WRITTEN: January 4, 2002 ~ January 10, 2002
REVISED: September 25, 2004 (Grammer  & Punctuation)
FEEDBACK: Tucked away in a safe place for years and years at thamasd@thamasd.com
SPOILERS: Anything up to DeadAlive is fair game.  Flows from canon after that.
TIMELINE: Set eleven years after Mulder's funeral in DeadAlive.  ~  The rest of CC's S8 and S9 never happened.
DISCLAIMER: See Disclaimer Page
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A million thank-yous to Spooky's Girl for the dustjacket.
This story is dedicated to my "Family" at ADP.  Without all of you, I would be merely drifting alone in the sea of Cyberspace.  To Straylighter for giving me the idea that provoked this piece of work.
This story was not betaed and all mistakes are my own.
SUMMARY: Reality is not always as it appears to be...
As always, for NCL; my Eternal Inspiration.

~~~
The Island of X
~~~

The sunlight upon my face is warm, inviting me to awaken and face the day, as I roll over in my sleep.  I smile to myself; The blinds must be open.

A signal to me that he is up, and the hazelnut coffee will be ready soon.

Upon reaching the position of flatness, however, I am stunned to realize a couple of things:

One is the sudden burst of pain that goes through my lower back,  Is the baby coming?, and two, I am not in my bed feeling the heat of the rays beaming through my bedroom window, but that in actuality; I am lying on what feels to be, by the grains falling through my fingers, what could only be a layer of soft, fine...

Sand?!

I jerk up to a sitting position and take in my surroundings.  Tiny grains of silica fly about my face from the sudden movement of my hair.

Oh my God!  Where the hell am I?  And how in God's name did I get here?  I wonder, taking in the sight of the white sand and the aquamarine water, lapping gently a little ways beyond my feet.

Still feeling a bit groggy, I stand and try to gain my bearings.  I look across the great pool of ocean; so clear that I can actually see the tropical fish swimming along with the current, and I cannot move.

Where the hell am I?

"It is about time you decided to wake up and join me, Scully!"

I turn in ever-widening shock, if that is even remotely possible, at the sound of the familiar, yet long-time-since-I-last-heard voice of my former partner, and I stare; wide-eyed.  In fact, I involuntarily gasp at the mere sight of him.

"What is it, Scully?  You look like you have seen a ghost!"

I run my hands through my hair to get the remainder of the sand out of it, as I pinch my left earlobe; proving to myself that I am indeed awake, and truly seeing whom I thought I would never again lay my eyes upon.

Fox William Mulder.

"Mulder?  But, how...?  How are you...?  You are..."  I stammer; my brain working desperately to absorb the image of him standing before me.  "You are dead!"

He looks at me in the most quizzical way; his eyes almost shut by his squinting in the early morning sunlight, and then he actually...laughs.  "You must have hit your head harder than I thought.  I am very much alive.  Are you okay, Scully?"

"I am fine."  I instantly answer; using words that I have not felt the need to use for a very long time.  "But...but Mulder?  I buried you eleven years ago. In Raleigh, North Carolina.  How are you...?"

"Okay, now I know you hit your head too hard, Scully.  Come here, and let me take a look at you."

As he walks closer to me, I start to feel faint and drop to my knees in the warming sand. It must at least be morning.  What is going on?  Why do I feel like I am actually awake, and not dreaming?  Please God, don't let him touch me!  I don't know that I could handle it if the ghost of Mulder actually touched me!

It is as this thought occurs to me that I realize I am wearing clothes.  I return my attention to Mulder; suddenly pissed as Hell.

"Mulder, what the fuck is going on here?  I should be at home!  In bed!  Lying naked next to my husband of ten years!  How in God's name am I here?  On a beach?  Wearing jeans?  With you?  I am eight and a half months pregnant!"

Then a flash of reason-of what must be happening-flits across my mind.

I must have died in my sleep!  Jesus!  My poor family!  But, this is Heaven?  Being on a beach with Mulder?  That could not be right, could it?

I shake my head, trying very hard to piece together what is occurring.  Then, I chance another glance at him.

Yes, I must have died.

It takes everything in me to hold back the sobs.

He stops walking toward me, and gives me the oddest look that I think I have ever seen from his hypnotizing hazel eyes.  After apparently reading something in my expression, he breaks into a run and, upon reaching me, places his hands-abruptly-on the back of my head.

"Please!  Don't touch me!"  I yell, struggling to get away from him.

But his hold is firm, and instead of heeding my words, he starts examining me.

Christ!  I can feel him!

This understanding leaves me rooted to the spot.

"Nope, no bumps."  He replies, staring intently into my face, before proceeding to move his hands over my head and neck, the way a doctor would.  The way I would, on one of my own patients.  "No bruises.  Scully, you really are starting to scare me with your weird proclamations, but, we don't have time for this right now."  He affirms, taking a step back from me.  "While you were in Dreamland..."

Dreamland?  I think to myself. THIS IS DREAMLAND!

"...I took it upon myself to venture out passed our little camp here, and see what the hell else is on this island.  You will never believe what I found."

Island?  Camp?  'Weird proclamations'?  I believe I am going to actually pass out.  Until, yet another discovery brings me into solid awareness.

I am no longer pregnant.

I finally figure out this little tidbit when I straighten up from my kneeled position, and I find myself looking straight down at my tennis shoe-clad feet.

"Oh my God!  Where is my baby?"

"Scully?"

"What is happening?  Where is my husband?"

"Scully?!"

"How the hell did I get here?  Mulder?!  Did I die and the baby live?  Is that why I am no longer with child?"

I want to fall to the soft sand and curl into a fetal position of my own.  I want to go home and not be dead; to see my husband's sweet face again.  I want to keep grilling Mulder with questions.  I want...

Suddenly, I am silenced by another shock to my system.

A slap in the face.

From Mulder.

I rub at my stinging flesh and I am instantly irate, again.

"What the fuck did you do that for?"  I demand to know, wincing at the pain, as I wipe a hand across my cheek.

"You were talking some psycho-crazy shit, Scully.  I had to bring you out of it.  Damn, you must have had some creepy hallucination due to your being drugged."

"Drugged?"  I ask incredulously, knowing full well that I am speaking the truth.  The one thing in which he always respected from me before; and I was in no way drugged.  Because, if I had been, this is the delirium I am suffering due to it.

If I am, in fact, not dead that is.

"Yes.  I have figured that must be how we got here.  That is the only explanation I can think of, Scully.  The only one that seems to be even remotely plausible."

"Where-exactly-are we?"  I ask, beginning to believe that, maybe, if I play into this little illusion I find myself to be in, I will be able to convince my subconscious mind that I should be allowed to awaken.  That I am not deceased.

What did I eat for dinner last night?  I randomly consider.  Oh yes, it was a box of those little pieces of chicken that came out recently, from that restaurant over on Pennsylvania Avenue, just down the street from the Hoover Building.  We stopped there on our way home.  Could I be in a coma?  Could I be suffering from ptomaine?  Damn, that has to be it!  I should have listened to his teasing voice and had a salad.  But, the cravings!  They can be so intense!  But a coma?  Brought on by food poisoning?

I am startled out of my ponderings by Mulder's voice, the voice that I used to spend hours at night crying over; for the loss of hearing.

"I have deduced, based on the climate, that we are on an island somewhere in the tropics.  Other than that?  I have no clue.  Well, as far as our actual location on Earth, anyway.  I do know, though, that we are not alone."

He most definitely has my interest now.

Shit!  Maybe I am in some sort of version of Heaven.  Who else could be here?  Samantha?  I gasp. Missy?

"What do you mean we are not alone, Mulder?"

"Come on, Scully.  Follow me, and I'll show you."  He reaches out to take my left hand, and in doing so, I find out something else.

First, my ruby and diamond wedding ring is no longer on my left third finger.

Second, there are three other figures lying on the beach, just four feet from where we stand.

Why didn't I notice them before?

I start to make my way over to the obviously sleeping forms; Do you sleep when you are in Heaven?, except Mulder tugs on my hand; demanding with his touch that we do not have time to deal with them.  Presently.

"Let them sleep it off, Scully.  If the Doggetts and Skin Man wake up with as weird of ideas as you have, than I am convinced that we should not be here when they do.  We'll just come back for them later, okay?"

"But Mulder that is Skinner over..."

Skinner?!  I haven't called him by that name in years!

"...Lying between Agents John and Monica Doggett."  I inform him, stunned by my own words.

That would mean that they are dead too!  Wouldn't it?  But how?  How could we all be dead?

Some freak accident?

Jesus, have we been inva...

He begins to pull me across the beach away from the water, away from my friends, toward what appears to be an embankment leading up a cliffside.  "Yes, so your point would be what, Scully?"

"What?!"  I ask him, flabbergasted.  "How the hell do you even know who the Doggetts are?  You never met them!  You were dead before they walked into my life.  Well, before Monica did, anyway.  John helped me to...to find you."

He stops dragging me along just long enough to stare at me-again.  He appears really irked this time, and I try to step away from him; fearing him for probably the first time in my life, death?, but he refuses to release me.

"Damn it, Scully!  I have known the Doggetts for years!  Don't you remember?  I am the one who got Monica and John together in the first place!"

I know, now, it is time to simply keep my mouth shut, and follow his lead.  If this is really happening, I will find a way to rescue myself later.  If it is just a dream, I hope!,  than I will play it out, and keep praying that my husband won't be a darling for once by allowing me to sleep in.

Dreams cannot hurt you, right?

I pause a moment to stare at Mulder's back.

I cannot possibly be dead.  This is just too weird to be Heaven.  Maybe I am in Hell?

I shake my head again, and plaster a smile on my face.

"Sorry, Mulder.  You are right.  I forgot.  It must have been whatever I was drugged with.  Of course you did.  I apologize.  All right, let's allow them to sleep.  Wal...um...Skinner... is not exactly the greatest person to hang out with when he first wakes up."  I say, doing my best to placate him.

Purgatory?

It seems to do the trick, as he again starts to pull me along-significantly less forceful this time-and leads me up the embankment.

Having decided to play along with this little, HUGE, delusion, I take advantage of my slimness, Please let this be a dream, I want my baby!,  and let go of Mulder's hand to scale the forty-five degree face of the cliff.

He seems to sense my sudden energy and laughs at me, trying to turn our climb into a race.  I bite.

Of course.

Why the hell not?  He is dead in real life; I might as well have fun with him while he is here with me.  Wait!  What the fuck am I thinking?  Oh God, I hope I wake from this phantasm soon!

He beats me to the top like he knew he would have anyway.  I may be suddenly without child, but that appears to have done nothing to help me in the aspect of speed.  He is still a good foot taller than me; thereby, he still has longer legs.

The jerk.

He stands at the top and carefully leans over; offering his hand to pull me to the even ground on which he stands.  I gladly take it, and then bend over and grab my knees; breathing heavily from my exertion.

"Okay, Mulder,"  I say, as I rise to my full height.  "What did you find?  Show me."

I then instinctively reach behind my back for my .9mm semi-automatic Berretta, which would normally be encased it it leather holster underneath my white knit top, before realizing the idiocy of the move.

You dummy!  You think your gun is actually going to....

I gasp when I find it to actually be there.

Sweet Jesus, what is going on here?!  Well, at least I now know the source of my earlier pain.  This is getting out of hand!

