For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of

reason, the story ends like a bad dream.  He has scaled the

mountains of ignorance; he is about to conquer the highest peak;

as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band

of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries.



-Robert Jastrow



        ***



The first problem in the bunker was boredom.  The was nothing to

do, day after day, week after week.  Frohike cooked, Skinner and

Byers maintained the generator and the water processing plant,

but for the rest of us, there was nothing that required our

time.  I did one round of kitchen duty before I was removed by

unanimous vote.  Of course, I get trapped in a bunker with Newt

Gingrich and Pat Robertson with nothing to do- why couldn't

Skinner have more interesting poker buddies?  Wherever Mulder

was, he was laughing his ass off.



Langley tried using his laptop to interface with the antiquated

communications system, but there was no dial tone.  No network

still standing for the modem to link with.  No TV or cable

transmissions.  Then he got the old ham radio working.  The

Gunmen spent every free hour scanning that radio, searching for

life like the SETI project.  I often sat with them for lack of

anything better to do, listening to the static.  I was

daydreaming one afternoon when I heard Langley shout:



"Randi!  You owe me about a million dollars!"



A man's voice crackled through the static, "I got it right here-

been using it for toilet paper."



James Randi.  The great skeptic.  A hero of mine and a nemesis

of Mulders- on the other side of that radio, our link to life on

the other side of the blast doors.  I sat next to Pat Robertson

at breakfast and lost my last stick of gum to Newt in a game of

five-card stud today.  God definitely had a sense of humor.



According to Randi, the aliens seemed to have collected all the

humans they were going to take.  The saucers had moved on, along

with the faceless rebel fighters.  The larger cities had been

destroyed and Randi hadn't seen another person since Before.

He'd been out on his boat with his dog when they came and

returned to shore a two weeks later to find his house and his

family  gone.  Now it was just him and an old dog, sitting in a

lighthouse beside the ocean.  Waiting.

                

Did we stay in the bunker or did we leave?  Skinner voted to

stay, as did The Gunmen, but the others wanted to go.  No one

asked me.  Society was already changing.



The final decision was to open the blast doors but to stay in

the bunker, so Skinner and Byers unlatched the huge grey door,

leveraging their weight against its squealing hinges as it

opened.



There was nothing alive except deer grazing in the ruins of the

resort and dogs looking for their masters.  No people.  Mulder

was right- the world had suddenly become quiet.



In many ways, our group was very well off.  We had a stronghold

that was practically impossible to penetrate.  I had a medical

background and The Gunmen had technical knowledge; Skinner and

some of his friends had the Marine's survival training.  The

politicians- well, they- they had lots of opinions.  No cities

near us had been bombed, so no fallout.  We had food and water

to last for months.  We started rebuilding.



We weren't the only ones who knew about the bunker, of course.

Men began to appear out of the woods and from the road leading

into the valley, clutching rifles and backpacks.  Some were

mountain men native to the area, some were military men already

infected with Purity that survived the bombs, riots, and bees.

Within six months, there were more than a hundred men living in

Alpha Colony with more arriving every day.  Alpha-males.

Skinner was never humble.

        

It's not that I'm not a grown woman- I can handle myself.  And

it's not that all the men were crazed rapists, either.  It was

just the constant stress of being the lone woman that made me

start to retreat.  I had a man at my heels every time I budged-

helping me carry firewood, wash dishes, scrub my clothes in the

stream.  The ever-present male eyes followed me all day, always

there and always wanting.



The final straw was when I was bathing- in the stream, of course-

 and discovered I had a group of admirers.  Men were willing to

sit in the rain to watch me bathe.  I told Skinner and he went

with me the next time, in theory, looking the other direction.

I was more comfortable with the Gunmen as my guards, but they

didn't dissuade the other men the way Skinner did.



Skinner had been asked several times what he wanted for me- the

men assumed we were covert lovers.  Good to know fifteen minutes

with me is worth two cows- we laughed about that offer for

days.  Skinner had never mentioned whatever he and Mulder

discussed, and he hadn't made a move that could have been

construed as sexual.  He just took care of me, keeping me with

him when he could and arranging a guard when he was away.  There

were several gay couples that formed- and left- but most men

watched me.  Brought me things they thought I wanted from

outside the valley and sat beside me at meals.  Most of them

were polite, just lonely- they accepted my polite "no" without

question, but they kept pursuing.  Other men, frankly,

frightened me- Alpha Colony was a tough place by then.  Mulder

was right, I needed protecting, as much as I hated it.  This was

a society where the strong thrived and the weak suffered, and I

was one of the weak.  I couldn't survive on my own if I left,

but it was becoming more and more of an issue for me to stay.



One man in particular was a problem from the moment he arrived.

He'd made his way north from Tennessee, and I always thought he

was probably a relative of the Peacock family.  No too bright.

Didn't like hearing "no."  Finally, he grabbed me in my room and

managed to rip my nightshirt off before anyone heard me

struggling and came to help.  Once the man was gone, the others

just let me sit on the bed while they stared at me, embarrassed,

but not helping me or leaving me.  Skinner finally came in from

guard duty after an eternity and threw everyone out.  He wrapped

the blanket around me to cover me and stayed with me until I

calmed down.



