RATING: NC-17 light.

This one's nice and mushy, but don't get too comfy... it won't last.

LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS: to bluesformoon for outstanding, professional, my-jaw-is-still-on-that-floor beta. And to Aloysia Virgata for helping me find what the characters really wanted to say.

CAUTION: many adverbs where harmed and mercilessly hunted down in this chapter.

This is Part 2: Chapter 4 to 6

Chapter four: ONE KIN

HELL CREEK - 11.30 pm.

The Angel of Death.

Such were my thoughts as Mulder walked towards the house, carrying Faye.

His black-clad body, his dark hair, his empty gaze, my daughter - pale and naked - in his arms, her long blond hair swaying in rhythm with his steps.

A scene straight out of St John's revelations.

Figures. We are, after all, currently undergoing an Apocalypse.

My Angel of Death is currently snoring.

Exhausted by his long search, he passed out in the armchair a couple of hours ago. I disentangled myself from his loose embrace and covered his long body with a blanket. I did not feel like sleeping anymore. I was too busy trying to connect the dots.

"She's a weapon, Scully." With few words, Mulder had explained what he'd seen, a bright flash of white light and Faye intact among the ashes.

"You think she did this?"

"I saw this before."

"When?"

"Remember the Piper Maru?"

"Those French sailors who died of radiation burns? Yes, I do."

"When I was coming back from Hong Kong with Krycek, the last thing I remembered when we were run off the road was a flash like this one."

"Yes, I remember you saying that. But Mulder, you were in shock at the time."

"I bet you that if we go back where I found her, we'll find high levels of radiation."

I shook my head, "I don't know, Mulder..."

"Connect the dots Scully," he'd said tiredly before closing his eyes again.

So that's what I'm doing now.

The radiation burns on the sailors, on the soldiers in Townsed. Mulder had been convinced that it was the result of some alien entity defending itself. "Close encounter mortalities" as he called them. Of course, I never believed him.

But in those days, I lived in a different world.

A rational, logical, normal world.

I turn my head towards the bed where Faye is still lying unconscious.

Back then, I had the same hopes as any woman my age. A successful career, a healthy relationship, children.

Children...I was hoping for kids with measles and scraped knees.

I never expected a terminally ill little girl.

Or a grown-up child whose fevers can kill.

I walk to the window and stare at the night outside, the moonlight, a soft silver glow over the surrounding forest. I lift a hand to touch the cross at my neck and welcome my grief, tasting it cautiously like strong liquor - each sip going down easier than the next. I don't shy away from it anymore. It is a part of me that I am now ready to accept.

Because for all the time that I wished I could not feel, when my wish was granted, what I got in exchange was scarier than the deep depression I was in.

I did lose my soul.

Careful what you wish for.

In the shadow of the window I see a ghostly reflection of myself pull the trigger on a wounded man.

I am and will be a murderer for the rest of my life.

No prayer will ever change that.

***

"Mother?"

Startled, I turn around. Faye is awake and looking at me. Her eyes are back to normal, thank God.

I collect myself, walk to the bed and sit by her side.

"Hey, welcome back," I say softly, taking her wrist in my hand to check her pulse. "How do you feel?"

She doesn't answer but stares at the arm I'm holding with a frown. Slowly, she runs her free hand over her face, then lifts the sheet to take a look at the rest of her body.

"I'm healed."

I nod, "I know. Faye, this is truly amazing." I release her wrist, her pulse is strong and steady.

She looks over my shoulder at Mulder's sleeping form.

"I hurt him."

"A little, but he's all right, just tired. He went looking for you." I lay my hand on her knee, and her eyes follow my movement.

"Faye, what happened to you? Why did you attack Mulder? Why did you leave?"

Despite her casual shrug, her eyes are full of shadows when she answers. "There was something inside me...an energy that needed to get out. I knew it would be dangerous to let go of it inside the house."

"You knew? Did this happen to you before?"

She avoids my gaze.

"No, not to me."

I wait for her to continue but she doesn't. Instead, she turns away from me, slips out of bed and reaches for the bathrobe I left for her on a nearby chair. For the first time, I notice how admirably well proportioned she is. Her bone structure, the lean muscles under her skin - everything streamlined and toned to perfection as if she'd been built for speed.

I don't know whether to feel proud or insulted.

Also, I'm pretty sure she's slightly taller than she was yesterday. And that's disturbing.

She closes the sash of her robe, and with her eyes stubbornly fixed on the door, she tells me: "I'm fine now. I'm going back to my room." She casts a quick glance towards Mulder before adding:

"He needs that bed."

