From: Snowrider5 <snowrider5@aol.com>
Date: 09 Jun 1998 16:18:48 GMT
Subject: NEW Goodnight Newton by Rachel Howard (NC-17/MSR) (8/14)

***********************************

"Goodnight Newton, (8/14)

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and other information.


The station wagon ran, but grudgingly.  Mulder stayed in the 
far right lane; with his foot pressing the pedal to the floor, the 
old car's speedometer crept up to fifty-five and refused to go 
any higher.

His handsome face animated with amusement, Mulder told 
Scully and Newton how he'd gotten the car.  Although she 
saw the humor in it, especially since Mulder was hopelessly 
liberal, the story was lost on Newton, and the hybrid's blank 
expression ruined the effect.  

Mulder lapsed into a moody silence.  The Mojave stretched 
golden dun all around them, the slash of the highway wavering 
ahead.  The late winter sun was up, narrowing her eyes.  
Mulder put his sunglasses back on and she flipped the visor 
down, wishing she had thought to bring a pair of her own.  
Newton was staring through the dirt-speckled window, silent 
as stone.

She studied him surreptitiously in the dusty vanity mirror.  No 
one who spent more than a few hours with him could fail to 
notice that something was wrong with him.  It wasn't just the 
odd way that he moved, or his syntax.  He was so clearly not 
an adult, in spite of his perfectly developed body.  He had 
understood Mulder's story, but the essence of what made it 
funny was beyond him.

His body.

They needed to do something about not being recognized.

"Mulder, not that I don't love this hat" - and she had to admit, 
it was pretty - "but we're still too recognizable.  I think we 
need to make a stop in Barstow."

"It would be a lot easier if there weren't three of us."

She glared at him.  Poor Newton had enough to worry about as 
it was.  "Yeah, but there =are= three of us, Mulder.  So let's 
focus on disguises, okay?"

"Disguises?"  Newton seemed to perk up a little.  "That's 
pretty easy, actually.  What did you want me to look like?"

"Why?"  Mulder asked, suspiciously.

Newton didn't answer directly, but his face shifted, melting 
like butter under a hot sun.  When it coalesced, it was a 
different man looking back at her in the small mirror; lean-
faced, dark-eyed, but still mirthless.

She gaped at him.  Gravel was spitting under the wheels of the 
car, and Mulder wrenched at the steering wheel, trying to get 
back into the lane and off the shoulder.  When the car was 
safely on the straight and narrow, he snarled,  "How about a 
little warning the next time you feel like trying out a new 
look?"

"Sorry," Newton said, his brown eyes wide.  "Didn't mean to 
startle you.  I thought you knew we could do that.  That =I= 
could do that," he amended, sadly.

Scully turned all the way around in her seat, staring at the 
hybrid.  His new face looked entirely real, as solid and 
convincing as his old face.  His body had changed, too, into a 
lanky shape reminiscent of Mulder's.  In fact, she realized, 
looking him over, he looked a lot like Mulder at the moment.  
"Did you use him for a model?" she asked, gesturing at her 
partner, her arm hanging over the seatback.

He nodded shyly.  "I hope that's okay.  It's not as easy for me 
as it is for the Hunter. I can't do everything that he can.  It's 
really hard to create a brand new image."

"What can't you do?"

He shrugged.  "I can't radically change my form.  I think he 
can actually become female; every time I've tried, I've 
managed to assume a somewhat female appearance, but my 
genitalia don't change, and I can't create the secondary sexual 
characteristics, either."  He handed out these details casually, 
with no noticeable embarrassment.  "If I tried to copy you, it 
would look pretty weird."

"Please don't try," Mulder interjected, so hastily that Scully 
smothered a laugh.  He looked horrified at the idea.  Even 
Newton seemed to get it this time, because he smiled faintly.  

"It's the first time it's ever been really useful.  Although I 
guess it's pretty useful for him.  The Hunter."  His expression 
grew wistful again.  "I always wished we could talk to him; 
find out how he does it.  Maybe there's something I could do 
to get better at it."  

Scully decided that it was easier to read his emotions with the 
Mulderesque face.  She wasn't sure she liked that.  "Does it 
take a lot of energy to... change?"

"Not really.  Some, I guess.  It's like flexing a muscle, sort 
of." He hesitated, then asked, "Do you want to feel it?"

She could almost feel Mulder tense up from two feet away.  
But the scientist inside of her was fully alert, and she nodded, 
stretching her hand out.

He took it and laid it against Newton's cheek, the brown eyes 
watching her quietly, with a little longing.  His skin was cool 
and elastic under her palm.  She ran her fingertips 
experimentally along his cheekbone, and he shut his eyes, 
slowly.  

The change happened so naturally that it hardly frightened her 
at all.  One moment his face was still under her hand, his 
coolness absorbing some of the warmth from her skin. Then it 
was shifting, liquid, rippling into another pattern, cheekbones 
rising under her fingers like a mountain range on a new 
continent.  Then his face was still again, and when he opened 
his eyes, they were steel blue, like the Hunter's, and she 
removed her hand, shaken.

His gaze did not meet hers; it followed the movement of her 
body, withdrawing.  She looked at Mulder, staring straight 
ahead, jaw set, and felt the raw tension coming off him in 
waves.  She wanted badly to touch him, but her hands stayed 
in her lap.

Mulder asked quietly, "Can all the hybrids morph like you 
can?"

Newton shook his head.  "I thought you knew.  We're the only 
ones who were made in his image."

His words sent a chill down Scully's spine.  We are made in 
his image.  

Mulder wasn't Catholic, and he didn't seem fazed.  "So?"

"So his race is the only one that I know of that can change 
their form.  Morph."

"Aren't there others like him who could be copied?  Who they 
could make hybrids from?"

"No.  He's different.  He's here for a different reason."  
Newton looked nervous, and Mulder's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What reason?"

Newton rubbed his hand over his face, a gesture so Mulder-
like that this time Scully did reach over the gearshift, 
unnerved.  She rested her hand on her partner's leg, just above 
the knee, and felt his quadriceps muscle flex, then release.  
She stared at her hand on his leg, wondering what it was doing 
there, and watched Mulder's hand drop from the steering 
wheel to cover it.  She didn't dare look up at him, but he laced 
his fingers through hers just as he'd done yesterday, at the 
dam.  "What reason?"  Mulder repeated, and his voice was 
stronger, surer.

Newton said, plaintively, "The deal was that you'd help me.  
In exchange for information.  I didn't say I'd give it to you all 
at once."

Mulder's voice was hard.  "Yeah, well, the deal's changed.  
What's the Hunter looking for?"

"Us," Newton finally said, tiredly.  "Hybrids.  Any 
experiments that would alter the races permanently.  His 
desire is to keep them from making the necessary 
adaptations."

"Adaptations for what?"

Newton stared.  "For colonization, of course.  Why else would 
they be here?"

"You're saying that he's playing for a different team?  He's 
trying to stop the, the Others, from colonizing this planet?"

"Yes.  All of the hybrids are experiments.  They want to find 
what genetic adaptations are necessary for the Others to exist 
successfully here, in this environment."

"He's on our side.  Fuck me," Mulder said, shaking his head in 
amazement. He issued a short bark of laughter.  Scully took 
her hand out from under his, but he didn't seem to notice.  "No 
wonder he didn't bother killing us.  I wonder how much he 
knows about us. If he doesn't believe in hybrids then how the 
hell did they make you out of his, his stuff?"

"I don't know how they got his DNA," Newton admitted, 
reluctantly.  "But I know he's angry that it was done.  He used 
to work with them, I know that much.  Something happened, 
though, and he turned against them.  They had some way of 
concealing the location of all the hybrids from him.  When 
they realized that the Kurt Crawfords were performing 
unauthorized experiments" - Newton's eyes cut in Scully's 
direction briefly, then back to Mulder - "they stopped 
shielding them.  Just stopped.  So he could hunt them down. 
And he did.  And I know they did the same to other hybrids in 
the past, when they were finished with them."  Newton 
stopped, and turned his head, looking out the window.  "It's 
pretty here," he offered.  "We never got out of Las Vegas 
much.  Only once, to the Hoover Dam.  Never this far."

"Lovely," Mulder muttered.  "Here we are, on the lam, 
suspected of bombing a clinic and murder and mayhem AND 
we probably have Arnold Schwartzenalien after us to boot."  
He looked over at Scully and asked, seriously, "San Francisco 
still look good to you?"

She knew what he was doing.  He was giving her a chance to 
back out of the expedition.  Of their own hunting trip.

Because that was what it was.  They were on the trail of the 
hybrids, of the Emilys-to-be.  Even if Mulder didn't know it 
yet, they were on a mission just as deadly as the Hunter's.  
For none of the unnatural, doomed fetuses could be allowed to 
live, to grow up into more little tragedies like Emily. 

No more of her bastard children would ever live to breathe air.

The cracks in the windshield bisected her vision, dividing the 
road on the horizontal as the yellow lines separated it on the 
vertical.  "The hat isn't enough.  I'll have to dye my hair.  
Dark brown, I think," she said, and even to her own ears, her 
voice sounded flat but certain.

**************************************

Newton was elected for the trip into the Barstow drugstore, 
with a short list that Scully scribbled on a grocery receipt she 
dug out of her purse.  

Mulder and Scully sat in the station wagon.  The parking lot 
was nearly empty, and four boys were riding their BMX's in 
loopy circles, shouting expletives at each other.  One fell off 
his bike, going down in a tangle of pedals and knees.

"G'wan, dickbreath!"

"Fuck your mother, Johnnie!"

"Yeah, yeah, let's see it!"

The boy who had fallen finished picking up his bike, and 
pushed it angrily to the other end of the lot.  When he got back 
on, he completed a wobbly circle, looking over at the others 
hopefully, but they were all busy circling, too.  Another one 
fell and the catcalls began again.

Scully was watching them, and her eyes were distant again.  
Her face was shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat, red-gold 
hair curving along her jawline.  When he reached across 
the console in the front seat, he imitated her unconsciously, 
resting his hand just above her knee.  She glanced over at him, 
then wordlessly put her hand on top of his.  

Whatever happens in the next few days, this isn't going to go 
away, he silently vowed.  They were closer to equilibrium 
than they had been in months, and the pleasure of holding 
Scully's hand was something that he was no longer willing to 
deny himself. 

*********************************************

Newton emerged from the store, stuffing bills back into his 
pocket, holding a plastic bag carelessly in one hand.  He 
moved with the easy grace of a natural athlete, his weight 
settling lightly on the balls of his feet with every step.  

"This is starting to get creepy.  Think we could get him to 
borrow someone else's face for a while?" Mulder asked, 
observing the way Newton's brown hair flopped into his eyes 
when he walked.  When he pushed it back with one hand, 
Scully made a little sound.

"You're right, that =is= pretty unnerving.  Maybe we could 
pick up a copy of GQ for him to copy faces from

"Why GQ?" Mulder asked, sounding injured.  She turned to 
look at him; he was grinning widely.

The hinges on the car door opened with a groan and Newton 
settled himself into the back seat.  He handed the bag to Scully 
and she reached inside.  Lady Clairol; a semi-permanent 
color, six to twelve shampoos, and Newton had chosen a nice 
nondescript dark brown.  "Thanks, Greg, this is perfect." The 
glasses with the plain plastic lenses wouldn't do much to 
change Mulder's appearance, but he was sporting a nice 
growth of stubble already, and in a day or two...

...in a day or two, what?  She'd truly be a murderer, if she 
accomplished what she meant to.

Scully had never lost any sleep over the lives she had taken in 
the line of duty.  Long hours on the firing range had honed her 
marksmanship to a point where she never hit anything by 
accident, and when she did shoot to kill, it was with reason.  

But this was different.  Half-human or not, she was on her way 
to terminate innocent lives whose only crime was that they 
were the product of medical rape, and that their gestation 
would result in painful experiments and premature death.  

Last night's dream had been worse than ever.  When the faces 
in the coffin turned toward her, one of them had been Greg 
Newton's.  Like Emily, he seemed to be pleading with her.  
She had spent fifteen minutes on her knees in front of the 
toilet in the motel bathroom, retching, the harsh fluorescent 
lights reflecting off the white porcelain, hurting her eyes.  

When Mulder took his hand away to start the car, she missed 
it. 

The engine made a pitiful whining sound when Mulder tried to 
coax it above fifty miles an hour.  He snarled something about 
the transmission and said, "I don't doubt the Hearon's 
good intentions, but this bucket of bolts is on its last leg."

They were already on the highway.  "If it's that bad, maybe 
we should go back to Barstow."

He shook his head.  "I want to get farther from Vegas."

Scully noticed the mulish look on his face and reflected that 
certain truths seemed to be universal.  Mulder was an 
educated, sophisticated man, but he refused to admit that he 
was being defeated by a seventies-era machine.  "I understand 
that, but if it breaks down between here and the next major 
city..."

"It'll make it as far as Bakersfield.  And I have an idea of what 
to do when we get there."  She suspected he was changing the 
subject deliberately when he glanced into the rear-view 
mirror and said, "Hey, Greg?  Could you do me a big favor 
and try to change into something that looks a little bit less like 
me?  I never had a twin, and looking at you is kind of freaking 
me out."

"Sure, I guess," Newton said, doubtfully.  "Sorry," he added, 
looking at Scully.

"That's okay," she said, politely. 

"I might be able to do someone whose face I remember well," 
he said, brightening.  "How about this?"

Scully gasped and Mulder's eyes flicked up into the rear-view 
mirror.

Alex Krycek was looking back at them, Newton's bland 
expression rendering the face eerily familiar.  It was just how 
Krycek had looked when he was reloading his gun, Scully 
thought, with a shudder.

"Jesus Christ, you know him?" Mulder demanded.  "How?  
When was the last time you saw the bastard?"

"This form?  Probably six months ago, at the lab. Why?"

Krycek was still around, then.  Wonderful.  Lovely.  "What 
was he doing at the lab?"

