The Price of a Soul (2/3)Subject: The Price of a Soul (2/3)
Date: Sat, 3 Apr 1999

Title: The Price of a Soul 04/09
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and language
Category: SAH
Spoilers: None
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; est MSR
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes! Please! 
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter,
1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully
brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and
Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox
if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material
they can profit from. 
Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den, brought
to you by the talented Shirley Smiley, WebMistress Extraordinaire!
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113/
While you're there, take a minute to sign the guest book, and
drop a note to Shirley. Tell her how great she is! 
Thanks: I have been remiss in not thanking my beta readers of
late. It is not that I don't appreciate them, I do, but I sometimes
struggle to find adequate ways to express exactly how valuable
they are. I am blessed to have received some wonderfully
flattering feedback on my stories. Comments that range from
praise of my characterizations to enjoyment of my detail work.
But invariably, I also hear from at least one person who remarks
that my stories are *easy* to read. That they are clear, and clean,
and well-punctuated, with appropriate grammar usage and proper
spelling and good continuity. These are things I value as a reader,
and I know how easy it is to be distracted by a misplaced comma,
an incorrectly used homonym, a misspelled word, or incorrect verb
tense. If you appreciate good *style,* as I do, then join me in
thanking Vickie, Susan, Dee, Sonal, Judie, and Michelle.
It is their hard work and effort that keeps my stories clean. 
Summary: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner go to visit the children and
their adoptive parents only to find tragedy has struck and the
children are missing. 
Third story in the "Retrieval" universe. Follows "Retrieval"
and "What Cost, Friendship." 
The Price of a Soul 04/09 
Skinner limped down the hill to the staging area
where the children had been brought. Ranging in
age from very young to early teens, they sat in small
groups, older ones holding some of the younger ones.
He could see bandages on those who had been
treated, bruises and blood still visible on many.
He scanned the faces as he moved through the
area, stopping now and then to speak quietly to
a worried child or try to calm one crying. 
After his third stop to quell a child's tears, he thought
back on his comments to Mulder from three
days ago. How he wasn't very good with children.
He smiled inwardly, murmuring something
soothing to the four year old he held in his arms
before passing the boy back to a medical tech.
Steven and Jess had changed him. 
He scanned the area again, still hoping against
hope to see a familiar face. It was no good. She
wasn't here. He dropped his head, fighting to
control the sudden urge to scream in frustration,
the need to break something, to hurt someone,
knowing that he needed to keep his cool. He was
about to turn, to retrace his steps back to the
command post and wait for word on Mulder
when a small hand touched his leg. It was a
gentle touch, just below his bandage, and a tiny
voice said, "Got owie, Wa - tah?" His heart
leapt and he looked down to see a small, worried
face looking up at him. 
"Jess!" He reached down to her and she came
gladly into his arms. "Jess," he said more softly,
his face buried in her soot-filled hair. She curled
into his shoulder, one chubby arm reaching around
his collar, thumb going into her mouth. Her
fingers played with the wisps of hair at the nape
of his neck and he could feel a sudden moistness
on his face. 
Jessica pulled back and studied him seriously,
then asked, "Cwyin' Wa - tah?" 
Skinner nodded slowly and pulled the baby's
head back down to his shoulder, gently patting
her back. " 's OK, Jess, it's going to be OK." 
" 'kay, Wa-tah," she said, sniffling now, and
he realized his own reaction had upset her.
He continued to hold her, his eyes still scanning
the area, noting the children with vivid bruises
and bloodstained clothes. There were even a few
with broken limbs and he had to wonder if all the
damage had occurred in the collapse of the
tunnels. Seeing the others' injuries, he was
suddenly aware of the fragility of the child in
his arms. His friend's child. Mulder's child. 
He drew back to look at her again, scrutinizing
her tired little face, and asked, "Are you OK, Jessie?" 
She nodded soberly, and tried to lay down on his
shoulder again, comforted by a familiar presence,
but he was still concerned. "Do you have an
owie, Jess?" he tried again. 
She nodded again, pulling her little shirt up to point
to a livid bruise on her ribcage. "Owie," she
whispered, and his heart seemed to leap into his
throat. Oh God, what if she was seriously hurt?
He'd never be able to face Mulder again. 
"Medic!" he bellowed, immediately murmuring
to the baby when she jumped at his roar. "Shhh,
I'm sorry, baby, it's OK now. I've got you. Walter's
got you." He looked up again, a female EMT
standing before him. "Check her, please," he said,
and started to pass the baby over, but she began to
cry, clinging to him and calling, "No, Wa - tah,
no! Jess tay Wa - tah." 
"Perhaps you should hold her, sir," the woman
suggested. "She seems attached to you now. You
can help keep her calm." 
The baby was crying now, and Skinner felt like
a heel for frightening her. He spent several more
minutes calming her again, then limped to the
side of the staging area and found an equipment
box to sit on. With Jessie sitting in his lap,
he watched as the medic assessed and then treated
her injuries, giving thanks that they were all
fairly superficial. As the last bandage was applied,
his radio crackled and Snipes came through. 
"It's getting worse, Sir. I think you're needed
back up here." 
Skinner looked at the medic and she nodded.
He rose, still holding Jessica, and spoke into
the radio. "On my way." The hike back up the
small hill to the command post was no easier
than the trip down, but it seemed so, even though
he was now carrying an extra 25 pounds or so.
He looked down at the baby, almost asleep on
his shoulder, and sighed. It was because of that
extra 25 pounds that his heart was light and
filled with hope now. If Mulder managed to
reach Steven, they would have both the children.
He frowned then, knowing that while recovering
the children was important, it was good, hell, it
was *wonderful,* it wasn't everything. He still
had an agent out there, still missing, perhaps
injured, and Mulder wouldn't survive if Scully
wasn't found. His commitment to her was complete,
and nothing, not even his own children, would
ever be able to fill the empty places that she did. 
Skinner sighed again, then laughed at the look
Snipes gave him as he reached the summit.
"My agent's kid," he said gruffly. "The reason
we were out here to begin with. The boy is his,
too." 
Snipes' eyes grew wide but he said nothing. The
ground suddenly heaved beneath them, a giant
undulating wave that upset boxes, knocked men
off their feet and threatened to uproot the very
trees. The comm tech looked up, concerned. "That
last blast must have blown the antennae. I can't hear
a thing anymore." 
Skinner considered the irony. The baby slept now,
the trust of the truly innocent allowing her to rest
and let him take care of things. He pulled on a strap,
trying to make the vest more comfortable, and not
succeeding. He decided it was his own helplessness
chafing at him. Not that he had lost control of this
operation; he had never really been in control. NSA
would handle any investigation that came out of this.
Despite his ability to force Bureau involvement, even
his level of authority would not be enough to supplant
the NSA. 
However the NSA decided to cover this up, whatever
*this* was, there was still one question remaining:
What about the children? 
************************************* 
Muffled against the Kevlar vest, Mulder could
not tell if Steven still breathed or if his heart beat,
but his own hammered against his ribs like a
wild thing trying to break free of a cage. At his heels,
with a sound like that of an oncoming freight
train, the chaos of fire gained on them. His
own fear of flame was returning, threatening to
drag him down and make him useless. His eyes
began to burn, the reek of smoke filled his nostrils
and stung them. He began to talk to Steven,
comfort and encouragement for the child, the same
for himself. 
"Hang in there, Steven, just hold on. I've got you,
you're safe now. Just hold on a little longer, baby."
The endearment slipped out and for a moment he
was stunned by his own words, but they felt right,
and he hugged the featherweight body tightly as if
the embrace would slow the bleeding, bind the
wounds he had no time to attend. 
He twisted his way through the corridors,
reaching the cave-in. The air here seemed a little
clearer. He slowed, the adrenaline rush of the search
for Steven fading now, fatigue dogging his movements.
Mulder shifted Steven's limp weight in his arms and
mopped his face with the back of his sleeve. His
belly was bleeding again, and he could feel the
lightheadedness of blood loss, only being held back
by sheer determination. How long did he have until
the needs of the flesh overcame his stubbornness?
A tiny draft of coolness played against the heat of
his brow and he turned toward it instinctively. 
