She had become the waves, rising, curling, rolling toward the shore and dissolving into soft, ephemeral foam. Rhythmic, continuous, the swells now closer together, now farther apart, a pause of calm and then the pulse of the water beginning again, repeating its cycle, rocking, waiting.

Waiting.

Krycek and I had returned to the motel in silence. I knew how close to the edge he was, but I also knew, from so many years of my own self-containment, that he couldn't afford to cross that line or to allow himself to be drawn across it. I left him at his door with the assurance that if he needed anything in the night, he was welcome to knock and wake me. I was hoping his fatigue would take him, mind and body, leaving both to recuperate as best they could, and except for one brief period right after I'd locked my door, I heard nothing from the room beside me. For my part, I was caught up in the vision Krycek had described, trembling at the thought of a nightmare scenario he'd obviously lived with for quite some time. What was the truth and how would we know it? Would the things he had seen hinted at come to pass or would something happen, the way it had with the Smoking Man, to turn the course of events in a completely unimagined direction? I thought of calling Mulder again, but he'd had no more sleep than I, and I had no desire to wake him. I lay down and the events of the day crowded in to fill my mind--hours in the hospital monitoring Tracy, hoping for a turnaround that hadn't come; the flight to Washington, both of us exhausted, unsure whether we would find a way to rescue Mulder's mother; the unbelievable choreography of events in the study, the Smoking Man as assured and sardonic as ever, and then, seconds later, dead, never to scheme or harm again. But more than anything else, I was captured by the image of a man emerging from the woods, a man who had schemed and harmed as the Smoking Man had, but who now willingly carried the burden of a young girl's life.

"Hey..." Mulder pulled up on one elbow, squinting. "What are you doing?"

Bethy reddened and dropped the faded backpack. The corner of her mouth quivered. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I couldn't sleep anymore." She approached the bed, eyes down.

"Hey, it's..." He pulled up. "It's okay. I just wondered what you were up to."

Her eyes were still focused on the carpet. He glanced at the clock. 6:12.

"I scare you?"

Her mouth squirmed again. "Yesterday I followed Mrs. Peltier to the office with the lady who wanted to hurt Tracy, and Deputy Frank looked through the window at me and...he was mad. Last night in my dream he took me to the police station."

He suppressed a smile and nodded toward the backpack. "What were you doing?"

"I just wanted to...check her things. They're...letting her go today, that's what Sandy said..."

"Yeah, they are..."

"I know what it means, Ben. They don't want to say it in front of me but I know what they mean."

He nodded, solemn, and paused. "What about the pack?"

"Can I look?"

"Yeah, sure. Why don't you bring it over here?"

Bethy retrieved the red pack from the corner and climbed onto the bed. Inside were a pair of longjohns, a soft yellow sweater, a children's book and a small plastic sandwich bag with something in the corner. He picked it off the bed. Ashes--a little cluster of ash fallen into the corner of the bag and a mostly-burned scrap of peach-colored paper. He raised his eyebrows.

"You know what this is?"

The girl looked at it and shrugged. She held the book carefully between soft hands.

I like this book," she said. "I've read some of it. It's funny."

"Pippi Longstocking?"

She nodded.

"You know, I think Tracy'd be happy if you kept it."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Because it's special to her. Her friend gave it to her. He even wrote inside it."

"Her friend?"

"Her friend Alex."

She opened the cover and showed him the writing inside. His lips came together and he looked up at her.

"I don't think he'd mind if you kept it. He's coming this morning. That's what they're waiting for. So he can be there with her, so she won't be afraid."

"He really is?"

He nodded.

"She'll be really happy." She held the book against her chest and stared a moment at the bedspread. "If it were me dying, I'd want Grammy to be there." She looked up. "I wouldn't want her to be sad because of me...but I'm never as scared when Grammy's there. Would you want Annie?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I would."

"I'm glad he's coming. They don't want me there, Ben, but can I just go and say goodbye? Can I just see when he comes and then leave?"

"We can probably work something out."

After a pause she smiled. "You really think I can keep the book? I'd take good care of it."

"I think she'd like that."

She slipped off the edge of the bed and stood. "I'm going to go read it for a little while and think about Tracy."

He nodded and watched her go to the door. She turned back.

"You won't forget to tell me when it's time to go?"

"No. I won't forget."

He paused in front of Scully's door. Stomach was hard and tense; the day sat poised like a trap, waiting only for him to make the first move and set it in motion. He raised his hand and knocked carefully. After a moment the inside chain was pulled and the door opened a few inches. Must've been asleep.

"Look, I know it's early, but...whenever you're ready, I'm ready to go."

She nodded and smoothed the hair back from her face. "I should change your bandage. I'll be over in a minute."

He nodded and returned to his room, leaving the door ajar, and lay down on the bed. There was a swirled pattern in the ceiling; he made his eyes follow it. A moment later she was there, closing the door behind her, lifting his shirt and peeling away the old bandaging.

"Pain?" she asked as she cleaned the wound carefully.

"Not too bad."

Something was running through her head. There was no get-me-outa-here expression this time, though.

"How do you do it?" she said, looking up finally. Her voice was quiet.

"Do what?"

"Live with...the scenario you described last night--invasion, not knowing? How do you...make yourself get up in the morning?"

"Gotta do what you've gotta do. Keep a focus, keep going. Nothing's going to change if you bury your head in the sand. Learn from your mistakes but never second-guess yourself; it'll paralyze you..." He shook his head slightly. "Hard not doing it now, though; mind keeps running back over it all--you know, what if I'd kept her a few more days, what if...?"

"It would've happened eventually. She would have remembered something and..." She paused. "If that's the trigger. If there is one."

"Could be some kind of...organic switch--that thickening you were talking about. Something organic they implanted in her..."

"Yes, but who would have the technology, or...or the capability..." A pause and a moment later her eyes went wide as the answer to her question hit her. She swallowed.

"I don't know...who they are--this Pasadena group...Never heard of 'em before, but they could have a key, could be crucial." He rolled slightly to make her work easier. "Gotta find out. Gotta figure out for sure what they did to her, what they're up to."

She smoothed a piece of tape over one edge of the clean gauze and tore a second piece from the roll. He waited for her to look up from her work.

"I'm not going to sit around rotting in some prison while Purity gets ready to make its move, Scully; just know that." He watched her eyes widen. "I've got to go, got to find out what I can while there's still time. You can shoot me and it won't much matter. Not now. But if I'm alive...I've got to do what I can." He caught her with his gaze. "You do whatever you have to; I'm not trying to mess this up for you."

A pause. The corners of her mouth twitched and she cleared her throat. "Does this mean you're going to take the car while I'm in the bathroom or...disappear at some rest stop?"

"You think I'm going to take off and leave her in the lurch now?"

Her mouth opened; finally she shook her head. "No."

"Gotta go there, do the best I can, help her through, whatever I can do..." He glanced toward the window and swallowed. "I owe her that much. Owe her a lot more than that. And then..."--he shrugged--"either you've got me or you don't."

She let out a slow breath, nodded and reached to gather tape and gauze and scissors.

"You should know," she began, clearing her throat, "that it might not be a quick, or an easy process. Sometimes people hang on for weeks, or years. It's happened, though it's not common. Sometimes they...go very quietly, and other times...it can be very painful to watch..."

He pulled up carefully. "About a week and a half ago they...changed my pain medication. Had a reaction to the new stuff, couldn't breathe. Thought I was going to die--probably would have. But she called 911, stayed with me. Scared the hell out of her---she can feel everything you're going through. But she was there; she wasn't going to leave..." He stood. I'll be there. No matter how it goes, I'm not leaving till it's over." His jaw set; he cleared his throat. "How long you figure we've got to drive?"

"Probably four hours."

He nodded, solemn. "Will you call them, make sure they're not feeding her anything?"

She looked askance at him.

"In...Where I grew up, when people were dying, they'd let them...shut down naturally--stop eating, stop drinking. Made it easier in the end. But here..." He shook his head.

She picked up the box of bandaging supplies. "I'll call now. I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes."

He nodded, watched her leave and sat again on the bed. His pulse beat out a steady rhythm. Four hours. He looked up and closed his eyes.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Raylene sighed. "I mean, she didn't say anything. Did she know you were coming?"