"I don't know.  He was there for some kind of treatment, I 
think."  Newton shrugged.  "Would you prefer a different 
face?"

"Please," Mulder replied.  "If it's not too much trouble."

Newton frowned for a moment, then his face shifted again.  
Kurt Crawford.

"Thanks.  Much better," Mulder said, then muttered, "Got to 
broaden your circle of acquaintances."

Scully let the forward motion of the car lull her into a thin 
sleep, not close enough to REM to begin the dream cycle.  
Amused that the scientist in her was on the alert even under 
the curtain of half-sleep, she drowsed as the old car rumbled 
up the highway.  When Mulder's hand slipped over hers again, 
she didn't move, but she slept a little more deeply.

***********************************************

The room still smelled of stale cigar smoke and coffee.  Very 
little changed in this room; not the leather wing chairs or the 
men occupying them, nor the thin porcelain cups that held 
their coffee and tea.  

Although no voices had been raised, the man standing at the 
end of the table could feel sweat running down the back of his 
neck, into his collar.  It itched badly but he held still, waiting 
for a response from the man who sat three chairs down the left 
side of the table.

His lips parted, revealing broken teeth.  "Where did they find 
the car?"

"A small town west of Vegas, over the state line.  Grafton."

"We had backup devices."

"In their luggage, sir.  They seem to have been discovered 
prior to the incident in Vegas."

His voice was even, but the dark eyes were murky.  "I want to 
know where they are.California is a big place. I suggest that 
you find them.  Now."  The big man shifted in his chair, 
allowing his eyes to drift incuriously down to his teacup.  The 
liquid in it was cooling.

His subordinate said, "Yes, sir," and left as silently as he had 
come.  When he closed the door behind him, he swatted at the 
back of his neck reflexively.

Inside, the big man stared down into his cup.

**************************************************

Scully looked slightly disgusted, and Mulder searched for the 
right words.  "It's not like we're going to sleep here."

"Do you suppose the towels come with the room, or do you 
think they're extra?  Or is it strictly BYOT?"  She peered out 
of the crazed windshield up at the sign.  The Prospector 
Motel.  The L was missing.  "This is bad, even for you, 
Mulder."

He shifted in his seat.  "We'll be out of here in under two 
hours, Scully.  Just enough time to wait for dark and not look 
like ourselves when we come out.  And I'll bet the desk 
clerk here has plenty of practice at not remembering the faces 
of the people who check in and out of this place in the 
afternoon."

She sighed, reaching for the door handle.  "Let's go.  I'll get 
the room this time."

"How's your cash flow?"

"I've got enough."  She stepped out of the car, her shapely hip 
and left leg sliding past his line of vision, the jeans hugging 
her curves enticingly, the fringe of hair visible beneath the 
hat fluttering in the wind.  She walked toward the motel office 
with a determined stride, as no-nonsense in the jeans, 
windbreaker and anomalous hat as she always was in a suit 
and heels.  

Newton was leaning forward, staring out the window.  The 
bus shelter across the street was decorated with dozens of 
flyers and a poster advertising "LIVE NUDE GIRLS."  A 
black man in scuffed shoes stood beneath the shelter, staring 
up the street. 

Newton asked, "Should I change faces again?"

"Later."

Two hours later, a small, dark haired woman stepped out of 
room 34.  A tall, lanky man wearing a hooded sweatshirt 
followed her.  A second man, short and stocky, with close-
cropped hair followed them, pulling the door shut behind him.  

The second man looked up into the evening sky.  The stars 
were coming out.  He looked down at his hands curiously, 
turning them over once or twice, and then back up into the 
sky, longing written on his dark-skinned face.

The other two had already gotten into the car, and he hurried 
to follow them.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 9

Note: 'dith was the one who came up with the moniker 
"Schwartzenalien" - I stole it from her, and I beg her 
forgiveness, and yours.  But admit it, aren't you just waiting 
for him to turn around and say "I'll be bahck" with a Teutonic 
accent?

******************************************

"Goodnight Newton", (9/14)

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and other information.

The bus station had a dusty, faintly rancid smell.  Scully had 
suggested a pit stop on the way over, and she was glad that she 
had finished her hamburger and fries in the car, because the 
atmosphere in the station was enough to take away her 
remaining appetite.

Or it could be sheer nervousness, Dana, she reminded herself 
sarcastically.  Yeah.  Heading off to terminate a bunch of 
nearly-alive beings, that could take your appetite away, too.

Mulder was threading his way back from the counter, stepping 
carefully past lines of people waiting to buy tickets and around 
a group of teenagers with backpacks who had parked 
themselves on the floor in the middle of the long waiting 
room.  His brows were drawn together in the middle of his 
forehead, the wide glasses making his face look smaller than 
usual.

Reaching them, he said, "Problem.  There's only one more bus 
from here to San Francisco tonight, and it's full.  Next one is 
at six AM.  We're going to need to rent a car."

Scully shook her head.  "No credit cards, remember?"

He swore impatiently.  She looked over her shoulder toward 
where they had left the old station wagon across the street, 
half-afraid that Mulder would want to take another chance 
with it.

But he followed her glance and her thoughts, and shook his 
head.  "If we broke down, we'd be too vulnerable.  I think 
we're stuck here for the night.  Unless one of those used-
car lots is still open," he said, brightening slightly.

"At ten-o-clock at night?"

He shrugged.  "All right, then we're stuck.  We'd better find a 
new place to stay; I don't want to do the Prospector twice.  No 
matter how clueless that clerk is, you don't look all that 
different."

"Thank God for small favors," she muttered.

They found a small hotel four blocks from the station, 
considerably nicer than the Prospector.  Scuffing her shoes on 
the faded but clean, plush carpet in the lobby, Scully was 
about to congratulate Mulder for selecting the place -  he had 
picked it out from a rack of flyers at the bus station - when he 
clapped Newton on the back and said, nastily, "Your turn to 
pay."

She scowled up at Mulder but he didn't seem to notice, 
scanning the few chairs in the small lobby.  In one, a older 
man was sitting, reading a copy of the New York Times.  He 
had folded it like a subway commuter and was squinting down 
at the print through a lopsided pair of glasses.

"He was already here when we got here, Mulder," she 
murmured, and he nodded, but didn't look entirely satisfied.

He did look faintly pleased when the desk clerk found them 
two connecting rooms on the fourth floor, however, and strode 
off toward the elevator without a backward glance.  She 
reached down for her small suitcase, but Newton intercepted 
her.

"May I?" he said, almost formally, and she let him take it, 
bemused.  Trailing after the two men, she noticed Newton's 
movement was not substantially different in this shape than it 
had been when he had resembled Mulder.  He walked lightly, 
like an athlete or a dancer; watching him made her straighten 
her own spine.

Her room was overheated, with a hissing radiator, but the big 
window looked out over a wide avenue.  Neon lights winked 
at the end of the block, and a small grocery store across from 
the hotel was still open, the tinkle of the bell over its front 
door faintly audible.  Scully struggled the window open, and 
reached behind her to flick off the bathroom light, feeling 
daring in only panties and a t-shirt instead of her pajamas.

Traffic was light, and the city's noises were too different from 
the night sounds of Washington to make her feel at home.  
Across the street, a woman sat out on a fire escape, dragging 
deeply on a cigarette.  The window behind her was open and 
the smoke trailed back into the room.  Scully watched until 
she was done, flicking the burning butt over the metal railing 
without glancing below, and crawling back through the 
window.  When the woman slammed her window shut, Scully 
imitated her, and made her way to the narrow bed.

And dreamed again.  

It was nearly the same; it never changed much.  But now 
Newton's disembodied face was there, floating in the coffin, 
and he was trying to tell her something.  She turned away 
from him, and called frantically toward Mulder's receding 
footsteps; the green sea was beginning to pour into the church 
again, oozing down the pews.  Scummy sea foam crept past 
Melissa, holding Emily's hand, and began to lap at Dana's 
shoes.  She reached for the solid back of one of the pews, 
trying to climb onto it, climb to safety.  Her fingernails 
scratched the surface, scrabbling dryly, but her limbs were 
made of lead and she was going to drown.

It was not like waking; it was a slow slide into realization that 
the wood under her hands was Mulder's bare back and 
shoulders, and the slippery dampness under her fingernails 
was blood from where she had broken his skin.  But she was 
still gasping shallowly, and he was holding her tightly, rocking 
her.  She could smell his blood and a faint tang of sweat.

"Is she all right?"

Mulder turned his head and spoke over his shoulder, toward 
the connecting door and the light spilling in from the other 
room.  "Yeah.  Go back to bed."

The door clicked shut and comforting darkness settled around 
them again.  She shifted, tucking her face into his chest so that 
her jaw was aligned with his collarbone, her lips pressing 
against the side of his neck.  He said nothing, only adjusted 
her weight slightly in his lap.  

"I hurt you."

"Ssh."

"I did."

"Just a little flesh wound."

She smiled tremulously against his neck.  "I'm sorry I hurt 
you."

"Sssh."

She smiled again, then licked her lips.  They were salty with 
the taste of his skin, and she tilted her head to press them, 
damp, just under the line of his jaw.

His rocking stilled but he didn't release her.  She had stopped 
gasping and was able to take measured breaths through her 
nose, inhaling his whole scent; blood and sweat, sharp hotel 
soap, complex male notes underneath it all making her acutely 
aware of the rasp of his stubble under her lips.  

Hardly aware that she was going to do it, she flicked her 
tongue out to trace carefully halfway down his jaw, to his 
small chin.  His taste was richer, more complicated on her 
tongue than it had been on her lips, and she wanted more. 
Recognizing from the vibration of his chin that he was making 
a sound, she stopped briefly to analyze its content, but Mulder 
was unintelligible as usual.  

She lapped lightly at the small indentation in his chin.  Mulder 
had gone completely still, but he made a tiny whining sound 
deep in his throat.  Drawing back briefly, she considered 
his face in the vague glow from the streetlights below; his eyes 
were shut tight, and his arms had fallen away from her, 
disappointingly enough; they rested at his sides.  

When she stretched her neck out to brush her lips against his, 
however, they parted instantly, admitting her questing tongue.  
She slid her tongue across his, tasting his mouth, feeling the 
different textures, the warm surfaces.

Mulder was making a new sound, now, lower and richer in 
tone, more urgent.  She shifted in his lap, instantly, shockingly 
aware of her own arousal, the exigency of her need for him.  
Bracing herself on his shoulders, she shifted again, onto her 
knees, straddling his hips.  He did nothing to stop her or help 
her; encouraged, she wound her arms loosely around his neck 
and rocked her pelvis forward.

Her damp panties made contact with him, hard and hot 
beneath the thin cloth of his 
boxers, and he pulled his mouth away from hers, gasping.

"Scully, no.  We can't do this," he pleaded, eyes still shut.

"Why not?"

"Not like this." His eyes crept open but he stared at her chin.

"Why not like this?"  She punctuated the question with a slight 
rock of her hips, and he moaned helplessly, shaking his head 
from side to side.  "Mulder?"

He swallowed, and a long minute passed.  She was stretching 
her neck out, preparing to capture his mouth with her own 
again when he blurted out, "Please. Not because you had a 
nightmare."  He bowed his forehead to rest gently against 
hers.  "Please.  All I want to do is help."

She still couldn't identify the cause of his objection, but his 
soft pleading left her shaky, unsure of herself.  She shut her 
eyes and tried to steady her breathing again.

Maybe it's me.  Maybe I was wrong all along, a small voice, a 
fat girl's voice, whispered to her.  Maybe he doesn't want this 
like I do.

Crawling off of his lap, she knelt on the bed next to him, not 
looking at his face, trying to shake the little voice.

"Scully?" The pleading note had not left his voice.  Mulder 
sounded as lost as she felt, and it emboldened her a little.  

She reached out and wrapped her thumb and forefinger around 
his left wrist.  "Will you stay?"

He hesitated, and she hurried to explain. "Just to be with me, 
that's all.  Nothing else."

He scooted back to the top of the bed and pushed the covers 
down so that she could slip between them.  She waited for him 
to finish climbing in next to her, shivering a little at the touch 
of the cool cotton on her legs.  

When he was settled next to her, she slid closer to him, 
insinuating herself between his shoulder and his neck, fitting 
along his torso.  She resisted the urge to twine her legs with 
his, instead resting her head on his shoulder and absorbing 
some of his warmth that way.  He wrapped his arms around 
her loosely and kissed the top of her head.

Her nerves still singing from the nightmare and its aftermath, 
Scully knew she wouldn't sleep again.  But Mulder's body 
next to hers was a complex distraction, and somehow his 
breathing lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

He stayed awake, listening to her sleep-sounds, and it was 
enough for now.

When she woke again, on her stomach, arms stretched out 
across the bed, the gray light of dawn was coming through the 
shades.  She was perfectly warm.  The shower was running 
in the other room.  Mulder was gone, but faint, bloody 
smudges marked where his scratched back had met the sheets.

********************************************

"Skinner."

"Sir, it's us."

They were sitting on the edge of the bed, Newton watching 
them from across the room.  Scully was holding the phone 
away from her ear, Mulder leaning in close to hear Skinner's 
reponse.

"I still don't want to know where you are," the A.D. said, 
instantly.  Mulder sighed.  "Do you still have your witness 
with you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good.  The three bodies discovered at the site have still not 
been identified."

"Dental records?"

"Let me finish, Agent Scully.  We're still looking, but nothing 
has turned up yet.  However, Agent Rasch assisted with the 
autopsies, and it seems nearly certain that the bodies were 
incinerated elsewhere and placed at the scene.  Rasch's 
opinion was that the fire in the clinic simply wasn't hot 
enough to burn the bodies so thoroughly.  Luckily for you, the 
LVPD's forensics team seems to agree."

"But we haven't been cleared yet, have we?"  Mulder heard a 
faintly accusing tone in her voice and cringed, waiting for the 
A.D. to start shouting.

