Title: Exodus (1/?)
   Author: Samantha L. Caldwell
   Rating: PG (for now)
   Category: TSRA
   Keywords: Post-ep, 
   Spoilers: assumes general knowledge up to and including 
   "The Truth"

   Summary: They can never stop running.

   Disclaimer: Their biological father was abusive, so I'm
   adopting them. 

   Feedback: will be worshiped. This is my first longer fic, and
   my first series so I'm kind of nervous. A little encouragement
   is always *so* very appreciated! 
   Send any and all comments to: sister_spooky@hotmail.com     

   Archive: Sure, wherever, just please keep my name and
   e-mail, and it'd be nice if you'd let me know.

   Author's Notes:  This series takes off right where the finale
   ends. It'll follow Mulder and Scully as they fight to find safety,
   and later, as they fight for their son. In writing this first part, I
   tried to keep the characterization and details consistent with
   what was given to us in the finale. I tried to work in things like
   the way Mulder sometimes called her Dana, sometimes Scully,
   and the open, almost fumbling sense of romance we had never
   before seen between the couple. I hope I managed to be
   accurate enough, but if you see any inconsistencies feel free to
   e-mail me to let me know. 

   Thank you to Laura, for helping as always.


                            Exodus
                               -- Chapter1

      Forced by my mighty hand, he will send them away;
   compelled by my outstretched arm, he will drive them from his
   land.                                 ~Exodus 6:1~

   ~*~*~*~*~

   There are always things lost to love. Surrendered or stolen,
   they live on the wind, rattling window panes and rippling over
   ponds. They tease the ones they've left behind, blowing
   through their hair to kiss the soft nape of their necks with lips
   like dry ice. The things lost in love are haunting. They never
   leave.

   She had known, in a moment of perfect instinct, the instant
   Monica placed the baby in her arms, that she would love him.
   And that she would lose so much in doing so. 

   To save her child, she gave him away. In this act she
   surrendered the purest part of herself. The one piece of her
   soul that hadn't been chiseled at, that hadn't been eaten away. 

   Dana Scully gave away her hope. 

   It was simply a thing lost for love.              
                                 
   And just as the wind would slip around her shoulders, tickling
   her face with it's cool, slick caress, it would haunt her.

   It would never leave.

   ~*~*~*~*~

   They have both lost so many, many things. His sister, hers. His
   father, hers. His mother. Her daughter. Their son.

   They feel the coalescence of these losses in the quiet darkness
   of a New Mexico motel room. He calls them his failures. She
   calls them tribulations. They are only now beginning to realize
   that it doesn't matter who is to blame. They are only now
   beginning to realize the importance of relinquishing the past.

   They lie on a musty bed, entwined, sharing silent thoughts. A
   warm rain pounds against the window, turning dusty streets
   into muddy creeks. A quiet revelation causes the corners of
   her mouth to turn up in the slightest degree.

   For the whole time they've known each other, now is the first
   moment when they have been truly together in everything. 

   For years they had shared his quest, together. Then, they
   shared a friendship, and later, a love. They shared an
   understanding, a respect, a partnership. They shared a bed.
   The one thing they did not share in was belief.

   He believed in aliens. She believed in a greater power.

   Now, they are finally together. 

   She sighs softly, warm breath against warm skin, and he pulls
   her closer. Finally together. A whole year of separation makes
   the touch of her hand on his waist feel like a waking dream.
   The knowledge he has acquired these past days has left a
   heavy burden on his bruised shoulders, but now, as he lets
   himself feel her real, solid warmth next to him, the burden
   begins to lift. 

   "Maybe there's hope," he rasps in a whisper. He is astonished
   because he believes it.

   His words are what she needs. She knows that for them, hope
   should be something unattainable. They have lost so many
   things. But she trusts him. When he tells her there's hope, she
   will believe.

   Their future is so uncertain. They have many miles to travel,
   many truths to uncover. Yet, to lie here in this dark, damp
   motel room with a man she's almost lost so many times, is
   enough.

