me?"

	Carolyn smiled.  "What about you?"  Her smile faltered, and
her eyes saddened.  "Everyone else that was at the house when you came,
they're..."  Carolyn shook her head, unable to say it.

	Scully nodded.  After all, she had painfully witnessed Penny 
Northern's last shuddering breath.  Scully sipped the water in front of her 
and fingered the mark her lipstick had imprinted on the glass.  "I'm fine."

	Carolyn smiled once again and nodded.  "Then there's hope for
me too," she stated resolutely.

	Scully hid her mouth behind a napkin, teleporting back to a time,
four years ago when she was that naive.  "So when do we see Dr. Scanlon
tomorrow?"

	"Twelve o'clock."

	Scully nodded, silently snapping her holster back into place.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

	Breakfast was one meal Mulder didn't much care for, and looking
at the limp scrambled eggs and cold toast in front of him was further
evidence why breakfast was not the most important meal of the day.  

	He pushed the yellow globular masses around his plate, sneaking
glances at the woman in front of him.
	
	"If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

	"No.. no.  They're... good."

	The commment earned him a snort, and Mulder sighed resignedly,
inwardly berating himself for resting his hopes on the small show of
teeth Amanda had flashed to him earlier.  

	"You have an appointment with Dr. Werber today?"

	Amanda lowered his head and dipped a crust of toast into her eggs
absently.  "Yeah... I guess."

	Mulder bit back his sigh of exasperation.  "Do you want to go?"

	Amanda shrugged.  "Sure... whatever."

	Mulder pushed his plate away roughly, caushing his fork to fall off
the plate, to scatter yellow masses over the table.  "Do you believe
in any of this?"

	Amanda was silent; she stared at lines which criss crossed her palms 
in her lap.

	"Are you doing this for my sake or yours?"

	The woman rolled her eyes and roughly got up from her seat.  "What 
do you mean for *your* sake?  I'm here to find out what happened to *me*."

	There was a sharp shrill, and both heads turned towards Mulder's 
trench coat pocket and the cell phone that it hid.  Mulder willed
the phone shut up, just this once, then turned back towards Amanda.  
"Then why won't you acknowledge the implants?"

	"They're not..." She started vehemently, but then trailed, unable 
to finish.

	The phone stared ringing again and Mulder stared at it with 
exasperation.  "Why are you doing this?"

	Amanda shook her head.  

	Mulder pointed towards his face.  "Do I look familiar?  You can
at least tell me this much."

	Amanda shook her head once again, tears starting to threaten.

	Mulder's face softened.  "You have an indentation on you left
collar bone."  His head shook, once again reliving the horrific scream.
"I watched you fall.  I watched you break that collar bone."

	Amanda refused to answer.

	Mulder shook his head, his arm grasping onto Amanda's desperately 
as desperate measures were taken.  "The beach.  You have to remember
the beach.  Maine.  Sand castles."  Mulder paused.  "Winken, Blinken
and Nod."

	A tear tracked down Amanda's cheek and she closed her eyes,
whispering.  "Not me.  I don't... I can't.... I don't remember."

	Mulder's hand hastily dislodged itself from Amanda's arm and
slammed on the kitchen table, causing the apartment to shake.  "How 
can you refute all the evidence that's in front of you?  Your
blood was infected by genes that would have allowed alien/human hubrids
to take over the Earth.  I had to... I had to... I destroyed them..."
Mulder roughly rubbed at his eyes.  He had destroyed them.  For him.  
For her.  For them.

	And it was all falling apart.

	"I'm not doing this for you, Agent Mulder.  I don't know you.  I 
don't know if I *want* to know you.  I'm doing this for me.  Myself.  
Nothing else matters to me."

	Mulder stepped back as if slapped in the face.  The cell phone 
cried once again, drawing both figures' attention to Mulder's trench
coat.  "God, shut the fuck up, Scully!"  Mulder stomped to his coat and 
turned off the phone roughly.  "So what are you saying we do?"

	Amanda shook her head.  "I don't know.  Only that it's my life."

	Mulder reached to the kitchen counter to grab the X-rays he rescued
from the garbage.  "And what do plan to do with these?"  He waved the film 
threateningly in front of the female's face.

	Amanda reached out and grabbed them.  "Hey!!"  She pulled
them away, with Mulder hissing as an edge sliced through his hand.  
"Get out of my life!"  Amanda sneered.  "God, you're such
an asshole."  Amanda shook her head, her voice falling.  "Such a 
fucking butt munch."

	Mulder turned, horrified.  "What did you say?"

	Amanda crumpled the X-rays in her hands, her voice distracted.  
"What... a fucking butt munch?"

	Mulder nodded, eyes wide.  "That's what Samantha used to call me.
That's..."  The federal agent found he couldn't talk anymore.

	Amanda ignored the pasty complexion of the man in front of her.
Ignored how his voice had trailed and been reduced to a whisper.  Ignored
the shaking hands that were nervously clenching and unclenching.  
Because whatever the price, she had to hold onto her life.  *She* was in 
charge.  And if she was Sa... or if the man in front of her was her brot... 
than everything would all fall apart.  

	Amanda looked to the floor, clamping on the urge to run into the 
arms of the man in front of her and say, "I'm afraid, Fox.  I'm afraid".  
She would not raise her hand and touch her collar bone, even though it 
throbbed with the humidity of the DC air.  

	She would not open her mouth, for fear that she would begin to 
recite Winken, Blinken, and Nod by memory.

	Because in order to save herself, she would need to deny
herself.

	"I can't... Fo... Agent Mulder.  I can't... I'm sorry.  The
appointment I have with the doctor will be my last."

	Mulder nodded numbly.  He didn't even hear the door quietly
close to identify that he was, once again, alone.

