Author's Notes: Many years ago I read a short story in a sci-fi or horror anthology about a woman whose spirit jumped back and forth between two bodies without warning. I couldn't help but wonder what Mulder and Scully would do with something like that, and hence this little tale was born.
All of the expressions that Agathe uses in this story are as authentic as we could find for the early 1900s. Thanks very much to Mimic117 for helping with those, as well as her amazing work on fixing the POV problems.
The title is Norwegian for "inside body" if the dictionary translation did me right. Pronounced "inna forma". Note that Agathe's name is pronounced the same way.
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate the case of a spirit that seems to be jumping from body to body.
Spoilers: Takes place in late Season 5, before The End.
Once again, major kudos to Mimic117 who took a long, rough story and carved it into a coherent narrative. Your hard work is SO appreciated.
Inne Forme
Rated PG-13
Suzanne L. Feld
Prologue
Oh my God, it happened again.
I froze and looked around, then breathed out a sigh of relief that I wasn't racing around in one of those inexplicable horseless carriages or being battered about on a crowded city street. I was a simple country housewife and had no knowledge of these things.
Luckily I was in what seemed to be a house or apartment by the furniture, someplace bright and clean if a bit sterile-looking. I glanced down to see that I was dressed in what appeared to be a man's business suit sans tie and in high heels; how strange these modern people dressed! Even after all these years of popping in and out I wasn't used to it.
What was it that Agent Mulder had told me? To use the newfangled push-button telephone to call him as soon as I could if I 'awoke' again; he had made me memorize the numbers and I still remembered them, to my relief. I looked around to see the instrument perched on a glass table—how rich was this woman? —and headed for it, walking carefully in this new form and the uncomfortable heeled shoes, which seemed terribly unstable. Though it never took me long to get used to a new body—if she survived—I always moved slowly and deliberately until I did. I picked up the handset, which seemed to be made up of that cool, faintly oily material which I had become familiar with in my previous incarnation. I carefully punched the buttons with the correct numbers. It was very different from the candlestick telephone we'd had, but certainly worked better. An odd noise burred loudly in my ear and I almost pulled the thing away from my head, but resisted the temptation.
"Mulder."
"Agent Mulder, thank God. It's Agathe Ramaley. I'm… I'm in another body."
May, 1998
Mulder sat up so quickly that he nearly overbalanced in the chair and caught himself with one hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Mrs. Ramaley? Are you all right? Where are you?"
As Mulder got up and began to pace around as far as the phone cord would let him, he hit the speaker button and waved to Scully. She went to perch on the edge of the desk, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She didn't comment, remembering how they'd argued over the Ramaley/Ramly family though it had been some time since the original case. No matter what was really going on, she understood that someone needed help and was actually relieved that the woman had called again so soon. From the research Mulder had done she sometimes went years without apparently popping up again, and it had only been a few months. Maybe this time they could figure out what was going on and close the case.
A tremulous voice wavered through the speaker of the office telephone, clearly scared. "Yes, I'm in what I think is a house or apartment of some kind. Glass everywhere, white walls, looks very outlandish and modern."
"Good. First and foremost, are you alone?"
"Yes, I think I am. Let me walk around and check. I don't see any family pictures. Here's the kitchen—jeez Louise it's huge!—and the, uh, parlor I guess though it's all part of the same room. Who can afford all this glass? It's so dear to have it brought all the way from… oh my God!"
"What is it?" Mulder whispered to Scully that he was afraid of a husband and kids, which would be difficult to deal with.
Agathe's voice was trembling, audible even through the tiny speaker. "I just looked out the window. I'm way high up, higher than I've ever been or seen. Higher than the big trees out in the forest behind our farm where they did logging. I'm scared, Agent Mulder. How did I get up here?"
"Stay calm, Mrs. Ramaley. It's all right. Stay away from the windows. See if you can find her purse."
They listened to her rustling around, then finally, "Her handbag? I found it. Should I look inside?"
"Yes, she should have a wallet or something like that, I'm not sure what it was called in your time, with a small card inside that has her information on it with a picture of her."
"We called them wallets, too," she said drily, her voice less panicked. "I think I found it, but I don't know how to get it out. Horsefeathers! Oh, there it is. Cunning little bugger. Her name is Stephanie Gottfried and she lives at 55 Lilliana Avenue, Apartment 2212, Minneapolis."
"Okay, good. Now look at your left hand—is there a wedding ring on your finger?"
"No, and it doesn't look like I wore one anytime recently, either." They heard her moving around, the click of heels on tile then material rustling. "I don't see signs of anyone else here, only one toothbrush in the bathroom and no men's clothes in the closet."
"That's a relief. Stay put, Mrs. Ramaley, don't answer the phone or the door; don't let anyone know you're there until we arrive. We're on the way. Call the other number if you need me before we get there."
Scully was already on her feet and reaching for the case files she'd been studying as he hung up. "So she what, jumped bodies again?" She couldn't help the derisive tone of her voice, nor did she try.
Mulder gave her a reproachful look as she went over to the bank of grey cabinets to put away the files. "What else could it be, Scully? Don't try telling me genetic memory again."
She slammed the drawer and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Mulder, some poor murdered woman's soul is not jumping from body to body all around the country. It's impossible."
"Be that as it may, it is what seems to be happening," he said, not rising to her bait, picking up the handset again. "I'll get our plane tickets, let Skinner know what's going on, and pick you up at home in half an hour."
"Fine," Scully sighed. Though he had started this case before she began on the X-Files, there had been an incident while she was missing thanks to Duane Barry. When he'd told her about it while catching her up on cases after her return, he hadn't appreciated her skepticism. When Mulder got the bit in his teeth like this it was akin to talking to a wall and sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. This was one of those times.
# # #
Their plane landed in Minneapolis near two am. Scully was so tired that she could barely drag herself down the jetway into the airport. They had waited on standby for nearly six hours before finally getting a flight then sat on the runway for almost ninety minutes before takeoff. She was beyond annoyed and exhausted. The only good thing was that she'd finally had time to just sit and read as she'd been wanting to do, although Mulder's restlessness had made that difficult at times.
As they headed for the car rental desk Mulder glanced over at her. "Listen, why don't I drop you at the motel and pick you up in the morning? You look beat."
She glared up at him, then dodged a wheeled cleaning bucket pushed out in the aisle by a sleepy-looking maintenance worker. "Gee, thanks, Mulder, flattery will get you everywhere," she snapped. "No, let's just stop and get some coffee on the way. However, oeverHoI'm not sure what you think we can do for this woman at this time of the morning."
