TITLE:  The Genesis Project VIII 
AUTHOR:  aRcaDIaNFall$ 
FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au 
RATING:  PG-13 (a couple of bad words) 
SPOILERS: (very vague) XMC/Emily, Memento Mori  
CLASSIFICATION: SRA, M&S married, kidfic, alternate universe 
DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Ephemeral, Xemplary and other archives go
ahead! Personal archives please ask first. 
SUMMARY: When Erin gets sick, Mulder and Scully find themselves
questioning their past actions, their present situation and
relationship, and the future of their family. Meanwhile, the pieces of
the puzzles are coming together and Jacqueline discovers the horrifying
truth about Ebony’s background and her own life. 
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic swaps character POVs every part. I’ve
researched personal accounts and tried my hardest to present as
accurately and realistically the events that take place in this fic,
but it’s inevitable that, having no firsthand or scientific experience,
this won’t necessarily be absolutely medically correct. So I apologise.
:] 
--- Find this entire fic and the rest of the series at
http://www.geocities.com/arcadianfalls/ --- 
  

The Genesis Project VIII 
by aRcaDIaNFall$ 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

She sighed softly, sheets rustling, her hair tickling my neck as she
roused herself, planting a lazy kiss on my lips. "I'll go." 

I would have protested, hadn't Erin already been crying for almost ten
minutes. As it was, I watched as she sleepily rolled off the bed, bare
back smooth and pure as ivory in the moonlight before it disappeared
under her robe, ties tugged in a knot.  

Through the wall I could hear her murmuring to Erin, imagined her
holding Erin, fingertips gliding across her forehead before a soothing
kiss. A little pacing, until the tears became hiccups became quiet
snoring, and mother and daughter returned to respective beds. Already I
was half asleep, arm outstretched to draw Scully back to my side. 

But the crying didn't stop. Any descent into hiccups was only a false
herald, as sobs soon started up again. I listened for half an hour as
Scully sang, hushed and reasoned, before forcing myself up out of bed
and into some boxers. I checked in quickly on Astrid, afraid that Erin
was keeping her awake. She had an assessment presentation at school
tomorrow and an exam on Wednesday; she was grouchy enough about these
things even with an uninterrupted night's sleep. But she was sleeping
solidly, as was Josh. 
"She's at ninety-nine point five," Scully announced, withdrawing the
digital thermometer and picking up the toddler. Erin stopped crying
long enough only to pull her bunched fists from her eyes and frown at
me. She wriggled in Scully's arms. 
"I'll give her some Tylenol. I'm guessing it's just a reaction to the
vaccination." 

She'd reacted badly to her last innoculation, too. I followed Scully
into the kitchen. She sat Erin down on the edge of the kitchen counter
but I picked her up, trying to amuse her as Scully dissolved some of
the soluble Tylenol into a spill-proof cup of diluted orange juice. But
Erin knew that trick, and as soon as it was pressed in her hand she
tossed the cup away with a shriek, tears still streaming down her face.
Her pajamas were damp with them.  
Scully again offered the cup, expression severe. "Drink it, Erin." 

Batted from Scully's hand with another shriek, it hit the pantry doors.
Stumbling to her feet on the counter, Erin started screaming, a wailing
of incoherent words; the only one I caught was "No". 

"I'm going to give you to three to be a good girl and sit down again.
One ..." Clearly Scully thought this was just another incident of Erin
playing up for attention. "Two..."  

Rubbing her eyes with her fists, Erin slumped back down on the
countertop, sniffling. 

Scully leaned closer forward, brushing the sweaty curls back from
Erin's forehead, tilting the baby's chin up to look at her. "Wanna tell
me where it hurts, sweetie?" 

She frowned, reaching out her arms to be picked up. Scully swung her
onto her hip and Erin buried her face in the white terrycloth robe,
still sniffling. Scully shrugged, and I returned the gesture. The cup
had rolled into the corner and I picked it up, wiping the top off and
offering it to Scully. She sat at the kitchen table and Erin, energy
spent, lay listlessly in her arms, sucking away at the spout.  
"Could be another ear infection." Fevers had been coming and going over
the last few months.  

She shook her head. "I checked. All clear." She eased the now empty cup
away from Erin and set it on the table, stroking Erin's cheeks as the
baby's heavy eyelids fluttered. How did Scully still look so young? She
had that look of concern mingled with wistful longing and fierce
affection and adoration, that slight frown, the barely-but-there smile.
It was a look that could go either way - weariness or youthfulness.
Tonight it made her young, as innocent and uncorrupted as she'd been at
our first meeting. 
"That better, sweetie?" she murmured. "That feels much better, doesn't
it, huh?" 
  

"Mommy?" Josh and Astrid stood side-by-side in the doorway in rumpled
pajamas. It was Astrid who spoke. "Erin was screaming. Is she okay?" 

"Just throwing a tantrum," I said easily, adding with playful
remonstration, "She's learning bad habits from a *certain* older
sister, who will remain unnamed." 
Astrid grinned sheepishly. I took the now-sleeping baby, letting Scully
shoo the kids back to bed as I returned Erin to her crib. It was
October but the nights were still warm and I tucked only the sheet and
light blanket up around her, not wanting her to overheat. She still had
a slight fever. 

Scully and I met up again in the doorway to our bedroom. She stood
there with arms folded, head down, watching me through the hair that
fell over her eyes.  

"I think this is where you apologise," I told her, reaching out to
catch her fingertips. 

"Apologise for what?"  

"For being so stubborn. Where do you think Erin got it from?" 

She tossed her head back, hair out of her eyes, and threw me a look,
freeing her hand to jab me in the chest. "*You*." 

I pouted in return, one eyebrow raised. That was all it took. Tired
laughter bubbled through her lips. She shook her head. "Mulder, that
wasn't even funny." 

"Then why are you laughing?" 

She shook her head and yawned. "Because I'm so damn tired I'm about to
fall over." She pulled away from me and moved over to the bed,
gathering the boxers and t-shirt she'd discarded earlier, both items of
clothing long ago borrowed from my drawers. Reaching to untie her robe,
she yawned. I caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, gazing at
her. Even clouded with sleep her eyes were a pure blue, her eyebrows
arched in curiosity. 

"You're so beautiful when you're -" 

"Naked?" she interrupted, smiling innocently as she toyed with the ties
of her robe. 

"I was going to say sleepy. But naked is good too." 

The laugh again, that gorgeous laugh of sheer, unbound joy. She pushed
me away as I teasingly slid my hands inside the robe, turning away to
drop it off and quickly pull on the pajamas. Before I could touch her
again she pulled back the covers and wriggled into my side of the bed. 

I flicked off the bedside lamp and slid in beside her in what little
space she'd left me on my side, easing my fingertips under the hemmed
silk of the boxers to lightly stroke her thighs, still hungry for her.
She reached for me under the covers, taking my hands and drawing them
around her, across her stomach. Enough of that for tonight, the action
said. Just hold me, now. 
"Do you know how much I love you?" I murmured, burrowing the pillow and
nuzzling her neck, getting comfortable enough to sleep. 

"Yes." 

"Nah, you've gotta guess," I teased.  

She rolled over in my arms to stare at me, sleepily amused. "*Guess*?" 

"Sure, guess. I'll narrow it down for you... It's somewhere between
with-all-my-heart and to-all-eternity." 

A smile and a tired chuckle as she settled back down again. "Go to
sleep, Mulder." 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

There was a tinkling as the breeze caught the chimes hung above me, a
delicate jingle that sent delighted shivers down my bare arms. It
wasn't really warm enough to be wearing what I was, but the sleeveless
top was a favourite of mine, a soft knitted blue with a low neck, and I
hadn't been able to wear it since last summer, before I got too big.  

I shifted, trying to make myself more comfortable. I sat on the wooden
rail around the verandah, leaning against one of the upright posts. The
whitewash on the verandah came off on my hands and clothes, staining
them, a chalky white residue. 
"This place needs repainting," I remarked as Graham came around the
corner. He'd been pacing along the l-shaped verandah as he bottle-fed
Noah; breastfeeding wasn't a problem for me, but that left Grae out of
the picture and Graham out of the picture was Graham in a bad mood. So
we compromised. Grae fed Noah when Grae was around, I did it the rest
of the time. 

"I want to get the whole verandah fixed up. Get rid of this -" He
kicked the boarded edging around the verandah that reached all along
and from the floor to the rail I sat on. "-and have it more open." 

"All the way around?" I was a little disquieted. I liked it as it was,
enjoyed simultaneously the enclosed privacy and fresh air. If he opened
it out completely we would be far more exposed to the highway, only
thirty feet away, and the winds that swept across the bare, flat
backyard. 

"You like your little possie, don't you?" 

If by that he was referring to the corner outside our bedroom door with
the old sofa, then yes. I shrugged. "I like it the way it is. It could
just do with a new paint job, that's all. Maybe some colour, instead of
white."  

I'd long ago given up contemplating how boring our conversations
sometimes were. This was married life, I'd told myself again and again.
Get used to it. And yet, I found myself endlessly bored by conversation
after conversation about the same things, impatient when Grae yet again
asked me where I put something or what I thought of something else. It
wouldn't have been so bad, perhaps, if he'd given me any attention
otherwise, but practically ever since Noah had first come home any
attention I would have once gotten had been given to the baby. Not that
Ebony and I were exactly ignored, but we were certainly nonetheless
both wanting for his attention.  
It was a strange situation, when I took a step back and looked at it. I
had wanted Noah badly for as long as I could remember, and it was Grae,
who had cursed me at the news of my pregnancy, who obsessed over the
baby. Ebony and I were abandoned to one another, and it was still a
difficult a relationship. 

I fingered the page I held, the most recent of Ebony's drawings, shyly
handed to me only ten minutes ago. Piece by piece she was letting us
in, giving us clues to her past. People, places, events; most
unrecognizeable to us though clearly of important to her. Grae was
having a hard time with it, maybe why he so often focused on Noah.
Every time I showed him one of Ebony's drawings all his facial muscles
would constrict, his adam's apple suddenly more prominent. "Right,"
he'd say, and put it down again as if he'd barely glanced, clearly not
sharing the need I felt to interpret them, dissect them in search of
Ebony's meaning. 

"We don't need to go backward into all that," he said after the third
drawing. "She's expressing herself. That's enough." 

It was a change in attitude I didn't understand, but I chalked it,
among other things, up to his change in attentions to Noah. I
recognised Grae's unconscious everchanging behaviour, the way he seemed
to only be able to focus in one direction at a time. Sometimes it was
me and I'd get more than enough whole-hearted emotional support and
attention lavished upon me. Sometimes it was Ebony and he tackled her
problems with ardour, determined to solve everything. After the first
drawing he had been insistent that we put Ebony first, but only a week
later he had eyes only for Noah.  

"I'm going to see where Ebony's hiding out," I announced. He nodded
without looking at me and I went in through the bedroom, finding Ebony
in the lounge room, spinning in one of the loungechairs with a
decidedly bored expression. If only she would *talk*, I thought as I
watched her. Then she could go to school, make friends, be a normal
kid. If only she'd just talk... 

I knocked gently to get her attention. She glanced over, a momentary
flash of what I thought was hope on her face. As abandoned as she was
by Grae, her doglike adoration for him didn't falter.  
"How about we go somewhere, Ebs?" 

Shrug. In other words, not interested. She tapped her fingers on the
leather arms. Her nails were very long, but she never let me cut them
for her.  
"Maybe we should trim those fingernails first, huh?" They were torn and
dirty, just as they had been all along, but she no longer chewed them
down and they were getting long and ragged.  

I went to fetch the nailscissors and took the wastepaper basket over to
the couch, beckoning her to join me. She swung back and forth in the
chair considering it before putting herself down on the other edge of
the couch.  
"I can't reach em from there, Ebs." 

In the past any sort of physical force had been considered too
dangerous to try; she had screamed and screamed and screamed. But we
were pushing the boundaries back and I felt safe enough grabbing her
around the waist and tugging her closer, almost onto my lap. I hadn't
cut fingernails other than my own since Astrid and Josh had been
little, but they'd always been squirmy when it came to the task, so it
wasn't as difficult trimming Ebony's as I'd thought. I finished up and
sent her to go wash her hands. I heard the tap go on and off, and then
the backdoor squeak once as it was pushed open, again as it swung shut.
I can't say I hadn't expected that. She often ran off after close
encounters. I knew it wasn't intended as an insult. She just needed
some time.  

The complete collection of her drawings was on the dining table and I
picked them up, sorting through them all before laying them out on the
table, trying to get a sequence. One picture in particular caught my
attention - specifically, a structure in the background. It looked
suspiciously like the Washington Monument.  
I transferred my attention to the foreground of the picture. There was
a building, a childishly-formed house shape, with big front double
doors and a square window on either side. There were steps from the
front door down and a yard to one side, with a yellow square I thought
was maybe a sandbox, a set of swings, a slide and a castle-like
construction. It would have been a house, I thought, had it not been
for all the stick-figures, children playing on the play equipment,
standing in the doorway, looking out the windows. I counted fourteen
smaller figures, and one taller one, holding a book. It wasn't a house,
I realised. It was a school. A kindergarten. A kindergarten Ebony had
once attended, and in DC? 

I switched on the fax machine, smoothing the crumpled paper in my hands
as I waited for it to warm up. Dana and Fox would want to see this. 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

Typical Monday morning breakfast in our household. Mulder was in
shirtsleeves, jacket tossed over the back of his chair. Astrid was
still in pajamas, eating dry FruitLoops by the handful as if she had
all day. They were talking, joking. Egged on by Astrid, Mulder was
narrating some story from his childhood, about some stunt he and
Samantha had once pulled on some neighbours.  

Stories about Samantha had become increasingly frequent the past few
months - stories beyond the ones we knew of her abduction and the dark
days following. It was as if having finally laid her to rest had
enabled Mulder to open up about her. There were hundreds of stories I’d
never heard before, all stored away in incredible detail in that
amazing mind of his. And in response to Mulder’s stories the kids had
started to talk about Cate and Roger and their life before us. Had they
been so afraid of that before now? Under the impression that we didn’t
want them to share those memories? Were they following the example
Mulder had set in his near-silence about Samantha? 

Erin was bobbing up and down in front of the TV to some song on a
children’s program. I picked her up and put her in the highchair,
pouring a bowl of cereal. Like Astrid, she ate it dry, with her hands.
But she shook her head, pushing the bowl away. I pushed it closer.
“Eat, sweetie.” 

We’d had the same argument every day for almost a week. I would
persevere for ten precious minutes before giving her some dry toast and
some juice, which she’d eat without complaint. Sometimes that was the
biggest meal she ate all day. But today she refused to eat anything.  
I didn’t have the time to push her and as Mulder was dressed to leave I
pushed a spoon into his hand. “Try and get her to eat some, will you?” 

I went to get Josh out of bed and discovered he was already up and
finishing up some homework. I told him to get dressed and go get
breakfast, then went back into the kitchen to hurry Astrid up. I
showered and was in the processes of dressing when I heard a fuss
outside. I did up the essential buttons on my shirt and went out to
investigate. Erin had apparently refused cereal, refused milk or juice,
and after dropping her toast on the floor had run into the underside of
the kitchen table. She was wailing. 

Mulder was tending to her and seemed to have things under control. “She
cut her forehead, but it’s not too deep, I don’t think.” 