***

Skinner's Apartment
Washington, DC

	The man analyzed each piece of furniture carefully.  A wedding
picture.  A balding man with his arm around the shoulders of a dark haired
woman.  Both smiling with the promise of a life together -- in sickness
and in health, in divorce and prenuptial agreements.  A liquor cabinet.  
Scotch -- the good kind.  About half empty.  A little shelf of awards 
and commendations.  Mostly from the FBI.  Some of them pushed way in the
back -- hidden by the framed FBI certificate.  The purple heart in all 
it's blue velvet glory was tucked away in the far corner with a war's 
worth of dust.  Big TV.  Microwave dinners in the freezer.

	The man in black opened a closet and peered into it.  He moved
into the kitchen and peered behind the island.  He moved into the bedroom 
and looked under the bed, went into the bathroom and examined the
shower and shower curtain.  

	Back in the bedroom, the man peered back into the closet,
finally satisfied.  He settled on his haunches and looked at his watch.

	Eleven o'clock. 

	Six more hours at the most.  The man checked his pistol, then
checked the clip.  Turned the safety off, and then back on.

	All there was left to do was wait.

***

Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, DC

	Mulder stormed into the office, ignoring the female sitting to the
side, and headed straight for his desk.  He threw himself into the chair,
and eased the headache that was growing by closing his eyes and massaging
his temples.  He winced when Scully spoke -- her voice seemed like it was
coming from miles away.

	"Where have you been, Mulder?"

	Mulder continued massaging.  "Home."

	Scully ran a finger over the piece of paper lying on her desk.  
"Things with Sam going okay?"

	Mulder shook his head.  "Amanda... call her Amanda.  And no.... 
things aren't going okay."

	Scully played with the pen on her desk.  She took a deep breath and
braced herself for the fall out.  "Mulder, maybe it would be for the best 
if...."

	Mulder shook his head determinedly.  "No!"  The reply came out livid,
almost desperate.  "No... she...."  Mulder gesticulated wildly with his
hands.  "She remembers some things, Scully... we're almost there."

	Scully leaned forward in her chair, hearing it squeak its protests.
"Mulder, we have a case that we need to investigate today."

	"Can't it wait?"

	"No."

	Mulder moved his one hand from his temple to the back of his neck,
attempting to remove the knot that had formed there.  "What's it about?"

	"Abductions... MUFON..."

	Mulder started to shake his head.  "I don't know, I think I should
go with Amanda to Werber.  We're almost there.  I can feel it."

	Scully's eyes flashed; her jaw set.  "I think this case could be 
a big one Mulder.  The woman has cancer, like..."  Scully trailed off.

	Her partner shifted uncomfortably before speaking once again.  
"I understand how this case could be important, but Amanda's going to 
Werber, Scully.  Don't you see what that could mean?  Do you know how 
many things we could learn?  The truth is right there..."

	"The truth could be here."

	Mulder looked up, confused.  "Where are you going with this, Scully?"

	Scully threw a report on his desk.  "I tried calling you this morning,
but Pendrell has the results of the genetic analysis.  You and Derlum
are brother and sister."

	Mulder glanced away, staring at the 'I Want To Believe' poster.  He
did not trust himself to comment.  

	"You've found your elusive truth, Mulder... now what?  What's
going to happen to the X-Files?  What about *my* truth.  What about
*my* case."  Scully shook her head, her cheeks growing flushed.  
"Have you been redeemed, Mulder?  If Amanda remembers that
she had been, indeed, a Samantha Mulder in a past life, will you 
get your absolution?  I won't.  Not until I find the man responsible for
me.  Not until I find my truth."

	Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully beat him.

	"I know where the Consortium congregates, Mulder.  We can expose
them.  We can get them back for what did they did to us... what they did
to all those innocent people who were buried in shallow graves."

	Mulder remained non-responsive.

	Scully slammed her hand on the desk, causing Mulder to jump.  "Damn
it, Mulder.  Don't you want to see them brought to justice?  Don't you
remember what they did to you?"

	Mulder's reply was terse, threateningly low.  "I'm acutely aware of 
what they did to me, Scully."

	Scully drew back a step, feeling slightly guilty in over stepping
her boundaries.  "And..."

	The male agent shook his head.  "I told you, Scully, during our 
first case.  That nothing else mattered more to me than finding my sister."
He paused, looking at Scully accusingly.  "I'm not in the business of 
revenge."

	Scully walked over and dropped the newly made file of Carolyn
Dumain onto the table.  "For you to come in here, and under the
guise of finding the truth, say you cannot investigate a crime -- that 
you cannot help this poor woman -- is selfish."

	Mulder opened his mouth, unable to speak.

	"You are a selfish, selfish man, Agent Mulder."

	With the final comment, Scully briskly walked out of the office, 
roughly snapping her coat off from the rack.  

	Mulder was left with nothing to look at but the sad smile of 
Carolyn Dumain.  
  
***

Skinner's Apartment
Washington, DC

	Skinner unlocked the door to his apartment angrily, cursing 
the file that had seemingly disappeared from his briefcase.  The
sun filtered through the blinds, dancing with the air borne dust, and  
Skinner did a three sixty in the empty room in an attempt to remember 
where he had had the report last.

	He bounded up the stairs to his computer when he remembered the
impromptu snooze he had taken while trying to study the report.

	The phone was ringing, and Skinner's left hand grabbed the 
receiver, while the other triumphantly grabbed the report.

	"Skinner."

	"Sir, this is Agent Scully.  I was wondering if I could request
a safe house for a witness I have in a case.  We're going to the
Bethesda medical clinic, then I would like her in protective custody."

	Skinner nodded, eyes squinting slightly.  "I'll have someone
waiting at outside the clinic for you.  Have you talked to Agent
Mulder recently?"