"It's all right, Steven. We're almost there." He
tucked the boy under his chin, and the exhalation
of his words ruffled the baby fine hairs on his head,
tickling his neck. The child stirred slightly, as if gaining
awareness. "Almost there," Mulder repeated
encouragingly. 
But then he stopped in his tracks. No way could he
pass through the crawlway holding Steven. Even
if he took off the bulky vest and held him tightly
to his chest, there wouldn't be enough room. He
would be trapped between the wall and debris. He
took two quick breaths, thinking, deciding. He would
have to go first and pull the boy after, as quickly and as
carefully as he could. 
He stepped past the cave-in, then into the cleft in
the wall, telling Steven what he was doing as he
did it. "This is narrow here, baby. I can't go through
holding you, but I am *not* leaving you. I'm going to
pull you in after me. Don't be afraid. I'm not leaving
you. I've got you and you're safe." 
He laid him down, easing the fragile body to the
ground with utmost care. Steven stirred, eyelids fluttering,
opening, veins like marble tracings on them, and then
he looked at him, fear and uncertainty slowly being
replaced with confidence and trust. 
"It's all right," Mulder murmured. 
Steven's lips moved soundlessly, so he raised the child
up again and cradled him close, his ear to the boy's
mouth. He trembled in his arms and slowly repeated,
"Like Walter. He wouldn't leave me either." 
Mulder swallowed hard and nodded, thinking how
incredible that this child could still trust, could still
have faith. 
"I'm going to get you out, Steven," Mulder said, and
watched as the boy's chin moved, ever so slightly, in
the affirmative. He squeezed him, a last hug before
he spoke. "I have to put you down, just for a minute.
I'm too big to get through if I carry you. You have
to be brave a bit longer, Steven, OK?" 
The boy entwined a slender arm tightly around his neck,
fear resurfacing in the face of being put down. 
"I'm here." Mulder kissed his brow despite the dirt
and smoke smudge and faint taste of blood. "I'm not
going to leave you," he repeated. He knelt to position
him again. Steven clung to him with a wiry strength
that both gladdened and saddened him. He still had
strength in him, despite his torture, his hurts, his fear.
Mulder peeled away his arm and quickly stepped away,
holding his hand, their arms linking them as he
extended. Then he let go entirely. 
The loss of contact with his son, his touch, his warmth,
was like a physical blow, and he staggered. A coldness
swarmed him, and he could smell anew the acridness of
smoke. The tunnel shook with a faint booming, another
explosion, and he could hear the concrete and gravel begin
to slide, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Steven
let out a shrill cry. 
Mulder pushed through the narrow passage, then flung
himself down on his stomach, disregarding his own
pain, and reached back in, praying that he had not
underestimated the distance. Another blast rocked through
walls and floor, and the mound next to him shifted,
dirt drifting down. Mulder coughed harshly as he shoved
himself deep into the cleft, reaching, fingers splayed out,
touching ... nothing. 
Oh, God! The panic gripped him and he forgot to
breathe for a moment. He had to be there! He
couldn't have moved. Couldn't have crawled back
into the intersection. Couldn't be gone, not beyond
his reach. He lay on his flank, twisting his neck,
unable to see, his reach one of faith and hope. 
"Steven! Take my hand! I'll pull you through.
C'mon, baby! Hurry!" 
A third blast, so much closer his ears rang with
it. Dirt skidded in earnest, faster and faster, raining
down on him, filling his mouth as he shouted for
the child. 
"Take my hand! C'mon, Steven. Reach for it!
You have to try!" 
He thrust himself in as far as he could, gasping
and choking, straining, hands, fingers, searching
blindly. Then, a tiny touch upon his fingertips. A
whisper of sound carried through -- "Fox ..." He
seized on it. 
"I'm here, Steven," he called. "I'm here." 
Yes! Smaller fingers, chilled ones, and he captured
them and swallowed them up with his hand, hungry
for the child's touch. He had him! His whole hand,
and then, his wrist. Slowly, carefully, he began to
crawl backward. Debris shifted and showered him with
every movement. Jammed between concrete and gravel
and dirt, he could see little as he inched his way back out.
The partial cave-in gave way, cascading down, its weight
dropping onto him, threatening to bury them both. Surging
upward in the violent heaves of floor and walls, a piece
of metal rebar jabbed into the shoulder of his vest -- searing
pain -- snagging him immobile. 
He squeezed his right hand tighter around Steven's wrist.
"I've got you. This is the tough part. Don't let go!"
Squirming, he got his left arm free and tugged at the
stubborn end of the rebar. The twisted metal had impaled
him like a javelin. In his right hand, he could feel Steven
go suddenly limp. Had the dirt smothered him? 
"NO! Steven!" He shook the boy as hard as he
could with only one hand on a still, thin wrist. "Wake
up, you've got to wake up, and *don't let go!*" Fear
rocketed through him. He gave a mighty heave, and
the rebar ripped through flesh and the edge of the Kevlar
vest and then he was free. He clamped down even
harder on Steven's wrist, so hard, he knew he was
bruising him, risked cutting off circulation, afraid to
grip him any less tightly. 
With one last massive pull, Steven's thin form
slipped through, as the tunnel shuddered one
last time, like a dying animal, its gasp an endless
shower as it imploded on itself, trying to suck them
under. Mulder gathered the child up and staggered down
the tunnel, blind in the swirl of dust and smoke.
Fear dried his mouth. The collapsing tunnel spat
him out like Jonah from the mouth of the whale, in
a spurt of smoke and ashes, his marker showing him
the way to the surface. He clambered up the gully,
shouting and coughing. 
Hands reached for him and he could hear, finally,
something besides the ringing explosions. They
drew him up and out and someone took Steven from
his arms, throwing a blanket over him. Someone else
eased the vest from his shoulder, saying, "Jesus
Christ, look at this hole, he's been shot --" but the
words did not sink in. He could not have been
shot, it was the rebar, it must have been but it did
not matter. 
"Steven!" He pulled away from the hands and reeled
after the child until they reached clear air. He turned
and saw billowing smoke geysering up from the hole
in the ground and realized how close to disaster they
had truly been. Nothing could have breathed in that
inferno. Agents drew him with them, the grass dewed
with silvery streaks, and fresh morning light shone
down on them, and he went to his knees, blinking in
exhaustion, as they laid Steven gently down. 
Like an apparition out of nowhere, Skinner was
suddenly there, a looming presence, familiar and
comforting. The AD knelt, his injured leg making it
awkward, and reached out to steady Mulder as he
swayed. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" 
Mulder looked at him, saw the compassion and
concern, and would have answered, but he found
it difficult to breathe. Skinner was totally focused
on him and Mulder could see the man was making
his own assessment. He wouldn't want to wager on
his chances of avoiding a hospital stay this time. One
strong hand still held his arm, oblivious to the sleeping
baby tucked securely in the other. He started to laugh
at the sight, but a spasm of coughing kept him down
until he could finally draw a clear breath. He paused,
looked around, and realized there were bodies on the
ground. "Scully?" 
Skinner shook his head slowly, and Mulder started
to ask about Jess, but a child's whimper interrupted.
"Steven!" 
He crawled to his side and his hands, God bless his
hands, they knew what to do as they gently straightened
the boy's tangled limbs and brushed his hair from his
face. 
Steven gave a rattling breath, and color came back into
his paler than pale skin. He reached for Mulder's
hand, and wove their fingers together, his tiny ones
almost lost in Mulder's long, elegant ones. "Be
careful," Steven whispered. "Be careful." 
Skinner leaned forward. "Shhh," he soothed, and
Steven looked up at the big man. "Walter," he
whispered. "Fox said you were here." He blinked
in confusion, then a smile blossomed on his grubby
face. "And you found Jessie." 
His gaze flicked from Mulder to Skinner and back
to Mulder. He tightened his hand about Mulder's
and reached for Skinner with the other one. "Be very
careful," he whispered again, his eyes sliding shut
once more, hands going limp. 
Skinner put his hand on Mulder's good shoulder.
"He's in shock. Medical's on the way." He leaned
over and caught Mulder in a hug, holding him awkwardly
careful of both the sleeping baby he held and the
injuries Mulder sported. "He's alive! You did good,
Mulder, you did so good!" 