Instead, he sounded mildly embarrassed.  "Not yet.  I'm 
heading over to Justice in half an hour to meet with Strickland.  
ATF is still yelling that it's theirs; the usual bullshit."

"So the FBI still doesn't have jurisdiction in the case."  Scully 
was nibbling her lower lip impatiently by now, and Mulder 
was watching, fascinated.  When she caught him watching 
her doing it, she reddened slightly and stopped.  Still looking 
at her lush, tempting mouth, he thought clearly, We need to 
talk about what happened last night before it gets to be an 
issue.

"No, we don't yet, although Rasch and Arthur have done a 
hell of a job getting the LVPD to let them play.  I don't think 
we're missing any information at this point.  Although the 
preliminary results on the hair and footprints still points to 
you."  Skinner sighed.  "You need to stay out of the way for a 
little longer, Scully.  If I'm not here when you call tomorrow 
morning, then I'm in Las Vegas.  Call my cell."

"Sir?  Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Skinner said, curtly, and hung up.

Newton was leaning forward, not saying anything.  Briefly, 
Scully told him what they'd just heard.

"It's them," he said, quietly.  "I know it."

"Greg, would there be any way of identifying them that we 
might not have considered?  Did any of you go to a dentist or 
a doctor after you left the lab?  Did any of them wear a watch 
or some jewelry - anything that would be left after a fire?"

He shook his head.  "We never needed medical attention.  
Even if we had, we couldn't have risked going to a doctor.  It 
would be too easy to identify us as-different."

"No jewelry?"

"No."

Mulder said, "Wonder where they got the witnesses."

Scully turned to him.  "Don't you think they just paid off some 
people to say they'd seen us there?"

He shook his head.  "Too risky.  They might renege, they 
might not stand up under cross-examination when the case 
went to trial.  I wonder if they didn't just make sure the people 
who planted the bomb looked like us.  Exactly like us."

"How?"

Mulder gestured at Newton.  "How do you think?  He can look 
like anyone.  All they'd need were pictures of us - then get 
one of their clones to copy them, trot over to the clinic, and 
bomb it."

This time, Newton was the one shaking his head.  "We were 
the only ones made in the Hunter's image.  None of the others 
can morph."

"How can you be sure that they didn't make more like you 
after you and your, uh, brothers left for Las Vegas?"

"He -  the Hunter - turned against them when he learned that 
they had created the four of us.  That was when he began 
destroying the clones.  They couldn't make any more in his 
likeness without an additional supply of his genetic material.  
That's why they have been searching for him."

"They're hunting for the Hunter?"

"One of them.  I think he's one of them."  Newton looked 
doubtful as he said this, and Mulder's eyes narrowed.

"Who?"

Newton spread his hands helplessly, and by way of 
explanation, his face changed again.  

Alex Krycek.

"Oh, fuck that rat bastard," Mulder said, instantly angry.  
"What's he going to do when he finds him, shake his hand and 
ask him for a sperm sample?"

Newton blinked at Mulder's outburst, his face simultaneously 
reverting to the Hunter's familiar features.  Mulder had 
noticed that the hybrid always reverted to that face in his 
sleep; the Hunter's face seemed to be the hybrid's natural 
look.  "A male donor doesn't have to be living.  It would be 
quite easy to harvest his sperm posthumously if it were done 
quickly enough."

"Thank you, Newton, that's an attractive image," Mulder said, 
sarcastically.  "So Krycek's supposed to track the Hunter 
down, kill him and retrieve his sperm?"

Newton admitted, "I don't know.  I guess so.  I know his 
treatments were advance payment for harvesting the Hunter's 
genetic material.  I'm guessing at the rest.  You know 
this Krycek?"

Mulder flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and 
Scully replied, "Sort of."

She turned to her partner and said, "Mulder, don't we have a 
bus to catch?"

He sat up.  "Yeah.  Let's get out of here.  Newton, can you do 
the guy you looked like last night again?"

Scully watched as Newton morphed back into the shape and 
features of the black man from the bus stop.  The process no 
longer gave her the creeps; she understood that it was as easy 
and natural to Newton as breathing.  

They left as they had arrived, on foot.  

The bus station was no less crowded at mid-morning than it 
had been last night.  The purchase of three one-way bus tickets 
to San Francisco, paid for in cash, elicited no comments from 
the clerk behind the window.  

Two men and a small woman filed onto the bus behind a 
woman with three small children.  Two of the children were 
already crying.  The tall man and the woman sat together on 
the left side of the bus, a row behind where the other man sat 
alone, next to a window.  The lone man stared out the window 
at the concrete dividers and lined-up buses with great interest, 
as if the destinations listed on their windshields were not LOS 
ANGELES; SACRAMENTO; RENO; SAN DIEGO but 
exotic places, cities of vast treasures and wonders beyond 
reckoning.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 10

***************************************


"Goodnight Newton", (10/14)

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and other information.

San Francisco was shrouded in a dense layer of fog.  They 
couldn't have asked for better cover if they'd submitted a 
special order to the Weather God, Mulder reflected.

Scully had spent the better part of the bus ride staring out the 
window and gnawing her lower lip.  The constant attention of 
the two children seated in front of them, who amused 
themselves by hanging over the seatback and goggling at the 
two agents, had dissuaded him from trying to start the 
conversation he desperately wanted to have with his partner.

But the enigmatic Dr. Scully clearly wasn't in the mood for 
casual conversation.  Mulder gave up on finding a suitable 
alternate to 'about last night...' as an opener after half an 
hour of trying to ignore the little monsters in the next row.

Kids.  What a nightmare.

What would they have done if Emily had lived?  

[...Why didn't you tell me?]

Scully wanted to adopt her.

[...are you her parents?]

[...]

She would have been sick, probably.  In need of constant 
medical supervision.  An even greater liability than a normal, 
healthy child.

Was that why he hadn't told Scully about the serum in the vial 
he'd found the night Emily died?

Scully worried at her lip until it looked raw.

The rest of the trip passed in silence.

****************************************

The seedy hotel was on a side street in the Tenderloin district.  
Scully surreptitiously watched the prostitutes outside while 
Mulder harassed the desk clerk about adjoining rooms.  There 
were three of them on the corner, all long-legged, broad-
shouldered and slim-hipped.

Newton leaned conspiratorially in towards her shoulder.  
"They're men," he said, his breath tickling her ear.

She looked up, surprised.  "Really?  Yeah, I think you're 
right," she said, eyeing the prostitutes again.  "Wow.  That's 
pretty amazing.  The one in the pink skirt...hey.  How did you 
know?"

"I just know," he said, mysteriously, and she fought back a 
grin.  He looked pleased with himself.

Settling her suitcase on the low table in the room, she heard 
Mulder's bag hit the floor next door.  After all these years on 
the road with him, she could differentiate Mulder's various 
noises - this was Luggage Being Purposefully Dropped 
because he had somewhere to go.  The knock came on the 
connecting door a second later.  

"Come in."

He stuck his head in but nothing else.  "Let's go."

"To the clinic?"

He sighed impatiently.  "Yeah.  This fog is too good to waste."

"You go.  Take Newton.  I have an errand to run."

"What?"  He stared at her like she'd suddenly sprouted a 
second head.

"Drugstore."  She fixed him with the stare that all women use 
on men when have a yeast infection and don't want to discuss 
it, adding, "We shouldn't all travel together anyway, in case 
someone's watching."

The stare plus the logic did the trick.  "Be careful, Scully.  
We're just going to get a look at the place.  We'll go back later 
tonight."

She nodded.

He hesitated for a second, and she tensed slightly, willing him 
to leave.  Go, Mulder.  

He left.

She checked the clip in her gun.  The cold metal felt familiar 
and reassuring in her palm, and she slipped the weapon back 
into her holster with some reluctance.  It wasn't a lie; she 
=was= going to a drugstore.

Cyanide.  There wasn't any way of testing it, but the fetuses 
were partly human, so it ought to work.  Cyanide, dropped 
into the test tubes where they floated.  She was going to need a 
lot, though, so her badge would probably have to come out.  

It was a risk, but a necessary one - and considering that her 
own pharmacist hardly ever bothered to read the drug-
interaction information on the computer screen when he filled 
Mulder's frequent prescriptions, there was a decent chance a 
fugitive from justice could get a large quantity of deadly 
poison without anyone asking what it was for.

**************************************

Newton spent more time gaping at buildings and people than 
he did looking where he was going.  With some effort, Mulder 
restrained himself from simply cuffing the hybrid to his own 
wrist - even in this part of San Francisco, it would attract 
attention.  He comforted himself with the thought that Newton 
fit in perfectly with the hordes of tourists crowding the streets 
who were doing exactly the same thing.

Haight-Ashbury was worse; Newton looked longingly at the 
artistically seedy coffeehouse across from the bus stop.  
"Maybe we could take the trolley back when we're done."

Mulder grabbed his sleeve.  "Come on."

The Center for Women's Health was a modest red brick 
building behind an eight-foot chain link fence with barbed 
wire strung along the top.  Mulder wondered what zoning 
variances had been necessary to get =that= up.  Then he 
thought about why it was there, and about the Hearons.

And where the fuck was Scully?  He scanned the street 
impatiently.  It would have been nice to have her around.  
Someone needed to go inside.

There were two security guards outside the clinic, and the 
longer they hung around out here, the less likely it was that 
they'd be able to get inside without being stopped.  Mulder 
looked up and down the street, and saw yet another 
coffeehouse at the end of the block.

Perfect.

"Hey, how 'bout a cuppa joe?"  he asked, not waiting for a 
reply.  He steered Newton towards the place, hoping it had a 
bathroom, and that it was crowded.

It did, and it was.

More perfect.

And there was Scully, rounding the corner, her brown hair 
bouncing her shoulders as she walked.  He narrowed his eyes, 
trying to superimpose his memory of her red hair onto the 
picture, but it didn't work.

She looked - different.  Something was wrong.

He waved and caught her eye.  She gave him a tense smile, 
and headed over to the coffeehouse.  

Good, he thought.  Looks like a bunch of tourists, meeting for 
coffee on a chilly day.  

He pushed his way into the small space, Newton close on his 
heels.  When Scully came through the door, he gave her a 
massive, fake smile and sang out,  "Hi, honey, I'm glad you 
made it!"  He swept her into a bear hug, ignoring Newton's 
bewildered look, and hissed into her ear, "Are you okay?"

The adolescent in him was thrilled when she followed his lead, 
twining her arms around his neck and burying her face in his 
neck.  She used the cover to hiss back, "Fine.  We need to 
get a look inside.  Newton should change into a woman and go 
with me.  You wait here."

He pulled back slowly, thanking the Lord fervently for giving 
him a partner like Scully.  That was exactly the plan he'd been 
considering.  

The smile on his face felt stretched and tight when Scully 
turned the same effusive greeting on Newton, who looked like 
a kid who had just gotten a puppy for his birthday.  He 
watched the hybrid's expression change as Scully spoke 
quietly to him, then Newton nodded and straightened up.  
"Sure, I'd love to do a little shopping.  That sounds great," 
he said, carefully, looking at Scully.  She smiled up at him and 
said, brightly, "How about a latte first?"

They sat at the tiny, wobbly table, sipping their coffee.  
Mulder made sure that Scully had the seat near the window 
and watched her looking at the clinic, her eyes narrowed.  

He stared down into his coffee and let his photographic 
memory work on the image of the clinic.  Eight foot fence.  
About twelve feet of open space in front of the door.  Was 
there a back door?  Must be - or an emergency exit.  Barred 
windows.  

What was Scully going to say when she and Newton got 
inside?  The idea of having him take on a female form was a 
good one; less threatening.  Not that it =should= be.  He 
thought of Valerie Hearon again, about what she'd said when 
she had given him the keys to the old station wagon.  She had 
chirped, "Baby killers.  You go take care of some =more= of 
them, you hear me?" Her charming, grandmotherly smile was 
totally at odds with the flat, cold glitter in her eyes.  "Take 
care of some =more= of them, now."

He hadn't shared that little exchange with Scully and Newton 
when he related the hilarious anecdote about how he'd gotten 
the car.

Scully turned to Newton and said, "Well, I'm about ready.  
You want to go to the bathroom before we head out?"

Newton picked his way through the crowd toward the 
bathrooms at the back.  Scully turned to Mulder and said, 
casually, "Why don't you just wait for us here?  I just saw this 
one darling little shop that I wanted to check out.  And I know 
how you feel about shopping."

He smirked at her.  "Oh, sure, sweetheart.  You go shop.  I'll 
grab a paper or something.  Read the sports section. Try not to 
break the bank, okay?"

She rolled her eyes at him slightly, and he guffawed 
appreciatively.  If looks could kill. "'Kay."

He knew their little charade probably wasn't necessary, but on 
the off chance that anyone =was= watching them, their next 
move was important, and he hoped desperately that Newton 
wasn't going to fuck it up.

But when the hybrid came back from the bathroom, Mulder 
admitted privately that he seemed to have gotten the message.  
Newton's head was down, and his hands were shoved deep 
into his pockets, effectively shrouding his upper body.  Only a 
very careful listener would have noticed that the voice that 
said, "Let's go," was just a shade higher than it had been 
before.

The small, dark-haired woman held the door for her 
companion, and they walked purposefully out onto the street, 
towards the clinic.  

*******************************

Sitting in a parked car on the other side of the street, Alex 
Krycek thoughtfully watched the two women who walked into 
the Center for Women's Health.  He knew damn well it was 
Scully and one of the hybrids.  The brown hair suited her, and 
she'd lost some weight recently. He smiled in spite of himself.  

Good for Scully.

********************************

Strung out on three cups of Columbian, Mulder was jumpy 
and fierce by the time Scully and Newton returned.  Newton 
was still dressed in the same clothes, but he looked like a tall, 
narrow-hipped black woman now.  Eyeing him, Mulder 
decided that it was still fairly convincing, even without 
breasts.  She explained loudly, "We didn't find anything we 
really liked.  You ready to go?"

