Title: The Geometry of Loss (Chapter 6)
Author: Kudra (kudra_x@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:  These characters aren't mine.  They belong 
to Chris Carter, 1013 & Fox, but they sure are fun to 
play with.
Timeline: Post-The Truth, MSR
Summary: Mulder and Scully struggle with the reality of 
their new existence months after the events of "William" 
and "The Truth"
Archive: Chapters 1-5 can also be found at 
http://rowan_d.tripod.com/kudra/geometry.html.
As for other archives, feel free, but please let me know 
where.


"The Geometry of Loss"
by Kudra

Chapter 6

**There is a legend among my people of a powerful 
goddess called Changing Woman, who helped the Dine to 
establish a place to dwell when we arrived in the Fifth 
World.  The world was full of monsters and terrors and 
the People fought for survival.

Changing Woman united with the Sun and gave birth to a 
powerful son we called Monster Slayer, who together with 
his father, helped to rid the world of its dangers.

The Sun loved Changing Woman with all his fiery heart 
and power, and longed for her to live with him always in 
his realm.  But Changing Woman knew her place was rooted 
in the soil of the earth where she must change with the 
seasons.  She could not leave the People who depended on 
her.  Rather than lose her lover forever, she sought a 
more equal relationship. "We are of one spirit, my 
love," she told him.  She would remain on earth where 
she was needed, where his light would forever shine, 
warming her heart and soul, a harmonious union.

I have charged my son with the task of aiding another 
union of opposites, one on which the fate of the world 
may hang.  The FBI man and woman have their own demons 
to slay, some from within and some from without.  I pray 
that they are both strong enough to listen to the voices 
that guide them.***

*****

There's an insistent buzzing in Mulder's head that's 
been steadily increasing since they hit the Colorado 
border.  Waves of alternating dizziness and nausea 
assault his senses, but he grips the steering wheel for 
stability, flashing anxious glances at the pencil 
smudged paper on the seat between them.  

"Are you okay, Mulder?" Scully asks.  Her voice sounds 
far away and muffled below the din in his mind. 

Voices in his head again.  Shit.  As if seeing ghosts 
wasn't already bad enough.

He hears snippets of thoughts from passengers, drivers 
in every car they pass, scattered impressions that he 
has no business hearing; but they come to him just the 
same. *rockymountainshatethisdrivewhendowestop*  But the 
thoughts that come to him most clearly are the most 
immediate.

Hers.

*he'ssickwhat'swrongshouldn'tdrivehe'ssickwhatdoido*

He's tired of causing her worry.  All these years... 
hasn't there been enough fear and apprehension?  There's 
a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he 
considers what her life has become at his hands.  He 
wants to shield her from it any way he can.  He flips 
over the paper, hiding the side with the artifact 
rubbing in favor of the map; as if obscuring the image 
will cure him.  

He wants it to be that simple.

"Getting a headache.  And I'm tired.  That's all," he 
replies.

"I've said it before, Mulder, and I'll say it again... I 
don't think you need to be driving.  You have a head 
injury," she states with a frown.

"You've driven for the last few hours.  It's my turn."  
He hopes he's not shouting, but it's difficult to tell.

"Pull over," she commands.  And for the first time 
today, overwhelmed with a sudden fatigue, he doesn't 
argue.  

Scully raises an eyebrow as he walks around the car, 
rubbing his temple.  She slides into the driver seat, 
adjusting the position until she's comfortable.  He 
smiles, as he often does, at their size difference, and 
he's amazed all over again that this tiny but remarkable 
woman would take on the world for him. 

He watches her check the map again, and adjust the rear 
view mirror.  He mumbles a soft "Thanks, Scully..."

Her smile is the last thing he sees before he falls 
asleep.

*****

When he opens his eyes, he is standing in a green and 
verdant field that shimmers with lilies and fragrant 
white flowers.  He sees hills in the distance, and there 
is sunlight so overwhelming that he shades his eyes with 
his hand.  

He hears the sound of a voice drifting softly across the 
breeze.  "Fox."

He turns, his eyes locking on a familiar figure.

"Diana."  She's prettier than he remembers, but then 
it's been a very long time.

"Fox.  I've missed you."

