Several Days Later

The first few days that Mulder had been gone had been more or less bearable because she had work to distract her. But once she went on vacation the house felt even more empty and lonely there without him. For a brief moment she had considered flying up to Toronto to surprise him, but speaking to him on the phone revealed that he was extremely busy, with long days spent with the game team, and too short nights sleeping in his hotel room. She and Phoebe had gotten along cordially during their investigation into her former coworkers' deaths, but they hadn't become friends, so she couldn't simply invite herself to Mulder's meetings. Therefore, she would be spending a lot of time alone in a hotel room, which would probably be even worse than spending time alone at home.

By day four without Mulder their halls were thoroughly decked, and she was running out of neighbors to bake cookies for. Baking for others still held its appeal, but she had just sat down to an unappealing frozen dinner because she didn't have any desire to actually cook a meal for just herself, when her phone began to vibrate on the table.

Scooping it up, she began speaking before he could say anything. "Mulder? I didn't know that you planned to call tonight."

He was supposed to come home the next day, which was something that she was really looking forward to. Although she hadn't managed to find anything tempting enough to serve for one, she had enjoyed stopping at the market on the way home and planning an elaborate welcome home dinner for the next night. Given that the last day was supposed to be very busy for him, she didn't expect to hear from him until he was about to leave for his flight.

"Hi, Scully," Mulder croaked. "I think I've changed my mind. I think you might have something when you say that people should get flu shots." If he intended to say anything else, it was lost when he began to cough.

"You got the flu?" she asked, and immediately had to curb the impulse to ask him if he really had influenza, or if he has the so-called stomach bug that nearly had her ranting every time someone called it the flu. He knew better than that, she thought.

"Yeah. The woman next to me on the plane was sick, and I thought maybe I could ward off with zinc lozenges and vitamin C, but that plan was a failure. Canadian doctors are quite nice, it turns out." Sound was muffled after that for a few seconds but she could still hear him coughing even though he had obviously turned the phone away from his mouth. "And the wait time to see him wasn't nearly as bad as people say."

"I guess that's good. Are you on antivirals?" she asked, thinking back to when he'd first risen from the grave. There had been antivirals then too, but that wasn't something that would make her happy to dwell on.

"I am," he confirmed. "But even with them, I'm not going to be able to fly home tomorrow."

"No, of course not," she replied instantly. It wasn't hard to imagine how completely miserable it would be to fly while ill, or how unhappy other passengers would be to be trapped in a small space with someone coughing as badly as he'd been during their conversation. Although she supposed he already knew that from personal experience. "Don't worry about it. We'll get your flight changed when you feel better."

"I'm sorry," he said contritely.

"What for?" She asked in surprise. "It's not like you set out to get sick, did you?"

"No."

"Then I can't accept your apology. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I still feel bad for leaving you alone for longer when you thought I was coming home tomorrow," he said glumly. "I guess the only saving grace is that I managed to soldier through all of my meetings with Phoebe and the team, and everything's on track."

Scully was glad to hear that he had managed to finish his tasks before succumbing to his illness, because she wasn't looking forward to him staying way longer. either, and at least he wouldn't have to stay even longer once he got well. Of course she couldn't tell him that it bothered her, because how could she without making him feel worse? "I'm glad that you were able to hold out long enough to finish up before getting sick. And I'm fine here, so don't worry about me. I'm getting a lot done around the house, decorating wise. And we both know how much you enjoy decorating for Christmas." The past two Christmases he had reluctantly helped her decorate, complaining all the while.

"I can't say that I'm sorry to miss that," Mulder admitted. "But I promise to get the outside lights hung, if you have any more to go up, as soon as I get home."

"I appreciate that. But you have to concentrate on getting better."

"Yeah. Did you know that you can get chicken soup delivered by room service?"

For some reason this made her smile at least a little bit. "That's good to know." She paused for a moment. "Do you want me to come up there?"