I realize then, as I notice Mulder watching me, that he is wearing jeans and a black, form-fitting tee shirt.

Not Armani.

All right, this is getting weirder by the moment, but damn!  He does look good!  I confess, as he reaches for his own Sig Sauer.

"Come on, you are not going to believe this!"  He informs me, almost gaily, but not...quite.

He almost sounds...preoccupied.

"Mulder, what is it?  Why can't you just tell me, so that I can at lesat be a little prepared?"

"Because, Scully, unless you see it for yourself, you will not believe it.  It is only about three quarters of a mile south of here.  Come on."

I am intrigued; I must admit.  He has always managed to give me the ability of catching his enthusiasm about something-anything-that piques his own interest.  I find myself slipping back-rather naturally-into the mode of my former self.

Special Agent Dana Scully.

I find the very thought disconcerting.

"All right, Mulder.  Lead the way."  I intreat, as I click the safety off my gun, and watch him walk away.

"Great!  Let's go!"

Following a few paces behind him, I gaze around at the scenery and laugh inwardly.

I knew I had the ability to dream in color, but this is fucking ridiculous!

All around us lies the most beautiful meadow I think I have ever seen.  It has to be about a half mile long by a half mile wide.  Almost a perfect square of grass, trees and…Wildflowers?  This close to a beach?  Now I know I am dreaming!, and they smell wonderful.  There are various species, and all of them are different colors.  Reds, blues, greens...

Green.  That is the color that seems to saturate my vision.  Green grass, green flowers, green leaves on the palm trees.  Palm trees?  In a meadow?  And what the...a green high-pitched roof?

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully?"

"What is that building over there?"

"That is what I wanted to show you.  It appears that this island is not deserted after all.  I don't know what the building is used for, though.  As soon as I saw the roof, I sprinted back down the embankment to get you."

"Gee, thanks.  It's nice to know you decided not to ditch me-for once."

"Aw, Scully.  I'm hurt."  He replies, feigning pain.

"Sure, fine, whatever."  I retort, much to his apparent delight, and I immediately think of that bitch Bambi he ran into long ago.

He must know what I am thinking, too, because he starts laughing at me quietly, as we get closer to the current object of his desire.

The building is massive, I realize, as we approach.  It surprises me, since it looked a lot smaller from the middle of the meadow we have just about finished crossing.

Walking silently up toward the side of it, I notice the architecture is much like that of a mountain lodge.  It is made of real logs with a total of four, four by four posts.  They appear to be set every ten feet to support the overhang above the porch running across the front of the structure.  There are a total of five, three-foot wide two story windows placed into the logs on the sides of the building.  One every nine feet, which I would guess makes, by making a quick count...

Two ten-foot by four foot, plate-glass windows inlaid in the front, set about three feet off either side of a nine-foot by six- foot set of doors. Two more windows added to that, going toward the right, set two feet apart. Plus, five window sets on the side of the lodge running the full two stories up, about nine feet between each other.

...the building seems to be roughly forty feet in width, by sixty feet in length.  The roof is made from composition shingles.  A weird aspect of the building.  At least for me.

I thought that log homes were always made with wood shingle roofs.

Certainly a funny thing to be pondering, as I follow my, Should be dead!,  partner around the left side, and up onto the porch.

He leans against the wall and motions for me to stand up against the siding, too, before he peers through one of the windows.

"What do you see?"  I inquire, starting to actually wonder who on Earth would build such a lodge on a deserted island, out in the middle of only God knows where.

"Nothing much."  He whispers.  "Wait.  I can faintly make out a group of figures.  They appear to be seated next to a fireplace."

A fireplace?  I wonder.  What the hell do you need with a fireplace on a deserted tropical island?  I start chuckling,
"Must be roasting marshmallows."

He turns and gives me one of his loopy grins.

I almost fall to the porch like a stone.

Oh God.  I have not seen that smile in so long!  I forgot what it has the ability to do to me.
Stop it Dana.  You are a happily married woman!
Yes, well, then why doesn't Prince Charming wake me up?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, and I return my attention to the task at hand.  "What else do you see?"

"Nothing.  It is too dark to make out anything else."  He places a finger to his lips, indicating that he is going to be silent, and moves to cross the path of the window, unseen.

Just as he makes it to the other side, by dropping and crawling across the wood planks of the porch, I feel a tap on my shoulder which almost sends me running and screaming.  Only Mulder's calming gaze keeps me from doing so.  I turn around and stare into the faces of my friends.  They are clearly confused, and I can tell they are wondering what the hell is occurring.  How did they get here so fast, without my noticing them behind us?

"Dana?"  Monica asks,  "Where the hell are we?"

I look into the eyes of my dear friend and I, for once, have no idea how to answer her question.  "I have no fucking idea.  But, Mulder,"  I pause, watching her eyes for any sign of denial of knowing him; finding none I continue, "seems to think we are on a not-so-deserted island, somewhere in the tropics."

She did not even flinch when I said his name!  He was right.  She must know him, as a real person.  Otherwise, she would be all over me by now; reminding me that he is long dead, and that I should leave the past where it lay.

"Scully?  What does Mulder think is going on here?"  John and Walter each inquire, both apparently wanting me to elaborate on Mulder's theory.  Each acting as though it is perfectly normal for Mulder to still be alive; to still be my partner; to still assume he knows something that we do not.

"Like I said, I don't know.  Ask him."  I reply, growing tired of this little figment of my overworked imagination.  I want to wake up.  I want to be at home.  I want to see my husband.  I want to see my son.

I want to be pregnant.

"Shhh, you guys.  Be quiet!  You are killing my element of surprise here."  Mulder pipes up in a sharp whisper.

They all seem to sense the impending danger that Mulder has-once again-put us into, and they remove their guns from their own respective holsters.  Watching them perform this ordinary routine, I realize that they are all, also, wearing jeans, tee shirts, and tennis shoes.

So much for Bureau policy.  I randomly reflect.  Jesus, this shit is getting deep!  No more bite size chicken bits for me!

Just as John follows Mulder's lead, and crawls across the porch floor to join up with him,  A sight I never would have imagined before, even in a dream!, I hear a voice coming from inside.  It is faint, but I recognize it instantly, and my heart starts to race.

"I am sick and tired of hiding out on this Godforsaken island!  Damn it!  If you wanted me to appear dead, why the fuck didn't you just do it?!  You should have killed me, Alvin.  It would definitely be better, than hanging out here with that whiny bitch Phoebe; having to watch her antics with X.  The sight of those two together, kissing and hugging each other like two teenagers on a hormone rampage is enough to fucking drive me to drink!  Which, unfortunately, I don't even get the pleasure of doing; seeing as how there is not a liquor store around for hundreds of miles!  It has been years now!  I think it is safe to say that I should be allowed to leave!"

Oh my God!  It can't be!

"Mulder?"  I whisper, frantically trying to gain his attention by waving my gun at him, without screaming his name at the top of my lungs.  "Diana is in there!"

"You really think so?"  He asks, giving me another of his odd "you've got to be kidding me" looks.

I turn to gaze at Walter, whom I know had heard her, too, as I can tell from his stunned expression.

"I thought she was dead!"  He simply states, his eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Diana Fowley?"  Monica asks, looking at me as if I have lost my mind.  "That woman died years ago, Day.  There is no way she could be here."

Maybe I have lost my mind.  Maybe this is real, and the past eleven years of my life is the hallucination.  But that cannot be right.  Or else I would remember that Monica and Mulder are friends, right?  Wouldn't I?  I would not feel in my heart, the anguish for my missing child.  Would I?

I shake my head; beginning to feel the onslaught of a migraine.  If I am not careful, I will start to see spots in my field of vision soon, and that would not be a good thing.  Not with the predicament I find myself mired in.

"She is dead, isn't she Walter?"  Monica continues; apparently not trusting anything I may say to the contrary.

Yes, well.  I thought Mulder was dead too.  I can't help but remind myself.  "She is."  I insist, "Though, if my recollection serves me right, I never did see her body.  I only heard the news from a fellow agent."

Then another voice drifts out from the slightly open window and it, too, shocks me.

For an entirely different reason.

"You know, you should be counting your fucking blessings, lady!  At least you can keep your perpetual tan!  I don't have that luxury!  Not even here can I take my shirt off and expose myself.  Not with all of you people living on and moving about this damn island!  No way!  Not only that,"  He pauses, sounding momentarily confused,  "but...I shouldn't even be here in the first fucking place!"

I know, now, that I am going to faint, as I listen to the one voice that I was not expecting to hear.

Not here.

Not now.

Not with Mulder actually alive and breathing.

Carrying a gun.

With the safety off, and ready.

I start to slide to the floorboards of the porch, but am prevented from continuing, as Monica rushes up to catch me.

"Day?  Are you all right?"

I must hide my fear from them.  From her.  Because if it is true; that the owner of that voice is here, in this place, than I know I have a hard road ahead of me; dream or no dream.  Because if Mulder is really my partner, and somehow things didn't happen the way I feel,  Know!,  they did, than that could possibly mean only one logical thing...

He is still…

I swallow back the bile which threatens to fill my parched throat.  "Yes, I am fine."

There I go again!  Twice in an hour!  I have not said those damn words to describe myself in years!  Oh God, why can't I wake up?  Were we in an accident?  Is that why I will not awaken?

I start to tremble, but pretend that it is out of anger at hearing the last voice that came to my ears, rather than admit that it is from fear.  Fear at what could happen to me, now, in this weird realm that I find myself existing.

"Scully?"  Mulder inquires, staring intently at me across the span of the windowpane; wanting to come to me, but not able to do so, or else risk getting caught by the occupants of the structure.

"I am fine, Mulder."  I whisper to him, What is it they say?  Three time's the charm?, trying to assure him that I am his Scully.

The Scully that is fearless.

The Scully that is willing, always willing, to follow his lead.

The Scully who is not married; with a family of her own to look after.

"What do you want to do?"  I ask him, slapping a stoic expression upon my face to keep him from reading my thoughts.  The way he always seemed to be able to do...before.

"I don't know.  How many do you think are in there?"

I know what he wants me to do, but I really don't know if I can do it.  I don't know that I could tolerate seeing him.

Seeming to sense my unease, Walter sneaks up to the side of the window, peers inside, and gasps.

"What is it?"  Mulder and I ask simultaneously.

"You would never believe me if I told you.  You will have to look for yourselves."

"I tried that!"  Mulder states, as quietly as he can, considering he is growing agitated once more.  "I couldn't see anything."

"Well then, they must have turned on a light or something, because I could see just fine; though I must wonder if my eyes have deceived me."

Not able to take Walter's ambiguousness any longer, Mulder again drops to the planks of the porch and makes his way back to my side of the window.  He stands as silently as a feline, gazes through the window, and his jaw drops.

"Shit!  You have got to be kidding!  This is not happening!"

Finally!  He agrees with me!

"What is it, Mulduh?"  John whispers from his place on the opposite side of the window.

"It is unreal.  You have to come and see for yourself!"

By this time I am dying of curiosity and must take a peek, even if I know it could very well send me over the edge.  I take a deep breath and move my way passed Mulder to look inside.

There stands, just as I feared, Diana Fowley...

And Alex Krycek.

God, I have not seen him dressed that way in forever!  I contemplate, taking in the sight of his tight black Levis, plain white tee shirt, and black leather jacket.  Jesus! Even on a hot deserted island the man wears black!  I note, as I revert my sight to Diana.

