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"Great truths are portions of the soul of man;
Great souls are portions of eternity."
-- "Sonnet VI," James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891
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It had been a very long time since he'd been here last.

He was shocked, in a way, to discover that the cherry
blossoms still bloomed, or that the Potomac still flowed.
Or even that the sun still shone in the sky. He thought of
every day as gray, now. But the blue sky above him was
jarringly bright, almost cheery. He resented it for being so.

Only the fact that he had a job to do kept him from giving
in to the anger and despair. Yet it ate away at him with tiny,
painful bites - being back here after so long, back where they
had been together, where she had saved him over and over again,
where he had been, for once in his life, whole -- it was almost
too much to process.

But he had a job to do.

He hefted the heavy black bag he carried, glanced briefly at the
spherical alien ship hovering in its permanent position over the
White House, and continued on his way.

**

Dana hated the parties.

One of the drones -- Lisette, it must have been -- had meticulously
laid out the gown she was to wear earlier that evening, as if to
remind Dana that she wouldn't be able to avoid tonight's function.
She smoothed the dress against her skin now: a silk, ankle-length,
off the shoulder number; fairly slinky, but not quite cheap-looking.
It was white, of course. She was so tired of white.

As her limo rolled up to the steps of the Cooperative Center --
the =Kennedy= Center, she reminded herself grimly -- she took
a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come. Just a few
hours, and then you can go home, she chanted in her head. You've
done this before, you can do it again.

Her driver opened the door and she stepped out onto the sidewalk,
half-expecting to feel the flashes of paparazzi bulbs against her face,
like a movie star from before. But there were only the silent hulking
security personnel -- morphers, hybrids, drones; she wasn't sure, she
still couldn't always tell and supposed it didn't really matter - waiting
patiently for her to make her way up the marble steps. Waiting to make
sure she didn't try to go anywhere else. She spotted one of the two
henchmen assigned to her on a rotating 24-hour watch off to the side,
observing her without expression. It was Freddie. Freddie and Felix,
she called them in her head, in an effort to demean them, or to at least
make them sound human, although she was pretty sure they were in
fact hybrids. She threw Freddie an arch look before proceeding to
the entrance, knowing it would have no effect on him, but needing to
make the statement regardless.

The bright overhead lighting bathed her in warmth as she stepped
into the banquet hall. Deep red velvet drapes swathed the wide
bay windows, plush red carpeting encased her feet, and red and
white linen tablecloths adorned the china- and crystal-laden tables.
It was like entering into a womb, filled with blood. The sharp, almost
metallic smell that always accompanied the Colonists' presence
permeated the filtered air, and she hoped she'd become inured to it
quickly tonight.

Scattered throughout the large, high-ceilinged hall, Colonists conferred
with their human lackeys while local toadies worked the room, jockeying
for any small scraps of power, patting themselves on the backs while
making sure no sharp-edged knives were lodged there. Desperation,
fear and subterfuge hung in the room like tangible presences and set
her teeth on edge.

Here and there she spotted the drones, dressed in yellow and attending
to various needs: serving, cleaning, spying. She supposed they might
be grateful to have drawn household duties instead of hard labor in
the mines or on the farms, as so many others had, if they still retained
any real consciousness. The color of their clothing stood out in sharp
contrast against the red of the room. Not for the first time she wondered
why They had chosen yellow. No one looked good in yellow. Obviously
a decision made by men. And not even human men, at that. The thought
humored her a little, and she almost smiled.

She spotted a few Colonists and local leaders she should probably pump
for information, but her heart wasn't in it tonight for some reason. Instead,
she simply made her way to the table set aside for the other Mothers, trying
not to wince as a Colonist slithered past her and emitted a low hiss. The
women at the table greeted her warmly, as always, looking her up and down
and then peering over her shoulder for a glimpse of Freddie. Dana was the
only Mother with "bodyguards," and they simultaneously envied and pitied
her for it. She'd never deemed it necessary to tell the women that Freddie
and Felix were not so much bodyguards as spies to keep her in line. That
kind of information wouldn't go over well at their sterile tea parties.

"Dana." The woman Dana knew only as Kristina gestured to the empty
seat next to her. Dana slid into it gratefully and favored the woman with
a smile. Kristina was the only Mother who ever seemed to act like a normal
human being. The others were too afraid of losing status with the Colonists,
or of somehow committing a transgression that would revoke their Mother
status.

"Are we having fun yet?" Dana murmured, and was rewarded with a short
laugh from her friend.

"As soon as that happens, I'll be sure to let you know," she retorted.

"So what exactly is on the agenda for tonight? I haven't heard a thing."

Kristina pulled her copious blonde hair back away from her face in what Dana
recognized as a nervous habit. "They say a bigwig from before is going
to speak tonight. A governor? President even? No one seems to know.
But I hear he has big news. Maybe something about Greenland."

Greenland. Dana's stomach turned over, but she forced herself to look
bored. "Have they finally managed to put a stop to the latest fighting over
there?"

Kristina shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know." She looked at Dana steadily
with somber gray eyes, and Dana could see the unspoken message there:
Let's hope we're winning. She didn't think Kristina was a member of the
resistance, but she suspected the blonde woman shared the sentiment, at
least, even if she would never be foolish enough to say so.

"I need to use the restroom," Dana said abruptly; she was suddenly having
trouble breathing normally. Praying that she wasn't about to experience another
panic attack - it had been months since the last one, after all -- she rose from
her chair and walked briskly across the width of the banquet hall, pausing only
when the cigarette smoking man crossed her path. She stared at him stonily,
not returning his insincere smile of welcome, and brushed past him with as
much dignity as she could muster.

She could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked away.

Once inside the bathroom she closed the door behind her and then leaned
against it, resting her forehead against the cool metal and taking deep, even
breaths. Greenland. Skinner was in Greenland. Skinner was in Greenland
at her request -- hell, at her pleading -- heading things up on that end while
she continued her medical research and networking over here.

Had they gotten to him at last?

She thought she would have heard something, but the lines of communication
from there to here had been iffy at best the past few months. No. She refused
to lose hope. It was all that she had left now, other than her memories.

She went to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face, not caring
that it might ruin her makeup job. She dabbed her face with the towel provided
and breathed deeply again, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She
took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was intact, but if
anyone who knew her well enough were to look closely, they'd be able to
see the worry in her eyes.

But no one was here who did. No one had been for a very long time.

She stifled a sigh and walked out of the bathroom.

**

He checked the settings on his weapon again, well aware as he did so that
he was being compulsive about it. He was right to be nervous, he told
himself; he'd never had to perform such a high-level rub before. Granted,
he had little worry of being caught; enough of the Syndicate's men were in
place here tonight to ensure that he wouldn't be apprehended, and his
current perch high up in the rafters was both advantageous and discreet.
But he nonetheless worried about botching the job. He knew what would
happen if he did.

