Disclaimer: The concept of the X-Files and of its characters belong to
Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and FOX. I mean no infringement and I'm
making no money from this.

Author's notes: This is the second and final part of "Land of the Living"
and it picks up shortly after the end of Part I. If you haven't done so,
I recommend reading it, as the action in Part II hinges directly on Part
I.

I've taken a few liberties with the show timeline. I've always assumed
that in the XF universe "X-Cops" was filmed some months before it aired,
and so I've decided that they were "caught on tape" back when they were
in LA before, around the time they were investigating the Great Maleeni.
The show just didn't air until later.

As with Part I, I have stuck fairly close to canon as we knew it up
through "Closure." That means some elements that were introduced in S8
are ignored.

More notes at the end of the story.

====

Land of the Living II

The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I figured out
I have to learn again

-The Heart of the Matter written by Mike Campbell, Don Henley, and JD
Souther

~x~

Chapter One

~Los Angeles, Airport Hilton~

"Hey Scully, guess what's on TV tonight?"

Scully groans inwardly. Now that they've finally gotten away from FPS
headquarters, all she wants is a hot bath and an early night before their
flight back to DC.

"I don't know, what?" she asks anyway, massaging her tired neck.

"Don't you even want one guess?" he asks. Scully can imagine his
expression over the phone.

She tries to muster some enthusiasm. "Is it your favorite alien autopsy
special?"

"No, it's 'Cops'! *Our* episode of 'Cops'! Wanna come watch with me?
I'll spring for the pizza."

It's on the tip of her tongue to say no. She'd like to forget all about
it. It's bad enough that they were caught by the camera crew on their
last trip to LA Actually sitting through the episode is not in her plans.
But Mulder is trying so hard to be his old self, she feels she has to go
along. What lousy timing. But then, lousy timing seems to be the theme of
this trip.

She suppresses a sigh. "Okay, Mulder. When does it start?"

"Forty-five minutes. Don't be late!" he admonishes as he hangs up.

Well, okay, Mulder thinks. At least Scully is still speaking to me.

He's behaved badly the past few days, and he knows it. But God, it felt
good to blast the crap out of something, even a virtual something.

It seems fitting. After all, the apparent source of his current problems
is a ghost. That's what Scully says, anyway. And if Scully tells him
she's seen a ghost, is he likely to disbelieve her? Not freakin' likely,
as Langly would say.

But he doesn't know what else to believe. They'd been so close, and
then...

A lot of people have trouble with interfering mothers, but not usually
from beyond the grave. On the other hand, it shouldn't surprise him that
his mother is still trying to manipulate, withhold, obstruct.

In the aftermath, at least Scully is civil. That may be the most he can
hope for at present. It's ironic, but just like them, swinging like
counterweights in opposite directions.

He'd welcomed Frohike's call while they were at Sea Horse Ranch,
postponing a conversation he hadn't been ready to have. He's glad to be
thrown back into a more familiar world. He wants to be back to normal,
whatever the hell normal is for him.

Scully may still give him some shit for the way he behaved during their
"unofficial" investigation at FPS. So he overreacted a little. It's not
the game but the chance to get back *into* the game that's important. And
who could blame him for getting off on watching Scully interrogate Ms.
Afterglow? He knows who he prefers. And if Scully doesn't know it, he's
more screwed than he thought. For a brief moment, though, it was fun to
pretend to be "one of the guys."

Scully arrives at his door the same time as room service, allowing them
to avoid any awkwardness over how to greet one another in a social
setting. Scully is still in work clothes, Mulder notes, though she's
changed outfits and is wearing flat shoes. This is an equivocal sign in
his Scully lexicon -- she is feeling guarded toward him.

"Pretty fancy pizza delivery," Scully observes as Mulder uncovers the
dishes.

"FPS owes us more than pizza," he replies. "Since they're springing for
our expenses, we might as well take advantage." He reveals pasta
primavera for Scully, a dish he happens to know she likes, and a burger
and fries for himself. Iced tea for both of them.

"Big spender," she says with a small smile.

Mulder pulls her chair out for her and sits in his own. No sitting on the
bed knee to knee tonight, the way they normally would have. That's off-
limits.

He un-mutes the TV in time for the reggae beat of the "Cops" theme music.
They watch the first few minutes in silence. Mulder sneaks looks at
Scully, gauging her reaction. She seems more interested in her pasta most
of the time. He notices that the camera loves Scully, even if she doesn't
love it back.

One scene makes him wince -- does he really talk to Scully like that, or
is the editing making him look like a horse's ass? He hopes it's just the
editing.

On the other side of the table, Scully is not enjoying this at all. She'd
done her best to warn Mulder what they were getting into, and those
bastards caught it all on tape. She'd done her best to act
professionally, and she's come off as shrill and self-protective.

Mulder isn't faring as badly, she thinks. She has to admit that he looks
good on camera, even when spouting one of his crackpot theories. She
wonders if Skinner is watching tonight, and how hard it will be to walk
through the halls at the Hoover on Monday. She wishes the basement had a
separate entrance.

At long last, the excruciating hour is over.

"Well," Mulder says after a short silence, "it could have been worse."

Scully can think of nothing more encouraging to say.

"Well, I guess I'd better go," she says. "Early flight tomorrow. Thanks
for ordering dinner."

She's out the door before Mulder can even react.

So much for getting back to normal.

x-x-x

"No way!" The ticketing agent at the airport says reverently the next
day. "You were on TV last night!"

Oh no. Who *hasn't* seen that stupid show? Scully's cell phone had
messages from everyone in her family last night. She hasn't yet returned
them.

"Best episode I've ever seen," the agent enthused. "You really kicked
butt, Ma'am."

Having to cooperate with that ridiculous show in the first place is bad
enough, but being called "Ma'am" by someone who is probably less than ten
years her junior is the capper.

She tries to smile. "Thanks," she says.

The agent types into his computer and it spits out two boarding passes.
"I've upgraded you both to first class," he says confidentially. "I bet
you're tired. That was a long night."

Scully stops herself from pointing out that the show had been filmed some
months before, but instead merely thanks him again, and turns away. She
looks up to see Mulder's bemused expression as he falls into step beside
her.

"Well 'Ma'am'," he says, "maybe we ought to start a fan club for you.
Can I be president?"

"Don't press your luck, Mulder," she says shortly.

~x~

Chapter Two

~Reagan National Airport~

"Can I give you a ride, Scully?" Mulder asks as they leave the baggage
area.

"Did you leave your car here?" Scully asks. "You're going to owe the
national debt in long-term parking."

"No, I just thought we could share a cab," he said. He is reluctant to
part with her, though he has no idea what he can say right now that will
make a difference. He feels the same panic that he felt before -- an
unreasoning fear that if he lets Scully out of his sight now, he'll lose
her forever.

After a moment's hesitation, Scully says, "Sure," and he shepherds her
toward the cab.

Neither of them can think of anything to say on the ride home. Scully is
dropped off first.

"Want help with your bags?" Mulder asks. Maybe she'll say yes. Maybe
she'll ask me to stay for coffee, and I'll think of something to say.

"No, I'm okay," Scully says. She smiles a small smile, one co-worker to
another. "See you tomorrow," she says.

"Bright and early," he responds automatically, and watches her through
the back window of the cab as it pulls away.

x-x-x

The fish nibble hungrily at the flakes he sprinkles into the tank. "Why
are you still alive?" he asks them. They ripple their fins, keeping their
own counsel. He glances around the room. Nothing else has changed.
There's a spill of papers on the floor by the desk from that night, the
last night he spent here. The answering machine blinks at him with
urgency, but he looks away.