It was a long time before I calmed down.



It wasn't the shock of being attacked- God knows I'd been

attacked often enough when I worked on the X-files.  My terror

was two-fold. First, the knowledge that I couldn't protect

myself anymore finally sunk in.  I had somehow become helpless-

dependent- and it made me angry.  Furious.  Agent Dana Scully,

M.D., is NOT helpless.  And second, there was no one I could

depend on except Skinner or another man like him.  Langley,

Byers, and Frohike would die trying, but they would die.  The

other men helped me because they assumed I was Skinner's and

didn't want to risk making him angry.



The world had stopped being a nice place.



I could choose a man to protect me or I could have one chosen for

me.



That night, I realized that Mulder was right about something

else- saying Skinner liked me was an understatement.  He cared

enough  enough not to take advantage of me on a night when I

would have let him.  Probably would have welcomed him.  Just

stayed with me until I was calm enough to face the men outside

and then led me down the stairs to his bedroom, knowing exactly

what impression that would give any man who thought about

touching me.  Skinner cleaned off the other bed, put his blanket

over me, and sat on the floor beside me until I fell asleep.  I

spent every night there for months.



The next morning, Skinner told the Tennessee man to leave the

colony.  He refused and Skinner shot him in the back of the

head, execution-style, with the same look in his eyes that

Mulder has now.  After that, Skinner was our leader; no one

questioned him.  I was under his protection, so no one

approached me.



Life went on.  It was hard to tell sometimes that I had become

property, but I had.



I started to pray again.



I prayed to my Catholic God, Mulder's clockmaker God, and anyone

else that might be listening up there- for Mulder to come back,

for my family, for myself.  My unspoken prayers were somehow

louder if I kneeled, so I put a thick blanket down in the little

dental clinic adjoining my clinic and prayed there during the

day, where I thought I was away from prying eyes.  Skinner found

me a few times and brought me back a Bible, a statue of the

Virgin, candles and a rosary so I could create my own alter.

The Bible had a family tree written in the front- names of

people who had died while I lived.  I prayed for those names,

too.



My mother would have been proud of how much time I spent on my

knees- making up for the time when I had cancer, I guess.

Occasionally I would hear a noise and find a rough-looking man

I'd never seen before kneeling beside me, lips moving silently

in prayer for someone or something.  Forgiveness for sins or

safety for loved ones?  Death with peace or strength to

survive?  What did these men pray for?



They never spoke to me- which seemed to be a command from

Skinner- but it was good to know I wasn't the only one who

sought comfort outside these grey walls.



I turned to Heaven and my faith for salvation in those months;

Mulder must have turned somewhere else.  Don't think I don't

understand what it's like to need to be numb, Mulder, because I

do.  And God answers prayer, Mulder- but sometimes the answer

is "no," no matter how loud or long you ask.  Faith is about

accepting His answer.



And eventually you get up off your knees and go on with your

life.



Men still came to me for medical treatment in the bunker clinic

with Byers, usually, looking on with a rifle.  I even gave

lethal injections to two men that were infected with Purity by

left-over bees instead of having Skinner shoot them before the

aliens hatched.  I told myself it was a mercy killing.



There was a medical school somewhere close by and I made lists

of what I needed, drawing pictures in an attempt to get the

right instruments.  There was no way I could go myself, even

with Skinner and guards; I was too easily identifiable as a

woman- endangering the entire group.  I was as much a prisoner

as if there were bars at the edge of the valley.  It was that

bad.  Two hundred men and one woman in Alpha Colony and God only

knew who prowling in the woods.  I was trapped.



All I could do was wait for Mulder, but God kept saying "no."



One night I felt the a soft throbbing in my temples, like a

migraine, except it didn't hurt.  More like a doctor gently

kneading an abdomen- pushing, searching.  The pressure increased

and I knew it was Mulder- alive and listening to my thoughts

from wherever he was.  He could still do it, even after the

spaceships moved on.  I laid back on my cot and welcomed him.

Skinner was asleep and snoring softly in his bed against the

wall, so I let my hands roam over my body, knowing Mulder could

feel the sensation.  Sleep came and he had left me when I awoke.



I felt Mulder's presence often for a while when I was at Alpha

Colony- usually at night, but sometimes in the day just to

listen to me.  To make sure I was safe.  I had no way of knowing

where he was or why he didn't come get me, but I knew he was

alive- somewhere in the vast emptiness outside that valley.



Skinner appeared in the clinic one day complaining about his

head "feeling funny."  I found no evidence of neurological

problems or any illness in my rudimentary exam.  He said it

didn't hurt, just felt "funny."  I sent him back out to work on

the barn  we were building for the livestock, ordering him to

return if it actually hurt.  The men frequently developed vague

complaints in order to get to see me and I figured Skinner was

just whining.  Not that Skinner ever whined and he could see me

whenever he wanted.  It was still bothering him as we got ready

to go to bed, which worried me.  I rechecked him, but he was

still in excellent health- all the outdoor physical activity

suited him.  I couldn't find anything wrong and he insisted it

didn't hurt, just throbbed; pressure like someone was examining

him from the inside.