"Diana, you're dead... aren't you?  What is this place?" 
he asks.

"I'm in your dream, Fox."

He considers this and somehow it makes sense, but his 
hand drifts to his forehead.  Finding no bandage, he 
frowns in confusion.

"Don't worry, Fox.  I'm not going to hurt you," Diana 
smiles.  "This is just a dream, nothing more."

"Why are you here?  What is this place?" he asks again.

"A place to rest," she answers softly.  "Just sleep, 
Fox."  She takes his hand and lowers him gently down 
onto the soft, perfumed ground.  "Rest your mind here.  
Let go, Fox."

And he closes his eyes.

He wanders through glades and valleys, drifting, feet 
never quite touching the earth, but he senses that he is 
walking, moving ever forward, as the landscape flows 
past him in shades of blues and seafoam.

But he always returns to the peace of the hillside and 
its green sleep.

"Get up, buddy," a deep voice rouses him from slumber.

"You can't stay here, Mulder.  You're drifting too 
close.  You're hovering between worlds."

"He's right, Mulder.  You don't belong here."

"Am I going to have to kick your ass?  Get up!"

Mulder opens his eyes to find Frohike inches away from 
his face.  "This must really be a nightmare.  I'm 
dreaming about trolls now."

Frohike's face is an impassive frown.

"Surly trolls."

"I already know your cover's blown," Frohike says.  "And 
I can't help you from this vantage point.  You need to 
wake up and stop dicking around with this plane.  There 
are no answers here."

"But there's peace," says Mulder.  His head feels warm 
and heavy.

"You don't have time for peace right now, buddy," says 
Langly, giving him a hand and pulling him to his feet.  
Langly's skin is cold, and suddenly Mulder feels the 
chill of a thousand shadows rushing through him.  A 
flash of black in his peripheral vision and suddenly the 
Gunmen are gone and he's face to face with---

"Krycek," he says.  And Krycek smiles, white teeth 
glinting in the shadows, as he opens his mouth to speak.

****

"Wake up, Mulder.  I think we're here," Scully says, 
gently patting his cheek.  "At least this is the 
location on the map."  She gets out of the car and looks 
around, squinting from the sun.  "We're twelve miles due 
south of Shiprock, New Mexico... but I can't see a thing 
here."

Dizzy and half-awake, Mulder stumbles as he exits the 
car, and lands on the ground.

"Mulder!" she shouts, rushing to his side.  

He lets her help him to his feet, silently cursing 
himself for startling her again.  "I'm all right, 
Scully.  Just waking up."  

She studies him long and hard and he knows---he can 
hear---that she does not believe him.  She releases him 
from her steely gaze and hands him the map.  

"Can you see anything, Mulder?"

He narrows his eyes, checking the horizon, the cliff 
line to the side of them, the shadow of Shiprock 
Mountain in the distance.  "Nothing," he says.  "Let me 
take another look at the map."

"I'm starting to think we've been sent on a wild goose 
chase, Mulder," she says, "and now we're sitting here 
unauthorized on reservation land.  I don't know about 
you, but that makes me a little uneasy."

He stares at the map, puzzled.  The coordinates are 
right.  Scully has followed the directions to the 
letter.  Although the area appears vast and empty, he 
senses they have arrived in precisely the right place.  

He closes his eyes and breathes in and out.  In and out.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" she asks.  He hears 
concern in her voice.

When he returns to the map, his eyes lock onto an 
elaborate legend drawn in the top left corner of the 
paper.  Instead of pointing to the traditional north, 
this compass is strangely tilted.

"Scully, take a look at this," he calls.

She joins him, her eyes scanning the page.  "It's 
pointing east."

"Deliberately, I think."

"What do you think it means?"

"I think something is intentionally hidden.  We came in 
on a south road, right?"

She nods, confused, but still listening.

"So to align ourselves with the east, we need to look to 
our left--- isn't that right?" he grins.

"You're correct, Mulder," she gives him a wry half-
smile.

They carefully orient themselves in an easterly 
direction.  The light changes slightly and Mulder 
shields his eyes with his hand.  The outlines of cliff 
dwellings begin to emerge.  A series of tents, patches 
of grass bordered by fences, cattle grazing, horses 
sauntering along a creek, figures moving, laughter 
carried by the wind.

