Title: AND THERE WAS A WAR IN HEAVEN
Author: aka "Jake" and Brandon D. Ray
Rating: R (Violence, Language, Adult Content)
Classification: X, MSR, Mytharc, Post-Colonization
Spoilers: Contains mytharc references to episodes from seasons 
1-9. Picks up after the events of "Trust No 1."

Summary: Action and intrigue, romance and heartache, Mulder 
and Scully (of course!), and all of your other favorite XF 
characters, too -- heroes and villains alike. If you enjoyed 
"Fight the Future," we're pretty sure you'll like WIH. 

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, 
FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement 
intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no.

Authors Notes: "And There Was a War in Heaven" is the prequel 
to "Bare Ruin'd Choirs" and "Love Among the Ruins" by the 
Secret Squirrels. It is not necessary to read BRC or LATR to 
enjoy or understand War In Heaven. This story was written with 
the Secret Squirrels' permission, and will be presented as a 
WIP. Please do not archive until the story is complete.

Special thanks to mimic117 for great beta. We love you 
darlin'!

Feedback is welcome. Please write to: 
nejake@tds.net

"War In Heaven" is archived at: 
http://akajake.net/WIH.html


AND THERE WAS A WAR IN HEAVEN
By aka "Jake" and Brandon D. Ray

BOOK ONE

"And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought 
against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels, and 
prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in 
heaven.

"And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called 
the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was 
cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with 
him."

-- Rev. 12:7-9

CHAPTER ONE

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

NEAR THE WASHINGTON NAVY YARD
WASHINGTON, DC
DECEMBER 24, 2001
10:58 PM

Hell of a way to be spending Christmas Eve, Doggett thought, 
as he shifted restlessly in the passenger seat of Monica's 
car. Not that he had any plans -- but still, it was the 
principle of the thing.

"Relax, John," she murmured. "He'll be here."

"He's late," Doggett replied, stuffing his hands in his jacket 
pockets. "He's late, it's Christmas Eve, and I don't even know 
what we're doin' here."

"We're following up on a lead."

"A lead from Brad Follmer," he muttered, slouching down 
further in his seat.

"Yes, a lead from Brad," she said. "But the Lone Gunmen found 
corroborating evidence." She tilted her head as she turned to 
look at him. "You know I wouldn't go out on a limb just on the 
basis of what Brad says. Not after what happened last fall."

Last fall. He grunted softly. A.D. Follmer had almost gotten 
them killed last fall -- with help, he had to admit, from 
Shannon McMahon and Knowle Rohrer. *And* Gene Crane, who he'd 
always thought he could trust with his life, God damn Gene's 
soul. If he still had one. Trust no one, the man had said, and 
Doggett had certainly learned the wisdom of *that* particular 
aphorism these past few months --

"How far does he have to travel to get here?" he asked 
abruptly.

"I don't know. Byers didn't say. I'm not sure anyone knows, 
other than Dana. Byers said there's an email drop, with half a 
dozen cut outs along the way. But he said they got a positive 
response. He'll be here."

"We should have called Agent Scully," he said, not for the 
first time.

Monica didn't respond. They'd already hashed this out, and 
Doggett could still hear the argument echoing through his 
mind. Scully's family was in town. This was her first 
Christmas with William, and it was Christmas Eve. Oh, and by 
the way, she almost flipped out and got the three of us killed 
when we found the lab on that freighter ship a couple of 
months ago -- and then a few weeks later, her desperate need 
to see Mulder had almost got *Mulder* killed.

Monica hadn't phrased it like that, of course. She'd been 
diplomatic and respectful, but she'd also been unshakeable. 
More importantly, she'd been right, and Doggett knew it. Dana 
Scully was fraying at the edges. She was losing her 
perspective, and Doggett had finally been forced to admit that 
pursuing the matter without her assistance was in everyone's 
best interests.

But he still didn't like the fact that they were bypassing 
her. He remembered his own tight-lipped anger at being shut 
out of investigations last year, early in his partnership with 
Scully, and now he was doing it to her. And not just on a 
garden-variety X-file -- Christ, what a long way he'd come, 
that he was even able to *think* a phrase like that --

He almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden rapping on the 
car window next to him. Doggett inhaled sharply, not really a 
gasp, and by the time he'd turned his head to look, Monica had 
popped open the locks on the car, and Fox Mulder was sliding 
into the back seat.

"Agent Doggett," he said, nodding. "Agent Reyes. What have you 
got?"

Right to the point, Doggett thought. All business. He felt a 
bit of annoyance at Mulder's brusqueness, but quickly stifled 
the emotion. He and Mulder might have buried the hatchet, 
after the trip to the oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, but that 
didn't mean they were buddies -- and Mulder knew Monica even 
less well. Nor had they called him here for a few beers and 
some poker. Doggett sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and 
decided to let Monica take the lead.

"A few days ago," she began, turning in her seat so as to look 
back at Mulder, "we received a tip concerning William's 
heritage." Doggett could almost feel the sudden surge of 
interest coming from the back seat. He turned to look, and saw 
that Mulder was watching Monica, a look of intent 
concentration on his face, as she continued, "I assume Dana 
has kept you up to date on events since you left?"

"Yeah," he agreed, with another short nod. "You got something 
new?"

"Maybe," she replied. "We received an envelope of what 
appeared to be surveillance photos, taken in and near the 
Washington Navy Yard. We didn't recognize most of the 
subjects, but we did see three people we knew." She pulled a 
manila envelope from under her seat, and passed it back to 
Mulder.

"Knowle Rohrer," he said, under his breath, as he examined the 
first of the photographs. A slight shuffling noise, and he 
added, "Agent Crane." And finally, "Billy Miles." Mulder sat 
in silence for a moment, then slid the photos back into the 
envelope. He glanced at Doggett, then looked back to Monica. 
"What's your source for this?"

"It's a Bureau source," she said, her voice neutral. 
"Assistant Director Brad Follmer."

"The guy they promoted after Kersh was made Deputy Director," 
Mulder commented. "I think Scully said he's a friend of 
yours?"

"Yes," Monica answered. "Back when he was SAC in New York. We 
were ... close." Her lips tightened, and Doggett felt a surge 
of sympathy. She'd also suffered betrayals because of this 
assignment. "But since joining the X-files, I've come to 
believe he may be working against our interests."

Mulder nodded. "Do you have anything else?"

