From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 24 Jun 1996 14:29:57 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (Preface/Summary)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (PREFACE/SUMMARY)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DEDICATION: For Shalimar, Pat, Connie and Gerry.


"Colonization" is part 3 of a trilogy which includes "Shadow
Puppets" (part 1) and "The Puppet Masters" (part 2). It's not
strictly necessary to read the first two parts, although both
help to define what happens next.

I've also written a short thing about the writing techniques
and themes I've been exploring in the Puppet series because
some people asked me about it; I don't want to post it or send
it out on the list because it's a big drag for those who just
want to read the story, but other fanfic writers or those
interested in the creative process might find it interesting. If
so, drop me a line and I'll send it along. 

A summary of "Shadow Puppets" can be found in the Gossamer
archive (in the Unprocessed section, at this point) at the
beginning of "Puppet Masters."

For those who want it, here's a summary of events in "Puppet
Masters" (disclaimer follows):


After their return from the missile site, Mulder and Scully
meet with AD Skinner and give him a bogus report on the
trumped-up case Mulder uses to get out to the site in the first
place.

Skinner immediately recognizes the change in the agent's
relationship and warns them to be discreet. While it's clear he
doesn't entirely disapprove, he stresses that he won't be able
to do a thing if the truth comes out.

Over lunch, Scully tells him the details of the real case while
Mulder tries to work out what actually happened out there.

Mulder concludes that Cancerman is in fact Samantha's father,
which would explain why he's so anxious to find her. He also
deduces that something's gone terribly wrong, and that CM
has somehow lost track of her.

Mulder tells Skinner that Samantha's alive and that he has to
find her. The AD is skeptical. He explains that CM has fallen
out of favour for following his own agenda, one that no one
really understands. He forbids Mulder to take any action
behind his back. Mulder grudgingly agrees, but points out
that CM made it clear time is of the essence.

During the night, Mulder tapes an "X" on his window, which
Scully discovers the next morning. She's irate, but Mulder
explains that while he doesn't expect the informant to actually
show up in light of their last encounter, he needs to try to
find out what X knows, particularly since he doesn't know
where else to turn for information.

Later, as Mulder looks for the car in the FBI Headquarters
parking garage, he's assaulted by a very disturbed X who's
incensed that Mulder would have the nerve to try contacting
him. He beats Mulder badly, breaking his nose and
compromising his manhood before Scully arrives at the nick of
time. X is clearly insane and terrified, babbling that the
puppet masters are coming and that it's already too late, that
the three of them are as good as dead. As Mulder loses
consciousness, he hears a shot.

Mulder wakes up in the hospital to discover Scully by his side.
His nose has been broken so badly that it had to be
reconstructed, his ribs are broken and his testicles have been
severely bruised. X is dead, killed by Scully; no one knows
who he was. Meanwhile, fearful that they're being bugged,
they exchange notes to discuss the situation and it emerges
that Scully heard Mulder cry out to him and even saw X break
his nose. Mulder "tells" her that he can't hear or see anything
from her at all, so it would seem the link is unidirectional.

After his release from hospital, M&S head back to Scully's
apartment to wait. Mulder feels the approach of the puppet
masters and believes their arrival to be imminent. There's a
knock at the door, which Mulder finds hysterical -- "I never
thought they'd knock, Scully." He opens the door to find
Samantha standing there, a fact she confirms by calling him
"Foss," a baby-name only Samantha knew.

Mulder is overjoyed but Scully remains wary as Samantha
explains that waiting around for the puppet masters "isn't a
great idea." She insists all their lives are in danger and that
she can take them to safety.

In the car, Scully badgers Samantha incessantly for
information. Samantha continues to say that they'll get all the
answers they want once they arrive. Scully's attitude angers
Mulder because his gut tells him this is definitely his sister,
but he concedes that Scully's right; there's something very
strange about the whole situation.

They wind up at yet another abandoned factory site, but as
Samantha tries to lead them inside, Mulder resists, saying that
he doesn't feel right about it. Samantha loses her cool, calling
them fools and sneering that she can't understand how they've
managed to stay alive so long. At that moment Mulder hears the
sound of a rifle behind his head. He tells her drily that
Cancerman obviously wasn't their friend after all.

"I told you the truth," she says. "He's trying to help. I, on
the other hand, am not."

The Well-Manicured Man emerges from the building, stating
that they were brought here because their help is needed. He
goes on to talk about the puppet masters, explaining that he's
just an employee and that in fact there's only one puppet
master: Samantha.

His sister begins to torment him by bringing up the fact that
he didn't save her all those years ago, intimating that
everything she's now doing is his fault. Scully knows that this
is hitting too close to Mulder's greatest, darkest terror and
she tries to come to his defense, but Samantha slaps her. It's
too much for Mulder, and he feels his hold on reality beginning
to slip as Samantha orders that they be taken inside.



************************************************************
DISCLAIMER: All main characters are the property of Chris
Carter and Fox. They have been lovingly borrowed, with no
money-making intent, just because it's summertime and the
living is easy. Thanks due to David Duchovny and Gillian
Anderson for making our heros as irresistible as they are.
************************************************************
 


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 24 Jun 1996 14:31:35 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (1/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (1/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

*** Rated "R" for Profanity ***



Quickbrownfoxquickbrownfoxquick...

The words roiled through Mulder's mind as he tried to cling to
some semblance of sanity.

Samantha.

He wanted to hum aloud, just to drown it all out.

His body felt febrile, loose, his own footsteps reverberating
through him and pounding through his head as he walked down
what looked like a corridor, its walls dank and luminescent.

Scully was right ahead of him, her shoulders square,
determined, and he wanted so badly to grab her, to pull her to
him, just so she could tell him it was okay, that he wasn't
going to lose his mind over this, that he was a grownup and
he'd dealt with all of it already.

But he'd never expected this.

Not in his wildest, most twisted nightmares.

Samantha alive? Yes. He'd never stopped believing it.

Samantha used and abused by scientists, government, maybe
even aliens? Absolutely. No surprise there.

Samantha fathered by Cancerman, who'd raised her as his own
child? Great, no problem; it was bizarre but he could deal with
it.

Samantha irrevocably changed by the events of her life,
broken by them, damaged, even destroyed? Okay. Okay, he'd
come to expect that, even though he'd tried not to think about
it.

But this.

Samantha as some kind of mastermind in a conspiracy that ran
through all levels of international government?

Samantha, his own sister, running the show somehow, the
spider at the heart of the web, the Big Blue Meanie, his final
nemesis?

It was appalling.

Worse. It was tacky.

He'd never dreamt that there'd be one person at the root of it
all; it was too absurd, too paranoid, too ... Star Wars,
goddammit.

That was it. George Lucas was hiding around here somehow,
waiting to jump out and scream boo at him.

That's it. Humour. Humour's the key, here, Mulder old man.
Think about it. It's some kind of great epic movie where
everyone's an archetype.

And I'm fucking wide-eyed Luke Skywalker, interstellar rebel
and would-be saviour of the galaxy.

Son of a motherfucking son of a bitch.

Well, daughter of a motherfucking son of a bitch, actually.

But at least he was laughing, a little madly, perhaps, and he
was relieved to see that his lips weren't moving and he wasn't
cackling out loud.

Good. A good sign.

Scully. What did she think of all this? Could she read what was
going on in his head?

He dearly hoped not.

With a deep breath, he felt sanity settle around him softly.
Laughter. The best medicine.

And maybe all this wasn't what it seemed to be. Life was too
elegant, too subtle. It would never stoop so low.

Maybe Samantha and the Central Park guy were crazier than
he was.

That had to be it.

It made perfect sense.

They'd gone off the deep end. They were loopy as a loon, a
few sandwiches shy of a picnic, two violins short of a full
orchestra.

They were the lunatics. Not him.

And as sorry as that made him, for his sister's sake, he felt
profoundly relieved.

The real world clicked down firmly. He was back. He was
okay.

Except he suddenly realized he had a hard-on, inexplicably
and inappropriately under the circumstances, and it hurt like
hell.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he getting off on this madness?

Insanity. It runs in the family, right? He stifled a giggle as
Scully turned her head back quickly.

Her eyes glittered in the muted light and he caught his breath
as he saw them.

Christ. Scully.

She was there and her eyes seemed glazed with worry for him.

I'm okay. I think. Scully.

She nodded almost imperceptibly and murmured: "Hold on."

"Quiet, please." The man with the perfect nails said it
cordially enough, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent
of menace in his tone.

Mulder felt his erection subside and the pain ease.

Guess the old man just wasn't his type.

He grinned in the darkness.




They were led to two small rooms, side by side, separated,
Mulder saw, by a wire grill down the middle.

Samantha turned and looked at him.

"We'll talk later, Fox. For the time being, I'm splitting you
up," she glanced at Scully with a little smile, "because I don't
want Agent Scully here to fuck your brains out all night when
we have so much work to do."

He squirmed.

"Although," she continued thoughtfully, "from what I
understand, you're not a whole lot of good in that department
either these days."

God, this wasn't going to be easy. She really knew how to get
to him.

Mulder felt sudden tears threaten but he blocked them,
reaching for anger instead. It wasn't hard to find.

No more crying, Mulder. No more.

"Jealous, Sam? When was the last time you got some?"

He felt a blow to his kidneys and folded over, his ribs singing
with pain.

"Please..." Scully. Poor old Scully. What could she do?

"Leave him alone." Samantha sounded irritated. "I'm not that
thin-skinned. Just put her in there."

A man he still couldn't see passed in front of him and seized
Scully roughly, pushing her into the room. He stood shakily as
the door shut behind her.

"She can read your mind, can't she?" Samantha studied him.

He gazed at her. "That's ridiculous. There's no such thing."

"I know she can, Fox. I can feel it."

He shrugged.

"I'll tell you my name and badge number, if it helps."

She laughed out loud. She was still holding his gun and she
pointed it at him.

"You'd be making a grave error in judgement if you thought I
wouldn't kill you in a second."

"You're a big girl now. Do what you want."

"I plan to. And you're going to help me."

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Believe me, Fox. You will. In a way, you already have."

The big man he couldn't see shoved him through the other door
and he turned as it clicked shut behind him.

He looked over at Scully. She stood there, on the other side of
the partition, her hand against the grill.

He limped over to her and laid his hand against hers through
the metal.

Her eyes searched his face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

She nodded. "I don't think she likes me very much."

"Judging by the company she keeps, she doesn't have a whole
lot of taste."

"You really think she's your sister, don't you?"

"I know it. Don't ask me how, Scully, but I do."

"It just doesn't seem possible."

"Believe me. I wish it wasn't."

He folded his fingers around hers as best he could.

"You know, the funny thing is," he murmured softly, "all I
really want to do right now is stick my tongue in your mouth."

She smiled and lowered her head, shaking it in disbelief.

"You're something else, Mulder."

"I'm beginning to think so."

He leaned his body gingerly against the grill. She touched his
chest, her fingers lingering on his shirt buttons, brushing
them one by one through the wire mesh.

He closed his eyes as he concentrated on the reassuring feel of
her fingers against him.

"I don't know about you, Scully, but I think this is the
weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

"I'd have to agree."

"And we've had a fairly illustrious career, weird-wise."

"Yes, we have."

"Do you think they're insane?"

"I don't know."

"Because if they aren't, Scully, that means we have to be."

"Not necessarily."

He looked at her.

"I mean," she said, "maybe they're just being silly."

"What?"

"Maybe the big conspiracies we're always looking for are just
the backyard games of misguided individuals who believe in
them."

He drew back.

"What are you saying, Scully?"

Her eyes were serious. "Sometimes I get the feeling we're all
feeding each other. That they believe in their conspiracy
because we do, and vice versa."

"So you're saying this is all one big circle jerk?"

"I'm just saying it might be."

"And that nothing's really at stake here?"

"It's just that it all feels so ridiculous."

Ridiculous. That was the perfect word for it.

He'd read a novel with this very premise, "Foucault's
Pendulum," Umberto Ecco, he thought it was, where all the
characters ran around creating conspiracies because they
believed they already existed.

But in that book, the main character wound up dying because
other people believed in these conspiracies even more than he
did.

And they'd killed him for what they thought he knew.

But he'd known nothing. Nothing at all.

"I read it too. Even at the time, it gave me chills." Scully
shifted and looked down at her feet. "It seemed to hit... close
to home, somehow."

Mulder nodded.

"But we don't know that, Scully. We don't know what's going
on here at all."

"At this point, Mulder," she said, "I'm actually hoping that
something *is* going on. Otherwise, I'm going to be
embarrassed as hell." She smiled.

He touched her body through the grill.

"All I know is I wish you were in here with me."

"Well, at least we can talk."

"I'm assuming that's because they want us to, Scully."

They were silent for a moment as Scully slowly walked around
her cell, examining it, checking the lock on the door. The
lights were intense, brutal even. There was a toilet and a cot,
an incongruously comfortable-looking one.

