TITLE: The Heart of Reason

NAME: frogdoggie

FEEDBACK: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

Additional headers, including Disclaimer can be found in Part 1. Missing a part of this story or just want to read more of my fic? Then surf here: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

"Can't you stop this?" Skinner mumbles, his jaw working to hold back his emotions.

Strughold glances in his direction.

"We are almost done," he smiles at Skinner. Then he turns back to Charlie.

"All right. Let's get to the point then. Charlie...do you remember your dreams?"

"He asked me that," Charlie replies, pointing at the Russian.

"Ja, I know. But repeat the answer for me, bitte."

"Sometimes," Charlie replies with an impatient gesture.

"Do the dreams that you remember ever come true? By that I mean do things you see in them happen the next day, or perhaps later?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

The answer is emphatic and Charlie sticks his lip out in protest to drive the point home.

Strughold stares at our son, studying his face for a few seconds. Then he nods slightly, stroking his chin.

Before he can make a comment or ask another question, Scully suddenly shifts on the bed and her hand flies to her stomach.

"Oh," she murmurs, rubbing near her belly button.

"Scully?" I ask, worried.

"Are you all right?" Walter asks, his brow furrowing.

The other men in the room shift, their booted feet noisy on the floorboards. All eyes are trained on Scully with a mixture of expectation, annoyance and discomfort.

"The baby's kicking," she replies, looking around, her lips tight. "I'm sorry...go on."

It's probably the stress, I think. The expression on Scully's and Skinner's faces tells me they're thinking the same thing. My worry goes up another notch for both my wife and the unborn child she's carrying. Before Strughold can speak, Charlie scoots over and puts his mouth to Scully's stomach.

"Hallooo in there. Don't worry...I'm answering the questions."

With Charlie's words, an image of him, Scully, and Skinner sitting on this very bed the night before flashes into my mind...and I just as suddenly realize what my rifle butt aching head was trying to put together earlier. I realize the clue I couldn't quite remember. The clue that tells me that Charlie might have psi abilities.

I remember thinking the other night that Charlie was especially perceptive when it came to sensing Walter had more to do with the pregnancy than we let on. But, when he took Skinner's hand and placed it on Scully's stomach there was something in his face...something that was just...different. I passed it off as his being a bright little kid at the time. But is he just intelligent...or something more?

His interest in the baby and Scully's pregnancy has always been particularly focused...you might even say empathic as well. What if he wasn't merely just very perceptive and deeply absorbed with how Scully was feeling and what the baby was doing? What if he can sense, or read both the baby's and Walter's thoughts? But wouldn't he have mentioned it? Wouldn't he have made the connection between Gibson's voices and what he was able to do?

As the questions flood my mind, I clamp down on the alarm that climbs into my chest. As Charlie pats her stomach, Scully slowly looks up at me and I can see it in her eyes...the fear that's growing in her as she realizes what his words might mean as well.

I glance at Skinner. He's not quite following what Scully and I have seen yet, but he's clearly thinking hard, his face showing the wheels turning as he tries to ascertain what's going on.

It takes Strughold a second too and as he looks from Scully to Charlie and then over at me, Walter picks up on the idea and looks at me with concern in his eyes.

Strughold smiles at us both and Walter shakes his head, trying to negate what he knows is coming next.

"Tell me, Charlie...do you talk to the baby like this often?"

Charlie nods and gives Scully's belly one more gentle pat before he turns his attention back to Strughold. Instead of moving away from Scully however, he leans against her. She puts her arm around him protectively.

"Sure. I feel her kick too," he answers with a shrug.

"Her?" Strughold asks quietly.

"Yes," Charlie nods.

"How do you know it's a her? Did you guess?"

Charlie shrugs.

"I just do."

The room is silent as everyone watches Charlie. The boy rests his auburn haired head against Scully's breast.

"Does she talk back?" Strughold asks carefully.

Charlie giggles.

"No, silly. Babies can't talk. They just make baby sounds."

"Oh. I see. Then how did she tell you she's a girl?"

Charlie shrugs.

"I just feel her...like when she kicks. I just know."

Strughold nods and looks back at me. The look of triumph in his eyes is almost obscene.

Charlie seems somewhat bored now with the conversation. He rests his head further down on Scully's stomach as if listening. He strokes near her belly button.

I clear my throat.

"Charlie...are you happy that Uncle Wall and Mommy are having the baby?" I ask quietly.

He nods and smiles over at Walter.

A lot of the color drains out of Skinner's face and I know it's draining out of mine too. I can feel it. To Skinner's credit, he remains composed. He even marshals a return smile.

"Did someone tell you that, son? Or did you just...know that too?"

"I just knew it. On the night Uncle Wall felt the baby kick."

"Have you...known things for a long time, Charlie?" Strughold interjects.

"No," he shakes his head. "Just since Mommy's stomach got bigger."

Over six months!? I want to ask the kid why he didn't mention that this was happening. Didn't he associate it with Gibson at all? Or is he not hearing actual voices...is it just more in the nature of impressions and feelings? Does it happen once in a while, or all the time? If it's a constant thing...can he tune it out? If he can't block it, why isn't it driving him crazy like it did me? But I don't ask any of the questions because as I articulate them in my mind I can hear how accusatory they make me sound. The last thing I want to do is make my son think I'm accusing him of anything. God forbid I'd make Charlie think he's wrong or a freak for doing what he can do.

Scully shifts, her brow furrowing.

"Honey...did you and Gibson ever talk about how you know things?" Scully whispers carefully. "Did you think that maybe you were like Gibson...that you could hear voices like him...here?" she adds gently, touching Charlie's head.

Thank God Scully's able to voice kindly what I would have only been able to make an indictment.

Charlie wrinkles his brow and it's obvious he's mulling over her words. Then he shakes his head.

"I never talked to Gibby. I told you...baby's can't talk. I just feel it. Is that all the questions? I'm tired," he replies in a small voice.

Christ...I have to remember that despite Charlie's intellectual sophistication, he's only three years old. He didn't make the connection between Gibson and what he can do because it just never occurred to him that it might be the same ability.

But, maybe he's sensitive to our feelings even now...to the idea we're afraid for him...and maybe in the case of some of the other men in this room...afraid of him. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice asks me if I'm afraid of my son too. I silence it as Strughold speaks.

"Ja, Charlie. Danke. We are done with all our questions," he replies, his voice soft.

The German slides off the edge of the bed and stands up. He addresses the Russian.

"So...we go." Scully, Walter and I look at each other with apprehension. "Tell your men to prepare to clear out."

The Russian looks at Strughold and a hint of confusion flashes in his eyes. Scully, Walter and I exchange confused glances as well. The other men shift uneasily. Strughold gives us all a patronizing smile and snaps his fingers.

"Oh...but before I forget...we have something for you, Charlie. Something for a special boy who has been very good and answered all the questions we asked of him."

The Russian's head nods slightly and a satisfied grin plays about his lips.

I feel a chill go up my spine at the same time I tell myself this German prick certainly has a flare for being overly dramatic. And then I can't help myself. I let him know what's running through my mind.

"Man...you have a misplaced flare for the dramatic...Conrad."

"Indulge me," Strughold replies with a real shit eating smile.

Walter comes up slightly in his overstuffed chair and the Russian puts his hand on his Glock. Skinner sits back down but stares balefully at Strughold. Scully gathers Charlie closer. Charlie gazes at Strughold, his brow furrowing deeply as if he's concentrating hard to understand what lies behind the German's statement.

"Get it," Strughold orders the muscular Russian.

Walter looks from Strughold to the Russian. His question is a growl of fierce, protective protest.

"Get what? What's going on?"

"I believe Charlie expressed a wish for a puppy?" Strughold replies, both his eyebrows raised at Skinner.

All three of us stare at Strughold with our lips parted in astonishment. What the hell is going on here, I think as the Russian exits the room.

None of us can bring ourselves to speak as the minutes tick by. I don't think Charlie even believes they're bringing him a dog. He's gone back to burying his head in Scully's stomach. Scully holds him and comforts him by telling him it's ok and he did a good job.

