Raspberry and Lace

Two different women. Two different lives. Both learn to survive with the help of one man.

Written in late 2000, this story served two purposes. It filled in some missing blanks in Season 8, and it also gave Doggett a love interest. It jumps around a bit in the timeline using flashbacks, but the majority of the story takes place in the latter half of Season 8. Rated Mature for adult themes/violent acts (it involves a serial killer) and minor sexual content.

******

Somewhere in West Virginia

May 1991

It was now or never.

As weak as she was, she knew this would probably be her last chance at escape. She had been working at her bonds for hours, and her finger nails were now chipped and bloody, her

fingers beyond sore. But she had finally broken through the bailing twine wrapped around her wrists several minutes ago. She was free. Or at least her hands were.

He had checked on her about an hour ago. At least, she thought it was an hour ago. Time really had no meaning to her anymore. She sat huddled in the dark, naked, her bare body covered in dirt from lying on the unpaved floor. At least it was warmer than the brick wall at her back. When he had left the basement that had been her prison for days, she had noticed it was night; the room that he entered into at the top of the old wooden stairs had been dark. He would be sleeping now. She hoped.

She had arrived at this hellhole about three days ago. As far as she could tell, anyway. It was dark. Damp. Cold. Though not so cold that she couldn't survive without clothing. Her body had long gotten used to the temperature, though she still shivered at regular intervals, and her eyes had adjusted to the dark. The only time she saw anything was when he entered her tomb. And when it was daylight that appeared behind his form in the door, she had to close her eyes to avoid the intense light. Her sensitive eyes were abused even more when he brought the camera down with him. The flash was painful. Blinding. She had heard about serial killers who took pictures of their victims, before and after their deaths.

Despite the torture of the flash, she felt elated when she saw the camera. It meant he wasn't going to touch her this time. When he came empty handed, she knew it would mean

rape. And beating. More beatings now. She had figured out early on that when she fought him, it made him mad. And when he was mad, he hit her. Beating her until she stilled. Then

he would rape her. With luck, she would be so out of it by then, she wouldn't feel a thing.

Now was her chance to get out. If she succeeded, she would do everything in her power to help the cops catch this guy. If she didn't, if he killed her, then she knew she would forever be known as the fourth victim of this man whom the police had been on the hunt for since February. She had read about him in the papers. Her mother had even suggested she cut her hair so the killer wouldn't target her. She had just laughed at the older woman. Look who's laughing now, she thought. The man who lived in the house above her. The man she had spent the last several hours profiling in her head. How many profilers got a chance to study their subjects this close, she asked herself? She felt a maniacal giggle well up in her throat, but she quickly swallowed it. She couldn't wake him if he was indeed asleep. She had to get out.

Slowly, ignoring her sore, cold muscles, she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to the stairs, feeling her way carefully in the dark. Grabbing hold of the rickety railing,

she pulled herself up them, avoiding the third step from the top, which she knew would creak if she stepped on it. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door, praying. Sometimes, he forgot to bolt it. It moved. It opened. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open wider and stepped through. The air was warmer, and she immediately felt invigorated. Odd, she thought. Usually, it was cooler air that made a person more alert.

She could see now. The starlight coming in through the windows wasn't much, but to her it was more than enough. She moved forward into the room, immediately spying a door and

heading for it. A noise off to her left made her jump, and she quickly turned her head to look, her eyes wild. He was there. Lying on an old, ratty couch, snoring. She breathed deep again, but then felt her heart speed up once more. She had to pass that couch in order to get to the door. She felt her legs tremble and reached out to grab the back of a nearby chair. She glanced around behind her, hoping to see another exit. But there was nothing. She shifted her hand on the chair, feeling stiff cloth. A coat. His coat. It had been hung on the back of the chair. Not that she needed it to get away, but covering her nakedness would make her feel better, and it would warm her up even more. As quietly as she possibly could, she pulled the heavy jacket off the chair and slipped into it. The sleeves fell well past her fingertips, and the hem stopped just above her knees. As she used her arms to wrap the material further around her body, she noticed the objects on the table next to the chair. His camera and other equipment.

Including the flash.

Her mind sped up as her body warmed itself in the coat. Her hands finally caught up with it. She reached for the flash and quickly thumbed it on. A high-pitched buzz began to fill

the air, and she immediately pushed the heavy object into the pocket of the coat, muffling the sound. Then, she moved forward. She walked past the monster on the sofa without looking at him. Reaching the door, she tested the knob and pulled it open slowly. It was nearly open wide enough for her to slip thought when it creaked. Loudly.

The figure on the couch behind her shot upright. "Whaaa?"

Swiftly, she pulled the flash out of the pocket, faced it toward him, closed her eyes tightly, and pressed the button on the back. Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she saw the flash of man-made lightning. She prayed he had been looking directly at it, but she didn't wait to find out. She dropped the expensive piece of equipment and bolted out the door. She could hear him screaming incoherently behind her.

When she reached the outside, her legs immediately felt the chill of an early May night in the mountains. She ran across the wooden porch and jumped down the slight decline the steps created, racing across the untended yard. She looked desperately about her as she ran. Where to? There was nothing. No one. She spotted a light off to her right, and without any more consideration, raced toward it. Her vision worked well even on this dark night. The stars were out, and they helped guide her, allowing her to see the tree branches

before she ran into them. Helping her to dodge the rocks that fell in her path. The man pursuing her was not so lucky. She could hear his yells of anger and pain. But still he gained. She was too weak. She couldn't do it.

Panic began to override any thought. She pushed on. The light wasn't getting any closer! She fumbled her way down an embankment, falling into the calf high water flowing at the bottom. The frigid water eased the pain in her battered feet. She grabbed hold of bushes and rocks scattered on the opposite bank, using them to pull herself up the slight hill. She could hear her pursuer. He was close. She heard a loud splash as he apparently fell into the creek. He swore loudly. "Shit! You bitch!"

She reached the moderately level ground of the sparse forest, her eyes quickly searching for the light. She couldn't see it. With an incoherent moan, she rushed forward. She wasn't giving up yet! She struggled through a patch of thick bushes, feeling their branches grab at her, scratching her legs and her face. When she reached the other side, she saw the light. It was closer! She could make it! She heard her pursuer enter the bushes, still swearing. Her lungs burning, her feet numb with cold, she began to run once more.

She nearly ran into a barbed wire fence, stopping right in front of it, grabbing it carefully in her hands. Using the stolen coat to protect her body, she laid across it and let herself fall forward, tumbling head first over it. The coat tore, but she didn't care. Pulling herself off the ground, she jerked the ripped jacket firmly around her and headed across the open field in front of her. She was almost there! It was a house! With a barn! And cars! Somebody was there!

Two dogs spotted her from their beds on the porch. Barking, they raced toward her. For a moment, she thought the two border collies were going to attack her. The amazement and

relief she felt when they raced past her, still barking, was incredible. They were after him! She started screaming. "Help! Somebody! Please help me!"

She reached the porch, throwing herself at the door to the farmhouse. "Help!" She continued to scream, her voice raw with panic. He was right behind her! He was going to catch her! Now, when she was so close to getting away! "Please! God! Help me!"

*****

The police arrived at the McClarren residence less than one hour later. They found twenty-two-year-old Charlene Taylor, tucked tightly in a battered and torn grey coat, huddled on the old couple's couch. Her face was swollen and covered with bruises. Her long, chestnut hair was tangled. Her bare feet, which peeked out from underneath the coat, were raw and bleeding, as were the hands that held the coat closed. She was swaying her body slowly back and forth, humming softly to herself. She didn't respond to the officer when he spoke to her.

A tall, dark-haired man in a suit and trench coat entered the building. His hazel eyes swiftly located the cop trying to talk to the young woman, and he walked with easy strides

over to them. "Officer?" he asked, his voice deep and slightly husky. The man turned toward him. The woman didn't react. He pulled out his badge. "Mind if I talk to her?"

"You the agent in charge of this case?" the cop asked after confirming the FBI credentials before him.

"No," the agent said as he tucked away his badge. "But I've been helping the task force." He sighed. "And I know her." He nodded his head toward the woman on the couch.

The cop glanced down at her. "The old couple found her screaming on the porch. They barely got her in here. Their dogs were barking at something off to the west of the property, but they didn't see anyone." He took in a breath. "We've sent some people over to the only house in that direction. No word on what they found, yet."

The agent nodded. "Let me talk to her."

With another deep sigh, the officer walked away. "Good luck," he said over his shoulder.

Carefully, the agent knelt down so that his face was even with the woman. "Charlie?" His voice was soft. Almost tender. "Hey? You hear me?" He reached out and touched her cheek gently, right underneath her left eye, which was barely visible through the swelling. "Hey, look at me. Please?"

Slowly, the swaying stopped. Grey eyes the color of a stormy sea met his. Confusion darkened their color.

"What?" the agent whispered. "You don't remember me?" He smiled slightly. "I think I'm hurt!"

She licked her lips, carefully avoiding a deep cut on the lower right side of her mouth. "Fox?"

The words were barely a whisper, but they made him smile. "Yeah."

She exhaled loudly. "Oh, my God! Fox!" She uncurled her body and let herself fall forward, right into his arms. He grabbed her, relief flooding through him as he felt her tears began. Tears, he knew, were the first step toward healing.

Carefully, he moved up to sit on the couch beside her, never taking his arms from around her. "Shhh, Charlie. You're okay now. You're safe."

She sniffled loudly. "I know. I know." He felt her body heave as she sighed again. "Guess they'll never let me into the Bureau now," she whispered. "FBI agents are never victims."

Fox Mulder shook his head and tightened his arms. "You are not a victim, Charlie. You're a survivor."

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

November 2000

Raleigh, North Carolina

The day was miserable in more ways than one.

Charlie made her way into the crowded church, leaving the chill, wet air behind her. It had snowed in Raleigh last night. A wet snow. The air was humid, making the cold worse, but there was no wind. She wondered how many of these people would brave the chill for the graveside service. Carefully, she made her way to the back of the small church and found a

seat next to an older woman in the last pew, squeezing herself onto the end of the bench. Sitting in the middle of the pew, packed tightly against strangers, was out of the question; crowds of people often sent her into a panic attack, especially if she felt there was no easy escape. Sitting on the end comforted her; she had a straight shot to the door from here.

The service started. A dark-haired minister spoke of the deceased in a reverent tone, and Charlie wondered if the man had actually known Fox or always spoke so emotionally at funerals. She sighed, blinked back a couple of tears, and leaned back into her seat, trying to relax. You better appreciate the effort, Fox, she thought to herself. Only for you would I brave a church packed full of so many strangers.

The crowd stood as a hymn was sung, and Charlie felt slightly lightheaded for a moment. She reached out and grabbed the back of the pew in front of her, breathing deeply through her nose. 'I will not faint. I will not faint.' Finally, they sat once more. Charlie took a tissue out of her purse and carefully wiped the sweat off her forehead, dabbing her still teary eyes as well. The woman next to her gave her a curious glance; her eyes were completely dry.

An older black gentleman walked to the front of the chapel, moving to stand behind the pulpit. Charlie didn't have a program, so she had no idea who the man was, but she listened intently as the man gave a short eulogy. It was brief, emotionless, and totally meaningless. Charlie felt her lips turn down in a deep frown as the man sat down.

