NEW WIP:  Flight into Egypt:  Doing it Right  PG (0 of 10)
Title:  Flight Into Egypt:  Doing It Right (0 of 10)
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  It's been two years since they left their 
old lives behind and arrived in Alexandria, MT.  
There have been big changes in the Hale (Mulder) 
household, but there are dark clouds on the horizon.  
Back home, the search for the truth continues.
Category:  MSR, A, Mytharc
Rating:  PG 
Disclaimer:  I'm delving a bit more into the 'new' 
mytharc, but I'm still not making any money.  No 
copyright infringement intended.
Archive:  Yes
Date first posted:  May 17, 2004
SPECIAL NOTE:  I'm doing what I swore I would 
never do -- I'm posting a Work in Progress.  I have a 
plan, the story is complete in my head and outlined 
on paper.  In short, I will not leave you hanging.  I'll 
be posting it in 10 parts, one part each week for the 
next couple of months.  For a few weeks, you can 
only find the parts on Ephemeral and on Dana K 
Scully's sites in Brazil (did I mention this is an 
international WIP?)  In a few weeks, I'll have all the 
parts that have been posted on my website.  Just 
don't yell at me if you don't find them there 
immediately.  If you are like me, and want to wait 
for the whole story before starting it, I'm cool with 
that.  It should be finished July 18.  
This is being 'simulcast' in Portuguese because 
Dana was sweet enough to offer.  Hugs, Dana!
Straight jackets can be forwarded to 
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com.  Prayers for my 
sanity greatly appreciated.


Flight into Egypt:  Doing it Right (1 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley

May 19, 2004
Arlington National Cemetery
12:30 am

The day was bright, the gentle breeze came off the 
river and danced around the white stones standing 
like humble sentries over the bodies of those lying 
at rest.  The trees were finally in full leaf, the 
blossoms of the azaleas were dipping and bending 
in the breeze in the planters near the gates.  It was 
spring, the smells, the feel of the air, all things 
spoke of a reawakening.  But in some hearts, there 
was little reason to feel joyful. 

Walter Skinner stood a respectful distance and 
solemnly bowed his head, ever mindful of the tears 
of the woman standing next to him.

"I just wish . . ."  The quiet air was broken by the 
raspy whisper which caught on the breeze and 
caressed his ear before dancing among the white 
and bronze monuments at their feet.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  "Mrs. 
Scully," he said and then wondered why he'd even 
bothered to speak.  He had no words of comfort or 
solace.  For his part, he didn't know if the 
headstones at their feet were accurate or just another 
part of the jigsaw puzzle of lies and deceits that 
continued to rule his life.

Maggie Scully shook her head, wiping the tears 
from her cheeks.  "They're together.  Either here or 
somewhere else, I know they're together.  If that's 
all I have, I have to be satisfied with that."

"I'm so sorry," Skinner mumbled, not daring to clear 
his throat for fear if the lump was dislodged, it 
would lead to a dam break of emotions.

She smiled up at him and for a fleeting second, he 
saw her daughter in her eyes.  "I know you are, Mr. 
Skinner.  I want you to know how much I 
appreciate you coming here with me today.  I just 
didn't want this day to go unnoticed.  It's the only 
connection I have with them.  Except this."  She 
fingered the locket at her neck, not needing to open 
it to know the three pictures the tiny frames held.  
Dana, little William and Fox.  The images 
painstakingly carved out of larger photographs to fit 
in the locket and be her constant companion.

"It's the least I could do, Mrs. Scully," he rasped.

She smiled again and patted his arm.  "It's time you 
got back to the office."  She started toward her car, 
parked just yards away on the road winding through 
Arlington National Cemetery.

He didn't follow immediately.  Instead he looked 
down at the headstones, knowing they were nothing 
more than memorial tributes to the agents he hadn't 
seen in exactly two years.  It had been a fight to get 
one of the stones in place, politics and conspiracy 
dueling it out only to be placated by an innocuous 
memorial resolution at the hands of one US Senator.  
But it was only fitting that the two stones sit side by 
side, in this hallowed place.

Dana Scully
Fox Mulder

Special Agents, Fallen in the Line of Duty.

Skinner closed his eyes and let a prayer float 
silently toward the cloudless May sky.  If he could 
only find the answers.


St. Peter's Hospital
Helena, MT
same day
12:30 pm

"Push, Dana!  One more, push!" the doctor shouted 
from behind her surgical mask.  "C'mon, you've 
done this once today already, this should be a 
breeze!"

"I think, <pant, hufff> this one <pant> is bigger!" 
Dana gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Five pounds, four ounces, Mrs. Hale," said the 
nurse standing near the warming bed.  "Nineteen 
and a half inches long and lots of strawberry blond 
hair."  In the warmer lay a squalling red-faced 
infant, already wrapped in a bright pink blanket. 

"Get ready, Ellery.  This one will be faster," the 
doctor warned.  Fox Mulder looked over the 
draping at his partner of eleven years and tried to 
smile with his eyes.  In reality, he was scared 
shitless.

"You're doing fine," the nurse closest to the head of 
the bed assured Dana, who was panting and sweaty, 
as red faced as their newborn daughter.  

"I thought we discussed <pant> a C-section 
<pant>," Dana huffed out between her breaths.

"Yes, we did," the doctor agreed.  "And I firmly 
remember someone telling me they wanted to do 
this 'the old fashioned way'.  I even put it in my 
notes."

"Next time <huff, pant> _he_ doesn't get a vote!" 
Dana said with a glare at the man now seated 
between her legs.  

"Hey, no fair picking on the dad," Mulder heard the 
nurse beside him tell the assembled masses.  "He's 
been doing his part."

So far his part had been to catch their first daughter 
and cut the umbilical cord.  That should have been 
the end of it.  But never one to do anything easily, 
his partner had surprised him when she'd announced 
early in her pregnancy that the doctor thought she 
might be carrying twins.  A sonogram confirmed 
the suspicion and now Mulder was being pressed 
into service for the second time that day to help 
deliver their other daughter into the world.

"One more big one, Dana and this is all over," the 
doctor assured her.

"Unless there's another hiding in there," Mulder 
muttered and caught Scully's eyes.  In spite of 
herself, she grinned.  

"You better hope not," she warned him.  And then 
she drew in all her breath and pushed with all her 
might.  The tiny crown of blood-slicked hair soon 
became a full head and face.  The doctor's voice 
was reminding him to turn the baby to deliver the 
shoulders, but Mulder was ahead of the game and 
didn't need direction.  The only thought on his mind 
was that this was the most extreme possibility he 
would ever encounter -- that he and Scully had 
helped create not just one incredible life together, 
but now three lives.  He couldn't stop the tears that 
flowed freely down his face as the baby slipped into 
his gloved hands and he held her tenderly in his 
arms.

"Oh, god, Scu -- "  He caught his words just in time.  
"Sweetheart," he amended.  "She's beautiful."  The 
nurse had taken the baby and was handing him a set 
of clamps and a pair of scissors.  He applied the 
clamps as he'd been instructed and snipped the cord, 
separating his daughter from his lover's womb.  
"Oh, god, they're so beautiful," he whispered again.  

"My turn, Ellery," the doctor said cheerfully.  "Why 
don't you four get acquainted while I finish up down 
here," she said and Mulder moved out of the seat 
he'd occupied to give the obstetrician room to work.  

"Number two is five pounds, _six_ ounces," another 
nurse called out from the scale.  "And 20 inches 
long."

"So they aren't identical," Mulder said as he cradled 
Scully and the first of the twins.

"Identical is the genetic make up, love.  The weights 
can vary by a few ounces," Dana said with a tired 
smile.  "Hey, there, sweetheart!" she cooed to the 
baby in her arms.  "It's about time I got to hold you.  
See Daddy?  Do you see your Daddy standing 
there?"  The infant had her gaze locked on Mulder's 
mask-covered face.  He reached out his gloved 
finger and the neonate grabbed it in her fist, giving 
it a firm squeeze.  

"She's strong," Mulder commented through shining 
eyes.  

"Here's number two, Dad," the nurse said and 
handed him the second baby, also wrapped in a pink 
blanket, but this one was imprinted with tiny white 
bunnies.  "What are the names of these future Miss 
Americas?"

Mulder looked over at Scully and she looked back, 
worried expression firmly in place.  "We don't have 
names yet," she said apologetically.

"Actually, we have too many names," Mulder 
amended.  "We're just having some trouble 
narrowing the field."

"Our son wasn't named until he was three days old," 
Scully explained.  "We sort of like to get used to 
them first."

Mulder held the second infant out to Scully and 
with apparently practiced ease, they switched so 
that Mulder was holding the first baby in his arms 
while Scully cradled the other child on her chest.  
The second baby immediately began rooting for a 
breast.  "Well, this one seems to have her father's 
instincts," Scully said dryly.

"Thanks.  Now these woman all think I'm a sex 
maniac," Mulder shot back.

"Three kids under five years of age," said one nurse.  
"You do the math."  The room dissolved into 
giggles and chuckles.

"Hey, I can't be held responsible if the last two 
came as a matched set," Mulder tried to keep some 
dignity in his voice by failed miserably.

"Listen up, people," said the doctor, standing so she 
could be both seen and heard.  "Let's get these nice 
folks down to recovery, where Mom can try nursing 
a bit.  Then we'll take these young ladies down to 
the newborn nursery and I think there's a big brother 
waiting to see them."

In the recovery room, the nurse was very 
accommodating.  "You guys are a little too early," 
she announced as she helped Scully settle in the bed 
and handed one baby to her, then the other to 
Mulder.  "Next fall we open the maternity center 
and then you'll be able to stay in one room, and Dad 
can even stay the night in there if he wants."

"We just didn't think it was worth it to hold off on 
delivering them till the grand opening," Mulder said 
dryly.  The nurse gave him a curious look and then 
broke into laughter.  

"Oh, a joker, are you?  I'll have to keep an eye on 
you.  Now, here's the phone, you can make all the 
long distance calls you want, they'll be billed to 
your room.  Don't worry, we don't charge motel 
rates -- "

"Maybe a hotel on the lower East side of 
Manhattan," Mulder muttered and Scully shot him a 
'be good' look.

"Oh, you!" yelped the nurse and shook her head at 
him.  "Anyway, now might be a good time to call 
all those 'Grandmas and Grandpas' and tell them 
about the new arrivals.  The ones who aren't in the 
waiting room with your other little boy, of course."

"Those are friends out there," Scully said tensely.  
Mulder reached out his hand to grasp hers.  He 
could almost read her thoughts.  She wanted more 
than anything to reach out to that phone and dial a 
very familiar number in Baltimore, Maryland, but 
they both knew that was impossible.

Just as she had in the delivery room, the second 
baby showed an uncanny ability to latch on to the 
breast and was soon sucking happily, then fell off to 
sleep.  The older of the two seemed uninterested in 
eating, was more inclined to take in every thing 
around her.  

"We have a pragmatist and a dreamer, Woman," he 
said affectionately as he kissed his partner.  "We are 
in so much trouble!"

She laughed and the morose spell was broken, for a 
moment.  The sadness in her eyes couldn't be erased 
for long.

"We'll be able to contact her, someday, my love.  I 
promise," he told her solemnly, and she nodded her 
head, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.  
"Oh, Scully," he whispered and gathered her to him 
as much as the hospital bed and the two infants 
would allow.  "I know it's hard."

"I just miss her so much," Dana sobbed.  "I wish we 
could just get some word to her, somehow."

"I know, I know," Mulder crooned, stroking her 
hair.  "I'll work on it."

"We can't, Mulder," she whispered hoarsely.  "Now, 
more than before, we can't!  If 'they' found out 
about the twins and where William is -- "

"Shhh, don't get all upset," he whispered, kissing 
the crown of her head and rubbing her shoulders 
and the base of her neck, the fastest way on earth to 
relax her, as he'd become very aware during this 
most recent pregnancy.  "It doesn't look like it now, 
but you know how quickly things change."

"That's what I've afraid of," she hissed back, more 
tears falling down her cheeks.  "We have a perfect 
life right now.  I'm so afraid we're going to lose it."

The nurse came back, seeing the tears.  "Hey, hey, 
it's OK," she cooed, collecting both babies into their 
assigned bassinets.  "I think Mom needs a nap.  It 
was a long delivery, from what I've heard and 
you've been up all night.  Dad, you could lie down a 
bit, too, before we're scraping you up off the 
pavement.  You aren't here by yourself, are you?"

"No, we have friends and our three year old son out 
in the family lounge," Mulder said, helping Scully 
settled down in the bed.  "Taking a nap does sound 
like a good idea, huh, love?" he murmured as he 
lowered the head of the bed so she could rest 
comfortably.

"It feels so weird," Scully mumbled sleepily.  "I 
can't remember the last time I got to sleep on my 
back."

"Well, I remember at least one time, about 9 months 
ago," Mulder whispered in her ear and got the smile 
he hoped to receive.