"She here?"

"She's still asleep." She opened the door wider and let him pass.

He shook his head. "Hadn't heard from her in a couple of days, that's all. Then I picked up a shipment in Philly yesterday afternoon that has to go to Lexington. Thought I'd stop and see how she's doing."

"Yeah, well she's in it up to her ears at the moment. Has a friend who's on life support over at the hospital. They're taking her off the machines this morning."

He nodded.

"Heaven knows it's not what she needs right now, but she's spent the last day and a half solid at that girl's bedside and I guess she'll be going back this morning till it's all over. Poor kid."

"She's strong, though, Raylene. If she wasn't, she wouldn't have gone there. Besides, it's a skill you need in life, being able to let people go. They use those machines, revive people over and over...but who lives forever?"

"But this is just a girl, Harry, hardly younger than she is."

"Life don't come with any guarantees..."

"No." She sighed. "You can sure say that again." After a pause her face brightened. "She's got a surprise for you, Harry, but I'll let her tell you herself...Oh, and one other thing. It turns out Cy didn't...you know, he didn't do it--shoot himself and Roddy. They were murdered. It's all some kind of FBI secret right now, but I met the woman, the agent. Sometime when they get their investigation squared away it'll all come out. It's bad, you know--thinking about people doing that kind of thing. But at least she's got the peace of mind of knowing it wasn't him that did it."

She looked at her hands and sat down on the couch. Harry settled in the overstuffed chair. He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"How you doing, Raylene?"

"Me? I...I'm okay. Sometimes life gives you a real shaking, you know? But sometimes that turns out to be a good thing..."

You never explained what exactly happened to the girl who was running errands for Krycek or how she ended up with you. Hope her condition has improved.

He made himself open his eyes and pulled the seat up a couple of notches. Trees, winding roads, ten different shades of green, of light and shadow, something she'd...

Motor home in front of them, slow, too fat to see past and curves in the road to boot--no way to pass. Something to look at, though, a way to keep your mind out of deep water, save whatever strength you had for when you'd need it. When she'd need it. RV was bus-style, smooth tan paneling in sections, windows--three on the left side, two on the right, thick rubber seals around the edges. Big window in the back looking into a sleeping area--a pillow was showing. Stickers from Great Smoky Mountains, Fort Sumpter, D.C., Martha's Vineyard--tourist destinations. The Vineyard--she'd lived there when he was born, with Mulder's brooding dad and the old man watching from the shadows. Must've felt a little like Tracy, like she'd been picked up as an unwilling game chip, delivering a payload she'd never asked for...But Tracy'd been ready to accept, adapt; she would've taken the kid in, warmed to him. If it were a real kid and not what it probably was. Probably never realized it'd been taken. Probably saved her a lot of...

Ceiling, staring at the fabric of the headliner, gray and fuzzy, Scully glancing over, wondering but not asking any questions; she knew better than to pry. She'd know the score, too, without having to ask.

Headliner, visor, windshield. Back of the RV again, rear window with its wide-angle mirror, spare tire with the dealer's name on the cover: Rinehart, Canton, Ohio. Cargo ladder to the top. Ladders...How far would one take you and what were the downsides? And if you fell and broke the only arm you've got?

He slouched in the seat, put a knee up against the dashboard and let his head fall against the side of the seat back. He closed his eyes. She deserved better than this, Mr. Seat-of-the-Pants, lie and scam your way out, take off and run, and run and run. But what the hell good would it do to sit on the other side of a set of prison bars? Wouldn't bring the kid back. Wouldn't fill the hole in his mother's life. Wouldn't hold Purity at bay. Only one with a smile on his face'd be the guy using you as a whore. And Tracy?

She'd say she knew you, that she'd chosen you knowing. She'd have that clear, straightforward look, that sincerity-is-strength thing. She'd make you believe what she saw in you--make you believe in yourself. Amazing contradiction: fragile lover and clear-eyed strength.

"Mr. Sanford, Mr. Mulder here's going to ask you a few questions since he's more familiar with the investigation into Ms. Vanek than I am."

Brian shifted on his chair. A second man, in gray T-shirt and jeans, took the chair next to the detective.

"Mr. Sanford, how long have you known Maria Vanek?"

"About...just around three years."

"And the nature of your relationship?"

"It was just professional...at first. I work at...Finlay Labs; I told that to the deputy already. Maria's a doctor, a researcher, and she comes in with samples for analysis, sometimes because she's in a hurry for the results, sometimes because she has something else in addition to what they've already sent over." He paused, picked up a pencil from the table and looked up. "Look, will somebody tell me what's going on here?"

"Do you know where she worked? The nature of her research?"

"She's been at Beeson-Lymon for years."

"What kind of research do you think they'd have a need for in a defense plant?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Effects of industrial chemicals on workers, something like that..."

"Were the analyses she requested consistent with that kind of research?"

"I...don't always pay much attention to what tests she requests. I thought she had..." He shrugged. "...some kind of independent research she was doing on the side. She's a very private person; I've never felt it was my place to pry or...second-guess her. I just do what she asks and give her the results. I run tests all day, Mr..."

"Mulder."

"...Mr. Mulder. I don't stop to think about why people request them, or which ones are for which clients."

"Do you recall what the last couple of test were that she requested?"

"Well, last Friday she did come in and ask me to do a DNA fingerprinting."

"Is that usual?"

"Well, no. I think sometimes she fancies herself a kind of medical detective. I think she's got an academic interest..."

"What kind of sample did she bring you?"

"It was...a piece of gauze with blood on it."

"Something that could have been used to clean a wound?"

"Yes, I sup..."

"Like this?" The man held out a bandaged hand.

Brian frowned.

"Do you know anything about the drug sodium oxybate, sir?"

"Well, I believe it's...isn't it a party drug?" He shifted on the chair.

"Did this come from your medicine cabinet, Mr. Sanford?" An unlabeled white vial was pushed across the table to him.

"It looks like one I have."

"What is it?"

"Some kind of pain pills Maria brought me. They work pretty well; it never occurred to me to ask..."

"Did she ever use them herself?"

"No. She said she'd get quite a bad reaction from them, but that they worked for most people. They work for me."

"Do you have children, Mr. Sanford?"

"Yes, two daughters, three and five. They...live with my ex-wife."

"What would you think if you found out their primary care physician was using them without your knowledge to test a vaccine against a rare virus?"

He wiped dampness from his forehead. "What?"

"Dr. Vanek's been testing an experimental vaccine on the three children of a Beeson-Lymon employee. She told the woman her children were diabetic."

"But Maria..." His face was suddenly hot.

"Would you like a glass of water, Mr. Sanford?"

Brian let out a slow breath. His pulse was racing; his hands shook faintly. He took the offered water and drank it slowly. The door opened. A deputy stepped inside, spoke in a low voice to the officer at the table and then went out again.

"Mr. Sanford..." the deputy said.

"Yes?"

"Is your vehicle a Toyota pickup, '97, white, extended cab, plate #DCJ664?"

"Yes..."

"Your license plates were found in the trash about an hour ago at a roadside stop west of Frankfort. Looks like the good doctor's headed out of state."

Scully switched off the phone and set it back on the driver's seat. A car passed in the lane closest to the edge of the roadway. The legs of her jeans fluttered in the wind that followed.

"He not there?" Krycek asked, glancing over.

"No. But I suppose any number of things could be taking his time. The plant owner, for one thing--he could be questioned about his connection to the Smoking Man..."

"Syndicate'll back off, make themselves scarce while anyone's taking a look..."

"You mean about their beryllium connection?"

He nodded.

"What are they using it for--the beryllium?"

He half-laughed. "Just...financing. Selling it to the highest bidder--little countries looking to make fighter jets...or nuclear weapons; they use it in the casings."

"Money to..."

"To fund their hybrid program. Or vaccine research."

She made herself breathe out slowly. "Hybrids?"

"It's part of the deal...with the aliens. Develop a hybrid--a slave race--for when they come. They just make sure they keep dragging their feet..."

"To buy time..."

"Yeah."