He smiled toothily and replied, "You bet, sugar."  Scooping up 
his coat, he added, "How about checking out that museum you 
wanted to see?"

"Sure, =honey=, sounds great."

They got off the bus at the edge of the park.  Scully turned 
down a path lined with trees that looked as if they'd stood 
there since the beginning of time and said without preamble, 
"There's an emergency exit on the southwest wall.  Alarmed, 
though.  I couldn't see into the lab, but I know where it is.  Do 
you think we could get into the city records office and get the 
blueprint without anyone asking questions?"

He frowned, considering it.  "No.  They probably call the 
clinic when they get those requests.  Anything we've thought 
of, the anti-abortion wackos probably thought of first.  How 
did the security look from the inside?"

"Tight.  This isn't going to be easy."

"Yeah, well, I learned a few tricks from the Gunmen that 
should help.  By the way, what the hell took you two so long?  
I was about to take root in that damn coffeeshop."

Scully grinned wolfishly.  "Told them I was interested in 
making a major gift to the clinic.  Got us the grand tour.  Did 
you know they get an average of one bomb threat a month?  
And the executive director knows her political history.  I 
forgot that the Reagan administration never even authorized a 
Justice department inquiry into that rash of clinic bombings in 
the 80's.  Twenty-five of them.  I guess Clinton is an 
improvement in some ways," she said, resignedly.

He chuckled.  Scully's politics never failed to amuse him.  
"Okay, so we go in the back.  We make our way to the lab - 
and you know, we need to map this all out before tonight.  
Then what?"

Mulder knew she'd thought about it, but he wanted to hear 
what Scully planned on doing if they found what he suspected 
would be waiting for them in the clinic - rows of half-alien, 
half-human fetuses floating in test tubes.  If they were the 
same ones he'd seen in San Diego, at least some of them were 
technically Scully's offspring.  

He expected a precise, clinically-delivered speech about 
calling in the dog and pony show, notifying Skinner, getting 
back-up.  But she stumbled, literally and figuratively; her toe 
caught a crack in the asphalt path.  He grabbed her upper arm 
and kept her from tumbling to the ground.

"Whoa," he said, righting her.  But when her eyes met his, 
they were full of tears.  

"We have to kill them," she whispered.  "All of them."

**************************************

Behind them, waiting near the entrance to the park, Krycek 
was not amused.  Why the fuck didn't they have a car?  
Trailing them on public transportation was no fucking picnic, 
and parking in this town was a nightmare.

He watched Scully nearly fall on her face, and Mulder 
catching her.  How sweet.  The hybrid stood there uselessly, 
his big hands dangling at his sides.  The form he had taken 
was eerily appropriate, given the part of town Mulder had 
chosen to stay in.  With the tiny breasts and the big 
appendages and the way he was walking - not without grace, 
but not like a woman, either; no looseness in the hips - the 
hybrid could pass for one of those sexually ambiguous 
prostitutes.  Except for the clothes, Krycek amended.  The 
clothes were all wrong.  

He couldn't hear a word they were saying, but it hardly 
mattered.  Mulder was brushing the hair off Scully's face, 
cupping her jaw in his hand, bending down a little to say 
something to her.  

Krycek let a thin smile creep across his face.  She was pulling 
away from Mulder, gesturing dismissively.  He straightened 
up, and even from this distance, Krycek could see the 
expression on Mulder's face; like someone had kicked him in 
the shin.  The thin smile got a little wider.

He moved fast when they came out of the park and managed 
to pull in behind their bus.  He checked the number on the 
back of the bus and guessed that they were heading back to 
the hotel.

And the damn fog was finally lifting.

All right, he told himself.  

We'll wait.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 11

*************************************************
"Goodnight Newton,"  (11/14)

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and other information.

"The death of the child is always a model for the death of the 
parent.  A mother gives birth in order to give life to her child; 
a child dies in order to shape the death of its father.  When the 
son dies before the father, the father's death is widowed; it 
will be crippled, without a model.  That is why we demons die 
so easily; we have no offspring, no model has been set for our 
death.  People without children die easily, because their entire 
endeavor in eternity is just a single extinguishment in a single 
instant-.Not to mention the death of women and their 
offspring  --  that is of an entirely different breed, not of the 
same variety as the death of men, and therefore it follows 
different laws-"

Milorad Pavic, Dictionary of the Khazars.



This, Mulder thought, listening to the sirens approach while he 
struggled for his next breath, was not good.

Mulder argued strenuously against taking the hybrid with 
them, but Scully claimed that his shape-shifting ability might 
possibly come in handy.  Mulder opened his mouth to argue 
again, but Newton said, firmly, "I'm coming.  I want to 
come."

And Scully immediately said, "Okay."  She glared at Mulder 
until he shut his mouth.  Through clenched teeth he said, 
"Could I have a word with you?" and dragged her into the 
other hotel room by her elbow.

Whoever had appointed Mulder her supervisor must have had 
a sick sense of humor, he reflected.  She almost always got the 
last word.  In this case, she waited until they were decently out 
of earshot and said, simply, "We need him."

"For =what=?  Jesus, Scully, he's a total liability.  We can -"

"We =need= him."

"For WHAT?"

"We just do."

It always floored him when Scully fell back on instinct instead 
of logic.  She walked away and began kicking off her shoes, 
looking down into her suitcase at the same time.  He stood 
watching stupidly, unaware that the argument was over, until 
she grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in 
one fluid motion.  

Then he realized that she was changing; he'd been dismissed, 
and he was about to be caught staring.  He stalked out of the 
room and that was that.  Newton went with them.

They got into the place so easily that Scully began cursing the 
general incompetence of left-wing liberal asshole idiots under 
her breath.  The switch for the silent alarm had been helpfully 
picked out in red electrical tape and labeled.  He disarmed it 
easily, without even needing to resort to the tricks Langly had 
taught him.

They left Newton in the alley on "perimeter watch," as Scully 
kindly put it, outside the back door, looking around nervously.  
The lone streetlight cast an orangish glow; it was a narrow 
space that stank of garbage, and Mulder felt slightly 
vindicated.

The clinic was cold and dark as a morgue. The faint light from 
the emergency exit sign dimmed after a few feet, leaving them 
with his flashlight.  

Scully walked ahead of him on sneakered feet, quiet as a 
predator.  His shoes squeaked once on the linoleum, and he 
tried to imitate her delicate, feline footfalls after that.  

She turned left once, onto a short hallway.  Their lone beam of 
light reflected off of brass doorknobs set into windowless 
doors.  He guessed they were examination rooms.  At the 
end of the hall was a door with a high window picked out by 
the glare bouncing back from their flashlight.

"Lab," Scully whispered unnecessarily.

It wasn't locked.

The room was smallish and narrow.  Mulder's flashlight 
illuminated a couple of surgical tables and a tall metal cabinet, 
some equipment, a folded stack of linens in the corner.  Over a 
sink on the far wall, he could make out a brightly colored 
poster about hand washing procedures and the stern typeface 
of the OSHA flier.

No test tubes.  Nothing else.

"Fuck," he hissed.  "What the fuck was he playing at?"

Scully shook her head silently, and grabbed the flashlight.  
Walking ahead of him, she panned it slowly around the room.  
She flicked it up at the ceiling, and they both examined the 
peeling paint over the drywall.  Finally, she directed it at the 
wall behind the surgical tables.  "Let's move these.  Maybe 
there's a door in the wall behind that cabinet."

They were light, but made an alarming clanking sound, 
deafening in the still building, when they rolled away.  Mulder 
caught the tip of his shoe on something in the floor and let 
out a quiet curse before he looked down.

Buried in the linoleum floor were a small steel ring and a 
latch.

Without a word, he flipped the latch back and curled his 
fingers through the ring.

The section of the floor lifted easily.  "The clinic people 
probably think it's a crawl space," he said, impressed.  Scully 
was already edging past him, pointing the light down.

At steel subflooring.

"What the =fuck= is that?" he asked out loud.  

"Look."  Scully directed the center of the beam into a corner 
of the subflooring.  A keypad was set into the metal.  
Radiating out from the corner were thin metal seams outlining 
what appeared to be a door-sized panel.

"Stop."

The voice came from behind them.  They both spun around; 
Scully's gun was halfway out of her holster before they saw 
the familiar square jaw and shoulders.  

Mulder took his hand off the butt of his gun.  "You were 
supposed to stay outside.  We both just got about two inches 
from blowing your brains out."  Newton didn't answer, just 
brushed past Scully and knelt on the metal panel, at the 
keypad.  He began keying in a code.  Watching him, Mulder 
repeated, "Why the hell didn't you just tell us the code before 
we came in? =Hey=!"

The keypad blinked to green and the panel immediately began 
to sink with a slight hiss.  The bulky form crouching on it 
straightened, moving with the uncanny, fluid grace that 
Mulder had become accustomed to over the last few days.

Scully was a heartbeat ahead of him; her foot touched the 
panel before it had sunk more than another foot into the 
blackness below.  Mulder was right behind her, but the two-
foot drop made him stumble slightly, and he grabbed at 
Newton to steady himself.

The eyes that turned towards him reflected the cold light like 
the back of a chisel.  He heard Scully gasp and knew she had 
seen it, too.

This wasn't Newton.

He let go of the Hunter's sleeve and the eyes flicked away 
from him incuriously.

The panel was still dropping.

They were descending into a glass and steel nightmare.  The 
machinery beneath the panel continued making a faint, 
hydraulic hiss.  Rows of floor-to-ceiling tubes, wide as a 
man's body, stretched away from them, connected to each 
other with thin glass pipes through which green fluid dripped 
steadily.  In the center of the long room stood an open tank 
filled with more of the green stuff.  

There were shapes floating in the tubes and in the giant tank.  
Kind of like a hybrid sandbox, Mulder thought crazily.  
Everybody out of the pool, the lifeguard said so.

The panel stopped moving; it made a solid clank as it hit the 
floor.

Immediately, the shapes in the long tubes and the ones floating 
in the tank turned as one toward the three figures on the 
platform.  Liquid gurgles overlaid the echoes of the metal 
plate connecting with the floor.  A little green goo slopped 
over the side of the great tank.

The ovoid eyes that turned toward them were flat and blue.

For Scully, nothing in the room existed apart from those eyes 
in the half-second after she had first seen them.  They were not 
convex.  If anything, they were less human than the Hunter's; 
less earthly than a reptile's.  They were also unmistakably the 
same exact shade of blue as her own eyes, reflected back at 
her in the unforgiving light of a hotel bathroom.  They were 
the same eyes that had looked up at her from the pool in the 
coffin in her dream.

The Hunter began to move and Scully began to scream.

With a few economical steps off the panel, the Hunter was 
already reaching up by the time the first echoes of Scully's 
scream reached Mulder's ears.  Mulder reached for her 
instinctively, but he was also trying to reach for the Hunter at 
the same time, to stop whatever he was doing, and both 
gestures fell short.  The Hunter's arm flashed up and around in 
a clean arc, then something dropped from his hand into the 
first of the interconnected tubes.

The fluid within immediately went murky, and began to roil.  
Mulder thought he could see limbs flailing wildly within, but 
the now-cloudy liquid was merciful and the sight of the 
creature dying inside was mostly hidden.

And the darkness was moving through the glass pipes to the 
next tube.  

And the next.

And wasn't it getting harder to breathe?

The air was - thickening around them, and Mulder, lost in the 
horror of watching a shapeless form in a tube struggle weakly, 
missed seeing his partner begin to turn blue.

Then a strong hand was jerking him back the half step onto the 
platform, and he stumbled back into a solid body.  

The last thing he saw was the Hunter, advancing on the tank, 
where the green liquid was still clear.  The shapes within were 
flailing nonetheless, salamanders in gasoline, limbs twitching 
furiously at the approach of the match.

He woke on damp asphalt.  It was raining into his face and his 
chest was burning fiercely.  Before he could assimilate the 
mixed sensory information, another piece was added to the 
puzzle; a warm mouth closing over his, sucking the air out of 
his lungs, withdrawing, returning with another lungful of air.

His vision began to clear and he let his head fall to the side in 
time to see Scully lying beside him.  She was not moving and 
he heard the blurry figure bent over her spit out a curse in a 
foreign language.


Russian?

Then his head was tilted back to the center and the mouth 
closed over his again.  

This time he managed to get a half-breath in when the mouth 
withdrew and a half-syllable out on his exhalation. "Sc --?"

"Come on, dammit," a familiar voice said beside him.  The 
rain was falling into his open eyes and he turned his head to 
make it stop.  The figure was less blurry and he saw, with 
rising alarm, that Scully was not moving.

He tried again.  "Scu -"

"Mulder, shut the fuck up and =breathe=, okay?" The voice 
was still familiar.

He stubbornly blinked the rain out of his eyes for the third 
time and finally the figure swam into focus, through the rain 
and thin smoke.

Alex Krycek, apparently performing mouth-to-mouth on 
Scully.  

Mulder got another half-breath and tried again, the panic 
rising in his chest eclipsing the terrible burning.

"Scully."

"Mulder, for fuck's sake, SHUT UP!"  Krycek snarled, 
without looking at him.  His dark, sleek head dropped towards 
Scully's again, one hand supporting the back of her neck, the 
other covering her nose.

Footsteps behind and above him.  

Krycek's head snapping back, his eyes narrowed.

Like a fine portrait of a battle, the memory would linger: the 
Hunter, standing over Scully, Krycek crouching without a hint 
of submission, hovering protectively over her body, glowering 
up at the Hunter.

Mulder, trying to breathe.

Krycek snarled softly and a small, pointed tool appeared in his 
hand.

And then the footsteps were receding.

Krycek stared after the departing figure Hunter for a second, 
and swore again, bitterly.

A small sound that might have been a cough came from Scully 
and Mulder wanted to cheer but he still couldn't breathe.

That was when he heard the sirens.

Krycek swore again, more purposefully, and pressed his 
mouth to Scully's again.  This time when he pulled back, she 
took a gasping breath on her own.