His wool blanket is folded neatly at one end of the couch where Scully
must have put it after he'd spent the night with it wrapped around him.
He wishes he could remember more of that. He knows Scully did her best to
comfort him. He remembers her soothing voice, but not the words. He
remembers her arms holding him, her hands rubbing his back. He remembers
very little else until he'd noticed her absence in the morning, ready to
panic until he heard her low tones talking to Skinner in his doorway. He
holds the blanket to his face, inhaling the dusty wool fragrance, trying
to detect something of Scully there, too.

He can't sit like this forever. He gets up and begins to set things to
rights in his own fashion.

Finally he can avoid it no longer. He pushes the play button on the
answering machine and plays the messages through.

There are too many messages that he doesn't want to answer, too many
decisions he doesn't want to make. The funeral home, wanting to know what
to do with the ashes, and whether or not he wants the services on their
premises. A few relatives, most of whom heard of his mother's death third
or fourth-hand. A real-estate agent, of all people.

He doesn't want to deal with any of them. All he wants to do is to forget
about his mother and her legacy of deceit. She may have tried to
obliterate the evidence of her life, but it seems to have had the
opposite effect on the living.

x-x-x

As she enters her kitchen, Scully notes that her mother's been here.
There's fresh milk and juice in the refrigerator and a pot of daffodils
on her dining room table. Mom's always been good at homecomings. Scully
remembers getting the house in spic and span shape for Ahab's return from
the sea, and wonders if her mother misses that.

As expected, there's a message from her mom on the answering machine.
More surprising is a call from Skinner.

"Agent Scully," he says formally. "Sorry to disturb you at home, but I'd
like an update on the LaPierre case. I will expect you in my office at
8:00 am on Monday."

But that case is closed. She'd filed her final report before returning to
California. Skinner must be angling for something else, a message he
doesn't want to leave on her machine. Just in case anyone else might hear
it.

Anyone, such as Mulder. Skinner's looking for an update on Mulder, not
the LaPierre case.

At first, she's angry. She is not Mulder's keeper. Yet Skinner had
implied that he expected such information from her. Despite her own
misgivings, she doesn't feel that it's fair to report on Mulder to
Skinner. Especially since she's far from certain about her own state of
mind.

She wonders uncomfortably if her mind conjured Teena Mulder up because
deep down she wasn't ready to be more to Mulder than his work partner.
It's been a recurring thought the past few days. She doesn't believe
she's that repressed. She can't be that repressed. But it is a more
rational explanation than a ghostly apparition.

And if Teena Mulder is making appearances, why isn't she appearing to her
own son? He's the one open to extreme possibilities. Scully feels
resentful and angry but it's not fair to take it out on Mulder. He'd give
anything to have it happen to him.

She knows too that she can't blame him for pulling back on their attempt
at a more personal relationship. His words had been bitter, and they'd
hit home. It's a little hard to try to make love with someone who
flinches every time things get a little intense.

The thing that worries her most, though, is that Mulder appears ready to
give up. When Frohike called from FPS headquarters, Mulder had leaped at
the chance to start a new investigation, even an unofficial one. In many
ways during the case, he'd been his old self, bossing her around and
making sarcastic comments. And his "one of the guys" behavior when
interrogating that Barbie-doll/action figure suspect. That last was
probably more for her benefit than anyone else's, but still.

Aren't they, personally, worth at least the same effort as an X-File?
She's always thought so, and she's said as much to Mulder. The work has
to come first, without question. But there comes a time when the work
isn't enough any more. She's said that to Mulder too. She thought he was
starting to see things that way as well. He went out of his way to show
how he could do "normal" during their stay in Northern California. Now
he's backing off again.

He's right in one respect. A life of leisure isn't them. Going off to be
alone together may have been a mistake. It may be that they need the work
as well as the down time. She's always known that Mulder wouldn't be
Mulder without the work. He needs something to put his back up against,
same as she does. They are well-matched.

But she can't let him use the work as an excuse.

She dials Skinner's number.

~x~

Chapter Three

~The Hoover Building, Monday morning~

He's surprised to see Scully already seated when he enters Skinner's
office. He nods at her, and she nods back.

"Agent Mulder. Thank you for being so timely."

Mulder glances at the clock. Skinner isn't being sarcastic; he's actually
five minutes early.

"I'll get right to the point. After consulting with Agent Scully, I'm
granting you another week of compassionate leave. I'm sure you still have
affairs to settle --"

"Excuse me, Sir, but are you saying I'm unfit for duty?" Mulder
interrupts.
"No, Agent Mulder, I am not. But as you took part of your leave to solve
a case while in California, you still have time coming to you. I expect
you to take it."

Mulder glances at Scully, who stares straight ahead. "What about Agent
Scully?"

"Agent Scully is capable of handling the office in your absence. She'll
continue with her duties."

Scully still hasn't looked at him. He opens his mouth to speak once more,
but changes his mind about what he's going to say. "Is there anything
else...Sir?" he asks, but he's looking at Scully.

"No, you're dismissed."

Scully gets up to leave, but Skinner says, "Agent Scully, a moment?"

Mulder leaves without looking back.

Ten minutes later he's still in the basement office, waiting for Scully
to arrive. He won't leave until he's seen her. He'll wait by her car in
the parking garage if he has to. But he hears the whoosh of the elevator
doors opening, and the familiar clack clack of Scully's heels striding
toward the door. They seem to slow a little as she gets closer, but maybe
that's wishful thinking on his part.

As she enters the office she says, "I'm glad you're still here, Mulder."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," he cracks. "Did you have a hand in
this, Scully?"

She can't lie to him. "Skinner asked for my opinion," she says.

"Your *medical* opinion?" he asks pointedly.

"My opinion as your partner -- and friend," she says.

He is silent for a moment. "Okay, I get it. This is like the labors of
Hercules. There will always be one more task for me to accomplish, right?
Before I can get my reward."

"What are you talking about?" Scully looks genuinely puzzled.

"If you don't want to have anything to do with me, Scully, just say so.
You don't have to make up reasons not to be around me."

She stares at him, and the angry sparkle in her eyes just makes him want
to grab her and kiss her like there's no tomorrow. Being angry with her
seems to have no effect on his other feelings for her.

"Is that how you see this?" she asks incredulously. "That I'm withholding
*favors* from you?"

"I just want to know how much more shit I'm going to have to shovel," he
sneers, his frustration at an all-time high. "At least be honest with me,
Scully. Are you just hoping I'll give up?"

"I don't think I can talk to you when you're like this, Mulder. I'll call
you later."

"Don't bother, Scully. I may not answer --"

But she's already gone.

x-x-x

How dare he? How DARE he? Scully doesn't trust herself to drive, or she'd
go home right now. She marches herself out of the building and toward the
Mall.

It's freezing outside but she barely feels it at first. She takes a deep
breath and the cold air fills her lungs. It calms her somewhat. She walks
briskly toward the business district until she finds a coffee shop and
ducks inside.

As she calms down, she thinks that she can't really blame Mulder for
taking Skinner's dictum personally. He wouldn't have done so if she'd
been able to talk to him first before Skinner laid down the law. So
actually, it's all Skinner's fault.

That's right, Dana, rationalize it all away, she thinks.