Mulder's heart thumped dully as he watched her. He tried not
to think about it, not to frighten her, but he was afraid.

Afraid they'd use her as leverage to make him do something.

But what?

"What do they want from us, Scully?"

She looked at him and shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"I mean, what can we possibly have to offer? They're making it
sound like we're vitally important somehow."

She shrugged again. It was obvious she wanted to change the
subject, for some reason. "Let's imagine for a second that we
survive this ordeal and get away somehow, and that there
really isn't a conspiracy, there never was, only a handful of
people playing with each others' heads. What would you do?" 

It was suddenly clear to him that she *did* have an idea, but
that she didn't want to discuss it.

Why?

More than anything right now, he wished he could get inside
her head.

"Well," he said lightly, "if we could prove beyond a shadow of
a doubt that there were no extraterrestrials, no government
coverups, no international cartel trading in devastating
secrets, I'd probably quit the Bureau, marry you and get a
real job."

She stared at him. "What did you say right at the end?"

"Get a real job."

"Before that."

"Quit the Bureau."

She laughed. It was a lovely sound to hear.

"But don't worry, Scully." He smiled. "I don't believe we'll be
able to prove any of it."

The lights went out suddenly with a resounding clang and they
were left standing in absolute darkness.




CONTINUED IN PART 2


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 25 Jun 1996 07:09:35 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (2a/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (2a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

*** Rated "R" for language and scatological references ****


They'd lain down in the end, both of them on their own narrow
cots, because there didn't seem to be much point in standing
around in the dark.

The cot really was outrageously comfortable, as cots went. It
was thickly padded, the sheets clean and soft, the blanket
warm.

Mulder wasn't sure, but he could swear the pillow was stuffed
with real down.

Bizarre.

"They obviously want us to get our beauty sleep," he'd
muttered.

Scully had said nothing. Knowing her, she'd popped off as
soon as she'd hit the mattress. Lord, that woman could sleep
anywhere.

Mulder badly needed to take a crap.

He'd eyed the toilet warily earlier; open-air toilets were his
greatest and most secret phobia.

Mulder had very shy bowels.

He knew he'd have next to no problem taking a leak in front of
Scully, but this...

This didn't even bear close examination.

He'd never be able to do it. He'd die first, clogged up by his
own shit.

He could hear the dialogue between Scully and Skinner now.

"It's a terrible tragedy, Agent Scully. How did he go?"

"That's precisely the problem, sir. He didn't."

"What on earth do you mean, Agent Scully?"

"Constipation, sir. He never stood a chance..."

"My God. What senseless waste."

"Exactly, sir. He was... sob... carried off by senseless
waste."

Mulder snorted. Christ. On the bright side, he bet he'd finally
get a new nickname.




The night seemed endless as he tossed around, wrestling with
his colon, the pain in his ribs, his nose, which had started
itching furiously a few hours before. His balls, on the other
hand, were starting to feel a lot better; he could actually lie
on his stomach without screaming.

See, Mulder? The news ain't all bad.

It was hard not to feel like a complete, pathetic dweeb.

He folded his arms over the pillow and lay his cheek down. The
room still looked as dark as it had when the lights had first
gone out.

Samantha.

The thought rose unbidden in his mind.

His eyes squeezed shut.

Don't think about it. Don't dwell on it.

His little sister. The only person who'd loved him, truly loved
him for himself.

Don't...

He shook his head and almost cried out as his nose came in
contact with a forearm.

His eyes began to burn. Fuck.

He knew what this was. He knew the taste of it.

Self-pity.

But this time, he wouldn't give in to it.

No more tears, remember, Mulder? Today you are a man.

His little sister had come back.

And now it seemed she wanted to hurt him. Badly.

Or maybe she didn't, but she was clearly willing to do if she
felt she had to.

She was being really, really mean.

She'd been the driving force in his life for so long that he'd
barely noticed when she'd stopped being the only thing he
lived for.

Other things had come up. Other interests. Other obsessions.
Most of which, in one way or another, were weaved around
Scully, their work together and what she'd come to mean to
him.

He'd never stopped looking for Samantha. He'd just stopped
looking for Samantha at the exclusion of everything else.

And now, maybe, this was his punishment.

Maybe if he'd found her earlier he could have saved her from
all this. From what she'd apparently become.

Maybe she'd been driven to this because she'd stopped
believing he'd come for her.

He'd failed her. Again.

Then he heard a soft sob coming from the other side of the
grill.

God. Scully.

He sat up so fast that he winced as pain shot through his ribs
and down into his groin.

He got up, swore as he bumped his shin on the metal leg of the
cot and hobbled over to the partition, his arm reaching out
blindly in front of him.

His fingers made contact with cold steel.

"Scully?" He leaned against the grill, straining to see.

He could hear her clearly now, could hear her quiet rain of
sniffles.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Go back to bed." Her voice was thick, congested.

"I won't, so you may as well talk to me."

There was silence as he heard her move in the cot, the
blankets rustle, the sound of sheets against her clothes.

"You wouldn't cry, Mulder, so I figured I should."

Jesus.

The link.

She was crying for him. For his pain, his own private self-
made hell.

"I'm sorry, Scully."

"It's not your fault."

"Can you hear everything I'm thinking?"

She sniffed. "It's not thoughts, exactly. Not words. Just...
just the gist of it, the emotion, the meaning. It's hard to
explain.

He bet it was.

"You've got so much sadness in you, Mulder. I never knew
how much."

He rested his forehead on the grill.

"Scully..."

"Jesus. How can you live like this?"

He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn't see him.

"You get used to it."

"*I* wouldn't."

She blew her nose.

"Although it looks like I may have to."

He shook his head fervently. "No. Not that. We'll find a way to
stop this thing."

"What makes you so sure I want it stopped," she said softly.

"If you're that much of a masochist, Scully, it's time I bring
out the handcuffs and blindfold."

He heard her laugh shakily, quietly.

"I was wondering when you'd get around to them. A girl won't
wait around forever, Mulder."

His breath caught. She was so unspeakably wonderful.

"Scully, I..."

"Don't bother. I already know what you're going to say."

"Right." He rocked a little on the balls of his feet. "You know,
we'll get a lot of looks in restaurants if you do all the talking
for the rest of our lives."

There was an unspoken promise there, one which hung
between them for a moment or two.

"We'll just tell people you're my mute idiot cousin."

He smirked. "I've had it up to here with relatives, thanks."

"Anyway, the problem isn't the link. Not really. I'm sure I'll
find a way to control it with time." Her voice was serious,
tearful. "The problem is how messed up your head is."

"What kind of psychologist would I be if I couldn't speak from
experience, Scully?"

"But this... what you go through must be close to
unendurable."

"How do you know? You're new in here. I've had years to learn
how to live with it."

She said nothing.

"You know, Scully, I'll bet that if you suddenly had free
access to anyone else's head, even someone who seems
completely normal at first glance, you'd be just as shocked as
you are right now. I mean, ever think about what it must be
like to live inside Skinner's mind? That place must be a real
battlefield, a horror movie. Look at the guy. You'd be
swimming in Vietnam memories, feelings of guilt, loss, duty,
appalling loneliness... I can't even bear to think about it."

"Go on." She actually sounded interested.

"And I wouldn't be surprised to discover that your mind isn't a
bed of roses either. Catholic remorse, the navy brat life,
moving from place so you could never hold on to friends, the
drive to succeed at all cost, the years alone, Pfaster,
Melissa..."

"Mulder."

"I'm sorry, Scully, but I'm trying to make a point. All of us
have pain. We all carry it inside us all the time. Maybe some
people repress it better than I do. But I actually choose not to
repress it because if I've learned anything, it's that
repression is what eats away at your soul bit by bit, destroys
your ability to feel, to grow. So in me, you're seeing the mind
of someone who really tries to confront these issues, even
though it's hard, even though it hurts. I know it's not pretty,
and maybe it's true I do it too much sometimes, but I don't
particularly think it's fundamentally unhealthy."

He remembered to breathe.

"In fact, if you really want to know the truth, I don't even
think that, in the final analysis, I'm actually that fucked up."

He stopped.

The funny thing was, he really thought everything he'd just
said was true.

He'd just never thought of it that way before.

Scully was quiet and he began to wonder whether he'd pissed
her off somehow.

It was so easy to piss her off, and half the time he didn't know
what he'd done.

"You know, Mulder," she said, her voice thoughtful. "I think
you're absolutely right."

"You do?"

She laughed. "Yes, I do. I think that's an amazing analysis. I
really do. And it actually makes me feel a lot better."

"Well, thank you." He felt insufferably pleased with himself.

"But I shouldn't be surprised. You've always been really good
at analyzing psychos."

"Oh, ha ha, Agent Scully."

"You're a big fool, Agent Mulder."

"Which explains why you can almost follow what I say, Agent
Scully."

"Fuck you, Agent Mulder."

"Anytime, Agent Scully."

God, how he loved this woman, the way she could be serious
one moment, irreverent the next. He couldn't think of anyone
else who'd be able to fool around like this under these
conditions.

"You're the most courageous person I've ever known, you
know that, Scully?"

"Hmm. It's really too bad you can't read my mind."

He squinted in her direction.

"Why?"

"Because if you could, you'd feel very, very happy right
now."

He groaned. "Can't you just tell me?"

"Nope." He heard her lie back against the sheets.

"Scully!"

"I can't hear you because I'm asleep."

He shook the grill in mock anger but his chest felt suddenly
light.

Maybe he didn't need to read her mind after all.

"Good night, Scully."

She started making patently fake snoring noises.

He grinned, shook his head and limped back to his cot.




CONTINUED IN PART 2b


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 25 Jun 1996 07:10:31 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (2b/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (2b/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** Rated "R" for scatological references ****




Mulder awoke with a start. The lights had been turned back
on. His bowels ached dully, but at least the urge had died
down.

He shifted his body gingerly. Ribs still hurt, but not as much.
He touched his groin gently under the blanket. A piss hard-
on, no surprise there, but his balls felt fine. He slipped his
hand into his pants and cupped them, weighing them in his
palm. Full and heavy, even.

He smiled. Rarin' to go, Mulder: attaboy.

He probed his nose. The swelling had diminished
substantially, and he rubbed at it gently. Fine. Just itchy and
tender.

The body. What a machine.

He swung his legs over the side of the cot. Still stiff, but that
was okay. He felt better than he had in days.

Samantha.

The memory of what had happened sank over his psyche like a
wet blanket.

He shook his head.

Pee first, think later.

He threw a quick glance at Scully's side; no movement at all.

He haunched over the toilet, unzipped and threw back his
head as his stream filled the bowl noisily.

He prayed Scully was still asleep, because even though he
could handle this, it was a fragile compromise.

Christ.

Why couldn't he be a mensch already?

She'd grown up with two brothers and a father; she knew all
about these things, right?

"You know, Mulder..."

He froze, shaking the last few drops and zipping himself up
quickly.

"I think there's nothing sexier than the ragged sound of a
man's first interminable morning pee."

He turned his head back and saw her standing serenely behind
the grill with a big smile on her face.

He flushed and blushed, roughly at the same time.

"I'm kind of shy about these things, Scully."

"Don't be. I'm perfectly serious when I say I find it sexy."

"Well, I have a problem with it."

She cocked her head. "What you're saying is, it'll be a cold
day in hell before you sit on that thing in here, right?"

He blushed again and actually found himself shuffling his feet.

"For God's sake, it's just me, Mulder. You seem to have no
problem discharging other bodily emissions in my presence."

"This isn't about you, Scully. Besides," he thrust his head up
vaguely, "other people may be watching."

"Well, it's not good for you. I've gone twice already this
morning."

He stared at her. "What do you want from me, Scully? A
goddamn medal?"

"You'll have to go eventually, you know."

"Eventually, I will," he said tersely, "so please just drop the
subject, okay?"

She shrugged. 

"Everyone does it, Mulder."

"Fine. Let 'em watch each other. Now leave me alone."

She was looking at him and he met her eyes cautiously. They
were dancing with laughter and affection.

And... something infinitely more profound than affection.

No question about it.

He smiled tentatively at her.

"Your nose looks a lot better."

He touched it absently. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"How does it look?"

"Well, it's still bruised, but there's a definite shape
emerging."

"What kind of shape?"

"Rather aquiline, actually."

"Jesus. Like yours?"

"Bigger."

"Are you saying I look like a goy, Scully?"

She studied his nose gravely. "What can I tell you? I gave
them a picture. Maybe the temptation to give you a perfect
WASP shnoz was too great."

"Oy. It's a good thing my parents won't see it."

"I miss your old nose, Mulder."

"Don't start with me, Scully."

The door to Mulder's cell rattled and then opened.

He turned and stared, dumbfounded, at what stood in the
entrance, holding a serious-looking rifle in line with his head.

As humans went, it was small, fairly slight.

As aliens went, it was huge.

It was dressed in casual clothes -- jeans, sweatshirt, Nikes.

Its hands looked human, except for the fact that the fingers
were long, tapering towards what looked like pads of flesh.