	Scully chastised herself for being a softie when her heart 
momentarily trembled.  She was only partly successful when she 
tried to convince herself that Mulder was a jerk and not deserving 
of her concern anymore.  "I talked to him this morning.  Why?"

	"Has he told you he's taken an indefinite leave of absence?"  The
silence on the other end of the line indicated that Mulder had not 
told his partner his latest plans.  "He said that by staying on 
active duty was inapporopriate, given all his attention would be
on the recovery of Derlum.  He said he didn't want to jeopardize
any future investigations, and that you should have free reign over
the section now."

	Scully was speechless.  "Wh-what?"

	"He specifically said that both of you had reached a point where
your expectations differed.  That your plans for the section were 
conflicting."
  
	Scully grimaced, trying to maneuver through the DC traffic with
Carolyn sitting beside her.  "Fine."

	Skinner nodded, proceeding to say his good byes to the female 
agent with reluctance.  He took a deep breath, wondering what had 
happened in the past three days that would strain Mulder and Scully's 
relationship so severely.  Scully's reaction had been terse, almost 
indifferent, while Mulder's phone call had been shaky, almost emotional.  
The AD shook his head once again before making sure the report was 
still within his hands.    

	He looked at himself in the dresser mirror and absently fixed his
tie, straightened his collar.  His jaw clenched -- he had always been the 
spitting image of his father, had even adopted most of his mannerisms.  
At the thought, Skinner reflexively turned away from his mirrored twin.

	Just as a shot embedded itself, shattering the mirror.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

Dear Agent Mulder,

	If you're reading this, then you already know that I am gone.  To 
where, I am not sure.  But this week has been trying for you, as it has 
been for me.  Inevitably, one of us had to break, and it turned out that 
that someone would be me.  

	I tried.  I really did.  The dreams are there, but not.  I know
that I have met you previously.  You seem familiar.  But the dreams are
soon forgotten, and  I cannot discern whether the feelings I feel are 
friendly, brotherly..

	I don't know you.  You don't know me.

	It is useless to continue this charade.

	You apologized on the phone the other day.  Said something along the 
lines that you were sorry that you were being a bad host... brother...
friend.  Whatever -- their meanings are now lost on me.  

	Agent Mulder.

	Fox.

	I have nothing to forgive you for.

	And if it gives you comfort, I feel that deep in my heart, in the
life that you insist I once had, that Sam has always, *always* loved
you.   

								Amanda

	Amanda wiped the tears as she folded the paper once and set
it upon the coffee table.  Eleven o'clock... shit, Agent Mulder
would be coming soon to take her to Werber.

	She would have tried... she had wanted to so bad.  But looking
through the box that was in Mulder's closet had dissolved all her resolve,
had made her feel guilty and ashamed in trying to fill an eight year
old sister's role.  

	It was a small innocent shoe box that held painful memories -- 
painful because they were all foreign to her.  It was a small
aggregate of drawings and photos -- of freezes in time that were so 
*normal* that it hurt.  A picture of her arm in a sling.  A picture of 
a boy and girl playing a board game.  A picture with a girl and a woman 
sun bathing.  

	She was not that girl.  Nor could she ever be that girl.  And
sometimes... sometimes it would be easier to just run away.

	Amanda fought that the dread that was in her stomach, fought
the urge to hide when she realized that she had grabbed her coat too 
late.  The noise at the door signalled Mulder's key turning in the key 
lock and the much unwanted early arrival of the federal agent.

	Mulder took in the bags and Amanda's coat that was hanging limply
off one shoulder.  "What's going on?"

	He noticed the note addressed to him on the coffee table and started
to shake his head vehemently.  "You can't go.  We're almost there."

	Amanda was about to protest when there was a sharp knock on the 
door.  Mulder opened the door warily, eyebrows furrowing in suspicion 
when the UPS worker smiled his hellos.  

	The brown uniform offered him a package, and Mulder signed the 
clipboard, eyeing the man's ID tag carefully.  He fastened the dead bolt 
before turning around, momentarily pausing when he couldn't remember what 
he had been saying before.  "I'm just saying, Amanda," Mulder continued 
talking as he gingerly shook the package, carefully opening it with 
deliberate fingers.  "... that Werber is one..."  His voice trailed off 
when the slim metal box slid into his hands.

	Amanda craned her head to try and get a better look.  "What is
it?"

	Mulder carefully inspected the metal rectangular prism.  "I have 
absolutely no idea."  The clasp was at the side, and Mulder unlatched it -- 
the box revealing itself to be a clock face.

	Mulder studied it, almost dropping the clock when it started ticking.
The digital face started counting backwards from ten and Amanda and Mulder
stared at the decreasing numbers numbly.

	Unable to react until the numbers hit zero.

***

Skinner's Apartment
Washington, DC

	Skinner threw himself behind the bed, reaching for his holster, 
swearing when he remembered this was the day of all days when he thought
he wouldn't need it.

	There was an oppressing silence, there was not even the sound of 
searching foot steps.  Skinner looked over the bed spread, seeing the 
back of a man in black.  He settled back down, bracing himself, counting
to three.

	He lunged, his hands groping for the rifle, the grunts of the 
disguised man audible and blessedly real.  The rifle was not coming
free, and Skinner felt a kick to the shin that doubled him over and 
caused a suprised grunt to come from his mouth.  A head butt came next, 
just as Skinner jabbed the butt end of the rifle into the intruder's nose.  

	Both men swayed for balance, still connected by the precarious 
hold they both had on the either end of the rifle.  

	Skinner let go of the rifle with his left hand, yanking the piece
of metal towards him, and felt his knuckles crack as they connected 
with the jaw of the man in black.  The man's grip on the gun went loose
and Skinner pointed the rifle towards the fallen man's head.

