To: SkinnerW
From: HarrisJ
Subject:  Business as Usual

Well, things are going well up here in the mountains, this time.  Although, I 
confess to guilty pleasure watching my mother deal with a telekinetic two 
year old.  It brings new meaning to the word revenge.

I imagine things are quiet there without Sarah.  She bounced into my room 
this morning and announced that she wanted to go home, but I told her she 
had to be patient until all the tests were finished.

She really hates the tests.  She looks so little there, lying on that table with 
all the sensor pads stuck to her here and there.  I had to fight to get them to 
let me stay there, but Sarah neatly solved that one by simply refusing to 
cooperate if I wasn't.  She put her thumb in her mouth and took a nap.

Dr. Loggia was quite put out.   Dr. Atherton was amused, but then I'm 
beginning to think Dr. Atherton is quality material.  God knows, she's a 
looker.  Have you met her?  I think you mentioned her before we came up 
here.

The upshot so far is that they still have no real clue of a) what part of her 
brain is responsible for the telekinesis and b) which genetic modifications 
are responsible.

Like I couldn't have told them that.   She shows the same brain activity we 
see when tracking people in deep meditative states, except she's chattering 
ninety miles an hour at the lab techs and to me.   "Daddy, what is that, why 
are they doing that, is that my brain?"

Sarah on average speed, as usual.  God knows I love the little sprog, but I 
think my brain is going to be seriously fried by the time she hits eighteen.

On the other hand, I have to admit that it's been a humbling experience.  I 
always felt as if I were on the outside, trying to understand other people, 
trying to figure out why I pissed them off when I made leaps of logic or 
intuition that they couldn't see or understand.  Sometimes, dealing with 
Sarah, I can really comprehend how they felt.

She has this incredibly warped sense of humor already, and she's only two.  
Half the time, I can see the humorous connections, but I don't quite get it.  
Which is strange and unnerving.

I have to admit, Walt, I'm scared sometimes.  Is she going to be human 
when she grows up?  How far is that amazing little brain going to go, and 
will she still be able to understand human concerns and mores and ethics?

Christ, it scares me awake sometimes, wondering if I'm doing this right.  Of 
course, I promptly remember that you two are helping raise her, so I'm not 
going to carry the guilt alone when she takes over the world.

Let me tell you, heads are gonna roll when she does.   We were out in a 
restaurant the other night, for my mother's birthday, and she saw somebody 
chewing out their kid.

It's the kind of thing that makes my stomach tie itself up into a knot and my 
fists clench.  I was trying to ignore it, but Sarah said, "Daddy, go spank that 
bad man."

I nearly ended up in a brawl.  Not because I went over to spank the bad 
man, but because when I went over and mildly suggested that I understood 
how difficult kids could be in restaurants, the son of a bitch threatened to 
punch my lights out for taking an interest.

Fortunately, my mother decided to join me at the other table, and managed 
to soothe that situation down and shame the bastard into speaking more 
gently to his child without stirring up more anger at the kid.

Who was watching us wide-eyed the whole time.

When we got back to our own table, the waiter standing astounded beside 
Sarah's high chair, Sarah gave me the evil eye.  "You didn't spank him."

"I don't spank people," I told her.

There was no arguing with that and she knew it, so she put her thumb in her 
mouth and considered other arguments.

Evidently nothing came to mind, but a few moments later, the man knocked 
his own chair over getting out of it and ran out.

And my daughter bore a suspiciously pleased expression.

No amount of threat or cajoling elicited what she might have done.  She 
gave me that innocent, wide-eyed puppy look, as if she couldn't imagine 
what I was talking about.

We had a long talk about right and wrong again that night.

But she never did confess what she'd done.  

Mulder

PS  I'm now taking dictation at Her Royal Highness' command.  This is for 
you and Julie

Dear Walt and Julie

I don't like the tests.  I want to go home.  Daddy says we can't.  

Tell Bumble I miss him.  Are you letting him sleep downstairs while we're 
gone?  Does he miss us?

I want to have chocolate cake on my birthday.  Daddy says maybe.  What do 
you think?

Tell Daddy to bring me home.

Hugs and kisses and hugs and kisses

Sarah


To:  HarrisJ
From: SkinnerW
Subject:  Re: Business as Usual

Well, I'm pleased that things are going well there.  I have to admit, I told 
Julie I was going to send her up to rescue you if they didn't.  

I'm afraid of your mother when she's in full Granny mode, and there wouldn't 
be much I could do with the medical/scientific types except throw myself 
between Sarah and them, and I figured you had that well in hand.

Bumble, of course, is fine, but I'll write to Sarah separately, you fraud.  I 
notice that it's your room Bumble haunts, waiting for you to come home.  
Sarah is simply an added attraction.

As to Sarah--Mulder, she is undeniably human.   She has her father's 
strong sense of justice, that's all.  Although I confess, I'd give a month's 
salary to find out what she did to the bastard at the restaurant.  Hot foot?  
Hot water?  Ice in his shorts?  Perhaps I can negotiate with her, sometimes 
she tells Uncle Walt things she doesn't tell her old man.  Mostly because I 
find it fucking hilarious to see you dealing with someone almost exactly like 
you are.

I'm kidding.  I have thought this over, Mulder, it's not just a knee jerk 
reaction.  Sarah is undeniably human not just because of the genetic codes 
inherited from her parents, but because of the people who matter to her.  
Now, I will say that I shudder to think what would happen if she lost any of 
us.  Or all of us.  At least at this point in her life.  Children have, as you have 
already noticed, a pretty cut and dried method of dealing with both justice 
and vengeance.  As she gets older, her ethical values will continue to 
develop, which may keep the bad guys from going up in a puff of greasy 
smoke.  

But she's your child, Mulder, and you're doing a damned fine job with her.  
There's no doubt in Sarah's heart who her dad is.  Despite your occasional 
descents into depression and the certainty that she'd be better off with us, 
you've given her that certainty.  Your mother managed to raise a fine son, 
despite her other problems, but I somehow doubt that she's up to raising 
Sarah.  Her son, however, is more than up to it.  Even if your brain does end 
up fried by the time she's eighteen.  We'll put you out to pasture for a few 
years, and you can return in time to give her away at her wedding.

Jesus, what a terrifying thought.  I really am getting old.

I'm delighted that Dr. Atherton meets with your approval.  And I'm frankly 
astonished that she hasn't ripped out your lungs, but evidently your looks 
and that irresistible look of anguish you sport have somehow softened her 
natural acerbity.

And by the way, that wide-eyed puppy look is not something she got from 
her mother, Mulder.  It's yours all the way.  Scully used to call it the beaten 
puppy look when she'd tell me stories, in the hospice.  "He'd get that beaten 
puppy look, you know the one I mean, sir," she'd tell me, smiling a little 
wistfully.  Actually, I had no clue, you generally looked sullen or apologetic in 
my office, and the day you throw me that look, I'm going to hide behind Julie.  
Karma, Mulder.

If you get upmountain, tell everyone hello.  Julie says to give Tony Rivers a 
hug, but I'll let you use your own judgement.  I realize that you've been living 
like a monk, it might not be safe for either you or Tony.

WS 

PS  Julie called to have them set up an emailbox for Sarah on your account.  
We're using Delevan, Mulder, it seems sensible.  The password will be 
Bumble.  All you need to do is configure your mail client for multiple 
mailboxes.  I realize that in some ways you're technically handicapped, so 
call if you need help.


To: DelevanS
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Bumble

Dear Minx,

Actually, this is from me and Aunt Julie.  Bumble is fine, of course, although 
he misses you and your dad something fierce.  The first night he ran all over 
the house looking for both of you.  He keeps trying to sit on my computer 
monitor, like he does your dad's, but he doesn't get the same satisfaction 
from it.

I know the tests are probably boring and maybe even a little scary, Sarah, 
but I'm glad you're being good for them and for your dad.

Daddy's right, you need to finish up the tests, Minx.  It's not just so they 
know what you can do.  Your daddy and I and Aunt Julie want to make sure 
that you're as healthy as you seem to be, that your tricks aren't hurting you 
in any way that we can't see or that you can't feel.

As to the chocolate cake, we'd better double check with Dad.  If he votes 
against it, we'll have to come to a mutually satisfying compromise, like 
chocolate icing on the cake or something.  

Tell your Dad to take care of himself, okay?

Love,

Uncle Walt

PS  This is from Aunt Julie, since Uncle Walt is too silly to write it.  Hugs 
and kisses from us both.

Aunt Julie



To:  DelevanS
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Hello

Yes, I know, it's silly to have Daddy's email name be different than his real 
name, but you're going to just have to live with it.

And don't worry, I won't let the bad men get me again, and even if I forgot 
my promise, Uncle Walt is watching out for me and growls like a bear if I 
even try to go running without him.  Just like at home.

Israel is very different from home.  Maybe when you're older I can bring you 
here, but you're still too little, Sarah.  If the bad men are watching me, I don't 
want them watching you, okay?

I'm glad you had fun at preschool.  It's nice having other kids around.  I'm 
very proud of you for knowing to be careful around them.  Most other kids 
can't do the things you can do, Sarah, and it might scare them.  That makes 
you different, but not in a bad way.  It means you have to be more careful, 
that's all.

I'll try and bring you a surprise when I come home, and it won't be long now.  
Uncle Walt and I have almost finished up, so we should be able to come 
soon.

Love,

Daddy



To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Sarah

Have you been teaching her to type?  This last one was almost a full page 
long, and I have this image of her hunting and pecking for an hour to get 
everything down.

It's really weird seeing the world from a two year old's eyes.  She has a very 
stringent sense of right and wrong, as Walt keeps reminding me.  I keep 
waiting for the preschool to call you in horror to report some major 
transgression, like hanging the class bully in a tree, or something equally 
appalling.

Thank God, they're all UNCLE kids.  At least their parents won't show up on 
our front porch with torches and gasoline.

We haven't actually had sightings, but we've got some interesting accounts.  
Sometimes I wonder if we're actually getting anywhere this way.  Right now, 
I want the humans involved, but we don't have their names.  I want to nail 
them, Julie, and two years hasn't dulled that appetite.  Maybe it is just 
revenge.  I prefer to think of it as justice.  I dreamt of Cassie again last night, 
I don't know why, Cassie as she fought that compulsion.  

Knowing how it felt only makes it more horrible.

Kiss the kidlet for me, and tell her to be good.

M.


To:  WilsonJ
From: SkinnerW
Subject:  Miscellaneous

Israel is interesting.  Mulder seems to feel very disconnected from it, despite 
his remarks about his Jewish heritage--he seemed to find more of it in 
Austria, when he looked up the Stein family.  Not to make contact with, of 
course.  

For one thing, most of them were dead.  Those who didn't come to the 
United States in the twenties were victims of the camps, and there are only 
a few elderly people left.  

Once we got here, he visited the memorial and found the names of the 
dead.  I'm not sure that was entirely healthy, but I went with him.  It's 
impossible to describe the sensation of seeing the photographs and the 
names.  More powerful than the museum in DC, and God knows, that was 
powerful enough.