She also looks as I remember her.  She still has her long brown hair, immaculate attire, and tightly pinched face.

Fucking Ratbitch.  I seeth, using the word for her that I had made up to virtually match the one which Mulder had chosen to describe his own nemesis so many years ago.

However, they are not the only people I see.  Between the two of them, seated on what appears to be a rustic-designed leather couch, sits Phoebe Greene; with her arms wrapped around the man Mulder knew only as X.  I also see Bill Mulder having a heated discussion with former Deputy Director Kersh up against the mantle of the fireplace.  And, of course, the one and only Marita Covarrubias; grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

I have to look away to keep from breaking down into hysterics.  Monica gives me one of her practically-patented motherly looks, and I virtually fly off the porch.

This is just too fucking much!  Even for a dream!  Nearly every one of those people is supposed to be dead!

I am half tempted to turn the trigger of my gun on myself.  Not because I want to die, though if my family truly is gone, I would rather be non-existent than have to try to live in this life,  Death?,  but more to test the theory of whether a person truly can die in real life, from being killed in a dream.  To test whether or not I would wake up, where I should be.

At home.

The idea grows on me and I slowly raise my gun to my head.  However, just before I am able to squeeze the trigger, I hear another voice and it renders me immobile.

Agent Pendrell?  OH.  MY.  GOD!  Can it get any worse than this?

"Agent Scully!  Agent Mulder!  Why didn't you wait for me?  Damn it, Mulder!  I told you I wanted to search the damn building with you!"

I can only stare at him, as his lithe frame grows larger with every step he takes toward me, until he is standing directly in front of me.  In a pair of jeans.  Holding a Berretta identical to mine.

With no physical evidence of the bullet wound he endured in a certain pub-on my birthday no less-in sight.

Instead of pulling the trigger, I accidentally drop my gun.  Something I have never done, not even in a situation of real danger.

Okay, it has been forced from me, but I never dropped it!

Agent Pendrell simply smiles at me; picks up my weapon from the ground, as though it is an everyday occurrence; my dropping it, and he says,  "Hi, Agent Scully.  Missing something?"

I snatch my gun from him; look around at the scene that can only be described as a nightmare at this point, and bolt in a fierce dash across the meadow.

Back toward the beach.

Back toward, Please, Almighty Father, my sanity.

I stop halfway through the meadow to catch my breath and chance a glance behind my shoulder.  They are all still there; staring after me.  Although they have moved a short distance away from the exterior of the building, they are not coming after me.

Good!  I will run back to the beach, lie back down in the damn sand, and then I know I will simply wake up at home, in my own damn bed, to the delicious aroma of brewing coffee.  Please God?

I turn back around and start running again toward the embankment.  I sprint down the face of it, as though it were a flat surface instead of one full of tiny seashells and dried up seaweed.  I am almost back to my original spot, where this whole fantasy started, when I see yet another surprising image that again stops me.  Cold.

Oh please!  This really cannot be happening!  I know for a fact that she is dead.  Please, please, please, Dana.  Wake the fuck up!

"Dana?  Honey, are you okay?  You look like you are about to fall over in a faint."

I find myself, more out of a renewed habit than anything else, replying to her voice.  "I am fine, Mom."

Four!  Oh shit!

I realize that I still have my gun in my hand and that she is staring at it.  I put it back into its holster, blushing.  "What are you doing here?"  I ask her, looking around at the scene before me.

Same beach, different setup.  Wait, hadn't Mulder mentioned earlier that we had a campsite?  Christ, I can't believe I even had that thought!  This is not real!

I start rubbing at my right temple, acutely aware of the slight array of spots again wanting to cloud the vision of my right eye.

"I know that look.  You are not fine.  Come over here and sit down by the fire.  I will fix you right up and you can tell me all about it.  You look like you could really use the conversation."  She then walks up to me and takes my hand, leading me toward a log that lies in the middle of the sand; parallel to a small fire that she had been standing over.

What the hell is she standing over a fire for?  It has to be 85 degrees out here!  Wait she is supposed to be dead, so why am I asking myself stupid questions, anyway?

As we get closer I smell something, and look into the small pit.  She is cooking?!,  I ask myself in wonder, taking in the sight of the little pig that is stuck on a stick, hovering above the flames.

My mother cannot stand pork, why would she be cooking a pig?  Where did she find a pig to cook?

She sets me down on the log and walks away for a moment.  Upon her return, she produces two tiny pills and a soda.

A soda?  Advil?  On a deserted island?  Well, it cannot be any weirder than finding the thought-to-have-been-long-dead members of the Syndicate hanging out in a lodge now, could it?

I take the ibuprofen and the can of pop and swallow them down.

At least they will stave off my migraine.  Of course, if this isn't real, than my damn headache shouldn't be real, right?  Christ, I really can't take much more of this shit, not one thing more!

"Where are the others?"  Yet another voice asks.

I look up from my seated position and place a hand over my eyes to block out the sun, looking toward the sound of the voice.  What I see has me on my feet immediately, dropping the can of pop.

Holy Mother of God!  I just had to jinx myself, didn't I?  Teena Mulder?  And who is...? No!  It can't be!  It is impossible!

Walking toward my mother and I, holding hands, are Mulder's mother and…

I blink thrice to make sure my eyes are not deceiving me.

Nope, He is still there.

The man I knew as "Deep Throat".

"Oh God!"  I reply, sinking back down to the log, grasping at it to keep from fainting dead away.

"Dana?"  My mother asks, running over to me after turning the spit in the fire.  "You do not look well, Honey."

"I don't feel well, Mom."  I finally admit, truthfully.  Hell, I have not been so unfine in years.

"What's the matter, Dear?"  Deep Throat asks me.

I look up at him, over at Mulder's mom-whose hand he still holds-and look back down at the ground.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  I reply, feeling defeated.

Though this absolutely has to be a dream, even I know that I would have awakened by now, if it were.  I mean, who could sleep through all of these events?  Who could possibly lie still and allow the images of persons in their past haunt them, as I am feeling haunted now?

I break into sobs, place my face into my hands, and start shaking.  After a few moments, I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder.  Thank you, God!,  I sigh, believing wholeheartedly that my precious husband has-at last-decided to wake me.  Decided that he is not content to simply sit downstairs and read the Sunday morning paper, watching our son play a game on his computer in the living room.  My tears dry up as I remove my hands from my face, expecting to peer up into the beautiful eyes of my one and only, but they return immediately upon what I actually see.  More fucking sand and…

C.G.B. Spender

Oh, son of a bitch!  It is the Cancerman!  Oh Sweet Mary, now I know I am dead!  No! No! No!

I seriously doubt that I have ever moved so fast in my entire...life.  Not even when I had raced to reach the spot where John had found Mulder, oh so many years ago in Montana.  I flee so swiftly, I trip over a large conch shell that lies embedded in the sand and I fall; flat on my ass.

Thank God for small favors.  Landing on my gun would not have been a pleasant experience!

I hastily pick myself up, but am immediately thrust back to the sand by my own body's evil doing.

The head rush from Hell.

As I quake with anguish, I am aware my migraine is now in full swing.  If I do not find a nice, quiet, and secluded place soon, I will start to throw up.  I wonder if the contents would be little chunks of all white meat chicken?,  I consider, suddenly breaking out into a raucous fit of uncontrollable laughter, as I roll around in the sand, much like a small child would while throwing a temper tantrum.  Yes folks, Dana Katherine has finally lost her mind!

I laugh even harder.

I stop moving around and place my left hand to my face, again noticing the lack of a prized piece of gold jewelry, and I must force myself to keep from down right hysterics, while working to catch my breath.

Whom the fuck cares if I have to suffer this agony?  Maybe the pounding in my head will simply get to the point where I will just have a seizure, and get it over with.  This life-death-whatever the fuck is happening to me!  Hell, maybe on the next level of Purgatory I will find myself running into Tooms, Modell and Pfaster!  Wouldn't that just be a gleeful experience?

After a few moments of deep breathing I manage to regain my composure, and my footing.  However, my sensitivity to light has become worse and I rub my eyes with my hands, wishing desperately to ease myself of the pain.  As I also try to focus on the people standing around me.

"Dana?  You must calm down!  What were you laughing at?  What are you scared of?  Why did you react like that to your father?"

I am stunned into momentary paralysis once more, and I can literally feel my pupils dilating in surprise.

"My what?!"  I ask, lowering my hands from my face.  Though I am exceedingly aware that I should probably, at this point, just keep my damn mouth shut, or the answer I receive may only add to my apparent insanity.

"Your step-father.  Dana!  Do not start this shit again, young lady!  I realize that my marrying Charles was not the most pleasant experience for you, but he does care about you.  Now get your ass over here this instant and let him take a look at you!"

Shit?  Charles?  My ass?  I start laughing again.  I cannot help it.  The fact that my mother has just cussed me out, for probably the first time that I can ever recall, sends me into the very fit of hysterics I was wanting to avoid, but I do try my hardest to respond to her.  While at the same time vowing to myself:  I will not allow that son of a bitch near me!

"Him?  You married him?!  When the hell did you marry him?  How did you marry him?  You are both dead!  Krycek,  Krycek?,  killed him a long fucking time ago, and you..."  I instantly shut my mouth; tight.  There is no fucking way I could even imagine repeating the thought that courses through my mind.

You died in a car accident while I was on my honeymoon.

She stares at me, as though I have gone insane.

I have.

I am convinced of this now.  I would never-ever-have talked to my mother in the way that I just have.

Therefore why does the fact that I just did actually surprise me; here in this place?

Because of what I have lost in the process, if it turns out to be true.  If this is reality.

The rest was Dreamland.

My husband, my children, my life, all gone.

My mind?

I double over, trying my best to control the sudden laughter that pours out of me anew.  It is of no use; I cannot stop as I watch Spender make his way toward me, again.

"Awfully nice shoes to be wearing on a beach, don't you think?  Cancer Man?"  I quip, noticing he is actually dressed in wingtips and a suit, like he always seemed to have been-before.

I become conscious of the fact, when I stand up straight and glare at him, that both my vision has cleared and he looks different than I remember him appearing the last time I saw him.  Though, he had been sick then.

Now?  Now he looks twenty years younger, and a lot more virile.

"Yippee fucking skippee."  I mutter under my breath.

"Dana, Sweetheart, it is apparent to us that you are not handling your situation very well, however, I can assure you.  I have been to this island once before, a long time ago, and you will not be harmed.  I think I know why we are all here.  We are here to put an end to the bickering and begin fresh.  I just need to figure out a way to convince Fox that he need not go barging into that lodge half-cocked, for that just would not do."

That is it for me.  I have most definitely heard enough.  Torn between ripping the guy a new asshole, and running as far away as I possibly can, I look beyond him, and spot the others.  They are walking toward us.

Toward me.

Back from their little venture across the meadow.

I step backward.  Slowly.

This is unreal!

Mulder, Who is supposed to be dust by now!, Monica, John and Walter, are all looking at me as though I am crazy.  Crazy for not accepting the things that cannot possibly be.  And Pendrell?  He was petrified of Mulder!  Why on God's green Earth would he be here with him?  Why him and not Missy?  If Missy were here, maybe then I could accept what ever the fuck is going on, but not Pendrell.