So he checked the rifle, one more time.

And when he looked back up he saw a dream walking.

He supposed he should be thankful it wasn't a ghost. Dana Scully was
directly below him, dressed in a stunning white gown, hair perfectly coiffed,
makeup expertly applied. Ridiculously gorgeous; she probably hated the
ensemble. To an untrained eye she was the very epitome of a Mother, and
if she was anyone else he would assume she carried her barren womb with
pride. But this wasn't any Mother. This was Scully. His Scully.

He cursed at himself. Not anymore, asshole. Not anymore.

He pulled back even more behind the rafters, knowing she couldn't possibly
see him, but paranoid about it anyway. At the same time, a thrill rippled
through him. She looked healthy. She was safe. And now he would get
to watch her unobserved. It was an unbelievable luxury, one he hadn't
anticipated. They'd told him she was in Louisiana these days, the last
time he'd asked.

He suppressed a bitter laugh. Strughold? Lie? Oh, perish the thought.

He drank her in hungrily, determined to commit the vision to his well-
trained memory. The gauzy white gown she wore clung to her body in
a way her FBI suits never had, and her expensive yet understated jewelry
glittered under the bright lights of the hall. The intense red of her hair
stood out even against the overwhelming crimson backdrop of the
furnishings. She held her head high as she crossed the room, fearless
as a lioness, drawing her share of appreciative stares from the humans in
the room, yet seemingly unaffected by them. She'd had a lot of practice
at this, he reflected grimly. She'd never been one to enjoy being the center
of attention. He wondered how she was holding up under the strain. And
then in spite of himself wondered if she ever thought of him, late at night, or
remembered a certain kiss...

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Taking a stroll down memory lane
was not an option on a job. But what choice did he have, with the object of
his every waking and sleeping fantasy so close, yet utterly unattainable?

She had made her way back to her seat, he saw when he was able to look
again. She leaned over and whispered something to the blonde on her
right, who laughed. In spite of the levity, he sensed that Scully was worried
about something. He recognized the tense set of her shoulders.

I have to see her, he realized. If I don't see her before I leave, I
don't know what I'll do. Damn the consequences. He was supposed to
head back to Denver right after this job, but he could probably finesse
something if he talked fast enough. Get Marita to cover for him with
Strughold. She had the damn German wrapped around her finger anyway.

God dammit, it had been three years. How could he not see her, talk
to her...touch her? It had to be worth the risk. Didn't it?

Worth the risk to you, yes, he chastised himself. But worth the risk to
Scully?

A smattering of applause brought his focus back to the matter at hand.
Robert Stanton Boston, former Speaker of the House of the United
States Congress, was taking the podium at the front of the banquet hall.
Mulder raised the gun sight to his eye and took aim.

**

Dana had to consciously remind herself to breathe when she saw Boston
take the stage. In the chaotic days following the Arrival, the elder statesman
from Virginia had been radically outspoken against any kind of complicity with
the Colonists. She'd assumed he'd been executed long before, and was even
more surprised to find that he wasn't at the very least a drone, shuttled off to
one mining facility or another. What did his presence here mean for the
resistance? For all of them?

The older man cleared his throat and smiled at his audience. "Elders,
Ladies and Gentlemen, Mothers, it is my honor to be with you all tonight.
I have exciting news to share, news that I am sure will bring you much
gladness." He paused and cleared his throat again, fumbled with the cards in
front of him, adjusted his bright red tie. He was visibly sweating, a light mist forming on his bald pate.

He's too nervous, Scully thought. Something's wrong. Is he not going to
follow Their program, whatever it may be?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Boston said again, and then he seemed to call upon
some inner reserve, and as he continued his voice grew stronger, even strident,
"I am here to tell you that we cannot give up the fight --" He never finished his
sentence; a bullet ripped through his forehead seconds after the loud report of
a firearm from the rafters. The elderly man toppled to the floor, and Scully
didn't have to be a doctor to know that he was already dead.

Amid the screams and shocked murmuring of the gathered crowd, Scully
leapt up from her seat and dashed toward the nearest fire exit, hoping to at
least catch a glimpse of the culprit so that she might determine if he
was friend or foe. Boston had obviously been about to make a terrorist
resistance statement in direct opposition to the Colonists who had brought him
here tonight, and it would be most interesting to find out which side wanted
him silenced badly enough to make such a public scene.

Her hunch had been right; a tall, dark figure was slipping through the fire
door just as she reached it. "Wait!" she yelled reflexively, then stopped and
cursed herself for being such an idiot; her days of law enforcement were
long over, and she was weaponless, of course. But she had to know which
side this executioner was on, if nothing else for her own future strategies.
For her team. For Skinner, if he was still alive. She only vaguely hoped
that the man wouldn't decide to kill her.

Amazingly, he stopped and turned around to face her. And her heart
stopped in her chest.

Thank god he's all right thankgodthankgod

"Mulder?" she whispered hoarsely. Her hands came up and gripped her
own shoulders, nails digging through the silk into her flesh as she fought
desperately against the emotion that threatened to carry her away.

Fox Mulder looked wonderful. Fit, healthy - if a bit thin - and handsome as
ever. Dressed all in black, and carrying a gun.

Their eyes met, and white fire coursed down her spine. She had to bite down
on her lip to keep from screaming. He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes as
stormy as hers, when they heard footsteps headed their way, lots of them. He
glanced nervously in the direction of the sound before looking back at her.
"Tonight," he rasped, and slipped out the door.

Scully stumbled back to the banquet hall, eyes unseeing and ears unhearing
until finally her driver was at her elbow, urging her to go home and get
some rest after all the excitement.

"Rest," she murmured. As if that were possible, now.

**

Mulder got away easily, as he knew he would, escorted to his car by the
Syndicate's undercover goons. Piece of cake, as usual -- anyone could
have handled this job; his personal services were required merely as a
demeaning reminder of his continued lack of options. The alien Troops
made a show of looking around outside for a little while, but gave up
quickly. Executions like Boston's were too commonplace to cause much
concern, and the loss of one more human didn't mean shit to the Colonists.
The inconvenience of their party being interrupted was more of an offense.

They probably even suspected that their "allies" in the Syndicate were
behind the assassination, for that matter. The Colonists were firm believers
in giving you just enough rope to hang yourself. Mulder wondered just
how long it would be before Strughold and the rest were readied for the
gallows.

Mulder didn't leave the scene of the crime as planned. He sat like an idiot
in his getaway car, until he spotted Scully's fiery hair getting into a black
limousine. And then he followed, careful to stay a safe distance behind her
obvious tail, until they reached her manor house in Chevy Chase. Perfect.
Neither human nor Colonist had yet installed a security system that he
couldn't crack.