Another man walked to the front. He was tall, muscular and quite handsome, despite his balding pate. His voice was deep and relaxing as he commented on how the FBI had lost one of its best and brightest. And how he had lost a man he considered a friend. Though the man's face remained blank throughout the speech, Charlie could hear the emotion he was fighting to keep under control in his voice. Her frown disappeared as a small smile replaced it. Here was a man who actually cared.

When the man sat down, there was a long moment of tense silence. Finally, a woman from the front row stood and walked behind the pulpit. She looked to be in her mid 30's, smallish, red hair. Dana Scully, Charlie presumed. Fox's partner. Charlie had never met the woman, but she knew of the female agent. Though she and Mulder had had little contact in the last several years, whenever she had gotten a letter or card from him, he had always mentioned Scully. Though he had always called the woman his partner, Charlie had read between the lines, imagining something much more between her friend and his co-worker. Watching the woman now, she knew what she had imagined was real.

Dana stood at the pulpit silently for a long moment, her eyes scanning the crowd in front of her. Then, she spoke. "Mulder would get a big kick out of knowing you were all here at his funeral." She smiled slightly, but there was no humor in the expression. "He would be amused that he was far more popular in death than he ever was in life." She shook her head. "I'm sure some of you are really going to miss him. Miss his mind. His sense of humor. His devotion to his beliefs. I know I will." She looked down at her folded hands on top of the wooden stand in front of her. "Those few here that he truly considered friends are invited to the gravesite." She sighed, then looked up at the silent people. "As for the rest of you, the show's over." With that, she turned and stepped away from the pulpit. Without looking back, she left the church. A few people in the front stood and followed her.

The rest of the crowded church sat in silent shock for a while, then they began murmuring amongst themselves. "Can you believe that?" the woman next to Charlie said angrily. "What nerve!"

Charlie looked at her, her eyebrows high. "Something tells me she has a lot of nerve. The good kind." She stood. "Excuse me. I have to get to the cemetery."

Pine Lawn Cemetery wasn't far from the church, and it was easy to sneak onto the back of the short line of cars following the hearse. Once there, she stayed in the back. There were only a dozen or so people, which saddened her; he had so few friends. But she had a feeling that the few he had loved him a great deal. A few loyal friends were much better than dozens of superficial friends. Dana Scully stood at the front of the crowd. Next to her was another woman, older, with dark hair. The tall bald man also stood near her. Three men stood towards the back, and a handful of people stood behind them. Off to her right stood the black man who had spoken with little passion during the church service and another tall, official looking man. As she looked at him, he suddenly turned to look at her.

Her breath caught as she was drawn into the intensity of his ice blue gaze. There was no anger there. A tiny bit of sorrow. And curiosity. About her. She pulled her eyes away from his and looked toward the minister, who was still talking as if he knew Fox. The dark-haired woman wiped her eyes, but Dana stood stock still, staring at the casket in front of her. She looked as if she was about to break. Charlie hoped someone would be there to pick up the pieces when it happened. She flicked her eyes toward the man again, only to find his gaze still on her. A shiver ran up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

When the service ended, Charlie turned and headed for her car. A part of her wanted to go to Dana and pass along her condolences, but she didn't know how welcome she would be

since no one here knew her. Both of Fox's parents were dead, and she saw no one else she recognized from his distant family. It was best that she simply go. Halfway to her car, she turned for one last look. Both the man with the ice eyes and Dana were watching her, their brows furrowed. She took a deep breath, nodded to them, and continued on to her car. She couldn't do it. She couldn't talk to them. She didn't want to go into detail about how Fox Mulder saved her sanity almost ten years ago. It was too long a story, and one she hated to tell.

How could she tell them the man who had kidnapped her, beaten and raped her, planned to kill her, had gotten away? That now, ten years later, she had to live with the knowledge that he was still out there. And that now, if he ever came after her again, Fox wouldn't be there to save her.

*****

The Next Day

Dana Scully's Apartment

Georgetown, DC

Margaret Scully was getting worried.

Her daughter had made it through the funeral in one piece. And she had even cried on Walter Skinner's shoulder when it was over, something Margaret had seen while waiting in the limo for her daughter. They had returned to the motel, and Dana had slept hard. They caught their morning flight, and had arrived back here in DC on time. Now, her daughter was bustling about her apartment, straightening and dusting and generally cleaning as if there was no tomorrow. Maggie knew she should go home, but she didn't feel like she should leave just yet.

A knock on the apartment door made her jump, and she rose from her seat at the kitchen table and walked toward it. "I'll get it, Dana."

The younger woman didn't respond.

Rising on her tiptoes, Maggie looked through the peephole. She felt a rush of relief when she recognized Mr. Skinner. She opened the door and smiled. "Please, Mr. Skinner. Come

in."

The Assistant Director smiled in return and walked inside. "Thank you, Mrs. Scully. And it's Walter. Please."

Maggie closed the door and turned to face him. "Well, then, Walter. The next time you call me Mrs. Scully, I'll go back to calling you Mr. Skinner. It's Maggie."

Skinner's smile widened. "Maggie." He looked over at Scully, who hadn't even looked in their direction. His smile faded. "How's she doing?"

Maggie sighed. "Fine. Trying to keep herself busy. I'm almost afraid to know why."

"Why?" Skinner frowned. "To keep herself from breaking down?"

Maggie nodded. "I'm afraid the break would be more than she could handle at this point."

"After all she's been through, it's bound to happen." Skinner shook his head. "But she's strong. She can make it. She's a survivor."

"Would you people quit talking about me like I'm not even here?!"

Maggie and Skinner both turned their heads sharply at the sound of Scully's shout. Maggie's eyebrows rose. "Honey, I'm sorry!" She glanced at Skinner. "We're sorry!" She moved toward her daughter. "I'm worried about you, Dana."

Scully stood with her arms folded, watching them with a glare in her blue eyes. "Is that why you asked him over?" She nodded her head toward Skinner. "Because you think I need a masculine shoulder to cry on?" She unfolded her arms and began to pace. "Well, I don't! I don't need a man in my life! I've never needed a man in my life! It doesn't matter that I'm going to have a child and I'm not married. Or even in a relationship." She threw her hands into the air in a gesture of abandonment. "I've been perfectly content without a man for years now. Why would I want one? He'd just leave his underwear all over the floor. He'd never remember to put the toilet seat down. He'd drink milk straight from the

carton. Ick!"

Maggie would have laughed at her daughter's complaints if she weren't so worried. Dana never acted like this around other people. Maggie had been witness to these babbling rants before, and she was quite sure that Fox had seen a few before as well. But Maggie knew Skinner wasn't someone that Scully was that comfortable with. And besides, what Dana was babbling was nonsense. She was on a tangent nobody understood how she had arrived upon. She cast a worried look at Skinner, who stood slack-jawed and wide-eyed, gaping at

his agent in astonishment.

"Dana!" Maggie called, trying to get her daughter's attention. "Honey?"

Dana ignored her, rambling on. "No woman needs a man. They don't even need a man to have a baby, do they? They can just drop by a sperm bank, look through a list of perfect men, and take their pick. Or ask the perfect man. Only what if it doesn't work? What if that perfect man feels like it's his fault? All he wanted to do was make up for what he though was his fault, only it wasn't his fault. It was nobody's fault. It was God's fault. And when he couldn't help that way, he tried even harder to be a friend. But he was already a friend. My best friend. But then he left. Why did he leave? Why did he have to go?" Her blue eyes turned toward her mother. "Why, Mom? Why did he go? He must have known he

wouldn't come back!" Her gaze turned to Skinner. "And you! You didn't bring him back! Why didn't you bring him back?! You told me we wouldn't stumble over him in a field, but

that's exactly what you did! You found him. Dead! Dead, damn you!" She was screaming now.

"Agent Scully!" Skinner roared. "Enough!" His voice startled Maggie. But it also caused Dana to still.

The young woman took in a deep, stuttered breath. Then, she shattered.

And nobody knew how to pick up the pieces.

*****

Late February 2001

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Special Agent Dana Scully carefully maneuvered herself down the stairs toward her office. She could have used the elevator, but she felt she needed as much exercise as she

could get. With seven weeks left until her baby's due date, she now weighed in approximately forty pounds more than she had been only four months ago. In fact, she had lost a great deal of weight after Mulder's funeral, but had gained it back quickly once she had gotten past her 'incident', as her mother liked to call it. Only two weeks ago, she had again undergone a very stressful moment, but she and the baby had survived once again. And now... She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath, allowing a small smile to emerge on her face. Now, things were much better.

Mulder was alive.

She still had to mentally pinch herself several times a day. After three months of trying to learn to live without him; after three long, horrible months of trying to keep the X-Files up and running for no other reason than that she knew Mulder would want it that way; after three months of thinking she would never see his smile, hear his voice on the other end of the telephone line, feel his hand at her back as he held a door open for her. He was back. In fact, she could hear his voice even now.

Her brow furrowed. He didn't sound happy. But, of course, if he was in the office with Doggett, he wouldn't be happy. It wasn't his anymore, after all. Kersh had made sure of that. With another sigh, this one not so enthusiastic, Scully moved forward.

"How can you possibly understand this, Agent Doggett?" Mulder was saying in a stern voice. "Open minds aren't something that can be bought and sold like prime real estate. You can't just believe one moment, when it suits you, then discard the idea when it appears you're going to get in trouble for believing it."

"Is that what you think I did here?" Doggett responded. His voice was just as hard. "You think I wrote up a report that indicated I believed this woman's story, then rescinded when questioned by Kersh?"

"Didn't you?" Mulder's voice was quiet, but firm.

Scully was ready to enter the office and try her best at soothing Mulder's temper when she heard Skinner's voice. He was already on the job.

"Look, Mulder. They solved the case. They've solved most of their cases in the last several months, thereby keeping the X-Files open. I thought that would make you happy."

"Solved it?" Mulder didn't sound appeased. "Or swept it under the rug?"

Scully felt her throat tighten. Was he saying what she thought he was? She stepped back away from the door, wanting to hear the conversation, but not wanting to be seen. Mulder

had been acting strangely ever since his return. Of course, he had every right to act differently after the horrors he had been through. And losing six months of your life couldn't be easy. It had been hard for Scully after her return, and she had only been gone a little more than a month. But she still felt disheartened that he wouldn't talk to her. He had never asked how she had coped without him, how she had continued on. He had never even asked about the baby. And now, he appeared to be accusing her of abandoning the truth they had searched for so hard for years. Of cheating on the X-Files.

"How can you even ask that?!" Doggett demanded, his voice rising. "Agent Scully has worked hard in the last several months. Much harder than she's needed to. She's put up with ridicule and speculation, distrust and non-belief. I'm sure you know all about that. She has never once tried to take the easy way out on any of these cases."

"But you have, haven't you?" Mulder continued, undaunted by Doggett's argument. "I'll bet you got her to sign off on some of these cases without her even knowing what she was doing."

"Oh, like you did on the soul-eater case?!"

What soul-eater case? Scully didn't remember a soul-eater case.

Apparently, neither did Mulder. "What are you talking about?" If Scully had been in the room, she probably wouldn't have questioned Mulder's response. But standing in the hallway, she could concentrate on his voice, and she heard the slight change in it. The lightness of tone that told her he was hiding something.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Doggett's voice was steady. "The one I didn't turn in to Kersh, at Skinner's request. The one you never told Agent Scully about."