They continue to walk nearer, until they are standing among the other four figures on the beach, next to the pig that has clearly finished cooking.  If looking at its charred outer skin is any indication.

Unable to tolerate one more second of this charade of a picnic, I begin screaming.  I scream like I have never screamed before.  I scream until I have no voice left, and no breath in which to articulate one, even if I did.  Then, I turn and run.  Away from them, away from the waves crashing on the beach, away from the cliffside. Just...away.

I run parallel to the water toward what appears to be a stand of palm trees.  I barely make it into the lush landscape, before they fully realize that I have fled and rush to come after me.  I keep on running; I care not where I am going, either.  At this point, it doesn't matter, for I am convinced-now-that I am not merely dreaming.

I am living through the worst nightmare of my life.

Fully awake.

I have to be.  For no part of my analytically-skeptic mind would be able to make this shit up.  Not even after all of those years I spent on the X-Files.

I can hear Mulder calling out my name.  Calling out for me to stop.  To please come back and listen to what he has to say.  I hear him promise me that he can explain.  That he will help me to understand the reasons for our existence on this Godforsaken piece of the planet.  At this point, I don't fucking care anymore.  I just want to go home.  I want to be in Georgetown, and I want to have a caffeinated cup of Hazelnut coffee.  One that will be potent enough to assure me that I will not fall asleep for a very long time, even if I am not supposed to have it because of the baby.

What baby? My mind suddenly mocks.

I slow down to a brisk walk and look down at myself.

What baby, is right.  There is no baby.  Not anymore.

I stare at my left hand.

There is no ring, either.  Not even the faint difference in the shade of my finger can be seen to indicate there ever was one.  Oh God.

I have not paid attention to my surroundings, as I have become too involved in my own physical attributes, or lack thereof, and I once again falter.

When the hell did I become so clumsy?  I used to chase down Alien Bounty Hunters in three inch heels!  Now I cannot manage to walk in tennis shoes?

This time I am not so lucky as I fall, and I do smack my lower back on my gun, as I roll down a slight hill in the forest that I have taken refuge in beside the ocean.

The pain is excruciating, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming out.  To keep from being caught.  To keep from proving to myself, by the sting I feel, that I am conscious and not asleep.

I lie on the ground underneath the canopy of trees, and simply cry.  That is all there is left for me to do.  All that I seem to be able to have control over.  My tears.

Dana!  Stop it!  Get up!  Start walking, running, anything!  Just get up!  Do not allow what ever power has taken over your life to win!  Damn it!  Stand the fuck up!  My rational side pleads with me, but I don't want to listen to it.  If I have truly gone insane, than my rational side is not to be trusted.

I do it anyway.

Sitting up, I can hear the others gaining ground, and I definitely don't want them to find me.  If I am to live here on this fucking island out in the middle of,  I don't even know which ocean!,  then I will do it alone.  I refuse to spend anymore time surrounded by those whom I know, for a fact, are dead.

So Walter and the Doggetts are not dead where I come from, but they seem to be in cahoots with the non-living now, so they can just live without my presence too.  If they do not like them apples, tough shit!

I wipe the tears from my face as I find some resolve; a piece of my former tough-as-nails self.  I remove my gun from its home and slowly rise to my feet.  If I am to stay here I will need to find a place to sleep, Haha, now that is funny!, as well as hide.  I know that there must be someplace around here, if what Ratbitch said is true.

That she has been here for years.

The remembrance of her brings to mind the memory of whom else I had seen in that building.

Kersh.

It figures.

Phoebe.

That bloody twit?

Bill Mulder.

Guess Mulder was wrong about him after all.

X.

I always wondered just whose side he was on.

Marita.

Slut.

Kry…

Okay, let us not even go there, all right?  Just leave that realization alone!

I begin walking toward my right.  Deciding that I should stay away from the water for the time being, lest I be seen, I make my way deeper into the backdrop of greenery that surrounds me on three sides.  As I continue my search for shelter, I notice that there are birds singing high above me in the trees, and it dawns on me that…

"There might be other creatures on this island to be wary of.  I already know that there must be pigs about, but what else?  I mean, this is a not-so-deserted island, right?  Could there be much else?  And if so, how the fuck did they manage to get here?"

I realize that I am rambling to myself-out loud-and I look at my watch, which, miraculously, is still on my left wrist.

11:14.

Well, at least I have a few hours of daylight left to try to figure out what I am going to do for the rest of my time here.

"However the fuck long that is."

I walk about another half mile, until I am certain that I'm no longer being followed.

I wonder, what has happened to my firstborn son.  If this is truly happening to me, is he gone?  Like the life of my unborn child?

I don't really want to know the answers to my questions, therefore I push the image of my beautiful boy from my mind and continue to plod on, brushing the branches of trees out of my way as they seem to want to cling and grab a hold of me.

Just when I wonder exactly how big this damn island is, I pass through the edge of the foliage and into another meadow.  It is just as gorgeous as the one that I had previously run through, fleeing from the Supposed-To-Be-Dead Mulder, yet, there is one slight difference.  Instead of one large building located at the far end of it, I find five.

Definitely smaller, but also, definitely here for a purpose.

I am beyond feeling any fear.  At this point, I am simply too pissed off.  The fact that I have, for some unknown reason, been plucked from my realm of a peaceful reality, and placed into this chaotic one, has given me enough anger to be able to deal with whatever else may cross my path.

Or so I like to tell myself.

I pick up my pace and start to cross the meadow.  Suddenly feeling the urge to laugh, yet again, as I realize that the only people who have not managed to find their way to me in this other universe are the Gunmen.

"I wonder what Frohike would say to his 'Pretty Lady' now?"

I silence my vocal cords, wondering if I may have just jinxed myself by mentioning to the nature that surrounds me my paranoid friends.

I make my way across the meadow and walk straight up to the front door of the building on the farthest left end of the row of structures.  Choosing it, out of the other four, almost as if by instinct.

Most likely because it is the closest to the tree line, should I need to make a hasty retreat.

Sure, fine, whatever you want to believe, Dana.

I shake my head and peek into the window, just to the right of the front door.

The architecture of the five homes,  That has to be what they are, I mean, Spender's old groupies have to have a place to live while hiding out here, right?, are identical to that of the large lodge that I visited just a short time ago, with only a few apparent differences.

They are clearly built in the same Scandinavian Full-Scribe style as the lodge, however, instead of a window placed on both sides of a set of double doors there is only one picture window; located to the right of the door. And another octagon shaped block-glass window, roughly eight feet from the first, sets approximately six feet above the porch.  Instead of five windows along the sides of the house there are three.

I peek through the picture window, and it is just as I suspected.  There is no one home.  Clicking the safety off my trusty Beretta, I turn around to scan the area behind me, making sure no one is watching, and I turn the knob on the door.  Not really surprised, I find that it turns easily, allowing me to enter.

Almost as if it knew I would be coming.

Knock it off, you are starting to sound as paranoid as Mulder used to be.

Taking one last glance around, I walk through the door and quickly shut and lock it behind me.  I turn to the interior of the room and I gasp-again.

Damn, what is it with me?  Since when did things have the ability to surprise me so easily?  I question, as I gawk at my new surroundings.

The structure may appear to be a two story from the outside, but it is in fact, only one very large level.  The extra space above me is taken up by six, thirty-foot beams of the most beautifully crafted knotted-pine that I have ever seen.  Each one appearing to be a foot in diameter and placed exactly five feet from the next, with a set of three cross beams, each placed every ten feet to complete the symmetry.

This place truly is exquisite to behold!  There is no way this place could possibly be real!

Hanging from the first and third beams are two dazzling lead-crystal chandeliers.  I look around slowly, only to find set into the far wall, a large sliding glass door that provides an impeccable view of the landscape of the island outside.  To my right across the massive, Beautifully decorated with antiques, living room is the largest fireplace mantle and hearth that I have ever laid my eyes upon.  The sides of it are made from what looks to be genuine white marble, with the top trimmed in the richest mahogany.  Above the fireplace is an ornate antique gold-leaf rectangular mirror.  The chimney rises to meet the ceiling, approximately twenty feet, and is set against a one story half-wall.  The rest of the space above the wall is left open, allowing a person to see the beams that extend beyond the living room.

"Damn!  No wonder They hide out here!  This is stunning!"  I reply to the empty house.

I turn my head in the opposite direction and find a kitchen that can only be described as Martha Stewart's wet dreams come true.  The cabinets are made from the same rich mahogany as the mantle's trim, A little dark for a kitchen under normal circumstances, but then again, has anything been normal today?  I think not., with inlaid panes of etched glass in a rose design.  Standing tall and proud in the far left corner of the kitchen, near the wall of two story windows-out of which I have a beautiful view of the meadow-is a commercial-size side by side stainless steel refrigerator.  Obviously purchased to match the stainless steel sink that is embedded in the granite-looking, Corian?  Is that really Corian?, countertop.  There is a stainless steel double oven that resides in its own home of mahogany, and a dishwasher-also stainless steel-located in the cabinetry just to the lower right of the sink.

Jesus!  If I had that kitchen, I would never eat out again!

In the middle of the expanse of kitchen space, set on top of what has to be a genuine slate floor, is an island.

Great, just can't seem to get away from that concept, can I?

It appears to be made of the same rich wood as the cabinets, and holds in its center a stainless steel flattop stove; complete with a small grill just off to its left.  On the right side of the stove is a two foot section of real butcher block, without so much as a scratch on it.  Hanging from the ceiling, three feet above the island, is a stainless steel vent.  The only major appliance that seems to be missing is a microwave, which I quickly spot placed in the corner of the L-shaped counter.  To its right is a black and stainless steel Bunn coffeemaker.  On the left, a cutlery block with the finest set of knives available.

To complete the ensemble, there is a half-moon-shaped bar built out about four feet from the island, directly opposite the countertop.  It is made of the same knotted-pine logs that hold up the ceiling of the house, and has the same granite-style Corian surface.  About three feet above the bar hangs a set of the best copper and stainless steel pans on the market.  Up against the outside rim stand four, high-legged, armless chairs made of mahogany to match the cabinets with cinnamon-colored leather seats.

I cannot be dreaming.  Not even in my dreams could I have come up with a home as beautiful as this one.

Before I can allow myself to give into the inevitable sadness that tries to envelope me, I step further into the house and decide to find the restroom.  I take a few hesitant steps toward the living room, while holding my gun out in front of me in the position to shoot, if I must. I then quietly make my way across the plush two-inch-thick white, White?  Who the hell puts white carpet in their living room?  That is just asking for trouble!, wool carpeting, and find what has to be the largest bathroom ever to be constructed, off to the right.

As I enter through the partially open pair of six panel mahogany doors, complete with curved solid brass handles; I am again taken aback by the richness of the residence.

The beams of the ceiling run through the narrow wall between the living room and the bathroom, and from it hang three chandeliers; their lights coming from what can only be accurately described as antlers.  The floor is made up of at least two hundred and fifty twelve-inch square, cinnamon-colored and slip-resistant, ceramic tiles.  They blend well with the light-colored logs of the home and are practically begging me to walk across them.

I am suddenly aware of the fact that my shoes may be dirty from my trek through the trees, and I actually find myself bending down to slip them off.  After fulfilling this surreal display of respect, I set my sneakers down just inside the doorway where I stand and continue to drink in the images of wealth and apparent stature that invade my sense of sight.

