TITLE: Hair Wars (1 of 1) AUTHOR: FabulousMonster EMAIL ADDRESS: fabulousmonster@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters. They are the property of Ten-Thirteen, Chris Carter and Co. and FOX. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Xemplary, and Spooky Awards, yes. Anywhere else, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: Nothing to worry about. Takes place just before "The Amazing Maleeni." RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: S, H, MSR, UST, Scully POV SUMMARY: It has surprised me that CC&Co. has tried to tie up the series' Syndicate and Samantha story lines instead of addressing THE question that haunts true X-Philers: what's with the hair in Seasons 6 and 7? AUTHOR'S NOTES: To fully appreciate this story, I have one word for you: Flowbee. If you don't know what this is, go to http://www.flowbee.com/. Again, all thanks to my betas Hillary and Duke who keep me honest and help me through my insecurities. Thanks also to my CrystalShipmates--I couldn't ask for a better support group for my X-Files addiction. Feedback is always appreciated...hey, I live for it! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Hair Wars I have been looking at that damn haircut for over a year. I was peering at it right now through the mid-afternoon gloom of our office. Mulder didn't sense my scrutiny. He was absorbed in a case file, feet propped against the edge of his desk, absently crunching sunflower seeds. The Hair in question was sticking straight up, its shape and texture unchanged as he ran his hand through it casually. Yes, the Hair. I'd come to think of it as its own entity, reflecting the distinctive personality of its owner: combative, sarcastic, cocky, abrasive, seductive.... Whoa, Dana. Ascribing human traits to inanimate objects-- wasn't that a warning sign of mental illness? I flipped through Abnormal Psychology 101 in my mind. Maybe not mental illness, but certainly an overactive imagination fueled by boredom--or an overt fondness for all things Disney. I gave myself a mental shake and began to review and catalogue the autopsy reports sent down by Skinner. Stop fixating; start working. I snuck another glance at the Hair. So much for working-- the Hair had other ideas. The Hair was mocking me. In fact, the Hair and I had not been on speaking terms since the spare underbrush that now stared back at me replaced its previously luxurious locks. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The Hair was conceived after Mulder and I returned from Antarctica. Rumors were rampant that we would not be reassigned to the X-Files, especially when we were relegated to the agent bullpen. As we settled into our new office arrangements, I struggled with the LAN link to my new computer. Mulder stayed behind one night to assist me, although his computer knowledge was no greater than mine. The room was dark except for the illumination from our desk lamps. As I moved around the back of my computer to check the connections, I heard a rustle behind me. Turning, I saw a large paper bag adorning Mulder's desk. Looking up at him, I was struck by the boyish grin creeping over his face. I had to ask. "What's in the bag, Mulder?" He moved around his desk and reached into the bag. "Scully, who said, 'The absurd man is he who never changes'?" "Michael Jackson?" He smiled. "No, I said, 'never changes.' I smiled back. "Seriously, what I have in this bag is going to transform the incongruous nature of my woebegone life," he declared theatrically. The Complete Works of Ron Jeremy. Alien ray gun. Time machine. Groceries. I was intrigued in spite of myself. With a flourish, he pulled a box out of the bag and presented it to me. I felt my eyebrows crawl into my hairline. "Mulder, you've got to be kidding," the laughter and disbelief mixing in my voice. "Scully, it's perfect. I saw it on The Shopping Channel a couple of weeks ago. Do you know they sold over 2,000 in less than a hour?" Great. Two thousand potential case files for us. I examined the contents further. Aghast, I informed him, "Mulder, do you know that they use this on dogs?" But Mulder was on a roll. "Do you know how much time and money this will save me?" he said, practically panting from excitement. I suddenly flashbacked to our first case: Mulder standing in the pouring rain breathlessly explaining his alien abduction theories while I laughed at the absurdity of his words, his demeanor, and my willingness to go along. Like that first time, I heard myself laughing and I watched as Mulder's smile reached goofy proportions. After the strain of Antarctica, the release of this tension felt surprisingly good. He stepped into my personal space, ducking his head to catch my gaze. As I looked into his eyes, I saw merriment and relief. We both reveled in the purity of the moment. I averted my eyes back to the box, the smile never leaving my