It's Gonna Get Better - Part 1

Invasion is near, and the children that Mulder has been protecting are in danger.

The sequel to "Let's Face the Music and Dance" and its companion "Do You Dream of Me?" Rated Explicit for Sexual Content. Also contains canon-typical violence and religious imagery and symbolism.

'It's Gonna Get Better' - Genesis

Reach out, hands in the air, don't care just what they're

saying

Hold out, just keep on hoping against hope that it's gonna

get better

Don't worry, there's no hurry for you, for me everything's

gonna come around

Shout out, someone will listen to you, to me, someone's

gonna see

He calls me over, calls me brother and I know

always fighting and moonlighting, well it never ends

in the city, if you're all alone

there's a sister and she's standing next to her man

in the darkness you feel the sharpness of steel

and it's always there, in the city, if you're all alone

So reach out, hands in the air, don't care just what they're

saying

Hold out, just keep on hoping against hope that it's gonna

get better

Don't worry, there's no hurry for you, for me everything's

gonna come around

Shout out, someone will listen to you, to me, someone's

gonna see

If it's gonna get better, it starts with a feeling

if it's gonna get better, it's gonna take time

if it's gonna get better, we've got to start now

'cause I know everybody can feel it

and I know everybody will see it

'cause it shows, and that shows I'm not dreaming

'cause you know, and I know, it's time for a change

*****

The Sonora Desert

20 Miles Southwest of Tucson, Arizona

The stars were bright tonight.

Of course, they were always bright here in the desert, but tonight they seemed even more so. Closer. Warmer. Sharper than usual.

A man stood out in the dark of the desert, watching them carefully, as if he was trying to read them. They told a story, he knew. A story older than time itself. They were magical, yet they were an accepted part of everyone's average existence. They were a miracle, yet few thought of them as such. There were thousands of stars. Millions. Billions and billions. He smiled to himself, allowing his thoughts to continue on that theme: If there was no other life out there, then it was a whole lot of wasted space.

A grimace overtook the smile. It was a good thing that Carl Sagan wasn't still alive today to see what those visitors he had only imagined and wrote about were really like. And it was fortunate many of the men he had grown up idolizing weren't alive to see him so deeply buried in the lies and conspiracies he had once fought so hard to uncover.

The man took a deep breath of the dry night air and closed his eyes against the glare of the billions of suns shining above him. Even the starlight that used to calm him, especially after learning the truth about his long-lost sister, could not ease his suffering tonight. Not after what he had learned at the base earlier in the day.

They were almost ready. The Grays were preparing to release the virus. A virus so swift and deadly that even the most dedicated and brilliant doctors would never be able to find a cure in time. The country would be decimated in weeks. The continent in a few short months. The world within the year.

Only those immune, either by nature or by scientific dabbling, would survive.

He would be one of those survivors. As would his wife. And his son. Yet he would give anything to be one of the majority, a person unaware of the threat, facing a quick demise, so as to not have to witness the destruction of the earth as he knew it.

He had been working for months to find out the Grays' plans. Slowly, after more than a year in their company, he had gained a modicum of trust. He was the leader of the human allies, therefore very powerful, but he was still only a human. He was the caretaker of the Children of Eden, the name given to the special children the Grays believed to be sent by God. He was the natural father of the most powerful of these children, thirteen of them at last count, all but one kept in a commune at El Creyente. The replicants, the protectors of the children, listened to his orders and obeyed his commands. The children themselves looked up to him, the only real father most of them had ever known.

But he was still a human, not to be trusted or allowed to have too much power. Nevertheless, he had managed to weasel into the good graces of many of their leaders. The things he had learned, he passed on... carefully... quietly.

A vaccine to the virus was possible, this he knew; it was how he had become immune in the first place. The problem was that it could never be replicated in the quantities necessary, not in time, anyway. He shivered, despite the heat in the late August night. This meant he needed to stop this viral apocalypse before it started. He couldn't do that alone.

It was time to go home.

*****

Dana Scully's Apartment

Georgetown, Washington D.C.

William Mulder sat in the middle of the living room floor and watched his mother with anxious eyes. It had been another stressful day for her, he knew. She had come to pick him up from his daycare later than usual, and the shadows under her eyes had been darker than they had been that morning. She almost always had those shadows now, shadows that were invisible to most in her acquaintance thanks to make-up, but that he could see clearly. Though he had long ago been taught not to invade his mother's mind without invitation, he didn't need to use any telepathic powers to know why she was so stressed: She missed his father. She had had no communication with him in months.

And neither had he.

'Aye, there's the rub,' he thought, not knowing where he had heard that phrase before but liking it anyway. His father had physically left his life more than a year ago, but until

the latter part of May he had kept close contact with Will via telepathy. It had been rare indeed to not have some sort of contact with Fox Mulder at least once a day, and many of

those times had included some sort of lesson in the use of his talents.

Then one day he had awakened to a hole in his mind. Not a real hole, of course, but a deep, dark emptiness that frightened him. He had begun screaming, wildly kicking his legs and throwing his arms around, terrified by the unfamiliar emptiness. His mother had come running, scared and confused, and it had taken several minutes before, trembling in her arms, he had been able to tell her what was wrong.

"Daddy's gone!"

Though only a year and seven months old, William had known what the loss in contact must mean: his father was dead. The panic and sense of loss emanating from his mother at his

words only seemed to confirm his feelings. Then, sitting on his bed wrapped up in each other, they had both felt him. Alive. Alone. And angry.

He had been alive and well, but due to some unknown reason he had ended all mental contact with his wife and son. No more dreams. No more lessons. No more support.

Despite the loss, it had affected his mother more than it had William. She had become withdrawn, uncommunicative. She rarely smiled, slept poorly, and worked her ass off. Will

winced and reminded himself not to use that word; his father had been fond of it, but had made Will promise not to use it. Will wondered why he should even bother obeying his father's rules when the man obviously didn't care about him or his mother anymore.

Often at night, he would try to ease his mother to sleep, trying to provide her with the sweet dreams she always wished on him at bedtime, and sometimes he succeeded. However, more than once during one of these lighthearted, candy-coated dreams, her consciousness would rip away from his and go to a place he couldn't follow. She was able to

block him from her mind at these times, protecting him, he guessed, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not break in.

She never spoke of these nightmares, but he knew they troubled her almost as much as the loss of contact with his father. At times during the day, he was able to catch flashes of what he assumed was the nightmare enter her mind before she quickly and efficiently pushed him out. Flames. Heat. The smell of burning flesh. A man with the strong, willful presence of his father but who looked nothing like the man of his memory. He was frightened by these images yet curious about them as well.

She had had the nightmare last night, and this morning for the first time he had asked her about it. He remembered how her eyes had widened in surprise and how the corner of her

mouth had quirked up in a small smile, the first he had seen from her since Uncle Frohike's last visit. "You're a baby," she had told him. "You aren't supposed to care about such things."

Will had only looked at her, using the gaze he knew instinctively reminded her of his father to cajole her into answering him. It had worked... to a point. "You don't need to know about it, Will. Not yet." Subject closed.

Now, William stared at her as she sat down at the computer, worry combining with annoyance at her dismissal earlier this morning. He knew he was far smarter than other children his age, and she usually treated him appropriately. But some days she treated him as if he was a normal twenty-month-old. A baby.

"Hmmmm..."

Her curious humming had his anger dissipating and his own curiosity rising. He stood up from his place on the floor and made his way toward the computer. "Mama?"

She glanced back at him, quickly clicking the mouse as she did so, the e-mail she had been reading disappearing off the screen in front of her. "Yes, Will?"

"Who was that from?" He stopped by her chair, his eyes going back and forth from her to the monitor.

She sighed. "I don't know, Will." She began to shut down the computer, and he knew she was relieved that he had yet to master the smart little machine on his own. "Nobody

important."

William Mulder loved his mother. And he trusted her. But at that moment, he didn't believe her one bit.

*****

The Lone Gunmen's Lair

Scully sat quietly, patiently waiting for the men around her to stop their bickering and settle down to a sensible discussion. Glancing across the room at Monica, who was also watching the 'show' with a bemused look on her face, she wondered if she would be waiting the rest of the night. The younger female agent caught her eye and winked. Scully felt the corners of her mouth lift in response. Men. You couldn't live with them. You couldn't live without them. You couldn't shoot them, either. Well, not without feeling very guilty

afterwards.

Finally, there was a break in the 'discussion'.

"Are you guys done?" Scully asked softly.

Four pairs of male eyes focused on her, all a tad bit wary, she thought. Scully concentrated on the intense blue pair closest to her. "I have to do this, John. He wouldn't be asking me if it wasn't important."

"'He' who?" Special Agent John Doggett demanded. "Dana, you don't even know who this guy you're supposed to meet is!"

"You're right, I don't know who the contact is," Scully agreed, her voice calm. "But he or she is someone Mulder trusts. That's all I need to know."

She watched as John's eyes clouded over with anger. "I still don't get how you can believe that! Where's your proof? What evidence do you have that this person is one of Mulder's

people?"

Scully understood his disbelief. He had only learned that Mulder was still alive a few short months ago, and he had yet to actually believe it. After all, he needed more proof than just Scully's say so. Her story of telepathic communication with her husband via dreams was not something just anybody would accept. Scully herself had a hard time reconciling what she had always known to be fact with what she now knew in her heart was true: she and Mulder shared a connection that went well beyond the physical.

Six months ago, Mulder had contacted her and Frohike by way of a very elaborate and intriguing dream. In this dream, he had told them that the blood of the Gray aliens, which was deadly to humans, was the only thing that could kill the Grays' unnatural creations, called Replicants by those in the know. He had promised to send information on how to produce a substance almost identical to the blood to Frohike, and he had, sending the formula via an e-mail that could not be traced. Even the Gunmen had been impressed by

the covert message.

Within that message, written in Navajo, was a list of post office boxes and other storage facilities. Since that time, Scully had received more open e-mails that contained only one phrase: Present For You. She had learned that, upon receiving these e-mails, she simply had to go to the next place on her list to find some useful tidbit of information that Mulder felt they needed to know. Scully did not know who dropped off these 'presents,' but she knew it had to be someone Mulder trusted with her and William's life. It was during one of these jaunts to a locker at a bus station in Manassas that Doggett had discovered her secret; suspicious about her trips out of town alone, he had followed her,

cornered her, and demanded she tell him the truth.

Walter Skinner and Monica Reyes had learned about Mulder's whereabouts soon after that, though Skinner hadn't seemed at all shocked by the revelation. Monica had supported Scully's quiet plan of defense, believing in the possible future invasion of an alien species. Skinner had also stood at her side, solid and stoic as always. Doggett, on the other hand...

Last night, Scully had received another e-mail from her 'source,' but this one had been different. Instead of "Present For You," it had read, "Meet Me." On her list of Navajo names, only one wasn't a place to store or mail something. It was a techno bar in downtown Richmond called Wonderland. Apparently, Scully was finally going to meet her contact. If Doggett let her go, of course.

"I've told you how I know, John," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "Mulder has been sending us information through this person for months. If he or she is calling for a meeting, then it's got to be something very important." She sighed. "It's a very crowded bar, John. What could happen to me there?"

Scully refused to answer her own question in her head. She knew that, despite her reassuring words to her former partner, there was a great deal of risk in this undertaking.

Fortunately, John refused to answer it as well. He simply glared at her. "Okay," he finally said with a sharp nod of his head. "But I'm going with you."