"shut up," she mumbled and swatted ineffectually in 
the direction of his arm.  "Go show William his 
baby sisters."

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.  
"I'll be back later, when you wake up."  He was 
pretty sure she hadn't heard him because she was 
already asleep.

Family Lounge
1:45 pm

Mulder blearily made his way down the hall in the 
direction the desk nurse had pointed.  They'd 
arrived at the hospital at the ungodly hour of 2:15 
am and from the moment they'd hit the door, there 
had been some kind soul acting as his guide.  He 
was eternally grateful to his new employer, Carroll 
College, for allowing them to move into an 
apartment previously reserved for unmarried faculty 
members for the last month of Dana's pregnancy.  
They had missed their mountain hideaway in 
Alexandria, but driving the deserted streets of 
Helena for only six blocks after Dana's water broke 
at 2 in the morning was a lot easier than the 30 
miles from their home.  Now, once Dana and the 
girls had a chance to rest, they would be moving 
back home just in time for summer.

He found the family lounge, but it was deserted.  He 
was just about to ask if he had the right one when he 
turned and ran right into MC Hawthorne, carrying 
an unopened bottle of soda.

"Ellery!  My gosh, you scared me!  Are they here?" 
MC asked anxiously, leading him into the homey 
lounge.  A big screen television showed a baseball 
game.  Mulder was having a hard time 
concentrating on anything and the pitch on the set 
made for a pleasant distraction.

"Ellery?  Dana . . . the babies . . . delivery?" MC 
asked again patiently this time.  She was getting a 
bemused expression on her face at his inability to 
speak, or connect to the world around him.

"Oh, come here," she directed in mild disgust.  
"Sit," she ordered.  Amazingly, he sat.  "Drink this," 
she said, handing him the soda.  Like an automaton, 
he unscrewed the cap and drank half the contents, 
preceding to release a good portion of the CO2 back 
in the atmosphere in the form of a window-shaking 
belch.  MC shook her head in exasperation, then 
stood directly between him and the ball game.  
"Now, then, how is everyone?"

He looked up at her and recognition hit.  "MC," he 
said, as if she'd just entered the room.  Then, more 
realization took place.  He looked frantically around 
the lounge.  "Where's Will?"

"Relax, Dad," MC said with a laugh.  "Joe took him 
to McDonald's.  They're at the playland.  I told them 
I'd call as soon as there was news.  So, is there 
news?"

"Oh, god, yes," Mulder said, smacking his head.  
"I'm sorry.  I'm just a little out of it.  Yes, everyone 
is fine, just fine.  First one was born at just a little 
past 12 and the second one came along about 12:30.  
Five pounds four ounces, 19 and half inches, and 
five pounds, six and 20 inches.  Strawberry blond 
hair, once they cleaned 'em up."

"Oh, Dana must be thrilled!" MC exclaimed, 
hugging her friend.  "I'm so happy for you, Ellery!"

Mulder hugged the small woman back.  "I'm pretty 
happy, too," he said tiredly.  They broke apart and 
he leaned back against the sofa cushions.  "I just 
wish Will were here.  I want him to see the babies."

"Daddy, Daddy!  Look what I got in my Happy 
Meal.  A soccer guy!  Uncle Joe lets me have Dr. 
Pepper!  We played in the playballs," Will hit the 
family lounge like a three-foot dynamo.

"Hey there, buddy!" Mulder said, grabbing his son 
and lifting him up on his lap.  "What do you have 
there?"

"It's a soccer guy.  Uncle Joe said I can play soccer 
when I get big.  Can we get a soccer ball and we can 
play at school?"

"We'll talk about that later.  I have a surprise," 
Mulder said, winking up at Joe and MC who were 
watching fondly a few feet away.  "You have two 
new baby sisters," he announced proudly.

"I know," Will said calmly.  "Missy and Sammi.  
Can I go see them now?" he asked.

Mulder stared at the little boy for a moment.  
"Buddy, Mommy and Daddy haven't . . . what did 
you call them?"

"Missy and Sammi, Daddy.  Missy was born first.  
Sammi was next.  I'm the oldest!" he said with great 
seriousness.  "Auntie Mary said so."

"He's been talking about them since we got here," 
Joe said with a shrug.  "He told us their names are 
Melissa Margaret and Samantha Ann.  I figured you 
guys must have decided on the names in the last day 
or two and just didn't tell us."

Mulder tried to cover his concern.  "We hadn't 
really considered those names," he said slowly.

"Daddy, Missy and Sammi are waitin'," Will said 
emphatically.  "C'mon!"

"Will, where did you hear those names for the 
babies?" Mulder asked, a cold chill taking hold in 
the pit of his stomach.

"The ladies told me," he said casually, fingering his 
toy soccer player.

"What ladies?" Mulder prodded.

"The ones that come in my room when I'm 
sleepin'," Will said with a smile.  "They're real 
pretty.  They have long hair, and they smile all the 
time.  They're real nice.  Their names are Missy and 
Sam.  They told me the babies' names."

MC and Joe looked confused and Mulder didn't 
want to go into details without consulting Scully.  
"Well, for the moment, let's wait until we see 
Mommy to decide the babies names," Mulder said 
evenly, hoping he didn't upset Will or scare him 
with his reaction.

Will was thrilled that he was allowed to hold each 
new sister, but it didn't take long for him to get 
restless and bored with the babies.  MC offered to 
take him back to the apartment for a nap.

"You two have to get home, don't you?" Mulder 
asked.  "The kids -- "

"Now, Hale, you know the kids are fine.  Meg is 
taking the boys to baseball practice.  I told them I'd 
be home tonight, MC wants to stay for a day or two 
until Dana gets settled.  This is the closest thing to 
being a grandmother she's likely to get in the 
foreseeable future, so let her horn in, er, help for a 
while," Joe said, earning himself a quick kick to the 
shin.

"That would be wonderful," Mulder admitted.  He 
and Scully had discussed the big picture often when 
they were planning for the babies' arrival, but the 
little details always seemed to scurry out of view.

"Joe got me a room at the Hampton Inn, right across 
from campus," MC said.  "I'll take Will to the 
apartment for a nap and then tonight, when you're 
there, I'll fix some dinner so you can rest, too.  Of 
course, you'll want to come back up here during 
visiting hours, but they're pretty strict about kicking 
you out right at 9.  Joe can tell you."

"I have the boot marks on my ass to prove it," Joe 
said, rubbing his hip.

Mulder paced the hall until the nurse finally let him 
down to see Dana.  She was looking better after her 
nap.  They'd let her take a short shower and she was 
dressed in the nightgown he'd bought for her on her 
birthday, a nursing gown just as she'd requested.  
He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt when he saw her.

"Hey, good lookin'," she said as she held out her 
arms to him.  He fell into her embrace happily.  
"Did you get some rest?" she asked.

"Not a bit," he murmured as he buried his face in 
her hair.  "Don't need sleep.  Must make enough to 
support large family," he spoke in robotic tones.

She laughed at him and stroked his hair.  Finally, he 
sat up and took her hand.  "Will's with MC at the 
apartment.  I figure I'll bring him up to see you 
tonight."

"Good.  I want to read him a bedtime story," she 
said as she settled back in the pillows.  

Mulder nodded and made a close examination of 
her blankets.  She knew something was bothering 
him, but was hesitant to pull it out of him. She 
squeezed his hand to force him to look at her.  
"Hey, what's up?"

He sucked on his tongue a moment, gathering his 
wits.  "Have you thought about their names?" he 
asked innocently.

She smiled at him and pulled her hand away to 
reveal a small book hidden under the blankets.  
_20,000 Baby Names_

"I'm been reading some," she admitted guiltily.  
"But I was only making notes to go over with you.  
I know last time I sort of sprung Will's name on 
you, you didn't get a chance to even say if you had 
an alternative."
 
"Well, technically, you did most of the work on 
Will," he pointed out.  "I wasn't even fast enough to 
make it for his birth."  As always, he tried to cover 
his discomfort with humor.

She pulled his hand to her mouth to kiss his 
knuckles.  "You were there for all the really 
important parts," she reminded him.  "So, have you 
been thinking of names?"

"No," he said honestly.  "But apparently Will has."

She frowned and looked at him with a tilt to her 
head.  He continued.  "He's been calling them Missy 
and Sammi."

Her sudden intake of breath echoed his reaction.

"I know.  I asked him where he heard those names.  
I mean, we've mentioned your sister Melissa and 
my sister Samantha, but I don't remember calling 
them by their nicknames."

"No, no, I don't either, but it's always possible.  
Why?  How do you think he came up with them?" 
she asked.

"I asked him.  He said 'the ladies' told him.  The 
ladies who come into his room when he's sleeping."

Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes flew open 
wide.  "Ohmigod . . ."

He squeezed her hand still clasped in his palm.  
"Scully," he whispered, "he said they were very 
pretty and very nice.  He said they smile all the 
time.  And they told him their names are Missy and 
Sam.  He told MC that the babies are named 
Melissa Margaret and Samantha Ann.  Now, I never 
knew Missy's middle name and I know I've never 
used Sam's middle name around Will, she avoided it 
as much as I've avoided Fox."

"You think they came to him?" she asked in a tiny, 
frightened voice.

He nodded.  "But so far, all of these visitations, for 
all of us, have been positive.  They're watching over 
us, Scully," he continued in low tones.  "I think it's 
wonderful.  And I sort of feel, well, it would seem 
ungrateful if we didn't, you know -- "

"So we name the babies after our sisters, because 
our sisters came to Will in a dream and told him to 
tell us," she completed for him.  "Mulder, what 
next?  Is your mother going to come one night and 
offer to babysit for us?" she asked derisively.

"I don't think she's the type, sweetheart.  She's more 
the 'send the kids a card with money' type 
Grandma," he responded.

Scully sat there, considering all the implications for 
a moment.  Tears started down her cheeks again.

"You know, hormones are a bitch," he said fondly 
as he wiped her cheek with his thumb.

"I was just thinking that the only one of our parents 
who don't know about us and the kids . . ."

"Is your mother," he said sadly.  She nodded and 
her face crumbled as she broke down into sobs.

Mulder took her into his arms and held her close.  "I 
promise, we'll get word to her.  I just have to figure 
out a safe way to do it.  But I will work on it, I 
swear to you, Scully.  I will work on it."

end of part one

Flight into Egypt:  Remembrance (2 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley

FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
Violent Crimes Unit.
July 20, 2003

His desk was at the back of the room, in a corner 
that had previously been home to the copier.  The 
irony was not lost on him.  Walter Skinner 
straightened the sheets of paper in his hand and 
returned them to the folder on his desk.  Another 
file, another case.  He wasn't allowed to work in the 
field, he was just allowed to consult.  Most of his 
consultations were over the phone and it was given 
no real authority over the investigations.  In short, 
he was punching the clock, just taking up space 
until his retirement in five years.

Skinner still wasn't sure why they hadn't just fired 
him.  John Doggett had been summarily dismissed 
upon his return from Arizona.  He'd gone back to 
New York where he was once again on the police 
force.  Monica Reyes had not even left a forwarding 
address, but he'd heard she'd moved back to New 
Orleans.  He wondered briefly why she didn't go to 
New York with Doggett, but decided it was best not 
to worry about such things.  Besides, after Deputy 
Director Kersh's complete vanishing act, from the 
Hoover Building in the middle of the day after he'd 
help Mulder escape a death squad, Skinner decided 
it was best not to look into anything too deeply.

And no one had seen or heard from Fox Mulder and 
Dana Scully in over two years.  After much debate, 
and the testimony of Doggett and Reyes that they'd 
last seen the pair entering a pueblo that had been 
destroyed by rocket fire, the official version was 
that the two were killed in the line of duty.  Skinner 
realized that was as much to keep Scully's brothers 
and her mother off the trail of the conspiracy as it 
was any honor to the two agents.  

Skinner had tried, just once, to contact the person 
who had helped him place baby William with his 
adoptive family.  The phone number was 
disconnected.  Skinner worried about that, too, 
when he allowed his mind to go in that direction.

For the most part, he was just trying to survive.

He picked up the file folder on the top of the pile.  
Three deaths across the northeast.  A serial killer 
was suspected.  The only impairment to the 
investigation, there were no bodies of the victims.  
There were witnesses to each murder, had different 
descriptions of the murderer, but they were sketchy 
at best.  Tall, at least 6 foot.  Built, or so one 
witness had described him.  But the murders had 
occurred in shadows, dark alleys, at a mostly 
deserted rest stop in Massachusetts.  No make on 
even the race of the killer.  

Skinner pulled the pages forward and adjusted his 
glasses.  The case was interesting.  A sudden twinge 
caught him in the gut.  Just the kind of case he 
would have sent downstairs to the basement.  An X 
file.  But the X files were closed, the filing cabinets 
packed off to some warehouse, the old office once 
again a copy room.  Every bit of evidence that there 
had ever been an X Files Division had been erased, 
possibly like the two agents who had made up that 
division.  He shook his head to dispel his maudlin 
thoughts.    

