Date: Tue, 25 Feb 1997 18:55:39 -0500 (EST)

ANOTHER LIE

Basement Office

J Edgar Hoover Building

4:05 PM

The telephone rang in the quiet basement office, and a hand fumbled

through a haphazard stack of papers and file folders, finally making

successful contact with the noisy instrument.

"Mulder," was absent-mindedly mumbled into the receiver. Special

Agent Fox Mulder continued to read a file he held open in his lap,

glasses precariously sliding down his nose to perch on the tip.

The voice emerging from the instrument replied, "This is Pete

Winslett, the SAIC from the Bureau's Portland, Oregon, office.

We met a couple of years ago when I was a field agent and you

were investigating the Baker abduction case."

"Of course. I remember you. Is something going on?"

Winslett smiled. Mulder always did get straight to the point.

"Are you alone?"

Mulder pushed his glasses to a more secure position on his nose and

intoned, "We're *all* alone, Winslett; some more than others." He

glanced at his partner who was currently engrossed in typing her

autopsy report while it was still fresh. She looked like a studious

college girl, and Mulder reminded himself that the pretty package hid

a formidable FBI agent. He smiled, feeling it was safe to exhibit

this evidence of affection, since she was deeply into her report and

was unlikely to catch it.

"What the hell does *that* mean? Are you alone, or not?"

"Sort of. Just me and my partner."

"Oh. Do you think that you could make some excuse and go someplace

where she can't overhear this conversation? You could call me back."

"I don't keep anything from her," Mulder retorted, knowing that wasn't

strictly true. An uncomfortable flash of memory pictured a woman

named Kristen in Los Angeles, a drop of her blood on the tip of her

finger, holding it up as an offering toward his lips...

"This you want to hear alone, believe me."

Mulder capitulated, just to get on with this 'whatever-it-was.'

"Call you back in a couple of minutes."

He hung up and raised his voice slightly, saying to Scully, "I'm going

upstairs. I'll be right back."

She nodded without looking at him, still engrossed in the creation of

the document.

He slipped into his suit coat and headed upstairs, wondering what

Winslett considered so important that Scully couldn't hear it. He

planned on telling her all about it later anyway.

Mulder found an empty office on the third floor. Agent Garcia was in

Antigua on vacation and wouldn't be around for another week.

Winslett answered the phone himself when it rang and immediately began

filling Mulder in on the troubling case.

"You've heard about our serial killer we have up here, right? The guy

who kidnaps women between the ages of 25 and 35, tortures and rapes

them, then stabs them in the heart?"

"Yeah. I understand you've got four bodies already. Did you want me

to profile him? Skinner..."

"No," Winslett interrupted. "There are five bodies now, and we

haven't requested your assistance. At least not yet." There was

a hesitation, and he continued.

"The fifth woman was found three days ago in an abandoned quarry near

Scappoose, which is about twenty miles north, northwest of Portland.

She had apparently been dumped there about two weeks ago. The MO

definitely belongs to our serial killer. What I'm calling you about

concerns the woman's identity." Another pause. "She's petite, red

hair...just got the final reports on the DNA testing. We now have

positive fingerprint, dental and DNA results that say she's Dana

Katherine Scully, a special agent with the FBI."

Mulder's heart actually stuttered, then resumed its strong beat when

he realized the wrongness of that statement.

"She's...she's not dead. I just spoke to her. Your forensics are

wrong, Winslett." His voice held a quaver that was not lost on his

fellow agent.

"Mulder, I know how this sounds. That's why I called you first.

You've dealt with strange and weird shit before. I'm going to wait

until morning, then start sending this stuff up the chain of command

like I'm supposed to. Of course, tomorrow is Saturday, so that should

give you until Monday to see what you can turn up."

Mulder found his voice again and asked, "Was there a small plain gold

cross on a gold chain around her neck by any chance?"

He could hear Winslett turning pages for an eternity, and finally

answered, "Yes, there was."

Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat and said,

"Fax everything to me at..." he leaned out of the doorway and read the

fax number off the nearby machine to Winslett.

"You'll have it as fast as I can send it, Mulder. Let me know what

you find out, OK?"

"Yeah. Call you later."

Mulder sat back down in the empty office and stared unseeing at the

beige wall, thinking back over the past two weeks, more afraid than

he had ever been in his life.

Two weeks ago. He and Scully had been on that case in Seattle, which

was only a little over three hours from Portland. He rubbed the

bridge of his nose, trying to think of how Scully had been acting

lately, and could recall nothing remarkable.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the fax begin working, and

he stood guard as the pages fed out of it. He deliberately refrained

from grabbing each one and reading it, preferring to wait until he had

the whole unbelievable thing in his hands and a private spot in which

to absorb the story they would tell.

When it had generated twenty three pages, it stopped. He scooped them

out of the tray and made his way back down the stairs, only hesitating

a fraction of a second before opening the door to his office. An

unmistakable feeling of relief washed over him when he saw that the

office was empty.

Mulder found a note and the completed autopsy report lying on the seat

of his chair. The note read, "Can you sign this and give it to

Skinner? Got a call from Mom. Going home for the weekend. Sorry I

missed you - where did you go? See you Monday. Scully."

He felt as though he had been reprieved when he read that she would be

out of the way at her Mom's all weekend. He could hopefully figure

out what was going on before seeing her again. He absently signed her

report and threw it into the "out" basket, grabbed his briefcase,

tossed Winslett's fax into it, and left for home.

For a Friday, the traffic had not been quite as horrible as usual,

even on the bridge, and he truly believed in miracles when a vacant

and legal parking spot appeared on the street practically right in

front of his apartment.

He would have said, "Pinch me," but the lady who lived down the hall

from him was passing the open window of his car as he parallel-parked,

and she would have thought him even stranger than she already did, so

he refrained. He bit back a smile as he imagined the refined,

introverted woman who was in her late fifties giving his bottom a

lustful pinch. "Hey, don't knock it," he told himself. "That just

could be the highlight of my current dead social life."

Then he sobered as reality intruded like a slap in the face. He was

afraid, though, to begin speculating about the dead woman in Oregon

(oh, God, it can't be her!) so he picked up his briefcase and entered

his apartment building trying not to think about it, at least for a

few more minutes.

After using his key, he saw that someone had shoved an envelope under

his door. Great. He had found envelopes delivered in that manner

before, and they usually brought trouble.