face. "Mulder, do you even own a vacuum to run this thing?" He grabbed the box from me in mock indignation and put it back in the bag. "Scully, 'Change will occur; vacuums will be filled.' If you're going to get all technical on me, you'll just have to wait for the results." The results? He wasn't actually serious. "Mulder..." I warned. But he already had his coat on, the bag tucked jauntily under his arm. "Goodnight, Scully," he said, waving his hand in a mock adieu. "I'll see you Monday." He strode to the elevator, leaving me standing dumbfounded, computer cables dangling from my hand. He wouldn't.... Yep, he would. I was rummaging through my desk for a yellow Post-it note Monday morning when I heard the rumble roll through the bullpen. I followed 20 pairs of eyes to the vision sauntering towards us from the elevator. Muffled snickers greeted his arrival. "Nice 'do, Mulder." "Mulder, I thought you put the weedwacker away for the season." Mulder shrugged off the snide comments, and sat down at his desk facing me. The Hair had arrived. A bouncing, Flowbee-d bundle of joy. Expectation etched across Mulder's face. And frankly, I didn't know what to say as the amusement of Friday rapidly gave way to dismay. Mulder's hair had always been one of his best features; now it looked like raggedly-cut grass. I was sure I saw a lawn-ornament gnome peek out from its scraggly underbrush. I felt a spark of anger. Today, we were to meet with the Office of Professional Review to determine whether we would be reassigned to the X-Files and he was going to present himself to them as Bart Simpson. I felt my chest tightening and so I looked at him squarely in the eye and said.... Nothing. Absolutely nothing about the Hair. Instead, I reminded him of our 11:00 AM meeting with the Review panel and made a hasty exit to the lab. His eyes on the back of my neck made my implant throb. Of course, the meeting went poorly. Mulder was argumentative with the OPR committee, and the Hair 'flipped the bird' to each and every one of the members at least twice. To top it off, I was sure it had a few choice gestures for me when Mulder and I argued in the corridor later. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx That was a year ago. The X-Files was ours again. The basement was ours. The Hair remained. Despite my dislike, I thought the Hair served its purpose over the past year. It provided some levity, albeit to the wrong people. I knew The Gunmen--mavens of style--had been merciless in their critique. But I think the Hair was Mulder's way of taking control of our roller-coaster existence last year. It wasn't lost on me that the Hair underwent renovations during high moments of stress. While we were off the X-Files, the Hair stayed consistently shorn. It was spiked to the heavens everytime we met with Kersh. When the ghost told Mulder that he was prone to paramasturbatory illusions, the Hair's sideburns virtually disappeared. I could almost hear the Flowbee being fired up after his drug-induced declaration of love in Bermuda. I looked over at him again, the autopsy reports be damned. The Hair stuck its tongue out at me. "Mulder, how much longer am I going to have to look at that haircut?" The venom in my voice surprised me; I had planned to be more tactful. It surprised Mulder as well. He looked up from his case file startled, and I realized that it was the first time I had ever acknowledged the Hair. The Hair struck a 'don't- go-there-girlfriend' pose. "What do you mean, Scully?" He put aside the case file, got up and leaned with exaggerated casualness against the front of his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded me with amusement. "Don't you like my hair?" His tone and the Hair's smirky disposition irked me. I got up from my work area and faced him, arms crossed defiantly. "I think you've made your point." "Oh, and what point would that be?" he inquired innocently. "C'mon, Mulder." I gestured helplessly. "The I-refuse-to- be pigeon-holed-by-FBI-rules point. It's perfect, Mulder: take the FBI's rules for male agents' hair length and turn it on its ear with that absurd hair cut!" I wasn't going to tell him about my other theory of control. "Scully, you think I cut my hair this way as some way of 'sticking it to the Man?'" The Hair chuckled at the thought. "You know, Scully, in ancient Egypt, a young boy was not permitted to cut his side lock of hair until the age of thirteen. At that point, he was no longer considered an extension of his parents, but his own man, and was afforded the freedom that entailed. There are similar examples in Inca, Navaho, and Abyssinian cultures." Oh, brother. "While I admit to being intrigued by the Machiavellian undertones of your argument, I cut my hair in homage to the brotherhood of our forebears: 'I cut my hair, therefore I am.'" He ran his hands through the Hair. It didn't budge. "Not only am I a