Wiry Man fidgets a bit by the door and Tall Man gives him a sarcastic look. Wiry Man glances at Strughold who is ignoring them in favor of peeking out the window, and then flips his middle finger at Tall Man. Tall Man chuckles. Strughold's head whips around at the sound but then there's another knock at the door.

"Password?" Strughold calls out.

"Vyusher."

"Come."

Wiry Man and Tall Man train their rifles at the door. It swings open and the Russian enters. In his arms is a beige spotted and brown bundle of fur, with a wide leather collar around its neck. The leather collar is inlaid with bright metal, it glints with a coppery metallic shine in the bedroom lights.

Charlie's eyes grow wide and I see him shift on the bed. But Scully continues to hold him back as Strughold indicates a spot on the floor at the end of the bed directly across from me.

"This is Loki. He is a German Pointer...wire-haired so he will not shed."

Strughold comments as the Russian sets the sleepy puppy on the area rug under the bed. Loki looks to be about three months old, he's somewhat long legged and lanky but still a puppy. He also looks like he's been drugged to keep him quiet. He stares around groggily and then gives a huge yawn. "Your mama will appreciate the not shedding I think. Do you like him?"

Scully looks appalled rather than pleased. Charlie is hardly listening to Strughold. He only has eyes for the teetering puppy on the floor.

Strughold looks insufferably pleased with himself. The old bastard's eyes are really twinkling now. Giving the boy a puppy to assuage the fact he's going to rip him out of the life he knows is about the sickest thing I've seen in a long time.

My jaw starts to tighten and I begin to think about whether there is any way we can possibly stop them from what they're about to do. As I start to mull over our few options, I notice Walter staring at the dog's collar, his eyes squinting since he's not wearing his glasses.

"He's nice," Charlie replies, nodding his head.

"Why don't you get down and pet him?" Strughold asks casually, indicating the puppy as it takes a wobbly step forward.

Walter suddenly shakes his head violently and tips his chin toward Loki. I furrow my brow and examine the dog, trying to see what he's indicating...and then I do...and my heart nearly stops in my chest.

The metal pieces on the collar are all engraved...engraved with the hieroglyphics of the grays. The collar is fitted with pieces of an alien artifact.

Scully looks from Walter to me both in anxiety and confusion. She cranes her neck to try to look at the puppy which has now moved closer to the end of the bed and out of her line of sight.

"No!" I say firmly, catching Charlie's eyes as he starts to look up at his mother.

Strughold glances at his men and all three of his goons heft their weapons up suggestively, the Russian taking his Glock out of its holster carefully and holding it out of sight at the side of his leg.

"Now, now, Professor Mulder. It is only a puppy. Let Charlie play with his gift."

The words 'or else' might as well be tacked on to the end of Strughold's 'suggestion'. It's obvious that if we don't allow Charlie to come into contact with the pieces of the alien artifact, he'll shoot Scully, Walter and me on the spot and just force him to touch the dog collar. If he's going to kill us, I don't want him to do it in front of my son. At least I can spare him that trauma...although what's going to happen to him when he touches that collar may be much worse. I steel myself for what appears to be the inevitable. I can only pray, and I find myself doing so.

"Mulder?" Scully asks, her voice a nervous question.

I clear my throat of the tears that still threaten to clog it. My voice comes out high and strange to me.

"Go ahead, son."

I clear my throat again.

"You can pet the puppy."

I take the guilt on myself. Neither Walter or Scully should have to bear the burden of allowing Charlie to be exposed to what may mean a horrible temporary insanity.

I can only surmise and once again hope that Strughold must have something to administer to Charlie later to bring the effects of the artifact under control, otherwise he wouldn't be taking the risk here and now only to have him go insane and die later. But I know the tortures the artifact can bring. I wish it was me climbing off that bed and not my son. The son who's trying hard not to show how delighted he is at the chance to greet and get acquainted with the German pointer equivalent of a Trojan Horse.

Scully reaches forward, still seeking to pull Charlie back. Her eyes meet mine and I plead with her for understanding. I think she's bordering on the edge of shock. Her hands are trembling. She begins to speak and I shake my head, begging her not to interrupt what's transpiring in case a sudden movement by her brings a hail of trigger happy gunfire. I can't be sure if she knows what I'm trying to get across. I make a circular motion around my neck with my finger and mouth the word 'collar'. She raises an eyebrow.

"Please, Scully...let him go," I end up mumbling. She slowly retracts her arm. The trust in me that I see in her eyes only makes me feel more miserable. Charlie crawls away from her toward the end of the bed.

It's too much for Walter and he starts to rise out of the chair. The Russian goes over and forcibly shoves him back down, putting the gun to the back of his neck just as Charlie is reaching Loki. Charlie glances around and the Russian smiles at him, acting as if he and Skinner are best buddies. He keeps the gun out of sight. Skinner grits his teeth as Charlie sits down and pulls the compliant Loki into his lap.

"Hi," he mumbles, stroking the dog's fur. "My name is Charlie, Loki."

Loki looks up at him and then licks his arm.

Charlie giggles and continues to pet him.

"He likes you," Strughold comments, watching intently as Charlie hugs the puppy to him. The leather and metal collar rubs against his neck.

"I like him," he answers.

"Good," Strughold beams.

"Loki's a happy dog," Charlie smiles as he continues to pet him and the puppy's tail wags. "Good boy," he adds as the dog licks him again.

"You can change his name if you like. When my German Pointer bitch had the litter I named them all. But you can call him anything you like," Strughold replies in a gentle voice.

Charlie looks up at Strughold, biting his lip a little in thought. His hand strokes the dog, his long fingers playing over the collar on the way up to the puppy's head, again and again and again. My guts are turning to water with each pass of his gentle hand.

"I think Loki's a pretty good name," Charlie finally replies. Then he sighs a little. Seemingly resigned to being polite to a man even a three year old would realize doesn't deserves it, he adds, "Danke...that means thank you in..."

His voice suddenly trails off and his face takes on a far-away, dreamy look. The gorge rises in my throat.

"My head hurts," he mumbles suddenly.

Scully's eyes grow large and she quickly starts to slide off the edge of the bed.

Tall Man advances forward, his rifle aimed at Scully. The Russian grabs Walter hard by the shoulder and puts the Glock directly to his head. Wiry Man, trains his rifle on me.

"Nein, leave her," Strughold orders Tall Man as Scully hurries around to the end of the bed.

"You fucking bastard," I snarl, standing despite the imminent danger of being shot. Strughold's Sig Sauer is out of its holster instantly and pointed at me.

"Charlie? Charlie?"

Scully is kneeling by our son, shaking him gently and calling his name. He seems sluggish and unable to answer at first as she takes the puppy from him and shoves the bundle of fur aside. Loki seems to come fully awake at that point and scrabbles under the bed, seeking to get away from the scary pregnant woman.

"Charlie!" she shouts.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he answers, dazed.

"Take him," Strughold prompts the Russian. Then the German strides over to stand next to Skinner to take the Russian's place.

"I want my Mommy! Mommy...I gotta go!"

This time Charlie's voice is a little more normal but as he utters the words, a dark, wet stain suddenly spreads over the front of his pjs. He's wet himself.

"Sukin syn," the Russian growls. I don't know Russian that well but I remember Krycek uttering that one...and translating it for me....'son of a bitch'.

Strughold mutters a curse under his breath as well.

"Verdammung."

"Let me help our son," Scully hisses fiercely as she hovers over Charlie like a lioness shielding her cub.

"Ja. Take the boy into the bathroom. I will be there to help shortly," Strughold nods impatiently at Scully.

Scully helps the befuddled Charlie up, and as she and our son carefully walk to the bathroom, it's as if time is suspended for a moment. No other movement is made, no sounds uttered, hardly any breath is issued in those long minutes. The rest of us just stand still and stare at mother and son as they walk away...the boy leaving a dribbled trail of urine in his wake. As soon as Scully and Charlie enter the bathroom...the atmosphere in the room changes...and everything happens very fast.