He kicked the door shut behind him and put the envelope with the

briefcase on his coffee table. Weary from the long days he had put in

this past week, he decided to change to sweats and have a beer before

tackling the papers on the table. He recognized the delaying tactic

for what it was, but so what? As he sank back on the sofa and

activated the remote control for the news, he could not stop his

thoughts from wearily chasing each other round and round the path that

lead to Scully.

He sighed in defeat, then leaned over and unsnapped the catches on his

briefcase. The fax pages lay inside like a giant spider, and he

reached in cautiously, knowing it would bite him, but not how badly

yet.

Fox Mulder attempted to read the documents just as he had read

hundreds more exactly like them, with a dispassionate attitude. It

didn't work this time. Every sentence describing the body was like

a blow to his stomach. And the photos.... Winslett had faxed two

photos of the victim, and, even with the loss of resolution in the

fax, he could see the woman looked exactly like Scully.

His stomach could take no more. He hit the bathroom running, and fell

to his knees by the toilet, losing everything he had eaten during the

day. It took some time before he felt he could safely get back to his

feet and wash his mouth out with water at the sink.

Reluctantly, Mulder walked like a very old man back to the couch and

landed heavily, limbs loose and weak. He did not want to look in the

envelope. Any more and he would go screaming out the door.

But he picked it up as if in a dream, and read the most incredible

stuff he had ever encountered.

Everything was neatly typed. The top page was titled, "CLONES: THIRD

GENERATION," and was written in the form of a letter to Mulder.

"Agent Mulder:

I understand that you are having clone problems. Perhaps I can be

of assistance.

I can tell you several important things which will help you in

determining whether your partner is actually your partner or not.

It is very difficult these days to distinguish a clone from a normal

human being, you see. In the "old" days, a clone's blood was green,

which made it readily apparent that *something* was not quite human

about them. The second generation of clones was no different in that

respect, but they had the advantage of being able to "morph" their

appearance spontaneously. I believe you have encountered both kinds

of clones in the past, to your detriment.

Well, now we have the new, improved edition. The blood is red.

Everything about the new clones is human-like, thanks in great

part to the testing done on abductees such as Dana Scully.

A very small computer chip is placed in the clone which contains all

the memories, feelings and knowledge of the host human, say, Dana

Scully in this case. The clone is identical to her in all ways.

Clones are aware that they are clones. Also, they all, without

exception, will seek to kill the original host and any other clones

made from that original. I hate to sound like something from the

"Highlander" movie, but the clones' philosophy is that "there can be

only one."

How can you tell a clone from the original? Well, even if you see

that they have a chip, so does the original, or would have at one

time. No, the only way to expose the suspected party is to introduce

silver into their body, such as making an incision in the skin with a

silver knife, pushing a needle of silver into the skin, or using a

silver bullet. Shades of werewolves, eh?

For some reason, none of the clones have a problem with silver on the

surface of their skin, such as wearing a silver necklace. It has to

penetrate, and the easiest way is a needle. The effect would be to

immediately exhibit severe burns in the area adjacent to the silver

contact. The reaction would be unmistakable.

Good luck - you'll need it.

A friend."

Mulder rather hysterically wondered how much more of his mind he would

lose if he were to punch Scully on the arm with a silver needle and

she began screaming, "I'm melting!" like the wicked witch in "The

Wizard of Oz." But that's absurd, he kept telling himself. He could

not believe that the person he had just talked with at the office was

not his Scully.

Someone knocked on the door.

He decided to ignore it. Probably someone selling something.

Another knock, and Scully's voice calling, "Mulder! It's me!"

The breath whooshed out of him and he stared at the door. "No! She's

supposed to be at her mother's. I can't face her until I can figure

out what the hell is going on. She'll know that something is wrong."

While he was busily working all this out in his brain, Scully had

gotten tired of knocking, and used her key to open the door.

"Mulder?" she cautiously called. She knew he had planned to work at

home for a while this evening. And he knew that he had lost it when

he frantically looked around from some silver item he could use as a

weapon. That's when his eyes fell on the documents spread over the

coffee table.

He dove for the floor, pulled his briefcase down next to him, and

swiftly swept his arm across the table. The papers slid to the edge

and fell into the briefcase, all except a stray one, which drifted

over the lid and fluttered to rest on the floor directly in front of

Scully.

Time stopped. Mulder held his breath and looked up at her face. "I...

I thought you were going to your mother's," was the only thing he

could think to say.

Feeling awkward for some reason, Scully said, "My note just said that

I had talked with my mother. I didn't say I was going over there."

She looked down at the stray sheet of paper. Mulder leaned over,

reaching for it, but Scully's fingers caught one edge and gracefully

raised it up to eye level.

"What's this?"

"Just a piece of a case file that came apart." He held his hand out

for it, but her eyes were quickly skimming the page. A slight frown

began forming, and her intense gaze met his.

"What on earth? I don't remember this case, Mulder."

"It's, ah, a new one."

"But we don't *have* a new case." She lowered the paper and allowed

him to snatch it from her. When he saw which page it was, he stifled

a groan. It was part of the autopsy report; the section which

detailed the victim's vital statistics and the outer condition of the

body.

Mulder raised his eyes to meet hers, and she said, "Tell me."

"Scully, trust me, you don't want to know." His eyes pleaded with her

for understanding, but he knew she would not let this go.

Never taking her eyes from his face, she allowed him to lead her to

the couch and she sat tensely on the edge.

He asked, "Scully, are you a clone?" with a lopsided smile.

She just stared at him as if he had sprouted tree branches out of his

head.

"Pardon me?"

Mulder sighed; he had known that it wouldn't be that easy. So much

for the direct approach.

He began again. "Scully..." Oh, hell. He couldn't look into those

beautiful eyes and tell her this crap. He reopened his briefcase and

removed the papers, shuffling them around to achieve a semblance of

order.

"You need to read these two documents. The first is from Special

Agent in Charge Pete Winslett in the Portland, Oregon, office. He's

had five bodies from this one serial killer. He sent the details on

the fifth victim to me by fax. The second document...well, you'll see

for yourself. I found it under the door in an envelope tonight when I

got home."

He finally had the papers re-sorted and handed them over, very

reluctantly.

Mulder sat with his head leaning against the back of the couch while

she read, but finally got restless and went into the kitchen for some

water. When he walked around the couch he could see that she was

getting a little upset with what was in the documents. He knew the

feeling, he thought wryly. As he was pulling a tumbler down out of

the cupboard, he heard a gasp and his hand fumbled and nearly dropped

the glass. He quickly returned to the living room and saw that Scully

had her fingers over her lips, her eyes were brimming with tears, and

she had grown pale.