Scully had had enough. She stepped into the room. "What the hell are you guys doing?" If she hadn't been so upset, she would have laughed at the three pairs of male eyes that widened suddenly at her entrance. She folded her arms and glared at each of them in turn. "I don't know why this office is suddenly full of so much testosterone, but it's making me ill, so I'd like it to go away." She looked at Skinner. "Sir, I appreciate you trying to avert disaster by being here, but you really don't need to baby-sit these two." She looked at Doggett. "Agent Doggett, I know you understand how important the X-Files are to Agent Mulder, and I'm sure that whatever insults he has dispensed can be contributed to his lack of knowledge at how we have conducted ourselves since we have been partnered together on this project."

She took a deep breath and looked at Mulder. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shadowed. "And Mulder, I would appreciate it if you would come to me next time you think I haven't been doing your job good enough, and not to Agent Doggett, who didn't want to be assigned to the X-Files in the first place, but has handled himself admirably in the past several months. And," she continued, "in fact, has been far more open-minded than I ever was during my first years here."

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder responded, but there was no apology in his voice. "You're right. I don't know how you and Agent Doggett here have been conducting yourselves since you have been partnered together." His voice had a definite sarcastic edge to it. "But I do know that this office hasn't investigated one UFO sighting or one alleged alien abduction

since I left it more than six months ago."

Scully felt her body stiffen. He was wrong. They had investigated his abduction.

"Is that what this is about?" Doggett asked. He gave a half laugh, then leaned backed and propped his hip on the desk behind him. Mulder's desk. "What do you call that little escapade we just got done with?"

Mulder turned his glare on the other man. "There are evils out there you know nothing about, Agent Doggett. Men that would do anything to ensure this office never investigates

another case about aliens or their potential invasion."

"Mulder," Scully said sharply. "The Consortium is dead."

"I know that, Scully, but--"

"And so is CGB Spender."

Mulder stood stock still, his jaw locked, his eyes not moving from hers.

"We don't have any proof, but we think Krycek killed him." Scully shrugged. "Not that it matters. He was dying anyway."

"Krycek?" Doggett knew that name. "The same bastard who...?" He stopped at Skinner's sharp look.

"What?" Mulder had seen the exchange. "What did he do now?"

"Nothing, Mulder," Skinner said quickly. "The fact is, there have been no real abduction cases in months." Scully knew he was lying. There had been one. Not really an abduction case, but it had been about an abductee. A woman who had supposedly given birth to an alien baby before being killed by her doctor. That case had never been officially opened.

"Except for yours," Skinner continued, "which should have closed three months ago after your funeral. But Agent Doggett kept it open."

"Why?" Mulder swung around to look at Doggett.

Doggett shrugged. "Because. It hadn't been solved." He stood straight and took a step toward Mulder. "I don't like unanswered questions, Agent Mulder."

"Then you must really hate the X-Files, Agent Doggett."

Doggett drew back, but didn't argue.

"He may not like them," Scully said. "But he was willing to keep them going even after I went on maternity leave."

Mulder looked at her, then back at Doggett. "I'm wondering, Agent Doggett, why that is?"

"Mulder...!"

"Don't defend him, Scully! He can defend himself."

"He shouldn't have to!"

"You know, for a person who should have learned long ago not to trust anyone easily, you sure have given your trust to this man without question. Must be the extra hormones."

Scully wanted to argue how untrue that was. She wanted to tell him about her and Doggett's first meeting. And how she had ditched him, and argued with him, and kept her pregnancy from him. But, instead, she gave Mulder a dark glare. "And after all those years we worked together, I'd have thought you would trust my judgment." She unfolded her arms and stepped back. "But I guess you've proved more than once that you trust no one. Ever." She quickly turned and left the office, heading for the elevators this time.

She managed to make it to her car before the tears started falling.

Damn hormones.

*****

Mulder watched Scully go, and he tried to feel nothing. But his heart ached, and he couldn't stop it. A part of him wanted to run after her, but he stood still, his mind a jumble. The confusion and anger and lingering pain all combined to hold him back. God, he felt so alone. Which was laughable, really. He had always been alone.

Not true, a voice inside his head told him. With Scully, you were never alone.

"You fuckin' bastard."

The words were soft, but they grabbed Mulder's attention as quickly as if a gun had been fired next to him. He turned his head to look at Doggett.

The other agent's eyes were burning blue fire. "You know, when I started this whole thing after your disappearance, I had only minimal respect for you...and your partner. But, it only took a few short days of working with Agent Scully for me to amend my opinion of her. And because she was so damn loyal to you, so desperate in your defense, I figured you must really be a good man deep down." He snorted softly. "Boy, was I wrong. Why she cares about you so much, I'll never know." He began to walk toward the door of the office.

"You know nothing about us, Agent Doggett." Mulder wasn't about to let the man walk out now.

"Oh, really?" Doggett said sarcastically, turning to face Mulder once more. "I know that she never stopped looking for you. Every free hour she had, despite a full case load. Cases that she tried her best to solve by trying to think like you. Trying to be you." He shook his head. "And all the while, though I didn't know it for a long time, she had that baby to think about, too. I was convinced she was so stressed by your situation that she was making herself sick. She was even admitted to the hospital twice." He looked at Skinner, who had closed his eyes in frustration. "Of course, I wasn't told this. I had to find out by accident."

He directed his gaze to Mulder again. "And I saw how she was after your death." His eyes had darkened, and he appeared to be looking inside himself at some distant memory. From his expression, it wasn't a good memory. "She is the strongest woman I have ever known. But losing you almost destroyed her."

All of Doggett's words were soaking in, seeping past the anger. The confusion. Hospital? Sick? Because of the baby? Almost... "What do you mean, almost destroyed her?"

Doggett looked past him to Skinner again. The older man shook his head ever so slightly. "That's not for me to say," Doggett whispered.

Mulder felt the anger explode again. He turned on Skinner. "Well, then. Maybe you can tell me."

Skinner folded his arms and shook his head firmly. "No." He didn't say or do anything else. He didn't need to.

"You mean I'm going to have to ask Scully herself?"

"Not if you're going to keep accusing her of mishandling the X-Files since you've been gone," Doggett growled.

Mulder squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. Pain shot through him. He knew she hadn't. He knew she had taken good care of them. But these feelings of dislocation and... jealousy... poured through him. The X-Files were his. Scully was his. Yet, they had continued on without him.

It was a selfish, irrational feeling, but one he couldn't deny. He hated himself for it.

Without opening his eyes, he whispered, "Please, tell me what happened after I... 'died'."

"Mulder." Skinner's voice was just as soft.

He opened his eyes and looked at the man next to him. His friend.

"Go to her. Talk to her. Better yet, listen to her."

*****

Dana Scully's Apartment

Scully sat in the corner of her bedroom, on the floor, her knees drawn up as far as they would go before bumping into her protruding belly. She found herself here often. Too often. Usually with tears in her eyes. She guessed it was her way of hiding those tears, even from herself. Like a little girl sent to her room after getting into trouble, she huddled there, eyes on the bedroom door, praying nobody would walk in and see her. And think her weak. Helpless.

She was still grieving. Even though Mulder was alive, she realized she was still in a state of mourning. She hated it. She knew she should be glad he was alive, and she was. Overjoyed, in fact. But a little part of her, that small, selfish part, still missed him. Mulder had been returned, but not to her. At least, not the way he had been before he had been taken.

She had become so hopeful before Oregon. He had been making attempts at becoming closer to her, hinting at a romantic relationship. He cooked dinner for her once. And he spent more time at her apartment for non-work. Movies. Card games. Simple talking. Only a week before they left for Oregon at Billy Miles' request, they spent a night at his apartment, talking until three in the morning. She had fallen asleep on the couch, and had awakened a few hours later in his bed. Just like that other night. Only this time, she had still been clothed, and he hadn't been beside her.

Apparently, he wanted to take it slow.

She shook her head ruefully. Slow. As if eight years of foreplay weren't enough. Why had he waited? And why did he seem so distant now? She wished he would talk to her.

The baby kicked and she winced, bringing her hand down to soothe the imagined bruise. Then, there was the baby. She clearly remembered the amazed look on his face when he had first seen her expanded belly in the hospital after his return. His eyes had become bright, and a small smile had touched the corners of his mouth. But, then a darkness had

descended over his entire face. He met her eyes with his own and simply said, "Wow." And that was it. No questions. No curious looks.

Instead, he had become defensive about the X-Files. His sarcasm had taken on a sharp edge, rather than a humorous tone. And his attitude toward Doggett bordered on jealousy.

Scully would have felt a bit better if she thought the jealous behavior was because of her, but she knew it wasn't. It was for the X-Files.

She moved her hand along the expanse of her girth, finding more movement. She had long ago decided to stop wondering about the child. She firmly believed it was a healthy, human

baby; she couldn't not think that and stay sane. But she still wondered about how. And why. Was it Mulder's? She had literally prayed that it was. But if so, how? Her chip. It

was the only explanation. Something had been done to it. But when? She thought back, to a time almost eleven months ago...

>>>April 2000

She knew she was out of her depth. Why had she agreed to do this? It was the most idiotic thing she had ever done, and, thanks to Mulder, she had done some pretty stupid things in the past. But ditching Mulder to go on a road trip with CGB Spender had to be the epitome. And there was no way out.

'Oh, Mulder,' she thought to herself. 'I really wish you were here.' Not that it would be any less dangerous. But she had always felt safer when she was with her partner, God knows why. The man had the dubious honor of getting himself into more trouble than an eight-year-old boy in a candy store.

She wondered what he was thinking. Was he worried? Or just pissed? She dreaded facing him again, even with the knowledge that she was only doing to him what he had done to her more times than she cared to remember. He had probably gotten the Gunmen's help, but knowing the man sitting in the passenger seat of the car, they wouldn't have any luck. Spender was too good. After all, they hadn't even known his name until recently. Cigarette Smoking Man. Cancer Man. Bastard. He had been known by many other names before becoming known as Spender in her head.

He was talking. She was trying to ignore him. He wanted to drive, but she was not about to give up what little control she had. Even if she had been at the wheel all night and was getting more than a little tired. Then he asked her a question that got her attention.

"How long did it take Mulder to win your trust?"

She immediately went on the defensive. "I've always trusted Mulder."

But Spender obviously disagreed. "You're being dishonest with yourself. Think back. There was a time when you feared for your future, for your career, when you were first partnered with this man."

He was right. She had been filled with an anxious fear the day she had been assigned to the X-Files by Section Chief Blevins. But she had also been filled with excitement and anticipation. She had heard about the brilliant Fox Mulder. She had read his monograph while at the Academy. The idea of working with such an incredible, challenging mind thrilled her as much as it frightened her.

And she had trusted him almost immediately. It had been instinctive. And she had been running on very few instincts back then. Spender continued talking. Continued with his

psychological profile of her. And it was terrifying how close he really was.

"You're drawn to powerful men. But you fear their power. You keep your guard up, a wall around your heart. How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed and a

life alone? You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself to love him."

Scully had already been a nervous wreck, and Spender's words had only made it worse. Her mind had suddenly become more active, exhausting her further. But not so much that she

believed him after she woke in a strange bed the next morning.

"You drugged me!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" He looked and sounded as if he had been given the world's greatest insult.