As he lit a cigarette and settled in to wait for the right time to sneak in -
preferably when that hulking guy who'd followed her home fell asleep -
his mind traveled back to their last moments together. He'd relived it so
many times that he knew all the dialogue by heart.

***
"I'm still not sure about this, Mulder. It feels too much like running away."

Only one lamp had been turned on in her living room, and now her pale face
looked haunted in the dim light. He stepped closer to her, took her hands
in his, and spoke as persuasively as possible. "We don't have a choice, Scully.
We can do a lot more good if we get out of here, go somewhere remote, than
if we stick around here and wait for the shit to hit the fan. Right now the
Colonists are promising us peace and happiness and the cure to every disease
known to humankind, but we know what's really going to happen. They're
just stalling for time until the bees are released. And we have to use that
knowledge to our advantage while we still can." The cigarette smoking
bastard had given him a chillingly knowing look in the hallway of J. Edgar
Hoover the other day that had scared the hell out of him, although he hadn't
shared that information with his partner. He didn't want to add to her
anxiety any more than he had to.

"I know. I...I know," she said with a catch in her throat. She looked away from
him. "I already told my family. Bill and Charlie scooped up Mom and the wives
and kids and headed for Ireland while travel is still allowed. We have some distant
relatives over there, and god knows they won't be at risk the way they probably
would be in this country. I'm not sure they entirely believed me, but how can they
afford to take a chance that I'm wrong, right?" She almost attempted a smile, but
then paused, and he could see her jaw work as she swallowed back threatening
tears. "Mom didn't want to leave without me, but I convinced her that I'd be safe
with you.

"I'm scared, Mulder," she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes so that
he could see the fear there. "I don't like to admit it, but I'm absolutely
terrified."

His heart wrenched at her forlorn expression. "I know you are. I am too." He
reached out for her, tried to pull her to him, but she pushed him away.

"No. You don't get it." She picked a white box up off of the coffee table.
"This arrived earlier today." She held it out to him with trembling hands.
"Open it."

Inside the box was a floor-length white gossamer gown - in Scully's size.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, fingering the material in horror.

"I don't know," Scully said. "But it scared the shit out of me, Mulder. Look
on the bottom of the box."

He turned it over, and his heart skipped when he saw the red insignia there,
even though he wasn't surprised. He'd heard rumors... "This is a Colonist
logo."

"Don't you think I know that?" she asked, practically shrieking. She stopped
and held her hands over her face in dismay. "I'm sorry. I just... "

"It's okay," he said, tossing the box on the floor. She let him pull her close
this time, and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of
her hair. "We're going to get out of here, and we're going to be all right,
Scully," he said against her ear. "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she said, her words desperate, her
voice muffled by his chest.

He pulled back, cupped her face in his hands. "What's to worry about?
Scully, when we work as a team, anything's possible."

She smiled slightly. "You may be overestimating us just a bit."

"Never," he said, grinning, feeling strangely light-hearted suddenly
in spite of the gravity of their situation. Maybe it was her smile, which
never failed to get to him. He caressed her cheek with the back of his
hand, and she reached up to hold it there, leaning in to his touch.

They both felt the moment change. It was as if the air crackled with
a cosmic energy and =pushed= them toward each other, and before
Mulder even knew what he was doing he was leaning down and pressing
his lips to hers, gently, tentatively. She hesitated at first, but then her
mouth opened beneath his and she returned the kiss fully, taking in his
questing tongue and caressing it with her own. Her hands roamed his back
and her body melted into his. The sensation of her quickened breathing
against his cheek made him light-headed. He pulled her even closer to
him, conscious only of the smell, feel, and taste of her. Finally. God.

They kissed for what seemed like forever, hungrily, with escalating passion,
until Scully pulled away. She placed her hands on his chest and tried to
catch her breath. "Mulder, I --"

He cut her off by placing a finger on her lips. "Whatever you're going to
say, Scully, don't. Not now. We have the rest of our lives for this. Such
as they are."

She hesitated, obviously wanting to continue anyway, then nodded in
acquiescence. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Sunrise," he amended. "Be packed and ready." He smoothed her hair
tenderly, and then, with one final look back at her worried face, he left
her apartment.
****

Mulder banged his fist against the dashboard at the memory. They had
been so close, so damn close... And that kiss...it had haunted his dreams
and inflamed his fantasies for years. That kiss had been a promise, more so
than his words, and she had believed him. But how did she feel about him
now? Hell, he hadn't been all that sure how she'd felt about him back then,
although he liked to think he had a pretty good idea. But how had life under
the Colonists' constant gaze changed her? Although many women thrived
under their new exalted status, he'd heard tales of Mothers committing suicide
as a final escape from the lives that had been thrust upon them. Every story
that reached his ears had ground fear into his heart for Scully's own mental
health. Had they managed to affect her soul as much as they'd affected her
social standing?

He was terrified to find out. But it didn't matter. He had to know.

When he spotted a changing of the guard on Scully's spy, he took advantage
of the distraction and slipped out of his car and into the night.

He made his way to the far end of the estate and tested the field around the
security gate by picking a stick up off the ground and hurling it at the wrought
iron structure. Sure enough, the gate crackled and sparked and the smell of
burnt wood instantly filled the air. Good thing he had thought to bring
along his tool kit, among other things, in his all-purpose black bag. He
extracted the highly rare and highly contraband neutralizer, pointed it in the
direction of the gate, and pressed the activation button. The yellow beam
exploded against the briefly visible bluish electrical field of the gate, then
ceased, leaving the night silent once more.

"Piece of cake," he whispered in satisfaction. He loved the irony:
simple human electricity foiled by alien technology stolen by a human.

Now he just hoped that there wasn't a more sophisticated system set up
on the house itself. Alien-grown home systems were a bit trickier. And a
lot more lethal.

**

Dana's was disgusted to realize that her hands were shaking as she changed
into her night clothes. Lisette had tried to help her get ready for bed, but
she'd snapped at the older woman so that she'd leave and not return for the
rest of the night. As all the drones had a healthy fear of her in spite of their
programming, it hadn't been very difficult to get rid of her. Dana locked the
door behind her, then continued to test the knob compulsively every few
minutes. One of the most aggravating aspects of Motherhood was the fact
that you never felt truly alone, not even in your own personal gilded cage.

So what the hell was Mulder doing in Washington? He was supposed to
be out in...Denver, she thought it was. He was supposed to be safe.
A clerk, the cigarette man had told her, the one time she'd worked up
the nerve to hold a gun to his head. A pencil-pusher at one of the
mining facilities the Syndicate had helped the Colonists to set up out
there. When had he become their errand boy on top of that? And
could she still trust him? Should she?