It was Mulder.  It was Mulder listening to him.  Listening hard

and long, more than necessary to gather any information about

our group or about Skinner and me.  Mulder wanted to feel what

Skinner could feel.  I knew what Mulder wanted to feel.



That meant Mulder couldn't ever come back to get me.



That God was saying "no."



And faith is about living with His answer.



I didn't explain what was happening to Skinner- I doubted he

wanted a third in our bed.  I just slipped off my clothes in

front of him and waited.  The birds and the bees and the monkey

babies, Mulder.  Birds do it, bees do it, even educated M.D.s do

it.  I just closed my eyes and licensed his roving hands.



Skinner didn't question me that night.  Afterwards, I went back

to my own bed and slept alone.



"That was Mulder, wasn't it?" he asked me the next morning.  I

nodded and he left, his face bearing the same stern, controlled

expression it always did.



It didn't happen again for several weeks and Mulder didn't

listen to me, either.  I filled my days with stitching up

wounds, removing splinters, and even performed an appendectomy I

was very proud of with the assistance of a very green Byers.  I

knew he was in love with me by then- Byers and Skinner both.  I

probably could have been content with either one of them, but I

knew Skinner could keep me safe.



I hated that I had become someone who had thoughts like that.



There were more fights- struggles for power and supplies.  Most

of the men in the colony were ones I would have thought of the

bad guys Before.  Covert government agents, MIB, and special

forces among those that had Purity, mostly military and mountain

men with the training to survive among those that weren't

infected.  Skinner was holding on to power, barely, and I was

more and more a liability for him.  If he was overthrown as the

leader, I would be the first casualty; probably becoming the

unwilling property of the new leader.  Leadership of Alpha

colony came with a nice bunker, a band of ex-military men that

killed on command, well-established trade routes, and the

privilege of sleeping with me.



Skinner came to me the next time, making love to me gently and

silently.  He said only that Mulder was listening and asked my

permission.  I closed my eyes and gave it.  Whatever Mulder

wanted.  It happened again a week later and then not for another

month.  I never dreaded it- Skinner was a good lover- but I

missed Mulder in my head, listening for me.

        

        ***



I do not feel obligated to believe that the same God who has

endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to

forgo their use.



-Galileo

        ***



Something is very wrong.  My body is flying through the air like

a limp doll, weightless.  Did gravity switch off?  It wouldn't

surprise me at this point.  Suddenly, my head hits something

hard and the sun fades to black.



It's raining- my face is wet.  If the rain is falling down,

gravity must have come back on.  I can hear Mulder, so I must be

dreaming; Mulder left me.  Mulder will never come for me.



No, it is Mulder, holding me in his lap and calling my name,

hoarsely begging me to wake up.  I fight to open my heavy

eyelids and see his worried eyes full of tears.  That's the

rain.  After a few minutes, my head clears and I ask him what

happened.



"We rolled over," the little boy answers my question, looking

very proud of himself.  "I was wearin' my seatbelt."



Good for you, Boy.  I'm friggin' thrilled for you.  God, who let

a million bumble bees loose in my head?



All I get from Mulder are shaky hands cleaning off my face

and "I'm sorry," repeated over and over.  He's about half a step

from sanity- I think the nosebleed did him in.  The boy further

reveals that the road had suddenly caved-in, flipping us into

the gully and throwing me clear.  Mulder and the Boy, who were

wearing their seatbelts, were unhurt, but I'd been out for

several minutes.  And I was "bleedin'."



What a day.



Should have buckled up- gravity and all that.



I assure Mulder that I'm fine, but he won't leave me alone.

Finally I yell, which causes my head to pound but gets Mulder to

stop fussing over me.  I sit in the road feeling stupid while he

rights the Jeep, drives back up to the road, and gathers the

supplies that are scattered all over the place.



I must have been asleep a while, because this doesn't look like

Kansas anymore.  Hell, this doesn't even look like Earth.



Oh look- my best friend Mulder and the illegitimate child he had

with a whore before he switched careers to professional killer

almost have our Jeep reloaded.  Did I mention he's psychic now?

So's the kid.  And he owns both of us outright.



My head hurts.

                

The Boy smirks when Mulder tosses several broken bottles of

whiskey and the cartons of cigarettes they have soaked into the

ditch.  There are a couple of looks exchanged and the Boy dodges

quickly, missing the brunt of Mulder's sudden slap on his face.

I try to get up and intervene- I can't believe that Mulder just

hit a child.



I get to my knees as Mulder warns, "Don't you dare think of her

that way," to the boy.  Either that slap wasn't as hard as I

thought or the boy doesn't know how to cry, because the boy just

apologizes and comes to help me, looking chastised.  I kneel

frozen- stunned as the rough pavement cuts into my knees.



Mulder is embarrassed.  He examines his boots closely and then

vanishes for half an hour.  By the time he returns, the boy has

helped me clean my scraped elbows and bloody nose and explained

what cigarettes and whiskey are usually traded for- whores.

Mulder wouldn't need to pay for sex since he'd just bought me,

according to the boy.



I'm not sure I wouldn't have felt the urge to spank you too,

boy.  I wouldn't have slapped you, but that's not nice.  I know

he doesn't remember a time that women were useful for something

besides sex and I know he's a child and he's been listening to

Mulder and...