"Well Jesus, Scully, can you imagine how terrifying it must be to wake up in someone else's body over and over again, not knowing where or when you are, seeing and experiencing things you don't understand?"
"So that's why you think three of her other relatives died?"
"Well yeah. That we know of, anyway. One in a car crash while she was driving, another walked out in front of a semi, and then a heart attack that the coroner says was possibly from fear. My guess is that when she lands in another body, she's so freaked out by the change in the era that she panics and reacts badly."
"I'd have liked to examine that last body for myself," Scully grumbled as they reached the desk, a bright-eyed young man waiting behind the computer. No one should be that cheerful at this time of the morning, she thought with annoyance. "But it wouldn't tell me much after five years in the ground."
Mulder didn't reply as he arranged for their rental car. But once on the road the discussion resumed.
"So why do you think she keeps jumping from body to body?" Scully said, cupping the venti Starbucks they'd stopped to get.
Mulder shrugged, easily piloting the car onto the freeway. "I really don't know. I've done some research and haven't found anything else like this, but I do know that ghosts don't like having their bodies buried in unhallowed ground and since we can't find her burial place, that could be it."
"It is odd how she just disappears and is never mentioned again," Scully said thoughtfully. "She's in the 1910 census, then listed in the 1914 family Bible as a witness to her sister's wedding, but doesn't turn up in the 1920 census. You didn't find her listed anywhere else, did you?" The case file was in the back seat but she didn't feel like unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for it, and she didn't remember all the particulars of the case.
"Nope, never another mention of her, no obituary, no listed gravesite, no nothing."
"So who was it, again, that told you about this?"
"A detective at the Oak Park PD, Bill Powers. I used to work with him in Violent Crimes but he quit the FBI and now works there. He saw the autopsy report when Mary Ramly was hit by the semi and remembered that someone with the same name had been killed in a car accident not that long before. That was Veronica Ramly White. While researching, I found Giselle Ramly in the psych ward at Oakwoods Hospital in Otto, telling everyone that she was really a woman named Agathe Ramaley who had died in 1918, probably during the Spanish flu epidemic. I managed to talk to her once before she had a heart attack in 1994, and after her death I couldn't find her again. I made the connection between all of them and the older case file, though."
"I'm not even going to ask."
Mulder frowned slightly. "I don't remember coming across this woman, Stephanie Gottfried, in my research into her family, however. All the others had the same name, which was changed to Ramly from Ramaley over the years."
"If she's not a relative that'll throw your hypothesis to shit," Scully said, unable to suppress a grin. "I can't wait to see what you come up with next."
In the passing lights of the freeway Scully saw him give her a frown, but the corners of his mouth were unmistakably twitching.
# # #
They found the apartment building with no problem; it was one among a cluster of other expensive, exclusive high-rises in what appeared to be a very nice part of town near the river. There was a doorman on duty even at that hour of the morning, bleary-eyed and suspicious. After seeing their badges, he was persuaded to call up to Stephanie Gottfried's apartment. After ten rings with no answer he balked at helping them, but Mulder explained that they had gotten a call from the woman earlier that day and showed him the number on his cellular. Then Mulder tried calling the number back but, again, no answer. "There's something wrong," Scully said, leaning over the counter and pinning the doorman with a fierce glare. "She wouldn't have gone anywhere knowing we were on our way."
"Why, again, did you come all the way from Washington to see her?" The balding middle-aged man, in an unmarked but guard-like dark blue uniform, looked back and forth at them, frowning.
"That is none of your business and if you don't take us to her apartment right now, I'm going to arrest you for obstruction of justice. This is a welfare check and you need to let us in," Mulder said, equally forceful. "Would you like to explain to your boss why you spent the night in a jail cell instead of behind this desk?"
"Fuckin' A! All right, all right!"
They followed him to a glass-and-steel elevator which went up the outside of the building, the sparkling lights of the Twin Cities getting smaller and smaller as they rose up to the 22nd floor. "Is there an inside elevator?" Mulder asked as they walked down a beige-and-white hallway.
Scully frowned and looked up at him; she knew he wasn't afraid of heights and couldn't imagine why he was asking.
"Yeah, there's a freight elevator in the central core, back that way." The doorman waved down the hall as they stopped in front of apartment 2212. Mulder knocked. There was no answer. The doorman pulled out his ring of keys and quickly unlocked both the handle and deadbolt. When he went to open the door Mulder pushed him back, his holster unsnapped and hand on the butt of his gun.
Scully moved between Mulder and the doorman as her partner went inside, poking his head around the door and calling, "Mrs. Ramaley? Are you in here?"
"Ramaley? This's Miz Gottfried's apartment," the doorman said from behind them.
Scully stopped and turned. "I think you're done here," she said meaningfully, pushing her blazer back so he could see her holster. "Don't worry about us; you'd better get back to your desk."
He threw his hands up, a disgusted look on his face. "Jesus Christ, whatever." He stomped away down the hall clipping the ring of keys onto his belt and mumbling to himself.
She turned back to the apartment, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. The place was all steel, glass, and white carpet except for the periwinkle and ice-blue striped throw pillows on the snowy couch. One entire wall of the living room was a single huge window, at least twenty-five feet wide by the standard eight or nine tall. The floor plan was open so all the rooms could be seen, with only the bedroom and bathroom having doors. The kitchen was a good size, tucked in between the bathroom wall and hall closet next to the front door. Not far from the kitchen half-wall that doubled as a breakfast bar Mulder had his arms full of a crying woman, one nearly as slender and tall as he, even without the high heels Scully noticed leaning drunkenly against each other by the couch.
From what Scully could see the woman had white-blonde hair piled into a loose bun on top of her head and was dressed in a navy blue business suit not much different from her burgundy one. She had Mulder around the neck and was sobbing into his shoulder, while he looked uncomfortably over at his partner as he patted her back.
Scully went into the kitchen around the half-wall and after bit of searching, filled a glass with water then returned to them. Mulder had managed to seat the woman at the breakfast bar so Scully put the glass in front of her, then handed her a sheet of paper towel from the holder beneath the cabinet nearby.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know what all that buzzing and ringing was." The woman sobbed as she took the paper towel, looking up at Mulder with a tear-and-mascara-streaked face. She was a handsome-looking woman in her mid-forties or so, not what you'd call beautiful but aging well and in good shape. She had large, clear sky-blue eyes and a square face with high cheekbones and a wide, firm jaw, very Nordic-looking. "You told me not to do anything 'til you got here and I didn't know it was you."