And what did he want with her, after all these years? For that matter,
what did she want from him? How could he help her and the resistance?
Would he even be willing to do so?

Too many questions. She shoved them from her mind with an effort of
will and slipped on a comfortable silk night shirt, then wrapped herself in
a voluminous terry cloth robe. Mothers always had to wear white in public,
so in private she adorned herself in jeweled tones: ice cold blues, rich and
fiery reds. The clothes she wore now were a forest green, deep as the
woods.

::Come on, Scully. It'll be a nice trip to the forest.::

Stop, she commanded herself. Don't do this to yourself. Don't let him do
this to you. Too much time had passed; too much was at stake now.

A sound at the window snapped her out of her self-indulgent reverie.

"Didn't They install a security system on the house?" he asked as he
climbed in from the night. He threw a black duffel bag on the carpet
and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Of course. I turned it off. They don't know that I know how," she said.

"Not the smartest idea," he said disapprovingly. Just like old times.

"People don't break in to Mothers' homes," she said softly.

He nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. "Bugs?"

She shook her head. "Frohike does a sweep for me every week."

"Frohike?" he repeated, eyes widening. "He's still around?"

"He'll be here after Judgment Day, him and the cockroaches," she
said, smiling in spite of herself.

He laughed, then winced, as if unfamiliar with the sound.

They just looked at each other, then. Scully could feel tears prick her
eyes. She cursed herself, tried to stop them from falling, but couldn't.
"Mulder..."

And then he was holding her, crushing her against him as if she
was the only thing keeping him standing. She buried her face in
his chest, breathing in the never-forgotten, familiar scent of him,
hardly daring to believe she was actually touching him once more,
after all this time. The cool leather of his jacket contrasted sharply
with the heat of his body against hers.

Before she could think of anything to say to him he lifted her chin,
capturing her lips, bruising her mouth with his, and the resulting
conflagration shocked her system and drove away all coherent thought
even as she realized with a start that he tasted sharply of cigarette smoke.
They clung to each other in desperation, kissing and kissing and kissing
until she found herself grabbing frantically at his clothes, pulling his shirt
over his head as he tugged at the sash of her robe. There were no words
or tender endearments or attempts at repartee, just the struggle to touch,
skin to skin, to take back what had been forcibly taken from them before
it had even begun.

As her robe fell into a crumpled heap on the carpet he roughly pressed her
up against the wall, knocking the breath out of her, then began clawing at
his belt buckle, his zipper, with determined haste. She helped him with
clumsy hands, then pulled her nightshirt up around her hips for him as
he placed his hands on her ass and lifted her up and in one expert motion
impaled her on his hard, swollen sex. He began pumping into her immediately,
thrusting triumphantly, grunting with the effort of it. She held on for dear
life, closing her eyes, letting the delicious, long-denied friction and fullness
set her ablaze. He was everywhere, filling her, consuming her, with his
hands, his mouth, his cock, his breath, again and again and again until
her nails drew lines of blood on his back.

They came together, quickly, quietly, breathlessly. He slumped against her,
burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing hard, then he eased out
of her and set her feet back on the floor. He smoothed her hair, kissed the top
of her head over and over again, and she closed her eyes to allow herself one
more moment. One more perfect moment to savor and play back behind her
eyelids at night when she touched herself under the covers. And then she
opened them.

"Why are you here, Mulder?" she asked.

He tensed slightly against her, and the kisses stopped. "I had a job
to do," he said in a controlled monotone.

"Kill Boston."

A pause. "Yes."

"For whom?" Funny that the act of murder didn't seem to bother her so
much; she just needed to know where he stood. And how she could
possibly use it in her own favor.

He ran his hand up and down her arm. "You know I can't tell you that."

She looked up at him. His expression as he looked down at her was
complicated, but no one knew him like Dana did. She saw the fear
there, and the conflict.

And the small glimmer of hope. At least that hadn't died. Yet.

"Mulder. I think that after all we have been to each other," she said
steadily, "we owe ourselves the truth, if nothing else. Don't we?"

"You sure know how to play dirty pool, Scully." He sighed, moved
away from her and sat down on the bed, not even bothering to zip up
his jeans. "I work for Strughold and the rest of the Syndicate, both in
conjunction with and in opposition to the Colonists," he said, not looking
at her.

Her breath froze in her lungs. "Why?" was all she could manage.

"It's a deal, Scully, like everything else with these people," he spat.
"I kill the people too dangerous to keep around, or the people they
want offed in a showy fashion, and in return..." He trailed off.

"Tell me."

He looked at her. "And in return, you're still alive."

She shook her head, disbelieving, even though she felt that somehow,
on some level, she had known all along. She sat down next to him on
the bed, pulling her legs up underneath her. "Mulder, I'm one of the original
Mothers, remember? My payback for all those years of abduction hell is
to live in the lap of luxury now, revered by all, while the world sputters
and dies around me. Considering the hundreds of beings running around
with my DNA in their cells, serving the expansion of the Colonists' empire,
it's the least They could do. Alien code of honor and all that," she said
sardonically.

"You're not just any Mother, Scully. I noticed your tail."

"My --? Oh. Freddie." She sighed. "You're right. Freddie and his
counterpart Felix are your legacy to me, Mulder. Once Mrs. Spooky,
always Mrs. Spooky, even if you once gloriously served the cause
against your will." She took his hand, traced the unfamiliar calluses
there. "You're telling the truth, aren't you? They've actually threatened
to kill me if you don't cooperate." The fact that the thought was at all
shocking to her merely underscored how accustomed she had become
to her new life. No. Not accustomed. Adapted.

He squeezed her hand so tightly she almost cried out. "Not just
threatened. They tried once."

Cold fear. "What?"

"About a year ago, they wanted me to do something...something I
could not bring myself to do. Something that I still hate myself for
having done. So I refused. Or tried to. And then they...."

"My car accident," she whispered. He nodded. "But Mulder, that
was an accident, that old woman showed up out of nowhere --"

"Damn it, Scully, don't be naive," he snapped. "You could have
died, because of me."

"But I didn't," she whispered. "I just have this souvenir of the
occasion." She pulled up her nightshirt, took his hand and placed it
on her thigh, where she sported a small pink scar. "The Colonists'
technology is unbelievable. My leg was torn open, top to bottom.
And this is all that's left now."

His thumb traced the length of the scar reverently. "I couldn't live
with myself if anything happened to you."

"What did they make you do?"

A long silence, so long she thought he was going to refuse to answer
her. Then: "I'm...ah...living with Marita Covarrubius."

Dana's head reeled, swimming with images of Mulder and that blonde
in bed, limbs intertwined -- "But why?"