She looked away, at passing traffic. The white line in the middle of the road went slowly out of focus. Two more cars passed and then a third.

"Spit it out, Scully..."

She turned back, startled.

"Whatever's on your mind."

Her hand curled around the door handle and tightened. "Creating...children, experimenting with innocent lives..."

"They're not children. What?"

She looked away abruptly.

"Hey..."

Blood pounded in her ears.

"Scully..." His voice was quieter this time.

She took a deep breath and made herself turn back. "Someone's creating hybrid children. How could it not be the Project? They took...my ova...." She looked down briefly. "...and created a child, a little girl, a...defective model...who only lived three years."

He leaned toward her. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a little girl whose DNA matched mine. She couldn't have been their only experiment."

"How did you find out?"

She opened her mouth and paused. "I don't think I could...logically explain...how I found her. The important thing is that I did."

"Where?"

"San Diego. A year and a half ago."

"And you didn't find out who was behind it? Because it wasn't the Project. They're not making kids."

"Mulder was...out investigating, but his leads dead-ended after a while. I was...actually I was quite busy at the time...trying to comfort a dying girl I'd barely had a chance to know." Her lips pressed together and she looked at him squarely. "Maybe you can understand my preoccupation."

He looked away, toward the window. After a moment he nodded.

She cleared her throat and opened the car door wider. "I should check your bandage."

He reached for the lever and let the seat back down. Scully retrieved her supplies from the rear door and went around to the passenger side. Krycek lay staring at the ceiling. She lifted the hem of his shirt, examined the bandage and peeled it carefully away.

"We should be there in about an hour and a half," she said, folding a clean piece of gauze.

He continued to stare at the ceiling. The muscles in his neck tightened.

"San Diego's not that far from Pasadena," he said.

"Thought I'd find you here, Otter."

Sandy tossed a pebble into the water and turned to see her father behind her. "Just...thinking, I guess."

"About your friend in the hospital? Your mother told me." He sat down beside her on the broad rock.

"Kinda. Mostly about something else, I guess."

Harry reached down, picked up a fallen leaf and traced the veins in it carefully with a finger. Sandy leaned forward and sighed.

"What do you do, Papa, when...when somebody's done something really awful to a friend of yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I want to hate this person so bad. I have hated him; I've hated him so much I..." She picked up a smaller pebble and tossed it into the moving water. "Something about it don't feel right after a while, though. You just..."

"...find the hate's eating away at your spirit?"

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe it makes you afraid of what kind of person you are."

"Is this person who did the wrong...are they sorry?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't even know him--you know, personally."

"Then why the conflict inside you? What made your hate uncomfortable?"

"I guess...because I found out he did something really nice for somebody else. I mean, not giving them presents or nothing, but...helping them when they were down. At first I wanted to hate him for that, too--you know, why should this one person rate with him when the other one didn't...and then I guess I was hoping...that the good thing he did was some kind of a sign, you know?--that maybe something in him had turned around a little bit. But he's a bad person, papa; he does really bad things. Awful things."

"And yet you're uncomfortable hating him."

"Maybe I'm just uncomfortable for me."

Harry shrugged. "Still, your discomfort is trying to tell you something."

"Yeah, but what?"

Harry slipped a hand around her shoulder. "That's one of the hard lessons in life--figuring out the answers."

"But how do you do it?"

He looked out across the water's glassy surface. "A lot of times your heart knows an answer you're mind's not ready to hear. I try to...quiet my mind, so I can hear it." He paused. "When I was getting ready to leave this town...I was very angry with your mother. I felt like she'd rejected me and the people I come from because of who we are more than for anything I'd done to her. And I didn't want to be a quitter, to let her do that to me, push me away like that. But finally I realized her attitude really didn't have a lot to do with me personally. It had to do with her own questioning, with growing she had to do for herself. So when I left, I didn't leave because I was angry with her, but because I knew she needed the room to grow."

"Musta hurt, though..."

"It did. It hurt a lot. But not as much as hating her would have."

After a moment she nodded. "Papa?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you just...hold me a minute. I really need that now."

His arms went around her. She closed her eyes and let herself lean into his embrace.

"Scully..."

She glanced briefly toward the passenger seat.

"Your daughter--did she have green blood?"

He watched her mouth go small and tight. "Yes." She cleared her throat. "At first there was no sign--nothing to alert the hospital staff. They said she'd been on some kind of treatment. But when it stopped...yes, some of the fluid was expelled; a nurse was left in serious condition.

Tracy bled as red as anybody. Still, who knew what they could've done to her, what they were capable of?

A kid she'd barely met, a three-year-old. Explained a lot. And Mulder...Mulder would have been outraged, scrambling for whatever there was to find. So what did it mean that he hadn't come up with anything in the end?

"There's..." It was Scully. "...something else you probably should know before we get there..."

He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Since...almost since Tracy was first brought in to the hospital, someone's been staying with her, practically non-stop. She may still be there when we arrive."

He waited. Her mouth moved, then her lips pressed together. Finally she glanced over at him.

"It's the girl who's husband and boy you shot."

He looked away and bit the inside of his lip. The curly-headed kid stared him down through one eye.

"She know about me?"

"You mean, that you're coming? Mulder was going to tell her."

Shit.

He let his head drop against the seat back and made himself breathe out slowly.

"Brian?"

He shifted the phone to the other ear, pulled off his gloves and set them on the counter. "Yes?"

"Just me. What's this I hear about somebody stealing your car?"
He frowned and squinted toward the window.

"Randy just called me from the station, Bry. He said somebody'd taken your car and headed out of state. Said they were questioning you..."

"It's...I'd like to say it's just a big misunderstanding, Nicole, but...I think the misunderstanding was probably on my part."

"Chrissy said she left her ballet shoes in there."

He walked to the window and looked down to where Maria's red station wagon was parked in his space. "I can buy her another pair."

"Well, she's got class tomorrow."

"I can...I'll drop by after work. Right after work. Will she be there?"

"Yeah, I'll have her ready to go." A pause. "She's got a recital Wednesday night, you know..."

"I didn't...guess I didn't remember that."

"Can you come?"

He turned toward the calendar, glanced at it and looked back toward the parking lot. "Yeah, I think I can make it."

"Don't say you will if you won't. You haven't been at the last three and it'll break her heart if you say you'll be there and then you don't show up. I'm not nagging, Brian; I just don't want her to get hurt."

"No, I'll...I'll come. I'll make sure I'm there. What time?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Okay. You have her ready this afternoon..."

"I will. Hope you get your car back."

"Thanks, Nicole."

He switched off the phone and stared out the window at the red Volvo wagon. Finally he turned away, nearly colliding with a woman in a lab coat. She stopped.

"Brian, are you all right?"

He nodded but no words came.

Wanted to spend this time focused on you, nena, but now there's this girl. Could try and blame it on her but it's my own damn fault. I meant to kill her husband; he was an easy, drunken mark and the kid...the kid was pure reaction, he just popped up. Not trying to justify myself and I figure you've seen it all anyway. I realize what I've done to this woman's life but there's no way to change that now. Don't know why she's stayed with you the way she has except that you're who you are and you deserve it; you deserve it more than anybody. She must want to tear me apart and she's got every right, but even if she did, it wouldn't do a damn thing to patch her family back together. Learn from my mistakes--cold comfort for her. So here it is, come back to stare me down. I know I must deserve it; just wish it weren't taking away from what I should be giving you right now.

If you could, you'd probably tell me to stick with what I know. Not sure I know anything at the moment, but I know you do. Guess I'll try to stick with that.

Forgive me for what I am.

Scully cleared her throat. He opened one eye.

She glanced at him and then back at the road. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"Those people you were talking about earlier," she said quietly. "Dying people. Were they children?"

No strength, no voice. He nodded and stared ahead.

"Is my father here? Look, will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?"

Mulder glanced down the hallway. The speaker was a rumpled kid of maybe nineteen with unkempt curly hair. He wore a faded brown T-shirt and dirty jeans.

"Geez, is everybody brain-dead around here?"

"Calm down, John..." Mrs. Carter appeared from the direction of the office; she seemed bored by his ranting.

Mulder turned to Bethy. "Who is he?"