   It is enough just to know that this love is the one thing she will
   never lose. It isn't everything. But for them, for now, it is
   enough.   

   ~*~*~*~*~

   In the night, she dreams.

   He is strapped to a table in those hateful orange coveralls. She
   watches him through a pane of tinted glass. He can't see her,
   but he knows she's there. He's screaming her name... his face
   awash with fear, his wrists straining against the restraints. She
   wants fiercely to go to him, but she's trapped by the tinted
   glass.

   A man in a white coat and two guards stand by his side. The
   white-coated man turns to the window. Her stomach clenches
   horribly when she sees his twisted face. The Smoking Man.

   He throws a malevolent grin her way, and turns back to
   Mulder. He slides a long needle under the thin skin on the top
   of his hand, patting it into place with a tenderness that makes
   her want to vomit. The needle is attached to a thin tube,
   hooked up to a bag. It isn't until The Smoking Man again turns
   to her, and in John Doggett 's familiar, roughened voice
   informs her: "Death by lethal injection," that she understands. 

   She panics.

   The window rattles as she pounds them with balled fists.
   "Mulderrrrr!" she yells to him in desperation, her voice
   breaking on a heavy sob. She has to get to him. She won't let
   them do this again. She can't lose him, too.

   The Smoking Man reaches up to the IV bag, his fingers resting
   on the tiny plastic nodule that traps the poison. She is frantic,
   her knuckles bloody from beating the glass, her throat raw
   from screaming. 

   They are making her watch. They are killing him and making
   her watch.

   Slowly, C.G.B. Spender turns the nodule. The deadly liquid
   slides easily down the tube and through the needle. Mulder's
   thrashing becomes more violent. 

   Shaking nearly as much as he, she leans her sweat-and-tear-
   dampened face into the cool glass. He is lost to her. 

   She wakes to his voice in her ear, his arm around her torso,
   his cool, dry cheek against her wet, warm one. "Dana," he
   soothes, his voice sleep-roughened, but gentle. "It's okay.
   You're dreaming. Wake up. Dana..."

   Startled blue eyes snap open and she tries to sit up, but he
   pulls her tightly against his chest. "Shhhhh," he croons,
   collecting the tears from her face with a sweep of his hand. 

   She realizes she's still crying, keening into the collar of his t-
   shirt, but can't do a thing to stop it. She hates for him to see
   her vulnerable, but her world is still colored by her nightmare
   and she is too frantic, to thankful to be holding onto him, to
   care sufficiently.

   "Mulder," she chokes when she can breathe enough to speak.
   "They'll kill you."

   He rocks her softly against himself, one hand buried in her
   hair, the other wrapped around the small of her back. It scares
   him to see her so upset. "It was a dream, Scully. I'm right
   here." His voice is low and soothing, but she is desperate.

   "No, no. If they find you, they'll kill you. Death by lethal
   injection, your sentence... they'll do anything to find you,
   Mulder." She pulls away enough so that she can look at him.
   He sees the raw fear in her eyes, and it unnerves him. "They'll
   have the entire country looking for you. This isn't.... this isn't
   some underground conspiracy. It's bigger than that, it's
   stronger. How will we-" she falters as her voice breaks again,
   and reaches up with trembling fingers to touch his lips, his jaw,
   feeling the rough stubble there. "Mulder- how will we hide this
   time?"

   "We won't hide," he says softly, his eyes dark and burning in
   the low light from the street lamp. "We'll run."

   She nods slowly, trying to pull her addled brain from the
   confines of dream-filled sleep. "We have to get away from
   here."

   "In the morning," he whispers, pulling her back into his
   embrace where she rests, fear reeling in her gut, until dawn.

   ~*~*~*~*~

   They leave in the first light of dawn, the soft morning sunlight
   flooding the SUV with warmth as they pull away from the motel.
   She leans against the window of the passenger seat, weary
   after a night of unrest. Today will be their last day in New
   Mexico. They will gather what they need for the journey
   ahead, then, as quietly and surreptitiously as they can, head
   north. The Canadian border, Mulder hopes, will be their
   safeguard.