Mulder nodded, inordinately pleased to have the praise
and admiration of this man he respected. He nodded
again, wordlessly, suddenly growing lightheaded and dizzy,
darkness threatening the edge of his vision. He had
gotten Steven this far. And Skinner had Jess. He gently
broke from Skinner's embrace and leaned over Steven
again. "You're alive, son. You're safe, and you're alive." 
He lifted his head to meet Skinner's eyes. "But now --
where is Scully?" 
********************************************* 
Skinner woke suddenly to wiggling weight landing
on his chest. He groaned softly and was answered by
a high pitched giggle, echoed by a voice to his side. 
"Steven," he said in mock sternness, "didn't I tell
you not to get Jessie out of the crib?" 
"She was getting whiny, Walter," the boy explained.
"She isn't used to having to stay in the crib once
she wakes up." The child's tone turned wistful.
"At home, she had a regular bed, only smaller.
Mama worried because she was always climbing
out of the crib and she was afraid she'd fall and
hurt herself." 
"So they got her a regular bed?" Skinner asked,
one hand gently hanging onto the baby as he
hitched to the side to make room for Steven to
climb up. 
"Yeah," the boy said sadly. "She only had it
a couple weeks but she really liked it." He
lay down beside Skinner, head resting on the
AD's shoulder, and Skinner stretched an arm
around him. "Walter? Jessica and me, we're
not going to get to go home, are we?" 
Skinner swallowed and looked over at the fourth
bed in the room. Mulder was sleeping, the IV
administered pain meds keeping him under. No
help from that quarter. He rubbed the boy's back.
"No, Steven, you're not," he said quietly. 
"Because the bad men hurt Mama and Daddy?" 
"Yes." 
"They killed them, didn't they?" 
Skinner swallowed again, still rubbing the boy's
back. He wasn't prepared for this. He would never
be prepared for this. Who could expect to have to
be prepared for this conversation? "You know
your mom and dad love you a lot, don't you Steven?"
he asked gently. 
"Yeah. That's why they were 'dopting me." He
paused a moment, thinking. "We were gonna have
a party -- to celebrate." 
"I know. It's a good thing to celebrate." 
"They love Jessie, too. They were gonna 'dopt her
when she was old enough." The boy sniffled, and
buried his head in Skinner's chest. From her place
on his other side, he could feel the baby begin to stir
fretfully, worried by Steven's obvious agitation.
"But they won't now. The bad men killed them." 
"Yes, Steven, the bad men killed them." 
The child was silent for a long time, and Skinner
could do nothing but hold him and hope that his
presence was comfort of some sort. Finally, the
boy looked up, meeting Skinner's eyes. "What's
going to happen to me and Jess?" he asked, tears
hovering in his eyes. 
"For now, you're going to stay with me and
Fox," Skinner said reassuringly. They all turned
to look at the man still sleeping in the other bed.
Jessica sat up again, using the hospital bed rail
to pull herself up. 
"Shhh," she whispered. "Pox seepin' now." 
Skinner laughed quietly. "Yep, Fox is still sleeping,"
he echoed. 
"We're gonna stay with you?" Steven asked again,
needing to hear the words. This child had been
through so much, his whole world shattered. Skinner
was glad to be able to offer him this much. 
"Absolutely. For now, you stay with us." 
"Where's Dana?" the boy asked. "When is she coming?" 
Skinner froze. How to answer this one? He played
several options through his mind and finally settled on
honesty. 
"Steven? Do you remember when Dana came? Before
the bad men?" 
"Yeah ..." the boy answered, slightly uncertain. 
"And then what happened?" 
"We played. She said you and Fox were coming later."
He paused, brow furrowing as he thought back. "Mom
fixed dinner and we ate." He sucked in a gasp of air,
trying mightily to stifle a cry. "Then the bad men came." 
"Do you remember what happened to Dana?" 
The little face puckered again, thinking hard. "They
brought her with us," he said finally. "They hit her --
hard -- and then she was sleeping, but they picked her
up and carried her out to the van with me and Jess.
She was fighting but they were really big men. And
they hit her on the head. They didn't bring Mama and
Daddy," he added sadly. 
The boy cuddled closer and Skinner held him tight.
Bandages stood out in stark contrast to the boy's
darker coloring -- Mulder's coloring he thought to
himself. Around both wrists, beneath the hospital
gown, on his chest, and on both legs, razor sharp
cuts had been cleaned and dressed in white gauze.
He'd been cleaned up, given a bath and Skinner
could smell the clean scent of baby shampoo from
both children. He tucked the child in tighter, wishing
he could take away the pain, set things back to the
way they were before. 
"I tried to fight them, Walter," Steven said in a
small voice. "I tried hard. I kicked and I hit, but
the man just picked me up. I was trying so hard ..." 
"You were very brave, Steven," Skinner said,
waging his own battle with the lump in his throat.
"You are the bravest boy I know." He was hugging
the child, wondering where the conversation would
go next, when a nurse walked briskly into the room. 
"In with you again, I see, Mr. Skinner," she said,
smiling. 
"We like Walter," Steven said defensively. 
"Like Wa - tah," Jess echoed. 
"I know you do," the woman said soothingly, "but
you know I need you in your own beds to look at
your boo-boos." 
Steven rolled his eyes. "You mean my injuries,"
he corrected. "I don't call them boo-boos anymore." 
The woman smiled again. "Well, then, into your
own bed so I can check your injuries, young man."
She came to the side of Skinner's bed and let the rail
down. "And you really shouldn't let them climb
over the rail, Mr. Skinner," she admonished. "It's
just not safe." 
"I know," he answered, abashed. "But they snuck
up on me." 
Steven had climbed down and padded over to his
bed. Skinner watched as the boy jumped up into
his bed, not seeming to feel any discomfort from
the numerous cuts and abrasions on his body. The
nurse produced an aural thermometer and Steven
tolerated having the thing in his ear with obvious
distaste. He handled the dressing changes better,
but Skinner could tell his patience was wearing
thin by the time it was done. 
"When's breakfast?" he asked as soon as the nurse
turned away. 
"Soon," she promised as she came back to Skinner's
bed, scooping Jessica up to do her exam. "You must
have a lot of pull," she said jokingly to Skinner. "I've
never seen the hospital allow children to stay with
adults -- not even family members injured in the same
trauma." 
Skinner gave her a warning look, then said quietly,
"We wanted to be with the kids." It was the truth,
but it belied the whole story. The story that had
involved hours of explanations and phone calls, and
was the reason the four of them were sharing a
hospital room with two guards outside the door. 
The nurse finished with Jess and put her down on
the floor, watching as she toddled over to the
impromptu play area they had established in one
corner of the ward room. The only play room
was on Pediatrics, and there was no way Skinner
was allowing the children out of his sight. He
was determined they were all staying right here,
together, until Mulder was well enough to be
discharged and they could all leave together.
Then they would have to deal with the legalities
of custody. And the realities of the same. 
And then, the search for Scully could begin. 
End part 04/09 
The Price of a Soul 05/09 
Scully awoke. That groggy feeling that often came from
being drugged was fogging her mind, clouding her thoughts,
making it difficult to get a clear assessment of her situation.
She lay on a tattered old cot. The smell of mildew thick
beneath her nose. Her hands were bound cruelly behind
her back. And she could feel wire within the cords that
secured her. Her fingers were numb and she wiggled them
uselessly trying to restore sensation. The room was dim.
The only light coming in was through a narrow grimy
window tucked up close to the low ceiling. Wiggling on
the bed, on the cot, she surveyed the room and decided
she was in a basement. Concrete floor and rough
cinderblock walls that glinted with the moisture that
sweat through the brick. The room was quiet. No
sound to be heard. 
Fighting the chemically induced cloud in her mind,
she thought back on the events that led to this. The
trip out to the LaFreniere's had been uneventful. She
had enjoyed an afternoon with the children and dinner
with the family before hell had come to call. She
remembered watching in helplessness as the
children were hauled away before her eyes. And
then the feel of the needle sliding into her tightly
held arm followed by the inevitable slide into
unconsciousness. 
Twisting her head she looked around again. No
sign of the children or Tom or Susan. She kicked
her feet experimentally and was surprised to find
them loose in marked contrast to the tight bonds
that held her hands. Fighting a rising wave of nausea,
she gave a mighty heave and shifted to a sitting
position, her legs sliding over the edge of the
cot, her bare feet resting on the cold concrete floor. 