I eased away the kitchen towelling he held against the wound to examine
it. Barely a centimeter long, a clean cut, some grazing around it. It
was bleeding only a little, but would need a bandaid. Astrid, now
messily dressed in school uniform, ran to the medicine cabinet and
returned with the antiseptic cream, cotton balls and a bandaid. She
liked playing doctor when it came to simple injuries, more as a show of
independance and responsibility than actual interest in medicine. She
sat Erin down, talking to her as she mopped up the blood.  
Situation under control, I thought, but I felt a niggling
dissatisfaction with it. Maybe it was the lack of colour in Erin’s skin
or the irritability with which she kept pushing Astrid away, rubbing
her own eyes. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t gotten enough sleep,
though she’d been sleeping longer lately, and she moved listlessly.  
I fetched the digital thermometer and took a reading. Ninety-nine point
seven - just up from last night. It wasn’t unusual for these lowgrade
fevers to persist, but she’d been losing weight, too. A virus, maybe.
Or even food allergies.  

Astrid finished up and let Erin back down to the ground. I mixed her up
some chocolate milk, which she loved, but she didn’t even try it, only
let the spillproof cup fall to the floor and roll under the table. I
decided to let her be - she’d eat when she was hungry. It would ease my
mind, though, if I could get some fluids into her.  

I returned to the bedroom to finish dressing, resolving to take her to
the doctor after work. There was now a full-time paediatrician at the
clinic - Jacqueline was directing the expansion from afar - and this
doctor worked later hours, catering to working parents. Nevertheless,
when I went back out and found blood oozing out from under the bandaid,
I decided to take her there this morning instead. I peeled the bandaid
away - it had absorbed as much blood as it could and could absorb no
more. The wound wasn’t clotting properly, if at all. On a hunch I
lifted up Erin’s dress and found the bruise on her leg from when she’d
fallen off the couch a week ago. It had barely faded. There were half a
dozen smaller bruises on her legs on closer inspection. That she hurt
herself so much didn’t surprise me - and I didn’t for a moment suspect
any form of abuse. Erin was always running into things, tripping over
things, gathering scrapes and bruises. But at least some of these
bruises should have faded away by now, and they hadn’t.  

“What’s wrong?” Trust Mulder to recognise the expression on my face. 

I indicated the bruises. “She’s not healing very well. I think she may
be slightly anemic.” That came out far more naturally than I’d
expected. Mulder glanced at me and I could tell his first thoughts were
the same mine had been. Emily...  

“We should get her checked out,” he suggested. 

I nodded. “I’ll take her by the clinic for a checkup, get them to do a
bloodworkup. It’s probably nothing, but -” 

No need to finish that. He nodded, grabbing his coat jacket. “I’ll take
the kids to school. See you downstairs.” 

Downstairs - that was how he referred to our basement office. It had a
comfortable air about it.  
He took off, the kids trailing behind him in varying stages of
readiness. Kathy arrived and I quizzed her on Erin’s behaviour. Most of
it she’d already told me - low on energy, wasn’t eating properly,
slight fever that came and went. She didn’t think that it could be an
allergic reaction to anything we’d fed her, for the primary reason that
Erin hadn’t been eating much beyond bread and juice. I left her racking
her brains and took Erin off to the clinic. The paediatrician hadn’t
arrived for the day yet but Aaron Harrison was there. He agreed that
there was the possibility of anemia and drew blood, but I could tell
from his manner that he didn’t think it was particularly serious. It
eased my apprehension and I left her at home with Kathy with a clear
conscience, ready to tackle the day’s work.  
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

I handed her the fax as soon as she arrived, and lead her over to the
district map I had spread out across her desk. I’d shoved all cases
aside as soon as I’d seen the fax, fascinated by the new puzzle piece
it provided. What had Ebony been doing in DC? How long had she been
here? Who had brought her here? The questions buzzed in my brain as I
ran my fingers over the map. But, as Scully pointed out to me quickly
enough, the map was ten years old. I moved to the computer, doing a
search for elementary schools in the area. Pulling up maps I eliminated
them all - none provided the clear view of the Washington Monument as
in Ebony’s picture. There was the probability, as Scully reminded me,
that Ebony’s picture wasn’t accurate, that she may have combined
several isolated images and symbols in the one picture and therefore
the perspective and placings of the objects was inaccurate. But, doing
another search, this time for kindergartens in the district, I got it
in one.  

I didn’t even remember to ask after Erin until we were in the car.
Aside from the suggestion of anemia and the ghosts that resurrected,
there wasn’t much about the situation that had me concerned. Erin was
often sick with minor aches or chronic infections, often tired and
cranky. We accepted it as just a part of life. I’d forgotten all about
the crisis that morning the moment I picked up the fax. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

A slim file on Ebony Arden was produced after a short search in a back
office.  
“We keep all our past records,” explained Allison Dean, founder of the
Red Dog Kingergarten. “No real reason, just that we’re a bunch of
packrats.” She smiled widely.  

I flipped through the file. It included a small photograph and my heart
missed a beat as I looked at it, recognising the shy but cheeky grin.
*Astrid*... But it was Ebony. The date was on the back and I did the
math in my head. Three years and eight months old. Six months younger
than when we’d first met Astrid, but still startlingly similar. There
was a confidence and happiness that radiated from her. I saw that every
time I looked at Astrid. I’d never seen it in Ebony, until this photo. 

I forced myself to move on from the photo, skimming through a page of
notes made by teachers regarding behavioural patterns, favourite
activities. ‘NO FATHER’ was written in caps, as if a reminder to
teachers not to put their foot in it on Father’s Day.  

“She was in your class,” I realised, looking up at Allison.  

She nodded. “She was a lovely child. Loved to sing.” 

“Do you remember her being different in any way?” Mulder asked. 

Allison stared at him. “I don’t understand.” 

“Did she have any problems with touch or communication?” 

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. She wasn’t the hugging sort, but not all
children are. She could keep to herself and was very selfish when it
came to sharing, but they’re only children, after all. She was really
just another ordinary child.” 

“And you never found any unexplainable wounds or scars or behavioural
pattern changes?” Mulder pushed. 

Allison shook her head again. “No. We would have questioned her mother
if we had. Why? Do you suspect her of being abused? Because if we’d
seen any sign of it when she was in our care I assure you that we would
have gone to extreme measures to ensure the situation be investigated
and -” 

I broke in. “That’s not why we’re here, Allison. We were actually
hoping you could give us whatever background you have on Ebony. There
was only her mother, you said. What happened to her father?” 

“I don’t believe we were ever informed. Ebony seemed a well enough
adjusted child - there was no indication of any recent grief or family
breakdown. I assumed that whatever had happened had taken place several
years earlier, perhaps even before Ebony was born.” 

“But you assumed that there was, at one time, a father?” 

“Her mother went by missus, if that’s what you mean. Mrs Arden.
Kathleen, I think it was. Very sad - she died of ovarian cancer,
shortly before the end of the semester. Her mother’s illness upset
Ebony greatly, of course. She was enrolled until the end of the year
but withdrawn by her grandfather only a short while before her mother
died. I assume she was taken to live with relatives.” 

“Were you the one to deal with her grandfather?” 

“I only spoke to him on the phone. He explained that Ebony’s mother was
terminally ill and under the circumstances thought it necessary to
withdraw Ebony from preschool.” 

“He never visited in person, to sign papers or collect anything?” 

“No. We were so close to the end of the term that there was no need to
reimburse fees. One of Kathleen’s friends came to collect Ebony’s crate
- each child has a crate labelled with a picture, where they keep their
own belongings. I don’t recall her name. She’s listed as emergency
contact number on the green medical form there...” 

I glanced down. Diana Jefferson, 555 2341. 

“Do you remember anything about how he sounded on the phone? Young-ish
or older? Accent?” 

Helpless shrug. “It was five years ago, Agent Mulder.” 

“Anything,” Mulder pressed. 

Allison thought hard. “He coughed,” she said finally. “A lot. I thought
maybe he was a heavy smoker. I really don’t remember anything else. I’m
sorry.” 

“Do you remember anybody else? Uncles, aunts, friends of Kathleen’s -
anybody who ever brought Ebony to preschool or attended parent-teacher
meetings?” 

“Kathleen’s friend sometimes picked Ebony up. We don’t encourage
parents to send others to collect the children, of course; we can’t
just let anybody walk off with children left in our care.” 

“Nobody else? Only ever Kathleen or the friend?” 

“There may have been others, but I really don’t remember if there was.
A lot of children have passed through here since then, Agent Mulder.” 

Mulder was frowning, pondering the news. I thanked Allison and we left,
Ebony’s case file in my hand with a promise of returning it as soon as
we were done. We were at the door when she asked, as if the question
had only just occured to her, “How is Ebony?” 

“She’s... doing well.” I gave Allison a smile. “She’s living in
Australia at the moment.” 

Allison nodded. “She must be enjoying it. She really was a lovely
child.” She smiled fondly. “Lovely.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

Dana rung with the details they’d gathered so far, wanted to know if
the names Kathleen Arden nee Reilly and Diana Jefferson meant anything
to me. I racked my brains but came up with nothing. I’d never heard of
the preschool they’d just visited, nor the teacher they’d spoken too.
As Grae entered the room with Ebony trailing behind him I quickly
thanked Dana and hung up. 

“It was Dana,” I said, in response to his unasked question. “She and
Fox tracked down Ebony’s old preschool.” I said it wanting to draw him
into the mystery, not really thinking what Ebony’s reaction would be.
Her eyes widened and she looked at Grae. Fear, almost panic, then a
puzzled wistfulness, as if she remembered it but just barely. But then,
something else in her eyes as she looked at me - trust. A grateful sort
of trust.  

Grae was annoyed. “How did they find it?” 

“They worked from the picture Ebony drew me a couple of days ago. I
faxed it through to them.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to know about Ebony’s past. Don’t you?” 

He scowled at me, pacing over to the table and grabbing the pile of
drawings, sorting through them with a savage impatience. He looked
almost as if he were going to rip the thick wad of pages in two, but
something stopped him - Ebony’s eyes on him, I think. He tossed the
pages down on the table, moving closer to me.  
“Can’t you just let Ebony put it behind her?” he hissed into my ear.  

I drew back from him and addressed the girl who still stood in the
middle of the room. “Ebs, could you go see if the baby is still
sleeping, please?” 

Ebony nodded, disappearing. She knew she was just being gotten out of
the way - she didn’t even bother checking Noah, but instead went
through the door into the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and close,
footsteps, then the back door open and close. Only then did I answer
Grae. 

“Ebony is drawing these pictures for a reason. She wants us to know.” 

“She needs to get it out of her, fine. But I don’t want you or your
Mulder and Dana reading into it. I don’t want us getting involved in
anything.” 

That was a definate warning.  

“Whatever Ebony is involved in, I’m involved in it too,” I retorted. “I
don’t have any control over that. I was born into that.” 

“I don’t want us getting involved in anything,” he repeated again. He
was getting upset. “Things are fine as they are, Jacqui. Don’t ruin it
all.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

After the kindergarten our next stop was the apartment given as Ebony’s
home address. The complex had changed hands two years ago and the new
landlord couldn’t be any help, so we went to see Ebony’s doctor, also
listed on the green medical form.  
He was a family doctor, nearly retired, I guessed. He didn’t remember
Ebony or her mother, though records showed that he had treated Kathleen
for depression-related sleeping difficulties following her husband’s
death, which had been almost two years before Ebony was born. Ebony’s
records, filed with her mother’s, showed that her visits had begun at
two and a half weeks. She’d had a series of bad colds, viruses,
infections and mild injuries, been given the usual childhood
vaccinations. She was just an ordinary child.  
I was going through the information with the doctor, appointment by
appointment, when Mulder’s cell phone rang. He excused himself, ducking
out of the office before answering. Only a few seconds later he came
back, expression grave, face colourless. He gripped the doorjamb with
white fingers, almost using it to keep his balance. 
“Scully...” 

The kids were in danger. Erin had hurt herself. Something had happened
to Mom.  
One glance at his expression and there was no question whether
something was wrong, only what it was. 

I asked the doctor to borrow the file and thanked him for his time
without waiting for a reply. Mulder was waiting out in the corridor for
me and put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from going any further.
It was dark in the corridor, a little chilly but not enough to explain
why suddenly my skin felt cold as ice.  
“What is it? Who?” 

He swallowed, tried to speak, then swallowed again. “That was the
clinic,” he said with difficulty. “Erin’s results came back. They think
it’s leukemia.” 

Funny how every detail about such a moment is preserved forever in its
terrible fullness. A door banged shut in the distance. There was a
slight breeze coming down the hallway and it was playing with a
difficult strand of hair, blowing it in my eyes. The carpet was new but
thin, blue speckled with green and grey. The walls were light green,
textured like an eggshell. A moth was caught in the overhead lightguard
and fluttered furiously trying to get free. The receptionist was making
a booking for a Sarah Ramsey for the following Tuesday, at ten fifteen.
A child was crying in the waiting room. There was a crashing sound as
if a children’s toy had been thrown. Erin always threw her Duplo. A
mother reprimanding. The odour of new paint and iodine and hundreds of
different perfumes, one combined scent with a different edge in each
breath. A bird outside, cawing. Car horn honked out in the street. The
folder in my hand, a manila folder with a silver paperclip on top.
‘Arden, Kathleen’ on a typed label.  
Thousands, millions of tiny sights and sounds and smells, all of them
now exclusively associated with that moment. It can’t have been more
than five seconds, but it was a lifetime. Squabbles with the kids,
frustration at work, even my problems with Mulder - in that very first
split second they all became nothing. That exact moment, that time and
place will be forever in my memory. The Monday my world stopped.  

My hand was at my mouth, a completely unconscious action. I stared at
Mulder, seeing in his eyes the shock and fear, the *terror*, that I
felt. I reached for him, pulling him against me in a hug. I didn’t have
to think about it, it was just the automatic response. He was limp
against me, phone still in one hand.  

In my stunned state of mind there came only one clear thought. We
couldn’t afford to have our ups and downs any more. If we didn’t go
through this together, we’d all fall apart. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

Aaron Harrison had called a friend at the Children’s National Medical
Center and the oncologist wanted us at the hospital with Erin ASAP to
get the tests rerun. Survival instincts kicked in and Scully and I all
but ran to the car. Panic mode was when we worked together best, and I
think that’s the only way we managed to get through those terrible
first hours. I drove and Scully called Kathy, asking her to pack Erin’s
diaperbag, some clothes and pajamas and some of Erin’s favourite toys,
including “Monkey’s monkey”, as it was known, and now balding in
several places because she slept with it. 

We didn’t tell Kathy what had happened, but she must have wondered with
the way I swept Erin up and hugged her against me. Erin let out an
angry growl - ever since Australia, she’d been mimicking Jacqueline’s
dog - but I didn’t let her go, only hugged her closer. How come I never
held her for so long? How could we just leave her all day every day in
Kathy’s care? We were missing so much. We *had* missed so much. And for
what? For a stupid job. What if we’d wasted all that time and now we
weren’t going to get a chance to make up for it? 

Instead of buckling her into the babyseat Scully held Erin on her lap
on the way to the hospital. Entering the hospital was a psychological
hurdle in itself. What if she was so sick that she never came out
again? What if this was the last time Erin would see grass and
daylight? What if she had left her crib and toys for the last time?
Would she never again sleep in our bed between us, sucking on her thumb
while Scully and I gazed down in silent adoration? The fears were
endless and almost paralysing. 
The staff took charge. Doctors and nurses and directions and questions
and forms to sign. Erin was whisked away for blood to be drawn. They
put her in a private room, not the oncology ward. For now, at least.
She cried as they took blood, and cried as they hooked her up to an IV
to rehydrate her. Scully and I took turns holding her, cuddling her,
drying her tears. It was all a blur, a whirlwind which had begun the
moment we walked through the hospital doors.  

