"Evolution"

AS8X22 - SERIES FINALE

An AS8 Original Episode

Written by: Kristel St. Johns





They came when the world was but an infant, shaping the very

structure of life on this planet in their own image.

Altering the amino acids and proteins that would someday

become humanity.  They were the Originators.  They were God.



There is only one secret to which they do not have the key,

only one truth unknown to them:



Even Gods can fall.



I entered this battle wanting only wealth and power.  I made

a deal with the devil to ensure a life of comfort and

control for myself.  I lied, stole, and killed to advance my

own cause.  Only when the truth became known to me, only

when the carefully constructed lies they told came

unraveled, did that imperative change.  Now I have only one

drive, only one goal.



Now my cause is this: survive.  By any means necessary.



--Alex Krycek





*     *     *     *     *



Downtown Washington D.C.

May 18, 2001

11:47 PM





Marita Covarrubias paces the dark alley nervously, glancing

around at the shadows and mist of the night.  She reacts

only with a cool lift of an eyebrow when a figure emerges

from the shadows, resolving itself into the form of Alex

Krycek.



"Until I heard you made it to Washington, I thought you were

dead."



"We have a leak.  They found the base in the arctic, and

they got to Crane.  Crane was our last hidden pipeline

within the FBI."



"Then we find another pipeline."



"First, we have to find the leak.  We're losing people

faster than we can recruit others."  He gives her a guarded

look.  "There's only one person who's playing both sides of

the fence right now," he observes.



"Are you accusing me?"



He backs her against the damp wall of a building, pinning

her there with his good hand braced beside her head. He

leans close and murmurs, "I should kill you here and now and

not take the chance that you're playing me."



She looks up at him, her eyes glittering coldly.  "But you

won't.  You need me, Krycek.  You need my access to

Strughold and his access to the colonists' plans.  You need

me to keep the others in line.  Credibility is not your

strong suit."



They face off eye to eye for a moment, then Krycek pushes

away from the wall, releasing her.  Calmly, she straightens

the jacket of her neat black suit as she inquires, "The

child?  How is it?"



"Healthy.  Safe, for the moment, and under guard.  Mulder

and Scully have predictably refused our offer of

protection."



"It's just as well, I suppose," she mutters.  "At this rate,

they can do a better job of protecting him themselves."



"But we need to have access to the boy."



"There are others.  Not as many as we hoped for, but a

few..."



"They're not viable," Krycek says softly.  "Our last tests

before the attack confirmed it.  They'll never survive, even

if the colonists don't get their hands on them.  The

experiment failed."



Cavarrubias' eyes drop.  "Then he's practically all we have

left," she sighs in resignation.  "One of a very precious

few."



"Which means we can't let Mulder and Scully keep him from

us--no matter what."





*     *     *     *     *



May 19, 2001

2:35 P.M.





In the hallway outside their apartment, Mulder juggles

William seated in an infant car-seat/carrier and Scully's

overnight bag as he delves in his pocket for his keys.

Beside him, Scully shoulders a diaper bag, her face drawn

and her eyes tired, the ordeal of childbirth and the worries

of new motherhood clearly written on her face.  Three days'

rest in the hospital have done nothing to alleviate the

strain.



Just as Mulder slips his key in the lock, the door opens to

reveal Margaret Scully.  She smiles brilliantly at them both

and moves aside to let them enter.



"Welcome home!" she exclaims, immediately drawn to the

infant seat as Mulder sets it and the overnight bag on the

coffee table.  While Mrs. Scully liberates her sleeping

grandson from the carrier, Scully settles on the sofa,

smiling softly while her mother coos to the baby.  Mulder

perches on the arm of the sofa beside Scully.



"Oh," Mrs. Scully's attention suddenly returns to them as

she cradles the baby in her arms expertly.  "I was told to

tell you that a Mr. Byers and his, er, associates stopped

by.  They said they were here at your request to check the

apartment, but I wasn't sure if I should let them in given

all the difficultly you've had recently.  They said they

understood and would be in touch later."



"Thanks, Mom," Scully replies softly.  "That's good.  It's

okay to let them in.  We trust them."



"Well, I really wish you'd come and stay at my house a

while, let me help you out until you're back up to speed."



Scully looks away unhappily, her mouth set in a tight, grim

line.  Mulder answers,  "We appreciate that, Mrs. Scully,

really, but we don't want to put you to any trouble."



He looks down and Scully meets his eyes and nods.  It's

obvious they've already discussed this and reached a joint

conclusion.



"Itís no trouble," Mrs. Scully shrugs.  "At the very least,

why don't you let me hire a nurse to come by and help you

for a while.  Fox can't be here all the time, Dana, and

believe me when I tell you you're going to want all the help

you can get, at least for a few weeks."



"Thanks, Mom, but its really important right now that we not

have anyone else around, especially someone we don't know."

Scully murmurs.



"Dana," the older woman says sternly, her demeanor shifting.

Her mouth tightens, her expression severe.  "Would you

please tell me what in God's name is going on?  One night I

get a call telling me you're leaving town and you don't know

when you'll be back, then the next thing I know you're in a

hospital in Pennsylvania and you've had the baby and will be

home in a few days, and could I please watch your apartment

for you.  I think I deserve some answers as to why you would

go haring off in the middle of the night like that just

hours away from giving birth."