What the hell had happened? She twisted her head
again, taking in the small, dark, dank room. And
where the hell was she? 
Rising tentatively to her feet, she stood by the cot
for a moment and then began a careful perusal of
the rest of the room. By the heavily filtered sunlight
she could just make out the shape and details of her
cell. She walked across the cool cement floor to
stand by the wall beneath the window. The room
was low-ceilinged, barely a foot above her head, and
were her hands free, she would be able to reach the
window with little difficulty. She snorted in disgust.
Not that reaching the window would do her any good.
It was too narrow to allow even her slender form to
pass through. 
She took three paces from the window to reach the
first corner, then turned and paced five more times
to reach the second. Three paces brought her to a
rough hewn door with no visible latch or knob.
Knowing it was futile she nonetheless dutifully
pressed against the door even going so far as to
make a running jump and slam it with her shoulder.
All that tactic did was earn her a very sore shoulder.
She took three more paces to reach the third corner,
turned again, repeated the five steps of the short wall,
and paused as she reached this last corner. 
There was a small jug of water and a plate that held a
chunk of bread. It almost made her laugh. How was she
supposed to eat or drink with her hands bound behind her?
The third object in the corner could only be a chamber pot.
And she became aware of the pressure in her bladder. Once
again, perhaps the thought counted for something, but the
reality of her situation made using the damn thing almost
impossible. She might be able to get her pants down but
with her hands bound the way they were, she didn't think
she would be able to get them back up. And she was at
enough of a disadvantage as it was. She didn't think she
wanted to meet her captors with her pants around her ankles. 
Her stomach rumbled and she realized she had been kept
unconscious for quite a while. She looked wistfully at the
bread and water but decided she wasn't ready to eat
doggie-style at this point. 
Inspection of the room complete, she returned to the cot
and sat. There was no sound from outside the window -- no
cars, no barking dogs, no children playing, no birds, no
frogs, no crickets -- nothing to give her a clue as to where
she was. The room itself seemed to echo with silence. Her
own ragged breathing and the blood pounding in her ears
was all she could hear in this eerily silent place. 
Since her assault on the island she had kept her distance
from others becoming even more reserved and professional
then was her usual wont. Only Mulder slipped inside the
reserve. She smiled as she thought of her dark-haired lover. 
And Skinner. The man who had saved them both. 
But this silence, this isolation, was too reminiscent of that
terrible time. And she knew her strength would be tested.
The residual effects of the drugs still had her confused,
mildly disoriented, and she knew her thinking was not at
its best. She took one last look at the room, realized no
miraculous escape had appeared, and decided sleep and more
time to clear the drugs from her system was her best course
of action. Laying awkwardly down on her side, her right
elbow digging into her hip, she closed her eyes and let
thoughts of Mulder carry her away. 
************************************************ 
Skinner stood by Mulder's bed, the baby snuggled in his
arms. She stared down at the sleeping agent and then
demanded, "Pox, wake up now!" and Skinner chuckled. 
"Fox is sleeping now, Jess," Skinner murmured. 
"Pox, wake up now!" the baby repeated more insistently.
She began squirming in his arms and Skinner was
hard-pressed to keep a hold of her. 
"I think she wants down, Walter," Steven said from the
play area. 
Skinner turned to look at the little boy and the baby took
advantage of his momentary distraction to make her escape.
With a kick to his belly and a sharp pull to the right, she
launched herself from Skinner's arms and swan-dived
onto Mulder. 
The younger man woke with an "Oomph!" and raised bleary
eyes to look around. Two little hands reached out to each
cheek holding him still as a tiny nose approached his own. 
"Pox, seep 'nough! You pease wake up now." 
"Uh, Sir?" Mulder began and Skinner immediately lifted
the baby from her roost on Mulder's tender abdomen -- the
baby who promptly began to scream in protest. 
"Sorry, Mulder," Skinner muttered, then repeated himself
in a louder tone when Mulder indicated he couldn't be heard
over the little girl's shrieks. 
"Want Pox!" 
Mulder raised his hands and covered his ears briefly
then lifted long-suffering eyes to Skinner. "How did I
get to be so popular?" 
Skinner snorted. "*You've* been sleeping for two days.
I think she's getting tired of me." 
"Two days?" He looked around carefully, counting beds.
"Scully?" he asked. "Have you found Scully?" 
"Want Pox!" the baby shrieked again, flailing her arms
and legs. 
Skinner was amazed at how much damage those little
feet and hands were capable of. He lifted her higher in
his arms trying to protect the vital parts of his anatomy
from the kicking feet, then held her straight out from
his chest, her feet dancing in the air. "Not yet. I've
got people on it." 
"Want Pox! Want Pox! Want Pox!" 
Skinner cast a nervous glance to the door of the ward
room and wondered how long it would be before a nurse
came to see who was torturing this child. As the baby
landed another blow, this time catching him across his
tender Adam's apple, he gave a strangled cough and
fleetingly wondered if he had the authority to coerce the
guards outside into a more active form of guard duty. He
blinked and she nailed him on the nose and tears sprang
to his eyes. A more hazardous form of guard duty
he mentally amended -- babysitting. Surely one of them
had kids ... 
"Want Pox! Jess want Pox!" 
Skinner was at a loss and was ready to put the child down
and ask for help when Mulder spoke again. "Put her next
to me," he said to Skinner. He reached up with one arm
and grabbed a wildly kicking foot, saying, "Jessica, stop this." 
The baby's noise ceased as abruptly as it had begun. "Pox
wake now," the baby said happily. 
The baby immediately settled in Skinner's arms smiling
with pleasure at both men. 
"Jess," Mulder said quietly, "if you want to sit with me,
you have to sit still." 
The baby's face turned serious. "'kay." She reached for Mulder
and Skinner gently set her down at his side. One little hand
reached out and gently traced the bandage on Mulder's shoulder.
"Pox got owie," she whispered, then leaned over and planted
a sloppy kiss on Mulder's hospital gown. Mulder smiled.
A kiss from Jess was nice, but he really wanted Scully there.
Somehow her kisses were more healing. 
"You're pretty good at this, Mulder," Skinner said. 
"Scully says it's my childlike personality," Mulder responded
self-deprecatingly. "The kids recognize a kindred spirit." 
"What's kindred?" Steven piped up. 
"It means alike," Mulder answered. 
The little boy got up excitedly and moved to stand by
Mulder's bed. "We are alike!" he said. "You and me and
Jess. We have the same hair and we have the same eyes.
We really are a kindred." 
The two men exchanged a knowing look. Mulder seemed
to be pleading silently with Skinner who only shrugged.
They probably weren't going to get a better entre into this
sensitive subject than the one they were offered. 
"Steven," Mulder said, "what do you know about your mom
and dad?" 
"They're dead," the boy said sadly. He took a ragged breath
then lifted tear-filled eyes to gaze at Mulder and Skinner.
He lifted one hand and placed it over his chest. "It makes
my heart hurt when I think about it." 
This was not going as Skinner had envisioned it at all. And
he couldn't stand by and watch this child suffer any more.
He couldn't take away the hurt, but maybe he could do something
to help. He moved swiftly around the bed and lifted the startled
child with strong, comforting arms. The boy's legs wrapped
around his waist and his arms snaked out to encircle his neck,
the dark head nestling trustingly in the hollow of his shoulder. 
Mulder frowned up at Skinner and sent a silent query 'Are you
sure we should do this now?' 
Skinner tightened his grip on the young boy and nodded. This
conversation was never going to get any easier and it needed
to be done. 
"You know your mom and dad loved you, right Steven?" 
The boy sniffed, rubbing his face against Skinner's shoulder
and nodded mutely. 
"They loved you very much," Skinner continued. 
"They were 'dopting me," the boy agreed. 
"Do you understand that you have another mother and
father?" Skinner asked gently. "Your biological
parents?" 
Steven nodded again clutching tightly to the AD. 
In the hospital bed Mulder pressed a button and the top half
of the bed began to rise. The baby giggled happily as she
rode the bed to an upright position. Mulder was sitting up
now and Skinner freed one hand to lower the bed's guard-rail
then seated himself carefully on the foot of the bed. 