"John Beeson." Her eyebrows went up. "You know, Mr. Beeson from the plant..."

"His son?"

She nodded. Mrs. Carter had Beeson by the elbow, leading him around a corner.

"Say, Bethy, why don't you go on ahead. Let Sandy know she's got about ten minutes. I need to check something out."

The girl nodded, smiled and started quickly down the hallway toward Tracy's room. Mulder turned at the corner and walked quietly toward Mrs. Carter's office. Luckily the blinds were drawn. Maybe they'd been that way since yesterday when Deputy Frank had scared the living daylights out of poor, quiet Bethy who'd probably never thought to do anything she shouldn't in her entire life.

"...an overdose of a prescription medication he was on as far as we can tell. Feet off my desk, John." A pause. "He's in a coma. You know of anything that would've been upsetting him lately, or do you not go home these days?"

"I...check in. I..."

"You know where your mother is? Didn't she go off on some trip to Europe?"

"Yeah. Italy. She'll be gone another three weeks."

"Think you could come up with a phone number or some kind of contact number for her--even a hotel?"

No audible response. The grating of metal chair legs on linoleum indicated that Beeson Jr. had stood up.

Mulder turned and started back down the hallway. At least Tracy had support--quite a bit, actually. But what about Samantha? Who would she have had if she'd escaped from wherever they were holding her? Would she have gone alone, just gotten fed up, angry or beyond her limit and taken off? Or would she escape with someone else, a pact among prisoners? If she had help, maybe there was a chance she'd made it after all. Or it could be like Krycek'd said, she could've been in bad shape and where would she have ended up then? In a hospital? At someone's house? Cowering in a barn or outbuilding or away from people, in a cave or woods? And him, all those years wishing he could go out looking for her, never having a starting point.

Sandy and Bethy turned from the bed as he reached Tracy's doorway. He paused, pursed his lips and went in. Scully'd hung on for the better part of a day when they took her off the machines, and then Melissa'd shown up on his doorstep and he'd gone and sat, expecting her to stop breathing while he watched. But she hadn't. No telling how it would play out--this, now.

"I'm just glad her friend's coming," Bethy said, smoothing a hand lightly along Tracy's arm. "Aren't you glad, Sandy?"

Mulder winced.

Sandy suppressed a swallow. One of her hands curled tight. "If it'll make her more comfortable, then yeah, I want whatever'll make it better for her." She glanced over at Mulder. One corner of her mouth pulled. "I do," she said softly and turned back to the bed.

"Don't push yourself," Mulder said quietly, coming closer. He set a hand on her shoulder. "When you've had enough, just go. You don't have to play the hero here."

She glanced up at him and fought the corners of her mouth into straightness.

Felt warm--probably the light coming through the upstairs window. Her hand now, familiar grip, fingers between his the way they'd always been when they'd gone up the stairs to the roof, strong and steady, something you knew you could count on.

He opened one eye. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, watching him, a kind of Mona Lisa look on her face that said half a dozen things at once, strength and love and regret and who knew what else. He squeezed against her fingers and pulled up.

A hand went against his shoulder, pushing back. His eyes came open. He gasped.

"You okay, Krycek?"

He shook himself and fought a sudden wave of adrenaline. They were traveling still, the sky above the road bluish brushed with strokes of white. A town lay ahead. He let his head fall against the seat back. Scully's hand returned to the steering wheel.

"Do you need anything before we get there?" She indicated the town in front of them. "To eat or...to walk--before you become center-stage to a local populace eager for the sight of any new face?"

He stared toward the rapidly approaching town. After a moment he shook his head. "Uh-uh. Got to get there."

Everything a blur: little wood-framed houses, old people walking, the hospital growing larger, closer, a white shoebox of a building and behind everything a beat--heartbeat, tension, something sick settling in your stomach with every breath you pull in. Parking lot, Scully pulling in, quiet, looking away to leave you space, stopping.

Get with it, focus. She needs you now; just do the best you can. Suddenly Scully's at the door, opening it, and you...you're sitting here like a statue. Out of the seat, a little bit of a breeze kicking up; her hand's on your arm and her eyes wish you good luck from somebody who's been there. Three-year-old hybrid. Then she turns; Mulder's coming out of the building and it's show time. You mumble something that comes out strange, about feeling like some old-time pioneer come to bury his wife, and head inside.

Four doors, Mulder says as you pass; he's waiting for Scully to catch up, eager to have her back. Fourth door on the left. You push at the bar on the door, go inside and the haze is gone; everything's crystal now, like you just walked out of a fog. Smells like a hospital.

Feet moving, heart banging, clothes slipping against your skin, door coming closer, the hallway vacant except for a little girl--heavyset little kid--who appears from another corridor and then retreats. Windows--there are windows beside the doors. Not that it'll matter in the end. As if you'll be paying attention.

Door's open and she's there, alright--long dark wavy hair, strong, looks like she runs. She's holding Tracy's hand, doesn't see you. Yet. Why'd she stay, anyway? Because she's got to see the son of a bitch who did it? You step inside; she turns and her eyes go big. She swallows. You swallow. Then you take a few steps forward. They've cut her hair.

Girl's got this look in her eye, ten thousand things, none of which you want to be able to define.

"You...know who I am?"
She looks like a deer paralyzed by headlights, frozen in terror, unable to move herself out of the way. Finally she nods. Your mouth's dry, or somewhere beyond.

"Thanks." The floor tiles are shades of gray in little speckles. "For staying with her; they told me how much time you put in."

She bites her lip and nods, turns to squeeze Tracy's hand one last time and gets herself out of there. You stand there, scum of the earth, and finally shake yourself out of it. She needs you; it's why you're here.

You make yourself look up and go close. Hair's short, reddish, but it's her underneath--soft, smooth, amazing her...under all the hardware. You reach out, touch her cheek, her forehead, that hair. Wish you were here, nena. I'd give anything.

Got to be closer but the damn rails are up, both sides; they take two hands and guess who's only got one. You straighten and turn around, Mr. Sorry Ass Son of a Bitch. She appears in the doorway again, bracing herself against who you are, and comes in, lets the rails down, all the time looking anywhere but you.

"Sandy..."

Mulder's in the doorway. She looks up and beats a quick retreat to him while the little bellows in the clear cylinder next to the bed goes up and down, up and down, never missing a beat.

"How'd it go, Scully?"

He smoothed a thumb across her shoulder. She stared through the window at the scene unfolding inside.

"Difficult at times. But well. It went well, actually." She glanced up at him and then to the right, to where Sandy sat on the chair by the soda machine. "Do you think she's okay?"

"I've been trying to keep an eye on her. She throws herself out there in front of things, you know?"

"She's brave..."

"When I do something like that the term is 'foolhardy'." A pause. No response; she was watching through the glass.

"Mulder..."

Krycek was sitting on the edge of the bed now, leaning over Tracy, hand smoothing down the length of her arm.

"Hmm..."

"He's going to try to get away."

He looked at her.

"He told me. I think it was kind of a...gentlemen's agreement--notice..." She sighed. "I can't see letting him go, certainly not for Sandy's sake, but..."

"What?"

"He's told me things, Mulder."

"What kind of things?"

She opened her mouth, paused, and after a moment shook her head. "Quite a few things, actually. Ask me later."

"Beeson's here," he said. "Evidently overdosed on some pills. And I talked to Vanek's boyfriend this morning. Guy didn't have a clue, not an inkling. Felt sorry for him."

Sandy came up beside him and stared through the window. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"How you holding up? You don't have to stay, you know. How about if we take a walk?"

She shook her head and leaned in against the window ledge. Her eyes were on Krycek.

"What's he doing?"

Krycek was touching Tracy's ear, thumb and index finger holding something, another finger behind. A moment later he picked something small off the blanket and pressed it against the back of her ear.

"An...earring, it looks like," Scully said.

They watched as Krycek sat back, took Tracy's hand and curled his own around it. He sat eyes-closed. His shoulders shook once; eventually he opened his eyes and turned, looking toward the window. He nodded to them, finally ready.

Maria glanced in the rear view mirror--nothing, thankfully--and then forward again. It was enough to put the eyes to sleep, the monotony of Oklahoma, going on and on, the road too flat and straight.