*****

The Lone Gunmen's Lair

Doggett wasn't sure what exactly he'd gotten himself into this time. All he knew was that Dana was about to do something dangerous, perhaps deadly, and he wasn't about to let her go alone. He didn't know where this protectiveness of her had come from. Perhaps it was simply left over from when they had been partners on the X-Files. Or perhaps his automatic devotion to baby William, an adoration that had begun before the child's birth, caused him to still feel responsible for the safety of his mother.

'Or maybe you should just admit you have feelings for the woman and deal with it,' he chastised himself.

Feelings. That was putting it mildly. Special Agent Dana Mulder had stirred up emotions in him that were as strong as the ones he'd once had for Barbara, his ex-wife and Luke's mother. Love, lust, friendship. She inspired all these feelings and more, and the fact that they no longer worked together - the fact that his current partner saw more of Dana than he did - didn't diminish these feelings one iota. If anything, his physical separation from her had made those feelings stronger.

Dana could take care of herself, he had never doubted that. Her reputation, as well as that of her partner, Fox Mulder, had been well known all throughout the Bureau. Known by

unflattering nicknames such as 'The Ice Queen' and 'Mrs. Spooky,' Dana Scully had also been known for her quick mind, astounding patience, incredible loyalty, and the ability to

handle men three times her size, both mentally and physically. She was independent and, at times, so unemotional one might think she had no feelings whatsoever. Yet, Doggett had seen her at her best and at her worst. He knew she had feelings, powerful feelings. He knew she would gladly die for her son...but that she would rather live for him. He also knew she loved Fox Mulder with all her heart and soul; she would not only live for him, she would never be happy living without him.

Doggett had known about her feelings for Mulder almost from day one. Everyone did. She may have hidden them from view, but the fact that she had remained his partner, despite all the trouble he had brought to her life, both professionally and personally, had said it all. They had been magic together on the X-Files, and when Doggett had learned about Dana's pregnancy, he realized they had been magic off the X-Files as well.

It had been quite a shock to find himself jealous when the fact of her pregnancy had come out. He had hidden his feelings, from her and from himself, for the next few months. Until that time when Skinner had asked for his help in digging up Mulder's grave. It had been insane, and he had made sure Skinner knew his feelings on the matter, but it had been the right thing to do. The hope and the love in Scully's eyes as she waited patiently at Mulder's bedside told him so. Then Mulder had awakened. Doggett clearly remembered watching the joy pour from Dana as she welcomed her lover back to the living. He clearly remembered his own heart breaking.

Dana had seen him that day, watching them from the doorway of Mulder's hospital room. She hadn't spoken to him, but he could tell from the look in her eye that she had known. His face must have been as easy to read as a book.

Dana Scully knew he loved her.

It hadn't changed the way she treated him. She still had the same respect and trust in him as before. She had even, on occasion, defended him to Mulder, who had been worse than a horse's ass to her upon his return from the dead. For one brief shining moment, he had thought there might be hope. However, Mulder's own protective side eventually emerged, and by the time the baby had been born, Doggett knew his chances with Dana were sunk.

Then Mulder and Scully had married, and Mulder had died. Only he hadn't.

Doggett shouldn't have been surprised when Dana had confessed to him that Mulder had faked his death and that she was still communicating with him through secret messages. The one she had picked up that day in Manassas when he had followed her was the formula to an additive that could be mixed with some kind of 'alien blood' (what Dana had jokingly called 'Snake Oil') that kept it from weakening. Dana hadn't wanted to tell him any more than that, sure he wouldn't believe her anyway, but at his constant pushing (he hadn't been called 'Doggett the Dogged' in the Marines for nothing) she had finally told him

everything.

She had been right; he hadn't believed her.

Whatever she and the Three Stooges were involved with was still dangerous, he was sure of it. Planning to meet a contact she knew nothing about wasn't the first stupid thing she had done since he had become acquainted with her, but he was going to make sure it wasn't the last, either.

So now he was at the Gunmen's place, packed and ready for the two-hour drive to Richmond. It was late in the afternoon, and Dana wanted to get there as soon as the doors

to Wonderland opened. They were driving down prepared to go straight to the club, then they would find a motel in Richmond afterwards.

Provided they got out of this alive, of course.

Doggett paced the main room of the Gunmen's lair, waiting impatiently for Dana to finish getting ready in the bathroom. He was wearing blue jeans, a tight white T-shirt, boots, and a denim jacket. It was his usual day off attire, and he figured it would suffice for an evening out at a club. Of course, he had never been to one of these so-called Techno joints before.

He stopped pacing when he noticed Frohike watching him from his seat at one of the many computers in the room. The other two Gunmen had gone out to get something to eat. The little man was glaring at him, but there was no real malice in his expression. Doggett and the little hacker had never really gotten along, but they still managed to respect each other.

"What?"

"She can do this, you know."

Doggett nodded. "And I suppose you would let her go alone if I wasn't going with her, right?"

Frohike's lips thinned and he didn't answer. Which was answer enough.

A sound from behind him caused him to turn, but not before he saw the stunned look on Frohike's face.

Special Agent Dana Mulder stepped out of the bathroom, her overnight bag over her shoulder, her heels clacking on the hard floor, but Doggett didn't notice the bag. Or the heels.

Tight, dark blue, lots of skin. That's what he did notice. He didn't know if you could call the little piece of material she was wearing a dress. The skirt only came down to about mid-thigh, and Doggett had to admit that he had never seen that much leg on this particular woman before. The spaghetti straps on the velvet sheath barely seemed to hold up the dress, which scooped down dangerously low, showing off more than a little cleavage. She had piled her hair up on top of her head, but little wisps of it floated down around her face, which exhibited more make up than usual. He finally noticed the shoes. Navy sandals that matched the dress, with heels so high he couldn't understand how she could walk.

She eyed him a little nervously, then looked behind him at Frohike. "Too much?"

"Hell, no!" Frohike crowed. "You'll fit in perfectly."

Dana nodded, then looked Doggett up and down. "Is that what you're wearing?"

For a moment, Doggett couldn't say a word. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Dana Mulder was a whole hell of a lot sexier than even he had imagined... and he had imagined a lot. "Uh, yeah." He looked back at Frohike who was glaring at him again. "Not good enough?"

Dana sighed and reached for her leather jacket, dropping the overnight bag at her feet in order to put it on. The movement caused Doggett to drop his eyes to her breasts. When he felt a sudden tightening in his crotch, he immediately focused on her face. It didn't help.

"It'll do," Dana said, reaching down to pick up the bag again.

Doggett closed his eyes to avoid looking directly down her dress. Frohike groaned behind him, and Doggett knew the little hacker had seen what he had. When he opened his eyes,

Dana was blushing, her eyes downcast.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I'm not used to..."

"Are you armed?" Doggett asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

"She doesn't need a gun," Frohike rumbled. "She's a dangerous weapon just as she is."

Doggett turned and glared at Frohike, then faced Dana, who had bitten her lower lip to keep from laughing at Frohike's half-assed compliment. The sight only caused Doggett more discomfort.

"Yes," Dana finally said. "I'm armed."

"Wh--" Doggett started. "Never mind. I don't want to know." He turned for the door. "Let's get this over with."

How in the hell was he going to be able to stand being in the same car with her for two hours?

*****

Wonderland

Richmond, Virginia

Scully sat alone at a table amidst the activity and music of Wonderland, Richmond's most popular downtown club. She had never been to a place like this before, not even on an investigation. It wasn't your regular bar, that was for sure. Not even the high-class bars in D.C. could hold a candle to this elegant yet slightly raunchy club. Not stripper kind of raunchy, of course; it would take more than a vague 'meet me' to get her to go to one of those places without knowing exactly who she was meeting and why. Yet, it was raunchy due to the clientele, most of whom wore less than she did.

Completely comfortable in their skimpy clothing, the women in Wonderland weren't at all afraid to show off their attributes. And the men, though they were much more conservatively dressed, were more than happy to help. The dance floor was packed elbow to elbow with writhing bodies. It was arousing just to watch, and it made Scully very uncomfortable. She had been asked more than once to dance, but she had only accepted two offers from the most persistent of her 'suitors', hoping they might be the contact she was meeting, but neither had done anything other than hit on her. Pretending to enjoy dancing close to them, especially when she had never thought of herself as a good dancer, had been hard. The sight of so many young, seductive bodies may have aroused her, but being among them had been embarrassing and slightly revolting.

Doggett had not asked her to dance, and for that she was grateful. While she knew she would be more comfortable with him out there than with a stranger, she refused to tease

him, however inadvertently, any more than she had to. She knew how much her appearance had affected him, and it made her feel guilty. Guilty. She shook her head slightly at the

thought. She cared for John, but not in the same way he cared for her.

She looked up when she saw him approach the table from the direction of the restrooms. He eyed her curiously, and she shook her head again, much more firmly this time, indicating that no one had approached her while he was away. She also noticed the looks he was getting from some of the women as he walked by. Scully had to admit that he looked damn good in those jeans. She wished he had accepted at least one of the offers he had had from several cute women to dance; his social life was worse than hers. At least she now had the excuse of single motherhood.

He sat down across from her, glancing at his watch. With a glare, he leaned across the table toward her so she could hear him speak over the loud music. "We've been here for

three hours now, Dana," he told her. "Maybe he's not gonna show tonight."

She shook her head in reply. "I'm sure it's supposed to be tonight. I got the message last night. Mulder knows I check my e-mail every day."

Doggett sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how much longer I can stand this," he yelled to her. Scully smirked. It was obvious he wasn't fond of the music; give him a choice, and he would stick with his country music, a taste he had developed when he had been partnered with a former country boy turned New York cop. She, however, liked the music. It was addicting. Alluring. She looked back at the dance floor. Seductive.

A man stepped in front of her, blocking her view. She looked up...and up. He had to be nearly six and a half feet tall. He had close cropped blonde hair and pale blue eyes with

laugh lines that were clearly visible even in the dim light of the club. He wasn't handsome, but he certainly wasn't ugly, either. "Wanna dance?"

He looked nice enough, but as tired as she was, she really didn't want to go out and fight the mass of people on the dance floor, especially with a man more than a foot taller than her, even in heels. "No, thanks," she said as politely as she could.

"Please?" he persisted. "I might surprise you."

Scully's eyes narrowed and she looked at Doggett. The man noticed her action and turned toward Doggett. "If you don't mind?" He tilted his head curiously, obviously wondering if

he stood a chance.

Doggett shrugged. "Hey, it's her choice." He seemed casual, but Scully saw the intense wariness in his ice blue eyes.

The man looked at her again, hopeful and earnest. Scully sighed and reached up for the man's outstretched hand, allowing him to help her stand. She braced herself for a return to the undulating mob in front of her, allowing herself to take comfort in the feel of the small pistol strapped to the inside of her left thigh. Uncomfortable as it was physically, its psychological comfort was powerful.

She tried to relax as her partner lead her through the crowd, but she instantly tensed when he didn't stop right away. Instead, he continued to move her deeper into the mob. As tall as he was, she was sure Doggett could still pick him out if he wanted to, but the farther this man took her from her table, the more she became convinced this was the man she was supposed to meet.

He finally stopped and turned his laughing eyes toward her. He moved in carefully and began swaying to the music. Scully cast a glance in the direction of her table but wasn't

surprised when she couldn't see it or Doggett. With a tentative smile, she looked up at the man in front of her. "I'm not very good at this," she told him, speaking loudly so he could hear her.

He shook his head. "It's not hard," he said, grasping her hips lightly. "Just move with the music. Let your body take over."

