Meena walked down the hallway from the Harrods security office to the interrogation room. Her headache, while still intense, had leveled itself to a dull and consistent throb. Although prodded to do so, she refused to press charges against the gentleman with the boyish face and graying temples. She didn't believe that he meant any harm; he was just confused. It was also clear, at least to her, that his response and his reaction to her and her baby came from a place of great loss. It was obvious that he had lost someone dear to him, and she reminded him of that person. He wasn't a danger to her, to himself, or to society. He was a soul lost and troubled, that was all. When the questioning concluded, Meena asked if the gentleman was still on the premises. When they said yes, she asked if she could speak with him. Her request met with protests, and she had to do a lot of work to convince the Chief of Security for the department store; promising, in the end, not to sue the store should things turn out otherwise.

When she reached the interrogation room, she looked in through the one-way glass window at the gentleman. He sat there, staring into space, but it was clear that he was only there physically. His mind was in another place; his thoughts were of memories she didn't know, or at the very least wasn't aware of. His hands were folded on the table, and he twirled his wedding ring on his left hand, as if trying to connect with something or someone.

She opened the door, and when he saw her, he stood slightly in greeting; not sure of what her reaction would be. "Please, sit down" Meena said. The man sat in his chair, and watched as she tried to ease the pain at her temples, which spiked sharply when the door closed behind her.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. His voice filled with tenderness and concern, he spoke to her as if she were his daughter or his wife. "I'm sure they have aspirin - I can ask them for some and say it was for me..." Meena shook her head. "Really, I'm fine. Aspirin won't help - my doctor... I'm under treatment. Thank you for your concern."

The gentleman began to speak, but Meena spoke first. "I asked to speak to you in an effort to make things clear.... To explain... To explain how I'm not the person you think I am. I would ask that you hear me out. Do you agree?" The gentleman nodded slowly. "Yes," he finally replied.

"I was born in Henley-on-Thames," Meena began." My father was a barrister, my mother a housewife who did volunteer work for various social organizations. They died in a car accident on the M9 when I was two. I was raised by my Aunt, who died when I was eighteen. I attended Saint George's Episcopal Girls School, went to college, married - all here in Britain. I've never been to America, which I understand is where you're from..."

"I never would have guessed that from your voice," the gentleman interrupted. "You have a decidedly American accent..."

The pain spiked in Meena's temples again, and the gentleman stopped. "So you see," continued Meena, "there's no way that I can be the person you think I am." She turned to leave when the gentleman spoke again. "Please, wait..."

Meena stopped and turned around.

"I think it fair," the gentleman began, "that you should know something." Meena looked at him for a brief moment before she answered.

"Yes?"

"It's just that... You remind me so much of her..."

"Who?"

"My daughter."

It was just as she'd suspected. He had lost someone.

Despite the pain of her headache, Meena moved closer to the table. The six feet of table from edge to edge was the only thing that separated her from the gentleman, yet she felt perfectly safe. "Tell me about her." She asked. A sad smile spread across his face. "She was so much like you," he replied. "I loved her so much - my wife and I loved her so much and love her still. There's not a day that goes by we don't think of her and how much she meant to us, how much she still means us."

The man grew silent, and the muffled sound of voices over the store intercom became the only noise in the room. The man's next response was a question. "How old is your child?" he asked. "Six months," she replied "Nigel is six months."

"Your first?"

Meena nodded. "I remember when you..." The man corrected himself. "When my daughter was born, I remember it was a hard delivery for my wife, and there were times I thought we would loose her. I hope things went well for you."

"I really don't remember much of about the delivery." Meena replied. "They say that, for women, you don't remember much of the pain after delivery..."

"Was your husband there?" He asked.

"Yes," she replied.

Meena said yes even though she couldn't remember if her husband was there or not. She really didn't remember much at all about the delivery, if anything at all.

"How long have you been married?" asked the gentleman. "Five years," Meena replied. "It must have been a beautiful ceremony," the gentleman replied. Meena didn't answer.

She didn't answer because she couldn't remember. And the more she tried to remember, the worse her headache became.

Her pain must have registered across her face, because the man reached out for her hand. Meena pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have to go. I have to go...."

She left quickly. She didn't see the sadness in the gentleman's eye as she left.

The gentleman watched as she left. There was sadness in his eyes not only because she had left; he was sad because she couldn't remember. He was sad because she couldn't remember the thing he knew with all certainty.

She was his daughter and her child his grandchild.