"Holy shit, it's an optical illusion!  A trick of the 
light," he says, amazed.

"There was nothing here before," Scully says.  "Are you 
sure it's not a mirage, Mulder?"

"Brigadoon," he whispers, walking toward the cliffs.

*****

Scully tries to take it all in as they walk through the 
ranch area in fading sunlight.  Ernest Hosteen greeted 
them so warmly that she wished she could shake her 
uneasiness, and they agreed to follow him around the 
ranch for a tour.  

Ancient pueblos carved from the cliffs have been 
converted into housing for some.  Others have tents 
scattered on the ground below.  There's bustle and 
activity, people of all shapes, sizes, and 
nationalities.  

"A bit of an international coalition, isn't it?" says 
Mulder.

"We all come from the same place, Mr. Mulder," Hosteen 
answers.  "It is fitting that we should gather together 
once more."

"Are all these people abductees, Mr. Hosteen?"  Scully 
asks.

"Some, yes," Hosteen replies.  "Others manifest unusual 
abilities, vestiges of our past... and future. All here 
have either found us or have been found.  In the 
beginning, we came from the stars, all of us.  Some 
simply carry that code to a greater degree."

"It's a good place for an abductee to be," says Mulder, 
"based on what we saw when we arrived."

"This area is ideally suited for our needs," says 
Hosteen.  "The particular vibrations conceal us from 
radar, GPS, and the position of the light hides us from 
most eyes.  We are here near the origin place," he 
points to Shiprock in the distance,  "so the magnetite 
in the rocks above us provides added protection."

"So you're in hiding," Scully says.

"Not hiding," says Hosteen, "waiting."  He picks up a 
handful of loose red dirt and lets it fall through his 
fingers.  "We are teaching, learning, trying to find our 
place in a way that honors the earth.  But there are 
those who would exploit that."

"I'm curious about the rubbing you left for us," Mulder 
presses.  "We've seen something like that before, with 
similar translations."

Hosteen nods.  "I stumbled across this artifact years 
ago.  It's what I believe opened my eyes, shall we say?  
Later, I will show it to you, when you are stronger.  
You could not bear it now."  He smiles, tapping both of 
them on the shoulders.  "Enough of this.  It's getting 
late.  Let's go have some dinner."

They eat with other ranchers around a large campfire.  
Scully can't remember the last time she's dined beside a 
roaring fire.  Somehow the food tastes better in the 
open air.  There's music and singing, songs from many 
cultures.  She feels as if they've been gifted with a 
peek into a truly global village.  If not for her unease 
every time she catches Mulder unaware, noticing his 
furrowed brow---the pain he's trying to hide---she could 
almost say she is having a good time.

They settle into the tent Hosteen had prepared for them.  
Mulder collapses onto the blankets, thoroughly spent.  

"You hung in there a lot longer than I expected," she 
says.

"Didn't want to be rude," he says, sleepily.

She nestles in beside him, melting into his warmth.

"You know, Gibson would have loved it here," he says.  
"He finally might have felt like he belonged."

"I wonder where he is now, after everything that 
happened in Washington."

"I don't know," he says, resting his head against her 
shoulder.  "I've been thinking about him a lot lately.  
Wondering how he was able to cope with everything."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

He kisses her shoulder softly.  "All those thoughts.  He 
could hear everything.  How did he keep that in place---
keep it from driving him insane?"

"He was born with that ability, wasn't he?" she asks.  
"He never knew life any other way.  I believe we adjust 
to what life hands us."

"I wonder if William will," Mulder says, his voice 
trailing off.

She starts to respond, but notices that he's suddenly 
asleep.  She snuggles next to him, safe and warm, and 
prays that, at least for tonight, dreams do not invade 
his sleep. 

*****

The next morning, he attempts to work with Hosteen, but 
he's still tired, far to tired to focus.  Such a 
crushing fatigue, he doesn't understand where it's 
coming from.  Hosteen waves him away with a smile, but 
Mulder can feel the concern he masks.  

He tells Scully she doesn't have to hover.  "Climb the 
cliffs, take a walk, whatever... I'll be fine," he says.  
"I just need to sleep."