"Faye...wait. Talk to me."

Her head snaps towards me. And in the coolness of her stare, I see she thinks I've got some nerve.

"Look, if you know what happened to you, you must tell us, so we can help you."

She sneers at me. "I didn't know you cared."

Well, I guess I had that one coming.

"Come on, Faye, don't be like that! I do care about you. You've got to be aware of this! I'm sorry I just can't express it better."

"You called me an abomination."

I sigh. "I know I did, and again, I'm so sorry. But you know what they did to me back there, this... Treatment. I was confused and scared and hurting and the sudden knowledge of your existence was just more than what I could cope with."

"Maybe, but that was several months ago, and you're still acting like I'm not here half the time. Do you realize that this is probably the longest conversation we've ever had?"

I walk around the bed to face her.

My voice is barely above a whisper when I explain, "Faye, the men who created you, they kidnapped me, drugged me, opened me up and stole my future. I got a chip in my neck that gave me cancer when I tried to remove it and I almost died. I may never have children the conventional way because of what they did to me. And that's just the beginning."

I lower my head, trying to keep the angry tremors out of my voice.

Faye crosses her arms and nods, her voice softer now. "I'm listening."

I look up. I don't really want to say anything else, but feel I owe her somehow.

"A few years ago I found out that one of their experiments had resulted in a little girl. She was very sick and died in my arms two weeks after I found her. Later on, I learned that apparently she hadn't been the only life created with my DNA. But as I did not have any solid evidence of this, I could still choose to ignore it. I could still try to believe that it was a lie."

I run a hand through my hair, brittle and lifeless under my fingertips. I take a deep breath. I need to finish this.

"Then you show up - the living proof of what I'd feared to be true all along - and on top of all this, you confirm the existence of these other test children."

"I should never have told you..."

I shake my head with a sad little smile. "This is the part where Mulder would tell you that you can't protect people from the Truth, as devastating as it may be."

My eyes drift briefly towards my sleeping partner. "Not that he's always followed his own advice, but he would be the first one to say that no matter how hard you try, the Truth always comes out, and when it does, the one you were trying to protect will always resent you for having tried to hide things from them in the first place."

Faye huffs a little at that. "Which would be a big change from our current situation because....?"

I look her straight in the eyes.

"Because you would not be my daughter if you weren't honest."

Her gaze flutters away from mine. It's hard to say in the room's dim light, but I think I just made her blush.

I reach out for her wrist and squeeze it tight.

"Faye, as much as I hate seeing you hurt by the distance I'm putting between us, you have to understand that it is difficult for me to be near you. Whenever I lay eyes on you, I am reminded of all these little victims created without my consent, without love, and subjected to these horrible experiments."

I release her arm and let my shoulders slump.

"I feel so angry, so powerless, and I just don't know how to deal with it yet. All I can ask is for you to forgive me."

Since Missy died, I doubt I've ever been so open about what goes on inside my head.

Do I feel liberated? Absolved? Purified? This was, after all, my most articulate confession.

Fat chance. I feel mostly self-conscious and exposed. I never was comfortable with putting my pain into words - and that was even before adding the abduction trauma to the equation.

I hope my daughter appreciates the gift - as far as I'm concerned this is going to be a one-time gig. Although, Mulder would probably argue that in some alternate universe, with a story like that, I most likely end up on Jerry Springer.

Faye stares at me for a while, her pretty blond head tilted sideways as if she's trying to figure out a way to fix me.

I should tell her she's wasting her time, that Mommy is damaged goods, broken beyond repair, but I lack the strength to crush her young illusions.

Then she takes me completely by surprise by leaning forward and giving me a quick, delicate kiss on the cheek. Before I have time to react to this uncharacteristic behavior, the bedroom door has closed behind her and she's gone.

I raise a hand to my cheek. If my heart breaks one more time, my chest cavity will remain filled with nothing but sand.

***

"Mulder, come to bed."

I shake him briefly by the shoulder.

His eyes open, spot the empty bed, and as I catch the seed of a question blossoming in his eyes, I answer, "She's fine. Her vitals are back to normal. She's gone back to her room."

Mulder rubs his chin and yawns. "Did she say anything?" he asks, as I head for the bed and slide under the white sheets.

"Tomorrow, Mulder," I reply, lying down on my stomach, voice muffled by the pillow.

The bed shifts under his weight. Seconds later, I feel a warm hand settle on my lower back.