Just at that moment, the music changed from a rather fast, almost violent beat to a slower, much more sensual one. 'Let my body take over. Right,' Scully thought sarcastically. She moved her hips carefully, trying to ignore the press of bodies around her. She prayed that if this was indeed her contact, he would hurry up and let her know.

His hands left her hips suddenly and she looked up at him with surprise. He smiled, glanced behind her, and started to back away from her. "Thanks for the dance," he told her.

Scully frowned and took a step forward. "Wait a min--"

Another pair of hands grabbed her hips from behind. She tensed, not wanting to defend herself until she knew exactly what the situation entailed. As she ran over the various

maneuvers she could use to get away from whoever was holding her, the owner of the hands on her hips stepped into her, bringing his entire body up against her. Male. Definitely male. And large. And...

Her whole body seemed to sag back into the man behind her as his familiar scent washed over her. Just as suddenly, she tensed again. How? How had he snuck up on her? How had she not sensed him? Read him? Felt him in her head?

His leather clad arms wrapped themselves around her and he began to sway to the seductive beat of the music, which she could barely hear over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She tried to turn her head, but he tightened his arms, squeezing her lightly, telling her 'no.' She obeyed, a shiver running up her spine. One of his hands began to stray

up her body, petting her, rewarding her. She closed her eyes and moved her body with his, feeling his growing erection against the crease of her buttocks. How amazing that he had

seduced her so easily, but she knew she wasn't the only one seduced. She rubbed herself against his hardness and was rewarded when he moaned softly in her ear.

His roaming hand found and cupped her breast through the velvet of her dress. She wasn't embarrassed; she had been witness to many intimate touches between partners on this dance floor all night. She did however tilt her head back and to the side, inviting him to touch her even more. He obliged, his hot breath preceding his moist tongue and lips on her bare neck. He squeezed her breast at the same time, and Scully felt a wave of moisture saturate the skimpy, uncomfortable thong she was wearing.

Then she felt his other hand move downward. Toward that very place that was longing for him.

'Not here. Not here. Not here.' She was chanting it in her head, but the words never made it past her lips. How far would he go, she wondered? He wouldn't--

Slowly, carefully, he reached down and pulled up her skirt, his hand inching along from the outside of her thigh to the inside. She dropped her head, noticing in the dim light of the dance floor that not even she could see what he was doing, so she should stop worrying about anyone else seeing it. But she could feel it.

She could feel his fingers tease the elastic garter of her thigh-highs. She felt his knuckles scrape against the gun strapped to her other thigh. She felt the size of his own

'weapon' increase with his realization that she was armed. She felt his hand disappear from her leg, only to return a moment later, and she knew he had retrieved something from his jacket pocket. Her senses became even more alert as he carefully slid that something inside the garter of her right leg.

With one last gentle touch of her bare thigh above the stocking, he straightened her skirt and pulled back a bit. Scully used that opportunity to spin around and face him.

He didn't look much different than he had the last time she had seen him...in her dreams. His dark hair was slightly long, past his collar. A goatee adorned his face and a diamond stud earring pierced his left ear. His eyes were dearly familiar to her and full of emotion. Lust. Love. Yearning. Fear. Hope. Despair.

She reached up her hands and smoothed them over his face. He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. She carefully shaped his face, skimming her hands down over his cheeks, letting

her thumbs brush his lower lip, over the soft hair on his chin, down his throat, and past his collarbone.

Her fingers tangled with the chain around his neck and found the tiny cross hanging from it. She smiled and tears began to track down her own cheeks. She looked back up at him,

taking a deep breath, trying to control her wayward emotions.

His eyes were intent on her face, and upon sight of her tears he brought his hand up to touch her wet cheek. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue delving deep into her mouth. She responded without hesitation, not caring who saw them, wrapping her arms tight around his neck and bringing her body flush against his. She felt his hand sweep down her back to cup her butt, and for a moment she wished he would lift her skirt up and touch her bare skin again. Another wave of moisture accompanied that thought.

Logic returned to her in a heartbeat when he pulled away from her with a look of fear. For a moment, she thought he had sensed danger, but when he didn't take his eyes off her she realized he was afraid of leaving her. Of being alone once again.

She reached out to touch the cross around his neck, telling him with her eyes that he would never be alone as long as he wore it. She tried telling him the same thing with her mind, but she knew she wasn't getting through. Again, she felt anxiety fill her. Had he lost his ability? Had the aliens found a way to block him from using it? Why couldn't he 'talk' to her?

He looked up suddenly, glancing behind her. His mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed. She knew what he saw. Doggett had come looking for her. She had been on the dance floor with a 'stranger' for too long.

Mulder looked at her once last time, regret filling his expression. “Not yet,” he mouthed, not speaking aloud. She nodded in understanding, her heart breaking. Then he let her go and disappeared into the crowd.

Doggett found her standing stock still in the middle of the dance floor. When he touched her bare arm, she jumped and turned to face him.

"Dana, are you okay?"

She nodded. "We've..." She cleared her throat and tried again. "We've got to get back to the Gunmen's tonight. I have something for them."

*****

The Lone Gunmen's Lair

2:30 A.M.

The guys were still up when Doggett knocked on their door, Dana close behind him. No surprise there, he thought. He wondered if the hackers ever slept.

Frohike answered the door, his fingers flipping through the various locks and bolts quickly in order to let his favorite agent and her former partner in. "I thought you guys weren't

coming back until tomorrow," he said when the door finally opened.

Dana shoved her way past Doggett and stalked into the room on her fuck-me heels, totally unaware of how her posture and movements caught the eye of every man in the room, Langly and Byers included. Then she did something that made all four pairs of male eyes widen. Doggett would have thought it funny if he hadn't been one of those stunned.

Right there, in the middle of the room, Agent Dana Mulder started to lift her already too short skirt even higher up her leg, exposing the top of her thigh-high stockings to them all. 'Jesus,' Doggett thought to himself. 'Did I bring back the right woman?'

As quickly as she pulled her skirt up, she dropped it back down, holding in her hand a computer disk. With a shake of his head, Doggett realized she had had the disk tucked in

her garter. He watched as she handed it to Langly. The blonde man took it carefully, as if he fully expected it to jump out and bite him.

"Find out what this is," Dana told him. When he didn't move, she included a sharp, "Quick!" He spun toward the computerand popped it in. Dana folded her arms under her breasts, only then seeming to realize everyone else in the room was moving as slow as Langly had been. Byers and Frohike were still staring at her in awe. Doggett coughed softly, trying to grab their attention, but it didn't work. "What?!" Dana demanded. "Do I have parsley in my teeth?"

"No!" "Of course not!" "You look great!" "Yeah, great!"

"Holy shit!"

Langly's curse caused everyone to turn their attention toward him. Byers rushed forward, Frohike close behind. "What is it?"

"Look at this! Look at this!" Langly was excited now, practically jumping up and down in his seat.

Doggett sidled over, casting Scully a curious glance. She still stood with her arms folded, her face flushed, showing no interest in what Langly was crowing about. He looked over

Langly's head at the computer screen. "Looks like a blueprint or something."

"Or something," Langly murmured.

"This is a diagram of El Creyente!" Frohike called out excitedly.

"El What-e?" Doggett asked, earning a glare from Frohike.

"El Creyente, the base Mulder works out of now." The little man looked back at the screen. "We knew it was in Arizona, but not exactly where. This not only tells us how to find it, but it also tells us how to get around in it once we get there."

Langly flipped to another screen and Byers pointed at it. "Look! It even has a detailed blueprint of the air vents. We could get in and out and nobody would be the wiser."

"And why would we want to do that?" Doggett asked, leaning back. He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows in question when all three of the men before him looked back with

bewildered expressions. "And even if we had a reason to go into that base, how do we know we can trust this information?"

"We can trust it," said a soft voice behind him.

Doggett turned to look at Dana, who still hadn't moved. She met their eyes with her own one by one.

"You trust blondie that much?" he asked.

"Blondie?" Byers echoed. He looked at Dana. "Your contact?"

"He wasn't the contact," Scully said, dropping her arms and her gaze. She nervously smoothed her skirt without looking up. "He led me to the contact."

Doggett felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He remembered finding her alone on the dance floor, looking dazed and speechless. He remembered how quiet and tense she

seemed on the long drive back to D.C. He remembered the subtle change in her scent; how he had tried to ignore it, to pass it off as either his imagination or the result of being in a club filled with dozens of lust-filled people.

Now he knew better.

"Mulder." He whispered the name, but it caused Dana's head to snap up and her eyes to meet his. "It was Mulder who gave you that disk."

She nodded slowly. "And if he risked himself like that to give it to me personally, you know it's real." She looked over at the Gunmen, who were once again speechless. "He gave it to us for a reason, and I'm sure we'll find out that reason very soon. In the meantime, we all need to memorize those plans, then destroy that disk."

When she didn't continue, Langly took a deep breath and spoke the question they were all thinking. "Then what?"

Dana sighed deeply and shrugged. "Then, I guess, we wait."

*****

The Johnny Reb Motel

Richmond, Virginia

Fox Mulder lay sprawled on a lumpy bed in a rundown motel room, mindlessly flipping through the channels on an equally rundown TV set, trying to keep his mind occupied so he

didn't start thinking too much. It wasn't just difficult; it was impossible. Mulder's mind was never still, and even facing exhaustion, both physical and emotional, his thoughts were continuous.

He needed sleep, but he was afraid to relax enough to do so. In sleep, he was more vulnerable, more apt to slip and let his mind flow into places he should not go. Not anymore. Not since...

He sighed heavily, flipping to another channel. His mood brightening somewhat when he recognized 'Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind' on the screen. He would never admit it to

anybody, but this had always been his favorite movie. Still was, even after all that had happened to him in the last several years. At least the visitors in this fictional fantasy were friendly, and the end always held an incredible amount of hope.

A knock sounded on his door and without looking away from the screen, he mumbled, "Come in," knowing the 'person' on the other side could hear him no matter how soft he talked. The door opened, and Ken stepped inside. The tall blonde stood still for a second, watching him carefully, then he closed the door behind him and stepped closer to the bed.

Though Mulder wasn't looking at him, he could tell the man was watching the TV screen with interest. He tensed and waited for the expected questions. Finally, the first one came. "How can you watch this lie?"

Mulder smiled. "It's not a lie. It's fiction. There's a difference."

"What is the difference?"

"One is meant to hurt. The other to entertain."

Ken's silence was complete, but Mulder could swear he heard wheels turning from somewhere. Finally, the man continued.

"And this is entertaining?"

Mulder nodded. "Yes. It is. And better than that, it has a happy ending."

"Ahhh..." Ken said, nodding his head. "A happy ending. The same thing you are looking for here."

Since it wasn't a question, Mulder didn't bother to answer. He felt the bed move as the tall man sat down on the edge of it.

"Did you get what you needed from the red-headed woman?"

What I needed? Mulder thought wryly. Not nearly. "I didn't meet with her to get anything from her. I met her to give her something."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Mulder finally faced the man, meeting the flashing blue eyes with his own. "You're asking that now?"

Ken cocked his head to the left, thinking. Then he smiled. "I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Mulder quirked the corner of his mouth. "No, it doesn't." He faced the TV again, watching as Richard Dreyfuss beat the crap out of a station wagon by driving it through barbed wire fences and across rough Wyoming prairie. "Thank you for helping me, Kenny. Why don't you go get some sleep?" There it was. Devils Tower.