   She feels his hand come to rest gently on her knee, and she
   turns to see him studying her out of the corner of his eye as he
   half-heartedly watches the empty road. His furrowed brow
   and anxious eyes bare his concern. 

   "You okay, Scully?" he asks softly.

   She pats his hand in reassurance. "Mmm hmm," she nods.
   "Just a little tired.

   "We'll find a room early tonight," he promises. "We can both
   get a good night's rest, then head out in the morning. If
   everything holds out, we'll be able to make it to Canada
   before the end of the week."

   She nods, threading her fingers through his before turning to
   look out the window again. She hasn't once questioned his
   plan. She believes that he will do everything in his power to get
   them to safety.     

   The way she so openly trusts him makes him feel strong. It
   also scares him to death. He is not as sure of himself as she is
   of him. He is afraid he'll make a mistake. He is afraid he's
   ruining her life. He is afraid she will know, as she always does,
   just how terrified he really is.

   They reach a little town just outside of Roswell, and pull up in
   front of a small thrift shop. They will need supplies; some
   camping gear, clothes, blankets. 

   Before going in, Mulder stops at an ATM machine. Money
   will be tight. They can't access their bank accounts for fear of
   being traced, but he takes out all he has from the account he
   had been using in New Mexico, a secret stash set up by the
   Gunmen. It isn't much money, but it will be enough for gas and
   food in the weeks ahead.

   In the discount store, Scully picks out durable, comfortable
   clothes for both of them. She misses her stylish Dona Karan
   suits already, even knowing that there will be many more
   important things about her old life she'll be missing soon. 

   "I'll bet you could make even flannel look sexy," he purrs in
   her ear from behind, and she yelps, startled.

   "Jesus Mulder, don't do that," she scolds him, grinning as she
   re-folds the flannel shirt she'd been holding up for inspection.
   The familiar leer in his voice warms her heart. The banter and
   innuendo she used to find irritating and distracting now only
   reminds her of how fiercely she has missed him. 

   "Here," she hands him the pile of clothes she's collected for
   him. "See if these will fit."

   He shifts through the pile and shrugs. "Looks great, Scully.
   What've you got?" 

   She shows him her findings and he pulls out a pair of faded
   cutoffs. "Wow. I like these," he smirks, waggling his eyebrows
   as he pictures her strutting around in the tiny shorts. He's
   never really had the chance to see her in such casual clothes.

   "I'm sure you do," she pries the cutoffs out of his hands, trying
   to stop the blush threatening to creep into her cheeks. She
   loves that he can still make her feel young and heady, like he
   hasn't known her for nine years, like he hasn't seen her at her
   very worst, at her very weakest. "They'll be comfortable when
   it gets hot. The vehicle we get probably won't have air
   conditioning."

   "Right," he smiles as they take their clothes to the cash, along
   with two pairs of running shoes, a few heavy army-issue
   blankets, a flashlight and a Colman lamp.

   Before heading to the used car lot, they get a few provisions at
   the local grocer; bananas, apples, crackers, protein bars and
   the requisite sunflower seeds. They splurge, at noon, and buy
   a milkshake, sitting side by side on a curb in the hot sun while
   they pass it back and forth, sipping the sweet beverage
   contentedly.   

   Scully pulls her hair back and ties it with an elastic when the
   heat starts to make it stick to the back of her neck. "We'll
   have to sign some papers to get another vehicle," she remarks,
   drawing patterns in the dust on the side of the street with the
   toe of her shoe.

   Mulder nods. "The Insurance slips and phony driver's licences
   Agent Doggett got us are all in the glove box of the Ford. It
   shouldn't be a problem"

   "What are the names he gave us?"   

   He takes a slow sip of the milkshake, then says "Rob and
   Laura Petrie."
                            
   "What?!" she yelps, eyes wide. 