Walter surges up out of his chair and the Russian pistol whips him hard, sending him to his knees. The Russian delivers a second blow and Skinner goes down on his side.

I lunge forward and Strughold levels his gun at me. I stop just short of grabbing him, my hands balling up into fists.

"You are either monumentally brave or exceedingly foolhardy. Perhaps both," he whispers at me.

The Russian kicks Walter in the thigh and he groans.

The Wiry Man laughs, drawing all our attention. The Russian glances at him for a second.

"Dah, this bald bastard is funny."

After his rejoinder the muscular Short Man turns back to deliver another kick...this one aimed squarely at Walter's nuts.

"I wasn't laughing at him," Wiry Man quietly comments.

The Russian doesn't even have time to look up. Three rounds from Wiry Man's rifle rips into his gun hand shoulder, his back and then his head. He grunts and jerks under the hail of fire. He dances to the side and falls several feet away from Skinner. Tall Man takes one second too long to stare in shocked disbelief. Three rounds explode through his chest, sending him crashing back into the bedroom door.

As the carnage occurs, I see it all in slow motion, the loud blam, blam, blam of rifle fire subdues every other sound around me, including Skinner's heavy breathing as he struggles to get up. The rifle fire focuses me on Strughold as he brings his Sig Sauer up, aiming at Wiry Man. I kick out swiftly and soundly, deftly connecting with his gun hand. Walter simultaneously manages to lash out with his leg, knocking Strughold over. He's upended, falling backward. I scramble for his weapon.

When I come up with the handgun, Walter's on his knees and Wiry Man is standing over a prone Strughold, rifle pointed at his head.

"I would suggest you don't move," Wiry Man enunciates carefully.

I'm not going to stop and ask who this guy is right now. I only have one thing on my mind.

"Can you take the gun?" I ask Walter as he stands up.

"Yeah. Go," he coughs and gasps, motioning for me to hand over Strughold's piece. I hand it to him and turn quickly away.

"Scully!" I shout, running across the room.

"Mulder, help us!" she cries in return.

I dash into the en suite bathroom. Scully's head is sticking up over the rim of the bathtub. Her face is tear streaked, her hair disheveled but she's apparently unhurt. I barely stop to think how the hell she got in there as I run to her.

"Charlie's had a seizure," she informs me, her voice held in tight control. "I need to get him out of the tub."

"Christ," I exclaim.

She starts to babble as I bend over, reaching past her to pull at Charlie, who's pinned between her and the other side of the tub out of harm's way.

"When we got in the bathroom he said in that awful, flat voice, "Gibby says to get in the tub, Mommy. I didn't know what he was saying, Mulder...but I just did it. I just did it because I thought...I thought...Jesus...I don't know what I thought..."

"It's ok, it's ok," I mumble, lifting our son into my arms. "It'll be all right."

As I look down into Charlie's pale face and blue lips I begin to think it'll be anything but all right. He starts to shake in my arms.

"Oh God...lie him flat," she orders, regaining some of her composure as she goes into Doctor mode. I do as she instructs and she struggles to sit up in the tub herself.

"What should I do?" I ask her as she looks down at us.

"Just clear things out of the way. Make sure his airway is clear. I can't do anything else for him right now," Scully answers, her voice full of despondency as she realizes there isn't really anything we can do for him here.

I look up into her face and see a person who is almost pressed beyond her limits, barely holding it together. Her eyes are filling with tears again and I can feel mine doing the same at last...a surge of heat suddenly fills my whole body...caused by my heart pumping blood rapidly through it. I tip Charlie's head back slightly to make sure he can breathe. My hands are shaking hard. I think I'm going into some kind of shock...and I think Scully is too.

Walter comes lumbering into the bathroom, blood running out of his nose. He instantly rushes to the tub and helps Scully to lever up and then sit on the edge.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims as he sees Charlie twitching on the floor.

"Call 911," Scully yells at him, grabbing his arm in a wrenching grip.

"Already done. They're on the way."

"Who...Walter...who the hell is that out there?" I ask, my shoulders sagging as my hands flutter uselessly around my convulsing son.

"Yves Adele Harlow. Krycek's downstairs. He's on his way up."

"Krycek."

The name's a curse as I clench my teeth on it.

xXx

From my seat on the toilet, I look through the bathroom door. I can see Yves Adele Harlow taking off the black hood she's wearing. She tosses it over the straight-backed chair and shakes her long black hair out. Then Yves spits a piece of clear, molded plastic out of her mouth. I vaguely recall Frohike saying something about a voice altering synthesizer small enough to be worn on the palate. Good for disguising yourself as anyone...including a member of the opposite sex in order to infiltrate a gang of thugs, I guess.

Walter is wrapping a liberal amount of duct tape around Strughold's legs. He's already done the same to his arms. The German is stoically silent, content to stare straight ahead from his position propped up against the wall.

The dead Russian and Tall Man lay where they fell, their blood pooling on our hardwood floor. Loki pads over, sniffing at the pool of blood that oozes from under the Russian. He squats and relieves himself next to it. My gaze leaves the tableau in our bedroom and shifts to Scully and Charlie on the floor below me. Scully cradles our son where he lies still on the bathroom tile, his breathing shallow and fast.

When I look up, Alex Krycek stands in the doorway. He's dressed in garb almost identical to the thugs who lie dead out by our King-sized bed, except for the hood, the rifle and the fact he carries a Smith and Wesson in his shoulder holster. He's bleeding from a cut over his brow, the blood making a slow, congealing trail down past his temple and into the beard stubble on his jaw.

"You fuck," I hiss at him. "Why couldn't you have warned us sooner? And why in God's name did Yves Harlow allow this to happen?" I ask angrily, gesturing at Charlie.

He looks at me incredulously for a second and then shakes his head, frowning.

"Mulder...there wasn't any other way," Krycek says as he enters the bathroom.

"No other way?" I reply stridently, getting off the toilet seat.

Boiling anger builds up in me, surging and pumping through me hot like my blood...straight out of my heart. It's unreasoning anger I know...but I can't stop it. I'm looking for a convenient target on which to vent my anger...and here he is...the target I'm all too familiar with as an object of my hate in the past. My hands ball up into fists and I take two steps toward Krycek.

"Mulder!" Scully warns.

Suddenly, Frohike bulls his way into the bathroom, shoving past Krycek and interposing himself between us. He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me once and then twice, successfully diverting my attention from my mission to pound Krycek into the ground.

"Cool it, Mulder. He saved our lives...and they tried to take his daughter too. Come on...this isn't helping Charlie!"

I listen to Frohike, staring at him half in a daze and then I look up at Krycek.

"I'll explain later. I promise," Alex assures me, his voice tense but his eyes asking for my understanding.

My shoulders sag again and I nod.

"All right," I reply, my voice full of the numbing, bone-crushing fatigue I suddenly feel.

Before any of us can say anything else, the EMTs are entering the bedroom, accompanied by Gayle Frohike. Langly appears in the doorway, Loki in his arms. I can do nothing but stand aside as the EMTs enter the bathroom and start attending to both Charlie and Scully.

xXx

There's a bulb starting to go out in the florescent light above my head. It's doing that thing where it flickers bright and goes black, flickers bright and then goes black. Right now my mind feels like it's doing the same thing. One minute it flickers bright and I see an image of Charlie and Scully...or Walter being pistol whipped. Or Yves Adele Harlow disguised as a short, wiry man in black pumping slugs into the Russian...or right now...Alex Krycek in our bedroom, hissing into Conrad Strughold's tight-lipped face.

"All right. We know you perfected Lot 49," Alex is saying. "Even if we didn't know, it would be obvious since you wouldn't have exposed the kid unless you could inject him with it. He's useless insane or dead. So, give it up."

"I do not have..."

"I know that, you bastard. It's not on you, it wasn't on any of your hired assholes downstairs and it's not on either of the dead boys over there. It has to be nearby. I want to know where."

"Go to hell."