When the man didn't move, Mulder looked at him again. Ken was watching him, his eyes curious. "What?"

"Why do you call me that?"

"What? Kenny?"

The man nodded.

"It's a nickname," Mulder told him.

"So, I can call you Foxy?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Ken, just go to bed."

"Why?"

"Would you quit it? You sound like a three-year-old."

"A three-year-old what?"

Mulder bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling, knowing the man was completely serious, not trying to be facetious. "Ken, who is in charge here?"

The man's curious expression immediately disappeared, and a serious one took its place. "You are, sir."

"Very good," Mulder continued, striving for patience. "Now, I'm tired. I'm going to finish watching this movie, then I'm going to get some sleep. Therefore, I don't want you in here. Go to bed."

The man sighed, then stood. "Yes, sir." He walked toward the door and opened it, but before he left, he turned to face Mulder once more. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Are we going back home tomorrow?"

Mulder paused before answering. Home? He was closer to home right here in Virginia than he had been in almost two years. He had held home in his arms just a few short hours ago.

"Yes," he said softly. "We're going back to Creyente in the morning."

Ken nodded, but his eyes became downcast. "Thank you for bringing me on this trip, sir," he said, and Mulder suddenly realized that Ken didn't want to go back to Arizona any more

than he did.

"You're welcome," he muttered, and he watched as the tall man left the room, the knobs on his upper spine clearly visible now that he had taken off the jacket Mulder had made him wear to the club.

Mulder turned his attention back to the movie, but despite the dramatic events on the screen he felt his mind drift once more to events earlier in the evening.

Flashing lights. Heady music. The soft, sultry body of a sexy woman pressed against him. Not just a sexy woman, but the sexiest of women. Her scent. Her taste. Her touch. For one brief moment he had been whole once more. He reached up to fondle the cross hanging from his neck, a reminder that he wasn't alone.

A reminder that he had just put the most important person in his life in even more danger, but also a reminder that he still had hope in his own life.

That there was still a chance for his own happy ending.

*****

Dana Mulder's Apartment

*William?*

Will jerked awake from sleep, startled by the voice in his head. It was a voice that had brought both comfort and discipline to his life since the day he was born, yet one he hadn't heard in months. He lay still for a moment, wondering if it hadn't been his imagination. 'Wishful thinking' his mother would call it.

*William?*

There it was again. It wasn't his imagination. He felt a surge of happiness flow through him and he wanted to start shouting his joy, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be angry at his father. Suddenly, he didn't know what to do. Did he ignore the call in his head? If he did, would it work? He had learned a lot from his father about how to use his special talent, but he had yet to figure out how to keep the man out of his head like his mother could; his father had never taught him that, and he had never wanted to learn before.

*William, I know you can hear me,* his father's voice continued. *Answer me. Please?*

It was the 'please' that decided Will. He would answer, but he wasn't going to be pleasant. *What?* he 'said' petulantly.

Though he couldn't see his father, he still sensed that the man was smiling. As he concentrated, he could also sense the tension in his father's mind. The fear.

*I want you to give your mother a message for me.*

Will frowned. Why was his father scared? Suddenly any anger he had been harboring for the man disappeared. *Why can't you 'talk' to her yourself?* he asked.

*Our connection is strong,* his father told him. *But not as strong as yours and mine. I need to concentrate on too many other things to insure our conversation stays private.*

*I thought you could block out the others,* Will said. He had never seen the gray aliens face to face, but he had seen them through his father's eyes. They were the bad guys, even if his father was working with them. It was confusing, but Will had never questioned why his father did what he did.

*I used to be able to,* his father continued. *But there is someone here now that can interrupt my thoughts. If my shields go down even the slightest bit, he can read me. I can't let that happen.*

Will knew it would indeed be bad if the Grays or their minions knew what Fox Mulder was really up to. Though Will himself didn't know his father's plans, he knew they were supposed to be a secret. *Is that why we haven't 'talked' in so long?*

*Yes.* His father hesitated. *I want you to tell your mother that there is someone here who we all need to fear. Someone who could ruin all our plans. Someone she knows.*

Will was nervous now. *Is it someone who will try to hurt her?* He would never let that happen.

He felt his father smile again. *Good boy, wanting to protect your mother, but right now you need to let her protect you, okay?*

*But this person--*

*Is dangerous, but your mother will know how to handle him. She's very good at blocking mind probes.* There was a tinge of humor in his thoughts, and once again Will wished his

father had taught him how to block his thoughts. *She'll show you how someday, kiddo,* his father said in a comforting tone. *I have to go. I'm already getting too tired to block him for much longer. Go tell your mother what I told you right away.*

*But it's the middle of the night,* Will argued half-heartedly.

*If I know your mother, she's probably not sleeping anyway,* his father argued back. *Tell her now who she should be careful of.*

*Who?*

*****

Scully sat on her bed, her son in her arms quickly dozing off with his head upon her breast, a fine layer of sweat on her body. Only minutes ago, Will had awakened her from a light doze, telling her that Mulder had just 'talked' to him and wanted to pass on a message. He wanted her to know why he had stopped communicating with them. He wanted her to know that someone had come close to entering Mulder's mind, finding the dangerous secrets buried there. He wanted her to know that she should be very careful around somebody he knew would enter her life again in the future. Mulder had wanted her to know that she should fear a child.

A child known as Gibson Praise.

*****

El Creyente Base

Arizona

Mulder walked along the cool hallway toward his office, breathing deep the still, slightly stale air that permeated the base. The ventilation system worked hard at keeping out the hot, desert air, but it also had to work hard at keeping away the humid heat from the underground levels that was constantly trying to work its way upward.

He grimaced as he remembered he would have need to visit the basement later today, a chore he despised but one he could give to no other. He was one of only three humans allowed to enter the private laboratories the Grays operated nearly 300 feet beneath him. Marita was also one of those 'honored.' As was Gibson Praise.

Gibson. The boy wasn't a child anymore. Of course, he never really had been, had he? Mulder knew how hard it was to control the 'gift' of telepathy. Gibson was only now starting to truly understand and use his power. And what a power it was. He was much stronger than Mulder, and much more adept than any of the children who lived here in seclusion. Gibson thought that this power had strengthened him, but Mulder knew that it had, in fact, weakened him. Just as wealth could corrupt the most humble of souls, Gibson's talents had led to his belief that he was far better than any of his human counterparts, and that he should act appropriately.

The Grays had found him only six months ago, living quietly in a Children's Home just outside of Arlington. Scully had helped place him shortly after Mulder's own abduction. He

said he had been waiting, but he did not know what for. Then one of the Bounty Hunters had found him and brought him to Arizona. At first, Mulder had been excited to see the boy, anxious for any help with the children, sure that Gibson would not want to be a part of the Grays' true plan any more than he did. He had been wrong.

Gibson had been seduced by the promises of leadership and long life after the coming apocalypse. He had begun to draw the children's attention away from Mulder and the women and toward himself, becoming their new hero and mentor. He became as close to the Grays as any human ever could, seeming to understand their ways better than Mulder. He even, one stormy night, entered Mulder's dreams.

Terrified, Mulder had pushed Gibson out of his mind, but not before the child had caught a glimpse of the secrets Mulder was hiding. Nothing concrete, but enough to raise suspicion. The Grays' went on guard. For a few weeks, Mulder thought he was in danger of being 'arrested' and executed. However, the aliens soon calmed, not believing Mulder could endanger them, even if he wanted to. And life had gone on like normal... except for the fact that Mulder could no longer 'talk' to his son. Could no longer dream with his wife. Could no longer 'teach' the children that what the Grays taught was not the whole truth. Could do nothing with his mind that might tell Gibson what Mulder really had planned for the future of the human race.

Reaching his office, Mulder entered and sat wearily down at his desk. When he had come here over a year ago, he had hoped to keep the children from the brainwashing the Grays

were attempting. With Gibson here, that was no longer an option. How could he compete, an older man who had only been a telepath for the last two years of his life, with a much younger boy who had been, like the children he played with, a telepath his entire life? Mulder's plan of destroying the Conspiracy from the inside had died. But more than that, he missed the kids.

Babies, really. All of them between the ages of five months and three years, but all acting much older than they really were. The twelve of them had bonded already, and together they presented a grand display of power. What would it be like in five years? Ten? How about when they were all grown? That thought used to thrill him. Now, it terrified him.

A knock on the office door caused him to break off his doomsday reflections and look up. "Yes?"

The door opened, admitting Susan Donahue and Ken. The tall brunette had been the first person from this base that Mulder had really gotten to know well. A pediatrician, Susan was not only in charge of the children's medical care, but was the mother of the oldest of the twelve, Wesley Miles. The boy's father was also on base... or what was left of him. Billy Miles had long since died, but his body remained, the Grays having taken it and converted it into a replicant. Mulder rarely went a day without remembering how close he

had come to ending up like Billy.

Or like Ken. "What's up?" he asked his visitors. These two were about as close as he would ever come to having friends in this hellhole.

Ken closed the office door and moved to stand behind Susan, who had sat down heavily in the chair in front of Mulder's desk. She looked as tired as Mulder felt. "I hear your trip

was successful." Her statement was not a question, but Mulder heard the inquiry in her voice.

"Quit fishing, Susan," he said softly. "I won't bite."

A small smile appeared on her face, but her eyes darkened. "Did you see her?"

Mulder didn't twitch.

"I hope not," she continued. "I would hate to think of the danger you put her, your son, and us in if you did."

Mulder still didn't move. He knew the risks. He had weighed them in his mind over and over. He had decided they were worth it.

Susan sighed. "I don't know why I bother," she said softly. "Just promise me that when things start getting dicey, you'll let me know."

Mulder shook his head in frustration. "Susan, what makes you think I wouldn't?" He stood suddenly and began pacing the floor behind his desk. "Haven't we always been on the same

side, here?"

"Then why will you never tell me what you're doing?" She whispered the question, but her fear and anger came through loud and clear.

"There are telepaths here that are much stronger than you, Susan. Especially now." He paused. "You have no secrets from them."

The woman sat back in her chair. "Gibson?" Her eyes flashed. "Is that why the children have started acting different? Is he why...?"

Mulder stopped his pacing and looked at her. "Why what?"

"Why my son won't 'talk' to me anymore."

"Yes." Mulder was silent for a while. "They like him. They trust him. They listen to him."

"And he tells them lies."

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment. Then Ken, who had not spoken a word since their arrival, moved.

"Can we not change those lies into fiction?"

Mulder looked at the replicant sharply. Susan turned and gave him a confused look. "What?"

"If we tell them these lies they are hearing are simply fiction, they will not hurt anyone." He grinned at Mulder. "They will entertain, instead."

Susan looked back at Mulder. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Mulder looked intently at the blonde man smiling at him. "Kenny, you might be on to something here." He took a deep breath. "But it ain't gonna be easy."

*****

The Lone Gunmen's Residence

"What d'ya suppose they have in that big, hanger-like room?"

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"You mean you'd rather get an unpleasant surprise when we have to go in there?"

"Yeah, it could hold something nasty. Like a rancor."

Doggett lifted his head at these words, staring at Langly with raised eyebrows. Both Frohike and Byers were doing the same.

"You do realize Star Wars went out with the Rubik’s Cube, don't you?" Frohike said sarcastically.

"Are you kidding?!" Langly argued. "Star Wars will always be cool!"

Doggett shook his head, sighed, and turned his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. He would never understand these men or the often childish way they acted, but he had learned to respect their opinions and knowledge in the last few years. However, sometimes it took more than the little bit of patience he had to deal with them, especially when they got to arguing.