"What..." she paused, cleared her throat, and tried again. "What do

you think about all this, Mulder?"

"What do you *think* I'm thinking, Scully?" he responded with a look

of horror on his face. "That *my* Scully could be dead in that drawer

in a Portland morgue! That you're a manufactured copy of someone I

lo...who means more to me than anything or anyone else in the world!"

He ran a hand roughly through his hair, looking wildly as if he wanted

to rip it out of his scalp.

A single tear finally spilled out of one eye and ran down Scully's

cheek as she sat trembling, afraid to look away from Mulder's

agitation.

He sat down next to her and took her right hand in his. "What I think

is that you are the real Scully, and that a clone is out there killing

other clones. She'll get around to killing you, sooner or later,

unless someone stops her."

Scully removed her hand from his to wipe at her tear, and said, "This

is ridiculous, Mulder. If a clone killed the Scully in Oregon, how is

it that the murder appears to have been committed by a serial killer?

The report indicates that the same MO was used in all five cases, and

forensics indicates the same hair, semen and shoe imprints were found

at all those crime scenes. It's a male serial killer, Mulder. Is the

clone masquerading as a man, planting false evidence and murdering

other people just to cover up the real target? Or did the clone

imitate the serial killer somehow when she murdered just that one

particular woman?" Her voice had risen, and she demanded, "And why do

you even believe that claptrap about clones anyway? You take as

gospel what an anonymous person tells you, and don't even consider the

more plausible answers."

"What other plausible answer would that be, Scully?" he asked,

honestly wanting to know.

"Cancerman is just screwing with us again, Mulder. That woman bears a

resemblance to me, and they took the evidence and faked it just to

feed your paranoia and maybe break us up by making you think that I'm

not your partner, but some evil clone who killed Dana Scully and is

looking to, dare I say it, rule the world!!!!!" She was yelling by

the time she got the end of the increasingly sarcastic analysis, but

she was fed up with Mulder's childish willingness to trust no one, but

to believe anything anyone (but myself, she ruefully thought) told him

that fit into his "out there" theories.

"Scully, you've encountered clones before. You know this isn't some

science fiction story anymore."

"Mulder, I don't know what I encountered. We never had a chance to

thoroughly investigate any of that, since the clones...the *people*

involved were dissolved by some unknown agent before I could do

autopsies. And I refuse to credit that the guy you call the bounty

hunter could change his entire appearance physically; it had to be a

mental thing, where he could affect a person's perception, making

them believe he had 'morphed.'

Mulder rubbed a hand across his face, and sighed. "You see it with

your own eyes, and you still don't believe what you saw. I can't

fight that kind of conviction, Scully. I give up."

Mulder shook his head, obviously at a loss. He was not dealing with

this whole situation very well. One minute he believed that Scully

might very well be dead in Oregon, and the next minute he was certain

that she was alive and very real, sitting here next to him, irritating

him with her stubbornness.

Seeing the lost look on his face, Scully snapped, "Oh, for God's sake,

let's settle this once and for all." She yanked the poodle pin from

her shirt and held the hinge tightly open with two fingers, allowing

the pin to jut rigidly from the body of the piece of jewelry.

"This is the silver poodle pin that Melissa gave me four years ago.

It will do for a test." She abruptly got up from the couch and went

into the kitchen. Turning the gas flame up high on the range, she

held the pin in the fire for a few seconds, then shut the burner off.

Before Mulder could stop her, she forcefully shoved the pin into her

forearm, where it sank into her flesh a good inch. A cry of pain

involuntarily escaped her mouth.

When Scully pulled the pin out, a trickle of blood ran down to her

elbow. They both watched expectantly for a moment, but nothing else

happened.

She looked up at Mulder, biting her lip, and supporting her forearm

with her other hand.

He dampened a paper towel and gently cleaned the blood from her arm.

He led her to the bathroom, where Scully observed his attempts at

doctoring with a mild amusement. She held her arm agreeably over the

sink when he asked, then he dumped half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide

over the tiny wound. A Snoopy band aid completed the treatment. "If

that 'friend' who wrote about the clones was being truthful, Mulder,

this should have put your mind at rest as to whether I'm the real

Scully or not."

His steady gaze was unreadable, and Scully uneasily turned away and

walked back to the main room. She still felt his eyes on her, and

turned to face him again.

"What!?" she exclaimed.

"Give me the pin," he demanded, holding his hand out.

And then she got it. His brain was two miles ahead of her as usual.

He wanted to make sure that the pin was really made of silver.

She said, "It's silver, Mulder. Melissa said so when she gave it to

me."

He stepped up to her and put his hands on her shoulders, looked down

into her face. "I apologize, Scully, but I have to know." He reached

into her shirt pocket, trying to keep his fingers from touching her,

but unable to completely avoid brushing against her breast.

She didn't move a muscle, feeling as though her breath had stopped for

good.

Then he had moved away from her and she could breathe again.

He had a slightly pink flush to his cheeks as he was intently studying

the back of the pin. After a moment, he shrugged and handed it back

to her.

"It doesn't say anything about sterling silver on the back like they

usually do."

He turned and walked over to a bookcase against the wall and opened a

large wooden box which sat on one of the shelves. In a moment he

found what he was looking for, and returned to Scully, face still

unreadable.

"This ring was my dad's and the engraving says "sterling silver." It

was damaged somehow; he never said what happened, but the band is cut

and twisted so that a sharp piece sticks out."

His eyes seemed to ask forgiveness and permission, all at the same

time, and he once again approached her. He whispered, "We have to

do this, Scully."

She put her hands up and lay them against his chest, and he raised his

eyebrows in an unspoken question. Then she shoved against him as hard

as she could, taking him by surprise and off-balance. He hit the

floor, dropping the ring, and saw it slide under an overstuffed

armchair.

When he looked up again, Scully was through the door and it slammed

shut behind her. He felt his world crumbling around him, and this

time he didn't know if he could put it back together.

(Continued in Part II)

Part II

Scully was distraught, realizing that Mulder now thought that she was

a clone. She bit back a hysterical laugh. She knew that the worst

thing to feed his paranoia was to run, but she had not been able to

help it. The whole clone thing had come out of left field and had

shaken her badly, but the moment Mulder touched her, she knew that she

was getting into even more dangerous waters. She had recognized for a

long time now that her feelings for him ran deep, and she had pushed

them down successfully so far. But his intimate (though admittedly

accidental) touch had electrified her. And to have him propose

cutting her with that ring...she had just overloaded, she supposed,

and panicking seemed like a good solution at the time.