She'd called Skinner the night before, hoping to convince him to assign
them desk duty for a week or two, to allow them to get back on an even
keel. Skinner, however, saw things differently.

"I know this isn't what you expected," Skinner told her when he kept her
from leaving the office with Mulder. "But I think it's the best course.
You know as well as I do Mulder will avoid dealing with this for as long
as possible."

"Work is how he deals with it," Scully told him. "You should know that by
now. Sir." she added belatedly. "Take away the work and you take away
everything."

"Dealing with the loss of his mother and his sister is his work right
now," Skinner said. "It can't be an official case."

"Then I request leave, Sir," Scully said.

"Denied," said Skinner. "I don't want him using you as a shield, Scully.
You're much too close to this."

"I respectfully disagree, Sir," Scully replied. "He needs me on this,
just as much as on any case." She left the office with that, but as far
as Mulder was concerned, the damage had already been done.

Feeling partly to blame doesn't excuse Mulder's remarks to her. He seems
to want to misunderstand her. Instead of the events of the past week
bringing them together, they seem to be pulling them apart.

On the other hand, maybe Skinner is right that they've become too
dependent upon each other.

To hell with that theory, she thinks. She marches herself out of the
coffee shop and back to the Hoover. She has work to do.

~x~

Chapter Four

~Hegal Place~

More messages on the answering machine. Mulder plays through them, barely
listening the first time. His mind is still roiling with Scully's
betrayal.

He hears the familiar cadences of Byers' voice, and rewinds the message.

"Mulder, it's Byers," he starts unnecessarily. "We've run the tape
through every test we can think of. We ran every filter, tried all the
code breaking techniques we know, and there's nothing hidden in the
message that we can find, other than the expected voice stresses." The
tape hisses with Byers' silence. "We're sorry about your mother. I hope
everything else is okay." There is a muffled exchange in the background.
"And we fed your fish while we were there. Call when you get back home,
okay?"

Scully is right, it appears. There is nothing nefarious about his
mother's last earthly message to him, at least as far as the Gunmen can
tell.

What was so important that she had to kill herself to get his attention?
Or had she planned it all along? Had she just wanted one last chance to
reconcile, or did she have something to tell him?

He really does just want to put all of this behind him. His sister is
gone, his mother is gone. His father...well, the jury is still out on
that one, depending on who he chooses to believe.

In the meantime, there is all the minutiae of dealing with his mother's
estate.

Despite his reluctance, deal with it he must. He listens to the rest of
the messages and scribbles the numbers down to call later. He re-packs
his bag for a trip to his mother's former home.

He's not asking Scully to come, for more than the obvious reasons. He's
already sorry for what he said in the office, but she will just have to
wait for his apology. He has been given an assignment to fulfill, and he
will prove that he can take care of this on his own.

x-x-x

Scully sits at Mulder's desk and looks at the office from his point of
view. There's her "desk", facing his. His desk isn't much better than her
table; it's scarred and battered, and one of the drawers won't shut all
the way. She wonders if that's from someone rifling his desk in the past
or if it was that way when he got it.

Not that things aren't a little the worse for the wear of the past few
years. There are scorch marks along one side; this is the desk he's
always had, even before the fire of two years ago. Most of their
furniture looks like it came from a fire sale anyway. Her first
impression of the office had been that it was furnished with cast-offs.

She wonders how Mulder is doing. Is he on his way to Greenwich, or is he
sulking at home? He may think he's alone in this, but he isn't. She'll
try to call him later. Perhaps she'll have something to tell him.

In the meantime, she has some investigating of her own to do. What would
Mulder do? Where would he start his search, if he were leading this
investigation? She smiles bitterly. Normally, she'd be turning in the
opposite direction from Mulder, doing her best to rein in his more
outlandish theories. Now she's the one with the outlandish theory, and
she needs backup.

She goes to the filing cabinets and starts reviewing cases, pulling out
any that have any kind of apparition or manifestation referenced in them.
The filing method is haphazard to the outsider, and somewhat of a mystery
even to her -- a Mulder specialty, designed since the fire to keep anyone
from pulling specific files easily. Mulder understands it. Scully still
has to work at deducing the method based on her familiarity with Mulder's
quirky reasoning. It may take some time, but what else does she have to
do? This is a better use of her time than trying to match Mulder's record
for pencils in the ceiling. It might even bear some results.

x-x-x

~Greenwich, Connecticut~

The house is cold and empty, even though there's still furniture. It
seems like years since anyone's lived there. He wanders through the
rooms. He doesn't know this house well; he can count on the fingers of
one hand the number of visits he's paid here. What few memories there are
for him are about the arguments they had when he came to call.

He begins to rip away the crime scene tape and the masking tape that
still clings to the door's edge. He feels numb. In a way, it's like any
other crime scene. There is no connection to anyone he knows here. She'd
burned all the pictures of them as a family. Though he has copies of all
of them, it seems like a cruel gesture.

"Why did you want to talk to me, Mom?" he says aloud, his voice cracking
slightly. "To tell me that you never loved me? That you still blame me
for Samantha's disappearance? What new lies did you want to spin? And why
won't you talk to me now?"

The house is silent.

He shakes his head and steps from the kitchen into the dining room. This
room appears as he last saw it, cold and formal, not an item out of
place, and much more like his mother than the kitchen with its disarray.
His mother would have hated all those people tramping around her house,
looking at her things. Delving into her personal affairs.

He wanders from room to room in the cold house. He recognizes a few
pieces of furniture from his childhood. No pictures, of course; she'd
burned them all, and apparently all her papers too. Unless that was just
another misdirection. "Misdirection of whom?" he asks aloud. "Me, or
someone else?"

His voice sounds too loud in the silent house.

I need a plan of action, he thinks. He looks around the living room. He
decides to check each room methodically, starting where he stands. He
will leave no cushion unturned, no vent cover unscrewed. No lamp
unmolested either; he remembers a clue from his mother many years ago.
"If there's another weapon, I'll have a matched set," he says aloud, as
if his mother is just in the next room. He takes off his jacket and gets
to work.

x-x-x

Scully is surrounded by ghosts. Ghosts of people they'd tried to help, as
well as vengeful spirits, sad spirits, lonely spirits. Anyone in law
enforcement for any length of time can claim plenty of ghosts, but it
feels like she and Mulder have had more than their fair share of them.
She chooses a file at random and starts to leaf through it.

The ringing of the phone startles her. It can only be Mulder. She takes a
deep breath before picking up. "Hello?"

"Dana honey, it's Mom. Are you still coming to dinner tonight? I haven't
had a chance to see you since you've been back."

A glance at the clock confirms that it's after five. It's on the tip of
her tongue to decline, but an echo of Teena Mulder's voice on her son's
answering machine stops her.

Instead she says, "I'll be a few minutes late, Mom. I was in the middle
of something and forgot the time."

Her mother starts to say, "I know you're busy --"

"It's okay. I'm just about done here," she says quickly. "I'm looking
forward to seeing you."

x-x-x

Mulder sits in the middle of the living room, which is now tossed like
his apartment has been countless times. All the furniture has been
upturned. He hasn't gotten to slashing cushions yet, but he has ripped
the protective lining off the underside of every chair and sofa in the
place, as well as torn the felt off the bottom of every lamp. He's
unscrewed lightbulbs and outlet covers. He's inspected the ductwork, as
far as he can.

He's ready to start breaking stuff. Not to discover what's inside, but to
relieve a little frustration. One room down.