"Give it to Walter, this should be up his alley."

Skinner cringed at the sound of the SAC's voice.  
Gary McDaniel.  He'd been McDaniel's supervisor 
just two years ago.  The tough young agent had 
been hanging by a thread, had two reprimands 
already in his jacket.  One more disciplinary notice 
and he would have been standing before OPR.  But 
McDaniel apparently had some friends, and after 
Kersh's disappearance and Skinner's own fall from 
grace, McDaniel's found himself in the catbird's 
seat.  He was making sure to remind Skinner of his 
position every single day.

The file folder made a loud 'thump' when it hit the 
corner of his desk.  "You're good at fertilizer 
checks, Walter, aren't you?" McDaniel sneered.  
"After all those years of bullshit from those losers in 
the basement."

Skinner sat stone still, holding his anger tight in his 
chest.  He had nothing left except his pension and 
he had two years before he could even think about 
retiring.  Well, 22 months, 18 days, he glanced 
down at his watch and mentally did the calculations.  
Five hours and 12 minutes.  He could hold it in that 
long.  Maybe.

"You have your assignment, Agent Skinner.  I 
suggest you pick up that phone and let your fingers 
do the walking."

"I thought I was supposed to review the work on 
these killings, sir," Skinner said with an emphasis 
on the 'sir' that made his jaw ache.

"Well, you thought wrong, Skinner," McDaniel 
sneered.  "That's way out of your league now, 
mister."

He forced himself to look up at the glowering 
young man staring down at him.  Skinner refused to 
flinch in front of the little bastard.

"Did you hear me, Skinner?  Start shoveling that 
shit," McDaniel smirked.

The folder was just inches from his fingertips.  He 
fought the urge to throw it in McDaniel's face.  
Instead, using very controlled movements, he 
opened McDaniel's folder, grabbed the phone 
receiver and dialed the first number.

McDaniel started to walk away, but turned around a 
few feet from Skinner's desk.  "Let me know if 
anything 'Spooky' pops up, Walter," McDaniel 
called out as one last parting shot.  The pull bit 
erupted in loud snickering as the other agents 
caught the joke.  Skinner squared his shoulders and 
didn't look up.  Only the ring tone of the receiver 
heard his near silent "Yes sir, asshole!"

12:00

The only bright spot in Walter Skinner's week came 
at lunchtime on Thursdays.  After years of being his 
Administrative Assistant, Kimberly Mathers was 
heartbroken when she was forced to change jobs 
after Skinner's demotion.  The worse luck for Kim 
was that she ended up working on the sixth floor, 
the Director's offices.  It was a step up the ladder for 
Kim, but it just pounded home how far her former 
boss had fallen.  About a month after Skinner's new 
assignment, Kim made a point of bumping into him 
at the Bureau cafeteria.  She suggested that they 
would find better food at a local diner.  Skinner 
took a chance and went there the next day at noon.  
Sure enough, Kim was there and they had lunch 
together.  They had been meeting for lunch every 
Thursday since that day.

Kim had suggested a new place, a little further from 
the Bureau, the last time they'd met.  Skinner 
arrived at noon straight up and looked around.  It 
was a small Mexican restaurant.  He got a table for 
two and sat down, munching chips and salsa until 
Kim arrived.  She was almost ten minutes late and 
he was starting to get worried.  She hurried over to 
the table, immediately apologizing.

"Walter, I'm so sorry!  The office was a mess this 
morning and I just couldn't get a way."

"Kim, that's perfectly all right.  You have a lot of 
responsibilities, keeping those bozos in line up there 
on six," Skinner teased.

"Believe it.  And here I left a good job working as 
an aide at a day care to come to work for the 
Government," she said with a sigh.  "Some days I 
feel like I'm back there."

Skinner chuckled.  It was the only pleasure he got 
anymore.  He often thought about asking Kim out 
after work, but each time had decided against it.  He 
was a pariah and the last thing he wanted to do was 
drag her down with him.  Better to keep their 
relationship to the occasional lunch, if it allowed 
Kim to keep her position at the office.

They looked over the menus and gave the waiter 
their order.  As soon as the young man had left, 
Skinner's curiosity got the better of him.

"So, what emergency befell the upper echelons of 
power today?  White House briefing?  Tenet called 
and cancelled the joint CIA-FBI golf outing?" he 
asked with a devilish grin.

She giggled.  "Oh, no, not the golf outing!  I would 
have had to cancel this lunch if that had happened," 
she shot back.  "No, apparently Deputy Director 
Marris left.  And from what I could gather, it was 
quite sudden."

"Marris?" Skinner asked and a flood of 
apprehension swept through him.  "Wasn't he . . ."

Kim looked around them furtively and then leaned 
closer to Skinner, lowering her voice.  "On Agent 
you know who's little jury?  Yes, he was.  He took 
DD Kersh's place after Kersh disappeared."

Skinner had been fairly certain that Alvin Kersh 
would not be 'reappearing'.  He was positive Kersh 
had been killed for his part in helping Mulder 
escape the military stockade.  As always, no body 
was found and no investigation was made.  It was as 
if Kersh had just decided to find employment 
elsewhere.  "You say Marris left?  Where did he 
go?"

Kim's eyebrows knitted and she shrugged.  "That's 
what his secretary would like to know," she said 
conspiratorially.  "He was at work yesterday, had a 
full appointment schedule for today.  He never 
called in.  She was informed by the front office 
about ten o'clock."  The 'front office' was Kim's 
nickname for the Attorney General's office.

Skinner chewed on his lip.  Their food arrived and 
the conversation changed directions to the new 
sitcom that Kim had convinced Skinner to start 
watching.  They didn't discuss Marris or his 
disappearance again for the rest of the lunch.   

The next day, Skinner was at his desk, again 
looking through the file on the murders without 
bodies.  He pulled up a map program on the internet 
and charted the path.  It appeared that the killer or 
killers were traveling south, along the eastern 
seaboard.  As he was trying to figure out how that 
fit with what they already knew, which was next to 
nothing, his phone rang.  It was Kim.

"Walter, can you meet for lunch?" she asked, and 
only the note of desperation in her voice stopped 
him from teasing her about having to see him again 
so soon.

"Sure.  Just not Mexican, OK?  I think those 
burritos were filled with explosives."

That lightened the moment a little.  She chuckled.  
"OK, how about hot dogs on the Mall.  Same time."

"I'll see you then," he promised and put the phone 
down slowly.  He couldn't imagine what had Kim 
so rattled.  It would be a long three hours until 
lunchtime.

It was a beautiful day on the Capitol Mall.  The 
tourists were in full bloom, several tour buses were 
already spewing forth passengers in front of the 
National Gallery of Art.  Skinner hurried across the 
lawn to the hot dog vendor near the Smithsonian 
Castle.  Kim had beaten him and was already 
holding her dog and drink.  She waited while he got 
his food and then nodded up the street toward the 
Capitol.  "It's a nice day.  Can we walk?" she asked.  
He nodded in agreement.

"So, what's up?  Today isn't Thursday," he said 
pointedly as they made their way up the sidewalk 
past the Air and Space Museum.

"Two more of them are gone, Walter.  I'm getting 
scared," she said succinctly.

"Who is gone?" he asked, stopping in mid bite.

"Two more of the men on the sixth floor!  An AD 
and another DD," she said in a whisper.

"Names?"

"Brinker and Huffman," she said, looking quickly at 
the crowd of tourist that was about to surround 
them.  "Shhh, I don't want anyone to hear."

They made their way through the tourists, who were 
all from some Latin American country from the 
sounds of their chatter, and Skinner directed her 
over to a bench to sit down.

"Kim, is this like yesterday?  What do you mean 
they are gone?"

"They were both at work yesterday, and never 
showed up today.  But Walter, that's not the scary 
part.  It's like they never existed!  They're names are 
being removed from their doors as we speak.  It's 
just spooky," she said with a visible shiver.  

The word hit him hard.  She noticed immediately.  
"Oh, darn it, I'm sorry, Walter.  I didn't mean that . . 
. you know what I mean," she mumbled helplessly.
 
"No, it's OK, Kim.  I understand," he tried to 
reassure her.  "Brinker and Huffman and yesterday 
it was Marris."

"All of them gone.  Poof!" she said, snapping her 
fingers.  "Walter, I knew Marris had a hand in that . 
. . situation a few years ago, but I didn't know if 
Brinker . . ."

"Both Brinker and Huffman were on that jury, 
Kim," Skinner confirmed her suspicions.

"Oh shit," Kim said, staring down at her drink.  She 
finally raised her eyes to meet his.  "Walter, these 
men, I admit I didn't care about them one way or 
another, but to just vanish without a trace . . ."

"Kim, I want you to go back to the office and just 
leave this alone," Skinner said gruffly.  At her 
startled expression, he softened his tone.  "I think 
you're right to be scared.  But if you leave this 
alone, nothing will happen to you."

"Walter," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm not 
afraid for me.  I'm afraid for you!  You were Agent 
Mulder's defense attorney.  If all the members of 
that jury start vanishing, what might happen to 
you?"

Skinner looked into her eyes and was absolutely 
floored by what he saw there.  If he didn't know 
better, he could swear he saw love in Kim's eyes.  
He shook his head slowly, not quite believing.  
Then Kim took his hand in hers and the sensation 
completely blew him away.   

"Walter, I know you've hated being down in VCS 
and you're only sticking it out to get your pension.  
But please, if you're in any danger, get out now.  If 
anything were to happen to you . . ." she looked 
away and as she turned her head, Skinner could see 
tears on her lashes.

"Kim . . . I don't . . ."  He stopped himself.  This 
wasn't the time or place to have a conversation 
about where their relationship was headed.  Kim 
was right, he could be in danger.  The very last 
place she should be seen was with him.  "We need 
to get back to the office, but I think we should go 
there separately.  You go ahead, I'll follow in a few 
minutes."

"You think this is something.  You think you're in 
danger, too," she said quietly.

He smiled wanly at her.  "I think I'm very lucky you 
got that promotion to the sixth floor," he said 
calmly.  "Now, you need to get back."

She nodded and started to get up.  Suddenly, she 
leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  "Be 
careful, Walter," she pleaded.  Before he could 
recover from his shock, she was half a block away.

Walter spent the rest of the afternoon trying to 
locate any mention of the three missing men in the 
Bureau's files.  The directory of staff had been 
changed and even Holly in research couldn't find 
any mention of them in the personnel files.  Skinner 
was more convinced than ever that the men were 
murdered and a cover up was underway.  His only 
question was why.

Five o'clock finally arrived and Skinner shut down 
his computer and headed home.  His apartment in 
Crystal City was dark and lonely, as always.  He 
deposited his suit coat on the back of an armchair 
and his tie on the coffee table.  Pulling out a yellow 
post it note, he dialed a number he'd found online.

"Peter Kallenbrunner," answered the other party 
after the second ring.  

Skinner cringed.  The last man on earth he ever 
expected to be calling was Agent Kallenbrunner.  
He could still see the man, could still picture him as 
he sat at the prosecution's table in that dungeon of a 
courtroom.  It was everything Skinner could do not 
to hang up the phone.  "Agent Kallenbrunner, this is 
Walter Skinner."

There was silence on the other end of the line for 
several seconds.  "Skinner?  What can I do for you 
Assistant Director?"

Skinner swallowed and eyed his makeshift bar on 
the counter in the kitchen.  He'd have given his right 
arm for a glass of bourbon at that moment.  "It's 
Agent Skinner now."

Kallenbrunner was quiet again.  "I'm sorry to hear 
that.  Anyway, what can I do for you, Agent 
Skinner?"

"It's come to my attention that men are 
disappearing.  Men who have something in common 
. . . with you and me."

"We have something in common, Agent Skinner?" 
came the slightly bemused voice over the phone 
line.  "I don't think you would have thought that two 
years ago."

"That is precisely what I'm talking about," Skinner 
ground out angrily.  "Our last meeting, we weren't 
alone."

"I'm very well aware that we weren't the only ones 
in the room, Skinner.  And two years ago, one of the 
men who was also in that room disappeared without 
a trace.  I don't remember getting a phone call from 
you at that time."

"Agent Mulder was set up," Skinner growled.  "And 
you know it!  You knew it when the body failed to 
be Knowle Rohrer."

"That was an unsubstantiated rumor perpetrated by 
the lover of the defendant.  I find it hardly . . ."

"Listen to me, you asshole!" Skinner shouted.  "The 
members of that kangaroo court, the jury members, 
and I use that term loosely, are failing to show up at 
their jobs.  There is no explanation and more 
importantly, no investigation of their whereabouts."

"Maybe they just got jobs somewhere else," 
Kallenbrunner suggested but he was at least 
listening.