And I'm going to cry again if I don't watch it.



My brain can't hold all this.

        

Mulder has reappeared as silently as he left.  I'm not speaking

to him and he better not listen to me.  He can beat me senseless

if he wants, but I'm not going to watch him abuse his son.



"I'm sorry, Scully.  I won't do it again."  His face indicates

he means it.



I want to believe him so much that I do.  He was just upset that

I was hurt and he snapped for a second.  My Mulder would never

hit a child.



When I get to my feet, I sway for a second before he picks me up

in his arms to carry me.  I protest, and to my surprise, he puts

me down without question.  I keep expecting to be forced, and

instead, there is this weird balance of power between us.  I

haven't felt power in years, and I'm grateful to Mulder for

that, if nothing else.



A familiar hand on my back guides me into the passenger seat and

then fastens my seatbelt snugly over my lap.  I would kiss him

if I wasn't so afraid of him.  Instead, I take his hand as he

drives to wherever it is that we're going while the boy sits in

the back seat, happily eating all the peppermint candy he can

hold.  Mulder gave him the whole damn bag as a peace offering.



I'm sorry, too, Mulder.  I'm sorry I'm responsible, at least in

part, for what you've become.

***



Science at the cutting edge, conducted by sharp minds probing

deep into nature, is not about self-evident facts.  It is about

taking huge risks.  It is about wasting time, getting burned,

and failing.  It is like trying to crack a monstrous safe that

has a complicated, secret lock designed by God.



-Richard Preston



                ***



I eventually had to ask myself the question: did I want Skinner

as something more than a surrogate for Mulder?  In many ways, he

reminded me of Jack or Nathan- older, powerful, commanding.  I'd

been attracted to him because of that Before.  But I wasn't a

child anymore and I didn't need a father-figure.  All I needed

was to not be attacked.  All I wanted was for Mulder to come for

me, but he was never going to.



 I needed to live with God's "no."



And Skinner was a good man.



Finally, I stayed with Skinner in his bed after we had sex one

night.  He made love to me as though he was treading where the

brave men dared not go, never touching me outside our bedroom or

announcing in any way that we were lovers, because we weren't.

Mulder and I were lovers- I'd just had sex with Skinner a few

times.



I'm not sure Skinner saw it that way.



We must have overslept, because I didn't hear Byers knocking.

He opened the door to find me asleep nude against Skinner's

broad chest with his arms wrapped safely around me.  I opened my

sleepy eyes to meet his accusing ones.



His eyes called me a whore the same way I called the boy's

mother one.  Surviving was one thing; betrayal was another.



Byers never said anything to me, but that was the last night I

slept with Skinner after we had sex.

                

***



But I don't have to know an answer.  I don't feel frightened by

not knowing things, by being lost in the mysterious universe

without having any purpose, which is the way it really is, as

far as I can tell, possibly.  It doesn't frighten me.



-Richard Feynman

        ***



Mulder had barely stopped the Jeep before the boy has climbed

over me like I was a set of monkey bars, running towards a blue

house.  A young man with glasses opens the door for the child

and he scampers inside, already at home.  The man- no, the

teenager, smiles at me and waves as Mulder brings in our bags

and the two geese he shot.  When I reach the front door, the

young man grabs me in a big bear hug and lifts me off my feet.

Whoever it is, he's definitely friendly or he'd already have

eaten one of Mulder's bullets.



Those glasses...



Gibson.



It's Gibson Praise.



That's right- he could hear the same way Mulder could.  Can.  If

he'd been infected with Purity Before, he was useless to the

aliens an a host, so they would have let him live.  He was about

ten or eleven Before, making him about fifteen or sixteen now.



Gibson!  I kiss him square on the lips before I can stop myself.



Mulder hands the limp geese to a girl with, of course, a big

belly.  She goes outside to clean them as I watch her, worried.

She's barely hit puberty- her hips are still very narrow.  Might

be about thirteen years old at the most, although she's tall.

She was going to have trouble having that baby.  Maybe that was

why Mulder wanted me.



Oh please, don't let this be his child too.  She's a child

herself, Mulder.



        ***



Two things continue to fill the mind with ever increasing awe

and admiration: the starry heavens above and the moral law

within.



-Immanuel Kant



        ***



It was actually a pregnant woman that caused me to leave

Skinner's Alpha Colony.  Another leader made an offer too good

to turn down- trade me for a veterinarian they had and the other

group would stop trying to take the bunker- call a truce and

discuss merging the two colonies.  The leader had a wife

pregnant with twins, according to the vet, and they needed a

doctor.



I saw Skinner's eyes as he thought about it.  The leader from

other colony said they had other women and more civilians, so

less infighting for power and more stability.  He said they had

prostitutes, so it wasn't likely I would be raped.  Skinner was

having difficulty keeping order among his men and waging a

battle to keep the bunker and protecting me.  He couldn't fight

a war on two fronts.  Something had to give and I caused a lot

of resentment among the men.