"How the hell did I get out of my clothes and into bed?" She remembered nothing of it. The last thing she recalled was falling into a fitful sleep in the passenger side of the car

just after dark. She had been thinking about Mulder.

"I carried you! You had been up for over thirty hours. You were delirious. I only wanted to make you comfortable."

His words only soothed her a little. And only because she knew it was no use arguing about it. But she didn't believe him. She had been awake for longer stretches, and she never slept so deep that she wouldn't notice a man carrying her and taking off her clothes. She was small, but she was no lightweight. He wouldn't have had an easy time of it, and all the jostling and moving around would have roused her in no time.

So, the question was, what had he done to her and why?<<<

She still wondered.

A sound from outside her closed bedroom door grabbed her attention. She felt her spine stiffen. Someone was in her apartment, and she had been so lost in thought, she hadn't

even noticed his entrance. Hell, maybe Spender had just put her to bed. If she could be so out of it while awake, then why not asleep? She started to push herself up off the floor, but she knew she would not manage it in time. The bedroom door was already opening. And she knew who it was. Her mother was out of town. And only one person other than her mother had a key to her apartment.

Mulder.

*****

When Mulder reached Scully's apartment, he sat in his car outside the building for a long time. Thinking.

Why had his life never been easy? What had he done to deserve all the hell he had experienced? He knew if he had asked these questions in Scully's presence, she would tell

him that he had done nothing. That it was the sins of all the people in the world that created suffering. He knew enough about the Catholic faith to know they believed this. And though Scully had not always been faithful to the Church, the faith she did have was strong. He had often wondered if it was that faith that kept her so strong.

He remembered Doggett's words, about Scully being 'destroyed' by his death. He needed to know she was all right.

Resolutely, he left the car and headed for the building. Her car was in the regular spot, so he knew she was home. But when he reached her door and knocked, she didn't answer. He

knocked again. Still nothing.

Maybe she had gone for a walk. Or maybe she was just sleeping. Or maybe she was...

Mulder reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a lone key. Scully had given him a key to her apartment years ago, but he had rarely used it. Calling her at three in the morning was one thing; she could always refuse him. But entering her private sanctuary without her permission was different. He knew she needed a place to get away, even from

him. Maybe especially from him. When he had arrived back at his spotless apartment last week, he had found the key hanging right where he had left it six months earlier. He almost hadn't grabbed it tonight when he left his apartment on the way here. But now, he was going to use it, and prayed he wasn't about to find his partner lying on the floor bleeding or unconscious.

The lights were on in the apartment when he entered, but there was no sign of its occupant. The bathroom door was open, but the bedroom door was closed. Swiftly, he moved toward it. If she was sleeping, then he would quietly leave. But, if not...

Slowly, he opened the door.

She was huddled in the corner of her room, in the dark, her eyes wide. Frightened. It appeared she had been attempting to get up, but hadn't succeeded in time. At his entrance, she let herself sink back down into the corner and closed her eyes. She didn't say a word.

Mulder opened his mouth to ask her the inevitable. 'Are you okay?' But, he didn't. He knew what her answer would be. Instead, he walked into the room and closed the door behind

him, shutting out the light coming from the living area. He heard a sharp intake of breath coming from the corner, and he began to walk toward it. His could just barely see her in the dark room, and he carefully lowered himself onto his knees in front of her.

He waited, unmoving, as his eyes became even more used to the dark. Soon, he could see her face. Her head was bowed down, her hair, which was longer than he remembered, falling forward against her cheeks. He reached out and pushed some of the strands back behind her ear. Her head shot up, and her bright eyes flashed with surprise. Mulder suddenly realized it was the first time he had voluntarily touched her since his return. He closed his own eyes in regret.

"I am so sorry, Scully," he whispered.

She was silent for a while. "For what?" Her voice was husky. He didn't need to see her to know she had been crying.

He opened his eyes to look at her. "For..." He sighed. "For everything. For everything I have ever done that hurt you. For everything I haven't done that hurt you even more."

"You think I'm sitting in the corner of my bedroom crying because of you?" she asked, her voice stronger. "How conceited." There was a touch of dry humor in her voice, and Mulder felt his lips twitch in response.

"It is, isn't it? But maybe that's my problem."

Silence. Then, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he continued. "Before I left here six months ago, I was absolutely convinced the world revolved around me. Now that I'm back, I've discovered that it went on without me.

You know how degrading that is?"

She breathed out a soft laugh, and he saw a flash of teeth as she gave him a brief grin. "Aw, Mulder. You have no idea."

"Then tell me," he pushed, his voice serious once again. "Tell me what happened after I..." He sighed. "After you found me dead."

Once again, it took a while for her to speak. "What did Skinner tell you?"

"Nothing. Neither he nor Doggett would tell me anything." He tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

Scully sighed heavily and brought her knees down to the carpeted floor, curling her legs around and sitting up straighter. "I... had a breakdown."

Mulder waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn't, he leaned toward her. "A breakdown? What do you mean?"

"I mean I had a nervous breakdown. I... went a little crazy."

Mulder felt his heart pick up speed. "What happened?" He heard the catch in his voice, but ignored it.

"I made it through the funeral okay. I even made it back here to my apartment all right. Then..."

"Then?"

"I don't know. I flipped out. My mom told me I started babbling nonsense. Soon, I was screaming it. Yelling. Throwing things. She and Skinner were here at the time, which is probably a good thing. Skinner was able to hold me down until Doggett and Karen Kosseff got here. But Karen had to call in a doctor to authorize sedation." She wasn't looking at him. "I remember yelling at them. Trying to hit them. Calling for you." She glanced up. "How's your ego now?"

Mulder's head was hurting. His ego could go to Hell. "What happened then?" He didn't recognize his own voice.

"After they got me calmed down, I went into some kind of stupor. My mom wouldn't let them take me to a hospital; she was convinced I'd find my way out. I didn't move. I had to

be lead everywhere. Fed. Bathed. For three days, my mother took care of me."

"How did you get back?" If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Scully was fully in control of her mind now. If not her emotions.

"The baby moved."

Mulder cocked his head. "What?"

"I felt the baby move. For the first time." Scully smiled slightly. "I had spent almost four months dealing with morning sickness and exhaustion. Cramps and spotting. Fearing for the baby. And wondering if maybe it would be better if I lost it. I never really wanted to think of it as something alive. Something real." She laughed softly. "Skinner knew about it from the beginning. He was so protective. He was wonderful. When I first found out about it, I was so happy. But things happened afterward that worried me. Then we found you, and..." She looked him in the eye. "I didn't care anymore. About anything. Until it moved. And I realized I had to live...for the baby." She bowed her head again. "I'd like to blame it on hormones. All the crying. The breakdown. Trying to convince myself I'm still strong."

"You are, Scully!" Mulder said, scooting closer to her. He touched her chin, lifting her face to look at him. "If you weren't the strongest person I know, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You'd be in some mental institution right now." He leaned back, placing his hand on the floor behind him. "Hell, I'm surprised I'm not in one again."

"You made it through Hell, Mulder. Now, you can do anything."

Mulder snorted. "Hell is a very good description of it."

Scully scooted forward this time. "You remember?"

Mulder nodded. "Most of it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had hoped you wouldn't."

Mulder felt his brow furrow. "You talk as if you know what they did. Beyond what my scars showed."

"I do."

Mulder felt his throat tighten at her soft words. "How?"

"I dreamed it," she whispered. "I thought they were recurring nightmares. That my imagination was running away with me. But when Theresa Hoese was found... her scars..."

She lifted her tear-filled eyes to his. "They were exactly what I had seen… being done to you."

Mulder felt his eyes squeeze shut. "God, no!"

"They weren't dreams, Mulder. I don't know how or why, but I could see what they were doing to you. I felt it. I heard your screams. I--"

"Scully! Stop!" Mulder jumped to his feet and started pacing. "No wonder you flipped! You had your own problems, the baby to worry about, plus my own tortures on top of it all!" He turned toward her. "You were the one in Hell, Scully. And I haven't made it any easier on you since I've come back, have I?"

He saw her face twist in mental anguish, and her body began to shake.

He wanted to go to her. To hold her. He knew she wouldn't pull away, that she would cling to him. But he couldn't move. He looked at her belly. At the baby. He wanted to believe it was his, but he knew there was a big chance it wasn't, that her baby might not even be human. And he knew she knew this.

And it was his fault. All of it. He felt dirty. Rotten. To the very core of his soul.

He began to back away from her. "I'm sorry. God, Scully. I am so sorry."

She looked up at him, pulling her upper lip into her mouth to try and control the sobs. "Mulder," she said. "Please don't go."

He stopped. He should go. He should leave and never come back. It would be better for her.

"No, it wouldn't."

He hadn't spoken aloud, but she had known what he was thinking.

"I need you. This baby needs you."

With a groan, he felt himself fall down on his knees next to her and take her into his arms. "God knows why," he responded.

"You sure have been mentioning God a lot lately," she whispered into his neck. "Any reason why?"

He leaned back to look at her. "You were the one that prayed for me. You tell me."

Smiling through her tears, Scully simply buried her face in his shoulder and tightened her arms around him.

Mulder held her until she slept.

*****

>>>March 2000

Almost one year earlier

"Scully?"

Scully looked up as she crossed the threshold of her apartment. Mulder was sitting up from his reclined position on her couch. His hair was slightly mussed and his eyes still held the soft haze of sleep. Her heart clenched. So many times in the last several days she had envisioned a young boy that looked like him. Her son.

"I must have dozed off," Mulder continued. "I was waiting for you to get back." He moved toward her, his eyes searching her face.

She didn't want to meet his gaze. She knew he would know immediately if she did. But then she decided that was better than saying the words. She looked up.

"It didn't take, did it?" The haze had cleared from his eyes, and a deep sorrow enveloped the brown tinged green. Was it sorrow for her? Or for himself? She hoped it was both. She hoped he had been praying as hard as she had that the IVF would work.

"I guess it was too much to hope for," she said softly. Her throat throbbed with unwelcome sobs waiting to be released. She had managed to keep them from escaping, but now, watching the sympathy and pain in her partner's eyes, she could no longer hold them back.

Mulder shook his head at her words, as if denying that hope was a worthless thing. Then his arms opened, and she let herself fall softly against his chest. The tears came, stronger than she expected, and his arms tightened around her as she tried to muffle her sobs in his shoulder.

"It was my last chance!" she cried. Mulder had retrieved ten ova, but only six of them had been viable. After two months of hormone treatments, all six ova, fertilized with Mulder's

sperm, had been implanted into her womb. Today, Doctor Parenti had confirmed that none of them had attached to the uterine wall. She was not pregnant.

What had she been thinking? After all that had happened to her in the past, did she actually think she could find any happiness amidst the pain? But she had, she realized suddenly as Mulder moved back slightly to kiss her forehead. She still had Mulder. Her friend.

He leaned his forehead against hers in a familiar gesture, one that she had initiated a few years back in his hallway. After he had told her some of the most beautiful things she had ever heard. Just before he almost kissed her.

Tonight, he didn't try to kiss her. But his words were almost as intimate. As hopeful.

"Never give up on a miracle."