"No, it has been too sudden.  No warning, they are 
just gone.  Their names were removed from the 
personnel files the day of their disappearance."

"You hacked into the Bureau personnel files, 
Skinner?"

"I didn't 'hack' into anything, you son of a bitch!  I 
have a friend who looked for me.  Will you pull that 
Rule Book out of your ass and just listen to me for a 
moment?  We could be next!"

He was again met with silence from the man in 
California.  "What do you want me to do?" 
Kallenbrunner asked tersely.

"The two other members of the jury, Hanson and 
Galbrith, where are they?"

"Hanson was assigned to the New Mexico Regional 
office and Galbrith is out here in LA.  He's my 
boss."

Skinner's stomach dropped to the floor.  This might 
not have been the best idea he'd had.  "Keep an eye 
on Galbrith, I'll keep an eye on Hanson."

"What if they come for one of us?  I have a wife . . . 
and kids," Kallenbrunner whispered into the phone 
line.

Skinner closed his eyes.  "We keep in touch.  I'll 
call you about this time each day."

"Call my cell phone.  I don't want this going 
through the Bureau switchboard."  Kallenbrunner 
rattled off his number.

"Good thinking," Skinner complimented him and 
returned the favor.  "If something happens, if you 
need me, just call."

"Skinner," Kallenbrunner called out just before the 
older man had disconnected the call.

"Yeah?"

"Is this what they mean when they say 'strange 
bedfellows?"

If was a lame excuse for a joke, and Skinner took it 
to mean that the younger man was now truly 
frightened.  "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Shit," came the response.  Kallenbrunner hung up 
before Skinner had a chance to reply.

Skinner sat there with the phone still in his hand 
until the automated voice asked him if he cared to 
place another call and directed him to hang up the 
phone.  Slowly, he put the phone back on its cradle.

Kallenbrunner hadn't been much help, but at least 
Skinner now knew the whereabouts of the two other 
jurors.  If he were a betting man, he'd bet on the guy 
in New Mexico disappearing next.

New Mexico.  Skinner shivered as the memory 
coursed over him.  Scully, in tears.  Monica telling 
her she didn't have to decide that night, she should 
think on it, she should sleep on it.  Finally, Doggett 
had taken Monica home and it was just he and 
Scully.  When she'd looked at him with those tears 
in her eyes, his heart had broken into a million 
pieces.  "I want William to be safe," she'd sobbed, 
holding herself so rigid he thought she would 
shatter if a feather had landed in her lap.  "Make 
sure he's safe."

He had accepted that charge.  He contacted an old 
buddy from the Marines and he found a place for 
William, a quiet place, a good home.  He alone 
knew the location, in case it was an emergency, in 
case he learned that William wasn't safe, even in the 
safest of places.  It was the least he could after all 
she'd been through.  

Now he knew he'd have to go out to New Mexico, 
just to make sure.  If every member of Mulder's jury 
was disappearing, could his son be in danger?  It 
was a chance Skinner just couldn't take.  He dialed 
the Bureau offices, left a message on McDaniel's 
voicemail.  He was taking a few weeks of vacation, 
effective immediately.

end of part two 

Flight into Egypt:  Remembrance (3 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley

Hale Household
Alexandria, MT
June 19, 2004
6:05 am

Mulder leaned over to finish tying a shoelace when 
he heard it.  Not it, he admonished himself -- them.  
The twins.  It was a morning ritual.  He hadn't had a 
good morning run since the babies came home from 
the hospital.   He sighed resignedly and climbed the 
stairs to the nursery that used to be his office.  On 
opposite sides of the room, two identical cribs 
framed the window that overlooked the 'Old Man', 
as he and Scully referred to 'their' mountain.  The 
birds were just starting up a chatter in the aspen tree 
outside the window.  

Neither baby was crying.  Melissa had her fist in her 
mouth, sucking vigorously.  Little Samantha was 
eyeing the mobile above her head -- Blues Clues 
characters, at her older brother's insistence, danced 
in the faint breeze.  She was staring so hard, her tiny 
blue eyes were crossed.  When they heard their 
father's approach, both babies turned their heads 
toward the door.

"Hey, there, what are you two doing up this early?  
Why can't you be more like your mom, huh?  Sleep 
in a little, and give your old man a break?"  Mulder 
scooped up first Samantha and then Melissa into his 
arms.  He'd gotten fairly proficient at carrying both 
babies.  He danced them around the room once and 
then deposited Melissa in her infant seat while he 
quickly diapered her sister, then switched babies 
and repeated the process.  Soon, he had them both 
in his arms again and he sat down in the glider that 
occupied the corner of the room.  "Well, ladies, 
that's the extent of my duties, until you decide to 
take a bottle or start on solid food."  The babies 
stared up at him, mesmerized.

Little feet in the hallway alerted him to another 
inhabitant of the house, but unfortunately, not one 
that could lend him much assistance.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," yawned a droopy-eyed 
William from the doorway.  "Put the babies down 
and make me oatmeal," the little boy pleaded.

"Will, what did your mom and I tell you about 
that?" Mulder asked, giving his son a frown.

William sighed, unknowingly mimicking his father 
from just moments before.  "The babies are littler 
and they come first.  But that means I come second, 
right?  Or sometime?"

Mulder had a hard time keeping a straight face in 
light of his son's perceptive logic.  "Yes, it does.  
And either Mommy or I will get you some oatmeal 
in just a minute.  I was hoping we could let Mommy 
sleep a little this morning, but maybe it's time to 
wake her up."

"No need," yawned Scully as she ruffled William's 
hair and stepped around him to walk across the 
room and crouch next to Mulder and her daughters.  
"I'm up.  Heads or tails?" she asked.

"Too late, I changed 'em already."  Mulder smiled at 
her.  "But if you make Will's oatmeal, I'll keep the 
girls occupied."

"Deal," Scully said, reaching up to capture a good 
morning kiss from her partner.  "Did you get your 
run?" she asked, noticing for the first time his attire 
of running shorts and tee shirt.

He shook his head and shrugged.  "Maybe when 
they're in kindergarten?" he offered.

"More likely when they're in college," Scully said 
tiredly and ushered William down the hall.  "I'll 
make coffee."

"I knew there was a reason I love you," he said 
loudly enough for her to hear over William jumping 
down each step of the staircase.

Melissa fussed slightly in his arms and he leveraged 
her onto his shoulder.  "I know, I know, you're 
hungry.  Mommy will be back soon," he crooned to 
her.  Looking down at Samantha, he smiled.  "And 
you're just content to check out the window, hmm?"  

He followed the baby's gaze out the window to the 
mountain.  It was beautiful in the early morning 
light.  The last of the snow had melted from their 
yard, but there was still snow on the top of the 
mountain.  Drawing his line of sight indoors, he 
looked around the room.  It was a sweet little 
nursery.  He and Scully had fixed it up a few 
months before the babies arrived, with considerable 
help from Joe and MC Hawthorne.  The room 
sported cream-colored walls with a border of 
dancing teddy bears.  He was happy at how it had 
turned out, but more so when he saw the look of 
gratitude on Scully's face when she had seen the 
finished product for the first time.  Of course, in 
true pregnant fashion, she had broken down into 
tears and sobbed into his paint-splattered shirt.  But 
he knew they were tears of joy.

"Have you thought more about the house?" Scully 
asked softly as she stepped into the room.

"Is William eating?" he asked, ignoring her question 
for the moment.

"Yes, and I started the coffee; it'll be ready when 
you go clean up his mess.  Now I believe it's this 
lady's turn," Scully said, lifting Melissa out of her 
father's arms.  "I'll lay down with her.  Come talk to 
me."

Mulder switched Samantha to his shoulder and 
followed Scully into their bedroom.  She moved the 
blankets aside and lay down on her side, slipping 
open her nursing gown and helping the infant latch 
on to her nipple.  Mulder stood watching her, 
mesmerized, a warm and strongly protective feeling 
rushing through him.

"How long are you going to breastfed them both, 
Scully?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She smiled up at him.  "Oh, probably until they're 
six months old.  Then we'll see.  I enjoy it, Mulder.  
And I get plenty of rest, with you home most days.  
Since Meggie has been coming to help out, I sleep 
longer than William."

"That's not saying much," Mulder scoffed.

"Mulder, you're deflecting," she teased.  When he 
gave her a confused look, she prodded further.  
"The house?"

He chewed on his lip and looked around their 
bedroom.  It was small, but served its purpose.  
Still, with two new additions to the family, he 
wondered how long it would be before they began 
feeling cramped.  He looked out their bedroom 
window to the trees in the yard and by the road.  
The crabapple blossoms still littered the ground.  
The redbud was finally loosing the last of its purple 
flowers.  It had been breathtaking, this house in the 
springtime.

"I think . . . I think we need to add on," he said 
slowly, looking over at her.  "Maybe a master 
bedroom up here and a real office downstairs.  
When the girls are older, one of them can have this 
room and the other can keep the nursery -- with 
suitable redecorating, of course."

She smiled up at him.  "So we're going to buy this 
house?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"I wanted to say yes last night when they called.  
Mulder, we're safe here.  It's been two years and 
nothing has happened, no military has come looking 
for you, no super-soldiers have been looking for 
William.  Besides, if we don't take it we have to 
move and the thought of moving right now . . ."

"But I'm talking about adding on, and that's a 
headache, too," he countered.

"I can live through plaster and sawdust if I don't 
have to pack," she said with a grin.  

"Then I'll call Jim later today.  It's a shame about his 
dad dying, but Jimmy was 89 and it sounds like the 
old guy had a good life.  If we buy the house it will 
be one less thing for his family to worry about.  I 
don't want to keep them waiting.  They want to get 
the estate settled as soon as possible."

"Dana, Mr. Hale, I'm here," came a young voice 
from the downstairs hall.  

"We're up in the bedroom, Meg.  Come on up," 
Scully called down to the teen.

"How come you're 'Dana' and I'm still 'Mr. Hale'?" 
Mulder asked with a scowl.

"Because she doesn't have a school girl crush on 
me," Scully answered with a malicious grin.  "She 
thinks you're 'awesome,' but totally out of her 
league."

"Are you sure you aren't confusing me with Orlando 
Bloom?" Mulder whispered back as he heard 
footsteps on the stairs.

"Not a chance.  Don't worry, I'm used to your 
'effect' on women, Mulder.  I would bet good 
money that half the girls taking Deviant Behavior 
this summer are there just to see if you come in to 
teach class wearing a muscle shirt and cut off 
shorts," she said affably.

He looked down at his running clothes, a University 
of Montana sweatshirt minus the sleeves and a pair 
of Nike running shorts.  He grinned at her.  "Maybe 
I just won't change for class," he teased.

"Hit the showers," Scully laughed.  She moved from 
the bed with Melissa and was about to pick up 
Samantha when Meg entered the room.

"Oh, let me get her, Dana.  Hey, Sammi, how's my 
girl?" Meg asked fondly as she expertly lifted the 
newborn.  Hearing the new voice, Melissa turned 
toward the sound.  "I'm not ignoring you, Missy!" 
she told the infant.  "Do you want me to give them 
baths this morning, Dana?"

"In a little while.  I think now they just want to play.  
I'll go find out what William's up to and grab a bowl 
of cereal."

"He's playing cars in the kitchen," Meg assured her 
as she carried Samantha downstairs to the living 
room, followed by Scully carrying Melissa.  Both 
babies were placed on their backs in a soft-sided 
playpen by the big double window.  "I'll watch 
them, you go get some breakfast."

Thirty minutes later, Scully was pouring coffee in a 
travel mug as Mulder entered the kitchen, dressed in 
chinos and a polo shirt and looking more like a 
tennis player than a college professor.  

"You didn't get breakfast," she said.  "Do you want 
a bagel for the road?"

"I'm good.  I have to watch those calories.  Don't 
want to disappoint my fan club," he sniggered.  She 
slapped him on the shoulder as she handed him the 
mug.  He took a sip and put it down on the 
countertop.

"So you're going to call Jimmy's son today?" she 
asked.

"And the bank to transfer the money.  Should be 
pretty quick, since we aren't going through a 
mortgage company.  Can you ask MC and Joe about 
contractors in the area?"

"I'll call them this afternoon."  She looked out the 
kitchen window, her eyes becoming shadowed and 
pensive.

"Having second thoughts?" he asked, hugging her 
from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

She smiled at their reflection in the glass of the 
windowpane.  "No.  I just didn't think it would be 
this easy.  I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"We're out of the car, Scully.  And both my shoes 
are on my feet."  He kissed the top of her head.  
"You, however, look really cute barefoot," he 
whispered as he nuzzled her ear.

"Caveman," she accused and gave him another 
swat, followed by a kiss.  "Get to work.  Act like 
you do something for a living," she teased and 
handed him the mug again.  He kissed her one more 
time and headed for the door.