Skinner never asked me what I wanted.  My AD, who always

respected my work as a woman in the FBI, never asked me.  I

didn't want to go and I told him so.  Loudly.  I argued and I

yelled and I debated.  I even tried to seduce him when he told

me to pack.



"Mulder was only listening the first time."



That was all he said.  The dozen or so other times we'd had sex,

it was just because he wanted the release, so he lied to me.  I

was packed and ready to leave in ten minutes.  Byers tried to

object and Skinner shot him dead.



There were no further arguments.



        ***



The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.

It is the source of all true art and science.  He to whom this

emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and

stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.



-Albert Einstein

        ***



The pregnant girl cooks the geese over a fire outside, looking

like the Native Americans that lived here before the white men

came.  I can see the Indian features in her face- she's probably

full-blood.  Black hair to her waist, high cheekbones, long,

beautiful legs visible under her short skirt.  She would have

been a child on a reservation maybe, one that was overlooked by

the aliens and the bees.



I feel Mulder behind me on the steps, sitting with his long legs

on either side of me.  He pulls off the hat I usually wear to

avoid attracting attention as a redhead and unbraids my hair.

It's longer now, touching my shoulders- it's easier to let it

grow than to try and cut it.  I feel the gentle tugs as he combs

out the tangles, then buries his face in it, breathing deeply.



I remember this touch.  I remember this Mulder.



He rebraids it the way he must have learned on Samantha's hair

decades ago, fastening it with my elastic band.  When he gets

up, I reach back for my hat, but Mulder keeps it.



"Leave it off," he says.  "No one will bother you."



That's because I'm his property.  I'm Mulder's now.



After dinner, I lay in bed beside Mulder, listening to Gibson

and the girl have sex upstairs.  Where was child protective

services when you needed them- I think I'm listening to a

felony?  At least it's not Mulder with her.



The boy is restless in front of me, tossing and turning.

Finally the child whispers to me:



"Gibson isn't hurtin' her.  You can go to sleep."



I feel Mulder shift and the boy leaves silently.  The couch

springs creak as the boy lays down in the living room, banished

to the other end of the house.  Mulder runs his hand over my

shoulder and down my arm, up over my stomach.



"Do you want this, Scully?"  He can hear what I want, he just

wants the word to come out of my mouth.  "You don't need to be

afraid- I won't hurt you."



I want to believe him.



Mulder stands up and undresses, revealing more scars on his

body.  Then he lies back on the bed and waits, the way I waited

for Skinner.  "If you want me, you make love to me."            

        

I hesitate.  It was easy to imagine an eternal bond of love

between us when I was alone and afraid.  It was even easy to

allow myself to be seduced that night in the bunker by a savior

who could read my mind.  Mulder, my best friend and partner, had

never been my lover.  Not in the way I'd imagined Before.  And

this man was almost, but not quite, my Mulder.



A hand takes mine in the darkness and I remember all the times

Mulder held my hand Before.  Stood by me, saved me, loved me

without question.  I move with him as he draws me closer.



Mulder has never been passive about much of anything, and an

apocalypse hasn't changed that.  His hands rest on my hips,

encouraging me as I slide down slowly, further and further

without hesitation. A hand on the small of my back- on my

tattoo, and on my waist guide me as I rock.  My orgasm comes

almost instantly and I lay against his sweaty, scarred chest

as he continues to guide my hips, faster and faster until I feel

his body stiffen and arch under mine.  Only afterwards do I

feel him inside my head, searching as I doze.

        ***



I find it quite improbable that such order came out of chaos.

There has to be some organizing principle.  God to me is a

mystery but is the explanation for the miracle of existence, why

there is something instead of nothing.



-Alan Sandage



        ***

        

I wondered after I left Skinner's colony if he hadn't lied to

me.  Only woman or not, I couldn't see him taking advantage of

my trust.  He unquestioningly loved me- maybe he just wanted to

make sure I was safe.  But I'd heard Mulder give him permission

to use my body as he wanted- as though Mulder was the one that

got to give permission.

                                                

Regardless, I was leaving.



I sat in the passenger seat of the Army transport truck as they

drove to my new home and marveled at the landscape.  I hadn't

ever been out of the valley- it was too much of a risk.  The men

brought me whatever I wanted or needed, although they all

thought I needed lots of lingerie and perfume instead of long

underwear and boots.  It was wonderful to have two hundred men

know I preferred regular to deodorant tampons and there seemed

to be a conspiracy not to bring me a decent bra.  A conspiracy

in which Skinner was an active participant, I might add.



Bastard.



I wasn't sure where I was going- I'd thought the other colony

was closer.  Herds of deer grazed beside the roads, free of the

hunters that once kept them thinned out and the guards riding

with us shot several from the back of the truck until the leader

told them to stop.  Most houses I saw were still standing- whole

and empty.  Just like me.



My driver- Granger, the leader, saw me smile when he stopped for

a stop sign and used his turn signal, as though the old traffic

rules still applied.  "No one's going to hurt you- we just need

a doctor," he assured me.  Mister, as long as you aren't Walter

Skinner, I don't care if you make me dig ditches, I remember

thinking.



He kept his word.  No one harmed me and I wanted for nothing.