"Mrs. Scully," Mulder says diplomatically while Scully sighs

heavily, "I know you're concerned, but--"



"Fox, we are talking about my daughter and my grandson.  If

there's a problem..."



"Mom," Scully interrupts, giving her mother a determined

gaze.  "There's...no problem, okay?  Don't worry.

Just...please...let us do this our way, all right?"



Mrs. Scully nods, plainly unmollified.  Scully looks away

from her mother's questioning stare and meets Mulder's eyes.

They share a bleak look that belies Scully's reassurances.





*     *     *     *     *



May 21, 2001

2:24 AM



The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by the streetlights

outside the window.  Mulder awakens alone in the bed, looks

around the room.  On the other side of the bed Scully stands

in silver-gray satin pajamas, looking silently down into the

basinet.



"Scully?" Mulder queries softly, his voice barely louder

than a whisper.



"I'm all right," she murmurs in a similarly subdued voice.

"He just ate and went back to sleep."



Mulder throws back the blanket and rises, wearing a pair of

flannel pajama bottoms.  He shuffles across the hardwood

floor in his bare feet, rounding the foot of the bed and

coming to stand next to her.  Side by side, they stare at

the sleeping infant in a long moment of silence.



"Krycek was right--he is a miracle," Scully says at last.

"It doesn't matter how it's possible, or what the cost is;

for him to even be here when all of medicine--all of

science--says he should never have been.  I have to believe

he's a gift from God; there's no other explanation."



"I think you're right," Mulder replies.  "And that's saying

something.  Getting me to give credit to God for anything

takes some doing."



Scully gives his attempt at levity a small chuckle, then

sobers again.  "When I first found out I was pregnant,

Mulder, it didn't seem real to me.  I had just found out

that you were--gone--and I couldn't think about the

pregnancy, couldn't internalize it.  All I could think about

was getting you back.  I took so many risks, jeopardized him

so many times, but I couldn't stop."  She blinks rapidly and

sniffles, her eyes shining wetly in the dimly lit room.

"When I think what might have happened, how I might have

harmed him, or lost him... and now I know I could never do

anything that would endanger him.  There's nothing I

wouldn't do to protect him, nothing I wouldn't sacrifice.

Even if it meant giving up everything for him."



Even you.  The conclusion of her statement hangs unspoken

between them.  Scully looks up at Mulder, her eyes begging

forgiveness for what she can't bring herself to say.  His

hand rubs her shoulder, as much to soothe her as to erase

her self-condemnation for the hypothetical choice she has

made.



"I've thought a lot about what Krycek said about him, about

what he might mean in the end," Mulder says after a moment.

"And I realize it doesn't matter, not really.  I don't care

what he is, or how he came to be, or any of that.  I'll

protect him and raise him because he's mine.  Because he's a

part of me--" his voice breaks off, and he draws a deep

composing breath before continuing.  "I'll never let anyone

hurt him, even if it means someone else pays the price.  To

them, he's a commodity, this great hope for the future, for

humanity.  But to me--he's just our son.  And that's the

only thing that matters."



Scully nods solemnly, swallowing hard.  Mulder's hand on her

shoulder pulls her toward him, and still watching their

infant son sleep, she leans her head wearily on his

shoulder.





*     *     *     *     *



May 22, 2001

7:52 AM





Walter Skinner pulls his car into a parking spot in the

garage at the J. Edgar Hoover building and gets out,

reaching back inside for his briefcase.  He pauses, then

slumps against the door of the car, choking, his hand on his

chest.  His eyes bulge, but after a moment the spasm passes,

leaving him winded and sweating.



By the time he reaches his office he looks composed and

unsurprised to see Alex Krycek sitting at his desk with a

malicious smile.



"Walter.  Glad you could stop by."



"Every time you do that, Krycek, you come just one day

closer to the day I do the world a favor and put a bullet in

your brain," Skinner growls, advancing menacingly upon the

smaller man.



"I doubt you'll ever have the chance," Krycek responds,

unimpressed.  "Sit down.  We have to talk."



"About what?"



"About Mulder and Scully.  If they have half the brains I

give them credit for, they're making plans to disappear

right now.  I'm counting on you to make sure that doesn't

happen."



"Why does it matter?" Skinner demands.  "You can't tell me

you wouldn't be able to track them down, anyway."



"I wouldn't be so sure.  They can be pretty resourceful when

they feel like it."



"Good.  At the earliest opportunity, I'll be sure to tell

them to get far away from anywhere you can find them,"

Skinner says decisively.



"Let me spell it out for you," Krycek rises, a threat

implicit in his stance.  "They disappear, I'm holding you

responsible.  I don't care what you have to do, but I need

to have that child where I can keep an eye on him.  Now--one

push of a button and you're a dead man, so it's in your best

interest to dissuade them from grabbing the kid and running,

you got that?"



"I should have let Scully shoot you," Skinner replies in a

deadly quiet voice.



"You'll get over it.  We all have regrets, Skinner.  We deal

with them.  It's like I told you before, it's all about

deciding who to sacrifice and who to protect.  Play by my

rules, and maybe I'll make sure you never have to make that

call yourself."