Its head was sparsely covered in blond wispy hair that
struggled to frame a disproportionately large, very round
head.

Its features were altogether human.

Except for the eyes.

The eyes were solid black slanted ovals. And huge.

"Mr. Mulder?" it said in a shockingly normal voice. The accent
was midwestern American.

"Your sister would like to see you now."




CONTINUED IN PART 3 


------------------------------

From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (3/7)
Date: Thu, 27 Jun 1996 11:15:57 -0700
Organization: Communications Vir, Internet Access Montreal.


PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (3/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work For Reeses Peanut Butter Pieces"

Sorry. Will work for feedback. That's it. Please. Call 911...
The puppets are eating my brain.

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE




Mulder stared for a moment. The being before him gazed back.
Its eyes were impossible to read, but it looked like a nice
enough guy.

He looked over at Scully. She was gaping at their guest, but
otherwise he saw nothing but a kind of scientific absorption on
her face.

"Mr. Mulder?" Its tone was polite, even respectful.

"Yeah. Uh..." Mulder rasped a hand over his stubble. "Can
Agent Scully come?"

"I'm sorry. Your sister specifically requested your presence
alone." It turned to Scully with a shy smile. "But breakfast is
on its way."

It was utterly disarming.

Scully glanced at Mulder.

He felt the acrid taste of panic in the back of his throat.

"It's just that I have a hard time cooperating without her," he
said pointedly.

The creature looked at him.

"Don't worry, sir. She'll be fine. She's your mate -- we
wouldn't dream of harming her."

A rush of excitement rose through him, despite himself.

His mate.

He looked at her and almost laughed out loud when he saw the
look of disgust on her face.

"Mate?" She sneered her way through the word. "What is this,
the Klingon home world?" 

Mulder actually guffawed.

"Ah," said the creature amiably. "I see you know Star Trek."

"Only the unborn and a few of the dead don't know Star Trek,
buddy," Mulder said. "At least on this planet. I don't know
about the rest of the Federation." 

Oh, God. This was absolutely unbelievable.

The being nodded, thoughtful. "Well, it's an interesting show,
but from what I understand, it's a rather optimistic vision of
life in space."

"Figures."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Nothing."

The creature started as if it had just remembered something
and aimed the rifle at Mulder again.

"You have to go now."

"Don't I know it."

This time, it was Scully who guffawed.




As their footsteps echoed down the corridor, Mulder realized
that their humour was completely lost on the poor young thing.

The fact that they had become jaded enough to find anything
funny about this whole situation was another matter
altogether.

Scully had called it ridiculous. It still felt that way.




Mulder was lost among the corridors. There was something
vaguely alien about the design of the place; corners seemed to
flow into each other a little too seamlessly, and the indirect
lighting felt inexplicable as it dodged his eye. 

His new friend walked companionably beside him, his rifle
down. Mulder was impressed; you don't fool around with
anyone who obviously feels there's nothing remotely
threatening about you.

"What's your name, if you don't mind my asking?"

The creature smiled at him. "Not at all. Harold. Harold
Spalding."

"Harold."

They kept walking as Mulder's mind tried to wrap itself around
that one.

"So. What part of the galaxy are you from, Harold?"

It glanced at him. "Actually, I was born in Boise, but I was
raised outside Oklahoma City."

"I see."

"I know what you're saying, Mr. Mulder. You're commenting
on my appearance."

He shrugged. "Adopted?"

"Not exactly."

"Abducted?"

Harold smiled ruefully and shook his head. "My mother was."

"Ah."

Out of the blue, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Scully.

Mother of God.

Had they tried to impregnate Scully?

Did that explain the vision he'd had of her bloated, helpless,
laid out on a slab?

Had they succeeded?

How long did it take to incubate an alien?

He stopped walking and pressed his fist against the wall.

"Mr. Mulder?"

He ran a hand against his eyes, his foreign nose.

"Um, Harold. Mind if I call you Harold?" 

"Not at all, sir."

Mulder turned to it. It looked genuinely concerned.

"Any idea how long your mother was pregnant?"

The young man stared at him.

"I know what you're thinking, sir."

"Do you?" A wave of fatigue rolled over him.

"Yes, sir."

"How long, Harold?"

It shifted uncomfortably. "There's no doubt, sir, that as a
result of the natural incompatibility of the species, some
genetic manipulation is required in order to expedite the
procedure."

"How long, Harold?"

"I'm not really at liberty to speak about it, sir."

"How long?" Mulder leaned towards the frail-looking creature,
his hand resting lightly on the barrel of the rifle as it lay
against its thigh.

It froze and stared into his eyes, its own black ovals
unreadable, yet liquid, tender, fragile.

Pleading.

Filled with a breathtaking compassion.

Mulder trembled. It knew. It could read him as clearly as
Scully could.

He saw the pain in its eyes, the desperation, the unspeakable
loss.

It mirrored his own.

The creature lowered its head.

"About three months, sir."




Scully.

Mulder didn't know how far the link reached, but he did
everything in his power to blot this out, to keep it from her.

Start spreading the news...

Songs. Bits of rhyme. Muffin recipes. Anything.

I'm leaving today.

He hummed inside his mind, blindly, anxiously, his eyes shut
as he slowly leaned against the wall.

I wanna be a part of it...

No.

New York, New York...

Scully. Not this.

I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps...

Jesus. Not this.

If I can make it there...

It was okay. Everything would be a-okay.

I'll make it anywhere...

He moaned.

And then he felt a hand against his arm.

A tentative hand. It squeezed his shoulder, lightly.

"Mr. Mulder."

"It's up to you..."

"Mr. Mulder. Please."

New York, New York!

"Don't do this."

He grimaced as he pressed his hot face against the coolness of
the wall.

"Please. Don't. Mr. Mulder?"

"Scully." He felt his breath, ragged, against his lips against
the wall.

"Mr. Mulder."

He opened his eyes and gazed at the thing before him, its
earnest expression, its sweet, open face, its unfathomable
eyes.

"She saved us."

Something inside him screamed.

"She... and others like her. They were our last hope."

His eyes were wild.

"Shhhh." He laid a finger against his lips. "Shhh. Shh. She
can hear me. Don't let her hear this."

Mulder could feel the pads of its fingers against his shoulder,
kneading, soothing.

"The quick brown fox, Harold..." He explained reasonably.
He felt the ripple of madness behind his eyes.

"Yes, sir." It nodded, staring at him. "The brown fox."

"Do, a deer, a female deer..."

"Sir?"

"Re, a pocket full of sun."

"What are you..."

"Mi, a name I call myself, Fa, a long long way to run."

"Mr. Mulder."

"So, a needle pulling thread."

"Sir, it's okay. She can't hear you."

Mulder stopped abruptly.

"Believe me, Mr. Mulder. I know."

He looked at it.

His heart thudded dully against his chest as he slowly realized
he'd gripped the other by its narrow shoulders.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's typical." Its eyes were grave. "A link is formed,
sometimes, with a loved one. But it can't reach across any kind
of distance. Sir."

Harold. Its name was Harold.

"She heard me once from our office, a long way away."

Harold looked at him, his black eyes wide.

"That can happen. If you were in great physical pain, great
need."

Mulder leaned back against the wall, loosening his hold on the
other's shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"This is too abstract for her to get a clear reading. She can
tell you're distressed, but I promise you she doesn't know
why."

"How do you know?"

"I've been through it, sir."

Mulder was silent.

He gazed at the creature. Harold.

He was pretty sure he couldn't say the same for his sister, but
he knew that this creature before him, this being, had a
purity the likes of which he'd never seen.

It radiated through his eyes, his body, the concern in his
uniform dark eyes.

"My distress will make her suffer, Harold."

It nodded. "She's suffering anyway because you're not with
her and she doesn't know what's happening to you. The price
of love, sir."

Jesus.

That was true, wasn't it?

That's what he'd done to her every time he'd fucked off
without telling her where he was going.

He'd made her suffer.

She'd loved him already. She'd loved him since the very
beginning.

The price of love.

How much had they made her pay?

Mulder looked intently at the slight young man. It gazed back
at him, waiting, patient.

Incredibly, Mulder realized he trusted it. Him.

He didn't know why, or how.

For no reason that made any sense, he trusted this radiant
being before him.

Mulder nodded, once.

"Okay."

He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Harold smiled. It was a beautiful smile, filled with the
innocence of childhood.

Mulder felt oddly blessed by it.

"You have to see your sister now, sir."

"Okay."

Anger surge through his veins.

"She and I need to talk anyway."

His sister.

He'd take it up with Samantha.

Mulder pushed himself away from the wall. "Lead on, MacDuff.
*Moritori te salutant.*"

Harold shook his head and laughed.

"'We who are about to die salute you?' I don't think so, sir."

"Where'd you learn Latin?"

"I know many languages, sir."

Mulder smiled grimly.

"To each his battlefield, Harold. You don't know my sister."




CONTINUED IN PART 4


From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 1 Jul 1996 09:19:57 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (4/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (4/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE




Harold pointed left with his rifle; Mulder preceded him into a
corridor that was wider and more brightly lit than the ones
they'd just walked through.

He squinted as his stomach suddenly rumbled.

"I'm hungry, Harold."

"You must be."

"So does only Scully get to eat around here?"

The slight young man laughed and shook his head. "You're a
remarkable man, Mr. Mulder."

"I'm not sure how that answers my question."

"Someone's bound to feed you eventually."

"Great. Welcome to the monkey house, ladies and gents:
feeding time's in 15 minutes."

Harold suddenly looked serious. "We're almost there, sir."

Mulder examined the little guy. "No laughing matter, huh?"

Harold shook his head quickly.

"You scared of her too, buddy?" Mulder's tone was deceptively
light.

The young man shrugged.

"Okay. I'll pretend I'm meeting the President." He stood up
straight and furrowed his brow, frowning. "How's this?"

A helpless chortle. "Honestly, sir. Be careful. Your sister's
very efficient, but she's not known for her sense of humour."

"I'd already gathered that. Scully's right; it's all the fault of
that chain-smoking bastard."

As it happened, Mulder didn't much feel like laughing either.
Making inappropriate jokes in tense situations was a nervous
tick he'd had since childhood. It was a shame, because over
the years it had made him waste a lot of great one-liners on
unappreciative audiences, including himself.

Now that he thought about it, Scully was the only one who'd
ever found any of them remotely amusing.

Well, he'd managed to coax a giggle out of Harold, which
wasn't bad at all; maybe he could make it big on the standup
scene in Alpha Centauri.

They'd stopped walking. Mulder glanced at Harold, who looked
even more nervous than he felt himself.

Judging by the morale around the place, the employee benefit
package couldn't be anything to write home about.

"Harold?"

The young man swallowed and pointed to the door in front of
them.

"In there."

Mulder waited, shifting a little.

"Okay. So, like, take me to your leader, dude."

Harold smiled ruefully and reached a slim hand towards the
handle.

Mulder was feeling cocky. Somewhere, he just couldn't bring
himself to believe his own sister would do anything to hurt
him.

Unfortunately, he also suspected it was a dangerous
assumption.




They entered a cavernous room draped in sprawling shadows
pierced here and there with diffuse beams of yellow light from
large round lamps suspended from what had to be at least a 40-
foot ceiling. Pipes and conduits ran along the walls before
disappearing into the obscurity overhead.

Mulder couldn't tell where the room began and where it ended;
it seemed to stretch out endlessly in all directions, probably a
trick of the shadows.

Vague hulking objects were scattered around the floor --
consols, large units, all of them vaguely familiar and totally
incomprehensible. He could hear electronic humming, faint
clicks and whirls, all the accoutrements of a lab busily
engaged in its own mysterious pursuits. Pinpoints of light
flashed here and there, and judging by how muddy they
looked to him, they were probably red and green.

It felt like a factory. A very modern factory, but a factory
nonetheless.

He could see no living thing move amid the technology.

Harold cleared his throat.

"This way." He began weaving his way through the consols
and what looked like large refrigerators, leaving Mulder to
trail along behind him.

Funny how the little half alien didn't seem at all worried that
he'd try to escape.

Probably because he knew Mulder had been after the truth for
so long that he would've fought tooth and nail if they'd
grabbed him and dragged him to the door.

Probably because he knew Mulder would never leave without
Scully.

Which was certainly why they'd left her in the cell.

Leverage.

He followed, peering at test tubes, elaborate chemical
installations which actually bubbled like something out of a
'50s movie. He tried to read the precise lettering and numbers
on the flasks, but the characters were illegible to him, like an
alien language.

Klingon? He almost smiled; then his eyes widened.

No. Navajo.

That was it. He'd seen it at the Reservation, written in dust
and sand on the rocks around him when he'd awakened after
the ritual that had saved his life.

The same language which had been used phonetically on the
DAT tape he'd found and lost.

The one they'd concluded had all the answers. The one with
Scully's name on it.

Scully had recognized the language at the time, saying it was
used as a code during WWII because it was the only one the
Japanese couldn't break.