Two weeks later he had a set of healthy identical twin girls and

I was the colony hero.  My life went on as it had before- aches

and pains, accidental cuts and the occasional gunshot wound.

Lots of food poisoning as canned goods began to get too old.

Deliver babies and care for the dying.  Much the same, except

that Mulder came to me at night again, listening.



And I stopped praying.

        

***



Divinity is not playful.  The universe was not made in jest but

in solemn incomprehensible earnest.  By a power that is

unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet.  There is nothing to

be done about it, but ignore it, or see.



-Anne Dillard



        ***



I heard Mulder chuckle deeply in the dark.  "Ah- to be fifteen

again."  Then I hear a girl's giggles upstairs and I

understand.  I kiss Mulder- it's been so long since I've heard

him laugh.  I wasn't sure that he still could.  He kisses me

back and I learn that forty-five knows a few things fifteen

doesn't.  This is the man I always wanted to be my lover- not

the Mulder that shot a child or slapped his son or even the one

that saved me from the aliens.  Nestled naked in his arms, I

wait for morning.



Dawn brought a change of vehicles and more silent west.  It's

colder in the mountains and Mulder gives me a winter coat and

puts one on the boy- he's planned this trip for some time,

although I'm still freezing with the top off the Humvee.  Gibson

and the girl sit in the back seat dozing against each other as

we drive.  There is no trace of the lover I'd heard laugh in the

dark last night in Mulder- only a silent man with a grim

expression and a driven look in his eyes behind the wheel.



After lunch, Gibson drives while Mulder sleeps in the back seat

with me and the boy.  Neither of us slept much last night.

Gibson didn't either, from what I heard, and I don't like him

very much because of that.  He must be listening to me, because

he defends himself:



"If she wasn't with me, she'd be a whore in some colony,

Scully.  Which do you prefer?"



I prefer a world where it's no acceptable to have sex with

thirteen year olds, Gibson, but I don't say that out loud.  If

Gibson heard me, he's ignoring me.



Gibson keeps the vehicle in the middle of the two-lane, as one

who had learned to drive without other cars on the road.  Mulder

did the same, as though he had erased any memory of Before.  The

girl rides shotgun, literally, holding a rifle in her slim arms

while the little boy stares fascinated as the mountains grow

larger.



I have so many questions.  Where have you been, Mulder?  Why

didn't you come for me?  Join the colony as my husband under

another name, if nothing else.  Was this child conceived with

her while you were listening to Skinner make love to me?  The

timing was right, but how could you do that to me?  What

happened to you to harden you into someone I barely recognize?

Are you a killer, a martyr, or a victim?  Where are you taking

me?  Why don't you talk to me?  Do you remember all those nights

together- long talks in a rental car about anything and

everything as we drove in search of the truth?  Gas station

coffee in Styrofoam cups and Chinese take-out?  Basement offices

and slide projectors?  Do you remember who we were, Mulder?



I can feel Mulder listening as he sleeps, but I get no answers-

only silence in the Army vehicle as the mountains pass.  Gibson

slows as we round a blind turn and Mulder wakes quickly, picking

up the rifle he used to shoot the geese yesterday.  The girl

stands and braces herself, gun against her shoulder, ready as

the boy gestures for me to get down.  As we cower behind the

seat, the Humvee lurches forward and I hear the girl lay down a

line of cover.  Several shots answer and Mulder fires twice.

There are sickening wet sounds as his bullets find flesh and the

squeal of tires as we round the curve too fast.  Then it's over

and the boy sits back up, pulling on my sleeve for me to

follow.  Mulder leans the rifle against the door of the Humvee

and goes back to sleep, his son curled against him.  Asleep,

this man looks even more like my Mulder.



Gibson isn't as sensitive about taking bathroom breaks, so the

boy and his girlfriend are squirming all over the place before I

brave asking him.  He pulls over without a word.  What I

wouldn't give for some of the friendly banter Mulder and I used

to have.  Actually, I'd settle for a good fight right now- all

these men listening to each other's thoughts is getting to me.



I drag my feet as much as possible,  taking the boy into a

rudimentary women's bathroom at a visitors' welcome center.

It's in perfect working order- there are no women left alive to

use it and it's hard to break a pit toilet.  There are still

brochures in racks, so I get several to entertain the boy.  We

walk around a little, working the kinks out of our legs, and I

show him how to make and throw a snowball.  When we return, the

girl is pacing and Mulder finally has an expression: annoyed.



Mulder and Gibson fight without words, pointing at the girl and

the vehicle.  The boy translates for me: "She's havin' the baby

too soon.  Mulder wants to leave her here, but Gibson wants to

wait and take her and the baby with us.  He says he won't leave

without her and you can deliver the baby.  Mulder says she's

goin' to die anyway and he should just shoot her now.  That

there isn't sucha shortage of pussy that he needed to be fuckin'

a child..."



Mulder and Gibson freeze as the little boy says those words, the

argument instantly over.  Mulder unpacks several sleeping bags

and unrolls them on the floor of the visitors' center and

gathers wood for a fire- we're staying.



Hours later, the girl is still pacing across the orange tiles,

rapidly getting weaker.  Gibson walks with her, worried, while

Mulder sits with his back against the wall and stares straight

ahead, his rifle on the floor beside him.  The boy sits on the

other side of him, oddly silent, like the children that lived

through the first holocaust.