He wants to call Scully. He should call Scully. He's sorry for what he
said before, and as the day progressed, he felt her absence acutely.

It's getting late. He needs to decide if he's staying here tonight, or
finding a motel somewhere. It's no contest, really. Even if it's
guaranteed that his mother will appear to him, no way in hell is he
staying in this house.

He grabs his coat and leaves the living room as is.

x-x-x

Scully lets herself in her front door, balancing files from the office
and a grocery bag of leftovers from her mother. A glance at her answering
machine shows no messages. She'd checked her cell phone as she was
leaving her mother's house, and there'd been no message either.
Frowning, she dials Mulder's home number. The answering machine picks up
and she hesitates over leaving a message. She's not sure she's ready to
tell him what she's been researching, she just wants to reassure herself
that he's okay.

"Mulder, it's me..." she trails off. "I'll talk to you later." She
doesn't want him to think she's checking up on him. She is not going to
worry. Maybe he's doing as expected for once, taking care of business.

Except, how often does he do as expected? She tries his cell, only to get
his voice mail once again. She thumbs off the phone.

He's fine. Of course he's fine, she tells herself. He'll call her when
he's ready.

x-x-x

He's grateful to get Scully's voice mail. He'd taken the gamble that at
this late hour, her cell phone has been turned off. He needs to let her
know he's okay, but he can't talk to her yet.

"It's me. I'm in Greenwich. Got a real-estate agent coming, so I'm
cleaning the place up. Nothing to report, just taking care of business."
Like he'd been ordered to do. "I'll call you later, okay?"

That went well. No unseemly begging on his part, no snotty comments,
except those in his head. Just enough info to let her know he's still
alive.

Yeah, that'll help him sleep.

x-x-x

<"There are more worlds than you can hold in your hand...">

Scully swims up from sleep, heart pounding. She hears Albert Hosteen's
voice echo in her ears, as if he was just in the room. She wishes for
some of his wisdom now.

Last year, Mulder had told her it was impossible for Albert to have
visited her that night -- the night before she'd been led to finding
Mulder in the operating room. She'd struggled for an explanation that she
could live with, unable to make that leap for herself. For once, Mulder
hadn't insisted on his own explanation.

Yet something Mulder had said years ago has stayed with her all this
time. Something about dreams being the answers to questions they'd not
yet learned how to ask.

If that's true, what is Albert Hosteen trying to tell her?

Scully stares into the dark, thinking over the past weeks. She'd been so
quick to tell Mulder that his mother was telling him to stop looking for
Samantha.

What if Teena Mulder had meant the opposite? Normally, leaving Mulder
with a mystery meant he'd move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of
it. Was that what his mother was trying to do? How would they ever know
for sure?

She reaches for the bedside phone but catches her hand back. It's time to
talk to Mulder, but she needs to do it in person.

~x~

Chapter Five

~Greenwich, Connecticut~

Mulder checks his home phone's voice mail on the way to his mother's
house in the morning. Scully sounds hesitant, as if unsure of her
reception. A few days ago he'd been afraid of losing her forever; now
he's pushing her away.

When he dials, her cellphone voice mail picks up again. "Hey Scully, got
your message. I'm still going through stuff at my mom's." He chews his
lip reflectively but only adds, "I guess I'll uh, I'll talk to you
later."

He hopes she'll come down, but it should be her choice, not because he
urged her.

x-x-x

A little while later, Scully is lying to Skinner. Or, more specifically,
to Skinner's assistant.

"I've got a family emergency," she tells Kimberly. "I'll be out of town
for a couple of days."

"I hope everything's okay, Agent Scully," Kim says sympathetically.

"I'm sure it will be," she says. "I'll check in when I can." She's more
grateful than she can say that Skinner is tied up in meetings. It will be
easier to ask forgiveness than permission. And if that isn't a Mulder
tactic, she doesn't know what is. She seems to be becoming more like him
all the time.

Downstairs, she gathers some files to put into her briefbag and locks up
before Skinner gets the message and calls her upstairs.

x-x-x

Mulder sits in the one chair still upright and surveys his handiwork.
He's torn every room in the house apart and found nothing. No hidden
cache in the air ducts, no false walls in the closets, no key in the
sugar bowl. It's as if she wanted to call attention to the fact that she
had nothing to hide.

He knows damn good and well that this is not true, but he's run out of
ideas about where to find whatever it is. When the phone rings, he
assumes it's the real estate agent, and he flips it open without even
looking at the display.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

He closes his eyes briefly, surprised at the welling of emotion he feels
at hearing her voice. He clears his throat and says as casually as he
can, "Oh hey Scully, how are the reports coming?"

"Where are you?" Scully is not falling for his act.

"At my mom's house. Is there something wrong?"

"No, but I'm on my way there. Can I meet you there?"

"Why are you coming to Greenwich?" he asks.

"To see you," she says.

"Why? Have you found something?"

"I'll explain when I get there," she says. "Can you hang out there a
while longer?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. He's too spent to move, anyway.

x-x-x

It's after dark when he sees headlights rake the front windows. He stands
up stiffly and goes to the door, turning on the porch light.

As she comes to the door, he wordlessly stands aside to let her in. He
hasn't bothered to turn on the inside lights. Scully flips the switch and
recoils at what she sees.

"Mulder, who did this?"

"Thought I'd do a little redecorating," he says.

"You did this? Why?"

"That's not the right tone to take at all, Scully. You should say
something like, 'I like what you've done with the place.'" His face
crumples and he braces himself against the wall, slipping down to
sit on the floor.

Without hesitation, Scully crouches beside him as she had the night he
learned about his mother, putting her arms around him as best she can.
"Mulder, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to do this alone."

Any urgency she felt to speak to him about her own discoveries has faded
in the face of his distress. She eases him down to lean against her.
After a little while, she speaks softly. "We need to get you out of here.
You're not staying at the house, are you?"

Wordlessly he hands her his motel room key.

"The same fine accommodations as always," she says. "And all these years
I thought it was the FBI who was cheap." She stands and holds her hand
out to Mulder. "Come on. Have you eaten today?"

"Not since this morning," his voice comes out rusty and indistinct.

"Me either," Scully says. "Let's go." She leads him out of the house.

x-x-x

He hadn't realized how cold he'd gotten until they enter the little cafe
Scully has brought them to. She has the waitress bring coffee right away
and he wraps his hands around the mug, relishing the painful warmth.

"That house was freezing," Scully says, watching him.

"I guess they hadn't turned the gas back on," he replies. "I didn't
notice yesterday."

"It looks like your activities kept you warm," she says. "Mulder, why?"

He shrugs. "I guess I thought she was trying so hard to get me to come
see her, maybe there was something she wanted me to find. That happened
once before, you know."

"Did you find anything?"

He shakes his head. "Either she destroyed it, or someone else took it or
destroyed it. If anything was ever there. Maybe she just finally realized
she couldn't control me any more."

"I don't know, Mulder," she says. "Maybe she really was trying to tell
you something."

"That's a switch," Mulder says. "I thought you believed she wanted me to
stop looking for Samantha."

"Maybe I was wrong," she says. "I don't know what she was trying to do. I
just wanted to help you. It seems to me now that she wanted -- maybe
still wants -- to talk to you."

"So that means it's my fault," he says bitterly. "Well, that's my guilt
to bear, I guess. If that's what you came up here to tell me, sorry you
wasted a trip."

Scully frowns. "Stop it, Mulder."