I blink against the flickering fluorescent light as my mind blinks back on the vision of Krycek slapping Strughold hard across the face. I shut my eyes, and when I open them...Melvin Frohike is standing in front of me, dressed in black...the light flickering off his glasses. I gesture at him with the icepack in my hand.

"Hey," I mumble. "How's Gibson?"

"He's got a colossal headache but Gayle says he'll be fine. He's in for observation but we can probably take him home in the morning. Jimmy and Byers are upstairs with him now. He's safe...and he can get some sleep."

"Oh...that's good. Good," I smile a little and nod my head. Then I look at the grizzled Lone Gunman and capture his bespectacled eyes. "I can't thank you guys enough, Frohike. To think you and Gayle allowed Gibson to forgo his medication on the off chance he could communicate with Charlie...and with him agreeing to do it even though he was in danger himself..." I shake my head because I'm at a loss for words...and then I look away.

Frohike lays a hand on my shoulder, drawing my eyes to him again.

"Don't worry about it. We did what we had to do."

"Well...you have my profound gratitude. You guys barely got out of the warehouse in time."

"Yeah, well...you know the Lone Gunmen...'paranoids are us'...that hasn't changed over the years. Even if Krycek hadn't got through to us after he tried to call you last night, our alarms picked up the third hit squad before they could get in. And we've always had an escape plan."

"I've got to have you guys install better alarms at the townhouse," I mumble, nodding.

"Mind if I sit down?" Frohike asks, indicating the plastic waiting room chair next to me.

"No...uh...not at all," I mumble, indicating the light blue seat.

Frohike slowly lowers himself stiffly into the chair.

"Feeling my age tonight," he mutters, shifting his ass around to get comfortable.

"Oh...yeah," I sigh, looking down at my hands. They're still trembling slightly around the ice pack.

We're in the waiting room of the Georgetown Hospital ER. It's 3 AM. I'm sitting here in my sweat pants and a doctor's scrub shirt, on loan from supplies. I've been temporarily ejected from the ER by Nurse 'Ilsa, she-wolf of the SS'...better known as Martha Moberly, head Nurse. Nurse Moberly took issue to my being 'in the way' as she put it. Well...maybe it had something to do with my taking a swing at Krycek again once I'd been treated and released. I feel like an asshole...I just lost it when he showed up. I'm lucky 'Nurse M' didn't call security. But then again...she didn't have to...she's practically big enough to play fullback for the Redskins and quite capable of tossing me on my ear if necessary.

"So, the jaw's ok?" Frohike ventures, peering sideways at me and wincing a little.

"Yeah...clean bill of health, there. I just need to apply ice."

I heft up the ice pack. Frohike gives me an eyebrow raise and gently shoves my hand up toward my jaw. I smile a little and apply the pack to my face again.

"Great," Frohike replies. He moves back and we sit in silence again for a few minutes. I glance at the wall clock.

"You know, man...if you hadn't gone ballistic in there you could still be with them," Frohike whispers cautiously.

I sigh.

"I more than know that now. I've been mentally kicking myself in the ass since I got the boot from Nurse Moberly, Frohike. I'm sorry...but I really don't need to hear it from anyone else."

"Yeah...all right," he chuckles a little.

"Listen... is Krycek upstairs?" I add, balancing the ice pack against my face.

"Yeah. He's up on the third floor with Marita and Katarina."

I bow my head.

"I didn't know his daughter was wounded...I...shit."

There's nothing else I can say.

"She's going to be all right. The main point is, the other squad rescued her from the bastards that were sent to get her. If Marita had been home she might be as dead as the baby-sitter. There are a lot of things that went right tonight."

I nod again.

"I guess Alex and I need to have a serious talk." Not to mention Dr. Allen Greenberg and me, I think. I've already reconciled to the fact that I'm going to need to see the psychologist about my issues with Alex...amongst a lot of other things that resonate from this hellish night.

Frohike chuckles again.

"Oh yeah. But listen...don't think I don't know he owes you a fuller explanation...he owes all of us really. There's shit that went down tonight I don't know anything about either."

I inhale and then exhale, coughing a bit.

"I still can't believe Brock at the CIA was stupid enough to overlook what was coming," I whisper, glancing up at the clock again.

"Yeah...the repercussions on that one are going to be heard all the way to the White House I'd imagine." Frohike sighs as well. "I'm not looking forward to the hearings on this one. I bet they make the last congressional hearings look like a fucking walk in the park."

"Shit," I comment, nodding my head.

The conversation lapses again. I lower the ice pack and rest it on the top of my thigh.

"They'll be ok." Frohike quietly says. He reaches up and pats my hand where it holds the ice pack on my leg.

"Jesus...where's the doctor," I grate out, looking up at the clock yet again. I'm such an imbecile for getting my ass kicked out of that ER. Fuck...I'm Scully's husband and Charlie's father...Walter's partner...I should be in there. Damn it to hell.

Someone appears at the waiting room door, catching my eye. I swivel my head in that direction. It's Walter...still wearing his bloody sweat pants, but with a hospital robe wrapped around him...and he's obviously ambulatory. I found out before my swing and miss at Krycek, that Skinner's essentially ok. He does have a broken nose which they've taped, and his face is going to look very colorful for a while. But he's being released. I'm not sure about Scully or Charlie yet. They were examining Scully when Krycek came in...and I was given the rush out.

I stand up, dropping the ice pack onto the floor. Walter strides over as I teeter on my feet.

"Whoa," he murmurs, catching me by the shoulders. Frohike has risen to help, when Skinner doesn't quite get hold of me.

"What's going on?" I ask, flopping back in the blue plastic chair. Frohike flops back down next to me, and Walter remains standing after letting go of my arm.

"Scully's ok. The doctor just sent me out here to make sure you're going to behave yourself when I bring you back in."

"And Charlie?" I ask hopefully.

Walter flexes his jaw and glances away. I feel sick inside. Frohike stares at Skinner, his mouth tight.

"Mulder...they just don't know yet."

"They need to find a way to suppress his psi ability. To counteract the effects of the artifact or Charlie will die."

"Gayle's got her lab using some of Charlie's genetic material to tailor her suppressant to Charlie's DNA. She did that for Gibson and..." Frohike starts to reply, his voice hushed. I interrupt him.

"But that'll take time. What about this Lot 49, Krycek talked about?"

"They haven't found it yet. Strughold's in an FBI safe house undergoing interrogation. But even he has rights. He won't talk until he has access to his lawyer."

"Does Alex think he'll give it up in time? Do you?" I ask, pinning Skinner's eyes.

"I'm praying he does," Skinner rumbles.

Frohike shifts in his chair.

"I want to see Scully," I reply through clenched teeth.

"All right, come on," Skinner nods, extending his hand to help me up. Frohike takes the ice pack out of my hand.

"I need to go check on Gibson. I'll be back though."

"Thanks," I nod. He smiles just before I turn my back and exit the room with Walter.

xXx

"Listen," Walter whispers as we're headed toward the doors to the ER. "You might as well know now...they're going to bury this."

"What?" I ask, bewildered as I try to wrap my fatigued mind around what he just said. I glance at him as I stride forward on legs that are suddenly re-invigorated.

"Krycek said this whole incident tonight will be swept under the rug. No public repercussions. Although some heads will roll...starting with that incompetent prick, Brock."

"What about Strughold?"

"That's complicated. He's wanted over multiple jurisdictions...including international. Who the hell knows at this point. He just might be extradited elsewhere."

A cover-up. I guess it doesn't surprise me. On one level it disturbs me that anything about tonight is being covered up. But...whereas in the past I was content to seek the truth, uncover other's lies and mysteries...I can only honestly admit that now parts of my own life are private...closeted and secret so to speak. Hypocritical? When it comes to your family...hell...I just don't know. Deep down, I know it's a conflict I've been denying. I know after all that's happened over the last several hours, I'm going to have to face what it means to me...to all of us.

"Yeah...I've asked myself what will happen to Charlie if all this comes out publicly...to Katarina...hell...to any other children Scully and I decide to have in the future."