"Good girl," he crooned, clearing the hair away from her face 
where it was clinging to her mouth and nose.  He bent his 
mouth to hers once more, and incredibly, her eyes were 
twitching like they wanted to open.

The sirens were getting louder.

Krycek glanced over at Mulder and said, "I wish you could 
talk to me, you stupid bastard.  That shit is toxic to you - 
haven't you figured that out by now?"  He shook his head and 
applied his mouth to Scully's again.  This time, her eyes did 
flick open, and Mulder devoutly hoped she couldn't see just 
who was helping her breathe.

The wail of the approaching sirens was still increasing and 
Krycek said, insistently, "Don't try to talk.  The hybrid - he's 
dead."  He glanced at Scully once more, but it was Mulder's 
lips he bent towards this time.

His kiss was soft and lingering.  When it was over, he stood.  
"I'll be in touch," he said, with a hint of his old cockiness, and 
then he was gone in the direction the Hunter had taken, his 
footsteps echoing in the alley.

Scully was still gasping steadily beside him, and it sounded 
like sweet music.  The rain was falling in his eyes again, and 
so he shut them.

The next time he opened them, the paramedics were there.

***********************************

"Scully?"

Bad, bad taste and her chest hurt terribly.

"Sir, I must insist - "

"Scully, if you can hear me, just listen.  You're in the hospital, 
Mulder's here, too.  You're going to be okay.  Both of you."

Skinner?  

Each rise and fall of her chest hurt.  In.  Hurt.  Out.  Hurt.

She risked cracking her eyes open, and immediately let them 
shut again.  Bad mistake.  Bad pain, bright, white lights.

Hadn't it been dark?

Where had Newton gotten to?

It was better with her eyes closed and she let the dark come up 
and find her.

********************************

"Scully?"

Before she could stop herself, she opened her eyes again.  This 
time it wasn't quite as bad, and her boss' face swam briefly 
into focus.  She recognized the thin membrane between them - 
it was an oxygen tent, she thought hazily.

Her chest still hurt.  She shut her eyes again.

"Don't try to talk, okay?  The nurses were pretty adamant 
about that.  I waited to call your mother until we were sure 
you were out of the woods.  I think she's asked one of your 
brothers to come up and see you here.  I told her it wasn't bad 
enough that she needed to fly all the way out here herself."

She opened her eyes just enough to see him grimace through 
the odd distortion of the oxygen tent, and he added, "I lied to 
your mother for you, Scully.  I hope you're grateful."

Dana allowed herself to imagine what Bill's reaction was 
likely to be when he saw her like this, and silently cursed 
Skinner.  Mom would have been much better.

There was a creaking noise from the door and Skinner looked 
over his shoulder, then started visibly.  "Jesus Christ.  I 
=know= you're not supposed to be out of bed."

Mulder.  Of course.

Skinner made a bunch of grumbly mother hen noises totally 
unbefitting a military man, and then Mulder's face was 
hovering anxiously over hers.

He looked like hell.  She winced, revising her estimate of just 
how bad Bill's reaction would be upwards.  If she looked like 
=this=-

Mulder's eyes were blackened and swollen, and they were 
oozing something disgusting.  His skin was pale, and he was 
wheezing badly.  "Scully?"

It was an effort, but she managed to raise an eyebrow.

Mulder smiled.  "You look even worse than I feel."  He 
swayed alarmingly and Skinner's arm wrapped around his 
waist.

"That's it. Back to bed."

She closed her eyes again and listened to Mulder's retreat.  
Skinner seemed to be helping him; from the sound of it, he'd 
made his way to her room in a wheelchair.

Bill showed up a few hours later, bearing a potted lily.  When 
he got close enough for an unobstructed view of her, he 
looked horrified.

"Jesus.  Dana, they didn't tell me - God.  I know you aren't 
supposed to talk." She watched as her brother struggled to 
compose himself, covering his discomfort by dragging 
a chair over to the side of the bed.

He took his time getting settled.  "They said you're going to 
be fine," he said out loud, and Dana guessed he'd needed to 
remind himself.  "Fine.  Tara sent a card; she would have 
come up here too but Matthew has some kind of stomach flu - 
he's been throwing up.  But he's gonna be fine, too," he 
added, hastily.  

Bill leaned back and looked her over briefly, found where the 
hand without the IV rested beneath the blankets, and wrapped 
his own around it.  Touched, Dana wished she could say 
something.  Bill hadn't ever been a hand-holder.

He must have seen something in her face, because he 
admonished her, "Don't talk, please?  Your nurses are pretty 
scary.  I couldn't get a good look at her nametag, but I think 
the one out front might be Nurse Ratchet, and I really don't 
want to get on the wrong side of her."  

It hurt a little at the corners of her mouth, but she smiled for 
him, and he looked relieved.  "I'm getting a little tired of 
seeing you in hospitals, though."  His lips tightened and he 
added, "Your boss said that Mulder's here, too."  

She waited, but for once Bill left it at that.  

The fluorescent lights in the ceiling obviously hadn't been 
placed there with the patient's comfort in mind; at least, not a 
patient who'd just been exposed to toxic gas from Reticula.  
The light was making her eyes ache and she closed them 
briefly.  Misinterpreting the gesture immediately, Bill said,  
"You're tired.  I'll leave and let you sleep."

She opened her eyes again and squeezed his hand as hard as 
she could.

He bent over her, his blue eyes, so much like hers, searching 
her face.  There were lines in his face that she hadn't 
remembered; was it the few months as a father that had 
changed him?  

His breath fogged the plastic drape of the oxygen tent as he 
said,  "Okay, I'll stay."

She slept anyway.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 12

********************************************

"Goodnight Newton", (12/14)

See chapter 1 for disclaimers and other information.

Mulder was released two days before Scully; when he breezed 
into her room to rub it in, she muttered something dire.

"They just like you better, Scully.  Must be your sparkling 
personality."

She glared at him.  "I hope they've scheduled you for physical 
therapy," she said, nastily.

"Sort of.  Gave me this nasty-looking piece of equipment to do 
breathing exercises with until we get back to D.C."

"Speaking of which, our hearing isn't until next Monday."

"And they're letting you out of here Friday?"

She sighed.  "I guess that's for the best. I'm hoping they'll be 
a little more understanding if we still look half-dead."

He grinned wildly.  "Then you have absolutely nothing to 
worry about, Agent Scully.  You look like shit, and I'm sure I 
look worse."

She returned the smile half-heartedly.  They did look like shit.  
Their eyes were still tomato-red, oozing a gooey discharge 
that no amount of flushing with medicated solution could 
entirely erase, although the problem was clearing up slowly.  
Both agents were still wheezing slightly after any extertion, 
but Mulder's lungs had cleared out faster, earning him the 
early release.

After the second day in the hospital, when he got out from 
under the oxygen tent, he made his way down the hall to 
where Scully lay under the layers of plastic every chance he 
got.  When the night shift nurse joked with him about moving 
his bed to Scully's room, he took her seriously, and sulked 
when he realized that hospital policy was apparently inflexible 
on 
the matter. 

Bill Scully caught Mulder walking back to his room after a 
visit with Dana.  The agent was dragging his IV stand with 
him; in spite of the fact that his labored breathing was audible 
from half-way down the long hallway, he irritably waved 
away the attentions of a nurse who tried to order him into a 
wheelchair.

Bill watched his slow progress impassively, but held the door 
open for Mulder when he reached the threshold.  Mulder 
nodded slightly, then got back into the hospital bed, pulling 
the IV stand to the side.

"Feeling any better?"

Mulder looked at the other man warily, then nodded, still too 
out of breath to speak.

Bill hesitated, then said, "My mother sends her best." 

Mulder nodded again, then wheezed, "Tell her hi."

"Will do."  The door closed softly behind him, and Mulder 
tried to guess what had thawed Dana's big brother towards 
him, if ever so slightly.  It was a soporific exercise, and he fell 
asleep quickly.

************************************

That next day was Dana's first one out from under the oxygen 
tent, and as soon as Mulder got down to her room, she began, 
all business.  "We need to discuss what we're going to say at 
the hearing."

After he caught his breath, he reminded her, "It hasn't even 
been put on the schedule yet.  Couldn't we play Yahtzee or 
something?  Maybe catch some cartoons?"

"Would you rather discuss what happened back at the clinic?"

He winced immediately.  "Scully, I'm sorry.  I should have 
realized that what the Hunter 
was doing -"

Her face softened, and she reached for his hand.  "Mulder, you 
don't have anything to apologize for."

"If I had been able to stop him -"

"You couldn't have."

He said nothing, but looked miserably at her.

"Mulder, =please= don't do this to yourself.  That's not what I 
wanted to talk about."  She hesitated, then said, "It was 
Krycek outside in the alley, wasn't it?"

"I was hoping you were unconscious."

"The EMT's thought that you must have given me mouth to 
mouth yourself before you passed out yourself.  And 
apparently that's what they told Skinner.  What was Krycek 
doing there?"

"I think what Newton said was more right than we knew.  I 
think Krycek's after the Hunter for some reason.  Either that 
or he's after us; but considering he saved both of our lives, I 
kind of doubt it.  What I want to know is why he wasn't 
affected by that shit like we were."

"What happened to Newton?"

It was the question he had been dreading.  "Krycek said he 
was dead.  I read the police report of the scene; they described 
finding a small spill of highly acidic material by the door in 
the alley which I'm guessing were his remains."  He paused, 
then added gruffly, "I'm sorry about that, too."

She didn't answer, but her mouth twisted slightly at the 
corners.  After a minute, he pulled the chair closer to her bed 
and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  She scooted to the 
edge of the mattress and rested her head against his shoulder, 
reminding him of the dingy motel in Bakersfield.  Like that 
last time, he tried to tell himself that he was satisfied with 
just kissing her hairline.  

Suddenly bitter, he tried to think of one other time that he'd 
been allowed to kiss her outside of a hospital room.  There 
was the time on top of the Hoover Dam, just days ago, but that 
had been a crisis, too.  Scrolling through his memories, he 
couldn't unearth another example.

It was time things changed.  Maybe what he'd thought of as 
gentlemanly behavior in Bakersfield - as not taking advantage 
of his partner - had been a mistake, after all.  After all this 
time, maybe it would take some kind of wound, some damage, 
to bring them together for good.

Too soon, she pulled away.  "I need to tell you something."  
She breathed deeply and continued, "Do you remember what 
happened when we got down to the basement at the clinic in 
San Francisco?  When the door, or whatever it was, stopped 
moving and made that clanking sound?"

He nodded.  "All the -" he hesitated, "the fetuses looked at 
us."

She said, steadily, "That was what I had been dreaming about.  
Only in my dream they were in a coffin.  A deep one, lined 
with white satin.  And there they were, floating in green stuff, 
looking at me."

The ghostly echoes of Scully's screams rang in his ears, and 
he wondered if she was apologizing for them.  "Scully -"

"And they were =exactly= the same, Mulder.  The faces I saw 
in my dream, right down to the last detail.  Before I'd ever 
seen them."  She looked at him miserably.

"You think you had some kind of precognition?"

Scully was chewing her lip again, and she didn't answer him 
directly.  "I never asked Newton what it felt like to be able to 
float," she said, distantly.  "Or levitate.  Whatever it was that 
he could do."

He waited, but she didn't seem inclined to explain.  "What did 
you want to ask about?"

Finally, she looked at him directly, and he could see the tears 
there, held in check.  "If it made all the rest of it worthwhile.  
If being able to defy gravity was enough."

He had no answer, so he did the only thing he could think of - 
he pulled her back into the circle of his arms.  She went 
willingly, and they stayed that way until the nurse came in to 
give Scully her eye drops.

************************************

Waiting outside the conference room, Mulder leaned over and 
whispered to Scully, "We look like we're stoned out of our 
minds."

Her usual glare was twice as effective coupled with deep red 
eyes.  "=Please= shut up."

Mulder had optimistically predicted that the hearing would be 
a formality, but Scully wasn't as sure.  Skinner had asked 
Rasch and Arthur to fly in to present the forensic evidence.  
Although the hair found at the remains of the clinic in Vegas 
had turned out to be theirs and the footprints had been made 
with shoes of the correct sizes, subsequent examination had 
shown that the shoes supported more weight than either of the 
agents carried.  The charred bodies had remained unidentified 
and unexplained.

Reading Arthur's report, Scully shook her head.  "We're the 
only suspects they've got."

"Come on, Scully.  What about the footprints?  Don't you 
think they'll give us the benefit of the doubt?  Especially after 
reading the police report from San Francisco."

Mulder's account of the accident indicated that an unknown 
vandal had released toxic gas in the basement of the building, 
preventing them from making an arrest.  Scully had carefully 
backed up his story, and the San Francisco police had found 
physical evidence in the remains of the building's basement 
that seemed to corroborate the agents' claims.  

However, there was still the small matter of the Vegas clinic 
bombing.  

She reminded herself that they did still look like shit, right 
down to the red eyeballs and pasty complexions.  Generally, 
that helped somewhat in situations like this one.  Eyeing 
Mulder critically, she wished his eyes weren't =quite= as red.  
It =did= look like...

"Guess this isn't the time to use the 'I was drugged' defense, 
huh?"

"=Mulder.="  Her lips twitched uncontrollably, but she 
managed to suppress the smile, and then the administrative 
assistant called them into the long room.

Scully felt oddly disoriented for a moment.  She realized that 
she had braced herself for the smell of cigarette smoke and 
that none was present.  

Things do change, she thought.  

But Arbazewski was there, from the Vegas field office.  He 
was sitting next to a lantern-jawed man in a police uniform 
who Scully didn't recognize.  Rasch and Arthur were there, 
too, next to Skinner, who looked serene as a sailor in a good 
tailwind.

"Agents Mulder and Scully, I want to make it clear that this is 
not a disciplinary hearing.  We are here only to try and 
determine the exact events that led to your investigation of the 
health care facilities in Las Vegas and San Francisco.  The 
information provided will be used solely to assist the Las 
Vegas Police Department and the Bureau in their 
investigations."