But as codes went, surely it had no useful function now. Any
rookie codebuster would be able to decipher it in one sitting
these days. 

So what was the connection? How were the Navajo, or at least
their language, tied into all this?

Mulder shook his head.

Wait a minute.

He squinted at the vials and reached automatically for his
glasses in his breast pocket. Christ. When would he learn to
carry the damn things with him?

Navajo.

Or Anasazi?

Albert Hosteen, the Navajo elder who'd helped him in New
Mexico, had talked about the area's earlier inhabitants. He'd
insisted at the time that the tribe had been abducted by
"visitors," aliens who still came to earth on a regular basis.

The Anasazi had vanished without a trace 600 years earlier.

They were the ancestors of the Navajo, at least in part,
weren't they?

And while the history books maintained that the tribe had been
exterminated by the Spanish, Mulder knew that Albert didn't
buy it. It had happened too quickly.

Could there be a similarity between the two languages, as
there was between the tribes?

Mulder had no idea what the Anasazi language looked liked.

All he knew was that the men who'd saved his life had had
access to an incredible source of power.

He'd been dead. Hell, he'd known it even at the time.

And they'd brought him back whole.

It wasn't possible, at least not by any medical means available
on earth.

No known means, anyway.

On earth, anyway.

Mulder straightened and sucked air in through his teeth.

Could it be the Anasazi were coming home at last?




Harold disappeared around a large steel unit. Mulder followed
and stopped in his tracks with a gasp.

Water tanks.

Jesus. Row after row of large aquariums.

He'd seen them before.

Harold turned and looked at him quizzically.

There was a form at the bottom of each tank. A naked human
form.

And they moved, stretching as if in sleep, turning, clutching
restlessly now and again.

Living human forms, both male and female, wired in some way
to outside consols and completely immersed in some sort of
liquid.

This time he could see umbilical-like cords bulging out of
navels over fully developed adult genitalia.

He stared, fascinated, at a female whose labia fluttered
delicately in the eddies she stirred up as she shifted.

"I've seen these," he said tersely. His voice echoed hollowly.

"Yes, I know. As a result of your visit that time, we had to
move the entire facility in a few hours. But this is only one of
many. That way, if something happens to one, we won't lose
everything."

"What are they?" He looked at Harold.

The young man shrugged. "You know what they are, Mr.
Mulder."

"Remind me."

"They're hybrids. Half human, half... alien, as you put it."

"But they look completely human."

Harold's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were huge in
the half light.

"You've seen them. They look human but their blood is...
different."

"Green. Caustic to humans."

The slight being nodded, looking away.

"And the only way to kill them is with a puncture to the base of
the skull with a particular instrument."

Harold winced. "We're hoping that doesn't become common
knowledge, sir. So many people would want to kill us if they
knew."

"Why is it that only a certain type of tool works?"

The other shook his head.

Mulder stood bolt upright as it dawned on him.

"It's an alloy of some kind, isn't it, Harold? Some metal that
probably doesn't originate on earth, one that reacts toxically
with their blood."

"Please, sir..."

"That's it. That's why both humans and..." he waved vaguely
at the tanks, "...these guys are desperate to find the
stilettos."

His father had had one. And his mother had known about it. It
was so precious that he'd hidden it in a lamp in the middle of
nowhere.

And that's why they'd killed him.

They'd been looking for the fucking thing.

But why had his father had it? And for how long?

Mulder almost laughed. And to think he'd once thought that
facing Krychek would be the ultimate horror.

His eyes found Harold and he was shocked by the fear he saw
there.

"Don't worry. I'd already figured a lot of it out."

"Mr. Mulder, your sister's waiting." He sounded desperate.

Mulder's eyes searched his face. "What happened to you?"

Harold obviously knew what he meant.

He looked down for a moment before meeting Mulder's eyes
again. "I was a prototype, you might say. Along with a few
others who..."

"Who what?" Mulder said softly.

"Who... those who are still alive."

"Were the others killed?"

Harold shook his head. "Not exactly. Not most of them. Just a
very short lifespan."

"How old are you, Harold?" His voice was almost a breath.

"Nine, sir. I'm very old, actually."

Mulder nodded. "So what happened?"

"We were seen by your government as too... too alien."

"Can you change your shape?"

"No. If I could..." He shrugged his shoulders.

Mulder nodded again.

"Can they?"

"Yes. My people..."

He stopped.

"Go on."

"Well, I'm half human, as you know, sir, but the other half
belongs to a shapeshifting race."

"Humanoid?"

"Yes."

"And they can assume any shape they want?"

"No. Not at all. They could alter their shape somewhat to adapt
to their surroundings, that's all. It's a long story, sir."

Mulder gazed at him. "But the introduction of human DNA has
somehow resulted in real shapeshifting capability?"

Harold nodded. "Something like that. In the later... models.
And to a point. They can't become objects or anything, not
like Odo." He smiled fleetingly before lowering his head again.
"They can change their appearance, how big or small they
look, but they can't suddenly look like an endtable, with
corners and everything."

Mulder chuckled. Then he sobered.

"One of them pretended to be me. One of them almost killed
Scully."

Harold nodded. "It's a talent that can make them dangerous.
The bad ones. But you have to understand, sir: most of them,
most of us, are very very good, very kind. We wouldn't dream
of hurting anyone, particularly not the species that's helped
us to survive. We're... my ancestors were a gentle race."

Mulder waited.

"It's just that... it's just that a lot of it depends on the DNA
that's introduced, and under the circumstances it's been
difficult for any of us, my people, yours, to be overly
discriminating."

"You took what you could get."

"Yes."

Mulder felt a sudden blinding rush of anger. Scully. They
took Scully, didn't they?

He refused to think about it. Not now.

He'd deal with it later.

"My sister?"

Harold started and a look of absolute panic ran over his
features.

"We have to go."

"As much as I hate to say it, she doesn't seem either good or
kind, Harold."

The other was already walking away, gesturing him to follow.

"That's the thing, sir. She's very good... at what she does."

"What do you mean?"

"She gets results. Right now, that's all that matters."

"But..."

Harold spun around and pointed at him furiously. It was so
unexpected that Mulder skittered backwards.

"That's enough, sir. I've already said enough. I'm not
supposed to talk about any of this." He rubbed a hand across
his face.

"Anything else you want to know, you'll have to ask your
sister."

Almost as an afterthought, he raised the rifle and pointed it at
Mulder's head. The barrel shook minutely, but there was no
question that if he pulled the trigger right now, he'd blow half
of Mulder's face off.

And Mulder suddenly realized he didn't want to die before he'd
made love to Scully again, at least once.

"Is that clear, sir?"

"Crystal."

Harold nodded.

"Come on."




CONTINUED IN PART 5


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 1 Jul 1996 09:21:32 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (5a/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (5a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback or Large Amounts of Cash"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** Rated "R" for Disturbing Imagery ****




They arrived at a harshly lit area where a few curved consols
twinkled and hummed on the outskirts. A double row of plain
plastic chairs, all of them empty, were set up in a semi-circle.
A podium stood near the front of the area, along with three
high-backed wooden chairs a little to the right.

A dais of some sort.

Those chairs were empty too.

As they emerged from the shadows into the bright circle of
light, Mulder saw his sister turn from a consol where she was
talking quietly to an attractive blond woman.

The woman looked human enough.

So did the man behind Samantha, except for his height. From
where Mulder stood, he looked to be at least 7 feet tall,
probably more. He was holding a rifle against his chest, barrel
up.

The top of Scully's head would come about waist high to this
guy. Mulder suddenly had a pretty good sense of how she must
feel when she looked up at him without heels on.

Except he was fairly certain he didn't look nearly as
dangerous.

Samantha turned towards them as they approached.

"It's about time." She gazed at Harold.

"Sorry, m'am." His little friend shuffled and backed away into
the shadows.

Her eyes turned to Mulder.

"Were you giving poor little Harold a hard time, Fox?"

"I'm afraid so. Didn't want to leave my room; it's like a Hilton,
Sam. Thanks a bunch."

She looked at him evenly.

"Plus I was kinda hoping for breakfast and told him I wouldn't
go anywhere until I got it."

She laughed. It surprised him.

"Caroline. Get him some food."

The blond woman melted into the shadows.

Samantha shook her head. "You men. Food and sex. It's all
you care about."

"Actually, I also like a good Knicks game every once in a
while."

She smiled at him. He felt a hand close around his heart; this
was the Samantha he remembered.

His little sister. He'd cared about her so much. He'd loved her
with the fierce love of an older brother, of someone who'd had
nothing else to call his own.

He'd have killed for her, died for her. 

Is that what she wanted from him now?

And if so, would he be able to refuse her?

"You know, I'd only seen pictures of you as an adult, Fox,"
she said, walking towards him. He saw the big man tense and
aim the rifle at his head.

Mulder was getting sick and tired of having rifles pointed at
his head.

"You can tell your gorilla I won't do anything to hurt you,
Sam." He kept his tone jovial.

She studied him. "Put it down, Fritz." She didn't even bother
to look behind her as the monster hesitated for a moment
before bringing the gun back to his chest.

Mulder stared at her incredulously. "Fritz?"

Samantha shrugged and smiled again. "What can I say? His
mother was German."

"Honestly, Sam..."

Her eyes twinkled. My God. She had a sense of humour after
all.

He looked down at her face as she gazed up at him. A
whirlwind of emotion raced through him as he struggled
against the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her
close.

His sister. Samantha. She couldn't have forgotten everything
about him. Could she?

She reached up and touched his nose gently. He winced.

"I must say that nose makes you look a lot like a movie star.
Although I kind of liked the old one. It had character."

Her hand stayed on his face, caressing his cheek, smoothing
the stubble. She traced the line of his beard, over his lip,
across his other cheek. Then her finger trailed down and
brushed the dimple in his chin.

He closed his eyes.

"You're a handsome man, Fox." Her voice was silken as she
touched his lips, lingering.

His eyes flew open and he caught her hand. She gasped softly
and he realized that the rifle was pointed at his head once
again.

"Don't, Sam. Don't make this into something I can't deal with."

Her eyes were cold, as cold as the last Circle of Hell.

"You were my sister."

"I still am, Fox. Half of me, anyway."

He let go her hand and took a step back.

"But I'm a woman and you're a man, Fox. The last time I saw
you, we were children. Now..."

She was still smiling, but there was something wrong with it
now.

"Now we're not."

Sweet Jesus. He felt his own arousal and fought it with every
ounce of his strength.

No. Not this. God. This was sickness.

"No, Samantha."

She shrugged. "Your loss." She turned and walked back to
the consol.

His shoulders sagged. Jesus. What was she? What had she
become?

Scully. Christ. If he'd ever needed her strength, he needed it
now.

"It doesn't matter anyway." She looked up as the blond woman
reappeared with a tray. "You and me aren't the issue here.
You and Agent Scully are."

He tensed.

She turned and looked at him brightly, pointing at the tray.

"Breakfast, Fox. Hmm? Goodie num nums."

Mulder felt pain lance through his head. It was the term he'd
taught his sister to use for treats when they were kids. Just
because it was silly and it made him laugh when she said it.

He shuddered.

"I've lost my appetite."

"Too bad." Her voice was ice. "Who knows when you'll get to
eat again?"

"What do you want from me, Samantha?"

She crooked a finger. "Come here, Fox."

He stood motionless. Suddenly he felt a hard shove against his
back. It startled him so badly that he flew forward, falling.
His ribs sang.

He twisted around just as another large man vanished into the
shadows.

He turned towards his sister again. Fritz was still there, his
rifle against his chest.

"Fritz II?"

"You could say that." Samantha crouched in front of him,
reaching for his face.

He jerked away.

She arched and slapped him so hard that his head snapped
back.

His nose stung.

He rubbed his face and looked at her. "First Scully, now me.
It's starting to feel like a bad episode of 'Dynasty'."

He flinched as he waited for her to hit him again.

She sat down instead and crossed her legs.

"I hate rejection, Fox."

"Don't we all."

She smiled.

"I guess that's true."

He gazed at her.

She was completely insane.

Surely he wasn't the only one who could see she was totally off
her rocker.

His eyes burned and he blinked.

"Samantha."

There was no room left in him for this.

He was full. Stuffed to the gills.

There was no room left to mourn for this.

That was when he realized he'd mourned for her already.
Years ago.

He'd already buried her and cried over the grave. And in his
own way, he'd gone on with his life.

He was looking at a spirit, a ghost from his past.

Not even that -- he'd never known her like this.

This was some other thing, something that had nothing to do
with him.


She sat and gazed at him, rapt, her eyes scrutinizing his face
as he looked back at her silently.

He'd thought he was looking for Samantha because it had
become a habit to look for Samantha.

In fact, he'd stopped looking for Samantha around the time
Scully was abducted.

Since then, he'd looked for no one but Scully.

Always.

Even when she'd come back to him.

And he'd found her, finally, in that silo.