   "Just kidding," he ducks, grinning madly as she thwacks him in
   the shoulder. "Our names are Joseph and Emily Halloway.
   We're newlyweds on our way to see family up north."

   "Emily Halloway..." she repeats softly. "It's pretty. But... we
   should have rings, shouldn't we?" She holds up her left hand
   and wiggles her ring finger.

   "Oh," he jumps up. "Be right back," he calls as he runs to the
   RV parked a few yards away.

   Upon returning, he holds out a little plastic bag containing two
   gold rings. "I thought I saw these rattling around in that glove
   box."

   She stares at him, mouth open in surprise, as he sits back
   down beside her. "They really thought of everything, didn't
   they?"

   He shrugs and lets the rings tumble out into his open palm.
   They are of smooth, nondescript gold, cool against the heat of
   his hand. He takes the smaller ring and slides it gently onto her
   finger. She smiles. It fits well, the weight of it both comfortable
   and foreign. Then, taking the other ring from his hand, she slips
   it onto his finger.

   It is a bittersweet gesture, a reminder of what they can never
   have. 

   Mulder reaches out to her, as he is swept with an unexpected
   wave of emotion, tenderly grazing her soft lips with the pads of
   his fingers, then moving down to cup her chin. She smiles at
   him, glad that he feels the same way she does, then lets him lift
   her lips to his own. They kiss soundly, profoundly grateful to
   have just this.

   They sit in silence for a long moment, after, staring out into the
   desert sky and wondering at what might have been. 

   ~*~*~*~*~

   At the used car lot they trade in their shiny SUV for a clunky old
   truck. The bench seat is big and comfortable, and Scully can
   easily see herself napping on the overstuffed, soft blue fabric-
   covered seat. The back of the vehicle is covered by a truck
   camper-cap, high enough that both she and Mulder can sleep
   comfortably without getting a concussion every time they sit
   up.

   They pack the supplies they've gathered into the back, then
   climb in to test out the sleeping arrangement.

   "It could really use a foam mattress or something," she
   remarks, wiggling as her tailbone is crushed against the
   truckbed's hard surface.

   "Aw, you can sleep on me, Scully," Mulder leers as he hops
   down from the camper. "It'll be cozy."

   She rolls her eyes and follows him down, knowing that that's
   exactly what will happen.

   They settle into the truck, Mulder behind the wheel, Scully
   curled up with one of the blankets in the passenger seat. He
   flicks the radio on and they set off on the long drive as whining
   country music fills the cab. With a grunt of distaste she
   changes the station, only to find more country. 

   Mulder laughs, and she glares at him half-heartedly. She's
   always found this sort of music irritating, and he's always
   insisted on it, more to pester her than because he truly enjoys
   it.

   With a sigh of resignation, she leans back in her seat. Mulder
   begins to hum along to the radio, a smile grazing his full lips, as
   she watches the sparse housing and shrubbery along the dusty
   road pass by.

   She takes comfort in the familiarity found in this simple thing.
   How many times had they driven together, Mulder at the
   wheel, she controlling the radio, trying not to laugh at his
   jokes? How many miles had they traveled exactly like this?
   Looking back, she doesn't see those days of endless road
   trips as time wasted, as she had suspected in living them, but
   as some of the happiest moments of her life. 
                       
   Although the situation brings a soft smile to her lips, the
   moment is tinged with sadness, a heaviness that hadn't been
   there in their days of chasing down monsters and madmen. As
   nice as it is to know again the familiarity of the old days, it also
   reminds her, with a bitter sense of nostalgia, that they are only
   that- days passed, days they will never get back. She envies
   the freedom they had then, as sparse and fleeting as it may
   have been. 

   Now they are the opposite of free. They are burdened with an
   unwanted knowledge of what may come, with the memories of
   all they have lost, and with an impossible mission  to escape
   the ones that hold the power. They are fugitives, forever.
   There will never be a moment of peace.

   They can never stop running. 

   Mulder's life, and therefore hers, depends on it.