How a suspected criminal is allowed to deserve a palace like this is beyond me!  I muse, automatically knowing that this place is the retreat for at least one of the people I saw in the lodge.

"Definitely not Ratbitch though, not if she wants to leave so badly."  I mumble aloud.

Taking a bold, albeit wary step forward; I walk toward the massive tub.  I can see that it is also made of the finest white marble.  It is situated approximately two and a half feet above the floor, directly underneath the octagon window, and is encased in a large rectangle of the same rich mahogany wood, which flawlessly meets the siding of the exterior wall on its far side.

Whomever lives here definitely has a taste for the premium things available in life.

The tub itself is oblong and, at my best estimation, at least six and a half feet in length by four feet in width, and is clearly shaped inside to hold two people.  Its faucet is made of solid polished brass,  No hollow accessories here!,  and formed in the image of a swan about to take flight.  Upon closer inspection, I notice several little circular plates, also brass, embedded in the tub at various locations, indicating to me that this is not merely a place one, Or two?,  would take a bubble bath.  It is also a point of soothing relaxation by way of the jets.

Oh my and it certainly is tempting; to simply lock the bathroom door, and take a dip.

"Sure, if I want it to be the last thing I ever do, should I be caught-literally-with my pants down.  Or in that case, off!"

I turn away from the tub, and look further to my right so that I may examine the rest of the room, and it is then that I notice that there is not merely a cabinet with a basin dropped into it, but rather, a fine white marble pedestal sink, shaped like a sea shell, also with a brass swan faucet.  Above which hangs another ornate gold-leaf mirror.  This one shaped as an oval.  To the right and left of the mirror, attached to the log siding, are twin sconces also made from antlers.  To my left, about six feet away, along the interior wall that is painted a pale blue is a large linen cabinet, also of mahogany.  Directly to its left is the shower stall.  However, this too, is not your ordinary bath fixture.

At least, not one I have seen in any house I may visit on a regular basis.

It is rectangular in dimension and has not one, but two shower heads, on opposing sides of its enclosure.  The shower heads, though not swans, are solid brass, as are the curved levers used to control the temperature and flow of water.  The shower enclosure itself is made of the same white marble as the tub and sink, and is roughly the same size as the tub, with a clear glass door.  Quite unusual, as most people prefer to have their doors opaque, as if ashamed to show their nakedness to even a loved one.  Formed within the remaining side of the marble, opposite the large door is an actual shelf-like seat, running the length of the inclusion.

Who, or more correctly, why, would anyone want to sit in the shower?  Especially when they own such a magnificent jetted tub?

Sighing a little, I walk passed the shower, and come across another door.  Opening it, I discover that I have located the toilet.  It, too, is made of white marble and sports a pale blue seat, with solid brass fittings that match the solid brass paper holder.  Backing up, I take a quick look around the entire room, and notice that all of the towel bars, too, are solid polished brass, and they hold the best towels money can buy.  Thick, Egyptian cotton in a rich color of the same pale blue.

Suddenly feeling immensely incongruous, I open another six-panel door that I have finally reached at the opposite side of the bathroom; and find myself peering into what has to be the master suite.

The room runs the entire width of the house.  It is located directly behind the living room, and I notice that the fireplace I had seen earlier is actually double-sided.  The mantle and hearth are identical on both sides, but the portion of the wall that separates the two rooms in this area is painted a rich cinnamon that matches the flooring; again twelve-inch square ceramic tiles.  However, unlike the bathroom floor, the outer edge of this tile is bordered in six-inch planks of rich mahogany.  Centered in the room-also bordered by tile-is an eight-foot-square piece of the same white wool carpeting found in the living room, directly above which sets a gorgeous, queen sized four posted knotted-pine bed.  Dressed in what has to be a white silk, down-filled comforter.

Ten bucks says the sheets are silk too!  Good grief!  Who in the world lives here?

The pillows lying atop the eiderdown look to be very firm, and are also encased in white silk.  On either side of the bed are identical mahogany nightstands, each holding a lamp made of antlers.  Their shades made of white glass with hanging beads.

With so much white detail, this must be Phoebe's house.  Yet...yet there is something about it...the ambiance...it feels so...

"Familiar."  I whisper.

Taking a step toward the bed, I look up and note there are two rather large ceiling fans hanging from the second and fourth beams.  They, also, are made from mahogany and have tulip shaped crystal shades over flute-tipped bulbs.  Feeling a bit as though I have invaded on someone's privacy-which technically, I have-I take in the rest of the room, and walk over to what has to be an antique, hand-carved mahogany armoire.  The carvings are beautiful and depict a scene, much like that I would see from the windows on the other side of the home.  A meadow.  Only, this one has a deer grazing in it.  I find myself reaching out to touch it.

However, there are no deer where I have found myself to be.

This thought strikes me hard, and I turn to gaze out of the two, two-story windows that make up the wall behind me, and I actually gasp at the view for the first time since I entered the room.

I can see the ocean from here.  Of course, yes, I am on an island so that would be expected, but to actually see the far horizon beyond the beach is so unsettling!  There is nothing out there!  No landmarks to give me any hint as to where I possibly am.  Might it truly mean that Mulder was right?

"I am out in the middle of nowhere.  And this is not a dream."  I answer quietly to the empty room.  "It can't be a dream, the details are too intricately woven."

I start to shiver and, while placing my gun on the coverlet, sit down on the bed; continuing to stare off into the distance over the hand-carved headboard.  Also in the design of a meadow with deer.

The knowledge that my family is gone is an extremely difficult fact for me to grasp.

*We fought so hard to build our marriage onto the solid foundation it has become.  Everyone thought I was crazy to marry, especially only a year after Mulder's death.  Then, came the death of Mom.  But damn it, we love each other.  Hell, if anything, their deaths only helped me to solidify in my mind that one must take chances where happiness is concerned.  It was a blessing from God that it turned out we truly fit perfectly together, in every sense of the word.  That we are, in fact…*

"Soul mates."  I whisper.

I cannot stop the flow of tears, as I also think about our son.  The boy whom he did not create, but still molded into a fine young man.  The boy whom he accepted as his own, and never said a single ill word to; not even if he was angry.

He is gone, too.  No more pleading with him to hurry up and finish his breakfast in the morning, so that we are not late for work and school.  No more telling him to turn down his music, or to complete his homework, before he could play his video games.  No more baseball games.  No more...

I am unable to contain my sobs, as I lay across the bed that is not my own, no matter how badly I want it to be.  I curl into the fetal position I have wanted to be in ever since I "woke up" on the beach, and in doing so, am reminded of what else I have lost.

Our baby.  Our miracle.  Both of our children-gifts from God.  Though I am still, even with the leaps and bounds the field of medicine has made over the last several years, unable to explain their existence.  We did not give a damn about that, though.  Not the hows or the whys.  Just that they were.  That is all that mattered to us.  Our new son's birth would have made our family complete.  Now?

"Now he is gone as well."

I close my eyes, praying to whatever God rules this world, to please allow me to simply die.  If I cannot have my family, I do not want to continue on living.  I cannot continue on living.  Yes, Mulder is now by my side; well, here on this island anyway, once more.  Something that I used to pray for, a long time ago.  But, I also let him go a long time ago.  I am unable to deal with him now.  I am a different person.  He seems to be the same.  However, I am no longer that Scully.  I no longer know how to appear fearless or uncaring.  I cannot hide my feelings from anyone who matters to me.  Not anymore.  I learned-the hard way-that I must express myself to those I love, or risk the chance of never being able to again.

Like I lost my chance with Mulder.

Is this supposed to be a second chance?  The opportunity I had wished for?  To finally be able to express to him how I had felt about him?  But, I don't feel that way any longer.  Now, if anything, I would feel the love for him I would one of my brothers, not a lover.  That feeling is solely reserved for...

Feeling hollow inside, I wrap my arms around myself to keep from sobbing into nothingness.  Knowing, now, that I truly am awake.  Thus, should I fall asleep, the dreams I may have will be just that.  Only dreams.

Dreams of the life I know in my heart I had, but for some unholy reason has been ripped from me.

As I slowly slip into the abyss of unconsciousness, I am vaguely aware that my being caught here, in this place, in this striking house, could prove damning.

"I don't really give a fuck."  I mumble, as I stare out the window.  "Let them come and get me.  Hell, maybe they would be able to put an end to this pain, once and for all."

I start bawling to the empty room; the room that is not mine.  To the room that my enchanting husband will never find me in.  Not if he is truly gone, in the way that I know him to be.  This time, my rational side tends to agree with me, for it is not forbidding me to give up, or pleading with me to stand up and fight.

"They win.  I quit."  I concede, quietly.

Moments later, or at least what feels like only moments later-though I can see by the darkness that surrounds me that hours have actually passed me by-I am startled from my position by the sounds of another person entering the house.  Instantly alert, I grab my gun and settle myself down on the floor next to the bed, opposite the doorway.  I am suddenly doubtful of my capabilities to protect myself.

It has been a long time since I have been in such a precarious position.

Damn it!  I did not need to worry, before!  He was always there!  Always my protector, should I need one.  Though he did always respect my independence, his love allowed me to break down the walls, and give someone else the job of looking out for me.  Not as a partner, but as a person.  Not that marriage and a family have turned me into a wimp.  Far from it.  But, nonetheless, I have not fought anything, alone, in ten years!  We have always fought our battles together.

"Damn it Dana!  Stop it!  He is not here!  You have to do this, so stop thinking about him and look after yourself!"

I grab ahold of my gun, unexpectedly aware that I may even have to use it.  Not an idea that I find too terribly pleasing.  I am a doctor.  I save lives.  I do not take them away.  As I sit up and turn to lower my feet to the carpet, I contemplate what I should do.

Simply lay back down and allow whomever is out there to find me here, and possibly attack?  Or, should I follow my gut instinct and fight my way out?  Even if it is only to find myself to still be stuck in this place?  On this fucking island?  Should I get up and face whomever lives here?  Demand to know the answers to the questions that I have swarming through my mind?  Or simply wait?  Wait until whomever it may be walks into the bedroom, and then confront him or her?

"This fucking sucks!"  I whisper to myself, vehemently.

Just when I am about to stand, to leave my safe position and act like the agent I was in my former life,  And apparently in this world too.,  I see a shadow from the moonlight cross the path of the center window, and it falls upon me.  It is then I realize that I am not as safe as I thought.  If I can see the shadow, than there is a large chance that I, too, can be seen.  That is when I hear a voice yelling outside in the meadow, and the words make my blood run cold.

"Skin Man!  She is in the house!  We have to storm the place!  Now!"

Fuck!  It is Mulder.  His was the shadow I had seen.  "Figures."  He always was able to find me.  But, why doesn't he simply get it?  That this time I do not want to be found?  Well, it must be in my destiny-to always be found-at least from what Mulder has screamed to Ski...Walter.

"Nice way to be subtle there, Mulder.  Screaming, while trying to maintain your position.  I guess your not as good as you used to be.  How is it you can call him 'Skin Man' and he doesn't rebuke you?  What the fuck am I saying?  He is dead!  He has been dead for years!"

Must we go back and have a refresher about this day, Dana?

"Shut up."

Cautiously standing from my position, I move away from the bed.  I really do not have anywhere feasible to hide, and I again find myself wondering which home of the Consortium croonies I have actually stumbled into.  I look around the suite once more, this time not in awe, but as an investigator.