The next day comes without much change except that the girl is

lying in the floor now, no longer able to walk.  I have my bag

with a scalpel and basic medical supplies, but nothing to

perform a C-section, which is what she needs.  If we were near a

hospital, I'd take her there, but we're in the middle of the

Rocky Mountains.  Mulder's right- she's going to die.  I have

some old Demerol with me, but I doubt it's enough to be fatal.

Maybe I could ease her pain for a few hours, but eventually...



I see Gibson kiss her forehead and Mulder raise the rifle before

I can finish that thought.  I open my mouth to say "no," but

she's already dead in a pool of blood.  I can still take the

baby, but Gibson shakes his head.  There's no way to save a

premature baby here, anyway.



No, this isn't real.  I'll wake up soon.



Mulder rolls up the sleeping bag he was sitting on and clears

the snow off the Humvee.  Again, I get in the passenger's seat,

leaving a child's dead body to the scavengers.  By nightfall,

we're through the mountains and I still haven't woken from this

nightmare.



We stop at dusk, Mulder choosing a Victorian-style house

strategically set atop a hill.  There are actually deer in the

front yard, so a fat doe cooks while Gibson and Mulder put the

top on the Humvee.   I don't know if he's pissed because the

girl put us behind his schedule, or because he doesn't know this

house and we're cold, or because the moon is full.  For whatever

reason, frightening waves roll off of him whenever I get close.

After we eat, Gibson grudgingly takes the boy to bed with him,

still pouting over his girlfriend, and leaving me to Mulder's

mercy.  He reminds me of a panther pacing restlessly back and

forth across the room.



"I'm not a monster, Scully."



At last- he speaks!  I'm sure the angels are rejoicing.



"I survived, just like you did.  I don't question what you had

to do."



I didn't shoot any children, Mulder.



"I did what I had to do.  Would you rather have watched her

suffer for hours?  Would you rather have killed her?"



"Stop that!" I scream at him.  "Get out of my head!"



"I don't blame you if I frighten you, or even if you hate me,

but don't question my motives about you.  You're the one thing I

still care about."



What about your son?  What about Gibson?



"I thought you might want the boy- Marita doesn't want him and

Krychek hates him.  He's a good boy, Scully, but you don't have

to take him.  I worried about that."



"Will you kill him too, if I don't want him?"  I will speak out

loud!



"No, I'll take him back to his mother and kill Krycek."  He

says it like it's the obvious choice.



"I just want some answers, Mulder.  Where you've been, what

you've done.  Why you didn't come for me sooner.  What you've

become.  I just saw my best friend shoot a teenage girl in the

face without flinching- that's not the man I remember."



"I'm not the man you remember, Scully.  Not even close."



More silence as he leads me to the bed he's made, zipping two

sleeping bags together.  I let him undress me efficiently and

wait while he takes off his own shirt and boots.  Mulder kneels

and pulls me with him.



"You know, this is the best way to keep warm, Scully," he says

flatly.



That was an echo of my Mulder, curled up beside me in a forest

with a sore shoulder, listening to me sing Three Dog Night off-

key.  Maybe there are really only echos of that man left.  Long,

rough fingers that I remember being so elegant bend my knees up.

Not asking- telling me this is going to happen.  Mulder lays me back,

takes both my hands, and pins them above my head with one of his,

stretching the new scabs on my scraped elbows painfully as he

holds me down.



I can't help it- I'm scared and I feel tears in my eyes.  It's

too impersonal, the way men touch prostitutes or the way I touch

someone as a doctor.  Just lay back and let your knees fall

apart, ma'am.



Please don't do it like this, Mulder.  Please, no.  I love you-

I'll make love to you, but not like this.  Don't treat me like

your property.  Please.



I will not cry.  I will not cry.

                        

Mulder stops and gets up, leaving me to tremble in the dusty

floor, only a thin sleeping bag under me.  I could pull the

other sleeping bag over me, but I don't dare.  Suddenly there is

a flash of brightness and Mulder returns with a dim lantern,

setting it in the corner and lowering himself on top of me

again.  The gentle light plays over his face, lover's eyes and

full lips against the shadows of his cheeks.  My Mulder is still

beautiful, whether he thinks so or not.



Mulder isn't the only one who isn't completely sane.  This man

is basically about to rape me.  I try to tell myself that Mulder

would never hurt me, but I can't make myself believe it this

time.



He raises my hands above my head again and my trembling gets

worse.  He moves like he's going to kiss me, but instead touches

his lips to the flesh on the inside of my elbow and the

underside of my upper arm.  Lightly caressing, almost tickling

me, he covers every inch.



"It's so soft, Scully.  Your skin is the softest thing left on

this Earth.  I wanted to see it.  So beautiful and fair."  His

arm is dark against mine as he holds me, kissing my neck and

shoulders while his other hand searches through the tangle of

curls between my legs.  I hear a whisper in my hair, "I do love

you, Scully.  Only you.  Don't ever doubt it."