"It's all right, Mrs. Ramaley, we're here and you're safe," Mulder said soothingly. He stood beside her tall pub chair with one hand on its back.
"So tell us what happened," Scully said, leaning one hip against the kitchen counter and folding her arms over her chest.
The other woman glanced over at her, still sniffling. "You must be Agent Scully. Agent Mulder told me about you the, uh, last time I was… um, here. You're way prettier than I thought a federal agent would be. And, goodness, I didn't even know that women could be police; I can't even begin to imagine what else they do these days."
Scully opened her mouth, then thought better of it. Telling this woman about female astronauts on the Space Shuttle and even mentioning to her that women had been able to vote for 70 years would probably fry her brain, she thought. She wasn't even going to tell her what year it was unless asked. "You'd be surprised," she said briefly.
The blonde ducked her head, and finally used the paper towel to wipe her eyes, hands still trembling, though all she did was smear the mascara around even more. "Well, the last thing I remember was being in this terrible old-folks home. I was so weary and sick and couldn't walk. No one ever came to see me, and I think I might have died from boredom," she said. "Then I was here, in this woman's body. Who is she? Is she related to me?"
"We're not sure," Mulder said. "I didn't have time to research her after you called, but she's probably a relative of yours like the others."
"Mulder? She has a computer," Scully said, pointing across the room. It was a minimalist white-painted desk that looked like it had come from IKEA, like most of the other modernist furniture, with a grey iMac "Space Egg" similar to her own on it. "Maybe we can look her up there."
"What is that danged thing?" Mrs. Ramaley/Ms. Gottfried turned to look at it. "I was afraid to go near it."
"Long story," Mulder told her, then turned to Scully. "I think we should get her back to the office as soon as we can, use the rental car; I don't think a plane is a good idea."
"We're not driving back tonight!" Scully exclaimed, standing up straight and putting her hands on the edge of the sink, leaning towards him. "I'm exhausted!"
"No, I was thinking—"
"I'd love to ride in an aeroplane!" the momentarily-forgotten third person spoke up. "I saw a barnstormer once at the local fair and wanted to try it, but Jimmy wouldn't let me."
They both turned to look at Ramaley/Gottfried, speechless. Then Mulder found his tongue. "Um, airplanes aren't much like how they were back then," he said. "They're more like big flying busses or, uh, enclosed wagons now, Mrs. Ramaley."
"Call me Agathe. Who cares?" Ramaley/Gottfried said spiritedly. "I'm not afraid."
That got a ghost of a smile from Scully. "Why don't we just stay here tonight? I'll call and get us a flight in the morning."
"That's a plan," Mulder said with relief, then looked at Agathe. "Is that all right with you?"
"Heavens yes. The only thing is…" she looked over at Scully and her pale face colored. "I, um, need some help with this clothing. To change. I know about hook-less fasteners, but never saw one this tiny before," she said, pointing to her side where the zipper to the slacks probably was, hidden by the blazer. "I can't quite figure out how to work it, and I really need to use the, uh, necessary."
The two women went off to the bathroom together and closed the door behind them. When Scully emerged again, Mulder was sitting at the egg-shaped computer while it booted up. He was looking at the vista outside the window-wall as she came out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. "Much as I hate to admit it, Mulder, you must be onto something about her. She asked me what just about everything in the bathroom was, and was fascinated by the toilet paper. I also gave her a Valium from Gottfried's stash to help calm her down."
He grinned up at her as she paused next to his chair, resting one hand on the back. "Are you admitting for once that I'm right?"
"Did you hear me say that?" she retorted, then yawned. "I think I'll book us a flight for tomorrow afternoon so we can get some sleep."
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly five a.m. "Make it evening."
# # #
After about ten minutes Mulder gave up on trying to hack the computer password, though he really wanted to do research on Stephanie Gottfried. Instead he ran down to get their overnight bags out of the car, ignoring the glowering security guard. When he returned to the apartment the bedroom door was closed and Scully mimed a finger over the lips, then led him into the kitchen. It was the furthest from the bedroom, with the bathroom between. "I helped her change into a nightgown, and I think she's asleep—she was exhausted, mostly from emotional shock I think," she told him in a low tone. "How about you take the couch, and I can sleep on the loveseat?"
He glanced over at the living room furniture. "That's pretty small—can you even fit on it, Scully?"
She shrugged and went around him, picking up her blue Tourister bag from where he'd left them by the front door. "I don't think it'll be a problem with as tired as I am."
He watched as she went into the bathroom, then prowled the apartment for bedding of some type. He couldn't find a cabinet, closet or drawer with sheets or blankets, and assumed that they were probably in the bedroom. Well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd slept without any type of covering. In fact, most nights he fell asleep on the couch watching TV and often woke with his face and feet freezing, even if the heat was on.
Mulder turned off all the lights except one of the lamps next to the couch. Though it wasn't well-lit in the apartment, the white walls seemed to keep it brighter than he would have thought. That made him wonder how light it got in the morning since the apartment faced east, and he found dark grey vertical blinds pushed against each side of the window-wall. Once closed, the apartment was much darker, which he appreciated since they hoped to sleep in the next day.
Somehow he wasn't surprised when Scully came out of the bathroom with an armload of blankets, dark pajama legs showing from beneath the hem of her fluffy white robe. "I was looking for those," he told her as he went over to take them.
She shook her head and moved away towards the couch. "These were in a closet in the bathroom; no sheets but they should work just fine. You go get ready and I'll prepare the couches."
Mulder was, for once, tired enough to want to sleep. He didn't waste any time, giving his teeth a perfunctory brushing and changing into his usual on-the-road sleepwear, an old gray t-shirt and sweatpants. When he came out he was surprised to see that the full-sized couch was pulled out into a bed, a fitted sheet already on it and one of the blankets tossed across it. A pair of small throw pillows from the loveseat were at the head. "Well, that looks cozy."
Scully stood on the other side, taking off her robe. "We're adults, Mulder, and this isn't the first time we've had to share a bed. Behave or you'll be folding yourself onto that four-foot loveseat."
He held up a hand to keep the peace as he set his bag over by the door again, then hung a clean suit and shirt in the tiny closet across from the front door. "What time is our flight tomorrow?"