She felt more tears well up in her eyes. Imagine, Fox Mulder, cynic extraordinaire when it came to spiritual beliefs, telling her to never give up on a miracle. But then, they had both witnessed miracles in the past...though neither would ever call them that. With a sigh, she brought her hand up to clasp the back of his head, and lifted her face up to his. Carefully, she kissed him firmly on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. A part of her thrilled that he seemed to lean into the kiss, and she wondered what he would do if she moved her lips over slightly to meet his. The other part, the less confident, fearful part, kept her from doing the unthinkable. So instead, she simply leaned into him once more, content to feel his arms tighten around her again.

The loss of a child that might have been was hard enough. She would not risk losing him. She had to accept that the impossible was indeed out of reach.<<<

February 2001

Scully woke with a jolt, her eyes snapping open, causing her mind to quickly leave the dreamworld she had been in. Only it hadn't been a dream. It had been a memory. Mulder had continued to hold her that night for several minutes without complaint, until they had both settled on the couch together. Mulder had flipped through channels, but neither of them were really interested in the television. Finally, Scully had headed silently for her bedroom, changing out of her suit and into her pajamas. Several minutes later, Mulder had joined her in her bed. Silently. Somewhat tentatively. She had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped around her.

Just as it was now. Only now, that arm had to stretch a little more to fit around her body.

Scully sighed and leaned her body back into the warmth of the man behind her. Her movement roused him, and she felt his body stiffen. "What time is it?" His mumble was barely audible. She felt his warmth leave her as he propped himself onto his elbow and looked at the clock on the dresser behind them. "I should go."

Scully didn't know what time it was, since she hadn't bothered to look. But she knew it was still early because the sun hadn't come up yet. "Yeah," she said softly in reply to his comment, though what she really wanted to do was tell him to put his arm around her again and go back to sleep. "You better. You need to get ready to torture Doggett again."

She heard him sigh, but she refused to look at him. "You really don't expect me to make him my best buddy, do you?"

With a slight groan, Scully turned on her back and looked up at him. "No. But I do expect you to treat him with at least a modicum of respect."

Mulder snorted with humor. "Right. I'm supposed to respect the man who's taken over my life."

"Meaning the X-Files," Scully said. It wasn't a question.

Mulder looked down at her. The movement caused his face to stop inches from her own. "Not just the X-files."

"Me?" Scully felt her eyebrows go up, and a grin began to spread across her face. "You're jealous over me?"

"Hell, yeah!" he said, his voice soft but firm. Scully was amazed he had admitted it. Finally.

She reached up and gently touched the scars on his cheek. "Mulder. He has taken wonderful care of me these last few months. He's watched my back well. And I trust him." Her thumb moved over his bottom lip. "But he's not you."

Slowly, oh-so carefully, Mulder opened his mouth and used his tongue to guide her thumb inside. Scully felt her breathing stop as she watched the tip of her thumb disappear. She felt his tongue stroke it, then he began to suck on it gently. His eyes, dark in the night, never left hers. Immediately, a surge of moisture flooded the area between her legs. Memories of a night not so long ago seeped into her brain. Memories full of sweat. Of groans and gasps. Memories of that night.

The alarm from Scully's clock radio sounded off, faint music audible underneath the screeching noise. Mulder jumped away from her and pushed himself off his side of the bed. "Six o'clock," he said breathlessly. "I better go!" He didn't stop until he reached her bedroom door. There, he turned to face her, but his expression was unreadable in the dark. "I suppose I'll see you later?"

Scully, who hadn't moved except to drop her hand, said in a husky voice, "You'd better."

He paused for one moment longer, then left the room. Scully could hear his progress as he made his way into the living room, then, after a short pause, out the door. She guessed that he had removed his shoes last night after getting her to bed, then had placed them by the front door, a habit he had started when he had begun spending more and more time at her place before his abduction. 'For easy escape,' he once told her jokingly. This morning, it had indeed been handy.

With a soft, frustrated cry, Scully pounded the mattress beneath her with both fists, noticing as she did so that her left thumb was still damp. Slowly, she brought it up to her

lips. With a smile, she brought the tip into her own mouth.

Mulder had returned. He was alive. He was well.

And he was still hers.

*****

Mulder's Apartment

It took Mulder a full hour to arrive back at his place after leaving Scully's; he had dawdled, driving aimlessly around, trying to get his own out-of-control hormones reigned in.

What had he been thinking, seducing a pregnant woman? Or trying to. Of course, from the look on Scully's face, he had been succeeding wonderfully. And he knew that her pregnancy

didn't matter, as long as he was gentle and slow.

He groaned and flopped down onto his couch. Gentle? Slow? Yeah, right! Like he was that night? The one night his fantasies had come true. The one night he had been convinced there was a heaven. There had been nothing slow and gentle about that night.

A night Scully had chosen to forget. A night he had convinced himself was an isolated incident. A once-in-a-lifetime event.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the erotic images that flooded his mind. It was something that never should have happened and should be forgotten. But it was very hard to do that. Especially since he didn't even have his video collection to escape to anymore. Though she hadn't admitted it, Scully had given it to Frohike after his 'death'. The paranoid little hacker had confessed. And though he had offered to give them back, Mulder had refused. At the time, he had felt no need for that kind of entertainment. In fact, other than confusion and anger, Mulder hadn't really felt anything.

Until the guilt from yesterday and last night. And the sorrow and pain. And the lust this morning. Who would have guessed he could be turned on after six months of nothing by a woman who was almost eight months pregnant? Of course, said woman was Scully. The only woman who had been able to turn him on before the abduction. He grimaced and opened his

eyes, realizing his thoughts were straying again. To her scent. To her warmth. To the soft curves that had been pressed against him when he woke this morning. To her soft gasp when he had taken her thumb into his mouth. To the way her scent changed. It had been subtle, but he had noticed. She had wanted him, too.

"Stop it!" he told himself out loud as he stood and started to pace the small room. "Just forget it, Mulder. The woman has been through waaay too much. She doesn't need to deal

with your messed up emotions. Just be there for her. That's what she needs right now." He sighed, stopped, and shook his head. "And stop talking to yourself."

He laughed softly and glanced out the window. The light on his answering machine was blinking. Oooh! He had a message. This was a first since his return. He walked over to the

desk and pressed the 'play' button. The one message on the recorder had been left last night. It was a woman's voice, and something about it was very familiar.

"Uh, hi. This is a little strange. Hearing your voice and all. But I just heard yesterday that you were... back." The woman on the tape sighed. "Anyway, this is Charlie. Just wanted to hear your voice. You know, to make sure it's all real. When you get this, I'd really like to hear back from you. E-mail me. Or call. You know where to find me."

Mulder sank down onto the couch again. Charlie. He hadn't even given a thought to what she might be thinking. Hell, she had probably been at the funeral. She would have been one of the few people he gave a damn about that had been there. He felt guilt rush through him. How long had it been since he had last seen her? Years. Though he had talked to her last Christmas, and he had gotten an e-mail from her around the time the X-Files had been audited.

She had still been the shy mouse he'd known for the last ten years. But he remembered a time when shy had been a foreign concept to her...

>>>August 1985

Chilmark, Massachusetts

Mulder was reading through his 'Rules and Regulations' book for the 67th time when his attention had shifted to the figure walking down the walk. He had moved his reading out

onto the porch to avoid the cigarette smoke that pervaded his father's house and had been enjoying the late August heat. Apparently, so was Charlie.

She was wearing very short shorts and a skimpy tank top, exposing gorgeous, long legs and outlining perfect high breasts. Her long hair was piled high on her head and she was barefoot; Charlie rarely wore shoes in the summer. He eyed her for a moment from behind his glasses until she looked his way. Quickly looking back down at the booklet in his hands, he chastised himself. 'Forget about it, Mulder. She's jail-bait.'

Sixteen-year-old Charlene Taylor may have been far too young for him, but she sure didn't look it. One thing was for sure: Mick Taylor's little sister had definitely grown up. Big time.

Charlie had indeed spotted him, and without pause turned up the walk that led to his father's house. Though Mulder hadn't grown up in this house, it wasn't far from the one

he, Samantha, and his parents had lived in several years ago. The Taylor's lived somewhere between the two, making them lifetime neighbors. And the little girl with the long chestnut hair had been one of his biggest pests since the day she could walk.

She still was today, but for much different reasons.

"Hey, Fox!" She grinned at him as she skipped up the stairs.

He simply glared at her. He knew that she knew how much he hated that name.

"Heard you were heading out tomorrow," she continued. "I thought you were through with school. Thought you were going to settle down here and become a school councilor or something."

Mulder gave a short laugh. "Oh, yeah, right. I just went through three years of undergraduate study and four years of graduate school just so I could come back here and council high school kids."

Charlie just kept on grinning. "Well, then. What are you going to do with that powerful instrument you call a brain?" That had been her brother's nickname for him: Brain. She always seemed to prefer Fox.

Mulder looked down at the booklet again. What was is about this girl that made him feel like a shy high-schooler again? God God, he was nine years older than she was. He had spent the last several years of his life living in England, studying. He'd even had a couple of serious relationships, one which had almost led to marriage. Yet, talking with this young woman got him defensive and shy all at the same time. She was just like the girls he had been attracted to in high school. They had flustered him the same way.

"Fox?" Her smile had dimmed somewhat. "I'm just curious."

He sighed and glanced off to the side of the yard. "I've been recruited into the FBI."

He expected her to scoff and tease him more. He had taken seven years of college to become a cop? But when she didn't, he looked at her again. She looked astounded. And awed.

"You're kidding?" she whispered. "They let you in? You're going to the Academy?" Her voice got more and more excited with every word.

He nodded, not sure if she was happy for him or just amazed he had been accepted.

"That is so cool," she said again, her face brightening into a brilliant smile once more. "You are so lucky. I would love to do that."

"Really?" Mulder asked. Then he laughed softly.

This time, it was she who became defensive. "What? You don't think I could do it?"

"No, no!" Mulder elaborated. "It's not that. It's just that I didn't exactly get the greatest reaction from my family when I told them about it." That was putting it mildly. His mother hadn't wanted him to do something so dangerous. His father hadn't wanted him to work for the government.

"How old do you have to be?" Charlie asked.

"Twenty-three," Mulder answered. "And you have to have a four-year degree or better, so don't think you can just skip college." Her brother had mentioned that she hadn't been very excited about continuing her education after she graduated from high school in two years.

"That sucks."

Mulder laughed again. "If you want something bad enough, Charlie, it's worth the wait."

"So, you really think I could be an FBI agent?"

"Kiddo, I have a feeling you could be anything you want."<<<

But she hadn't become an FBI agent. Only one year after graduating from MIT, with honors, Charlene Taylor had become the fourth woman captured by a monster named Kip Wallace. Though she had survived, Wallace had never been caught.

And Charlie had never been the same.

Mulder reached for the phone, and then grabbed the rarely used address book he kept in the top drawer. He flipped though it, found the right number, and dialed.

"Raspberry and Lace Bed and Breakfast, this is Connie. How can I help you?"

"Yes," Mulder told the woman. "I'd like to speak to Charlie Taylor please."

"Ms. Taylor is with some guests right now. May I ask who's calling?"

"Tell her it's Fox."

"All right." The woman's perky voice had changed, and he could just see her rolling her eyes at his name. Mulder waited.

But not for long. "Fox?!"

"Hey, Charlie. It's been a long time."