Maggie Scully residence
Baltimore, MD
June 19, 2004
10:15 am

Maggie dumped the dregs of her coffee cup into the 
sink and rinsed the cup, leaving it to dry on the dish 
drainer.  There was no putting it off any longer.  
The parish garage sale was in one week and she'd 
vowed to go through some of the boxes stored in the 
garage for possible donations.  She told herself she 
wasn't giving up, that even if her daughter returned 
home someday, the clothes she'd left behind in her 
apartment would be woefully out of date.  Many of 
the items had been hanging in dry cleaner bags for 
months before Dana's middle-of-the-night 
departure, the slim lines if the suits cut for a woman 
who hadn't given birth.  Maggie also knew that 
many of the suits only served as a reminder of 
Dana's missing heart, her other half, who had 
disappeared just as mysteriously.

Grabbing some empty boxes, Maggie trudged to the 
garage, feeling like a soul on the way to the 
gallows.  She remembered doing this activity after 
her husband had died suddenly, and then again 
when her oldest daughter had been murdered.  Did 
she really want to do it again?  But she had no 
choice; there was no one else to do the job.

She'd kept Dana's apartment for six months after 
she'd lost track of her daughter.  She'd finally given 
up the lease when the Bureau had decided to put the 
markers in Arlington Cemetery.  Everyone else 
seemed so determined that Dana Scully had died 
somewhere in the New Mexico desert, with her 
former partner by her side.  Even John Doggett had 
been convinced of that truth, or so he'd told her 
when he'd come by to say he was leaving town.  
Monica Reyes had written her a note before leaving 
for New Orleans, but it was more of a thank you 
than anything else.  Only Walter Skinner remained, 
and Maggie knew that with each passing day Mr. 
Skinner was losing a bit more of himself.

She had sold the furniture immediately.  All that 
remained were clothes and things she'd found in 
Dana's desk and night stand.  She'd tried to sort 
things and label the boxes, but it hurt so much as 
she filled each cardboard container that after a while 
Maggie had just dumped whole drawers in, closed 
and taped the lids without even examining the 
contents.

The first box must have come from the desk.  There 
was an address book, a DC phone book, several 
pens and pencils and pads of paper.  Some file 
folders divided the contents and made the box seem 
like a layer cake.  On the bottom was a photo 
album.  Maggie drew in a deep breath and brought 
it to her lap.  

The first pages were filled with 8 by 10 glossy black 
and whites, almost all of them of Fox Mulder.  
Maggie could tell they were taken at various crime 
scenes because of the uniformed officers and squad 
cars in the background.  Some of them had Dana 
with Fox, some were just of Fox alone.  One picture 
had caught him with his head turned, as if someone 
had just called his name.  His eyes were alight with 
a smile even though his mouth was pressed into a 
straight line.  Maggie would have bet the person 
who'd called to him was her daughter.

Later pictures were of William, and it was more 
than Maggie to bear.  With tears streaming down 
her face she carefully turned the pages and ran her 
finger over the plastic surface, as if hoping to 
connect just a little with her grandson.  William in 
his bassinet, William in his car seat with one shoe 
off, William squinting into the sun in his stroller on 
a warm summer day.  She'd only known him 9 short 
months, but his absence left a gapping hole in her 
heart.  Maggie couldn't understand why Dana had 
given her baby up for adoption.  It made even less 
sense when she remembered how her daughter had 
hoped and prayed for a child.  Maggie closed the 
album and set it aside, letting loose a prayer for the 
baby who would now be almost three years old.

The next box was much easier and less emotional to 
sort through.  It was filled with kitchen equipment, 
dishes and flatware.  Several boxes with similar 
items followed.  In no time at all, Maggie had more 
than enough for the garage sale.  

She carried the boxes out to her car and placed them 
in the trunk.  On her way back into the house, she 
caught sight of the album.  She approached it 
hesitantly, as if it might reach out and bite her.  
Finally, she opened the cover and flipped through 
the pages.  Picking one photo of Fox and Dana, she 
slipped it out of the protective cover.  She flipped a 
few more pages and picked one of a smiling 
William staring cross-eyed at the camera.  She took 
it out of the album and then placed the album back 
in the box.  She held the two photos close to her 
heart and went inside the house.

She busied herself with household chores, or so she 
told herself.  With just one person to pick up after, 
there wasn't much to be done.  She called a friend 
who was ill, made a hair appointment for the next 
day, ate a low-calorie frozen dinner in front of the 
evening news.  She watched some television and at 
11 o'clock, she went up to bed.  The photos came 
with her.

After she'd donned her nightgown, Maggie took the 
photos and placed them side-by-side on the 
nightstand, propped up against a framed snapshot of 
Bill, Tara and their son Matt.  She said a rosary for 
all her children and grandchildren, then slid beneath 
the covers.

The dream came not long after she'd fallen asleep.  
Maggie dreamed she was walking down a hallway.  
The house was unfamiliar, but the walls were 
brightly painted and the wooden floor was clean and 
showed little sign of wear.  She heard a creaking 
noise in one of the rooms and walked toward it.

The door was just slightly ajar, so she reached out 
and pushed it open.  The occupants didn't bother to 
look up; it was as if they didn't know she was there.  
A woman was seated in a rocking chair, rocking 
slowly, steadily.  Maggie stepped into the room and 
walked toward the woman.  The woman was facing 
a window, and in the reflection caused by a single 
dim lamp, Maggie saw who it was and gasped.  It 
was Dana!  Her hair was cut longer and pulled back 
in a ponytail.  She smiled gently, looking down at 
something.  Maggie followed Dana's gaze and 
gasped again.  Dana was nursing a baby.  The tiny 
person was wrapped in a pink blanket with delicate 
lace covering satin bunting.  A baby girl -- Dana 
had a baby girl.  Maggie couldn't believe her eyes.  

But then she caught sight of something else in the 
window.  A shadow fell across Dana and caused 
Maggie to flinch, but when she looked at the source, 
she smiled.  Of course, it was Fox.  He was standing 
just a few feet from Dana, swaying slowly as if 
dancing to an unheard song.  After a moment, 
Maggie realized that he, too, was holding 
something.  Another blanket.  Just then, a tiny head 
reared back and Fox brought his hand up quickly to 
catch the neck in his hands as his eyes connected 
with the infant.  He smiled and murmured to the 
baby, who nuzzled back in Fox's neck.  He patted 
the tiny back and resumed his swaying.

Two babies.  Fox and Dana had two daughters.  
Maggie sat up in bed and looked around the 
bedroom, expecting to see the room she'd been in 
during her dream.  It had all been so real.  She was 
shaking.  She forced herself to calm down and got 
up to get a glass of water.

In the stark light of the bathroom, after a few sips of 
lukewarm water, Maggie looked at her own 
reflection in the mirror.  It had been a dream, but it 
was more than that.  Since she'd been a little girl, 
her grandmother had told her that she had 'the sight.'  
Her father had brushed it aside as the ravings of an 
old woman, but Maggie's mother had remained 
silent, looking at her only daughter with wistful 
melancholy.  Now the sight was bringing her 
something she'd prayed for all through the last two 
years -- news of her daughter.  Dana was alive, of 
that Maggie was certain.  She was alive and well 
and living with Fox.  And now, Maggie had two 
granddaughters.  

Maggie knew something else -- she had to find 
them.

Hale Household
11:45 pm

Mulder was just crawling into bed when it started.  
A blood curdling scream came from the somewhere 
down the hallway.  Scully sat straight up in bed, 
blindly searching the nightstand for a gun that 
wasn't there.  Mulder jumped out of bed and was in 
the hallway before she could untangle herself from 
the blankets to go after him.

She skidded to a stop just inside the door to their 
son's bedroom.  Mulder had turned the little 
nightlight to a higher illumination and was cradling 
William in his arms.  The little boy was crying 
inconsolably and gripping his father's shirt, soaking 
it with his tears.

"It's OK, buddy.  It's OK; it was just a bad dream.  
Daddy's here, Daddy's here," Mulder murmured 
over and over again.  Scully swallowed the terror 
that had engulfed her at the sound of her son's 
scream and sat down on the bed next to Mulder so 
that she could rub the boy's back.  Mulder smiled at 
her and kissed William's head.  "Look, Will, 
Mommy's here, too.  We could have a party," he 
joked, trying to get through the boy's anguish.

"Sammi!  Missy!" William yelped and struggled out 
of his father's arms, hitting the ground at a dead run 
out of his room.  Scully marveled at how very much 
the boy looked like his father until she noticed that 
Mulder was following Will and trying to stop him.  
She hurried after them, grabbing Mulder's hand.  

"He has to see for himself.  They must have been 
part of his dream," she told Mulder.  He 
immediately slowed down and nodded.  How many 
nights in the distant past had he dialed a number just 
to hear her voice after a bad dream?  Together, they 
entered the nursery.

Will was darting from one crib to the other, quietly 
climbing onto the rails to get a better look at the 
sleeping infants.  After checking both cribs a 
number of times, he dropped to the floor, breathing 
heavily.  Mulder stooped down and scooped the boy 
into his arms.

"C'mon, Will.  I think we need some chocolate 
milk.  How does that sound?" Mulder asked in a 
whisper so he didn't wake the babies.  William 
nodded solemnly and nestled his face onto his 
father's shoulder.  Scully brought up the rear of the 
parade as they made their way downstairs to the 
kitchen.

In the bright and cheery kitchen, it did look 
somewhat like a party.  William was sipping 
chocolate milk out of his favorite McDonaldland 
cup.  Mulder had a tall glass of iced tea in front of 
him, and Scully was sipping on ice water.  

"Do you want to tell Mommy and Daddy about your 
dream, buddy?  Sometimes it helps to talk about it," 
Mulder encouraged.  He knew dreams at William's 
age sometimes didn't even take form, but the way 
the child had been so insistent on seeing his sisters 
was cause for some concern.  "Did anyone talk to 
you in your dream?"

Scully shot him a look across the table.  Mulder 
shook his head slightly to and fro.  "The ladies, 
maybe?  The nice ladies who told you the babies' 
names?"

William continued to drink his chocolate milk until 
the glass was empty.  He sat it down with some 
finality.  "I don't remember," he said flatly.  "Can I 
have more?" he asked, shoving his cup over toward 
Scully.

"You don't remember the dream, or you don't 
remember if the ladies were there?" Mulder 
prodded.

"Can I have some cookies?" he asked his mother.

"Honey, Daddy asked you a question," Scully said 
gently.  "Can you tell us about your dream?  It's just 
a dream, sweetheart.  It can't hurt you."

"He took us away," William said, and his face 
crumbled into tears.  "A bad man took us away from 
you."  In minutes, the small boy was trembling with 
fear and agony.  "Mommy, I don't wanna go 'way!  I 
don't wan' Missy and Sammi to go 'way!"

Scully gathered William into her arms and stroked 
his baby-fine chestnut hair.  "Sweetie, no one is 
going to take you away.  I promise.  Mommy and 
Daddy will keep you safe.  You and your sisters."  It 
took several minutes of impromptu rocking on the 
wooden kitchen chair and finally William's little 
body grew limp in her arms.

"He's out," Mulder whispered, picking the boy up 
and turning him so his head rested on Mulder's 
shoulder.  "I'll put him down."  He carried his son 
up to the boy's bedroom.

Scully was straightening the kitchen when he came 
back downstairs.

"Some night, huh?" he asked, leaning against the 
doorjamb.

Scully shot him a sour look.

"What?  What did I do?"

She tossed the sponge into the sink and wiped her 
hands on the tea towel.  She cocked her head and 
silently led her partner into the living room.  
Looking at the shelf of DVDs, she selected a few 
and held them out to him.

"Texas Chainsaw Massacre," she read.  "Halloween, 
the original," she said, shuffling the boxes as if they 
were a deck of cards.  "Oh, and my personal 
favorite:  'Nightmare on Elm Street'!"

"Classics, Scully.  And don't forget, research.  I am 
teaching a class on the psychology of horror films," 
he said with a shrug.

"And your son just happens to wander through the 
room when you're doing research, Mulder.  It's no 
wonder the poor kid has nightmares.  I want these 
put up somewhere, far away.  Take them to school.  
You have a DVD in the psych department's office.  
'Research' them there," she growled, tossing him the 
cases.

"You're saying that all of a sudden these movies are 
getting to William?  We've had these movies since 
he was born," Mulder pointed out.

"Yes, but we didn't watch them when he was 
awake," Scully countered.  "I never watched them at 
all!"

"I really think there might be . . ."

She spun on her heel and headed toward the stairs.  
"I'm too tired to discuss it right now, Mulder.  It 
was a bad dream.  Get rid of those . . . movies, and 
do it before William wakes up."  She hit the bottom 
of the steps when she heard a muffled noise.  
"Great, the twins are up," she huffed.  

"I'll help," Mulder offered, following behind her.