"Oh shit! I forgot to call." Scully had started to sit on the edge of the pullout bed, but popped to her feet like a jack-in-the-box and pulled her robe back on with jerky, annoyed movements.
"Do it when we get up. I doubt we'd do much better at six in the morning than we will in the afternoon."
"No, I'd better do it now." She went over to where her blazer was hung neatly over one of the pub chairs, rooted around and pulled out her cell phone. "I'm going to step out into the hallway."
Mulder tossed back the soft fleece blanket on one side and sprawled out on the bed, surprised and relieved to find a thick foam mattress that hid any hint of bars or springs. He had sometimes slept on a pullout bed at a friend's house as a child and hated the support bar digging into the middle of his back. He glanced over and saw Scully's small travel alarm clock set up on the end table on her side, wondered what time she had it set for, then decided that he didn't care as long as it was after noon.
A short time later Scully let herself back into the apartment, setting her phone on the kitchen counter before going back to her side of the bed and taking off her robe again. "I got us seats on the five o'clock back to DC, but I couldn't get three together. One of us will have to sit alone."
"Wanna flip a coin?" Mulder said drowsily, rolling onto his side to face her but with his eyelids already drooping. Though he wanted to stay awake for a little while, his body had had enough for the day.
# # #
"I have a better idea, Scully. Why don't we take Mrs. Ramaley to her farm? It's not that far from here."
His partner looked up from packing her travel bag. "Because we've got plane tickets," she said, frowning. "Besides, what good do you think that'll do?"
From the bathroom, the water ran on and on. When Mulder had shown her the shower Agathe had been delighted and was clearly enjoying it. She'd explained that in her time they'd only bathed weekly during the summer, and sometimes not for months in the winter. While they'd had indoor plumbing and a pump, baths had been taken in a tall, narrow tin tub in the kitchen in front of the fire and filled by bucket. Everyone shared the bathwater; the husband first, then the children, and finally the wife. So having unlimited hot, clean water was a luxury that she'd never before imagined.
"As you know, my suspicion is that when Agathe died, she was buried in unconsecrated ground which is why her, uh, consciousness, spirit, soul, whatever it is, is jumping from body to body," he said. "Maybe if we can find her bones and get her buried in sanctified ground she'll be at rest. I heard a story about a person who claimed to jump back and forth between two bodies and when one died, the other dropped dead at the same moment. Both bodies maintained a higher body temperature than normal for a corpse until they were buried in consecrated ground."
"Is the farm still there? Do you even know where it was?" Scully asked.
"Of course, she told me. It's outside a small town called Camber, about fifty miles from here. It had a population of just over five thousand in 1918, and it's not much bigger now. And yes, the farm is still there though it's not an independent anymore, it got bought out by one of the giant conglomerates in the 1970s."
"I think we'd better stick with the plan to go back to DC, and we can consider that at a later time," Scully said, going to set her overnight bag on the chair where her blazer still hung.
"That's kinda stupid, Scully, we're right near there now."
"Oh for Christ's sake, Mulder, fine. But you call the airline and Skinner, I want nothing to do with it." She stomped off to the kitchen and began rinsing plates and stacking them in the dishwasher.
To their surprise, Agathe had gotten up before them and made breakfast. She had figured out the gas range and toaster, found pots and pans and raw ingredients, and made pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage links, and toast. She made more than both Mulder and Scully together ate in a week, and kept urging them to have more.
Mulder let it drop, seeing that he'd really annoyed her but not caring all that much. It really was senseless to fly halfway across the country just to come back in a day or two; and what would they do with her in DC? How would they explain her presence, and where would she stay? But to mollify his partner, he picked up his cell phone and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, to make the calls.
# # #
The bathroom door opened with a cloud of steam, dissipating in the coolness of the air-conditioned apartment. Agathe walked out, toweling her hair and wrapped in a thick royal-blue velour robe, bare feet peeking from beneath the hem. "My goodness that is wonderful!" she exclaimed as she sat in one of the pub chairs on the other side of the half-wall where Scully was working. "What are you doing there? Why are you putting those dishes in that machine?"
Scully was getting used to her direct, curious questions and didn't blink an eye. "This is a dishwasher, which washes them for you automatically," she explained as she loaded the silverware into the small bucket.
"Boy howdy! You folks live in the lap of luxury. What will you think of next? Where's Agent Mulder?" she said, looking around as she dropped the damp towel into her lap. Her hair, only a bit darker than its dry color, hung around her face to just past her shoulders in two pale sheaves.
"He's in the bedroom changing our plane and car reservations," Scully said. She closed the dishwasher door and figured out how to set it to the rinse setting. There weren't enough dishes to run a full load, but she didn't want to leave the traces of sticky syrup and meat grease that were on the plates and in the frying pan to marinate inside the closed machine until whenever someone got back here. "He wants to take you back to the farm you, uh, lived on." She didn't care to share his theory; he could do that just fine.
Agathe's light brown eyebrows rose. Without the heavy, professional makeup that she'd been wearing yesterday she seemed rather washed-out, and yet more real. "It's still there after all this time? Who's running it?"
"I'm not sure, he said that it got bought up by a large company." Scully wiped off her hands on a pale blue and silver pinstriped white dishtowel. Stephanie Gottfried really had a thing for white, she thought. Scully herself would never have this much of it—too hard to keep clean. Although Mulder made fun of her spotless apartment, she didn't care to do unnecessary cleaning. "You should get dressed so we can get going."
Just then Mulder came out of the bedroom, leaving the door open and frowning as he walked toward the kitchen. "Skinner's not happy but he said to have a report no later than six this evening or we have to fly back regardless of what we're doing. I was able to change our flight to ten."
Scully glanced at the clock on the microwave; not quite one in the afternoon. At least there would be no rush in driving out to the farm, and however much time they might spend out there probably wouldn't be a problem.
"All righty, let me get dressed and we can go; I'm curious to see what the old home place looks like now," Agathe said, getting up and carrying the towel with her. "Agent Scully, can you come help me pick out suitable clothes?"
"Sure." As she passed Mulder he gave her a lopsided half-smile, and she grinned back wryly. For being such a pain in the ass, at least he was never boring.
# # #
Half an hour later they were on their way in the rental Nissan Maxima, a simple four-door sedan that Agathe marveled over from the back seat, especially the radio. When they stopped at a McDonalds about halfway there to use the restroom, Scully let her ride up front the rest of the way. Agathe then amused herself with changing radio stations, tickled by the variety of music and talk shows available.