******************************************************************************

"I suppose I needn't tell you, Mulder, that Harrods tends to frown upon strange men who accost young mothers and their infants in their store, even if it is a case of mistaken identity," Phoebe said. She stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest as though she were scolding a small boy. "Even if he is a kindly old gentleman who could be someone's grandfather and even though, in my opinion, he doesn't look like a grandfather at all." Phoebe came in and shut the door behind her.

"You're lucky the head of security is the son of a friend of my late husband's. As a favor to me, he's destroyed the file and complaint..."

"No!" Mulder cried.

He stood up from the table, and began to pace the floor. "It wasn't a mistake," Mulder replied. "I knew exactly who she is. It wasn't a mistake at all..."

"Mulder," Phoebe began.

"And now I've lost her," Mulder replied. "My God, what do I tell Scully? How do I tell her I lost her child again? That file was my only link to..." Phoebe cut him off. "She isn't your daughter, Fox!"

The mention of his given name made Mulder fall silent. "When I got the call from the store, I asked the Yard to discretely contact the Bureau and find some information in your defense." Phoebe paused, choosing very carefully what she would say next. "I know that your grandson died and daughter disappeared mysteriously within a matter of days six months ago, and that you and Scully have been searching for your daughter ever since. I know this is hard. I'm sorry for your loss, and yes, for you and your wife. But, believe this or don't, I'm saying this as a friend. It is time to let go. She isn't your daughter."

Mulder angrily turned to face Phoebe. "You don't know that," he replied. "And you do?" Phoebe snapped. "She's been brainwashed," replied Mulder. "She couldn't answer even the simplest questions about her life, about events that should be so important and so significant to her that they would be eternally etched in her memory..."

"You spoke to her?!" Phoebe was incredulous. "She couldn't remember - I could see it in her face - because the memories she has, the memories she thinks she has aren't hers," continued Mulder. "They've been manufactured; someone's taken away her real memories and given her manufactured ones straight out of a TV Movie-of-the-week, but someone forgot to flesh out the script. When she tries to remember, when something seems wrong or out of sync, she gets headaches - she had them when she was here talking to me."

"Mulder, you never should have spoken to her," Phoebe replied. "You don't know how close you were to having as writ of restraint placed on your head, and you and Scully being instantly deported back to America."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have stopped them," Mulder replied. "Now that I know she's alive, it's going to take more than that to keep me from finding her and my grandson."

*************************************************************

Drew's car was in the driveway when Meena pulled up. Her headache was finally gone; in fact, it had disappeared shortly after she left Harrods. "I shouldn't wonder," she thought to herself. It had been a stressful turn of events.

Drew was sitting in the Living Room on the sofa with the shades drawn when she came in. "Oh dear," Meena said as she came in. "Yes, I'm afraid it's another headache," Drew replied. "Tried to tough it out as long as I could at the office, but it finally got so bad that I had to come home. Guess Dr. Moriarty's going to have to see us in shifts - what with you seeing him today..." When Meena didn't answer him, Drew turned to face her. "Darling, I thought we'd agreed that you would see Dr. Moriarty today. Your headaches won't get any better if you don't follow the treatments.."

The baby began to stir from his nap and started to fuss. "Please don't, dear; it's been a long day, and it's going to be an even longer night..." "How has it been a long day, dear?" Drew replied. Meena started to tell him about her day, started to tell him about the incident at Harrods, but something made her think better of it. Besides, she couldn't even if she wanted to; Nigel was hungry and cranky and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

Meena nodded her head towards the fussy infant. "Does this answer your question?" When Meena said that, Drew realized he effectively put his foot in his mouth.

"I'm sorry dear," he replied. "I've not been a very good husband, have I? Do you want me to feed him?"

"No," Meena replied "it's alright."

She walked in the direction of the kitchen so she could feed Nigel.

"I really wish we didn't have to go to this party tonight..."

"Maybe we shouldn't," Drew replied, "Not if we're both knackered."

"We promised Charlotte and her husband we would go for them; apparently his employer's gone to great expense as part of this event and the tickets must be used.... I don't entirely understand it, but we promised we'd go."

"No, " chided Drew, "You promised, and I nodded my head like an obedient husband."

"Just as you should," Meena replied.

Meena continued on to the kitchen, but stopped as she got to the door.

"Drew?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have you seen our wedding album?"

Drew thought for a moment. "No, can't say as I have. I really couldn't tell you where it is. Why?" Meena pause for a moment.

"Just curious," she replied.