"You okay, Scully?"

Aren't you tired of asking Mulder? I know I'm tired of lying.

So I don't say anything.

I'm not fine.

I know that now.

I hear Mulder sigh as his hand leaves me, and my body follows the rippling movements of the mattress as he settles down beside me.

I roll on my side to face him and he doesn't quite manage to hide the worry in his eyes fast enough. I lift a hand to his stubbled cheek and run my thumb over the soft skin under his eye, tracing the edge of his orbital ridge. He opens his mouth to speak, but my fingers slide down and fan out over his lips.

I shake my head.

Mulder takes hold of my hand and kisses the back of it, obsolete gallantry from a world now gone.

I manage a weak smile and tighten my grip on his hand.

*Don't let go*

We stare at each other for a long time, everything around us quiet and still. I can hear the wind brushing the branches outside and the distant hoot of an owl calling its kin.

I entwine my fingers with his and tug on his arm as I roll on my back, inviting him to follow me.

The weight of him as he settles between my legs - solid and real -grounds me, and I need that right now. We kiss, slowly at first, our serious eyes finally closing as we focus on other senses and more tactile pleasures.

And I have yet again the confirmation that my partner has been paying attention these past few weeks. Obsessively so.

Give Mulder any new toy and he's going to sit down and read the manual until he can quote from it. Once, during a stakeout, I watched him read his new cell phone booklet from cover to cover. He even went on reading the Spanish version out loud until I started making threats involving his digestive tract and cellulose ingestion.

Well, I'm the new gizmo and he's obviously found where the batteries go and where all the switches are located.

Soon Mulder has my whole body buzzing, like those toys good catholic girls shouldn't know about.

After shoving his black boxers down and extracting myself from my pajamas with an impatient curse - which makes Mulder chuckle - I wrap my legs around his back and buck my hips against his, my fingers clawing at his biceps.

Mulder lifts me and slips his arms underneath my shoulders, holding me close. He pulls me against him in such a way that I know he has no intention of rushing things.

My hands grab his ass and push downward - as I try to speed things along - but all I manage to do is bump the slippery head of his cock against my clit and I end up moaning my need into the damp hair of his neck as he keeps slowly rubbing himself against me.

The time for fair play is over.

With wet lips and and short breaths against his temple, I whisper something in his ear.

Mulder stops moving and snaps himself up on both arms like a wolf trap. The Beltane fires smoldering in his eyes tell me the lightest graze of my fingers against his hips is going to be enough this time.

And it is.

His hands are back where they were, cradling my shoulder blades, but this time he enters me in one smooth stroke. I dig my heels into the small of his back, bury my face in his neck, the cry escaping my throat stretched and thin against his hot skin.

He covers me like a shell, holding me impossibly tightly against him, hips pumping in short, sharp thrusts. As if he wants to shelter every inch of my skin from the outside world.

As if he doesn't want anything else to ever touch me or hurt me.

As if he could fuck the grief out of me.

As if he knew.

As if he heard.

No.

I frantically pull on his hair as I'm about to come, and our eyes lock for a split second before mine snap shut, and the wail working its way out of my throat forces my neck back.

Mulder's hips surge hard against me moments later. As I ride out the aftermath and shiver in his arms, I know this.

He wasn't asleep.

++++

Hell Creek - 5am

The deafening chop-chop sounds of a helicopter landing wakes me up with a start, just in time to witness Scully jump like a springbok and stumble off the bed with a little cry of panic, searching for her gun and knocking a lamp over.

I kneel on the bed and extend a hand towards her in an appeasing gesture.

"Hey, hey, Scully, calm down. It's all right, must be Skinner."

My partner blinks at me before exhaling her lung's entire capacity of air. She covers her face with both hands and makes an inarticulate sound of what I guess is relief before collapsing back, face-first, on the bed next to me.

Her hair is feather soft against my palm.

"A little jumpy, this morning, aren't we?"

She raises herself off the bed and goes to the window to check on what is happening outside.

Scratching my chin and yawning, I join her.

A black helicopter is landing in the Stanley's field, the aircraft's lights slicing the night and sucking out shades of green from the trees.

Scully gives my hand a hurried but tender squeeze and then wastes no time getting dressed. I do the same.

She hasn't said a word since she woke up, but this isn't unusual for her.

She's always been quiet in the mornings. Her vocal cords usage tends to be proportional to her caffeine intake.

A good thing, actually, giving me time to process and analyze what I overheard last night.

The Earth tilting on its axis was probably what woke me up.