   ~*~*~*~*~

   When their empty stomachs refuse to let them travel any
   further, they stop for dinner. They are still miles from the New
   Mexico border, dusk threatening in the near future, so they
   find a motel and take their chicken burritos and diet cokes to a
   nearby gorge. The motel manager informed them that the view
   of the sunset at this particular spot is unsurpassed.

   They realize, upon arriving at the gorge a half-hour before
   dusk, that they are the only people there. The view really is
   beautiful- two great walls of red-dusted rock stand over a
   narrow valley, the New Mexico landscape only a hazy vision
   in the distance.

   Mulder spreads out one of the blankets over the dry, pebbly
   earth only a few feet from the edge of the gorge. They sit in
   silence as they eat and watch the sun, hanging heavy and huge
   in the sky, change from a blazing yellow to a burnt orange and
   begin to set.

   "There's still time, you know." Mulder's soft declaration
   echoes in the silence, rippling out over the acres of barren, red
   land.

   She raises an eyebrow and puts down the rest of her burrito.

   His eyes are distant and sad as he reaches out to tenderly tuck
   a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand falling to rest at the
   small of her back. "You could catch a flight back to DC,
   pretend none of this ever happened. You'd still be safe.
   It's not you they're looking for."

   "Mulder-," she immediately begins, but he stops her.

   "I just.... Scully... are you sure? Are you sure you want to do
   this? Are you sure you want to come with me?"

   His words make her angry, but her fury is quiet. It shines dark
   in her eyes as she shakes her head  tersely. "Don't ask me
   that, Mulder. Not after all that's happened." Her voice is a
   fierce whisper. "Don't ask me that like you don't know me."

   The silence that falls upon them now is heavy and pregnant
   with all they refuse to say. She pulls away from his hand, still
   resting at her back, but his next words are so sad, so full of
   grief and regret that her anger immediately dissipates.

   "I'm sorry, Dana. I never wanted it to be this way." His lips
   are pursed tightly, his hands clenched at his sides.

   "It's going to be fine." She knows he doesn't believe her. She
   doesn't even believe herself. "I'm okay, you're okay. That's
   all that counts, now."

   He shakes his head, and when he looks at her, his gaze is so
   intense it almost frightens her. Almost.

   "I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice painfully low and thin, "that
   you have to give up your life for me." 

   "Don't you know?" Dana reaches up, touching his temple
   lightly, then moving her fingers slowly through his thick hair.
   "Mulder- you're all that's left of my life." She thinks of what
   she has left behind. An empty apartment with an empty
   nursery holding an empty crib. An empty job she hates. 

   He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. He blames himself
   for all of this, too. For her shell of a life. His guilt, his regret
   is all-consuming. "I'm sorry, Scully, so sorry..." He whispers so
   softly she can barely hear him.

   "It's not your fault," she breathes, but he shudders still. She
   takes his face into her hands. "No, listen to me. It's never
   been your fault. I've always had the choice... and I've always
   chosen to follow you. It was my *choice*. I chose to be
   here."

   She gave up her life for him a long time ago. She didn't regret
   it then. She doesn't now.

   Leaning in close, she presses her lips to his forehead softly. In
   this simple gesture, she comforts him.

   "What about you mother?" He asks hoarsely. "She'll be
   heartbroken."

   Scully nods slowly, knowing that it is Maggie Scully who will
   be hurt the most by all of this. "I'll miss her. But Mulder, she'll
   understand." She sighs softly. "I just wish there was some way
   we could get a message to her."

   "To Skinner, too," he concedes. "To let them know we're
   alright."

   "I wish the Gunmen were here. To help us keep in touch." She
   speaks wistfully, running her fingers through the sand beside
   the blanket.

   He purses his lips at the mention of his old friends. "We're on
   our own, Scully," he tells her softly. In the next instant, his
   shoulders stiffen and he is angry.  "Dammit! We could really
   use their help here." He looks down at the red earth and
   shakes his head in disdain, almost imperceptibly. "We need
   the Gunmen." He closes his eyes, hurling a handful of pebbles
   and dirt in the direction of the gorge. "Jesus." The curse is spit
   like ash from his mouth, dry and bitter.