"Are you sure he's okay?" she asks Hosteen.

"He needs the rest," he tells her.  "We will watch over 
him."

Sleep comes quickly and easily, but rest does not.

****

"I know why you worry so---why you can feel no peace," 
says a dark-haired woman stepping out of a tent. An 
earthy perfume drifts from the opening of the cloth.  
She doesn't look Native American.  Mediterranean, 
perhaps?  To Scully's eyes, she resembles an Etruscan 
statue.

"Excuse me?" says Scully.

The woman places a hand on Scully's shoulder, causing 
her to flinch at the abrupt, unexpected contact.  She 
smiles bemusedly at Scully's perplexed expression.  
Brushing Scully's hair away from the nape of her neck, 
she places a finger at the base of her skull.

"It's this," she whispers.  "As long as this is part of 
you, you will never be free."

Scully breaks away, her hands instinctively rushing to 
her neck, protecting herself.  "I don't know what you're 
talking about."

"Of course you do.  We've seen this before.  *I* have 
seen it before."  She gathers her long hair with both 
hands, deftly twisting it into a knot atop her head, 
before turning to display a small, but thick, scar at 
the base of her neck.  "Mine has been out for seven 
years now," she says.

"A chip?"  Scully breathes.  "You removed it?"

"There is a ceremony.  It was a baptism of fire," the 
woman says, "but I survived.  Many do, but there are 
those who do not."

"Mine was extracted once," says Scully.  "We found later 
that removal was not the answer."

"Cancer?"  The woman's eyes are wise and knowing.  
Scully finds it hard to meet her gaze. 

"It is their trap," she says.  "A threat to destroy the 
body to keep you a prisoner.  It is not right.  You have 
lost much because of this."  A wide smile replaces her 
seriousness.  "I am Sofia.  I do not mean to frighten 
you.  You should know that we have found a way to thwart 
them.  As I said, it is not easy, but it is necessary in 
order to remain here."

"I'm not staying," Scully says.  She walks away from 
Sofia and her dark eyes that see too much.

*****

He is surrounded by stars, pinpricks of white against a 
stark background.  It's what he imagines---or remembers-
--being in space to be.  He winces at the sense memory 
of pain, even as he realizes that this is not that 
place.  Still, he's been here before.  He walks toward a 
dark figure, and shivers as it turns to face him.  

"Ah, the FBI man," Albert Hosteen says, smiling.  An 
aura of light radiates from him and Mulder relaxes.  "I 
thought I would meet you here sooner or later."

"What is this place, Mr. Hosteen?"

"Surely you remember.  It is not the first time you have 
visited here."

"No, you're right."  Mulder remembers lying motionless 
on his back, gazing only at the stars above and the 
occasional intrusion of family and colleagues.  His 
father... the man he knew only as "Deep Throat"... his 
first journey to the underworld.

"This is the dream country, Mr. Mulder," Hosteen says.  
"You do not belong here.  You may visit, even return if 
you learn the way, but it is not yet your time to stay 
here."

"I don't want to stay here.  I want to find my son."

"As you are now, you could not find a cactus in the 
desert.  You're drifting too close to the edge.  Too 
close to the place where dreams and reality diverge.  
You must find a way to tie a string to your physical 
existence, something to guide you or hold on to... or 
you will be lost."

*Scully.*  He turns her name around in his mind.  There 
is nothing else to hold on to. 

"She's losing her way, as well, Mr. Mulder.  She fears 
for you.  She fears for your son.  She wants to drown 
herself in blame and take on all your burdens.  But she 
cannot shoulder it all for you.  You cannot ask her to 
do this."

"I know... it's too much for anyone... but I don't trust 
myself to distinguish what is real anymore.  I can't do 
this on my own."

"You are not alone.  You have your Scully.  You have 
your friends, your spirit guides.  They have been 
helping you all along.  It is fear that keeps your 
visions clouded.  You must find the strength to see."

The white of the stars begins to grow, slowly overtaking 
the darkness.  Hosteen vanishes and Mulder is alone, 
encircled by blankness.