Mulder slowed as they passed through downtown Camber, which was a wide spot in the road with a church and graveyard at one end, and a large chain gas station and mini-mart at the other. "Goodness, this looks so different, but the roads are all in the same place—although they're all paved now," Agathe marveled. "Only the main street had cobbles the last time I was here."
They traveled between the facing blocks of stores. Among them were a feed store, antique shop, drugstore, real estate office, and several shuttered buildings including a closed convenience store and five and dime, probably casualties of the big gas station's mini-mart moving in. As they left the town behind and the speed limit went back up, a large galvanized green sign announced that the Kersey Country Fairgrounds were the next right.
"Well I be darned, it's still here. We started having the fair here in ought one," Agathe said with warmth in her voice. "My apple butter and fruit betty won their divisions darn near every year. Sometimes I even won the embroidery or crochet competitions, though Mrs. Minovet usually took anything to do with sewing." A papery sigh escaped her.
Scully didn't know what to say to that, and so stayed silent as they left the small town behind and followed the two-lane blacktop road into true country. On one side was thick forest, the other being long stretches of farm fields, the corn barely ankle-high this early in the year. They didn't see any buildings for at least ten minutes, then a few houses flashed by on both sides. Shortly thereafter Agathe pointed to the left. "It's coming up on the… my goodness, look at that!"
They passed a large, neatly hand-lettered wooden sign which advertised "Ram's Head Farms 1 Mi. Ahead—Corn, Berries, U-Pick Apples in Season".
"That's got to be our farm," she said. "We never named it, but it's close… yes, there's the barn!" Agathe pointed as the large fieldstone building came into sight on the left. The roof, which was topped with what looked like dark grey shingles, sparkled in the sunlight. "Turn, Agent Mulder, turn here!"
He was grinning at her excitement. "I will, Agathe, as soon as we reach the driveway." When he did turn, a small, wooden roadside stand came into view around the white fencing. Though it wasn't manned at the present time, it was well-maintained and neatly painted. A small sign saying "Open June 15th" was tacked to the boarded-up front window.
"Wonder when they put that up? We had a market in town where we could drop off extra produce, you know for a little pin money, but that little stand's a cunning idea," Agathe said. "Have them come to you instead of you going to them."
Mulder wheeled the car into the wide gravel driveway and stopped just before reaching the big old farmhouse as Agathe said, with a tremor in her voice, "My husband Joe built me this house in nineteen ought five. We lived in a little hut for the summer after he tore down the old one that was here, while he and his brothers and cousins built this one."
The house was narrower than it was long but tall, three stories plus a basement, with a wide porch all the way around and beautifully detailed gingerbread molding. It was painted a medium blue with lavender trim, well-maintained and with neatly pruned bushes along the front. "Does it look the same?" Scully asked from the back seat.
"Somewhat. Dunno why they took out my flowerbeds and put bushes in, and we had it painted dark green with white trim, but it looks like they've kept it up well. Lord, it both feels like I was just here yesterday and like it was forever ago." She turned to Mulder, dashing the unshed tears from her eyes. "Do you know who owns the farm now?"
But before he could answer, a tall, heavyset man in tan work pants and a blue chambray workshirt stepped out onto the front porch, squinting at them from beneath the brim of his faded blue and white baseball cap. "Hey there," he called, letting the screen door slam and rattle shut behind him. "C'n I help you folks?"
They got out of the car and walked over to the base of the steps. "Hi, I'm Agent Mulder and," he waved in Scully's direction as they both held their IDs up, "this is my partner, Agent Scully. Can we have a moment or two of your time?"
"Simon Pevsner." The burly man came down the stairs and shook both of the agents' hands, eyeing the woman who hung back. "This isn't about that big fertilizer shipment, is it?"
"Um, no… no, sir," Scully said, then glanced at Mulder. She didn't know what his cover story was, and waited for him to speak.
He didn't, gazing off into the distance with a thoughtful look.
"Well, the reason we're, uh, here—"
"My family used to own this farm, Mr. Pevsner," Agathe stepped forward, surprising both agents. "I was wondering, when you bought the house was there a family Bible or anything in it?"
"I'm sorry, miz, uh—"
"Ag—Agathe Ramly," she said. Mulder and Scully glanced at each other. Did she even remember Stephanie Gottfried's name, and why had she used Ramly instead of Ramaley? But the time to ask was not now.
"Miz Ramly. I just work for AgFarm Inc., they're the actual owners. I was assigned to this farm in 1987, and it was all furnished and everything but there weren't no personal effects. Sorry, ma'am." He glanced at the two agents. "So why's the FBI involved?"
Finally, Mulder spoke up. "There have been some deaths in Mrs. Ramly's family, suspicious deaths, and we think it might be someone targeting the women," he said, and Scully was vastly relieved that he didn't mention a spirit jumping from body to body. And he didn't lie. "We're looking into her family background to try and discover who may be next."
"That still don't explain federal involvement," Pevsner said defiantly, clearly becoming suspicious, looking back and forth between the three of them.
"We're from a special department that investigates paranormal activities, and it's possible that a spiritual entity is the problem." Mulder was serious-faced. "We'd like to look at the graveyard if we could."
I thought that too soon, Scully sighed to herself, heart sinking.
The burly man looked at Mulder blankly for a few beats, then said, "Well. I'm not sure what to think about that, but you're welcome to walk around for a bit if you want. Just don't disturb nothing. I'm in the middle of doing my books an' I have to get back to work before the wife and kids get back." Pevsner turned away and walked into the house, shaking his head.
"Why'd you say that, Agent Mulder?" Agathe said as they began to walk up the graveled drive, passing the house and heading for the back. "Couldn't you have made something up? Now he thinks we're screwy."
"Yeah, Mulder, why don't you do that?" Scully said, choking back a laugh at the disgruntled look on his face.
"I have no reason to lie," he said stiffly as they passed out of the house's shadow and into sunlight. Ahead was the large grey stone barn and to its right, maybe a hundred yards or so from the house, was just what Agathe had described: A small graveyard surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and presided over by a huge oak tree. "Just because there isn't proof of the paranormal doesn't mean it—"
Agathe broke into a run and both agents scrambled to catch up to her. Scully was glad she'd had the woman put on a pair of low-heeled loafers, as she probably would have broken her neck in heels running across the grassy yard.