Up against the wall in that silo when they'd become one, their
energies fused so that a link had been forged between them
that no one could break.

And Cancerman had known it, despite how sordid the whole
thing seemed on the surface.

He'd called it a gift that Mulder probably didn't deserve but
that was the only thing which could save them both.

Mulder had assumed the link only went one way.

He'd been wrong.

Scully could read his mind but that was only the half of it.
She'd become a part of him.

Her strength. Her will. Her determination.

He carried it inside himself now.

And the irony was that it was a result of what they'd done to
her somehow. She'd always been psychic, in a way; she'd seen
her father after his death, her sister, she'd even felt Mulder's
pulse when everyone had given him up for dead.

It was too funny; his little skeptical Scully.

But without meaning to, they'd given her power.

The implant. Or maybe what she'd undergone, giving birth to
a new race.

And the strength, the sheer force of their union, had
awakened it in her. In both of them.

"Fox? A penny for your thoughts."

He looked at his sister. Underneath it all, he could feel her
love for him.

Her blind, desperate 8-year-old's love for him.

She'd protected him over the years, kept him from serious
harm.

Well, maybe not from serious harm, but at least from death.

Harold had said that she was good at what she did. She got
results, and right now that was all that mattered.

Maybe that was why they were willing to put up with her
madness.

But maybe this madness was why Cancerman had practically
begged them to find her. Maybe it explained why he'd fallen
out of favour.

Maybe Cancerman was just a father desperate to save his
daughter.

"Now there's only you and Agent Scully. And Samantha," he'd
said. "And that's only if you can find her in time."

In time for what?

"She knows it all," Cancerman had said. "She's been altered.
But she knows everything."

She'd been altered.

Something had gone terribly wrong, hadn't it?

But what?




CONTINUED IN PART 5b


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Mon, 1 Jul 1996 09:22:24 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (5b/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (5b/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net

"Will Work for Feedback or Large Amounts of Cash"

DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** Rated "R" for Disturbing Imagery ****




He took a deep breath. Samantha was still looking at him,
waiting.

"You wanted Scully and me to get together, Sam. That's what
your father said. He said that they'd been waiting for it to
happen, that it'd been planned all along."

"It was."

"Why?"

She shrugged and looked at her hands.

"Samantha. Why?"

Her eyes met his. "Believe it or not, Fox, I wanted you to be
happy."

He stared at her.

"I knew what you'd sacrificed in your search for me. I thought
Agent Scully would be good for you. That's why I had them
assign her to you."

She laughed.

"I told your bosses she'd be great at discrediting you. She was
scientific, no-nonsense, professionally ambitious, apparently
by-the-book and loyal to her employers. But I knew. I knew
she'd help you find yourself."

He said nothing.

"I'd studied her profile. She was loyal by nature, but she was
also scrupulously honest. And more than anything, she was
interested in the truth. I knew she'd be seduced by your own
unerring commitment to the same cause, even when she didn't
agree with your conclusions or even your methods."

She paused.

"And I knew she was innocent enough, gentle enough, to
break through your barriers. I knew that in some ways, she'd
remind you of me."

He closed his eyes.

"And she's known all along what most of us have always known
about you, Fox. That you're almost always right. That your
conclusions, as outrageous as they may sound, are virtually
always right on the money."

Mulder shook his head, once.

"You've torn the veil between the rational world and the real
one, Fox. And most people aren't prepared to see what lies in
the real world, precisely because it's not rational, and it isn't
always pretty. You've done it over and over again, even when
you've solved cases that don't matter much to the world at
large. But what you've done is wear away, bit by bit, at the
conceits and rationalizations which hem humanity into a
comfortable view of the universe that has nothing to do with
the truth."

He opened his mouth. "Sam..."

"The truth shall set you free, Fox. But who out there is
willing to pay for this freedom, especially when it feels at first
like chaos, like madness?"

Mulder looked at her beseechingly. It was everything he'd
come to believe, but it was too much at once.

And consider the source. A madwoman calmly discusses
madness: Today on Oprah.

"What do you want from me, Sam? From us?" It was a whisper.

She rose and held her hand out.

He didn't take it.

She smiled and let her arm drop to her side.

"The human race is evolving, Fox. It's a brave new world, one
where reality roams free, unfettered by human constructs.
And you, both you and Scully, are a part of it."

He got up unsteadily.

"Scully. You used her."

"We needed many women. She was a perfect candidate."

A flicker of something played behind his eyes.

"She had a child."

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

Samantha laughed. "Not here. I assure you."

"Girl? Boy?"

"A boy."

A boy. Scully had a half-alien son.

He shot a glance at Fritz. Dear God.

"A man, Samantha. Their development is accelerated, isn't it?"

She nodded, looking at him with amused eyes.

"There's no time for sandboxes and primers, Fox."


"What does he look like?"

She shrugged. "Anything he likes. But I'm sure you got that
out of Harold already."

He heard a rustle in the shadows.

"She doesn't know, Sam."

"It's better that way, don't you think? Although," she looked
at him speculatively, "I suspect she's going to find out,
thanks to this link of yours."

God.

Maybe she already had.

"Does he know who his mother is?"

"They receive a certain amount of background information, a
photograph. That's all. Just so they can feel grounded in some
way. It's sweet. Most of them carry the photos around."

Mulder brushed fingers across his lips.

"But they're strictly forbidden to make contact."

He felt anger swell. "If you sent her to me for my sake," he
snapped, "why'd you let them take her, Sam?"

His sister reached towards the breakfast tray and popped a
grape in her mouth.

"She was a prime candidate, Fox. I already told you that.
Besides, I figured her absence might make your heart grow
fonder."

He froze.

"You needed a hobby besides me. It worked. And remember,
Fox; I knew she'd be returned safe and sound."

He stared at her. God, she'd planned the whole thing.

She'd done it to give him his life back.

But at what cost? At what cost to Scully?

"I want her here with me."

"Even if it means she'll find out what you know?"

"She deserves to know the truth."

Samantha studied him for a moment, then nodded.

"Harold."

A whisper of cloth in the shadows.

"Bring her."




CONTINUED IN PART 6


------------------------------

From: partous@total.net (Madeleine Partous)
Date: Tue, 2 Jul 1996 09:02:40 -0500
Subject: NEW: Puppets 3: Colonization (6a/7)

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (6a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


"Will Work for Shtrudel on de Noodle"


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE


*** RATED XXX FOR GRAPHIC SEX INVOLVING M, S,
SKINNER, CANCERMAN, SAMANTHA, ME, MY UPSTAIRS
NEIGHBOUR, A TRAVELLING CIRCUS AND SEVERAL
COMMON BARNYARD ANIMALS ***

No, no, I'm kidding.

Actually, rated "R" for language.

Forgive me. I'm getting punch drunk.




Mulder heard Harold's light footsteps echo in the darkness
behind him.

"What about him, Sam?"

She turned. "What about him what?"

"Harold's a gentle soul. How'd he get caught up in all this
cloak and dagger stuff?"

She looked over his shoulder towards the dwindling sound.

"He was part of the experiment. A part that failed. Now we
take care of him, him and the few others like him who are left."

Mulder waited.

"None of them live past the age of 10 or so; he was one of the
last to be born."

"So you just use 'em until they drop dead, is that it?"

Samantha shrugged. "He's weak, Mulder. They all were. Too
weak for what lies ahead."

"Which is?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Now be a good boy and let Sis
work for a minute." She leaned over the console, pointing at a
clipboard and murmuring in hushed tones with the blond.

All of a sudden, Mulder felt like an afterthought. Which was
kind of a relief.

He also felt the slow burn of anger in his belly.

And the cold taste of outrage. It made his testicles crawl.

Hell. He could get behind the survival of an alien race.

No problem there.

But this -- this heartless manipulation of both humans and
aliens.

They were using people.

They'd used Scully.

And she was one of, what, dozens of women? Hundreds?
Thousands?

They were fooling around with complex genetic manipulation
and, from what he could tell, they answered to no one for the
actions they took.

He felt of spasm of horror.

Or maybe they did. Maybe they did this with the full
approbation of someone.

Who? The U.S. government? The United Nations?

Jesus. Could it be that the powers that be were no longer fully
human?

He stopped.

The military. Of course. Shit.

It was the military, wasn't it?

That's why he kept running up against them.

The UFO technology he'd seen, the endless coverups, the
times he'd been taken into their custody and released, his
memory in tatters.

The Pentagon.

It worked with its own agenda, far removed from the visible
corridors of power where the media milled about, making it
difficult for dirty little secrets to remain hidden for long.

But the press never really touched the military.

Who -- or what -- was running the Pentagon these days?

And what about the FBI? How was the Bureau tied in to all
this?

His bosses. Skinner himself. Christ.

He gazed at Fritz, who'd remained standing in the same
position since he'd arrived. He smiled.

The huge man stared down at him.

"I knew a friend of yours," Mulder began conversationally,
ignoring the anger behind his teeth. "About your size, except
he looked a lot like Arnold Schwarzenegger on a bad day.
Didn't smile a hell of a lot either."

Fritz said nothing.

"Tried to kill me in the Arctic, actually, and then he just kept
showing up all over the place. A mean motherfucker, if you
want to know the truth. No fun at parties. Know him?"

Silence.

"You know, you can talk to me. I'm a psychologist. It's
probably something that happened in your childhood. Oops!
Forgot. You didn't have one, did you?"

Silence, although he got the distinct impression the guy was
glaring at him.

"Oh, well. That means you should be well adjusted. It's
generally childhood that fucks we human types up. Just ask
your boss."

Nothing.

"No? You're not well adjusted? I see. You're afraid I might try
to pierce the back of your skull, is that it? Well, don't worry;
my sister made sure I didn't hold on to the stiletto. Pity,
really; it was a bit of an heirloom. But you know how it is;
blood runs thin these days."

He saw murder in the thing's eyes. Which was just fine; it was
exactly how he felt.

Mulder smiled tightly. "You know, Sam, it wouldn't hurt if you
gave these guys a few social skills."

A sound caught his attention and he turned in time to see two
shadowy figures pushing a water tank towards what he
supposed was another part of the lab. As it disappeared
behind a row of large units, he caught a glimpse of a male
writhing in the liquid.

Rage flared behind his eyes.

"Hey, Sam! An aquarium's giving birth. A bouncing baby
man. I hope someone's called his mom; seems like she's always
the last to know."

No question about it: he was getting the silent treatment.

Mulder grinned, but there was no humour in it.




Just before he jumped the huge fucking bastard out of sheer
frustration, he heard footsteps and felt his heart begin to
race.

Scully. God.

He could smell her.

She was here.

She emerged from the shadows; he saw Harold for a second
before he withdrew into the darkness.

As improbable as it seemed, she was immaculate, every hair in
place, her outfit smooth and unwrinkled against her body.

Her eyes were on him, concerned, wary, questioning.

He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Jesus. He'd never fully realized how alone he felt without her.

He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat.

Mulder turned to his sister. She was studying both of them
with a curious detachment.

"You wanted this," he hissed, "so let me touch her."

Her lips smiled at him. "Who am I to stand in the way of true
love?"

He was against Scully in seconds, pulling her to him, his
mouth against her hair, her ear, his arms tight around her. He
knew, vaguely, that his hands were running up and down her
back, her waist, clutching the place where her hips flared into
buttocks, pressing her against him desperately, breathing her
hair, her skin.

She gasped and resisted for a moment before enfolding him in
her own arms, her palms against his shoulder blades,
squeezing, settling around his waist at last, pulling his hips to
her as she nuzzled his chest.

She looked up at him from their embrace and his lips touched
her forehead, her eyes. He tucked her head under his chin,
rocking her as he had a hundred years ago when Pfaster had
almost made her worst nightmares come true.

Her worst nightmares then.

He was about to give her a whole set of new ones.

"Scully," he breathed.

He felt her tense against him as he opened his mind to her.

She had to know.

"I'm so sorry. Dana..."

He didn't want to use the name. He didn't like it. It didn't suit
her, it was too nasal, too whiny for her. But he needed to
reach her, and he knew it would startle her enough to shatter
her resistance.

She moaned against his chest.

He flooded her with what he knew, as gently as he could.

Her body sagged against him and he held her. She shook her
head back and forth against his chest as her legs gave way.

"No. Please. Mulder..."

He gripped her to him, murmuring endearments against her
hair, my darling, my angel, my light, my love, Scully,
ScullyScullyScully, gasping, breathless, like the time he'd
aimed his gun at her with Modell raping his mind...

She collapsed and he followed her to the floor, still
murmuring, still rocking her as she wrapped her arms around
his neck, her tears wet against his face.

"No. No. No."

He turned his head towards his sister, his eyes murderous.

"Is this it, Sam?" His voice was high, ragged. "Is this the
legacy of your little stint as creator? You like playing God,
Sam? You like what it does to people? How does it make you
feel, huh?"

She was looking at them, fascinated.

"Or can you still feel anything at all?" 

"Don't be so hard on her, Agent Mulder."