I must try to figure out whose house this is.  It might give me an advantage.  Hopefully.

Knowing who the home belongs to might aid me in my strategy to escape.  Whom to be on the look out for.

Kersh?

Could be, the place is meticulously neat.  But, no.  It is too white.  A man like Kersh would most likely be a "red" type of guy.

X?

I don't know.  I only knew him briefly.  It could be, but, then again.  I really cannot picture the elusive man relaxing in a tub of that size.  He always seemed too tense to partake of the soothing qualities it would bring.

Krycek?

Um...I'd rather not dwell on...

That would leave Bill Mulder or Marita.

Possibly.  I know it cannot be Spender's.  Not if he is...married...to my mother.

"Oh God, I think I am going to be sick."

I silently, yet swiftly, make a break for the bedroom door and back to the bathroom.  I can hear nothing, so my best hope is that the homeowner, whomever it may be, is in the kitchen; allowing me to throw up in their fine marble toilet, without being caught.

Or you could just walk out there and throw up on him or her.  Talk about the element of surprise!

I almost laugh at my own joke.

Almost.

Instead, I race through the bathroom and grasp the handle of the small lavatory door, lean over, and...dry heave.

At least there are not any chicken bits coming out of me.  To float in the toilet and mock me.  Thank God for small favors.

Jesus, I feel like shit.

This is bullshit, Dana!  Come on!  Get out there; face the music, whatever that may be.  Just get moving!  You can't spend the rest of this, whatever the fuck it is, leaning against a pale blue wall, gazing at a pot of water!

I know my rational side is correct.  I cannot stay here.  Especially if Mulder is outside, and someone else is in the house.  I have never felt so trapped in my life.  Not even when I was tied up by Donnie Pfaster.

At least I was able to kill that bastard.  Now?  Now I am not even sure who is the enemy.  Of course, the Supposed-To-Be-Dead members of the Syndicate.  But...can I still trust Mulder? Can I even trust the Doggetts or Walter?

"Fuck it.  If I die, I die.  At least that way I won't be forced to be here, in whatever dominion I have found myself in, any longer."

I stand, and quietly walk out from the little room back into the spacious bathroom.  Quickly glancing around me to make sure that I am still alone, I make my way across the tiles toward the main doors.  I quietly lean down, push my feet back into my shoes, and open one about three inches.

Peeking around to see if I can locate the person I heard moving about, I realize he or she is out of sight.

How odd.  I could swear that I heard someone just a few moments ago.

There is a slight breeze coming from the direction of the front door, almost as if it is ajar; as if the owner has walked back outside.  Feeling reasonably safe, I walk out from the bath into the now brightly lit living room, keeping myself low to the ground, lest anyone see me through the windows in the kitchen.

A gunshot rings out, startling me, and I throw myself to the floor; my gun out in front of me, cocked and ready.

Wow, just like riding a bike!  I muse.

I peer out the windows along the wall of the kitchen, but I can see nothing.  The light from the living room hinders me and I feel like I am in a fishbowl.  I scurry across the slate, and carefully stand and lean against the wall on the left of the front door.  As I rise, I accidentally bump my head into a picture frame that hangs there.  Moving away slightly, I can literally feel my eyes widen and my pupils dilate when I take in the sight before me.  My gun-again-drops from my hand to the beautiful floor, as I stare in shock.

"Oh my God!"  I exclaim, while gasping at the exquisite painting of a female angel with pearl-colored wings.  "No!  Please!  No!  This is not real!"

I now know-without any doubt whatsoever-who the home belongs to, and I must flee.  Flee from what I know is not real.  Flee from what the implications might be...if it is.

I hear another six shots ring out and, instinctively picking up my gun, I race outside through the open door; no longer caring about the danger that may befall me.  As I run out onto the porch, in full view of anyone, I spot John and Monica.  They have taken positions on either side of me, at the ends of the porch.

"Dana!"  Monica responds.

"Scully!  Are you okay?"  John asks.

I am unable to respond to them, as I take in the sight of the events unfolding in front of my stunned eyes.

They are all out there, standing in the midst of the meadow.

All of my enemies.

All of my loved ones.

Well...almost all.

They are holding guns on each other.  Kersh, Marita, Bill Mulder, Phoebe, X, and Diana Ratbitch Fowley on one side.  Whereas, my mother,  She looks angrier than I have ever seen her in my existence!,  Cancerman, Teena Mulder, Deep Throat, and Pendrell hold their ground on the other.

There is only about fifteen feet between them!  What the...they are facing off!  Oh my God!  But why?  Where are the others?  Where are Mulder and Walter?  I ask myself, looking frantically around the dark meadow, wanting...no...needing to locate them.  In fact, where is...

"Dana!"  John and Monica yell, as they make their way toward me.  I cry out and turn to point my gun at them.

"No!  Stop right where you are!  Don't come fucking near me!"

"But, Scully!  We are here to protect you.  To save you."  John replies, ignoring my stance as if I tend to hold a gun on him on a regular basis.

Fuck, I haven't even held a gun period, for quite awhile!

"I am not in any need of your kind of saving.  Especially if that son of a bitch Spender is married to my mother!  There is only one man who could save me and he is not..."  I stop my protest, as I catch sight of a shadow coming from around the side of the house.  "Walter?  Walter!  Will you please tell me what the hell is going on here?!".

He pays no heed to me, however, other than a slight nod as he sprints across the meadow, and joins up with Pendrell.

This is ludicrous!  Most of these people are already dead!  Why are they doing this?  What the fuck is happening!  How the hell did everyone end up here on this fucking island?

"The Island of X."  I whisper to myself, realizing as I look around that most of those-hell-all of those who surround me, are from my days long ago; when I worked on the X-Files.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!  I scream silently inside my head.  I quit the X-Files after Mulder died!  I passed them on to the Doggetts!  I wanted nothing to do with this crazy shit anymore!  I wanted a normal life!

I then gasp, as I realize exactly what I have just thought.  "Maybe that is why I am here.  Maybe my normal life was just that...too... normal."  I mumble, aghast at the very idea.  "No!  I refuse to believe that!"  I scream, almost in a panic now.  It is then I hear his voice.  The voice from my dreams of long ago.  When I knew they were just that...

Dreams.

"Scully!  There you are!"  Mulder hollers, sounding relieved as he walks closer; making his way passed John to stand by my side.

I will have none of this, though.  I have already had more than enough.  I begin to walk away from the trio, much to their dismay, while scanning the area in front of me.  Keeping an eye on everyone and their movements, as if witnessing a bad B movie-from the inside.

Just as I am about to make a run for it.  A break away from this living nightmare, I see another figure; walking casually across the meadow from the trees that I had so recently escaped through.

Alex Krycek.

The man of my ancient nightmares.

He is walking toward us, almost casually, yet I can see he is squeezing his right wrist as if to stop the blood that I notice dripping from a cut, most likely received from his trek through the trees.  I instantly stop my flight, and step back into the shadows against the siding of the porch.  I also notice, in the faint light, the expression of sorrow on his face.  Instinctively, I realize he has not seen me, and I wonder if Mulder will keep his silence long enough for me to escape back through the woods.  I would certainly hate to have to break the two of them up.  God knows I was sick of doing it...before.

I watch in fascination as he lets go of his arm and raises his gun, screaming words toward us...toward Mulder.  Words that I actually find myself understanding, but on an entirely different level than I am sure they are intended.

"Why couldn't you just leave in peace, Mulder?  I never did anything to you!  Why did you come to this place?  There is no reason for you to be here!"

Yes, I must agree with him.  There is no reason for me to be here, either.  The bickering that Spender had spoken of earlier had ended, both with his death and with Mulder's.  So what is going on?

"Mulder?"  I whisper, hoping against hope that my mere voice will remind him to keep his temper in check.  Not receiving a reply, I turn to look at him, truly, for the first time since he came up to me on the beach.  Yet, all I see is the same face of the man I had once considered my touchstone.  That is, until he was taken from me, and not just by extraterrestrial biological entities.

It took me a long time to forgive God for that.

Looking at him, I see the same lock of hair falling casually across his forehead.  In fact, everything about him appears to be the same.  Eerily so.

But things are different now!  I am happily married with a family of my own!  At least, I was...Damn it!  Mulder is dead!  I finally put him to rest!  This can't possibly be the same man!

"Because, I had too, Krycek!  I came for what should have been mine!  I came to take my life back!"

I startle when I hear him scream back this response to the questions that have been posed to him.

I want my life back, too!  Who the hell is he to talk about life?  He has no idea of the anguish I have been put through in the course of the last few hours!  Not to mention the months following his death!  Who the fuck is he to talk about life, when mine-the one I...we...spent so many long years in building-has just disappeared?

He turns and simply looks at me with a grimace, while rolling his eyes.  Almost as though he is ashamed at me for flinching at his words.  "I can't believe that guy.  Can you?  You would think he would understand what I mean."

"Why, Mulder?  I don't understand you, myself."  I quietly state, giving him an icy glare.

He looks at me quizzically, as though shocked that I would say such a thing to him.

Taking a chance that I know I may regret, I step off the porch into the beam of light that falls from the doorway, and walk toward Mulder's enemy, my gun lowered.  I watch him intently, as first recognition, and then astonishment, play across his face.  He opens his mouth to say something when, just as I reach his side, all hell breaks loose.

Guns start going off all around me, and I find myself shoved away from him to the ground.

Monica?!

Shocked that it was she who took me down-and not Mulder-I watch in stunned silence as she hovers over me, refusing to allow me to get back up.  Instead, allowing her husband to stand and guard us, thereby forcing me to watch the scene unfold around me, without permitting me to participate.

Shaking my head forcefully, I try to deny what is before my vision, as my mother actually shoots a weapon.  First she hits Marita in the chest, and then Diana through the middle of her forehead, causing the Ratbitch to fall to the ground like a stone.  Bill Mulder then makes a shot of his own and takes out Deep Throat, much to Teena Mulder's dismay, forcing her to fire at her former husband and put a bullet through his chest.  Phoebe pulls her own trigger, as if for kicks alone, and sends a bullet flying across the field, hitting her own mark, Mulder's mother.

Walter takes advantage of the raucous and shoots at Kersh, who fires back, but misses.  Walter shoots at him again and Kersh falls dead where he stood alive only moments before.  I can't help but to keep shaking my head, trying to analyze what is taking place.

I do not understand!  What is going on here?  Why are all of these people who are dead in my world, suddenly killing each other in this one?  If they had wanted to risk dying, they should have just stayed dead!  Christ, some of these people never even met each other!

I close my eyes, trying desperately to dispel the image of the fight taking place before me.  Immediately, I find them open once more and, turning to the left, I find myself staring at Mulder.  Oh, shit!  What is he going to do?  I wonder, taking in his immediate anger, and the look of pure rage that crosses his face.

As I watch him witness the deaths of his mother and father-again-Mulder loses his own control and races from the porch, toward Phoebe.  He puts a bullet not only into her, but into X as well, who was just about to kill Pendrell, but had turned to protect his lover, and in doing so, errantly hit my mother, as he fell to the ground beside Phoebe, dead.

"OH MY GOD!  MOM!"  I scream, as I begin to earnestly struggle against Monica, but to no avail.  I curl into a ball, willing myself to...WAKE UP DANA!  Damn it, just wake up!