It's an interesting mixture of European and Mideastern culture.  I'll be glad to 
get home, though, I'm afraid you've spoiled me.  

A little girl was allegedly abducted during the last flap, but Mulder cut 
straight through the shit and ended up doing a profile to be submitted to the 
Israeli police.  He thinks they'll find her butchered somewhere, a garden 
variety psychopath.  Even Israel has them.

No ETs here.  At least none that we can find.  And Israel, curiously, seems 
to be mostly free of the taint of the Consortium.  It's a young nation, though, 
and spent the forties fighting for its life.  I suspect that's a part of it.

We've got a flight scheduled out of Tel Aviv tomorrow afternoon.  We're 
going through Rome, then to New York, then home.  After everything, I find 
myself watching people in the terminal, thinking about terrorists.  Wouldn't 
that be the irony of ironies?  

I'm feeling gloomy tonight, I guess.  Jet lag and talking to the girl's family 
and Mulder's nightmare about Cassie.

He's as driven now as he ever was, although he's learned to temper it.  But 
he needs to get a real life.  Devoted father is all very well, but the man's 
living like a monk.  In my darker moments, I wonder if Sarah's empathic 
ability makes him worry she'll pick up on any exercise of his libido and it's 
warped his sense of perspective.

But if she can pick up on it, she's already done so with us.  Somehow, I 
haven't found the right way to broach that discussion with him, and it seems 
an egregious intrusion into his personal life.  

I do think he's finally past what they did to him those three years, or at least 
as far past it as anyone can ever get.  I can't believe that anyone could ever 
get completely beyond three years of torture.  Getting past two years of war 
was something I could never completely accomplish, and I can only dimly 
imagine what his experiences were like.

I'll see you Wednesday, Julie.  Give the minx a hug from Uncle Walt and tell 
her to be good.

Walt


To:  HorowitzE
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Journals

Doctor, give me a break.  I know, I'm the one who contacted you, but let's 
not get back into this battle.  If I could survive having a bio-neural network 
implanted in my head and subsequently removed by my year old daughter 
without having a breakdown, I don't think a little angst and worry about a 
missing child in Israel is going to break me.

It just reminded me a little too much of my sister.  She was seven.  Her 
brother was fourteen.  It was just a little too much like what happened to me 
and to Samantha.

I did discuss with Walt, but not with Julie, my original suspicion that it might 
have actually been a similar situation.  The father is fairly highly placed in 
the Israeli Air Force.  

However, based on the forensic evidence and the scene, and on my 
understanding of what happened to my own family, I did provide a profile to 
the Israeli police.

What scares me is that I doubt my own ability to do this now.  Part of me 
was doing the abnormal psychology routine, the usual profiling drill, and the 
other part of me was remembering the lights and the ships.  God, the ships.  
Trying not to drown on the blood that filled my mouth and nose and throat.

And all the while trying not to think about a little girl scared out of her mind 
and struggling and ending up dead.  Stuck in a lonely grave.

Too much self-identification, I know it, you know it, and the way Walt's 
learned the therapeutic dance, he probably fucking knows it.

As for Skelton, he may be the only one who doesn't know it.

Skelton's all right, but Jesus, Horowitz, you may be a Freudian and a pain in 
the ass, but you're smart enough not to let me tap dance around you.

Even Walt's noticed it, and his contempt for Skelton is barely concealed.  
He's innately too polite to tell Skelton to his face that he's an asshole, but he 
thinks it.

And frankly, so do I.  Who the hell do you think nagged me until I wrote to 
you?  Yeah, it was my other therapist, Walter S. Skinner.

But please, don't get Walt back into this again, okay?  He's got enough to 
deal with, having loony upstairs neighbors like Sarah and Bumble and me.

Although the cat is his own damned fault.  He got it for Sarah as a reward 
for getting that thing out of my head.  Or so he says.  Or maybe as a 
present because she was worried he was mad at her.

Mind you, she never appears to be worried that I'm mad at her.  I'm forced to 
believe that I'm one of the world's worst disciplinarians, but Walt just laughs 
and says it's the same with his nieces and nephews.

They're nice kids, by the way, and managed to take Sarah in stride.  Of 
course, they're older, they aren't little kids, and they think it's pretty funny 
that this two year old talks like a miniature adult, except for the usual 
linguistic difficulties caused by a developing palate and so on.  See, I'm not 
completely medically ignorant, Horowitz, and we certainly have more than 
our share of infant and child development textbooks.  Well, I have them.

Walt has the usual commercial ones, like Dr. Spock, or whoever the hell it is 
that writes them now.  Brazelton, something like that.  Well, okay, Walt and 
Julie have them.  Julie, for all her medical background, didn't have much 
experience in day to day infant care after Cassie's death, while they were 
still waiting to see if I was going to survive, so she ordered this entire 
shitload.

I think we're equipped to open a child care center, myself.

Julie gives me this gimlet look when I say that.  She really cracks me up 
sometimes, she's gotten to be a friend, too.  A real friend.  Like Walt.  And I 
swear, she's been so damned good for him, if you'd only known him as AD 
and met him today, you wouldn't know him.

Of course, as AD, he was in an entirely different job.  Between Bureau 
politics and operations, I can understand that.  And frankly, I'm sure I wasn't 
the easiest individual to work with, especially after working under Blevins.

What a prick Blevins was.

Well, none of this is relevant, as far as I can see, but I have to admit, I've 
been having some real screamers again--okay, moaners, I don't actually 
scream or Sarah would scream, too, and Walt and Julie would break down 
my door before I knew it.

They worry too damned much about me.  The nightmares are about Sarah 
being gone.

I know they want her dead.  I'm scared shitless at how close they got last 
time.  And, God, it hurts so badly to know how Cassie must have felt when 
she shot me.  When she tried to shoot at Sarah.  It's like tearing this hole in 
my chest open again.  I try not to think about it, I try to remind myself that 
Walt dealt with it.

He certainly handles these little alarums and excursions into the surreal 
well.  It still astounds me.

Back to the point.  We got a fax yesterday, said they'd found the little girl's 
body.  So, I was wrong, maybe, because she'd been raped and strangled.  
Or maybe I wasn't wrong, and that was window dressing.  The fax also told 
us her father had shot himself.  Eaten his gun.  The fourteen year old found 
him.

DNA tests say it wasn't Dad.  Wrong blood type.  But he shot himself 
anyway, which takes me back to my original suspicion.

Somebody was putting pressure on him.  Christ, for all I know, it's 
something perfectly mundane.

But it only cranks up my nightmares.  I hear Sarah crying and I wake up and 
go into her room.  She's not in a crib any more, Horowitz, she insisted she 
was big, so she's in a bed with a rail on the outer edge.  Otherwise, she rolls 
out of bed in the middle of the night, much to her chagrin and self-image as 
Rambolina, self-appointed protector of Daddies and Uncles and Aunts.

The little squirrel.

On the other hand--never mind.  Anyway, I go into her room and her bed is 
empty.

By now, she's shrieking, and it's the same kind of terror I heard when she 
saw this huge fucking spider in the bathtub.  Somehow, we'd managed to 
avoid discovering that the kid is terrified of spiders.  My little fearless froglet 
is afraid of spiders.  But whatever is scaring her in my dream is worse, and 
then it sounds like she sounded when she climbed up onto the top of the 
swingset Walt actually built in the backyard--

I'm telling you, Horowitz, he could do one of those home restoration shows 
on public television.  At least he didn't make me help this time, beyond 
helping him unload the wood.

So, she's scared and she's hurt and I run down the stairs and Walt and 
Julie are in the livingroom, just out or dead, I never find out which.  I follow 
the screams out into the street, down to the park.

And that's where I find Sarah.  Only she's dead.  Just this little bundle of 
bones in a sleeper.  Like Sam was when they found her.  Rotted cotton 
nightgown and bones.  Only Sarah, naturally, is smaller.

And I realize that I've fucking failed again.  I couldn't even keep my daughter 
safe.

Just out of professional curiosity, I'd be curious to see what you recommend 
for this.

Mulder


To:  HorowitzE
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  RE: Journals

Yeah, I thought you'd like that, Horowitz.  Gets right into the nitty gritty of my 
childhood trauma.

It certainly employs a lot of familiar imagery, except for one flaw.  I saw Sam 
taken, I just didn't remember it.  In my dream, I only hear Sarah.  At least 
until I wake up sweating and shaking and tiptoe down the hall to see her 
sleeping in her bed.   

All right, I can agree that the trip to New Mexico a year ago was a disaster, I 
think that goes without saying.  I still don't remember anything.  I mean 
nothing.  Fuck all.

Just vaguely, I do recall staggering along in the high desert, wondering 
where the hell I was and how the hell I got there.  I fell face first onto the 
shoulder of the road when I got there, and that's when the highway patrol 
found me.  

The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital, dying of thirst, 
even though they were pumping liquid into me through an IV.  Scully would 
have loved it.  Spooky Mulder in the hospital again.  Actually, while I hate 
hospitals, I think I'm fairly well behaved in them, and this time, I was more 
well behaved than most.

Walt in a fury always had that effect on me, even as a bad ass FBI agent 
from the basement.

Hilariously enough, I remember sitting across from his desk once, almost 
fidgeting with a bad case of nerves.  Why?  Because I figured he was going 
to tear my head off, that's why.  He hadn't been exceptionally receptive to 
the general weirdness of the X files up to that point, and he's the one who 
tagged me with the damned case in the first place.  Remember, way back in 
the bad old days, I started telling you about a humanoid flukeworm?   This 
was the one.  Down in the sewers, Horowitz, and if you think I ever wanted 
to see Les Mis, you're crazier than I am.

Well, whatever--New Mexico--Walt got me sprung from the hospital and I 
managed to celebrate Sarah's first birthday on time--she may be an unusual 
kid, but she still dropped her face into the chocolate cake.  And was wired to 
the gills by the time we got her to bed.  I heard her in there playing when I 
went to bed.  With her new cat, no doubt.

I still can't believe that Walt stuck me with that damned cat.  

And she named it Bumble.  I haven't the foggiest why.  Walt suggested it 
was because we let her watch that old rerun of Rudolph the Rednosed 
Reindeer.  Or rather he and Julie did, I was taking a nap upstairs, having 
managed to contract my usual Christmas cold, even in temperate San 
Francisco.

Up until then, we just called it Cat, and it got along fine.

Which doesn't address my fears about Sarah.  

Whoever or whatever they are, they want Sarah dead.  I'm in danger of 
getting obsessively protective.  When she's downstairs with Walt and Julie, 
I still have to check on her.  When she's out in the yard with one of them, I 
still have to come out and do a recon on the territory.

I used to like thunderstorms.  Now, the flash of lightning makes me panicky.  
Just a little, I haven't become totally phobic, you don't have to call Skelton 
and have me tranked or entered into a twelve-step program for phobias.  Or 
whatever the hell they do for them.  

I specialized in abnormal psych, Horowitz, but we didn't cover phobias, per 
se.  Paraphilias, yes, phobias, no.