*     *     *     *     *



10:02 PM





The only illumination in the bedroom is a single lamp

casting a soft glow.  In a rocking chair across the room

from the bed, Scully nurses the baby while humming softly.



In the living room, Mulder watches television with the sound

turned off, his eyes occasionally leaving the screen to

survey to room and fixate on the front door.  He can hear

Scully's humming and smiles in spite of himself.  Somehow,

even the worst voices sound beautiful when rendering a

lullaby.



Scully's humming falters for a moment and then resumes, as

she raises her eyes from the down-covered head of her child

to the darkened window and the stars beyond it.



Mulder frowns and licks his lips, looking down at the coffee

table where his personal handgun sits unholstered and

loaded.



In the bedroom, Scully slowly and mechanically rises and

stands before the window, staring out into the night,

holding the baby in one arm.  Through the glass, the

constellation Cassiopeia shines brightly.  Her free hand

reaches up and absently rubs the back of her neck.  She

continues her tuneless humming.





*     *     *     *     *



Research Facility

Location Unknown





On a black and white video monitor, a dark-haired woman

paces a closed room, occasionally crossing to the door and

pounding on it frantically.



"MY BABY!!!" Theresa Hoese screeches, her voice hoarse with

hysteria and sobs.  "GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!!  Please," she

subsides into a wail, hiccoughing weakly as she sinks to her

knees before the door, "please...just let me have my baby.

Please!"



Marita Covarrubias watches the screen impassively.  "How

long as she been like this?"



"Off and on since we took her into custody," an orderly in a

white coat replies.  There's been some talk about sedating

her.  Her distress is upsetting the child."



Marita's gaze flicks to another monitor, where a

disconsolate toddler is being soothed by a nurse.



"We can't keep her sedated forever.  When she comes up for

air, tell her that if she doesn't calm down we'll move her

to another facility and she won't be allowed to see her

child at all.  If that doesn't get through to her, get rid

of her."



"Yes, ma'am."



"What about the tests on the child?" she asks.



"The latest estimate shows that they have a moderate-to-fair

chance of cloning him, given donor eggs and a surrogate to

carry the results to term.  It's going to put us years

behind the timetable we originally wanted, though, if we

can't perfect the accelerated maturation techniques."



Covarrubias shakes her head.  "Too unstable.  If it fails,

we're further behind than we are now.  We have to find a way

to stall for time with the colonists, if we can.  See what

you can accomplish with this subject, first."



"What about the other one?  The one Strughold's people took?

We could get twice the results if we had that one available

as well."



"I'll see what I can do; I'm being watched too closely to

make any overt moves.  Right now, I'm still busy justifying

why we need to study the child rather than just destroy it.

I've diverted attention from myself as the possible leak in

the organization, but I have to watch where I step for a

while."



"And the surrogates?  How should we go about finding them,

now that the clinics have been shut down?"



She ponders the question for a moment, then looks back to

the monitor where Theresa Hoese is huddled against the door

and sobbing weakly.  "Start with what you have available."





*     *     *     *     *



May 23, 2001

10:23 AM





"There's no other way?" Skinner asks softly, looking over

the cluttered worktable of the Lone Gunmen's office at

Mulder.  Mulder's chin is grizzled, his eyes bloodshot, his

hair uncombed.  He looks like a man who hasn't slept in

days.  Langly, Byers, and Frohike complete a circle around

the desk, wearing identical expressions of concern.



"If there is, I don't know what it could be," Mulder replies

with resignation.  "We can't protect him here, where too

many people are coming and going all the time, never knowing

who to trust, who to let in.  We can't raise him like that,

someplace where anyone can find us at any time.  Sooner or

later, our guard will drop, and then..."



"But you'll be on your own," Frohike says earnestly, all

trace of his normal levity gone.  "You won't have anyone to

back you up if someone comes after you."



"I know--but it's better than seeing the wrong person get in

the way and get hurt or killed.  Scully's afraid for her

mother already."



"I agree," Skinner interrupts, his expression grim.

"There's no choice; you've got to go.  What do we need to do

to make sure no one ever finds you?"





*     *     *     *     *



11:17 AM





"Scully?" Mulder calls as he arrives back at the apartment,

unlocking the door and letting himself in.



"She's gone," a voice calls.  Mulder tenses as Krycek steps

out of the bedroom and approaches him.



He's on the younger man in a second, pinning him against the

wall and punching him in the stomach. "What did you do with

them?!" he demands frantically, pummeling Krycek before

pinning him to the wall with his body, pulling his gun and

cocking it, pressing it into the soft flesh under the

double-agent's chin.  "WHERE ARE THEY!?" he screams in

Krycek's face.



"I didn't take them, Mulder!  You have to believe me!"

Krycek gasps, struggling for air.  "You can kill me, but

you're wasting time we don't have.  I was having her

followed--for her own protection.  She left the apartment

with the baby an hour ago.  My people somehow lost her

before she made it out of the D.C. metro area.  We've got to

get to them, or she and that kid are as good as dead."



"She wouldn't just leave," Mulder grits out.  "Not knowing

that they're after him."



"No, she wouldn't--not if she had a choice."



Mulder freezes, and slowly pulls away, his gun still trained

on Krycek's head.  "You think she's being summoned?"