	"Who are you?"

	The man was silent.  And Skinner pulled the bloody mask away to
reveal yet another unrecognizable face -- yet another feral shadow that 
would disappear into the woodwork.  

	Skinner raised the rifle ready to shoot when the unburdened phone
call with Scully came to mind.  Skinner's eyes widened in comprehension,
and he reached for the phone.  He had to contact Scully.  And Mulder.

	Before it was too late.

***

Bethesda Medical Clinic
Washington, DC

	Scully watched Carolyn Dumain's fingers flutter nervously as they
entered the medical clinic.  Gone was the concise, calm woman who had 
talked to her over coffee yesterday.  Present was an increasingly nervous
woman whose head kept glancing from the federal agent to the clinic, 
whose mouth gaped open, then closed with unsaid words, whose hands
would attempt to smooth out the collar, the cloth of her unblemished
jacket.

	Scully undid her holster while Carolyn had her back turned.  She
took a deep breath, wondering what it would feel like to handcuff
an unsuspecting Scanlon.  Wondering if the good doctor would squeal
if she pointed her pistol in his back hard enough.  She wanted him in
jail.  She wanted him dead.  She wanted him lynched and stoned for 
what he had done to two dozen women.  She ground her teeth together, and 
her steps moved through the carpeted hallway faster. 

	"Um... do you have to go to the bathroom?"

	Scully's head shook in confusion, her reverie broken.  "What?"

	Her fingers fluttered to her jacket once again, and Carolyn shook 
her head.  "Nothing... I... nothing.  Let's go in."

	The two women sat in the waiting room; Julia Roberts' face smiled
back at them from the magazine beside them.  Scully found she couldn't 
sit still -- the index finger of her right hand were clenching and 
unclenching, her pistol was digging into her hip, making its presence 
known.  A smiling nurse came in and cheerfully called Amanda's name, 
causing the blonde haired woman to jump.

	"You have to come with me."

	Scully nodded her head.  "I was planning to come anyways."

	Carolyn looked immensely relieved, and started to babble.  "Good.  
Because you *have* to come.  You need to come... You...uh.. need to 
explain the terminology... It's good that you're coming."

	Scully resolutely rose from her chair, trailing Carolyn.

	Their footsteps echoed hollowly, and Scully reached for her pistol.
She held it in her hand, behind her back, and felt the familiar weight
settle into her palm.  

	An unburdened image of blood crept into her vision, and her legs
momentarily shook.  She saw Missy's face when they had taken the bandages
off when she had been shot.  She saw all the blood that had escaped 
from Mulder's body when he had been hit on the docks.  She remembered
how the blood from her nose managed to stain everything her fingers 
came into contact with.  And no matter how hard she tried -- no matter
how hard she washed and scrubbed -- the remnants of the stain would 
always remain, would always be testament to the fluid that had 
fallen there.  

	Scully closed her eyes when the threshold approached.  Mulder was
right:  revenge was not their business.  She reholstered her pistol 
silently, and composed herself when Amanda somewhat eagerly held open 
the door for her.  When she finally entered, Carolyn started crying, her 
trembling beginning in earnest once again.

	"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."  She rushed up and grabbed Scully's arm, 
still pleading.  "They said I had to if they were to cure me."

	Scully whirled around when another voice beckoned her.

	"Agent Scully, I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

	Scully stared at the unlined face of Dr. Scanlon and the semi-
automatic he was holding.  She almost closed her eyes at the irony.  
	
	She had forgotten that for other people, revenge was their only 
way of life.  

	With one hand the doctor roughly pulled Carolyn out the door, 
unceramoniously slamming the wooden panel shut.

	Scully could hear the panicked slams of the woman's open palm 
slamming against the wooden panel, accompanied only by Carolyn's high 
pitched screams.  "You said... bring her here... don't kill..."

	There was muffled shouting in the background, and then the
sound of muffled sobs being dragged away.

	Scully met Scanlon's impassive eyes and stood full height upon
her heels.  "Will your antecdote kill her or cure her?"

	Scanlon smiled.  "Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease,
as they say."  His smile grew more wicked.  "You of all people
should know that."

	Scully's eyes remained focused; she would not permit them to stray 
from the target of her wrath.  "What do you want?"

	"We want you and your partner to stop your meddling, permanently.
Although we both know how 'distracted' Mulder has been since finding
that woman.  Ditched you again... surely that must hurt, Dana."

	Scanlon reached into his pocket, and Scully could hear the
tinkle of glass hitting glass.  The red test tubes still had Scully's
name stencilled into the side, and the federal agent tried to ignore
the brilliant red contents inside.  The oncologist picked one from
the pile and held it up to the light.

	"We told you, Agent Scully, to step away.  And now, the truth
will be your undoing... for you and your children."

	Scully watched, horrified, as the tubes fell onto the floor,
shattering.  The blood stayed static on the colour-coordinated tile, 
staining them a brilliant, frothy red.  The glass fractured, shattering 
the cries of her babies who would not be given the chance to do so 
themselves.  Distracted by the broken glass and the shimmering red 
liquid, Scully distantly heard a gun click.

	"Good bye, Agent Scully."

	She heard herself shout.  There was senseless screaming everywhere.
And she closed her eyes as her heart shuddred and banged like wood hitting 
steel.

	"Federal Agent.  Freeze!"

	Scully heard the shot and felt her knees buckle.  Something hit her
chest, made her fall, and knocked the wind out of her.  She kept her
eyes screwed shut, and felt her diapraghm make a valiant effort to breathe
despite the weight that had settled there.  She was dying, Scully thought.
She could feel the warmth of blood seep into her clothes, and the female
agent nonsensically chastized herself for wearing the cream coloured 
coat today.