*****

J. Edgar Hoover Building

Washington DC

Scully arrived only a little late to the office that morning. Not an uncommon event since she had gotten pregnant; she often miscalculated the time it took for her to get ready and drive herself downtown, especially now that she wasn't moving as quickly as she used to. But Doggett gave her the same grin he always did when she was late, whether it was by two minutes or two hours. This morning, his grin faded quickly and his eyes darted to the doorbehind her as if he expected someone to follow her through.

"Put away the boxing gloves, Agent Doggett. Mulder isn't with me."

The agent looked only slightly embarrassed. "I had assumed he was heading to your place after he left here yesterday afternoon."

"No, actually. But he did show up at my place last night." She stopped in front of him and looked up. "Thank you, by the way. For not telling him about... you know."

Doggett nodded slightly, then bent his head to look at her closer. Scully tried not to draw back; it was hard to stand still when one was under his intense scrutiny. "You told him though. I hope."

Scully nodded and moved to her desk, carefully lowering herself into the chair behind it. "Yes. I did."

"And...?"

"And what, Agent Doggett?" she asked him, her own eyes taking on a certain hardness. "We talked. It was personal."

"Personal?" Doggett replied back, also using the infamous repeating technique. He liked to remind her how often she used it, and how it bugged him. "Did he ask about...?"

With a smile, she responded, "About...?"

"You know! The baby!"

Mulder chose that exact moment to walk in the door. He stopped just inside, his eyes wide with fake innocence, and asked Scully, "Am I interrupting something?"

Scully's mind immediately flashed back to earlier that morning, and she felt her face heat. But she didn't look away from her former partner. "Of course not, Agent Mulder. What can we do for you?"

"Actually, I was hoping I could have a word with you." He sent a meaningful glance Doggett's way. "Alone."

Doggett pushed himself off the desk he had been leaning against and made his way past Mulder. "I'll just go get some coffee." He looked back at Scully. "Hot, steaming, fresh,

caffeinated coffee."

"Shut up!" Scully snapped, trying to keep her smirk from becoming a full-blown grin.

Mulder watched Doggett as he left, then turned to Scully again with his eyebrows raised.

"No caffeine," Scully explained, running her hand over her belly. "Bad for the baby. Doggett likes to rub it in."

Mulder nodded his understanding, then moved to take the seat across from her. It wasn't an unusual position, as they had often had discussions with her behind the desk and him in

front in the past. But it still felt odd to Scully. Mulder's face had become serious as he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"I was on my way to my new desk when I ran into Peter Rhodes. He was thoughtful enough to ask if I had heard about the humorous first meeting of Agents Doggett and Scully. I told him 'no', so he proceeded to tell me." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and there was definitely laughter in them.

Scully looked down at the desk in embarrassment. "Yeah," she breathed. "I'm surprised Doggett doesn't hold that legendary first meeting against me."

"He told me that no one knows what he said to you, but they had never seen you lose control like that." He was smiling softly now.

"I thought he worked for Kersh," she explained. "And he did, but not in the way I thought."

"Yeah, but what did he say?"

"It's what he didn't say more than anything. He didn't tell me who he was before he started questioning me. Subtly, of course." She saw that Mulder was waiting for more of an explanation and sighed heavily. "He told me he knew you. And that he had never believed the rumors."

"Rumors?"

"That you never trusted me. That you confided in others." She looked down at her fingers as she picked up a pen and began twisting it about. "In other women."

Mulder snorted. "You didn't actually believe him, did you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but, realizing she didn't know what to say, closed it without uttering a sound.

"Oh, Scully." Mulder feigned great disappointment, grasping his chest as if he were clenching his heart. "I think I'm hurt!"

Scully couldn't help but smile. "I didn't believe it for long, Mulder. I was confused. I had just found out the night before that I was pregnant." She shrugged. "When I thought about it, I knew that the only other person or persons you would confide in about me would be the Gunmen. I know you don't have some secret female friend who knows things about

you I don't." She was smiling again. But her smile slowly faded as she noticed the seriousness on Mulder's face. "You don't, do you?"

"Scully..."

"Not that I should be surprised," she continued without letting him speak. "I mean, you never told me you were dying, did you?"

Mulder closed his eyes and breathed in deep. "I was hoping we could avoid that discussion for a while longer."

"Oh, I just bet you were." Scully pushed herself onto her feet and walked around the desk, stopping right next to Mulder. She didn't stop to think that her huge stomach was

level with his face. She just knew that with him seated, she finally had the advantage of height. "So, what other secrets have you been keeping from me?" she demanded as she crossed her arms under her breasts.

"God, Scully," Mulder grumbled, looking up past her belly to see her face. "You sound like a jealous wife."

"I...."

This time, Mulder wouldn't let her speak. "I have a friend. I've known her since I was in Junior High school. Her older brother was one of my best friends as a kid." She dropped

her eyes and he moved his head in order to keep contact with them. She hated it when he did that. "We've kept in touch through the years, mostly through e-mail, and I really like

talking to her." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "But she isn't you."

He stood suddenly, and Scully stepped back quickly, nearly losing her balance. "Sorry," he mumbled as he reached out and grabbed her elbows. Then, looking down on her once more, he said, "I know I've mentioned Charlie to you before."

Charlie?

"Yeah," Scully nodded. "But I thought 'Charlie' was a guy."

"And it makes a difference, does it?"

"Would you dislike Doggett so much if he was a she?"

"Good point."

"Hey!" They both turned as Doggett entered. "I thought I heard my name. You aren't telling him horrible lies about me, are you Agent Scully?"

She smiled softly. "No, Agent Doggett." She looked up at Mulder, who had let go of her arms when Doggett had entered. "We're just clearing up a few misunderstandings."

Mulder smiled. "I'll talk to you later." He headed for the door, giving Doggett a wide berth. But, before he left, he turned back to the man. "Agent Doggett?"

Doggett swiveled around to look at him. "Yes?"

"Make sure you watch her back... or I'll break yours." With a cocky grin, Mulder winked at Scully and left the office.

Doggett looked at Scully, who was desperately trying not to laugh, and was also trying her hardest to still the fluttering of her heart.

"You think that's funny? I don't think that's funny."

Scully could tell by his eyes he wasn't completely serious. He saw the humor in the situation just as she had. "Agent Doggett, you have yet to meet the real Fox Mulder." She

finally let her grin escape. "But that was pretty damn close."

*****

March 2001

Raspberry and Lace Bed & Breakfast

Bartow, West Virginia

When Charlie Taylor woke up one early March morning, it was to an unusually cold room. Quickly, she slid out from underneath her warm blankets and checked the temperature

reading on the wall next to the door to her private bath. It was a lot lower than it should be. The furnace must have quit again.

"Damnit," she cursed softly, then she set about getting dressed. She had two couples staying this weekend, and the last thing she wanted was for them to wake up to cold rooms

like hers. She pulled on underwear, jeans and a knit sweater, ran her fingers through her short hair, and quickly brushed her teeth. She didn't bother with make-up; she rarely ever wore it anymore. After tugging on her hiking boots, she left her rooms, located in the attic of the old house, and headed down the stairs, passing as she did so the doorways to the rooms her guests were staying in. Both couples were on their honeymoon, so Charlie didn't expect them to be in any big rush to get up this morning, but she hurried nonetheless. She passed through the parlor on the first floor, stopping to build up the fire that still glowed

in the fireplace, then headed for the basement door, passing the front reception area and starting the pot of coffee that sat next to the main desk.

The Raspberry and Lace had started its life in the late 1850's when a rich merchant from New York moved his Virginian bride back home to her mountains when they both discovered she hated the city. The woman would become a widow five years later when her husband died fighting for the Union in the Civil War. She would hold on to the property through the rest of the war, watching as her county seceded from Virginia and joined with other northern counties to create West Virginia. In order to keep the tobacco and cattle plantation running, she began to rent out rooms in her home to travelers. She would die in 1889, leaving the large house and the 300 acres of land to her only child, a daughter.

It had been owned and operated by a woman ever since.

Charlie arrived about eight years ago to work as a receptionist for the then owner, Melba Cummings. Melba died of cancer two years ago. A widow with no children, she left the business, and all the land that came with it, to Charlie. Now, at only a little over 30 years old, Charlie oversaw the Bed and Breakfast, the small herd of cattle, and the alfalfa and corn fields. The cattle and the crops were only secondary, as they had been since the war. The real money maker was the beautiful old building with its restored 19th Century bedrooms and fantastic view of the mountains.

While the interior of the building was 19th Century in design, it was still supposed to offer 21st Century amenities. Including heat. But the furnace had been on the blitz for the last month and Charlie was about ready to break down and call in professional help. Spring was just around the corner, but nights still got cold here well into May. And Charlie hated cold.

She also hated basements, but she managed to get down the stairs easy enough this morning. She kept the lights bright down here, dispelling any and all shadows that she possibly could. With a little tinkering, she managed to get the electric furnace going, but she wasn't sure for how long. She decided she would call into town on Monday and get Beaner out.

'Beaner' wasn't his real name, of course. His name was Tom Beanson, but the old man had been going by the name Beaner for over half a century now. He lived in town, supposedly

running a home appliance store, but Charlie had never really seen him 'running' it; his wife and son did most of the work while he sat in the corner and told stories to anyone who would listen. But he was great at fixing things. The only problem was that he charged an arm and a leg for his services. Better that than wake up cold again, Charlie thought with a shiver.

Finished with her handiwork, she climbed the stairs back up to the reception area, only to meet Connie, her only full-time employee, who had just arrived. "Did you know it's snowing out?" the young woman asked, shaking wet flakes from her black hair. "It's cold in here."

Charlie smiled. "I know. I just got the furnace going again."

"Are you going to call Beaner this time?" Connie asked as she removed her coat. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "When is spring going to get here? Brrrr!"

"Yes, I'm going to call Beaner Monday and spring is just around the corner." Charlie headed for the kitchen. "I'm going to get breakfast started." She and Connie took turns

either working reception or doing housekeeping, but Charlie almost always cooked. On the rare occasions Charlie needed time off, Ruth McClarren came over to cook. The last time

Charlie had left her home had been back in November when she had flown down to North Carolina for Fox's funeral. She felt herself smile again. She hadn't even needed to go, since he hadn't really been dead. Strange to think of that now.

She began to walk through the kitchen door when Connie said in a gleeful voice, "Oooh! A message! Maybe it's that guy Fox again!"

Charlie turned toward the woman. Ever since Fox had called a couple of weeks ago, Connie had gone on and on about how sexy he sounded on the phone. "Does he fit his name?" she

had asked. Charlie had refused to answer. The man had just come back from the dead. The last thing he needed was some perky West Virginia girl hitting on him over the phone. Especially since he already had a girlfriend...of sorts.

Connie pressed the play button on the machine. It beeped. The voice Charlie heard on the machine was cold, hard, and directly from her worst nightmare.

"Hello, Charlene. Remember me? Just thought I'd let you know I was back in the area. Hope to see you soon. Real soon. Ta."

*****

Scully's Apartment

6:45 P.M.

When Mulder arrived at Scully's just after 6:30, she wasn't at all shocked to see him. She had finally been released from the hospital that afternoon and both her mother and Mulder had escorted her home as if they were her own personal Secret Service Agents, though her mother wasn't armed.