   She places a hand on his shoulder to calm him. She is, as
   always, the voice of reason. "Are you angry because you think
   you only miss them because you need them? Or are you angry
   because they're gone, Mulder? Because they died for a cause
   that you believe is your own?" 

   He shakes his head again, breathing deeply and staring ahead,
   refusing to meet her gaze. "Both, maybe," he rasps, voice as
   dry as the dust and sand on which they sit. "It's just... Scully,
   what if it was for nothing? What if the people they died saving
   are just going to die now, anyway? What if... what if
   everything we've done, all we've suffered, has been for
   nothing?"

   "I refuse to believe that we've been fighting in vain, Mulder.
   Just because we've been told that colonization is inevitable
   doesn't mean it's true. You have never trusted the men who
   told you this. Why trust them now?" She takes his hand in
   both of hers, fingering the new ring resting on his finger.
   "They've told us so many false truths over the years. I can't
   resign myself to accept this as the final word. Not now. Not
   yet."

   "What if this time it *is* the truth?" 

   She hears the fear in his words. She shares his fear, but knows
   that they cannot let it own them. She shrugs softly. "You can
   do a lot of living in ten years."

   She feels his hand tighten around hers, and when he lifts his
   head to meet her gaze, he is smiling. 

   "If the past ten years are any example, then you're right Scully.
   You're right." He pulls her into his arms in one smooth motion. 

   She wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face into the
   warm hollow of skin there. "Mulder," she whispers after a
   handful of comfortable moments. "Do you have any idea how
   much I missed you?"

   He chuckles. "I think," he says, and kisses her temple, "that I
   have some idea."  Mulder breathes in suddenly as he looks up,
   noticing that the sky has been transformed. "God, Scully.
   Look at this."

   She turns in his embrace to face the horizon. The sun is almost
   set, burning a mighty orange in a sky awash with pinks and
   golds. The vivid colors bathe her face in glowing amber light
   and he can't resist leaning down to kiss her. She responds
   with fervor, awakening under his gentle caress, until the caress
   is not quite so gentle.

   She sighs softly as he dips down to press feathery kisses to
   her neck, behind her ear, over her collarbone. "I missed you,
   Mulder," she reverberates, loving the way his skin feels under
   her hands as she lifts his shirt. "God. I really missed you."

   Later, when the sun has fully set and they are a warm tangle of
   arms and legs and lazy kisses on a blanket in the darkness, she
   presses her lips to his ear.                 

   "It isn't over, Mulder," she tells him softly. 

   "I know," he says, and even in the black night she can see that
   his eyes are heavy and sad.

   All he's ever wanted was for it to be over.

   ~*~*~*~*~

   The musty smell of the motel room is sharp even before they
   step inside. Scully wrinkles her nose, and Mulder laughs. 

   "I guess we should be grateful," he relents. "This may be our
   last 'real' bed for awhile."

   They set their things on the desk, then sit on the edge of the
   bed, knees touching.

   "I need a shower," he assesses, sniffing. 

   She grins. "I think we both do. I've got dust in places I never
   thought possible." 

   "Ooh," he smirks. "Can I see?"

   She laughs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Dust flies out in a
   cloud around his head at her touch. "I'd say you've got
   enough of your own to last awhile." 

   The slightly muffled sound of a baby crying in the next room
   makes her jump. She is still so used to the noise as a signal for
   her to tend to her son. It still tugs mercilessly at her heart. 

   She sighs, shoulders slumping slightly forward. Mulder notices
   and is immediately concerned. "Dana...?"

   "He... he would be learning to walk by now," she says, her
   words hollow.

   Mulder nods slowly, unsure of how to respond. He misses
   their son terribly. He can't even begin to imagine what she is
   feeling. So he simply takes her small hand in his, smoothing the
   soft skin over her knuckles. After a moment, she speaks
   shakily.