	She heard breathless steps as they approached, and she winced as they
echoed in her ears.  "Agent Scully."  It was Skinner's halting voice.  
"Are you hurt?"

	Scully wanted to laugh.  Of course she was hurt.  She had been shot.
She was dying.  That's why it was so hard to breathe.

	Skinner was grunting now.  "I tried... I tried to get here as 
soon as I could.  You were..."  There was some more grunting, the sound
of Skinner reholstering his gun to free his right hand.  "We need
to find Mulder."

	And suddenly the weight was gone.  The blood was turning cold, and 
Scully opened her eyes to stare at the still, listless corpse of
a doctor that Skinner had just pulled off of her. 

	Scully stared at the headless corpse, staring at the blood that 
was inching towards her feet.  She hastily squirmed away, her hands
reflexively resting by her hip. 

	He helped her to her feet, and handed her a handkerchief to wipe
off the the blood that was marring her pale complexion.  "You okay,
Agent Scully?"

	Scully nodded gingerly, unable to swallow.


	"There was a hitman at my house.  I think they're trying to turn
us into obituaries."  Skinner paused to catch his breath and pass
a hand across his brow.  "No one's answering Mulder's phone and 
Werber says neither he nor Amanda showed up for their appointment.  I..."

	Scully wrapped her bloody coat around her, already making her
way out the door before her AD finished.  Her growl grew softer as
her steps began to disappear.  "Then we should go and check it out."

	By the time Skinner could catch up, Scully's car was already started.  
He took the passenger seat without complaint, upon seeing the female agent 
waiting impatiently in the driver's seat -- complete with an intense glare 
that spoke volumes.

	If federal agent Dana Scully had any ill feelings towards her
partner, they had now been long forgotten.  

***

Mulder's Apartment 
Alexandria, Virginia

	Both Amanda and Mulder stared at the timer and the second hand that 
was pointing at zero.

	Besides a small popping noise, there had been no explosions, no
gunfire, no floors collapsing, or ceiling beams falling.

	Nothing.

	But as his head turned to examine his apartment, as he ignored
the thunder in his ears, and the cold hand that clutched his stomach
called dread, Mulder finally saw the blood.

	"Amanda," he pointed dumbly to her arm.  "You're bleeding."

	She lifted the sleeve up slowly to reveal a long, jagged cut,
caused by the a smooth metal piece that was currently gleaming with 
oozing blood and tissue.  The metal had shattered -- popped -- causing 
her flesh to tear messily, causing little scraps of tissue to catch on 
the cotton of her shirt.

	When the initial shock started to wane, she started to scratch by 
her nose, at the back of her neck, along her shins... harder and harder 
until she hastily reached for the letter opener on Mulder's computer desk.

	Mulder watched, horrified, as the frenzied woman ran the edge of
the letter opener along her leg.  The woman's body started to shake in 
sobs as her nervous fingers found the foreign metal body.  The
metal glittered, and despite the nervous panting of both the male
and the female in the room, the resonant buzzing could still be heard.
There was a distinct pop, and Mulder stepped back, startled.  

	The implant was gone.

	Disappearing without a trace.

	Amanda started to scratch at the back of neck, once again, and 
Mulder roughly grabbed her hand, stopping any scratching, enunciating 
his action with a stern, "Don't".

	The reply was plaintive.  "They hurt."

	Mulder nodded, and reached with his arms, attempting to embrace
the woman standing in front of him.

	Amanda accepted the gesture momentarily before shaking her
head furiously and clenching her fingers into a fist.  "No!"  She
wrestled away from his embrace, Mulder's hand slipping on the 
lubricant of blood, before Amanda charged, head first, into his 
midsection.  

	Mulder felt his inability to draw a breath, could feel the 
stabbing pain in his side as his gasping breaths echoed within
his ears.  

	Nervous tenticles fluttered around his waist, and as Mulder
heard the snap unfastened, all the federal agent could muster was 
a wheezed, "No".

	Mulder heard the safety click on.  Off.  On.  Off -- just like he
had done in Worland seemingly ages ago.  When his vision finally cleared,
when he could finally stand and breathe at the same time, he extended 
his hand to the woman and the gun,.

	"Amanda, give me the gun."

	The woman shook her head manically.  "I'm not Amanda."

	"Then who are you?"

	"My name is Sam."  The woman paused and let the gun hang loose
by her side.  She giggled, using her free hand to cover her mouth
embarrassedly.  "My name is Sam.  Sam I am."  Her eyes glittered and
she skipped towards Mulder, wide-eyed.  Eager.  "Don't you remember
the book, Fox?  Don't you?"  The woman started to grow more frantic
at Mulder's confused silence.  She continued to pace the room, and 
started to cry, verging on hysteria.

	"Sam... Samantha... give me the gun."

	The woman's demeanor changed, and she rushed to Mulder, sneering,
gun pointed towards his head.  "Don't you dare call me that!!  I am not
Sam! My name is Amanda.  I was born... I was born..."  The woman 
struggled for a response, the tendons that were holding the gun
visibly straining.  "I was born in Chilmark.  I have a brother..." The
woman rose a hand to put it against her head.  "No!  I have a sister.
Her name is... Fox."

	Mulder nodded.  "That's me.  I'm Fox."  Appeasingly, he held
his hand out to the gun once again.  "Just give me the gun."

	The woman shook her head earnestly, putting on a stage whisper.  
"No... no... We're not supposed to play with guns, Fox.  Didn't dad tell
you that?"  Her shoulder spasmed and the woman clicked the safety back
on.  "Why did you have to tell me, Agent Mulder?  Why?  Oh God... it
hurts..."