A shadow grows in the corner, taking shape and form.  
There's a sick feeling in Mulder's belly as he 
understands what is happening.

"Are you ready to see now, Mulder?" whispers Krycek.  
"Are you ready to see what I have to show you?"

Mulder doesn't respond, but braces himself for what is 
to come.

He sees steel, passes through layers of metal, faster 
than he can process.  It's a chamber of some kind, but 
he can't get a fix on anything.  Images are flashing far 
too swiftly.  He glimpses a small boy.  William?  
Playing alone in a large room.  Someone comes through a 
door.  His back is to Mulder.  The figure turns, but 
just as Mulder tries to see his face, a flood of other 
images intrudes, filling his head instead, casting out 
what was there before.  Too many.  Too fast.  Too fast.

He screams.

******

She's shaken by Sofia's words, more than she believes 
she should be.  She needs to be alone, just to think 
some things through.  She walks away from the ranch, to 
a bluff line overlooking the western horizon, and sits 
above the desert, the weight of all the Williams and 
Emilys and Melissas heavy on her heart.

The sun begins to descend low in the sky and she's 
surprised by how long she's remained in one place.  Just 
a couple of hours, but somehow it feels like years.  She 
starts to walk back to the ranch, but the rosy fire of 
the sunset compels her to stay.  

She never allows herself to simply sit and ponder beauty 
anymore, but today she will let it wash over her, let 
the blaze in the sky consume her fears.

She doesn't hear the footsteps behind her, isn't aware 
until Ernest Hosteen settles himself beside her.

"Are you okay, Ms. Scully?" he asks gently.

"I'm fine," she answers, shaken from her meditation, 
"just taking a few moments while Mulder rests.  Is he 
okay?"

"He's still sleeping.  He needs the rest."

They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the way the 
warm hues of the sunset merge into the encroaching 
coolness of night.

Hosteen speaks first, "You don't have to worry, you 
know.  We are safe here."

"How do you know that?" she frowns.  "You can't know 
that for certain."

"No," he agrees, "I *can't* know for certain.  But I 
have faith in our safety.  That is less than many have, 
but more than some can say."

"I have faith," Scully says, fingering her cross.

"I'm not diminishing your beliefs," says Hosteen, "but 
I've come to consider faith as something separate from 
ideas---the ideas we are taught.  Many wish to believe 
in ideas, but they need signs and wonders, beautiful 
myths to grasp. I know I needed that.  Most days I still 
do.  But there are those like your Mulder, whose desire 
to believe is so palpable, that they pass beyond the 
tangible.  They step away with a faith in the universe 
that is so strong, they can feel in the core of their 
souls the reason, the pattern behind everything."

"I used to believe that Mulder was the most paranoid, 
untrusting man I'd ever met," she says softly.  "Later I 
came to see him as gullible.  He'd believe anyone who 
used the right terminology.  Finally I realized he just 
might be the purest soul I would ever encounter."  She's 
suddenly uncomfortable.  She hadn't meant to share so 
much.

"Listen," Hosteen says, "what happened with your son---
it is not your fault."

"Please, don't..." Scully protests.

"Something would have happened no matter where he was... 
because of who he is, who he will always be."

"I never asked for him to be special.  I never wanted 
this for him."

"Dana, you must find a way to let go of this guilt.  It 
serves no purpose.  It will not help him."

Unwanted tears sting her eyes.  She does not want to 
have this conversation.  Not with him.  Not with 
anyone... yet here she is.  "I never should have brought 
him into the world," she says, not looking at him.  "How 
could I have been so selfish?"

"You punish yourself for this every day," Hosteen's 
voice is low and understanding.

"I just wanted to believe that my life was normal," 
Scully says, staring straight ahead.  "That I was 
entitled to those things that everyone else takes for 
granted.  I was wrong."

"So you think it is easier to be closed, to have a great 
wall around you."

"I've learned to do what is necessary to protect myself, 
if that's what you mean," she says.

"It is not easier this way, shutting out human 
experience, all vulnerability."

"That's unfair, Mr. Hosteen.  Mulder and I have each 
other..."

"You have each other to keep your secrets," he 
interjects.  "You trust the other to not open the 
wounds, yet you deny yourself the chance to speak of 
them, to truly heal."