"I don't think I'd feel better if I made you sick too," Mulder predictably said. "And, I think we both know I'm not super fond of your bedside manner."

"That's true," she said with a wince. Since she hadn't told him about her mistake earlier in the month, he had no way of knowing that a reminder of something he had said to her during her pregnancy would sting. "Well, if you change your mind, I'd be glad to come see you."

"I know you would. Love you," he said, sounding tired. No wonder he wanted to end the conversation.

"I love you too. I'll give you a call tomorrow to see how you're doing."

"Thanks."

Somehow it just figured that she and Mulder would spend more days apart, she thought unhappily. Maybe it was karma. She had spent most of December wishing that the holidays could be spent with family, and now she would continue to be alone for the foreseeable future.

A Few More Days Later

By the time Mulder was back on his feet and scheduled to fly home, Scully was really feeling like something in the universe simply didn't like her. The day of his rescheduled flight was calm and overcast in Virginia, but Toronto was another story. Beginning the night before the weather channel spoke in terms of gloom and doom about a massive snowstorm that was poised to hit the providence where Mulder had already stayed overlong.

So it came as little surprise when he called and the first words out of his mouth were. "Scully? I'm sorry. My flight is cancelled."

"I know," she told him with a resigned sigh. "All the flights out of there have been cancelled."

"You've been watching the news," he commented. From the cacophony of voices she could hear on his end, she suspected that he'd taken a taxi to the airport anyway in the vain hopes that he would hear something different about his flight when he got there. He sighed too. "I can't believe that I'm finally better and I still can't fly home."

"It happens," she said with a shrug he couldn't see. He couldn't see her frown either, which was a blessing.

"I could rent a car-" he began hesitantly.

"No." He wouldn't be doing it for himself, but because he felt guilty for being away from her for so much longer than he intended to be. "You are not a lucky man, Mulder. I would feel a lifetime of guilt if you managed to get into an accident trying to drive home for my sake."

"Are you sure?" he asked, doubt obvious.

"I'm sure," she told him firmly. "Stay where you are until they reschedule your flight."

"Okay." There was a hint of relief to his tone and she wondered if he was conscious of it. "Hopefully it'll be relatively soon."

She thought back to one of the weather people saying that they were expecting the storm to rage on for another couple of days but didn't mention that to him. If she had, he might insist that he could drive again, and she didn't want him out on any more snowy nights, not after he'd run off the road in February the year before. That had been too terrifyingly close to losing him for her comfort. "Stay warm and safe, Mulder."

"I will," he promised, and that's how she knew he would make every effort to. "I love you."

"Love you too."

December 18, 2009

Two more days had dragged on without Mulder, and in an effort to prevent herself from going completely stir crazy Scully had asked her mother over to have lunch and watch movies. First they had watched her mother's favorite version of a Christmas Carol, and then they had switched to a movie that only had Christmas as part of its plot, The Trouble with Angels.

Hayley Mills and June Hardy had just tried to drown in the pool when her mother turned to her and began to speak. "I wish that you and Fox would reconsider coming to California with me for Christmas," Maggie said, but Scully didn't really think she intended to nag.

Scully shrugged and paused the movie so they wouldn't miss what came next - she had a feeling that her mother was gearing up for a long conversation. "At this point I would just be happy if he gets home from Canada before Christmas." This seemed like a safer subject than to admit that seeing Bill and Charlie's sons would be hard for her. It wasn't just seeing her growing nephews, but the inevitable conversational turn to how Scullys only seemed to produce boys. That was a double-edged sword, because it would inevitably both remind her of Emily and her failure to produce more offspring for her relatives to coo over. "He never would have left for the trip if he realized that he would still be in Canada at this point," she added somewhat defensively, even though her mother hadn't suggested that he was still away by design.

Her mother gave her a long look, making her wonder if her mother could read some of the things she hadn't said on her face. She very much hoped not. "You don't seem to be having much fun around here by yourself," Maggie noted. "But I'm sure he'll be back long before then."