The doctor returned with the results as we sat on the bed with her,
curled up with her head in Scully’s lap and her feet in mine. Any
silent hopes I’d been fostering of a misdiagnosis were trampled with
the news. 
“Your daughter has leukemia.” The doctor was in his mid-forties,
balding with a mustache. I didn’t catch his name that day. I had to ask
the nurse for it the following day. Dr Carson. Leonard Carson. He’d
been in paediatric oncology for almost twenty years - undoubtedly he’d
had a lot of practice delivering that soul-destroying news. 
“There is, however, good news. Erin is what we classify as a ‘low risk’
patient. She’s young, female, her white blood count is only forty
thousand, which is low, and her cell type is B-cell. These are all good
signs. Now, we’ve scheduled a spinal tap and surgery to check her bone
marrow for cancer cells...” 

There was too much information to digest at once. I gazed down at
Erin’s bare feet, counting her toes over and over and over as if
somehow that would end the nightmare, bring me back to the real world.
Words snagged in my brain as they floated past. Intraethical
chemotherapy. Catheters. Mediport. Protocols. Phases. Choices. The
first dose of combination chemotherapy would be given tonight, if
possible. We had a maximum of seventy-two hours from that moment to
decide whether to enter a clinical trial or to do the standard
protocol. Newer chemotherapy drugs on offer were agressive and fast
acting but more dangerous.  

Scully was trying to take it all in but I could tell the shock was
still slowing her processes. She suggested I go get the kids from
school and I agreed, though loathe to leave Erin. What if she had a
turn for the worse while I was gone? Would this be the last time I saw
her blink, sneeze, yawn, whimper? 

“I won’t leave her until you come back,” Scully told me. We must have
sounded intellectually diminished, saying each word quietly, carefully,
with that strange edge to it all that warned “I can’t hold it in for
much longer.” 

I knew where the kids’ classrooms were and went straight to Astrid’s.
They were sitting at their desks, heads down, working. I knew Astrid
straight away - she was wearing the long blue ribbon in her hair Scully
had given her only two days ago. I knocked, but went to Astrid, not the
teacher, crouching beside her desk. She gazed at me with wide,
terrified eyes. She could see that something was wrong. “Mommy?” she
mouthed. 

I shook my head. “Erin,” I mouthed. “Leukemia.” 

Tears in her eyes, tears in mine. She stood shakily, closing her book
but leaving it on the desk. She took my hand and walked me to the front
of the room. Yes, she led me as if she were leading Josh or Erin.  
“My baby sister is sick,” she told her teacher. She spoke with that
same hollow cautiousness Scully and I had. “She’s in the hospital. I
have to go be with her.” 

The teacher’s eyes widened and she glanced at me. “Oh...” Speechless,
she nodded, giving permission. “I’m sorry,” she said feebly. “You go...
I’ll sort it out with the office.” 

We walked out of the classroom, picking up her schoolbag from outside.
Voices sprung up as soon as the door closed, classmates wondering, the
teacher telling them to quieten down. Josh’s class was in the middle of
an art lesson, all in painting shirts. I’d given Josh one of my old
shirts to use and he wore it backward. There was green paint all over
his hands, a smudge on the side of his nose. He was already pulling off
the paintshirt as he greeted us at the classroom door. He’d known we
were coming. He always did.  
His desk was near the door and his painting flat on the table. I gazed
at it. His artworks were always precise, even his paintings. This
looked as if he had used his entire hands. Wide, expressive strokes in
hectic directions, curves and diagonals. Astrid picked it up, carrying
it over to the window to hang it up for him to dry as he washed his
hands. Only from the distance did I realise what the painting was.
Tears.  

I explained briefly to Josh’s teacher what had happened. She was a
special art teacher, not his regular teacher, and she was flustered by
the news. She thought that the kids would need to be signed out at the
front office. I thanked her, took Josh by one hand and Astrid by the
other, and we walked out of the classroom. Josh collected his bag and
we left the school. I could call the office some time later and
explain. Right now, I would go mad if I tried. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

Erin wouldn’t stop crying. She was scared by the strange environment,
all the new faces and noises and smells. She was on my lap, face buried
in my breast, crying. And she didn’t even understand what was going on.
I did. And I ached with the almost overwhelming need to grieve over it.
I caught myself near tears with every surge of panic and condemned
myself for the weakness. I couldn’t afford to be so weak. I wasn’t
helping Erin by panicking or wanting to cry. And I had to help Erin. 

I conferred with doctors, collected information, gave my consent for
bone marrow aspiration to identify the type of leukemia. I had to help
hold Erin still during the spinal tap because she was so terrified and
then again during the bone marrow. She was only given xylocaine to numb
the bone and shrieked and screamed and sobbed during the procedure. It
was nightmarish, trying to be both mother and doctor at once, knowing
the need for her to stay still and fighting off the overwhelming
primeval instinct to stop them from hurting her. I wanted to follow
every step of her treatment, keep track of what was going on so that I
could maintain some control over it. But already it was blurring. It
had been years since my oncology rotation and even since I’d battled
cancer myself. There were new drugs, new treatments, new acroynms.  

No blasts were found in the spinal fluid. A good sign. Erin was still
upset, terrified, and they sedated her through the IV, which she kept
trying to pull out. She was asleep barely a minute after they’d started
the sedative and I wondered if the exhaustion had kicked in first. 

Astrid had been crying, so had Mulder. Josh had tears in his grave eyes
but they hadn’t spilled, yet. I kneeled in the carpeted hall and
gathered Astrid and Josh against me in a hug, needing to feel them warm
and alive against me, warm tears mounting in my own eyes. Down on his
knees, Mulder stretched his arms around all of us. Josh started to
cry.  
Astrid pushed her way out of the hug, insisting on being taken to see
Erin. She grabbed Josh’s hand. I pointed the door to Erin’s room out to
them and they almost ran.  

Mulder slowly brought his gaze up to meet mine. There were tears in his
dark eyes, pain in his beautiful face, intense unhappiness. He looked
away helplessly and I stepped closer, touching the beautiful face,
drawing him closer still as I caressed it. He rested his chin on my
forehead, and he put heavy arms around me.  
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- ASTRID POV - 

Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. ALL. Neither Joshie or I knew much about
leukeamia, except that it was a type of cancer. Daddy didn’t really,
either, so Mommy and the doctor made most of the decisions. Mommy and
Daddy had agreed to enter Erin into a clinical trial, that was only a
slight variation from the standard protocol. I didn’t understand that.
Actually, Josh and I and even Daddy didn’t understand a lot of what was
going on. So all that afternoon and then evening and until late at
night we sat around the bed in Erin’s room and Mommy gave us a crash
course in the disease. 
Doctors and nurses and social workers had given Mommy and Daddy bundles
of pamplets to read. Mommy borrowed a recent-edition textbook from a
medical student and got a copy of the treatment protocol Erin would be
following, and we all worked through it all together. It was a huge,
enormous thing that was happening. There were hundreds of things that
would happen to Erin as they tried to make her well, things that we had
to do, things we couldn’t do. They started the chemo that night, giving
her the cocktail of anticancer drugs and then drugs to stop the nausea
and then more drugs to help her sleep because whenever she was awake,
she cried. She vomited seven times when they kept trying to make her
swallow pills and so they gave it to her in IV. Both Mommy and Daddy
ended up wearing scrubs tops because Erin threw up over their work
shirts. 
She’d have to be in hospital for three nights this week while they got
her settled on all the drugs, then one night every week for the next
month because the drugs and doseages were experimental and needed
constant monitoring. The protocol called it an ‘intensive schedule’.
Daddy called it a nightmare. 
Erin would need bloodtests three times a week, platelet transfusions,
antibiotics to prevent pnemonia and infections. There were different
stages and different treatments and drugs in each stage. We were in
what was called ‘Induction’ and went for about a month, though the
doctors had said that the drugs they were using were so aggressive that
it might only take a couple of doses - to achieve remission, then there
came ‘Consolidation’ and ‘Intensification’ and then ‘Maintenance’.
Induction was when they got rid of ninety-nine percent of leukemia
cells and when they did that, it was called remission. But there were
still billions of leukemia cells left in the body even after Induction,
and Consolidation and Intensification were about getting rid of those
leftover cells. I’d never though about cells being scary before. It was
like having a whole bunch of people inside you and, in Erin’s case,
suddenly deciding to go to war. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

Granulocytes, Monocytes, immunoglobulins, immunocytochemistry,
cytogenetics, lymphoblasts, red blood cells, white blood cells,
platelets, anemia... It was to become our regular vocabulary. Names of
drugs were tossed around between the doctors and nurses like ice cream
flavours. AraC, vincristine, daunorubicin, asparaginase,
cyclophosphamide, thioguanine, prednisone. I tried to familiarise
myself with as many as possible but they kept changing. And then there
was the different methods of treatment - intramuscular shots, IV,
orally - and then the tests, poking and prodding and drawing blood and
monitoring vitals. Safe levels of RBC and WBC and possible reactions to
drugs and reactions to the counteractive drugs. None of it made much
sense, no matter how much we wanted it to. We were all too numb to
really take it in. Even Scully kept repeating herself.  

Finally, she closed the books, shoved the pile of papers aside, and
rubbed her eyes. “We’re looking at two to three years of treatment,
assuming that all goes well and there’s no relapse,” she said heavily.
“It’s our life for the next few years, and it’s not going to be easy.” 

  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- ASTRID POV - 

Mommy and Daddy left us in there with Erin while Daddy got coffee and
Mommy rang Grandma and Duckie and Kathy. I’d added Kathy to the list
for Mommy. I don’t think she and Daddy ever really thought about how
much time Kathy spend with Erin. Did they realise that Kathy spent more
hours with Erin than they did? I hoped not. But I hoped, still, that
they’d realise at least how much she loved Erin. I didn’t want her to
be left completely out of this. She’d been looking after Erin almost
her entire life. If I were her I would care about Erin almost as much
as if she was my own baby. 

I had to go to the bathroom. I was going to wait until Mommy or Daddy
got back but they were away for a long time I really had to go. When I
got back I found Joshie kneeling on the bed beside Erin, one hand on
her forehead, the other one on her tummy. He had his eyes closed. I
knew what he was doing. All night he’d been saying that we shouldn’t
poison Erin with the chemo drugs. Mommy and Daddy had listened to him,
but not really. They didn’t understand that he thought he could make
her better without the drugs.  

He didn’t know I was there and I didn’t know what to say so I snuck out
again as quiet as I could. Daddy was coming back, a styrofoam cup of
coffee in each hand. We played a game at school sometimes when we had
to come up with just one word to best describe something. The word I
would have used for Daddy was haggard. Or maybe bone-tired. Or haunted.

I stopped him from going into Erin’s room, feeling funny about telling
on Joshie but knowing that I had to tell somebody or I’d explode. 
I tugged Daddy down to my height - he almost spilled the coffee - and
whispered it into his ear. 

“He thinks that he can heal the leukemia?” he echoed. “He really thinks
that?” 

It sounded silly out aloud but I nodded. 

Daddy frowned a little, considering the point. I knew he thought Josh
was special. It wasn’t just the poetry and writing and drawing. He knew
stuff. Duckie and I knew stuff too, but the feeling was stronger for
Joshie, and it just kept getting stronger and stronger. He didn’t like
to talk about it directly, but you could tell just by the way he acted.
He talked in his sleep, too. Went on and on about the way people around
him during the day had been feeling. Usually it was Mommy and Daddy,
sometimes it was Erin or people at school or even Duckie and Graham.
Once or twice it had been me. That had been weird. 

“Maybe he can.” Daddy looked serious, almost hopeful, then shrugged a
little, trying to smile. “It’s not going to do him any harm trying, is
it?” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

Josh and I went home about one. Mulder and Astrid stayed at the
hospital for the rest of the night. Astrid was tired but insisted on
staying, saying she had to be close to Erin. The only reason I dragged
Josh and myself home was because I knew we would have to relieve them
in the morning. That I didn’t get more than forty minutes sleep didn’t
help.  
I didn’t realise until that morning that we hadn’t informed Skinner of
anything that had happened. I rang through at seven, planning only on
leaving a message for him to call Mulder or I on our cell phones, but
he answered the phone himself. 
I’d had to explain the situation to Mom, Kathy and Jacqui yesterday, so
giving him the brief details and diagnosis wasn’t so hard. I could reel
it off now without even a hint of tears in my voice. It was the
sympathy in his voice, as it had been in Mom’s and Kathy’s and
Jacqui’s, that again was the hardest part. I’d cried on the phone to
Mom, no matter how much I’d tried to hold off, and the subsequent calls
to Jacqueline and Kathy were doomed from the start. Fortunately,
Skinner seemed to understand the need to be brief. He took it with the
same brisk officiality, but also the read-between-the-lines sympathy
and comfort he had offered on diagnosis of my own cancer years ago. We
were both granted leave for the rest of the week, and then we had to be
in his office Monday morning to work out a longer term plan with him. I
agreed, having absolutely no idea what we were going to do about work,
whether we would both continue, whether one - which one? - of us would
take take time off to care for Erin, during and after the chemo, at
least... but two or three *years*? Three years of time off and
treatment and sickness and disrupted schedules, disrupted lifestyle... 

Then I felt a cold shiver all over and I realised how very lucky we
would be to get those three years of pain and sickness and
hospitalization, because at the end of it, at least, the hell would be
over and we could live our lives again, all of us. 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

We set up a schedule for the following three days and two nights. The
kids were insistent that somebody be with Erin at all times and Scully
and I didn’t contest the decision. We would do six hour shifts in
pairs, Astrid and I, Josh and Scully. Four parents. We hadn’t wanted to
give the kids such heavy loads but they’d insisted they wanted to be
there, and I was grateful for Astrid’s company.  
We bought in a pile of books and toys and took turns during the shift
playing with her, reading her stories, trying to keep her happy. The
chemo had knocked her around but by the end of our afternoon shift she
was more awake. And *hungry*. It was a reaction to the Prednisone,
apparently, but after seeing her eat barely at all over the past week
to see her now downing an entire bag of potato chips in a matter of
minutes - Astrid had offered her *one* - was incredible. She was
gorging herself, and didn’t stop. I checked with the nurse who said it
was natural and announced that they would have her on the ‘Prednisone
diet’ from now. I understood what she meant when the dinner tray
arrived - the meal was huge. Erin discarded half of it, and devoured
the other half. She ate in one meal more than she’d eaten in the last
fortnight. 
It was both a reassuring and puzzling thing to watch. That she was
eating again and constantly hungry seemed to be a good sign, and yet
she looked ill, always as if she were about to throw up. I watched
every mouthful she took with apprehension, sure it would come back up
again in a matter of seconds, but the only times she vomited were when
she had to take the pills. 

How did this happen? The question kept rebounding in my brain, again
and again without ever being answered to my satisfaction. The staff had
heard that question a thousand times before. I got the ‘nobody is to
blame’ lecture, but I was far from reassured. Scully’s cancer had been
caused by removal of the implant. Had Erin had some sort of implant?
Could she have? But who would have implanted it? When? And when and why
had they removed it? There were far too questions, too few answers.  
Had this been somehow my fault? Scully’s fault? Had there been
something in our genes passed down to Erin? Mutated DNA? Had this been
Jacqueline’s fault? 

The last question stuck in my brain. Had Jacqueline done something
wrong, modified a gene she shouldn’t have? She’d worked magic to give
us Erin, but had that magic been flawed? If there had been other
children born to Jacqueline’s clients who also suffered this disease,
it would prove a fault on her behalf...  