link between our forefathers and future generations, Scully, but this hair has practical benefits as well. It's maintenance-free, wash n' wear hair. No muss, no fuss. Perfect for my active G-man lifestyle." He struck a Heisman-trophy pose using the nameplate on his desk as the football, and I had to bite my lip from laughing. Poor Mulder. Poor delusional, in-denial Mulder. I sighed resignedly. "Okay, Mulder. Believe what you want. But--with all due respect to your forebears--your hair was never high-maintenance to begin with." I felt a twinge of irritation. Why was he deliberately being so dense? Why did I bring up the entire issue in the first place? I grabbed one of the autopsy files and flipped a couple of x-rays onto the light screen in the adjoining room. "Mulder, do what you want--your hair is your business." My irritation grew as he continued to look at me. "Maybe we should talk about this?" he suggested. The Hair nodded in agreement. "Mulder, forget I brought it up. Go back to your case file." I pretended to study the x-ray, adopting a 'Gosh- look-at-the-mass-on-that-femur' expression. Maybe he would get the hint that I wanted to end this conversation. Finally, I heard him move to sit down. Before he did, however, the Hair lobbed a grenade in my direction. "You're probably right, Scully. You're not ready to talk about this right now." What...?! "What does that mean?" "It means, I don't think you're ready to talk about the freedom that comes with this hair." What...?! I couldn't help myself. I peered around the corner. "And what freedom would that be?" The Hair looked at me smugly. "You know, independence, irresponsibility, fun...." He looked closely at me, eyes narrowed. "Nope, you're not ready yet." Did Mulder just say I was not fun? Seven years of playing straight man to his manic persona. Seven years of volleying his rapier wit, innuendoes, and double entendres. I was more damn fun than a barrel of monkeys. I walked deliberately back into the office area. He was sitting back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The light from his desk lamp gave the Hair an unearthly yellow glow. "So what you're telling me, Mulder, is, you're ready for this 'freedom,' but I'm not." "I've been ready for over a year." Danger, danger, Dana Scully. The Hair had lured me into its trap, hook, line and follicle. I had two options: go back to my autopsy reports before this conversation turned in a direction I was not ready to go; or challenge the Hair and its presumptiveness. Logic dictated that I make a strategic withdrawal; but at that moment, logic was having its butt kicked by Irish ancestral fire. Celtic blood flowed through my veins. I took two more steps, coming to a stop just outside the boundary of his crossed ankles. "Just how short does one's hair have to be to obtain this 'freedom'?" I saw his eyes narrow. "C'mon, Scully...." The Hair began to retreat. I cut off its escape route. I moved another step closer, forcing Mulder to uncross his ankles and sit up in his chair. "C'mon, Mulder," I mimicked. "You started this. As a scientist, I want to know what length of hair will...." Maybe it was the tone of my voice. Maybe it was the step towards him. Maybe it was my flushed face. There was a sudden shift in the tectonic plates of our relationship. The fault line was sinking. I watched as he sat up straighter in his chair. He called on some ancestral fire of his own. The Cossacks swept down from the Alps to do battle. He looked directly at me and I met his gaze. To flinch was to die. "Three inches." Three inches. Three inches would leave me looking like Raggedy Ann. Three inches would expose the scar. My hand moved instinctively to the back of my neck. Mulder caught the movement and the fire in his eyes was quickly replaced with understanding. "Actually, I'm mistaken. I meant to say three centimeters...two inches." He demonstrated the length between his thumb and forefinger. He was trying to make a joke. I should have appreciated that he was letting me up off the canvas. Instead, I was put off--the Mulder I knew didn't back down from a fight. I took another step towards him. There was nowhere to go except within the circle of his legs. I was in Mulder territory, blatantly invading his space as he had done repeatedly with me. The Hair signaled red alert. Ever so slowly, I bent at the waist until my lips were level with his ear. "Two inches it is then," I whispered. The Hair strained in the direction of my voice. I pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were closed for a moment, and then snapped opened. Disbelief, anticipation, amusement, and excitement played about his face. The Hair looked like it needed a cigarette. The ringing of the telephone ended our duel as Mulder almost capsized out of his chair scrambling to answer it. I took the opportunity to make the strategic withdrawal I should have earlier. While he was still on the telephone, I gathered up my files and coat, and waved a silent goodbye to him from the doorway. By Saturday morning, I had almost talked myself out of getting the haircut in question. It was infantile to engage in these games. If Mulder wanted to look like an asparagus, who was I to argue? Yes, as I gave my bathroom a vigorous scrubbing, I knew I had made the right decision. I was going to lead with my actions; I was going to take the high road. The telephone rang. Up to my elbows in Comet, I decided to let the answering machine get it. Frohike's voice filled my apartment. "Scully, it's Frohike. Mulder asked me to give you a message. 