They caught up to her as she opened the rusty iron gate, its hinges screaming in protest but not resisting much. "Oh my God, oh my God." Agathe moaned, tears streaming down her face as she looked around. "Oh, James, my Jimmy, and Lizzy, Stevie, Rita," she cried, going from gravestone to gravestone. They were all dark, rough granite, the lettering clearly not professional but coarsely chiseled into the stone. Three of them were children, all less than twelve years old. The last stone was from 1956, Scully saw. That must have been when they made the family stop burying here, she thought.
"A mother's not meant to outlive her children." Agathe sobbed, leaning on one of the most recent stones and letting her arms hang over each side as if embracing it. "And Jimmy, heavens, you weren't even sixty-five when you died; why so young?"
Scully went over and put a hand on the crying woman's arm, not sure if she should offer comfort or not. Agathe turned and threw her arms around the smaller woman, letting her head fall and crying hard into the shoulder pad of her blazer. Scully hugged her back, taking much of Stephanie's weight but able to handle it since the woman was tall but not heavy. Mulder moved away and wandered among the gravestones, hands in pockets, letting them have this time.
Though she hadn't trusted Agathe or whomever she was, Scully felt her heart ache for the woman. No matter who or what she was, her grief was real and tangible. "We can… we can find out how they died if that would help," she said, loosening her arms as Agathe straightened up, dashing the tears from her eyes even as they continued to fall. Scully glanced at the shoulder pad of her blazer to see a large wet spot, and decided not to worry about it. That was what dry cleaners were for.
"I, uh… there's something over there." Agathe pointed past the large, ancient oak.
"Where, in the field?" Mulder came back over and stood nearby. Beyond the barn stretched fields of crops with what appeared to be an orchard off to the left, a dark smudge of forest on the horizon.
"No, just on the other side of the tree… follow me."
They did just that, trailing Agathe out of the graveyard and around the small fenced area. She stopped just on the other side, putting a hand to her head and bracing the other on the thick, rough trunk of the ancient oak. "I'm—I'm here," she said, sounding faint and weaving slightly in place. The agents moved up on each side of her, Scully taking ahold of her arm just above the elbow to steady her. "My… my bones, they're buried here. And… and I recall being sick. Very sick. It's the last time I remember being in my real body."
All three looked down at the grassy verge, where the underground roots of the tree sloped down and there was an unobtrusive mound, faint but visible, before the ground smoothed out. "Are you… are you going?" Mulder said quietly.
"No… no, I can't." Agathe's voice strengthened, though she still sounded faraway. "I need to be buried with my kin, and my grave blessed. That's why I been jumping around all these years, I think. I should be resting the eternal sleep with my family."
Scully glanced around her back at Mulder, who quirked a corner of his mouth at her as if to say I told you so. She huffed and looked away. "I think we can figure out how to do that for you, Agathe."
"Oh, thank you, Agent Scully." Agathe turned Stephanie's wide blue eyes on the shorter woman, and reached over to squeeze her hand where it was still on her arm. "I'm ready to rest. I'm so, so ready."
# # #
Though Skinner wasn't any too sure about it, Mulder as usual managed to sweet-talk him into letting them finish out the case. There was no motel in Camber so they had to drive back to Minneapolis and make arrangements from there, spending one more night at Stephanie Gottfried's.
When they returned to the city, Mulder dropped off Agathe and Scully at the apartment. He then went to the FBI regional office, where he commandeered a desk and used the computer to do more research, as well as make a few calls. He found that three of Agathe's children, aged eight, ten, and twelve, had also perished in the deadly Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918-19 that he suspected had taken her. The two younger ones had, thankfully, lived good, long lives. She presently had twenty-three direct descendants that he was able to trace, and probably more he couldn't find in the limited time he had. Her husband, James, had died of a heart attack at age sixty-four while working on the farm and was the last of the Ramaleys buried in the little graveyard. The farm had stayed in the family through James' brothers and their children for decades, but once it was sold in the 1970s none of the Ramaleys had ever been back that he could find.
Stephanie Gottfried, it turned out, was Agathe's great-niece twice removed through her sister Frieda. Though he still couldn't quite figure out why Agathe's spirit chose to inhabit particular women, she was the most distantly related though the only unmarried one, having been divorced for nearly ten years. Despite his research, the reason had never come clear.
He told both Agathe and Scully about what he'd found while they were sitting around the glass-topped table at dinner. Though he had wanted to stop and get take-out on the way back from the FBI regional office, Agathe insisted that there was plenty of food in Stephanie's apartment and that she preferred to cook.
"Lordy me, she's divorced," Agathe said after Mulder had told her about her descendants. "In my day you didn't get divorced unless the man was one with his fists or ran around on his wife. I wonder what her husband did to her?"
The agents exchanged a glance, and Scully replied. "People get divorced all the time now; in fact, young couples who don't last past their second year are known as a starter marriage." Mulder watched as she served herself another spoonful of the chicken casserole even though she had to be stuffed; he certainly was. Agathe's family had eaten well on her cooking, that much was for certain. "Divorce isn't a big deal anymore."
"I'm divorced too," Mulder said quietly, and he saw Scully freeze momentarily, staring over at him. "When I joined the FBI I met a woman who was a couple of years older, and I was so entranced by her I didn't think it over before we got married. But she was more into her career so she left. In our case, divorce was a good thing as she was done with me."
He looked over at Scully, wondering how she was taking this news. Her face was blank, so he had no idea. "Anyone I know?" she asked quietly.
"No, she left me for an assignment in Europe in 1992," he said, then heaved a sigh. "I haven't seen nor heard from her since."
"A shame, and sorry to hear it." Agathe sighed, taking her white cloth napkin out of her lap and laying it next to her empty plate. "Did you have any luck with getting me a grave in the family plot, Agent Mulder?"
He perked up. "Actually, yes. After much calling around, I convinced Mr. Pevsner to let us take a FBI forensics team out to the farm. If we do find bones behind the tree that show no sign of a violent death, as I'm sure we will, we have permission to move them into the graveyard. I found a Presbyterian minister who will bless the grave. Is that all right, Agathe?"
Her wide ice-blue eyes shone with happiness. "That would be a humdinger, Agent Mulder." She beamed, and stood up. "Now, who's going to help me clear?"
Mulder got stuck with dishwasher duty and despite some grumbling, didn't really argue. It wasn't until he was done and wandered into the living room that he realized Stephanie Gottfried didn't own a TV. Scully was sitting on the couch in her pajamas and robe reading one of the books she'd brought with her, while Agathe was in the bedroom looking at Stephanie's photo albums, and he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He paced around for a bit, then jumped when Scully spoke.