"It's happened before, hasn't it?  That implant in her neck

is a mixed blessing at best; you know that."



Mulder holsters his gun, and turns on his heel for the door.

"You can't leave; you don't know where they're calling her!"

Krycek protests, following him.



"Yes, I do.  UFO hotspots.  The places where they always

summon people.  But if Scully has any free will left--and I

have to believe she does--she's going to go someplace where

she knows I'll look.  Back to where it all began for her."





*     *     *     *     *



Route 229, near Rixeyville, Virginia





Scully hums tunelessly while William fusses in his seat in

the back of the car.  She passes a sign that reads "Skyland

Mountain: Ascend to the Stars."





*     *     *     *     *



12:46 PM





"I'm surprised you didn't stop to call Skinner."



"If I call anyone, it might give the wrong people advance

notice that we're coming after her," Mulder answers.



"If you're wrong about this, they're both gone.  You know

that, Mulder," Krycek cautions from the passenger seat as he

and Mulder speed along a deserted stretch of highway.

Mulder doesn't answer, his jaw set grimly as he clutches the

steering wheel.



"Why is it so important that they have him now?" he asks

after a moment.  "The smoking man told me the timetable for

colonization was set; there's no way these kids are going to

mature before it's too late.  So why are they taking them?"



"The timetable isn't as definite as the aliens would have

liked everyone--including Spender--to believe," Krycek

snorts derisively.   "Colonization was dependent upon having

hybrids available, workers and soldiers who could survive

the colder climates on this planet.  You ever watch PBS,

Mulder?"



"Until not too long ago, my taste in television tended

towards channels you have to pay extra for," Mulder answers.

"Why?"



"Something not many people realize is that Earth is overdue

for another ice age.  Scientists say one should have begun

by now, that historically, the planet has never gone this

long without one and they're puzzled as to why it hasn't

started yet.  Pseudo-science would have us believe that

global warming is the only thing staving it off.  Who knows,

they might even be right.  You think it's an accident that

an oil baron is sitting in the oval office?" he asks with a

wry smile.



"So.  What about it?"



"So, it's possible the aliens might lose their chance at

colonization for another several thousand years.  When

Cassandra Spender fell into the rebels' hands, the

hybridization project came grinding to a halt.  It actually

bought us a reprieve.  There's no way the colonists are

going to be able to meet their deadline now, and their only

hope for having any chance is that the impending ice-age

holds off long enough for them to make up for lost time

creating the hybrids.  And if the ice age sets in before

they complete the hybrids, they miss their shot."



"And what happens if they miss their shot?"



"Humanity survives--for now.  If we can keep from blowing

ourselves up, first.  That's why the colonists have to

eliminate these children while they're young and vulnerable

and pose no threat.  Because while they're waiting for their

next chance, the Gibson Praises and Bobby Hoeses and William

Mulders of the world will grow up and reproduce, and their

offspring will have offspring, and so forth.  Completely

unbeknownst to the other six billion people on this planet,

evolution will have taken a leap forward and mankind will be

a step closer to being the one thing in this galaxy these

colonists have yet to encounter."



"Whatís that?"



"A race capable of defeating them."





*     *     *     *     *



Washington D.C.

6:37 PM





Marita Covarrubias steps into her apartment, the early

evening sun filtering in between the louvered blinds on the

windows and casting shadows about the room.  As she sets

down her case, one of the shadows behind her resolves itself

into the form of a broad-shouldered man.  There is the

ominous click of a gun being cocked, and she feels cold

steel press against the back of her skull.



"Turn the light on.  Slowly."  Skinner commands.  She

reaches a steady hand out and flicks on the light switch.



"Turn around and sit down," he orders.  "Try not to make any

sudden moves.  Mulder and Scully have disappeared.  You're

going to tell me where and why."



"Why do you think I know?  After what's happened, surely

it's not unreasonable that they might take off on their

own."



"No, it's not.  But that's not the case right now."



"This is news to me," she said impassively, staring at him.

"I don't have any information for you."



"Why do I find that very hard to believe?  Krycek cautioned

me just yesterday against letting them skip town.  Maybe he

decided to take things into his own--hand.  Does he have

them?"



"If he did I would know about it, and I assure you that he

has not informed me of any such intentions."



"What about the aliens?  If Mulder and Scully were abducted,

can you find out?" Skinner queries.



"They don't report to me or to anyone, Mr. Skinner," Marita

replies scathingly.  "Sometimes they inform us of what

they've done or intend to do, when they want our assistance.

Sometimes we aid them, when it's advantageous.  Other times,

we try to cut them off at the pass without getting ourselves

killed in the process.  That's the way it works."



"Yeah, well, this time we're gonna change all that.  You're

going to help me find the aliens before they get to Mulder

and Scully."





*     *     *     *     *



Rural Virginia

8:13 PM





The setting sun is hidden on the other side of the mountain,

darkness making the winding road even more treacherous.

Mulder is taking the switchbacks at a dangerous speed.



"We find them in time," Krycek states, "it's in your kid's

best interest for you to take me up on my offer of

protection.  We have people inside, people who sometimes

know what moves they're planning to make, and when."



"Yeah, but at what cost to us?"



"Nothing too drastic.  The occasional blood or tissue sample

from the boy.  Maybe once in a while, letting our doctors

look him over."