*She* knew that she was the real Dana Scully, and not some clone. But

Mulder obviously did not know that, and it hurt her feelings, as

absurd as that seemed. For a brilliant man, she sometimes wondered if

he had a drop of common sense included with all that intelligence.

Scully reached her car on the second floor of the parking garage and

opened the front door. On the seat lay a 5x7 photograph. She

hesitated, then picked it up to see what additional surprises were

in store.

She took care to handle it only by the edges. The photo was in color

and the camera's automatic dater had placed "09-22-96" in the lower

right-hand corner. "That was last weekend," she thought. Sunday.

The photo was of her mother's back yard, with her mom sitting next to

Scully on the brick wall which ran alongside the flower garden. They

were smiling at the camera when the picture was taken and she was

holding two fingers up behind Mrs. Scully's head in a mischievous

gesture.

Her stomach plummeted when she realized that she had not been at her

mother's house on that date. In fact, she had not seen her mother for

two weeks. Mrs. Scully had gone to Connecticut with friends this

week, and part of last week had been spent with Mulder on a case in

Oregon. She was suddenly very afraid for her mother and for herself.

Obviously, this was from the killer clone. Killer clone. She laughed.

She couldn't help it; "Killer Klowns from Outer Space," one of Mulder's

favorite movies, had popped into her mind for some reason. But it had

been a mistake to laugh. Once she began, she couldn't stop; the

hysteria took over frighteningly quickly. She shrieked with laughter

until her sides threatened to split. Sheer exhaustion eventually

reduced the laughter to an occasional giggle and a hiccup, but she

finally felt in control again. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and

rummaged around until she found a plastic evidence bag from the car in

which to place the photograph.

Suddenly she knew someone was nearby, and she turned to see Mulder

standing a couple of cars away, just watching her with a great deal

of concern.

Wordlessly she offered the plastic bag with the photograph to him,

and he moved forward to take it, although warily.

As he looked at the picture through the clear plastic, Scully started

snickering again, and finally burst into new gales of laughter, while

trying to say, "K..killer klones..no, klowns.." Gasping, then, "send

in the clones.." After that, she was lost in the grips of terminal

giggling.

Mulder was astonished to realize that was witnessing a full-blown fit

of Scully-hysterics, something he had never seen her do before,

although God knew she had certainly had good reason for it several

times in the past. Undecided, he waited a few more seconds, then

pulled her close to his chest and held on while she put up a token

struggle. Finally he could feel her relax a little, and the laughter

had stopped. He looked down at the top of her head with a smile, and

said, "See, isn't this better than having to slap you to bring you out

of your hysterics?"

He felt her arms tighten around his waist in a hug, then she pulled

away to rub at her face.

"I don't have hysterics, Mulder," she said indignantly. She rubbed at

her sore facial muscles and added, "I was just laughing."

"You *never* laugh that much, Scully, even at my jokes."

"The point being?" She met his friendly gaze and asked, "So, do you

still think I'm a clone?"

He drew a breath and shook his head. "No. As I said earlier, I

believe that you're the real Dana and that some clone is going to try

to kill you." He patted his pocket. "This photo appears to bear that

assumption out. As I recall, you were going over case files with me

for several hours on that Sunday, then you went to see an old Quantico

buddy at his clinic in Silver Spring."

"You know my schedule better than I do, Mulder," she commented.

"So this is not you in the picture, but your mother seems to accept

her as you," Mulder continued, unperturbed.

Scully shuddered. "Yes, that's what bothers me more than anything.

She could be in danger, too, this time."

Unable to resist it, she asked, "But what if I *am* a clone and this

note is from another one, who wants to kill me? Or what if I'm not a

clone, but there are twenty of them running around somewhere?"

"I doubt that. If that's the case, then we'll deal with it later.

Right now, we need to protect you from this one."

Fox Mulder's Apartment

Mulder turned his key in the lock on his door and let Scully enter

first. Her gasp from inside the darkened apartment made him

fleetingly regret this chivalry as he quickly drew his weapon.

There was a dim lamp left burning at the far end of his living room,

and it served to back-light someone standing in the middle of the

room, facing their way. Scully reached for and flipped the light

switch next to the door they had just come through, and her exact

double was revealed, her empty hands held out at her sides, obviously

not threatening them.

Mulder said something about his apartment being Grand Central Station;

might as well not lock the bleeping door for all the good it did. He

was babbling, he knew, very close to freaking out. Scully was too

astonished to register anything but the woman who stood before her.

Finally the woman turned and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs

and said, "I suppose you'll have some questions."

It was Scully's voice. Mulder's penchant to babble froze in his

brain, and it was replaced by a desire to run screaming from the

apartment.

Scully moved from his side and slowly approached the visitor, sitting

in a chair that faced her. Mulder realized that he was still holding

his gun, and decided to keep it handy for a few more minutes until he

could see which way this little meeting was going to go.

He took his customary seat on his couch, carefully setting the gun

within reach beside him, then looked from one Scully to the other in

amazement. From what he could see, there was absolutely no difference

between the two, even to their expressions and mannerisms.

The "faux" Scully said, "I suppose that I had better just tell you

everything, and let you decide what the next step should be. There

are...rather, there *were* five clones of Dana Katherine Scully."

Scully looked over at Mulder in surprise, seeing his own astonishment.

Continuing, the clone said, "The earliest clones were more unstable

and erratic, like Scully3, who is now threatening you. 1 and 2 had

to be destroyed by the Makers when they evidenced signs of psychosis.

Scully3 is, in my own opinion, borderline psychotic. More recently,

clones 4 and 5 were developed; I am 5. 4 was killed by 3 in Oregon.

Now 3 is after both of us."

Mulder interjected, "Excuse me, but don't you pose a threat to Scully

here as well?"

"Yes. But I, of all the clones, am the closest to *being* the

original in feelings, thoughts, desires...I can reason with a

scientific and rational mind, and emotions are identical to the

original. There is a certain amount of restraint I can bring to

bear on the urge to eliminate all the other Scullys." Something

flickered in her eyes, but was quickly hidden.

"Are there any other clones besides you two out there right now?"

Mulder wanted to know.

Her gaze met his and she nodded.

