By: penelopody
Mail to: penelopody@hotmail.com

Category: case file, MSR, RST, and some angst.
Rating: R + (there’s sex and violence in this tale)
Spoilers: None really

Distribution: Anywhere with my name and e-mail.  I'd be thrilled to
bits.

Disclaimer: For the most part they aren't mine.  And so I guess this is
infringement.  It's very sad.  After all, I mean them no harm.  I’ve
developed a plan to move to Micronesia if anyone finds me out.

Summary:  Someone dear to Scully is murdered.  The murder effects
fairly drastic change in the agents' lives.  This is all entwined with
a case file involving the assassination of the leader of the Japanese
socialist party, a baby called Imogen, a biker called Gabe and an FBI
agent called Dom.  But the story belongs to Scully and Mulder, and it's
all about the love.  (I should have found someone else to write this
summary...)

Author's notes: Truth is, I had every intention of writing a simple
love story as my first foray into fanfic.  Unfortunately the plot (and
the angst, and the sex) hijacked me.  This story is the result.

Thanks: to Ally for providing all the charming encouragement and
handholding a virgin fic writer needs; to Catherine for frighteningly
detailed edits and priceless commentary; also to Screwball for
technical assistance; and to Tinka, cause she rocks.

Feedback:  Please!  Good or bad, long or short, it will be received
with much rejoicing.  (OK, probably not so much rejoicing if it's
really bad, but I'll still be grateful.)  I've got some questions at
the end if you want to know what I'd like to hear (apart from the
obvious).

And so it begins...
 

***

\\How lovely on the mountains
are the feet of him who brings good news.\\

My cell phone should be a character in the movie of my life.  It
foreshadows change like the ubiquitous messenger in Shakespeare's
plays.

"Scully."  I walked out into the courtyard with my miniature messenger
to my ear.

"Hey Scully, it's me."

For this conversation there was a script embedded in my brain and I
followed it easily.  "Mulder, where are you?"

"Telegraph Avenue.  Berkeley's a fun place, Scully, you shouldn't keep
yourself closeted up in academia."

"You asked me to find you a professor."  I knew he would ignore me
before I even spoke.  Sometimes my partner is abysmally predictable.

"Can I get you something pretty, Scully?  A studded collar, or one of
these nice little ceramic ... uh, pots?  You could put it on your
dresser."

"Mulder, I'm not quite as naive as you think I am."

"A sweet Catholic girl like you?  The sisters would be horrified..."

I put a halt to his line of thinking.  "So, have you found your
wandering conspiracy theorist yet?"

"No.  Not yet.  And I need to speak with him.  Those DNA samples he
sent... somehow he has material knowledge of the alien virus.  Hey
Scully, there's a tattoo parlor here. Think I should get a tattoo, to
match yours?  I'll show you mine…"

I blushed but didn't dignify his comment with a reply.  Not that it
would matter, he could probably feel the color in my face as it
trickled through the airwaves.  My phone chirped in my ear, and I
frowned.  "Mulder, I have another call."

"Who else would be calling you?"  He didn't mean to be rude.

"I don't know."

"So you're dumping me," he said petulantly, and I sensed the pout.
Then he switched gears.  "I think I found my guy.  Call me when you're
done."

I flipped to the other caller.  "Scully."  There was an unsettling
pause.

"Agent Scully, I believe you have family in Santa Cruz."  Then
nothing.  The caller had hung up on me.

The panic started in my lungs and spread in all directions.

I have family in Santa Cruz.

***

\\Even death moves quietly now
Soaking long sleeves in the turquoise blood
Of morning\\

Unfortunately Scully hadn't called me until she was half way there and
even the burst of speed which was instantly inspired by the
uncontrolled panic in her voice hadn't been enough.

So, of course, I was too late.

The house nestled prettily in the Santa Cruz hills.  A view of the
ocean, a swing set, small pairs of shoes, if it was domestic bliss you
were seeking, this might just be the place.  It wasn't what I was
seeking, but I wasn't immune to its charms.  That is, until I noticed
the obscene blaze of yellow tape.  Maybe erasing a perfect life is no
worse than any other slaughter, but at this moment it felt worse,
especially because I knew this family.

I stepped over the yellow tape.

"Hey."  Then louder, "Hey!  Sir!  Sir.  I'm sorry, no one is allowed in
here."

"FBI."  I pulled out my badge and brushed the local cop out of my way.

