Starkweather Quanta cowritten with Scully3776

by Spookykat

A time traveler swaps souls with Doggett to stop a lawyer from being killed. Sequel to Future Past Perfect and Starkweather: Introitus on Gossamer, but reading those fics is not necessary to understand this story.

3. What are the odds?

In the present

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

After the meeting, Mulder offered to take Scully out for a

bite to eat. With the swamped cases, she decided it

wouldn't be a bad idea--especially since she

could use the opportunity to attempt to talk

sense into Mulder.

Not to mention the fact that she had no intention of facing

Starkweather after Mulder's outburst. If they were going to

get anywhere on the case, then it would not do to make an

enemy of Starkweather.

Once at the restaraunt, Mulder acted like the previous

meeting with Skinner hadn't happened. He rattled on to

Scully about something he saw on T.V. the other night, and

the perks about his new office, and asked her about Boo.

"Do you think you were a little bit hard on Agent

Starkweather back there?" Scully suggested, biting into her

Caesar salad.

Mulder reflected for a moment, and shook his head as he bit

into his cheeseburger. "I don't think she's being up front

with either you or Puppy-Man, Scully. I think she *did*

know what was going on. *Exactly* and wanted to use that

against me because of how I treated her mother."

"Mulder," Scully countered, "You don't know that for sure.

I'm really surprised at you. Usually you're a good judge of

people. I honestly don't think she's got any tricks up her

sleeve."

"So you're taking her side now?" Mulder demanded

childishly.

"She's on our team, Mulder. She could help her--us--if you

give her a chance and stop being an idiot where she's

concerned."

"I'm sorry, Scully." He pouted, shoving a handfull of fries

drowned in ketchup in his mouth. "Just didn't know who else

to blame for all of this. She seemed to be the likely

choice."

"You of *all* people should know something about things not

being what they seem. Maybe you could make peace with her.

Please, Mulder," Scully pleaded, "just swallow your pride

and let her shed light on this case. She's like you in a

lot of ways. In a parallel universe, you two might even be

chummy."

"In a parallel universe, Elvis would be a politician."

Mulder quipped. He then rose from the table, planting a

kiss on her forehead. "I gotta get back to work. I'll see

you later to night?" He said, leaving money on the table.

Scully got up and nodded with a smile, following him out

the door. She hoped she had convinced him enough to amend

his previous damage.



As Skinner waited for Doggett to get back, he decided to

take the opportunity to avoid any further squabbles in

front of his desk that day. He hated acting like a parent

with middle-aged adults, and hated being treated like a

parent by his top agents even more. It was a delicate

situation though, because Mulder held the power now; and as

much as Skinner hated to admit it, Mulder and he were no

longer superior/subordinate. It was a delicate situation

not because he enjoyed wielding power over his former agent

here he inwardly cringed, but because legally, there was

nothing more he could do for him and his quest. Skinner

prayed silently to the god of authority and command that

the man still respected him as a colleague enough to

listen. Not that Fox Mulder had actually listened while

that working relationship *had* existed, but it helped to

at least get his attention.

"Mulder, I'm on your side--and as long as I'm in this

office, I'll do anything I can to help you out, and

anything in my power to keep my promises."

Mulder nodded a thanks.

"But, you have to do your part too. It's not going to do

anybody any good to have an argument loud enough for Kersh

to hear between you and Doggett. The D.D. wants my ass in

Florida ASAP because of the oil rig clusterfuck. I'm doing

everything I can to stay put as long as possible. But,

please--" he paused here to avert a glance in Scully's

direction "for everyone concerned," he pleaded in all

seriousness. "Do us all a favor and grow the hell up before

Doggett gets back."

"Duly noted, sir." The tone in Mulder's voice was something

like an apologetic whimper. He might as well have had a

tail between his legs.

Not long after, Kimberly announced Doggett, and Mulder took

his rightful seat next to Scully, giving Sam a "Take

that!" look, to which Scully and Skinner both shot warning

glances. Mulder had a jab ready for him for being gone so

long, but wisely decided against it after considering the

wrath of Scully later.

"Did you find anything Agent?" Skinner demanded

"Sir, do you honestly think that testimony sounding like it

came from a b-grade science fiction movie is credible

material?"

"Credible or not," Mulder challenged, "all this prosecutor

needs to convince a jury of our peers is proof beyond a

questionable doubt."

"I don't see anything in this report that shows that. I

don't think this testimony is a valid argument that would

hold up in any court. It would only buy Starkweather stage

time."

"Starkweather?" Mulder puzzled; his brow furrowed in

thought trying to connect the name.

"Benjamin Starkweather is the prosecutor for this case."

Scully prompted.

"Any relation to Jerilyn?"

"By law."

Mulder bolted up from his seat, and at the speed of bullets

out of a machine gun told Skinner "I gotta go to the

restroom."

"Talk about the power of suggestion." Sam said, as he

remembered the last time Mulder had feigned a full bladder

around him, and decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to

follow.

"Mulder, hang on a sec!" Sam called after him, but Mulder

had already closed the elevator door. Sam futily banged on

the door and then immediately got into the next one. He

could hear the argument as he approached the office.

"Say what you want, Starkweather, but you set me up."

Mulder hissed

"I had absolutely no idea until last night that my husband

took that case. I had no idea until two fucking hours ago

that my husband's case involved you." Starkweather's

defensive voice remained controlled and furious.

"You wanna get me back for what I did to your mother."

Mulder persisted. Sam peeked just inside the door now.

Mulder and Starkweather were as eye-to-eye as the two got.

The only time Sam remembered anger being this palpable when

he walked in on his little sister Katie and his older

brother Tom having a huge fight. "You set me up because you

want to punish me for badgering her about aliens during her

last lucid moments, and you're dragging Doggett down with

me. Look--this is *OUR* fight. No need to bring Puppy-Man

into this."

"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I

remind you that this is no longer your office."

Starkweather replied icily.

"Mulder, she can help us. It's not a good idea to piss her

off." coaxed Sam.

"Next time you accuse someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be

a bad idea to make sure your finger isn't barking up the

wrong ass."

"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing

coming." Mulder growled, and stormed passed Sam in a huff

back to Skinner's office to finish the meeting. This

argument would not look good in Mulder's defense if he

couldn't stop the murder.

Later that afternoon...

FBI Employee Only

Gym and Weight Room

At the end of the workday, Sam wandered into the giant

gymnasium. Two feds were running laps on the track around

the basketball court, discussing a case. A few members of

the "good old boys" club were taking a quick break from

playing three on three on one half of the court. On the

other half of the court, Starkweather was hitting tennis

balls against the wall, almost as good as a pro.

Sam paused and felt his breath catch in his throat. When he

first saw her, she looked like a girl masquerading in one

of her mother's business suits, despite her carefully

applied make-up and her hair pulled tightly back in an

unmerciless bun. Watching her smash the tennis racket, a

very nice Winston Titanium racket at that, time and time

again, Sam realized it would be a mistake to ever, ever

think that she was physically weak. If she looked like a

teenager, she then definitely looked like a healthy

teenager involved in every competitive sport at her high

school. There wasn't an once of fat on her body, she had

ripplings of muscle on all the right places without losing

any of the supple curves which made her irresistibly

feminine. Sam was also surprised by the length of her hair,

out of it's rigid military style bun and pulled up into a

flowing pony tail.

As Sam approached her, he overheard the sniggering comments

about her physique from the "old school" male feds. Sam

shot them an evil glance, forgetting that he possessed

Doggett's serious craggy face, tall, lean, menacing build

and piercing glacial blue eyes, which shamed the "boys"

into resuming their game.

Starkweather, not realizing Sam-in-Doggett's body, was less

than five steps away, slam the ball into the wall, but

missed it's return. Sam caught the tennis ball easily and

strolled up to her. "Looking for this?" He asked as he held

the ball up to her.

Starkweather accepted it, wiping the sweat out of her eyes.

"Hi," she panted, bending over to catch her breath.

"I saw you favoring your right foot," Sam, ever the doctor,

told her. "You better be careful you don't want to hurt

yourself again."

"I know, I know," she said straighten up. She flexed the

fingers barely poking out of her cast. "I'll be glad to get

this damn thing off. Thank God I'm ambidextrous."

"Quite a first day back, huh?" Sam said casually.

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"Starkweather, we got to talk."

"I know, I know," she brushed the sweaty strands of hair

out of her face. "I screwed up royally today and I don't

understand why. I was doing so good watching what I say

when I started here, but today, man, I don't know. I got

pissed off and basically did what I did that got me in

trouble in Minneapolis. I opened my mouth and sewage just

spewed out. I'm so damn mad right now, Doggett. I don't

know who I want to kill first, Mulder or my husband."

"You've got to stay focused, Starkweather," Sam told her.