If she sleeps late, I'm out of bed the minute my eyes open, heart pounding 
until I look in.  Sometimes, she's just considerate enough to play with her 
stuffed animals until I get up, so  I find her sitting there talking to them.  And 
she looks up at me worriedly.  "Da, don't be scared."

Can you possibly imagine how lousy that makes me feel, Horowitz?  And I 
do have good reasons to be scared.  She's so little.  Tough, but little.  Yeah, 
and telekinetic, but clearly they think she's a danger to them, and mortal.

I keep checking her ears to see if they have points.

No, I'm joking, Horowitz.  Walt calls her the minx, and Julie calls her the elf.  
It would be revolting if it weren't funny.  I never thought I'd be a father, let 
alone part of this weird extended family.

I only had a sister, and not all that long, considering how old I am now.  So 
it's weird.  But comforting.

After all, last time, Walt managed to keep things under control.  I kid him 
about keeping a Mulder emergency kit.  For his birthday, I got one of those 
large plastic boxes full of first aid supplies, since Sarah is fearless and he's 
been appointed by Sarah to attend to her bumps and scrapes.

Usually because I'm deep in a file and obsessing.

Which also makes me feel like shit.  Except she comes to me when she 
wants to be read to or cuddled, so I guess it's okay.

As for Skelton--he's okay, but he's still watching me for signs of dementia or 
terminal brain failure after my daughter pulled that network out of my head or 
whatever she did.

They aren't entirely sure what it is, but it appears to be neural tissue.  Not 
entirely human.  Something a little extra added in.  What scares me the 
most is wondering how they got it into my head.  They damned sure didn't 
crack my skull, Horowitz. It's very frightening to consider how easily they 
could put it into anyone.  

Then again, it took them a week, so maybe it isn't that easy.   The people 
studying it have about come around to where they're thinking that it was 
grown in situ, so to speak.  In other words, something was injected into my 
head--probably not unlike getting a frontal lobotomy, only much more 
delicate, and the damned thing grew.

Which brings back all kinds of lurid Hollywood memories of Alien and other 
nasty things.

I don't think it's unreasonable of me to be riddled with anxiety under these 
circumstances.  But I'm sure you've got your own opinion.

Mulder


To:  SkinnerW
From: HarrisJ
Subject:  Am I losing it?

Okay, I gotta tell you, I hate coming up here to with Ellison when you aren't 
along.  I know, that's so incredibly absurd, I can almost see you just 
cracking up and falling out of your computer chair when you read this.

Walt, he's got this theory--and by the way, you aren't blameless in this--that 
it would be safer for me to just duck into a hole somewhere for a while.  
Since after Christmas, when the watchers duly noted other watchers who 
didn't know the secret UNCLE handshake, he's been running through some 
scenarios on a computer, and he doesn't like any of the probabilities.

I'd quarrel with that, but the basis for the program is so far beyond my 
benighted mathematics skills that I can't begin to determine if it's the same 
kind of bullshit you get when reading Tarot cards, or if it really means 
something.

He wants us in England.  As in Sarah and I.  Because he thinks you're too 
visible these days, since running into--Jesus, Walt--Freeh in the airport.

England.  Like there's anywhere on earth that is really going to be truly safe 
and fool proof for any of us.

Near Oxford, evidently, they have a nifty little think tank and semi-
compound.  More like they've taken over a part of a village near Oxford, but 
still, there's heavy UNCLE presence.  Which is what he wants.  

Do I want to go back to England?  I don't know.  Do I not want to go back to 
England?  I don't know that, either.

I quail just thinking about breaking it to Sarah.  She'll probably turn me into a 
toad or something.  Wouldn't that be something, Walt?  And then Bumble 
would slaughter me, thereby wreaking vengeance for all that nasty things 
I've said to him over the last two and a half years.

Worse yet, we can't take Bumble, it wouldn't be fair.  Quarantine.  Pets have 
to stay in quarantine for six months.  Very pricey.  Not to mention hard on 
Bumble.

I'll be lucky if I don't end up a cricket.  Bumble loves to shred crickets.

Just remember, this is just as much your fault for talking to Ellison as it is 
mine.  So if she does turn me into a lower life form, you have to lock Bumble 
up.

M.

PS  On the other hand, it is April.  Didn't someone say Oh, to be in England 
now that April is here?



To: SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Here We Are

Well, here we are at last, settled in England.  I miss your cooking and Julie's 
figure, in that order.  When are you going to make an honest woman of her, 
you old grouch?

It's nearly midsummer.  I really understand about Stonehenge now.  There's 
a lot I always liked about England but having the sun come up at 3 in the 
morning has never been one of them.  I'd forgotten about that.  Well, okay, 
maybe I'm exaggerating a little--4 ack emma, Walt, no shit.  The first 
morning, I was still suffering jet lag, to a certain degree, and thought the 
neighborhood was on fire.  So to speak.  We're sort of out here by ourselves 
on the road, I wouldn't be surprised to find it was the former squire's house 
or something.

Oxford is lovely, of course.  It always was.

I miss San Francisco, if that's not perverse.  I was beginning to feel 
claustrophobic, not being able to go anywhere, but I miss San Francisco 
and I miss you guys.  But the argument that they'd be looking for me if I 
maintained old ties made too much sense.  

You and Horowitz, I swear.  You never used to gang up on me together, 
Walt.

Since my mom died last year, you're the only family I have left, so you'd 
better make Julie an honest woman and do whatever it is she's chivvying 
you to do to produce offspring so I can come back and spoil them the way 
you both spoil Sarah.

Jesus, I'm getting maudlin.  Sorry, it must be the lack of sleep and a strange 
house and the fact that I'm in England again and I don't know when I'm 
going to get past that.

Sarah, on the other hand, has settled into Ellison's special school with great 
glee.  She calls her rubber boots wellies, just like any born and bred Brit.  

You'll never guess who stopped by to see me.  The redoubtable Phoebe.  
Evidently they recruited her, using certain Consortium files to prove to her 
the utter vileness of the other side.  I distrust people who find causes late in 
life, Walt, and let's face it, Phoebe isn't getting any younger either.  I may be 
forty two, but she was a year older than me at Oxford, and despite the fact 
that she admits to thirty-eight, I don't think time works that way in this zip 
code.

Sarah's teacher Elizabeth, on the other hand, is quite delectable.  I find it 
reassuring that my libido seems to have moved past videos and one night 
stands, although work doesn't allow a lot of time for flirtation.  Funny, 
belonging to UNCLE and not having to prove my beliefs seems to have 
taken some of the compulsive obsessive fun out of working.  I can't imagine 
why.

Sarah, btw, regards Phoebe with the expression she used to use when 
Bumble did something nasty outside his catbox.  

How is Bumble, by the way?  It may reveal more than I want to about my 
state of mind when I tell you that I even miss Bumble.

Of course, I now am the proud owner of an unremarkable tabby cat named 
Aslan.  I tried to tell her that Aslan was a lion, but she's four now and far 
wiser than her old man.  She loftily informed me that cats were relatives of 
lions and the name Aslan suited him just fine, he had a lion's personality.

I suppose it could have been worse, she could have fixated on A.A. Milne 
and named him Pooh or Eeyore.

For a tabby, he's astonishingly elegant and likes to curl up in the window 
seat.  

You'd love this place, Walt.  I can see you whipping out tape measures and 
plumb bobs and fixing it right up.  You wouldn't like to come over and spend 
about a month doing that, would you?  The roof has a leak, which I 
fortunately discovered before I put my computer under it.

It's weird having milk and butter and bread delivered.

I'm working for someone named Chalmers, who has this ridiculous Bridge 
on the River Kwai mustache and looks down his nose at me as if I were a 
particularly obnoxious subaltern.  I used to hate that Brit attitude, but since I 
think he's an asshole, I tend to ignore him as much as possible and use lots 
of Briticism in my conversation and remind him I graduated from Oxford.  It 
tones him down somewhat.

I suspect he's of working class origins and trying to live them down, hence 
his stiffer than usual upper lip and that mustache.

I don't know what it is--in a country that used to think that Paki bashing was 
a national sport, this guy is still stuck back in the late Edwardian era.  Read 
too much E.M. Forster, I'll bet.

Anyway, his staff is good, very capable, and we've fallen into a routine of me 
profiling the event and them taking off for parts unknown to investigate 
them.  Which both peeves and relieves me, as you can imagine.

Even here, I feel pent up.  But it's that or risk what happened in New 
Mexico.

How would you guys like to have a real English Christmas this year, Walt?  
Think you could swing it?  I hate Christmas anyway, but I've got to do it for 
Sarah, thanks to you two, it's only fair that you give me a hand with this.

Please?

M.

PS  Did I tell you, Ellison swung for a housekeeper.  She's a nice 
grandmotherly lady with an anything but grandmotherly exterior, very chic, 
very French and a demon for cleaning and child tending.  And she adores 
Sarah and Sarah seems to return the compliment.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  DelevanS
Subject: Hi!

Dear Uncle Walt and Aunt Julie,

Daddy says I can type my own mail now, and I even have my own computer.  
It's his old one, he says, and just right for me.

I can make the letters different colors, but Daddy says that they'll all be 
black again when you get my letter.  That's boring.  Can't you change your 
computer so you get them in color?

I miss you and Bumble a lot, but we have a new kitty to bring home when we 
come.  His name is Aslan and I told him all about Bumble.

I go to school here, too, and my teacher's name is Mrs. Harvey.  She's very 
pretty and I think Daddy likes talking to her.

That's good.  I don't like Pheebe.  She gags maggots, Uncle Walt.  I don't 
think I said that right, but you know what I mean.

I'm tired of typing, so here are some hugs and kisses.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Daddy says the X is a hug and the O is a kiss.  Why is that?  He says he 
doesn't know, to ask you.

Love,

Sarah


To:  DelevanS
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Re: Hi

Dear Minx,

Of course, we all miss you and Daddy, too, but we're glad to know you're 
both somewhere that you can get out a little more and not worry about the 
people who got Daddy before.  We'll come and see you sometimes so you 
don't get too lonely.

As to the hugs and kisses, they were very nice.  Neither your Aunt Julie nor 
I have any idea of why the X stands for a hug and the O stands for a kiss.  I 
actually think Daddy has it backwards, but I could be wrong.

Tell your dad to give you some hugs and kisses from us.

Love,

Uncle Walt


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Re: Here We Are

Mulder, only you would be planning Christmas in June.  I swear, since 
you've become a father, you've gone from total feckless impulse to anal 
retentive planning.

The pictures were a treat, they got here yesterday and Julie went through 
them all and retreated to our bedroom to sniffle.  I have to confess to 
blinking rather rapidly myself.

It says something about how my sanity has slipped that I actually miss 
having you underfoot.

No, that's not fair--I do miss you, Mulder, and I miss that minx of a Mulder 
daughter, too.  