I rang the clinic, feeling completely rational, not realising how very
wrong that judgement was. I got the flustered receptionist who was
sorry that my daughter had leukemia but couldn’t realise patient
information. I hardly noticed I was yelling at her until I felt a hand
on my back and the payphone was pulled from my hand and returned to the
hook. I hadn’t realised I was crying, either. 
“We can’t start blaming,” Scully whispered, rubbing my back. “It’s not
Jacqui’s fault, and it’s not our fault. These things just happen, and
they don’t always just happen to ‘other people’.” 

I was scared and upset but grateful that she understood. We’d all been
thrust into this strange world of sickness, drugs, pain, procedures,
crazy schedules. Hospital stays in the past couldn’t compare. Nothing
had ever swallowed our entire family and lives up like this. Never
before and, I prayed, never again. 
  

She released me. She and Josh had come up to relieve Astrid and I but I
wanted a few minutes more with Erin. She was asleep and I slumped in my
chair beside the bed just gazing at her. A hand was slipped into mine -
Astrid’s.  
“I know you’re scared, Daddy,” she whispered, squeezing my hand. “We
all are. That’s why we’re all here, so that we’re not scared alone.” 

I pulled her onto my lap, hugging her from behind. A childish
philosophy but I could personally validate it. “You’re a smart kid,
Astrid,” I said, with feeling. “You and Josh are really helping Mom and
I out. You know that, don’t you?” 

She wriggled around in my lap enough to look at me and give me a smile.
“We’re not just here for Erin, you know.” 

Damn smart kid. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

The feelings of nausea had been coming and going for days now, usually
accompanying the surges of utter panic I felt far too often. Our days
had become a blur of tears and lack of sleep and it was hardly
surprising that at times I found it hard simply to stand up straight.
I’d almost fainted before, which had scared me into drinking some
heavily-sugared coffee.  
I was sitting with Erin, smearing EMLA over her side to numb it for an
intramuscular injection she was having in two hours, when nausea hit
me, and this time I knew I couldn’t just hold on til it passed. I stood
up too quickly and my head spun. I took second to regain my balance and
then I almost ran to the nearest ladies’. I made it, but only just.  

I hadn’t had much except coffee all day and fortunately there wasn’t
much to come up. That didn’t stop me from feeling utterly lousy,
though. I collapsed on the floor, drawing heaving breaths, about to
dive for the toilet bowl again when I heard the door open. 
“Scully?” 

I groaned. There’d been a woman standing at the basins when I’d
entered. Was she still there? I prayed not. “Get out of here, Mulder.
I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

“Mulder, get out of here!” I repeated, frustrated. Several seconds of
deliberation on Mulder’s behalf and then the door shut. I felt bile
rise up in my throat and turned to vomit again. It was still only
morning and already this day couldn’t be over too soon. 
  
  

I’d expected Mulder to be waiting outside for me and he didn’t
disappoint. I’d taken the time to clean myself up, though I wished I
could rid my mouth of the horrible aftertaste. I kept my distance from
him as he followed me back to Erin’s room. Mom had brought Erin an
oversized basket of her favourite candies and I grabbed two, peeling
off the wrappers and tossing them down. They tasted terrible but I had
a third and the taste of vomit was all but gone. Thank God. 

“That’s only the first time you’ve been sick, right?” In other words,
you’re not keeping secrets from me, are you? 

“First time,” I promised. “And I’m fine. It’s just the stress. Lack of
sleep, too much takeout, far too much hospital coffee...” It had been
less than forty-eight hours since Erin’s diagnosis and we were already
crumbling.  

He nodded. “Kathy said she’d come sit with Erin for a while. I thought
the rest of us should get out of the hospital, just for a couple of
hours. Go home and try to get some sleep.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

I’d left Astrid at home, sleeping, and Josh was asleep in the chair by
Erin’s bed. We woke him up, knowing that he’d want to say goodbye to
Erin before leaving her, and he was asleep again in the car on the way
home. We put him to bed and Scully settled down too, but her efforts
proved unsuccessful. An hour after we’d gotten home she wandered out
into the kitchen, pouring herself some orange juice. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

“No. I can’t stop thinking.” 

“I know what you mean.” 

She planted herself in an armchair, taking a sip of the juice before
pushing it aside, rubbing her forehead. She looked a little better now.
“I don’t think I can just sit around here while Erin’s in hospital. I
can’t do nothing.” 

And so she rang her mother, asking Margaret to come mind the kids while
we went out. She had a key so we left immediately, leaving a note for
the kids explaining the situation in case they woke before Margaret
arrived. We tracked down the address of Kathleen Arden’s friend, Diana
Jefferson. She lived twenty minutes away.  

“Kathleen and I went to college together, majoring in graphic design,”
Diana explained. “We lost touch for a while after graduation - she
moved around a bit with different jobs. There were a couple of
different boyfriends, some more serious than others. Then there was
Rick. She sent me a letter announcing that they’d run away and gotten
married the day before. She said she was head over heels, that he was
‘the one’. I gathered from what she wrote that running away was the
only way to do it, but it was so unlike her. She never took risks like
that. But her father would have never approved of Rick.” 

“And this was when?” 

“I think it was November of ninety-three. I filed the letter somewhere,
if you want to know the exact date. But I’m pretty sure it was
November.” 

“What did you know about Rick?” 

“Not much. He was an artist, a little loopy, I think, but a lot of them
are. I guess his full name would have been Richard. Richard Arden.” 

I pushed on as Scully jotted down the name. “And he died?” 

“The day after I got her letter, Kathleen rang me. She was absolutely
distraught. He’d been in a car accident, killed instantly. They’d only
been married a couple of days.” 

“What happened then?” Scully asked. 

“She came home but I only saw her the once, then her father - and her
brother, too, I think - took her away. I’m not sure where she was - I
didn’t hear anything from her for months. Then she moved back here and
she seemed pretty okay. I mean, she still cried over it, but she got a
job near here and was living an ordinary enough life.” 

“What about her daughter, Ebony?” 

“Ebony was adopted - well, you know that already, huh? Kathleen’s
father managed it somehow. He’s a V-I-P, if you know what I mean.
Kathleen had been showing absolutely no interest in men since Rick’s
death and I think her father was worried about her life being so empty.
Kathleen said that Ebony had been abandoned - she was only a few weeks
old when Kathleen got her. It was love at first sight. It changed her
enormously.” 

“So she raised Ebony alone?” 

“I helped her out with babysitting from time to time and I think
Kathleen’s father gave her a lot of financial support. Kathleen had
quit her job but there was never any cash shortage. She gave Ebony
everything.” 

“You mentioned a brother. Was he around?” 

“Her brother? No, I think he lived out west somewhere. Kathleen never
really mentioned him, though from some of the photos I saw onceI
thought maybe they’d been close. I didn’t meet him til her funeral.” 

“So Ebony’s childhood was ...ordinary?” 

“Sure. She was a sweet kid. I used to play peek-a-boo with her, then
later hide and seek. I gave her a kitten - she loved it to bits.
Snowball, I think it was called, because it was white.” 

“What about Kathleen’s death?” 

“That was just before Christmas, ninety-nine. She was sick for a while
before that, though not for long. It all happened pretty quick, you
know? It was a late diagnosis - Kathleen hated going to the doctor. It
was pretty scary for Ebony, her momma going into hospital and not
coming out again.” 

“Who cared for Ebony during this time?” 

“Kathleen’s father organised a live-in housekeeper/nanny sort of woman,
I don’t remember her name. Ebony kept going to preschool for a while
but then she was pulled out. I visited Kathleen a couple of times a
week and tried to take Ebony up with me as often as possible. Kathleen
was desperate to see her.” 

“And when Kathleen ...died?” It wasn’t a word I wanted to use right
there and then. I didn’t want to be discussing hospitalization and
cancer and death, no matter how unrelated it was from Erin.  

Diana stretched her fingers as she thought. “Ebony was with her at the
end. So was her dad. I’d been there earlier in the day but it was
pretty tough and... well, it was family time, right? The hospital
called the next morning to tell me that she was gone and I went over to
her place to see if I could help out with Ebony, but there was nobody
home. I tried again later in the afternoon and again the next day but
it looked like already they’d gone for good. I didn’t ever see Ebony
after that.” 

“There was no funeral?” 

“Oh yeah, there was. Kathleen had quite a lot of friends and coworkers.
It was a nice service, as nice as funerals go, anyhow. Her father was
there and her brother had flown down, though neither of them spoke at
the funeral. Too upset, I guess.” 

“Ebony wasn’t there?” 

“No.” 

“You didn’t think that was unusual?” 

“I spoke with her dad and brother at the funeral - they explained that
they’d wanted to keep her away from it all. She’d said goodbye to
Kathleen, she’d been through enough. She was only four, you know.
That’s a hell of a traumatic experience for a four year old.” 

“Did they say where Ebony was?” 

“Kathleen’s brother - God, I don’t remember her brother. I think it was
Robert. Or Alan. Something like that. Anyway, apparently Kathleen had
left him custody of Ebony. I guess her dad was getting a bit old to
take care of her. He said that his wife had already taken her back to
wherever it was they lived. He wrote down their number so that I could
keep in touch but then when I called it was a wrong number, so maybe
they’d moved or changed it.” 

“Can you tell us anything about Kathleen’s brother? Description of any
sort?” 

“I’d never met him before... I met a lot of new faces that day and I
have a bad habit of forgetting or confusing faces. I think he was the
one with the funny accent. British or something, but he was trying to
disguise it. I guessed maybe it embarrassed him. He was a charming guy,
though.” 

“Tall, short, dark, fair...?” I pressed. 

She squinted, trying to remember. “Average height, I think. A bit
taller than me, maybe. Average build... like he worked out, but not
excessively.” Her face lit up in rememberance. “I got some video during
the wake. I was hoping to get some of Ebony but she wasn’t there, of
course. But I got some of pretty much everybody there. John and whatsi
must be on there somewhere.” 

“John?” 

“Kathleen’s father. John Reilly.”  

Scully jotted down the name, then looked up to ask. “You still have the
footage from the wake?” 

“I guess so. I might not have unpacked it yet, though - I moved house
about six months ago and there’s still a whole pile of boxes I’ve got
in storage at my parents’ house.” 

I handed her a card. “Can you send it to us as soon as you find it? It
would really help us.” 

She nodded. “You don’t really think Ebony was an abducted child, do
you? Kathleen would never have accepted her if she knew that. She
thought she was doing the right thing, looking after an abandoned
baby.” 

“We’re still investigating at the moment,” I hedged. “If you could send
that tape along as soon as possible...” 

She nodded again, standing as we rose to leave. “Oh - I’ve got a photo
of Kathy if you’re interested. It’s quite an old one, from when Ebony
was a baby, but she didn’t change much. You’ve probably already got a
more recent photo but if you’d like I could lend it to you -” 

“We’d appreciate that.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

Dana e-mailed the photo through and I stared at it on the screen as the
colour printer warmed up. So this was the woman who had been Ebony’s
mother. Kathleen Arden, nee Reilly. She looked so... ordinary. Young
and happy. She had a baby blanket slung over her shoulder but there was
no baby in the picture, and for that much I was grateful. It would be
too weird. 

I took the printed page, still warm, into Ebony’s room. “Hey, Ebs, I’ve
got something I want to show you.” 

I’m not really sure what reaction I’d expected from Ebony. I guess I’d
naively assumed she’d be happy to have a photo of her mother, that
she’d been curious in the same way I was. I couldn’t have been more
wrong, it seemed. 

She stared at it dumbly at first, then took the page from my hands,
almost convulsing with suppressed emotion. I knelt down, trying to ease
the page from her hand to hug her, but she pushed me away, hitting my
face in the process, and ran off. Grae caught her as he entered the
room, grabbing her around the waist to stop her. She screamed, a
high-pitched shriek, kicking at him to let her go. He seemed too
stunned to do otherwise and lowered her to the ground. She collapsed to
the ground in tears and half-ran, half-crawled out of the room. 

“What the hell was that about?!” he demanded, watching her go. 

I went into the lounge room silently picked up a second print-off and
handed it to him. His eyes narrowed and I could see his muscles tensing
as he looked at the picture. He looked up at me slowly and I could see
the anger in his eyes. “Where did you get this?” 

“I-” 

“Where?!!” He roared the word and I took a step back. 

“Dana and Fox sent it to me. It’s a photo of Ebony’s mother.” 

“Why the *hell* didn’t you show it to me first? What made you think you
should show Ebony a photo of her dead mother!? Jesus, Jacqui!” 

I drew a breath, shaken by his shouting. “I didn’t think she’d react in
that way. I thought maybe she’d be okay with it.” 

“Did she *look* okay with it to you?!” 

Grae had been yelling too loudly. Noah started crying. 
“You go see if Ebony is okay,” I told him coldly. “I’m going to try and
get Noah back to sleep.” 

His face was flushed with anger, resentment. I knew what he was
thinking. 

I stared him down, then spoke with an air of finality, knowing my words
would sting most if delivered coolly, unemotionally. “I never should
have married you, either.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

Mom had told me that she was taking the kids up to sit with Erin in the
afternoon, which gave us another hour or so if we wanted to keep
working. I felt terrible every second I was away from Erin, but no less
so than I would if I were sitting by her side, listening to her cry.
The hospital environment itself created stress, and we needed the time
out. The distractions of the investigation were undeniably doing us
good and I kept telling myself that, no matter how untrue it seemed and
how I longed for my life to return to normal.  
Diana Jefferson had given us the location of Kathleen Arden’s grave and
we headed out there. A cemetary maybe wasn’t the best place to be at
that time in our lives. I could almost see us all standing around in
black, Mulder and I and Astrid and Josh and Mom, watching as the
child-sized coffin was lowered into the ground. I was stunned that I
was even thinking such thoughts and shoved them away guiltily, hating
myself for thinking so negatively, shuddering with the idea that the
vision could come true. Oh God, I moaned silently. I don’t think I can
go on...  

Mulder nudged me. “The plot’s right over the far side.” 

My feet followed on their own accord. We found the grave - the
headstone was impossible to miss. Expensive. Who had paid for it?  

We tracked down the funeral home and discovered that the headstone had
been ordered and signed for by John M Reilly, Kathleen’s father. It
fitted with all we’d heard so far, but didn’t give us any new
information.  
The decision was mutual and unspoken. Time to give up for the day. We
needed to be with Erin. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

It was Thursday. Erin was coming home that afternoon, and that meant
spring cleaning. Kathy was up sitting with her again, and Scully,
Astrid, Josh and I spent the day scrubbing the house down. We moved all
the potted plants outside, washed the curtains and sofa cushions and
all the bedsheets and Erin’s clothes. We cleaned her room thoroughly -
twice. We bought an air purifier and cleaned it out thoroughly too.
Antibacterial soap at every basin, paper towelling instead of
handtowels, a high shelf cleared in Erin’s room for all her meds. We’d
been ignoring the fridge for most of the week and had to toss out half
the contents and restock it with fresh fruit and vegetables. Erin
picked up infections and viruses easily enough as it was, and now her
immune system was being weakened we weren’t going to take any risks. 

We fought over who would bring Erin home from the hospital. It was
childish but we both wanted to be the one to bring her back home, even
though it was the first, not the last, time we would bring her home
from hospital after treatment. Eventually we resolved that whoever was
with her when the doctors decided it was safe for her to leave had the
job of bringing home baby, medications, and evergrowing collection of
toys and clothes and candies. 