"There's too many lives at stake, you can not let your

personal problems interfere, no matter what Mulder or Ben

or whoever says or does that sets you off." Starkweather

looked at her tennis shoes. "Listen," Sam started. "why

don't you go get cleaned up and dressed-" he wasn't really

comfortable having a heart to heart with Starkweather

wearing only a work-out bra and a pair of Air Force issued

sweatpants. "-and we'll go..." he was about to suggest

dinner, but then he figured she wasn't exactly a fancy

restaurant type of girl "... grab a beer and a burger or

something and sit and try to make sense of this, figure out

a game plan." to keep your husband alive. he mentally

added.

Starkweather looked up at him with her hazel puppy dog

eyes. "Okay, give me about twenty minutes or so. I'll meet

you here." She winked.

When she walked away, Sam realized why those eyes looked so

familiar....

Mulder...

"Oh boy..." he said aloud as he sat down on a bench.



Starkweather returned to the gym twenty-two minutes later,

carrying her briefcase and her gym bag. Sam felt his breath

catch in his throat. Her hair, finally freed from all

restrictions, flowed over her shoulders, almost reaching

her posterior. She wore a simple gray T-shirt from the Gap

and a pair of well-loved Calvin Klein jeans. She was sans

make-up and jewelry, save a simple diamond solitaire with

the wedding band sodered on.

Sam looked down at his sober black suit and fiddled with

his blue, white and slate gray tie. "Looks like I'm over

dressed," he joked, reaching to relieve her of the burden

of carrying the heavy gym bag.

Starkweather gave him an disarming smile. "Let's go," she

said. "I'm hungry." She relinquished the bag to him.

They wandered downtown DC until they found a pub that

seemed somewhat deserted, with the exception of one or two

bar flies hovering around the beautiful oak bar. Sam and

Starkweather opted for a secluded table in the far back. A

cheery server took their drink orders, Starkweather, a Bud

Light and Sam, in dire need of a stiff drink, a Jack

Daniels on the rocks.

"Alright Starkweather," Sam said after the server brought

them their adult beverages and promised to be back in a few

minutes for their meal orders, "talk to me."

"I didn't know that Ben was prosecuting that oil rig case,

Doggett. No matter what Mulder thinks, you have to believe

me."

"I do believe you, that's besides the point," Sam insisted,

resisting a weird urge to clasp her small hands in his.

"All that matters is keeping your husband safe. We have

every reason to believe that the people who want to keep

this hushed up are going to try to come after Ben."

"And the people who hushed up the Scotland case,"

Starkweather said quietly. "I didn't get a chance to tell

Scully before she left, but as I was finishing up my report

on the jet plane crash there, I stumbled across a

coincidence that may not be a coincidence." When Sam asked

what, she continued, a little reluctantly. "Andrews, the

air base where the plane and the deceased captain were

originally stationed and flew out has a major fuel contract

with that same oil company. So I did a little digging this

afternoon after my chat with the fucking Deputy Mayor and

guess what? Two other air bases also have contracts with

them. Lackland AFB, where I and the majority of new

recruits do their Basic and Tech School training, and Luke

AFB in Arizona, where I did my last two years as active

airman. I bet if we do some more scrounging, we'll find

some more mysterious plane wrecks. And when we do, we can

probably gather enough evidence to bring them up on federal

charges of willful destruction of government property with

intent of murdering American service men. A big juicy

federal case which would blow Ben's sad little civil suit

out of the water. Plus with a federal case involving breach

of national security, we can secure a gag order, which

means you and Mulder and my idiot husband will be safe as

churches on Easter Sunday."

"How long would the research take?" Sam asked.

"Too long, but I figure, I start now, pull a couple of all-

nighters-"

"Starkweather, you need to go home tonight."

"I have no desire to go home...."

"Listen to me, Starkweather," Sam urgently, now taking

Starkweather's hands in his. Starkweather looked startled

but by all means, not uncomfortable. "You have to go home,

talk some sense into Ben. Talk to him as his wife, not as a

federal agent. They want to kill Ben. Tell him that. I

don't care if it's classified information or not, but tell

him the details of the case, make him understand that it's

not worth the risk. Tell him you don't want to be a widow.

As much as you complain about him, you love him. I see it

in your eyes." I see Mulder in your eyes too. Why is

that?? he thought.

"If I give him any information to him, he will use it and

before we know it, it will be my ass on the stand too, now

how will that help anything?" she demanded, withdrawing her

hands.

Sam put his hands in his lap. She had a point. Before he

could say anything, Al appeared behind Starkweather. He

gestured with his head for Sam to go to the restroom. Sam

looked at Al confusedly. Al groaned and this time with wild

and exagerrated movements with his head and arms, pointed

at the restroom.

"What is it Doggett?" Starkweather turned around to look

where Sam was looking. She saw nothing but the news blaring

on the TV behind her. "Something interesting on?"

"No, no," Sam stood up. "I have to use the bathroom. When

the waitress comes back, just order me a burger with

everything and an order of fries, please."

As Sam walked away, Starkweather shouted behind him. "You

have a bladder like a pregnant woman!"

Sam was relieved to find the hideously dirty bathroom

devoid of people. Al popped in in front of him. "Al, what's

going on?" he asked. "Why couldn't you talk to me in front

of her?"

"Because she can HEAR me, Sam!"

"HEAR you? Are you sure? How?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Al chewed on his ever present cigar and

thumped his little blinking console a few times. "As for

how... you ain't gonna believe this, but when that hellcat

out there and Mr. Spooky-pants himself find out, they're

either gonna throw up or commit suicide, whichever comes

first."

"What?"

"When you leaped into Agent Scully, we configured Mulder's

brainwaves so he could see me, but we forgot to switch it

off. Now, there's some bug in Ziggy's system that we can't

turn it off. We're working on it, but it's gonna take time.

Time we ain't got, buddy."

"And Starkweather?"

"Ziggy thinks that Starkweather can hear me because there's

a 65% chance that... they're blood-relation."

"Are you serious? How is that possible? How are they

related? Why only a 65% chance?"

Al rubbed his eyes. His body was screaming for a strong

drink and forty years of sleep. "It's possible because

Starkweather was found abandoned in the Admiral's car and

they adopted her shortly afterwards. Nobody knows who her

real parents are. We don't know HOW they're related because

after Mulder gets whacked while he's in custody for Ben's

murder, Starkweather gets iced three days later in a

convieniece store holdup, according to police reports."

"Oh no..." Sam leaned against a stall door.

"That's not all, Sam." Al said gravely. "I just found out a

few minutes ago that it gets worse. Two months after that,

the Assistant Director Skinner gets gunned down in his own

home. He holds on for a few days in ICU, but he doesn't

make it. Two months after that, these three bozo computer

hackers they use as consultants, the Lonely Hearts' Club or

whatever... their offices get blown up, kablooey, with 'em

all in it."

"Jesus, no," Sam's heart thudded as the death count kept

adding up.

"That's not all, Sam."

"There's MORE?"

"After THAT, Scully, along with her mom and kid are run off

the road and into the Potomac River, in the dead of winter.

There are no survivors."

"Oh my God, Scully too?" Sam felt sick. "And her kid?"

"There's a another one too Sam, we haven't met her yet. One

Special Agent Monica Reyes. She joined up on the X-Files

shortly after Scully had her kid, but she's MIA right now

because she fell off a ladder while helping paint a house.

Busted her tailbone along with some minor injuries. Anyway,

after the Scully deaths, she's found strangled at a subway

station while she was investigating a case in New York."

"Oh, God... all those people. And an innocent child...

murdered."

"There's one more Sam..."

"Doggett."

"Twenty-four hours after Jerilyn Starkweather meets her

maker, Doggett is stabbed to death waiting for a cab...

which means YOU could be standing in line at the Pearly

Gates if we don't get you out of this."

Sam was looking at the bigger picture, not just the threat

on his life. "The entire X-Files is wiped out."

"It's wiped out, the X-Files goes under military

jurisdiction and remains under lock and key to this day.

And, just to add to the fiesta, Ziggy just calculated that

a year from now, there's a 99.5% chance of a major plague

that's not exactly of this world that's gonna wipe out the

majority of the human population. And, for the cherry on

the shit sundae, Doggett back with us, is being a horse's

ass. Completely uncooperative. He busted through a glass

window to get out. You're gonna have a real pretty scar on

your forehead when we finally get you back in your body,

thanks to him. We're holding him at gun point. We gotta

boogey on this one Sam before everything goes ca-ca."

"Ca-ca?" Sam groaned. "That's an understatement."

"Get to work Sam." Al opened the door and prepared to step

back into the future. "I'll do what I can on my end, but

you gotta pull all the stops on this one. And we ain't got

much time. Ben vanishes off the face of the earth tomorrow

night." Al vanished.

Scully's apartment

Georgetown

Much later that night...

She was in Democratic Rock, Georgia again, laying on the

blood-spattered sheets, seeing all those faces, staring at

her unmerciless, contemplating her doom while she writhed

in agony, trying to expel her son from the safety of her

womb into the uncertainity of life. She felt Monica's hands

on her knees, hearing her voice begging her, "Push Dana!"

"No, no, it's mine. It's my baby," she whimpered again

aloud in her sleep.

"Scully?"