He looks up at her sharp tone.

"What I didn't come here for is to watch you drown in self-pity. You're
stronger than that."

He stares at her, but she isn't saying any more. The silence is broken by
the arrival of their food.

Scully releases him from her spell. "Let's just eat. We will talk about
this later."

x-x-x

At least they both have healthy appetites, Mulder thinks as they leave
the cafe. They'd eaten in almost complete silence. He could feel Scully
watching him, though whenever he looked at her, she seemed to be
concentrating on her plate.

"Why don't you leave me off at my mom's house," Mulder suggests. "I can
drive myself to the motel, and we can talk in the morning. If you're
staying over, that is."

"I'm not staying where you are," Scully says. "I booked a room at the
Courtyard. I figured we'd be more comfortable there."

"*We'd* be more comfortable there?" He sketches the ghost of a leer. "Are
you coming on to me?"

"In your dreams, Mulder," she counters with a practiced air. "I'm not
staying in a fleabag if I don't have to. I have two beds; you can stay or
not as you choose. But I think we need to talk tonight." Before I lose my
nerve, she adds to herself. "Would you rather do that at your mother's
house?"

He shudders. "No."

"Well, let's get this show on the road," she says.

~x~

Chapter Six

Teena Mulder's house is in the opposite direction from Mulder's motel, so
Scully drives him there to pick up his things.

"Why did you choose this place, Mulder?" she asks. "It's not even close
to your mother's house."

He shrugs. "No reason."

Where Scully has chosen to stay isn't fancy, but it's clean and
comfortable, and several cuts above the place Mulder chose. He supposes
he's become inured to the usual accommodations they're forced to take
when on official business, but he's always known that Scully likes her
comforts. It's a decent size, with a sitting area and kitchenette, and
the two promised king-size beds.

It would be nice if only one bed was necessary, but that seems pretty
distant at this moment.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up?" Scully suggests. She puts a gentle
hand on his. "You're still cold. I'll make us some tea."

Without a word he gathers his kit and his sweats and does as she
suggests. Everything has taken on a slightly surreal air, sort of like
their stay in California. The same feeling is in the air: anticipation,
anxiety. He's very aware of Scully in the other room, observing him with
what feels like clinical detachment. He's still not sure what she's here
for.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Scully is sitting on the small couch,
two mugs of tea steaming on the table in front of her. She's got that
expression on her face that tells him she's made up her mind about
something.

He can't help himself; he goes on the offensive. "Are you here to check
on me? You gonna report back to Skinner?"

"Knock it off, Mulder," she says surprisingly. "I'm here because I care
about you. And you're trying to cut yourself off from me."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"How can you say that? You're the one who keeps pushing me away."

"I beg to differ," he says annoyingly. "I'm not the one who is having
these 'visions.' But you can blame me. Maybe I'm not capable of intimacy,
or whatever you want to call it. We could go on Maury or Rikki Lake and
discuss our feelings. How I'm emotionally unavailable, et cetera."

Scully puts her hand on his. She's not going to let him make her mad this
time. "I'm not blaming you for anything. But I think you're blaming
yourself, and your mother, too."

"I'm not really in the mood for pop psychology," he says.

"Neither am I. How often do I talk to you like this?"

"Hardly ever," he has to admit.

"I'm not qualified to talk about your relationship with your mother while
she was alive, and I acknowledge that. I have my own feelings about the
things she's done to you, but I'm not here to talk to you about that,
either."

"Maybe we both have a lot to answer for," he says quietly.

"In my opinion, she certainly does," Scully says. "There's plenty that I
have a hard time forgiving her for, and I didn't know her that well." She
takes Mulder's hand in hers. "But I think you can't keep being angry with
her. All it's doing is hurting you. She was who she was, and nothing you
could have said or done will ever change that."

"She tried to pin it all on my father," Mulder says. "I don't doubt he
was to blame, but not for everything. I think my father tried to explain
himself before he died. He -- I couldn't --" he buries his face in his
hands. "I can't even begin to explain to you what my parents were. Did
they ever love either of us, or were we just 'merchandise'? Counters to
be played in their own game."

"Maybe they both loved you the only way they could," Scully tries to
soothe him. "By keeping you at a distance. Your father made an attempt at
reconciliation, you said so yourself. I know it must seem like your
mother's last act was meant to hurt you, but I don't think she meant it
that way."

"Sounds like we're switching roles again," Mulder mutters.

"I think you need to hear this, as painful as it is. You had cut yourself
off from your mother. You only contacted her when you needed to know
something. When she asked to see you, you didn't go."

"What was I supposed to do? Drop everything and run to her? The last
thing she did was smuggle me out of the hospital so Cancerman could
perform brain surgery on me! All the times I went to her, she claimed not
to remember anything. 'It was a long time ago, Fox. I don't remember
anything, Fox,'" he mimics his mother. "Maybe I just got tired of the
non-answers. How was I supposed to know this was the one time she felt
like talking? And even if I had gone, who's to say she wouldn't have
changed her mind?" He slumps back on the sofa, his head in his hands.
"And if talking to me is so important, why has she chosen to appear to
you instead of me?"

This is what she's come to talk to him about. She can't deny him the
truth of what she now believes. Denial would be as cruel to him as lying.

She hesitates for so long Mulder assumes he knows what she's going to
say. "After all you've seen, I hope you're not telling me that you doubt
it really happened. Or maybe I just need to work on my romantic technique
-- if you're thinking of my mother when we kiss, there's something wrong
there." He tries to smile but his eyes are bleak.

"That's not it at all, Mulder, and I'm sorry if that's what you think.
I'm not denying what I saw, but I can't tell you why. I can only guess."

"What's your best guess then?"

Scully looks so earnest he almost laughs. "It's going to sound really out
there, especially coming from me," she says.

"I'm the King of Out There, remember? You asked me once if there was
anything I wouldn't believe. I said no at the time. Well, here's your
chance to prove me wrong."

"Okay," she grips her hands together, gathering her thoughts. "I
think..." she begins carefully, picking her way, "maybe because you've
closed your mind to her." Oh God, she sounds like Melissa, spouting off
one of her unproveable pronouncements, but she soldiers on. "She can't
get through to you any other way."

"I've *closed my mind*?" Mulder parrots. "How do you figure?"

"I think that you had certain ideas about what happened to Samantha,
based on what Kathy Tencate told you, what Harold Pillar said, even what
appeared to happen to Amber-Lynn. And once you made up your mind, you
couldn't be dissuaded. All evidence seemed to support your belief."

"Again I ask, how do you figure?"

"Think about it, Mulder. Do you remember that day in Sacramento -- the
day after you found the diary?"

"Yeah. You found the connection to the hospital, where we found the link
to Samantha."

"Did you ever wonder how I found that file?"

"Not really. I've never questioned your investigative skills, Scully. If
anything, I've faulted you for being too slow to believe, rather than too
quick."

"True," she says, "you've never questioned my skills, just the
conclusions I've reached. But this time, the conclusions matched what you
already believed to be true."

He starts to protest but she raises her hand. "Hear me out, Mulder. We
question each other all the time. Why not this time?"

"I dunno," he shrugs. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm wondering if the girl in that file really was Samantha, Mulder. It
was almost too easy."

"I found her diary, Scully. I was *led* to her diary. It had to be hers.
Would they really have gone to so much trouble to manufacture that
evidence?"