"What Mulder and I do or don't do is our business," she 
counters. 

"Sometimes the things left unsaid can destroy us," 
Hosteen says quietly.

Suddenly, Scully hears panting behind them.  She turns 
and sees a young girl, out of breath and holding a 
flashlight.

"Ernie!" she shouts.  "You've got to come back with me!"  
The girl notices Scully and gestures toward her.  "Is 
that his wife?"

Hosteen looks at Scully, then back at the girl.  "What's 
wrong, Rita?  Is something wrong with Mr. Mulder?"

"He woke up with a fever, screaming.  Screaming for 
'Scully'," Rita says.  "We heard him from outside his 
tent.  I left Robbie with him."

"He was alone?"  Scully spits at Hosteen.  "Goddamit!  
He shouldn't have been left alone!"

And then she's running, running, far away from the rock 
and the setting sun, back to him.

She bursts into the tent, motions for the boy attending 
him to leave, and wraps Mulder in her arms.  He's 
drenched with sweat, face flushed and shining with fear.  

"It's okay, Mulder, I'm here," she whispers.

"Scully," he breathes, "I saw him again.  I saw Will... 
he's..."

"Shh, Mulder, I'm here... just sleep. Just sleep."

Pulling a scratchy blanket over both of them, she eases 
him to the ground.  She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, 
his lips, a strange dance of nurture and desperation.  
He grasps her tightly, enough to hurt, but she doesn't 
care.  She will tether him to this world.  She will not 
let go.  She will shelter him as she never could herself 
or their son.  She will keep him safe.  

He is all she has left.

*****

When she wakes in the morning, Mulder is gone.  There's 
a stab of sharp terror in her chest, but she wills it 
away long enough to throw on clothes and step into the 
misty sunlight of the New Mexican morning.

She can hear his muffled voice coming from Hosteen's 
tent and breathes a sigh of relief, surprising herself.  

"Hey, Scully," Mulder says brightly, as she steps into 
the tent.  "Ernie's got java if you want some."  He's 
wrapped in a colorful blanket, a cup of coffee in one 
hand and several small green leaves in another.

"Good morning, Dana," says Hosteen.  "I think he's 
feeling better today, thanks to you."

"That's good," Scully says coolly, finding a cup and 
sitting down.  "Have you eaten breakfast, Mulder?"

"Not yet," he says.  "Ernie's got some ideas he wants to 
try out this morning."

Scully raises an eyebrow, looking at Hosteen.

"After yesterday, I think some treatment is needed.  His 
visions are coming too sharp and fast for his conscious 
mind to process.  His body cannot keep pace, and it's 
beginning to affect his health.  I'm trying to find a 
way to slow things down," explains Hosteen.

Mulder puts a small leaf to his mouth and chews.  "Kind 
of bitter," he says, puckering.

"Mulder, what are you eating?"

"Salvia divinorum, Scully," he says, "the Shaman's 
herb."

She stares at him with disbelief. "Mulder, that's a 
controlled substance you're ingesting!"

"Salvia's perfectly legal, Scully.  Just ask the FDA," 
Mulder says, a tease in his tone.

"This is not funny.  It's a drug designed to produce 
hallucinations and trance-like states.  You're already 
seeing things. I don't see how this will help," she 
says.

"It's natural, Scully.  It's not *designed* for 
anything," Mulder argues.

She glares at Hosteen.  "I don't like the idea of 
anything else affecting his brain chemistry.  We know 
too little about what's really going on with him."

"This will not hurt him.  I've seen this before," 
Hosteen says, calmly.  "This will help."

"You can't possibly be suggesting that this is the 
cure," she spits.

"This will not cure him, no," he answers.  "But if he is 
receptive, this could slow things down enough for him to 
see... and if he can learn the way to see, he will not 
need the sage."

"This is bullshit," Scully says, and turns to Mulder.  
"I'm going for a walk.  Don't let anyone leave you alone 
this time."

She bursts outside into the harsh light of day, 
stubbornly refusing eye contact with anyone who tries to 
meet her stare, however friendly they may appear.  She 
walks to where their car remains parked, takes out her 
phone and hopes for a clear signal.  Reception is weak, 
but there's enough to make a call... she hopes.