But I can't seem to, no matter how hard I plead, and I find myself having to bear witness to Agent Pendrell act in such as way as I had never seen him before.

He is full of an all consuming hatred and turns his gun on Spender, shouting, "You did this!  You bastard, your marriage got Dana's mother killed!"

I can tolerate this delusion no longer.  None of this makes any sense.

"My mother died in a hit and run accident!" I scream, only to find that no one can hear me.  They are all too involved in the war at hand.

While watching this unreal display of marksmanship and fury, I realize that the man I had been standing next to, only a few scant minutes ago, is no longer standing nearby, but has again disappeared.  I search, as best as I can in my current position, and locate him.

He is standing out across the meadow, holding his hands to his eyes, as if he too, is trying to remove the images of what is taking place from his mind.  Walter sees him and goes after him.  Still pinned on the ground, I start screaming louder, beating my right fist up against my best friend, demanding her to leave me the fuck alone and allow me to stand.  To fight.

To protect.

"God damn it, Monica!  Let me up!"

"No, it is for your own good!"

"Fuck you!  You do not realize what is happening!  You were not around!  You do not even know who half these people are; Were!,  Now, get off me before I put a bullet into you!"

"Let her go, Monica."  I hear John tell his wife.  He must finally understand that there are other, more important things to deal with, such as joining in the apparent battle between good and evil.  As she, at once, heeds the words of her husband, they begin to take aim on their own targets, and I leap to my feet, gun in hand, so that I may rush off across the grass, wanting to leave this madness, as fast as I possibly can.

Half way there; then we can hide in the trees.

"Scully!"  I hear Mulder scream out at me, and out of an old habit I thought I had long ago buried; I pay heed to his voice and stop running, but not walking.  I am no longer able to see where I am going through the tears sliding down my face, yet I still feel the overwhelming urge to keep moving forward, before having to witness someone else I love die from the insanity occuring in the meadow.

Pendrell and Mulder make their way toward me from the assemblage of people lying dead in front of the glorious house I will always remember.  In whatever life I will lead.  Behind them, John and Monica sprint hastily, trying to catch up to me, as well.  I finally stop moving.

Fuck it.  It does not matter anymore, anyway.

I jump as Walter and Krycek walk out from the trees on my left.  Both looking around wearily, as they also start making their way to my side.  I want to run.  As far and as fast, as I possibly can, but I do not.  I cannot.  I am paralyzed in place, unable to understand what is happening, and I do not know if I even want to understand anymore.  I don't know if I even care. Suddenly, comprehension hits me like a ton of bricks, and I sway, my eyelids snapping closed with the force of my awareness, as I lean against a tree on the outskirt of the meadow.

Slowly opening my eyes, I gather my resolve and stand to my full height, looking around at everyone who is coming toward me.  I have had the stunning realization that, part from my sons; most of these people do belong near me.  They belong in my other life.  However, I have no time to reflect on this, nor on what it could possibly mean to me in the here and now, as I look over John's shoulder and catch sight of Spender.  He is also walking toward me-toward us-hunched over from the bullet wound in his abdomen, courtesy of Pendrell.

Cancerman. C.G.B., Mulder's 'black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch'.  My personal demon from the depths of Hell itself.  He is the man who made my life a living tragedy the moment I first laid eyes on him in Section Chief Blevins' office, oh so many years ago.  He is the man who took almost everything I held sacred away from me: my freedom, my sister, my...Mulder.  Not to forget about what he did to Mulder, and to Walter, and to...to everyone else who seemed to share the same quadrant of space I did.  All without so much as a fucking sympathy card.

The others must notice the expression on my face change, because they all spread out and flank me, on both sides, and stare at the wickedness I see, and Pendrell is beyond pissed at the sight of the Devil Himself.

"Damn it!  Why can't you just die?"  I hear him ask, while reaching for his gun.

"Well, well.  Isn't this a pretty sight?  Everyone seems to have decided to join you in your little party, haven't they, Dana?"

Pendrell freezes and I gasp, wondering what the hell he could possibly mean.  And why the fuck I would even give a damn, is beyond me..

None but four.  My brain suddenly concludes.  None but four, belong.

I swallow hard against the sudden onslaught of nausea I feel wanting to creep up my esophagus. "Oh God!"  I murmur, as my subconcious continues to piece together the pieces to the puzzle that has become my life.  "Only four belong".  Christ!  I have got to get out of here!

"Shut up you black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch!"  Mulder demands.

Didn't I just call him that, myself?  I ponder, as I squint my eyes. My queasiness easing, slightly.

"Fox, such words to describe your father.  Aren't you in the least bit happy to see me?"

"You are not my father!  You are nothing but a piece of shit!  Just like him!"  He spits out, pointing to his other adversary, who in turn is moving, briskly, away from Mulder's harsh words.

Away from us.

My eyes widen, as I listen to Mulder's exclamations, and I feel as though I am standing on the edge of a precipice.  It is then I finally figure out where I am.

"I am in the fucking Twilight Zone!"  I state, matter of factly.

All of them turn toward me, and they stare as though I have grown a second head.  As though I have spoken out of turn and broken some unwritten rule.  Some cherished oath of silence in some game that I have no desire to partake of any longer.  "Oh this is just too fucking much!"

Unable to tolerate what is happening around me any longer, I make a break for it.

Surprising them all, I race back across the meadow toward the house, the beautiful house that had felt so calming.  The one place on this fucking island that gave me the only bit of peace I have been allowed, since waking on the beach.  Forgetting the reason I had fled the house in the first place, I run up across the steps.

"Scully!"  Mulder calls after me, as he too, starts running.

The others follow suit, and I feel like I am moving in slow motion.

Across the porch.

"Scully!"  Mulder continues to yell, his argument with Spender forgotten, as he watches me flee the scene.

Through the front door.

"Dana!  Please stop!"  Monica screams, suddenly aware that I am not going to heed Mulder's plea and come back to them.

Through the living room.

"Scully!"  Walter yells.  "Stop!"

I run into the bathroom ignoring his voice, too, because it just doesn't matter any more.  Nothing matters, except reaching the one place I can hide from them.  The one place I can return, and feel somewhat comfortable as to who I really am.  A gunshot rings out, as I run even faster toward the bedroom door.

"Agent Scully!  Stop!"  Pendrell shouts out from somewhere outside the house.

He must have finished his job on Spender. I realize.

"Scully!"  They all seem to say, collectively.  "You can't go back!  You can't go ba...!"

I do not even hear them anymore.  My only function at this point is the ability to keep running.

Upon entering the haven of the bedroom I close my eyes in relief,  All I want to do is lie down in that lovely bed, and forget I exist!, and abruptly run directly into someone, causing me to come to a complete halt.

Opening my eyes in shock, I gasp as I find myself staring up into a pair of gentle, yet smoldering, pools of emerald green.

"Let me guess,"  He replies tenderly, peering into my own,  Pale blue!  Oh my God!, eyes.  "you forgot about the sliding-glass door in the living room?"

I simply stand there, frozen, and continue to stare at his face.  Jesus!

Absolutely terrified to speak-for fear of what may happen if I take a chance-my knees begin to buckle out from under me, and as I start to wobble like a newly born fawn.  He reaches out and catches me, keeping me from falling to the floor-just as everyone else hurriedly enters the large suite.

Mulder abruptly stills upon seeing me in the arms of his arch-rival, and everyone waits to make another move, as if pausing to see what he will do about the situation he finds himself.  They then reverts their gazes to me, as if waiting for me to help guide them toward what should take place next.  Almost as if...as if I should be choosing a side.

What am I supposed to do?!  Please, God!  Let me wake up!  I cannot handle much more of this!

"Come on, Scully.  It is time to go home."  Mulder states rather harshly, as he crosses the floor between us, and reaches out for me.  However, instead of rushing into his outstretched arms, I flinch and turn my back on him.

"Scully?  Come on now, it's over.  Let's go home now.  Everything is finished here.  It is time for us to leave."

Turning back around, I pull away a short distance from the strong arms that had been wrapped protectively around me, and finally let go of all of the anger I have stifled throughout this horrid day.

"Home, Mulder?!  Where I come from, you no longer live!  You. Are. Dead!  Remember?  I told you that this morning on the beach!  YOU ARE NOT REAL!  None of this could possibly be fucking real!  This cannot be happening!  Don't you understand, Mulder?  There is no home that you could take me to!"

"She hit her head."  Mulder replies calmly, repeating his earlier diagnosis to the others, as if it will explain away the reason as to why I am so fucked up, and thereby resisting his desire for me to join him.  To leave the warmth of his enemy's embrace.

I am unable to grasp his lack of comprehension.  I am also unable to decide what I should do.  There is no where left for me to run.  Then I remember the painting, my motivation for fleeing the house in the first place, and I instantly recognize what Mulder means by his reference to "Home".

Sweet Jesus!  NO!

He moves toward me quickly, and then stops, as his nemesis takes a step forward.  I begin to slip to the floor, too stunned at my discovery to think anymore.  I am too astonished to analyze why I am surrounded by people, whom I know love me, yet they do not help me.  Surrounded by those that do-and do not-belong in my life.

NO!  NO!  NO!  My mind screams in denial.  Then, as I feel myself about to plunge into the blackness of oblivion, I reach out blindly, finding the man-my protector-to still be there by my side, and I grasp his hand.  Unexpectedly, the moment I do, Pendrell simply vaporizes.

"What the hell?"  John whispers, as I stare wide-eyed at the space that had been occupied only seconds before by the red-haired agent.  The others silently move forward, as though to keep Mulder away from me, and I fall back into a broad chest, unable to think clearly.

"Mulder.  I don't know exactly what the hell is going on here, but I believe it would be best if you stepped outside, and let us take care of Scully."  Walter implores, his soft baritone not undermining his determination to regain whatever balance he may have lost during Pendrell's vanishing act.

Mulder glances across the room at our former boss, and then reverts his attention to me. Curiously, he smiles and gives me a wink, before he suddenly disappears, as well.

"Mulder?!"

Instantly, the air shimmers and a being appears.

"You have made your choice, Scully.  As such, it is now time to leave this place, time for you to go home."

"NO!"  I shriek, shrinking against the body behind me, fighting now to stay alert. Forbidding myself to give in to the temptation to faint.  "NO!  Please no!  It isn't time!"  I scream, as I feel myself being pulled into a sudden bright light that seems to fill the room.  "It isn't time!  I don't want to leave my life!  I don't want to leave my hus..."  Before I can even finish my sentence, my world suddenly fades to black.

"Dana?"

Monica?

"Day, can you hear me?"

I can hear her speaking to me, but it sounds as though her voice is coming from a long distance.  What is going on, now?

I try to open my eyes, but find myself unable to do so.

Monica?  Help me, Monica!  Please, don't let him take me away!

"How is she?"

John?

"She hit her head."

"NO!  Please no!  It isn't time!"  I again shout, forcing my eyes open against the light, only to find myself staring, blurrily, from the bed.  My heart races in my chest, and I try to rise, to take in what is happening around me, but the light is too bright.  Immediately shutting them once more, I fall back to the bed.

Damn ceiling fans!  I think, remembering how they hang from the ceiling in the bedroom, and this thought brings me comfort.

Well, at least I am still here.  Thank God!