"It wouldn't have to be manufactured evidence, would it? There are other
explanations. Do you remember what I said about the file I found at the
hospital? That it was like it was waiting for me to find it?" She
hesitates, then adds softly, "Maybe I just wanted it to be over, too."

Mulder shakes his head, ignoring her confession. "I was led to that
diary, Scully," he repeats. "And I was led to Samantha. How, I can't
explain."

"Maybe because you wanted to be?" she ventures.

"What about what Arbutus Ray told you?" he counters.

"What she saw, what she remembered was a long time ago. Maybe she
remembered an incident, but that doesn't mean that the girl she
remembered is Samantha. Or that Samantha was taken to live in
'starlight'."

"Then why did I see her that night?"

Scully looks at him for a long moment, then asks gently, "are you sure
that's what you saw? Are you sure that it wasn't just what you wanted to
see?"

He's reluctant to admit that the same thought has crossed his mind
recently. He shakes his head. "That might work for seeing Samantha, but
what about the diary?"

"There could be a lot of explanations for the diary, Mulder. It could be
real -- but maybe Spender and his family moved from April Base not long
after that last entry, and Samantha just left it behind."

He shakes his head stubbornly.

"Or maybe they left after she ran away," Scully suggests. "Maybe --"

He asks again, "Are you really thinking it's another hoax, Scully? That
all this evidence has been manufactured?"

"I'm just trying to explore all possibilities."

"And maybe, for once, I just want the simplest explanation." He gets up,
pacing around the room. "How many times in the past have we been
deceived? How many times have I been shown something, only to find out
later that it wasn't the truth it appeared to be?" He raises his hands in
frustration. "I really have nothing to go by but what I saw, Scully. I
don't disbelieve that you saw my mother, but I find it hard to believe
that she means well."

"Maybe there's only one way to find out, Mulder."

"And that way would be...?" he prompts.

"I've been doing some research these past few days," she hedges. "I've
been remembering some things, and I looked up some old case files. And
there are some things that -- happened -- that you may not know about.
Things not in the files. That I, um, experienced, but discounted at the
time."

"I'm all ears," Mulder murmurs. He pulls the chair out from the small
desk opposite the loveseat and sits facing face Scully. "Go on, surprise
me."

"During the Luther Lee Boggs case, the first year we were partnered,"
Scully says hesitantly. "My father had just died, remember?"

Mulder nods. "Of course I do. I still have the scar from that case, too."

"Yes. That was one of the things. Boggs predicted that, right down to the
cross and the blood on it."

"We may beg to differ on that," Mulder says.

Scully grimaces. "I know. You were more skeptical during that case than
I've ever been. But there's more -- things I never told you."

Mulder waits patiently for her to continue.

"I -- I saw my father," she confesses. "The night he died, I saw him."

"I can't believe I'm only hearing about this now," he says, stunned.

"I denied it to myself for a long time," Scully admits. "I wasn't sure I
wanted to know. Then other things happened. You know about some of them."

Mulder thinks back to the Harold Spuller case. He'd wanted to deny
Scully's vision himself, fearful of its implications. He shakes his head
sharply, not wanting to remember.

"What else have you been keeping from me?" he asks, trying to make a
joke. "Elvis sightings? You really did see the space craft in
Antarctica?"

"I saw you," Scully says unexpectedly. "When you were missing in New
Mexico and everyone -- including me -- thought you were dead. I thought
I'd dreamed it."

He's amazed, and a little angry. "You never told me," he says, trying to
keep his tone even. How is it that she, the unbeliever, gets all the
visions? "Why?"

"I tried to, when you first came back," she says. "But we were off and
running so fast that the opportunity passed."

He remembers that moment differently. They'd been in the elevator. She'd
had this look of wonder on her face, and he'd wanted to grab her and kiss
her, despite the fact that he was dirty and weary, and still blazing with
anger from what he'd learned.

Any one of those things would be off-putting, he reflects. He can't
really blame Scully for not sharing something that personal under the
circumstances.

Then they were on the run, and Melissa died. Scully had closed herself
off for a time after that.

"I think I'm jealous," he says, only half-joking.

"But you've seen things, too," Scully points out. "You say you were led
to Samantha's diary. And you saw Samantha."

"Maybe I did," Mulder admits, "I'm not so sure anymore. That I saw
Samantha, that is."

She stares at him. "You seemed so certain, even a few minutes ago. Why do
you say that now?"

"You make a very convincing argument, Scully," he says with a half-smile.
"Let's just say, for the sake of discussion, that what you suggest is
true. That finding the emergency room file was a coincidence, that what
Arbutus Ray remembered was just another runaway who managed to get out of
the hospital unseen -- or that it really was Samantha, and she still
managed to escape from the locked room and get away. How can we prove it
one way or the other?"

"I don't know if we can, Mulder," she says. "Not with what we've found so
far."

"What else would my mother be trying to contact me about?" Mulder asks.
"She started calling during the LaPierre case. I think she must have
known that Samantha was last seen in California, and me going out there
on a missing child case opened up a lot of memories for her. Maybe she
led you to the file that helped us find Samantha."

"Mulder, do you believe I saw your mother? Or, a manifestation of your
mother?"

Mulder is silent. He's told himself that he believes Scully, but he
really isn't sure what he thinks. Finally, he says slowly, "I don't
believe you'd lie to me. But we've both been hoodwinked so
many times..."

"That's why I propose we try and do this by ourselves," she says quietly.
"No outsiders, no possibility of deception."

"What exactly *are* you proposing, Scully?"

She's still a little hesitant to tell him. He's always ragged her about
her reluctance to believe in the unexplained, but has often been
curiously dismissive when she has admitted to it.

"I guess there's only one way to find out the truth," she says slowly,
feeling her way. "We need to hear it from the source."

Mulder stares at her. "Are you suggesting what I think you're
suggesting?"

"That we try to contact your mother," Scully agrees quietly.

~x~

Chapter Seven

"Scully!" The look on Mulder's face is pure wonderment. "Are you
suggesting contacting The Other Side?" He can't help himself. He feels
like he's fallen through the rabbit-hole.

"I can hardly believe it myself, but yes," Scully says, trying to stay
matter-of-fact. It's just like any other experiment, she tells herself.

"Pinch me," he says. "Did you put something in the tea? 'Cause I just
got very turned on..."

"You'd better be taking this seriously, Mulder," Scully warns.

"I am, Scully, I am. But that still doesn't explain why the sudden about-
face from you. You were pretty skeptical of Harold Pillar."

"I suspected his motives. I still do. I think that allowing an outsider
into this can only taint the results."

"That's spoken like the scientist I know and love," Mulder says lightly.
"How do you propose we go about it?" He wonders how far Scully is willing
to go with this. He's still not sure he can believe what he's hearing.

"We should probably try and do it at your mother's house," she says.
"That much Harold had right, as near as I can tell from the research I've
done. Attempting contact at a place where her living presence was
strong."

"You're full of surprises, Scully," Mulder says. "I'm speechless."

"It's just research," Scully says testily. One hurdle down, one more big
one to leap. She pauses, then gathers her courage and says it. "If I'm
the conduit, the way she can contact you, then I need to do this as much
as you do."

"You'd do this for me?" Mulder asks incredulously.

"For you, for Samantha...and for us," she says resolutely, though inside
she's filled with doubt. Can she do this? Now more than ever she needs
the strength of Mulder's beliefs. "But only if that's what you want."

He nods, unable to speak. Of all the many things Scully has given him
over the years, this is the most stunning gift of all.