I don't see any reason why we can't come for Christmas.  Especially since 
Ellison doesn't want you traveling.  Clearly, he's gone through all the records 
and knows just how much trouble you can get into on the road.  And I 
certainly can't let Sarah spend Christmas in England with the reincarnation 
of Ebenezer Scrooge, the man who gets sick at Christmas and retreats to 
watch bad science fiction thrillers and surreptitiously read skin magazines.

I'm kidding.  

Not about Christmas.

Have you been following Walker's latest set of statistics?  I'd like you to turn 
that bent brain of yours to them, there's something hinky there that I'm not 
sure of.  Not about his statistics or his report, but something he's not seeing 
in his conclusions.  It's nagging at the back of my mind and I can't quite put 
my finger on it.

I've mailed the whole ten pound report, 8 by 10 color glossies with the 
arrows and all, off to you.  Jesus, it's pricey to send things to England.  You 
may find you don't get anything unless we actually fly it over.  BTW, I'll be in 
London in August, I thought I'd bring my plum bob up to take a look at that 
leak then.

WS

PS  Leave Inspector Greene alone, you haven't had all your shots.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  August

Hey, you don't even have to bring the plum bob, Walt, I'll even provide one.  
Wouldn't want them looking suspiciously at you when you go through 
Customs.

The report arrived.  With a thud.  I realize that you always felt like I 
deliberately sought out the tabloids as case sources because my attention 
span wasn't long enough to wade through the piles and piles of files on my 
desk, but c'mon, Walt.  It's like wading through the Gobi desert.

Dry.  Dry.  Dry.

But I'm trudging through it on my off time, when Chalmers isn't breathing 
down my neck.  It's like they've been backlogged for months or something, 
and suddenly the Good UFO Fairy dropped me into their clutches.  At least 
Chalmers isn't such an asshole he doesn't let me work a lot at home.  At 
first, he was leaning towards making me trudge down to their little offices--
talk about the squire's home, Walt, this is a splendid Georgian mansion on 
the outside that has been turned into some weird lab/business 
office/computer think tank.  I love it, it appeals to my perverse nature.  It 
reminds me of Phoebe's father's house.

Speaking of which, you're starting to sound like my big brother again.  Hey, I 
know she's got claws and she bites, but Walt, you've been bitching about 
my monastic habits for months and months on end.  At least I'm getting laid 
once in a while now.

Just kidding.   Well, mostly.  At least twice now.  When she can tear herself 
away from her politicos. Hard to see myself as a bit of rough, but what the 
hell, I'm not proud and she still has great legs.

Sarah is thriving, I think, she adores Madeline.   She and Madeline are 
evidently already conspiring about Sarah's birthday.  Which ought to be 
interesting. 

One thing the Brits do well, is toy stores.  I'll have to duck into Oxford with 
my baby-sitters and see what I can find for a four year old going on thirty.

You don't even have to sleep on the couch when you get here, btw, I actually 
have such a thing as a guest room.  Like you used to have before moving 
me into it.

M


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Here I am

Julie,

Mulder has set his computer up in such an idiosyncratic fashion that I can't 
being to figure out how to access my own mail account, so I hope you can 
figure out that Mulder hasn't engaged in a long distance flirtation and open 
this.

I have to tell you, Sarah has grown about two inches and developed a very 
peculiar accent, compounded of her father's Eastern Seaboard accent, your 
Canadian accent, my lack of accent, a British accent, and French accented 
English.  Very strange, but what frightens me is that I don't have any trouble 
understanding what she's saying.

This housekeeper, by the way, is a knockout.  I have grave suspicions about 
Mulder's health because he doesn't seem to notice.  And no, my love, I am 
not flirting with Madeline.

She does, however, have elegant silver strands in this dark red mane that 
she keeps swept up into a--what do you call those again?  My mother told 
me once, years and years ago, and I don't have Mulder's eidetic memory.

Neither does he, or so he claims.  The legacy of those fuckers in Mexico.

He's thinner, but seems overall to be in good spirits.  He runs every 
morning--he wasn't kidding about this house, either.  Although not palatial, 
it's a very nice place, even with the leak in the roof.  Which, as you know me 
too well, I could not resist having a look at and mending.

I thought he was going to fall down laughing and hurt himself.  Then, I 
thought I was going to hurt him.

I know you think I worry about both of them too much, and you may be right, 
but there's something--you know how it is when you see someone every day 
and you don't notice the changes in them?  And suddenly, you don't see 
them every day and the changes are startling?  Mulder has some silver in 
his hair, too, which I hadn't realized before they left.  And Sarah is more 
slender than I thought.  Taller, too, so I suppose it's that stretching out my 
sister-in-law always talked about in her kids.  

Mulder watches her sometimes.  Not obsessively.  Not excessively.  But 
when he does, I see the worry.  I'm not sure why.  Except that she looks 
somehow fragile, Julie.  Maybe I'm imagining it. I've actually used the 
camera you packed, so you can tell me when you see them pictures.

Maybe it's just that she's growing up and that's something I hadn't expected 
to be so apparent.

I wish you could have come.  And as much as I'm glad to be here, I'll be 
glad to get home to you.

Walt


To:  HarrisJ
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:  Walt

What in heavens name did you feed him while he was over there?  Extra 
vitamins?  Ginseng?

No, I'm kidding, it just occurred to me that we seem to send greetings via 
Walt all the time as if we weren't friends ourselves.  Which is silly.  

You look tired, Fox, in the photographs Walt took.  Are things really all right?  
I worry about you, I admit, but so does he, and we spend most of our time 
laughing at ourselves over it, as if a man over forty can't be trusted to take 
care of himself.

You are taking care of yourself, aren't you? 

That was a joke.  I thought I'd better tell you.  Sarah is looking so grownup.  
I'm sending a special package, including several photographs of Bumble 
looking fat and sassy and sleeping on Walt's chest.  Yes, I thought you'd 
enjoy that one.  Think of it as an early birthday present.

Give yourself and Sarah several hugs from us both, and don't give me that 
manly man shit, either.  I'll fly over and whack you on the side of your head.

Maybe the beautiful Madeline would condescend to give them to you.

Love,

Julie


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Cowering

Julie, I would never presume to give you any of that manly man shit.  First of 
all, you aren't a man.  Second of all, you don't understand how de rigeur it is 
for Walt and I to pretend to growl at each other.  If we don't, we're 
automatically SNAGs.  Sensitive New Age Guys, for those Canucks who 
don't know what that means.

We love the pictures, especially the one where Walt is lying defenselessly 
on the couch taking a nap while Bumble lies on his chest, attempting to 
smother him.   You did not, however, have to include one of me in like 
circumstances, you know.  Madeline has taken Sarah down to the village 
and helped her pick out two frames so that the damned things are sitting on 
her dresser.

She is growing up, isn't she?  She reminds me of Cassie and my sister at 
once, sometimes, which is sort of glad-making and sad-making at the same 
time.

 And as for the beautiful Madeline, she's a gem, but she doesn't look at her 
employer that way.  Although there have been moments, like when I had a 
nasty cold last week and she kept making hot toddies for me, when I 
wouldn't particularly mind.

What is it with my love life lately?  I'm going through a mid-life crisis, Julie, 
no one seems to find me attractive.  Except, of course, for Phoebe, and 
what Phoebe finds attractive about me is too frightening to consider.  Except 
of course when she's actually here, ripping my clothes off me.

Thankfully, she doesn't show up often, and waits until Sarah's safely asleep 
and Madeline has gone out or gone to bed.

I do shudder at the thought of having to explain Phoebe to Sarah.  Ever.  Or 
talk to her about my exploits on the tomb of Arthur Conan Doyle.  Parents 
shouldn't ever tell their children, grown or not, about their exploits.  It can 
only lead to mortal embarrassment on both sides.

Okay, have Walt give you a hug and kiss from me, and you can give him a 
hug back, but don't tell him it came from me or he's going to start making 
remarks about long hair and male bonding again.

M.

And don't call me Fox.



To:  HarrisJ
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:  Exploits?

Arthur Conan Doyle?  Do tell, Fox.

Julie



To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Arthur Conan Doyle?

Mulder, what the hell is this about Arthur Conan Doyle?  Julie keeps making 
cryptic remarks about you and Sherlock Holmes and I can't decide if she's 
referring to your eccentricities or your deductive powers and it's driving me 
nuts.

WS


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Re: Exploits

Julie,

A gentleman never tells and besides, it was long ago, in a galaxy far, far 
away and I've forgotten.

Mulder

Don't call me Fox.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ'
Subject:  Re: Arthur Conan Doyle

Okay, I'll tell you, but don't tell Julie or I'll have to kill you.  In my reckless 
youth, with Phoebe, we achieved some sort of underground fame for 
managing to do the deed in the vicinity of Doyle's tomb.  On it, around it, 
near it, the memory fades.

And if you ever sentence me to Walker's work again, I'll really get even. 
How, I don't know yet, but I used to have a very fertile imagination, and I'm 
sure I can riffle through the pages of memory and come up with something.

But you're right.  He seems to be categorizing two sets of phenomena as 
one.  I never have understood why some people are just abducted--ruling 
out what we know to be human intervention--and never reappear, and some 
are taken for relatively short periods of time and are returned.

It all seems inimical to me, given my own experiences.  And why would 
human intervention be tolerated or approved?  We never have really 
explored that question to my satisfaction, but it does cut to the heart of my 
own situation.  Why were Cassie and I evidently modified?  I can justify 
being left with my parents because of my father's position, but why was 
Cassie returned?  And having been returned, why was she taken again, with 
the express purpose of eliminating our daughter and me?  And herself, let's 
not forget.

All of these things occur to me in the wee small hours when I can't sleep, for 
one reason or another.  I think I'm going to have to set this aside for the 
moment, Walt, it's getting too close to November.  And that, like being back 
in England, is going to be something I'm not sure I'm ever going to get past.

Love to both of you from both of us.

Well, pat Bumble, too.

M.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  DelevanS
Subject:  Hi!

Hi, Uncle Walt.  I'm home with a cold, but Daddy said I could use his laptop 
in bed and send you some mail.

I hate having a cold.  Madeline makes soup for me and Daddy lets me lie on 
the couch in his office, which I like, but I hate having a cold.

Aslan curls up on my feet and keeps them warm.

It snowed a little bit.  Daddy says it snowed in Canada, when I was a baby, I 
think I remember it.  I'm not sure.  It didn't look like this, I don't think, not 
exactly.  It was bigger.

But it didn't snow back home.  My feet get cold, even in my wellies with my 
socks.  I don't think I like it.

I miss you.  I wish you would hurry and get here again.

Love,

Sarah

PS  Kiss Aunt Julie for me.

Daddy's laughing at that, Uncle Walt, tell him not to.


To:  DelevanS
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Re: Hi

Dear Minx,

Daddy's only laughing because he knows I kiss Aunt Julie anyway.  I'm 
sorry you have a cold.  Aunt Julie says to drink lots of juice.  

Yes, there was a lot of snow in Canada, up on the mountain, and I'm not 
surprised if you remember it was bigger.  There was probably a lot more of it 
there than in England.  I'll bring some pictures Aunt Julie took when you 
were a baby so you can see.