He snorted disdainfully. "As a reward for her, for her service. Apparently
she wanted me for some reason. She probably regrets that by now." He
tried a smile, failed.

Sleeping with Marita. Murder was easier to accept. "Do you love her?"

His face froze. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" he snapped. "Of
course not. I...you're the ..."

"Never mind. I know," she whispered. She did. Not that it did either of
them any good. She leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
"Mulder, what happened? The day we were supposed to leave."

He let out a ragged sigh and rested his chin on the top of her head,
smoothing her hair continually as he spoke. "I went home, packed up,
got everything ready, and finally dozed off somewhere around 3 AM.
The next thing I knew I was in the back of a truck, hurtling toward god
knew where, with a headache from hell. I finally got dropped off at some
kind of a prison, a penitentiary that had been converted into a hell of a
more specific nature. They roughed me up for a while, interrogated me,
the works, until finally Strughold himself showed up and coerced me into
playing their games. I agreed, just wanting to get out of there, hoping
I'd be able to make my way back to you." His hold on her tightened,
and she could hear the catch in his throat when he continued. "But
they were too damn thorough. They'd already found you by then, taken
you to your new home, the same time they rounded up all the other Mothers
and showed them their new lives. I was told that if I even thought about
contacting you, or went anywhere that they couldn't find me, that you'd
be dead within the hour. They...they showed me photos of you, as proof."

She stiffened. "Photos of what?"

"Of you, in white, playing the dutiful part of a Mother," he said, with
an edge to his words.

God damn. Where the hell did he get off? "You did what you had to in order
to survive," she said coldly. "So did I. Do you think I enjoy associating with
those beings? Interacting with Colonists, with women who've sold their souls
for the privilege of spreading their DNA, with people like that black-lunged
bastard who insists on paying me a visit every week? It eats away at me every
second I'm alive. But at least I'm alive to feel it." She pushed away from him
and rose from the bed, then began pacing, working off her anger, disgusted
that she could still feel his semen on her thighs. "Do you really want to know
how I spend my time, Mulder? Do you?"

"I want to know everything, Scully," he said brokenly. "Everything you're
willing to tell me."

She folded her arms across her chest, tried to keep the superior glare
from her face, but it didn't work. "I'm the goddamn head of the
resistance on the East Coast, Mulder. And what have you been up to?"

"Excuse me?" he asked blankly.

"I have been putting my life on the line every day for the past two years,"
she said coldly. "They've allowed me to continue to be a doctor - most
Mothers are content to just sit around and be catered to and throw tea parties,
but as you said yourself, I'm not most Mothers. I needed something, anything,
to give my life a shred of meaning beyond my existence as a walking used incubator.
So I'm in private practice, catering to the elite, and I use every free moment there
to work on developing a virus, a bio-weapon, designed to eradicate the slimies
from our planet once and for all. And I'm on the verge, Mulder. I'm on the
verge of blowing this whole colonization project sky-high. But if the fighting
doesn't calm down in Greenland and our core group is destroyed, it's all going
to be for shit. And I don't even know what's going on over there!" She heard
her voice raising and lowered it immediately, fearful of discovery.

"Skinner's over there, Mulder. Skinner's coordinating the movement over there,
and we'd been doing just fine, but the recent offensives have us at a loss. The
cold over there helps, of course, but it's not a definitive means of protection.
And I haven't been able to get any word through to him or back from him."

Mulder's jaw worked as he searched for something, anything, to say.
Finally: "I can get you information on Greenland."

She stopped mid-pace. "How? That bitch?"

To his credit he didn't flinch from her expression. "Yes. She and Strughold
are...close, if you know what I mean. And she trusts me far more than she
should. I can get you the information you need. Just give me a few days
once I get back."

She nodded slowly. "That would be...that would great." She played with
the hem of her nightshirt. "How could you get me the information?"

Mulder thought hard. "Give me Frohike's e-mail address. I can probably
find a secure T-1 line and contact him through it."

"Thank you," she said, feeling a rare, unguarded moment of optimism, yet
at the same time wondering if she could, in fact, trust him. But if she
couldn't trust Mulder, even after all this time, then she truly had nothing.
"So when do you have to go back?"

"In a few hours, or the shit's really going to hit the fan," he said. His eyes
bore into hers and she could feel his desire for her from across the room.

"Then let's not waste any more time," she said huskily. She went to him,
straddled him, and helped him slide inside of her as he whispered her
name and reached for her breasts and they surrendered to oblivion
once more.

**

Finding out the information Scully needed was more difficult than Mulder had
anticipated. He suspected it was partially due to the fact that he was having
trouble concentrating on the subtleties of his task; he was continually distracted
by memories of Scully and their all-too-brief night together and wanted nothing
more than to lose himself in them every waking moment. And on top of that,
Marita was in a singularly bitchy mood - more so than usual. For weeks all of
his half-hearted attempts to draw her out ended in the silent treatment, and he
began to get paranoid that somehow she knew on a weird psychic level that he
had seen Scully. He was going to have to take drastic action.

And so, late one night, after the lights were turned out, he swallowed his pride
and his dignity and his revulsion and covered her breast with his hand.

It was almost embarrassing, really, the way she didn't even question his motives,
the way she participated with gusto, crawling over him, riding him like a bronco.
He lay back and closed his eyes and focused on Scully, tried desperately to
remember how she had felt against him, the warmth of her lips, the soft down
of her hair.

He reflected that he finally knew how women had been made to feel throughout
the centuries: like a vessel to be used.

When it was over - and it took mercilessly long, since his response was purely a
physical one and not helped along by any ardor on his part - he took her in his
arms and engaged in some carefully worded pillow talk.

It worked. It worked so well that it only increased his disgust for her. Who knew
all she'd really needed was a mediocre lay?

Two days later, he sneaked into Marita's home office and used her secure modem
connection to send a message to Frohike.

**

Dana looked down at the small piece of paper that Rico had handed to her as soon
as she'd entered the lab adjacent to her doctor's office. The message was scrawled
in Frohike's chicken scratch; she was mildly surprised that he'd allowed anything
written in his own hand to escape his clutches.

"Mutual friend rang. Invasion imminent in Paamiut. Warn Hermes tout de suite."

She crumpled the paper, fighting back a wave of panic. Hermes was their code
name for Skinner; Paamiut their main base of operations. He'd have to relocate
his team to one of the other scattered towns on the coast of Buffin Bay, but
where exactly would have to be his decision. There was only so much she could
do from across the Atlantic.

Through the haze of her worry, she couldn't help but feel a pang that there had
been no personal message from Mulder. It was unlike him, wasn't it? Perhaps she
no longer knew him as well as she thought. She uncrumpled the paper and turned
it over in her hands, and saw that Frohike had indeed scribbled an addendum.