"No, you've done quite enough," she snapped.  At 
his hurt look, she softened her expression.  "I'm 
sorry, that wasn't fair.  Look, I'll feed them and tuck 
them back in.  I can sleep late tomorrow, you have 
class.  Go on back to bed."

Mulder nodded, and headed to their room, but sleep 
was a hard fought battle.  He couldn't help feeling 
that there was more to William's dream than a few 
scary movies.

end of part 3

Flight into Egypt:  Remembrance (4 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley

Skinner's apartment
Crystal City, VA

With his packed bag at his side, Walter 
Skinner opened the bottom drawer of his 
dresser and dumped the contents onto the 
bed.  On the wood, between the rails of 
the drawer bottom, was taped a letter.  
He removed the envelope and sat down on 
the floor, not bothering to clean up the 
mess he'd just made.

He vowed to give this letter to Mulder 
and Scully when it was safe to do so.  
He'd made that vow entirely to himself.  
Scully and Mulder believed the 
whereabouts of their child was completely 
unknown.  Only Walter Skinner knew the 
lie of that statement.  For only Walter 
Skinner knew the truth.

Carefully, he pulled the flap and 
unsealed the linen paper.  He removed the 
single sheet and unfolded it slowly.

Rachel and Henry Van de Kamps
Rural Route 1
Low, Utah

He studied the paper again, memorizing 
it, though there wasn't much information.  
He got up from the floor, walked into the 
kitchen and struck a match to the paper, 
holding it over the sink as he watched it 
burn to cinders.  He ran the water to 
flush the ash down the drain.  Calmly, he 
went back into the bedroom, picked up his 
suitcase and left his apartment, taking a 
cab to the airport.

Utah, going West from Salt Lake City

The directions he'd received at the 
airport information booth hadn't been 
much help.  The area of Utah was almost 
totally uninhabited, and at the time, 
that had seemed appropriate.  Now, 
Skinner wished more than anything that 
the boy had been placed with a nice 
family in a large metropolitan area, or 
at least somewhere easier to find.

The narrow dirt road was unmarked.  He 
had to judge by his odometer how many 
miles from the last intersection.  It was 
hit or miss but it wasn't like there were 
a dozen roads to choose from.  The dirt 
path was the only break in the side of 
the road for miles, or at least for the 
miles since the intersection with the US 
highway.  Skinner turned the car onto the 
path and wondered how long it would be 
before he found the Van de Kamp house.

There were trees in the distance and he 
felt a small amount of relief.  Trees 
usually meant water, and often, houses.  
His heart lightened for a moment.  Then 
he realized he was about to confront two 
people he'd never met before in his life.  
How was he going to explain his sudden 
appearance on their doorstep?  How could 
he tell them that he was afraid their 
son, the baby they'd adopted two years 
before was under a threat that might 
extend to their lives?

He'd barely come up with a reasonable 
cover, that he was an FBI agent checking 
out a potential lead on a case, when he 
rounded the corner and slammed on the 
brakes.  The sight before him took his 
breath away.  Walter Skinner slowly shut 
off the engine to the car, opened the 
door and carefully got out.

A heavy gray cloud surrounded the charred 
remains of the house.  As the wind 
shifted, Skinner immediately recognized 
the smell of burned wood mixed with other 
noxious odors.  He walked slowly toward 
the former residence.  An apple tree, 
small green apples still hanging from the 
branches farthest away from the blaze, 
was a surreal expression of the 
conflagration.  Closer to the house, the 
branches were stripped of all vegetation, 
black and brittle.  He doubted the tree 
would survive the assault; it would 
probably die before the end of the 
summer.

If he had any doubts about the owners of 
the house, the mailbox erased them.  Set 
out closer to the driveway, the black box 
with the standard red flag had escaped 
the destruction.  In gold leaf adhesive-
backed letters read 'The Van de Kamps, 
Rural Route 1'.

Skinner's throat closed up and his eyes 
burned with unshed tears.  He'd been too 
late.  How could he face Margaret Scully, 
knowing that he could have stopped this 
tragedy if he'd only gotten there sooner?  
He swallowed bile in his throat and let 
out his anguish in deep shudders.

The hand that fell on his shoulder was 
such a shock that he reached for his gun 
and took a bead on the young man standing 
beside him.  The young man held up his 
hands in surrender and calmly shook his 
head.

"The baby wasn't here, they already got 
him," the young man said with measured, 
even tones, as if talking to a madman.

"What?" Skinner demanded.  "Who took him?  
Where is he?"

"Mulder and Scully.  His parents.  They 
found him, two years ago," the young man 
said with an easy smile.

Skinner narrowed his gaze.  "How could 
they?  Scully didn't know anything about 
the adoption," he ground out.

"Mulder brought her.  He dreamed 
something, he knew where to go.  I'm 
telling you the truth, William wasn't 
here."

"Who the hell are . . ."  Walter stopped 
his demand in mid-sentence, taking a 
closer look.  The kid's hair was lighter, 
he now sported a partial beard that was 
so popular with the young 'in-crowd', but 
there was no mistaking those eyes.  
"Gibson?" Skinner asked.

The young man nodded and his smile grew 
by leaps and bounds.  "I wasn't sure if 
you remembered me.  Mind putting the gun 
away?" he asked, gesturing to the weapon 
Skinner still held clutched in his hand.

Skinner looked down at his hand and back 
at Gibson.  "How can I . . ."

A look of sad resignation came to the 
young man's face.  He slipped his hand 
into his front pocket and produced a 
small penknife, no longer than an inch 
and a half.  With a half grimace, he 
sliced a neat cut along the center of his 
left palm and held the hand up for 
Skinner to inspect.  "It's really me," he 
said quietly as red blood trickled down 
his palm and wrist.

"Thank God," Skinner muttered, holstering 
his weapon.  "Wait, you better . . ."  He 
pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket 
and helped Gibson wrap it around his 
hand.  "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"I'm sorry it's necessary," Gibson said 
with regret.  "But you need to believe 
me.  They found the baby just a day after 
the left you.  They've been safe all this 
time."

"How do you know this?  Have you been in 
contact with them?"

Gibson shook his head in the negative.  
"I just, well, I just know."

"You can read their minds?" Skinner 
asked, unconsciously wincing as he said 
the words.

Gibson chewed on his lip.  "Not exactly.  
I mean, when Mulder lived with us, I 
could read him like a book.  It was a 
pretty sad book, if you know what I mean.  
He missed Scully and the baby a lot.  But 
then, after he left, it was like I was 
connected somehow.  Like I knew when he 
was in trouble.  That's why I came out to 
DC in the first place, because I knew 
what they were planning to do to him.  So 
I can't read his mind, but I can tell you 
that he's a lot happier now, happier than 
I think I've ever known him to be.  And 
I'm positive that Agent Scully and 
William are with him, or he would never 
be that happy."  The young man shrugged 
his shoulders in a gesture of self-
explanation.

Skinner surveyed the remains of the house 
again.  "You say they got the baby not 
long after they escaped?  Kersh told them 
to go north," he said, more to himself 
than to Gibson.

Gibson sighed.  "I know.  Mulder didn't 
listen.  I knew that's what he was 
planning the last time I saw them, but if 
I'd said anything, well, you know how it 
was.  I knew he was going to New Mexico.  
I lost track of his thoughts when they'd 
been gone about an hour.  But I could 
still get that feeling, that connection.  
It was a couple of days later, I woke up 
and just knew he was happy.  A little 
scared, I'll admit.  But really, really 
happy.  And that's pretty much how it's 
been."

"This fire was recently set," Skinner 
said, looking at the still smoking ruins.  

"The house was abandoned," Gibson said.

"You know that for certain?"

The young man nodded.  "I don't think the 
adoptive parents were alive when Mulder 
and Scully got here to get the baby.  I 
don't know what happened, but no one has 
been here for a long time."

"But someone was here looking for 
William," Skinner said firmly.

"Yes, I think they were.  I think they 
still are looking for him," Gibson added.

"Any clue as to where I can look?" 
Skinner growled impatiently.  All this 
back story was getting him nowhere, but 
at least he was fairly confident William 
was with his parents, and they were safe.

Gibson sadly shook his head.  "I wish I 
could help."

After a few minutes of looking around, 
Skinner realized he wouldn't find any 
information at the house.  He turned to 
the rental car and noticed Gibson's 
Yamaha motorcycle parked next to it.

"I didn't even hear you pull up," he said 
in confusion.

"I walked it the last mile.  I wasn't 
sure what I would find.  Then I saw you.  
I didn't want to scare you."

"Where are you going now?" Skinner asked.

"Back to the reservation, I suppose.  I 
came because I had some bad dreams 
lately.  Those men, the ones who aren't 
alive . . ."

"They're being killed off, destroyed, 
whatever," Skinner told him.

"I know.  But I don't know who's doing 
it.  It could be a good thing, having 
them dead," Gibson said hopefully.

"Or someone much worse could be killing 
off the competition," Skinner said 
tensely.

Gibson nodded in agreement.

"Will you be all right going back?" 
Skinner asked.  "I mean, if they're 
looking for William . . ."

"They were never interested in me, only 
our own people wanted me.  The others 
think I'm just a blip, a fluke.  William 
has the real power they're worried about.  
I can read minds; William can destroy 
their plans.  If they don't destroy him 
first."

Skinner nodded, is face set in 
determination.  "We'll just have to make 
sure that doesn't happen."

"You're going to hunt for the rest of 
them, the ones from Mulder's jury," 
Gibson said dully.

"I have no other choice.  Maybe along the 
way, I'll find Mulder and Scully."

"I hope not," Gibson said.  "If you do, 
they'll be dead."  

Before Skinner could object, Gibson got 
on his motorcycle and peeled out of the 
driveway, down the dirt road.  After a 
minute, Skinner got in his rental car and 
followed.

Salt Lake City International Airport
Salt Lake City, UT
5:30 pm

Kallenbrunner picked up on the second 
ring.  "What have you got?" he asked, not 
even waiting for Skinner to announce 
himself.  Skinner figured the man must 
have given his cell phone number a 
special ring.

"I had to make a side trip, but it was 
unproductive.  Have any more -- "

"The one in New Mexico.  Yesterday 
afternoon.  He left for lunch, never came 
back.  Just like the others.  My boss is 
getting nervous."

Skinner considered that a moment.  "Do 
you think he'll make a run for it?"

"I don't think he would know where to 
run," Kallenbrunner replied.  "Are you 
coming out here?"

"Yeah, I'm on a flight out in an hour and 
a half."

"I'll pick you up.  What time does your 
flight arrive?"

"Kallenbrunner, you don't -- "

"What time, Skinner?  And the flight 
number?  Look, this isn't a social call.  
I'm just looking out for my own sorry ass 
here," the former pseudo-prosecutor 
reminded him.

"Arrival time is 7:35, Pacific.  I'm on 
Delta 4391."  Skinner could hear 
Kallenbrunner fumbling for a pen.

"Got it.  I'll meet you at the gate."

Skinner waited at in the passenger lounge 
until his flight was called.  Once on 
board the plane, he let himself think 
back to his conversation with Gibson.  
Could it be true?  Could Mulder and 
Scully be alive, safe, with William?  He 
didn't think it was possible, not after 
two years.  He closed his eyes and fell 
into a light doze.  He hadn't slept well 
since the whole business had started.

Los Angeles International Airport
7:45 pm

Kallenbrunner was as good as his word.  
He was at the gate and shepherded Skinner 
out to his car, which was parking in 
hourly parking.  "I know a little place 
not far from here," he said as he pulled 
out of the parking garage.

"How did you hear about Hanson?" Skinner 
asked when they settled in at the bar in 
North Hollywood.

"My boss got a fax.  Apparently after the 
others went missing in DC they started 
keeping in better contact.  But he didn't 
do anything.  Left the office at the same 
time as usual tonight."

Skinner took a pull off his Coors and set 
it back on the table.  "What do you think 
is going on?"

Kallenbrunner barked out a laugh.  "Why 
ask me?  I was a pawn in that little 
drama, Skinner.  I didn't know a 
goddamned thing two years ago, and I sure 
as hell don't know anything now."

"You knew Mulder was innocent, didn't 
you?" Skinner accused.

The other man's expression grew hard.  "I 
was given an assignment.  I did it to the 
best of my ability.  Look, Skinner, I 
know you aren't a lawyer, but you're ex-
military, right?"

"Former Marine," Skinner replied.

"Then you know exactly what I was ordered 
to do.  I've been a prosecutor.  I left 
that to join the FBI.  But in my old 
life, I was good at picking them out, the 
innocent from the guilty.  I could tell 
by the way they held themselves, the way 
they looked at you when they were brought 
into the courtroom.  If you want my 
confession, here it is.  Yes, I knew 
Mulder was innocent.  And I knew that in 
all probability, Agent Scully was telling 
the truth on that witness stand, or at 
least the truth as she knew it.  But that 
wasn't my assignment.  I was supposed to 
poke holes in that case and make sure 
Mulder was found guilty."