"I'll see you dead before I ever let that happen, Krycek,"

Mulder replies flatly.  "You think I'm going to let you do

to him what they did to Scully?  To Cassandra Spender?  To

Samantha?"



Krycek shakes his head.  "You know what they say, Mulder.

Better the devil you know.  You can give us what we need

willingly, or we can take it behind your back.  You think

there's anything that could stop us?"



"A bullet springs to mind."



"If it's not me, it'll be someone else, someone who will

pick up where I left off.  Someone who isn't willing to make

the concessions I am.  I just want access to the boy--the

occasional blood sample.  He'll never miss it.  Someone

else, on the other hand--they might want him around full

time.  Might want to keep him in a lab, where they can

observe him around the clock, run tests to see how his

abilities are progressing."



"Not while I'm still alive."



"You think that will stop them?  That you're not expendable?

At least with us, you know we want to keep him alive, while

there are others out there who want him dead.  We need to

have more like him, viable children that bridge the gap

between alien and human.  If we can study his genetic code,

we can be that much closer to giving humanity the push in

the right direction it needs to survive.  There are other

fertility clinics out there; other women who won't question

too closely if their babies don't come out with just the

right eye or hair color.  Don't underestimate our desire to

live, Mulder.  You think we care about your convenience or

the happiness of your precious son with the fate of the

world at stake?  Are you ready to sacrifice the lives of six

billion people to give your child a normal life?  Are you

really that selfish?"



Mulder takes a curve sharply, throwing Krycek against the

door of the car.  "Keep talking, Krycek, and the next time

I'll make sure that door is open and you fall out."



"Weíre almost there," Krycek observes as they pass a sign

for the Skyland Mountain summit.



"You do anything but cover my back while I get them, I'll

throw you off a cliff," Mulder vows.  "You don't go near

them, either of them, ever."





*     *     *     *     *



FBI Headquarters





"Anything?" Skinner asks as Marita Covarrubias disconnects

her cell phone and frowns.  Agent Doggett has joined them,

watching the proceedings with concern.



"No.  Whatever is happening, none of my people have heard

about it.  I don't dare inquire any further; I'm raising too

many red flags as it is.  We could risk tipping off the

wrong people that we're looking into the matter."



The phone on Skinner's desk rings and he answers.



"We've got something," Frohike announces from the other end

of the line.



"What?"



"Probable UFO activity, same earmarks as all the other

times."



"Where?"



Frohike pauses, listening as Langley says something to him,

before Skinner demands again, "Where's the activity?"



"Southwestern Virginia," he replies, his voice subdued.

"Near Skyland Mountain.  You'll never get to them in time."





*     *     *     *     *



Skyland Mountain, Virginia

9:29 PM



The sun has almost set as Mulder and Krycek reach the peak.

Mulder slams on the brakes when they see Scully's car idling

in the parking lot with the lights still on.  Clouds have

swept across the mountain, casting everything in an eerie

mist.  Mulder throws off his seatbelt and jumps from the

still-running car while Krycek struggles to free himself

from his own restraints with his single arm.



"SCULLY!!" Mulder yells desperately, charging recklessly

through the darkness.  There's a flash of light, and

suddenly he sees her silhouetted at the summit in almost the

exact spot he found Duane Barry almost seven years ago.  She

carries the baby cradled in her arms, and he can hear their

child crying in his weak, newborn voice.  "SCULLY!" he

shrieks again.



She hesitates.  Behind her, he can see the squarely built,

broad-shouldered shape of the bounty hunter making its way

toward her.  In its hand, it holds a long cylindrical wand.



"Scully, run!" Mulder calls.



She seems frozen in place, watching as the alien approaches

her, and when Mulder finally reaches her and tries to take

the baby from her arms, she struggles to get away from him,

taking an implacable step toward to bounty hunter.



"Dammit, Scully, no!" Mulder screams, grabbing her bodily

around the waist and hauling her away.  Beyond her, he can

see that other broad-shouldered shapes, identical to the

first, have joined the bounty hunter.



Mulder turns, the struggling Scully still holding the baby,

as something breezes past his shoulder.  It's Krycek,

holding one of the spiked gimlets.



"Get her out of here!" he shouts to Mulder.



Scully swings an elbow and catches Mulder in the throat,

gagging and stunning him while she slips from his grasp.



"GO!" Krycek yells again, looking back over his shoulder to

see them both still present.



Mulder catches Scully before she gets farther than a few

steps in that methodical, automaton-like pace toward her

doom.  Mulder spins her around.  His blow is harder than

hers was, catching her on the jaw and knocking her out.  He

throws his arms around her and the baby as she slumps to the

ground, enveloping their son between them.  Mulder picks

Scully and the child up and runs with them back toward the

cars, away from the encroaching bounty hunters.



Behind him, Krycek faces off against the aliens, outlined in

bright white light and surrounded by mist as the distance

between them closes.





*     *     *     *     *



May 24, 2001

2:12 AM





Hours later, Scully's car passes through the night.  Mulder

glances in the rear-view mirror as they travel a dark rural

road.  Scully holds the baby, nursing him, bending down to

kiss his soft head.  She doesn't hum.  In the darkness,

Mulder doesn't see the tears that roll down her cheek or off

her chin, where a bruise darkens.