Dear Diary, last night Dana Scully talked, *really* talked.

Well, if you think about it, technically she was talking to herself.

I still consider that progress, though.

As I follow Scully down the stairs, I hear a door open behind me. I look over my shoulder to see Faye standing barefoot in her bedroom's doorway, a confused look on her face.

"What's happening?"

"We've got visitors," I tell her.

She nods and her gaze slips away from mine.

I get back up to her on the landing.

"Faye, it's all right."

The look she throws me is Classic Scully - it's one I've seen too many times on her mother's face, the one that takes me down a notch or two and lets me know that I'm talking out of my ass.

I reach out for her shoulder and feel her flinch - the beginning of a flight response. Well, I guess she did the fighting part yesterday. Me and my throat had front row seats.

I don't let go though and keep my hold gentle but firm.

"Faye?"

She turns her head away. I think she's trying to count the floorboards at her feet.

I tighten my grasp.

"You did what you had to. I am not upset."

No answer.

So I bend my knees slightly until I can catch her eyes and repeat slowly,"I. Am. Not. Upset."

"But I am."

I nod and straighten up. "Look, Faye, we need to..."

The sudden sound of footsteps and voices punctuated by a few enquiring barks from Kiss tell me that our guests have entered the living room.

I gather Faye in a quick hug.

"We'll talk about this, Peanut. I promise."

She sighs against my shoulder, "Okay."

After one final pat on her back, I let her go.

"Are you coming?" I ask her, tilting my head in the direction of the stairs.

She nods, "I'll just go and put my shoes on."

In the crowded living room, Scully and the Stanleys are attending to five people in thick yellow Hazmat suits.

Real ones.

Familiar faces appear as headgear is lifted and thrown aside.

Skinner, the Gunmen, Mrs. Scully.

My throat tightens as I watch Scully fall into her mother's arms. I'm trying not to think about my own mother's whereabouts remaining unknown.

Across the room, Skinner notices my presence and throws me a weary smile.

"Mulder, my man. You're alive!" Frohike bellows before smothering me in a fierce hug.

The Gunmen surround me, and I get a heartfelt pat on the back from Langley while Byers contents himself with a powerful handshake that almost dislocates my shoulder.

"Good to see you, Mulder," he tells me, finally letting go of my hand.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again!" Frohike admits, wiping his nose with his mitten-clad fingers.

"I bet you say that to all your dates, Frohike."

That earns me a mock punch in the stomach.

"The end of the world and you're still a jerk," the little guy comments.

"Hello, Fox."

The gunmen stumble on each other to allow Margaret Scully to greet me.

"Mrs. Scully."

She takes my hand and pins me with that unblinking direct stare that runs in her family.

"Thank you for finding my daughter. I knew you would not give up."

I shift on my feet, ill at ease - the star-shaped whisky stains on my living room wall coming back to haunt me.

I tilt my chin towards the Gunmen.

"You should thank these guys. They're the ones who found her trace."

"Is that so?" She beams at the Gunmen who go all "aw shucks - don't mention it" on her.

She turns her gaze back to me, "and where was she?"

"Mom, why don't we get you out of that suit before you start conducting the Spanish Inquisition on my partner?" Scully cuts in, stepping behind her mother and laying a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes are pleading with me to keep my mouth shut for now.

We haven't had the time to edit and agree on a Mother-Friendly version of events yet.

Mrs. Scully turns to face her daughter and smiles.

"You're right, honey. Here, help me."

I feel a hand tugging urgently on my sleeve. Frohike looks at me like he's swallowed the entire Watergate wiretap transcript.

"What's the matter, Frohike?"

"She doesn't know," he hisses as close to my ear as he can manage.

"Doesn't know what?"

The little man shakes his head impatiently. "Skinner and I didn't know how to break the news to her, so we didn't say anything"

"About what?"

Frohike sighs - the expression on his stubbled and tired face suddenly goes from agitated to resigned as his gaze focuses on a point over my shoulder.

"About her."

I swivel on my feet. Faye has just stepped into the living room.

Holding her daughter's arm for balance as she steps out of the suit, Maggie Scully freezes and stares at the newcomer.

The world goes still.

I see the woman's knuckles whiten as her fingers tighten their grip on Scully's arm.