Mulder spoke, "Steven, sometimes there are tests that can
be done to find out if people are related." 
The little boy lifted his head from Skinner's shoulder to
look worriedly at Mulder. "Tests that hurt?" he asked with
concern. 
"Oh, no," Mulder hurried to reassure the child. "We've
already done these tests, Steven. Do you remember when
they took some blood after we had the accident?" 
"When you and Walter came and found us." The little
boy nodded. "Jessie cried, but I was brave." 
"Yes, you were," Skinner said, rubbing the boy's back. "You're
still the bravest boy I know." 
The boy beamed happily, thrilled to be praised by his hero. 
"Well," Mulder continued, "from that blood the doctors were
able to find out some things." 
"What kind of things?" Steven asked. 
"You know how you and Jessie look alike?" 
The boy snorted in disgust. "We don't look alike. She's a girl
and I'm a boy. She's a baby and I'm big." 
Mulder laughed and Skinner chuckled, then the older man
said, "But remember what you just said about your hair and
Jessica's hair being alike?" 
The little boy nodded and his eyes lit up for a moment,
excitement clearly visible before it died and a frown
crossed his face. "But Jess can't be my mother," he said,
causing the two men to burst out laughing, "and I can't be
her father." 
"No," Mulder said indulgently. "But you can be her brother." 
The little boy thought about this for a moment and nodded.
"Her real brother, you mean, not just her 'dopted one?" 
Mulder started to speak, but his throat closed up and he
looked helplessly at Skinner. Nodding again, the older
man rubbed Steven's back softly, and said, "We know that
Jess is your sister but we also know who your father is.
Your real father. Your biological father." 
The little boy looked up in curiosity. "Really?" 
"Yep, really." Skinner smiled down at the boy. He glanced
at Mulder and smiled then looked back to meet Steven's eyes.
"Fox is your father. Yours and Jessica's." 
The child's eyes widened in amazement. "You mean Fox
is our daddy?" 
"Pox daddy," Jessica echoed, and Mulder wondered what, if
anything, she understood of this conversation. She seemed
to be listening avidly, alternately at rest in his arms, or
fidgeting restlessly as her brother grew agitated. 
The boy stared somberly at the agent in the bed and Mulder's
heart froze in fear. He had known this wasn't going to be
easy but he had hoped the child would be somewhat pleased
at the revelation. Instead Mulder watched as his son's expression
changed from shock to disbelief and finally to anger. 
Steven pushed away from Skinner and slid down to the floor
moving several feet away. "Are you really my daddy?" he
demanded petulantly. 
"Yes, Steven, I am," Mulder responded quietly with a nod. 
"Daddy Pox," Jessica said throwing her arms around Mulder's
neck and kissing him soundly. Mulder grinned. At least
one of the children still liked him. He patted the baby then
shifted slightly as she settled down beside him. He looked up
to meet the angry and confused eyes of his son. 
"If you are really my dad," Steven said, "why didn't you take
care of me when I was little?" His small hands balled into fists
at his side and his body went rigid. "And how come," he
continued, "if you really are our dad, you didn't take care of
Jessica?" Steven paused for a moment, chest heaving, as he
fought back tears. "Dads are supposed to take care of their kids." 
Skinner's heart was breaking. For Mulder and for Steven. He
didn't know who needed him more but he feared any offer of
comfort to either of them would be rebuffed. For this, they would
have to work it out themselves. 
"I didn't know about you or Jess," Mulder pleaded, the pain in
his voice so tangible it hurt Skinner just to listen. 
"No!" Steven said with a snuffle. 
"Yes," Mulder insisted. "I didn't know about you." He extended
both hands toward the boy. "Steven, you have to believe me. If I
had known about you, I would *never* have let them hurt you." 
"Really?" 
"Really." 
"You would have wanted me?" 
"Steven, I *do* want you," Mulder said injecting every ounce
of sincerity and believability he could into his tone, willing the
boy to believe this most basic truth. 
The child stood stiffly, immobile, as he waged an inner battle,
and Skinner and Mulder waited, breaths held, afraid to move. 
"You really want to be my dad?" Steven asked finally. 
"Oh, Steven," Mulder responded, "I would be so honored if you
would let me be your dad." 
At that, the dam burst and tears began to flow down the child's
cheeks. He ran the few feet to the bed and launched himself into
Mulder's waiting arms. 
Skinner was concerned about Mulder's wounds but this was
more important. 
The boy clung to his father, weeping, and Mulder's tears flowed
freely too. Steven pulled back from Mulder's arms a tiny
bit, and looked up at him. "You're really my 'logical
father?" 
Mulder glanced at Skinner, both men smiling now, and
answered, "Well, I don't know how 'logical' it is, but,
yes, Steven, I *am* your father." 
Steven missed the joke, but nodded and continued to
stare up at Mulder. "And you're not going to leave me?
Or Jess? You're going to stay with us and take care of
us forever?" 
"Forever," Mulder promised. "After all, dads take care
of their kids." He hugged the boy tightly, unwilling to
let him go for even a minute now. 
Skinner lifted a hand to wipe his own eyes, happy to see
this issue resolved, but wondering how they would move
on now. 
As Steven's shudders calmed and the tears ceased, Jessica
solved the problem of moving on when she patted Mulder
and said, "Daddy Pox?" 
When Mulder looked up at her, she pointed at Skinner
and said, "Who dat?" 
Mulder got a big shit-eating grin on his face and said,
"Wellll -- Steven, baby Jess, I'd have to say, that's your
Uncle Walter." 
********************************************** 
When Scully woke the next time, it was dark. The little
bit of light the narrow window had admitted was gone.
Her stomach rumbled in complaint, and her bladder felt
full to bursting. The drugs seemed to have left her system
for she felt clear-headed and the annoying fog that had
clouded her mind had lifted. She moved experimentally
on the cot, and was relieved to find her hands had been
freed at some point as she slept. 
She rose quickly and moved to the corner where the
food and water had been left - and the other necessity.
She took the bread and water back to the cot, then returned
to the corner and relieved herself. Moving back to
the cot, she spared a minute amount of water to rinse
her hands and face, then drank deeply. The bread
vanished, followed quickly by the water, and she was
amazed that stale bread and lukewarm water could taste
so good. Scully sat quietly for a few minutes, trying
to get her bearings in the blackness, trying to come
up with a plan. 
A sudden cramp clutched at her belly and she
was reminded that gorging on an empty stomach was
never a good idea. Her tummy heaved, and she
tasted bile, but she managed not to vomit, although
the sharp stink of mildew and her wastes made it
a temptation and her mouth tasted unspeakably
foul. She reached up, clawing her hair out of
her face, then ran a weary hand over her eyes,
pressing hard against closed lids. Her head pounded
now, her abdomen quivered, and the darkness
seemed to become denser. 
She was alive. There was that. In the dark, in
an unknown place, held captive for an unknown
reason by an unknown enemy, but alive. Being
alive was not in itself terribly reassuring. She
wondered if the other occupants of the LaFreniere
home had been so lucky. Scully shook her head,
forcing herself to her feet and decided to make
another assessment of her prison. This time
with a clear head. 
She was content with her measurements from
the last time; 6 paces by 5 paces, approximately
12 by 10. The place she was in, other than being
black as pitch, was cool, but not dangerously so.
The concrete was rough beneath her bare feet,
and she wondered for the first time where her
shoes were. And why they had felt it necessary
to remove them. She moved slowly to a wall,
reaching out tentatively and touching the
damp cinderblock. She traced the blocks,
confirming they were cinderblock, and decided
she must be in a cellar or basement, not too
well insulated if the moisture of the ground
was weeping through the block. 
The temperature seemed constant, the earth
itself serving to regulate it, and there were
no sounds or even vibrations to give a clue
as to where she was, or if she was alone.
A sudden thought crossed her mind, and
she felt panic stab at her consciousness.
What if she had been buried alive in this
small room? What if there was no house
above? No one to come for her? No clue
to where she was? She closed her eyes
tightly, fingernails biting into the palms
of her clenched fists. Think, Dana, she
admonished herself, think. Would they
leave you water and food if they were going
to forget you? Would there be a window --
that's right, there was a window -- if this was
a crypt? The temporary insanity receded
and she could feel her breathing begin to
slow and even out. 
