Reality crash down on her all over again when a hand gently nudging her shoulder made her open her eyes to find Mulder looking down at her. "Ready to get up? We don't want to be late for work."

She tried to hide her disappointment with a yawn. "sure," she said eventually. She hadn't failed to notice that he was already dressed. It had been considerate of him to be so quiet.

"I'll start breakfast," he told her, heading for the door.

Once he was gone it was all she could do not to throw herself on the floor and have a kicking and screaming temper tantrum. It was so unfair. How could a dream keep going and going? As soon as a tiny voice spoke up to say that dreams were not usually so coherent, she dropped her face into her hands. The last thing she wanted to think about was the possibility that what she was going through was reality instead of a dream.

If this was reality, could she cope with it? She found herself wondering briefly. As realities went, it wasn't such a bad one. It was confusing, but at least Mulder was alive and healthy. In her own world, her own reality, she wasn't even sure of the former…

By the time she managed to dress herself, Mulder must have been annoyed, because he barely looked at her when she came into the kitchen. Instead, he merely pushed a plate of pancakes at her, and went back to eating his own. For a second she hesitated, fork held limply in one hand, while she wondered what she could say to make things better. Then, she realized that she probably couldn't. So, she just ate.

It almost felt nice to follow Mulder around in the Hoover building, especially when she realized that they were still headed down to the basement. At least that hadn't changed, no matter what else had. Apparently they were still the FBI's most unwanted. That was comforting in a way. Still, she wondered what they had done to tick off people. Whatever it was, it probably was amusing. Maybe she could convince Mulder to tell her about it at lunch, under the guise of reminiscing. Giving him a sidelong glance, she wondered how amusing it would be. This Mulder was more staid than she was used to.

Existence lurched anew when Mulder pushed the door open. If they had ticked people off and had been sentenced to the basement as a result, this time it couldn't have been as badly. The walls were a gleaming white, suggesting that they were regularly painted. In all of the time that she and Mulder had worked in the X-Files office, the only time the office had ever been repainted was when someone had set it on fire, and it was deemed too dirty to simply leave as is after the smoke and fire damage was repaired. The fact that there were two desks also suggested that things were different down in the basement office, because one of them had a nameplate with her name engraved on it. A memory of a fight with Mulder over desks floated into her brain, and she pushed it away. There was no reason to dwell on that now, not when she had so much to think about in the present.

He dropped his briefcase on his desk with a sigh and looked around the room - from his expression it was clear that he was a lot less impressed with what he saw than she was. "I think it's the locale."

"What?" she asked blankly. She'd been trying to pay attention whenever he spoke, but still she found herself missing things at moments like this.

He waved a hand in an encompassing gesture. "This office. I think the lack of amenities is what makes it so likely that I'm going to have some rookie or screw up down here with me when you leave."

"Sorry," she replied tightly. He sounded like he expected her to feel guilty for planning on leaving while the baby was small. What did he expect her to do, give birth in their office and come back the next day after a good night's sleep?

"Why?" He genuinely sounded surprised. "It's not like you haven't been lobbying for a more desirable location for years." Giving her a crooked smile, he added, "And I'm probably making too big a deal out of it. It's only a couple of months, right?"

"Right," she agreed, feeling slightly better.

"Do you remember the kid they had following us around during the selkie case? It'd be hard to top someone that dumb."

She'd never encountered a selkie outside of a novel, but it didn't seem wise to admit that she had no idea what he was talking about. "What was his name again?" Even as she asked she breathing a sigh of relief internally: clearly they still had the same sort of cases, even if she didn't remember the same ones that he did.

Mulder smirked at the memory. "Wentworth Douglas. I still think that sounds like a law firm rather than something parents holding their brand new baby would decide to hang on a kid."

If he'd been her Mulder, the other Mulder, she would have used this opening to segue into a conversation about what they'd name their baby, and make him laugh by insisting that Kit and Vickie were both out, but… "Temporary insanity?" she suggested instead.

"Hereditary insanity is more like it," he grumbled, lost in a memory of the case. "Too bad the fool didn't realize that his primary role was to take the fall in the case - you'd of thought he would have realized it when no one offered to pay him for his 'help' with it. I still can't believe that people bought it when we claimed that he'd stolen the seal skin from a small private museum. Remember how many irate calls we fielded about what sort of monster in DC had gone seal hunting? It looked like the skin of a full grown harbor seal, not a harp seal pup, but people are so touchy about that sort of thing…"

"They are," she replied, hoping that the uncertainty she detected in her own tone wasn't something he'd pick up on. Why had they told anyone a story about a museum if one hadn't really been involved?