A voice. From the shadows.

A familiar voice.

He shuddered as he looked up in its direction.

A man stepped out from the darkness, his face gnarled but
warm, compassionate, thoughtful. He cocked his head.

"Your sister's just doing her job."

Scully leaned her head against his chest as she followed his
gaze. He could feel her body shake against his.

Deep Throat.

It wasn't possible.

"You're a shapeshifter," Mulder rasped.

The older man smiled. "Of course. But that doesn't mean I'm
not who you think I am."

He walked into the circle of light.

"A word of advice for precarious times, Agent Scully. These
days, don't leave the body until you're sure it's dead."

He looked at her, and Mulder could see the kindness in his
eyes, the gentleness there.

"I saw you get shot." Scully. She took a deep rattling breath.

"Ah, but bullets don't always work, my dear. You should know
that by now, hmm? Anyway, I'm sure Agent Mulder here will
fill you in on all the details."

The man's eyes shifted to his own.

Mulder's breath caught. They were filled with an unimaginable
tenderness.

"I'm sorry, my boy. But we're dealing with stakes here that
are bigger than both of you. Than all of us put together."

"It's you..." Mulder whispered. "It's always been you."

He shrugged and smiled.

"What about Samantha's father?" Mulder's voice was tight.

"He's only beginning to understand. At last."

"He's human?"

"Oh yes. Quite thoroughly so, in fact."

"But you...?"

The man leaned back against a console.

"What do you want to know, Agent Mulder? Who I am? May as
well ask who I've been. I've been a lot of people, some of whom
you've met over the years."

"But I thought..."

"You thought your sister was the puppet master." He smiled at
Samantha, who smiled back shyly.

Christ.

"Well, as a matter of fact, she is. As far as it goes."

The man walked over to them and held out his hand.

"Agent Scully. Agent Mulder. Welcome to the next level."




CONTINUED IN PART 6b 


------------------------------

Date: Sat, 06 Jul 1996 13:34:18 -0700
From: Madeleine Partous <partous@total.net>
Subject: The Last of the Puppets



Hi Vincent. Hope you're having a serene summer. I'm going out of town and 
anticipate a lot of requests for missing parts of Puppets 3: 
Colonization -- finished at last. Have checked the Unprocessed Stories 
section and see that you don't have parts 6b, 7a, 7b1 and 7b2. If you 
don't mind, I'm taking the liberty of sending them along so that people 
can find them at your place while I'm away.

Thanks again for your unwavering patience...

Madeleine


PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (6b/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


"Only a Few More Chances to Give Me Feedback"


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE




This time, it was Scully who refused to take the proffered
hand.

Mulder felt her body vibrate as her muscles clenched.

But she didn't draw away from him. If anything, she pressed
against him more.

He didn't dare move. That she should show such vulnerability
at a time like this... 

Part of her was far away; he could feel it. And in the past,
she'd always shut down, turned away, withdrawn into herself.

I'm *fine*, Mulder. How many times had those words filled him
with a vague sense of foreboding, of helplessness?

But for the first time, she wasn't excluding him from her pain.

She wasn't fine at all. And her body against his was her way of
acknowledging that she was prepared, at last, in her own way,
to share it with him.

All of it.

She wanted to deal with this herself. She always had.

But this time, she was letting him be a part of it.

Dear God. She trusted him.

It broke him utterly.

He gasped as a wave of anguish rolled over him.

Not his. Jesus. Not his.

Scully's.

Mulder's eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttering.

God, she was in him.

The link had been a two-way thing all along.

She'd kept him out because she hadn't been ready to let him
in.

His mind was flooded by images, faces, snatches of memories
he recognized from stories she'd told him over the years, other
ones unfamiliar, darker, secret, but all with a taste of her, of
the world he'd come to know intuitively as her own.

And behind it all the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of
him, like deja vu. Him as she saw him, as she experienced him.

Her love for him.

It sent blood rushing through him to his core.

In the midst of it all was her anguish, her loss for a child she
never knew she had, the warm moist instinct of it, my son my
son my son, blind and needy, a keening for the pain of it.

Mulder moaned as his face dropped to her hair.

He was vanquished, annihilated, swallowed by her anguish and
her love.

And suddenly, like a beam of light amid the chaos, he heard
her speak to him.

No words. Just... the meaning of it.

The link was always there, Mulder. You just weren't open to
it.

Scully.

I could hear you all along. Remember?

He cringed. Scully...

I didn't keep you out. You wouldn't let me in.

I love you, Scully.

I know.

What changed?

You felt my trust.

I've always trusted you, Scully.

Yes. But you never believed that I trusted you too.

His arms tightened around her convulsively.




"So." A voice cut through their connection like a knife.

The man he'd called Deep Throat was studying them, his eyes
twinkling.

"It's happened at last."

Mulder felt his scalp crawl from the energy of her, his arms
still tight around her. He stared at the man, his eyes wild.

"What took you so long, son?" The older man's face was
wreathed in smiles.

"Tell us your name." Mulder was shocked by how hoarse his
voice sounded. "Please."

The man cocked his head again.

"Yes. You've dealt with too many nameless faces, haven't
you."

Mulder nodded, his eyes riveted on him.

He smiled and looked up thoughtfully, considering.

"Call me... Ishmael."

Scully drew up. "What?"

"I've had so many names, my dear. None of them my own.
Ishmael is as good as any. It's even appropriate, given your
situation. And I like it, which is more than I can say for most
names I've been plagued with."

The opening line of "Moby Dick."

How does he know, Mulder?

Her inner voice trembled with wonder.

Mulder shook his head.

"All of us are Ahabs in a way, Agent Scully." It was as though
he'd heard her. "We search our whole lives, hellbent on
destroying the so-called demons on the outside we see as the
enemy. Even when they're not. Even when the demons reside
only in ourselves."

He reached a hand out once more. This time, she took it.

He pulled her up. "That's what destroyed Ahab in the end,
you know."

"I know." Mulder could barely hear her.

"Ahab believed the monster lay outside himself. And all the
while, the whale was just a whale."

The man looked down at Mulder. "Just a creature like any
other, trying to survive."

"The horror lay within Ahab all along. And it killed him in the
end, Agent Mulder. His own fear. His own loathing. Do you
understand?"

Mulder was transfixed by the other man's eyes.

"I think so."

Their eyes remained locked for a moment as he kept Scully's
hand in his.

Then the man smiled cheerfully.

"Good. Let's go."

He reached down, squeezed Mulder's forearm affectionately,
and hauled him up.




Mulder looked at Samantha. Her face was serene, peaceful,
open.

She smiled at him.

"I still think you're crazy, Sis."

She shrugged. "Maybe I am. Maybe *you* are. Who can tell
these days?"

Ishmael -- why the hell not? -- turned and looked at him.

"Come on. There isn't much time."




They walked down yet another corridor, the pace hurried this
time, their footsteps resounding hollowly.

"We have questions."

Ishmael looked at Scully. "Shoot."

"My son."

"He's not yours. Not anymore."

"I want to know how he is."

"He looks about 20. He also looks a lot like you, red hair, blue
eyes... when he doesn't look like someone else, that is. He's
not a tall fellow, 5'7" tops." 

Ishmael smiled as he looked at Scully's rapt face.

"But consider his roots, Agent Scully."

"You haven't told me how he is."

"He's fine. Very well. Very nice. Very earnest and hard-
working."

My God. He's had no life at all.

Mulder heard her.

We spent years without lives, Scully. Look at us now.

His mind registered a ripple. Faint laughter. God.

"I want to see him."

"That's not possible."

She stopped in her tracks.

"You *used* me, you bastard!" Mulder spun around. Ishmael
simply stood, waiting.

"You used my body for this. And now you say I can't see him?"

She stood, her arm out, pointing at him.

"He's my *son*, dammit!"

"You know, Agent Scully, I've never really understood why
human parents think they have a right to own a child."

She glared at him, her eyes blazing, her lips pursed tight, in
that way that took Mulder's breath away. He stood and
watched her.

"You've helped keep a race alive, Agent Scully. Few people
can claim as much. But now he's a person in his own right.
And he's needed. Here. With us. Thanks to you, he brings
unique gifts to the work at hand."

She shook her head. "Quite frankly, I don't give a damn."

"I think you do."

"I want to see him."

"Scully..."

She whipped around and flashed her eyes at him.

"Butt out, Mulder."

He wrapped his lips over his teeth.

"All right, Agent Scully." Ishmael dug his hands in his
pockets and nodded. "All right. I'll see what I can do."

"That's not good enough."

"If you cooperate..."

She waited.

"...it'll be the least I can do."

She continued to study his features for a moment. Then she
lowered her head.

"Blackmail," she muttered.

Ishmael shrugged. "The price of attachment."

"Funny. Harold called it love." Mulder looked at him.

"Love. Hatred. They're part of the same attachment, part of
what keeps humanity enslaved." 

"Is that the price of freedom, Ishmael? No love?"

"And no hatred, Agent Mulder. You'd do well to remember
that."

Scully made an impatient sound. They turned to her.

"Enough philosophizing. Let's get on with it."

Ishmael laughed. "She's right, Mulder. We have a lot to do."

"I have a couple of questions too, as it happens. Scully?"

She looked at him. "Go ahead."

Ishmael sighed. "Can we keep walking please?"

Mulder shrugged. "Sure."

They resumed their route.

Mulder cleared his throat. This was a very strange way to get
answers.

"Is this how you really look?"

"No."

"Who does Sam's father work for?"

"Right now I'm not sure he even knows the answer to that."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a double agent for years. Worked for the military and
for us, although we knew that his loyalties, such as they
were, lay with them."

"Is that still true?"

"No."

"Are you working for the military?"

"No. They're trying to stop us."

"Why?"

"They want the technology but not the survival of the race."

"Explain."

"They promised the Ancestors that they'd be cared for in
exchange for their technology. They lied."

"Who are the Ancestors?"

"You'll find out very soon. Their world was dying. They came
here for help. Your military promised to help and then tried to
destroy them. They only wanted their machines."

"I gather the military's plan didn't succeed."

"Not entirely. Almost."

"How did these Ancestors survive?"

"You're familiar with the Holocaust."

Mulder shivered.

"A few survived because a very few people were willing to hide
them, to help as much as they could. Not many. But enough to
keep the race alive."

Ishmael threw a glance at him as they turned a corner.

"They were a beautiful race. Gentle and evolved to a point that
humanity can only aspire to."

"So I've heard. But I'm not sure how much I like a race that
doesn't believe in love."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Agent Mulder. Love is a tiny word
with a vast meaning, and you humans only use a minute part of
it. Are you sure you really understand all that it entails?"

They reached a doorway. It was incomprehensible in design, a
mass of interlocking geometric shapes, completely alien to
Mulder's mind.

Ishmael palmed a control on the side and the door slid open.

They forked the sill and entered a vast space. It yawned in all
directions, making the lab look claustrophobic in comparison.
Lights flickered here and there, and Mulder could just see
vague shapes looming in the distance, scurrying here and
there in subdued indirect lighting.

He reached his hand out blindly and felt Scully's small fingers
wrap themselves around his. He could still hear the
background of her mind playing against his.

Suddenly, it felt incredibly seductive.

He moaned and pulled her to him.

I want you.

Now?

Always.

He could feel the ripple of laughter again in a complex dance of
pain, confusion and fear.

What is it with you and inappropriate circumstances?

He laughed and released her, running his hand along her face.
He drank in her features.

"Sorry."

"Well, I suppose it's flattering in a way."

She smiled at him but he could see the tightness of loss around
her eyes.

"We'll find him," he whispered.

She looked at him.

"We'll try, Scully."

And if we don't succeed?

We'll make another. Yours and mine. It'll be half alien too, but
at least it'll be my half.

He wasn't sure what she'd heard, but she smiled at him as
tears glistened for a brief moment.

"You idiot."

She was all Scully again.

He grinned and turned back to the man he now called Ishmael.




CONTINUED IN PART 7a



PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (7a/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

*** Rated "R" for Language ***


Ishmael looked at them and shook his head.

"Really, you two. Focus, focus!" He smiled.

He started walking towards the interior of the space.

"This link of ours," Scully said as they followed. "Is it common
among abductees?"

"Not common, no. But it happens. It's an incredibly powerful
gift; you've only just begun to discover why."

"I don't think it's worth what I paid for it." She didn't even
try to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Ishmael shook his head.

"You don't understand yet." He looked at her kindly. "But
you will, Agent Scully."

I doubt it, you smug son of a bitch.

Mulder smiled.

I still like him better than X, Scully.

X.

"Ishmael. The informant who came after you... left. We called
him X. Whose side was he on?"

"Whose do you think, Agent Mulder? Although the funny thing
is, he saved your life once."

Mulder looked at him. "How do you mean?"

"That boxcar incident. You were unconscious, weren't you? We
couldn't get to you; your sister was frantic."

"So what happened?"

"We're not absolutely certain, but we have reason to believe he
was the one who got you out of there in the nick of time."