"Dana?"

~~~

Chapter Five: One Family

Hell Creek 5.30 AM

"Dana?"

"Mom..."

Scully's voice trails off.

I understand she would be at a loss to continue. How do you explain Faye to an outsider?

My mind flashes back to one particular day - in the basement - Scully was standing in front of the open filing cabinet, with a ray of late afternoon sunlight slicing her back. She quietly confided that Margaret never actually believed that Emily was her granddaughter, had argued later that the DNA test must have been flawed and that Scully's desire for motherhood had blinded her judgment. I remember the sadness weighing her down like an anchor - its sharp edges scraping at her voice like metal over stone.

I think I'd managed a supportive grunt in reply.

I guess Scully now anticipates similar resistance regarding this new fully grown offspring.

Across the living room, Faye and Mrs. Scully are staring at each other and everyone else has stopped moving and possibly breathing as well.

Well, not quite everyone.

The Stanleys are exchanging "What-the-fuck-is-going-on?" frowns and Kiss has begun chewing on one of the gloves from Skinner's Hazmat suit.

Mrs. Scully drops her daughter's arm and slowly approaches Faye.

She lifts one hand, as if to touch her face - then seems to change her mind and lets her arm fall back down.

"Who are you?" Disbelief makes her voice low and breathless.

Faye shoots an enquiring look at Scully who slowly nods back. Obviously the lesson about talking to strangers without her mother's approval has paid off.

"My name is Faye."

"Faye..." Mrs. Scully breathes.

"And I think you must be my grandmother."

The kid's eagerness to share accurate information is endearing, really - unless you're Scully - who looks like she's just ingested a petri dish sideways.

Margaret sways under the shock; muttering, "This isn't possible..." and other things I can't understand. Scully and I rush to her side, just in case. She catches my arm in a vice grip and steadies herself before facing her daughter with a sharp turn of the heels.

Her next words are as cold as a handful of cleavers dipped in ice.

"DANA. I want an explanation. NOW."

Scully's face petrifies.

"How could you hide something like this from me?"

She points one slim, accusing finger, triggering an instinctive recoil in my partner's shoulders.

"Or should I say: how could you hide something like this from me, AGAIN?"

"Mrs. Scully..."

Her hand slices the air to stop me.

"No, Fox. Let. My daughter. Speak."

Hmmm. Now I know where those clipped tones come from. I'm beginning to think that - when Scully decided to quit medical school to join the FBI - going against her father's wishes was the easy part.

"I didn't know, Mom. I swear I didn't know until two months ago."

Margaret crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at her daughter.

Scully throws me a look that is pure panic.

I shift on the balls of my feet, not particularly looking forward to having her mother's wrath redirected towards me. When someone has so many good reasons to hate your guts and yet seems reluctant to do so, you do your best not to blow sparks towards their unlit pyre.

Fortunately, I don't have to ponder this any further. Assistant Director Walter Skinner is approaching with a firm step.

"Mrs. Scully, you probably wish to have this conversation with your daughter somewhere a little more private? Why don't you let my friends show you to your room?"

I seriously consider having an affair with that beautiful bald man.

Mrs. Scully blinks owlishly at Skinner for a few seconds before suddenly regaining her composure; the veneer of good manners and civility straightening her spine and tugging at the corners of her mouth in something that wants to pass for a gracious smile.

"Yes, of course, that's very kind of you, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner nods and turns toward the Stanleys. The silent exchange between those three hints at a long standing and close friendship.

With a tilt of the chin, Mozes directs her husband to deal with the suitcases standing by the door while she tells Maggie, "It's this way, follow me."

A short merry-go-round of highly charged looks passes between the Scullys.

There’s Margaret’s “we're not done yet," Scully's sullen “don’t I know that,” as well as  a “let me deal with this” aimed at Faye who merely shrugs and goes to sort out the Hazmat suits lying on the floor.

I'm not quite sure if that shrug was supposed to mean "as you wish" or "fuck you". Could be both.

I watch as my partner and her mother follow Mozes up the stairs. I get a lingering look from Scully and try to silently convey my moral support. I get a thin wince in return.

Darling, I really wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now. Not that I'd ever want to; I have fussy ankles.

Suitcases in hand, Moses follows them. On his way up he pauses briefly to tell the Gunmen: "I've made some beds for you guys downstairs, I hope you'll be all right." His gaze shifts towards Skinner and he adds, "Walter, will you show them?"

"No problem." Skinner gestures at my three friends, "come on guys, you're gonna love this."

"Unless he's got a year worth of Playboy centerfolds down there, nothing will impress me. Not after what I've seen this past month," Frohike tells me as he walks past.