Instead of interrupting their 'discussion' of the recently destroyed plans for the El Creyente base, Doggett decided to wait it out. It wasn't like he had anything to go home to. A frozen dinner in the microwave. A bottle of cold beer. Repeats on the television...

He turned the page and was immediately drawn to a headline. Carefully, he read through the brief article. "Fourth page, only three paragraphs," he mumbled.

"What was that, Agent Dogbert?"

For once, Langly's nickname for him didn't make Doggett grimace. "You guys ever hear of the Hanta Virus?"

The three men looked at each other warily. "Yeah," Byers said carefully.

Doggett pointed to the newspaper. "Says here there was an outbreak recently. FEMA moved in quick, but three people still died."

"So?" Frohike asked.

"So, the outbreak was just south of Tucson, Arizona. A mile or so away from the Mexican border."

"And?" Langly this time.

Doggett sighed. "Isn't that where El Creyente is? And isn't the Hanta Virus what was used as a supposed cover story when Mulder's 'black oil' infected someone in Texas a few years

back?" He had read all the X-Files. Some had been forgetful. But some were hard to forget.

"You think there's a connection?" Byers asked.

"Don't you?"

Again, the three men traded looks. "You know, Agent Doggett," Frohike said. "You're beginning to resemble Mulder, and it's scary."

Doggett frowned. "What d'ya mean?"

"Taking these giant leaps in logic," Byers elaborated.

"I don't think this is that giant a leap," Doggett argued.

"The Hanta Virus is most common in the southwest. A few small outbreaks are still seen on a regular basis. The fact that this one is so close to El Creyente could just be coincidence."

Doggett couldn't argue with Byers' logic, but something about the story was making him nervous. Or maybe he was just bored and making mountains out of molehills to keep himself entertained.

A knock sounded on the door, and Doggett breathed a sigh of relief. He was only here at the Gunmen's place to meet Dana and Monica, and it appeared they had finally arrived. Frohike admitted the two women...and one little toddler.

"Hey, kiddo!" Frohike's greeting was enthusiastic. It was very obvious he cared about the kid, and the feeling was apparently mutual.

"Uncle Fro!" William threw himself into Frohike's arms, laughing joyously. "Did you know my mom saw my dad the other day?"

Frohike's eyes widened and he looked at Dana. Doggett also turned to look at her. Blushing slightly, she said softly, "I slipped. He read me like a book."

"I don't know why she didn't want me to know," the boy said with his lower lip sticking out in a pout.

Doggett stared at the child, amazed at how eloquent William was. He wasn't even two years old yet; he shouldn't even be able to speak in complete sentences. It had been several months since Doggett had seen the youngest Mulder face to face, so though he had heard of the child's rapid mental growth, he had yet to see him in action.

William suddenly turned his head to look at Doggett. "John?"

Doggett started. Out of this bunch, only Monica called him by his first name on a regular basis, though Dana was getting better at it. "Hi, Will."

The boy frowned. "You don't want me to call you John anymore?"

Abashed, Doggett glanced at Dana, then back at William.

"Anymore?"

"You told me I could call you that. Remember?"

Doggett remembered. After the baby had tried spelling the name Doggett with his wooden blocks one evening visit, Doggett had told him to just call him John. It was shorter and easier to spell. William had been all of ten months old at the time. "Yeah, I remember," he whispered.

The boy smiled and reached his arms out to him. Casting another nervous glance at Dana, whose face was serious but whose eyes were laughing, Doggett reached back, taking the

boy in his arms. "Man, you're getting big," he said as he hefted William onto his hip.

"Yep," William responded. "Mom says I'll be taller than her in a few years."

Everyone laughed softly at the boy's words.

"Why'd you bring the tyke?" Byers asked. At William's sharp look, he added, "Not that we mind!"

"He wanted to come," Dana said with a shrug. She walked over to stand next to Doggett. "He told me that it's been too long since he's been here, and he barely remembered what it looked like."

"Dana," Langly said. "The last time he was here, Mulder was with him." Mulder had left when William was only six months old.

Dana nodded. "I know."

Everyone looked at William with something akin to awe. Doggett was the first to break the silence. "So, what's up?" he asked Dana. "Why did you want me to meet you here?"

"I received another e-mail last night," she said, casting a nervous look at her son, who sat silent on Doggett's hip. "Another pick up."

"And?" Doggett asked when she didn't continue.

"It wasn't from Daddy," William said.

Doggett looked at the boy. "How do you know?"

The boy shrugged, then looked at his mother. A silent discussion went on between the two of them; Doggett wondered if they were actually trading words in their mind, or just thoughts. Dana nodded, and the boy sighed deeply. "He told me."

A tense silence filled the room.

Byers broke it. "He's 'talking' to you again?"

"Only sometimes," William answered. "In my dreams." He looked at his mother again, worry in his eyes. "Someone is listening to him most of the time, so he can't 'talk' to us like he used to. But he found me in my dreams. Twice."

Doggett looked at Dana. She nodded. "The first time was the night before last. He warned us that there was a new player. Someone we all had to avoid."

"Who?" Frohike asked.

"Gibson Praise."

"The chess kid?" Langly asked.

Dana nodded. "You guys need to stay away from him, or at least block him from your thoughts."

Byers looked around anxiously. "And how do we do that?"

Dana smiled. "It's really not all that hard. Will and I will teach you tonight."

William's face brightened. "We will? That means I get to learn it, too?"

Dana smiled. "Yep."

"Finally!"

There was more laughter, though it was nervous this time. Doggett waited for it to subside. "What about the second time, Will?"

The child looked at him carefully. "He told me he was not sending anymore messages for Mom, so we should ignore any we get. Gibson found out he was talking to her with the computer." The light in his eyes dimmed somewhat. "And he told me they were starting with the tests."

"Tests?"

Dana nodded. "They released the virus in a small town south of Tucson."

Doggett glanced down at the paper he had set on the table at Dana's arrival and felt a chill sweep up his spine. He looked at the boy in his arms. William's expression mirrored his own, serious and fearful.

It had begun.

*****

Post Office

Opal, Virginia

Scully entered the little building that housed the post office for the small town of Opal, glancing around her warily. Doggett followed close behind. She hadn't wanted him to come, but she also knew she needed visible backup, and the people that were watching her would expect that backup to be him. While she and Monica Reyes were good friends, they hadn't worked together like she and Doggett had. The trust and security that she and John had established during those tense months looking for Mulder over two years ago wasn't something that could be faked.

She trusted him, but she was worried that he might not be up to the coming challenge. It was hard enough teaching a natural telepath like her son how to block someone from reading your thoughts. Trying to teach a man unconvinced about the possibility of telepathic power was almost impossible. William's ability to read Doggett's mind yesterday had helped to convince the man it was possible... somewhat. He still didn't want to believe.

Scully remembered a time when she had been that stubborn.

Still eyeing her surroundings carefully, Scully went up to the main desk and told the lone woman behind it that she was there to pick up a package sent in from out of town. She gave her name and social security number and the woman went to retrieve the package. Scully waited patiently, and she wasn't surprised when the woman came back empty handed. "I'm sorry," the gray-haired woman told her. "We must not have received it yet. Are you sure you were supposed to pick it up today?"

"Maybe I was mistaken," Scully told her, though she knew she was not. "I'll try back later." She turned away from the desk and started walking toward the door. Slowly.

"Agent Scully."

The voice was deeper than she remembered. Older. She stopped and looked toward the young man walking toward her. She felt Doggett move up to stand close behind her right shoulder.

"Gibson." Her greeting was quiet but steady.

The bespectacled young man stopped in front of her, his eyes wide. "You're not surprised to see me."

"Should I be?" Scully asked him.

The boy's eyes narrowed in concentration. "You're good. Very good." He turned his attention to Doggett. "But is he?"

Doggett remained silent, and Scully knew he was practicing one of the rules she had taught last night: it's easier to shut off your mind if your voice is shut off as well.

Gibson looked back at Scully, surprise evident in his eyes. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Talk to him."

"Who?"

The boy's brow furrowed. "Stop talking in circles, Agent Scully. You know who. Mulder."

"I haven't talked to Mulder in months." She wasn't lying.

"We know you communicate with him. Why else would you be here? And how else would you have known to teach Agent Doggett to block his thoughts?" The boy cocked his head. "I

just can't figure out how. You're not like us. You aren't a telepath."

No, she wasn't. Not like Mulder and her son, anyway. However, the connection she and Mulder shared, a connection that had been established almost on the day they first met, was unique. Magical. Maybe even spiritual. She wasn't going to try and explain that to Gibson, though.

Scully stood silent for a moment. Then she tilted her head in imitation of Gibson. "Is there something we can help you with, Gibson?"

Nervously, the boy glanced behind him. Scully looked at what he was observing, and for the first time noticed the man standing in the corner by the front window, newspaper in hand. Gene Crane. Former FBI agent and friend of John Doggett's. Believed to be deceased since the night of William's birth.

Scully felt a chill run up her spine at the same time she felt John tense behind her. Gibson looked back at her. "I wish there was something you could do for me, Agent Scully, but I don't think that's possible." With that, he turned and headed for Crane. The diminutive man put down his paper and watched the boy walk toward him, his brow furrowed. He said something to Gibson that Scully couldn't hear, and the boy shook his head 'no.' Crane's eyes narrowed even more and he turned his glare toward Scully. Placing his hand on Gibson's back, he led the boy out of the building.

"That was weird."

Scully turned her head to look at Doggett. "Which part? The part where big, bad Gibson barely interrogated us, or the part where one of your former agents returned from the

dead?"

The corners of Doggett's mouth rose slightly. "Surprisingly enough, I wasn't too shocked to see Gene standing there. But I was a bit confused by the lack of force on the kid's part. I was sure he would be able to break through my barriers." He shook his head. "Hell, if Mulder has a hard time keeping him out, how could I succeed?"

Scully was only slightly surprised that Doggett understood what had just happened. "You're right. I don't think he was trying very hard." She turned to look toward the door Gibson and Crane had disappeared through. "It was almost like he was simply putting on an act for Crane."

"But wouldn't Gene know?"

She shook her head. "Replicants can't read minds. And their minds can't be read, either."

She felt Doggett's intense gaze on her and met his eyes with her own. "Then what the hell is going on? Why is Mulder so afraid of that kid?"

Scully shrugged. "I don't know. And there's only one way to find out."

A frown formed on Doggett's already serious visage. "How?"

"I need to talk to Mulder," she said softly. "Face to face."

*****

El Creyente Base

Mulder stood still, arms behind his back, eyes facing forward, before his 'superior's' desk. He had never had any inclination to join the military, even as a small boy when all his friends wanted to play with toy soldiers, but he felt as if he was there now.

Ever since he had arrived at this base, beginning his tenure as the leader of the human conspirators, he had felt as if he had joined the army. People, both human and otherwise,

called him 'sir,' and the real soldiers saluted him when he passed by. He never saluted back, just nodded, but when he was asked down to meet with 'the boss,' he could do nothing but stand at attention in front of the - creature's - desk.

Mulder didn't know its name. Nor would he be able to recognize the man off base. Like all the Grays, he was able to shape-shift at will, taking whatever form was convenient for him. In most instances, the persona he took was of an older, silver haired General, a form that demanded respect and discipline. Yet, this General never left the base. Whenever the Gray ventured from the compound, he took on the appearance of whoever he wanted to imitate that day. Like the Bounty Hunters under his command, he was physically stronger than the average human being in any form, and he wasn't afraid to use that strength.