"Great. How many?"

"Only one. But it isn't a replica of Agent Scully."

It only took a second to understand the import of what she was saying.

"Me?" he whispered. "But - I haven't been abducted or tested. They

wouldn't have the material and information..."

She sadly shook her head. "Your father let them have both you and

Samantha when you were eleven years old. Based upon that testing

period, they decided to return for Samantha, against your father's

wishes."

Throwing aside his horror at the knowledge that he himself had been

abducted, he cried, "Samantha! Do you know what happened to her? Is

she alive?" He arose from the couch, his gun forgotten, to confront

her.

Looking up at Mulder with compassion in her eyes, the clone said, "I

only know that she was all right for a year after her abduction, but

they moved her to another facility, and I have no knowledge of what

became of her after that. I never met her, you know. I was 'born'

long after her abduction."

Mulder sagged visibly, then turned and stood looking out his window at

nothing. His vision sharpened and focused when he spotted a person

standing on the sidewalk below, and he realized what he was seeing.

He whirled and retrieved his weapon from the couch, calling to Scully,

"Quick! Scully3 is outside, watching the entrance."

He was all the way to the second floor on the stairs when he realized

that Scully couldn't keep up with his long legs. He didn't want her

left alone under the circumstances, so he slowed a fraction until she

caught up with him. They hit the exit door together. No one was in

the entry area, so they went out the rear door, keeping their weapons

extended and ready. Normally, Mulder would have gone one way and

Scully in the opposite direction, and he realized how limited they

were when reduced to one entity.

"She's gone, Mulder," Scully said, lowering her gun. "She wouldn't

just stand around out here, and try to take both of us."

Mulder agreed, and they re-entered the building. "So, Scully, do you

think I ought to chain you to a post as bait and see if she comes

after you?" He pushed the "UP" button for the elevator, and the door

opened right away.

Scully looked up at him and raised her eyebrow. "So is that your

latest fantasy - me in a diaphanous gown, helplessly chained and

waiting for you to rescue me...Aaahh!"

Scully was suddenly shoved violently against the back wall of the

elevator as she was entering the car. An instant later, a baseball

bat connected with Mulder's wrist as he was bringing his gun up from

his holster. His hand went numb and the gun fell to the floor.

Scully3 had been hiding in the elevator, figuring they would probably

use it to go back upstairs. She punched Mulder with the end of the

bat in the mid-section, shoving him back long enough for the elevator

door to close.

Gasping for breath, Mulder was bent double and unable to do anything

about Scully for a full minute or two. Finally he could manage to

pick his gun up from the floor with his uninjured hand and take the

stairs as quickly as his aching stomach would allow.

"Dammit! That was really stupid, Mulder. Trained federal agent.

Yeah, right." He continued berating himself while scaling the stairs,

stopping to check each floor to see if they had exited the elevator.

When he reached the fourth floor, he ran down the corridor to his

apartment, thinking they may have gone there for some reason. The

door was locked, however, and he didn't seem to have his key. Damn!

He pounded on the door. Nothing. Knowing he would regret the pain to

his foot and the damage to his door and lock, he gritted his teeth and

kicked the door open. And a sharp pain swept through his foot. "With

my luck, it'll be broken," he thought.

Covering the apartment with his gun as he entered, he limped in on an

amazing scene. Three identical Scullys stood in his living room, arms

at their sides, and looking upset.

The Scully in the middle said, "She made us all change clothes with

each other so you couldn't tell who is who. I'm the real Scully."

"No, you're not," another Scully said indignantly. "*I'm* the real

one."

And the third chimed in predictably, "No, you're both clones."

Turning to Mulder, the third one said, "Don't believe them, Mulder.

They're lying."

"Oh, shit," was all he could say. He honestly could not tell the

difference between them. If they had changed clothes, then he was

lost. The only way, of course, was the silver test. He remembered

that the ring had fallen under a chair...Would they stay put until he

could retrieve it and give it a try? They all had Scully's knowledge

and memories, so determining which was which could be an impossibility

if he didn't try cutting them with the silver ring.

Surprise gave him a bit of an advantage, and they were certainly

surprised when he dove to the floor and began flailing his arm around

under a chair. His fingers brushed against the ring, and his fist

closed around it. His wrist still hurt from the blow it had received,

and the sharp edge of the ring bit into his palm, but he didn't

notice.

He rolled and got to his feet, then screamed when his hand erupted

into an eternity of pain. Opening his fist, he looked in horror at

his hand, which was radiating blisters and oozing some puss-like

substance from the point where the ring had cut into his skin.

"Noooo!!" he cried. He looked up in confusion and agony at the

Scullys. The one nearest to him had an expression of sympathy and

pity on her face. Scully5. The next one was as horrified as he - the

real Scully. And the last one...she was laughing. Holding her sides

and having a great old time. So he shot her. A bullet caught her

right in the chest, and she fell over onto the floor with the blood

pumping out of her onto the carpet.

He just stood there, staring in shock at the remaining two Scullys,

unable to think, beyond a mindless, "Nononononono."

*His* Scully whispered, "You didn't know?"

He could only shake his head, affirming that it was just as much news

to him as it was to her.

Scully5 walked slowly up to him, lifted his hand with the gun in it,

held it firmly in her hand, and placed the muzzle of the Glock under

her own chin. Her beautiful eyes were wet with unshed tears, and she

stood very still. "I lied earlier; I'm eventually going to kill the

real Scully, so you need to get rid of me. They put too much of her

into me, though, to stay sane if I hurt her. I just needed your help

in getting rid of Scully3." Tears were running down her face as she

spoke, and her eyes were tragic.

Mulder was still in shock, and could only stare into those hypnotic

eyes, trying to take in all that was happening without going mad.

"Scully," he whispered. Her lower lip quivered as she helped him by

putting her finger on his and pulling down, causing the gun to fire.

With the recoil, he let the gun drop to the floor, and Scully5 fell

beside it.

His uninjured hand absently brushed blood from his forehead, not

realizing that he was covered in splashes of blood and other matter.

Scully was shaking violently, but managed to walk around the body and

take his hand. She wordlessly led him to the bathroom and turned on

the shower. "Take your clothes off, Mulder, and I'll bring you

something to put on. Get into the shower."

In a daze, he obediently undressed while she rummaged in his bedroom

for something clean. He got into the warm shower and savagely bit his

lower lip when the water hit his blistered and injured hand. He

closed his eyes and let his violated mind wander.