"We went to a lot of trouble to try to protect Gibson in the same way...by working to at least dim the glare of publicity."

I nod.

"But, Walter, I'm operating in half a vacuum here...what exactly am I protecting the kids from? Just the public treating them as freaks or something more? You've had more time to talk to Alex...does he seriously..."

Skinner interrupts me.

"You heard Strughold spouting his diatribe about members of the International military industrial complex wanting Charlie just like I did."

I tighten my lips.

"I was hoping..."

"It wasn't true?"

I sigh.

"Yeah...but I guess I know better."

"I guess we both do," Skinner breathes out. "The cover-up has a dual purpose...it's mostly to keep the publicity off the kids...to give them a chance to grow up as normal kids..."

"So they won't be perceived as freaks," I nod thoughtfully.

"Exactly. But we can only hope if we give them a low profile they won't attract any more vultures. Justice will take its course on this circling flock. There are enough of the new guard to root out those who would like to use Charlie, Katarina and Gibson for their own ends...as weapons. They outnumber those who do."

"God...I hope you're right Walter.

"I'll make sure I am," he rumbles, as we reach the ER doors. He strong-arms them open ahead of me.

The young doctor who was examining Scully, Doctor LeRoy, spots us immediately and comes forward. He raises a pale blonde eyebrow at Skinner.

"Ya'll got this gentleman under control?" he drawls in his deep Southern accent.

His tone isn't belligerent. In fact, it's slightly bemused. I'd laugh too if I'd seen me ejected by a nurse large enough to be sticking her hands between a quarterback's legs.

"Don't worry...I'll be a good boy," I reply, waving him off. Then I duck my head a little. "Really...I'm sorry for my earlier behavior. I don't have any excuse for it."

"Well, Mr. Krycek gave us some idea there's tension between the two of you. After what happened this evening...with those gang-bangers invadin' your home and all...Ah can understand blood was runnin' a tad hot," the doctor replies as he indicates the large, draped cubicle off to his right.

I glance at Walter. 'Gang-bangers'?" I mouth. He gives me a significant look and I shrug. Ok, I'm tired and a little slow on the uptake...it takes me a second to grab the fact that the 'gang-banger' scenario is part of the cover-up. We walk toward the cubicle as Walter quietly responds as well.

"Alex volunteered to make himself scarce until you're through here, Mulder. He'll catch up with you later."

I nod.

"I'm sorry about Katarina," I mumble.

Walter nods and pats me on the back as the doctor draws the curtains aside.

"Mulder, I thought I heard you," Scully murmurs, lifting her head off the examining table pillow.

"Did you get some sleep?" I ask, walking quickly over to her. I pull a stool up, sit down and take her hand. She squeezes mine. Walter comes up to stand behind me, his arms folded across his chest.

"I can't believe it...but I did. I...I'm so tired," she mumbles, holding my hand to the side of her face. Her eyes slip closed and then jerk open again.

"Professor Mulder...your wife is sufferin' from emotional and physical exhaustion," Doctor LeRoy comments, placing his clipboard down on a nearby shelf. Before he can continue, Scully speaks, addressing both Walter and me.

"The baby's all right," she assures us sleepily as I open my mouth to ask that very question. "But they want to keep me overnight for observation...due to the stress. I think it's a good idea."

Dr. LeRoy flashes a gracious smile.

"It's just a precaution...and Doctor Scully concurs," he remarks, extending her the professional courtesy of her title.

"So do I," Walter whispers, reaching past me to gently brush Scully's hair off her forehead. If Doctor LeRoy notices, he doesn't show any reaction to Skinner caressing my wife. Walter draws his hand back and I nod.

"I think that's a good idea too."

Her eyes search mine for a second, her chin quivers.

"Mulder...Charlie's not good," she whispers, biting her lip. "He's in ICU. Gayle and her team are working on him and she let me see him for a few seconds. But...I feel so...so useless here, like this..."

"It's all right...it's...they're doing everything they can," I reassure her. "You're exhausted, Scully. You can't do anything else right now. I'll keep up with what's going on."

Nurse Moberly pulls the curtains quietly aside.

"I'm sorry...Mrs. Mulder's room is ready."

"Go find out about Charlie," Scully whispers, holding my hand tight.

"I will. Walter...can you go with Scully?"

Skinner nods.

I gently pry Scully's hand from mine.

"You get some rest. I love you," I murmur, bending to kiss her on the cheek. Scully strains up and grabs me around the neck, pulling me down onto her breasts.

"I love you so much," she whispers. I hug her and then pull back. As she lets me go, Walter pats my shoulder.

"She'll be ok, go on," he urges me. Scully gives Walter a grateful, loving smile and he returns it. I step out of the cubicle as an orderly comes in and they prepare to wheel her off to her room. Doctor LeRoy follows me out, clipboard in hand again.

"Your wife's gonna be fine..." he begins to explain.

"I want to see my son."

He blinks but recovers quickly, giving me a nod.

"Ah can certainly take you to him. ICU is this way."

He begins to walk, leading me out of the ER.

"Thank you."

"You understand...Ah'm not the attendin' physician on your boy, Professor Mulder..."

"I realize that...Dr. Gayle Frohike's got his case."

"Uh huh. Sophisticated team. I wasn't aware she was affiliated with the hospital."

I give him a raised eyebrow and he shrugs.

"Ah'm just makin' an observation. Ah just wanted you to know that I can't answer any questions about your son's case."

"Oh...sure. I understand," I nod, giving him a weary smile.

He returns my reply with another business-like nod.

"And I'm sorry...I didn't mean to interrupt you earlier. You were saying about Scul...about my wife?"

Doctor LeRoy begins to explain that Scully and the baby are fine and I listen and nod and make appreciative noises as we walk the remainder of the distance to ICU.

xXx

Langly springs up from the chair he's sitting in outside Charlie's room as we approach. Yves Adele Harlow stands at his side, sipping a cup of coffee. She places the cup of coffee on the chair seat and catches Langly's eye.

Dr. LeRoy takes them both in. His face shows another bemused, if somewhat perplexed look as his eyes scan Langly. But when his attention settles on Yves Adele Harlow, his face is anything but perplexed. He smiles wide at her, showing what has to be the benefits of orthodontics...a mouth full of perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Don't sit on it," she whispers to Langly. A chin tilt indicates the cup of coffee as we approach. Langly gives her a sarcastic look. "Professor Mulder," she murmurs, extending her hand.

"Ms. Harlow," I reply, a smile just playing over my lips. "Sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances."

"Sorry we have to meet at all, to be honest. I prefer...a lower profile," she replies. Her tone belies the sting of her words. It's full of irony and I can appreciate it.

Langly comments next.

"Skinner assigned us to keep...uh..."

He glances at the doctor. It's clear he's not sure how much he should say.

"A vigil...shall we say," Yves finishes for him, giving him a pointed look. Langly nods.

"Right."

Unofficial and unconventional guards, I think as I look them over. Well, Langly's unarmed...but I would bet that long, black jacket Yve's wearing conceals that Glock she had strapped to her hip earlier.

"We won't keep you," Yves adds, stepping aside.

"Thank you," I reply gratefully. I don't want to waste any more time in conversation. I walk past them to the room's door.

"So, Dr. Leroy...you were telling me about Atlanta?"

I hear Yves starting to chat with the young doctor accompanied by a put upon noise from Langly.

"Why don't you go get yourself a cup of coffee...Mr. Langly," Yves suggests between what sounds like clenched teeth.

I don't hear anything further because I'm opening the door and entering Charlie's room.

Gayle Frohike comes over immediately from Charlie's beside.

"Fox..."

I could make a stupid quip but if Gayle's flustered enough to use my first name things must be serious. My mind runs that way sometimes...gallows humor to stave off something truly horrible. But in this case the idea makes me ill.

"How is he?" I ask instead.

"We have him heavily sedated but he still comes out of it periodically. I expect you know what I'm talking about." I nod. "But...the fact he *is* a fighter is helping actually. He's holding his own."

I can hear the word 'but' in there even if she didn't utter it.

"But?"