"They planned on killing him anyway.  You 
just made sure no one would look into the 
murder," Skinner spat out.

"He's not dead!" Kallenbrunner yelled and 
then realized where he was and that 
others were listening.  He drew in a deep 
breath to calm himself.  "He's alive.  He 
escaped, which makes him a wanted 
criminal.  Most likely with your help, 
judging from your recent change of 
positions," he added, taking a drink from 
his own bottle of beer.

"There are no charges against him listed 
in the NCIC," Skinner pointed out.

"I don't know what to tell you.  Maybe 
it's just on the military database," 
Kallenbrunner suggested.  At Skinner's 
roll of the eyes, the younger man 
relented.  "OK, so they probably weren't 
real charges.  What difference does it 
make now?"

"I think . . . I think their baby could 
be in danger," Skinner said evenly.

"She gave him up for adoption," 
Kallenbrunner said, slightly confused.

"I was at the house of the adoptive 
parents.  It was burned to the ground.  
No sign of anyone."

Kallenbrunner closed his eyes and opened 
them slowly.  "What makes you think the 
boy wasn't inside?"

"A friend.  A friend in a position to 
know such things.  He believes Mulder and 
Scully got the boy immediately after we 
all lost track of them two years ago.  He 
thinks they've been hiding out somewhere, 
together."

"Where?  You can warn them of what's 
going on!"

Skinner shook his head.  "My friend 
didn't have that information."

"Shit," Kallenbrunner swore.  "What do we 
do now?"

"Wait.  Watch.  Your boss, this 
Galbraith, he's the best chance we have 
to draw this bastard out."

Kallenbrunner nodded.  "OK, let's go.  
There's a motel not far from the office.  
I can drop you off there, pick you up 
sometime tomorrow."

Skinner shrugged in agreement and picked 
up his bags, following the other man out 
to his car.

Traffic was light as they drove through 
the streets.  They were passing the FBI 
regional office when Kallenbrunner saw 
something down a side street.  He pulled 
to a stop at the curb.  "Do you have your 
weapon handy?" he asked Skinner.

"Yeah, why?" the older man asked as they 
both existed the car.

"I just saw Galbraith coming out of that 
restaurant.  It looked like a guy had 
just stopped him and they disappeared 
down that alley."

"Why is it always an alley?" Skinner 
asked of no one, but headed off after 
Kallenbrunner at a trot.

"Down there," the younger man said as 
they approached the end of the alley.  
Two men were plainly visible in the 
security light from one of the 
businesses.  Suddenly, something in the 
one man's hands flashed and the other man 
crumbled.  

"Damn it!  That's Galbraith!" 
Kallenbrunner yelled and took off at a 
run.  Skinner, noting the other man had 
been alerted and was heading down the 
alley, ran after him.

"Call for backup," Skinner yelled at 
Kallenbrunner as he passed him.

"Oh, shit, oh god!" Kallenbrunner was 
moaning.  The man who had been his boss 
was slowly melting into a pool of green 
bubbling ooze.  "What the hell?  Skinner, 
what is going on?" he shouted after the 
older agent.

"Back up!" Skinner called again over his 
shoulder.

The alley ended and the killer hit the 
street, running down the middle for a 
block until he came to another alley.  
Skinner kept on his tail, gaining a 
little and then losing ground.  Off in 
the distance, he heard sirens and just 
hoped he could hold out long enough for 
them to find him -- and the perpetrator!

Just when he thought he'd lost the man, 
Skinner caught sight of him crossing the 
street a block down.  Swallowing the lump 
that was growing from the lack of 
moisture in his throat and pushing his 
legs past what he knew they could do, he 
put on a burst of speed and followed the 
killer down another alley.

He ran halfway down the alleyway when he 
realized it was a dead end.  Stopping, he 
listened.  The only sound was a dripping 
drainpipe and the hum of electricity from 
the overhead transformers.  He could hear 
shouts in the distance; the sirens had 
stopped, indicating that Kallenbrunner's 
back up had arrived, but was probably 
pursuing on foot.

Slowly, Skinner turned around in a 
circle, searching the alley for any sign 
of his prey.  Dumpsters lined one side 
and made for perfect hiding places in the 
dark shadows.  It had been a while since 
he'd tracked a perp.  He'd been riding a 
desk too damned long, he decided.  Then 
again, he reconsidered; maybe it was 
about time to hang up his spurs, too.

Movement off to his left caught his 
attention.  He'd drawn his weapon six 
blocks before so he brought it up to 
sighting level and trained it on the 
sound.  A rat, nice and fat, sashayed 
across a puddle of an unidentifiable 
substance and continued down the alley 
unhindered.  Skinner drew in a breath 
through his nose and went back to 
searching.

He took three steps forward, coming to 
within a few feet of one of the 
dumpsters.  With his weapon trained in 
his right hand, he reached out with his 
left and lifted the plastic cover of the 
bin.  Nothing.  He shuffled over to his 
right and repeated the process.  Again, 
just garbage greeted him.  He was 
starting toward the third dumpster when 
he heard a sound from behind and spun 
around.

The blow knocked his glasses clean off 
his face.  The world went blurry and 
flashed bright all at the same time.  He 
could feel himself falling, could feel 
the cold, wet pavement underneath his 
knees and then he was down the rest of 
the way, coming to rest in a puddle of 
brownish grey liquid that smelled of 
rancid milk and bad lettuce.  

Someone was standing over him, and then 
kneeling beside him.   He felt a hand at 
his neck, checking for a pulse.  
Blearily, Skinner tried to raise his 
head.

"Go home, Mr. Skinner.  Before you get 
hurt," came a graveled voice from above.  
This time, Skinner could almost make out 
the object as it came down hard and fast 
toward his head, but there was not a 
thing he could have done to avoid it.  

As his world went black, Skinner hoped he 
lived to take the killer's advice.

end of part four
 
Flight into Egypt:  Remembrance (5 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley


Mt. Sinai Medical Center
Los Angeles, CA
9:00 am

How much had he drunk?  That was the first 
question that popped into Skinner's mind when he 
started waking.  Whatever he'd had, it must have 
been a doozy!

His head was reeling with pain and he was afraid to 
open his eyes, but he could hear noises that 
confused him.  It sounded like wheels of a cart, one 
in desperate need of oiling, and sneakers on tile.  
Those were not the sounds he was accustomed to 
waking up to in his apartment.  Curiosity beat out 
fear and he cracked open his left eye.  Too blurry to 
make out much, but there was someone standing 
above his bed.  That prompted him to crack open 
the other eye and blink away some of the blur.  
Where the hell were his glasses?

"Well, Mr. Skinner!  Nice of you to join us," a 
woman in bright blue scrubs said cheerfully.  "Just 
let me get your vitals.  The doctor will be in to see 
you shortly."

Skinner squinted at the woman.  "Where . . . where 
are my glasses?" he rasped.

The woman laughed merrily.  "That's a first.  
Usually people want to know where they are when 
they wake up in the hospital.  Your friend is just 
outside; maybe he knows what happened to them.  
You were brought in by ambulance.  You have a 
concussion.  Now, just lie back and let me finish 
and I'll let your friend back in."

Skinner did as she requested, but couldn't help 
wondering who the 'friend' was.  He was extremely 
disoriented.  The last thing he could remember was 
having lunch with Kim.  No, that wasn't right.  He'd 
gone on a trip.  Where did he go?  Thinking was 
just making his head hurt.

"All done.  You're doing fine.  Just rest and the 
doctor will be in before you know it.  I'll let your 
friend in now to keep you company."  He could just 
make out the woman's form as she exited the room.  
Another shape entered and walked up to his 
bedside.

"You're looking better than you did last night," 
Kallenbrunner said.

Suddenly, more of the events of the last few days 
came back to him.  Kallenbrunner . . . he was 
meeting him in LA.  "Galbraith!" Skinner 
exclaimed and tried to sit up, but fell back when the 
pain washed over him.

Kallenbrunner put a hand on his shoulder and 
pressed him further into the pillow.  "The doctor 
was pretty worried last night.  Said a guy your age 
has no business doing field work," he said, barely 
suppressing a smirk.  "You need to lie still."

"What happened?  What happened to Galbraith?" 
Skinner demanded, but this time, stayed put.

The younger man licked his lips.  "I . . . I don't 
know.  It was . . . strange."

"Strange how?  Just tell me damn it!"

"He melted, OK?  He just . . . melted, into a pile of 
goo that bubbled and then it disappeared.  It was . . . 
it couldn't have happened, but I saw it.  It had to 
have been a fast acting acid -- "

"I've heard of this before," Skinner said, taking a 
deep breath.

"You've heard of it?" Kallenbrunner said with 
suspicion.  "Where?"

"In a report by Agent Mulder.  Actually, in several 
reports.  And not just Mulder, Scully reported 
similar findings.  The 'goo', as you put it, ate a hole 
through one of her shoes," he added, a ghost of a 
smile playing on his lips.  "She requested 
reimbursement."

"For the shoes?  After seeing something like that, 
she had the gall to ask for reimbursement for her 
_shoes_?"

Skinner shrugged.  "They were nice shoes," he said 
casually.  "And for the record, it wasn't acid.  It was 
alien blood."

"Oh Jesus -- not that again!  Skinner, you aren't 
going to get me to buy into this alien conspiracy 
take over the world bullshit that Mulder and Scully 
tried to pull at the trial.  I'm not that gullible!"

"So, was there anything left to be analyzed?" 
Skinner asked glibly.

Kallenbrunner took a deep breath and found the 
bedrail very interesting.  "No.  Nothing.   Forensics 
found nothing."

"An acid, even a fast acting acid, would leave trace 
evidence," Skinner pointed out.

"Maybe they just looked in the wrong place," 
Kallenbrunner huffed.

"Fine, believe whatever you want.  The fact of the 
matter is your boss, the last of the jury, is dead."

"You chased the killer.  Did you get a good look at 
him?"

Skinner squinted again, but not from blurry 
eyesight.  "I didn't, not really.  I mean I saw him; he 
was the one that cold cocked me.  He said 
something . . ."  He trailed off, concentrating hard 
on the events of the night before.  His head was 
killing him.  Then, he remembered.  His head jerked 
up and he tried to focus on Kallenbrunner.  "He told 
me to go home, before I got hurt."

"You shittin' me," Kallenbrunner said dryly.

"No, I'm not.  He could have killed me, but he 
didn't."  

Kallenbrunner slumped against the bed rail.  "So 
what does this mean?  Are we safe?  You and me?  
Or just you," he asked, his voice accusing.

"You think I'm in on this?" Skinner charged back.  
"What the hell do you -- "

"Hey, time out!  What's going on in here?" asked a 
gentleman in dusty blue green scrubs as he pushed 
open the door to the room.  "Mr. Skinner, it's not a 
good idea to get so agitated after a head injury."  
The man walked up to the bed, moving 
Kallenbrunner aside.  "If you don't mind waiting in 
the hall, this will just take a few minutes." 

As soon as Kallenbrunner left, the man extended his 
hand to Skinner.  "Stephen Hatfield, I'm the neuro 
resident who saw you when you came in last night.  
Mind if I take a look?"

Skinner nodded.  As the young man examined 
Skinner's eyes with a pen light, causing bright star 
burst of pain, he asked a few questions.  "Do you 
have a headache, Mr. Skinner?"

"I do now," Skinner gritted out.

"Dizziness?"  Skinner shook his head, but did it 
slowly to avoid more pain.  "Blurred or double 
vision?"

"I have no idea.  I've lost my glasses," Skinner 
growled.

"Oh, well, we can check your clothes, see if the 
paramedics stuck them in a pocket.  Your x ray 
looked good this morning.  You have a mild to 
moderate concussion.  I'd like to keep you till 
tonight, see how you do.  Then we'll release you.  
But you should go home and rest for a few days."

"Home is on the other side of the continent, 
Doctor."

Hatfield frowned.  "Maybe you should consider a 
short vacation before you go back home.  You 
really shouldn't be traveling with a head injury."

Skinner's mind flashed to Mulder, in a similar 
condition after Scully had been stung by a bee and 
abducted.  "I'll take that under advisement," Skinner 
said evenly, but had no intentions of sticking around 
longer than necessary.

When the doctor left the room, Kallenbrunner came 
back in.  "Uh, I guess you'll be needing these?" he 
asked, holding out Skinner's glasses.  Gingerly, he 
took them from the other agent's outstretched hand 
and fitted them on his face.  Only one small scratch 
marred the surface and that was in the far left corner 
of the left lens.

"Wow, they made it out better than I did," Skinner 
remarked.  "And these aren't all that I need.  I'll 
need a motel room for the night, maybe a couple of 
nights."

"What next?" Kallenbrunner asked warily.

"I guess I go back to DC," Skinner said dejectedly.  
"The last lead was Galbraith."

"I got to thinking about what the killer said to you.  
How did he know your name?"