*     *     *     *     *





The sun is rising over the mountain as the car bearing

Walter Skinner and Marita Covarrubias comes to a stop next

to the one Mulder and Krycek abandoned the night before.

Left running, it has run out of gas overnight and stalled,

the doors still open, and Skinner surveys it grimly as he

gets out of his car.  Agent Doggett and several more FBI

fleet sedans pull in behind them, Doggett barking orders to

the teams of agents.



"Fan out!  Search the area for any sign of them!"



Skinner himself is drawn to the spot near the summit where

the morning mist seems heavier, the acrid scent of smoke

making his nostrils flare.  Covarrubias follows him silently

as they approach the place where the ground is charred.

Around it lie several spots where the grass is withered and

eaten away by some corrosive agent.  But in the middle lies

the charred remains of a human corpse.



"Over here," Skinner calls, not very loudly, but enough to

let the agents know he has found something.  There is no

triumph or surprise or urgency in his voice.  What they have

found will not help them.



Beside him, Marita Covarrubias stares at the singed and

partially melted, flesh-colored synthetic of an arm-shaped

prosthesis, attached to the corpse only by the charred

remains of leather straps.





*     *     *     *     *



A motel room

Rural West Virginia

May 27, 2001

9:34 AM





On a tacky polyester bedspread, William sleeps, pillows on

either side of him to prevent him rolling off the bed.



In the bathroom, Scully raises cold, bleak blue eyes to the

mirror over the sink, meeting Mulder's gaze there.  The bare

florescent light flickers and hums above them, casting them

in a sickly greenish pall.  Scully holds a scalpel up over

her shoulder as though to hand it to Mulder, and he closes

his eyes, shaking his head, rejecting it.



Her jaw tightens, her fist clenching around the implement,

and she shoves it back towards him again, almost in a

stabbing motion.  Slowly, reluctantly, his hand closes over

hers on the handle, taking it from her.  She winces once as

it bites shallowly into the back of her neck.



A salty teardrop mingles with the spot of blood that rises

to the surface of the wound as Mulder bends over the

incision and withdraws the small, metallic implant with a

pair of tweezers.  He holds it up for her, and Scully turns

on the water with shaking hands.  She takes the tiny chip

onto the tip of her index finger, smearing the traces of

blood from the tweezers onto her skin in the process, and

stares at it for a long moment, transfixed.  Mulder has

closed his eyes again, his face wet with tears, unable to

bear the sight.  Finally, she slips her hand into the stream

of water from the corroded faucet, and watches as the chip

and her own blood slide down the drain and disappear.





*     *     *     *     *





Skinner and Marita Covarrubias pull into the motel parking

lot in West Virginia, followed by Agent Doggett.



"That's their car," Doggett points at the sedan parked next

to room 1013.



They knock on the door, calling out their identities to

Mulder and Scully, but there is no answer.  Moments later,

with the aid of the motel manager, Skinner and Doggett enter

the room.



"They're not in here," Skinner says needlessly, surveying

the shabby interior while Marita waits by the doorway.



"Wherever they are, they're long gone from this place,"

Doggett concurs, returning from investigating the bathroom.

He brushes wordlessly past Marita, his brusqueness clearly

conveying his displeasure in her presence, and returns to

his car.



Skinner bends over the rumpled bed, then straightens.



"I think this belongs to you," he says coldly, also roughly

passing Marita while thrusting something into her hand.

Drawing a deep breath, she looks down at the small vial of

blood resting in her palm.





*     *     *     *     *



May 30, 2001

8:29 AM





"Hey, welcome back," Agent Doggett says tiredly, looking up

from his desk in the X-Files office as Agent Reyes enters

the room.  She's moving stiffly, and her eyes are still

rimmed with red, but she gives him a game smile.



"So this is where you've been stuck for the last nine

months," she observes, taking in the surroundings.

"Well...at least it's quieter than the bullpen."



"Yeah, too quiet," Doggett snorts.  "Down here you get an

odd sympathy for prisoners in solitary confinement."



"Not for long.  My transfer request got approved.  Looks

like you've got a new partner."



"Seriously?" Doggett's question is an odd combination of

consternation and relief.  "What about Agent Scully?"



Reyes meets his look somberly.  "You really think she's

going to come back after what's happened?"



Whatever reply Doggett is about to make is cut off when his

phone rings.  He picks up the receiver. "Agent Doggett."  A

moment of silence passes.  "Okay, we'll be right there."  He

hangs up and looks at Reyes.  "Deputy Director Kersh wants

to see us in his office ASAP," he informs her, rising from

the desk.  "Welcome to the X-Files," he mutters as he passes

her.





*     *     *     *     *





"Agent Doggett, Agent Reyes, please--have a seat," Deputy

Director Kersh's voice rumbles as his assistant admits them

to his office.  "Agent Reyes, I trust you're feeling

better?"



"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir," Reyes responds, taking a chair

to Doggett's right, across the desk from the deputy

director.