If you've still got the Cats calendar that we sent you, you can start crossing 
off the days, sometimes that makes it seem to go more quickly.

Love,

Uncle Walt and Aunt Julie


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Christmas

Sarah's over the moon about your arrival next week.  She follows Madeline 
around and critiques her preparations, while--get this--speaking in fluent 
French.  Yes, my daughter has graduated to being bilingual and it took her 
all of, what, 4 months?

I, on the other hand, can barely remember the French I did so well in back in 
high school, and I had to take Greek and Latin at Oxford, which languages 
are both more or less dead, thankfully, so I don't have to pretend to 
remember them.

At any rate, it's very eclectic here at the Mulder household this year, French 
and British and American traditions.  Well, and Canuck, but don't tell Julie I 
called it that.

Since you're such a nag, you'll be pleased to know that I actually have 
developed a social life.  Sort of.  I joined Sarah's teacher at a nearby pub 
about two weeks ago after finally getting up the impetus to ask her out.

I have to confess, the accent alone rouses a weird combination of 
resistance and arousal--whatever else one may say about Phoebe, Walt, 
she was hot.  Very hot.  And very cold, if that doesn't sound too 
contradictory.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, is a very warm person, although somewhat 
reserved.  She lost her husband to--whatever the hell the Others are.  Went 
to the shop for a packet of cigarettes and never came back.

Funny, all of us have been touched by this shit one way or another, haven't 
we?

Anyway, we went to the pub--which thankfully has a dining room--and had 
dinner and a few drinks and I drove her home and that was that.

Very reserved, did I say that already? 

Well, anyway, we've now had two relatively sedate evenings and I'm 
wondering what I'm doing wrong.  Maybe it's all that expensive dental work 
my parents paid for, Brits don't always have the best teeth.  The second 
time, we went to a movie--the cinema, as Sarah points out--and then to the 
pub again.  Well, a different pub, something a little quieter.

Maybe it's just that she has these long legs from here until Tuesday, and 
dark red hair and that creamy complexion that really lovely British women 
have that you never seem to see in the States.

Of course, I'm a little rusty after the last few years of one night stands, so 
maybe that's all it is.

She's coming to dinner tomorrow night, Sarah's invitation I'm afraid, not 
mine.  So maybe she'll realize I'm not a shifty Yank or something, I don't 
know.

You still haven't told me your flight numbers.  Ellison flatly refuses to let me 
go to London, but has promised that he'll meet you himself and put you on 
the train to Oxford.  I hope that meets with the AD's approval.

I used to love London.  But Ellison wants to take every precaution with his 
secret weapon's father.  No, that's unfair, it's just that I can't help feeling 
locked up sometimes.  At least it's lovely here.

M.


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Christmas

Okay, you've got to help me, I've been wracking my brain, but I can't just 
drop down to Harrod's and pick something up, not without giving Ellison a 
stroke.  Chalmers would probably only sniff disapprovingly.

I need to know what to get Walt for Christmas.  Jesus, Julie, I think the two 
of you just sucked up my brain while we were living more or less together, I 
can't even get Christmas gifts by myself.  And yes, I do remember that you 
helped me get his last four Christmas presents, which is why I'm bothering 
you so frantically.

And no remarks again about leaving it so late.  Hey, I've been getting 
Sarah's since August, so as not to go through THAT again.  I just wanted 
something great for you and Walt.  Happily--evil laughter here, Julie--I found 
just the thing for you.  

I love it when he grouches at me that I shouldn't have bothered.  I don't plan 
to miss that this year, not when I managed to chivvy you guys into coming.

I breathlessly await your sage advice.

M.

And stop calling me Fox.


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Julie

All right, you got me, you son of a bitch.  What did you get her?  You realize, 
of course, that in the interests of manly testosterone driven behavior, I have 
to one up you, now.  

We'll be there, believe me.  Wild horses couldn't keep me away from seeing 
you actually celebrate Christmas.  

WS


To:  HarrisJ
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:  Walt

Fox, you worry too much.  On the other hand, if you want to get him 
something this year--he's been wearing that damned overcoat for years, 
before I ever met him.  Sure, I know he doesn't actually need a new one, but 
that's a thought.

No repeat on the Marvin the Martian pajamas, please.  I put them in his 
dresser anyway, and every once in a while he growls at me about what the 
hell they're doing in there.  He'd rather be caught dead in my nightgown, I 
think.

Although, I have to admit, if you could do something nearly as funny, I could 
probably jolly him past it. <G>

Love,

Julie

PS  Books are always a good bet, but unlike you, I think he's on this Civil 
War kick lately.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Marriage

I can't believe you did that, you son of a bitch.  God, underneath that crusty 
exterior lurks the heart of a die-hard romantic.  Snow on the ground, fire in 
the grate, and you ask her to marry you.  

While I was putting Sarah to bed, you clown, so I couldn't even eavesdrop 
shamelessly.

And I don't recall you being this crafty when you were AD.  Having a British 
marriage license ready.

All I can say is that it's about damned time.

God, I'm glad you came for Christmas.  It went too fast, like all Christmas 
holidays, and Sarah's back at school, quite happily.  I still can't move, after 
all the food Madeline stuffed down us while you were here.

It's a good thing you're taken, or I'd lose my housekeeper, I swear.  And I 
never said she was grandmotherly in looks, just in behavior.  She's only 
about five years older than I am, what kind of cad do you think I am?

Julie looks terrific.  I'd have flirted more strenuously, but I was afraid you'd 
punch me out.  I'm glad my gift was a hit--I thought cashmere was 
something she'd never treat herself to, and with all the dough I appear to be 
rolling in, I wanted to get something nice. 

After all, you both had to put up with me for the last five years.

Sarah moped a little after we put you both on the train.  How was Scotland?  
Snowy and cold this time of year, I would imagine, but the south of France 
probably more than made up for that.

I'm green with envy over that, of course, but seeing as it was technically a 
wedding trip/honeymoon, I can live with it.

Take care, both of you.

M.


To: HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Christmas

Mulder, you know we wouldn't have done it without what passes for the rest 
of our family.  My brother couldn't make it, so we had his blessing, don't 
worry about that any more.  

The South of France was a lot of fun, and a lot warmer than Scotland in 
January.  I confess to some atavistic pleasure in seeing men look at Julie 
and then at me, wondering what the hell she's doing with a bald old man 
who isn't even rich.  

I know, that's not politically correct, but even an idiot would have to 
recognize that I do not and have never thought of Julie as chattel.  It's 
egotism, pure and simple, not ownership. <G>

It was interesting meeting Inspector Greene again.  I did wonder if she was 
facing imminent toadhood when I caught Sarah glaring at her once, but 
overall, I thought the minx behaved very well.

On the other hand, I thought Julie was going to punch her lights out.  It's a 
matter of some chagrin to me that she evidently feels proprietary about you.  
Fortunately, this has never appeared to extend to falling for the whipped 
puppy look, so I guess I can live with it.

I'm currently enjoying my Christmas presents a great deal, and Julie is 
threatening to make a voodoo doll of you and stick pins in it if you ever get 
me books again.  Pay no mind, Mulder, an old X files hand like yourself 
should be able to rustle up a counter spell in no time.

Take care of that cold, Mulder, and think vitamins.  They not only help 
combat the stress of holidays, they can also boost your immune system.

WS



To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Business as Usual Again

No, we're fine, I swear we are, just busy.  Big flap over what used to be the 
USSR, moving from east to west, toward Western Europe.  And then Sarah 
got a bad cold or something--with the emphasis on something.

She's been a little listless since then, so I've kept her home the last several 
days.  This, of course, means that Chalmers, that ass, is nipping at my 
heels and sends someone out everyday to pick up what I've done, but fuck 
him.

I made a bed up on the couch in my office.  I'm not ashamed to tell you that 
I'm coddling her, she was feeling pretty lousy there for a while, and our 
resident physician hadn't a clue what it was.  Something that was and 
wasn't upper respiratory, and wasn't strep or otherwise bacterial, but which 
shot her temp up pretty spectacularly.  So she's asleep right now, all tucked 
up under one of my mother's old quilts.  Madeline looks in on us now and 
then to make sure I haven't done anything irretrievably stupid and bring me a 
cup of tea.

Madeline is a saint and a jewel and is tolerant with me when I'm in a foul 
mood.  She's wonderful with Sarah, who has unaccountably taken a dislike 
to Elizabeth Harvey.

I can see Horowitz cackling over that one, pointing out that sometimes 
Freud was right, but I actually think it had more to do with Elizabeth's 
sudden coldness to me after I tried to take our reserved relationship to a 
slightly warmer plane.

So, Sarah is very polite at school, but expresses great scorn at home for 
some of Elizabeth's more typically British utterances.

Okay, Walt, brace yourself, because I'm about to break our manly silence 
about our emotions.  I love this kid.  If I lost her, I'm not sure I could survive.  
I know, that's a little extreme, just because she had a cold or virus, but she 
was one sick little girl and I'll confess--it scared the shit out of me.  I know, I 
know, she's not just herself to me, but probably Cassie and Samantha, and 
hell, maybe even a little of Scully, all wrapped up in one small four year old 
package.  That's too much to put on her, and I don't, I work hard not to, but 
I'll pick up the paper or I'll be working on a file, and I just go fucking cold, 
thinking about how I would react.

I think about the cases I worked on under Patterson, Walt, those little 
bodies, savaged and violated and cold and still and I remember the parents' 
eyes and feel like a real shit.  I thought I knew how it felt, from losing Sam, 
but I didn't have a fucking clue.

It was bad enough, seeing Sam in all the victims, back when I was at VCS.  
Now, I see Sam and my daughter.  As badly as I handled losing Sam--I 
don't know what I'd do.  Maybe I've seen too much.  Maybe I know too 
much.  There are times I really do understand Ellison's frame of mind over 
keeping the two of us safe.  When I take Sarah to school, I want to stand 
outside the building, keeping the monsters away.

I can barely handle it when she gets hurt--nearly, forgot, she got her first set 
of stitches last month, she took a tumble during one of her acrobatic 
maneuvers in the back garden and came down with her forehead on the 
corner of the wooden bench I have out there.

I was standing at the kitchen window and nearly had a coronary, I probably 
broke the world's speed record for leaping over the cat and getting out there.  
Fortunately for my health, mental or otherwise, she started to howl bloody 
murder by the time I reached her, so I knew she wasn't dead.

You'd have been proud of me, Walt, I stayed more or less calm through the 
entire thing, although Napier did have an amused look on his face when we 
left to go back home.

I was thinking about it the other day, and it's really, aside from scrapes and 
bumps, the first real mishap she's ever had.  I'd had more than that by the 
time I was her age.  And not all of them were because my dad lost his 
temper and flew into a rage.  

I know I've talked with you a little about some of this, but it's strange.  I can 
forgive him a lot more easily these days.  I can understand having a kid drive 
you up the fucking wall.  At the same time, I think I'm judging him for the 
first time in my life.  I mean, really judging him.  Not just burying it under 
rationalization.  Because even when Sarah has me about to tear out my own 
goddamn hair, even when my hand is just itching to smack her, I don't.  
Now, I'll admit, I have on occasion, actually carried her into her room and 
shut the door on my way back to my own, just to keep from going completely 
batshit.  But I've never hit her.  Ever.