"I can't be a clone. I'm me. I would know, wouldn't I? I don't feel

any different. Are those *his* memories and feelings that I have?"

He shuddered and struck in fear at the tiled wall, bringing a cry of

pain from his throat. Tears suddenly welled from his eyes and were

immediately washed away by the shower spray.

He heard Scully come into the bathroom. She called out, "Mulder?

When you're done, I'll bandage that hand for you, OK?" No reply.

"I used my ID with some of the neighbors who heard the gunshots,

and reassured them. I don't think the police were called."

He shut the water off and grabbed the towel hanging near the stall

door. He still couldn't bring himself to speak.

When he stepped out of the shower with the towel around his waist, he

saw that she was still there, waiting for him with bandages and

ointments lying on the counter.

Avoiding his eyes, she took his arm and looked at the damaged hand.

She gently spread an anti-bacterial ointment over the palm and wrapped

gauze around the hand repeatedly until she felt that the wound would

be protected.

He still hadn't spoken. She nervously said, "There are no bodies to

dispose of or to explain away. They may not have had green blood, but

they disintegrated like that clone of your sister's." She looked up

at him, meeting the confusion in his eyes.

"But the clone in Oregon didn't disintegrate. They were able to

perform an autopsy."

She shrugged. "Maybe a different strain of cloning technique." She

knew how far afield she had drifted from the scientific viewpoint that

formed the foundation of her beliefs, but was unable to come up with

any more realistic answers. This whole thing was so incredible, she

was coping with it just as badly as Mulder.

Mulder. Savagely she pushed the thoughts of her partner not being

Mulder away from her mind, not able to deal with that yet.

She said, "Why don't you put these clothes on and then come out and

we'll talk. We need to figure out what to do next."

He nodded and she went into the living room to see about the mess on

the floor. "He's going to need a new carpet," was her first thought.

Mulder came out of the bathroom in a few minutes, his hair wet,

wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and blue and white tennis shoes, and

still looking as though his brain was out to lunch. He noticed that

Scully had thrown some old towels over the gory stains on the floor.

He fell into a chair in the corner. He eyed Scully, who said, "OK,

let's talk."

His gaze wandered, afraid to face what had to be said. Then he

noticed the masking tape in the window. Scully had taped an "X," in

the middle of the lower pane, the signal to his unnamed contact for

a meeting.

She saw where his gaze had come to rest, and she spoke up, "We need

answers, Mulder, and that seemed to be one of the ways to begin."

When he didn't respond, she continued, "What do *you* think is

happening here?"

"What would I know? I'm apparently a clone." He spoke in a

disinterested monotone.

She sighed. "Mulder, we don't know that. You don't know who gave you

that information about clones, or even if it's true. Your reaction to

the cut could be attributable to any number of things. And you were

the most surprised of all when you had that reaction. You aren't any

more a clone than I am."

He raised his eyebrows at that, and gave her a look full of meaning.

She slowly shook her head, saying, "Don't play that game with me. I'm

going on the assumption that we are who we believe we are unless

someone can prove - and I mean *prove* - otherwise." Mulder said,

"Thatta girl, Scully. Damn the torpedoes and ignore your own eyes."

The phone rang. They both stared at it, unwilling to pick it up.

Finally Mulder reached over, picked up the receiver and answered,

"Mulder."

(Concluded in Part III)

Part III

After listening for a moment, he thanked whoever had called, and

replaced the receiver.

"That was Winslett in Portland. The body of the woman they believe to

be you has disappeared. There was some gooey stuff in its place, and

they don't know what is going on. Since you are obviously alive and

on the scene here, the official conclusion is that some mistake was

made on identifying the victim, and the body of whoever it was has

been stolen. Winslett thinks some sort of coverup is happening."

He shook his head and said, "Sounds familiar."

"Let's get Skinner in on this. He can have the evidence that's soaked

into your carpet analyzed and put more people on the case. We need

help, Mulder."

"I don't know about you, Scully, but I'm just plain too tired to do

any more on this tonight. It's close to dinnertime; how about getting

something down at the steakhouse on the corner, and then get some

sleep? This has all been too much for one day already. I think that

the immediate threat is over."

As tired and hungry as Scully was, she protested, "But what about your

injuries? Your poor hand, and you were limping, and I saw you holding

your mid-section in what looked like pain. We need to get you over to

the..."

Mulder interrupted with, "...hospital. I know, Scully, but I really

can't take another trip to my 'home away from home.' Why don't we eat

something, and then I'll let you play doctor." He winked at her.

"We'll even go to your apartment where you have all the medical

supplies. If it turns out to be worse than I think it is, I'll

let you run me over to the hospital."

She agreed, and he got up slowly and limped over to her chair. He

took her hand with his uninjured one, pulling her to her feet. He

pulled a little harder than needed, and she landed up against his

body, grabbing around his waist to keep from falling.

His eyes were huge all of a sudden, and he looked like he was going to

say something, then gently moved back from her and led the way out of

the apartment. Scully could have wept with frustration, but she

understood the reluctance to make even more problems for themselves

than they already had.

He had been able to find a place to park on the street a block away,

and as they approached the car, they could see a familiar figure

standing near it. X met them on the sidewalk, and said in a low

voice, "Agents Mulder and Scully." He nodded at them. Mulder was

surprised, since he usually ignored the amenities.

"You got here awfully fast," Mulder commented.

"You were being observed," was his reply. He went on, saying, "The

'organization' deliberately set the duplicates loose to wreak whatever

havoc they could in your lives. To make it even more interesting,

they injected both of you with something that causes severe

sensitivity to metals such as silver when in contact with your blood.

They did this when you got your last checkup and flu shots a couple

of weeks or so ago."

"So our reactions to silver wouldn't be valid? We're not clones?"

Mulder was afraid to hope that his nightmare was about to go away.

"Not to my knowledge; that is, if you two are the Scully and Mulder

with whom I have been dealing most recently."

"They hoped that the clones would kill us?"

"That, or you would believe that you yourselves were clones. I doubt

they thought beyond that little set-up. They would sit back and see

what kind of mayhem they had set in motion. In any event, you managed

to come out of this in one piece, more or less. You need to watch

your back; their technology is improving daily. I don't know what

they may try next, so be careful."

He took his usual abrupt departure. He quickly crossed the street and

was gone.

Mulder was standing very still, and whispered, "They were just playing

games with us again. Sitting back to see what happens, hoping we die

in the process."