	The woman doubled over, putting both of her hands on top of her
head.  Mulder debated whether to lunge for the gun, but the woman 
rose once again, her eyes dark and soulful.  "I missed you, Foxy."

	Mulder watched her run up, felt himself recoil instinctually 
at the sight of the gun running towards him.  But the woman put
two arms around him torso and rested her head on his chest.  Squeezing.
Hugging.

	As if there was no tomorrow.

	The tears flowed freely now, and Mulder finally returned the 
embrace.  "I missed you too, Sam."

***

North 146 Street
Washington, DC

	"Oh fucking shit... hurry the fuck up..."

	Skinner tapped his feet impatiently on the car floor, while
Scully angrily drummed her fingers along the steering wheel.

	The AD stuck his head outside the window once again, leaning
to view the progress of the curretnly jack knifed sermi-trailer.
He felt his inertia threaten to push him out of the window when Scully
swerved the car into the oncoming lane and swerve back past the 
truck.  

	The AD finally relented and grabbed a hold of the dash board with 
both hands, steeling his feet onto the floor, stealing glimpses at the
woman in front of him.  

	There was a lone man in the street, not concerned with the 
passing cars, nor the jack knifed semi.  His shopping cart held cans,
a sickly looking feral creature, and a stack of yellowed, brittle 
newspapers.  His sign was held high, his head was uprasied despite 
the tattered hat, fingerless gloves, and hole filled shoes.  The sign
was dirty, the corners were worn with age, dirty handprints littered
the sides.  Skinner squinted -- the hastily scrawled sign merely said:  
John 18:38.

	Skinner looked towards Scully who was clutching the steering
wheel tighter, who was dangerously maneuvering her way through 
a red light.

	Suddenly she spoke, and her words echoed through the empty
expanse of the car, making her voice... unholy.  "John 18:38 says:
'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'"

	Skinner nodded uncomfortably, and both travellers lapsed back into 
silence.  The AD doubted such divine wisdom.  

	He had known the truth.  He had known about his father.  But he
had been far from free.  There had not been one day were he had not felt 
constricted by life's chains and un-pickable padlocks.  

	Although the beggar man was poor, and desolate, he was free.

	As a screaming police cruiser passed them, Skinner grimly stared out
the windshield.  He wondered if he would ever feel that way again.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

	Mulder's nose was right above the woman's hair, and he inhaled
deeply, smelling her hair once again, revelling in its shine, its 
texture, its length, its colour...

	"Sam."  Mulder whispered in fear that he would dispel the magical 
mood.  "Give me the gun... please."

	The woman shook herself and extracted herself from her brother's
arms.  "You let them take me, Fox."

	Mulder shook his head.  "Sam, that's not true."

	"Yes it is," the slight figure replied plaintively.

	"Sam... I would never hurt you."

	The woman's eyes grew dark and Mulder shook his head desperately.  
"I would never hurt you on purpose, Sam... Now give me the gun."

	The woman reeled, putting a hand against her ears.  "I am *not*
Sam!!"  She glared at Mulder, pointing the shaking gun to his temple.
"I am not Sam!!  You hear me?"  She started to mutter, pacing the room
in disjointed, ragged movement, echoing the litany over again.

	She stopped suddenly when the lights to Mulder's apartment 
went out, when the picture frames on Mulder's wall started to shake
and bang against the plaster.

	Samantha could do nothing but scream.

***

	It was a terror that was not even matched in Arecibo.  Or in the 
Arctic when the Bounty Hunter had come for him.  Or even during the
short seconds when the power went out when he had been talking to Duane
Barry.

	When the lights went out, Mulder blinked, felt his blood start
to rush as Sam's terrified screams once again ingrained themselves within 
his ears.  So warm.  The light was so warm, and so bright and was coming 
oh so close...

	He wrenched his eyes open and watched his sister hold the grip
of his gun tighter.  As she let out a wail that was matched only by the
loud, wailing sirens that were buzzing overhead.

	 Mulder lunged for the gun.

***

	It was too bright, and the light was cold, white and inhuman.  
Amanda clutched the gun tighter, felt her feet back up until she had
cornered herself between Mulder's wall and the computer desk.

	Too familiar.  She had seen the light somewhere before.  She 
had been in this place before with the buzzing and the shaking.

	Somewhere were people would talk in her head and hurt her, and
put things in her that would pop, shake, and rattle.

	There was a figure approaching her.  A demon.  Not like the
ones from so many years ago.  This one wasn't skinny, but it had its
arm extended.  Almost like all the alien movies where you extended your 
hand in a show of peace.

	But the demon was bad.  Would hurt her again.  And he was 
approaching.  Coming slowly.... but steadily coming closer... mumbling
indecipherable words that she couldn't hear because of the wailing 
going on overhead.

	Coming to take her away.

	Her fingers fumbled with the gun.  Her shoulder screamed
as she rose the pistol up, as she squinted thorugh the light
and the noise.  

	And fired.

***

	He was on the floor, and he didn't know whether the noise was 
coming from outside or from his own head.  He wrenched his eyes open,
to find everything coated with red.  A finger inched to his forehead
to find a large torn spot of flesh which was leaking blood through his
eyelashes to his eyes.  

	He was sprawled by his couch and the lights were still flashing
and Amanda was still pacing.  "Sam..." he attempted gingerly.

	The woman looked at him then ran towards his prone figure.  "Oh
my God, Fox!!  What happened to you!!"  She put a cool hand to his
forehead, started to reach for some kleenexes, and Mulder was tempted 
to laugh manically in the comical way things were progressing.

	In the tragic way things were progressing.