Mulder blinked.

"Shall we begin?"

****************************************

When the elevator doors closed behind them, Mulder exhaled 
and punched the button labeled B.  "That was fucking surreal.  
There's no way we should have been excluded as suspects, no 
matter who we work for."

"Do you think it was Skinner?"

He watched the little numbers above the elevator door light up 
one after another.  Just before the last one lit up, he shook his 
head.  The door dinged.

"No matter what kind of inroads he's made in the last year or 
so, he doesn't have that kind of clout.  And it's not his style, 
anyway.  Did you see the look on Sterling's face?"

Sterling was the designated representative from the LVPD.  
His scowl had not lifted once, despite the fact that Arthur and 
Rasch turned up hairs and fibers from the site that matched 
neither of the two agents nor any of the clinic patients or staff, 
suggesting the presence of another individual at the site - 
another possible suspect.  Sterling had pointed out that the 
hairs and fibers could have belonged to "the damn UPS man 
or some other delivery person", and Rasch had replied that 
unless UPS had made a delivery =after= the bomb had gone 
off, that wasn't likely.

Sterling grumbled for a second, then said, clearly, "Why 
would they go in after?  Not real safe, is it?  Going back in 
=after= the bomb went off?  They woulda seen that it had 
worked from across the street - hell, half the city heard the 
explosion.  So why go back?"

Arthur replied, "To place the bodies at the site."

Sterling objected, "We still don't know for sure that they 
didn't die in the explosion."

"The burns sustained by the victims absolutely could =not= 
have occurred at the site, Detective Sterling.  We've already 
established that fact - the fire on the site simply wasn't hot 
enough.  Since it seems unlikely that someone could take their 
dead bodies from the site, burn them thoroughly, and return 
them to the site in the eleven minutes between the time of the 
blast and the LVPD's arrival at the scene..."  Rasch let the 
sentence trail off, and Sterling had no ready reply.

Replaying the conversation mentally as they walked into their 
office, Mulder shook his head again.  "Granted, we're not 
great suspects, but we're the only ones..."

Scully laid her hand on his arm and put a finger to her lips.  
"Not here."

He stared down at her for a second until he remembered the 
cards they had found in their wallets.

"Right," he said, briefly.  "Later, then."

And that was all they said about it.  The rest of the afternoon 
was lost in paperwork.

****************************************

He walked into his apartment, intending only to change 
clothes before heading out to the bench at the Reflecting Pool 
where he and Scully had most of their private conversations.  
He was only half-way into his jeans when the phone rang.  He 
was pulling his cell out of his trenchcoat before he realized 
that it wasn't the one that was ringing.  Grinning, he headed 
for the phone in the living room.  That was what spending too 
much time on the road did to a guy, he thought.

"Hello?"

"Mulder, it's me.  I think you'd better come over here."  
Scully's voice sounded strained, and he was instantly on the 
alert.

"What's wrong?  Are you okay?"

"I'm fine.  But there's something here you need to see."  She 
hung up before he could ask any more questions, a sure 
Scully-sign that something was really wrong.

He made the drive in less time than was reasonable or prudent, 
given Beltway traffic.  He knocked, fumbling for the keys to 
her apartment, but she had the door open before he could get 
hers sorted out from the rest of the keys on the ring.  One look 
at her pale, strained face and he knew something =was= 
wrong.

"What is it?"

Silently, she led him into the living room.  On the middle of 
her coffee table sat a thin vial, resting on top of a piece of 
paper.  He crouched next to the table, asking, "You didn't 
touch it, did you?"

She shook her head.  "Although I doubt we'll find any prints.  
We never do," she added, bitterly.

It was the same clear green as the liquid in the test tubes, in 
the tank.  Mulder didn't need to move the vial to read the 
writing on the piece of paper; the fluid lent an odd distortion 
to the letters, but the text was perfectly clear:

SANDUSKY, OHIO
HEAVENLY REST CATHOLIC HOME FOR SENIORS

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
PARADISE REST HOME

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
VINE STREET CLINIC

AURORA, COLORADO
MORNINGSIDE SENIOR RESIDENCE 

PORTLAND, OREGON
CENTER FOR WOMEN'S HEALTH

BUFFALO, NEW YORK
1911 COURT PLACE

Then one more line, at the bottom:

THERE ARE MORE OF THEM


CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 13

"Goodnight Newton," (13/14)

Ahoy below - NC-17 content.  Very NC-17.  Kiddies should 
bail out now.



He looked at the list, and the liquid in the vial, and listened to 
the stillness in the room.  The muted traffic noises from the 
streets below Scully's apartment hummed clearly in the 
absence of conversation.  The liquid in the vial was perfectly 
clear and still, like Scotch without the oily swirls of water 
mixed in.

"I can't do this," Scully whispered.

Mulder looked up at his partner; her face was utterly blank.  
"This note and the vial, they were here, just like this, when 
you got home?  No signs that someone forced the door? Or 
a window?"

She didn't bother replying. The space between them seemed to 
be growing steadily.

He looked down at the note.  THERE ARE MORE OF 
THEM.

Trying again, he offered, "Even if this is true, they aren't 
necessarily yours."

She flinched, and he wanted to take the words back.  "Scully -
"

"You don't understand, Mulder.  I =can't=.  Can't do this 
again."

"I don't-"

"No." Her voice was getting colder and firmer.  "You don't 
know what it's like. You can't possibly.  It's too, too.." Her 
voice caught and she curled her hand around the arm of the 
couch.  "You didn't have to lie next to Emily and watch her 
die."

"You sent me away," he said, bitterly, but she wasn't listening 
to him.

"And you didn't lie there in that hospital and have to feel 
grateful - relieved! - that some alien monster killer had saved 
you the trouble of murdering your own offspring."  Her voice 
was still rising, and Mulder suddenly had a flash of 
recognition as pure and potentially fatal as a bullet.  

They had been here before.  

This was the part where they tried to face something so painful 
that neither of them could bear to hear the facts spoken aloud. 

I found a microchip in my neck, Mulder.  

I have cancer.  

Mulder, Emily is my daughter.

There are distances that can't be bridged by words.

He stepped forward, cupped Scully's face in his hands, and 
kissed her.  Her lips were full and warm under his, and she 
made no move to either return the kiss or push him away.  
After a long moment, he raised his head and looked down at 
her.

Her eyes were closed and at first he thought she hadn't moved 
at all.  Then he saw that the hand that had been gripping the 
thick fabric of the couch had unclenched.  He dropped his 
hands to her shoulders and kissed her again.  This time her lips 
moved infinitesimally and he let it go on a little longer.

When he drew back and opened his eyes, he caught her 
watching him.

"I was relieved, too," he said, conversationally.  "I knew we 
couldn't just leave them there in the test tubes, but I wasn't 
sure what we were going to do next."

"I had some cyanide tablets," she said, tiredly.  Without the 
low light showing him the fine lines around her eyes and 
mouth, he could easily have measured the trials of the past six 
years by her voice alone.  "I bought them when I went to the 
drugstore.  I was thinking we would just drop them in into the 
test tubes.  Very quick, very efficient, very deadly."

He gave her shoulders a little shake.  "Why didn't you say 
anything?  Scully, you're not in this alone, you know."  He 
moved a little closer and slipped his arms around her 
diffidently.  "I knew that was what we were going there to do 
- or I thought I did, if the Hunter hadn't beaten us to it."  
Mulder sighed, and his breath disturbed the fine hairs along 
her brow.  "You should have said something."

"I know," she said, thickly, into the front of his t-shirt. "I 
guess I thought you were only after evidence. Something to 
use against them. I wasn't being fair to you."

"Fair, schmair," he mumbled.

"No, Mulder, I mean it.  I didn't think about you when I went 
to the drugstore.  I should have known you'd thought it 
through."

Then she lifted her face and nuzzled his throat, and he forgot 
what he was going to say to her.  When he lowered his head 
and kissed her this time, her lips were parted slightly and it 
was only natural to deepen the kiss, to explore the texture of 
her mouth and nip at her lower lip.  He started slightly when 
he felt her tug his shirt out of his jeans and slip her hands 
underneath. They were a little cold, and on another occasion 
he would have yelped, but the novelty of kissing Scully was a 
wonderful diversion.

She flattened both palms against his lower back and pulled 
him more tightly against her torso, rubbing her hips 
suggestively against him.  He moaned appreciatively into her 
mouth and she stopped kissing him long enough to say, firmly 
but breathlessly, "You'd better not be doing this just to distract 
me."

He let out a surprised laugh, and found Scully's small, chilly 
hands already unfastening his belt.  "Just trying to lighten the 
mood."

She stopped and looked at him soberly.  "Scully.  Come on.  
I've been waiting five years for this."

She crossed her arms.  Her lips were twitching the way they 
always did when she was trying not to smile at his jokes.  
"Took you long enough."

He caught her arm and leaned in.  "You could have met me 
halfway."

Instantly, her face was serious again.  "I tried, Mulder.  About 
a dozen times.  You never 
took the bait."

Honestly floored, he said, "Name one time."

"Florida.  When we were supposed to be at that stupid 
seminar.  I showed up with wine and you took off after the 
boogeyman in the forest."

"Wow."  He shook his head. "I really had no idea.  You mean 
you came up there, thinking..?"

"That I might get lucky, yes." 

"Wow." Mulder sighed.  "Of course, there =was= a 
boogeyman in the forest."

"That's not the point."

"True.  When else?"

"After you got back from Russia.  That Senate hearing.  
Would you like to spend the rest of the night discussing it?  
Because I had something else in mind."

"Oh."  His eyes refocused on her, and he added, "Right," 
before he swooped down to her mouth again.

She had dispensed with his belt and he had wrestled half of the 
buttons of her blouse open before he mumbled into the side of 
her neck, "That couch isn't going to do it for me, Scully.  Not 
tonight."

Without a word, she let go of his zipper, took his hand and led 
him down the short hallway into her bedroom.

It had been months, at least, since he'd been in this particular 
room.  They had been heading out of town on a case, running 
late to catch a plane, and she had sent him in to fetch a 
hairbrush from the top of her dresser.  The brush had been 
sitting in plain view, but he had taken the time to run his hand 
along the varnished wood of the dresser, inhaling deeply, 
trying to memorize the exact scent of this room.

Scully switched on the small lamp on the bedside table.  She 
was wondering whether or not he remembered the only other 
time he'd been in her bed.  No doubt, he did; Mulder's eidetic 
memory had probably recorded every detail of that visit, of 
waking up to find her gone, along with his gun, and of the 
angry words he had spoken to her on the phone.

But what he wouldn't remember were the hours she had spent 
watching over him that night, guarding his restless, fevered 
sleep, trying to tell herself that she was only concerned for his 
health, not mesmerized by the sight of her half-naked partner 
in her bed.

"You're thinking about the night I came here after my dad was 
shot."

She turned, startled.  "I was, yeah."

He bent to kiss her again, murmuring, "You think too much, 
Scully."  His fingers were flicking the last buttons on her 
blouse open, and his lips were moving slowly against the 
side of her face.  She breathed in his scent contentedly and let 
him finish before reaching for the hem of his shirt, giving it a 
suggestive tug.

He took it off, obligingly, and carefully unbuttoned her cuffs 
before pushing the blouse off her shoulders.  She ran her nails 
lightly over his chest while he reached around her for the clasp 
on her bra.  

When his hands closed on her breasts, she sighed gently.  
"You like that, huh?"  

She nodded, and he bent to nuzzle the downy skin below the 
ridge of her collarbone, his lips descending along a vertical 
path.

She let her head fall back and shut her eyes, reveling in the 
sensation of Mulder's mouth moving on her breast.  He licked 
a neat circle around the nipple before finally drawing it into 
his mouth.  She sighed her approval again, then gasped as he 
drew his teeth across the sensitive bit of flesh.   

When she opened her eyes again, he was smiling down at her, 
a little smugly.  "Can you take those pants off, please?" she 
asked, already kicking off her shoes.

He stopped her when she reached for the button on the back of 
her skirt.  "Let me do it."

He took her shoulders and gently turned her around, deftly 
popping the button free and lowering the narrow zipper, 
letting the skirt puddle around her ankles.  She wished she 
had worn stockings instead of pantyhose, crossly reminding 
herself that she probably didn't even own a pair any longer.

Five, six years of waiting did that to you.

But Mulder wasn't fazed in the least, carefully peeling off her 
unglamorous hose, taking her embarrassingly practical cotton 
panties with them.  He knelt down and plucked one foot free, 
then the other.  Finally, he looked up at her.  Dana hoped 
fervently that she wasn't blushing, but Mulder smiled 
beatifically and suddenly she forgot all about her underwear.

Dipping his head, he ran his tongue up the inside of her left 
calf to the top of her knee, nudging her legs further apart with 
his chin.  A prickle of heat followed the path that he had 
licked, and she was mildly disappointed when he heaved 
himself to his feet.  He bent to kiss her sloppily while he 
kicked off his shoes and clawed his socks off one-handed.

"Sorry, but my knees don't last long enough for stuff like 
that," he got out between kisses.  She snickered appreciatively 
and he gave her a mock glare before dropping his jeans and 
boxers and stepping out of the puddled cloth. And suddenly, 
laughing was the farthest thing from her mind.  

Mulder was simply beautiful.  The fine, dark hair on his belly 
trailed down to his groin before spreading into a dark, full 
patch.  His penis stood out, fully erect and glistening at the tip.  
The warm lamplight shone on his multitude of small scars, 
each with its memory; the thready one on his torso from the 
Jersey beast-woman; the small round one that her bullet had 
left on his right shoulder; the thick white one on his upper 
thigh that Luther Lee Boggs had foretold.

She reached for him before she could fully comprehend what 
part she wanted to touch most.  In the end, desire and habit 
reached a compromise: one hand ended up wrapped firmly 
around his penis and the other came to rest on the scar from 
the Boggs case.  She closed her eyes again and stroked both 
simultaneously.   She tugged him gently toward the bed, 
noting with satisfaction that his lips were parted slightly but 
for once he appeared to be speechless. She sat herself carefully 
on the edge of the bed.