She made her way to the cot and sat again,
knowing that she would have to find a way
out. Mulder and Skinner were good, but
she had a feeling her captors were better in
this case. It was probably as if she had
vanished off the face of the earth. But she
was still alive. God only knew if any of the
others still were. She had a sudden case of
guilt. When the men had attacked, beating
Tom and Susan, grabbing up the children so
cruelly, she had been shocked. Not prepared
for violence, she hadn't been wearing her
gun and despite her best efforts had been
easily overpowered. She hadn't been able to
*do* anything to protect the LaFreniere's.
Nothing. 
But despite her situation, despite her seeming
disadvantage, she wasn't shocked anymore.
And she wasn't unprepared. She knew something
that these men didn't know. They would look
at her and see a small woman. Strong, yes,
but they would consider her strong for a woman
her size. They would be like most men were
who tangled with her. Unprepared for her
advantage. Unprepared for her determination.
Unprepared for her readiness to do whatever
it took to get free. 
She drew a deep breath and then froze. She
had heard nothing, but there were vibrations
where there had been stillness, in the concrete
beneath her feet, and in the air that brushed
her cheeks. She paused a moment, thinking
of Mulder. Mulder who was her love, her
strength, her safe place. He was her comfort. 
Then she thought of Skinner. A big man,
a strong man, who had spent time with her
after the island. Time showing her how
to use her size to her advantage. How to use
his size against him. He was her mentor,
her teacher, her friend. 
She flung herself back onto the cot, going
loose in a facsimile of sleep or unconsciousness.
A lock turned, then a bolt, then a chain. Hinges
groaned and then there was light! Real light.
Beautiful, bouncing, blinding light. She readied
herself without moving, prepared to spring up
if the chance presented itself. Tiny, quick
breaths, each one designed to hide the rise and
fall of her chest. 
There were footsteps in the room now. One man.
Were there others upstairs? She dismissed the
thought. One step at a time. If she made it out
of here, she would soon know if this man was
alone. She thought once more of Mulder - his
touch, his taste, his tone. She wanted to experience
him again. They had waited so long to know one
another, she wasn't ready to let go yet. After the
island it had been Mulder, and Mulder alone who
had let her feel safe enough to be a woman. Who
had made it all right for her to be with him. Who
made it good to not be alone. 
And she thought of Skinner -- the black and blue
marks he hid beneath the starched white shirts as
he taught her to fight as he had been taught. The
aches and pains he suffered willingly to make her
stronger, to give her back her security. It had been
Skinner who had made her strong enough to be a
woman. Who made her know again that she could
take care of herself. Who made her strong enough
to be alone. 
She waited in total relaxation on the bed, ready
to react to whatever situation presented itself.
And she thanked both of her men that she was
prepared this time. 
End part 05/09 
The Price of a Soul 06/09 
Mulder paced, nervous agitation making it impossible to stay
still. He cast quick glances at the children; Steven playing
quietly on the floor in the play area, Jessie tucked securely
in Skinner's lap. He'd promised them he would take them
home. But where was home? He was practically living
at Scully's. He still kept the bare essentials at his apartment,
but he spent almost all his time at her place. She had a second
bedroom -- not perfect for the kids but better than his one
bedroom hole in the wall place. 
He thought of Scully, then cursed the men and the conspiracy
that had taken her from him again. This had to stop. There
had to be a way to make this stop. His fist came up, almost
of its own accord, ready to pound the wall, when a throat
cleared from behind him. He turned, seeing Skinner frowning
at him, Jess still distracted, but Steven staring with large, almost
frightened eyes. He lowered his hand immediately and gave
a weak smile, waiting until the boy returned to his toys. 
He wanted Scully. He wanted to tell her these were his children.
He wanted -- no, he needed -- her help and support. Without
it, he wasn't sure he could make this transition to instant
father. But did he have the right to invade her home,
rearrange her life, make this decision without her? A sigh
escaped him, and he realized how incredibly lost he was without
this woman, the one person who had ever completely accepted
him and loved him unconditionally. She trusted him, and
he wasn't going to abuse that trust in any way. He would take
the children home to his apartment. Then, once Scully was
found, they would work out the details from there. 
Finally, he sighed again and lifted the phone, dialing a number
he knew by heart. 
"Langly? This is Mulder." He grimaced, but who else could
he have called to take care of these details? 
"Let me talk to Byers." 
"No, you can't help me. Well, you can help me, but
I need to talk to Byers first." He started pacing again, the
cord on the phone keeping him tethered near the bed, the
wounds in his belly and on his shoulder keeping him
from moving too fast. 
"No, I'm not implying anything." 
"Langly, put Byers on the phone." 
"No, I don't want to talk to Frohike. I definitely
don't want to talk to Frohike." Mulder stopped, fingers
coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a gesture
reminiscent of the AD. 
"Well, yes, I am going to need him to help too, but --
damn it, Langly, put Byers on the phone." He looked
at the children guiltily, already regretting letting his
temper force him to raise his voice. 
"No, this doesn't have anything to do with your skills
or abilities. Or Frohike's. I just need to talk to John."
Oh, God. He was whining. Time for a new approach. 
"Langly -- I work for the FBI. I can create investigations.
Put Byers on the phone!" If you can't reason with them,
threats will sometimes work. Mulder smiled smugly as
he heard the receiver on the other end being handed off. 
"John? Yeah, this is Mulder." 
"No, I'm not mad at Ringo." He started pacing again,
one hand coming up to rub his temple. He was getting
a headache. 
"No, I did *not* say he was incompetent." 
"Well, I'm sorry his feelings are hurt, and I'm sorry he's
sulking." 
"Jesus Christ, John, I just have something I need done,
and I think you're the best one to spearhead the operation
without attracting undue attention!" Damn! He had to
get control of his temper and keep his voice down.
The baby had jumped in Skinner's lap when he had spoken,
and Mulder winced at Skinner's reproachful glare. 
"NO!" Deep breath, Mulder. Control. These guys are
not the enemy. "I am not implying that your associates are
weird. No weirder than usual anyway. No weirder than you
or me. You just dress like normal folks. Helps you pass."
His anger subsiding in the face of the incongruity of this
conversation, Mulder laughed. 
"Look, John, I need a big favor." 
He was pacing again, listening. Why the hell did this have
to be so hard? "All right, then, I need two favors. Smooth
things over with Langly and Frohike, then I need you to
get some things for my apartment." 
"Look, just do it, OK?" Soft tones, Mulder, soft tones. He
glanced quickly at the baby again, then looked over at his
son. "No questions for now." 
"All right. Here's what needs to be done. Ditch the
damn waterbed in my bedroom." 
"Yes, I said waterbed!" Another trip around the bed, as
far as the phone cord would let him go, and more deep
breathing as he continued to fight for control. 
"No! I don't care what you do with it." 
"If it'll make things straight with Langly, then, fine,
give it to him." Why not? He didn't want the damn thing.
Hell, he wasn't even sure where the damn thing came
from. He was thinking that should be all that had to go,
when he looked up in horror. More guilt as he looked at
the kids, and then he lowered his voice. "And tell Melvin
to take all the tapes." 
"The videos. They absolutely have to go," he whispered, his face
red. When he looked at the baby again, Skinner caught his
eye, a questioning look on his face. Mulder turned his back
abruptly. "Yes, I'm serious." 
Mulder winced as a sudden pain shot through his shoulder,
then smiled grimly. "Well, that's reassuring. So happy to
know I am back in Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum's good graces."
And off that topic. 
"I need two new beds." Mulder was walking around the
hospital bed again as he spoke, but a bit more slowly now.
Surely he could fit the two beds in his bedroom. 
"Yes, two. Get a twin size bed and a crib." 
Steven spoke up. "Jess has a toddler bed now." 
Mulder hit his head. "Shit! No crib." 
He heard a familiar echo from the corner. "Szit!"
Skinner looked over at him, Jess in his lap and frowned. 
He paused. "Yes, I *did* say crib. Now I'm saying *no*
crib. Get a toddler bed." On top of his other aches,
his head was hurting again. 
"A toddler bed. One of those half size things that are low
to the ground and have rails." 
"How the hell am I supposed to know where to find them?"
Low tones, low tones, Mulder. He took a deep breath.
"At the toddler bed store, I suppose." 