Sighing, Scully turned to look at the calendar behind her. "It's already the eighteenth, Mom. I'm sure there are a few more disasters that life could throw his way just in order to keep us apart."

"Now now," her mother chided gently. "You can't think that way. I worry that you're getting the holiday blues like your dad used to suffer from."

Scully blinked. "Dad got depressed around the holidays?" This didn't seem to jive with the mental image she had of her father.

"Yes, Dana. You never noticed? I think it was because he didn't have anyone to boss around," she said with a smile. "Not like on his ship, of course."

"Well, he did seem to enjoy bossing us around," she said, with only a trace of bitterness. It always taken her and her siblings time to adjust to having their father around and inevitably most of the clashes centered around their father wanting to call the shots rather than their mother. He was more strict, though their mother had been no pushover herself during their childhoods.

"At least he never made you peel enough potatoes to feed fifty men like he did his men who needed to shape up," her mother said with a smirk.

"Well, there was that time when he decided we should volunteer at the food kitchen that Thanksgiving," Scully corrected her. She and Missy had thought it would be terrible, but they'd ended up having a pretty good time. Of course, it had been Missy, not her, to get in trouble for flirting with one of the other teenage volunteers instead of bringing food out to the servers. The fact that they'd already eaten before going to the food kitchen had probably helped them all feel benevolent rather than put upon.

"That's it!" her mother exclaimed, startling her so much that she reared back against her seat.

"What's 'it'?!"

Looking sheepish, her mother leaned over to pat her on the hand. "Maybe you should find a volunteer opportunity rather than moping while you wait for Fox to come home. It's December, surely there are a lot of community efforts that could use an extra pair of hands."

"I'm not moping," Scully protested.

Her mother just gave her a look. Scully shook her head and unpaused the movie. On the screen Hailey Mills and the beleaguered nuns continued their wacky adventures, but she did give her mother's idea some thought.

Later

There were more cars in the lot than typical of an evening at Our Lady of Sorrows, which had her wondering if some of the children's parents had come to see their children interact with Santa. She couldn't blame them if they had – she would have given a lot to have been able to see the wonder in Emily or William's eyes as they sat on the lap of the big guy and recited their Christmas wishes to him. Unfortunately, Emily hadn't been hers to take to the mall before she got ill, and William had been too little to get anything out of the experience before she gave him up.

These thoughts had her feeling bad again, so she gave herself a swift mental shake. What's wrong with you lately? Do you need to go back into therapy? she asked herself, and there was no ready answer. Of course the more clinical part of her piped up that if she had entered perimenopause which would be pretty normal considering she was now in her mid-forties like it or not, of course her hormones were completely out of whack, so it explained her becoming overly emotional. It's too bad Dr. Kossoff has retired, she mused as she walked into the hospital.

"Doctor Scully?" a pleasant voice asked behind her. She turned to see one of the sisters standing behind her smiling uncertainly. "Did you leave something behind when you left for your vacation?"

"Oh," Scully started to say, but she stopped in the middle. She hadn't really been invited to help out, so maybe it was better just to go and see if there was something she could do to be useful rather than to ask to be directed to where Carl was giving out gifts. "Something like that," she finished lamely with an awkward smile of her own.

"Well," the sister replied. The nun looked more relaxed now, as if it had really bothered her to see Scully when she hadn't expected to. If not for the fact that it would never happen at the hospital, Scully would wonder if she'd stumbled across secret Santa activities, or if there was a staff Christmas party she hadn't been invited to going on. "I hope you find what you need and enjoy the rest of your holiday. Merry Christmas, doctor Scully."

"Thanks. And merry Christmas to you as well, sister."

The other woman gave her a gentle smile and Scully found herself wishing she had something to give her. What did you give a nun, though? Would a scented candle or a nice lotion be appreciated? You know what? Scully thought to herself. Screw the rules. Next year I'm secret Santa'ing the nuns and everyone else.