Rest stop; she smiled. The sign stood out like a welcome mat, and it was high time, too--a needed opportunity to walk, eat, lie down for a few minutes on the grass. She pulled off at the exit and parked between two minivans. Brian would be...confused. Likely he'd give her the benefit of the doubt; he did that too easily. She could call, try to soften it, tell him...something. Make excuses, more likely, and he hardly needed more of those. He'd be hurt, of course; unlike her, he depended on other people. But it hardly made sense to sacrifice the work for a single person's feelings. He'd get over it eventually. And Mr. Undercover Mulder...he'd be pleased with himself for whatever he could find, though there was hardly any of that. He would content himself with having 'saved' her research subjects, though if Purity arrived it would be a doubtful salvation at best and they were better off as it was, the Connors children, than nearly anyone else on the planet.

Krycek would understand, if he knew. He, more than others, would grasp the value of mission, of subordinating individuals for the greater long-term gain. He'd demonstrated it in alerting her to the danger she faced in Owensburg. He held no affection for her as a person, but he understood the value of the work.

Maria stretched and opened the truck door. Just a few minutes on the lawn in the shade, if it hadn't been watered recently. She locked the door, went around to the back of the truck and leaned down. There had been only thin wire where she stopped to take the license plates from an old farm vehicle on a side road beyond Frankfort, but the plate seemed to be holding securely. For the time being, anyway. Later there would be another vehicle somewhere. It would be prudent to change the plates frequently.

They were behind him taking away the tubes and wires. Hopefully she'd go easily, though there were no guarantees. Hardware clattered against the bed rail; machines were moved to the far corner of the room. Anyplace'd be better--a little privacy and quiet. The little barn-house in the valley with trees all around and rain pelting the glass in the middle of the night.

A hand touched his arm--Scully.

"She's ready for you now."

He took a deep breath and turned. Just the basics--bed, her in one of those silly hospital gowns. Already she was taking big breaths, pulling for air.

He cleared his throat. "Mulder..."

Mulder turned in passing.

"Could you...I want to hold her. I just need a hand..."

A pause while Mulder ran it through his mind and then a nod. "Yeah."

"If it won't hurt her, make it any worse..."

Mulder turned. "Scully?"

He went to her; they talked quietly and came back.

"Just on the bed here..." They were all looking at him.

Mulder moved the blankets and her legs; he got himself onto the bed, scooted back, pulled his right leg up, something to rest her against. Now they had to turn her, Scully under the shoulders, Mulder taking her legs. She was like a rag doll but they got her around finally, set her down in his lap, leaned her toward him carefully so she wouldn't fall back, tucking her legs around his side, her head coming to rest against his arm. Scully had this skeptical look, as if he might drop her.

"It's okay, I'll manage."

She studied them a moment, gauging whether Tracy wouldn't just get loose and go tumbling. Finally she seemed satisfied and turned away. Mulder tucked a blanket around Tracy and hesitated.

"If you need anything..."

"Yeah, thanks."

A hand on his shoulder momentarily and Mulder was headed toward the door and out.

He looked down. The familiar weight and feel of her, the way she'd been in the rocking chair, only not the same. He pulled her closer, leaned down and brushed his lips against her temple and closed his eyes. Doesn't matter where we are--he'd said that to her in the dream and it was true. Just you and me now, nena. Both in the same place at the same time and we'll make it through this.

He breathed in close to her hair and began to rock gently.

Footsteps in the doorway. They didn't go on past. After a moment he opened his eyes to see the little girl he'd noticed earlier. She took two steps toward the bed.

"May I..."

"Bethy..." Scully appeared in the doorway and spoke quietly, trying to coax her out.

"No, it's...she's okay." He nodded to the girl. "Come on."

She came close, a marshmallowy kind of girl, thick and soft, with delicate features and pale skin like Tracy's.

"I just wanted to give her a kiss...if it's okay." A pause to gauge his reaction, then a shy smile. "She stayed with me. She was so nice."

She leaned over and touched her lips carefully to Tracy's cheek and then straightened.

"You're Alex, aren't you? She told me you were her friend..."

"Bethy..." Scully again, in the doorway.

Another quick smile. "Thank you for coming to be with her."

He nodded and watched her hurry to the door, where Scully ushered her out and around the corner. Tracy's chest went still, paused and then she took a deep breath, reaching for the air she'd missed. He pulled her close and started to rock again.

I was not ready for this man. I mean not. Lord knows I tried, and I managed to make myself keep my big mouth shut and not blab it all to my mom or to Papa--I was proud of that. Or to Bethy; I wasn't going to say anything to her and spoil her excitement over Tracy's friend coming to be with her. I guess I just had to see the person who'd done this to Cy and Roddy and I wanted him to see me, too, and know it'd hurt somebody real. But I had this idea in my head of who he'd be, something I'd probably pulled out of The Godfather or some other crazy gangster movie Cy'd rented one time or another, and he wasn't that person at all. I wanted him to be like those movie gangsters, slick and disgusting, maybe even with an accent, a hard kind of person it'd be easy to hate, one with no feelings. But he wasn't anything like this picture I'd built up in my head. He wasn't going on fifty and he wasn't loud and he didn't wear sleazy dress slacks. He was just a person, he was tall and quiet and it shook him up something awful to see me. And he only had one arm. The other was just kind of a stump that ended above the elbow, with his shirtsleeve cut off somehow to cover it.

I probably should've left, like Ben said, or taken a walk, or taken some kind of hint. Not old bullheaded me. I don't know what I thought I was going to prove or accomplish, but I couldn't make myself go. Maybe it was like being a looky-loo at a roadside accident--the pull of the terrible thing you know for sure'll give you nightmares but your curiosity draws you there anyway. Or maybe I wanted to see him feel the kind of pain I'd been carrying around with me for weeks now . But I think more than anything I couldn't stop watching this man, the one who had Ben and Annie put Tracy in his lap as if she were his own child and held her like she was fine china, every gesture tender and careful, every move telling how much he thought of this girl. Some of us will go a lifetime and never be treated that way, and it was then that, whatever else I felt about Alex Krycek, like Bethy, I was glad he'd come to be with Tracy.

The sky was gray and close with fog; it muted the sound of the waves rolling and the running up the sand. The beach felt like a small room, closed and quiet, though the sea itself must go on for miles and miles. They stood near rocks--sharp, whimsical volcanic boulders placed at random where the water rolled into the edge of the cove. The tide was low; when the waves ran out, sand showed at the base of the two closest rocks, which looked somehow as if they contained a passageway leading to another place. It was nearly time to step out but he was here now, behind her finally; she wasn't alone. His arms wrapped around her waist like...like...The memory was gone, and she couldn't turn, couldn't see him but he was the one--the one she knew, the one she trusted.

The waves came in with a hushed roar, sending foamy water around their feet, one after the other, regular, and then a lull would come, the sea smooth and quiet, as if waiting for something, and the feeling would come over her, an edginess, the swirling unknown drawing her toward the water. Then a wave would curl, and another would follow, the rhythm begun again.

His cheek was warm against her ear and when the retreating water drew the sand away from around her feet, his firm stance kept her upright.

"He going to be able to keep that up?"

Mulder bent toward her; the words came out in a whisper.

"From what I've seen..." She glanced up. "...he'll stay there even if his arm falls off."

"I don't know what kind of shape she's going to be in when she gets back from this, Harry."

"It's one of those things, Raylene. Nobody can deal with it for you. Just give her time."

"Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "You just wish you could help."

After a moment he looked up at her. "She's been asking about coming out with me...on the road for a while. Says she wants to see what other places look like."

"So she said. Did she...did she mention her news?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"Maybe this'd be a good time--kind of a fresh slate right now, before she gets too far along to be uncomfortable."

His mouth opened and one eyebrow went up. "That you saying that, Raylene?" He smiled gently.

"Yeah, it is." She blushed and looked down. "I just want what's best for her, Harry."

Another lull in the waves. She gripped his hands and felt him grip back. The strange feeling came over her again.

"You take that step when you have to..." His words were close to her temple. "But I'm not letting go till you do."