"Yeah, good idea, John. That's why I told Langly I needed
to talk to you. You can think normal when you try." He
laughed. 
"Get sheets and pillows and blankets. Whatever else is needed." 
"How old? Um, seven and two?" Mulder looked at Steven. 
"Two and a half," the boy said in answer to Mulder's unspoken
question. "And Jessie needs a potty." He cast a glance
at the bathroom door. "You know, for when you're still
learning." 
"John? I need a potty chair, too." 
"A potty chair. If you need an explanation for that one,
ask the salesperson." 
"Clothes, toys, games. Kid's stuff." 
"Size? How should I know? They're two and seven." 
Mulder turned to look at Skinner again. "Uh, Sir,
could you see what size her shirt is? And Steven's
too?" 
"John? 3T and 8." 
"Hold on, John." He moved closer to Steven, as close as the
cord would allow and asked, "Anything else, Steven?" 
"We're really coming home with you?" 
"Absolutely!" 
The little boy furrowed his brow, thinking. "Do you have
a booster seat? So Jess can reach at the table?" 
Mulder shook his head, then spoke into the phone again.
"A booster seat -- for the table." He frowned, visualizing
his apartment. "Oh, and get a table while you're at it." 
"A table to eat at. A kitchen table. Or something. With
chairs." 
"You don't have a table?" Steven seemed shocked. "Where
do you eat?" 
Mulder shook his head. "I *do* have one. I just sort of use
it as a desk." This whole conversation was reawakening
his doubts as to his ability to assume his role as father. But,
damn it, they were his kids -- he wasn't going to run out on
them. They'd all adjust. "Don't worry. We're going to have
a table." 
He returned his attention to the phone. "Oh. The older one's
a boy, and the baby is a girl." He looked fondly at each child
as he spoke. 
"Can you guys clean the place up a bit, and get some
food? Real food, not that stuff I usually buy. Fruit and
juice -- that sort of thing." 
"Hey, thanks, man. I owe you big time. Charge everything
to my card. I'm sure you guys can get the numbers." He
grinned, then looked at Skinner who was reading to Jessie
in the play area. 
"When?" he mouthed. 
"Tomorrow." 
"Tomorrow, John." 
"I know it's not much time. Just get it done, please."
God, one day was not much time at all. 
"Do you have a rocker, Fox?" Steven asked, looking
pointedly at Skinner where he sat rocking the baby as
he read. "Jessie likes to be rocked." 
Mulder nodded, thinking of the times he'd caught
Steven in Skinner's lap, being rocked as well. 
"Oh, one more thing. A rocker, John." He pinched
his nose again, listening. 
"Yes, a rocker. Rocking chair. High back, curved bottom?
I'm sure you've seen them." 
Mulder sighed in relief, then stiffened. 
"Yeah, actually, they *are* mine." He smiled in
satisfaction as he hung up on the shocked silence
from the other end. 
************************************** 
"Want juice," Jess demanded, and Mulder laughed
when Steven corrected her. 
"How do you ask, Jessie?" 
"Want juice, pease," she repeated, with a slightly
less insistent tone. 
The flight attendant looked at Mulder. "I can
get her some juice, sir," she offered, and Mulder
thanked her. 
When the woman didn't move, Mulder looked
up again. 
"Do you have her sippy cup?" 
"Her what?" 
"You *are* her father, aren't you?" 
"Well, uh, yes, but," he looked nervously at the
woman and then at Skinner. 
"He's a new father," Skinner said quietly. "The
children have been living elsewhere until now." 
Mulder could see the woman thinking, deciding
'custody battle,' and then assessing him. He must
have passed, because she smiled. "I think I can
find one for you. It's amazing what gets left
behind." She turned and walked quickly up the aisle
to the small galley. 
"What the hell is a sippy cup?" Mulder hissed to
Skinner. 
"How should I know?" The older man was engrossed
in his computer, hooked into the airline's phone system.
"You'll find out soon enough." 
Mulder looked at his watch. Another hour and a half.
And he was exhausted already. He checked to make
sure Steven and Jess were both buckled in, then closed
his eyes briefly. 
A small hand touched his arm. "Go potty pease." 
"Again? You just went!" 
Skinner chuckled and Mulder shot him a dirty look. 
"Go potty now," Jessica said firmly, a very determined
look on her face as she fussed with the seat belt. 
"Maybe you shouldn't give her the juice," Skinner
suggested. 
"It's a two and a half hour flight," Mulder said
in exasperation as he rose gingerly to take Jess to the
bathroom for the eighth time. All this up and down,
and back and forth was not helping his aches and pains.
"How often can she need to go?" 
Skinner frowned. "Does she go when you take
her?" 
"Yeah, some." 
"Then I guess she needs to go when she needs to
go." 
"Go potty, Pox," the baby said, tugging at Mulder's
hand. She was standing in the aisle, waiting for him
to rise and perform escort and support duty. No
potty chairs on airplanes. 
Skinner chuckled when he saw Mulder return, Jess
holding one hand and a stack of paper towels wiping
futilely at the front of his suit. 
Mulder looked up, chagrined. "She really gets into
the whole hand washing thing." 
Skinner recognized Mulder's insecurity. This was all
so new to him. New to them both. What the hell had they
been thinking when they said they would take the children?
What the hell had he been doing when he facilitated the
arrangement? He studied Mulder a bit longer. The tall
man was leaning over, buckling the baby into her seat
next to Steven. He paused a moment, looking at the
drawing the boy was making, then ruffling the child's
hair. 
When Mulder looked up again, Skinner said, "You're
doing fine, Mulder. It's an adjustment for everyone."
He sighed and closed the laptop he had been working
on. "I've got a direction for when we get back to DC.
Someone we need to talk to who may be able to give
us something to go on in finding Scully." 
"How? Who?" 
"Dana?" Steven looked up, interested now. "Are we
going to get Dana when we get to your house, Fox?" 
"Well," Mulder exchanged a quick glance with Skinner,
"we need to find Dana first." 
"The bad men have her." Steven said it in a tone so
sad, so final, Mulder could feel his heart breaking. 
"She's going to come back to us, Steven," Mulder
said. "I promise." 
Skinner winced, and hoped desperately that that was
a promise Mulder could keep. 
Steven was nodding as he listened, then he looked up.
"You're going to be our dad, right Fox?" 
"Daddy Pox," Jessica chirped and Mulder laughed and
nodded. 
"I *am* your dad, Steven." 
"Yeah, well, OK. And Walter is going to be our uncle,
but not a real uncle, just a sort of 'dopted one, right?" 
Skinner looked across the aisle, wondering where this
conversation was heading. Mulder was nodding again,
the same obvious question on his face. 
"So, uh, Fox," the boy continued, "is Dana going to
be our mom?" 
**************************************** 
It was amazing what you could accomplish if you
were willing to spend money lavishly. Though it
had cost three times what it should have, a sturdy
car seat was waiting for them when they arrived
at the airport. 
Mulder carried Jess and her diaper bag -- a gift
from the nurses at the hospital - both bag and
baby cradled on his uninjured side. He moved
slowly, conscious with every step of the tender
belly and bandaged shoulder his clothing hid.
Skinner carried everything else. Both men's suitcases,
the car seat, the children's small bag of belongings.
It was unfair, and Mulder could tell it bothered
the older man to be so overloaded that he couldn't
possibly reach his weapon, but he trudged on
toward long term parking without complaint. 
Actually installing the seat took much longer than
expected, and Mulder had to make the slow trek back
to the terminal when Jess insisted she had to "go."
He had wanted to put her in a diaper for convenience
sake, but she would hear nothing of it -- protesting
quite loudly at the mere idea. Using the restroom
in the terminal was a new experience, too. On the
plane, there hadn't been "Men's" and "Women's"
facilities, but here there certainly were. And taking
his little girl into a bathroom full of urinals and
grown men using them, wasn't his idea of good
parenting. God, this was going to be a lot harder
than he could ever have imagined. Scully would
know what to do. She had seemed to fall so naturally
into her role as mother with Emily and all he'd been
able to do was make goofy faces for the child. 
He stood outside the lavatory for a long time, bottom
lip pulled between teeth, Jess whining and fretting
more with each moment he delayed. He spoke
soothingly to her, but despite his murmured, "Just
a minute more," he knew he couldn't take her in
there. He missed Scully. It was a physical ache,
pounding at him relentlessly. He felt so inadequate.