The thought of Father Ybarra bemusedly holding a tiny gift bag festooned with tissue paper as he pulled out something from Yankee Candle with his free hand made her grin as she made her way up towards the storage closet where she and Carl had left the presents.

But a couple of minutes later it melted away into a frown. Except for a curl of ribbon on the dusty table, there was no sign that there had ever been any presents in the room. It was only six-thirty, and she assumed that she'd be early enough to give Carl a hand when he had to cart the gifts off to wherever he was going to give them out.

She decided that maybe she could still see the kids' reactions, but there was no one to be found in the kids' playroom or any of the other rooms that would be big enough to hold such an event. Disappointed, she left the hospital wishing that she hadn't taken so long to make up her mind after her mother left. For half a second she'd almost visited one of the kids on her way out to see if they'd enjoyed it, but that had struck her as a faintly ridiculous impulse, so she hadn't followed through with it. With her luck she would have asked a kid whose parents hadn't been able to participate and upset the little girl or boy just for the sake of satisfying her curiosity.

"Next year I'll ask him when he plans to give out the gifts," she mumbled out loud as she walked back out to her car.

It was snowing lightly again and her windshield wipers squeaked unpleasantly as she drove home. At least they weren't expecting as big a storm as the one that had grounded Mulder.

A frozen turkey pot pie and a Christmas romantic comedy on Netflix didn't make for much of a Friday night, but at least it looked like Mulder might be able to come home sometime that weekend. She was expecting a phone call from him when the landline began to ring.

Scully snatched up the phone without looking at caller ID to see who the call was from; very few people use their home number rather than their cell phones, so there seemed no need to. "Hello?"

And then she immediately learned that it wasn't Mulder. The voice on the other end of the phone was impatient. "I need to speak to Fox Mulder."

Her caller's gruffness didn't do much for her, so she wasn't inclined to be sweet or polite. "He's not home right now." Though she could have explained that he was away on business or offered him Mulder's cell phone number she didn't feel like being helpful.

"Look, is this his wife?" the man asked abruptly.

This startled her enough into blurting out "yes" without wondering what made him suspect that.

"Okay, good. I'm detective Darrel Lybecker from the Alexandria police department-" She blinked, wondering why a cop from D.C. would be calling, and then if there was another city called that in the US. She supposed not given he seemed to assume she'd know exactly where he meant."-and I'm calling about your stepdaughter. She's in some pretty damn serious trouble, so if you can make sure your husband gets back to me as soon as he can-"

"What stepdaughter?" Scully asked, not realizing that she'd said it out loud until the cop sounded awkward when he spoke again.

"Uh… Kyrie."

For half a second she thought he was about to evoke a prayer, but then realized it was actually the girl's name. "Kyrie what?" she demanded to know, wondering if this was some sort of prank call. If he said Eleison she would hang up on him.

There was a faint sound of paper rustling. "Kyrie Fowley. She's seventeen?" he said, but his tone was definitely uncertain enough that it sounded like a question. It was obvious that he thought that she knew about her husband's child. Maybe the poor man was wondering if he had accidentally called the wrong woman, and was creating a riff in an innocent couple's life. She wished.

"Dammit," she swore, not quite under her breath. "I knew her mother. I didn't know about Kyrie, though." Did Mulder? she wondered. Somehow she didn't think so. There weren't too many secrets between her and Mulder, and certainly none left the size of having a child with his ex-girlfriend would be.

"Huh. Well, the girl claims that her mother's dead-"

"She is. Died back in 1999." And she'd left Mulder at the end of 1991. If this girl was who she claimed to be, it seemed likely that she'd been born a few months after Diana had left him to go to Europe. It felt a bit surreal to realize that a few months after she herself had met Mulder, he'd become a father, whether he knew it at the time or not. She wished that she knew when exactly Fowley had left so she could figure out which case they'd been on when that happened.

"Okay, so that much is true, then." Detective Lybecker broke into her thoughts, and sounded uncomfortable.