Mulder sat up and shook her gently. "Scully, wake up."

Scully opened her eyes wide and rolled over. "Wh-what?

What's happening?" she sat up, only partial in this world,

still partially in her nightmare realm.

"You were talking in your sleep. You were having a

nightmare." He reached for her, but she bolted from her

bed.

"I have to check on William," she muttered as she crossed

over to the baby's bed, who had graduated from bassinet to

crib. She gripped the railing and looked down at her

miracle, sleeping safely, unaware of the painful lessons

that life will give him as he grows.

Mulder too got out of bed and went to her, wrapping his

bare arms around her petite waist. "Scully? Are you okay?"

he whispered, resting his cheek on her hair.

"I'm fine," she said, bowing her head. "It was just a bad

dream."

"What was it?"

"It was a bad dream, nothing more," she insisted, pushing

away from him, back towards bed.

Mulder followed her and sat down by her. "Are you still mad

at me for fighting with Jerilyn today?" He tried teasing.

"I promised I'd play nice from now on."

"No, I'm not upset anymore about that," she looked away and

layed back down in bed.

Mulder got in on the other side and curled up around her.

"Then talk to me." He rested his head in the soft crook

between her cheek and shoulders.

"Do you think Ben and Jerilyn talk?" Scully asked, to

distract him from prying into her terror-filled sleep.

Mulder paused as his profiler's mind went to work. For a

moment, Scully thought he fell back asleep until he said,

"I think they try. I think they genuinely care for

eachother. But, judging from what you've told me, they had

a whirlwind weekend romance with Jerilyn commuting from the

University of Iowa to Des Moines for her duties for the

Iowa Air National Guard but when Jerilyn opted not to

become a medical doctor, but an FBI agent, instead of

seeing if they could handle awesome responsibility of

commitment while she was at Quantico and he was in the

Great White North, they leaped into marriage, thinking

their strong affection and fairy-tale romance would survive

the wedding vows. This is probably Jerilyn and also Ben's

first, quote "real" unquote real serious relationship.

Because of their inexperience, when he saw her in that

white gown and he slipped that diamond ring on her finger,

they thought they were going to live happily ever after."

"Then what?"

"Sleeping Beauty woke up and saw the warts on her prince.

Benjamin Starkweather is still fast asleep, wondering why

Jerilyn is no longer part of his dreams. They aren't going

to be together much longer, Scully. They still love each

other but they've discovered they don't have what it takes

to live together, to share their lives together."

Scully closed her eyes. "Does anybody live happily ever

after?"

She felt him pull her towards him, so she rolled over,

facing him. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Isn't

that what we're fighting for Scully?" He asked. "Isn't that

what the X-Files is all about? So that we can at least have

the chance of trying to savor the taste of a fairy tale

ending?" He kissed her forehead. "So, no more bad dreams,

okay?"

For a moment, she buried her face into his bare chest. She

kissed the scar down his sternum from that terrible time

when the monsters stole him from her life. Then she lifted

her head up for him to touch his lips with hers. As the

kiss deepened into fairy-tale proportions, she felt him

fumbling with the buttons of her satin night shirt, so she

guided his hands with hers where she wanted him to go.

Al, ever mindful that Mulder could still see him, had

hidden himself in the shadows of the room. When the

situation got hot and heavy, feeling like a pervert, Al

slipped through the walls to the other side so the "busy

bunnies" wouldn't notice him. "Goushie," he whispered, also

mindful that Mulder could still hear them. "Center me in on

the Starkweathers."

He was pretty sure there were no sweet nothings and lovin'

going on over there.

Ben and Jerilyn's apartment

9:56 PM

Ben paused outside of his door, listening to the faint

strains of music from within. He didn't know a thing about

classical music before meeting Jerilyn. He knew plenty now,

and he know how to judge her moods by what music she was

playing. When she was sad or melancholy, she'd play

Beethoven's "Fur Elise" or Liszt's "Liebestraum" (Love's

Dream) When she was in an amourous mood, she'd play

Debussy's "Arabesque" or "Clair de Lune." When she was

playing just to play, she'd play the main theme from Jane

Campion's "The Piano." She had an amazing, almost

preternatural talent for being able to just listen to a

song, even the most complicated piece, and be able to play

it herself. She could play several instruments, all by ear.

Unfortunately, Ben heard Beethoven's "Presto Agitato", her

absolute favorite piece to play when she was royally hacked

off. Ben sighed. Since her right wrist was still in a case,

he guessed that she must be playing the CD at top volume.

He was surprised that the neighbors hadn't complained yet.

When he let himself in, he was astonished to find her at

the piano. The CD player was playing "Presto Agitato", but

so was she, only the left hand parts. Her right hand lay

useless in her lap. She managed to keep in perfect beat

along with the recording. If one would listen very

carefully, then you would be able to hear the left hand

parts overlapping while the right hand parts standing

alone.

Her eyes were closed. Ben shut the door quietly and sat

down, listening to her play, formulating his strategies in

advance. Being a prosecutor, he wasn't very good at defense

and he resented it like hell he'd have to defend himself

against his own wife, but there was nothing he could do

about that.

Caesar, their fat tabby cat, leaped into his lap and

started purring. Absentily, he stroked his orange silky fur

until Jerilyn finished. When she turned around, he made a

feeble joke. "Look, someone around here still likes me."

Jerilyn played along with the next song on her CD, Chopin's

"Etude Number 12" still only the left handed parts. "You

made me look like a horse's ass in my boss's office today,"

she said crisply.

Ben snatched the remote off the coffee table that his

parents gave them as a wedding present. He switched off the

stereo and Jerilyn stopped playing. "You did that yourself,

honey, I hate to break it to you." Jerilyn opened her

mouth, but Ben plowed ahead. "Baby, let's not do this

tonight, I'm tired, you're tired."

"You're right," Jerilyn said dangerously. "I AM tired.

Tired of this bullshit..."

She recalled Sam-in-Doggett's body's words: Talk to him

as his wife, not as a federal agent and took a deep

breath.

"I'm damn tired, Ben," she flung herself off the piano

bench and headed towards the kitchen. Ben and Caesar

followed. Jerilyn continued her rant as she opened a can of

soft cat food for her kitty. "I am so damn tired of trying

to get through to you. I yell. I scream. I beg and I cry

and nothing, nothing, NOTHING I ever say means a damn thing

to you." She dumped the food into Caesar's dish and set it

down for him. As the happy fat feline mawed down on his

treat, she crouched beside him, petting him. "What do I

have to do to get you to listen to me??"

Al, hovering in the doorway behind Ben, nodded his head

approvingly. Good, kid, good. he thought. For the love

of God and everything holy, Ben, listen to her!!!

"I'm listening now," Ben crouched down and took her hands

in his. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Talk to me,

Jeri."

"Don't take this case," she stood up, with the pretense of

doing the dishes.

"Aw, for pete's sake!" Ben got up again, angry now. "You

b*tch about me not listening to you but when I am here to

listen, it's never about us, it's about YOU. Your damn

dreams, your damn wants, needs, career. Jesus Jerilyn, I

don't want to hear about YOU. I want to hear about US."

"This IS about us, Ben!" Jerilyn turned around. "You don't

understand Ben. I just found something terrible out this

afternoon..."

Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent

"Ben, it's not about Mulder or Doggett, I don't give a

rat's ass about any of that! It's about you."

"I'm not so sure about you not caring about Doggett." Ben

snarled.

Uh-oh Al thought, not liking where this was going.

"Goushie," he said as loudly as he dared. "Get me info on

the Doggett-Starkweather relationship, STAT."

But Jerilyn was too angry and too involved with her fight

with Ben to notice mysterious whispers. "What do you mean

by that?" A heavy silence lay between man and wife. "God

damn it. Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, you BEST not be

questioning my loyalty and commitment to my vows to you."

"I'm not saying you did the naked pretzel with him... yet."

Ben felt all of his angry insecurities bubble forth, the

fear that maybe he wasn't the man meant to stay by this

unique woman's side for the rest of her life. "But you

spend an awful lot of time with him."

"He's my partner. I kind of have to."

"Even while you were out on leave?" Ben accused her, face

contorted in an ugly mask of jealousy. "You went out to the

firing range with him every week."

"To work on my left hand," Jerilyn held up her broken

wrist. "This hand is going to be so weak when the cast

comes off, I'm gonna have to compensate with my left hand

until its up to par again. Doggett spotted me."

"You went out to dinner with him a few times."

"What? I can't have friends now? I can't go out for a

burger and a beer without you approving of who I'm with?"

"You went to his house last night. Before we went out to

the bar."

"I dropped off a file for him. As a favor for Scully? What

about it?"

"That's not the first time you've been to his house."

"So?"

"You care about him."

"He's my partner and he's my first fucking friend I've made

down here. Are you begrudging me that?"

"Where were you two nights ago?" Ben snapped. Jerilyn

stayed quiet.

Ohhhh, Al moaned to himself. Jerilyn, Jerilyn, what

have you been doing with yourself??? He knew Mulder and

Scully caught the love bug while working together. He hoped

it wasn't contagious.