I feel sorry for my dad.  I know he believed I was his son.  And I know he 
loved me, despite--well, despite everything.  There were good moments, 
Walt.  Putting together a model ship.  Sitting on his lap and reading with 
him.  He was so damned worried about me being tough and being strong, 
and he pushed so goddamned hard, but that was the way he was raised.  I 
knew that then, and I understand even better now.   But I'm glad that Sarah 
never looks at me with wide, scared eyes.

I know, I know, it's four o'clock on a dark grey English winter afternoon and 
I'm sunk in gloom for no good reason.  Thank God it's nearly the end of 
February.  They keep promising me that sunshine is right around the corner, 
to which I generally respond that I'm not sure I remember sunshine, I spent 
most of my time in the basement.

Enough maudlin shit.  Give Julie a kiss for me and one for Sarah.  And 
since I'm a manly man, you'll have to get Julie to give you one from Sarah. 
You'll have to have her give you one of those manly hugs, you know, 
slapping you on the back like you just won a basketball game, from me.

I gotta tell you, though, Walt.  Every once in a while I do flash on this image 
of you reaming me in your office and feel like somehow, I've fallen down the 
rabbit hole.

Just kidding.

M.


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Your Last Message

I keep getting caught up in this time warp, I'm afraid, thinking of you when 
your mother came to stay after Watts managed to pull you down the 
mountain after him.

I'm not sure why.  I suppose the mood you seemed to be in took me back 
there.  And maybe a little farther ahead, to the day I got back from my 
mother's funeral and had to give you the bundle of papers from Grey.

William Mulder was your father, Mulder, despite genetics.  Whatever his 
flaws, and I do own he appears to have had a great many, I do believe that 
he loved you.  He was a man haunted by his own demons, I'm afraid, and 
some of that you paid for, whether he intended you to or not.  

But you are neither your adoptive or genetic father, Mulder.  You are 
stubbornly yourself.  And that's a very good thing, at least in my opinion.  
You may be maddeningly focused at times, but you're a good man.  A man 
with integrity and honesty--you and I both know how rare that is these days.

I'm glad there are good things for you to remember with your father.  Sarah 
will have many more than you did, precisely because of who you are.  You, 
like many who grew up in dysfunction, had choices to make, and you've 
made good ones.  She's not afraid of you.  There aren't any shadows or 
worries in her eyes when she looks at you, or calls to you to come and see 
what she's drawn or made or spilled.  You need to allow yourself to feel 
some pride in that, I think.  

I know that I'm proud to call you a friend and the nearest thing I have to a 
brother, outside of Johnny.  

WS


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject: 

Jesus, Walt. 

I mean, I feel like I have to respond, but I don't have a clue what to say.  
Except thank you.

M.


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  News

Walt,

I'm glad you called.  Really glad.

And no, I can understand your apprehensions probably better than you 
realize at the moment.  We were lucky that the only real anomalies Sarah 
shows lie in the area of her, shall we say, talents.   We still have no idea 
what the fuck they did to my or Cassie's genetic codes.  And you've got to 
deal with a manmade teratogen.

But Walt, you've got to trust Julie and Shepard.  Remember, telling me the 
same thing?  Damned if you weren't right, you old grouch.  You're working 
with the people who brought Cassie through everything, who probably know 
as much about genetics as the goddamned Mengeles, at this point, and who 
are a helluva lot more ethical.  

I confess, I have entirely selfish reasons for thinking that you ought to 
reproduce.  Not the kind women appear to have, I think we need more 
Skinners in the world that fucking Cancerman created for us, that UNCLE is 
trying to combat.  

Betcha never thought, ten years ago, that I'd end up being one of your fans.  
What can I say, it's an X file. <G>

Dammit, Walt, if anyone deserves to be a father, it's you.  Not me.  I love 
Sarah, you know how much I love Sarah, but I'm not the world's best dad.  
I'm obsessive, I'm neurotic, I'm--well, I'm me.  But you--Walt, you really 
could be the world's best.  

I wish I could be there for you like you were for me.  But even if Ellison has 
to charter a fucking jet, we're going to be there when Wally or Julie Junior 
makes his or her debut appearance.  If only to pour your bourbon into a cup 
of coffee to keep you from hyperventilating.

The froglet's nose will be entirely out of joint of course, but she'll live.  

I know, you probably think that it's hysterical for me to be telling you to trust 
the genetics specialist, but weren't they right about the froglet?  And weren't 
you right about that?

M.

Sorry if I got a little maudlin, it's the middle of the night here.



To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Re:  News

Yeah, yeah, yeah, bitch all you want , you know damned well you never 
expected me to be able to turn your own words back at you.  

It was my real reason for living, what can I say?

Serves you right for saying 'em in the first place.  Don't you think I deserve 
the chance to be an Uncle Mulder?

M.



To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Re: News

If you teach that kid to call me Uncle Fox, I'm going to retaliate.  I'm going to 
teach Sarah to call you Uncle Wally.

M.



To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Re: News

It's taken me four days to stop laughing hysterically.  Did either of you really 
believe that only one of the embryos would take?  Are you both crazy?

Whatever, I'm downright gleeful over the prospect of influencing not one, 
but two Skinner offspring.

God, I love one-upmanship.  I can spoil two of yours to the one of mine.  

Sarah and I had a talk about the birds and the bees.  She wants a picture of 
Aunt Julie with her tummy sticking out.  I explained to her that this would 
take a while, but that was before I got your last email.  

Work has been going well enough.  I'm a little tired of being pent up like this, 
but there are days when it's worthwhile.  Sometimes I wonder if it's just the 
itch to get out and into the world on my own again, footloose and all that shit.  
Escaping from responsibility.

Who knows.  

It's June and lovely here.  I took Sarah to Scotland just for fun, naturally 
accompanied by UNCLE baby-sitters, and the little hellion liked haggis.

Naturally.  I need to get her back to the States.  Actually, I've been agitating 
for that.  It's been nearly a year since we got here and there has been no 
sign of interest in either me or Sarah.

Unless you count the Phoebster.  I have to confess, she's been coming up 
here about once a month and screwing my brains out, a circumstance that 
at least allows me to a) remember I still have a dick and b) why I thought 
she was hot and c) why I ended up with a stake through my heart.

Sarah really loathes her.  Walt, you'd laugh yourself into a coronary 
watching the dance these two do.  So polite, so calm, so courteous, and 
even a dunce of a man like myself can feel the blades.

I have to confess, Phoebe would have had a chance to snare me in again if 
Sarah showed once ounce of liking for her.  I'm safe enough for the 
moment.

Madeline doesn't care for her either and refuses to speak English around 
her.  And my French is still pretty bad, so Sarah ends up playing translator, 
much to the minx's delighted pleasure.

How did I end up surrounded by women and aliens, Walt?  BTW, I'm 
including Chalmers in the latter.  I swear, that mustache is starting to drive 
me crazy.  How in the hell I spent those years in England while I was in 
school is beyond me.  Hormones, no doubt, Phoebe had me whipped 
completely.

You know, Scully didn't like Phoebe, either.   I suppose that was one of the 
reasons I managed to avoid being drawn in back then.  I trusted Scully.  
Sometimes, when I'm looking up at the night stars and telling Sarah the 
names of the constellations, I wonder again if there is an afterlife.  If Scully's 
hanging around in the ether or been born again.

You know, I have to admit, there are days when I kind of hope she's still 
hanging around in the ether and sees Sarah and Sarah's oddities.  I very 
childishly want her to know that I wasn't crazy, Walt.  That I may not have 
had the whole picture, that I might not have been right about everything, but 
dammit, I was on the right track.

Which is lunacy and probably a sign that I'm getting old.  Could I be having 
a mid-life crisis?

I'm probably babbling because it's late again.  Sarah has been sick again 
this week and I'm waiting up to give her some Tylenol before I go to bed.

Give Julie a hug, Walt.  If the Jokemeister doesn't treat the two of you right, 
he's gonna think that Orpheus was nothing more than a minor discomfort 
when I get through with him.

M.


To: HarrisJ
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:  Sarah's Doctor

Fox, I'd like to talk to your doctor over there, did you say his name was 
Napier?  I'm very concerned about the number of times Sarah's been sick, 
and I tend to be proprietary about my niece and her father.

Think of it as professional jealousy or something.

I sent you a package off today, hopefully you'll have it in a week or so.  I 
think you'll both enjoy it.

Love,

Julie


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Re: Sarah's Doctor

Julie, I know you're trying to be helpful, but Napier is fine.  You don't 
seriously think I'd take any chances with her, do you?  Just leave it alone, 
we're doing fine, she's out and about in the sunshine again.

M.


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Sarah

Mulder, I've known you for too long not to know when you're bullshitting me.  
After your note to Julie I was suspicious and after talking to you last night, 
I'm certain--will you please tell us what's wrong?  

It's evident to me that something is.  I thought we'd gotten past dishonesty 
with each other.  If I don't get some straight answers from you, I'm flying out, 
I mean it.

WS


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Sarah

I'm sorry for being short with you on the telephone.  Will you both stop 
worrying?  Things are normal, that's all.  If anything, I'm just tired, I've been 
doubleloading on files, trying to catch up, and goddamned Chalmers has 
had me in meetings for the last two weeks.

Julie sounds tired, too.  How are things going there?  I'm probably worrying 
for nothing, Cassie's pregnancy was out of the ordinary in every way.  Oh, 
tell her we got her package, Sarah was outrageously delighted to get the 
picture of Aunt Julie and her tummy.

Pat Bumble for us.

M.


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Sarah

Okay, I was going to simply accept that we were incurable neurotics who 
imagine that we know you better than we do, but it's been two weeks since 
Sarah's birthday.

We haven't heard from you, and I know Madeline speaks better English than 
she's been pretending to lately.  I would imagine you received the gifts.

Mulder, I've made reservations.  I'll be there next Thursday evening, I'm 
taking the train up from London.  And don't give me any grief about it, Julie 
is fine and voted in favor of this trip.

WS


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Sarah

Okay, okay.  Cancel the tickets, Walt, there's not a damned thing you or 
anyone else can do.  

 Heather Atherton was here--remember, the knockout doctor who took part 
in the testing on Sarah two and a half years ago?  I asked Napier to call her 
in.  After I tracked down the returned abductees in Walker's statistics who 
showed signs of genetic manipulation.

Carrie Weller.  Daughter, oddly, of two abductees.  Not unlike Cassie and I.  
Well, we knew that wasn't unique.  

Carrie wasn't quite as precocious as Sarah though.  When I read about 
Carrie Weller, I asked Napier to call Atherton.  I used your name in vain to 
get those reports, I hope you'll forgive me.

Napier's done every goddamned test known to medical science, evidently, 
and could find no sign of infection, despite her being sick.  Not bacterial, not 
viral, not fuck all.