Once settled at home, Mulder had left, telling Scully he'd see her soon, and Maggie had begun her own version of the Spanish Inquisition. "He's being very fatherly, isn't he?"

Scully had rolled her eyes and braced herself for the coming questions. If she wasn't asking about the sex of the baby, her mother was asking why she never knew about the change in Scully's relationship with her partner. Scully knew her mother assumed Mulder was the father; most everyone did, though she had never said so to anybody. And now that Mulder was back, Maggie Scully was making broad hints about marriage, too.

Scully had weathered the storm and was more than happy when a knock on the door announced Mulder's return. Maggie let him in with a smile, then said goodnight to both of them and left. Scully, who was still settled on the couch where Mulder had left her, noticed immediately the pizza he had brought with him. She started giggling.

While her mother wasn't shy with her questions about the pregnancy, Mulder had never once asked her directly about it. But he hinted. Twice last week, before Agent Reyes had

asked his help on a case, he had subtly asked if she knew how she had gotten pregnant. Scully had refused to answer. Not only did she not really want to discuss the subject (she

still had nightmares about men in dark glasses and trenchcoats taking her baby from her, only it wasn't a baby; it was an alien), but she felt that unless Mulder asked her outright about the possible conception, she wouldn't give him any information. She supposed it was her way of getting him to talk about their one night together. The one night he may have fathered the baby... naturally.

Just before her admittance to the hospital a few days ago, he had started making teasing references to all the men in her life. Commenting that 'if it's bald and has a stern glare, we'll know it's Skinner's.' Or, 'I hope the kid isn't born with a cigarette in its mouth.' Scully hadn't found that one particularly funny, and Mulder had immediately shut up. The night she had gone to the hospital, he had focused on the pizza guy.

Scully wanted to tell him to quit with the jokes, but she knew it was his way of dealing with what might be a very painful and frightening experience for both of them. While all her tests showed a healthy human baby, they both knew how easy it was to be deceived when hope was all you had. And despite the teasing, all his 'potential' fathers were human. He never suggested otherwise.

"Mulder, you never fail to surprise me." Mulder walked around the couch and set the open pizza box on the coffee table in front of her. It was big. Greasy. And completely unappetizing. "I just wish I felt like eating it right now."

"That's cool," Mulder responded as he sat next to her. He seemed vaguely uneasy, but Scully concentrated more on calming her roiling stomach. "We can just wait for the cheese to congeal and eat it later."

Scully grimaced at the image he presented. Sure, she loved cheese, but... She looked over at Mulder. He had a fake pout on his face. God, he was cute.

"You miss your regular pizza man, don't you?"

"Yes," Scully smiled. His pout deepened. "That's okay. He's coming by later."

Mulder's eyes narrowed and he shot a glare at her, but there was no real anger in his eyes. He could pretend to be jealous, but she knew he wasn't. Not anymore. Well, maybe he still was a bit jealous of Doggett. He only acted the possessive husband to make her laugh. And feel wanted. Special.

He succeeded. She laughed, and his eyes softened. Slowly, he reached behind the couch and grabbed hold of the gift he had given her several days ago and which she hadn't had a chance to open. "I bet you forgot all about that," he said as he handed it to her.

"No," she protested. "I didn't actually. I thought about it a lot when I was lying in my hospital bed." Which was very true. She had been burning with curiosity. Mulder had given

her gifts in the past, but they had all been gag gifts more or less; even when the emotion behind them had been palpable, none had been completely serious. Without worrying about neatness, Scully ripped off the ribbon and opened the box, talking as she did so. "Wondering what on Earth you could have given me..."

"And?" Mulder wore an expression that appeared to be nervous, anxious and embarrassed all at once.

Scully saw the little doll lying in her bed of tissue paper and gasped. It was old and well used, but still sturdy. "Oh, my God! Oh, Mulder!" She pulled it out of the box and held it up to see it better.

"Is it what you imagined?" Mulder's eyes were wide, and though his attitude seemed indifferent, his eyes told her he was very anxious for her approval. And he had it. She knew from his statement to her the first time he tried to give her the gift that this doll had been in his family a long time. It had probably belonged to Samantha, and quite possibly his own mother had played with it when she was young.

"Not even close," she said in response to his inquiry. She laughed, and she was amazed at how happy she sounded. Truly happy.

Mulder leaned over to look at the doll, and his expression became regretful. "Oh, my!" he exclaimed softly. "That's the wrong doll!"

With another laugh, Scully threatened to smack him in the face with the little toy, and he moved back quickly, eyes closed, laughter building. When he opened his eyes, his smile grew. He was so beautiful. She never got tired of looking at him, even after all these years. Even after the change that had come over him since his return. She watched him for a while, taking note of the new maturity that seemed to emanate from him now. It was something she had only just begun to notice. He didn't seem so lost anymore. So alone.

"But then there's the other gift that you gave me, Mulder," she said, looking down and smoothing her hand over the doll. When she met his eyes again, she saw the question in them. "Courage," she started, trying to find a way to explain to him how important a gift it was. "To believe," she continued. "I hope that's a gift I can pass on."

Mulder smiled slightly, but his eyes looked sad. He leaned his head over so it lay on the back of the couch as he sat half facing her. "I wish..."

Scully watched him for a while as he closed his eyes, and when he didn't continue, she decided to encourage him. Now was not the time to just 'let it pass' as they had so many

times before. "What do you wish?"

"So many things," he whispered without opening his eyes. "But mostly I wish you could be happy like this all the time."

She sighed, then reached over to tap him gently on the thigh. His eyes shot open. "You do realize that you are the reason I'm so happy now, don't you?"

He didn't say a word. He just smiled. Scully leaned her own head back and smiled back at him.

They were sitting like that, staring into each others souls, when a loud knock sounded on the door.

Mulder sat straight and sent a baleful look Scully's way. "Pizza guy?"

Scully had also pushed herself up on the couch. She shook her head, frowning. "No. And it shouldn't be my mother again."

Mulder rose and walked to the door. He had to bend slightly to look through the peephole, and when he straightened again the lazy, content look was gone from his face. He was suddenly a well-trained agent once again.

"Mulder? Who is it?"

He glanced at her, a worried look in his eyes. "A friend." With that, he reached out and opened the door. Scully could just barely see a tall, beautiful brunette standing in the doorway. "Charlie?" Mulder's voice was full of concern.

This was Charlie? She looked like she could be a Supermodel or an actress. She was gorgeous. And she was scared.

Very scared.

"Fox!" she said, her voice raw. "He's back!"

The woman had stumbled into the apartment, and Mulder reached out to grasp her by her shoulders, holding her steady. "Who's back?"

"Wallace.”

*****

When Mulder had first looked out the peephole in Scully's door, he had expected to see one of the Gunmen, or Skinner. Even Doggett. Somebody who cared for Scully and was checking up on her after her return home from the hospital. Instead, he saw a face from his own past. Charlie.

His one word response to Scully after her worried inquiry was meant to be comforting to her, but it didn't soothe his nerves at all. Charlie was the kind of person who called first before visiting, and he had not heard from her since her last e-mail to him two nights ago. He opened the door quickly and she stumbled inside, her eyes wide, her face pale.

"Fox! He's back!"

Mulder knew immediately who she was talking about, but he heard himself ask, "Who's back?" anyway.

"Wallace!"

Mulder was trying to hold the young woman steady, but her body was trembling outrageously. He shook his head, not wanting to accept her answer. "No. He's dead. He has to be!"

Charlie was shaking her head right back at him. "No. He's not. And he knows how to find me."

"How do you know?" Mulder asked. She seemed a bit steadier, so he let go of her and moved back a bit.

"This." She pulled her purse off her shoulder and walked further into the room, setting the bag on the table next to the couch. It was then she noticed Scully, who hadn't moved

from her tense position on the far end of the sofa. "I'm so sorry to barge in like this," Charlie said. She lowered her eyes and took note of Scully's belly. "Oh!" She looked at Mulder, and for a moment all the fear and anxiety fled from her eyes and pure joy shone through. "Fox! Why didn't you tell me?"

Scully's eyes had narrowed, but she didn't appear to be angry. "You're..." she started, and her voice caused Charlie to swing around and look at her again. "You were at..."

"The funeral," Charlie finished for her. "Yes. I went to Fox's apartment, and when he wasn't there, I was pretty sure I could find him here." She looked a little guilty. "I had to ask his landlord for your address; you're not in the phone book."

Mulder sighed heavily. "Charlie. In the last seven or eight years, I've never known you to leave that house of yours without a very good reason. But--"

Charlie interrupted him. "That's because I felt safe there. But not anymore." She pulled out a cassette tape from her bag. "It was on my answering machine this morning. It was left late last night." She glanced at Scully. "I never answer the phone at night."

Mulder took the tape and walked over to Scully's stereo. He turned it on and pressed Play.

Wallace had disappeared after eluding the cops back in '91. For several months after Charlie got out of the hospital, she had been kept under surveillance; the cops both feared

and hoped he would go after her again. But he never did. And there were no more kidnappings or murders. Due to money constraints and lack of manpower, the Wallace case was set aside. Charlie was encouraged to leave the area and maybe change her name and appearance. Other than cutting her long, beautiful locks, Charlie had not done as asked. Instead of leaving for another part of the country, she took a job in the little town Wallace had come from: Bartow, West Virginia. She still lived there today. 'Hiding in plain

sight,' she once told him.

Mulder had always assumed Wallace had either died or been sent to prison for an unrelated crime. Either way, he was sure Charlie would never be physically bothered by him

again. But when he heard the voice playing over his partner's stereo system, he realized he was wrong; Wallace was after revenge.

"I didn't see him as vengeful," Mulder said softly.

"Neither did I," Charlie answered back. "Looks like we both got our profiles wrong."

"Would somebody please tell me what's going on?" Scully's voice roused Mulder from his contemplation, and he turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Kip Wallace was your average, everyday serial killer. Typical history. Raised by a domineering mother. Abused. Unloved. He liked women with long hair, but when one too many turned him down when he asked them out, he decided to go about enjoying their company another way." Mulder sighed and shook his head. "He would kidnap them and hold them in the basement of his West Virginia farmhouse. There, he would rape them and beat them. And take pictures of them." He saw Scully nod sadly and knew she was thinking of Karl Wade, the madman they had helped find several years ago; he, too, took pictures of his victims, but those victims had been little girls.

Mulder continued, watching as Charlie stood still, her eyes on the small fire in the fireplace. "When he tired of them, he choked them to death, cut off their hair as a souvenir, and dumped the bodies." He looked at Scully again and nodded his head toward Charlie. "Charlie was the fourth woman he took. She got away after three days."

Scully's eyes had turned to Charlie, and the younger woman looked at her with an almost defiant expression. But the glare soon faded as she recognized the look in the pregnant

woman's eye. Mulder knew she had expected to find pity, but instead, she had found empathy.

Scully was also a survivor.

"And he got away?" Scully's voice was soft.

Charlie nodded.

"Which means he's probably been too busy in the last several years to worry about the one that got away from him." Mulder felt his body tense as he saw his partner's eyes darken in

remembrance of a man who had thought of her in those terms: the one that got away. "Or in prison."

"And now he's out," Mulder added. He looked at Charlie again. "You made it too easy for him to find you, kiddo." He uncrossed his arms and started pacing the floor. "Going back

to the place where he held you. Not changing your name. Your appearance."