"Were you at Doggett's?" Ben asked quietly.

Jerilyn couldn't meet his eyes at first. "Yes..." she

looked at him now squarely in the face. "Scully called me.

She said Doggett was having a gathering at his place. It

was me, Scully, the Deputy Mayor and a couple of other guys

from work. You weren't home yet, I was bored, so I went. We

all sat around, played cards, took turns holding Boo,

watched a dumb movie, drank beer. That's ALL."

"That's ALL? That's ALL, she says." Ben griped to thin air.

"So if I call Saint Scully and your daddy's puppet, the

venerated Deputy Mayor Mulder plus all these anomynous

"guys", they'll tell me you were just holding a baby and

playing poker, right?"

"That's right, you son of a bitch."

"You stayed, despite Mulder's presense."

"Because Scully is my friend as well," she growled.

"Because Mulder is important to her, and because he saved

my ass, I tolerate his presense as long as he doesn't say

anything that pisses me off."

"So, if I call all these people, they could swear on a

Bible that you did nothing but hang out... can they also

tell me what time they left and what time you left?"

Jerilyn looked down at her shoes. "They all had work in the

morning, you didn't. You were home at about four in the

morning. Did they stay out that late too? Scully? With her

baby?"

"Ben," Jerilyn said, trying to control her simmering

temper. "Doggett is my partner. I trust him with my life.

But you are my husband. I trust you with my heart and my

soul. I handed those over to you when I changed my last

name. Nothing is going to change that. I stayed over a

little while longer with Doggett. We had a good talk. We

exchanged confidences. He's my friend, and that's all.

You're my husband. YOU'RE the one I came home to. The one

I'll ALWAYS come home to. What are you so afraid of? Why

are you saying these things?"

"Because I think you're full of shit," Ben replied

bitterly. "Because I think you've been lying your ass off

to me and to yourself ever since you met Doggett."

"Doggett is almost fifteen years older than me. For all I

know, he could be my natural father." As an adopted child,

Jerilyn couldn't help but look at men old enough to be her

father and wonder Is it you? Did you help create me?

"So? Mulder is almost three years older than Scully. That

didn't stop them. And gee, for HOW long did Mulder and

Scully claim they were JUST friends?" Ben pointed out.

Too long Al thought.

"There's a slight difference. Neither one of them were

wearing a wedding band when they met. Ben, when I married

you, I married you forever. Better and worse, sickness and

health and all of that yukkity-yuk. No matter how pissed I

get at you, no matter how lonely I get when you're pulling

all-nighters at the office or how scared I am when I go out

on assignment that I might not come home, I am married to

YOU. Nothing is going to change that."

"You're not married to me. You're married to the FBI. I may

as well be a widow."

Jerilyn folded her hands tightly together. "Ben, tell me

what to say. Tell me what you need to hear. Because I

honestly don't know what I'm doing that's so wrong."

"Tell me you love me."

"Ben, that's not even a question. I love you. I love you so

much, it hurts me."

"Tell me you'll stand behind me with whatever I do."

Jerilyn broke away from him and went into the living room.

She held herself and looked out at the window. Ben followed

her and so did Al.

"I can't... go against my conscience if it tells me what

you're doing is wrong," she finally said after an eternity

of silence. "Ben, I know what you think you're doing...

going after the oil rig... is the right thing to do, but

it's not. It's just opening a Pandora's Box, hand-delivered

to us from Hades himself." She turned around. Ben was

surprised to see tears trickling down her cheeks for she

was one who rarely wept, especially in front of others.

"Ben, I found out that they're going to silence your case

by killing you. You say you're a grass-widow. Baby, if you

take this case, you'll be making me a genuine widow and I

can't handle that."

"Jerilyn," he said "who's "they"?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "But it's like a whole...

consortium. A... a.... a Syndicate for lack of a better

name. These people are everywhere, making their plots,

having no concern for the innocent bystanders they take

down in their weird little wars. These are the same people

who ordered that... thing in the park to attack me and I

would be dead if Mulder hadn't been out early that morning.

They kidnap people, they torture... they kill... Ben... I

can't possibly explain it because I don't completely

understand."

"Did it ever cross your mind that they told you this to

scare you? To do what you're doing right now? To talk me

out of this?" Ben touched her face and wiped her tears

away. "Look at what's happening to us. You talk about this

Syndicate, how they've hurt people. What about the X-Files?

Look at what happened with all the people that's been

involved even remotely with that division. They're all dead

or seriously fucked up. I mean... both Scully and Mulder

have been kidnapped and tortured. Do you think they rest

easily at night? They go after monsters and evil men in

dark offices but you never hear about the follow-up. You

never hear about these bastards having their day in court.

That's what I want to do. I want these monsters put away

Jerilyn. Let them rot in the darkest cell so we can get one

with our lives. I mean... look at your "friend" Doggett. He

supposedly only went in to get in good with the Deputy

Director so he can have Skinner's post when he retires.

Now, he seems to be sinking into the myth deeper and

deeper. He's just like the others. Is that what you want?

To be stuck in the basement forever? What happened to

teaching at Quantico? I hear you talking about that less

and less."

"Ben, so much has happened... I've learned so much since

then. Not just about the X-Files, but about myself. Shit

that you wouldn't even believe if I told you. Things I'm

not sure I believe, things I don't want to believe. Things

I thought I didn't want to know, but now I know, I HAVE

to."

Al wished he wasn't a hologram so he could give her a hug.

"I mean, I've always lived this pretty illusion that I'm a

normal all-American girl, but I'm NOT... and you KNOW

that... you've seen the scars on my body... you've heard

all about the time when Mom and I were kidnapped... now...

I think I've finally found a venue where I can find

answers. To find out why I am the way I am."

"You're talking like Mulder."

"Don't insult me like that." But she smiled for the first

time.

"Jerilyn, don't torture yourself like this. Mulder and

Scully searched for this... fucking truth you're talking

about and look where it got them. Do you really... REALLY

want to take the chance of being ousted out of the Bureau

like Mulder was? Do you really want to give up on your

dream of being an instructor at Quantico to chase

smokescreens?"

"What do you suggest I do? Keep pretending that

everything's okay?"

"When I win this case," Ben said carefully. "Mulder will be

cleared of all allegations against him for the explosion."

"So?"

"Then he can be reinstated into the Bureau and back into

the X-Files where he belongs."

"He WAS reinstated, briefly. He's out now because his

health is in question. Scully thinks whoever took him,

wiped out his immune system."

"He had AIDS?"

"NO! It's as if it has no memory. He catches every germ and

virus under the sun, but his white blood cells can still

fight them. Things that we're immune to after having them

once, like influenza or mono, he gets."

"People get the flu all the time."

"No, they get different strains of flu. Once a normal

person catches one strain of flu, after they recover, they

have immunity against it. But new strains of flu come out

all the time. People don't just have "the flu" they are

having a new and interesting variety of a flu their bodies

never had to deal with all the time. Mulder's immunity

system has no memory of what diseases he's already had.

Until they figure out how to fix that, he could be

reinstated."

"But he COULD be reinstated, right?"

"Sure, if he passes the physical... where are you going

with this?"

"They wouldn't need a fourth person there, would they?"

"You want me out of the Bureau." Now Jerilyn was white hot

angry again.

Ben, you idiot Al rubbed his temples.

"Not of the Bureau, just the X-Files. You're all worried

about me, what about you? Your first case and you're almost

killed in not one, but two plane wrecks, you're almost run

off the road, an army lieutenant gives you a hairline

fracture on your upper arm escorting you away from a crime

scene that you had every right to be at and some crazy guy

tries to kill you while you're jogging. And that was your

first case!!! YOU talk about being scared about not coming

home from an assignment? What about me? What do you think

it will do to me if YOU don't come home? Jerilyn, you swore

to me, you promised me that this transfer to DC was just a

stepping stone to Quantico. So we left everything we knew

to come here. And now, instead of using this as a stepping

stone, you're using it as a cornerstone. You know what? I

don't give a damn about the X-Files. I don't care about

Mulder or Scully or Skinner or Doggett or any of them. As

far as I'm concerned, they're using you, they're

manipulating you and they're dragging you down. The longer

you stay, the further away Quantico gets! You said YOU'RE

tired? Know what I'm tired of?"

"Enlighten me."

"I'm tired of laying awake at night, listening you working

away at the computer on some damn case, I'm tired of having

you leave and be gone for unknown amounts of time, God only

knowing when you come home, wondering if you'll come home

at all. I am terrified that one of these days they're going

to ship you home in a body bag. I am tired of living in

limbo, of promises that you'll slow down, take time off,

time for us. And they only way you get that time is you get

mangled in the line of duty and we spend that time putting

the broken bits of you back together, only to have you run

off again on another mission. I don't want that shit

anymore. I want US, I want Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin

Starkweather. Not Benjamin Starkweather, counselor and

Special Agent Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather. I'm tired of

this Jeri. When does it start being about us? When are we

going to BE "us" again? What happened to settling down,

having kids, having house, having a life. All I want is

you, Jerilyn and my life is complete. I can't have... I

don't want Special Agent Starkweather."