"Wanna bet?"

"Hell, yes."

"10 dollars."

"Deal, you cheapskate."

As entertaining as it would be to witness that childlike delight on their faces when the Gunmen find out what 'downstairs' entails - I think I'd better stay and do some damage control on the Faye front.

I pick up a mask and drop it on the couch. Kiss is still chewing on Skinner's glove, both enormous paws possessively resting over the yellow plastic or whatever it is these things are made of.

I approach him and kneel down.

"Come on big boy, you can't eat that, I’m sure your master's got tastier stuff for you to chew on."

I extend one hand towards him and the dog wastes no time raising his head to growl at me.

I stand up slowly. This is a very big dog.

"Okay. I guess that's a no then."

Faye drops a stack of neatly folded Hazmat suits on the coffee table and approaches us. As soon as she comes near, Kiss' ears flatten on his head and - with the yellow glove still held in his jaws - bolts out of the room, tail between his legs.

"He won't let me come near him."

I begin to utter some reassuring noises, but she stops me with a wave of her graceful hand.

"That's OK, I probably don't smell human enough. It must confuse and scare him."

She doesn't seem saddened by it in the least. I think the concept of pets flies way over her head too.

She turns away and, after putting the last mask on top of the pile, she walks to the front door and opens it. The cold smell of sap and wet leaves drifts inside the living room.

"Faye, wait -"

"It's not dawn yet," she tells me before stepping outside.

I hesitate then follow her. The cold air hits my face and clears my head.

Faye sits on the wooden steps and I join her.

"Besides, I'm probably immune," she points out, rubbing her hands over her arms.

"Maybe. Still, better be safe than sorry." I drum my fingers over my jeans to keep them warm.

"Nobody's safe and everybody's sorry."

"Is that what you think?"

She turns her head to fix me with those green eyes of hers. I'm sure they were much lighter when we first met. Over the months they've gone from pale jade to new leaves.

"Mulder, is this how it's going to be every time I meet someone who knows my mother?"

I won't lie to her. "If you mean that it will always come as shock, then yes. You look too much like Scully for people who know her well not to be freaked out by it. You have to understand Faye, in this world, the world where everyday people live, human clones just don't exist."

I lay my hand on her shoulder. "But you must trust your mother. I'm sure that once she's explained the situation, everything will be fine. Margaret Scully is a kind-hearted person. You'll like her."

Faye throws me a dubious look. "She was very angry."

"She's just scared, Faye. All these things happening around her, the plague, the hybridization programs; she didn't know anything about that, never expected such things to even exist. Mrs. Scully is just a mother who keeps getting calls telling her that her FBI agent of a daughter is yet again in a hospital or disappeared for several months. So she's scared and angry and she's got every right to be. And I also suspect she resents the fact that nobody's had the guts to tell her what was going on until now."

I squeeze her shoulder gently. "Her anger has nothing to do with you, peanut. Her world has just been turned inside out."

I stand up. "Come on, it's freezing out there."

Faye lifts her eyes to meet mine. "In a minute."

"Aren't you cold?"

"A little."

I nod. "I'll get you a coat."

"OK. Thanks."

That’s one thing I like about Faye. She doesn’t mind that I take care of her. She always listens first and then accepts or refuses my help - depending on what she's trying to achieve - unless of course she’s about to go nuclear.

She’s so unlike her mother in that respect.

I go back inside and head for the kitchen where the Stanleys are now cooking an early breakfast.

"Could I borrow a couple of warm coats?"

Mozes, frying pan in hand, turns her head to look at me. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, thanks."

Her husband points at some coats hooks by the kitchen back door. "Help yourself, buddy."

I grab a couple of thick hiking jackets.

"As your hosts, we would be entitled to ask questions," Mozes tells me while stirring what looks like pancake batter.

I fold the coats over my right arm, "I know."

"And we would have the right to expect answers."

I nod, "you would."

"Just so you know."

She turns back to her stove and picks up a ladle.

I wait as she pours a dollop of batter into the pan, but the tall woman doesn't say anything else.

I catch Moses' amused gaze as he opens a can of condensed milk.

"I understand why you married her," I tell him.

"That's another thing you can explain to us later," he laughs.

I smile, nod my thanks for the coats and then go back outside to sit with Faye.

+++++++

8am

Everyone is in the kitchen having breakfast when I finally come back downstairs. It is so good to see all of them alive and well together; I pause for a minute on the threshold to take it all in.

We're safe for now.

My mother's safe.

My mother did not kill me.