	A MacBeth to her Lady, he reached for the gun, yet again.  "Please 
Sam, give me the gun."  The woman looked at the outstretched hand and 
seemed to contemplate the gesture.  The light was highlighting her hair... 
was so bright, that it shone through her fingers.  Mulder could see the 
tiny blood vessels running through, could see the slender bones... and the 
sickening rod of an implant aligned with the middle finger.  He looked
up to make eye contact, to see how young her eyes were in relation to the 
too-old, much maligned body.

	She started to pass the gun over, when the light intensified, 
causing Mulder to groan and shield his eyes.  The sirens grew shriller,
more resonant, and Mulder moved his arms by his ears, trying to open his 
eyes despite the brightness, trying to discern Sam's horrified screams 
from the sirens.

	The light came up to engulf her and Mulder watched her arm
with the pistol move up to her head.  His well-intentioned shout
came out as a croak, and as her blood -- the same blood he had
seen coursing through her fingers just seconds previously -- splayed
onto his face, onto his apartment, onto his life and conscience, 
her mangled body was lifted silently upwards.  The light was so bright,
that when he looked around, he couldn't see anything.  Couldn't
see his couch.  Couldn't see the picture frames that had been banging 
away for what seemingly seemed like hours.

	So dark and he couldn't see.  And didn't want to hear.  And
didn't want to feel.

	He groped for support, finding the coffee table, finding his wallet,
his badge, a cup, the remote... before he left his apartment, unable
to do anything but run.

***

Along 31 Avenue
Two blocks from Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

	Scully looked to Skinner nervously when the third police cruiser
passed by them.  She stepped on the gas, but her foot was shaking and
the car was jerking in time to her foot's release and non-release
on the gas pedal.  

	She turned the corner, and she momentarily lost control of the 
car.  Skinner's hand was suddenly leaning in, taking control of the wheel,
while Scully tried not to cry at the half a dozen police cruisers circled
around Mulder's apartment.  The air was a sea of blurry red and blue
lights,  yellow tape, and of black, somber looking officers.

	She heard herself park the car, felt her hands numbly grip
the car door handle, could hear her heels as they walked up to the
tape, and heard herself calmly announce that she was Dr. Dana Scully, 
FBI.  

	A microphone was shoved into her face, and a woman smelling of
perming solution and perfume was asking incoherent questions.  Scully
grew flustered, batting away at the metal objects, turning and running
as fast as she could to Apartment 42.

	The apartment smelled of *them*.  Of lost hope and shattered 
dreams.  Of a truth that did not set Mulder free, but condemned him
to a solitary prison that no one -- including herself -- was willilng
to extract him from.  

	The blood was everywhere, omni-present.  On the walls, on the 
floor by the couch, on the letter opener, on the gun that was lying
in the middle of the floor.

	"Where did the bodies get taken to?"

	Scully had to sit when the unform told her that there had been no
bodies found.  That someone had heard a fight going on above, and a 
gun discharging, and the sounds of someone falling down the stairs
as they left.  The unform pointed towards the dooway, and Scully 
bit her lip at the spots of blood leading towards the hallway.  

	Scully kneeled over a particular spot of red by the couch.
The blood had splattered a picture frame that had fallen and shattered
the glass.  The blood had marred the beautiful smile of a young boy 
and a young girl, who had been too innocent, too naive to know of the 
future the garish fates would hold for them.  A lanky hand crossed over
the girl's shoulder, and they were at the beach, in their bathing suits,
unblemished skin, now blemished by the blood that was staining the 
picture.  Scully held the picutre tight to her chest, attempting to 
breathe in the innocence and the joy and the naivety.  Attempting to 
remember something that had been taken away so long ago.

	When it didn't come, she cried.  And when a uniform walked
over and handed her his wallet and badge, the sobs wracked her body.
And when Skinner gently tried to pry the picture from her hands
she fought back -- using both her fists and words.

	And then someone came, injected a stinging poison into her, and
she no longer cared.  No longer felt the resolve to care.  No longer
felt the gaping wound in her heart.  No longer felt as if something had
been ripped away.

	Just nothing.  Empty.

	She hoped she would be able to stay here a little while longer.

***

Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, DC

	"All hospitals have been questioned, everyone at his apartment
has been interviewed, Agent Scully.  I'm sorry.  There still has been
no sightings of Mulder or his sister."

	Skinner looked at the empty chair beside the red haired woman, and
tried to ignore it.  When that failed, he attempted to superimpose a
memory of a standard suit, a crazy tie, and a smug smirk into the seat,
but it failed as well.  When the female failed to respond to his previous 
statement, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes, taking off his glasses
resignedly.  "Agent Scully, I understand you'd like to be transferred to 
Quantico."

	The anwering tone was clipped.  "Yes, sir."

	"You do realize that if the transfer goes through, I will need
to shut down the X-Files."

	Scully blinked, and she licked her lips.  "I'm aware of that, sir."

	The Assistant Director took a deep breath and paced the room, 
choosing to ultimately stare out the window.  "So the quest of the truth 
disappears with Agent Mulder?"

	Scully's nostrils flared, and her eyes started to burn.  "The 
truth, sir, destroyed him and his family.  What would I have to gain 
in pursuing the truth?"

	Skinner pulled up a box from underneath his desk and slammed it on 
the surface, causing pens to fall, Scully to jump.  Department of 
Defense was stencilled on the side, and Scully took in a shaky breath of
expectancy.  "It seems, Agent Scully, that you have a friend."

	Scully gingerly stood up, opening the lid carefully.  Manilla
folders were upon manilla folders, all with covers which covered
documents, merchandise records, and pictures of every port and every 
harbour that the S. S. Kensington had gone during its two year
excursion.  Scully put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the tears
that were once again threatening, not wanting to begin contemplating 
how Bill would have managed to smuggle the files out.