"I called you in here to discuss the matter of Agent Crane's

death, and its possible connection to the disappearance of

Agent Scully and Fox Mulder," Kersh announces grimly.  "I've

got a whole lot of questions and very few answers for Agent

Crane's widow, Agent Scully's mother, and the Director.  You

two are the last agents to see or interact with any of the

people in question.  I've read over your statements and find

them incredible, bordering on absurd.  Am I to believe,

Agent Doggett, that you think the last three conversations

you had with Agent Crane weren't with *Agent Crane*, but

with someone who looked and spoke like him, while he was

actually already deceased?"



"Sir, the coroner's report puts Agent Crane's time of death

a full day before the last times I interacted with him.  The

last day I saw him, he--meaning the person posing as Agent

Crane--admitted to me, and the CIS department confirms, that

he didn't know Agent Crane's password and it needed to be

reset.  Agent Crane's wife hadn't heard from him since the

day the coroner estimated he died.  Whoever it was that we

dealt with that day, it was not Agent Crane."



"And just who do you propose it was, Agent Doggett?"



"Whoever attacked Agent Reyes and Mulder and Scully and

their child in Pennsylvania that night, obviously, sir."



"Which brings me to Agent Reyes' report about her assault.

By a man who--" Kersh consults the papers on his desk before

him, "--introduced himself as Agent Crane, but later changed

appearance before her very eyes, 'bled green blood' when

stabbed in the shoulder, and who had enough strength to lift

an adult woman by the neck with one hand.  Agent Reyes, I

have to admit it was with some reservations that I approved

your request for transfer to the X-Files division, and this

report doesn't do much to justify my faith that I made the

right call.  Frankly, the X-Files have a history of bringing

out the worst tendencies in even the best of agents--" he

fixes Doggett with a condemning glare, "--and your record is

colorful enough to start with."



"Sir, regardless of how the report may sound," Reyes says

levelly, "one can't dismiss the facts of this case.  There

were traces of the same retrovirus I was hospitalized with

in Agent Crane's blood, though his official cause of death

was asphyxiation due to a crushed larynx.  Evidence of the

same corrosive agent that was found in the farmhouse in

Pennsylvania, both on the porch where I was assaulted and

inside where Agent Scully and Fox Mulder were attacked, was

also found by Agent Doggett here in the parking garage at

the FBI the same day Agent Crane is estimated to have died.

It was also found on Skyland Mountain where Fox Mulder's car

was discovered, near the remains of the wanted fugitive Alex

Krycek.  The only reasonable conclusion to draw is that

whoever was responsible for my attack, the disappearances of

Mulder and Scully and their child, and the death of Agent

Crane are one and the same."



"I don't argue that it appears that the party or parties

responsible for these two separate attacks are the same,"

Kersh replies.  "I do, however, object to official FBI

investigations being filled with reports of people bleeding

green blood and changing identities before our very eyes.

You can ask Agent Doggett if you want to know my opinion of

this sort of sloppy, irresponsible investigating."



"I'm sorry, sir.  I can only report the facts as best as

they are available to me."



"Well, here's another conclusion for you to consider.  That

whoever was responsible for Agent Crane's death--as well as

the immolation of Alex Krycek--has gone on the run to evade

justice for their crimes."



"Wait--sir, you're not implying that Agent Scully and Mulder

killed Crane and Krycek..." Doggett protests.



"Why else would they run, if they didn't have something to

hide?" Kersh demands.



"And the attack on me?" Reyes asks coldly.



"I can only assume, given the absurdity of your account,

that your injuries affected your memory.  For future

reference, I expect reports from every division--and the X-

Files are no exception--not to read like they came straight

out of a B-movie.  Don't make me reconsider my decision to

assign you to the X-Files, Agent Reyes, or to keep the X-

Files division active to begin with.  Report back to me when

you have some answers that make some sense.



"I've put out an APB on Mulder and Scully and their child,

citing them as being persons of interest in the

investigation of the deaths of Agent Crane and Alex Krycek.

If you get any word on their whereabouts, I expect you to

report it to the task force immediately.  Dismissed."





*     *     *     *     *





Doggett and Reyes are silent as they pass through the

reception area of Kersh's office, nodding politely to the

Asian woman waiting on the sofa there.  As the door closes

behind them, they hear Kersh's assistant tell her she can

enter.



"If he doesn't want the answers, why bother asking the

questions?" Reyes demands once she and Doggett are back out

in the corridor.



"His first consideration is keeping the FBI from looking

foolish," Doggett shrugs.  "I've got to admit he's come up

with a brilliant way to pull it off.  Discredit the sources

of the reports he would like to hide, by saying Mulder and

Scully are possible criminals.  There's no way I'm going to

think that Mulder and Scully are responsible for Crane's

death.  But I can't say I'm any more comfortable with the

answers in those reports than he is; I'm not sure I buy half

of the stuff that Krycek character tried to sell to me and

Skinner, though I hate to say it, it seems a lot more

plausible now than it did nine months ago."



He stops, and Reyes looks at him quizzically.  "Nine months

ago," he muses, "traces of that same corrosive agent were

found in the Arizona desert where we looked for Agent

Mulder.  Assistant Director Skinner nearly died of the same

retrovirus you were exposed to, and that's when Agent Scully

first told me about some creatures--aliens--who could change

identities.  Kersh knows all that; it's in the file, and I

drew the parallels in my report this week, indicating that

whoever it was who attacked you and Crane also may have been

responsible for the attack on an agent in Arizona, as well

as those on Skinner and Agent Scully.  But he didn't mention

any of that in there."