"ICED TEA??"

Unwanted tears stung her eyes, taking her breath away. How could he possibly
remember that long ago night?

::Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you.::

She bit back an ironic laugh at the realization that she now routinely put herself
on the line for millions of people she didn't even know. The weight of the world
wore heavily on her for a moment; then she shrugged.

But the sentiment lifted her heart all the same. She felt an unfamiliar twist
in her soul, and realized it was affection. It had been a long, long time since
she'd allowed herself to experience anything of the sort. "Rico?"

He was there immediately, her constant aide. His unquestioning loyalty to her
had ceased to be unnerving long before; now, she merely counted on and even
took advantage of his devotion to her. She looked up into his dark brown eyes
and handed him the paper. "I know how rough communications have been lately,
but we need to get this information to Hermes somehow, stat. He has to move.
Immediately. Location is at his discretion, so long as he notifies us when they've
set up again. I'm counting on you, Rico."

Rico nodded and took the paper from her, his quick mind no doubt already racing
with possible ways to contact the Greenland base. "Consider it done," he
murmured. She touched him on the arm in thanks, and he smiled at the boon.

When he had left she turned back to her lab book and studied the latest data
notated there. She was so close to a breakthrough she could almost taste it;
close to engineering a virus or antigen that would prove fatal to the Colonists
and the hybrids. The drones would presumably be safe, since they were merely
infected with the black oil; she'd already duplicated the vaccine that the Syndicate
had come up with some time ago, and the lab in Greenland was working on
producing mass quantities of it for worldwide distribution. The Syndicate might
be too fearful of alien reprisals to actually use the stuff, but she had no such
compunctions. But the time was not yet right; she needed the virus in addition to
the vaccine, or else there was no point. It was to be a two-pronged attack or
nothing at all. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she was continually racing
against the clock, and no one had told her about the deadline.

"Dr. Scully."

She whirled around, closing the book as she did so. "What the hell do you want?"

The black-lunged bastard wasn't smoking for a change; perhaps even he was
smart enough to figure out that a medical lab wasn't the best place for incendiaries.
"I was just wondering how your work is coming."

"My medical practice is doing just fine," she said smoothly. "Are you here for
a physical?"

"Sadly, no, as much as I might enjoy your...technique."

Dana fought back her revulsion and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from killing
him with her bare hands. Simply knowing that she could would have to do.
"In that case, I'm busy. Get out." She turned her back to him and pretended to
write up a patient's blood work, hoping he'd lose interest.

"Tell me. How is Fox? I haven't seen him in such a long time."

She stiffened for a moment; but if there was one thing she had accomplished
since the Arrival, it was raising the act of keeping her cool to an art form.
"If you're referring to Fox Mulder, I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him
since you bastards took him away, remember?" She barely managed
to stop herself from the words on the tip of her tongue: away from me.

"That's not what I hear."

"Well, then you heard wrong." She moved closer to the drawer at the end
of the lab table; she was pretty sure she'd left a spare revolver in there.

"If the two of you were to rekindle your acquaintance," he said quietly, "the
results could be deadly. For both you and Mulder."

She turned to face him, her hand reaching back to grasp the handle of
the drawer. "Are you threatening me? A Mother? You forget your
place in the new scheme of things. You touch one hair on my head and
the Colonists will be up your ass before you can even blink. You think I
don't know that's why I'm still alive in the first place?" She began to ease
the drawer open, centimeter by centimeter.

"Accidents do happen, Dr. Scully. But then, you already know all about
that, don't you?" He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket, eyed it lovingly.
"I'll be in touch. Just to check in, of course." He strolled out the door,
lighting up as he did so.

Dana bowed her head and closed her eyes, just for a moment, and took
a deep breath. Then she straightened and went back to work.

**

Mulder took one last drag on his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray
at his elbow. He'd taken the habit up again about a year ago; persisted
in it partially because he couldn't bring himself to stop, partially because it
annoyed the hell out of Marita. At this point in his life he felt they were
equally valid reasons.

The living room was dark. He'd kept the lights off, even drawn the blinds
to keep out as much sunlight as possible. He needed the dark to think.

In his mind he replayed the events of the past three years of his life, forcing
himself to be brutal in his recollection. Ruthlessly examined his initial
resistance and the high idealism that had been all too easily supplanted by
inactivity, lack of motivation, acquiescence. Acceptance of the miserable
card he had drawn in the poker game of life.

He'd once told Scully that he didn't think he could go on alone, without her.
He had been right. She =had= kept him honest, and once they had ripped
her away from him, they'd taken everything that mattered as well.

Scully, on the other hand...Scully had risen to the occasion, although he
worried about the toll it seemed to have taken on her emotionally. Her
tenacity and drive made him unutterably ashamed.

He saw the way she had looked at him. With pity, and something akin to
disgust. He couldn't live with that. He could live, at this point, with nearly
anything - but not with her disdain.

He wanted to prove to her that the real Mulder still lurked within him, somewhere.
That despite the desperate, almost impersonal nature of their coupling, she had
resurrected him with her words and her body that night. He had felt alive for
the first time in years, all because of her.

And now that he was alive, he didn't want to be ashamed anymore.

The phone rang. He didn't want to pick it up. He knew who it would be.

But he had no choice.

He reached for the receiver. "Mulder."

"We have a job for you," the accented voice at the other end said without
preamble.

The last one, Mulder swore to himself. This is the last one, just so they don't
get suspicious, just to buy some time. And then come hell or high water I'm
going to be with Scully. I'll find a way. "Tell me."

**

"Dana, I need to speak with you."

Dana looked up from her cup of tea to see Frohike standing in the
doorway of the sitting room, his hands wringing in an uncharacteristic
gesture of unease. And he'd used the front door? Something must
be up. Thank god Kristina had already left following their late lunch.
Lisette hovered in the doorway behind him, eyeing the small man with
a hint of suspicion. "Go," Dana told the drone, then waited until she
had departed obediently. "What is it, Frohike?"

He looked around nervously before taking a seat in the Louis XIV chair
across from her. "Your surveillance has been upped," he said in hushed
tones. "I think They're suspicious of you. Seeing Mulder was a big
mistake."

She shook her head impatiently. "They couldn't possibly know. You're
being paranoid."

"Am I? Then how come Freddie's gained some new friends the past few
days?" he shot back. "Are you putting on a show in your bedroom window
and not inviting me? I'm crushed."

"More hybrids?" she said, feeling for the first time a glint of worry. "I
would have noticed, I --"

"Not even," he said, cutting her off. He fidgeted in his seat, pulling at his
trademark fingerless gloves. "They're morphers. They've got morphers on
you, Dana. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think it's time we put
Plan Hippolyta into action."