"I think so," she replied. "We've been working closely with 
the Lone Gunmen ever since you left. We shared those 
photographs with them, and they were able to identify a few of 
the other subjects. Most of them are listed in MUFON records 
as recent abductees. More importantly, and the reason we 
called you, is that Frohike was able to hack into the Navy 
Yard's computer records and download, among other things, 
shipping manifests for the current fiscal year."

"And?"

"And it turns out that one of the classified activities at the 
Navy Yard, something called the Olympus District, has received 
regular, weekly shipments from a company that's a subsidiary 
of Roush Industries. Frohike said you'd recognize the 
significance of that."

"Yeah."

Mulder was frowning now; his eyes hooded. Doggett could only 
imagine what must be going through his head. He'd gone into 
hiding at Scully's urging, for his own protection. When he 
left, he'd been convinced that Scully and William were out of 
danger -- or, at least, well protected. That belief had been 
shaken by the revelation that Scully had been under long term, 
intense surveillance by the NSA. And now this ....

"There's more," Monica continued. "The Gunmen have also 
finally traced the ownership of that freighter we found last 
fall."

"Let me guess," Mulder interrupted. "It was also owned by 
Roush."

"Through seven or eight different false fronts," she affirmed. 
"And finally, the guys found a data link between the Census 
Bureau's Federal Statistics Center in Crystal City, and the 
Olympus District. Frohike wasn't able to crack their 
encryption scheme, so we don't know the nature of the 
information being exchanged, but he did say the data flow 
between the two can be measured in gigabytes per hour."

"Jesus." Mulder whistled tunelessly. "Have you told Scully 
about any of this?"

"Frankly, no," Monica said. "We didn't think it prudent."

Mulder raised his eyebrows and glanced at Doggett, and Doggett 
found himself fidgeting under the other man's gaze. It had 
been at Monica's insistence that they'd kept Scully out of the 
loop, but he'd gone along with it. There was no point in 
pretending otherwise -- and if Mulder bothered to read between 
the lines, he must have realized that the Gunmen had also 
concurred with the decision, since Doggett and Monica had 
contacted him through them.

"We thought it best not to," Doggett explained, feeling 
awkward even as he spoke the words. "She's already got a lot 
on her mind. We hoped that you could represent Agent Scully's 
interests. And William's."

Something flared in Mulder's eyes at this second mention of 
the child's name. *Mulder's* child, Doggett amended in his 
mind. That question had been settled at last, a couple of 
weeks after his birth, when a copy of the boy's birth 
certificate appeared for a few hours on the bulletin board in 
the agents' bullpen in the Hoover Building. Not that Doggett 
had ever doubted it. It would have been nice if Agent Scully 
had told him herself, directly, but it wasn't like it was 
actually any of his business.

"Yes, I can represent them," Mulder said. "You did the right 
thing." His lips twisted into something between a grimace and 
a smile. "So here we are," he went on. "Ready to break into 
another government facility. A fine old X-files tradition."

Monica nodded, leaned over to grab the gym bag off the floor 
from between Doggett's feet, and passed it back to Mulder. He 
unzipped it, glanced at the contents -- a variety of 
electronic arcana that the Lone Gunmen had assured them Mulder 
would know how to use, when and if the opportunity arose -- 
and closed it again. While he was doing that, Monica flipped 
open her cell phone, punched one of the speed dials, and told 
whichever of the boys happened to answer that they were ready 
-- ready for whatever those three geeks could do to disable 
the Navy Yard's security systems. Thirty seconds later, she 
closed the phone.

"Let's do it," she said.

Without another word, Monica and Mulder opened their doors and 
stepped out of the car. Doggett shook his head, muttered, 
"Arrugah," under his breath, and went after them.


*  *  *

Back when she was going through the FBI Academy at Quantico, 
it had never occurred to Reyes that she might one day use the 
skills she was being taught against the government that was 
teaching them to her.

She'd also never in her life imagined that it was so *easy* to 
gain illicit access to a secure government facility. She'd 
shown a certain amount of bravado, back in the car, and just 
climbed out from behind the wheel and gone with Mulder when he 
started to move. But the truth was that she was none too 
comfortable with this. She wasn't exactly a goody two shoes -- 
at least, she didn't think of herself that way -- but this was 
far beyond anything she'd ever considered doing before.

She was aware of John following along behind her, but most of 
her attention was on Mulder, the unquestioned past master at 
B&E. John had accompanied Mulder on at least one previous 
foray, she remembered -- the infiltration of the Federal 
Statistics Center, shortly after Mulder's miraculous return 
from the dead. Her own experience was more limited, being 
restricted chiefly to the lab ship earlier in the fall -- and 
it had been left unguarded, preparatory to being destroyed.

So Reyes didn't know quite what to expect. A little electronic 
legerdemain from the Gunmen, to be sure -- but was that really 
all there was to it? Somehow, she expected more. Secret 
passwords, anonymous associates leaving the gate unlocked -- 
something. But in the event, it was all very prosaic: Mulder 
led them to a lonely stretch of chain link fence, and without 
another word he scrambled up and over. Doggett and Reyes 
followed suit.

"Damn it!"

Reyes swore as the sleeve of her leather jacket snagged on the 
barbed wire that ran along the top of the fence. There was a 
quiet, ripping sound, telling her of $300 going down the 
drain. Then her momentum carried her on over, and a few 
seconds later she landed on the other side, automatically 
crouching down to minimize her silhouette, and craning her 
neck to try to assess the damage to her jacket.

"Monica? You okay?"

John's voice was barely a whisper. Reyes looked around to see 
him moving towards her, while Mulder stood with his hands on 
his hips a few yards away.

"I'm fine," she said. She took one more glance at the three-
inch rip in her jacket, shook her head in annoyance, and 
looked back to John. "I'm okay. I just got hung up for a 
second on the wire." She straightened up, brushing off her 
hands. Mulder, apparently having decided that he'd waited long 
enough, turned away and headed into the complex. Reyes brushed 
by John and followed.

They hadn't gone more than a dozen steps before they were 
caught in the glare of a flashlight.

"Freeze!"

Reyes felt her stomach plummeting down towards her boots, and 
did her best to hold perfectly still. The beam of the 
flashlight was coming from behind her and to the right, and it 
took all her willpower not to turn and look at the man as she 
heard his footsteps approaching.

"Okay, all of you. Hands behind your heads, and turn around. 
Slowly." Reyes started to comply, mentally preparing herself 
for the professional train wreck that was about to begin, but 
Mulder was already talking.