She watched the water rush in between the rocks, leaping over the smaller stones. Wetness wrapped her feet and legs; it didn't seem so cold anymore. Foam bubbled and disappeared into the sand at her feet.

"But I said I'd be here for you..." She pressed harder against his hand.

"It's okay..."

A swell rose and moved forward, curling, breaking. Water rushed in, leaping, splashing rocks and streaming off them in little waterfalls. Last came the foam.

"I will." She tried to turn; her cheek met his. " I'll be here. I don't know how..."

The water was draining. She could see sand around the base of the two rocks that held the passageway.

She stepped forward.

He was on a beach, the one that held the rock he'd told her about weeks ago, when she'd started to open up about her mother, but this was the far end, away from the cove. It was early morning. Rays of light forced themselves from between thin clouds.

Blue-gray waves curled and rolled, the tide rising, water licking gradually farther up the sand. He sat down and watched a line of pelicans skim the surface of the waves, wings outstretched and motionless, heading west. The sand was soft. He picked up a handful and let it run slowly through his fingers. The sound of small swells came from beyond him, curling and rolling into muffled quiet, a predictable rhythm, slow and steady, and then a lull. He looked up. The sea was calm.

His breath caught, waiting, but no waves came.

I think I knew when it happened but I just sat there, rocking her, and finally I realized Scully'd come in, and she checked and said Tracy was gone. I didn't want to see her this way; I wanted to picture her the way she'd been in the dream the night I left her with my mom, breaking through the fear that'd held her so long, starting to loosen and really shine. The promises we'd made to each other we made then; mine was to be there when she needed me and she needed me to see this all the way through. Mulder was standing in the doorway but he waited a few seconds and I did look down, that smooth face against my arm, her mouth open, hands curled up in front of her against my stomach. She hadn't been sick long enough for it to wear on the way she looked.

They came then, the two of them, and lifted her off me, leaving my leg cold and stiff and my arm aching. They set her on the bed and straightened her out and I turned away; I couldn't look any more and she probably wouldn't have wanted me to. It was like no time--night or day--in no particular place, everything numb and unreal. I worked my leg down to the floor, stood and tried to get my bearings, and headed for the door. I had nothing in mind--don't think my mind was even working then--but when that alarm bell went off I guess my survival instinct just kicked in and I knew it was my cue; I had to get out while I had the chance.

"Mulder, what is that?"

"Fire alarm, sounds like. You want me to check it out?"

"Please."

She turned back to Tracy. Mulder went out into the hall. At the junction of the two hallways, Mrs. Carter appeared, frowning.

"Appears we've got a fire in maintenance. Gus's gone down there with an extinguisher but I don't know..."

"You call the fire department?"

She nodded. "But maybe we ought to get some of these people out. You think you could help with the man in #10? Luckily we don't have many patients right now."

"Yeah, sure."

He turned and went back into the room.

"A fire in maintenance. They're trying to get people out. I'm supposed to help with the guy next door."

"I'll help you." She glanced back at the sheet-covered figure on the bed and sighed. "I suppose we'd better get the living out first." She looked up. "Do you know where Sandy and Bethy are?"

"I sent Sandy off to walk Bethy home at least fifteen minutes ago. Figured they'd both been here long enough and Rita's supposed to be coming soon. It'll give Bethy something a little more positive to focus on."

Scully nodded and followed him to the next room where an elderly man in a bathrobe was sitting up in bed, reading a newspaper.

"Sir..."

No response. Mulder went closer. "Sir..."

Still nothing.

"Maybe he's hard of hearing, Mulder."

She went up to the man and tapped him lightly on the arm. He looked up, startled.

"There's a fire in the building, sir. We need to get you out."

"What?"

"A fire, sir."

"Meyer? Is he here?"

"Fire." She said it distinctly but she was getting nowhere.

"Come on, grandpa," Mulder said, taking the man carefully by the arm. "We're going for a little walk, going to get a little fresh air."

"Did Meyer come all the way from Columbus?" he asked as he settled himself between Mulder and Scully. "Well, I'll be."

They walked the frail man to the door and started toward the exit to the parking lot. A balding man in a gray tweed jacket was sitting on the chair beside the soda machine.

"Sir..."

The man looked up. His features seemed vaguely familiar.

"There's a fire in the building. You should go outside. Or maybe there's someone who needs help getting out."

The man rose from his chair. "Thank you. Yes, I'll see if anyone needs help."

Mulder shook his head and they went slowly on. As they passed Tracy's room he glanced in at the sheet-covered body and bit his lip. Amazing the difference in how it grabbed you when it was someone you knew and not just another corpse in the morgue. Hard to grasp, too--that she was gone, that he shouldn't rush in, grab her and get her out of there. That she'd never get another of those lively, intense looks or sing again. He made himself face forward. Two very pregnant women in hospital gowns, thin blankets wrapped around them, passed by in slippers and swollen feet, making their way toward the door. They had the motivation--two lives to save. What had she been spared, Tracy, by not having that baby?

"Mulder..."

He set his jaw, pushed on the door handle and held it open. A small cluster of people had gathered in the parking lot and a fire truck was pulling in. Mulder glanced back toward where people were pointing; smoke billowed from a window at the far end of the building.

"Fire!" the old man said, taking his hand from Mulder's arm and pointing.

"Yeah, grandpa." He stopped short and turned to Scully. "Where'd Krycek go?"

Her eyes widened. "I...I don't know. Do you think he did this"--she gestured toward the building--"as a diversion?"
"He was in the doorway, Scully, when that alarm went off. I don't see how..." He squinted into the brightness. "Think you can manage grandpa here?"

She nodded. Mulder turned and ran toward the building.

At first I slipped into a maintenance closet, but then I figured they might come checking door to door if it was really a fire and not some kid yanking the alarm handle because it was there. I had this urge to go back into her room one last time, but it would've been a stupid move; she would've told me to get myself out of there, so under cover of the confusion I slipped out into a park across the street and hid in some bushes. I wanted to get the hell out of there but I had something I had to do here first and walking around in a little town like this in broad daylight, I might as well be wearing a neon sign. So I waited. I lay there trying to think of the good stuff, but I still felt suffocated, my chest like lead, and I'd find my breath hitching every once in a while, the way hers had at the end. The sky'd cleared almost completely by late in the afternoon; I'd look up at the color of it and all I could think of was Tracy running down the orchard, going for those two poplars like they were family. It should've felt good, remembering that, but it ached something fierce.

I'd been here once before, one arrogant son of a bitch laughing to himself at the poor, sobbing drunk in the old car in an oak grove outside a little go-nowhere town. Easy target--gravy. Yeah, the kind that changes your life. I left never wanting to see this place again, but here I was and I still remembered every detail of the map I'd memorized before I came that first time. I knew where Miller's friends hung out and where you could eat and where the sheriff's station was and how many deputies they had. And I knew where Miller lived; I'd checked that out, too. Now I was just waiting for people to go inside for dinner. Then I'd make a long loop where there shouldn't be many eyes to see me and I'd go there one last time.

"Mulder?"

He opened one eye to see her in the doorway. She came in and sat on the edge of his bed.

"I'm going to have to take the van into Lexington to turn it in."

He reached up and set a hand on her shoulder. "You look tired, Scully. You sure you're up for that?"

"I don't see that it's a question of whether or not I'm up for it." She leaned forward, elbows against knees, and closed her eyes.

"I'll go with you..."

She turned to look at him and smiled a brief, tired smile.

He smoothed a spot at the side of her waist with a thumb. "Dale still here?"

"No. He's gone over to Rita's with Bethy's things."

"There anything you need to do here right now?"

"Right now?"

"You know, in the next day or so."

"Well, I...I thought I'd try to do Tracy's autopsy, since there are so many possible factors that..." She shook her head. "I don't think I can, Mulder. Not now, anyway."

"You shouldn't have to." A pause. "I've been thinking, Scully..."

"That?"

"I think I need a little change of scenery, and Skinner wrote me this morning saying he was going to try to start my reinstatement. I need to talk to him."

After a moment she turned to look at him again.

"We're going to have to make some decisions, Scully, about how we play it from here; Bureau frowns on partners being personally involved and I don't think it's worth it to either of us to have to sneak around. Anyway, I was thinking of flying back to D.C. tonight. Might be a good thing for you, too--check up on your apartment, see how things look to you now..." He raised an eyebrow.