   "Mulder...." her voice is painfully soft, glossed with a kind of
   infinite sadness that makes him go cold in the stomach. "I think
   I was a bad mother."

   He almost doesn't believe what he is hearing. He can't imagine
   her saying something so wrong. His reaction is almost fierce-
   he takes her shoulders and crushes her against him. "Oh Dana.
   God, no. No, no, no..."

   He can feel her crying softly, her shoulders shaking under his
   hands. She nods against his chest. "It's true," she chokes, "I
   was so cold with him, sometimes. I was afraid... I was almost
   afraid of him, of what he was. I'm sorry, Mulder."

   "Scully," he whispers and shakes his head. "You're wrong.
   You could never have been a bad mother." He knows her heart is
   breaking, has been broken for weeks now, as she sobs against him.
   His throat constricts and he swallows hard, trying not to cry. He
   wants to be strong for her, like she has always been for him. 

   Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his wallet, then takes out
   the picture she had given him the first day she found him in jail.
   It is of a happy, smiling seven month-old, gazing up at the
   woman holding him, his mother, with gurgling adoration.

   "Look, Scully." He holds the picture out so that she can see it.
   "Does this look to you like a child who has a bad mother?"

   She touches the picture, tracing the image of their son 
   reverently.

   "I know how you were with him. I saw you those first days.
   And I can imagine. You played peek-a-boo with him, Scully.
   You sang him lullabies. You rocked him to sleep every night.
   You comforted him every single time he cried. You loved him.
   You were a good mother. I promise."

   "I couldn't keep him safe," she says bitterly, shaking her head 
   and wiping angrily at the tears rolling down her face .

   "Yes," he argues with confidence. "You did. He's safe now,
   because of you."

   ~*~*~*~*~

   Later, when they have both showered and dressed for bed,
   she sits at the small vanity in the corner of the room. She stares
   into the mirror for long moments. Her face has not changed
   drastically over the past nine years. Of course, there are more
   lines in certain places, less roundness in others. She is older,
   but she still looks like Dana. She wishes, sometimes, that she
   still felt like that Dana.

   Her hair is longer. Longer, even, than when she first joined
   Mulder on the X-Files. Over the years it had changed lengths
   many times. She had often used it as a control method. She
   cut her hair short when she felt she was losing control of her
   life. For the past two years she has let it grow because it gave
   her a softer, more maternal look. She would glance in the
   mirror as she was carrying William over her shoulder, and
   enjoy the way it brushed her shoulders and rested a few inches
   down her back so that he could tangle his little fingers in it.

   "Mulder," she says suddenly. "I want to cut my hair."

   He nods, and she stands from the vanity to rustle through her
   bag. She comes up with a small pair of sharp scissors. He
   imagines that they are some kind of medical tool.

   She sits back down in front of the mirror, again studying
   herself. Then, she turns in her seat and holds the scissors out
   towards Mulder. He shakes his head a little, eyes wide.

   "Please?" she implores softly.

   Hesitantly, he steps up behind her and takes them from her
   hand. He can't deny her anything. "What if I screw it up?"

   "I trust you." There is no doubt in her voice.

   "Um... how much should I take off?"

   She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."

   He nods, nervous. He puts the scissors down on the table.
   Slowly, he begins to run his fingers through the long, auburn
   locks. It is soft and slightly slippery- still damp from her
   shower. He leans down and takes a deep breath. It's smell is
   the scent he attributes only to her- flowers and spices and
   spring. 

   He won't tell her that he really likes it long. It reminds him of
   when they first met. He tries to imagine little William's chubby
   baby-fingers burrowing themselves in the soft locks. 

   When he finally picks up the scissors, he cuts her hair slowly,
   reverently, carefully. He concentrates hard, trying his best to
   measure perfectly, snipping the same amount from each
   section. Each time the scissors snap and a piece of her lovely
   red hair falls to the floor, he feels a tiny jolt deep in his chest.
   It isn't a bad feeling, exactly. He finds this strangely intimate. 