"Good evening, uh, Sergeant," he said, his voice calm and 
measured as he squinted into the glare of the flashlight. "And 
Merry Christmas. You've passed with flying colors." The man 
didn't say anything, and Mulder added, "Relax, Sergeant. We're 
Federal agents. Show him your I.D., guys."

"Federal agents --"

"It's okay, Sergeant," John said, taking a slow, careful step 
forward. "We're FBI. I'm going to show you my badge, okay? We 
all work for the same boss." He waited a few seconds, then 
slowly lowered his left hand, reached into his jacket pocket 
with two fingers, and withdrew his I.D. folder. He flipped it 
open and extended his arm. "There. You see? We're part of the 
Bureau's Counter Terrorism Unit -- this is a security check. 
Part of ... Operation Pomegranate."

"Pomegranate?"

"Sure," said Mulder -- and Reyes noticed for the first time 
that he'd moved several steps closer and to his left, so that 
now he and John flanked the man with the flashlight. "You 
haven't heard of Operation Pomegranate? Well, that's good. 
It's pretty highly classified. Right, Agent Reyes?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling stupid and obvious. "Highly 
classified."

"Well, I'm still going to have to take you --"

And Mulder struck, diving to the right and catching the man's 
ankles with a leg sweep. The flashlight and another object -- 
presumably the sergeant's gun -- went flying, and almost by 
instinct, Reyes hit the ground, rolling across the pavement 
and reaching for her weapon at the same time. She came to rest 
a few yards from where she'd begun, arms extended, sighting 
down the barrel of her SIG -- just in time to see John pin the 
hapless guard beneath him. John's fist rose and fell twice, 
and the struggles ceased.

Mulder was already moving forward, even as Reyes was climbing 
back to her feet, and John was rolling off the now-still form 
of the sergeant. Mulder bent down, hooked his hands beneath 
the man's armpits, and began to drag him towards the nearest 
building.

"Take it easy, there," John said, as Mulder dumped the man in 
the shadow of the building. John squatted down next to the 
sergeant, and began to straighten out his arms and legs. Reyes 
took a few steps closer, and finally was able to see the 
unconscious man's uniform. Aha. A Marine.

"We're kind of in a hurry," Mulder commented. "It won't be 
long before they miss that guy."

"Give him a minute," Reyes said.

Mulder shifted his weight in obvious impatience, but didn't 
say anything. John leaned down by the man's ear and muttered 
something -- Reyes thought she heard 'semper fi' -- then rose 
to his feet. "Let's get goin'," he growled.

The three of them moved further into the complex, sticking to 
the shadows as much as possible. Twice, they had to take 
evasive action to avoid detection by guards on patrol, but at 
last they were standing in front of the building they wanted -
- at least, if Frohike's research was correct, it was the one 
they wanted. The building was unmarked, other than a serial 
number stenciled on the side, and the windows were dark.

Mulder, now clearly in charge of the operation, led them down 
the side of the structure, going down to a crouch and duck-
walking past each window. After thirty or forty yards, they 
came to a doorway.

"Alarms?" Reyes breathed.

"What? Don't you trust the guys?" Mulder asked, his voice 
tinged with irony, as he pulled a lock pick from his pocket. 
He shrugged, and added, "If there are, I doubt we'll hear 
them. We're gonna have to be quick. You both ready?"

Reyes nodded, reaching into her own jacket pocket for the 
digital camcorder the Gunmen had provided. Works in low light, 
Langly had said. No need for flashlights. Next best thing to 
the Army's most highly classified night vision goggles. 
Better, Frohike had insisted, in tones of flat assurance.

Reyes had decided not to ask them how they knew that.

And then she had to put those thoughts aside and focus on the 
task at hand. The door swung open, and Mulder led the way 
inside.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ST. JOHN'S CATHOLIC CHURCH
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

"Et hoc vobis signum invenietis infantem pannis involutum et 
positum in praesepio." The gospel of Luke rolled off Father 
McCue's tongue in Latin as easily as it did in English. He 
preached to a full house. More than five hundred parishioners 
packed St. John's Church to hear him tell the story of the 
Divine Nativity tonight.

Members of the choir, dressed in brilliant red robes and 
starched white collars, looked down on the congregation from 
the loft while waiting for a prompt from Frannie O'Donnel, the 
organist. Incense drifted up from the nave, past the choir to 
the arched ceiling overhead. From entry to altar, the church 
glowed with soft candlelight and the warmth of genuine holiday 
cheer.

Scully was grateful her mother had talked her into coming to 
Midnight Mass.

"Et subito facta est cum angelo multitudo militiae caelestis 
laudantium Deum et dicentium..." McCue's voice resounded 
through the nave.

Scully found comfort in the words, and in the priest's 
heartfelt tenor. She sat with her mother and William near the 
front of the church. They shared a pew with Tara, Matthew and 
little Sarah, who even at age three was already the spitting 
image of Bill Jr. Maggie held William on her lap, and the baby 
lay quietly in his grandmother's arms, his serious blue eyes 
drawn to the fluttery vestments of a deacon who carried a 
collection plate up the side aisle.

A second deacon circled the nave, rhythmically raising and 
lowering his censor, leaving a haze of aromatic incense in his 
wake. Scully breathed in the familiar scent, a prickly yet 
pleasing smell, and resisted the urge to reach over and stroke 
her son's plump cheek. William was seven months old. Seven 
months had passed since Mulder had last kissed his son, kissed 
them both, and then gone into hiding.

"Gloria in altissimis Deo..."

Scully had received Mulder's most recent email more than a 
week ago. His note came first to the Gunmen, encrypted and 
sent via randomized hubs in an effort to disguise its point of 
origin. To circumvent the NSA, or anyone else interested in 
intercepting their communications, Mulder had insisted: no 
more AOL accounts, Internet cafes or obvious pseudonyms. He 
entrusted Langly to handle the path reconfigurations and reset 
the encryptions whenever a message downloaded. Frohike hand-
delivered each and every note to Scully personally. The latest 
told her that Mulder was relatively nearby. Old Tavern, 
Virginia. An hour's drive on Interstate 66.

How long would he stay there? Two weeks? Three? She tried not 
to picture him alone in what was sure to be a ramshackle room, 
temporary lodging for a man in hiding and on the run...a 
fugitive from alien invaders and their own government. She 
knew he didn't care if the plumbing leaked or the bed linens 
needed changing; creature comforts took a back seat to his 
primary objectives of staying alive, keeping her and William 
safe, and uncovering the truth about the "super soldiers" and 
the plans for alien colonization.