"Mulder, what's wrong with you? Got ants in your pants?"
He turned away from the bank of windows to see Scully with a finger marking her place in the book, looking up at him. "No TV," he groused, throwing himself down into an overstuffed white chair across from the couch. "No basketball to bounce either, and I already read the book I brought with me when we were waiting at the airport."
"Maybe you should go for a run?" she suggested. "I'd go with you but I don't have anything to wear, although I did bring a pair of tennis shoes."
"Why don't you see if Stephanie has anything that might fit? I'd like you to come with me."
Scully raised a brow. "She's five-eight at the minimum, Mulder. I doubt it."
"Well, check it out," he cajoled, getting up and going over to his bag by the front door. "Luckily, I had the foresight to bring an old t-shirt and sweats."
"Not the same ones you sleep in, right?"
"Jesus, Scully, I'm not a barbarian," he protested. "I'll shower afterward."
She gave him a half-smile, and admitted to herself that a run did sound good. It was barely eight o'clock, too early for bed even for her, and Mulder pacing around made her unable to concentrate on her book. "All right, let me go see what she has."
He took his clothes into the bathroom and changed. When he came out, the bedroom door was closed although he could hear the women talking on the other side. He started to sidle close to hear what they were discussing, but the door opened suddenly and he quickly turned away as if he was just leaving the bathroom. When he turned back, his jaw dropped and he stared, then realized what he was doing and made himself close his mouth.
His partner wore a navy blue, long-sleeved scoop-necked t-shirt with "Run Now, Wine Later" on the front (the "i" in wine was a tulip glass), so tight that he could easily see the outline of her bra beneath the material. The ends of the sleeves hung past her knuckles until she pushed them up to her elbows. It was a crop top, and fell just over the waistband of a pair of skintight, matching Spandex bike shorts, which went down past her knees but otherwise fit like a second skin. He had never quite realized before just how many curves she had, but they were on clear view now. He liked what he saw, perhaps a bit too much.
"I'm glad Stephanie likes to wear tight workout clothes because although they're a bit long, they're not too big," Scully said, sitting down on the edge of the couch to put on her running shoes.
"I have to agree." He hoped his voice didn't quaver, and went to hang his suit up since he didn't have another clean one and would have to wear it again tomorrow. Turning his back to her was a good idea at the moment as well, considering even his loose shorts weren't going to hide his reaction if he kept looking at her in that outfit.
"I'm glad we're going together because I'd rather not run alone," she said from behind him, and he was almost afraid to turn around. "I don't have anywhere to put my gun."
He glanced back to see Agathe standing in the bedroom doorway, frowning. "We should be back within the hour," he told her, picking up the apartment key from where he'd left it on the kitchen half-wall when he'd come in earlier, and tucking it in his deep shorts pocket.
"I might be in bed, I'm awful tired," she said stiffly, folding her arms across her chest. "Guess I'll see you two in the morning."
Scully waved over her shoulder as she headed for the door, and Mulder said goodnight before following her out. Though they'd taken Agathe up and down in the closed service elevator in the core, the glass one was closer and they headed for that with unspoken agreement.
"Agathe did not like how I'm dressed," Scully said as the elevator doors slid shut and the car began to descend. "She couldn't believe I would go out of the apartment looking like this even when I explained there's nothing wrong with it."
Mulder snorted. "She'd shit a brick if she ever saw any of the shows on regular TV, never mind the stuff they show on cable these days."
Scully grinned at him, standing beside him with her back against the glass side of the elevator, elbows resting on the wide bar that went around three sides of the car. It was all he could do to keep his eyes above her collarbones. "I know. I normally don't dress like this, but I have to admit it's comfortable, and this shirt appears to be from a runner's store so I bet it breathes well and wicks out perspiration."
Though it was a rare condition for him, Mulder was momentarily speechless. All he could think of at that instant was Scully buying more Spandex, and exercising in it when they worked out together as they occasionally did in the FBI gym. He wasn't sure he could survive that, but it would be fun to find out.
"Mulder… why didn't you ever tell me before that you were married?"
He looked up to see that her expression was serious, but got no angry vibe from her. He'd blurted it to help Agathe understand without really thinking about it first and had wondered since if Scully was pissed at him and hiding it. "It never came up, I guess," he said honestly, looking over her shoulder at the twinkling lights of the Twin Cities rushing up at them. "It's not something I think about much. We were married for less than a year, and we only lived together for a few months. I didn't want to tell Agathe this, but I eventually figured out that she married me mostly to further her career. I was the up-and-coming wunderkind in the VCU, and she was angling for a better assignment than domestic terrorism. And she got it-overseas." He heaved a sigh, remembering his utter shock when Diana had announced she was leaving, mostly disbelief since he hadn't seen it coming.
Scully reached over and put a hand on his bare arm. "I'm sorry to hear that, Mulder. I've never been dumped quite that badly, but breakups always hurt."
Before she could move it, he put his hand over hers and looked down into her eyes. "In case you haven't figured it out, Scully, that's why I haven't gotten… involved with anyone for so many years. After what she did to me, I don't trust myself in a relationship. I clearly can't read women."
Scully smiled in understanding. "No man can, Mulder. No man can."
# # #
When they returned the bedroom door was closed, no light showing from beneath it. Scully tapped lightly on it, but she really didn't want to wake Agathe if she'd gone to sleep. "Dammit." She turned and walked across the open dining area towards her blue overnight bag. "My pajamas are in there, and now I don't know what I'm going to sleep in."
"Hmn? What?" Mulder turned away from the window and looked over at her quizzically.
"I was wearing my pajamas, if you recall, before we decided to go for a run," Scully said, kneeling and digging in her bag. "And I left them in the bedroom when I changed. I'm pretty sure I don't have anything else in here to sleep in, I only packed the one pair."
"I've got a clean t-shirt you can wear." Mulder went over to join her, unzipping his small suitcase which sat beside hers. "Since I often seem to get some type or another of strange goop on me, I always bring extra ones."
"Yeah, I can imagine that your dry cleaner is ready to retire by now." Scully huffed in amusement. Her only other choices were waking Agathe or wearing one of her dress shirts which weren't even long enough to cover her underwear—Mulder would love that, she thought. Almost grudgingly she took the plain white, V-neck t-shirt, thanking him before going into the bathroom to shower.