She sighs as I walk past her to approach Charlie's bedside.

"But we need my psi suppressant or this Lot 49 as soon as possible. I won't lie to you...and I didn't lie to Scully. Mulder...his prognosis isn't good if we don't get this reaction under control, and fast."

"Damn that fucking bastard," I quietly curse at Strughold.

Gayle lays her hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

"I know."

I nod and then take the last steps to be next to my son.

I avoided looking at my boy lying in the bed when I first came in. Now I can't avoid it any longer. My eyes take him in...his pale sweating brow, the dark circles under his eyes, his blue-tinged lips...his little body connected up to all the familiar machines with which I'm more than acquainted...the whole image is eerily reminiscent of my nightmare from two nights ago.

For a second a crazed thought passes through my mind. What if I still have remnants of my own psi talent? What if my nightmare was a premonition? I shake my head, dispelling the thought as Gayle pulls a chair up for me.

"Sit down. I'll leave you alone with him for a minute. If you need me, I'll be right outside."

I nod and give her a thankful look before I sit down. I hear the door shut behind her as she exits.

My shaking hand somehow finds Charlie's where it lies outside the sheet that's covering him up to his chest.

"Hey, Pikachu," I whisper, giving his fingers a squeeze. "Daddy's here, buddy." There's absolutely no response and although I didn't expect one, the reality of his condition finally hits home. My bottom lip trembles...I suck in a gulp of air...and fall forward, sobbing onto my son's small hand.

xXx

I don't know how long I lay there crying, but a commotion outside the door makes me sit up. I turn around, somewhat dazed, to stare at the door. Gayle comes bustling in, followed by Alex Krycek.

"What? What?" I ask dumbly.

"It's all right, man," Alex assures me. "He's gonna be ok."

Gayle has a small wooden box in her hand.

"What's going on?" I manage to get out as I stand up.

Gayle sits down where I was sitting and places the box on the bed next to Charlie's leg.

"Strughold was persuaded that it might go better for him if as a good will gesture he revealed the location of Lot 49," Krycek replies intensely, standing back as Gayle opens the box. Inside are three vials of a wheat colored liquid.

"The suppressant," I state.

"Yes," Gayle nods, her face tense but hopeful. She reaches into her lab coat pocket and brings out a syringe, needles in their sterile wrappers and a couple of packaged alcohol wipes.

I look up at Krycek. Our eyes lock.

"Has this stuff...I mean do we know if it'll work at all?"

"Mulder...I know you hate my guts...that you distrust me...but you've got to believe me this time. My source that says it works has never been wrong."

I look at Gayle.

"Mulder...truthfully...my suppressant isn't going to be ready in time. This is the only way."

I don't hesitate a moment longer.

"Do it," I nod.

There's no time to ask Scully. I hope to God, she understands and doesn't hate me later. This is my decision. For better or worse I'm consigning my son to his fate.

Gayle uncaps the syringe and prepares to extract a needle from its sterile paper container.

xXx

"Scully!" I exclaim, looking up from Charlie's bedside. Walter helps her through the doorway. "You're supposed to be..."

"Krycek told us...I wanted to be here," she replies quietly, her expression brooking no argument. The look on Walter's face tells me he already had that argument...and lost. I nod and indicate the other chair in the room.

"Sit down," I mumble.

She moves to do so, Walter at her side.

It's been an hour since Gayle Frohike administered Lot 49 to Charlie. His condition is unchanged. The monitors hum and beep, measuring his stressed vitals...and I've been sitting and waiting for some sign our son will survive. Sitting and trying to think how I would tell his mother he's dead. How I'll tell her I killed him.

As I watch Scully lower her bulk into the chair, a wave of relief washes over me. It's almost perverse...but I'm thankful she'll be here to see him pass away if that's what's going to happen.

When Scully's seated, Walter stands attentively at her side, watching Charlie's prone figure. I look Scully directly in the eyes.

"Scully...I...I'm sorry I didn't..." I begin.

"Mulder...Gayle said there wasn't any other choice," Scully replies, her mouth trembling into what I know she wants to be a sympathetic smile but comes across as a grimace. As tears trickle down her face again, I stand up and go to her, kneeling at her feet and placing my head in her lap.

"Christ...I didn't know what I was going to say to you. I didn't want you to hate me if he died...I.."

Shit...I must sound so needy...so pathetic...and I'm crying again...but I just can't help myself.

"I know, I know," Scully murmurs, stroking my hair.

Walter clears his throat.

"We can't blame ourselves. The only person who's at fault here is Conrad Strughold." His voice is husky and I know he's crying too.

I lever off Scully's lap and stand, wiping my hand across my eyes. Walter steps forward and puts his arm over my shoulder. He gathers me against his side with a tight hug. Scully snakes her hand around the back of my thighs and hugs me as well. Neither of them say anything else. They don't have to...they just lend me the strength of their touch and their presence. We stand silently next to Charlie's bed watching his small chest rise and fall.

Something enters my head then...a totally inappropriate thought, but for some reason I voice it.

"Loki. What happened to the dog?"

Skinner unwinds his arm from around my shoulders and rubs his hand over his mouth. He actually chuckles a little. Scully unwinds her arm from around my thighs. I step behind her and place my hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle, grateful squeeze.

"I would imagine the Gunmen are going to have a bit of a mess to clean up when they get back to the warehouse. Loki is in their kitchen behind one of those 'puppy gates'," he replies.

I can't help but smile a little in amusement as well. Scully rubs her cheek against my wrist.

"Puppy."

The mumbled word draws our attention instantly to the bed.

"Charlie?" Scully murmurs, hope in her voice. We all cluster around, staring down into his face. His eyes flutter, and then open.

"Hey, champ." My smile at him is so wide it hurts my bruised jaw, but I keep smiling anyway.

"Daddy," he mumbles. And then he looks at all of us very seriously.

"No puppy. I want a baby sister more," he says, his voice a little stronger with each word in the sentence.

Walter smiles, tears of relief spilling down his cheeks. Scully takes Charlie's hand and pulls it to her cheek.

"Oh, honey...she'll be here...in about two months, she'll be here," she says, smiling and starting to laugh.

"Let's see what he says after helping to change a few poopy diapers," I quip. Charlie wrinkles his nose.

"Phew," he answers.

I let the tears flow freely then, and lower my head to kiss his forehead. He reaches up and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me close.

"I love you, Daddy," he whispers into my hair.

It's all I could ever want to hear.

"I love you too, son. Very, very much."

xXx

The sun's up as I stand in the ER parking lot, breathing deeply. I just needed some fresh air. Gayle loaned me a lab coat to put on over my surgical scrub shirt and sweat pants and luckily the November day has dawned mild...or I'd be freezing my balls off too. Despite sucking the somewhat sharp, cool air into my lungs, my mind is partially numb. My thoughts are caught in a loop over the events after Charlie woke up.

Walter and I saw to it that Scully got back to bed after Dr. LeRoy discovered she was up and nearly had a well mannered Southern gentleman's tantrum about it.

She'll be released later in the day, after she gets some sleep. When I left her, relief was allowing her to do that very thing. And it was allowing Walter to do it too. When I last saw him, his head was laying at Scully's side, his folded arms supporting him on the bed...and he was gently snoring.

Gayle examined Charlie and pronounced him on the road to recovery. The suppression of the artifact's effects was a success. As soon as her suppressant is ready, they'll give us a supply to administer to him. I guess we'll have to explain to Charlie what happened last night. He's a bright kid, he's going to puzzle it out on his own probably sooner rather than later anyway.

And unless he loses his abilities later due to some kind of shock...something that although it happened to me we certainly can't count on happening to him...he's going to be curious about what he can do with his mind. When he gets older, he may decide he wants to risk developing his psi capacity. Gibson, after all, was able to control his. But that's a decision that's a while off...and certainly takes more consideration and research before it's made. In the meantime, he'll take a pill every morning and have the life of a normal little boy...well as normal as it can be under the circumstances of our lifestyle, his intelligence and his special talents.