To be honest, it wasn't the assumed shoddiness of his 
surroundings that bothered her the most, but the fact that he 
was on his own, with no one to watch his back...or buoy his 
spirits. She knew he missed her and William every bit as much 
as she missed him. It wasn't fair. When loneliness became 
unbearable for her, she had the option of turning to her 
family and friends for support; he, on the other hand, had no 
one.

Mulder's email hinted at a face-to-face meeting and a special 
Christmas present. He had signed his note "Mulder Claus." 
Scully worried his loneliness might lead him to risk his life 
for the sake of a gift. She ached to see him, but not if it 
meant exposing him to their enemies.

Only she and the Gunmen knew Mulder's exact location. A few 
others -- Doggett, Reyes, Skinner, Kersh -- understood the 
real reason for his absence, but they weren't privy to his 
whereabouts. To anyone who asked, including her family, Scully 
explained that Mulder was on special assignment for the Bureau 
and she wasn't at liberty to discuss the details.

"Et in terra pax in hominibus bonae voluntatis," McCue 
continued his recitation.

"Bony brontosaurus," four-year-old Matthew mimicked the 
priest. He giggled and poked his sister in the ribs.

"Ow!" Sarah yelped, poking him back. A finger fight ensued, 
setting them both to laughing, until Tara hushed them with a 
tap on each head and a stern motherly look.

Matthew grinned at Scully. "Look," he whispered loudly, and 
pointed to his chipped front tooth. She nodded, as if 
impressed. She suspected her nephew purposely tested Tara's 
easy-going temperament when Bill wasn't around to play the 
role of disciplinarian.

Bill Jr. couldn't be with his family this Christmas. He had 
shipped out ten days earlier, most likely to the Arabian Sea, 
given the current situation in India and Pakistan. He received 
his orders only hours after the suicide attack on New Delhi's 
parliament and, like Scully, he wasn't at liberty to discuss 
the details.

As soon as Maggie had heard Bill Jr. would be at sea during 
the holidays, she invited Tara to bring the children east for 
a visit. "It'll give Mattie and Sarah a chance to meet their 
new cousin," she coaxed.

Tara hadn't needed much coaxing. She couldn't wait to get a 
peek at William herself.

"He's adorable, Dana! He looks just like you," she cooed when 
she first saw William two days ago.

"He has his father's smile," Scully pointed out.

"But your coloring. Look at all his red hair!" Tara rubbed her 
palm over William's downy head. Catching sight of Scully's sad 
expression, she added, "I'm sorry Fox can't be here, Dana. I 
know it's not easy being apart, especially during the 
holidays."

Scully felt a pang of guilt at her own insensitivity. Her 
circumstances weren't really so unique. Both her sister-in-law 
and her mother had raised children alone. Mulder wasn't the 
first man in the family to miss the birth of his child; Bill 
Jr. had been away on a deployment when Sarah was born three 
years ago, and Bill Sr. had been at sea when both Missy and 
Charlie came into the world. Right now Tara could only guess 
at Bill's location and she wasn't likely to hear from him 
anytime soon. At least Scully knew where to find Mulder if she 
really needed him.

Frannie O'Donnel sounded the pipe organ, signaling the choir 
and the congregation to stand and sing "Oh Holy Night."

"I've always loved this song," Maggie whispered to Scully. She 
rocked William gently in her arms while she sang, "O holy 
night, the stars are brightly shining; it is the night of the 
dear Savior's birth."

"I can't see!" Matthew complained, standing on tiptoe.

"Shhh, there's nothing to see," Tara said. "Sing."

"But I don't know the words."

"Pretend."

"But--"

"Santa's making his list, Matthew Thomas Scully," Tara warned. 
Catching Scully's eye, she mouthed the words, "See what you 
have to look forward to?"

When the congregation finished singing the final hymn, they 
turned to their neighbors, shook hands, and wished each other 
good will. Then they gathered their coats, and filtered from 
the pews to the church's front door.

"Aunt Dana, is Santa coming now?" Sarah asked. She stood still 
while Scully helped her into her coat.

"Not until you're in bed and fast asleep." She fitted Sarah's 
hat over the girl's flyaway curls, and then turned to gather 
William from Maggie's arms.

"How will Santa find us?" Matthew asked. "Does he know where 
Grandma lives?"

"He manages to find me every year," Maggie assured him. "Right 
on schedule."

"Can Santa find Daddy, too?"

"Of course he can." Maggie zipped Matthew's jacket. "Is 
everybody ready?"

"I wanna ride with Grandma!" Matthew shouted.

"I wanna ride with Gramma, too!" Sarah repeated.

"Grandma, is it gonna snow?"

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

"It's not going to snow and you can both ride with me." Maggie 
herded them out of the pew into the side aisle.

"I'll go with Dana, Mom." Tara grinned. "It'll give us a few 
minutes of peace and quiet."

"Come on, Grandma. Santa's coming!" Matthew tugged Maggie's 
arm.

Both children chanted, "Santa's coming," while they skipped 
circles around their grandmother.

"I'll see you back at the house." Maggie winked at Tara and 
Scully. "Come on, kiddos. 'You better watch out, you better 
not cry--'"

"Better not SHOUT!" Matthew's voice echoed in the emptying 
church. "Shout! Shout! SHOUT!" He repeated, enjoying the echo 
and ignoring Maggie's good-natured "shhhh."

Tara rolled her eyes and laughed. "Remember how ecstatic Bill 
and I were when Mattie finally said his first word? Little did 
we realize." She lifted her coat from the pew and uncovered 
Sarah's baby doll. "Oops, Sarah left Hermione behind."

"Hermione?"

"Harry Potter's friend." Tara put on her coat and glanced 
toward the church's entrance. Maggie and the children had 
already disappeared beyond the open door, so she tucked the 
doll beneath her arm.

"Dana?" Father McCue called to Scully. He stood at the front 
of the church, beckoning her with a waggle of two fingers.

Scully nodded, turned to Tara and said, "Excuse me, I'll be 
just a minute."

"I'll warm up the car," Tara suggested. "Keys?" She held out 
her hand. Scully dug into her coat pocket and handed over the 
car keys. "Meet you outside." Tara smiled and headed for the 
door where the last of the parishioners buttoned their coats 
before stepping out into the chilly night.

Scully shifted William to her left arm and walked up the side 
aisle, her heels clacking with each measured step on the 
polished floor. The baby twisted to look over her shoulder, 
his eyes drawn once again to the deacon's fluttery stole. 
"Bababaaa!" he fussed, pointing a tiny finger.

McCue greeted Scully at the altar with a wide smile.