When the bedroom door had closed behind me, my initial intent had only been to give her the minimum required amount of information to explain Faye's existence. So I’d begun to pace and talk, following the twisted notches on the uneven wooden floor to avoid facing the anger and betrayal still simmering in her eyes.

Because I’d left her in the dark again in spite of my promises.

I could not bear hearing the disappointment in her voice again – the one that said: "you’re a stranger I cannot trust" – when I didn’t even recognize myself. I needed her to acknowledge me so badly.

So I kept on talking. And as I did, dates and events had begun pouring out of me in one great stream of cathartic relief.

I told her that many people had died for what Mulder and I knew, or thought we knew. I told her about finding Luis Cardinal and how I nearly forgot everything that I was in that instant; how nothing had felt more real than the cold chill of the trigger about to yield under the pressure of my index finger. How close I had been to giving in. And how sorry I was about Melissa and could never forgive myself.

Then I told her about the plague; how although we never expected things to happen on such a worldwide scale, we’d been following the signs of impending doom for years. I told her about the experiments conducted not only on myself but on countless other women, about the ruthless men behind this. I told her about the beehives we found last summer and how I got stung.

No mom, I know that’s what I said at the time, but I didn’t get frostbite on my face because Mulder and I went to the North pole again to investigate the death of a geologist.

I did not tell her where Mulder thought he found me, though – one thing at a time.

My mother listened and cried and held me for a long time after I’d told her what my life really had been like these past few years.

She only asked one question:

Why?

I had no answers for her.

A great burst of collective laughter brings me back to Earth.

"So, he called you... he actually called you, Mozzarella?" Langley hiccups, red faced and just about to choke.

"He thought it was such a nice Italian name!" Mozes replies laughing nearly as hard.

"And her father was so proud, nobody had the heart to tell him!" Skinner adds, taking his glasses off and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Mulder notices me.

"Hey Scully, come here and listen to the fabulous tale of our host’s christening."

He pulls a chair out for me and I walk around the table to sit between him and Faye.

My arrival has the same effect as a bucket of water thrown over a fire. The laughter and joyous atmosphere sizzles to a halt and they all look at me with serious eyes.

"How's your mother?" Mulder asks.

I grab a cup and help myself to coffee. "She's resting, I've explained quite lot of things to her regarding our... situation." I catch Faye's eyes before adding, "She's just going to need time to let everything sink in."

They all nod at me with a sympathy that makes me cringe a little - except Faye who's lowered her eyes to play with her spoon; wearing that blank expression I've seen on my own face many times. My mother's reaction upset her deeply, I know that much - but she'll be damned if she's going to let it show. One more thing I will have to try and fix.

I hate that I just killed the mood, so I take a sip of my coffee and crane my neck to look at Mozes.

"Mozzarella, really?"

She smiles at me. "Really."

"Well, you're in good company. There are no shortages of outlandish names at this table."

"Scully, this isn't nice for Melvin," Mulder scolds.

"...or for Ringo," Frohike adds between bites of pancake, his middle finger straightening on his fork and inclining itself towards my partner.

"My name is Richard," Langley objects.

"That’s what it says on your passport, but I'd love to see your birth certificate," Byers teases, wiping crumbs of his beard.

The Gunmen go on bickering, while Skinner and the Stanleys enjoy the show and keep on eating.

Mulder leans against me and I feel his hand brush over my thigh under the table.

I turn my head and hold his gaze as I lift a piece of pancake to my lips and chew it slowly.

Something quietly tender navigates back and forth between us.

Mulder, my own personal power charger. Making all my needles slide back to green with one look and one touch.

Under the table, I cover his hand with mine.

"Of course nothing can beat Fox. Uh, *Mulder*?" Langley calls out, breaking the spell.

"Get a haircut, Ringo." Mulder replies, still looking at me, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"FBI fascist."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Skinner objects.

"Gentlemen, I think now is the time to change the subject," Byers cut in.

Moses nods, while tapping the side of a maple syrup bottle to retrieve the last drops. "I agree. I'm afraid we need to address some pressing matters regarding food supplies."

"He can’t live without maple syrup," his wife grins.

Over the course of the next hour, we decide upon a "raiding party." I watch and listen as our little community organizes itself into a well oiled survival machine. I feel blessed to be surrounded by such courageous people who, in spite of impossible odds, are still determined to go forward. Many would have given up and broken down at this stage in front of the enormity of what has been happening.