The General had come to the base only a few weeks after CGB Spender's death. Fortunately, Spender had warned Mulder of the dominant alien before his demise, or else Mulder would have been unprepared; he had always assumed that there was no real leader with the Grays, that they all thought so much alike there was no need for one being to take charge. But the General was in charge, and not one of the Grays, Bounty Hunters or replicants argued.

In his fantasy/dream created for Scully and Frohike several months ago, Mulder had made himself the General. At that time, he almost had as much power as the Gray's leader, but

since Gibson's arrival, things had changed. The real General had taken on more responsibility. He made more requests and demands, and Mulder could do nothing but obey.

Which is what he was doing here in the General's presence now, waiting for orders. He hated coming down to the lower levels on any day, but today he really didn't want to be here. Gibson had left the compound in the company of three replicants only yesterday, and while Mulder was extraordinarily curious about where the boy had gone, he was also anxious to take advantage of his absence. Though Gibson would be able to stay in mental contact with the children no matter where he was, the greater the physical distance between them, the weaker that connection was and the more tiring it was to keep ahold of. Mulder suspected Gibson had headed east, to D.C., and while this made him nervous, he also knew the extensive distance between here and there was what he needed to reestablish a connection with the children.

But first, he had to wait for his orders.

"Mulder," the man in front of him said with a nod of the head. While the General usually met with him in his human form, there had been occasions in the past where he had remained a Gray. Mulder hated staring into the blank, empty gaze of a Gray, and was therefore relieved when he saw the human shape in front of him.

He responded to the General's greeting with a nod of his own. He refused to say 'sir.' Only people he respected deserved that title.

The General didn't know this, and if he did, probably wouldn't care. "Rumor has it you've been meeting with your wife."

Mulder didn't let his expression change. As adverse as the Gray's were to everything human, they had learned to read human body language and facial expressions. "You know what I think about rumors."

The man in front of him smirked. "So, you deny it?"

Mulder cocked his head, meeting the man's steady blue gaze. It was almost as lifeless as the Gray's natural stare. "Of course. There is no reason for me to meet with her until it's time to take William away from her." He was surprised the Grays were confronting him with their suspicions.

The man looked at him intently, and Mulder felt the familiar tug on his mind. It was no effort at all to push back. For a moment the General looked angry, something that Mulder knew was an extension of the Gray's human behavior programming, rather than real anger.

"Gibson tells us you have been contacting her... and the child."

Mulder easily fell into the lie he had trained himself to live so long ago. "I won't deny I've made contact with my son; I won't let him grow thinking I'm dead or that I abandoned him." That much was the truth, at least. "But I don't know why Gibson thinks I've been in contact with the mother. I have no interest in her anymore."

"Not even as a... lover?"

Mulder wanted to laugh at the Gray's hesitation on what it saw as an abhorrent word, but he didn't. "I have enough women here to keep me busy." It was commonly believed by most of the base staff that Mulder often brought both Marita Covarrubias and Susan Donahue to his bed. Sometimes both of them at the same. Mulder didn't mind the speculation. The

two women were the only ones who knew Mulder hadn't had sex since he left Scully; all those late night meetings in his bedroom were just that: meetings.

The General sighed heavily, another human trait that he had trained himself to learn. "Why would Gibson lie?"

"Why would I?" Mulder knew he had never had the alien's full trust. Neither had Spender. But they feared him for some reason that Mulder was still unsure about. Maybe that fear

was diminishing.

The General nodded, and for the first time Mulder began to believe that they didn't truly trust Gibson either. Maybe he still had hope of recovering his dwindling power. Among the

Grays, anyway. "That will be all," the General said.

Mulder turned to go, anxious to get out of the hot, steamy basement and back to the children.

"Remember," the General said suddenly, causing Mulder to turn toward him once more. "We're watching you."

Mulder just smiled coldly. As if he could ever forget.

It took a full ten minutes to make his way through the maze of the Gray's underground network, and he took a deep breath of the cooler, drier air of the main compound when he

reached the upper floors. Without hesitating, he made his way to the north wing of the huge building. Where the children lived.

It was time to start taking full control, even if it meant one child at a time.

*****

Tucson International Airport

Tucson, Arizona

"Damn, it's hot."

Scully didn't acknowledge the statement uttered by her companion, though she was thinking the exact same thing in her mind. She continued to make her way down the sidewalk toward the car rental lot, which was in a distant location due to construction near the airport.

"How do people live in this?"

Unlike his first statement, this comment was a question, and Scully felt obliged to answer. She turned to Frohike with a smirk. "Genetics."

"Huh?" the little hacker asked with his brow furrowed.

"Most of the people that live here were born here. They're used to it. Doesn't mean they all like it, and central air plays a big part on surviving it, but that's the way it is." When the plane had begun its descent into Tucson, the pilot had mentioned that the temperature was a 'balmy' 103 degrees, which wasn't bad for late summer. It was a drastic change, however, from the cool, sunny 76 they had left behind in D.C. Autumn was just around the corner up north, but it never really arrived down here.

They reached the rental car lot and were pointed toward their car by a helpful attendant. The lot was covered, providing shade, but the temperature didn't feel any cooler. "Hope the air conditioning is working," Frohike mumbled grumpily.

Ten minutes later, they were on the road, the interior of their car nice and cool, sunglasses providing necessary protection against the glare of the sun on the pavement in

front of them. Scully sat at the wheel, occasionally glancing at her 'partner,' who was trying to read a map. When Scully had determined to come to Arizona to try and contact Mulder in person, she had had to sit through the ranting of five men and one woman on why she shouldn't do it. She knew all the reasons why, but she had decided to come anyway. She knew the risks, and it wasn't as if she had come unprepared.

When Mulder had left her on the dance floor at Wonderland less than two weeks ago, he had told her 'not yet.' For a while, she felt as if she needed to wait for a signal from him, but sitting still had never been her strong suit. She knew Mulder knew this. Something deep inside, something she had yet to put a name to, had told her to make the first move. She hoped that Mulder was prepared and that he would be ready when he discovered she was on the go. Ready for what, she wasn't yet certain.

William had come as well, though he was now in the trusted care of Walter Skinner and Monica Reyes. Their plane had arrived earlier today, and Skinner had contacted Scully by

cell phone while she and Frohike were still in flight letting her know they had arrived safely and were settled in a motel. The decision to bring William to Arizona had been hers, and it had been much more of a battle convincing everyone that it was necessary than it had been to talk them into letting her come. She had prevailed in the end, managing to get both Skinner and Monica on her side. After all, they agreed that with the long reach the Grays had, the toddler wasn't any safer in D.C. than he would be in the Grays' backyard. They also trusted Scully's slowly developing 'gut feeling.' She couldn't explain why, but she knew William needed to be here.

The Gunmen had grudgingly gone along with the decision, but Doggett had hated it. Ever since meeting William again at the Gunmen's the other night, he and the boy had been almost inseparable. Anytime they were in the same room together, William was in John's arms. At home, the little boy talked about Doggett constantly, and Scully knew John's protective instincts for the child, which had always existed, had been turned on high. He hadn't liked giving the child up to the care of Skinner and Monica, though he trusted them both. William, too, had pouted at the separation, but had not complained. Not verbally, anyway. Doggett, Byers and Langly would be arriving on another flight later that day, and they would all stay in their respective groupings, keeping in contact via cell-phone. For now.

Using the plans for El Creyente in their head, Scully and Frohike were planning on 'wandering' out into the desert in the direction of the base. If they were stopped, as they

hoped they would be, Scully would tell the truth. She was looking for Mulder. Then the story would begin. The lies:

Gibson Praise had hinted that Mulder was here somewhere. Scully, upset that he had apparently abandoned his son, was wanting to confront him. She was not happy with him. She was worried her son was not listening to her anymore. She needed help. Badly.

If she could put up the front of being helpless and fearing her son's gift, maybe she could put them more at ease. Catch them off guard. Get inside the base and meet with Mulder.

Try to understand why he feared Gibson so much...and if he really needed to.

Frohike was chosen as her companion because William had told her he was the best at blocking his thoughts. Scully had been surprised to hear this, as had Frohike, but she trusted that her son was right.

She looked over at her partner once more and recognized the same nervousness she felt in his expression. "Hey," she said softly.

He looked at her, his eyes wide. "Yeah?"

"We'll be fine." She kept her voice steady, reassuring.

"Of course, we will," Frohike said with a little nod. "It's not like we're jumping into a viper's nest or something. We're just trying to get into a secret, alien base in the middle of nowhere."

Scully lifted the corner of her mouth slightly. "We've done this before, you and I. We got out that time okay."

Frohike glared at her. "Cute." He knew she was referring to the dream they had shared under Mulder's direction not so long ago. "Somehow, I don't think the simple act of waking

up is going to help us here."

"Mulder will be there," she told him, finding comfort in that thought alone.

Frohike obviously didn't share her faith in his old friend. "Why does that not make me any more happy with this?"

Scully frowned, taking her eyes off the road briefly to glance at him once more. "What do you mean?"

The hacker sighed. "Scully, he's on the edge. He was there when he controlled that dream, and I'm sure he hasn't gotten away from it yet. Who knows? Maybe he's already fallen off."

Scully didn't respond. She couldn't. Not when her own subconscious had been worrying about the same thing Frohike had voiced. She loved Mulder. She trusted him. But a small

part of her couldn't help wondering how he had managed to make these creatures intent on taking over the world believe that he was on their side for all these months.

Silently, she began to pray. Pray that her faith, in both her husband and in God, was not misplaced.

*****

El Creyente Base

Mulder leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly, trying to ease the headache that was steadily getting worse. It didn't seem to help. In fact, closing his eyes made the faint buzzing in his head worse. He opened them again and tried to concentrate on the two small children in front of him.

The buzzing continued. It wasn't actually noise, really, but more a feeling. He had first felt it in Virginia, when he and Ken had gone to meet Scully. At the time, he thought it was probably due to a combination of nerves and the fact that he hadn't used his gift of telepathy for a while. The irritant had disappeared when he had arrived back at the base, but now it was back, and he couldn't blame it on any lack of telepathic exercise. He had been 'speaking' to the children for days now, carefully keeping his mind in check for fear that Gibson would 'hear' him even at a distance.

Gibson had arrived back at the base yesterday and Mulder had resumed his silence... but his job had already been done. Now he just needed to sit back and see if what he had started would work. He had entered the training room (Mulder preferred to call it the play room, but not in front of the Grays) bright and early this morning, before Gibson had arrived, and the children had greeted him with grins full of mischief. Gibson had arrived, surprised to see Mulder there, and then his surprise turned to confusion and worry as he

looked at the children. Mulder knew he was 'talking' to them. Or trying to. They obviously weren't talking back.

Giving Mulder a glare, the young man had stormed out of the room, more upset than Mulder would have expected. A couple of the youngest children had looked at Mulder with fear on their faces and on their conscience, too young yet to really communicate with words, either verbally or mentally. Mulder sent reassuring thoughts to them, using his short experience as a father to comfort them. Though still worried, their fear subsided.

Then the buzzing in Mulder's head had begun.

It was afternoon now, and Mulder had spent the entire day with one or more of the children. Gibson had not returned, and while that was unusual, the children decided it was

better than having him come back angry. Nap time had arrived for all but the oldest, and Mulder sat watching them play with an intricate puzzle-like toy, trying to understand what

his mind was trying to tell him.