She shook her head, belying the panic that now threatened to consume
her. "No. Impossible. I'm so close, Frohike. I'm not going to abandon
my work. I'm not going to abandon my people -- they need me =here.="

"They need you alive," he said harshly.

She regarded him for a moment, marveling at how close she had become
to this man. She knew how he was feeling - since Byers and Langly had
been infected and shipped off to the mines, and since Mulder was gone,
she was all that Frohike had left. But she had responsibilities higher than
her friendship with him. "I'm not leaving," she said quietly, in a tone that
brooked no argument.

He sighed wearily. "Fine. But I want you to take this." He placed a
microchip in the palm of her hand, then folded her fingers over it.
"It's a disrupter, hot off the black market. Interferes with any bugs,
so even if my guys miss something, no one will be able to translate
the garble. I want you to put this in your bedroom."

Dana felt an unaccustomed blush dangerously close to the surface of her
cheeks. "Mulder's gone, Frohike. He's not going to be climbing in through
my window any time soon."

"Just take it," he insisted. "And I'm going to do another sweep while I'm
here."

"Rico did one yesterday," she protested.

"I'm not Rico."

"So I noticed." They shared a slow smile. "Okay, Merlin, work your
magic," she said, relenting.

**

Mulder couldn't believe his luck: they were sending him back to DC.
He studied the dossier Strughold had passed along to him with a
practiced eye. This job was an unusual one, and it had him a little
worried. Assassinations were one thing; blowing up a house full of
people was quite another. There was going to be a much greater loss
of life than he was normally accustomed to meting out. But whenever
he thought of reneging, he remembered the puckered pink scar on Scully's
thigh.

Just one more, he told himself for the thousandth time. And then... Well,
he didn't know what then. Hadn't figured out yet how he was going to go
to Scully again and offer her his services, all without anyone discovering
his intentions. He hadn't come up with a foolproof plan in three years; he
wasn't sure why he was optimistic enough to think he'd come up with
something now.

He looked back down at the file in front of him, trying to bring his mind
back to more immediate concerns. Apparently a small local politician who
was a member of the resistance had been identified, and Strughold had secured
the information that the subject was planning on attending a dinner party
at the home of a provisional governor next week. The idea was to set off a
bomb, killing everyone inside, in order to make it look like a terrorist
action rather than an assassination. Although the file didn't say so,
Mulder suspected that there were going to be Colonists there as well,
thus the need for the subterfuge.

As always when undertaking a new job, he allowed himself just a
moment to reflect on just how much his moral code had deteriorated,
and how quickly. But in this life, morality was a luxury he was no
longer able to afford. The only precept that mattered any more was
Dana Scully.

**

"I really don't want to go to this," Dana muttered, scowling at the
engraved invitation she held.

"If you refuse, you will look even more suspicious," Rico pointed out.

She threw him a frustrated look, knowing he was right but not wanting to
admit it. Instead, she fanned herself with the invitation and wished she
was back inside in the air conditioning. The heat in DC this June seemed
even worse than usual this year, and had come upon them with surprising
swiftness. Good for the Colonists, lousy for humans. Her white sleeveless
cotton dress stuck to her in all the wrong places, making her feel as
conspicuous as a stripper in a convent. Rico's surreptitious looks at her
body weren't helping.

They had decided to take a walk along the reflecting pool, not far from the
mockery that was the Lincoln Memorial, in an attempt to avoid all possible
listening devices. Felix hovered about a dozen yards away, ducking behind
the occasional tree, as if they didn't know full well that he was there. He
kept up the charade, she had to give him that. Colonist Troops slithered by
from time to time, but her white gown pretty much insured that no one would
be harassing her; one of the many reasons the privileges of her rank were
useful from time to time. This section of DC was also one of the few areas
where humans could still be spotted; many of the low-level government employees
and politicians were kept around to help keep order among those few remaining
Americans who hadn't been infected with the virus and shipped off to the
mines or the farms or the forests or other assorted labor camps to harvest
raw materials for the Colonists' home planet.

She supposed she should be thankful, in a way - there were many parts of the
world, particularly the hottest sections of Africa and South America, that had
been completely overrun by the Colonists' more feral and vicious evolutionary
cousins, the ones Mulder had encountered in the bowels of the alien ship in
Antarctica. At least those creatures hadn't reached the U.S., and there were
humans left here and there.

But Dana occasionally wondered if everyone she had known in her former life -
her cousins, her college friends, her colleagues from the Academy and the
Bureau - were all even now slaving away underground, or harvesting wheat, or
chopping down trees or God knew what other kind of hard labor as black oil
swam over their eyes and they slowly starved to death from mistreatment.

And then she hoped that they were dead, instead, like her mother. Or that
she would someday be able to save them all.

She sighed wearily and finally responded to Rico. "You're right, of course.
I'll call him myself to RSVP."

"Good. I'm going with you as your escort."

She shook her head. "Out of the question."

"Dana, I'm not letting you go in there alone. Not with --" He looked around,
then bent down to her ear and lowered his voice. "Not with the concerns
that Frohike has raised."

"Not you too," she said. She looked up at him and smiled. "Look. I know
you're worried. But I'm going to be fine. I know what I'm doing."

His dark eyes flashed and he pursed his full lips. God, he had sexy lips. She'd
often wished she was more physically attracted to her Cuban friend; it certainly
wasn't due to any failing on his part. "Are you making it an order?" he asked,
his voice carefully drained of emotion. He looked down at his loafers.

"Rico, don't be that way. I know that you just want me to be safe, and I appreciate
it. But you have to trust me. I can handle it."

The tension between them passed as quickly as it had arisen; he was never able to
stay angry with her for very long. He raised his head and met her gaze. "Okay.
If you say so, Superwoman," he said reluctantly. "Now let's get back inside. It's
too damn hot out here." He returned her smile, and for a moment he thought he
might touch her, even reach out for her hand. But he wasn't Mulder; he never
engaged in the affectionate, casual physical contact that Mulder had made look
so effortless.

She rubbed her arms absently, realizing just how much she missed it.

**

Mulder set up shop in an abandoned motel on the outskirts of DC proper
in preparation for his next hit. Although steeped in his work, just the thought
of possibly being able to see Scully once more had put him in a better mood
than he'd been in for years; he actually caught himself whistling at one point.

In the back of his mind he noted the irony of whistling while constructing a
bomb, but refused to examine it more closely.

When he was finished, he took a moment to sit back and examine his handiwork.
Not bad for someone without any previous training in explosives. The thugs
at the Syndicate had taught him well. The timing mechanism was a thing
of beauty and finesse; Bobby, his mentor in these matters, would have
been proud.

Scully probably wouldn't.