That ended up being Scully and Josh. I was relieved things had ended up
that way when Scully listed off all the last-minute instructions from
staff that she’d been sent home with - the medical jargon would have
been too much for me.  
Erin was asleep when Scully carried her in. We were all there, all
wanted to be comfort her and take care of her, and she just slept. When
she eventually woke up she didn’t want us, she only wanted food. She’d
been increasingly picky despite the big meals she’d eaten and after
refusing half a dozen healthy, balanced meal ideas we let her have free
run of the pantry. She ate through an entire packet of salted peanuts.
We were still familiarising ourselves with the strange eating habits
brought on by the prednisone and tried to stop her halfway through the
packet, but she threw a tantrum and we let her finish. When she decided
half an hour later that she wanted cheese - one of the items we hadn’t
replaced in the fridge - Scully was sent to buy it. There was a
24-hours groceries place only a few blocks away and was starting to
wonder what was taking so long when I saw her smuggle in a white box.
It was Thursday the thirteenth of October. My birthday. We would
usually go out somewhere, but this year the plans had been shelved
without hesitation. I hadn’t expected even a cake. 

Erin ate several handfuls of cheese cubes and fell asleep on the couch.
We left her there as the kids and Scully sang happy birthday and I blew
out the candle. Only one candle, but I only had one wish. May my little
girl grow up big and healthy.  

Scully slipped her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my
side and I held her close. Just hold on to me, Scully. We just need to
hold onto each other and we’ll get through it all. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

Grae was gone when I woke for Noah’s three am feeding. I went in search
of him and found him in the first place I looked - Ebony’s bedroom. 
She had fallen asleep earlier with the crumpled printout of her
mother’s photo in her hands, hugged against her chest like a teddybear.
Grae sat on the edge of the bed. He’d eased the page from Ebony’s grip
and gazed at it in the glow of the nightlight, face troubled, a little
wistful. 

I was going to say something but no words came. I backed out of the
room as silently as I’d entered, feeling worry settle its heavy weight
on me. I wished that I hadn’t reintroduced Ebony’s mother to the
situation, that I’d thanked Dana for sending me the picture and then
quietly deleted the file. I didn’t want to bring in new troubles when
there were already enough. Grae’s behaviour, Ebony’s silence, and now
Erin... the full impact of that hadn’t yet hit me and I was thankful
for it.  

I went into Noah’s room. He was awake and gazed up at me, reaching with
a socked hand to irritably rub his eye. He’d had a bad rash ever since
he was born and that was the only way we could keep him from breaking
the skin with his nails when he scratched his face in his sleep. I
picked him up and escaped out onto the verandah, settling down on the
couch to feed him. He was a docile enough baby, falling half asleep as
he sucked away. I slipped the sock off his hand to let him wrap his
fingers around my pinkie, singing softly as I did.  

“Hey.”  

I almost jumped at the sound of Grae’s voice. Noah lost the nipple and
let out a short cry before finding it again. I stroked his forehead to
calm him, an apology for the disruption. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

“Just felt like some fresh air. Stars. The usual.” I tried to sound
lighthearted though I felt nothing of the sort. It wasn’t the argument
before that had me down - that was long over with. He’d stomped off in
one direction, I’d stomped off in the other, and an hour later he’d
returned, contrite, handing me a small bunch of flowers he’d pulled
from the front fence. It was what I’d just witnessed and my lack of
understanding of him that now made my head ache.  

“I woke up and you were gone,” he remarked.  

I wondered for a split second whether to call his bluff or not. I
decided against it without really knowing why, and remained silent.  

He sat next to me on the couch. “You’re keeping your distance from me
lately, pumpkin. What’s wrong?” 

I hadn’t been keeping my distance from him - he had been keeping his
distance from me. Did he not see that or was he simply trying to put
the guilt on my shoulders? But I didn’t want to dispute the point. I
felt suddenly tired. Arguing with Grae always wore me out and created
some inexplicable, irresistible need for his comfort. 

“I miss your mind,” he murmured. “I miss hearing all those incredible
thoughts that bubble in your brain.” 

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, and I meant it. I rested my head on his
shoulder and he kissed my forehead.  

“It’s a good thing he’s a boy,” Grae murmured, touching Noah’s forehead
lightly. “I’ve already got two little girls. That’s enough.” He paused.
“That was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.” He petted my forehead as
he had Noah’s. “Time to get you back to bed, huh?” 

Noah was still sucking. “Nearly finished.” 

Grae rose to leave but I reached to stop him. “Sit with me,” I said
gently, longing to recapture that incredible rush of our minds
clicking, to reaffirm the intellectual equality between us. “Reaquaint
yourself with my mind.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

I gazed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Was I really that
colour, or was it just the lighting? I ducked my head again, splashing
water over my face, on the back of my neck, my wrists, trying to rid
myself of the unpleasant sensation, the heat searing my skin from the
insides, the nauseating feeling of my stomach lurching. I gripped the
edge of the basin, my arms weak and rubbery, continuing to splash cool
water over my face with my free hand.  
It was several minutes before I felt brave enough to leave the running
water and sit myself on the rim of the bathtub. I was still wet from
the shower and finished drying my limbs as I sat there, trying my
damndest to block everything else from my mind and just breathe,
knowing that whatever my mind strayed to would only bring on the nausea
again.  

A knock. “Scully?” 

I pressed the bathtowel against my face briefly before lifting my head
to answer. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve found something.” 

Found something. Something what? Weary, at that moment I didn’t care.
All I wanted to do was keep the nausea at bay. Every moment I succeeded
in that was relief, every moment I failed, misery. 
“I’ll be right out,” I called, again letting my face sink into the soft
fabric of the towel, closing my eyes, and limiting the world to the
once-simple processes of breathing. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

I’d remotely logged into the FBI database to look up Kathleen Arden and
see what confirmation I could find of what we’d been told. I’d woken
early and, waiting restlessly for everybody else to wake up for the
day, decided to use the time more constructively - and, hopefully,
distract myself, if for only a few minutes. 
What I’d found had, at first, seemed to corroborate the stories we’d
heard. Online records confirmed Kathleen’s father as being a John
Morris Reilly, her mother an Elizabeth Gwenyth Morrow, who died from
complications in Kathleen’s birth, in 1969.  
But no brother was listed. That was what I had called Scully for, but
by the time she appeared beside me I had found something far more
noteworthy - a photograph of John Reilly, better known to Scully and I
as the smoking man.  

“Oh my God,” she murmured, stunned. 

We were both still trying to process the revelation when we heard a cry
of “Mommeeeeeee.” Scully took off to tend to Erin and I closed the
laptop roughly, pushing it away from me with sudden revulsion.  

The day was beyond description. By midday I felt it should surely be
getting dark outside, every hour stretched so long. Erin was had never
been so difficult. Moodswings, listlessness and hyperactivity,
irritability, tantrums, tired but wouldn’t sleep, and when she did
finally have her afternoon nap she woke up and cried for an hour
because of the nightmares. Grumpy and demanding, pinching and biting us
when we tried to cuddle her, even Astrid and Josh. The food cravings
became obsessions - she wanted cheese, only cheese, and more cheese.
Then early afternoon she abandoned the cheese and stole a loaf of
bread, hiding under the kitchen table as she eat through it, piece by
piece, leaving the crusts of every piece. We were trying to keep the
ordinary boundaries and rules, but none of us had the heart to punish
her. We just kept counting to five, praying that she would obey and we
wouldn’t have to discipline. Every second of the day we had to watch
her, stop her from misbehaving, stop her from hurting herself. She was
constantly on the move, whether it be in mischief or anger or in search
of a hug.  
By late afternoon she’d worn herself out enough and fell asleep on the
couch, half buried under cushions. I crouched beside her for several
minutes just watching, immeasurably relieved that she’d finally
stopped, hopeful that this behaviour would calm as we all settled into
the situation.  

Scully was at the kitchen table going through one of the articles the
kids had printed off and added to the already tall pile of literature,
firsthand accounts of going through leukemia, guides for parents on
everything from diet to remembering the sick child’s siblings, stories
from sufferers of the cancer themselves, their siblings, parents and
doctors. I sorted through to find some articles I hadn’t yet read and
retreated to the bedroom to plough through them, hilighting the
relevant or useful comments I found.  

I must have been reading for almost an hour when Scully called me. I
traced her voice to Erin’s room and found that she had tucked Erin into
bed and was gazing at something stuck to the wall above the crib, one
hand absently dangling into the crib, stroking Erin’s flushed cheek. 

“What is it?” 

She glanced across at me. “A poem.” 

“A Josh poem?” 

She nodded and I moved closer, reading the poem silently in the dim
light of the bedside lamp.  
  

For My Sister 

Sometimes you are cranky 
And sometimes you are sad 
But we know that you still love us all 
Even when you’re mad. 

You break our things and pull our hair 
And still get gifts galore 
You bite us when we try to hug you 
And we love you even more. 

We know what’s going on is scary 
And you just don’t understand 
But please remember that we’re all here 
When you need a helping hand.  
  

“It’s sweet,” Scully murmured.  

“He knows what’s going on,” I agreed, touched by the quiet simplicity
of Josh’s action.  

She touched my arm. “Could you start dinner?” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. I thought I’d just try and get some rest while I could. Who
knows how long Erin will sleep for...” She’d woken every couple of
hours last night, wanting food, feeling sick, scared by nightmares.
We’d both need to get some rest before we could deal with another night
of that.  

I watched her go, taking a moment in the ensuing silence to enjoy
Erin’s peaceful sleep, wanting to pick her up and hold her but knowing
I would regret it more if I disturbed her. My gaze drifted to her
stuffed toy monkey and I picked it up, putting it under her arm. She
stirred, getting a grip on it, pulling it against her. I wished that I
could just stay there, watch every action, every expression on her
face, record it all in my mind so that I could never forget her, if -
.. If. 

I forced myself to leave, knowing that Josh and Astrid would be hungry
for dinner soon, and as self-sufficient as they were they still needed
us looking after them. I was pulling a casserole from the freezer to
defrost when Astrid called out to me, asking me if I was finished what
I was doing on the laptop and if she could use it.  
I stopped, trying to remember when I’d used the computer. Then it
struck me and I almost laughed. We’d uncovered a key piece to the
puzzle and it had completely slipped our minds the moment we abandoned
it for Erin. Was that the way of the future? 

“Give me ten minutes,” I told her. We should get hardcopies of the
data, just to be safe. 
I tossed the casserole in the microwave to defrost and switched on the
printer, plugging it into the laptop. The session had timed out, almost
twelve hours ago, I noted, shaking my head with incredulity as I
restarted the computer. My priorities had been blitzed. Now, it seemed,
the investigation and exposure of global conspiracies ran second to 
comforting my sick little girl.  
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

“They’re onto us... damnit! Somebody’s been watching us, leaking the
information...” 

“What information?” I stared at Mulder tiredly. I’d been asleep when
he’d dragged me out of bed and was still at a loss when it came to
whatever he was in such a frenzy about.  

He pulled me over to the kitchen table, sat me down, and put the laptop
in front of me. “They’ve changed the picture,” he said, sounding
disgusted.  “... The photo of the smoking man is gone.” 

He was right. The photograph on the screen was labelled John M Reilly
but now showed a round, earnest, bespectacled face. I gazed at it,
trying to comprehend how and why the change had been made, my mind
still sluggish with sleep, my head starting to pound.  
“That means that somebody knows what we’re up to.” I considered it.
“They could have seen you log in this morning.” 

He chewed over the point, frowning. “Or else they could have found out
from somebody that we’ve been looking around.” 

“Who?” 

“The teacher, Diana Jefferson, somebody at the cemetary...”  

None seemed very likely. “And if it’s not them, it’s somebody else who
is likely to erase any other evidence we might find.” 

“So what do we do?” 

I shrugged. “Diana said she’d send us a videotape. I think the sooner
we get a copy in our possession the better. It’s not too late to call
and warn her that we might not be the only ones after the tape...” 

“Before it also gets magically altered, you mean,” he muttered dryly,
closing the file and logging out of the online connection.  

I pushed my chair back and stood. “I’ll call her. We should get copies
made of all our files made as soon as possible, too. Just in case.” 

I pushed the chair back in and paused for a second as my head spun. It
seemed to pass and I headed over to the phone, but the dizziness hit me
harder than ever and I tripped as the floor fell away from under me. I
grabbed for a handhold. Mulder grabbed my arm, holding me steady. I
gripped onto him with both hands as I waited for the spinning to stop,
lightheaded and a little nauseous, then gingerly let go with one hand,
reaching out, steadying myself. “I’m okay.” 

“Sure?” 

“I just lost my balance.” I let go of him completely, although I wasn’t
really sure that my legs would hold me. “I’m fine.” 

I wasn’t, of course, but I didn’t want to worry him over nothing. “I
think I might take a quick shower before dinner.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

She had another dizzy-spell in the bathroom. I barely heard the thump
over the spitting shower, but her weak cry of "Mulder" sent me bursting
in there. She stood there naked, all sudsy and dripping wet, one hand
to her forehead, the other braced against the wall to balance herself.
She looked dazed. I reached to cut the water and grabbed her fluffy
bathtowel from the rack, wrapping it around her shoulders and gently
pushing her down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, crouching in front
of her. I eased her hand away from her forehead. There was no blood,
but already a bruise was starting to form. "What happened?" I asked
gently. 

“Same as before. I dropped the soap and reached down to pick it up
again. I stood up too fast, I guess. I lost my footing and I slipped.” 

“You going to try and tell me again that you’re fine?” 

Weak smile. “No.” Smile vanished, she looked sober and worried once
more, trying unsuccessfully to shrug it off. “I’m a little... very...
vertiginous. Bad diet, lack of sleep, that’s all. We should really
start eating better, all of us.” 
She pushed me back a little to stand, hand braced on the wall again.
“I’ll be okay to finish my shower.” 

I felt sure that it would happen again if I let her be, but I didn’t
really have much choice in the matter, that was clear enough from her
determined expression. I talked her into letting me put the baby
monitor in the bathroom to keep an ear on her; she went along with the
suggestion only to humour me, she said, but I felt sure that she was
relieved by the suggestion. Despite my certainty, though, she finished
the shower and dressed without further incident.  

Dinner was lively enough despite Erin’s absence. It was the closest
we’d come to a real family dinner since before the diagnosis and
reassuringly relaxing. Astrid had been doing some research of her own
online and presented us with several pages of information about new
experimental leukemia treatments. Most of them wouldn’t be approved for
human trials for several years, but the disease itself had suddenly
become such a focus in our lives that the information was still
relevant, some of it particularly fascinating. The discussion of the
experimental treatments lasted through dinner and beyond, and it was
almost nine by the time Astrid tired of the topic and the table was
cleared.  
We were rinsing all dishes and stacking the dishwasher when I noticed
how flushed Scully had gotten. She offered me a rinsed plate to put in
the dishwasher and I saw how her hand shook as she held it. 
“You’re shaking.” 

She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’ll pass.” 

“Sit down. I’ll finish up.” 

She nodded, cutting the running water and drying her hands on the
dishtowel. I wiped my own on my jeans, reaching to touch her forehead. 

“You’re a little feverish.” 

“I’m cold.”  

I held her close, rubbing her bare arms. She leaned against me with a
small sigh. “Thank you.” 
  

I settled her down on the couch with the TV on, tugging a blanket
around her. After finishing stacking the dishwasher I switched it on,
listening to the steady hum as I sat on the edge of the couch beside
her. She’d muted the TV completely, to listen to me, maybe. 
  

We lay there together in the dark, my arms around her, the blanket
still wrapped firmly around her, around me as much as it would stretch.
I nudged the top of her head with my chin. “You wanna tell me what’s
up?” 

“I really don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s probably just a stomach bug.
We’ve both read the literature... it’s common for parents to experience
physical illness in such a stressful time. And with the smoking man’s
link to Ebony - and thereby to Astrid and Josh and Jacqui... It’s big,
Mulder. There’s a lot of really big things going on.” 