*Mulder?*

Mulder pulled his thoughts back outward as he heard R.J. 'say' his name.

*Yeah?*

*When will your little boy be able to come live with us?*

Mulder narrowed his eyes. He had never, even in the beginning, talked to these children about Will. *Why do you ask?*

R.J. glanced at Wes, and the younger boy nodded. They were talking to each other, Mulder knew, though he could not 'hear' them. Wes finally spoke, his demeanor like that of an eight-year-old child, not a toddler. *He's the one that's supposed to lead us, isn't he?*

Mulder felt a cold chill shoot up his spine. *Who told you that?*

*Gibson,* the boys said simultaneously.

Just then, Gibson himself walked in the door, looking nervous and slightly upset. The two boys smiled, clearly happy to see him, but then they looked at each other, their grins turning wolfish, and they faced away from him. Gibson seemed to turn paler than he already was.

"Boys, why don't you go check on the others?" Mulder said out loud.

"'k, Mulder," R.J. said.

Wes just nodded and followed his younger friend out of the room. Before he left, Mulder heard him in his head. *Don't give away the surprise, Mulder!*

*I won't,* Mulder promised. He glanced at Gibson, clearly expecting the boy to interrupt his thoughts, as he had done in the past, but he didn't.

Mulder sat looking at the kid for a while. "What's wrong, Gibson? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Gibson met his eyes. "I can't hear them," he whispered. "They're blocking me."

Mulder couldn't help the smug smile that inched its way onto his face. "I know."

"You told them to do that?" Gibson asked, anger building.

"Yep."

"Why?!" the boy demanded. "What did you tell them about me?!"

"Certainly not the same lies you've been telling them about me," Mulder said, his humor gone. "That I hate my wife and son. That I'm here to find a way to destroy the Children of

Eden, including my own son. That I've been poisoning their minds with lies about what could be." It had taken a lot of patience and persistence, but Mulder had finally been able to get Wes to talk to him about why they no longer trusted him. Once the boy had opened up, the others followed. Mulder had done his best to disprove the lies, but he knew the children still didn't trust him completely.

Gibson had started blushing as Mulder listed off the lies he had told, and this surprised him. Gibson, embarrassed? Or just really, really angry?

In a soft voice, Gibson asked, "What did you tell them?"

Mulder sighed. "I told them that your birthday was coming up and that I was planning a surprise birthday party for you." He cocked his head. "Which is true, by the way." Gibson

refused to look up. "I told them that because you were so powerful, the best way to make sure the party stayed a secret was to keep their minds closed off to you so you wouldn't read them."

"You tricked them," Gibson said, finally looking up.

"No, I didn't. There's really going to be a party. You better act surprised, or they'll feel really bad."

Gibson knew the story, and the party, had been set up to ensure Mulder had the children's complete attention for the next few days. "Why?"

"You took them away from me, Gibson," Mulder said, his voice dark. "They were mine, and you took them away."

"They didn't trust you!" the boy exclaimed, and Mulder knew he meant the Grays, not the children. "They thought you may be trying to brainwash them."

"Me? Brainwash them?" Mulder started laughing. "Damn, Gibson. Don't you see what's really going on here? Don't you care? Or are you so fond of them that they are your family

now?"

The boy looked at him, his jaw locked and his eyes bright. Mulder wondered briefly if the kid was holding back tears. "I'm not one of them," he finally ground out.

"Could have fooled me," Mulder said softly. "Slipping in and out of my mind. Telling them everything you see."

"I haven't told them you plan on destroying the underground chambers of the base," Gibson whispered. "Of how you plan to use the children to mentally distract the Grays so you can destroy the reproduction chambers. Kill the virus that they're keeping there. I haven't told them any of that." Gibson paused. "But I could."

Mulder had frozen in his seat, ice forming in his veins, as he heard Gibson lay his plans on the floor in front of them. Knowing the boy had gotten deeper into Mulder's mind than he

had first believed was no real surprise. The fact that the boy had kept his secrets was.

Suddenly, the buzzing in the back of his brain increased tenfold, and Mulder suddenly realized what it meant.

"Scully," he whispered, ignoring Gibson's look of confusion. "She's here."

*****

Tucson International Airport

Tucson, Arizona

John Doggett picked up his bag off the luggage carousel, eyeing the people around him warily. Gripping the handle of the suitcase tightly in his left hand, he hefted his carry-on higher onto his right shoulder and headed for the door. Byers and Langly, having already retrieved their bags, were a few steps ahead of him, and he noticed with grim humor that they looked as nervous as he felt. As if they were all waiting for some uniformed guards to jump out of the woodwork and arrest them. After all, all three of them were carrying contraband.

Well, maybe he couldn't label it contraband. It wasn't illegal. It wasn't even a substance that was known to 99.9% of the human population. And even though security at airports around the country had tightened significantly since September 11, officials would have no reason to suspect them of carrying anything dangerous.

If only they knew.

Tucked away in Doggett's carry-on were three thermoses full of homemade apple juice. Before being allowed to board the plane in D.C., one of the guards had opened one of these

small jugs and smelled the contents; he hadn't really been too suspicious. After all, Doggett had already shown his credentials, and the other guard was calling in for permission to allow Doggett on the plane armed. The guards had let him through, telling him that if he had any of the juice left over after sharing with his sister back in Tucson

that they would like some. Doggett had to admit it smelled delicious. However, he wouldn't dare take a sip. Not when he knew that four vials of Dana's 'Snake oil' were taped to the

inside bottom of the thermos.

The whole 'team' heading to Tucson had managed to store vials of the stuff in similar containers. Doggett still wasn't sure what they were planning to do with the faux 'alien blood,' but Dana and Frohike had been adamant about taking as much as possible with them to Arizona.

Now they had finally arrived, the last of the team to do so. He left the air conditioned terminal and entered the supposed 'dry heat' of the desert. He knew right away that he preferred the humidity of D.C. and New York. This atmosphere was too similar to that of Mexico, and Mexico had a few too many bad memories.

He trudged along behind the two Gunmen as they headed for the car rental area, wondering once again why he was following this bunch of lunatics, risking his career and maybe even his life in the process.

'Because you're thinking that maybe they aren't crazy,' he answered himself. The things he'd seen since joining the X-Files more than two years ago had been astounding, and he had even come to believe in some of the more bazaar theories and ideas that both Agents Mulder and Reyes had come up with. However, the idea of aliens from outer space taking up residence on earth, disguising themselves as human, and planning to invade and take over the planet... he just couldn't believe it. Not yet. Not without a little more proof.

He did know that whoever Mulder was now working for was dangerous. And thanks to Mulder's son, he was beginning to believe that telepathy wasn't something only characters from Star Trek could do. The fact that Mulder's employers were somehow connected to William only made Doggett that much more determined to keep the boy safe. Even if that meant secretly transporting a deadly substance across the country in his carry-on.

God, it was nuts! Freakin' nuts!

He stood idly by as Byers acquired their car, noticing with some appreciation that the sun was setting quite spectacularly in the west. When Byers was done, Doggett silently followed them to their car. He realized the bearded man was talking to someone on his cell phone. Monica, he figured as he listened in. Byers slid into the driver’s seat and Langly took the passenger seat. Not saying anything, Doggett tossed his suitcase in the open trunk, closed it, then slid into the back seat behind Byers. They knew he hadn't wanted to come, and he supposed they were wishing they could dump him off somewhere and be away with his scowling face, but the fact that he was carrying twelve vials of 'snake oil' told him they wouldn't dare leave him behind.

Byers turned off his phone and started the engine.

"Everyone else make it okay?" Doggett asked softly.

"Yeah," Byers told him with forced cheer. "We're supposed to meet Skinner, Reyes and Will at the motel and get things ready."

"What things?" Doggett growled. He hated that he had been left out of most of the planning. He may not believe in the alien crap, but he knew he needed to be prepared for what came next.

"Uh..." Byers started to say. "I'm not sure, exactly." He looked nervously at Langly, who returned his glance with an anxious one of his own.

Doggett felt a glimmer of triumph as he realized these two had been kept out of the loop, too.

"Apparently, Agent Reyes is supposed to update us when we get there," Byers continued.

"Oh," Doggett said softly. "Of course." It shouldn't surprise him that Dana had confided her plan to Monica; the two had become close friends and confidants ever since Monica midwifed William's birth. He couldn't help but feel a tad bit jealous, however, at being left out.

Well, he was here now, and about to discover what Ms. Mulder had planned. Speaking of...

"What about Dana and Frohike?"

Byers paused again before answering. "They called in to let Skinner know they had made it okay, then they headed out into the desert."

"They what!?"

"Scully went to find Mulder."

Doggett didn't even comment on Byers use of the name Scully, something Dana had put a stop to after her marriage to Mulder. "You have got to be kidding me?!"

Doggett didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one. With an exasperated sigh, he sat back heavily. "Damnit," he whispered, knowing all he could do was wait until he knew more.

And hope Dana's plan was working.

****

El Creyente Base

"De-ja vu, man."

Scully's lips turned up at a corner in a wry smile at Frohike's words, knowing exactly what he meant. Here they were at El Creyente, and their journey here had been very similar to the dream Mulder had instigated several months ago. They had not been picked up by men in black armor on dark horses, but the black Jeeps and desert fatigues had been close enough. The base wasn't a big, misshapen rock fort with hidden doorways and a central courtyard. Instead, it was a large official looking building made of some kind of material that matched the desert landscape surrounding it. Though only three stories in height, Scully suspected there was much more beneath the surface.

Despite the differences, the inside of the Base held the same feeling of dark intent as the dream fort had.

Knowle Roahr led them through cool, sterile hallways, his frown apparently a permanent expression. They entered a room with several desks set about, and the people sitting at those desks raised their eyes in curiosity upon their arrival. Scully looked at their faces, searching for someone familiar, but the men and women were all strangers to her. And they were all human, of that she was certain. Military personnel. Probably unaware of the real purpose of this base.

How had the Grays managed to establish a legitimate, though classified, base here in the U.S.? 'Easy, if you have enough of your own "people" in the upper levels of the U.S. government,' she thought, answering her own question. She wondered just how many replicants were working directly for the President.

A door off to her right opened, and two familiar faces walked through it. Tall and coolly beautiful, Marita Covarrubias stepped toward them, her blue eyes intent and wary. Billy Miles followed closely behind her.

"Agent Scully," the blonde said in a controlled voice.

"Mulder," Scully automatically corrected.

Marita frowned in confusion for a moment, then her face relaxed. "Of course. I'm sorry, Agent Mulder." She took a deep breath and folded her hands behind her back. "I guess I

don't have to ask what you're doing here." She smiled slightly. "I am wondering how you found us."

"I was told my husband was at a base somewhere south of Tucson." Stick to the story. "Frohike and I took a chance that you would find us if we got close enough."

"And who gave you this information?"

Scully only hesitated a second. "Gibson."

"I did not!"

Scully swung around to find Gibson himself standing in the doorway behind her. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and his face was red with anger.

Behind him, his face expressionless, stood Mulder.

"Mulder!" Frohike's joy at seeing his friend in person once more was obvious.

Mulder moved into the room. Like Marita, he carried his hands folded behind his back, and he walked with an almost military bearing. Scully noticed immediately how the enlisted men and women seemed to sit straighter at their desks as he came forward.

"Welcome to El Creyente."