As I opened the front door I could see she'd been here.  The house
seemed awash with blue, as though her eyes had bled at the sight
greeting them.  I ran a hand over my face to clear my head and turned
to approach one of the more senior looking people.

"What happened?"

He turned.  "Who are you?"

I let my anger show.  "FBI.  Fox Mulder.  My partner, Dana Scully…"
The compounded horror and pity in his face stole my words along with my
anger.

"Ah geez.  This is her brother's place."  I nodded.  I already knew.

"What happened?  Where is she?"

"All four dead.  Two little kids." His voice cracked.  "Your partner,
she found them, went in the ambulance with the wife.  Nine months
pregnant too.  Due any day.  I think your partner thought the little
one might be saved."

"Where's the hospital?"  I was glad that my voice didn't betray the
moaning which swelled in my throat.  The abacus rattling through my
brain added four new people to the list of Scully family members I'd
destroyed: Charlie Scully; Lanie Scully; Toby Scully; Jake Scully and
then maybe this last one, not yet born.

I followed her path to the hospital, listening to her sobbing in my
head, because I knew she wouldn't scream out loud.

***

Someone had forced her to wait outside.  She looked up as I rounded the
corner.  It is hard to imagine that eyes the color of those could ever
look dead.  But when someone has killed your brother, your sister-in-
law, your two little nephews, eyes shaded with death is definitely an
acceptable option.

I knelt in front of her, leveling our faces.

"Scully."  She looked away quietly.  I had no idea what to say beyond
her name so we stayed like that in silence for several minutes, a
frozen goddess and supplicant.  Eventually my knees began to distract
me from her pain so I lifted myself off the floor and sat beside her.

I was surprised when she started speaking.  "They weren't involved with
us.  I don't understand it.  I tried to keep everyone out of it.  But
they were all dead.  I had to check.  It took so long to check - and it
didn't matter because they were dead before I got there."

"Oh, Scully."

"I don't even know what to hope for… this baby.  It will be… Charlie
and Lanie are gone, and Toby and Jake.  It starts its life so far
behind."  I reached for her hand, hating how she was stumbling over her
words.  Her hand shook in mine.  Part of me was horrified at this
evidence of her fragility, her humanity.  The other part was overjoyed
that she let me touch any part of her.

The door swung open.  "Miss Scully?"  Scully stood up.  The doctor's
eyes were a strange brew of sorrow and triumph.  "The baby is alive.  A
little girl.  She's still in critical care but we think she'll make
it."  Scully took a shuddering breath.

"Can I see her?"

"Yes."

Her eyes flickered briefly to mine as she followed the doctor.

***

We had the funeral in Santa Cruz.  Four coffins planted in the rough
earth overlooking the sea.  My baby brother had left the navy but he
was never going to leave the sea.  I stood with his baby daughter in
arm.  In just six days she had become thoroughly enamored of me.  My
feelings about her weren't so unequivocal.  But she was an effective
armor against the tears that threatened at every breath.

In an unexplored way she stilled my heart.

Mom sobbed helplessly as the coffins were lowered one by one.  She had
scarcely known her grandsons.  Charlie had made no effort to include
the extended family in his blissfully happy years with Lanie. I think
he felt sorry for me so I had been allowed to visit at times.  It was
generous of him to open his little piece of joy to me, although it was
only in the strictest confidence.  I felt like a stranger as the earth
was shoveled into place.

Bill and Tara were showing heretofore unimagined restraint.  They
hadn't said a thing about the baby and while Bill had turned blazing
eyes on Mulder, he had seemed satisfied to wrap a long arm around Mom
and keep his peace.

The priest finished and people began to leave.  Ultimately I was left
almost alone.  Of course, Mulder was still there.  I had felt his eyes
fixed on the back of my head throughout the service.  I had tried not
to shift in my seat, despite the fact that he made me feel like I was
in the sights of a sniper.  I have often considered wearing Kevlar
permanently.  Now he approached gingerly, shifting from foot to foot,
not knowing if he should be there. I saw him reach into the recesses of
his brain for something appropriate to say but I interrupted him
summarily.

"Scully, I…" His eyes were eucalyptus smoke and they blended into the
hills in the background.

"I'll be back at the hotel tonight.  I can't stay at the house.  But I
need to spend some time with Mom and the family."

"OK.  Can I drive you there?"  He sounded so much like a fourteen-year-
old asking for a date that I felt a twinge at rejecting him.