"When do you want to try?" Mulder asks.

"Let's go to your mother's house in the morning. We can sleep on the
idea. I've sort of sprung it on you, I know." She stands up.

Mulder stands up too, and takes a step toward her. He reaches for her,
cups her face in his hands and looks at her seriously. "Thank you," he
says softly, and presses his lips against hers.

She stands very still, then slowly brings her hands up to rest on his
forearms. She returns the pressure of his lips gently, not pushing for
more, but not pulling away.

Slowly their arms slide around one another without ending their kiss.
Mulder's mouth starts to roam over hers, touching the corners, pulling on
her lower lip. She follows his lead and they begin to taste more deeply
of each other, bodies pressed close, closer. It would be so easy to keep
on going, Scully thinks dazedly.

This time it's Mulder who breaks it off. He clings to Scully but presses
his forehead against her soft hair, stroking her back as she trembles
against him. "We still have some other unfinished
business," he says softly in her ear.

"I haven't forgotten," is her shaky reply. "I still want you. That's
never going to change."

"I feel a big but coming on," he pulls back slightly and smiles at her,
and her lips twitch.

"We have to take care of something more important first," she reminds him
gently. "Until we do, I'm going to be a bit gun-shy."

"Is that what you call it?" He smiles into her eyes. Then he holds her
close, placing kiss after kiss on her hair, her cheek, and one last
lingering one on her lips. "That's an IOU."

"I'll see you and raise you," Scully says, kissing him back.

"Oh, you already have," he retorts, and is gratified to see her blush.
He's still the champion of innuendo.

x-x-x

"Scully?"

No answer.

"Scully? You awake?"

A sigh from the other bed. "Yes."

"Why?" He asks.

"Why are you?" She counters.

He flops onto his side, facing Scully's bed. He can just make out her
profile in the light leaking through the drapes. "I'm just lyin' here
thinkin'."

"You should stop thinking and get some sleep. Do you need the TV on? It
won't bother me."

Mulder smiles to himself in the dark. "You haven't said why you're not
sleeping."

The bedclothes rustle as she turns toward him. "You're keeping
me awake."

"Touche, Scully." He's sure she's smiling over there in the dark. "So
we're keeping each other awake."

"You said you were thinking."

"I am. I'm thinking about you."

Absolute stillness. He can't even hear her breathing.

Finally she says, "Go to sleep, Mulder."

"I can't," he says.

Another sigh from Scully. "I can't, either."

"It's like Christmas morning, isn't it?" he says. "You anticipate, you
hope, but there's also the fear that the event won't live up to your
expectations."

There's a long silence, then Scully says very quietly, "I don't want you
to be disappointed, Mulder, but I don't have any control over that."

"I know that, Scully," he says. "I -- I don't want you to worry about
that."

"I'm trying not to. But I don't want you to think I'm trying to talk you
into something."

"Have you ever been able to do that?" he asks. "I'm just glad you came.
Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm still glad."

"I'm turning on the light," Scully warns.

"No, don't," he says quickly. "Just...keep talking."

"What about?"

"I dunno. Anything. What you did this week. What you said to Skinner to
get him to let you come here."

"If you must know, I lied to him."

"You *lied* to Skinner? I'm surprised he hasn't already called me,
looking for you."

"I didn't lie to his face," she explained. "I told Kimberly I had a
family emergency."

"Scully! What if he calls your mom?"

"He won't. And besides, it wasn't really a lie."

"How do you figure?"

No answer from Scully.

"Thank you, Scully," Mulder says finally.

Still no answer from Scully. Maybe she's fallen asleep, but he doesn't
think so. He pulls the covers around him and shuts his eyes.

~x~

Chapter Eight

The condition of the house looks much worse in the light of day.

"My God, Mulder, what have you been doing here?" Every stick of furniture
has been upended, the bottom linings cut away. All the pillow covers have
been removed and the pillows tossed in the corner. Pictures have been
taken from the wall, and their paper backing torn away.

"Looking for something," he says.

"What exactly have you been looking for?"

"I'm not sure, I'll know when I find it."

"First things first," she gestures around the living room. "Let's get
things set to rights in here at least."

With Scully's help, he's able to get the room back in some semblance of
order.

"Where do you want to do this?" she asks.

Mulder raises his eyebrows at her. "Oooh Scully, do what?"

She looks away from him, but he can tell she's blushing a little. "You
know exactly what I mean. Are you serious about this?"

"Sorry, Scully," he says contritely. "Yes, I am very serious about this."
He looks around. He's suddenly struck by the loneliness his mother must
have endured in her later years. It doesn't help to know that she'd
brought it on herself. The sadness seems to surround him like a miasma.

"I don't know if I can do this," he says softly.

Scully comes closer and lays a hand on his arm. "We don't have to if you
don't want to," she says.

How can he back down? The offer Scully made was not done lightly. He
needs to honor that. "This room is as good as any other, I guess."

Scully stands in the middle of the room. "I'm not really sure what to do
now."

"Maybe we just stand, close together. I think you have at least as much
psychic ability as Harold Pillar has."

"Thanks, I think," Scully says. "But you're the one who wants the contact
as much as Harold."

"Maybe that's why I can't see her -- because I want it so much."

After some hesitation, they end up standing facing each other. Scully
reaches out her hands and Mulder takes them in his, holding them lightly.
He closes his eyes and tries to empty his mind.

Scully tries to do the same, though her technique is a little different.
Instead, she concentrates on Mulder. She's aware of his hands on hers,
warm and soothing. She wants this to happen for him, to give him what he
needs. What they both need to be able to move on.

He's not sure how much time has passed. Scully's hands feel cold in his;
they still hadn't done anything about turning the heat back on. He
considers stopping the whole thing, returning home.

Scully is on the point of saying it's not working. She's now embarrassed
that she even suggested it, and opens her mouth to tell Mulder so.

"Fox..." It's no more than a whisper, coming from Scully's lips. He
hasn't heard her say his first name in years. But this isn't Scully. It's
her voice, sure, but it's not *her.*

"Who is that?" he asks. He opens his eyes, and it's still Scully standing
before him, eyes closed, lips moving as she speaks.

"You know, Fox. You know who I am."

"How do I know?"

"Ask me something that she wouldn't know."

He casts back in his memory. "Who was my first-grade teacher?"

"Mrs. Frances. You had a crush on her."

He smiles, just a little, at the memory. All the boys had a crush on Mrs.
Frances. "What was my first dog's name?"

"You never had a dog, Fox. Your *father* didn't like them."

"I always thought *you* were afraid of dogs," he counters.

"That's what *your father* wanted you to think," she replies.

It's beyond eerie, hearing his mother speak through Scully. But no one
else would know these things.

"Are you finally ready to speak to me, Fox?" his mother asks.

"More to the point," he says, "are you ready to speak to me?"

"I was always ready," she avers. "You just never asked the right
questions."

That statement is definitely his mother speaking. She was always good at
deflecting blame.

"I only have one question. Why?" He can't bring himself to call her
"Mom." It's just too weird.

There is a long silence and he thinks, once again, he's asked the wrong
question. Par for the course, since he's evidently never done anything
right by her standards.

Scully is very still, but finally her eyes flutter and a sigh wells up
from deep within her. "I had to protect her."

Mulder waits.

"I had to protect her from your father. You know what he's capable of. He
used me, he's used you. He'll stop at nothing."