It was the ropy scar on his leg that she first examined with her 
mouth.  Smooth and raised, it was shockingly different from 
the fine, thin skin that surrounded it.  Mulder made a small, 
questioning sound, and she continued her investigation.

She lapped delicately at the tip of his penis. He tasted salty 
and mildly bitter, and she savored his groan as well as the 
flavor before dipping her head to see how much of him she 
could fit into her mouth.  Not enough, or maybe it had just 
been too long.  The heated press of him against the back of her 
mouth was deeply satisfying, however, and she drew her head 
back and tried again.  This time she was able to swallow a 
little more of him.  

She backed off slightly, sucking and nibbling at the tip of his 
erection, amazed at how thoroughly she was enjoying herself.  
Part of it was Mulder's absolute, rapt attention; but having him 
in her mouth was causing an answering heat and wetness 
between her legs.

She set up a slow but steady rhythm, feeling him rocking 
slightly once in a while, trying to keep from thrusting into her 
mouth.  She wondered how long it had been for him, and 
guessed it must have been quite a while; the pitch and tone of 
the sounds was making were rapidly turning urgent. 

Suddenly, he pulled himself roughly out of her mouth.  She 
drew the back of her hand across her lips, aware that her 
expression was at least as smug as his had been earlier, and 
said, "Too much?"

"For right now, yeah."  He brought one of her hands to his lips 
and kissed her palm tenderly, exactly as he'd kissed it on the 
top of the Hoover Dam, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.  
Making love with Mulder was giving her a vague sense of d‚j... 
vu; they had shared so few intimacies that each one was seared 
indelibly into her memory.

He stretched full-length on the bed and she slid over to join 
him.  Her eyes drifted back to the little round scar on his 
shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around her and she felt his 
heart beating strongly against her chest; more out of habit than 
anything else, she noted the elevated pulse.  Suddenly, in spite 
of the warm press of his body against hers, the clinical, doctor 
voice in her mind was too strong to shut out.  "Mulder, are we 
doing this for the right reasons?"

He had been stroking her lower back; he stopped.  "There's 
never going to be a right time, Scully."

She relaxed a little.  "That's true.  It's just...I don't know what 
I'm trying to say."

He propped himself up on one elbow.  "Are you trying to say 
that you found my timing, coming right on the heels of finding 
a bad surprise on your coffee table, to be just a little weird?"

Tracing the scar that she couldn't seem to leave alone, she 
thought about his question.  "Yes and no.  It =is= weird, but 
it's right, too.  But we're going to have to deal with 
that...note." She couldn't keep her voice entirely steady, and 
Mulder heard the quaver, and began stroking her back again.

"Tomorrow.  But not until then.  We've waited too long 
already for this to happen and I want to do it right.  I love you, 
you know," he said, mildly, and immediately covered her 
mouth with his own.  His hand slid lower, to cup her ass, and 
she shivered.  The kiss was delicate, undemanding, but his 
hand was moving towards the front of her body, dipping and 
testing the silky skin under the curve of hipbone, then nudging 
her legs apart.

She lifted her left leg, draping it over his thigh to give him 
better access.  He took her unspoken hint and slid two fingers 
between her folds.  

His touch stilled the last remnants of the doctor-voice in her 
mind. The neon image of his shoulder-scar winked out of her 
mind, neatly extinguished.  Mulder murmured appreciatively 
into her mouth as his fingers tested her slickness, her heat, and 
she felt a tremor run through him when her hand found his 
penis again.  After all this time together, his hands on her body 
were newer, more shocking than a total stranger's could ever 
have been.

He traced her fine inner folds with his index finger before 
circling back to delicately outline her clitoris.  She had been 
stroking him, but her grip faltered, and he took the opportunity 
to roll her onto her back.

Mulder took an odd path down her body, suckling at one 
nipple until it was rigid, ignoring the other entirely, then 
licking insistently at her navel until she was struggling not to 
giggle, biting the soft skin under her hip delicately.  When he 
finally settled between her legs, she was thoroughly 
overstimulated, gasping and jerking away at the first electric 
touch of his tongue.

But he persisted, and she closed her eyes when the pleasure of 
his caresses finally caught up with her.  He experimented, 
using different pressure and strokes, until he finally found 
a flickering motion that made her gasp again and she knew 
without opening her eyes that he was wearing his smug smile 
again.  He tilted his head slightly for a better angle and did 
it again, harder, and over and over until her breathy sobs were 
coming closer and closer together.  He backed off slightly, and 
she whimpered until he increased the pressure on her most 
sensitive spot and suddenly she was coming, amazed at the 
sheer power of the wave of pleasure making her buck against 
him, crying out his name.

He crawled back up to kiss her, and she opened her eyes to 
find that she had been completely wrong; it wasn't a smug 
smile at all, but a tender one, and her eyes filled up with tears.

"Now," she said, "nownownow."

Resting his weight on one elbow, he reached down with the 
other hand.  She held her breath, prepared for a little pain from 
muscles and tissue left unused for years, but he entered her 
slowly, carefully, and it was too perfect too hurt at all.  
Exhaling, she edged her hips upwards.  Nothing had ever felt 
this good before.

"Scully."

She looked up into his eyes and saw that he was close to tears.  
"Sshh, it's good, you feel wonderful.  I love you too, sshh."

Reaching up, she managed a glancing kiss that mostly hit his 
chin; with him dipping down to meet her, they kissed more 
completely, and he began to move on top of her, slow but 
deep, long thrusts that left her aching for more every time he 
withdrew.  He was crying a little, but she was already beyond 
coherent language, and she guessed that Mulder was only 
emotionally overloaded.  His tears had not slowed his 
lovemaking; his thrusts were becoming more confident, 
stronger, and she rose to meet him eagerly.

He opened his eyes again.  "Ah, God, Scully.  So good."

She dug her fingers into his ass, reveling in the smooth 
muscles, the sheer power in his lean body, in the feel of his 
penis filling her, his thrusts rocking her body.  He was moving 
faster now, harder.  The small sounds escaping her lips were 
beyond her control; all she could do was cling to him, move 
with him, try to show him just how much he was pleasing 
her.

She had never managed the trick of reaching orgasm during 
intercourse, but she could feel how close Mulder was. She 
wrapped her hand around the back of his neck just before he 
gasped something unintelligible and exploded inside her, and 
she held his face close to hers as he came, watching it happen.

Scully. That was what he said.  Not Dana, but Scully.

He buried his face in her neck, still gasping, and she held him 
tightly, trying to catch her breath.

He lifted his head, panting and said, "Sorry."

"No sorries in bed, Mulder."

"But you didn't come.  I just couldn't wait, I'm really sorry."

"No apologizing, I mean it. And I did, before.  Anyway, I 
can't - during."

Resting his weight on both elbows, he pulled himself up 
slightly, and she watched him assimilate what she had just 
said, slightly apprehensive.  In all her fantasies about Mulder, 
about making love with him, waking up in his arms, she had 
never been able to picture exactly what they might say to each 
other. 

But Mulder simply looked down at her, his green eyes 
unfathomable for the present.  Then he slid off of her, ignoring 
her soft protest, and slipped one of his legs between hers.  
Reaching down, he asked, "Think you could manage a repeat 
performance?"  His fingers gently parted her soft flesh and she 
drew her breath in sharply.  Instantly, his hand withdrew. 
"Sore?"

"A little," she admitted.  "But don't stop."

Smirking, he reached for her again.

***************************************

He woke up because light seeping from under the half-drawn 
blinds was hitting him directly in the eyes.  When he rolled 
over, Scully stirred, her fingers flexing restlessly in half-sleep.  
He considered staying there, but it was only six in the morning 
and the light would creep its way toward Scully in a matter of 
minutes.

She wrinkled her nose at the sound of the blind coming down 
without opening her eyes at all. He grinned affectionately at 
her before stepping into his boxers and slipping out of the 
room.  She would wonder why he had gotten out of bed, but if 
he left the bedroom door open and made a pot of coffee, she'd 
know he was there by the smell.  And he needed time to think.

He had woken halfway through the night to find Scully 
wrapped snugly behind him, her breasts pressed into his back.  
In his sleepy haze, it was easier to believe at first that her hand 
sliding down his midsection, testing his stirring penis, was part 
of his usual dreams.  But she was real, and marvelously 
determined; he had let her take the lead, finally coming 
completely awake when she slid on top of him. She smiled 
down at him in the near-darkness; sighing as the satiny heat of 
her vagina enclosed him, convincing him that it was real after 
all.

He shook his head impatiently; this was why he'd gotten out 
of bed.

He got the coffee going, and with the steady dripping 
punctuating his progress, he wandered into the living room.  
The vial and the note still sat squarely in the middle of 
Scully's tidy coffee table, reminding him of what she'd said to 
him last night.  They =were= going to have to deal with that 
note. 

If it was true, could they all be hers?

Technically, he supposed they could.  Women had an 
astonishing number of ova.  But he doubted it.  Newton had 
said he wasn't.  There were too many other women out there 
with similar abduction stories; Penny Northern's experience 
alone was enough to convince Mulder that the Project had 
created hybrids from many other abductees' ova.  It stood to 
reason; genetic diversity.

Did it matter whose they were?  They were out there, growing 
in tubes.  More Newtons waiting to be born and destroyed.

Who had left the fucking note?

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he thought about his various 
sources.  Marita had turned out to be nearly worthless; her 
intentions were probably good, but the information she 
provided was often unreliable.  And she wouldn't have left the 
things in Scully's place, she would have called him and asked 
for a meeting.

And X was dead.

Who, then?

"Hey."

Scully was wearing a thin, blue, silky looking robe, and he 
wondered where her practical terry cloth had gone.  Her hair 
hung endearingly into her face, still slightly dulled by the 
brown dye, but beautiful nonetheless.  Watching him, she 
must have seen some of the appreciation in his eyes, because 
she smiled a little shyly at him and said, "Thanks for making 
coffee."

"Come here."

She did, and he kissed her lightly, on the lips.  Settling into his 
arms, she took his still-steaming mug and drank carefully, 
gauging the temperature of the coffee before sipping.  He 
watched her, wondering at how calm he felt.  In spite of the 
note, in spite of everything they had been through in the past 
week, he couldn't remember ever having a greater sense of 
peace.  She set the cup down and he asked, "Sleep well?"

"Mmm-hmmm.  Are you okay with all of this?" she asked, 
typically direct. "I was a little worried when I woke up."

He rubbed her back through the thin fabric of the robe. "About 
me not being okay with this or about what happened last 
night?"

"The first thing."

"I was just thinking how incredibly =okay= everything is."

Her gaze drifted to the note on the table.  "I can't say I entirely 
agree with you about that."

Mulder squeezed her gently, enjoying the way her narrow 
waist yielded under his arm, and said, "I was getting to that.  I 
don't have any idea who left the damn note, but before we go 
running off to check out the locations, I think we should try to 
find Krycek."

She stared at him.  "What for?"

"Because he knows more about this than we do.  A lot more.  
And I want to know what his connection to the Project is.  I 
don't think he's working for them any more.  Or if he is, it's 
for reasons of his own.  And between Krycek and the Bounty 
Hunter, I think he's the more reliable source."

"What makes you think he'd tell us the truth?  Mulder, he's a 
liar and a murderer!  And we don't have any way of knowing 
if he's working for them or not!"

"I know.  It's kind of a hunch." He waited, but she was clearly 
unimpressed. "But he didn't leave us there to die.  He said 
something about how stupid I was for not remembering that 
the gas was toxic to us. I think if he hadn't done mouth-to-
mouth, we might not have made it."  Recalling Krycek's kiss, 
he cringed slightly, and Scully's eyes narrowed.

"What =else=?"

"That was all he said," he amended, hastily.  "Scully, we've 
always waited for them to come to us with information.  I'm 
sick of it.  I want answers, and I think Krycek's got them."

"Do you think he could be responsible for this note?"

"I don't know.  Maybe." He added, "Or we could just go 
check out the sites on the list."

She winced.  He waited, watching her think it over.  Finally, 
she said, "And just where are we going to find Krycek?"

"I don't know."  He leaned in and kissed her again, this time 
lingeringly.  "I like this, Scully.  This is much better than 
before."

Her smile was dazzling; bemused, he thought he might never 
have seen her look so happy before.  "It =is= better, isn't it?  
Could we make love again before we go in to the office?"

He laughed out loud, and put the cup back on the table.  
"When you put it that way..."

The couch, as it turned out, fit them both very comfortably.

Afterwards, he left quickly so that he could go home to 
change.  Showering, he considered how soon he could 
decently bring up the subject of how they were going to 
handle themselves at the office.

He wasn't particularly worried about having their relationship 
used against them.  It had been clear to their enemies for some 
time that Scully was the center of his world; he still suspected 
that their relationship had been the motivating factor behind 
her abduction. They had needed a way to curb him, and they'd 
found it - during the months when Scully was still missing, he 
had barely been able to get through each day, much less 
pursue his search for the truth.  He had managed to get 
through one or two simple cases, and that was all.  

Nearly all.

He'd chased down every lead, no matter how improbable.  
Skinner had politely turned a blind eye when he'd submitted 
paperwork documenting at least six or seven trips to Skyland 
Mountain on the Bureau's dime.  There had probably been 
more than that - he'd gotten too flaky to remember the 
paperwork before long.

No, he hadn't been sleeping much.  Three long months that he 
could hardly stand to remember, even now.  It must have been 
obvious even to casual observers how lost he was without his 
partner.

He stopped scrubbing.

What if they had planned it that way all along?

He'd thought that she had been sent to spy on him.  If so, it 
hadn't worked out that way.  Skinner, the smoking man, even 
Krycek had known what Scully had come to mean to him, and 
to the X-Files.

But what if she'd never been intended as a spy?