	Skinner walked over, gently placed a hand on her shoulder.  "The
truth *will* set you free, Agent Scully."  It *will* save you."  He
paused, and then nodded reassuringly.  "Destroy the destroyers'
ability to destroy.  And it can all end right here.  Right now."

	Scully closed her eyes and bit her lip, watching, hearing, feeling
once again as another unburdened memory of Mulder surfaced.  

	And there were so many.

	She looked back up at Skinner and finally nodded. 

	She reached into the box, opened the first file, and began to 
read.

***

Along East 27th Avenue
Woodbridge, Virginia

	The snow was threatening to obliterate everything within view, and
Shannon Malloy hugged her wool coat tighter against her body, watching
people huddle under their umbrellas and manuever carefully over
the ice.

	The leg cuffs of her scrubs were encrusted with salt, and the 
wetness was sticking to her legs, causing her to shiver.  The smell
of antiseptic and ammonia was still on her, on her hair, and the 
resident vowed that tonight she would forego the usual shower in favor
of a good long soak in the tub.

	An annoyed honk of the horn broke her from her reverie, and she
watched a man stumble onto the sidewalk.  He continued running but his
legs were shaking and his breathing had been reduced to ragged, 
sobbing gasps.  She watched him run over the patch of ice she had
just recently maneuvered over, and watched him fall, hearing a leg bone 
break as the exhasuted body mass fell on top of it.

	Shannon rushed over as the man was trying to get up.

	"Hey... don't."

	She put a hand firmly on his shoulder, and tried to look at
him underneath the streetlights which were futiley trying to dispel
the DC smoggy twilight.

	His face was covered with blood, most of it dry, but their was
still some sticky ooze at his hairline.  She ran her fingers by the cut
and the man failed to flinch.  She held the sides of his head and 
tried to look into his pupils, moving his head side to side.

	His hazel eyes refused to react or move.

	His clothing was dirty.  Business suit slacks and a once
white shirt complemented the black, worn wing tips.  The clothes fit
him, but the man still trying to get up did not resemble a Wallstreet
type.

	"Hey."  Shannon shrugged off her coat and covered him with 
it.  "Stay still, you."  She paused, looking into the blood 
covered eyelashes and the empty hazel eyes.  "Do you know who you
are?"

	The man refused to talk, and Shannon pushed further.  "Hey... 
can you say something?"

	The man's mouth opened, and Shannon leaned in.  

	"I'm fine."

	Shannon looked at the man incredulously.  "You're fine?"

	The man started to curl in on himself, ignoring the jacket as 
it fell off his shoulders and onto the sidewalk.  He was oblivious to 
the gawkers around him and started to rock deliberately -- repeating
the litany over and over again.  "I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm fine..."
  
	Sirens approached, and Shannon watched helplessly as the man
tried to squirm away from the needles and the tubes, preferring to
repeat his two words over and over.

	The ambo door eventually slammed shut and Shannon watched the blue
and red lights disappear.  The blood had stained the sidewalk, the body
heat had melted the ice, and Shannon stepped away hastily, suddenly 
anxious to get home, away from the cold that was now numbing her bones.

***

		"And after this word from our sponsers, we will go 
	back to Leslie Wilacy who will have the latest on the 
	Vietnam War scandal.  Ex-Assistant Director of the FBI, 
	Walter Skinner, shocked the military and all Americans 
	with his statement regarding the conduct of certain high 
	ranking officials during the war thrity years ago.  It is 
	expected that at least five officials will be court 
	martialled within the next week.

		"We will also have highlights of last Monday's 
	Christmas tree decorating contest.  The winning tree will 
	surprise you.  Stay tuned for all this and more, after the 
	commerical break."

***

This is me.

I am not a title.  I am not a federal agent.  I am not a doctor.  I 
cannot save you.  I cannot shoot the shadow which you hear lurking 
outside the door.  I cannot prescribe magic pills which will make the 
hurt and the pain go away.

This is me.

I am thought to be weak.  I am thought to be the oppressed.  I am 
thought to be sick.

But I am not.

I am strong.

I have my memories of pain.  Of desperation and depression which I 
would rather forget, would rather pass off as blissful ignorance, but 
painfully -- willfully -- choose to remember.  I have my scars which can 

still leave me crying in front of a mirror, waking from terror filled 
dreams, the echoes of voices past.  

I still have the power of choice.  

Of being able to slide my foot through the guard rail of a building, 
of being able to look down and see the miniature cars, the stickmen
people.

Of being able to wonder what it would be like to fall... and then 
walk away.  

That power scares me.

It scares me because I have seen how easily this power can be taken 
away.  How it can be ravaged and turned against a desperate man.  The
choice now turned into an ultimatum, the ultimatum turned into a 
self-imposed death sentence.

But this is me.

I see a man who walks in every night and kisses me on the cheek.  I 
see a little boy with red hair and blue eyes and ten tiny fingers 
who will call me mommy.

I have a boy who is dear and precious.  And will have no secrets cast 
upon him -- a mercy that has been granted by a martyr who has gone 
unnoticed.  Whose disappearance was treated in passing.  Whose back 
page obituary is looked for only by me.

An unknown silhouette to everyone but me.

Except to those who could forgive him, who could grant him the mercy
he was desperately seeking.  Who could understand it was not his
choice to make, but a sentence imposed on him so long ago.

A journey which I travelled for part of the way.  A path I do not
regret taking, despite the tears which stain my pillow, despite the
memories which sometimes overtake me, despite the heartache which 
threatens each time I gaze at the picture above the mantlepiece.

Because I have a boy who is strong, and willful, and stubborn, and
free.  Because I have a boy who reminds me of someone that I had almost 
lost.

Me.

***
***

FINIS