I was still doubtful. “You’d tell me if it was serious, wouldn’t you?” 

“You’ll know when I do,” she promised. 
  

She fell asleep with me there and I carried her into our room, taking a
moment to gaze at her face as she slept, the freckles, the skin tones
too exquisitely fluid for even a master painter to capture. I loved the
way she slept, the way she would curl up, and loved the fact that I was
allowed to slide right in next to her, that I belonged right there.  

I left to put the kids to bed, and had only just climbed into bed
beside Scully, claimed my place, when I heard Erin cry. It turned out
to be a dirty diaper, a *very* dirty diaper. Erin had diarrhea. Just
great.  
I took care of it with minimal wincing, talking to Erin as I did. Or,
to be more specific, listening as Erin demanded. She wanted corn. It
was as if her vocubulary had shrunk to just two words: ‘corn’ and
‘now’. I told her she could have some corn in the morning. She cried
and said she wanted it NOW. I told her in the morning. She said NOW. It
became clear enough that I wasn’t going to win the situation, and the
longer the argument went on, the more upset she became. 

“Is she okay?” Scully stood in the doorway, one hand to her mouth as
she yawned.  

“She wants corn,” I announced, not sure what to make of the bizarre
craving. Ordinarily she refused to touch any sort of corn. 

And so we gave her some tinned corn. She ate half of the ‘family sized’
tin before falling asleep again, and then she woke again at two and ate
the second half. I didn’t even want to think about dealing with diapers
after that, but I didn’t have much choice when she was up again at
five-thirty with a very full diaper and an appetite. Not for corn,
fortunately, because we had had only that one tin, but for Tostitos.
She wanted “teetows”. She *needed* “teetows”. In her eyes, everything
depended on her being able to have Tostitos. She was wailing,
panicking, literally desperate for it.  
Scully and I flipped a coin. She jogged down to the store and bought
two large packets of plain Tostitos, I changed the diaper. We would
have to start alternating who tended Erin, I realised. We couldn’t both
be up almost all night. It was too much. 

Erin devoured two thirds of the first Tostitos packet, Scully and I
finished it off, to keep ourselves awake if nothing else. Little did we
know that over the following months Erin’s diet would consist of little
more than corn, Tostitos, cheese, plain toast and Chinese food.  
Astrid, Josh, Scully and I were hungry for as much information as we
could find about the disease. Erin was simply hungry.  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

“He doesn’t look a bit like Grae,” Suzie remarked as she held Noah up
on her lap. “I keep waiting for some sort of resemblance to show up but
he just looks more and more like you every day.” 

“I’ve got a lot of dominating genes, I guess,” was my reply as I
flipped another page. I held on my lap a thick old album, family photos
from Grae’s childhood onward. Grae at high school graduation with
parents on either side. I stared at his mother’s smiling face. What
would she have thought of me? What advice would she have given me on
handling her son’s behaviour? A mother would know that best, if she
knew her son. 
I turned the page and a strip of paper fell on my lap. I picked it up
and flipped it over before realising what it was and almost laughing.
It was a series of photos taken in one of those polaroid booths, a guy
and a girl. Judging from the clothing and hairstyles and Grae’s
ridiculous mustache it must have been taken at least fifteen years ago.
I laughed aloud. 

“What’s so funny?” 

I held up the pictures for Suzie to see and she grinned. “Ah, the evil
eighties. You wouldn’t believe how great he thought he looked with that
mustache.” 

“I’ll bet.” I looked closer at it, amused, sucking in every detail of
Grae before I really even looked at the girl. “Who’s she?” 

“That’s a girl he dated in America. They were together for about two or
three years while he was over there, but after he came back here more
permanently she broke it off.” 

There was something vaguely familiar about the girl’s face. Maybe I’d
seen a photo of her before in the house... or even seen the woman
herself some time during my life. It wasn’t impossible, though it was
strange. “What was her name?” 

“God, ummm... Katie something. Leigh.. Raleigh... Raidy... something.” 

My stomach lurched and I broke out in a cold sweat as it hit me.
“Reilly? Kathleen Reilly?” 

“Yeah. Did you know her?” 

“She became Kathleen Arden,” I said quietly, my mind roaring with the
implications. “She was Ebony’s adoptive mother.” 

Suzie stared at me, surprised. “Huh. It’s a small world after all...” 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

Erin was having trouble breathing. It was a reaction to the
intramuscular injection of L-Asparaginase she’d just been given, and
although I understood that as a doctor and concurred with Dr Carson’s
suggestion that we try her on Erwinia asparaginasa next time, as a
mother I was near panic. Watching your child struggling to breathe will
do that to you. Josh had already left the room, unable to cope with
it.  

I’d promised Mulder that I’d see a doctor while I was at the hospital
but I refused to leave Erin’s side right then. She was drawing rasping
breaths and crying, panicking. I talked to her, held her, but nothing
would calm her and my head was pounding with the effort.  
I went out to get a nurse to give Erin some oxygen. Mulder was waiting
outside and shot me an anxious look before following the nurse into
Erin’s room. I leaned against the corridor wall, dizzy and emotionally
overwhelmed, my head still pounding and spinning, a prickling heat
surging over my skin, threatening to swamp me. 

Astrid was a few feet away, gazing at me with a worried frown. I pushed
myself away from the wall, wanting to go to her, but the ground under
me seemed to fall away and darkness closed in on me, slowly, creeping
in from the edges of my vision and swallowing it all up.  
“Mommy...?” In the black I could hear Astrid’s voice echoing among the
familiar sounds of the hospital. “Mommy?! Daddy!!” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

“Astrid!” She called the name, panicky, her eyes flying open. One
second peacefully asleep, the next sitting bolt upright, staring around
in confusion. “Astrid...” 

“She’s in with Erin.” 

She gazed around, taking in the room before her dazed eyes settled on
my face. “I collapsed...?” 

I nodded and she frowned. I pushed her back down on the bed, brushing
her hair back from her face. “In the hallway. Do you remember?” 

“A little. Erin was having trouble breathing... Is she -” 

“She’s okay now. They gave her something. She’s sleeping.” 

That calmed her a little. She exhaled shakily, relief crossing her face
briefly before consternation set in again. “So... what’s wrong with
me?” 

“They think it’s just exhaustion,” I answered honestly, adding
reluctantly, “but keeping in mind your history they’ve run some tests.”

“They think it’s my cancer?” 

“They can’t rule it out til they get the blood tests back,” I admitted.
That it could be her cancer again was impossible. How would we cope
with that? 

She nodded, face grave. 

“Astrid said you just blacked out,” I told her quietly. “She yelled for
me and caught you as you fell. Well, kinda. She’s a strong kid.” I
added, gently remonstrative, “You said you’d get yourself checked out
while you were here.” 

“I was going to, but Erin wouldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t leave her. .
. Mulder, what if it is the cancer?”” 

I had no words of encouragement. I could only shrug, helpless. She
nodded, face crumpling. I sat on the bed beside her and we held onto
each other with a desperation born of mortal fear. 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

The ER doc studied my chart, flipping back and forth between pages
several times before feeling my eyes on her. “Ah, you’re awake.” 

Mulder was sitting on the bed with me and I had been laying with my
head in his lap, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I hefted
myself up, feeling Mulder’s arms wrap around me from behind. I loved
him immensely for it. “Is it the cancer?” 

“No, there’s no sign of any cancer cells in your body, nor does the MRI
reveal any tumors. You’re fine in that department.” 

I felt the shudder of relief go through Mulder’s body, the kiss he laid
on my hair. But I was far from mollified. “But?” 

“I understand that the situation with your daughter’s leukemia is
stressful but you’ve got to start taking better care of yourself, Dana.
Now, I’ve asked a nutritionist from OB to come down and speak to you
and she’ll probably want to put you on a course of pre-natal vitamins
-” 

“What?” 

She glanced at Mulder, then at me. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

“What?” I repeated. 

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Four or five weeks, I’d guess - we’ll need to
do an ultrasound to verify that.” 

She may as well have told me I had three heads. I stared at her warily,
overwhelmed by the very idea, fighting to stop myself from wanting to
believe it. “That’s not possible.” 

I kept protesting right up til the moment I saw the small mass on the
ultrasound, and even then I couldn’t process it. The OB-GYN, Dr
Michaels, left to confer with Erin’s doctor and Mulder and I simply
looked at each other, unable to formulate a response to the news.
Should we be joyous? I wondered. But we weren’t. We were still sitting
there in silence when Dr Michaels returned to deliver the news: some of
the chemicals used in Erin’s chemo were extremely harmful to me ‘in my
condition’. I had to keep away from all vomit, saliva and diapers, take
extraordinary precautions, and I couldn’t even go near Erin during the
treatments because one of the drugs in particular would harm the fetus
and could be absorbed through the skin into the bloodstream if anything
landed on me. It could mean the end of this baby. Dr Michaels said that
these precautions would have to upheld stringently, and quietly
suggested that the alternative of termination was available, and in our
situation with Erin it was the ‘easiest’ course of action. We were left
alone to make a decision. 

Mulder jumped up and started pacing the moment the door closed. “This
is unbelieveable...” he muttered. 

I understood his reaction, even though the anger hurt. This was the
worst possible time to get pregnant - not just because of Erin,
although that was a huge part of it, but because we had neither the
time nor the money for another child. Work hadn’t been great, either,
since our last case. Too many cases lately had been unsolveable, and
now with Erin being sick we were going to be taking a lot more time
off. I understood his anger, his frustration, but I don’t think he had
that tiny seed of joy in his heart that I did.  

“We weren’t using protection,” he muttered, jaw set. 

“We didn’t think we needed it,” I shrugged, trying to be rational. “We
didn’t think this could happen.” 

He shook his head, gesturing helplessly. “We don’t *need* this. We
don’t need another kid.” We had Josh and Astrid and we had our little
baby girl. We’d never planned for more, and all our efforts accordingly
had gone into Erin. Life was good as it was, or, at least, as it had
been before Erin’s diagnosis. We hadn’t planned to go back to pregnancy
and go through the entire process again. And yet... 

“Mulder, what if this is... a miracle?” 

He looked at me unhappily and I hastened to explain. “That I would ever
naturally get pregnant was impossible. You know that. And yet... the
impossible has happened.” 

“A miracle.” 

I shrugged. “Maybe.” Something that was meant to be. “Besides,” I
added, trying to sound more certain of myself. “I don’t believe in
abortion. I don’t believe in killing a living being unjustly.” 

He stood with his back to the wall, gazing at me from several feet
away. “So you want to keep it.” 

“I don’t think I could live with myself if we threw away this
opportunity,” I said slowly, remembering how he had looked at Erin for
the first time. She wasn’t just a baby, she was *Erin*. And this, too,
wasn’t just a collection of cells. It was a baby who would grow up with
just as many little quirks as Erin had, who would inherit
characteristics and mannerisms from me and Mulder, who would be spoiled
rotten by Josh and Astrid. A little brother or sister for Erin, a
sibling like herself, a child to play silly childish games with, not
half-adult like Josh or Astrid.  
“I want to keep it.” 

He nodded slowly. I felt certain, absolutely, that I had made the right
decision, but the consequences of it were heartbreaking. I wouldn’t be
able to be around Erin when she really needed me. I wouldn’t get the
comfort of being able to make her feel better with a hug or cuddle. 

“What if she doesn’t get better and I can’t hold her?” I wondered
aloud, a lump in my throat at the agonizing thought. “If we lose her
and I’ve never had the chance to hold her again?” Oh God. Could there
be anything more terrible? 

Mulder came closer, drawing me against his chest. “Erin’s going to get
better. But you’ve got to promise me that if we’re keeping this baby,
you’re going to do everything you have to do to keep it safe.
Absolutely no risks.” 

I nodded, wondering how I was going to humanly accomplish that. “I’m
the only one who knows how Erin feels.” I sniffed back tears uselessly.
“And I can’t be there... There’s no justice in this world, Mulder.” 

“We’re just going to keep fighting,” was his muttered reply. He pulled
away from me and left the room. 

I felt exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster but insisted of being
discharged. I was given a bottle of pills and told to go home and rest.
I went upstairs to go see Erin. 

“Don’t get too close,” Mulder reminded me, following me into the room
where Astrid and Josh were playing with Erin. 

“I’m still allowed to sit with her, right?” I demanded, already feeling
suffocated by the tight restrictions now upon me.  

He held my gaze, dark but unflinching. I nodded. He was right. I’d made
him a promise and I had to honour it. “I’ll keep my distance,” I
promised. As if to demonstrate, I dragged the chair a good foot back
from the bed. We’d have to tell Josh and Astrid soon, I knew, although
I could tell from the looks they shot us that they were already very
much aware of the situation. Erin wouldn’t understand why I had to keep
my distance, I realised, watching as she tugged at the page of the
storybook Josh was reading her. She wouldn’t understand and accept it
like Josh and Astrid would. How the hell was I going to get through
even a day of ignoring her cries for hugs?  

It’s impossible, I thought hopelessly. But I drew a deep breath. The
pregnancy itself had been impossible, but it was real. We couldn’t
limited by the ordinary confines of possibility. We would make it
through this all. 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

“Katie Reilly. Ring a bell?” 

Grae stared at me, puzzled, before transferring his attention to the
photos I had pushed in his face - in one hand the strip of polaroids
taken of him and Katie fifteen years ago, in the other the photo Dana
had sent me of Kathleen Arden. 

“Jeez, that’s her?” He took the photos, studying them closer. “I knew
she looked familiar... I was trying to figure it out. How did you make
the connection?” 

“I recognised her.” I stared hard at him.  

“Then you’re better with faces than I am.” He caught my frown. “No, I
don’t forget all my girlfriends. But it was fifteen years ago. She
looked different back then.” He nudged me, smiling wryly. “You’re
getting far too paranoid, sweetpea.” 

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.” 

He grinned. “Wattlebrush? Petunia? Pansy? Agapantha?” 

I swatted at him with the photos, unable to stop myself chuckling at
the stupid nicknames. “I’m serious. Don’t. Just call me by my name,
huh?” 

“Jacqueline...” He savoured the word. “Jacqui. Jac-kee. Jack. Jack?” 

“Jacqui,” I corrected sternly, amused by his silliness. It wasn’t a
side I’d seen before.  

He eased the photos from my hands and kissed me. I was surprised by the
action but responded eagerly. I’d missed his intensity, the rough but
gentle, passionate way he handled me. The photos dropped to the floor
as he swung me up into his arms and though I noticed I was beyond
caring. At that moment all that mattered was Grae and I, right there
and then. 

I didn’t realise it then, but that would be the last time we ever made
love. 

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- SCULLY POV - 

There were moments when I thought it was okay, that we’d adjusted to
it, accepted it, and that we had everything under control and it would
be fine. But then I would think - *cancer*. Our baby girl has cancer
and it could kill her. And that thought just paralyses me. I can’t
breathe, I can’t think beyond it. 
There is no real such thing as being in control of a situation like
that, especially when you’re sentenced to keeping your distance from
it. There is only that bewildering observation of the chaos and the
heartbreaking frustation of inadequacy.  
Such was the case as I sat alone in our basement office, miserable,
trying desperately to keep myself focused on the work at hand. Erin was
in the hospital overnight for the usual barrage of treatments and
tests. I’d been up with her earlier but Mulder had arrived to take over
and literally pulled me away from her when they started the chemo IV.
No touch during treatment or following day, days if she had an adverse
reaction. It was hell. 