Had they guessed that he would fall for her, and she for him?  
Had =that= been the plan?

He stood, soap and shampoo forgotten, until the water ran 
cold.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 14

***********************************

"Goodnight Newton," (14/14)

See part 1 for disclaimers and other information.


Pushing herself away from the desk with a reckless thrust that 
made the old rollers on her chair squeak in protest, Dana got 
up and flexed her wrist back and forth.

"Scully?"

She turned and met her partner's gentle inquiry.  "Just a little 
frustrated."

In response, he rolled his neck and sighed.  "Lunch?"

"Want to bring the Brundage file?"

He winced.  "Might as well."

What interested Dana most about the Brundage case wasn't 
the disappearances.  Four teenagers had vanished from 
Brundage, New Mexico within the past month.  That, plus 
the fact that Brundage had been experiencing distinctly 
unusual weather lately, including at least one incident where 
grasshoppers fell from the sky, had led the local sheriff to 
suspect paranormal activity.

No, the facts of the case weren't anything out of the ordinary 
for the X-files division.  However, Mulder's reaction had been 
fascinating.  He had read the file carefully, and talked to local 
law enforcement officers as well as the parents of one of the 
missing teens.  And that was it.  No wild theory, no feverish 
extrapolation about the vanishing teenagers.  Nothing.  He 
hadn't said a word about the case.

They settled into a booth at Greenberg's and ordered.  When 
the waitress was decently out of earshot, Dana tapped the file 
with one finger.  "Well?"

He looked at the file and sighed. "Maria Lopez and Andrew 
Luyten went missing within three days of each other.  Luyten 
had a record; two convictions for auto theft.  And apparently 
the two kids were a pretty hot item.  I think there's a good 
chance that they're runaways and they're off somewhere 
together."

"What about the other two?"

He shrugged helplessly.  "Maybe runaways, too.  Eduardo 
Guerra was eighteen."

"The grasshoppers falling from the sky?"

"El Nino.  Believe it or not, grasshopper rain isn't unheard of.  
At least one town in Arizona has reported that phenomenon 
this year already.  NPR did a story on it."

"So you don't think there's an X-File here?"

He shrugged again, and the gesture was so anomalous on her 
passionate, wayward partner that Dana felt her eyebrow arch.  
He grinned wryly at her expression and acknowledged, "Guess 
I might be a little distracted lately."

She nodded in acknowledgement.  "That records search didn't 
turn up anything?"

"Nothing.  Zippo.  Somehow, Alex Krycek found a way to 
live without credit cards."

"Under his real name."

"We can't be sure that Krycek =is= his real name, Scully."

"But he -"

"Worked for the FBI, I know.  They let =me= in, though, 
didn't they?"

"Not the same thing."

Mulder spread his hands wide, a gesture of surrender.  
"Whoever he is, I've turned up exactly nothing in the past 
three days and it's driving me nuts.  And we still don't know 
who left the damn note."

The FBI's handwriting analysis team had, at Mulder's request, 
examined the neatly lettered note the agents had found on 
Scully's coffee table.  Comparing it to previously filed 
samples of Krycek's handwriting - Mulder noted with 
amusement that they'd used the 302 Krycek had filed on their 
very first case together as a sample - they came back with a 
definite no.  Alex Krycek had not written the note.

But, as Mulder had wearily pointed out to Scully, that didn't 
mean he hadn't had someone else write it and plant it in her 
apartment.  

They were going in circles.

Dana watched him neatly cutting his Reuben in half.  "Next 
time he saves our lives, remind me to ask Krycek for his 
number."

Mulder laughed, nearly gagging on the pickle he had just 
shoved into his mouth.  She smiled at him in response, loving 
the way his face lit up.  Being Mulder's lover had proved 
remarkably uncomplicated so far, and the change in his 
disposition...she could count on one hand the number of times 
she'd seen him laugh, really laugh, in the past few months.

This was definitely an improvement.  

Suddenly, his head snapped up and he stopped chewing.  
Recognizing the incipient signs of Mulder Having an Idea, she 
waited patiently.

Finally, he resumed chewing and swallowed the pickle.  "I 
thought of something.  Krycek said he'd be in touch."

"And?"

He took an enormous bite of the Reuben, and she waited 
impatiently while he chewed, picking at her Greek salad.  "I'll 
bet he's keeping an eye on us.  X used to do that.  And I still 
think he might have been trailing us in San Francisco, hoping 
we knew where the Hunter was.  I'm going to try getting in 
touch with Krycek the old-fashioned way."

Five hours later, they sat in his apartment, listening to the 
water gurgle through the filter of the nearly empty fishtank.  
Three silvery fish swam lazily through the not-too-clean 
water, bobbing when they ran into the current produced by 
water pouring through the filter.  The desk lamp shone directly 
at a masking-tape "X" on the window.

Dana rested her head against the back of Mulder's couch.  He 
was puttering around the living room, restlessly looking for 
something to do with his hands.  It made her tired just looking 
at him.  "Come here."  She patted the leather cushion next to 
her invitingly.

He obediently stopped pacing and sat down with her, slipping 
his arm around her shoulders.  "We could be waiting for a 
while, you know.  X used to show up in the middle of the 
night.  When he showed up at all."

"Mmm.  I remember.  I might take a nap."

He leaned over and kissed her neck, right below her ear.  
"Tired?"  His tongue flicked out suggestively, catching the 
small hollow behind the lobe.

"Maybe, maybe not."  He made a thoughtful sound, then 
nipped gently at the spot where her neck met her shoulder.  
She turned her head and kissed him soundly.  He returned the 
kiss eagerly, then drew back.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking how different it is being with you like this.  
I used to wait by myself, you know?  For X.  For Deep Throat, 
before that.  But now you're here with me."  Gazing at her, he 
added seriously, "This is a hell of a lot better."

"There's something bothering you, isn't there?"

He sighed and withdrew his arm, making her immediately 
regret the question.  "It's just a theory.  I started really 
thinking about this the other day.  After I left your place - 
after the first night we spent together.  What if this is what 
they intended all along when they assigned you to the X-Files?  
What if they looked at my psychological profile and said, 
'Hey, this guy is a pathetic loner, how about if we send him a 
beautiful woman to be his new partner and wait for them to 
fall in love so we can kidnap her and make his life hell?'"

She blinked.  "Mulder, that's pretty farfetched."

"No, it's not," he insisted.  "Look, they had all our records and 
test results at their fingertips.  They knew exactly what kind of 
people we were before they assigned you to the X-Files. They 
would have been able to infer that you were a straight arrow, 
but they also should have been able to guess that you were 
loyal.  Strong.  Not the kind of person likely to make a good 
narc."

"If they were trying to set you up to fall for your new partner, 
they would have chosen a woman who was your type," she 
pointed out.  "A Phoebe-type.  Someone like that 
entemologist."

He looked slightly embarrassed, but forged ahead.  "Just think 
about it, Scully.  What if they looked at me and decided that 
what they needed most was some way to get to me?  Some 
weakness that they could exploit?"

She was silent for a while.  Finally, she said, quietly, "Does it 
change anything between us?"

Without pausing, he said, "No.  I just...wonder."

She still looked solemn; he leaned over and kissed her again, 
apologetically. 

Someone knocked on Mulder's door.

Instantly, he was up, unholstering his gun.  Scully moved to 
flank him, and he flicked the chain off the door one-handed.  
"Who's there?"

"Special delivery."

The voice was dry, familiar.  Mulder looked at Scully - it 
wasn't Krycek.  

He turned the doorknob and the visitor came in.

He was using a cane, now, and that alone was more shocking 
to Scully than the appearance of a dead man; during her years 
working on the X-files, she had seen more than her fair share 
of supposedly dead men drawing breath.  Something else was 
different; she couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

Predictably, Mulder was furious.  "What are you doing here?"

The man whose name they had never known turned to Dana 
and said, "Nice to see you again, Agent Scully.  You look very 
well." He eyed Mulder's gun for a second.

Ignoring the unmistakable reminder, Mulder repeated, "Leave 
her alone, you bastard! What are you doing here?"

The man looked up and said  "I was under the impression that 
you were seeking information of some kind.  Possibly about 
the hybrids?"  He coughed, and Scully suddenly realized what 
was missing.  

The smell of cigarette smoke.  

Implusively, she said, "What =is= your name?"

He smiled at her.  "Cancerman will do.  It's actually very 
appropriate."

"We were told you were dead."

He looked faintly amused. "You were misinformed."

Mulder was clearly struggling for control.  "What about the 
hybrids?"

Cancerman made a small gesture with his free hand which 
might have been conciliatory.  "The St. Louis experiment has 
been terminated.  Not voluntarily, I might add.  But the 
individual you call the Bounty Hunter will find a surprise 
waiting for him in Chicago.  The fetuses there are not 
hybrids."

"What are they, then?"  Scully asked.

"Pure specimens.  The experiments have moved on to the next 
phase. The question is, what do you intend to do about it?"

Mulder glared at him.  "Why did you come here?"

The man smiled, then grimaced as he began to cough.  The 
coughing fit left him doubled over, gasping for breath.  For a 
moment, he looked like nothing more than a feeble old man, 
sick with emphysema, perhaps.  Then he straightened up again 
and in his grasp the cane looked more like a weapon than a 
crutch.

"I advise you to simply wait," he said, looking directly at 
Scully.  She put her gun back into its holster. "Let the Hunter 
do his work.  He knows where to look."

"Where's Krycek?"  Mulder asked stubbornly.  The man 
whose real name they still did not know looked at him 
implacably.  Trying again, Mulder asked, "Were you the one 
who left the list and the vial?"

For the first time, the man's eyes flickered with some emotion.  
Then it was gone, and he was turning away, reaching for the 
door.

Mulder's hand clamped down on his shoulder at the same time 
the man's hand touched the doorknob. "Answer me, damn it!"

Mulder's knuckles were white with exertion; it must have 
hurt, but the other man didn't flinch.  He stared at Mulder.  
The door had crept open a few inches, and from the end of 
the hallway, Scully could hear children arguing in another 
apartment; the sound of a television turned up high; and water 
running through the pipes of the building.

Finally, he said, almost gently, "I'll be in touch."  

His words echoed Krycek's.  Mulder's hand grew slack.  
Cancerman brushed past him and was gone.  He walked 
slowly and they could hear his cane tapping lightly with every 
step he took, the hollow tapping mingling with the other 
sounds in the old building.  They grew fainter as he got farther 
away; soon, they were gone.

In the dim light, Mulder looked tired.  Ignoring the open door, 
he moved slowly back into the living room and sat down on 
the couch.  Scully joined him.

For a long time they said nothing to each other.  Scully tried to 
think of what they ought to be doing - following Cancerman? 
Scouring Washington for Alex Krycek - for what?  But the 
longer they sat in silence, the harder she found it to 
concentrate on the maze of half-truths and secrets.  The door 
was still open, and through it she could hear that one of the 
children was now crying, and an irate adult voice had joined 
the domestic cacophany.  The television sounds were quieter, 
and outside it was raining lightly.

At length, Mulder got up and shut the door.  When he settled 
beside her on the couch again, he twined his arms around her 
waist and tugged her closer to him.  Following his lead 
willingly, she let him lie down and lowered herself down to 
join him.  It was tight, but she fitted herself to him carefully, 
and they managed to be comfortable together on the narrow 
couch.

She twisted around to look at him, and he kissed her forehead, 
but his eyes were distant. 

"Mulder?"

"He did a better impression of Deep Throat than I ever would 
have expected.  Not one straight answer."

"I noticed."

"And we still don't know where the fuck Krycek is."

"I noticed."

He gave her a tight smile.  "You're repeating yourself, Agent 
Scully."

She resisted the urge to do it again, and instead said, "I think 
we should look into that case in Brundage, Mulder."

He sighed and pressed his lips to her forehead again.  
Suddenly the enormity of the change they had made in their 
lives struck her fully; this is my =lover=, she repeated to 
herself, incredulously.  Whatever happens to us now, nothing 
will be the same.  I will wake up by his side, and he by mine.

And =had= they planned it this way?  Or was it just fate?

The man who might have been able to tell them had probably 
barely gotten his overcoat wet.  He was probably only just 
now leaving the building; if she could catch him, she could 
ask him.

But it wouldn't change anything.

For a long, dark moment she saw their lives and their work 
through a prism, refracting the bare facts of their existence 
into something smaller and cheaper - struggling against the 
current like small fish. They had had so few successes, and so 
many choices had been taken from them - 

[emily]

- but instead of shattering, everything came back into focus in 
another second.  

Not everyone was meant to be a parent, she reminded herself.  
What if Emily had come home with me?  Even if she'd made a 
full recovery from whatever had been done to her  -  if she 
had adopted the little girl, what then?  And her life with 
Mulder was - 

"This might not be how I would have planned it, but now, I 
wouldn't have it any other way," she said aloud.

Mulder's eyes refocused; he came back from whatever place 
he had been.  To her immense relief, he didn't ask her what 
she was talking about.  Instead, he said, slowly, "I think you're 
right.  We'll open an X-File on the Brundage case.  Maybe 
there's something there.  And...I think he'll be back 
eventually.  I think he still needs us."

She didn't ask him who 'he' was.  

"All right," she said, peacefully.  "We'll wait."

She put her head down on his shoulder and felt him tilt his 
head, adjust slightly so that he could keep his arms around her 
comfortably.

With the door closed, it was much quieter in the apartment, 
but faint sounds still broached the walls; voices, weather, 
reminders that the world was still spinning on its axis.

They began to wait.

END.



"I'd like to thank the Academy-" Who am I kidding?  Thank 
you to everyone who helped me with this story, and all the 
readers who badgered me for more.  Good editor/archivists are 
worth their weight in gold - Jen, 'thank you' is just totally 
inadequate - you have a way of making the muse come 
crawling out from under her rock even when she doesn't want 
to. Mille grazie.

Feedback, as always, is welcome - snowrider5@aol.com.
http://members.aol.com/xfileluv/RachelMain.htm