"Merry Christmas, Dana," he said, reaching for her hand. His 
touch, like his expression, was warm. "How have you been? Any 
word from Fox?"

"Not recently," she answered, cautious even with her priest.

"Any chance of a holiday reunion? Surely Fox wants to see his 
son on Christmas day." McCue tickled William's cheek with one 
finger. The baby drew back and scowled at him, causing the 
priest to laugh.

"I doubt that'll be possible, Father."

"I'm sorry to hear that." McCue's smile faded a little. "Well, 
the boy appears to be thriving, despite his father's absence."

William's gaze shifted from the priest to the choir loft. 
Someone in the loft suddenly screamed. Scully looked up to see 
one of the singers' red robes burst into flame. Then a second 
robe caught fire. Sparks and smoke whirled in the updraft. The 
singers panicked. More screams echoed through the church as 
the choir scrambled to escape the spreading blaze.

Scully watched open-mouthed as two faceless men, one at each 
end of the loft, trapped the singers between them. The men's 
features -- their mouths, eyes, noses -- were sealed by 
disfiguring scars. They appeared to be setting the choir on 
fire with some sort of foot-long wands.

Images from Ruskin Dam flashed into Scully's mind. Faceless 
men with no eyes. Oh God! They're setting them on fire...just 
like they did on the bridge in Pennsylvania, she thought, 
remembering her own words recorded on Dr. Heitz Werber's 
hypnotic regression tape. This was what she had seen three 
years ago. These were the men who burned all those abductees, 
who tried to kill her too, and would have succeeded if...if 
the ship hadn't intervened.

What was it Cassandra Spender had said before she was taken at 
the dam? "The different races, they're in upheaval." If these 
faceless men were on one side of an alien conflict, who...or 
what...was on the other? Mulder's grays? Shape-shifting bounty 
hunters? That vicious long-clawed monster they'd chased into 
the Rolling Hills Nuclear Power Plant in Arizona?

McCue's fingers curled around her arm, biting into her wrist. 
Startled by his roughness, she turned to stare at him. His 
kindly smile evaporated and was replaced by a cold, unreadable 
expression. "Come with me," he said.

She took a step backward, testing his hold on her arm. What 
the hell was going on here? Glancing up again at the choir 
loft, she saw more flames spew from the fire-wands. The blaze 
ignited another robe. A burning woman climbed over the rail 
and leapt into the nave. She hit the polished floor, landing 
face down with a stomach-churning thud. Still conscious and 
engulfed in flames, she thrashed and continued to burn. Scully 
looked on in horror as the woman's charring body began to 
dissolve into a bubbling green puddle.

Jesus, she was alien. Scully looked again at the loft. Then 
around the church. How many others here were alien?

A few yards beyond the liquefying corpse, two stony-faced 
deacons abandoned the hymnals they'd been gathering and headed 
toward Scully and the priest. One pulled a fire-wand from 
beneath his robe.

Scully yanked her arm free from McCue's grip.

"You're in danger," he whispered. "Let me help you."

Scully hugged William to her chest and gauged the distance to 
the front door. The parishioners had all gone. Tara was no 
longer in sight either, already somewhere out on the street. 
The baby whimpered.

A third deacon fell into step behind the first two, hurrying 
down the side aisle toward Scully. All three ignored the fire 
and panic in the loft.

"They want William," McCue warned.

She turned to face him. How would he know that? She had never 
confessed anything about William, aliens or super soldiers to 
him.

McCue reached for the baby and Scully dodged his grasp.

"Who are you?" Scully asked, raking her fingernails down his 
cheek when he grabbed for William again. To her horror, 
McCue's skin peeled away in her hand. A clump of flesh fell 
wetly from her fingers to the floor and beneath his mask she 
glimpsed the sealed eyes and mouth of the faceless men in the 
choir loft.

This was a trap, a planned setup to kidnap William.

Scully bolted away from McCue, wondering what had become of 
the real priest. To avoid the expressionless deacons in the 
side aisle, she ran down the center aisle. The baby started to 
cry. One deacon broke formation, backtracking between the pews 
in an effort to block her before she reached the exit. A 
second followed the first. She ran faster, almost losing her 
balance when her heels skidded on the polished floor. By the 
time both deacons reached the center aisle, they were only six 
or seven rows behind her.

She reached the door and risked a glance over her shoulder.

The deacon with the fire-wand was almost upon her when the 
second suddenly withdrew a needle-sharp weapon from his robe 
and plunged it into the back of the first man's neck. Scully 
recognized the weapon -- Mulder had used one just like it five 
years ago on an alien bounty hunter in a lumberyard off the I-
95.

She didn't stop to figure out why the second deacon was trying 
to kill the first, but continued to run as the injured man 
collapsed. William wailed against her shoulder. Dashing 
through the church's open door, she cleared the portico and 
hurried down the stone steps. A sleety rain stung her cheeks 
and she hugged William, trying to protect him from the icy 
downpour. He struggled in her arms and let out a high-pitched 
screech. She sprinted along the sidewalk, hoping she wouldn't 
slip and fall, and searched the street for Tara.

She spotted the car at the end of the block. Tara had the 
engine running; Scully could see exhaust billowing from the 
tailpipe. She glanced backward again. Two deacons rushed out 
of the church. "McCue" was right on their heels, shouldering 
past them. He spotted her and hurried down the steps. His long 
robes flapped in the December wind, the fabric slapping like a 
wind-whipped flag, and she hoped the ankle length gown would 
slow him down. Wasting no more time, she filled her lungs with 
cold air and raced for the car.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

WASHINGTON NAVY YARD

"It's deja vu all over again," Doggett muttered, as they made 
their way down the darkened hallway. Mulder was in the lead, 
with Monica close behind, while Doggett acted as rearguard. 
Good thing, too, he thought to himself, since Mulder seemed to 
be oblivious to the risk of detection. The whole thing was 
reminding him vividly of breaking into that Census Bureau 
complex the previous spring, when Mulder had refused to heed 
his warnings, and nearly gotten them both caught.

Of course, that had been soon after Mulder's return from the 
dead, and before the two of them had buried the hatchet. 
Things were better between them, now -- or at least, 
different.

They were passing a long row of offices, none of them with any 
light showing beneath the doors. Of course not, it was 
midnight on Christmas Eve, and these people were home with 
their families, where they belonged.

Or maybe not, he reconsidered. Would a place as important as 
this be dead quiet, even now? Surely *someone* would still be 
here.