'One plus one equals two.' He said you'd understand." And then, sotto voce: "Sounds very clandestine. I'd be delighted to offer you my personal services...." He was interrupted by Langly's bellow in the background. "Frohike, get off the phone, somebody could be taping this!" <click> The suds ran off my gloved hands, down my arm and puddled on the floor. Two hours later, my hairdresser, David was pleading with me to reconsider. I was steadfast. To hell with taking the high road--the low road had fewer tolls. Resignedly, he began to cut. "Don't forget to thin it out," I reminded him. If I couldn't give Mulder three inches, it was going to look like it. An hour later, I hardly recognized myself. David had styled it as well as he could, but it was short. I had Hair. The Hair and I became acquainted over the weekend. It certainly was lighter and I was pleasantly surprised that a quick pass with a comb countered the effects of a blustery Sunday. I caught my reflection in the mirror at the grocery store and the Hair smiled bashfully at me. Monday dawned windy and unseasonably cold. I was up early, hell-bent to get into the office before Mulder. As I reached into the closet for my trenchcoat, I happened upon the soft gray felt of a cape. One of the few things I had of Melissa's, it certainly did not fit my normal tailored style. I'd only wore it once or twice--when I needed to feel close to Missy. I didn't think Mulder had even seen it. I pulled it on. It was too big, but I told myself that it was all part of its loose style. I pulled the hood over my head and examined the effect in the hall mirror. A tuft of Hair peeked out under the hood. I debated about the hood, but decided to go with it. It would stop any questions about my new Hair until I was safely in the office. I arrived at the office at 7:00 AM. As I clipped purposefully down the hall, I noticed with dismay the light gleaming through the open door. Mulder was already there. Taking a deep breath, I strode resolutely into the office. The office was empty. I put my briefcase down and started to take off my cape when I sensed a change in the atmospheric pressure of the room. I knew Mulder was standing right behind me, and I turned slowly to face him. We both looked intently at each other. Our normal 'good mornings' were left unsaid. Instead, his eyes roved over my Little Gray Riding-hood outfit. I noticed that his Hair was newly Flowbee-d. I moved to pull the hood from my head, but he stopped me with a slight touch to my forearm. Eyes stilled locked with mine, he reached forward to remove the hood himself. I was rooted to the floor and felt the hood fall gently to my shoulders. He took in the Hair. With exaggerated slowness, he grasped me by the shoulders, turning me to the side and then to the back to examine the Hair from all angles. He moved me again to face him, and I felt a mixture of anticipation and expectation on my face. It became harder to breathe. He gave me a soft smile, took a step towards me, and.... Said nothing. Absolutely nothing about my Hair. Instead he walked by me to grab a file from his desk, reminded me of our 11:00 AM meeting with Skinner, turned on his heel, and walked out the door. His Hair waved a jaunty goodbye. Bastard. I think my Hair needed a cigarette. At 10:50 AM, Mulder still had not returned to our office. He was going to make me face Skinner by myself. I quickly gathered up my notes, and took the elevator to the fifth floor. The startled glances from the other passengers at my Hair heightened my growing irritation. My Hair thumbed its nose at them. As I got off the elevator, a familiar lanky form strode towards me. "Where were you, Mulder?" I hissed as I met with him and we continued our walk to Skinner's office. "Just taking care of a couple of things with The Gunmen. They're onto something big." My annoyance was palpable. Playing with the boys instead of preparing for the meeting. Expecting me to cover for him. Ignoring my Hair. Welcome to my world. Nothing ever changed. We arrived at Skinner's office. Kimberly took one look at us and became fascinated with sorting papers on her desk. She coughed once, twice and then got up quickly and went into Skinner's office. The day was going