His voice was deep, dark, and firm. It sent a chill up Scully's spine, and she wasn't sure if it was brought about by fear or desire. Probably both. She remembered Frohike's concerns about Mulder's mental state, and she thought back to Mulder's own worries, which he had expressed to her privately in their shared dream. The man in front of her was far different from the man she married. Was it an act, this darkness? Or had he truly sacrificed himself to insure the safety of the children, and thereby protecting the earth

itself?

He stopped next to Marita and gave the woman a fond look. "I'll take care of this."

With an expression that had gone amazingly soft, Maritanodded her head and stepped back. Suddenly, a brand-new fear swept through Scully, one she had never even contemplated before. Shortly after their wedding, Mulder had left for Arizona with Marita, causing more than a little talk among those who watched them leave. Of course, the mumbling had stopped after their supposed death only minutes later, but it hadn't been forgotten. Scully had, of course, known the truth and had never felt jealous or fearful of Mulder's feelings for her. But at the time, she had been in almost constant mental contact with him. It had given her comfort. It had supported her faith.

She didn't have that now. What if...?

"Come with me." Mulder's quiet demand jerked her back to the present. He had turned toward the doorway Marita and Billy had appeared from, obviously expecting her and Frohike to follow. She glanced at her companion. Frohike looked as worried as she felt. Taking a deep breath, she followed the man she had once known better than herself into the hallway beyond the door, Frohike close at her heels.

Mulder's stiff back never relaxed as he led them down the corridor to an office. An office with his name on the door. He stopped at the door and waited as they stepped through, then closed it behind them. He moved past them and walked toward his desk, and Scully literally felt the nervous energy radiating off of him. He appeared calm, but she knew better.

He stopped in front of his desk and turned to face them. For the first time, his eyes met hers. She couldn't read him. He wouldn't let her.

"Surprised to see us?" Scully's voice was rough.

"To say the least," Mulder commented darkly. "I thought I told you to wait."

"I waited." She would not take her eyes off his, and her steady gaze finally seemed to affect him; he swallowed hard. "I'm ready. Are you?"

He glanced at Frohike. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready," he said quietly, and Scully breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the human emotion in his statement. Even if it did

sound like defeat.

"It's now or never, buddy," Frohike said.

Mulder nodded. "The tests," he started. He folded his arms in front of him and leaned back against the desk behind him. Clearing his throat, he began again. "The tests will be

getting bigger. Come Christmas, the virus will be released everywhere. Invasion will follow immediately."

Scully's heart started racing. Christmas? That was less than four months away. "How do you know this?" she whispered. She knew he was an important man at this base, but to know the exact date of the invasion...

"Ken."

"Who?" Frohike asked.

"His human name was Seth Gordon. He was one of my fellow abductees." Mulder smiled without humor. "Marita and I played with him a bit. Reprogrammed him, if you will." Real humor glinted in his eyes. "I called Marita 'Barbie' one day, hence he became Ken."

At mention of Marita, Scully felt that sudden surge of jealousy again. It scared her. "Is he the one I met in Richmond?"

Mulder nodded. He brought his hand up to his forehead and began to rub his temples as if he had a headache. Instinctively, Scully stepped forward. "Are you okay?"

Mulder jerked upright, his body language clearly saying, 'don't touch me.' Scully stopped. "Yeah. I'm fine." He glared at Scully, and she stepped back in surprise. "You have to leave. You're distracting me."

"Mulder?" The hurt and confusion that swept through her was powerful. She blinked and bit her lower lip. "We're ready to go." This was wrong. She shouldn't have come. Why did she think he was ready? She should have waited.

He nodded. "Then I will be, too." But he seemed distracted. Worried.

"You want us to stay in Tucson, then?" She wanted to say more, but she had no idea if the room was bugged or not. She supposed it wasn't, or he wouldn't have told them about Ken,

his own, personal spy.

Mulder nodded, a grimace of pain on his face.

"Mulder?" Scully felt fear course through her.

"I'm all right, Scully." It was the first time he had used her name. "But you have to leave." He met her eyes with his own, and she recognized fear. "I block them. But somehow, your presence makes it harder. I don't know why or how. They're trying to read us right now. They want proof that I don't care about you anymore."

Pain stabbed through her heart. "Proof?"

"They think I left you because I wanted to. That I married you to give Will my name." He winced again. "They think Marita is my lover. And Susan." He smirked through the apparent pain. "I'm a popular guy."

He looked at Frohike, who seemed to be trying to decide whether he should be afraid, angry, or worried. "Get whatever plan you've got ready," he told his friend, not doubting that there was a plan. "Wait for a signal from me. I'll find a way to let you know when I need you."

"Okay," Frohike mumbled.

"Guard!"

The door behind them opened, and two soldiers stepped into the room.

"Please escort these two off the base." His expression became stern once again. "They won't be back."

Scully looked at Mulder, trying desperately to read his expression. But other than the lingering pain in his eyes, she could make out nothing. She turned to follow Frohike out the door, her heart screaming in pain, when a soft voice sounded in her head.

*I love you, Scully. So much.*

Scully swung around to face her husband. His face was still expressionless, but his eyes now held the jumble of emotions she had seen in them at Wonderland. Pain overshadowed them all, and she knew how much it had cost him to send her that little bit of reassurance without letting anyone, or anything, else read him.

Knowing she could not answer back either mentally or verbally, Scully put as much emotion as she could into her expression. His ever so slight nod told her he understood.

Fighting tears, Scully turned away and followed Frohike out of the Base and away from the man she loved.

******

Our Lady of Guadalupe Mission

Tucson, AZ

'Tu has venido a la orilla, no has buscado ni a sabios, ni a ricos, tan solo quieres que yo te siga. Senor, me has mirado a los ojos, sonriendo has dicho mi nombre, en la arena he dejado mi barca, junto a Ti buscare otro mar.'

William listened carefully to the voices emanating from the congregation that filled the old mission church. Monica was teaching him Spanish, and while he still had trouble speaking it, he understood it well enough:

'Lord, you have come to the seashore, neither searching for the rich nor the wise, desiring only that I should follow. Oh, Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have spoken my name, all I longed for I have found by the water, at your side, I will seek other shores.'

He looked at his mother, who stood quietly at the back of the church, reverently listening to the words he knew she didn't understand. Even if she could decipher the language, would she comprehend what the words meant?

Of course she would, William chastised himself. She would understand. But would she allow herself that belief? He had never known the Scully that his father had fallen in love with, the skeptical, logical half of the infamous X-Files of old, but he did know the resolute, scientific Scully, the one who still questioned before she believed. The one who wanted to believe, but who was still so very afraid to.

It wasn't that she didn't believe in aliens or in their eminent invasion. It was that she didn't believe she or his father could prevent it. Or that William himself might be the very key to surviving it.

William himself wasn't so sure he believed that.

He looked away from his mother, who had set him on the floor to stand on his own two feet but refused to let go of his hand, and toward the altar, where the priest and his attendants had just arrived. William and his mother had entered the church, leaving their 'bodyguard' John outside, just as the processional had reached the half-way point up the aisle of the church. Mass had just begun.

'Tu, pescador de otros lagos, ansia eterna de almas que esperan, amigo bueno, que asi me llamas.'

*Lord, as I drift on the waters, be the resting place of my restless heart, my life's companion, my friend and refuge.*

'Senor, me has mirado a los ojos, sonriendo has dicho mi nombre, en la arena he dejado mi barca, junto a Ti buscare otro mar.'

*O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have spoken my name, all I longed for I have found by the water, at your side, I will seek other shores.*

The music stopped and William felt his mother's eyes on him. He looked up at her. She was watching him with a bit of surprise and wonder, but pride as well. "I didn't know you knew Spanish," she whispered, respecting the quiet that had enveloped the church. William realized he must have been sending her his translation in his head.

He shrugged. "Why are we here, Mama?" he whispered back. "You don't know Spanish."

She smiled and lead him toward an empty section in the pew in the back. It was very crowded in this church on this Sunday morning, not a surprise in a city overflowing with

Catholics, most of Mexican decent. "That's the beauty of a Catholic Mass," she whispered as they sat. "It doesn't really matter what language is being spoken, the order of Mass is still pretty much the same everywhere, so you can't get lost."

She turned her attention toward the priest, her hand never letting go of his. William watched her for a moment, then smiled. She had never tried shoving religion down his throat as many devout parents tried to do to their children, but she had convinced him long ago how beautiful and magical Mass could be, so he had always joined her without qualms. It was beautiful. The simple joy of finding so many people who shared your faith was a boost to the psyche, and the act of Communion, where all the faithful joined together to participate in the Eucharist, was magical. Will didn't know for certain if Jesus truly transfigured himself into the bread and wine on the altar, but there was a certain comfort in the idea that He was indeed present during these celebrations.

William turned his own attention to the priest, but his mind wandered. He may be much more mature than his age indicated, but he was still a child, and his child's mind sometimes

found it hard to concentrate on any one thing for too long. His mother had never minded if he didn't pay attention in church, as long as he didn't disrupt the Mass, and they both knew that his overactive mind was often 'recording' what was being said, though he was thinking of other things, and they would come back to his conscious mind at a later date. His mother had long ago gotten used to her son asking her questions that had, to her way of thinking, come out of nowhere.

Bible passages were recited, and William began to stare down at his hand, which was still enveloped in his mother's soft but firm grip. He didn't know why she kept holding his hand;

it wasn't something she usually did during Mass. Comfort, maybe. Or perhaps she felt the not so holy intent among some of the parishioners. The Mission was not in the safest part

of town, and many of the young men sitting about the church belonged to a gang and were armed. Or so he and his mother had been told when they had stopped to ask for directions

here.

William suddenly sent his mind outward, knowing that he was tempting his mother's wrath if she found out. But he had to know if anyone meant her ill will. He had to protect her, didn't he?

'...right now you need her to protect you, okay?'

His father's dream-words echoed in his head, and he pulled his thoughts back into himself. Everything his father had taught him in the months before Mulder went silent came to the fore, especially the part about how wrong it was to 'eavesdrop' on other people's thoughts. And about how self-sufficient and strong his mother was.

He cast her a glance, hoping she hadn't somehow sensed his straying mind. She was still intent on the speaker. He tried to pay attention as well... but it wasn't easy.

Soon, people were standing and filing down the aisle to participate in Communion. His mother stood to allow others to pass her in the pew, but she did not pick him up and participate. He looked at her, questioning her with his eyes.

"Not today," she told him.

"Why?"

"Not until my thoughts are more..." she struggled with a meaning. "Gentle," she finally decided.

"But it will give you strength, Mama." Of this he was certain.

She simply smiled down at him, shaking her head 'no.' He felt the guilt emanate from her, and though it confused him, he tried to convince her to go. "I wish I could go." He was still too young. Most children didn't participate in their First Communion until they were seven or eight. It didn't matter if they already thought that old.

She frowned. "Your spirit has to be pure before you can accept the Lord, William," she told him. "I'm full of too much anger and fear right now."

William nodded as if he understood, but he really didn't.

When Mass was over and most of the people had filed out following the priest, Scully stayed kneeling. She had finally let go of his hand midway through the final prayer, but he had no desire to leave her side. Instead, he looked up at the huge icon of Jesus that hung over the back of the altar. His mother was praying to this man, this man that had supposedly died for mankind's sins. This man who was supposed to come back someday, to choose the living and the dead, to determine who would go to heaven and who wouldn't.

Would the Gray aliens be included in His method of justice? Or would they try and prevent His return?

Or had they already destroyed Him, ensuring mankind's long

fall into hell?

For the first time in his short life, William began to pray.

Part Two