But no one was, and they continued down the hallway, past the 
seemingly endless rows of closed doors, while Doggett wondered 
how Mulder could possibly know where he was going. There were 
no signs identifying the owners of the offices, or giving 
directions to departments or divisions, and the only 
illumination was from the occasional security light mounted 
high on the walls. There was also no hint of any surveillance 
equipment -- which of course just meant that it was out of 
sight. By now they must have tripped at least half a dozen 
alarms. The Lone Gunmen weren't *that* good. This whole 
operation was an idiot's trick ....

Mulder turned abruptly, leading them down a side corridor that 
looked much like two others they'd already passed. Doggett 
increased his pace, passing Monica and falling into step with 
Mulder.

"Do you have any idea where we're goin'?" he asked, annoyed 
with himself for being a little out of breath. Too much time 
spent behind a desk; not enough time spent in the gym. Mulder, 
on the other hand, was breathing fine.

"To hell in a hand basket," the other man replied, giving a 
little smirk. "And I think we're getting warm."

He gestured forward, and Doggett looked ahead, to see that 
they were approaching a pair of sturdy-looking double doors. 
The three of them came to a stop in front of the doors, and 
Mulder tried the handle. Locked. Again the lock pick made an 
appearance, and seconds later, the doors were standing open 
and Mulder was once more leading the way, as they stepped 
across the threshold.

There was a little more light here than there had been in the 
hallway, but it took Doggett a few seconds to figure out where 
it was coming from. They were standing at the entrance of a 
large room -- actually, it looked as if it had once been an 
auditorium. Low, rectangular shapes rose from the floor at 
regular intervals, and banks of electronic equipment lined the 
walls.

That's where the illumination was coming from, Doggett 
realized -- the monitors and displays that were clustered here 
and there around the room. His gaze tracked over the strange 
machines, but he saw nothing that he recognized. He moved 
forward into the room, towards the nearest of the rectangular 
shapes. It was about three or four feet high, six feet long, 
and two feet wide. It glinted in the uneven light --

Shit. It was a hospital exam table. He stopped, fingers 
hovering above the surface of the table. It was a dull, 
silvery color, with leather straps at each end, and another, 
heavier strap in the middle. And at one end there were 
stirrups, such as might be found in a gynecologist's exam 
room.

Images flooded his mind, reconstructed from reading numerous 
accounts of abduction experiences. Those stories had never 
seemed real to him, even after Mulder was returned and 
eventually resurrected. Now, suddenly, it was right in front 
of him. This was it. This was proof positive that those 
stories were true, after all. Doggett didn't know how he knew 
it, but he did. In his mind's eye he could see it all 
happening. The bright, white lights. The struggling victims, 
petrified with pain and fear. The strange instruments 
violating their bodies --

"Agent Doggett -- are you okay?" Mulder's voice, calm and 
quiet. The other man was standing behind him and speaking into 
his ear, his tone just above a whisper.

"Y-yeah," Doggett replied. "Sorry. It just got to me, that's 
all."

"It has that effect sometimes."

Mulder moved away, and Doggett turned to watch him as he 
walked by the exam table with barely a glance, heading for a 
computer console along the far wall that had the look of a 
command center. Doggett shook his head, wondering how the 
other man was able to do it. Mulder should be the one having a 
reaction to all this. He'd been here before -- or at least, 
someplace a lot like this -- and so had Scully. He, more than 
anyone, *knew* what this room was intended for. And yet there 
he was, sliding into one of the chairs, a look of detached 
professionalism on his face, as he opened the gym bag and 
started rummaging through it.

"Agent Reyes, you wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure. Just a sec."

Monica was moving along one wall, making a systematic video 
record of everything in sight. Doggett shook himself. He 
needed to be contributing, not just standing there like a 
slack-jawed idiot. They'd climbed the fence more than fifteen 
minutes ago, and been inside the building for nearly ten. 
Their luck wouldn't hold forever -- and way at the far end of 
the room, he saw several more sets of double doors. Time to go 
exploring.

Unlike the doors leading in from the hallway, the first set he 
chose to try at this end of the lab was unlocked. He pushed 
them open, stepped across the threshold, and found himself in 
a short cul-de-sac, with several smaller rooms opening off of 
it. The doors to these rooms were all standing open, allowing 
Doggett to see that they appeared to be standard hospital 
rooms -- hospital rooms in a maternity ward, he amended, 
noting that in addition to an adult-sized bed, each room also 
had a bassinet or a crib.

The rooms were all vacant, but there were names printed on 
cards posted by each doorway, as if the occupants were 
expected to arrive shortly. Owens, Marshelle Marie, and 
Richard Allen. McClain, Alicia Hillary, and Rebecca Serena. 
Goldstein, Ruth (NMN), and Natalie Golda ....

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Doggett froze in place, his eyes locked on the placard outside 
the fourth and final room in this bay. No. He wasn't seeing 
what he thought he was seeing -- but even as his emotions 
screamed denial, the cold logic that powered his investigatory 
skills was nodding in affirmation. Of course. What did you 
think was going on here? What did you expect to find?

"Mulder!" he hissed. Doggett backpedaled, moving to the lab's 
door, and for the barest moment he tore his gaze away from 
what was in front of him, peering into the shadows of the main 
room. "Mulder!" he repeated, a little louder. "Monica! 
Goddammit, get over here!" And he turned his eyes back to the 
front ....

Scully, Dana Katherine, and Mulder, William Jude.

No no no no no no ....

Doggett took a deep breath and steadied himself. Okay. So now 
they knew what they were dealing with, beyond any possibility 
of doubt. Aliens, or just garden variety human evil -- you 
pays your money and you takes your choice, and it doesn't 
really matter, because either answer leads to the same end 
result. He heard footsteps, then a sharp intake of breath, as 
Monica moved up to stand next to him. A moment later Mulder 
joined them, flanking Doggett on the other side. For a few 
seconds, silence reigned -- and when Mulder did speak, his 
voice sounded as if it were passing through ground glass.

"Where are they." Not a question. A demand.

"St. John's," Monica replied. "Midnight mass." She twisted and 
leaned forward, looking past Doggett at Mulder. "But you 
already knew that. You also know that we won't get another 
chance at this. It's now or never."

Mulder turned to stare at Monica, and Doggett stepped back out 
of the way, moving almost on instinct. He opened his mouth to 
say something, not certain what it was going to be, not even 
sure which side of the argument he should be on -- when, 
without warning, the lights came on, half-blinding him with 
their sudden glare.

"Nobody move!"