And she keeps getting sick.  And each time, she recovers, but she's--more 
frail.  

So Atherton came.

Whatever they did to us genetically, Sarah is paying the price.  Atherton's 
theory is that the modifications were incomplete or interrupted or some 
fucking thing that makes no sense to a non-genetics person.  She thinks 
that Sarah's weird abilities are--the nearest I can come to explaining it 
sensibly is that they're shorting her out.  It's like her having meningitis every 
three or four weeks.  And causing more damage each time.

She's lost a great deal of fine motor control.  Remember how proud she was 
of writing her own name in cursive?  She can't print anymore, and she can't 
type.  

It's interrupted her normal growth, she hasn't grown at all since you saw her 
at Christmas.  

Oh, shit, Walt.  I thought I could do this better this way, I knew I couldn't tell 
you over the phone without losing it.  

Her vision isn't good.  She's having trouble keeping her balance.   Evidently, 
the messages aren't going through to the muscles, and there are signs of 
atrophy.

She can't read to herself any more, which breaks her heart.  Ellison lets 
Chalmers give me just enough work to keep me busy when Sarah's asleep.  
He's been very kind, he came up from London when Atherton was here.

And Atherton and Napier have been--they aren't giving up, Walt, but they're 
honest with me.  

Carrie Weller died last year.  She was seven and a half years old.  She 
weighed forty-one pounds and was blind and deaf and had to be cared for 
like an infant.

She didn't start out that way.  She started out to be a bright and beautiful 
little girl.  I've seen pictures.  I've talked to her parents on the telephone.  
They're very brave.

I have to find it in myself to be that brave for my daughter, too.  And I have to 
do it alone, Walt, neither one of you can help me.  

I know you both love her.  I'm working on Ellison to let us come home.  What 
the fuck difference does it make now anyway.

M.


To:  WilsonJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Safe Arrival

I tried to call, but you were out.  You'll hear my grouchy message when you 
get in, but I wanted to remind you, do not call him.  If it's a fait accompli, I 
think he can deal with it, being warned is only going to give him time to put 
up his defenses.

I'm in Ellison's office, Ellison has agreed, however reluctantly, with my 
reasoning and Mulder's. 

I don't suppose that my display of temper had anything to do with it.  Ellison 
isn't a man moved by temper.  

I'll bring them home, honey, I promise.

Love,

Walt


To:  WilsonJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  

It's as bad as you would expect.  I have more information now than when I 
talked to you earlier.  I'd call, but I'm hoping that you could get some sleep.

I arrived at the train station and Chalmers picked me up.  He told me that 
Sarah's teacher, Elizabeth Harvey, had come to the house to visit her the 
night before.  Had offered to let Mulder run into the village to get some treat 
that Sarah had been wanting, that he'd been wanting to get for her.   
Madeline was visiting her sister in Bristol, of all places.  So it was just 
Mulder and Sarah.

When Mulder came back, the two of them were gone.  It hadn't taken him 
more than twenty or thirty minutes, he called Chalmers.

Chalmers set up a dragnet, essentially, and they found the Harvey woman in 
a field, nearly fifteen miles away.  In her car.  Her nose was bleeding, 
primarily because she'd bumped it on the steering wheel.  She was dazed 
and disoriented and spoke of a bright light in the sky when they interrogated 
her under drugs.  

The radiation readings on the car were extraordinarily high, and Elizabeth 
Harvey appears to be suffering from radiation poisoning.  

Sarah, of course, was gone, although one of her slippers was in the car.

Chalmers tells me that he thought Mulder was going to kill Harvey when he 
saw her.  Now he tells me that he thinks Mulder is going to kill himself.

I don't know.  If we let him, he might.  

Julie, I no longer know what's right or wrong.  I don't know if it's unjust for 
me to keep him from finding some kind of peace.

Christ, I can barely see to write this.   Napier just left, they sedated him, he 
hasn't slept since then and he looks like hell.  It didn't sound like he'd been 
getting much sleep before this happened.

I'm sitting in his room right now, using the laptop.  I'm not sure he even 
registered that I'd arrived.

Nothing makes a goddamned bit of sense anymore.

The Harvey woman said that the Others told her to bring Sarah to them.

The question is whether or not they'll return her.  And either way it's 
heartbreak for her father.

I'm going to try and get some sleep while he's asleep.  I love you.

Walt


To:  SkinnerW
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:

I did manage to get some sleep, but didn't want to call.  To be honest, Walt, 
I was afraid Fox might answer, and I don't know what to say to him.

I'm caught between terror and complete fury, he's already gone through so 
much, Sarah lost her mother to these bastards, and now this.

Just get him out of there, Walt.  I don't care how.  Bring him back.  Don't let 
him stay in that house where everything has to remind him of Sarah.

Thank God we've moved already.  Thank God this house won't remind him.

God

I can't--just come home soon, Walt.  And bring Fox with you.

Love,

Julie


To:  WilsonJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Mulder

Julie, I've tried and tried, but he insists on staying here.  He's waiting for 
them to bring her back.

When he was with the X files, his vision of finding his sister was an 
obsession, Scully told me.  His conviction that Sarah will be returned is just 
as obsessive.

He was quiet, almost calm, but he insisted again and again, tapping his 
fingers on the transcript of the Harvey woman's interrogation.

"She said the Others told her, Walt.  She didn't take Sarah to turn her over 
to human beings.  And the Walker material indicates that those taken by the 
Others are returned."

Stubbornly.  Repeating again and again that the Walker material supported 
his conviction. 

I privately asked Napier if he'd be willing to sedate Mulder and let me get 
him aboard the plane.

Naturally, Napier said no.  I wasn't surprised.  I was only half serious, 
anyway.

So, here I am, waiting for Mulder to either give up or for Sarah to be 
returned.  Or for him to crack, which I consider far more likely.

Take care of yourself, Julie, and get as much rest as you can.  I'll call 
tomorrow morning.

Love,

Walt


To:  HorowitzE
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Mulder

When I spoke with Julie this morning, she said she had called you.  I can't 
imagine what you can do at this point, Doctor, and I can't imagine that 
Mulder would actually welcome seeing you.

However, welcome or not, Ellison has authorized me to request your 
presence.  Despite any differences you and Mulder may have had during 
your work together, you were very effective.

It's been five days since Sarah was taken.  The Harvey woman is dead.  Not 
suicide, it appears as if the radiation exposure killed her.  I'll let the medical 
types explain it to you.

Before she died, she continued to insist that the Others had spoken to her, 
told her to bring Sarah to the field.  That the Others had come for Sarah.

She had no idea of why the Others had directed her to take Sarah.  Nor did 
she have any curiosity or interest in why.

Mulder doesn't seem to be interested in the why.  He's completely focused 
on the when of Sarah's return.  He keeps going over that transcript like he's 
searching for the key to the whole thing.

He hasn't shaved or showered in two days, and the only time he sleeps is 
when I chivvy him into taking one of the pills Napier insisted on leaving for 
him.

So, if your schedule allows, I can make arrangements for you to pick up an 
airline ticket in Calgary.  Ellison will have someone meet you at Heathrow 
and drive you up here.

I would certainly be grateful for any assistance you could provide.

WS


To:  WilsonJ
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:

Julie, you need to get Walt to come home.  He needs to be there.  I need to 
be here.  He doesn't believe me, he thinks that I've finally cracked, but he's 
wrong.

I'll admit, Julie, I can't be sure, but the evidence is highly compelling.  I think 
they're going to bring Sarah back.  She'll need me here, not in the US.

But Walt--tell him to come home, Julie.  Please.

If you love Sarah, tell him to come home.

M.


To:  WilsonJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Mulder

No, you did right to call, to send me the email.  Napier's got Mulder knocked 
out.  Ellison has arranged for a private jet and we're flying in tomorrow.  I 
don't anticipate being home until Wednesday morning, frankly.  

It's been more than a week.  I tried going over Walker's data with him, 
showing that the longest period between abduction and return averaged 
three days.  It made no impression on him.

Or rather it did, which took me back to the bad old days.  More or less.  He 
went completely sullen and told me to fuck off.  Which he never did in the 
old days.  The downside of having a personal relationship with him.

So, he's asleep, Ellison's got people coming in to pack up the house, and 
I'm bringing him home.

I love you, Julie.  Be careful and take care of yourself.  

Love,

Walt



To:  SkinnerW
From:  WilsonJ
Subject:

What the hell is going on over there?  Ellison had some egregious bastard 
call to say you would not be arriving.  And now I can't reach you by 
telephone.

If I haven't heard from you by noon, I'm flying over, Sanders and his OB 
prescription be damned.

Julie



To:  WilsonJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Mulder

I'm sorry you were worried.  I know, I said that repeatedly on the phone, and 
I'm saying it again.  I did pass on your opinion of whoever called you and I 
gather Ellison chewed some ass.

Sarah--she's thin and bruised in spots, but otherwise healthy.  No better or 
worse than she was when she was taken.  No, that's not true.  She was 
feverish and ill when the Harvey woman took her, and she's well now.

She's here in the clinic now, hell, we all are.  She doesn't remember much 
except for some bad dreams.  She calls them the elves.  The elves poked 
her with things.  She said she cried.

Mulder's finally asleep.  In a cot beside her hospital bed.  Sarah's taking a 
nap herself, curled up with her favorite stuffed toys and a few new ones.  
Evidently, she's become a favorite of the nurses this last several month, and 
they keep walking down the hall to look in on her. 

I read to her for a while this afternoon, after Mulder's crash.  Narnia, 
naturally.  They let me lift her out of bed, so she sat in my lap, her head 
tucked under my chin and told me very unhappily that she couldn't read very 
well anymore.

As soon as Napier and Atherton give us the all clear--I forgot, Ellison's 
asked for Atherton, she's going to be here tomorrow--I'm bringing them both 
back.

Mulder is going to need us, Julie.  I don't think Julie is going to make it to 
seven, if Napier is right.   Napier hopes that they're wrong, you can tell how 
hard it is for him to make this kind of diagnosis.

Christ, this is hard.  Hard for everyone.   Napier showed me the medical 
reports on the other kid--I'm in Mulder's camp, if there is a God, he's a brutal 
son of a bitch, with a cruel and sadistic sense of humor.  

Or maybe worse.  Maybe God is insane.  Read a story years and years ago, 
The Deathbird.  Harlan Ellison, an incredibly talent, vituperative asshole of a 
human being who writes as eloquently as a fallen angel.  I can get behind 
that image of God these days.

Christ, I'm sorry, I don't need to be telling you these things right now.  Forget 
it, I'm just low today.  I ought to be grateful we got Sarah back, not 
borrowing grief ahead of time.

God knows, Mulder's grateful.  You should have seen his face, babe.  God.

Home soon, I promise.

Walt


To: HorowitzE
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Sarah

Thanks for your note, Horowitz.  We're doing all right, we're going to be in 
Calgary soon.  Sarah isn't any worse.  Atherton wants to see her, some of 
her tests are coming back--anomalous, Napier says and won't tell me much 
more than that, he's driving me batshit.