"I do have things to take care of here. You'll need to find out more about Angie's children and their medical history, too. But we can come back in a day or two and frankly, right now I'm exhausted." She took the hand he offered. "It would be a hard night to stay here, Mulder. I think you're right. We should go."

"It's okay, Mom. Anyway, I think I need some space...Yeah, I'll call if I need anything."

Sandy placed the phone back on the receiver. Her mother was making dinner for Harry. It didn't look anything like she was going after him--not in a catch-you kind of way. But they were talking like two normal people and that was a good thing. The day needed something to drop into the good side of the scale. Rita'd come back; that was one for the good side. But it was still overshadowed by the bad, Tracy dying and then Alex Krycek disappearing; Annie'd called after the fire scare at the hospital was over. Somehow the alarm had gone off just as he walked out the door and he'd seen his chance and taken off. Ben had looked but the guy was slick and probably halfway into the next county by the time they'd noticed; they'd offered to call the sheriff in, but what good would it do to let the whole town know Cy's killer'd come back to Owensburg and then escaped again? Besides, it'd put Ben and Annie on the spot since they were the ones who'd brought him here. He'd gotten a dose of punishment at the hospital, though, that was for sure. He should pay for what he'd done to Cy and Roddy, but even if he did...not even the longest prison term was going to bring them back.

He had gotten his punishment today--the kind that was going to actually reach him. He'd be hurting like hell now; he had been even in the hospital. Not that there was any real satisfaction in seeing it. It wasn't 'your loss cancels mine'; it was just more hurt. And the way he'd been with her, so careful...Ben said he'd never known him to do anything but watch his own backside before. Maybe it was a sign.

She let her head fall back onto the couch cushion and rested a hand against her stomach. Nothing yet; it was way too early for that. But soon there'd be movement and growing, and then soft skin and baby smiles and a little somebody who needed to be loved. Just a little present Cy'd tucked away for her at the last minute.

She sighed and made herself get up from the couch. Getting dark and she still hadn't made it to the mailbox. She went out onto the porch and down the stairs. Queenie lay in the dirt; she opened one eye but didn't bother to raise an ear or try getting up. Sandy went to the mailbox, took the papers out and returned to the stairs. She sat down. The usual ads--pizza parlor, discount furniture, auto parts. Electric bill. Something else. Not even mailed--there was no stamp and just her name was written on the front. The envelope was motel stationery from someplace in West Virginia. She tore it open and held it toward the fading light. Something hard fell out of the folded sheet of stationery onto the top stair. She picked it up. An ATM card. She looked back at the sheet of paper and read.

Thanks again for the time you put in so Tracy wouldn't be alone in the hospital. I know I didn't deserve your efforts but Tracy did; never knew there were people like her in the world and if I'd never met her I know I'd still be the same guy I was when I did what I did to mess up your life. Wish there was some way to take it back.

Tracy had some money in a bank account she was saving for when the baby came; I know she'd want you to have it. Anyway, you'll be needing it with one of your own on the way so here's the card. The PIN number is 'topaz'; you can access it at the ATM. There's a couple thousand in there.

Tracy'd really appreciate the fact that you stood by her. Just wish she were here to tell you herself.

Scully shifted in her seat. A finger trailed lightly from her knuckles to her wrist.

"What's the matter, Scully?"

She turned back from the window and its cloud formations and attempted a smile. "I'm...so exhausted I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Tracy...and Krycek, some of what he told me..." She sighed.

Mulder pushed up the arm rest between them. "Come on..." He put an arm around her and pulled her close. "You can figure it out later."

She let her head rest against his chest and closed her eyes. He was warm and smelled comfortingly like himself. A thumb brushed along her upper arm. The note Krycek had left in the van said he was going in search of the group Tracy's father had been a part of. Maybe, he'd said, if he found them he might discover something about whoever'd created Emily. It's not likely she was the only one they made--those had been his words. Not the only child hybrid or not the only child created from her ova? It wasn't the first time the sobering thought had come--that there might be more Emilies.

She swallowed. Mulder's head dipped low; his cheek brushed against her temple.

"Relax, Scully..."

"I'm trying."

Soft lips pressed against her forehead. His fingers found the muscles between her neck and shoulders and began to knead carefully. It was his style of comfort, his equivalent of...of Alex Krycek sitting on a hospital bed gently rocking a dying girl.

"I've been thinking," he said, close. "About Vanek's boyfriend. He was...completely clueless, had no idea what she was up to. I think part of him didn't want to know too much--you know, anything that'd upset his little fantasy-world. But you've got to figure she'd do a real careful job of hiding herself...her real agenda. You know, all this time I've been wondering, going back through everything--racking my brains"--he paused--"trying to figure out why I didn't catch on to Diana, how I could be that...self-absorbed, that blind. Scares you to think your judgment could be that bad..."

"Mulder..."

His fingers moved again, kneading carefully. "But then I thought, maybe it's not much different than with Vanek. She had a plan and she was meticulous about keeping it hidden..." A pause. "I didn't tell you..."

"What?"

"Every time I thought of it you were somewhere else, different place or a different state..." His stomach went in as he let out a long breath.

"What?"

"Diana's big motivator..."

"She told you?"

"Uh-uh. Tracy did."

"And it's...what?"

He shook his head against her. "She's Smoky's daughter."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Yeah, pretty amazing, huh? I guess he figured he could just...grow his own army of operatives."

"He certainly tried it with Krycek."

She closed her eyes and lay back against him. His hand settled on her shoulder.

"Never thought I'd see Krycek like that," he said after a moment. "This morning. Never figured."

I waited in some trees on the hillside long enough to see her come out and read my note. Don't know if I scored any points with her; she sat there and cried onto the paper but it could've just been frustration. Anyway, I wasn't out looking for points. I knew the raw feeling that was eating her inside and nothing I did or offered was going to take it away. Still, I had to make the effort.

I'd seen the big rig in the yard and I knew it wouldn't be there long. Safest way out of this town would've been to stow away in it and let it take me someplace nobody was watching for me, anywhere I could redirect and find a way west. But the thought of her dad possibly finding me in there...couldn't do that to her; I'd done enough already.

When the moon came up I found myself another place--little old shack with half a roof, abandoned--and I rested there a while, looking up at the sky. Somehow I could still feel Tracy against me, not struggling to breathe but just lying there, quiet. I knew now that she'd sensed something the other night, when we'd been together in the dream and she'd come up suddenly with that line about how she'd be there for me no matter what it looked like. It hadn't looked good to her. She'd had a vision, then, too, of another place with mountains and vegetable fields; she said she saw us there. I'd figured it might be the future, but whatever it meant, I wasn't likely to find out now. I lay there for a long time, staring up at the sky, trying to see what she'd see when she looked up. Then my mind took me back to the woods outside Grafton, looking up at the trees and the shapes and the shades of green. I hoped somehow the vision had gone through--that she'd seen what I saw. Or maybe--the thought hit me just then--she'd wanted me to see it for myself. That'd be like her.

The streets were familiar now--her neighborhood. Their neighborhood. Scully was sitting forward slightly, watching the buildings pass. This would be the test--of whether the last three weeks had been just a blip of circumstance or something more, of whether the old surroundings would pull her back to who she'd been before, the old agenda and defenses kicking in.

Finally her building came into view. The taxi pulled over and stopped.

"Want me to come check it out?" he said. "You know, in case they're still watching or something? Or do you need the space?"

"No, come." She pressed his hand briefly and opened the door.

A bag for each of them and Krycek's bag, which he shouldered, and they were up the stairs and into the lobby, familiar sights, familiar smells. The sky outside was deep blue. Scully set her bag down and fumbled in her pockets.

"My keys," she said, looking up. "I must have left them in my bag. It's been so long..."

She knelt down and retrieved them from a side compartment, worked the lock and opened the door cautiously. The room was warm and smelled of being closed up. A flip of the light switch and the room appeared in front of them--couch, coffee table, her familiar decor. Three weeks worth of mail on the dusty phone table, retrieval courtesy of the Gunmen. She approached it, picked up the top few envelopes, glanced absently at them and set them back on the stack. He watched her drift to the kitchen, the window, the sofa and finally to the bedroom. The light went on but she remained in the doorway. Finally she stepped inside.