Luckily she had worn a plain white bra and panties set, not fancy but comfortable. Though she usually didn't sleep with underwear beneath her pajamas, there was no way she was crawling into bed with Mulder wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else, even if it did cover her down to mid-thigh. She considered wearing one of her pairs of dress pants as well, but didn't want to be uncomfortable if she didn't have to.
She felt odd walking out of the bathroom in just his t-shirt, no robe or other covering, but he didn't remark or even look at her, going straight into the bathroom, for which she was grateful.
By the time he came out after his shower, she was dozing under the covers in the pull-out bed with one dim lamp left on. She sleepily watched him walk around the couch and pick up her travel alarm, probably making sure it was set. It was. Then, to her surprise, he reached down and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek, the serious and intent look on his face causing a jolt in her belly. She had known for years that Mulder loved her, just like she loved him, but even in the dim light the expression on his face made her realize that he was in love with her. As a woman, a potential lover, not just a friend and partner. A whole different emotion, one she wasn't sure she could return. Unable to deal with it, she let her eyes slide shut the rest of the way and sighed as if about to doze off. But she had never been as far from that state as she was at the moment, and it was a long time before she was able to fall asleep.
# # #
Mulder woke just as the first rays of the sun crept through the tall windows, realizing they'd forgotten to close the blinds the night before. They painted wide golden stripes on the white ceiling, reflecting back and lighting the open rooms of the apartment better than the lamps did after dark. He glanced around and found that the bedroom door was still closed, no sign of Agathe.
He turned to see Scully laying mostly uncovered next to him, having kicked off the fleece blanket sometime during the night. It was pooled just below her knees. Never before in his life had he thanked himself quite so profusely as he did for having offered her his t-shirt.
She lay on her back, one arm thrown across her waist, the other tossed wide with her hand hanging just off the edge of the couch-bed. One slender leg was straight while the other had the knee bent outward, showing a patch of white cotton at her crotch just below the hem of the t-shirt, which had ridden up a few inches. His gut jolted at the sight, and he momentarily felt like a real pervert looking at his partner's underwear. But that passed as he didn't want to waste this opportunity. His eyes wandered up her body, noting that even while laying down her stomach was now slightly convex between her gently rounded hipbones, whereas it has been concave during her cancer. He noted that she was wearing a bra beneath the shirt, but even so he enjoyed the view. Her head was turned to the side away from the huge window and facing him, her face relaxed in sleep and resting on a wave of her rich auburn hair, which glinted with golden streaks in the diffused sunlight.
He would treasure that shirt forever.
It was time to use the bathroom or explode, so Mulder reluctantly climbed from the low bed and padded towards it. He glanced back once to see Scully stirring, and sighed silently in disappointment. He could have laid there all day and just looked at her, unrealistic though it may have been.
# # #
Later that evening the three of them stood around the new grave, which had a temporary wooden marker until the stone could be delivered in a few weeks. The FBI forensics team had left some time ago after verifying the age of the bones, though the minister's grey Ford Escort was just backing down the farm's driveway.
Simon Pevsner had a small backhoe that he had allowed them to use both to dig up the bones and to re-bury them. Luckily, Mulder's badge managed to cut through a lot of the red tape and got everything done in less than a day, which was good because Skinner had demanded they be back in DC before midnight.
Agathe now recalled that she had died during the height of the epidemic's first wave in 1918, as she had been buried in a rotted but still-recognizable quilt she had made early that year, inside of a canvas tarpaulin. So many people had died so fast in the first wave that it wasn't unusual to find out that they had been buried in mass graves or, like her, put quickly in a hole in the ground and never re-buried in consecrated ground. As to why her husband hadn't moved her body to the graveyard, they would never know.
Agathe looked over at them from Stephanie Gottfried's wide blue eyes across the rectangle of freshly turned dirt in the tiny graveyard under the oak tree. "Now I can rest in peace. Thank you both so much, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," she said quietly. "I'm sad that I hurt all those other women, I never meant them no harm, and I thank God that you figured it out. I'll be leaving now, and know that I am going to a better place."
Before either could move or say anything, the tall blonde wavered, straightened, then collapsed. They watched, both surprised and not, as Stephanie folded gracefully to the ground, falling on the grass on the other side of the new grave. They hurried over to her, Scully's hand on her neck making sure that she was breathing and had a heartbeat as Mulder lifted her head into his lap.
After just a few moments the woman's eyes began to blink, then she moaned softly. Opening her eyes, both agents could see that this was no longer Agathe; something indefinably sad was gone, her whole attitude different. "What the—where in the hell am I?" Stephanie Gottfried said, looking around as both agents helped her to her feet. "What am I doing here? How did I get here?"
Scully showed her ID, holding it up next to her face in a textbook move. "Don't worry, we're FBI agents—I'm Scully, he's Agent Mulder. You're safe."
"Well that's good to know, but what is going on?" She shook off Mulder's hand, stepping back and still looking at them suspiciously. "Last thing I remember, I had just gotten home from work, I felt dizzy—and now here I am, in the middle of bumfuck Egypt as best as I can tell."
Mulder and Scully looked at each other, and she gestured to him with a sweep of her arm. Last night they had come up with a cover story in case this happened, as they had hoped it would. Scully had been concerned that Stephanie would drop dead, but Mulder had called it—she appeared to be fine and got her memory back once Agathe left.
Mulder began to explain. "You were in a fugue state, Ms. Gottfried, we got called in when-"
Scully trailed behind as they walked back to the rental car, Mulder talking a mile a minute. She didn't think Stephanie Gottfried would have the same reaction to the Mazda that Agathe had, and found herself already missing the other woman. Though she wasn't quite sure exactly what had happened here she had to admit that if one thing was true, it was that being Mulder's partner was never dull. Not by a long shot.
Epilogue
As I rose away from the corporeal plane, I felt a lightness in my spirit more profound than anything I'd experienced in my life. Then I felt my speed slowing and looked down on the two agents standing by my descendant, assuring her that everything was all right. I felt a deep affection and appreciation for them, especially Agent Mulder who had believed me, but also for Agent Scully whom I knew had put aside her deeply-held beliefs to help me.
Before I left, I took one last long look; I could see the love for each other coming off them as faint opalescent waves. Their auras were connected, twined together; the bright, clear blue of his and the golden-yellow of hers touched even when they were apart. They didn't know it, but they would be together forever. And though they weren't lovers yet, I could tell that it wouldn't be long before each of them—heart and soul as well as mind—belonged to the other.
Then I let myself go to find out what was beyond this world, and into the next.
finis