But he agrees, Sarah isn't worse, and the fever hasn't come back.  She's 
still frail and amazingly nonchalant about whatever happened to her.

She says the elves took her.  She says they weren't mean to her on 
purpose.  One of them held her hand when she cried.

It never occurred to me that there were two factions or races or whatever.  
I'd always thought of the Others as being in league with the bastards who 
killed Cassie.  Who warped Cassie.  

Sarah says she wasn't happy about having them take her, but that they told 
her she was sick.  

I don't know how much of this is a child's reaction to trauma, Horowitz.  
You've dealt more than I have with children who have experienced this--and 
isn't that blackly hilarious, given my experiences--and I'd really appreciate it 
if you'd see Sarah when we get to Calgary.  I'm too close to it anyway, I want 
to believe that they didn't hurt her, that they had no intent to hurt her.  And it 
would be nice to believe that someone or something was trying to prevent 
the Consortium from achieving their goals.  Whatever the hell those goals 
may be.

Thanks.

Mulder


To: HarrisJ
From: SkinnerW
Subject: [None]

I realize that you had a reason to take Sarah to Calgary.  But I'm not going to 
give up attempting to persuade you to come back to San Francisco when 
you're done there.

I'm not angry.  Disappointed, but that was my gut talking, not my head.  It 
only makes sense for Sarah to be under Atherton's care for the moment;.  
Atherton knows more about this syndrome.

Take care of yourself, and of Sarah.  I'll be in touch.

Walt


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Congratulations

Congratulations, you son of a bitch.  I'm mad as hell we couldn't be down 
there, but I've got some good news.

The degeneration has not only stopped, Atherton is beginning to cautiously 
talk about reversal and recovery.  *Regeneration*, in effect.  Sarah's gained 
five pounds in the last month and is starting to look a lot less like a poster 
child for some third world country.

I know, that sounds so mundane, but I'm trying to maintain some calm and 
caution.  God knows, I want to shout, set off fireworks, or whatever the hell 
lunatic fathers in celebration do.

You oughta know, Walt.  Got any suggestions?

God, two of 'em.  Both bald, Julie says, giggling a little hysterically.  She 
sounds overwhelmed.  I'd offer you Madeline, she wants to come and work 
for me in San Francisco--and yeah, you know I'm coming back.

Being a father is too exhausting.  I think you're going to need my help. 

Just kidding.

Get some rest, with two squalling infants, you're going to need it.

Mulder


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject: Re: Congratulations

Smart ass.  They do have hair, both of them.  Rachel Elizabeth and John 
Fox, if you must know.  Yes, we're getting even for all the Uncle Wally 
remarks.  With your reaction to your given name, I thought it best to keep it 
as a middle name.

Besides, I had visions of you calling him Foxy.

Jesus, I'm too old for this, Mulder.  Do you know how often the little sprogs 
wake up?  And do they wake up together?  Yes.  But do they wake up at 
different times, too?  Yes.

God help me, I'd welcome Madeline with open arms, although Julie is going 
through the usual post-partum thing, compounded by the fact that she's 
nearly forty.  I suspect we need someone who looks more grandmotherly 
than Madeline, with the stamina of a twenty year old.

Her sister, happily, has come to stay for a few weeks.  Fortunately, Julie's 
sister is also a part of UNCLE, as you've got me calling our organization.  
So, Marty is here helping, chivvying Julie out of teary moods and making her 
rest, and all that jazz.

Thank God.  It never fails to amaze me that the human race has managed to 
survive the millennia, given the fact that our young are a real pain in the ass 
after birth.

Tell you what, I'll trade you, you can have these two, and I'll take Sarah.  
She's housebroken and literate and verbal.  

Walt


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Parenthood

Welcome to real life.  You just thought you knew what it was about, didn't 
you?  Yeah, me, too, right up until Cassie and Sarah.  

I suppose it pales in comparison to the antics of the Consortium and 
everything they did to me, but I'll tell you, the last year has been hell.

Atherton says cautiously that she thinks Sarah can go home with me.  She 
says cautiously that she thinks Sarah is in remission from whatever the hell 
was killing her.

Sarah's visits with Horowitz were--suggestive.  Horowitz was quite elated 
about them.  Hypnosis, of course, but Sarah's story didn't change at all.  It 
only got more detailed.

I don't know quite whether to believe it or not.  Experience with my own 
regression taught me one thing.  Memory is more fluid and easily influenced 
than we're used to believing.  Confabulation, Scully used to call it.  

Conversely, it can also be misinterpretation.  Think about it, Walt, to a child, 
adults are all strange, powerful beings, controlling a child's fate.  Memories 
are colored by that perception.  And you know how Sarah loves the Narnia 
tales.  I was reading The Hobbit to her when Harvey abducted her.  

She says the elves took her.  But these elves didn't have hair, she said.  
They were made of light, she thought, except that they touched her.  They 
hurt her, they poked her with things and put her to sleep.

And now she's getting better. 

For all the years I searched, I never thought much about the possibility of 
more than one type of contact.  Let alone contacts that were antipathetic to 
one another.

I have this loon theory, Walt, that the genetic alterations are being made by 
the second, benevolent group.  Maybe to enhance our ability to resist 
whatever the other group wants.  Jesus, I don't know.  I sit on Sarah's bed 
and watch her sleep and wonder about shit like this until the small hours.  
Watching her breathe.

And don't give me any shit, I remember very well lying with Sarah on my 
chest and feeling that little body shift with each breath, I know you do it, too.  
Christ, you used to get up with *me* and I wasn't nearly as cute.  BTW, 
thanks for the pictures, Sarah is over the moon about *her* babies.

What can I say, she's a possessive little minx.  I think she's decided to co-
opt them rather than be in competition for Uncle Walt and Aunt Julie.

She loved talking to you both yesterday.  God, Walt, she's got color in her 
face again, she eats like a small army, and she's grown at least two inches 
since you saw her.  I swear, she has.  She looks like she ought to, more or 
less.  Still on the slender side, but I feel like that's not so bad.  She's going 
to catch up.  I know she will.

So, we're on our way back.  

And yes, before you ask, I've had some session with Horowitz myself.  And 
no, I'm not going to discuss them except to say that I don't need to have 
locks put on my knife drawer, I'm fine.

Really, Walt, I am.  Shaky now and again, but hell, why not? 

I can't wait to see your sprogs and I can't wait for you to see how well 
Sarah's doing.  In about a week, Atherton says.

By the way, Atherton is--ahem--remarkable.  Did you know she's being 
reassigned to San Francisco?

Mulder


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Atherton

Since I doubt that Ellison is subsidizing your sexual relief, I suspect that 
means that Atherton will be working with Stratton here and also keeping an 
eye on the minx.  Good.  I thoroughly approve.  Besides, she's supposed to 
be a damned fine physician, good pediatrics background, despite her 
current specialization.

Remarkable, eh?  I thought she didn't like you?  On the other hand, I've 
seen more women fall for that beaten puppy look of yours, you ought to be 
ashamed.

Just kidding.

Anyway, Ellison has arranged for the organization to buy the house across 
the street.  We aren't far from a park, I've been taking the twins there on 
walks, primarily to give Julie a break, and also because I became addicted 
to the female attention earned by a lone male with an infant.  Let me tell you, 
two infants work even better.

Walt


To:  HarrisJ
From:  SkinnerW
Subject:  Moving Van

Dare we hope that the appearance of Madeline and the moving van--Christ, 
sounds like a children's book, believe me--is the omen we've awaited?

Julie's across the street, sniffling over Sarah's things.  Post-partum behavior 
baffles me, I confess.  

Only the fact that Sarah is a genial and delightful human being gives me any 
hope of surviving this with any remaining sanity intact.

God knows, we're into colic now.  It could be worse.  Sarah was once up all 
night, when you were in the clinic.  Frankly, the comparatively low rate of 
infanticide in the world at large is amazing.

And I'm horribly afraid that my offspring aren't nearly as well behaved as 
yours while lying across my lap in front of the computer.

Walt


To:  SkinnerW
From:  HarrisJ
Subject:  Great News

Christ, Walt, I can't believe it.  I can't believe it, I'm going around feeling like 
we're on borrowed time with Sarah, like I did with Scully, even though she's 
so much better and Atherton's buddies get together on the last batch of 
tests and inform me that it appears that all the damage is reversing itself.

And she's reading and writing again, although her handwriting has suffered.  
Fine motor control, they say, will come back in due time, she's going to have 
to develop.  It puts her back again closer to her agemates, but who gives a 
fuck.

But she's so pleased to be able to focus well enough to read again.  She's 
struggling with the Hobbit herself, you ought to hear her reading to me.

Whatever the "elves" did, it corrected what was wrong.  She remembers her 
rules, she doesn't make her toys fly very often, but she can do it, and it isn't 
affecting her.  They did those particular tests again, too, and her readings 
are different.

Atherton says maybe they're showing what they should have to begin with.  
It's a guess, she's their first survivor.  

The "elves" took her and fixed her. 

And in spite of the fact that I should feel unalloyed gratitude--and believe 
me, Walt, I'm grateful, believe me--I don't.

I don't care if they are benevolent, Walt.   I don't care if it's just an ethical 
misunderstanding.  We're sentient beings--although there were days in 
VCS I guess I could have argued against that--and what they're doing 
is....it's too much like the proverbial deus ex machina.

At the same time, I don't know why they fixed her.   I don't know why they 
seem to be opposed to the people who want Sarah dead.  

I don't know.  It makes my skin crawl.  

I always thought the deus ex machina was damned poor story telling.  I don't 
like it any better in real life.

I don't like thinking we won't find the answer in our lifetimes.  Neither one of 
us is getting any younger--as much as I hate to remind you--and I want to 
know now.

My mother used to say I was always like that, wanting to know what the 
answers were.  What made things work.  Why things happened the way 
they did.

I guess I still am.

And a part of me doesn't give a rat fuck.  My daughter is alive and with me 
and she's healthy again.  

Makes you wonder about the myths of the gods, doesn't it?

Elves.  Jesus.

Put me back to work, Walt.  I want the answers, I'm none too sure I'll find 
them, but what the hell else have I got to do?

Well, besides watch Sarah grow up.

A little boy here tried to kiss her.

Caught between the mundane and the inexplicable.  Life as usual.

Don't worry about the colic, I'll take one 'em, you can take the other, and 
Sarah will help us keep them amused.  If I've learned anything, I've learned 
that babies are fascinated by older children.

I'll even let you tell them I'm their Uncle Fox.

It seems weird, even after all this time, doesn't it?  To think of myself as 
actually having a kind of family.  I never imagined it.

In case I haven't said it lately, thanks, Walt.  For everything.  For getting me 
out, for forcing me to live.  

I still think we're going to get them.  It just may be our kids who have to 
finish the job.

Mulder

PS  Give Julie a kiss and hug.  We're coming in on United, flight 3542, at 
2:35 p.m., tomorrow afternoon.  It's going to be good to be home.