"But why him?"

Ishmael stopped for a moment and looked at him.

"We don't know, Agent Mulder. Honest to God. We have no
idea."

Great. Another mystery.

"It doesn't make any sense, Ishmael."

"No, it doesn't."

"And you're sure he worked for the military?"

The other man shrugged. "These days, Mulder, how sure can
we be of anything?"

"He's dead now." Mulder felt a sudden thrill of fear. "Isn't
he?"

"Oh, yes. There's no question. He was fully human."

More or less, Mulder thought, rubbing his nose.

His nose.

He glanced at Scully. "I haven't seen my nose yet, can you
believe that?"

"It's very nice, Agent Mulder. But I kind of liked the old
one."

"Yeah, I know. It had character."

The other man looked at him distractedly. "Yes. That's it."

Ishmael ushered them into a makeshift hallway framed by
instruments and the same large refrigerator-like units Mulder
had seen in the lab.

He stopped so suddenly that Scully bumped into his arm,
swearing softly.

A light shone on the metal face of a unit in front of him. Not
quite as good as a mirror, but still... Mulder peered at
himself.

"Holy fuck."

The face that stared back at him belonged to someone he'd
never want to meet at a party.

The bruising was minimal now and the swelling completely
gone. He recognized the eyes, the pouting lips, the dusting of
stubble across his face.

But what the *hell* was that?

The nose was absolutely perfect. Straight to a fault. Noble.
Roman.

Christ. He was fucking beautiful.

It was the kind of beauty stupid chicks love and smart guys
hate, and the cold intelligence in his eyes just made him look
even more haughty and arrogant than the nose did.

Before he'd always looked a little goofy.

It had allowed him to act a little goofy.

He *liked* being a little goofy, dammit.

Now he'd look like a complete asshole if he so much as cracked
a smile.

This was a face that should be sitting on top of Armani and
London Fog while the body helped some long-legged vacuous
vixen into the passenger seat of a Lexus during some
interminable photo shoot for a glossy magazine.

This was a face with no wisecrack potential whatsoever.

Mulder moaned.

"Scully. Jesus. What have they done to me?"

"Agent Mulder, maybe we can deal with this stunning new
development in your life a little later."

"You don't understand..."

"No, you're wrong. I just don't *care*. Now come on, both of
you. Please."

Mulder gave Scully a withering look as she chuckled beside
him.

"I don't know, Mulder. How can I complain when I'm dating a
total babe? I mean, the girls at the office are gonna be green
with envy."

"That's all you women care about, isn't it? What about my
mind?"

She shrugged. "Hmmm. It has its uses, I suppose."

"Shut up, Scully."

Just can't think of any right off the bat.

I said shut up, Scully.

He was still hearing her laughter in his head when the room
exploded into light.



Mulder shoved Scully up against a unit and covered her eyes
with his hands, burying his face in her hair.

The light was shattering; he could see nothing but white even
with his eyes closed.

"Mulder, let me go. Stop *doing* that all the time!" Her voice
was muffled but dangerous.

He felt her hands push against his chest but he didn't care.

Just don't knee me, Scully. If you do want kids someday, I
can't afford any more damage down there...

"Mulder..."

He turned his head to the side.

"Ishmael!"

"Here, Agent Mulder. It's all right."

The light winked out as suddenly as if it had never been.

He backed off her with his hands up, grinning ruefully.

She glared at him, smoothing her jacket.

"One more like that, Mulder, and I'll..."

"What was it?" He said hurriedly, turning to the other man.

And then he froze.




The ceiling had vanished. A few stars twinkled faintly
overhead, and Mulder could just see the glow of the full moon
off to one side.

Most of all, he saw an immense black-on-black saucer shape
hover in the night sky as it began a slow descent towards the
gap where the ceiling had been.

The only reason he could tell it was saucer shaped was because
of a circle of blinding lights around the perimeter of the thing.

When in God's name had it become night again? Hadn't he just
been offered breakfast?

Missing time.

But here? He thought he remembered everything that had
happened since he'd awakened.

Didn't he?

He threw a side glance at Scully, who was standing next to
him, head thrown back, mouth open, staring at the thing.

"Ishmael..."

The older man looked at him calmly. "Relax, Agent Mulder. We
just let you sleep in while we worked on a few things."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, son, you don't sleep nearly enough. It's not good
for you."

Mulder stared at him, agape.

"You let us *sleep in*?"

"Well, it was almost dawn by the time we got you settled in."

Settled in? Now that was a euphemism worthy of the
President's own press secretary.

He watched the saucer as it entered through the roof. Other
than a low hum, it made no sound at all, as though someone
had hit the mute button on a TV remote.

These guys are weirder than we are, Scully.

No one's weirder than you are, Mulder.

There was something oddly comforting about standing shoulder
to shoulder with Scully as she insulted him in his mind while
they watched an alien craft land a few hundred yards from
where they stood.

They really had become a little jaded, hadn't they?




The thing sank to the ground with a hydraulic sigh. It farted
a dry-ice kind of steam which billowed around their legs for a
minute as the lights around it dimmed.

It was a huge motherfucker.

Mulder couldn't be sure, because there were few reference
points in the space to give it scale, but he thought it had to be
bigger than a football field.

He also thought he'd seen it once before.

Once before as it had sailed majestically overhead against a
jet-black sky before disappearing behind a building.

He'd seen it or something very much like it before.

Which raised the question of whether there might be more than
one of these things.

He watched, enthraled, as a hinged door separated from the
body of the object and lowered itself slowly to the ground,
light spilling out from its interior.

It's so... Close Encounters, Scully.

You oughtta know, Steven Spielberg.

But he could feel her excitement, her awe.

"Ishmael..." he whispered.

He turned to him and gasped as he watched the older man's
face run together, change, reshape and settle at last.

Jesus.

The man's smile was intact, but the face...

"Albert..." It was a whisper through clenched teeth.

The Navajo elder stood before him in Ishmael's clothing.

"Yet another meaningless name, young Fox." The man
continued to smile as he reached out and cupped Mulder's
cheek in his hand, tapping gently.

Mulder felt his body begin to shake. "But it's you?"

"Yes. I swear it, from one old Indian to a quick brown fox...
eh, Mulder?"

He could feel Scully's arm tighten around his, the sound of
something in his mind that belonged to her -- wonder,
amazement, shock, even a strange kind of happiness.

You're a crybaby, Mulder.

It was his own voice in his head, and it was true. Tears filled
his eyes and stopped against his lashes.

Why did he feel so moved?

Maybe because, at one level, it seemed to make perfect sense.

Maybe because, when all was said and done, everything would
be okay somehow if the Navajo was involved.

As Mulder gazed at the elder, he could feel the richness of
meaning flow between them, just below his grasp.

The elder nodded. "My quick brown Fox. Albert is me. The
one you called 'Deep Throat' is also me. Many more have also been
me. You've even met some of them."

"You..." Mulder breathed.

"I have been your father, your teacher and your friend."

"My father?" Terror tore at his heart and he felt Scully tense
beside him.

Albert nodded. "Your father chose to come with us some time
ago. The man you saw killed..."

"You." Heat rose up his neck and flooded his face.

Mulder closed his eyes.

God. How many times had this man let himself get shot?

"Too many to recall." Albert could hear his thoughts.

Scully.

I'm here. Shhhh.

"Why did you take his place?"

"Because his death was the only way to ensure his safety."

Oh, God. Dad.

The elder's eyes were warm.

"And I'm glad to see you've mated at last."

He felt Scully shift restlessly beside him.

"To a worthy one. More than worthy. Agent Scully: Among my
people, you would be immortalized in song and legend as a
saint."

"He's not that bad when you get used to him," she said,
smiling faintly.

Albert threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, but how many
women would have the patience to wait for that to happen?"

Mulder couldn't think. He reached out blindly and took the
elder's hand in his, holding it, grasping it like a lover.

He felt a current flow through him, ancient, dry and spare like
a searing wind over plains, clean, whole, filled with timeless
patience and the promise of new hope.

"Anasazi."

The old man nodded.

"You already know this, Fox. You've known it longer than you
know. I taught it to you when your spirit roamed free, when
you circled like a hawk between life and death."

"You've come home."

"We took our home with us, son. We took it to help a people in
need. A race came to us from the sky and asked us for our
help. They were beautiful, and to us they felt like a
manifestation of the gods. How could we refuse? In return,
they gave us unimaginable gifts, great power. But now our
people need us here."

"It's true that Native Americans still aren't being treated
fairly, Mr. Hosteen..."

He turned and looked at Scully. Mulder could feel her reaction
to his even gaze, the boundless compassion she could read there.

"Native Americans, as you call them, Agent Scully, are one
thing. It's true they've been mistreated, but then, human
beings hurt and kill for no good reason at all. They've always
done so. When I speak of our people, I speak of you. All of
you."

He looked at them both.

"We've returned because the time has come for humanity to
understand its birthright. The development of the human race
has been blocked, somehow; your people have lost touch with
the essentials."

"Birthright?"

"Feel the spirit, boy. It's everywhere, the same one for all of
us. It flows through everything you see, everything you can't
see. It unites us all."

"The Force..." Mulder muttered.

Albert laughed again. "If you like. It's not a term with a lot of
heart, but it'll do. If that man George Lucas understood a
third of what he'd talked about in those films, I'd follow him
myself."

He pulled gently at Mulder's hand. "Come. We need you."

Mulder wrapped his arm around Scully's shoulders and for
once she didn't complain.

Where we going, Mulder?

I don't know.

You trust him, don't you?

A pause.

I think so.

Why?

I'm sentimental, Scully.

A laugh rippled through his mind.

This is it, isn't it?

I think so.

I'm not sure if I've ever told you.

What?

I love you too, Mulder.

He squeezed her shoulder and brushed his lips against her
hair as they followed the elder.

I know.




They headed towards the mouth of the ship.




CONTINUED IN PART 7b

PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (7b1/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** RATED NC-17 FOR EXPLICIT M/S SEX. NOT
APPROPRIATE FOR YOUNGER READERS ****


Well, guys, this is it.
I won't have access to my email between July 7 and 14, but do
write anyway if the spirit moves you. I'll get back to you as
soon as I'm back.
I'm writing this on the 4th of July. Happy day to all my
American buddies.
Thanks to everyone who supported me during this ordeal (200
pages, folks; who knew?). You really did keep me going; as
selfish as it sounds, I couldn't have done it without you all.




When Mulder awoke, he was lying in Scully's bedroom.

In Scully's bed.

In Scully.

They lay on their sides, facing each other, his arms wound
around her loosely, his face in her hair, one of her legs
draped across his hip. He was soft but inside her still,
evidence of their recent passion cooling on his thighs, the
smell of sex pungent in the air.

He moved his hips a little and she moaned, tightening around
him.

She smelled like sleep.

He nuzzled against her, feeling himself harden, then gasped
suddenly and pulled out and away, scuttling backwards as he
stared at her.

She whimpered and reached out for him.

God. How the hell had they ended up here?

"Scully," he whispered. "Scully. Wake up."

He didn't want to scare her but he had to talk to her.

The last thing he remembered was the two of them, Albert in
tow, walking towards the spaceship.

She stretched luxuriously and made a long, satisfied
"mmmmmm" sound that under different circumstances would've
FedExed him back into her arms.

"Mulderrrrrrr."

Oh, God. His penis swelled despite his panic. Jesus.

"That was incredible," she purred.

"It was?"

She opened her eyes sleepily.

"Mmmmm."

"Are you saying you remember what we just did?"

She sat bolt upright so abruptly that he yelped and almost fell
off the bed.

She stared at him.

"Mulder. I don't. Not at all. There was a spaceship..."

He nodded, grimacing.

She probed between her legs with her fingers and brought
them to her nose.

Mulder shivered. So clinical, yet so arousing somehow.

"Definitely semen."

"I know it's semen, Scully. And I'm fairly certain it's mine; I
was still inside you when I woke up."

She looked at him wonderingly. "The thing is, I feel
incredible."

"So do I."

"Are you saying we just had the best sex of our lives and we
can't remember any of it?"

"Are *you* saying the other times we've had sex didn't
constitute the best sex of your life?"

"Mulder..."

He leaned over her to turn on the light and almost had a stroke
when she screamed in his ear.

"God, Scully! What?"

He cowered at the foot of the bed where he'd landed and stared
at her. She was hugging her knees with one hand and pointing
mutely at... at what?

"Your nose."

His nose. He touched it.

It felt completely familiar.

"Scully?"

"It's your old nose, Mulder," she whispered.

"Really?" He felt relief flood through him as he prodded it. His
good old goofy nose. It didn't hurt at all; in fact, it felt as
though it'd never been broken.

He crawled over to Scully until his face was inches from hers.

"Look at it."

"Look at it do what?" She'd leaned back against the headboard
in alarm.

"I can't feel any scars."

She studied it and touched the sides gently, peering.

"There aren't any."