In the floor of the looming house in the chiaroscuro, that is

enough.  My trembling stops as my body warms to his.  He pushes

farther into my mind as I hear a zipper unzipping.  "Tell

me `yes,' Scully," he says, lips on my earlobe, "Tell me you

want this."  The word is barely out of my mouth when I feel him

penetrate hard, causing me to cry out in spite of myself.

Before my body adjusts, he begins to thrust roughly; oddly, it

feels almost like my Mulder making love to me.  I will my

muscles to relax, replaying his last twenty words as my mantra.



Afterwards, Mulder lays with me motionless until my breathing

returns to normal.  His hand covers my face for a moment and I

panic before I realize he's checking to see if I'm crying.  I'm

not.  I'm going to be in pain tomorrow, but he asked me and I

said "yes."  I didn't say "yes" to him being so rough, though,

and I don't have to be psychic to know he's telling me he's

sorry.



Why did you do that?  What happened?  One second you were

kissing my shoulders like my lover; the next you were using my

body to forget you just killed a teenage girl so I didn't have

to watch her suffer anymore.



Yes, that is what you did.



Mulder, if it made you forget, even for one second, it was worth

it.



You don't need to be sorry.



I wrap his arms around me and sleep in the safety.  These are

the arms I want around me.



An old nightmare wakes me next- I can feel the implant throbbing

in my neck as I run from the aliens through the trees, searching

for Mulder.  I have to find him before they do; I can't let the

aliens take him.  Mulder is shaking me awake but reality blurs

for a minute and I tell him to run.  Run before they get you,

Mulder!



"They already got me a long time ago, Scully.  It's too late

now."



I don't know why, but that makes me cry.  Big, loud sobs that

I'm sure are waking everyone up.  Mulder holds me, just like he

did that night in the bunker, sheltering me in the valley of the

shadow of death.  Eventually, I calm down, but Mulder doesn't

let me go.  He's kissing my neck, running his fingers through my

tangled hair.  He pushes me back. He's not listening to me, so

I have to say it out loud:



"Mulder- don't.  You were too rough.  Please.  I can't again-

I'm too sore.  Do you want me too..."



He shakes his head violently "no" and moves down on my body,

kissing a path to my navel and then further and further down as

I forget to breathe.  He pushes me gently down on my back and

runs his thumbs from the inside of my ankles all the, all the

way, all the way...  It isn't a cursory act- it's more of an... An

apology.  A gift.  Giving me pleasure as he tastes himself inside

me, penance for his actions only a few hours ago.



Suddenly he stops, jumps to his feet and charges out of the

room.



Well, that was odd.



Come back, Mulder.  You owe me an orgasm.  Maybe two.

        

There are more quick footsteps and the boy is crawling into the

sleeping bags with me.  I try to cover myself, but the boy is

terrified.  I hear something hit the wall in another room and it

sounds like a body.  There are more sounds of fists against

flesh- I don't know who is hitting who, but someone is going to

die if they don't stop.



"What's happening?" I ask the frightened boy.



"Gibson was listenin' to Mulder," comes the voice from the

bottom of the sleeping bags.



Oh God.  Gibson must not know what a mistake that was- Mulder

was going to beat him to death.  I wrap Mulder's big shirt

around me and follow the sounds as blow after blow lands.

Mulder put out the lantern, so I can't see at thing- only grope

blindly.  I yell for Mulder and the punches pause.  The heavy

breathing is to my left, and I reach out and touch Mulder's

smooth, sweaty back.



"Let him go, Mulder.  He's not Skinner.  He's fifteen- he'll

listen to cats mate and get turned on.  You remember fifteen,

Mulder?"



I guess he does, because I feel him stand up and move back.  I

can hear Gibson trying to catch his breath on the floor but I

don't help him.



I don't want to.



Mulder isn't the only one who has hardened.



The boy is somewhere besides our makeshift bed, so I lay down,

wondering what is coming.  Wondering if I'm going to be a way

for Mulder to release his anger again.  I can't stand another

round of hate-sex, whether he loves me or not.  Literally- I

won't be able to stand up tomorrow.



I feel something wet drip on my face and I realize Mulder is

crying.  I pull him down on me and he starts to shake

violently.  He buries his face in my neck and cries, sobbing for

hours in the dark, never telling me why he's crying.



What do you cry for, Mulder?  For listening as Skinner had sex

with me- for making me into a whore?  Because you would have

killed Gibson for being childish- for becoming so cold?  Because

you do remember being fifteen and how far away from that person

you are- for the loss of your soul?  Or do you cry for all those

things?

                                                                

Gibson has vanished by morning, unwilling to continue to

wherever it is that we're going.  There are dark bloodstains on

the wooden floor where I found him and Mulder last night, but

Mulder dresses to fast for me to see if any of it came from

him.  The boy woke me up- standing over me before dawn

announcing he was scared of the dark.  Boy, you're not the only

one, and there's a Hell of a lot of dark out there.  We eat cold

venison for breakfast and set off again.  I know Mulder sees me

flinch when my hips hit the passenger seat, but he doesn't say

anything.  I can't even tell that he feels guilty.



More west.



        ***



He saw God's foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it;

and thereafter his shipmates called him mad.  So man's insanity

is heaven's sense.



-Herman Melville