Skinner drew in a breath and gave that question 
some thought.  "I don't know.  I've never seen him 
before.  But then, maybe I have and I just didn't 
recognize him."

"Can you give a description?  I could get a sketch 
artist in here," Kallenbrunner offered.

"I didn't get a good look, he knocked my glasses off 
before I could see his face.  But I can give a 
description of his body type, that sort of thing.  
Might help."

"Somehow I don't think this guy is one of the usual 
suspects the LAPD rounds up every night," 
Kallenbrunner said with a sigh.

"I suspect you're right.  I also don't think he's on the 
Ten Most Wanted.  Besides, he may not look like 
that the next time we see him."

"You think he'd try to disguise himself," 
Kallenbrunner said with a frown.

"If what I've heard is right, he doesn't need a 
disguise.  He'll just change his whole appearance.  
His face, his hair, his build.  He can look like 
anyone he wants, the guy walking down the street 
toward him, you, me . . ."

"I saw this movie.  Wasn't Dana Carvey the lead?" 
Kallenbrunner quipped, not hiding his incredulity.

Skinner set his jaw and glared back.  "Look, 
asshole, I'm trying to help you," he seethed.

"By telling me I should look for a guy who can 
make himself look like anyone?  That's a hell of a 
lot of help there, Skinner," the younger man 
chuffed.  "I can't wait to see what the APB will 
read.  'Could be anybody'."

"We'll have to wait till he makes his next move."

"He obviously knows you.  And he told you to go 
home.  Maybe that's where you shouldn't go," 
Kallenbrunner said after a moment.

"That's why I want to go to a motel.  I'll figure 
something out," Skinner replied tiredly.  He rubbed 
his forehead with one hand, his head was killing 
him.  "Look, I think I probably should get some 
sleep here.  If you don't mind -- "

"Do you think I should stick around, stand guard?" 
Kallenbrunner asked, genuinely concerned.

Skinner shook his head slowly; he'd learned his 
lesson earlier.  "No need.  You should go to the 
office.  See what's going on; see if they found 
anything in that alley.  I'll be fine."

"I'll be by later, to take you to that motel," the 
younger man said and left.  Skinner watched the 
closed door for a few minutes and then took off his 
glasses and drifted off to sleep.

Ramada Limited LAX
9:35 pm

The room was on the ground floor, and Skinner 
could have kissed the clerk for her kindness.  He'd 
forgotten completely how bad headaches got with 
concussions.  Of course, it had been a few years 
since he'd had a concussion.  A few bruises, thanks 
to some run ins with Krycek.  Bruised jaws, 
courtesy of Holly in Accounting and Mulder on 
LSD laced water.  But for a concussion he had to go 
all the way back to his early days at the gym and a 
sparring partner who thought helmets were for 
sissies.  Waking up in the hospital convinced 
Skinner he was just enough of a sissy to wear a 
helmet in the future.

Kallenbrunner had dropped him off in the lobby, 
saying he'd be back for him in the morning.  No 
news to report on the Galbraith investigation.  For 
that matter, there was no investigation.  Skinner 
shook his head at the news, but wasn't that 
surprised.  For whatever reason, the government 
wasn't making a stink over these disappearances.  
He wondered if they'd made any investigation at all, 
covert or otherwise.  Maybe the powers there were 
decided they were better off not knowing.  But 
Skinner wanted to know and he wasn't going to 
leave until he found out.

He sat down on the bed and slowly worked the knot 
out of his tie.  Suit and tie man, that's what Sharon 
had called him years ago, when they were first 
dating.  He just felt comfortable in a tie; unlike 
other guys he knew who couldn't get out of them 
fast enough.  Rising from the bed, he decided to 
take a shower, even though the kindly doctor had 
cautioned him to take baths for a few days to avoid 
getting dizzy and falling in the bathroom.  He 
wasn't that much of a sissy, yet.

The water felt wonderful as it ran over his sore 
body.  The concussion had kept him in the hospital 
for observation, but when he'd taken off the stupid 
gown he discovered all the bruises he'd acquired as 
he'd fallen in the alley.  Nice, multicolored 
markings all over his body.  He sighed loudly.  He 
was getting too old for this shit.

"Go home, Mr. Skinner.  Before you get hurt."  The 
words of the Bounty Hunter -- that's what he was, 
wasn't he -- came back to Skinner as he stood under 
the hot spray.  He should be dead, but he wasn't.  
The Hunter could have killed him on the spot.  
What the hell was going on?  He wished, not for the 
first time in the last two years, that he could turn to 
Mulder or Scully and ask that question.  Mulder 
would rattle off some weird alien-government 
conspiracy bullshit and Scully would try to counter 
that with scientific mumbo-jumbo, but at least he'd 
have a semblance of an answer between them.  
Now, with just himself to ask, he felt like he was 
sliding down a fast moving river headed for the 
rapids and certain death just ahead.

He turned off the water and grabbed two towels.  
He thought briefly about shaving but decided he 
was just too tired to put a sharp object against his 
throat.  He let the bathroom door open and walked 
into the bedroom in a cloud of steam.

He remembered taking his glasses off in the 
bathroom and stepped back in to retrieve them when 
his foot caught on something on the floor.  He 
stooped to pick it up.  It was a manila envelope, 
letter-sized.  After putting on his glasses, he carried 
the envelope over to the bed and sat down to open 
it.

There was no marking on the outside, no 'to' or 
'from'.  The thought crosses his mind that maybe he 
shouldn't open it, maybe it was a bomb, but he 
shoved down his trepidation and tore the flap.

Inside there was a single sheet of paper and a 
newspaper clipping.  He set the clipping aside and 
looked at the full sheet of paper.  It looked like the 
worksheet for a deed.  It had been faxed at least 
once, was not straight on the page, but he found it 
easy enough to read.  Owners names:  G. Ellery and 
Dana Hale.  The woman's name caught his attention 
immediately and he drew in a quick breath.  He was 
aware that Mulder had several aliases, all supplied 
by the now deceased Lone Gunmen.  Could G. 
Ellery be yet another of his names?

The more he sat with the paper, the more it called 
out to him.  He picked up the clipping and scanned 
it.  It was from the Mt. Airy Weekly Independent, 
dated May 21, 2004.  

"Births, Alexandria, MT.  Twin girls, born May 19, 
2004 to Ellery and Dana Hale.  Babies join older 
brother, William, aged 3.  The family resides in 
rural Alexandria."

Could it be?  He grabbed the other paper, the house 
was described with a township address, it must be 
rural, and it was in Alexandria, Montana.  The deed 
was for June 23.

Skinner's mouth went dry.  Two years without a 
scrap of evidence, without a single lead, and now 
this.  He knew as well as he knew his own name 
that he'd found Mulder and Scully.  He frowned 
when he realized that by keeping her name and 
William's name the couple had left them selves 
open to discovery.

William!  Skinner felt a laugh bubble up in his 
throat.  They found him.  They had him with them!  
He looked at the clipping again.  Obviously they felt 
comfortable enough where they were to continue 
the family they'd already started.  Twin girls.  What 
a handful!  Mulder had even decided to put down 
roots, buy a home.  Skinner's head was reeling with 
the implications.

Then, the other shoe dropped.  Someone had given 
him this information, but whom?  Gibson?  Skinner 
thought back to his last conversation with the young 
man just a few days before.  Gibson said he could 
feel that Mulder was happy, happier than he'd ever 
felt before.  Well, the papers in Skinner's hands lent 
credence to that possibility.  But had Gibson found 
them?  

No, if it had been Gibson, the young man would 
have come himself to tell Skinner.  If it weren't safe 
to come to the motel, Gibson would have found a 
way to catch up with Skinner at another time.  The 
young man didn't go in for the 'cloak and 
dagger/under the door' technique.

He closed his eyes in agony when he realized who 
might have given him this information.  What if the 
Bounty Hunter knew where they were?

Shoving the paper and the clipping back in the 
envelope, Skinner walked over to his bag on the 
floor and grabbed out clothes, dressing quickly.  
Suddenly, he wasn't really that tired.  He called 
down to the front desk and asked about the nearest 
rental car agency.  They informed him that it was at 
the airport, and the airport shuttle could take him 
there.  He thanked the night clerk and told the girl 
he would be checking out in half an hour.

He decided to call Kallenbrunner in the morning.  
There was no use alerting him when there was a 
chance the agent would try to talk him out of going.  
Since his bag was packed, for the most part, he 
gathered the clothes he'd discarded in the bathroom 
and looked around the room.  The envelope was 
hastily tucked into the outer pocket of his suitcase.

Should he call Maggie?  Skinner's gut clenched 
when he thought of how excited and happy Maggie 
would be at this news.  But he couldn't tell her until 
he was sure.  He felt the need to get to Montana as 
quickly as possible.  Once there, he could call her, 
or have Dana call her.

In a little over two hours, he was turned off 
Interstate 10 on to Interstate 15, heading north.

Salt Lake City, Utah
I-15 rest area
8:05 am

Skinner had stopped for breakfast at a McDonald's 
but the coffee wasn't enough to keep his eyes open 
any longer.  Not wanting to stay off the road for 
long, he'd pulled into a rest area just outside Salt 
Lake City and had closed his eyes for a bit.  He 
woke up to the ring of his cellphone.

"Skinner," he answered wearily.  He then 
remembered he'd neglected to call Kallenbrunner, 
who was probably at the motel wondering where the 
hell he'd run off.

"Walter?" came the voice on the other end of the 
line.  "Walter, it's Maggie, Maggie Scully.  I'm 
sorry, did I wake you?"

Instantly alert, Skinner sat up straighter in the seat.  
"Mrs. Scully, hello.  No, you didn't wake me, I was, 
uh, just . . ."

"I called your office but they said you were on 
vacation.  I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"No, that's quite all right.  What can I do for you?"

There was silence on the line and Skinner almost 
thought he'd lost the connection.  "Maggie?"

"I . . . it's silly.  I shouldn't have bothered you," she 
said quickly.

"No, no it's not.  You're not bothering me.  Maggie, 
what's wrong?" he asked gently.  For some reason 
his mind flashed to Scully and how fragile she 
looked after they had buried Mulder.  "Please, tell 
me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, really.  I just . . .  I had a dream, 
you see.  I was cleaning out some of Dana's things 
and I . . ."

He bit his lip when he figured out that she was 
crying.  "It's all right, you can tell me," he 
encouraged.

"I dreamed about Dana.  About Dana and Fox.  I 
dreamed they were safe."

He sighed in relief.  "That's good," he said.  "That's 
a good thing to dream about."

"But there was more," Maggie insisted.  "I saw 
them with two little babies, newborns.  I think, I 
think they may have -- "

He ached with the need to tell her, but knew it was 
too soon.  "Maggie, I have to go.  I'm sorry.  But I'm 
really happy you called.  You hang on to that 
dream, OK?  Just keep praying and hopefully soon 
you'll find what you're looking for."

"I hope so, Walter.  I hope so with all my heart," 
Maggie said, sniffing back tears.  "Well, you have a 
nice vacation.  You've earned it."

"Thanks," he replied guiltily.  "I'll call you soon, 
OK?"

"Yes, thank you.  Take care," Maggie said.

"You, too," he replied and disconnected the phone.  
Suddenly, he wasn't so tired anymore.  Putting the 
phone back in his pocket, he pulled the car out onto 
the highway and headed north toward Montana.  

He thought about the best approach.  Should he 
show up at their door?  It would be late, more than 
likely.  He didn't want to scare Scully, not with 
three little kids in the house.  He decided to do some 
checking first.  Now that he had a name, he could 
get farther.  He pulled his cell phone out of his 
pocket again and hit some buttons.  Thankfully, not 
everyone in the Bureau hated him.

"Kim, it's Walter.  Could you do me a favor?  I need 
you to ask Danny to do some research.  It needs to 
be kept quiet."

"Walter, you're alive!  When I hadn't heard from 
you in a few days . . ."

The guilt hit him harder than he expected.  "I'm 
fine, Kim.  I'm sorry I worried you."

"That's all right.  Have you found anything?" she 
asked.

"I'm on the trail of a lead right now.  I just need 
some work history on someone.  Ask Danny to see 
what he can find on a G. Ellery Hale, resides in 
Alexandria, Montana."

"Sure thing.  Should I have him call you on your 
cell phone?"

Skinner bit his lip.  "Or you could call me back with 
it," he offered.  He tried, but couldn't ignore the 
urge to hear her voice again.

Her voice sounded lighter when she answered.  He 
could almost hear her smile.  "Sure, I can do that.  I 
should have something for you in a couple of hours.  
Are you driving?"

"Yeah, I am."  

"Oh, well, I can't fax you anything, then.  But I'll 
call as soon as I have something.  Be careful, OK?"

"I will, Kim.  And thanks . . . for everything."

"You're welcome, Walter.  I'll call you soon."

end of part 5