A courier was at the door with a package. I signed for it
unenthusiastically, tossing it down on Mulder’s desk for him to deal
with. After another hour of prowling around the office, reorganising
files and sorting through some cases that had been sent down the day
before my curiousity got the better of me and I picked up the package,
unwrapping it as slowly and carefully as a child with a precious
birthday gift. As I lifted the video cassette from the bubblewrap a
note fell out, fluttering to the ground. 
“The tape from Kathleen’s wake, as promised. I don’t have any copies so
could you please return the original when you’re finished? It’s queued
at the right spot - the two guys on the porch are Kathleen’s dad and
brother.” 
It was signed Diana Jefferson. 

I fed the video into the VCR and pressed play, putting the TV on and
rapidly flipping to the video channel. As Diana Jefferson had said, two
men standing on a front porch with their backs to the camera, clearly
deep in conversation. I upped the volume as much as I could but the
sound was fuzzy and the only words I could catch sounded ordinary under
the situation - they were speaking of Kathleen’s death and the ‘poor
kid’. The man on the left, a hunched figure in a trenchcoat, cigarette
dangling between lips, turned enough that I could see his face.
Cancerman. What a surprise. He stared around, his face that cold mask
we knew too well. He didn’t realise he was being filmed. I
freezeframed, gazing at the flickering image on the screen. So he had
been - or masqueraded as - Kathleen’s father. He was the one who had
brought Ebony to Kathleen, but how then was he connected to the
project? Had he had a finger in this pie all along? Of course he had.
Samantha. At times I almost forgot the connection. Was he one of the
original men working with Roger and Ca- Samantha? He had been involved
in her abduction. Had he returned Samantha to the world, giving her a
new identity and then keeping her in his sights, directing the project
from the very beginning? And then, knowing the success of the
discovery, taking advantage of that to give his unhappy daughter
Kathleen a child the way a parent would a puppy or kitten? It seemed so
complex and yet oddly simple, somehow very human. Was he really capable
of such humanity? 

I shifted my attention to the other figure on the porch. There was
something familiar about the shape of his head, the way he stood. I
played the tape, wondering how much footage Diana had gotten of the
pair. Cancerman had turned his back again on the camera and the other
man hadn’t so much as moved his head. 

“C’mon...” I muttered. The guy on the right briefly put his hand on
Cancerman’s back as if consoling him. Then he dropped the hand, turning
and glancing around briefly before striding away. I sucked in a deep
breath. Oh my God... I quickly rewound, played, paused it but a second
too late. It took several attempts before I got a clear capture of his
face and even then I felt sure I couldn’t believe it. 

I picked up the phone, speed-dialling Mulder’s celphone. It was several
rings before he answered. 

“Mulder, you’re not going to believe this...” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- JACQUELINE POV - 

“He’s involved, Jacqui.”  

I yawned. “Wha?” I’d fallen asleep in front of the TV and had to track
down my ringing celphone in the dark house.  

“I don’t know how deeply, but he’s involved. I think he’s been a part
of the project since the beginning.” 

I frowned, not really understanding, hearing the panic and urgency in
her tone but not really registering it. “Who is? What?” 

“Jacqui, I ...” For a moment there was only her heavy breathing. “I’m
faxing through some pictures for you I pulled from a videotape of
Kathleen Arden’s wake, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure,” I agreed, still feeling bewildered. What could it be, I
wondered? She sounded excited and anxious and angry all at once. 
I moved over to the fax machine and picked up the page it spat out. It
was a full-page grainy print, two figures, men, standing out on a
balcony. One had his hand on the other’s shoulder as if in sympathy.
Kathleen’s wake.  

“Who are they?” I asked Dana. 

“According to a friend of Kathleen’s, the one on the left is Kathleen’s
father, the one on the right her brother.” 

“And you recognise them from somewhere else?” 

More heavy breathing in the silence. When she spoke her words were
cautious, almost stilted. “The man on the left was a colleague of
Mulder’s father. He has been a central figure in the conspiracies that
we’ve investigated for ten years. Astrid calls him our Darth Vader.” 

I found that my own breathing was just as quick as Dana’s. “And the guy
on the right?” 

Silence. “Look at the second picture I sent.” 

I literally ripped the second page from the fax machine, staring at the
enlarged face. My heart stopped and my world fell. It all made
horrible, horrible sense. I had found the key to my own existence. 

“I’ll call you later, Dana.” 
  
  

He looked a little impatient about again being confronted on the
subject. “I told you before. She was an old girlfriend in the U.S.” 

“How did you meet her?” 

“I never knew you were the jealous type. Why the questions?” 

“Cut the crap!” It was one of his favourite expressions and he wasn’t
accustomed to it being used against him. 

“I worked for her father,” he said slowly. His face grew grimmer. He
knew that I knew. 

I shoved the page, folded over onto to show only the smoking man, in
his face. “This guy. John Morris Reilly.” 

Wary nod from Grae. I knew his thoughts. It wasn’t a question of
whether I knew, but only of how much I knew. 

I unfolded the page. Grae had his hand on Reilly’s shoulder. “What was
your relationship with him, exactly?” 

“I was working in a biochemistry lab in a ...government facility. He
was on the board of directors. He took a shine to me, I guess. I was
introduced to Kathleen at a company Christmas party by her father.” 

Bullshit, I thought with an odd grim satisfaction. I stared at him,
making it clear that I didn’t believe his story. 

“Kiddo, you’re getting paranoid. Who’s been feeding you all these
lies?” 

Photo printouts in hand, I pushed my way past him, heading toward
Ebony’s room. Grae grabbed my arm as I passed him. 
“What the hell are you doing?” No teasing nicknames and denials now. 

“I think Ebony has a right to know who her ‘father’ has been associated
with, don’t you?” 
That was a gamble. I wasn’t even certain that Ebony knew or would
recognise the smoking man, but from Grae’s reaction it was evident he
knew she would. 

“Don’t you dare!” He was angry but panicking. He tried to wrestle the
pages from my hand but I pushed him away. His fingers had dug into my
arm, leaving angry red marks. “Give me the pages,” he demanded. 

“Go to hell!” I shouted. 

“I am in hell!” he shouted back at me.  

That stopped me. I stared at him, torn between walking out on him right
there and then and demanding an explanation of everything. I wanted the
truth, damnit. I deserved it. Ebony deserved it. Even Noah deserved it.
And Grae... 

“You betrayed me, and Ebony, and everybody else who cares about you,” I
told him coldly. “You deserve to be in hell for that.” 

He stared at me with loathing. “You little bitch... You can’t see it
from any other perspective than your own, can you? Don’t you
understand? It’s all over! Cate and Roger, Kathleen... they’re all
gone. The project is over and the rest of us just have to get on with
our lives! That’s all I’ve been doing!” The loathing turned to pleading
and I turned my face away, disgusted.  

“You’re in this. You’ve been in this all along. It’s all been a lie.
That’s betrayal, Grae.” 

“It hasn’t all been -” 

“Shut up!” I roared at him, my head pounding. I was sick of him,
sickened by him and his lies. I drew several deep breaths, trying to
calm myself enough to be rational. “Sit down.” 

He hesitated and my anger flared again. “Do it! You know I can hurt
you.” It sounded like a threat because it was. He backed up and sat on
the edge of one of the armchairs.  

“Tell me everything,” I demanded. “Right from the beginning. Who is
this cancerman, really?” 

“He isn’t.” Grae shook his head impatiently, adding sardonically, “That
man has as many different aliases as you have hairs on your head.” 

“What was his connection to the project?” Silence. “Tell me or I’ll
break your arm so fast...” 

He looked at me, that same angry loathing from before, before answering
tightly, “He was one of the founding fathers. He had no medical
knowledge, but that was where your parents came in. Your mother - your
precious Fox’s sister, -” he lingered delicately, deliberately, on the
last word ”-was abducted in order that she be trained and used for this
project. She didn’t realise, of course. All her memories were wiped,
and she and Roger married innocently enough. Though neither of them
ever knew it, their relationship was preprogrammed from the start. We
supplied them with the technology, and it was thanks to their combined
genius that we were able to make the final steps in fusing alien and
human technology, creating you, Astrid, Josh... and Ebony.” 

I had been pacing and stopped, bracing myself against the heavy dining
room table. It dug into my back as I gripped the edge, not sure if I
could otherwise prevent myself from physically attacking him.  
“What about Kathleen? Where did she come in?” 

Only a moment’s hesitation this time before his answer. “Kathleen met a
guy, Rick, while we were together. She broke off our engagement two
weeks later - head over heels with him, she told me later. They were
married in Nevada the next week. He died three days later in a car
wreck. Kathleen was devastated. Everybody thought she’d get over it but
she didn’t.” The anger and hatred from before had gone and he looked
wistful, grim. He ran his hand through his hair tiredly. “Kathleen
would have killed her father if she’d known he was responsible for
Rick’s death.” 

I tried to swallow down the lump burning in my throat. “How did she get
Ebony?” 

“There were six in Astrid’s batch, if you’ll remember. Astrid, Laura
who died before her first birthday, one who died just after birth, and
three others... You were told that they died during the gestation
period. That’s true, of one of them. As a security precaution, the
other two were moved to a different laboratory under my supervision.
One died, the other lived.” 

“Ebony,” I realised, hating that I’d been in the dark and not realised.
“How come I never knew?” 

His lips curled up wolfishly. “Jacqueline, a lot went on in the
compound that you never knew. You may have been smart at times but you
were still just a child.” 

Those seventeen years difference. He was always so far ahead of me. How
could I have possibly thought it wouldn’t matter? He was changing the
course of the world while I was still in diapers.  

“From the beginning we were comparing reports of Astrid’s progress with
Ebony’s,” he continued, grim again. “ Astrid was brilliant, we learned
that early enough. Scans revealed incredible brain activity early on.
She was very aware of herself and the world almost from birth. She was
just like you. Ebony, on the other hand, was progressing at the rate of
an average child. It was decided early on that she be placed with a
family, her progress regularly monitored.” 

“So you gave her to Kathleen.” 

“When it became evident that Kathleen wasn’t interested in another
relationship - she still mourned Rick up to her death - her father made
the decision to give her a child. Kathleen loved Ebony enormously. She
never knew where Ebony came from, or what her own father was involved
in. He and I shielded her from all that...” 

“Right, until you killed her!” 

“Christ, no. She died of cancer. Her father was devastated - he did
everything to get her the best treatment but they found it too late and
they just couldn’t save her. And of course, that left him with the
question of what to do with Ebony.” 

“So you turned her out to starve.” 

“You want to hear this, shut up, Jacqueline.” 

I glared at him but bit my lip, needing to hear what he had to say.
“Reilly put her with a family in Oregon but she wasn’t talking after
Kathleen’s death and they couldn’t handle it. He tried a couple of
other places, but nobody wanted a mute kid who kicked and screamed if
you went near. So he put her in a hospital with psychiatric care and a
lot of medication. She just went downhill from there, swinging back and
forth between introverted and out of control. So he took her out again,
put her in a house in Baltimore with a full time nanny. And one day she
just ran off.” 

“What, and the tracking device failed?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. 

“She didn’t have a tracker,” he said quietly, adding with something
close to embarrassment, “That was only implanted later.” 

“By who?” 

“Our source at Georgetown East, when he was treating the laceration on
her leg.” 

“Why?” 

“I told him to. I was under orders.” 

“You’re just a weakling,” I muttered contemptuously. All this time I’d
been afraid to show my own weakness for fear of ridicule and he was
twice the coward. 

“Do you want to hear this or not?” 

I nodded grimly. 

“She ran off, and we didn’t hear anything for almost two weeks. Reilly
was going nuts. He went through about ten packs a day - just sat there,
smoking. Then the report came through that she’d been hit by a car and
taken into Georgetown East suffering minor injuries. And they’d
misidentified her as Astrid Moss. It was perfect.” 

“Perfect,” I repeated, my voice choked. “Perfect?!” 

He avoided my gaze. “You know the rest of the story. Dana and Mulder
weren’t going to take her in - they couldn’t that was clear all along.
You were the only other solution, and the more I said no to it the more
convicted you became that it was the ‘right’ thing to do. You were so
easy to predict, Jacqui. You always took the opposite side.” 

Hate surged through me at that: pure hate. “We were just a setup from
the start.” It wasn’t a question, though he answered it as such. 

“Our first ‘accidental’ meeting, you mean?” he asked with
mock-innocence. I almost slapped him for that. He smiled derisively.
“Wendy in the office gave you the name of the dentist, didn’t she? And
I’ll bet she just happened to be the one who left that magazine
casually on your desk the morning before you headed off.” 

“Why?” I demanded, my voice thick. Why go to all this trouble? 

He shrugged. “I was given the job of keeping an eye on you, no matter
what it took. What, you don’t seriously think they’d just let you be
free, do you?” 

That time I didn’t even try to hold myself back. I slapped him across
the face, so hard he fell back in the chair. “You’re a real bastard,
Grae. You know that?” I moved closer and I think he thought I was going
to hit him again because he jumped to his feet. 

“Just cut the childish name calling for a second, will you? I’m not
finished.” 

“Yes, you are,” I retorted. 

“No, I’m not, and you’re going to damn well listen to what I have to
say.” He was in my face now but I stood my ground. He saw the
acknowledgement in my eyes and retreated a little. “You were so
arrogant, so childish, so utterly self-centered... and despite all that
I fell for you. It sounds like a bad movie script but it happened. You
were so beautiful and sexy and it was all so new to you.” His voice
softened, sickeningly affectionate. “I’d never been anybody’s first
before.” 

I shuddered, taking a step back, looking away in disgust. How had I
ever trusted him? How had I not seen him for the sleazy, cold-hearted,
calculating son of a bitch that he was? 

“I was going to call it all off, but I spoke to Reilly about it and he
didn’t want me to pull out of the operation. So I proposed. I honestly
didn’t think you cared as much for me as I did for you, and when you
accepted -” 

I felt physically sick. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.” 

“No, you’ve got to hear this Jacqui,” he said with growing urgency,
reaching to grab my arm. I pulled away as if burned before he even made
contact. “I need you to know. Yes, we were a setup. Yes, I went into
this relationship with no intention of caring for you. But I do love
you, I’ve loved you despite all the stupid arguments that we’ve had and
how many times you’ve been silly and blind. And I love Ebony, because I
brought her into this world, and now I’m helping bring her out into the
world again. And I love Noah. He’s the only thing I’ve ever done that’s
been pure and uncorrupted and for the right reasons.” 

I was biting the inside of my cheek so hard to stop myself from crying
that I tasted blood. I couldn’t listen to any more. I wouldn’t survive.

“Is that everything?” I asked as coldly as I could. 

He shrugged. 

I glanced around the room. It took incalculable courage to look him in
the eye. “I’d appreciate if you’d give me some space. I’d like the
house to myself as I pack.” And cry. I knew for certain it was a matter
of seconds only before I cracked. 

“Don’t leave.” 

I didn’t respond, only turned away to leave.  

“I love you, Jacqueline. Don’t you understand that? Have you ever
really understood that, or do I just not measure up to how much ‘Fox
loves Dana’?” 

“You never did.” I answered quietly but with considerable relish,
knowing how much that would hurt him. Go ahead, be jealous. Let your
heart break. You deserve nothing less. 

His angry words stopped me at the door. “Damnit, I don’t want you to
go!” 

“You don’t get a choice in this.” 