Another long silence. It's a battle of wills; it always has been.
Shouting at her and hectoring her never worked when she was alive. It
seems to be the surest way to get her to clam up. So he waits, letting
her speak in her own way and time.

"I've always loved you, Fox," says his mother in Scully's voice. "You
must know that. Everything I did, I did to protect you."

"I'm sure you'll understand if I seem skeptical," Mulder murmurs. "My
whole life seems to have been based on lies. I'm never sure which ones
I'm supposed to believe."

"You have always believed what you wanted to believe," she says.
"Sometimes it fit in with Their plans, and if it didn't, They found ways
to subvert you. But other times, you did it to yourself."

"What do you mean?" he asks. He's trying desperately to let her tell him
things in her own way, but his patience has limits.

"You think you saw Samantha," she says. "You wanted to believe she was
happy, in a better place, and so you saw her."

"Just answer this, Mom," he says, not really expecting he'll get an
answer, but what has he got to lose? "Is she dead?"

"No." There is no hesitation in her voice.

A shockwave of emotion rolls through him. "How do you know?" he cries.
"Please, I *have* to know."

"I knew where she'd been taken," she says. "And I knew when she ran away.
I hired a private detective and he found her. She escaped from the
hospital."

"Where'd she go?"

"She was cared for," she said. "The name is not important. They weren't
connected to us in any way. They knew nothing of her past, and I'm sure
Samantha never told them."

"Who are they? Where can I find them? Please tell me," he pleaded.

"Fox...I don't know," his mother's voice comes through. She has sounded
less and less like Scully, but he's not sure if it's his imagination
supplying the change or not. "I'm telling the truth. I burned his reports
as soon as I got them, and only contacted him from pay phones. Once I was
sure she was safe, that was all that mattered."

"How do you know she's still alive?"

"I think, given the current circumstances, that I'd know," is her dry
reply.

"Then why can't you tell me where she is now?"

"It was safer for me not to know. I kept track of her, very discreetly,
until she turned eighteen and left home. I know she changed her name, and
ended communication with everyone she knew. I think she'd always planned
it, Fox. She didn't want to be found then, and she doesn't now. But I'm
sure she's fine, wherever she is."

"How can you be sure?"

"Let's just say that there are people in the organization who wouldn't
have hesitated to tell me if they had information that would give them
some kind of hold over me. You should know that yourself. If Samantha had
been found, I would have been told in the most gloating way. From time to
time, they tried to make me believe that they had her. But I always knew.
She is
safe."

The tears are running down his face but he won't let go of Scully's hands
to wipe them away. "Why couldn't you tell me when you were alive?"

"I might never have told you, but for the case in California. I thought
you'd stopped looking for her ...it had been so long since I'd heard from
you. But I knew that the case would open old wounds. I knew my time was
short; it was the only way I knew to make amends. But you shut me out."

"You shut me out first," he says before he can stop himself.

She's quiet for so long he thinks she's gone.

"I can't explain any better than I have, Fox. I had no one to trust, no
one to turn to. The one I thought I could trust betrayed me. I had only
myself to rely on."

"You could have trusted me," he says. "Why didn't you trust me?"

There is no answer for a long time. He can't think of anything more to
say to her.

"Let it go, Fox. In one way, Miss Scully is right, though for the wrong
reasons. I want you to stop. One day, Samantha may come back to you.
Don't be afraid for her. Don't lead them to her. Be careful for your own
sake..." Her voice is fading. "Fox...do you understand now?"

"I'm not sure," he says. "I have to think about this."

"I can't stay. I've said what I came to say." Scully's grip seems to
weaken in his hands.

"You mean *gone* gone? You won't be making any more appearances?"

"Try to understand...that's all I ask..."

"One last question," he says desperately. "Why Scully?"

His mother smiles, and this time it is her face he sees, not Scully's.
"Someone I know -- knew -- once suggested that the best way to get your
attention was through Miss Scully. I didn't take his advice at the time,
but I suppose events have proved otherwise, haven't they?"

"Mom..."

To his horror, Scully crumples to the floor.

"Scully!" he exclaims, kneeling next to her. Carefully, he lifts her limp
form and carries her to the couch. He's been around her long enough to
know how to check for vital signs. Her pulse is steady and she appears to
be breathing normally. He races to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth,
then yanks the comforter off his mother's bed and folds it over Scully
carefully. He sits by her side and holds her hand, watching over her.

He's not sure how much time has passed when her eyelids flutter and she
looks at him drowsily. "What the hell happened, Mulder," she asks in her
own voice.

"You don't remember?" he asks incredulously.

To his very great surprise, she bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she chokes out. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "It was more than I expected. How are you feeling?"

"I feel really stupid right now. I can't believe I fainted," she says.

"Is that what you think happened?" he asks.

"Well, didn't I?"

"Not until the end. Seriously, are you okay?"

"I think so. Do you mean you, you talked to her? To your mother?"

He nods. Scully raises her hand to his face, and traces the tears still
on his cheeks. "It doesn't look like she told you anything good."

"She told me more than I expected. I just don't know how much of it I can
believe."

"It's a little late for you to become the skeptic in the partnership,
don't you think?" Scully asks with a watery smile.

"Well, if you've suddenly become the believer, someone has to naysay
you." He stands up and offers his hand to her. "Let's not talk about it
here. It's cold, and there's nothing for us to find here
any more."

x-x-x

Once they're in a quiet corner of the cafe where they'd gone the night
before, Mulder tells her what happened at the house.

"You don't remember any of it, do you?" he says dejectedly.

"The last thing I remember is thinking that it wasn't working," Scully
says. "The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and you were kneeling
next to me, trying to get me to wake up."

"Please don't tell me that you don't believe me," Mulder pleads.

"I think it's more important that *you* believe, Mulder," Scully says.
She looks at him for a long time. "*Do* you believe?"

"I know one thing for sure: you couldn't have faked what I heard and saw,
even if you wanted to," he says.

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," Scully says wryly. "But do you
think it was real? That what she told you is the truth?"

"It could be," he admits. "It fits some of the facts we know. It does
give me another avenue to search."

"Didn't you tell me that she said you shouldn't continue searching for
Samantha?"

"And since when have I ever listened to my mother's advice?" he says with
a grim smile. "I could get into a whole big circle-jerk about whether she
*really* wants me to look or not. I mean, why would she tell me
Samantha's still alive? Why does it matter to her whether or not I
believe she exists in starlight?"

Scully looks at his bleak expression. "Maybe it would have been better if
we hadn't done this."

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. I think it's better to know
something than to know nothing."

"So you've always said," she smiles a little sadly. "What are you going
to do?"

"I honestly don't know, Scully." He rubs his hand over his face. "I'm
sorry I don't have a better answer than that, and I'm sorry you had to go
through it."

"Don't be sorry about that," she says. "It's not something you have to
decide about tonight. If you believe, you've got something to go on. And
if *you* believe, that's good enough for me."

He finally smiles at her. "Well, that'll merit a special entry in my
diary. 'Dear diary: today Scully agreed with me.'"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," she teases. "Just that I don't disagree."

"Well, that's worth something," he says.

"What's it worth, Mulder?" she asks, suddenly serious.

"What would you like? A bundt cake? A day off? A night on the town?"

"I'll take whatever you're offering," she says.

He reaches for her hand over the table. "Sold," he says.

~x~

Chapter Nine

~Georgetown, one week later~

Scully gives the pot one last stir and turns the burner down. She's never
tried this recipe before, but