Jerilyn scowled at Ben, reminding Al of Ex-Wife Number Two.

"You can't have Jerilyn unless you take Special Agent

Starkweather along with her," she snapped. "And I'm not

leaving the X-Files until I'm good and ready, even if it

means sharing an office with Mulder, who, as of right now,

is only one point ahead of you on my Asshole-Meter." She

pushed away from him.

"Jerilyn-"

"No! You don't want me, you want the beautiful lie I've

been living. I didn't even know that it was a lie until I

came here. What you want isn't real," Jerilyn choked on her

rage and her tears. "The only truth I know is that there's

something out there, hurting people, that I REALLY want to

lay the smackdown on, even if it means going outside the

boundaries of the law... and that I love you... but you

only love what you want to see. And what you want to see...

isn't what you get. I just told you that those

motherfuckers are gonna try to take you out and if you die,

I will die. For the rest of my life without you, I will be

dying on the inside. I am begging you, as a federal agent,

as your wife, as just me, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather...

please, don't do this! Don't take this case. If you love me

for plain old weird me, don't do this to me!!!"

"Just as you said earlier..." Ben said, painfully slow. "I

can't go against my conscience."

"Then there's nothing more to say," she said quietly "I'm

going to bed, good night" and, scooping up the cat, went to

the bedroom. Ben followed her, but she stopped him at the

door, pillows and a quilt in her arms. "Uh-uh. No. You.

Couch. Get used to it," she dropped the bedding at his feet

and slammed the door.

Al watched Ben make up his bed. "Kid, you blew it," he

muttered as he lit a fresh cigar. He said, aloud now, since

Jerilyn was not in the room, "Goushie! Bring me to Sam!" Al

disappeared.

Meanwhile....

Sam couldn't settle down. After Starkweather left the bar,

with healthy promises of talking Ben out of his suicide

mission, Sam sat there, nursing his one drink, trying to

figure out the next step. By his watch, Ben only had

twenty-four hours before he disappeared. Three days after

his disappearance, he dies. Then Mulder. Then Starkweather.

Then Doggett. Then Skinner. Scully. The Lone Gunmen. And an

agent he hadn't even met yet, Monica Reyes. It didn't make

sense... why would they waste time with a lawyer...

Unless...

Unless it wasn't the lawyer they were going after at all.

That Ben was just a red herring... that the leap wasn't

about saving Mr. Starkweather. It was about saving Mrs.

Starkweather.

But how does she factor into this? Sam wondered. After

Al told him about the 65% chance of blood relations between

Mulder and Starkweather, Sam couldn't help but stare at her

the entire night, partially because she was fairly pretty,

but trying to figure out what DNA tests were to be

inconclusive.

Same wicked sarcasm. Same genius intelligence. Same crinkly

puppy-dog eyes. Same pouty lip. But her skin was very fair,

her hair a soft fawn color and stick straight and her nose

was very Anglo-Saxon, denoting some Scandivian blood in her

heritage. Plus she somewhere along the way picked up a

healthy dose of skepticism that Mulder lacked. Miserably

lacked.

The only conclusion Sam came to was that he was very tired.

He paid the tab and got into Doggett's car. Instead of

driving to Doggett's apartment, he cruised around, still

trying to figure out how he was supposed to stop Ben from

inadvertdently destroying the world.

Sam surfed the radio stations and stumbled across a country

station. He wasn't a fan of country, but when he heard the

svelte voice of country crooner, Martina McBride, who he

didn't remember who she was, he felt himself relax just a

bit as he was swept away by her lyrics:

"You think I'm always makin'

Something out of nothin'

You're saying' everything's okay

You've always got an answer

Before I ask the question

Whatever you say...

Now we can change the subject

Pretend I never brought it up

Same old story anyway

Later we can work it out

Right now we're talked out

Yeah whatever you say

Oh I know you can hear me

But I'm not sure you're listening

I hear what you're sayin'

But still there's something missin'

Whether I go, whether I stay

Right now depends on

Whatever you say

You say yes you need me

And no you wouldn't leave me

And that should be enough to make me stay

And even though I want to

I don't hear 'I love you'

In whatever you say

Oh I know you can hear me

But I'm not sure you're listening

I hear what you're sayin'

But still there's something missin'

Whether I go, whether I stay

Right now depends on

Whatever you say

Whether I go, whether I stay

Right now depends on

Whatever you say...."

"Man, if those weren't truer words tonight," Al said,

suddenly appearing in the backseat.

Sam jumped. "AL!" he complained. "Don't do that!" he

sighed. "Let me get to Doggett's apartment. Then let's

talk."

Al nodded. "Sure. Take a left......"

With Al's help, Sam found his way to Doggett's home. He let

himself in, turned on the lights and flopped onto the

couch. "Well?" Sam asked. "Did you check in on Ben and..."

Sam blanked out for a minute. "What's Starkweather's first

name again?"

"Jerilyn and yeah I popped in on them," Al grumbled.

"Well?" Sam sat up a bit. "Did she talk to him?"

"Oh... they talked," Al said, lighting a new cigar. "And

then she banished him to Sofa-ville."

"Oh, no," Sam groaned.

"Sam," Al said seriously. "I don't see this having a very

happy ending."

"We can't think like that, Al," Sam said seriously. "We got

to think. We've got to... Al, do we know where and when Ben

gets abducted?"

Al punched a few buttons on this little computer console.

"According to police reports, he was last seen in his

office at the law firm of Carter, Adams and Spangle. He

called Jerilyn at five-fifteen, he left the office at five-

thirty, he's found as a floater three days later."

"Okay, okay," Sam was pacing. "Then tomorrow, I will just

have to stick to Ben like glue, especially during the prime

hours. I make sure nothing happens to him. Nothing does

happen, history changes and I..." Sam slowed down. "Leap

out of here..." he muttered as he wandered off in search of

a kitchen.

When Sam got to the kitchen, Al was already waiting for

him. "Whatcha looking for?"

"Glasses. I need a drink," when Al stared at him pointedly,

he amended his statement, "a drink of water."

"Why did you look so down in the mouth when you figured out

a way to leap out of this one?" Al asked suspiciously.

"I am not down in the mouth." Sam got a glass and filled it

with water from the tap.

"Well, you wanna leap outta here, don't ya?" Al asked.

"Sure I do," Sam said. "That's all I ever want, to go

home."

"Well, we'll get you home," Al reassured him. "And we'll

get Doggett home too, he's about ready to go completely

postal on us, stupid Marines. Oh... oh... Sam... about

Doggett."

"Yeah?"

"Ben made some... uh... accusations... tonight that I'm not

quite sure if Mrs. Starkweather answered so honestly."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Al gave him a minute to let

the insinuation sink in. "Doggett and STARKWEATHER??? I

don't... no... that can't be right. Where did Ben get that

idea?"

"Well, I don't know Sam, I mean, I don't think they're

doing the mattress mambo yet, even Ben said he doesn't

think that, but Ben thinks that there's something more

between them because the little missus has been spending

alot of time with her partner and I don't mean Ben."

"Oh," was all Sam said.

OH???" Al spluttered. "'Oh', he says. I just told you that

Doggett, who's bod you're in right now, is not in good with

Benny because he thinks his wife is making goo-goo eyes at

Doggett and all you can say is 'OH?'"

"Well is she?" Sam asked.

"Is she what?"

"Making...as you so aptly put it...goo-goo eyes at Doggett?"

"How should I know?" Al snapped. "I haven't talked to Mr.

The Few, The Proud, The Mentally Deficient in a few hours

and when I talked to him last, it was while the doc was

stitching up YOUR head because HE decided it would be a

good idea to bust through the two way mirror. Anyway,

couldn't YOU tell when you were talking to the little lady

yourself earlier tonight?"

"I don't know," Sam mumbled. "I mean, I can tell she trusts

me... uh Doggett and... um..." Sam paced a bit in the

kitchen. "She's an incredible person Al. She's smart, she's

funny, she's strong and she's straight as an arrow. I mean,

I can't picture her being unfaithful to Ben. It's not in

her." Sam dumped out the remaining water in his glass. "But

she's not as tough as she likes people to think she is.

Underneath it all, she's sweet and gentle, Al, there's an

angel underneath all that piss and fire she shrouds herself

in."

"Shrouds herself????" Al said, mouth hanging open. "Since

when are YOU a poet?"

"I'm not," Sam felt a blush crossing Doggett's cheeks.

"Aw nooooooooooooooooo," Al groaned. "I don't believe this

is happening."

"What?" Sam snapped defensively.

"You like her."

"Of course I like her."

"No, you LIKE like her."

"What is this, junior high?"

"You," Al began circling his best friend. "Have the hots

for that little hurricane."

"Do not," Sam grumbled. "I just... I just hope I don't

forget her when I leap out of here."

"I wouldn't worry about that one." Al said, "Women like

her, women like her and Scully don't let you forget them.