But not these guys.

And I know there must have been losses of friends and family along the way. Langley is even twitchier than usual, Frohike’s eyes are red and puffy behind his thick glasses, Byers keeps scratching nervously at his beard and Skinner’s jaw is so tense I fear he’s gonna start spitting out cinder blocks. 

And yet here they are, suggesting, planning and coming up with solutions as they always have.

It calms me.

The Gunmen making me feel normal again? I *am* losing my mind.

After checking the maps that Mozes retrieves from the living room, we opt for the town of Billings as our first target. It is the closest to Hell Creek. Specific duties are being assigned:

Byers will be in charge of retrieving technology.

Moses will be in charge of food supplies.

Faye and I will be dropped at the clinic to deal with medical supplies.

Skinner will look for potential weapons and hunting gear.

Mulder as usual, will be the wild card and scavenge whatever he deems useful.

Mozes, Langley and Frohike will remain here and keep my mother company.

Now all we need to do is wait for nightfall.

***
2pm

I must have dozed off on the couch in the living room when I feel a warm hand stroke the top of my head. I open my eyes to see my mother looking down at me.

I sit up, rubbing my face. "Hey, mom, what's up?"

"Hi, honey."

My mother is holding against her chest what I instantly recognize as the Scully family photo album. She comes to sit on the couch next to me. Her nervous fingers clenching over the spine of the book.

I smile fondly at her. "You took it with you."

"There was so little time to take anything. But I couldn't leave this behind," she chokes on the last word, and my hand slips into hers.

"Mom..."

We are without news of my brothers. I fight the hollow feeling that rises in my chest.

My mother draws one huge shaky breath and squeezes my fingers before letting my hand go.

"Where is everybody?"

I crane my neck towards the kitchen's entrance and cannot see or hear anything.

"Probably downstairs, making arrangements for tonight.

"Tonight?"

I quickly inform my mother of our plans.

"Will it be dangerous?"

"We'll take every precaution so that it isn't, Mom. I promise. We're just going in, taking what we need and coming back."

"Can't you let the others go, just this once? You look exhausted, Dana, and you've lost so much weight since I last saw you."

I shake my head. "We're going to need medical supplies, mom. I have to go. Don't you worry about me, I'm all right."

"You don't look all right."

"Mom, please don't start."

My mother sighs sharply in frustration. Her fingers are tracing the gold letters embossed on the album cover.

"Is the young woman going with you?"

Well, my mother is doing so much better than me. A few hours after their encounter and Faye's already been upgraded from 'She's a what?' to 'young woman'.

"Faye? Yes, she's a scientist as well. She'll help me get what we need."

My mother sets the album by her side. "I'm having a lot of trouble believing in all this, Dana"

"It's been difficult for me too."

"So she's a clone."

"Yes."

"Made from your genes."

"That's correct." I have left aside the alien angle in my earlier revelations. I figured my mother would have enough difficulties as it is coping with the concept of human cloning and world wide genocide.

"And she's 5 years old?"

I sigh, "Well, yes and no. She's been alive five years but she ages more rapidly. So I guess you could say that one of her years is like 5 of ours."

My mother rubs one hand over her mouth thoughtfully before asking: "but does she think like an adult or a child? I mean, how do you talk to her?"

"Well, Mulder thinks of her as a teenager. She can be quite unpredictable, so it kind of fits."

"But she's not...bad or anything?"

Now that's a loaded question.

"She's my daughter, Mom. Genetically speaking. So I guess that makes her as bad as any child of mine could be."

Of course, there is also the small matter of her incinerating abilities, but I remain firmly in denial over this one.

"That's not an answer," my mother points out.

I run a nervous hand through my hair. "To tell you the truth, Faye and I don't really talk much to one another. But she seems to be honest and equipped with a good heart - even if she can be a little blunt and stubborn at times."

"That sounds like a Scully blueprint to me," my mother smiles.

I huff, "I guess so."

"Unbelievable."

"You don't say."

"But you two aren't close, you said?"

Trust my mother to catch up on this.

"I'm working on it, but no, we're not."

"I understand."

I am stunned. "You do?"

My mother runs a comforting hand up and down my arm, "Of course I do, honey. It's not like you gave birth to her. Here comes that stranger who looks and sounds like you but is not you, who was made from you but without you. Anybody who thinks you should fall into each other's arm just because you share DNA is a delusional fool."

I am going to carve this on a baseball bat and hit Mulder with it.

I curl up against her, resting my head on her shoulder.

"I’m glad you’re here, mom."

She pats the side of my head, "I know, baby girl, so am I."

~~~

End of Chapter 5