"Mulder, nothing has changed. Until we get the hard proof we need, we

have to keep searching and just be on guard against this kind of

attack."

He stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the ground, for

several minutes, then muttered, "Can we ever be comfortable with each

other again, Scully, when the possibility exists that you or I or both

of us may be a clone?" He looked over at her. "Even if we're not

clones now, who's to say they won't switch us at some future time? A

clone would be a lot easier to handle than the *real* us." Scully

shuddered at the thought, saying, "Like I mentioned, Mulder, we just

have to guard against it. We know about the possibility now, so we're

ahead of the game."

He thought for a minute, and smiled. "Why not have a signal? If you

mention something about 'the basketball game on TV tonight,' I'll

always respond with, "If the Nicks aren't on, don't bother."

She shook her head, and said, "You just love intrigue, don't you?"

He happily agreed, and unlocked the car for her.

At the restaurant, Mulder had a large sirloin with all the fixings;

Scully was tempted, but stuck with broiled fish and a salad. They

managed to relax a little, and talked of unimportant things while

satisfying their hunger pangs.

When they reached her apartment house, he dropped her off in front of

the building, while he searched for a parking place. By the time he

reached her apartment, she had already laid out her medical equipment

and was ready to begin the torment. At least, that's how he looked at

the process.

When he walked in, Scully, to tease him, asked, "Who's playing in the

basketball game on TV tonight?"

Mulder just shrugged. His friendly but blank look scared Scully to

death. He wasn't replying with the "signal." Her breathing became

more rapid, and she unconsciously backed up a step. He moved to stand

in front of her, and leaned in close, his nose nearly touching hers.

He solemnly intoned, "If the Nicks aren't on, don't bother."

She slapped his arm and said, "Mulder! Why didn't you say something

sooner. You scared me!"

Chuckling, he didn't look very repentant when he said, "Sorry.

Couldn't resist it. You seemed so professional and serious with your

instruments of torture at the ready. I wanted to crack that facade."

"Well, you did a good job of it. Now take off your shirt and lie down

on the couch."

"Ooh. That statement just begs for a naughty remark, Scully." He

raised his eyebrows.

"Get your butt down there, now!" she said firmly, and he obeyed,

tossing his sweatshirt over to a chair first. He knew when to back

off.

"Tell me what hurts."

He lay stretched out on her new sofa, realizing with gratitude that it

was longer than her old one, and wrinkled his brow, thinking about

what hurt.

"Well, let's see; my right foot, my mid-section, my right wrist, and

my right hand." He obediently propped his foot up on the pillow

Scully provided, and she began probing around to see if he had broken

any of the numerous little bones in it.

"Good thing I'm not ticklish, Scully."

Without raising her head, she smiled, then lightly drew a finger up

the bottom of his foot.

"Scully!!" he shouted, as he snatched his foot away in an impressively

fast move.

"I'm sorry but I couldn't resist when you said you weren't ticklish.

It's your own fault, Mulder."

Was his lower lip actually pouting? Scully couldn't believe what a

baby he could be at times.

"The good news on your foot is that nothing seems to be broken. It's

just bruised."

"*Just* bruised. Callous, are we, Scully?"

She ignored that and bent to look at his stomach. She had not

forgotten that the Scullys had exchanged clothes, and that she was

wearing Scully3's low-cut blouse. It tended to reveal quite a bit

when leaning over in her position. Mulder didn't know where to look;

he knew Scully would kill him if she caught him peeking.

Scully, however, was very much aware of the view he was getting. She

had decided to see if he would be willing to escalate their friendship,

and felt that the quickest way to Mulder's heart was some cleavage.

She almost blushed at her boldness; it wasn't like her at all to push

her partner's buttons like this. He was vulnerable at the best of

times, and she usually took care to keep her distance so they could

continue to work as friends and partners. But she felt that the point

had finally arrived when they could be both, and still have something

more.

She brushed her fingers lightly over his stomach, ostensibly checking

the extent of his injury. She noticed that his breathing rate

changed, and continued her exploration. She unbuttoned the top button

of his jeans and he jumped a foot.

"What are you doing!?"

"Checking you over for injuries, Mulder," she calmly replied.

"I, uh, didn't get hit down there."

She traced a finger lightly around his navel and said, "Everything

looks OK; just another bruise."

She glanced up and noticed that he was sweating and was slightly

flushed.

"You can sit up now, and I'll check out your hand."

She unwrapped his hand and studied the injury, finally stating, "This

will need cleaning out again, some antiseptic, and new gauze. You

need to take an antibiotic, too, in case this is infected." She took

a pill out of a bottle and gave it to him, along with a glass of

water.

She set about cleaning the wound, and finished wrapping it up about

ten minutes later. "Nothing seems to be broken in the wrist, either.

You'll just have another bruise to add to your collection."

"So, no hospital?" He sounded relieved.

"Not this time. But you need to stay on the antibiotics for at least

five days and try not to get the bandages wet while it's healing. I

can help you change them every day."

Scully sat down next to Mulder on the couch, saying, "We're both wiped

out. You can bunk here; I still have my brother's old sweats somewhere

that should fit OK. You don't really want to drive all that way back

to an apartment where you'll have to sleep in the same room with the

slimy remains of two people sogging into your carpet, do you?"

"When you put it that way, no, I don't." He shuddered.

"Good. When you're ready to go to sleep, the couch unfolds into a

bed, and it's already made up with clean bedding."

She looked at him and suddenly felt a strong urge to lean against his

warm bare chest, to plant kisses all over that wonderful, dear face,

to... He saw the need in her eyes, and tentatively reached over with

his good hand to caress her cheek.

"Scully?" His voice was husky. At the love he could read in her

eyes, his breath caught in his throat, and he pulled her to him

gently. His lips met hers, and it was just as wonderful as they both

had imagined it would be. Soft lips exploring, teeth nipping, tongues

finally electrifying their bodies with feeling as they plundered each

other's mouths.

They pulled apart to breathe, and he whispered, "Scully. We can't..."

Someone pounded on the door.

They jerked back from each other, heartbeats accelerated. Scully's

eyes held his with an unspoken promise for a moment, then she went

to the door.

She peered through the peephole and saw no one at first, then realized

that someone was apparently sitting on the floor against the wall by

her door, as their legs and feet were just visible. She pulled her

gun out and held it ready, as Mulder questioned in a worried tone,

"Scully? What's going on?" She could hear him come up behind her.