   When he is done, her hair rests just under her chin. He puts
   down the scissors, and their eyes meet in the mirror-
   shimmering blue boring into gilded green. He puts his hand on
   her thin shoulder. She places hers on top of his, then reaches
   up slowly with her other hand and touches the newly trimmed
   hair. In her eyes he sees the reflections of his imaginings-
   chubby baby-fingers twined in the hair now littering the
   carpeted floor. Except hers aren't imaginings. They are
   memories.

   ~*~*~*~*~

   Somewhere near the Canadian border, they pull into a truck
   stop for lunch.

   They are stiff from sleeping in the truck for a week, but neither
   can deny the wonderful feeling of exhilaration. They are almost
   out of the country and there haven't yet been any mishaps.
   Scully is feeling jittery, expecting something to happen at any
   moment, excited because they are so very, very close.

   "Looks like we might make the border before sundown,"
   Mulder remarks as they make their way into the small diner at
   the truck stop, and she grins at him.

   They order a lemonade and single sandwich sliced in half to
   save money. They sit at an old table, holding hands over the
   red-and-white-checked tablecloth. To any passerby they
   would look like newlyweds, out camping for their honeymoon
   in flannel shirts and cutoffs. They are completely focused on
   each other, talking in low voices as they nibble on the turkey-
   on-whole-wheat, sharing both lighthearted smiles and
   weathered sighs. She looks years younger with her hair pulled
   back into a swinging ponytail. He looks younger simply
   because he is able to be with her. 

   The sum of their relationship is only a handful of sweet,
   lingering moments and melodramatic revelations. They have
   never done anything like normal people- romance refusing to
   be the exception. They are looking forward to being able to
   have a life together, finally, even if it is a far cry from the life
   they'd always dreamed of.

   She knows there will always be that stinging, bitter space
   within her that cries for their son. She hopes that the longing
   for him will lessen with time. She knows it probably won't.
   She also knows Mulder will continue to search for the truth.
   He will never give up, and she will never let him. If this search
   proves to be futile, they will accept it with proof. What they
   both hope for, in the end, is simply to live out whatever time
   there is left in relative contentment. Together. In having this,
   they will have won. 
        
   "Excuse me, sir?" The waitress that had sold them the
   sandwich is calling to Mulder from the counter. "There's a
   telephone call for you."

   "For me?" He repeats as he shoots a confused look at Scully,
   then gets up to go to the counter. "Are you sure? Who did
   they ask for?"

   "Um... he asked for the man in the red flannel with the dark
   hair sitting at table 3."

   Feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up, he again
   looks to Scully. She shrugs in puzzlement. 

   He takes the phone. "Hello?" The line is silent. "Hello?" he
   repeats, thinking the waitress must have made a mistake.
   Then, suddenly, there is a sound from the other end of the line.

   The voice is somewhat distorted, but the words he speaks are
   clear. "Your son's life is in danger. Go to Hazelwood,
   Wyoming, and ask for directions to Van Der Kamp farms.
   Hurry, Mulder. You must reach him before they do." 

   The line goes dead.

   He drops the phone onto the counter, stunned. Scully jumps
   up from her seat and rushes to his side, putting her hand on his
   chest worriedly. "Mulder? What's wrong?" 

   He looks at her standing in front of him- head tilted to one
   side, brow furrowed in concern, blue eyes round and wide.
   He would do anything to protect her, anything to keep her
   from feeling pain. 

   He loves her.

   But he realizes, in that instant, that there will never be an end
   to their battle. He cannot protect her. They will never rest.

   "What is it?" Scully asks again, her words colored with
   concern.

   "William," he tells her softly. "It's William."


   ~ END CHAPTER 1 ~
                  



   Did ya like it? Even a little? Anything you'd like to see in the
   next chapter? Should I even bother with a next chapter? <g>
   Let me know at sister_spooky@hotmail.com     

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   ~Samantha L. Caldwell