Doggett spun about, heedless of the harsh order. There were 
five men this time, and they were fanning out across the lab 
even as he turned, all of their attention focused on the 
intruders. Five men wearing ski masks and brandishing machine 
pistols.

The three of them wouldn't last two seconds if the wrong 
finger twitched. Doggett had been in Beirut, and he remembered 
the bullet-riddled corpses -- too many of them, and too many 
trigger-happy motherfuckers always ready to make more. He was 
aware of Mulder tensing on one side, could feel Monica's 
confusion, laced with a tinge of fear, on the other, and 
somehow, he knew it was up to him to keep the other two calm 
and therefore alive. He raised his hands with slow 
deliberation, and was trying to make eye contact with the 
closest of the five men ... when the man closest to the outer 
door burst into flame.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

OUTSIDE ST. JOHN'S CATHOLIC CHURCH

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Tara sang along 
with the car radio. She adjusted the heater. It was almost 
cold enough outside to turn the rain to snow. The kids would 
love a white Christmas and the chance to build snowmen or make 
snow angels in Maggie's backyard. Tara needed to buy extra 
film for her camera, just in case. She wondered if Dana would 
mind stopping at a 7-Eleven on the way home so she could pick 
up a couple of rolls. Would a convenience store be open at 
midnight on Christmas Eve?

"And the prettiest sight you'll see is the holly that will 
be..." She tapped a gloved finger against the steering wheel 
in time to the music, and thought about having duplicate 
photos made to send to Bill. Not that he'd get them anytime 
soon, but late was better than never. She hoped he was doing 
okay. A war between Pakistan and India could involve nuclear 
weapons. Of course, Bill might not be in the Arabian Sea at 
all. It was possible he was in the Mediterranean, or even 
stateside, for all she knew. Might, could, should...their 
lives were chockablock full of unknowns.

Tara glanced over her shoulder, back at the church. The car's 
rear window was striped with fog, the defroster working hard 
to clear the glass; sleety rain blurred what little she could 
see. What was keeping Dana? She flicked on the rear wiper in 
an effort to get a better view.

Her eyes rounded when she spotted Scully running toward the 
car, the baby clutched to her chest.

Tara unlocked the passenger door just as Scully skidded to a 
stop beside the car, frosty breaths pluming from her open 
mouth as she gulped for air. The baby howled in her arms. Tara 
leaned across the seat and opened the door.

"Dana, what's the matter?"

Scully peered back at the church, fear glossing her eyes. Her 
expression frightened Tara, who swiveled in her seat to try to 
make out what was back there, what could possibly cause her 
typically unflappable sister-in-law to panic like this. She 
was surprised to see what looked like the priest and two 
deacons running toward the car. Their vestments billowed 
around them, battered by the wind, making them recognizable 
even from half a block away. Why would Dana be running from 
Father McCue?

"Take William," Scully said, her voice thick with dread.

Her uncharacteristic tone alarmed Tara.

"Dana, what happened?"

"There's no time to explain." Scully placed William on the 
passenger seat. His cries grew louder. "My baby's life is in 
danger."

"What are you talking about? In danger from whom?"

"You have to take him to Mulder." Scully glanced again toward 
her pursuers, then returned her focus to Tara. She stared 
directly into Tara's eyes. "It's the only safe place," she 
said, deadly serious.

"Dana, if you're in trouble, get in the car, I'll drive you to 
the police."

"No! I don't trust anyone but Mulder. Please, take the baby to 
him, don't stop anywhere, don't call anyone. Go straight to 
Old Tavern, Virginia, off Route 66. It's only an hour away. 
Pinkham Street. Number 49, Apartment 6. You got that?
*Only* Mulder!"

"Dana--"

"*Please,* Tara! Just do it." Scully reached past William and 
grabbed Sarah's baby doll from between the seats. She tucked 
the doll beneath the lapel of her coat and shouted, "Hurry! 
GO!" before slamming the car door and sprinting away.

Tara shifted the car into drive, dazed by the unexpected 
instructions. Without a doubt, Dana was more afraid than Tara 
had ever seen her. Placing her palm on William's belly to make 
sure he wouldn't roll from the seat, she checked her rearview 
mirror for a break in the traffic. None of this made any 
sense. It was insane! Tara waited for a car to pass, one foot 
on the gas, one on the brake. Ahead, she could see Scully 
running hard down the block.

A pounding knock on the passenger window nearly made her heart 
stop. She turned to look.

Oh God...Jesus, Jesus!

A terribly disfigured man stood on the other side of the 
glass, dressed in the priest's robes. His face was ripped half 
away, his eyes, his mouth...were sealed shut...horribly 
scarred. He pointed at the crying baby with some sort of wand.

Then he punched his fist through the glass, shattering the 
window. Tara screamed. She pressed the accelerator to the 
floor and let off the brake. The car shot out into traffic, 
swerving away from the curb and leaving the priest stranded on 
the sidewalk. A horn blared from somewhere behind her. She 
ignored it and sped past two slow-moving cars, putting them 
and distance between her and the hideously scarred man.

"Old Tavern, Pinkham Street," she repeated aloud, her voice 
shaking. She gripped William with her right hand and steered 
with her left. "Number 49, Apartment 6."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

WASHINGTON NAVY YARD

For a few seconds, Reyes stood rooted to the spot, unable to 
move. Everyone in the room, in fact, seemed to be frozen in 
place. Flames licked and danced around the man nearest the 
door, while his companions gaped at him in shock and horror. 
For one crazy moment, the memory of a Pulitzer-winning photo 
of a Buddhist monk burning himself to death in protest of the 
Vietnam War flashed through her mind.

But this was no self-inflicted immolation, and in the next 
instant the image was banished, as the guard screamed and fell 
to the floor, writhing in agony, and the man standing next to 
him also began to burn. And that was when Reyes saw the source 
of the attack.

He was tall and heavily muscled, his gait abrupt and a little 
ungainly. He had something clutched in his right hand -- 
something dark and slender, perhaps a foot in length, like a 
magician's wand -- something that spit fire, apparently upon 
command. And his face ... God, his face was the worst. Every 
orifice -- his lips, his nose, even both of his eyes -- every 
possible opening had been closed, blocked off. Reyes had never 
seen anything like it. It was horrible, it was monstrous -- 
and yet, somehow, it was familiar, in a terrible, ugly kind of 
way ....

But there was no time to think about it; not then. Even as her 
frantic mind tried to process all the incoming data, Mulder 
was grabbing her upper arm and dragging her forward, shouting 
that they had to get out of there. She stumbled, but managed 
to regain her balance, and then she was running, dashing past 
the now-burning men who moments before had held her life -- 
and the lives of her companions -- in their hands.