"I cut my hair!" Charlie said defensively.

"You think he cares about that now?" Mulder sneered, stopping to glare at her.

"I had to go back there, Fox."

"Why?!"

"To face her demons," Scully answered for her. "You should know all about that, Mulder."

Charlie nodded. "And I don't regret it. I love it there. It's my home now." Tears began to form in her eyes. "I don't want to leave Bartow. Raspberry and Lace is my life!"

"Some life," Mulder whispered harshly.

Charlie's eyes widened. "And yours is so much better?" She looked at Scully, then at her unborn child. Envy overtook the anger. "Maybe it is," she whispered. "And maybe I shouldn't have come here and upset it." She began to gather up her purse to leave.

"Charlie," Scully said, then stood. Mulder felt his heart swell in both amusement and tenderness as she rose, belly first, trying to remain graceful; and not really succeeding.

"You did come to the right place," she continued. Her blue eyes flashed his way. "Mulder is going to help catch this guy."

"Oh, really?" Mulder asked. "It's not my jurisdiction."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"I don't work without a partner," he countered smoothly. Of course he wanted to help Charlie, but he intended to keep her safe, not hunt for her stalker. The police could handle

that.

"Good," Scully said with a smirk as she walked to the phone. "I was planning on giving Agent Reyes a call."

*****

Doggett's House

9:16 P.M.

Charlie stood shivering on the porch of the little brick house in North Arlington, wondering why she was here. Waiting with a woman she really didn't know, about to meet a man she knew nothing about. She shook her head ruefully. It had been a long time since she had put her faith in anyone other than herself. But she wasn't about to let herself fall back into Hell now. She knew she needed help, and Dana and Fox were both people she instinctively trusted. So, here she was.

Dana stood by her side, her huge belly almost hidden underneath her coat. Charlie knew she was armed, but she hardly looked dangerous now. She smiled, and the older woman looked at her with her eyebrows raised. Charlie wasn't about to admit that visions of the heroine in the movie 'Fargo' had popped into her head, so she simply asked, "When are you

due?"

"Early April," the red-head said.

"Not long, then," Charlie commented, and Dana nodded her head in reply. She had rung the doorbell a second time already and still there was no answer. Charlie hoped they hadn't caught this Doggett guy with his pants down... literally. "Maybe you should have called first," she said.

Dana cleared her throat. "I didn't even think that he might be out... or busy." She sighed. "Maybe we should just go." But before either of them could turn away from the door, it

opened.

Charlie couldn't help it when her mouth dropped open in astonishment. The man who opened the door was tall and lean, his body hard and wiry. She knew this because he was

shirtless, and his bronzed chest was bared for her inspection. And inspect she did, all the way down to where the skin ended and a pair of unbuttoned jeans started. She felt herself swallow hard and she dropped her eyes to the porch beneath her feet, knowing her perusal had been noticed by both the man and Dana. With her eyes down, she couldn't help but notice his feet were bare.

The silence was disturbed by the sound of a throat clearing. "Agent Scully? What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett. I know I should have called first, but we were in kind of a rush." Charlie glanced at Dana and noticed her cheeks were slightly more red than the

40 degree temperature would cause. "I hope we didn't interrupt anything." Her voice held a forced cheerfulness that made Charlie smile slightly.

"I just got out of the shower," Doggett said. "I wasn't exactly expecting company." Good. His use of the 'I' indicated that he was alone, which is what Charlie believed Dana had been worrying about. She looked up and met Dana's partner's eyes for the first time. For the second time in less than five minutes, she felt shock pour through her. His own eyes widened.

"You!" They said in unison.

"You two know each other?" Dana asked with dry humor, obviously amused by the comical expressions on their faces.

Charlie had never forgotten the man with the ice eyes, and it was apparent that he remembered her, too. "Mulder's funeral," she said quietly.

"Yeah," Doggett responded. "You never introduced yourself."

Charlie could only shake her head and mumble, "Sorry."

"Agent Doggett, this is Charlie Taylor, an old friend of Mulder's. She needs our help."

Doggett nodded. "Okay. What for?"

"Can we take this inside?" Charlie asked. She wasn't desperate to get inside because she was cold, though she was. Nor was she anxious for Dana's sake, though she knew the woman most likely wanted to sit down. But she had seen Doggett shiver, and she had noticed the droplets of water slowly sliding down his neck from his short hair. As cold as she was, he must be freezing.

"Where are my manners?" Doggett said with a grin. "Please, come in." He stepped aside and let the women pass, then directed their movement toward the living room off to the right. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll go get a shirt."

Dana headed for the living room as Doggett headed up the stairs. Charlie watched him for a moment, thinking what a shame it was to cover that magnificent chest, before following Dana.

They had seated themselves on the couch and removed their coats when Doggett returned wearing an old NYPD sweatshirt and tennis shoes. He sat down on a chair opposite them. "So, what's up?"

Dana told him the bare facts, and Doggett listened intently, his eyes straying toward Charlie every now and then. "So you're protecting her until this guy is caught?" he asked

his partner.

"Yes, but obviously, I can't do it alone." She leaned back in her seat and rubbed her belly. "Mulder is going up to Charlie's place tomorrow morning to try and set a trap for this guy."

"Alone?"

"No. He asked Monica Reyes to help him. Or, I did," she amended. "She looks a bit like Charlie. Same height. Same build. Hopefully, he won't get close enough to tell it isn't her until Mulder is putting the handcuffs on him."

Doggett nodded his understanding with narrowed eyes. Charlie imagined she could see his mind working behind the blue. "Might work. Whose idea was this?"

"Dana's," Charlie said with a smile. "She had to talk Fox into it, though."

"Why?" Doggett asked. "Sounds like a good plan."

"He didn't want to leave Dana, of course."

"Of course," Doggett said, smiling at Dana's blush. "But if it works as planned, he shouldn't be gone long, right?"

Dana nodded. "If it works."

They sat silent for a while, all three of them going over all the things that could possibly go wrong in their minds.

Doggett broke the silence. "I'll get the guest bedroom ready for you, Scully. Charlie can have my room." He stood. "I'll settle for the couch."

Charlie rose with him. "You don't have to do that," she said. "I'll be fine on the couch."

Doggett grinned. "Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I made one of my female guests sleep down here?"

"Yeah, well, we weren't exactly invited," Charlie argued.

"Hey," Doggett said, his voice soft, his grin gone. "You're here to be protected, and that's what we're gonna do. We can't do that if we're upstairs and you're down here, can we?"

Charlie sighed. "I guess not."

"Good. Now, make yourselves at home. I'm assuming you brought overnight bags?" At Dana's nod, he headed for the door. "I'll grab 'em, then get the rooms ready." He opened

the door that led outside and turned to look at them. "Does this mean I have to remember to put the toilet seat down?"

Charlie glanced at Dana, and noticed how the agent gave Doggett a solemn look and nodded. With a heavy sigh, he left the house.

Both Dana and Charlie started laughing.

*****

Raspberry and Lace

8:11 A.M.

When Mulder finally reached Bartow and the Raspberry and Lace Bed and Breakfast, the sun had already been up for more than an hour. He had slept little last night before waking

early in order to meet Reyes here at 8, and his body felt sluggish and weak. Though all the physical scars had disappeared, he still felt the effects of his months of torture and 'stasis'. He tired much more easily and couldn't get by on only a few hours of sleep anymore. He often woke at nights with terrible cramps in his legs and arms, causing him to rise and try to walk off the spasms of pain. Headaches were frequent, but lessening. Of course, all this could simply be because I'm getting old, he told himself, grimacing at the idea.

Charlie had called her receptionist/friend Connie last night before she and Scully had headed over to Doggett's, telling her that he and a friend would be staying at the R&L

indefinitely, and that she herself was taking a break. Mulder would explain to Connie who they were and why they were there this morning, then let Connie have a few days off. Charlie had said that the two couples staying at the house were both scheduled to check-out today, and no one else was expected until Friday, three days away. Mulder hoped to have the situation concluded by then.

He had stopped by the local sheriff's office before coming out to the house to update them on the situation, something Scully had made him promise to do. He wanted them to stay out of it for now, but he decided it would be nice to be able to call for back up if needed.

Now that he was at the old, stately farm house, he found himself impressed. It was beautiful, and he could just imagine how lovely the grounds were in the summer when all the trees had leaves and the flowers were blooming. He knew from past e-mails from Charlie that she did all the groundskeeping herself; it looked like quite a chore.

He then noticed that Reyes had yet to arrive. Parking in the small lot next to the barn, he followed the brick walk up to the porch and the front door. It opened before he reached

it, and a young woman with short, curly black hair smiled at him from inside. "Hi!" she said brightly. "You must be Fox." She stood aside and gestured inside. "Come in, come in!"

Giving her a polite smile, Mulder walked into the house, impressed again by the beautiful foyer, with its polished wood floors and antique furnishings. Connie, as she introduced herself, led him into the reception area, which was actually a large oak desk and a few comfortable chairs. "So, I understand you and Charlie grew up together," Connie said, taking a seat behind the desk as he sat in front of it. "And you work for the FBI."

"Yeah," Mulder said with a nod.

"And you need a vacation."

"Not exactly." Since Reyes wasn't here yet, Mulder decided to go ahead without her. "Connie, Charlie is in trouble. I don't know how much you know about her past, about an incident that happened to her about ten years ago, but..."

"Wallace?" Connie interrupted, her smile long gone. "Everyone here knows about that. We all knew him. He lived just a few miles from here. My brother went to school with him." She sighed. "That was him on the phone yesterday morning, wasn't it?"

Mulder nodded. "She's safe right now with a couple of other FBI agents. I'm meeting an agent named Monica Reyes here, and we plan on setting a trap for him. We need your help and the assistance of anyone else you trust to do this."

"What can I do?" The bubbly pep-squad leader was gone, and a serious woman had taken her place.

"I need you to spread the news around town that Charlie's old boyfriend is visiting her, and that you were given the next several days off so they could be alone. Agent Reyes looks enough like Charlie that she hopes to pass for her. If Wallace thinks she's here alone with her distracted boyfriend...he might just make a move."

"I don't know..." Connie hedged.

"What's wrong?"

"Since she's been here, Charlie's never had a boyfriend."

Mulder couldn't help but feel bad at her bald statement. Charlie may have settled into a good life here at her Bed and Breakfast, but she hadn't really been able to live. All because of Wallace. "You've heard her talk about me before, right?"

Connie nodded.

"And other people? Had she mentioned me to them?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Well, if she has, that's good enough."

Mulder gave her a few more details, then she led him up to his room. "I'm assuming this Agent Reyes will be wanting a separate room?"

Mulder just nodded, then disappeared behind his door. With a sigh, he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed, enjoying the gorgeous furnishings and masculine colors that decorated the room. This was very unlike any motel he had ever stayed at. He closed his eyes, hoping Reyes had a good reason for being late.

Taking a deep breath, Mulder imagined he could smell Scully's perfume. A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he continued on with the idea that she was here with him; that they were staying here as a couple on a romantic vacation. Yeah, right. As if he could ever be romantic. He had, in the past, tried making dinner for her, and she had seemed to appreciate it, but it had been far from romantic. The best he could do was hit on her while she was sleepy, vulnerable. He had done it twice. The first time he had succeeded, only to wake alone. The second...

*****

Continued in Part 2