"Why wouldn't he at least take notice of a potential link

between this case and one that remains open and unsolved?"

Reyes asks.  "Unless there's some reason he's intentionally

disregarding it, especially when it could take any potential

suspicion off Mulder and Scully?"



"Now hold on--I'm also not ready to go accusing a Deputy

Director of the FBI of willfully ignoring evidence."



"You know what they say, John," Reyes shrugs with a wry

smile.  He looks at her in askance.  "Trust no one."





*     *     *     *     *



June 05, 2001

1:37 PM

Public Rest Area

Location Unknown





Mulder steps out of the men's restroom into the bright June

sunlight and shields his eyes with his hand, scanning the

scattered picnic tables until he finds the one he's looking

for.



Scully stands over the car-seat carrier, her newly blonde

hair swinging around her face as she leans over, making

silly faces at the baby in the seat.  The breeze carries the

sound of a delighted infant gurgle to Mulder, and Scully

laughs, pulling another absurd expression and making

nonsensical noises.



Mulder closes his eyes for a moment, thankfully, reverently,

a tender expression crossing his face.  After a moment, he

opens them again and stands watching them thoughtfully.

Then he grins and lopes across the lawn to join them.





*     *     *     *     *



University of Maryland Medical Center

Psychiatric Unit

Bethesda, Maryland

June 26, 2001





"My baby," Theresa Hoese moans in her hospital bed, tossing

fretfully.



Observing through a window in her hospital room door, the

attending psychiatrist updates his colleague.



"Paranoid delusional Jane Doe," he reports.  "Came in a few

days ago.  Has a tendency to get hysterical and combative.

She's only about three weeks pregnant, but she's having

persistent delusions that her baby has been taken from her.

We have to keep her sedated to prevent her from

miscarrying."



Inside the room a nurse soothes Hoese. "Shh, try to be

still, you've been very sick, and if you don't take it easy

you could hurt your baby."



"My baby?  Where is he?  Is he here?  Please--where's my

baby?"



"It's all right.  Your baby is right here," the nurse

indicates Theresa's stomach.  "He's safe."



"No..." she moans, thrashing on the bed against her

restraints.  "NO!  What have you done to me?  WHAT HAVE YOU

DONE TO ME!!?"



"See what I mean?" the psychiatrist says knowingly to the

other doctor, entering the room to assist the nurse in

calming their patient.





*     *     *     *     *



West 46th Street

New York City, New York





Yoong Li, the same Asian woman Doggett and Reyes saw waiting

outside Deputy Director Skinner's office weeks before--and

the same who had been unceremoniously dragged from her bed

the night Beth Miles was murdered--sits across the desk from

Marita Covarrubias in her well-appointed office.



"The FBI situation?"  Covarrubias asks, her own hand resting

over her stomach.



"Secured.  Our associate there knows the importance of

cooperation.  He's made sure the manhunt has special urgency

behind it, with insinuations of Mulder and Scully's

complicity in the other agent's death.  If we do manage to

track them down, we have an assured way of keeping them

occupied."



"And there's been no luck tracing them by other means?"





*     *     *     *     *



The Office of The Lone Gunmen

Baltimore, Maryland





"Their bank accounts haven't been accessed," Frohike reports

to Skinner, Doggett, and Reyes as Langly and Byers nod in

agreement.  "No cars have been rented, bus, train, or

airline tickets purchased with credit cards or

identification registered to them.  They're off the map."



"That's a good sign, though, right?" Doggett asks.



Skinner nods unhappily.  "Yeah, it's good.  No one knows

where they are or how to find them, except maybe these

guys," he cocks his head in Frohike's direction.  Langly,

Frohike and Byers all stare back with studiously blank

expressions.  "So I get to tell Mrs. Scully nothing has

changed."





*     *     *     *     *



"Well," Covarrubias concludes.  "We have to trust that if we

haven't found them, neither have the colonists.  Which means

they got rid of the implant somehow."



"It would appear so," Li replies.  "All in all, it's better

that they're out there and untraceable than in the wrong

hands."



Marita nods.  "For now.  We have the Hoese child in our

custody to work with, and I anticipate soon having access to

Billy Miles' daughter as well."



"I thought Strughold intended to have that one destroyed."



Covarrubias gives her associate a meaningful look.

"Strughold is being...attended to."





*     *     *     *     *



Tunisia





Conrad Strughold enters the rough hut in which he lives near

his projects in the Tunisian desert, sweating in his light

khakis.  Night is just beginning to fall, but it isn't dark

enough yet for the desert heat to have abated.  He crosses

to a chipped basin and uses  tepid water to wash his face,

toweling off in a dusty mirror.  Outside, a sandstorm is

rising, and he can hear the wind howling.  Beneath it,

however, a low humming is growing louder in the room, and he

looks around to see bees emerging from an open crate at the

foot of the narrow cot.



"Mein Gott!" he swears, running for the door, only to find

it barred from outside.  The loud thumps and crashes that

indicate his attempts to open it eventually subside into

screams, which are drowned out by the rising desert wind.





*     *     *     *     *



Somewhere in North America...



...an anonymous car fades into the night.





The End