There was a ripping, chattering sound, as one of the men fired 
his machine pistol, the bullets ripping into this new, 
horrifying threat. But the man with the fire wand barely 
staggered, then turned his own weapon on his attacker, sending 
sheets of flame across him and adding his screams to those of 
his squad mates.

Reyes reached the outer door, and paused for just a second to 
look back. All five of their erstwhile captors were on fire, 
their bodies bucking and jerking across the floor, as they 
shrieked and howled in mortal agony. The man with the fire 
wand, not satisfied with that, now moved along one of the 
walls, striding from workstation to workstation, flames 
following in his wake. The room itself was on fire, the 
conflagration spreading to the floor and ceiling even as she 
watched. The sprinkler system suddenly activated, and an alarm 
started clanging, but it was clearly too little, too late --

Again, someone grabbed her arm and yanked. This time it was 
John, shouting something that she couldn't force herself to 
understand. But even without the words, the meaning was clear, 
and seconds later Reyes was once again running, running, 
running, following in Mulder's footsteps as he led the way out 
of the building. Around the corner into the main hallway the 
three of them charged, weapons now at the ready, expecting at 
any moment to be confronted -- by guards, or by another of the 
faceless horrors.

They made it to the end of the hall, though, and burst through 
the door and out into the open. Sirens wailed, and in the 
distance Reyes could see the flashing lights of emergency 
vehicles moving in their direction. A quick glance behind her 
showed why -- the fire was spreading with unbelievable 
rapidity, and flames now danced along the rooftop.

She found herself in the lead as they approached the fence, 
and without hesitation she started to climb. The metal was 
cold, and twice she pinched her fingers, but she didn't let 
that slow her down. Out, out, they had to get out.
She reached the top and heaved herself over, wincing as her 
leather jacket took more damage. Fuck that. She was alive, and 
that was what mattered. Then she was falling, and a second 
later she hit the ground and rolled, letting her momentum 
carry her clear to make way for Mulder and John.

She scrambled to her feet and bounded to her car, fumbling for 
the keys as she did so. The others were right behind her as 
she dived into the driver's seat and jerked her wrist, 
cranking the ignition until the engine roared to life.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted, uttering his first words since 
leaving the lab, as he slid into the back seat. John was 
already in the front passenger seat, groping for his seatbelt 
while watching out the window for pursuit. Mulder went on, "We 
have to find Scully -- and William!"

Reyes nodded, and slammed the accelerator all the way to the 
floor.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

Scully saw her own car race past her, Tara at the wheel.

"Please, God," Scully murmured, "Help her get my baby to 
Mulder." Would Tara do as she'd been told and drive straight 
to Old Tavern? What if she were followed...or worse?

There was no time to worry about that; two pairs of running 
feet slapped toward her. She hoped her pursuers believed she 
still carried William, not Sarah's doll. Slowing a bit on 
purpose, she turned to give the men behind her a quick look at 
the bulge beneath her coat. She hugged the doll more tightly 
and kept running.

She could hear them following. Good. Maybe she could buy Tara 
some time.

Turning the corner at the next street, Scully headed toward an 
all-night convenience store. The store appeared paradoxically 
cheerful, lit with colorful, blinking Christmas lights. She 
pushed herself to run faster.

When she reached the 7-Eleven, she shoved her way through the 
store's front door. A bell tinkled over her head, sounding as 
frantic as she felt. The scrawny clerk behind the counter 
glanced up from his magazine. She ignored his bored expression 
and followed a trail of muddy footprints down the first aisle. 
The store smelled like coffee, cigarettes and the remnants of 
someone's microwaved supper, and the normalcy of it brought 
unexpected tears to her eyes. Her pulse thundered in her ears. 
A Christmas carol played on the clerk's radio, but it sounded 
so tinny and far away to her battered eardrums that she 
couldn't identify the tune. Unable to see over the shelves of 
soda and chips, she slowed, tried to catch her breath and 
listened for approaching footsteps.

A minute passed. Then two. Had the deacons turned back, gone 
after Tara and William? Maybe they'd seen her switch William 
for Sarah's doll. She hugged the doll beneath her coat and 
realized she was trembling. The plastic doll felt ridiculously 
small and light compared to William. Hard and hollow, it 
seemed more like an infant's skeleton than a flesh-and-blood 
baby. The thought somersaulted through her stomach and raised 
a rash of goosebumps across her arms. Sweat prickled her 
forehead. She tried to swallow but couldn't.

The bell over the door jangled, startling her. She inched 
toward the back of the store, eyes fastened on a big curved 
mirror that hung in an upper corner. In the domed mirror she 
could see the distorted reflection of the two deacons. They 
appeared to slither around the door's ballooning jamb. Their 
satiny robes and embroidered stoles shimmered beneath the 
store's fluorescent lights; their heads swiveled left and 
right, hunting for her. They glared at the clerk, then split 
up to search the store.

Trapped, Scully waited, watching in the mirror as they drew 
closer. No point in running -- there was nowhere to go. And it 
didn't matter that she wasn't wearing her SIG because the gun 
would be useless against these two if they were truly alien 
bounty hunters.

"What do you want?" she asked when the first deacon rounded 
the end of the aisle.

She heard the second man step into place behind her back. "The 
baby," he said into her ear, his voice low and toneless.

She spun to face him and hugged the doll tighter. "Why?"

"He is the answer."

"The answer to what?" Tears flooded her eyes as she glared at 
him.

He reached for her coat. "Everything."

"You can't have him! He's mine!" She took a step backward, 
bumping into the first deacon. His fingers closed around her 
upper arms and held her firmly in place. "No!" she shouted. 
She struggled to free herself, hoping to buy Tara and William 
just a few more precious seconds to get to Mulder.

The deacon at her back lifted her up onto her toes while the 
other man took hold of her lapels and yanked open her coat. 
The doll dislodged from her hands. It clattered to the floor, 
its stiff arms reaching upward, its mechanical eyes closing.

Without a word, the deacons released her, turned and walked 
quickly away.

When the door closed behind them, Scully bent and picked up 
the doll with trembling hands. Her teeth chattered. Her heart 
ached for her baby and tears finally overflowed her lashes. 
Shaking, she sank to the floor. "He's mine," she murmured 
against the doll's plastic cheek. "William is mine." 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CONTINUED IN BOOK ONE, CHAPTER TWO