Sighing, he said, "At least the papers bought it, which is the important thing. This job would be a lot easier if we didn't have reporters hungry for 'the truth' to deal with. I hate to say it, but I'd love it if journalism programs spit out students just a little bit dumber than they really do." Giving her a look, he asked, "Speaking of reporters, do you still hear from Ethan?"

Her insides turned to water when the question sunk in and she realized that she had no idea what to say. She hadn't talked to Ethan since shortly after breaking things off with him just after she started on the X-Files, but what about the Dana whose life she'd stepped into? "I don't want to talk about Ethan," she settled for mumbling, hoping that he'd let her drop the subject.

"Sorry. I don't like to talk about Bambi, so I should have realized…" He trailed off, looking away with a chagrined look on his face.

Which was fortunate because she couldn't help but stare at him. He'd dated the bug girl? They'd discussed her once upon a time, and he'd declared her pretty but cold, which had struck her as a strange dismissal since Diana had fit that description too and that hadn't kept him from dating her. Maybe it had just been a way of saving face after Bambi had clearly been more smitten by the doctor who had helped at the very end of their case. Her look became speculative as she wondered if there had been another man involved in the case here. Maybe there hadn't been.

When he coughed, she looked up. "So, how do you want to spin this poltergeist case?" Mulder asked her. Apparently she appeared as confused by the odd question as she felt because he went on, "I was thinking we could claim that it's something electrical."

"Electrical?" she practically stammered.

"Sure, you remember that video I showed you, don't you? When they faked a ghost by using an electrical field to more stuff around? I love that video, it caused legions of people to suddenly become skeptical. Anything to make our jobs a little easier, huh?"

The pieces were slowly sliding into place, and she was afraid of the picture that was beginning to form. "What did we do about that other case?" she asked, praying that her hunch that there had been another case like that was not a dead end that would have him asking 'what case' with undisguised suspicion.

"The Paulson case?" he asked instantly, making her feel a little better.

"That's the one," she said, trying not to let her relief show.

"Underground aquifer causing echoes that sounded like ghostly voices, I think." As he spoke he got to his feet and crossed the room. A moment later he rifled through a filing cabinet and pulled out a folder. She instinctively held out her hand for it, and he obligingly handed the folder over.

It only took a cursory glance to realize that her fears were entirely grounded in reality. From the wording in the report it was clear that their task had been less to investigate the event than it was to whitewash it with a veneer of soothing plausibility. Looking up at him, she make sure not to meet his eyes. "You know, they claim that pregnancy affects the brain…do you mind if I read through a few more files? Just to make sure that the wording in the current report doesn't sound too much like any of the old reports."

"That's probably a good idea," Mulder remarked. "No one likes reruns. I think that's what gives so many politicians trouble – they don't bother to write new speeches but expect people to be enchanted by retreads."

Forcing herself to smile, she asked, "Do you have political ambitions I should know about?"

As if you wouldn't be the very first person to know. But you know, senator Matheson has been pushing me to consider running for mayor. Can you picture anyone voting for me though?"

"I don't know, I think you can be pretty persuasive," she said on automatic pilot. Their mild banter was all that was keeping her from thinking too deeply and she latched onto it like a life preserver. It was all too clear why their fathers had wanted them to be part of the FBI now: they wanted someone on the inside who could explain away all the weirdness connected to the work the men did, and all the rest too. The thought that they were just there to provide cover ups made her sick in a way that was entirely unrelated to her unrelenting morning sickness. They were being used by their fathers, and if Mulder's cheerfulness was any indictor, they didn't mind it either.

"I do resemble that remark, don't I?" he asked with a broad grin. "Mayor Mulder. That sounds too pat to me."

"Too rhymey?"

"That's it. Maybe I should set my sights elsewhere, then. State Representative Mulder, maybe."

"Oh lord," she murmured, knowing that his musing had been calculated to get a rise out of her.

"You don't think I'd do a good job representing the good people of…I guess DC wouldn't make me a state rep. I really need to look that up before starting a stump speech."

"Somehow I don't believe you don't know what sort of representation DC has," she said, hoping to sound amused.

"You're accusing me of being some sort of political animal, Scully? The sort of person who'd know that information off the top of his head?"

"If the shoe fits…" she suggested.

Scully desperately hoped to keep him amused. Anything to keep from dwelling on what was obviously their role in sanitizing the consortium's messes, and everything else that might give people pause long enough to consider the unknown. Anything to keep from having to admit to herself that they were working for the wrong side.