"No.  Bill's taking me.  I'll speak to you later."

"OK.  I'll wait for you."  He stepped back without looking at the baby.

***

The local response to Charlie, Lanie, Toby and Jake's deaths was
overwhelming.  My family stood nervously in one corner of the house as
Charlie's community comforted one another with tear-stained embraces.
After a brief squall the baby had fallen asleep in what was to have
been her room.  Without her I felt naked, and the garish horror I had
witnessed in this house assaulted my unprotected senses.  I shut my
eyes and felt my way into the back yard.  The sky was clear and the
moon was reflected on the swelling ocean.  Its silver blue cooled my
sight and I sat in one of the plastic outdoor chairs, breathing deeply.

It was hard not to long for Mulder's presence, although I was well
aware that in all probability my family's deaths were horribly entwined
in his life's work.  Ultimately I gave up trying and imagined that he
sat by me.  A stranger distracted me from my reverie.

"Hey."

I said nothing and after a brief pause he continued bravely.  "I'm Gabe
Duncan, Lanie's brother."  I felt my eyes soften at his introduction.
"I need to talk to you about Lanie and Charlie's baby."

I looked at him and wiped my eyes a little self-consciously.  "I'm
sorry.  I just needed to be out of there for a while and…"

"You found them here, didn't you." I nodded reluctantly, a little taken
aback to see such intensity and understanding in eyes that were gray
and not hazel.

"Do you want to sit out here?" I asked.  He folded himself into another
plastic chair and considered me for a moment.  I was amazed to see that
his gaze held no anger toward me, although he must have known that
death and destruction were not following me arbitrarily.

Finally he broke the silence.  "I don't know if you're aware that Lanie
and Charlie had named you as guardian of their boys, if anything
happened to them."  I wasn't aware, and I'm sure I looked it.  "They
named me too.  They might have changed their will since Lanie got
pregnant again, but I'm thinking that…"

"We'll probably be her guardians."

Such symmetry.

"Yeah."  In the moment of quiet that followed this revelation I took in
his roughly bearded face, tank top and black jeans.  He probably had a
black leather jacket to complete the look.  He was not a typical father
figure - but he seemed real.

"OK," I said eventually, shakily.

"I know you probably don't want to think about this right now, but we
do need to work it out."

"Of course," I murmured.  His eyes shifted to mine for a moment.

"Dana, umm… the thing is, I don't have any other siblings.  And Lanie
and Charlie, they wouldn't want Bill and Tara to look after their
little girl.  They trust y… trusted you."  The slip made him wince.
"And me I guess.  And… I know neither of us is married but they still …
it's what they wanted."

"All right."  I wanted to sound more enthusiastic, or just more
hopeful, but it was beyond me for the moment.  "I need to think about
this.  It's come as rather a shock and I need to think about what I can
do, what I should do."  He glanced at me sharply, and, for the first
time, I saw irritation in his expression.

"That's fine, but you realize we do need to work this out.  There's a
baby without a family or a home and we need to give her one."

I was startled into raising my voice.  "I know!  Don't think I don't
know about her.  She's been with me constantly the last six days.
She's just a little thing, she's lost so much.  I look at her and my
heart hurts." I was crying now.  "But I saw my brother and his whole
family murdered in this perfect place.  She could have grown up here,
with them.  And … it's very likely they were killed because of me.  I
can't bear to know that.  How can I look at her and not see what has
happened here?  How can I expect her not to hate me for this?"  I
couldn't say any more.  I couldn't believe I'd said so much.  After
all, it was his sister too.

He filled the silence gently.  "You can help me replace what she's
lost."

I closed my eyes and thought for a long moment then turned to him.
"Right, you're right.  Let's talk this out."

"Now?" he asked.

"Sure."

***

Scully arrived at the motel at three a.m., by which time I had given up
being sick with worry and was just sick.  She didn't appear surprised
to find me sleepless in her room, so I assumed she had wanted to
torture me.  Which seemed fair enough when I considered it.  I stood
and watched her.  I had become accustomed to her accessorizing with the
baby, so I noted its absence with surprise.  Scully avoided my eyes and
sat on her bed, tugging off her shoes.  I was nervous and silence did
not come naturally, so I gave in and spoke first.

"You OK, Scully?"

I saw her tongue form her familiar response and then bite it back.  "I
need to talk to you about something, Mulder."