from bad to worse. While we waited, Mulder sat beside me, making a steeple of his fingers. He looked everywhere around the room except at me. My Hair frizzed in annoyance. Kimberly reappeared. "The Assistant Director will see you now." Just outside the doorway, Mulder suddenly bent down and whispered in my ear, "Skinner's gonna love your hair!" He sailed past me into the room as I stood there frozen by his words. I could feel the flush starting at my toes. Skinner looked over at me. His eyes widened and then narrowed. "Will you be joining us, Agent Scully?" Just put one foot in front of the other. "Yes, sir." I sat there for the next hour listening to Mulder prattle on about our case statistics for the past quarter. He'd obviously done some prep work beforehand because he smoothly took control of the meeting. Half way through the meeting, Mulder's Hair smiled shyly at mine. My Hair smiled back. The meeting came to a close. Skinner gave us a new case to work on regarding a magician. We waited to be dismissed. Instead, he stared at us and cleared his throat. "Uh, are you two planning to join the Marines?" I looked stupidly at him. Mulder stood, and tapped me on the shoulder to follow. I rose automatically. "No, sir." He paused for a minute. The Hair glanced at Skinner slyly. "Well, maybe just maneuvers." I watched with clinical detachment as the floor rose up and swallowed me whole. I imagined the police report explaining my disappearance--it would make for interesting reading: Officer: What exactly happened? Skinner: A hole just opened in the floor and Agent Scully vanished. Officer: Has this happened before? Skinner: No. Mulder: Well, there was that time we gave you our report on the vampire sheriff and delivery boy.... Skinner: Ignore him. Officer: (looking at Mulder) Do you have anything else to add? Mulder: Cool, a real X-File. Hand to the small of the back, Mulder directed me out the door. Kimberly passed us on our way out. As Mulder and I entered the elevator, I was sure I heard raucous laughter from Skinner's office. Yes, it was official. I was having a bad Hair day. Very bad. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I hid in the basement, willing my Hair to grow. Mulder said nothing, apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. By 5:00 PM, the silence was killing me. Besides, Mulder may have been quiet, but his Hair had been humming all afternoon. "So, Mulder, what's going on?" He turned to look at me from the light screen where he'd been examining an x-ray. "What do you mean?" I walked over to the screen to see what he was looking at. "This whole hair thing...why did I let you talk me into it?" "Ah, if only I had that power." His Hair laughed quietly. "I think you knew it was time for a change." He didn't look at me and I didn't look at him. We both continued to study the x-ray. I could see the minute stress fractures in the airplane wing we were examining. "What happened to this plane?" "It had to make an emergency landing in an Indiana corn field when the structural integrity of the wing became compromised." "Structural integrity?" I studied the x-ray intently. "It appears that the structural composition was changed. How did...?" "I think a change is coming, Scully. For both of us." I could feel his intense gaze on me. I looked closer at the x-ray and ran a finger down one of the more pronounced fissures. I needed to keep us focused on the matter at hand. "These fractures...the resultant change to the wing could have been brought about age or prolonged use or exposure." "Are you saying change only happens when something's been worn down?" "I'm hypothesizing about the wing." "I think a change is coming, Scully. For both of us," he repeated softly. So much for the matter at hand. "Maybe the wing just surrendered to the inevitable." My Hair floated the idea into the air. We both regarded each other. "And crashed and burned," he sighed ruefully. "Didn't you say it made an emergency landing?" "Potato, potahto." His Hair considered my words more closely. "Well, maybe bent but not broken." "Lose the battle...win the war." I paused and locked my eyes with his. "I wish I was as certain as you, Mulder." "We deserve a change, Scully." My Mom's favorite Psalm came to mind: "'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.'" "Then we deserve a good change." His Hair smiled wistfully. We stood together in comfortable silence. My Hair became impatient. "And you think a haircut is...." "A bad haircut," he corrected. "A bad haircut is..." I repeated "A giant step in the right direction." Our Hair applauded the logic of his argument. Mulder pulled down the x-ray and snapped off the light screen. "Scully, I promised you freedom and fun as a result of your haircut. Given the day that you've had, I think I owe you as much." I looked at him tiredly. "Mulder, you don't owe me anything. I just want to go