I went into Noah’s room. He was whimpering quietly and I picked him up,
pacing with him as I one-handedly packed some things. I put him in the
carrier and packed the large diaperbag with several clean diapers as
well as a handful of his babyclothes from each drawer and a couple of
his favourite toys. I dumped the bulging bag out in the hallway but
took the carrier with me into Ebony’s bedroom, not daring to leave Noah
alone. Who knew what stunts Grae would pull to stop me from leaving. I
wasn’t going to take any unnecessary risks. 
Ebony was sitting on her bed with her back to the wall, quilt hugged
around her. She frowned at me as I entered and watched as I sorted
through her drawers and closet, grabbing things off hangers and
bundling them up and squishing them in her travelbag. “We’re going to
go away for a while, sweetie,” I told her hurriedly. “I’ve got to go
pack some things for me now, so how about you get yourself dressed and
pick out your favourite toys to bring along?”  
She just gazed at me. I zipped up her bag and tossed it next to Noah’s
in the hallway, then took the carrier into my room. 

I glanced over the photos on my dresser, leaving those of the four of
us but taking any of myself and Noah, the rare few of Ebony. It seemed
pitifully little to show for the year I’d spent here but I didn’t have
time to sort through our albums, and I couldn’t take any with Graham in
them with me. Best to leave them all behind, never look back. 
I grabbed the top couple of music CDs from my pile, swept my makeup
into a small carry case, tossed my hairbrush in as well. I left the
collection of hairclips and elastics and perfumes and creams and the
extravagant collection of nailpolishes I’d amassed. My address book was
sitting on the dresser and I took that, and my purse and my passport
and the book I was half-way through, bookmark poking out the top. I
left behind my pile of thick textbooks and foot-high pile of printed
pages off the internet. Silly little figurines I’d collected - from the
expensive crystal and opal Australian animals to furry plastic koalas
holding Australian flags. I left them all. I rifled through my jewellry
box. I’d collected some exquisite pieces of the past year or so but
Grae had bought them all. I left them there, adding to the pile the
wedding and engagement rings from my finger. I didn’t want anything
contaminated by him. 
Finally my clothes. I grabbed the top things from my drawers and my
favourite jacket and boots from the wardrobe. Tossing it all in an
enormous overnight bag I had to resist the urge to scour the room more
thoroughly. There were still many things I wished I didn’t have to
leave - the room itself cried out to me not to abandon it. I’d made so
many changes to it, more colour, more light. All through the house I’d
tried to modernise and improve. I’d grown enourmously attached to every
room through the time I’d spent there and the changes I’d made. It had
been my home, every part of it from the swan-shaped paint splash I’d
found low on the bathroom wall one day to the matching colourful linen
and towels I’d picked out to replace the old existing collection to the
roses I’d been teaching myself to prune. A part of me screamed out in
protest, almost refused to leave it, but I quietened that voice. I had
spent too long listening to that voice. 
Grae was still sitting in the lounge room, head in both hands. Ebony,
still in pajamas, hid in the other armchair, chewing on the cuff of her
pajama shirt, her arm around Milo. The dog was whining, nose in the
air. He knew something was up. 
Trusting Grae to stay where he was, I put Noah’s carrier down in the
kitchen as I lugged the three bags out to my car, tossing them in the
trunk. Back inside, I unplugged my laptop and modem, roughly wound the
cables and shoved in my celphone and charger, zipping up the bulging
satchel. I shrugged it onto my shoulder and glanced around. Leave the
comfortable leather armchairs with crocheted blankets and velvet
cushions. Leave the paintings and photos on the walls and over the
brick mantlepiece. Leave Grae’s mother’s odd collection of china and
crystal in the side cabinet. Leave the dining table covered with
Ebony’s pens and crayons and scissors and paste and paper, a table
where I’d spent endless hours online connecting with the outside world,
trying to connect with Ebony. Leave the big flat-screen TV in the
fireplace and the warm coziness of the kitchen with old kettle and new
fridge and checkered tableclothes and Weetbix and milk and cookies. I’d
performed the familiar rituals of meals for the last time and not given
it a second thought.  

I had a feeling that Ebony would require more than just cajoling to
follow me and so I took Noah out to the car, tossing my laptop on the
back seat and buckling his carrier in. He was fast asleep. How could he
sleep through such a moment? But even if he had been awake, he was too
young to ever remember it. Four months we had lived here and there had
been some wonderful moments, open air, stars in the night sky as we
snuggled down on the couch out on the verandah for his night feedings,
listening to the traffic and breathing in the country scents. He
wouldn’t remember any of it. 
I brushed my lips across his forehead, then gently shut the car door.
My own door was ajar and I wound the window down to ensure he had air.
Then back into the house for Ebony. 

She was still in the armchair, now hiding in the dog’s fur. Milo
whined, licking her face, and Ebony whimpered softly in response,
nuzzling against him. 

“Ebony, we’re leaving.” 

She shook her head.  

“Ebony, please.” Still she just gazed at me. No. I strode toward her,
trying to be confident about it. I caught her wrist and tugged her,
gently at first and then literally trying to drag her when she wouldn’t
budge. She started to scream and - in an action that really surprised
me - bit my hand. I let her go and she ran to Grae, looping her arms
around him.  
“We have to go now, Ebony,” I tried again, rubbing my hand. She hadn’t
broken the flesh. 

She looked at me, uncertain, but her grip on Grae’s arm didn’t loosen.
“No.” 

Grae’s head shot up at that. Ebony’s first word. He hugged her against
him, stunned. “Oh, Ebs...”  

She was awkward in the hug but didn’t struggle. I sighed, knowing that
it was time to face something I’d known all along and accept defeat.
This was where Ebony belonged. Ebony had never been mine - always
Grae’s, since the beginning. The puzzles, the morning treks down to the
cowsheds, the games in the sprinkler, the visits to Grae’s father and
special treats. 

“You stay,” I agreed softly, disappointed but understanding. 

I backed up to the door and announced with a shaky sigh, “I’m taking
Noah away. We’re not coming back here.” 

Grae shook his head unhappily. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want
you to take Noah away from me...” 

I shook my head. No, you don’t deserve my pity. You don’t deserve any
last opportunities to see Noah, hold him, or even hold me. “Goodbye,” I
said softly, finally. And then I turned and walked away, leaving him,
leaving the house, shutting the door behind me as if in that action
itself I could end this chapter of my life.  

I stood on the doorstep, gazing around at the dark yard and garage and
basketball hoop and gardens. One last look. I paused only briefly to
take Ebony’s bag from the car, leaving it on the front porch. A kitten
- Matilda - sprung from the darkness to rub against the bag in the
light of the porch before sitting on the top step, meowing, wanting to
be let in. That was my cue to leave. I  climbed in the car, stretching
back to check on Noah in the back seat before gunning the engine and
reversing out through the open gates, following the road away and not
looking back once. To have seen the house warmly lit up in the dark
night would have broken me. 

The lights were off at Suzie’s house but as I knocked and knocked
nobody answered. I even tried calling from my celphone and listened as
their phone rung endlessly. Had they gone away? She hadn’t said
anything to me. Where would I go if they weren’t here? Where was the
nearest motel? 
The tears that I’d been struggling to hold back even through the short
drive here broke and I sat on the doorstep and cried in despair. Noah
was still in the car, wailing, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to
him.  

My head in my hands, I barely registered the headlights appearing in
the darkness. Only when I realised that the car was slowing to turn
into the driveway did I lift my head to look and then stand. My own car
was blocking the driveway and so Suzie pulled up behind it, her kids
spilling out. Gesturing for one of the older kids to unbuckle Thomas,
Suzie approached me cautiously. “Jacqueline?” 

I moved from the doorstep, now bawling, completely incapable of
stopping. After quick instruction from their mother all four kids
slipped past me and in the front door. Suzie put an arm around me.
“Come inside, honey.” 

I unbuckled Noah from his carrier and carried him inside, his sleeping
form warm against me, his face in the crook of my neck.  
I followed Suzie inside and sat down at the kitchen table, holding Noah
with one hand, trying uselessly to brush away tears with the other.
Suzie put a box of tissues on the table in front of me, flipped the
kettle on, and sat down opposite. 
“What did Grae do now?” 

He destroyed everything, everything that was any that had ever been
between us. “I never knew him,” I sobbed. “I never knew anything...” 

“What do you mean?” she asked gently. 

I shook my head, grabbing a tissue and trying to clean myself up,
knowing how childish I sounded when I cried and frustrated by it. “Your
brother’s involved in a lot of terrible things, Suzie. He’s been lying
to everybody.” 

She frowned. “What sort of terrible things?” 

“Over in the states... He was working with a covert organisation
cloning and creating humans. He was assigned - by a man who has been
involved in countless conspiracies - to keep watch on me, right since
the beginning...” 

“Jacqueline -”  

She gazed at me, frowning sympathetic. She didn’t believe me. Of course
she didn’t. I sounded like a paranoid, raving lunatic. She must have
thought that living with Grae had simply sent me over the edge. 

“He’s a difficult man,” she said cautiously. 

I nodded slowly in agreement. It didn’t matter that she didn’t believe
me. Fox and Dana would. They’d understand. She sympathised, at least. I
was thankful for that. “Yeah, he is.” 
  

The kettle whistled and she left the table. I shifted Noah in my arms
and my eyes went to the watch on my wrist. Grae had given it to me for
my birthday. God, what an age ago.  
I unlatched it awkwardly, one-handed, holding it between my fingers.
Suzie put a mug down in front of me. “Hot chocolate.”  

I thanked her, but before I picked it up to take a sip I tossed the
watch across the table to her. “Could you give this to Ebony, when you
see her?” 

Suzie gazed at me but I stared down into my hot chocolate. It was warm
and rich, delicious and yet I almost gagged. Tears were still spilling
down my cheeks, I discovered, as one fell in the dark liquid. 

“What are you going to do?” Suzie asked slowly.  

I put the mug down so that I could wrap both arms around Noah, lifting
him higher against me. What did I want now? I wanted a long hug from
Dana, Fox, the kids. I wanted to see Erin, do everything I could to
help her get better. I wanted to have Noah all to myself, to bring him
up the way I wanted, to no longer watch everything I said and did lest
Grae get angry. I wanted to go back to my old apartment, my office, the
work, the comforting doglike adoration of Aaron Harrison. There was no
doubt in my mind, and, finally, no fear. “I’m going home.” 
  

     - - - - } - - - - } - - @        t h e   x - f i l e s  

- MULDER POV - 

“Fox?” 

“Yeah...” I covered the mouthpiece to mouth ‘Jacqueline’ to Scully. She
was lying on the couch, Josh asleep against her, and looked up at me
soberly. 
“Are you okay, Jacqui?” 

I heard her draw a hitching breath. “No, but I will be. We’re coming
home.” 

“All of you?” 

Pause. “No. Just me and Noah. It’s just us from now on.” 

I had such an overwhelmingly brotherly urge to go rescue her, sweep her
up in my arms and carry her home, teasing but empathising over the
mistakes made in that way only a brother could. Because she was my
sister now. She’d inherited Samantha’s stubborn arrogance and blindness
and childish vulnerability, Sam’s spirit. I wasn’t trying to convince
myself that I had Samantha back. Samantha was gone forever. But we had
Jacqueline now, and she had been filling that space in my life ever
since she first came into it, even if I was only just coming to realise
that. 

Scully was gesturing frantically and I cleared my throat before asking,
“What happened?” 

“He confessed it all... and I walked away. Ebony refused to come... Can
I fill you in later?” Her voice was strained. “I don’t think I can
really -” 

“Sure,” I agreed. I heard a cry from the bedroom and Astrid appeared
holding Erin, both of them sleepy-eyed. She put Erin down and I saw
Scully’s expression tighten. It was less than twenty-four hours since
the last treatment and despite the news we’d gotten I still wasn’t
letting her near. 

“We all knew all along, didn’t we, that something was wrong about
Grae?” Jacqueline mused shakily. “He never fit, right from the
beginning. I just thought it was because he was an outsider, but he
never was an outsider. He was just... on the other side.” 

I knelt down, stretching out an arm to Erin. She’d visibly responded to
the last lot of treatment, her hair thinning, wispier, mauve hollows
around her eyes. But she was smiling, that wonderful elfin grin as she
hugged me, as if she knew herself that things were looking up, that the
extremity of what she’d been subjected to over such a short period of
time was worthwhile. Not that things were over - far from it. That word
that somehow had always seemed like the ultimate goal in this quest was
really nothing more than a word. She still had millions, billions of
cancer cells in her body, and no label was going to suddenly make that
any easier to know, not with the knowledge that we still had years of
chemo ahead of us. Remission was still a far cry from cure. 
*But*... she was out of the woods. I hugged her close against me,
tickling her side, and she giggled. I grinned. I couldn’t help it.
Things were looking up.  

Jacqui heaved a sigh. “I’m booked on the next flight out... We’re
leaving in half an hour.” 

“You’re just leaving the country, just like that?” 

“Yep,” she sounded wistful. “I packed some bags and walked away. Just
like that.”  

“You going to be okay?” 

“Yeah. You guys have still got the spare key to my place, right? I
think I left mine in Gerrideen.” 

“It’s somewhere around here. Do you need a pickup from the airport?” 

“No, I’ll just drop past your place when I arrive. I’ll ring ahead if
it’s going to be in the middle of the morning or something.” 

“Yeah, well, when you get back you can celebrate Erin’s remission with
us.” Despite the reality of the label I couldn’t help grinning. Erin
was responding brilliantly to the treatments. She was getting better.
“Three o’clock in the morning or otherwise.” 

Small chuckle. “Thanks Fox.” Pause. “Um... They just called my flight
so I’ve gotta go. Tell everyone I’ll see them soon, kay?” 

“I will,” I promised. “Take care.” 

Click. 

I hung up and let Erin have the phone. She’d been trying to wrestle it
from me during the conversation and as soon as I let her wrap her hands
around it she tossed it down, throwing her arms around my neck,
planting some wet kisses on my nose. Then she wriggled and I slid her
to the ground. She ran into the kitchen where Astrid was fixing her
some juice. Her reflexes were slower than they had been two weeks ago
but she was bouncing around, happy, hugging and tickling Astrid and
Josh who had woken up. They’d doubled the attention they lavished on
Erin since we’d told them of Scully’s pregnancy and the complications,
always careful not to let Erin get past them to Scully directly after a
treatment. The drugs in the next period would be different but we’d
have to see how Erin reacted before deciding how close Scully could
get. There were two laws we now lived by: Do everything to save the
child we had, and not risk the one we were having. It was a tradeoff,
small sacrifices or a big loss. 

I sat on the couch beside Scully, putting an arm around her. She slid
her arm across me, resting her head on my chest, silent as I was,
wondering. A baby growing inside her, a child entirely our own,
naturally conceived. A miracle. And I’d looked only at the bad timing
and the difficulties it created in our already complicated lives. I
glanced across at Erin, giggling as she played a silly game with
Astrid. I loved her so much. How could I have even considered tossing
away the possibility of another child? What if I had been stupid enough
to talk Scully into abortion? I would have regretted it the rest of my
life. I wanted this child because I knew I would love it as much as I
did Erin.  
I slid my spare hand over, resting it on her belly. She looked up at
me, a little surprised, but smiled, tears of joy in her eyes, or maybe
they were in mine. Things had been hard, things would still be hard,
but as long as there was still something that could make us smile and
as long as we could still reach out and know the other was there, we
would survive it.  

Erin was getting better, Jacqueline was coming home. Josh and Astrid
were hanging in. We owed it to them to stay close, to be there. They
would understand but we couldn’t take advantage of that and let
ourselves neglect them. They deserved more. And we would fight hard to
try and give every child what they deserved. 

“What are you thinking?” I asked her. 

“We have an uncertain future,” she murmured, contemplative. A small,
grateful smile touched her eyes and I ducked my head to kiss her as she
added, “But at least we have a future.” 

Amen to that. 
  
  

fin.