I wander over to the Lone Gunmen's old VW bus and lean up against it, bending my neck back to warm my face in the early morning rays. Frohike, Gayle and Gibson are still inside the hospital. Jimmy, Langly, Byers and the mysterious Yves Adele Harlow are gone. Jimmy and the guys back to the warehouse...and that mess Walter spoke of earlier I'm sure. Yves...well Yves was off to wherever Krycek called her in from I guess. Krycek...as his name comes to mind I lower my head and look across the driveway toward the ER entrance.

Alex comes walking out of the sliding glass doors, carrying two cups of coffee.

Gee...now that's just my luck. Shit...I hope we're both ready for this.

As I watch him approach, I can't help but be impressed that he's able to balance one Styrofoam cup in the crook of his arm while carrying the other in his good hand.

I take my eyes off him and try to act casual. Crossing my arms over my chest and slouching a little, I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he saunters over. His step is as insouciant as my slouch...but his green eyes tell me he's not sure we're ready to talk either.

"Is that a peace offering?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and giving him a small wry smile. "If it is...it better be the way I like it."

It's enough to break the ice...my peace offering I guess. It does what I intend it to do...Alex's eyes relax.

"Just like I like my women...hot and black," he mumbles, his return grin flashes quickly.

"Aw...you remembered," I reply with a nod and another short grin.

He sidles up and I take the cup from out of the crook of his arm. He nods his head in appreciation and then leans next to me against the VW bus. We each take a sip of the steaming brew and stare off across the parking lot.

Finally the silence becomes too awkward for me.

"I'm sorry about Katarina," I murmur, lowering the cup away from my lips.

"Thanks," Alex replies, nodding.

"I mean it," I reply, looking over into his profile.

He nods and then looks at me, catching my eyes. His answer is very quiet.

"I know that. I wouldn't think you'd be the type of person to hold the sins of the father against the child."

I shake my head and look down at my coffee cup.

"Point for you," I mumble, my lips tight.

"Mulder...I didn't kill..."

"I know, I know. You didn't kill my father," I sigh, beyond anger now.

I turn the coffee cup in my hands, watching the steam come off it. The steam wafts away, very much like my anger is doing at the moment. Maybe I'm just too tired to be angry. Or maybe, as I hope...the anger is dissipating. If there's one truth I want to seek in this very minute, it's why I have this cataclysmic anger for Alex Krycek...why I keep telling myself I don't, when I do...and why I'm stuck in this rut while he's clearly trying to move on with his life...as a different man.

"I was there that night, Mulder. I won't deny I wanted to talk to your father...maybe even pressure him a little for answers but...the shot came through that open window."

"Then why the hell didn't you stick around and prove your innocence? Ballistics should have been able to exonerate you."

His face takes on an embarrassed expression.

"Look...even I panic and make asinine mistakes. I mean fuck, Mulder...I don't know...I figured you'd shoot first and ask questions later at that point. I climbed out the window and ran. I never did find out who really fired that shot. But as a betting man, I'd bet the bullet had more smoke on it than a bullet normally would."

"We've been over this before..."

"Then why the fuck won't you cut me some slack?" he grates out, barely holding himself back from throwing the coffee cup to the ground.

I let my shoulders slump.

"Maybe because you've stabbed us all in the back in so many other ways I don't trust you?"

It's his turn to sigh now.

"I know I made mistakes...things I did that I don't blame you for hating me for doing. But, Mulder...I'm just asking for a chance. A chance to show you I can change...that I am changing. After that if I fuck up you can kick me in the ass...or kick me to the gutter...whichever suits."

"Maybe both," I chuckle, tipping coffee from the cup into my mouth.

He replies with a derisive snort.

We're silent again for a minute, lost in thought and then I speak again.

"Start by explaining to me what happened tonight. When it started," I whisper, not looking at him.

He straightens a little and finishes his coffee, tossing the Styrofoam cup into a nearby trash basket. Then he settles against the VW bus and speaks quietly.

"I didn't have a clue what was coming down until the day it was underway. Strughold was one smart megalomaniac. He'd been planning this operation for months...long enough to actually breed his German wire-haired pointer so he'd have control of a puppy to tempt Charlie with. That fucking German was one anal retentive bastard.

I shake my head.

"Yeah, I'd say that shows an unusual attention to detail."

"Well I think it appealed to his sick sense of humor...of irony as well."

I nod.

"I'd have to agree to that too."

"I swear on my mother's grave, Mulder...that first time I called you I had no idea Strughold's operation was underway. I was really calling to tell you Marita and I were in town. It was Marita's idea of a surprise...we were finalizing that six-month sub-let on an apartment in Crystal City..." he shrugs as his voice trails off.

"The hang-up calls?"

"A check to make sure you were home. We traced them to a pay phone. That Russian fuck Yves did in your bedroom screwed up...he took his glove off to dial."

I nod.

"I tried to get that second call through. After my informant warned me I moved as fast as I could," he says, his voice tense. "I organized the rescue operations for Charlie and Gibson and got Yves to come in to help..."

"But you didn't organize Katarina's?"

"No...a later call from my informant said they were going for her. We never even suspected it. In fact, we left Katarina with the woman we were sub-letting the apartment from because she was an old college friend of Marita's. Marita was out in the van with Frohike, Gibson and the rest of my "team", otherwise she would have been killed with the babysitter. I called in a whole bunch of favors but the guys I called still got there after Katarina had been taken. It's just lucky they got her back."

"And I assume Yves was instructed not to shoot until Scully and Charlie were safely out of the line of fire?"

"If at all possible, yes. If we'd been able to place her earlier things might have gone differently. Maybe Charlie wouldn't have been exposed to pieces of the artifact. But unfortunately it took us a while to get her target...the guy she was going to impersonate...alone."

"And Gibson got lucky in contacting Charlie because of Charlie's exposure to the artifact."

"Right. He instructed Charlie to take Scully into the bathroom somehow and seek refuge in the bathtub in case bullets started flying...which of course they did."

"I see," I reply quietly.

He barks out a sudden bitter laugh. "You know...I was beginning to trust Brock, Mulder. I blame myself for not realizing fast enough that he was so fucking incompetent. I should have picked up on him being so lax. He overlooked the information coming in regarding Strughold's death being false and the existence of Lot 49 and what all that could mean...and I didn't catch on that he did."

"Brock'll pay. We'll see to that," I reassure him. It's a small way for me to thank Alex. I should be ready to thank him fully, I know...but I'm not quite ready to verbalize it more completely.

He nods.

"I'll help see to it he does too," he replies with rancor.

I clear my throat.

"So Strughold's plan was to collect children he thought had psi ability and sell them to the highest bidder?"

"Yes...if he discovered their ability was latent or just developing, my informant said his plan was to expose the kids to the artifact to see if that would give it a push along. Then later he'd inject them with Lot 49 so he could control them and of course keep them sane and alive."

"How many kids with possible psi abilities are there?"

"My informant says Strughold had three others. They're the ones he perfected Lot 49 on. Mulder...one of them is his own grandson for God's sake. That didn't go over well...my informant by coincidence was his grandson's nanny at one time. But Strughold hadn't gone after any other kids worldwide yet. He was using Charlie, Katarina and Gibson as kind of a dry run. If he was able to succeed in rounding them up, he'd start searching for more.

I run my hand over my mouth before I reply.

"And have any of them lost the talent later on like I did?" I lower my hand.

Krycek shakes his head.

"So far none of his test subjects has lost their psi ability and they've subjected them to all kinds of stressors to see if they would. According to my informant, although it's a possibility they'll end up like you and lose their ability, Strughold's willing to risk that losing the aptitude is rare and they'll retain it."

"An army of psychic kids to sell to any government who wanted to use them."

"Exactly. Starting with a squad of six...his three and our three. He had people digging up all kinds of information about us, spying on us for months. That's how he found out things like Charlie wanting a puppy."

"When did you find out Katarina had...the talent."

He swallows hard at the mention of his daughter's name.