home, soak in a tub, and burn you in effigy until my hair grows back." His Hair smirked. "I insist. Besides, the boys are waiting for us." The boys. Ah, yes, they were onto something big. "Oh, Mulder, I don't know if I can handle...." "Not another word, Scully." He slipped the cape over my shoulders. "Our trip to Grandma's house awaits." Dodging the ICBM launched from my Hair, he directed us to the parking garage. There in all its glory was The Gunmen's VW bus. At the sight of us, the three spilled out like clowns from a circus car. Only these clowns looked different from normal. It took a moment to register. My eyes brimmed with tears, and the smile that broke across my face made my cheeks ache. The three of them had Hair. Frohike--who didn't have that much hair to begin with--had shaved what remained into a salt n' pepper brush cut. Byers' Hair wasn't quite as short, but still cropped closely to his head. It made his ears stick out endearingly. And Langly--actually, closer examination of Langly revealed his Hair pulled back into an absurd topknot. "Hey, it would have been like Samson cutting his hair; besides I did trim my split ends," he responded to my quizzical look. I continued to stand there, taking in their new look. The warmth I felt had nothing to do with the cape bundled around me. Finally, I found my voice. "Are you guys joining the Marines?" Hey, it was funny this afternoon. Byers stepped forward. "Mulder told us that you were embarking on a spiritual journey, and that we could be of some assistance." He shrugged sheepishly. "It seemed a small price to pay to lend our support." I turned to face Mulder who had been standing quietly in the background. "'Spiritual journey'?" Mulder's Hair chortled. "Scully, as a member of the female gender of our species, you have never experienced the freedom that a man feels after getting his hair cut. It is primal and yet almost spiritual--it makes you think all things are possible, no mountain too high, no valley too low, no river too wide...." "Mulder, are you suggesting that I become Diana Ross to your Berry Gordy, Jr.?" The Gunmen's Hair snickered. "Fine, make jokes, Scully, and miss the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity we are offering you." I was missing a page out of the playbook. Frohike picked up the narrative and slid back the van door with a flourish. "Welcome to freedom, Scully!" Maybe I was missing two pages. Frohike noted my confusion. "Ground Zero, Scully. The hidden world of men with haircuts." I allowed him to take my hand and help me into the van. Langly regarded me from the passenger's seat. "Mulder, you weren't kidding, she really went to town on her hair." I loved being talked about as if I wasn't there. "Well, I guess she's ready to play in our clubhouse." Spiritual journey. Playing in the clubhouse. Reaping what we sow. Mulder settled in beside me and closed the van door. "We deserve a good change," he reminded me quietly. My Hair pondered his words. Maybe it was time to have some fun. "So does this 'spiritual journey' through the hidden world of men with haircuts involve a trip to Home Depot?" I inquired innocently. Frohike tapped me lightly on the shoulder from the back seat. "Not only Home Depot, but I see Radio Shack in our immediate future." His Hair rubbed its hands with anticipation. "Don't forget The Sharper Image," Langly chimed in. Byers glanced over his shoulder from the driver's seat. "Did you know Agent Scully that ancient Egyptian males were not permitted to cut their side lock of hair...?" I lost track of Byers' words as I gazed at the van's passengers with affection. Yes, I think my Hair and I were ready for the journey. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX AUTHOR'S NOTES PART 2: Ron Jeremy is a rather--ahem-- prolific porn star. The quote, 'The absurd man is he who never changes' is from Auguste Barthelemy. The quote, 'Change will occur; vacuums will be filled,' is the second part of the more famous, 'Just as nature abhors a vacuum, humans resist change,' from Nikki Giovanni. The Heisman Trophy is awarded each year to the outstanding U.S. college football player. If you want to see Mulder's Heisman pose, check out http://www.heismanmemorialtrophy.com/. The Psalm quoted is Psalm 126.5. '...No mountain too high, no valley too low, no river too wide...' are paraphrased lyrics from the Diana Ross and the Supremes Motown classic 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough.' Berry Gordy, Jr. is the founder of Motown. Have I mentioned that I love feedback? Tell me what Mulder and Scully Hair you like (Fight the Future Hair is my favorite). Please visit Laine's CrystalShip at http://members.xoom.com/Crystal_Ship. If you would like to read some more of my X-Files fanfic, please check out Fran58's excellent site: http://www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58/fabmon/fabmon.html.