"But you don't believe other parts of her story?" Scully asked, wondering if being a pathological liar was hereditary or influenced by nurturing instead.

"No, no one would," he snapped.

The cryptic nature of the comment was beginning to frustrate her, and she wondered if she was going to get anything useful out of him. She wasn't the girl's blood relation so maybe he was being evasive because of that. There was only one way to find out. This wasn't her immediate concern, though. "You've been questioning her without her father present?" she demanded to know. It occurred to her that the girl probably had another guardian, but if she did, why were they asking to speak to Mulder?

"No," he said a bit too quickly. "But she said some…things before her rights were read to her. Things that can't possibly be true."

A headache began to build at her temples and she tried to rub them with the hand not holding the phone. "What has she done, anyway?"

"We're holding her on two counts of kidnapping. And on of suspicion of two murders," he added, as a confusing after-thought.

"A seventeen-year-old is being charged with all that?" Scully asked, trying to be incredulous without any real degree of success. The fact that she was apparently Dianna Fowley's child was making it difficult for her to really convince herself that the girl was incapable of doing as much damage as the detective was implying she had.

"I'm afraid so," he said, sounding like he still wished he was having a conversation about anything else.

"Who did she allegedly kill? And who did she kidnap?" Scully asked impatiently, hoping that he would answer before he thought better of whether or not he should. It was far easier to prove that the girl had kidnapped someone than murdered someone – simply having the kid with her without a parent's permission was reason enough not to add 'allegedly' to that charge too.

"We think killed a couple who were the adoptive parents of one of the kids she kidnapped-"

"How old were the kids she kidnapped?" Scully blurted out. There weren't too many teenagers she could imagine that would want to deal with kids so badly that they kidnapped them. Most had to have their arms pulled just to get them to babysit. Maybe somebody had put her up to it. Knowing her mother, it wasn't hard to imagine that the apple hadn't fallen far from that metaphorical tree and that the girl could already be wrapped up in trouble like that.

"The older boy is two and a half," Lybecker surprised her by saying. "The younger one is about three weeks old."

"Three weeks?" Her voice rose in an embarrassing squeak.

"Yup," the detective said, apparently not surprised that this shocked her. "And honestly, a girl that age with a baby, we suspect that it's really hers. She insists that he's not her son, but we haven't done a psychical exam."

"And you won't without her father's permission," she said sharply. "She's a minor. You shouldn't even question her without a parent present."

"I know," the detective said with just as sharp an edge to his tone as hers. "That's why we're trying to get a hold of him."

"He is away on business," Scully told him. "Up in Canada, and the airport is closed so I don't know when he'll be back. I'm hoping that he'll be home this weekend."

"Do you have a number where I can reach him at his hotel?"

She paused for a moment. "I think it would be better if the news came from me."

"All right," Lybecker said reluctantly. It was very clear that he didn't trust that she would actually tell Mulder what was going on. In a way she supposed she couldn't blame him, there had to be women that would just pretend the phone call never happened. There was no way for the detective to know that she wasn't one of those women who just pulled their heads into their shells when faced with unpleasant truths. "The sooner you can speak to him about this, the better off his daughter will be."

Maybe Lybecker was giving her more credit than she initially thought after all. He was trusting that she wouldn't simply sit on it to make things worse for the girl that she had never met.

"I'll call him now," she promised, not that she wanted to. "What's your number so he can get back to you?" she asked. The police department's phone number would be easy enough to find on the Internet, but she figured that Lybecker had a direct number, and that he would be eager to give it out rather than waiting for someone to route Mulder's call to him.

"Thanks, hopefully I'll hear from him soon," Lybecker said, sounding rather sour as he ended the call despite the perfunctory expression of gratitude. Scully supposed she couldn't really blame him, it was never easy to work with teenage suspects, and the fact that Mulder was not readily available must make things even worse.

But she didn't spare him very much pity. After all, she was the one who was going to have to call Mulder and break the news to him. In her opinion that was much worse.