He shoved the thought from his mind. He was doing this =for= Scully, to
be with Scully, to keep her safe, and losing sight of those facts would only
lead to madness.

He wondered what she was doing at that moment, and if she was by any
chance thinking of him.

**

"I think he's coming around," Dana said tensely.

The small cluster of men and women watched with baited breath
as the black oil slowly cleared from Harrison Fields' eyes. He remained
still on the cot for an endless moment, then jerked straight up, looking
around wildly. Dana gripped his arms. "It's all right," she said soothingly.
"You're among friends. You're safe now. Just sit still."

He struggled with her for a minute more before awareness finally
set in, then he went limp under her hands and relaxed. "Where...
where am I?" he asked.

Dana placed her fingers on the man's wrist to take his pulse. "You're
in the back room of a dress shop that caters exclusively to Mothers.
What most people don't know is that it also doubles as a resistance
pit stop. No one thinks twice about my coming in here, and I'd like
to keep it that way." Her eyes darted over to Maggie Collins, owner
of said dress shop, who merely nodded in agreement.

"You're feeling disoriented because you've just been cured of the alien
virus with a vaccine I developed. You can relax; you're among allies
now."

His brown eyes shifted about as he struggled for answers. "I have
memories of a dark shaft --"

"You were working in the coal mines in the Appalachians," Rico
interjected as Dana focused on her work, taking the man's vitals,
listening to his heartbeat and his lungs with her stethoscope. "Our
spies at your location took you one night and brought you to us.
We're more well connected than you might think."

"But why?"

Dana looked over her latest acquisition, appreciating the fact that he
was quite handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Weathered. Lived-in,
was how her mother would put it. She closed her eyes briefly to banish
Margaret Scully from her mind. "We need more scientists to help me
develop our own virus, something that will make this planet poison to
the Colonists, or simply kill them outright. You are a brilliant scientist,
Dr. Fields, and now you've been given a second chance to prove it."

He returned her gaze with shining eyes. "How can I refuse? You
saved me."

The expression on his face was all too familiar. The gratitude and the
admiration were becoming almost annoying by this point. She glanced
over at Rico, who, aware of her discomfort, was stifling an amused grin.
"And I fully intend for you to repay the favor," she said to Fields, her tone
colder than she intended.

But he only smiled and took her hands in his. "I'm at your disposal."

"Good." She returned the smile with an effort. "Because I have a party
to go to tonight, and I'd like you to get some work done in my absence."

**

Mulder took shelter behind a row of untamed bushes and sat down
to wait, his eyes never leaving the impressive Tudor house on the
opposite side of the street. Things had gone off without a hitch so
far; Strughold had tipped him off to the fact that the entire household
was attending an Education Session that morning, and so placing the
explosive device on the premises had been a matter of little difficulty.
As this house was the only one on the block still occupied by living beings,
being spotted by the neighbors was a moot point. The occasional rat or
king-sized cockroach that scurried across the sidewalk was his only
company in the silence.

He lit up a cigarette and drew smoke into his lungs. There was nothing
left to do but watch and wait.

**

Dana went over the contingency plan one more time in her head
as her limo threaded its way toward the Howard estate. Rico had
insisted on their preparing some sort of strategy in case things didn't
go well that evening. He did so every time she went anywhere other
than work or the house or headquarters, and she had no choice but to
indulge him. He was right, and besides, she owed him that much,
considering how nervous he was about tonight. And so a small
number of their operatives were on standby a few blocks away at one
of the Metro stations that had been converted into a waystation for
fugitives, refugees, and fellow resistance members.

She didn't anticipate a need to flee, however. Martin Howard was a self-
absorbed despot, so preoccupied with what little power over what was left
of Washington DC that the Colonists had parceled out to him that he had
little time or inclination to look much further than his own nose. Her
presence at his formal dinner tonight would be one of adornment and
prestige; having a Mother present at one of your affairs not only made
you look good to the Colonists as They valued Mothers above all else,
but it showed that you were supportive of the new regime, and not afraid to
flaunt it. Being Howard's physician, she was an obvious choice to fulfill
that role for him, and as Rico pointed out, it would have reflected badly on
her had she refused the invitation. She hoped she'd at least get a decent
meal out of the bargain.

As the car rolled up to the curb in front of Howard's stately home,
she glanced at the driver's seat; Rico had insisted on taking her tonight
instead of her usual driver. So paranoid, he was. He reminded her,
once in a while, just slightly, of Mulder.

Mulder.

She had thought of him all too often since their brief night together. God,
his newfound talents and knowledge would be a huge asset to their cause,
and she didn't just mean his considerable prowess in bed. How could she
outwit Strughold and get Mulder to come to her, to help her, to stay with her
on her own terms, despite the Syndicate's threats? There had to be a way.
Her feelings toward him were still complicated, to say the least, but she had
to put the resistance first. And the resistance needed him.

Well, now that she'd cured Fields, she would have more time and brain
power to devote to such matters. She'd chosen well this time. Fields was
lucky she'd thought of him.

Not bothering to wait for Rico to come around, she opened the car door
and stepped outside. She was already more than fashionably late.

**

From his hiding place across the street Mulder looked on in horror.

Dana Scully was getting out of the limo that had just pulled up in front of
Howard's house, and was heading up the walk toward the front door.
Toward the front door of a house that was scheduled to blow to kingdom
come in about five minutes thanks to his expertise.

Mulder didn't think; didn't stop for one minute to consider the possible
consequences of his actions. He just took off like a bat out of hell and
prayed he wouldn't be too late.

"SCULLY!"

She whirled around before she reached the front porch, her jaw dropping
as she saw him, and as he drew closer he could see her mouth a curse.
"There's a bomb!" he yelled.

He whipped out his Glock seconds before her ubiquitous tail jumped out of
his car and started in their direction. Mulder took aim over Scully's head and
fired. His aim had become near-perfect during his professional hitman tenure;
the nondescript man fell to the ground and didn't get up again. Scully
instinctively hit the deck, her long white gown marred with dirt and grass
stains when she staggered to her feet once more.

"Get in the car!" the limo driver was yelling from the front seat, engine
running.

Mulder looked over the hood of the car and spotted two morphers materializing
out of the darkness, crossing from the other side of the street, guns drawn.
Where the fuck had they come from?

"Scully, get in the car!" he echoed the chauffeur, then aimed and fired at the
aliens, even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. It would distract them,
at least. He ducked behind the shelter of the limo as a laser bolt whizzed over
his head. He had a stiletto in his back pocket, of course, but didn't plan on them
getting close enough for him to use it. "God damn it Scully, get in the car!"

Scully finally made her way to the vehicle and threw herself inside,
leaving the back door open for Mulder. He jumped in behind her, letting out
his breath only when the limo peeled away in