"Looks like Smoky's men did a reasonable job with the carpet, considering," she said, glancing back at him.

Only a faint pink area remained where Krycek had bled onto the floor. She looked around aimlessly and finally sat on the bed.

"You look like you need some time to soak it in."

"I..." Her hands went up. "It's the traveling, and the lack of sleep, and...Tracy. I'm..." She shook her head and ran her fingers back through her hair, coaxing it back from her face. "...dazed."

He nodded toward her. "Take your time. I think I'll go over to my place--you know, make sure my landlady hasn't rented it out to someone more deserving in the meantime." He gave her a smile. "Give me a call later."

"Yes, I will." She paused. "I will."

He turned and went out, scanning the outer rooms on his way, locking the door, and turned to the right, the way they'd gone the night he'd moved into the green room, when he'd taken her to the park. Down the back steps, across the paving...He paused and stared up at the chain link and then down at the two bags he carried. No energy for this--not now. He turned and took the driveway to the sidewalk. Everything was familiar--buildings, the little ground floor shops across the street, even a few of the parked cars. At the corner he turned. The houses were older here and the streetlights cast dark patterns of leafy branches across pavement and lawns. The weight of the two bags seemed to grow but there were only three houses, then two, then one to go and around the back. Driveway; dumpsters, one with the lid open; the big tree with the faded Adirondack chair in the shadows below and the little stone-edged stairway that went down to the green door with its four diamond-shaped panes of glass. He smiled, fished the key from his pocket and opened the door.

Smaller, almost, than he'd remembered, just enough room for the desk, the wing chair, the bed and space to go around to the bathroom. Even the ceiling was low. He closed the door behind him, set the bags on the end of the bed and turned on the lamp beside the chair. Dust on the chair arms, the desk, the computer. He sat down and switched it on. Didn't appear that anyone had found the place in the interim. He pulled the drawers open one at a time. Files, papers, bills, miscellaneous--everything in its place. The envelope Frohike'd delivered the fake IDs in. His mother's letter--the one he'd read on the way out of D.C. He shook his head; no recollection of having left it here...or anywhere else, for that matter. He took it out and leafed through the thin sheets of stationery, skimming the words. The hardest part to accept had been the connection to Krycek, as if the two of them had been suddenly handcuffed together.

He looked up at the screen and let it go out of focus. He'd waited until Scully signaled him to go back into Tracy's room. Krycek was still sitting there, eyes closed, and for some reason Scully'd taken the legs, so it had fallen to him to try to manage her head and shoulders. Her head had slipped and hung back before he got his arm securely under it; Krycek'd been holding well but he came close to losing it then. A little maneuvering and he had her again but there was no way, now, to erase the picture from his mind...or Krycek's, either, probably. Wasn't what the guy needed to remember.

Then Krycek'd gone toward the door and as soon as he hit the doorway the alarm went off. Like clockwork, but there was no way he could've done it, coming straight in with Scully from the van, going immediately in to her. And then there was the old deaf man who thought his friend had come from Columbus, turning after they'd reached the parking lot as if he'd discovered the fire himself. Yeah, grandpa. And that guy in the hallway--what'd been up with him, just sitting there listening to the alarm ring, watching people go by?

Mulder made himself refocus. He pulled out the keyboard and mouse and accessed his mail program. Maybe something from his mother...no, nothing, and just as well. Scully was right--dazed pretty much summed it up. He leaned forward, head in hands, then pushed back the chair and stood. She was probably busy; she'd have things to catch up on.

He took his bag from the bed, set it behind the wing chair and returned to look at Krycek's. Guy'd taken off with nothing--no computer, no arm, no clothes. Only a bottle of painkillers was missing from his things; what was left in the cardboard box they'd put in his bag, along with what little was Tracy's. Someday when they connected again Krycek could go through it and keep what he wanted. Among Krycek's things was a bean bag--maybe something she'd made him--and a baggie with the ashes of a piece of paper in hers. Neither of them seemed to have much of anything. They'd sure seemed to have each other, though; maybe in the end that was all that mattered.

He set Krycek's bag behind the chair next to his own and glanced at the clock. She'd call if she needed anything. He walked to the door, flipped the light switch and stared through the panes of glass into the darkness of the yard beyond.

If she needed.

He went back to the bed, pushed the covers aside, took off his shoes and lay down. Tracy again, coming in from the backyard with a handful of flowers. He closed his eyes and felt hot, stinging water seal his lids. How many other girls were out there, memories lost or their bodies appropriated? And Samantha--how many other kids had been with her, all of them disposable, like a box of exam gloves? She'd been terrified that awful night when Smoky'd come, all the grownups close to hysteria in their own way, and she'd run to him in a way she hadn't in years, just burrowed against him the way she had when she was little and something had frightened her. Who had she gone to afterward? Did she have someone to turn to or had she been forced to hold it all inside and go numb?

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. He pulled up and went to the door. The light outside shone down on copper-colored hair.

"Hey..." he said, opening the door. "Finished going through everything already?"

She looked up. One corner of her mouth wavered. "It'll wait. I'm tired and..."

He opened the door wider, let her pass and closed it behind her. When he turned around she was in his arms, pressed against him. Or maybe he was the one who was holding so hard.

"Thought you might not come," he said.

She looked up at him, shiny-eyed. A smile wavered at one corner of her mouth. "You thought wrong."

Midnight's not much of a time to thumb a ride but I was out there then, by the I-64, waiting. Guess the shack and the stars got to be too much after a while and anyway, I knew I had to move on while I had the chance. I kept thinking back to the little girl in the hospital who'd come in to give Tracy a kiss; wasn't there long enough to even ask her name but obviously Tracy'd found a kindred spirit in her, someone to confide in. Nobody was ever going to measure up to Tracy, but that little girl--there was somebody to fight for, a reason to keep on working against this thing that was hanging over us all.

Traffic was sparse, mostly the usual big rigs doing night runs, and I sat in the grass shaking from having been up too long and probably from the fact that I hadn't eaten since Scully'd stopped and picked up some yogurt and muffins halfway to Owensburg about ten in the morning. Out by the roadside with nothing and it wasn't the first time but this was bad--no weapon, no laptop, no food. And no arm. When the old man'd come the stump was bothering me and beyond that I'd had this momentary reaction to it. To him--it was one he'd gotten for me. Should've known better because here I was, blending into the background about as well as the flashing neon on a topless bar. Who was going to stop for a guy with only one arm, somebody out of a Halloween horror flick?

Then it happened. Old white station wagon, probably early seventies, pulled over and the window went down. Need a ride? she said. It was an old woman, long white hair and wrinkles. The back of the wagon was packed with stuff and a boy of maybe six or seven was sprawled asleep in the back seat. Yeah, I said, reaching for the handle. Her hand came over the window ledge. 'You aren't one of those serial killers, are you?'--I swear that's what she said. 'Because I've got enough trouble to deal with already.' I stopped and shook my head and--surprise--felt like I actually wasn't lying. She asked where I was headed. I said California and she said she was only going as far as Nebraska--family crisis, something about her daughter. I said I was sorry and got in. Anyway, I only needed her to take me a few miles down the road, to where the rail lines crossed the interstate going south. I'd checked the routes at Che's two nights before and I knew which one I needed and where it'd take me.

She noticed I was shaking and I tried to shrug it off but she offered me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich--had a whole bag of them, probably the only thing they'd brought along--and I was glad to take one; I probably looked like I hadn't eaten in a week. Then I slouched down in the seat, looked up at the passing darkness and closed my eyes. Fell asleep and dreamed I was back in the vegetable fields again, only this time they weren't muddy. Young cabbages--pale green, tender seedlings with their leaves reaching up--filled the place for as far as you could see. I was working a row on my hands and knees when a pair of shoes came up beside me but when I looked up it wasn't the old man, it was her. She smiled, bent down next to me and started to work. It ached to see her but it was good, too. When she said she'd be there, maybe this was what she'd had in mind.