They stay with you forever, even if it's only in dreams."

"Now who's the poet?"

"Ahhh," Al grumbled, opening the door back into the future.

"Get some sleep. You're gonna need it for tomorrow. Just be

sure you're thinking with the head on your SHOULDERS

tomorrow," was Al's parting shot when he stepped out the

glowing door.

"Funny," Sam said when the door closed. He went to lay down

on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the

stereo for background noise.

"Darkness falls and she will take me

by the hand

Take me to some twilight land

Where all but love is gray

Where time just slips away

Without her as my guide

Night falls I'm cast beneath her spell

Daylight comes our heaven's torn to hell

Am I left here to burn

and burn eternally

She's a mystery to me..."

Sam closed his eyes and felt himself slip away to a

twilight land...

Sam fell into a troubled sleep...

He opened his eyes and found himself sitting a car, similar

to the one he had before he made his maiden leap into the

past. He looked around and somehow knew that he was still

in Washington DC, or actually, a nice, middle class suburb.

More accurately, he was sitting in the driveway of a modest

one story house, tastefully, understatedly decorated, but

one where children ruled for toys littered the meticulously

manicured yard and a basketball hoop hung over the garage.

Sam got out of car and walked around a bit, admiring the

neatly pruned rosebushes. Two little boys, on bicycles

wheeled past on the sidewalk. One of the boys, not more

than eight or nine, stopped in front of the driveway, near

where Sam stood and yelled at his friends. "I gotta go,

Will, I'll see ya after supper!" he yelled lustily. His

little friend waved and rode away.

The small boy unceremoniously dumped his bike on the grass

and even before he ran for him, Sam could see that the

child was undeniably Starkweather's. Same crinkly hazel

eyes, same elfin face. Dark mocha brown hair though, with a

colic. The child flung himself at him. "Hi Dad!" he said

happily.

Sam, as if it was most natural thing in the world, swung

the boy up in the air, "Hey, you, what's goin' on?" Sam

asked brightly.

"Dad, Will's havin' a sleepover at his house tonight. We're

gonna watch movies and eat popcorn and play video games on

Will's new Playstation 4 and Aunt Dana already said it was

okay, can I go, please Dad? I promise I won't be a pain for

Aunt Dana, please??? Uncle Fox is gonna be there and he

said he was gonna play video games with us, please Dad, can

I, huh? Can I go?"

"Well, let's see what your mother says, but I think it'll

be okay," Sam put the boy down, took the child by the hand

and went into the house.

The living room was spacious and comfortably furnished, but

again, kids rules. Sam stepped on a teddy bear by accident

before calling out "Doc? Hey Doc, I'm home!"

A petite woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands

with a dish towel and despite the shoulder length dark

brown hair and the tiniest hint of crows' feet by her eyes

and laugh lines by her mouth, Sam knew it was Starkweather.

"Hey, you're early, shock and surprise," she deadpanned as

she crossed over the toy strewn living room to give Sam a

deep, long kiss.

"Ewwww," the boy covered his eyes.

"Oh, stop," Starkweather crouched to the boy's height.

"Look at you," she said as she did a totally "Mom-thing" by

licking her fingers and trying to rub dirt smudges off his

face. "J.B., what devilment have you and your cousin been

up to?"

"Nothin', honest!" he protested in wide-eyed innocence as

he wiped "Mom-spit" off his face. "Just playin' and ridin'

bikes."

"And getting dirty," She said lovingly.

"Mom, Will said I could sleep at his house tonight, Dad

already said it was okay if you said okay. Is it okay? Can

I go?"

"'May' you go, and yes, baby, it's okay. Your Aunt Dana

already called-"

"Alright!"

"-and invited you and your sister."

"Aw, man," the boy pouted. "We don't want any dumb girls

there."

"Hey mister," Starkweather said sternly. "Since when do we

talk that way about our twin sister? Bailey's just going to

stay for movies and popcorn. She already said she wants to

come back home tonight. Now, go wash up for supper. You

stink." She kissed the top of his dirty head.

The boy scampered off. Starkweather shrugged. "So much for

our night alone, but Bailey is so attached to that new

kitten Mulder got her she doesn't want to leave it along

for one night. She named him Fox, after him, isn't that

revoltingly cute?"

Sam laughed. "Well, it was nice of Mulder to give her that

kitten. She was so broken up when Caesar died."

"She wasn't the only one, poor old cat," Starkweather wound

herself around Sam. "But, at least we'll have a couple of

hours of 'grown-up' time while the kids are out." She

kissed him again and Sam felt completed, whole, with her in

his arms. She broke away and Sam felt a small part of him

die with even that tiny separation. "Hang on a sec, I'll

call her inside, she's out back with that kitten, I mean,

Jiminy Christmas, I'm almost afraid she's going to love

that poor hairball to death, it's so little." She went to

the kitchen, Sam following.

"Bailey!" Starkweather shouted out the back door, "Come

into house, Dad's home!" Starkweather went back to the

counter to finish slicing tomatoes for the salad she was

working on. Sam sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his

daughter.

A little girl came to the door, with a small white kitten

in a strangle hold. Sam felt his heart stop.

The girl had piercing crystalline blue eyes and wavy blond

hair. "Daddy," she said, crawling into his lap. "I missed

you so much, see what Uncle Fox got me?" she held the

kitten up for his approval.

Sam looked over the child's head at his reflection in the

toaster. John Doggett's face, aged nine years, stared back

at him.

Starkweather turned to him. "Hey," she asked, forehead

crinkled in concern. "What's wrong, Papa John?"

Sam woke up with a start. He looked around to find himself

in John Doggett's bedroom. He made his way to the bathroom

to splash cold water in his face. He looked up into the

mirror. John Doggett's face stared back at him. Sam touched

the reflection with dripping wet fingers. "God," he prayed.

"Please let my next leap be the leap home. I can't do this

anymore..."

The shrill ring of the phone bolted Sam from Doggett's bed.

He glanced over at the alarm clock, which almost screamed

2:24am.

"Hey Doggett," came a familiar voice on the other end, it

took Sam a second in the fog of sleepiness to remember

exactly who the voice belonged to. "Hey listen, the boys

found something ya might wanna take a look

at. I didn't wanna call Scully away from Will,

Starkweather's phone is off the hook, I can't get hold of

either Skinner or Reyes."

"Glad to be a last resort." He heard himself grumbling. "It

couldn't hold till morning?" Sam whined. Part of him really

wanted to get back to that dream, even if it wasn't his own

life. He needed to get home--and soon--if he was starting

to even dream vicariously.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get the fun of turning you into

an insomniac. All-nighters come with the territory of that

basement office." Mulder retorted

Sam sighed defeatedly. "You know you are fucking impossible

sometimes." Sam heard himself gruff into the receiver,

surprised by his own vulgarity.

"Impossible people do impossible things, Puppy Man."

"It better be damn important, Mulder."

"If we're gonna keep the x-files up and running, this is

pretty big news. I dropped by my apartment anyway to get

some things I needed. I'll be over in a few minutes. See ya

in a few."

Part of Mulder's conversation made Sam jolt out of his fog.

Who the hell were "the boys?"

"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam called out into the air.

Pretty soon, the thin blue light of the chamber door

appeared and Al's swanky form graced the doorway.

"Who are the boys?"

"Oh great...not the Lone Gungeeks!" Al groaned. "I think

those guys have been beamed up one too many times. They're

three hacker friends of Mulder's who write a newsletter

called The Lone Gunmen. Your last leap, Doggett enlisted

their help. One of them wanted to be beamed up, and another

called Ziggy and I quote..."a million megabytes of

megabitch," and another one fell in love with her."

"So they're a bit off the beaten path...they can't be that

bad." Sam attempted to be optomistic. "Mulder and I are

headed over to their place in a few minutes. He's on his

way."

"Just don't look too shocked or surprised by what you see

when you get to their place."

"Any change in the USMC data system or new light on who

kills Mr. Starkweather?"

"According to police reports, blood was found in Mulder's

car matching Starkweather's type, making him a suspect. No

change on the USMC data system. I think the info Mulder's

dug up has something to do with that, though."

"What if I get him to go away for a weekend, or maybe get

the sparkplug so the car won't start?" Sam brainstormed,

shoveling tennishoes into unsocked feet.

"Not a bad idea, Sam. See what you can do. Meanwhile, find

a way to get close to Bennyboy so he won't get fed to the

fishes in a few days."

"I dunno if I can do that, Al. He already thinks I'm after

his wife. Why would Doggett spend quality time with a

coworker's husband who hates his guts?"

"Well, try...because if you can stop him from getting

killed, we may just be able to get you home."

Sam's face got serious for a minute.

"Al, I have a life back home, don't I?" He sounded almost

like a little kid, asking a parent about camp or

kindergarten.

"Sure you do. It'll be your fifteen minutes after you get

back, and everyone's doing their damndest to make sure that

happens."

"I know...thanks." Sam said quietly. "You better get outta

here. If Starkweather can hear you, odds are Mulder can,

too, and he'll be here any minute."