"It's in an embryonic stage....just developing...and it comes and goes. But...we got an idea something was going on about two months ago. Marita burnt her hand while cooking...and Katarina started to howl like hell out in the living room. She was screaming 'Mommy, Owie! Mommy, Owie!' over and over. She'd felt Marita's pain."

"Shit."

"Yeah...it surprised the hell out of us," he replies, his voice shaky.

"You were both exposed to the black oil, and..."

"Yeah, but...I never thought...not in a million years..."

I nod.

"Alex," I mumble...glancing at him.

He looks at me a little surprised at my hushed use of his first name.

"Yeah?"

"Were you afraid of your own kid...even for just a minute?" I mumble, looking at him then and pinning his eyes.

He studies my face and his lips twist into a bitter smile.

"Yeah, I was, Mulder. How fucked up is that?"

I nod.

"Fucked up...but for what it's worth...we're fucked up together on that point."

"I don't want to feel like that about my own kid," Krycek mumbles. "I don't want anyone else to either...or for Katarina to be treated like a freak."

"So you're going to give her the suppressant?"

"We already asked Gayle to manufacture some for her. And Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"I asked for the cover-up. I know a lot of shit the CIA wants to know...I've offered to trade for...for...ah, fuck it..." His jaws tighten and his nose starts to turn red. He turns away and looks down. "They shot my daughter, Mulder. My kid...I...I'll never let anything like that happen to her again."

Tears dampen his long eyelashes and his throat convulses once. He's trying hard not to cry in front of me. I look off across the parking lot for a second to give him a minute to compose himself...and then I think...what the hell...and reach out for his prosthetic arm. I just rest my hand on it for a second while he coughs and sniffs his tears back. He doesn't jerk away so I think he's taking some small comfort in the contact...even if I'm not touching his real flesh.

After a minute he straightens slightly and I remove my hand. He clears his throat.

"No one will know about Charlie either," he finishes, glancing at me.

I inhale a big lung full of cool air, exhale it and give Alex Krycek a tentative smile. Something about this lung full of winter air focuses me...and banishes a lot of the numbness that was clouding my mind.

"Look...uh...why don't you and Marita come back to the townhouse for a few days. No sense in rattling around in that strange sub-let when uh...well when you can have a nice warm attic to bunk in."

Krycek raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Sure...Walter's coming back tonight and they'll release Scully tomorrow...Charlie in a couple of days maybe. We can have that visit you were planning."

I wince a little at the inanity of my words. Why can't I just say 'thank you,' I ask myself. God...I am such a dick.

Krycek scuffs his black boot on the concrete of the parking lot.

"Man...I don't know..." he mumbles.

"I'm trying to say thank you, you dickhead!" I blurt out, accidentally dropping my coffee cup and splattering what's left of my lukewarm coffee on the lab coat and my sweat pants. "Oh, shit."

Krycek laughs hard, looking at my legs.

"You are so easy," he sputters, "I knew that's what you were trying to say...I just wanted to hear you say the actual words."

I start to chuckle and then burst out laughing as well.

"You fuck..." I chortle, tears of mirth squirting out from under my eyelashes.

Krycek shakes his head in amusement and then slowly composes himself.

"Yeah...I think I can talk Marita into coming over," he chuckles, levering up off the VW bus.

"All right then," I chuckle too...slowly regaining my composure as well.

After a few more breaths and throat clearings, Krycek's expression becomes serious. He peers at me from under his eyelashes, his green eyes questioning.

"So...is this a chance?"

"Yeah...it's a chance," I nod. "And thanks, Alex. Really."

He nods and very slowly extends his good hand. I take it and shake it firmly. He smiles at me.

"Hey...Mulder!"

I turn and Alex lets go of my hand as we spot Frohike coming out of the ER entrance.

"Skinner's looking for you. He's ready to go home," he calls across to us. Just as he says it I notice Walter coming out of the doors behind him. Frohike must hear the sliding glass door, because he turns around and Walter speaks to him.

Krycek looks at me

"Go on home, Mulder. Get some rest. Have a shot of vodka on me." He glances over at Skinner and gives me a grin. "Or get laid..."

I stop him with a peeved look.

"It's not just about the sex with him," I whisper, tilting my chin in Skinner's direction.

Krycek gives me an understanding look.

"Yeah...I know," he comments sincerely, giving me a slap on the back. "I'm just yanking your chain. Go home. Marita and I will be over tomorrow...for dinner. We'll bring it."

"Chinese?"

"You got it," he nods.

Without further good-byes, Krycek turns and jogs back across the driveway that's next to the parking lot. When he reaches the ER doors, he and Walter have a few words, and shake hands. He also speaks to Frohike. They shake hands as well, and then re-enter the hospital together.

Skinner comes across the driveway to join me. I can tell he's sizing me up...trying to decide what just transpired between Krycek and me. He doesn't spot any signs of overt violence...although the spilled coffee brings a raised eyebrow. I bend down and pick up the coffee cup. Aim and toss it at the wastebasket. It falls short. Skinner grins a little, picks it up and deposits it for me.

"You ok?" he asks, looking me up and down. "You look like shit."

I chuckle and take him in.

"You look like shit warmed over."

He laughs.

"Yeah...I'm ok. I'm pretty damn good actually. How about you?"

He smiles.

"Yeah, I feel pretty damn good too. You ready to go home?"

"Definitely," I reply, giving him a return smile.

"Ok, great. Frohike's volunteered to take us. He just went in to tell Gayle he'd be back later."

"Sounds like a plan? You hungry?"

"Surprisingly, yes," Skinner replies.

"I think there's a Denny's on the way."

Walter raises an eyebrow again. He gestures, indicating his bloodstained sweats and lab coat and then my attire with a sweep of his hand.

"Mulder...they have a 'no shoes, no shirt, no service' sign. What do you think our chances are of getting in?"

I chuckle.

"You have a point. What about a McDonalds drive thru? There's one on the way too."

"That'll work," Skinner replies, nodding.

"Yeah, they have the new Pokemon collectibles. We can get one for Charlie."

"Good idea."

"So..." I reply.

"So..." Walter shifts on his feet, studying my face.

"So...a baby girl," I smile, grinning from ear to ear.

Walter's smile lights up his whole face.

"Yeah," he replies. "I still can't get over it. It's incredible."

"You guys will have to decide on a name now."

He nods.

"Right. I thought about my mother's name....but Esther? She doesn't even like the name to be honest. She uses her nickname...Bess."

"Well, Bess is kind of nice."

"Scully might want to name her after her mother."

"Margaret's not bad either."

Walter nods thoughtfully and as he does, Frohike comes out of the sliding doors.

"Time to talk about it later," I prompt, indicating the grizzled Lone Gunman as he again jogs across the driveway.

"So...you two ok?" he asks as he reaches us.

"Yeah, I think we are," Walter and I both answer at once. Then we look at each other and start to laugh, shaking our heads in amusement over the identical responses.

Frohike laughs as well and then gestures toward the VW Bus.

"Ok, then. Come on...get in the 'Magic Bus'...we're outta here."

Frohike takes his van keys out of his pocket and moves to unlock the doors to our transportation. He slides the side door of the van open and gestures for us to climb aboard.

Walter gives me one last pat on the back and I smile at him. Then we walk through the shafts of sunlight and brisk winter breeze to that 'Magic Bus' ride home.

Author's notes: In my story "I Heard the Roar of Thunder" one of my challenges was to see if I could make Krycek into a good guy...a hero. This was done after numerous discussions with Janet F. Caires-Lesgold on the nature of Alex Krycek. Janet and I don't agree regarding the character's motivations or his relationship with say, Mulder, but I thought it would be interesting to see if I could give Janet a Krycek as hero she might eventually enjoy. So, hopefully Janet, the ending did that for you. If not...maybe I'll get it right some other time...but at least this was a try. ;-) I'm not sure if this M/SC/SK saga will continue. It might...there are places I'd still like to take it, most definitely. So, we'll see how it goes. If I'm still interested in writing X-Files fic after the start of the new season, I'll probably continue the story. -frogdoggie

-THE END-
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