Taking a folded scrap of paper out of the glove box, she 
punches in a number and waits for an answer.

"Monica Reyes."

"Agent Reyes," Scully says, "this is Deborah Newland.  
I'm following up on that background check from a few 
days ago."

"Hi... Deborah," says Monica.  "Let me get that file.  
It's done---but there are some issues we need to 
discuss."

Scully closes her eyes and holds her breath for a 
moment, listening to the sound of shuffling papers.

"Okay," says Monica, returning, "Ernest Hosteen.  No 
criminal record."

"Good," says Scully.  And she means it.

"But the strange thing is, he did a virtual disappearing 
act from the tax records in 1992.  The last employment 
record I could dig up was from 1991.  He was an 
executive at a large firm.  The company tried to file a 
breach of contract suit against him, but it was dropped.  
He just disappeared."

"What was the company?"

"Pinck Pharmaceuticals."

A pause.  A click.

"Deborah?"

"... Dana?"

*****

"Just let go, Mulder, and we will try this," says 
Hosteen.  "I will be right here."
 
Mulder listens, but the sage drifts into his brain, 
sending a warm current throughout him, and the sounds 
fade slowly.  He feels himself pulling away from his 
body and his surroundings fade away, replaced by new 
images, slower than before.

This vision is clear, startlingly so.  Mulder sees his 
son, all reddish hair and blue eyes.  They are her eyes, 
wise and piercing.  His lips and unruly hair, but---
thank God---her nose.  And he wants to laugh with the 
joy of seeing them both reflected in this child.  

William is playing with building blocks.  He's busy, 
this boy.  Mulder feels a fatherly pride, noting 
William's intense concentration as he stacks and 
constructs an intricate tower.  Mulder delves deeper and 
is shaken when he feels the loneliness and hints of 
uneasiness inside William.  His hand reaches to touch 
William's cheek and he can feel his own heartbreak 
tapping out a broken rhythm.

William's eyes widen and Mulder can feel him tense 
inside.  He can feel him there.  Mulder pulls back, 
ashamed of his intrusion.  He didn't mean to frighten 
the child.  

Two images flash before him as he pulls away.  One is 
Linda Van de Camp, with crystal clarity.  Another, 
fading, muted, as if William couldn't quite conjure 
every detail, is Scully.  These are the people who have 
loved William, protected him.  He remembers.

Mulder wills himself to pull up and away from his son, 
to try to backtrack and get a sense of where William is.  
He drifts upward, though the metal chamber, and passes 
through layer after layer of earth, accompanied by a 
sick sense of claustrophobia...

"Mulder!  We're leaving!  We have to leave now!"  
Scully's voice breaks the spell.  He's back, suddenly, 
abruptly, to the darkened tent and the perfume of sage.

"What's wrong, Dana?" asks Hosteen, surprised.  He jumps 
from his seated position.

"I'm not talking to you.  I'm talking to Mulder," she 
says in a commanding tone.  "Get up, Mulder.  Get your 
shoes on."

Mulder rubs his eyes and stares at her, confused.  
"What's going on, Scully?"

"We can't stay here," she says.  "We're not safe here."  
She flashes Hosteen an icy glare.  "We've been misled."

"Dana---" Hosteen begins.

She cuts him off and helps Mulder to his feet.  "Save 
it.  I don't want to hear any more lies.  I have a 
weapon, and I'm prepared to use it."  She leads Mulder 
out of the tent.

"You're making a mistake, Dana," Hosteen calls behind 
them.  "It's not what you think."

"Scully?" Mulder asks, still blurry.  "What are you 
doing?  Where are we going?"

"Get in the car, Mulder," she says.

Through the glare of the window, Mulder looks for his 
reflection, but finds Krycek looking back at him, a 
phantom in the glass.  

"I think you're ready to know now, Mulder," says Krycek.  
"Are you ready to listen?"

"Yes," says Mulder, as Scully starts the engine.

*****

When the shadows lengthen 
and burn away the past,
I will fly me like an angel to 
a place where I can rest.
When this begins I'll let you in,
September when it comes.

- Roseanne & Johnny Cash "September When It Comes"


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