"Hey, you're right. I'll see ya later. Lemme know what the

boys find out, and try and find a way to stick to Benny no

matter what it takes! I don't care if you hafta kidnap the

yutz. Do it!" Al shouted and was out of sight just in time

for the doorbell to ring.

"Morning, Dogbreath." Mulder chirpped. Sam only flashed him

a warning look.

"I don't give a damn if the x-files stay open, Mulder. I'm

too old to be pulling all-nighters."

"This isn't about the x-files, Doggett. It's about those

people that died on that oil rig, and it's about our

freedom and safety. Starkweather was right. If we have to

testify, we are fair game. I've got way too much to loose

these days."

"So that's why you're digging up information?"

"Not exactly. I can't explain it about Starkweather..."

"...say no more, Mulder. I know what you mean."

"Don't tell me you have the hots for that little

hurricane!"

Sometimes it was just plain spooky how much alike Mulder

and Al were.

Sam felt that the comment justified only a warning glare.

"That's not what I meant, anyway...I feel like I need to

protect her--like I used to feel like I needed to protect

Samantha."

"Maybe you just somehow displace Starkweather with

Samantha. You're the psychiatrist--you know about all that

Freudian crap better than I do."

"Interesting theory, Puppy Man. Anyway, so much for

theorizing. We're here."

They live in a warehouse? Sam inwardly sputtered, trying

to conseal the quizzical expression on his face.

"Doggett? You okay?"

"Yeah...just haven't woken up yet, is all."

"Alright. Let's see what the three stooges have found for

us."

Something about the way the warehouse was concealed told

Sam that being a man who had been in the Gunmen's warehouse

would be the acting assignment of a lifetime.

3:19 AM

Tacoma Park Falls, MD

TLG Lair

As Mulder pulled up to the back of the warehouse, Sam

wondered why they were stopping. He wanted to clue

Starkweather in on what they were researching tonight, but

decided against it. He had caused enough trouble between

the Starkwaethers. Luckily, Mulder's lanky form was a few

steps ahead so Sam had no trouble hiding the quizzical

expression that seemed to plastered on his face around Fox

Mulder. Surely nobody lived here...there were no gutters

for running water, and no apparent lights on inside.

"It's us." Mulder said simply up into a security camera

that Sam didn't notice until then.

After a few awkward minutes, Sam was grateful to hear the

click of the deadbolt...and a little puzzled as to why he

heard eleven more clicks of apparently eleven more

deadbolts.

"Merry Christmas, Frohike." Mulder said to the stocky man

on the other side of the door. He was decidedly odd looking

in thin-rimmed owlish glasses framing an unshaven face, and

from his peppery greasy hair, he looked to be in desperate

need of a shower.

"Little late for that, isn't it, Mulder?" Frohike grumbled,

and let them in.

"Well, I missed it last time, remember?" Mulder prompted,

and handed him the folder he carried.

"Shit, I forgot. In that case, Happy Hanukah buddy. Now

where's my New Years' kiss?"

"Not on your life, Fro." Mulder growled and took one of the

hundreds of laptops off the mile-high shelves in the back

of the warehouse, where a young bearded man in a suit was

obviously looking at some sort of scanner.

"Jesus Christ, Doggett," said a young bearded man in a

suit, "your electromagnetic readings on the security cam

are through the roof."

Sam wondered briefly if he wasn't brought in as a

consultant--surely he couldn't be the third lone gunmen.

"I think Dogman's been standing too close to the microwave

these days, Byers."

"Sorry you hadda be drug out here at this hour." Byers

apologized. "We're doing all we can to help the situation."

Sam nodded a thanks.

"...most of this stuff wasn't even on the market when I

left..." Sam said in quiet awe looking around the lair.

"When you left where?" Piped up a man with blond stringy

hair from behind a large computer. The glare from the

screen gave his already pale skin almost a green

complexion. "The psych ward?"

"Take it easy on him, Langley. It's not his fault--I tell

ya, Mulder, it's that FBI coffee." Frohike was saying,

hunched over Langley. "I knew they put some sort of mind-

deterioration drug in that sh*t. G-Dog, bring it up here,

and we'll run some tests on it. It'll be fun."

"So why was I brought here?" Sam asked, choosing to ignore

the remarks at his expense.

"Well, since my new position is about as mind-numbing as

watching C-Span, I did some digging this afternoon.

Apparently, there was a number called to one of the highest

offices of the FBI exactly 36 times both prior to, during,

and immediately after our investigation. I'm pooling our

resources, trying to figure out exactly who in the FBI was

making those calls, and who was doing the calling. If we

can find those out, then maybe you, Scully, Reyes, and

Starkweather can head up the investigation from there." It

killed him that he couldn't be part of the chase anymore.

"Starkweather found several AFB's with unexplained crashes

like the one we nearly experienced in Edinborrough. You

probably couldn't reach her on the phone earlier because

I'll be willing to bet she was doing some digging of her

own. She's looking tonight for connections between the oil

company in the Gulf and those marine bases."

"I've got a lock on that address, guys." Langley piped up

triumphantly. "It's a payphone on Penn Avenue, and on the

same corner as a bank."

Sam took a laptop off the computer, and the four other men

in the warehouse exchanged puzzled looks.

"What in the name of Bill Gates and all that is Holy do you

think you are doing?" Frohike sputtered.

"I'm...uh...hooking this up to your mother board to see if

I can find the shareholders for that oil company."

The four were all still staring at Sam open-mouthed.

"Gomer, since when did you start hacking? I didn't think

Marines had time to score free porn."

"I used to build computers and I configured a data system."

"In the marines?" Mulder finished. Sam nodded.

"Cool! He's one of us." Langley murmured in admiration. Sam

was torn between being flattered and worried.

Meanwhile

Back to the future

Quantum Leap HQ

Al found himself pausing in front of the chamber where

Doggett-in-Sam's body stayed. He could hear the hammers

while Goushie and some other techs he didn't know very well

were putting plywood in place of the mirror that Doggett

had thoughtfully shattered for them. He looked at the kid,

barely old enough to shave, but old enough to wear military

fatigues and to hold a gun that outweighed him. "Howya

doin'?" Al said in a defeated voice.

"Sir, lousy, sir," the young man replied formally.

Al grinned. At least the kid's sense of humor hadn't been

completely stomped out of him. Al punched in his code and

the door swooshed open.

Doggett was sitting at the table, picking at the dinner

they had brought for him, by request. He finished his

mouthful of corn before he asked. "So, is this my last

meal?"

Al looked at the demolished plate of fried catfish, mustard

greens, silver queen corn on the cob, homemade macaroni and

cheese plus the untouched plate of peach cobbler and the

half-empty glass of sweet tea and felt his stomach growl.

However he was dreaming of a heaping plate of linguine with

a side of chicken breast, drowning in a fine tomato sauce

with a big bottle of red wine. He knew he was going to be

eating take-out tonight though.

Al pulled up a chair and said "You really think we're going

to kill you?"

Doggett shrugged. "I don't know what to think."

"Listen, Doggett," Al sat down, "we don't have much time

here. The big clock is ticking and I don't know how to get

you to trust me, so I'm just gonna have to lay it on the

line for you.

"Alright," Doggett said, pushing his food away, giving his

total attention to Al. "Lay it out for me," he drawled out

condescendingly.

Al bridled but kept his cool. "Someone is gunning for Mr.

Starkweather," he said "and I don't think he will let Sam

help him out of the mess he's gotten himself in."

"Why not?" Doggett asked, feeling his cop instincts kicking

in.

"Because Ben thinks you are one step away from boinking his

wife."

"WHAT??"

Al studied Doggett before he went on. The look of shock and

indigation on Doggett-with-Sam's face had been too quick to

be faked. But still, with what Ben accused Jerilyn of

earlier that night, with what little she had offered as

defense, Al had to know. Ben's life may depend on it.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You know... you... Starkweather... heavy breathing?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Doggett bolted up, completely

infuriated by now. "What kind of soap opera bullshit is

this?"

"Look, like it or not, believe me or not, but Sam is

parading around in your body. If Ben believe that you and

his missus are partners in every sense of the word, it's

gonna be next than impossible for Same to help him unless

we know how to tiptoe around Ben's ego so tell me straight

up right now, you and Starkweather. Are you or aren't you?"

Al persisted.

Doggett crossed his arms. "We are not having an affair," he

said coldly. "That is insulting to me, to Starkweather, to

our work relationship and our friendship."

Do you have feelings for her?"

"What???" Now Doggett sounded disgusted.

"Don't look at me like I'm nutso," Al snapped back. "I'm

not dead yet and I'm surely not blind. Girl's got a nice

shape to her, pretty eyes, and that hair! Oh my God in

heaven, I saw her tonight with her hair down, why does she

punish such lovely hair by putting it up in those God-awful

uptight hairdos at work?"

"Quit it," Doggett growled.

"And the girl's smart as a whip, loyal as a dog and a heart

of gold. Any man would be a fool not to notice," Al said

seriously. "Especially a man who works as closely as you

two do."