Why couldn't these men just leave him alone?
Leave Scully alone? Leave his children alone?
He looked down to see Jess dancing back and forth
on her little feet as she struggled to wait per his
command. God, parents had such power to make
their children miserable and didn't even realize it
most of the time. How could he do this? He was
almost ready to take her into the "Ladies" and
let them arrest him, when a man spoke. 
"First time?" 
Mulder looked over, not understanding the question. 
"First time you've had to take her?" 
"Oh, yeah," Mulder nodded, coloring as his eyes
slipped back to the child. 
"Mom's busy, huh?" 
Mulder nodded again. It wasn't worth explaining.
"I don't like the idea of taking her in there with the urinals." 
The man nodded in agreement. "Bothered me at first,
too." He moved slightly closer and spoke confidentially.
"Let me go check, see if it's safe, then I'll let you know." 
"Go potty!" Jess demanded, pulling at her pants. 
"I'll hurry," the man said, laughing as he ducked through
the door. He was back in seconds. "Give it a minute. I
explained and everyone is finishing up and putting things
away." The man winked. "Parenting in the nineties, huh?
No one thought of this when they designed men's bathrooms."
He looked at his watch, then stuck his head in again.
"All clear." 
Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I don't think
I would have thought of that. I was ready to take her to the
'Ladies' and just let them report me for a pervert." 
Jess was whining openly now, and the man chuckled again.
"No problem. Us modern dads have to stick together. Better
hurry though, I don't think she's gonna last much longer." 
Mulder took Jessie in, more at ease now, and once finished,
lifted her gently up in his arms for the hike back to the car. He
reached the terminal entrance and was surprised, but relieved,
to see Skinner parked there, waiting. The expedition to the
bathroom, on top of the exertion of the flight, was wearing
his still healing body out. 
"What took so long?" he asked as he stepped around the
car to get the baby in the new seat. He took a second look
at his agent, pale and a little shaky, and reached for Jess. 
Mulder passed her over and she went agreeably. "Well,
uh," he flushed again as he thought back to his predicament.
"I didn't want to just take her in, not with the, well, you know." 
Skinner looked at him, uncomprehendingly. He turned his
attention back to the seat, and the harness that secured the
child to it. "No, I don't know," he said, giving a satisfied
grunt as the strap latched. He pulled back out of the car,
then stood. "What was the problem?" 
Mulder pushed the door shut, making sure the lock was down,
then mumbled, "Urinals." 
"Oh," Skinner responded, understanding dawning in his
face. He walked back around to the driver's side and climbed
in. "What did you do?" 
"A man went in and made sure it was clear before I took
her in." He sighed, then glanced into the back seat. Steven
had his drawing pad out again and was contentedly coloring
a lime green stegosaurus. Jess had leaned back in the new
seat, eyes closing almost as soon as the car had begun to
move, and she slept soundly now. "I had no idea it would
be this hard, Sir," he whispered. "I'm worried about
*everything!*" 
"Give yourself some time, Mulder," the AD advised. "This
is still new, and very unexpected, for you." He reached out
and patted the younger man's shoulder. "You know I'll
help in any way I can." 
"How can I keep them safe? I didn't even know how to take
my daughter to the bathroom. How the hell am I going to
protect them from whoever is after them?" 
"Bathrooms are a new experience for you. You'll learn.
As for the other, that's what you do. It's what you're trained
for. And you are very good at it." 
Mulder snorted. He indicated his stomach wound in disgust,
then gently touched his shoulder. "Not that you would notice." 
"Mulder, you got Steven out when no one else would have
even gone in. You've tracked down killers, mutants, wild
animals, and a few things I'm not even able to name. You
can do this, Mulder. You're probably the only one who
can." 
"And Scully?" Mulder asked. "What about Scully?" 
"We'll find her, Mulder. We'll find her. Remember, we've
got a lead now. When we get into the city, we can set up a
meeting." 
The two men exchanged a quick glance. 
"A meeting?" Mulder looked back at the children. Steven had
drifted off too now, and seeing both children asleep, so peaceful,
so trusting, he was wracked by the damage that would result if
he didn't keep them safe. "We have to find Scully. We have
to meet your contact. But," he turned and met Skinner's eyes,
"what are we going to do with the children?" 
************************************************** 
"There isn't anyone else I trust," Mulder insisted. 
"We can put guards at the foster home, round-the-clock.
FBI, not locals. We can make it safe. I don't think we
can drag her into it." 
"NO! They're here. They're safe. We told them they
were coming home with me." Mulder paced across the
small living room, ignoring the twinges of pain that
flared from his abdomen, eyes darting from the bedroom
door down the hall to the large man who sat on his ragged
old couch. "I promised Steven he was coming home
with me." The man slowed, one hand raking his hair
compulsively, anguish and determination at war in his
face. "I won't break my promise. And I won't consign
my children to the foster care system. I won't!" 
"Even if it means you can't participate in the search
for Scully?" Skinner was adamant. There was no room
for compromise here. 
Mulder's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have to be
involved. You know that." 
"You can't do both." 
"I can if she'll come. She can keep them here; they'll
love her. And you can put the guards in the hall and
outside." 
Skinner finally nodded. "If she'll come, then I'll approve
it." 
"She'll come. I know she will." 
******************************************* 
"Fox, I don't understand this at all. Is there any word on
Dana?" The woman looked up at the other man, and an
expression of disbelief crossed her face. "Mr. Skinner,"
she exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you here." 
"Mrs. Scully," Mulder took the older woman's arm and
led her into the living room. He gently seated her on the
couch, then took his place beside her. 
"Fox? Have you heard something?" Mulder could hear
the fear in the woman's voice and he hurried to reassure
her. 
"No, no, not yet. But we have a lead. And we'll be
checking into it as soon as we can get this situation
resolved." 
"What situation?" Maggie looked between the two men,
confusion in her face. "What's going on here, Fox?" she
demanded. 
"Well," he hedged, "maybe I better show you." He led her
down the hall and opened the bedroom door. From the light
of the hall, you could just make out the two small forms,
each in their own bed, sleeping. 
"What is this, Fox? Who are these children?" 
Mulder pulled the door shut and led the way back to
the living room. Skinner was pacing by the window,
a silent and almost ominous presence, and Mulder knew
he was planning. 
"Well?" Maggie demanded. "What is going on, Fox?" 
"The children are, uh, mine, Mrs. Scully." Mulder finally
found his voice. 
The shock in the woman's face was evident, a tumult of
emotions racing across her features. Confusion, disbelief,
amazement, concern. "But -- how?" 
"Not in the usual way, I assure you," Mulder said dryly.
"And I'm really not sure how, but the blood tests confirm
it. They're mine." 
"And the mother? Is it ..." Her voice trailed away, not
really knowing if she wanted to ask or not. 
"No," Mulder said sadly. "Not Scully. I don't know who.
I wish -- well, I don't know what I wish." He sighed heavily
and sat by the woman on the couch again. "We don't have
a lot of time," he said. "The AD and I have to meet someone,
someone who may be able to tell us something about Dana's
whereabouts." He paused, looking back at the bedroom.
"But I can't leave them alone." 
Maggie immediately nodded, total understanding on her
face. "I see. You have to go." She looked up at Skinner,
"You both have to go. I'll stay." 
"There could be trouble," Mulder said warningly. 
"You're leaving guards, aren't you? Those two young
men I saw outside aren't just lawn ornaments." 
Mulder chuckled. "No, they're not. And yes, we are leaving
guards." 
"Then go. And don't worry. We'll be fine." 
"There's milk and juice in the fridge; groceries in the
cabinets. I'm not sure what, but I hope it's edible. The
baby's sippy cup is in the sink. Here's my Visa in case
you need something. There'll be plenty of agents around
if you need someone to go to the store." 
"I have done this before, you know." Maggie arched an
eyebrow as she spoke and Mulder felt his heart break.
So that was where Scully had picked up that mannerism. 
Mulder leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to
find her," he whispered, promise ringing from every word. 
"Of course you are," Maggie said serenely. "Now, two things:
Is the baby still in diapers? And what are their names?" 
End part 06/09