She unlocked the door and opened it, moving quickly into the hall and

holding her gun on the man who sat quietly on the floor.

Her mouth opened in shock and her eyes were huge in her face when she

saw who it was. Mulder caught her reaction, and moved to her side,

only to recoil in astonishment.

They were looking at another Mulder, and he appeared to be in bad

shape. His suit was torn and dirty, he was holding his arm carefully

against his chest, there was a gash on his forehead, and he was pale

and feverish.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Thank God, Scully. I was afraid

you weren't home. They've been holding me prisoner all week, and..."

he abruptly stopped speaking when he opened his eyes and saw the guns

trained on him. Then Scully saw it register in his eyes that one of

the armed people was...himself.

"It must be the fever..." he whispered.

Scully backed up slightly so that her weapon covered both Mulders.

She looked terrified. Mulder1 saw the subtle shift and said, "Scully.

Don't do this. You know I'm the real one." His eyes showed his fear

and disappointment in her action.

"Help him into the apartment, Mulder, and we'll sort this out," she

said. "Don't be offended if I keep my gun handy until we do."

He just nodded wearily, holstered his weapon, and helped Mulder2 get

to his feet. He supported him all the way to the couch, where Mulder2

settled back limply.

"OK, what's your story?" Scully asked Mulder2.

He licked his dry and cracked lips and said, "Could I have some water

at least?"

Mulder1 got the water while Scully and the man on the couch just

stared at each other.

After gratefully sipping some water, he commented, "I leave for a few

days, and you get a replacement. You wound me, Scully."

She asked again, "Tell me what happened."

He took a shaky breath and began; "They got me as I was getting into

my car Monday night. It was late and the parking garage was nearly

deserted. I fought them, but there were three big guys, and they had

a needle. I slept through the ride to wherever they brought me, and

when I woke up, I was in a 10x10 room with a bed, sink and toilet.

Kind of like a cell." He took another sip of water, stared some more

at the silent Mulder1, then continued.

"They fed me now and then, and kept me sedated. They took me out of

the cell this morning, which gave me the opportunity to escape. I

think they were under the impression that I was more sedated and

helpless than I really was. Anyway, when we arrived at our

destination - another room down the hall, only with laboratory

equipment - I sort of went crazy and fought the two men who I believe

were doctors of some sort. One of them got in a few good licks before

I could knock him out."

He rested his head against the back of the couch for a minute before

continuing, "I had to jump down from a second story window to get out,

and landed badly. I think my left arm is broken. I've been making my

way back here all day, but I've had some time to think."

He looked at Mulder1. "My escape was too easy. They wanted me to get

out of there. They wanted me to confront you." His gaze shifted to

Scully. "And now I see why you didn't search for me. This clone or

shape shifter or whatever he is took my place, and apparently had you

fooled pretty well if you believe that he's the real Fox Mulder." His

eyes were sad and accusing.

Scully wanted to scream. She didn't know what to believe any more.

The stuff X had told them was probably not true; the reason Mulder1

had reacted to the silver might very well be because he's a clone.

This man on the couch might be *her* Mulder. She sank into a chair

and let her thoughts slash their way through her confused mind.

Mulder1 sat on the couch next to Mulder2 and said softly, "I know that

you are a clone. You have no chance of taking over my life, so you

may as well give up the charade here and now. I'll kill you before I

would let you insinuate yourself as Scully's partner."

Mulder2 said, "I'm too hurt and exhausted right now to beat the crap

out of you for getting close to Scully while I was gone, but there's

no way in hell you will get away with this masquerade." His eyes

blazed as he finished speaking.

If looks could kill, they would both have been deceased right then and

there.

Scully said, "I'm going to call Skinner. We have to get a fourth

party in this. I'm too tired to keep an eye on both of you. And we

have to get to the bottom of this before we all lose our minds."

She walked to the phone and dialed, but Mulder1's finger depressed the

connection, cutting her off.

"Scully, you know that Skinner won't be able to do anything. There's

only one way to tell which is which."

He ignored the gun she still held in her hand and led her back over to

the chair.

"We need to settle this now. If Scully5 was being truthful, this guy

is the only clone of me in existence."

He stood and walked toward Mulder2, who was looking up at him with a

distrustful expression.

Before Scully knew what he was up to, he pulled his weapon out and

leveled it at Mulder2. "If I'm capable of shooting and killing

Scully, then I certainly can kill myself."

Scully screamed at him, "No!!!! Mulder, don't!" She raised her own

gun, but she heard the shot before she could prevent what was

happening.

Mulder2 jerked back, blood spraying from his chest, eyes open and

horrified. Another bullet hit him in the forehead and he slumped

over on his side, sighing, "Scu..l..l..y." And he was dead.

This time, Scully did scream. And screamed some more. Her emotions

were finally out of control. Killing her own double didn't affect her

nearly as much as seeing Mulder - or his double - dying before her

eyes.

Mulder1 dropped his gun to the floor and quickly moved over to her.

He held her in a tight grip against his body, saying, "Sssshhh.

Scully. It'll be all right. It's over."

She pushed away from him with all her strength, and sobbed, "It's

over??!! Mulder, even if he disintegrates like the other ones, how

can I ever trust that you're really you?"

He looked so stricken standing there, then he visibly sagged, saying,

"Scully, I've just been murdering people who look exactly like us.

I'm a little bit freaked out by it, so I think I'll just sit down over

here and wait to see what happens to him, OK? We'll pass the rest of

the hurdles later."

It didn't take long. After about ten minutes, the first signs of

deterioration began, and Mulder2 was just soaking her couch with vile

liquids before another fifteen minutes passed.

She said dully, "You owe me a new couch, Mulder."

He looked surprised. "Me! Well, I guess you're right; it was my

fault that I didn't make him get into the bathtub before shooting

him," he said sarcastically.

They looked at each other for a few minutes, and something, some

understanding passed between them. Scully got up and stood next to

Mulder's chair. She reached out and ruffled his hair and said, "I'm

sorry if what I said hurt you. I said it because I was terrified.

But when I look into your eyes I really believe...no, I *know* that

you're the Mulder I've always known and ...loved."

His hazel eyes were large and dark as his arms entwined her waist and

pulled her into his lap. "Scully, we need to talk."

She laughed. "Is that what you think we can do when I'm sitting in

your lap? Well, you're more naive than I thought, Mulder."

She nuzzled her face up against his neck, sighing. She felt at peace

and safe for the first time in a long while.

THE END