"You make it sound like I'm up for a spot on The Dating Game,"

Doggett said evenly. "I've known Starkweather for less than

two months. We've only worked one case."

"Two months huh?" Al said. "And yet you guys are comfy

enough to spend a late night alone after your little poker

party broke up." Doggett fell silent. "You aren't

protecting Starkweather's honor if you're holding back.

What you say stays here. But I gotta know if there's any

reason for Ben being jealous of you other than the fact

that he's an insecure prick. Personally, I think their

marriage was in the toilet LONG before you were in the

picture and Ben is just using you as an excuse but still. I

gotta know right now how you feel for that little Hurricane

so I can tell Sam what to do, how to behave around both Ben

AND Jerilyn. The sooner Sam knows that, the sooner he does

his job, the sooner you get out of here and it would be

like none of this ever happened."

Doggett, sighed, his shoulders slumped.

When did my job become a friggin' soap opera.

Meanwhile...

Ben and Jerilyn's apartment

2:26 AM

Ben tossed and turned on the lumpy sofa bed couch he had

unfolded for himself. Eventually, he gave up on sleep,

swung himself up and reached for his cigarettes. Lighting

up, he looked at the Zippo he held in his hand. Jerilyn had

given it to him while they were dating. No special reason,

she said. "If you're going to pollute the air, your lungs

and me, you might as well look classy doing it," she had

said airily while he had unwrapped the paper from the tiny

package. Two months later he had scrounged up enough money

for the down payment for the diamond solitaire she wore on

her left finger.

"Christ," he muttered. Still puffing on his cigarette, he

wandered down the hall towards the bedroom he was banished

from. He scootched the door open a bit and peeked in.

Jerilyn was curled up in the fetal position, as usual. She

had kicked off all the covers, as usual. The cat was

sleeping in the crook of her bare legs, as usual. Ben

tiptoed in and hovered over her, helplessly. He reached out

as if he was about to move a long lock of her hair out of

her sleeping face, looking so deceivingly innocent, but he

stopped himself and turned away to go out on the balcony.

Outside, taking another Morley out of his pack, he looked

out at the city he felt like such an alien in. The East

Coast was a whole new world to that Midwestern boy and he

wasn't sure he liked it. No, he KNEW he didn't like it, but

at the time, it seemed like such an opportunity for

Jerilyn. A toe in the door in Washington, a chance to clean

up the somewhat blotted record she earned at the

Minneapolis Field Office because her partner and her boss

either didn't like her intellect, her femininity or both.

It was either transfer to DC or have those years spent at

Quantico, go to waste. Ben thought the sacrifice wasn't

that great for him to make.

Now he found it unbearable. He tried to hide his

homesickness from his wife, she of the military moveabout

life, knew nothing about roots, lifelong neighbors,

friendships maintained from kindergarten. He still found

himself wandering the streets of Washington like a tourist,

treating the nation's capital like a vacation instead of

home. Once he learned of the nature of the X-Files, he had

breathed a sigh of relief. Jerilyn was not prone to flights

of fancy.

Ben sincerely believed his wife when she told him that the

X-Files was just a stepping stone to something bigger and

greater. At the time, she desperately dreamed of being an

instructor at Quantico. Like an good soldier's daughter,

she plotted her life in an intricate battle plan. One, two

years maximum tour of duty in the X-Files, clean up her

blotted record, then request a transfer to the Violent

Crimes Division (VICAP). Three years in the field for

VICAP. No more, no less. Then wait patiently for a teaching

opening at her mecca, her Holy Land. She preferred a

position in forensics, her specialty, but profiling would

suit her just as well. Ben went along with her, on the

surface, supporting his wife and anxious to see the world

beyond the Midwest, but deep down in darkness where he held

secrets he didn't even know existed, he had hoped that

Jerilyn would get tired of the political bullshit of DC and

would want to return to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes or

even the Land Between Two Rivers, he really hadn't minded

Iowa all that much during the seven years he spent their

for the Air National Guard and for college and law school.

He completely did not expect Jerilyn to completely immerse

herself into the X-Files. She had only been on one case so

far, which took her to Scotland of all places and had

nearly been killed, not once, not twice, not even three

times, but four times. He didn't expect his wanderlusting

wife, child of perpetually moving military family to sink

her roots down in the capital and call DC "home." Ben had

prepared himself to spend five years in Washington, then

possibly ten more in Virginia, moving closer to Quantico...

but he always pictured himself and Jerilyn moving back to

Minnesota, buying a house on a lake, opening it up during

the summer for the children and grandchildren he was

beginning to wonder if he would ever have.

That was the clincher. Ben was not a bad guy, he was just

an ordinary guy, a "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" type of

guy, but at the end of the movie, Mr. Smith eventually

returned home from Washington. He wanted his law practice,

he wanted a wife, he wanted kids, he wanted the two-story

house like his parents had and the white picket fence, a

cat and a dog.

**Well, I've got the cat,** Ben told himself, tongue in

cheek as he smoked from his balcony while Jerilyn slept on

inside. He had also hoped that once he and Jerilyn started

to have children, Jerilyn would rethink about being in such

a dangerous profession. Dead wives also make lousy mothers.

He snorted in disgust as he remembered their fight earlier

that night. He scoffed at the notion that he was in danger.

He didn't understand what the big deal was. It was not a

mob case. It was not a war crime case. It was a stinking

little environmental case that the only winners from the

legal battle was going to be the lawyers. Ben groaned. Did

Jerilyn not understand how much money he was going to walk

away from this? He was a rookie lawyer who, after landing

this case, was told to bill the clients, the benevolent

government of the United States of America, $150 an hour.

He had already put in twenty-five hours on the case,

bringing the pre-tax total up to $3750, which the firm

advanced him in a pretty check that was folded up in Ben's

wallet. Ben, child of a homemaker and a grammar school

principal, had never imagined making so much money at once.

It was one of the more compelling reasons why he went into

law. He was on his way to becoming a wealthy man, a wealthy

man who only wanted to spend his money on his family.

Before the scene in Skinner's office today, he was

daydreaming about what he was going to do with all that

lovely money once the case was over and done with. He would

send some to his parents because his dad was always talking

about buying a new little fishing boat, but never had the

cash on hand. He would buy little gifts for the spoiled

rotten bratty children of his older sister. He would buy a

new car for Jerilyn so they wouldn't have to share the POS

Dodge they both have been driving around for two years now.

He wanted to get a new motorcycle and let Jerilyn keep the

little Suzuki they had now. He wanted to put a down payment

on a nice house in one of Washington's finer suburbs. He

wanted the life of a well-to-do upper class ordinary man.

To have this, he realized with a sinking heart, he would

also have to have an ordinary woman to be his wife and

Jerilyn was less than ordinary. Ben paused to think how

relations had been steadily deteriorating, long before

their move to Washington, long before the tragic

miscarriage Jerilyn suffered a while ago. Almost two years

too late, Ben made the horrible realization that he married

the wrong woman. She was too fiery, too unpredictable, too

ambitious, too stubborn, too wild for a simple hearted man

like him. He cringed at the idea of divorce, being a good

Catholic boy but also because he loathed to concede defeat.

At anything.

Which made him a good lawyer. But still,

sitting alone in his office working on his legal strategies

or in his apartment, watching the Twins play ball, sipping

beer, divorce was beginning to sound less and less heinous.

He was alone all the time anyway, with Jerilyn cooped up in

the hellhole the FBI laughingly called "the X-Files office"

or when the same said FBI sent her off on another snipe

hunt that put her life on the line one more time, putting

her right in front of a gun, a poison, a bomb, a speeding

van, a crashing plane... being a divorcee seemed infinitely

more appealing than waiting to be a childless widow.

There was just one problem though.

He loved her.

TLG Lair

4:17 AM

"If I can find the stockholder's list, maybe we'll get

lucky."

"If this is your idea of getting lucky--" Mulder started

"Shuddup, Mulder." Sam grumbled, having about all he could

take of Mulder's snide remarks.

"Sorry Doggett." Mulder said sheepishly, "my smart-ass-

ometer is in direct correllation to my stress level."

"I know, Mulder. Believe it or not, I'm on your side here.

I've got people working for me on another end on our side"

"Doggett, we need Knowell working for this situation like

you need a hole in your head."

Knowell! Who's Knowell?! "It's *NOT* Knowell. Believe me,

these friends are on the level. I trust my life with them

as much as you trust your life with Scully. The whole world

is not out to get you, Mulder."

"Well, I hope you meant what you said about trusting these

friends, because the future of the x-files depends on it."

"The x-files is my job now; I'm not about to let you or

Scully down, and as long as it's in my power, I won't let

the x-files close. Understood?" Your life depends on them,

too, Mulder. Sam silently added, and continued to key in

data, hoping that what he said got through to Mulder.

"Shizayum." Langly said quietly about an hour later. "I've

got something here you boys might wanna take a look at."

The four crouched around the huge computer screen. "Look

who owns 5K of shares in the oil company...about halfway

down the list of shareholders."