He kneeled back, his knees on either side of her legs, and
rested gently against her thighs.

"You're the doctor. Shouldn't there still be some evidence of
surgery?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "It looks like it's never been
broken."

They gazed at each other for a long moment.

"What the hell's going on here, Scully?"

God. The link. Did they still have the link? For some reason,
he dreaded the loss of it more than anything else.

Scully?

She looked up.

Thank God. She could still hear him.

Talk to me.

Okay. What about?

He exhaled. We're still connected, Scully.

Of course we're still connected. I felt it the second I woke up.
Didn't you?

He thought about it. Something was definitely different
between them. They were... together somehow. He'd felt it
too, but it simply hadn't registered as anything out of the
ordinary.

Jesus. I'm already taking it for granted.

Men. You're all the same.

"Maybe it's just that it's already a part of us. Natural, in a
way. I don't notice my liver all the time either."

"That's because you never came this close to having it ripped
out, Mulder."

He laughed and shook his head. "Since when did I become the
straight man, Scully?"

"Personally, I'm glad you're straight."

He laughed again and rolled over onto his back, taking her
with him.

"You're getting too witty for your own good, Milady."

"So punish me."

He started to kiss her forehead, then stopped.

"Wait a minute."

She looked up at him.

"Why are we acting like this, Scully?"

"Because we're naked and we're in bed, Mulder. Don't tell me
you've forgotten how to do this too. Should I look for a
manual?"

He shook his head and propped himself up against the
headboard. "You know that's not what I mean."

She sighed and leaned back next to him.

A sudden chill ran down his back.

Scully. My God.

The shapeshifters.

He tried to stop the mad rush of scenarios as they spilled
through his mind. Drugs. Hypnosis.

Maybe he'd just inseminated an alien.

"Get a grip, Mulder. I'm sure they've got better ways of
extracting sperm from humans than setting up an elaborate
hoax like this one."

He looked at her.

She suddenly shuddered.

"Oh, Jesus." She scrambled back against the headboard, her
eyes wide.

"What?" He tried to reach for her but she flailed at him.

"If anything, *you're* the alien. They use human females;
they already used me once."

His heart began to pound. Christ. She was right. She had
every reason to doubt him.

"Scully, don't. Please. It's me. I know who I am."

She relaxed pointedly and studied him.

"So do I. I'm me. And I know who you are. What happened to
trust?"

The link. Of course. He'd have known in an instant if she
wasn't who she seemed to be.

"It's so comfortable, this thing between us. I keep forgetting
it's there."

She lowered her head for an instant before meeting his eyes
soberly.

"I don't. You were never this close."

"Neither were you, Scully."

"Really."

He looked down for a moment.

"So I'm an insensitive asshole. You knew that when you
married me."

He looked up just in time to see her smile. She touched his
hand.

"We're all insensitive assholes in one way or another, Captain.
Remember what Albert said? It's the human condition."

He smiled back.

"Besides, we're not married."

He grabbed her left hand and studied it seriously. "Are you
sure? I mean, we've forgotten everything else..."

"You'd buy me a ring, Mulder?"

"No. But I'd come help you pick it out."

"You're an idiot."

"Like attracts like, my angel."

She guffawed as he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest.

"You know, Mulder, I don't want to get married."

"Hmm."

"Not yet, anyway."

"Okay."

He felt her love wash over him and he shivered against her. 

You don't mind?

He tightened his arms around her.

As far as I'm concerned, Milady, we're married already. Who
needs more paperwork?

The Bureau would want to split us up if we were married.

I know.

It's just not worth it.

"Scully," he breathed. "You don't need to justify this. Since
when did I strike you as the marrying kind?"

She stirred. "I know you better than you do."

"So what? So does my couch."

She chuckled throatily. "Your couch knows you better than
any inanimate object has a right to, Mulder."

"And anyway," he continued.

"Anyway what?"

"Maybe you're less of an enigma to me than you think, Mrs.
Mulder."

She inhaled sharply and punched him in the chest. "Don't
*ever* call me that."

"Dr. Scully."

She snuggled against him. "Better."

His cock throbbed to full erection against her stomach.

He rolled her over, gently, his hands taut on the sheets next
to her head. She went willingly, her eyes intense, deep,
serious.

He gazed down at her face as he slipped into her.

She gasped softly and closed her eyes for a moment, arching
against him in welcome.

He felt her open. He thrust against her once, twice, as he
abandoned himself to her.

And then, as they became one, the past came flooding in.




CONTINUED IN PART 7b2


PUPPETS 3: COLONIZATION (7b2/7)

by Madeleine Partous
email: partous@total.net


DISCLAIMER IN PREFACE

**** RATED NC-17 FOR EXPLICIT M/S SEX. NOT
APPROPRIATE FOR YOUNGER READERS ****




They stepped onto the ramp of the ship, the light washing
over them.

Mulder squinted.

"Aliens must all be afraid of the dark," he muttered. Albert
laughed and squeezed his hand.

They entered and felt the welcome like a wave.

Mulder gasped, clinging to the elder's hand like a child. His
own arm was still wrapped around Scully and he felt her febrile
against him, wary, alert like an animal.

It was almost impossible to see anything in all the light.

He could smell an incredible sweetness in the air, like flowers
after a morning rain, just-mown grass, warm breezes off the
sea.

He thought he caught the brisk yeasty smell of baking bread,
the deeper fumes of gasoline, the heady way it used to smell
when he was a kid, and then the sweet sexual odour of
burning ozone as he ran his electric train.

He smelled Samantha, her little girl smell, and the musky scent
of his father as he sat in his chair in the evenings when Fox
would sit next to him on the floor with his Tonka trucks, his
father silent but loving him in his way, oh God, loving him
after all.

Through the link he could feel Scully's childhood, the warmth
of her mother, the chaos of her brothers and sister running,
screaming, her father silent, regal, always the captain at the
head of the table, but tolerating all of it, revelling in it in his
way.

There was the smell of sun on the sandbox, the lazy bump of
Junebugs against the screen, the Vineyard ocean shushing
against the beach as he walked along it, thoughtful already,
thoughtful too young, his sister taken, gone, a stick of
driftwood in his hand as he hit it against the debris on the
shore, hit it again and again, harder, until the stick in his
hand splintered, rotted through, rotten to the core, until he
collapsed on his knees and pounded the soft sand with nothing
but his hand, his tears streaming, but big boys don't cry, so
he was alone, alone now, alone always. 

Mulder shook his head. No. Old. All of it's old. He looked up
into his father's face.

"Fox."

It was the face he remembered, the harsh, lined face Albert
had shown him in the end when he'd taken on his father's
body, his father's life, to save him.

But it was softer now, bathed in the intolerable light of the
place, his body nebulous, the white of his shirt blending with
the light until it was impossible to see where one ended and the
other began.

His father smiled at him.

"Fox." All he could see was that face, transfigured, lit from
within. Then hands were on his shoulders, drawing him close,
and he collapsed against him, sobbing, his hands clutching at
his back, his face buried in a collar that smelled just like his
father before the fear, before the rage, before the booze.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I'm sorry."

"Fox, listen to me. None of it was your fault."

"Dad..."

"You don't know what's coming, son. You have no idea how
incredible it's going to be."

"Baruch atah adonai..."

"I'm sorry, Fox. I was angry. Scared."

"Baruch atah..."

"It'll be okay, son."

Mulder rocked against his father's body.




Then he was alone, alone but surrounded by an ocean of love
he couldn't begin to fathom.

He turned and saw Scully in the arms of a slight young man.

His hair was exactly the colour he knew was a deep dark red.

His breath caught as the man turned his face and met his eyes.
They were the bottomless blue of Scully's, his nose was
Scully's, his lips, his chin.

The young man smiled at him. Mulder was taken aback by the
confidence in his eyes, the sense of purpose.

"Take care of her, sir."

Mulder nodded, once, but he felt her anguish through the
link.

"She needs you. You're her son."

The man shook his head. "She needs *you*."

He drew away from her, touching her face, her eyes blind with
pain.

"I'm needed here."

He vanished into the light.




The rest was a blur of images, impressions, memories, faces,
human and almost human, the faces of all those who'd vanished
and chosen to stay, to help, and the faces of an ancient
people, and love, so much love, a tapestry of teachings
without words. Finally he found himself sitting next to Scully
in a pool of light, Albert crosslegged before them in soft
Navajo leathers, his expression peaceful.

Mulder realized dazedly that he was as naked as a jaybird.
Moisture beaded his body; the room, if that was what it was,
was as muggy and hot as a sweat lodge. The faint whiff of
mesquite teased his nostrils.

He felt Scully stir against him and turned to her. She was
naked too, her body covered in a sheen of sweat that glistened
in the light.

Her eyelids were lowered and she sat perfectly still.

And then Albert spoke.

"We need you to teach us this thing you share."

The link. "How can we teach you anything about that?" His
voice was hoarse.

Albert shook his head, smiling. "No, not that. You received
that from us."

Mulder nodded.

"We've forgotten this thing you call love. Love for another
being. What we now call love..."

He seemed to search for words.

"...is on a different scale than what humans experience. We
love... in a complete way. There's nothing else for us. Love is
what we do."

He paused.

"But this thing, this connection between two people, we no
longer understand. There are no such barriers between selves
in our world. It's no longer part of our vocabulary. Still, if
we're to survive here in order to do our work, it's essential
that we remember what it means to your people."

Albert's eyes turned to Scully.

"We must now learn to reproduce on our own if we're to
survive on this world. Our new home. Our old home. The time
has come for us to turn to each other for this purpose instead
of to you. We've hurt enough of you already. But in order to
do this, we have to understand the motivation behind the act."

He leaned towards her.

"What is this love you feel for him alone?" He looked at Mulder.
"And you for her? It feels limiting to us now, but there is a
certain... ancestral memory, you might say."

Mulder found it hard to breath.

"A memory of something extraordinarily intense, which I
suppose we've lost through the diffusion of it. Our love
reaches everywhere, young Fox, if you can understand it, but
perhaps as a result, it doesn't have the one-pointedness
required for procreation."

Unbelievably, Mulder could feel himself begin to harden.

It was primitive and embarrassing.

The elder smiled. "Good."

He lay his hand for a moment against Mulder's nose. It made
him feel a little like a Golden Retriever, but with it came a
sense of release, an acceptance of his own unavoidable animal
nature, his rightful place in an evolving universe.

I yam what I yam.

He was only human, dammit. Whatever that was. One day, he'd
love by default. For now...

"As a small token of my appreciation," Albert continued, "I'll
give you your real nose back. It had..."

"Character."

Albert smiled.

"And me? What do I get out of all this?" Scully.

He looked at her. Her eyes were cold.

"Agent Scully. That was a little joke." He laughed. "A -- how
do you call it -- a metaphor for something much deeper. His
real self. And yours. With time, you'll understand all that
we've given you."

He knew that she could feel him through the link, his arousal,
his desire for her, his absolute need to find himself in her
amid all this confusion.

He knew she could feel his love for her, as Albert could.

He turned to her once more and she looked at him. There was a
feeling of desperate need in the air, not his own, a need to
know, and beneath it all this fathomless love which defied
description.

"We are what we are, Scully," he whispered as he opened his
heart to her.

She touched his cheek.

His lips reached tentatively for hers as she buried her hands
in his hair.




And now he was groaning against her mouth as he pounded
into her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her hips
thrusting up against him, hands clutching at his back, nails
gouging his skin.

Mulder could feel her pleasure through the link, the way he
felt inside her, oh God, the way it felt to be filled at last.

And he knew she could feel his overpowering need to
disappear inside her, to go deeper until he was gone, returned
to the place of his origin.

He propped himself up again, gazing at her under his eyelids
as he pushed against her, jabbing deeply, feverishly,
submitted to an ancient ruthless rhythm.

"Do... you... remember?"

"Yhhhessss."

He felt her contractions begin as her eyes squeezed shut and
she moaned, rocking.

Her climax ripped through him.

"Sculleee..."

"I remember..."

Oh God he groaned I love you I'm coming Jesus I'm here I'm
coming Scully...

I'm here, Mulder.




They lay together, limbs entwined.

They remembered.

The only thing that wasn't clear was how they'd wound up in
Scully's bedroom, still joined, before this last coupling had
reawakened their memories.

But now they were quiet, inside and out.

Inexplicably, he knew that something had changed.

Something primordial in the balance of the world.

Mulder didn't know what and he didn't know how.

But as he'd approached orgasm, he'd distinctly heard the
sound of drums.

An ancient rhythm which echoed the very act they'd been
enacting.

The Anasazi were remembering.

Was it the birth of a brave new world?

Right now, it wasn't his problem; Scully was almost asleep in
his arms, and right now she was all that mattered.

He sighed as drowsiness overwhelmed him and he curled
himself around her.




"You're so consumed by your personal vengence against life,
whether it be its inherent cruelties or its mysteries, that
everything takes on a warped significance to fit your
megalomaniacal cosmology."

-- "Quagmire"