 As much as her empty repetition of 'I'm fine' had infuriated me, I
wished for its return.  "What is it?"

"Mulder…" Her somewhat excessive use of my name only added to my
trepidation and made my voice Skinner-like, low and censorious.

"Tell me."

She bit her lip and frowned.  Finally it all tumbled out in free fall.
"I'm going to leave the bureau.  At least for a time.  I need to look
after the baby… Imogen."

"You named her?"

"With Gabe.  She's Imogen Lanie Charles Scully."  She looked at me, as
though seeking approval for the odd use of her brother's name.  I liked
it, but there were other matters on my mind.  As usual I focused on the
least of those.

"And Gabe is?"

"Lanie's brother.  He and I are her… the baby's… Imogen's guardians.
He's going to move to Northern Virginia.  We're going to live there and
look after her.  That's what we've planned."

"You're leaving the X-Files."  It had finally made its way to my
central nervous system and I sank into the hotel room chair.

"Yes, Mulder.  I have to.  I can't look after her otherwise."

Our being here was proof enough of that, so I nodded.  A Greek chorus
rose up in some overly dramatic part of my mind.  Their wailing
distracted me long enough for her to leave.

***

Eight months later…

\\I try not to consider
How each cell recalls you
One to another\\

Imogen was a highly effective alarm clock.  They should sell an Imo
2000 model in K-Mart.  Unfortunately I would sometimes wake to her
caterwauling and reach for my gun.  Hard to resist long formed habits.

I stumbled into her room.

"Morning, possum."

With her honey colored sleeper and round gray eyes, she fitted the
endearment neatly.  Her baby warmth served to quash my irritation at
the early morning wake up call I never requested.  She nestled sweetly
at my side as we headed for the kitchen.  Changing her diaper, warming
milk, listening to her possum-babble - the new habits were certainly
prettier than those I was slowly ridding myself of.  Well, the diaper
changing wasn't pretty, but even that was an improvement on the
majority of X-Files.

Still it was much too early.  Morning sun was only now peering through
the windows, almost parallel to the earth.  Gabe and I had managed to
secure a 40s style painted brick and tile house, with an ugly back
garden that I was steadily making worse, much to my disappointment.

By seven Gabe was up, and he and Imogen whisked away to share a shower.

I made myself coffee, and the world began to brighten.  I stretched
languidly and briefly considered spending the day with Gabe and Imo,
rather than caught up in my steadily burgeoning doctor's practice.  Of
course, good sense, and the burden of renting a house would prevail,
but it was tempting.

Gabe began singing in the shower - some Eagles song that I didn't know
the words to.  I looked around my kitchen and started to put away the
dishes from last night.  Perfect house, perfect job, perfect baby (and
she was perfect), perfect live-in biker techie brother-in-law… what
more could a woman want?

Some part of me was aware that I had once been battling an
international government conspiracy, whose aims might foreseeably
encompass the extinction of humankind.  However, any sign of this had
been neatly swept aside.  To all appearances I had become a model of
domesticity.  Part of me wondered if I'd also become someone he would
despise.

I was not referring to Gabe.

***

After an unsuccessful run of female agents (if I didn't terrify them,
they reminded me of Scully and hence terrified me), I had a new
partner.  In blatant disregard of all probabilities, and despite his
name, Dominic Domenico seemed to be the real deal: an FBI agent who
wasn't swimming in the highly attractive twin lakes of death and
duplicity.  I was beginning to think such agents a rare breed.  Perhaps
the consortium had run out of lackeys.  Perhaps they had more important
matters to attend to.  More likely they'd wearied of me.  I could
certainly understand that.

At six foot three and 210 pounds, Dom reminded me of Scully only on
rare occasions.  He was amenable and intelligent and he and I had
reached an almost friendly truce.  Clause One stated that any hint of a
whisper about the Scully family murders was to be chased down
immediately.  Unfortunately the whispers were few and far between, so I
was surprised when Dom set a crime report on my desk.  The layers of
appropriate FBI concern etched into his face were belied by the proud
gleam in his eyes.

I glanced down.  The report was dated six days before the murders and
referred to a completely different set of deaths.  Jim and Alysia
Pulver, 33 and 34, of Denver, Colorado.  I flipped through the pages,
which included a listing of the numbers called from the home of the
murdered couple.  Dom had highlighted a telephone number in green -
Santa Cruz area code.  Home of Charles and Lanie Scully.

No one believes in coincidences any more.

***

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