This thought however, does not ease my tension too much.  Nor my fear.  On the one hand, I am still stuck on this damn island.  And on the other, I find I am too tired to deal with any other surprises tonight.

Please God, just let me pass out again.  I can't take this anymore.  I have dealt with a lot of things over the course of the past twenty years, but I am simply too wiped out to handle much more of this.

I take a deep breath, and then another thought hits me.

Where did Mulder go?  Did I really see what I thought I saw?  What just happened here?  And why the hell is it suddenly so damn quiet?

Feeling an intense urge to flee-again-I try to open my eyes and sit up, only to regret it as I become instantly dizzy.

"Oh, my head!"

Lying down once more, I begin wondering where everyone went and, noticing the softness of the sheets underneath my right hand, I am more than a little taken aback.

I could have sworn the sheets would be silk.  Damn, there goes ten bucks.

I struggle to open my eyes again, and in doing so, find myself looking at my feet.

"Why?"  I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut once more to block the image of my toes.  "Why me?  Why did you have to do this to me?  Why now?"

"Dana?"  Monica asks softly.  "Thank God!  Day, it is okay.  Everything will be okay now."

"No it will not, Monica!"  I shout, refusing to open my eyes; refusing to look at her.  "You don't understand.  I do not belong here.  I belong at home.  With my husband and my son.  With my baby!  Why has my family been taken from me?  Was it simply too much for me to have one of my own?  After all that I have lost?  NONE OF THIS IS REAL!  I can't survive here!"  I tearfully insist, before I force myself to be quiet., Fearful that if I say too much more, something else unwanted will happen.

"What is she talking about?"  A worried voice whispers to her.  I can almost make out who it is, but not quite.

"I don't know."  She replies, honestly.

"I am goin' to go get Skinner."  John says.

What? Where did Walter go?  He was just here!

"All right, I'll go get her some water."  Monica states.

What the hell?  Why are they talking as if I am not here?

"No, please." I speak up, not comfortable with feeling as though I am a piece of furniture. "Leave me alone.  Just get out, and leave me be."  I plead while turning away, wanting nothing more than to sink into the linen and disappear. I can feel the tears running down my face from the despair I suffer, and it only adds to my shame.

"I can't do that."

I gasp, believing I hear the voice I crave, but then I realize that it could not be him. Not the version of him I vowed to honor and cherish, anyway.

"Please.  You, too.  Go.  I just want to be left alone in peace.  You don't belong here, either."

"But, I can't leave you.  I will not.  No matter how much you entreat, leaving is the one wish I will not grant you, Katya."

There it is.

The magic word.

His pet name for me.

My pulse races as I dare turn my head toward the voice of the man I yearn for.  "Is it really you?"  I ask, with my eyes still closed, too frightened to even chance opening them.

"Among others."  He replies with a chuckle.  Whether from relief or amusement I cannot tell which, but I take the risk and open my eyes...

To the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

"Sashka?"  I ask, staring into the face of my beloved, seated beside me in a chair.  Holding our new son.

"Yes, Sweetness, it is me."  He replies tenderly, tears shining in his own.

He rises, and then sits down beside me on the bed, as I look around me; confusion clearly written upon my face.

"We were in an accident, Lyubimoy.  On our way home from the restaurant.  An idiot ran a light and broad-sided us.  Luckily, there was not much damage to your truck, but you did take a scary hit to your pretty head."

"What?!"  I ask, shocked to find that I am in a hospital room, and not in the plush bedroom I had last seen.  "What happened, Alex?  Is the baby okay?  Did I go into labor?"

He smiles at me lovingly.  "Yes, and the doctors decided to perform an emergency C-section to deliver him, in order to relieve your body of the stress, because..."  He looks down at our child, then back up at me, his tears now falling.  "Because you would not wake up."

Oh my God, but I so wanted to!  I say to him, with my eyes.

He intently stares at me, and I notice something extremely unfamiliar in his expression.

He is afraid!

Fear is not something that I am used to seeing-not from him-and it jolts my senses entirely.  "Aleksei?  What is it?  What is wrong?  What are you not tellling me?"

"You gave us quite a scare, Katya."  He continues, quietly.  "You were out for quite a long time.  I was terrified that you would not come back to us.  To me."

The significance of what he says hits me like a punch.

"Sashka?"  I whimper, fearfully.  "Am I going to be okay?"

He smiles brilliantly, as he gently hands me our perfect son, before leaning in and tenderly kissing my lips..

"Yes, Katya.  You are going to be fine.  Now."  He says, his hand softly caressing my face, as I hold our newborn son close to my breast..

"Oh, Sashka, he is beautiful!"

"Just like his mother."  He whispers, and I can feel by his gentle touch that he is having a hard time controlling his emotions.

"How long have I been unconscious?"  I ask, raising my head once more to see his own beautiful face.

He looks at his watch, inadvertently allowing me to see the small bandage around his right wrist.

I gasp at the sight, as the memory of his walking from the trees holding his arm flashes across my mind's eye.

He had been hurt!

"Alex, your wrist!"

"I am fine, Slatkaya.  It is nothing serious; merely a laceration."  He states, with a shrug.  "You, however, have been out for almost nineteen hours.  Too damn long."  He insists, pulling both our son and me into his arms.  "Don't ever do that to me again.  Please.  I don't know that I would be able to survive without you, Dana.  I love you.  I wouldn't want to live without you in my life."  He vows, as he begins crying into my hair, triggering me to cry, as well.  "Please, don't ever leave me."  He quietly pleads.

"I love you too, Aleksei."  I reply quietly, as I squeeze him to me, as carefully and tightly as I can.  "I wouldn't leave you.  Ever."

Withdrawing slightly, he wipes at his eyes, while staring into mine and he smiles.  Almost devilishly.

"What?  What are you thinking?"  I ask, knowing it must be something good for him to grin like the Cheshire cat.

"First, about how much I love you and thank God I didn't lose you.  Second, I am thinking of how lucky I am that my family is now going to be okay.  Third..."

"Oh my God!"  I suddenly gasp, interrupting him.  "William?  Where is William?"

He laughs, unperturbed by my abnormal rudeness.  "William is fine, Katya.  He was behind me, on the opposite side of the impact.  He was not hurt.  We were tossed about a little bit, but you..."  He pauses, working hard to maintain control over his fresh tears.  "You are the one who suffered the worst of it.  You, Sweetness, are the one whom we have all been worried about.  The one we thought we...might...lose.  You took so...long...to awaken."  He finishes, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Oh Alex.  You have no idea how happy I am to be here with you."  I reply, reaching up to kiss him, to touch him again, sweetly, tenderly.  "Where is he?"  I ask, when I finally pull away, noting the still-fearful look in his teary eyes.

"He is down with his Uncle Walter in the cafeteria having an ice cream.  Walter thought it would help to take his mind off of what was happening."  He whispers.

"Thank God."  I reply, again kissing him-this time deeply, before then reverting my attention to our darling new baby boy.

"He has your nose."  Alex insists, smiling sweetly.

"I hope he has your eyes."  I admit, looking down at his peaceful, sleeping face.  Alex grins at me and holds us tighter.  "What would you like to name him?"  I ask, stroking at our son's soft skin.

"Alexander Fox."

I look up, wide-eyed, and his grin broadens, though there is still a touch of sorrow in his gaze.

"What?  You think I don't miss him?"

"No..." I reply softly,  "I know that you do.  It is just..."  I try to turn away, but he will not allow it.  He reaches over and lifts my chin, forcing me to look into his stunning emerald eyes.

"Dana.  Lyubimoy.  Every time I look upon William, I not only see you, but I also see Mulder.  There are times when in doing so, I must flee; not because of who his father is, but to keep myself from breaking down.  I made a promise to myself-after his death-that should I ever be blessed with a son, I would name him in his honor."

"Oh, Sashka.  I wish he had been able to get to know you.  The real you."

"I know you do, Katya.  But, it is all right; you did."  He says, looking momentarily away.

The tears are flowing freely from me now, and I realize, not for the first time, how much Mulder had really and truly affected all of us.  How much he is still a part of us.  Even Monica and John were affected.  For, if it were not for my unrelenting search for him, they may not have found each other, again.

Could that have been what Mulder meant?  I wonder, grasping at the threads of my nightmare, almost forgotten, as I look up to see my son and his uncle walk in through the door.

"Mama!"  Williams shouts while running toward us, wanting to shower me with sweet kisses but, noticing his baby brother, he hesitates, afraid that he may hurt him in his effort to get to me.

"Hi, Scully.  John just came and told us that you were waking up.  Are you all right?"  Walter asks, concern evident in his voice, as he also comes from the doorway, and plants a kiss on my forehead.

Much like Mulder would have done.

"I am better, Walter.  Sorry to have alarmed all of you."  I say, as Monica and John walk back into the room.  She places a glass of ice water on the table, next to my bed.

"Don't you go doin' that again, either.  You had us plenty scared."  John admits, placing his arm around his wife when she rejoins his side.  He is clearly happy that all is now well, in his own little world.

I smile at my friends, and then turn to my son.  "I'm okay, Little Man."  I tell him, as he waits patiently to kiss me.  "You can give me a kiss, SweetPea.  He is asleep, so he won't mind at all."  I whisper, hoping to relay his fears.

Alex stands and allows William to climb up onto the bed with me, then sits back down.  William leans up against me and plants a small kiss to my cheek, before protectively placing an arm around my waist, causing his dad to smile.

"Well you guys, Monica and I are goin' to head home now.  Dana, you get better fast.  Alex, I will come by tomorrow to see if you need anythin'.  I don't expect to see you back at the office for at least a few days."

Alex laughs at him.  "No, you won't.  But you are more than welcome to drop by."

"You can count on it."  Walter states, as he too, prepares to make his leave.

"Day, you call me if you need anything.  Remember, I could use the practice."  Monica reminds me with a gleam in her eye, as she then glances at her husband, who is grinning from ear to ear.  I can't help but start to laugh, now fully aware that I truly am not stuck on a deserted island, being forced to...

I am where I should be.

Though many years have gone by since his death,  Mulder is still sorely missed, and in looking about the room at my friends, I wistfully think of how proud he would be that I finally have built the life he used to plead with me to leave him and make.

How sad that it took his leaving in order for me to do it.

After our friends leave, I turn my attention back to my husband, who cannot seem to wipe the smile off his handsome face, and I remember that there was something else he had wanted to tell me.  "Sashka?"

"Yes, Katya?"

"What was the third thing you were going to tell me?"

Grinning even wider-if it is at all possible-he stands from his seat on the bed, and walks over to a small table that sets only a few short feet from where I lay against the back of the hospital bed.  He picks up what looks like his sketchbook, and walks back over to me, resuming his spot.

"When you were..." He hesitates as he glances at William, "...asleep, you began talking."

Oh God.  Does he know the horror that I went through?  That I at least thought I was going through?

"I was?"  I ask apprehensively, afraid of what he may have heard.  What I may have said.

"Yes.  They seem to have been pretty vivid, too; your dreams."  He reveals, as he starts to look over the pages of the notebook that he had apparently written in.

And drawn in.

"Alex?"  I ask him, more that a little worried by what he may have heard come from my mouth as I had dreamed.

He must sense my unease, because he smiles at me and says, as gently as I have ever heard him speak,  "What is it, Katya?  You look like you have seen a ghost."

I gasp.

Hearing the same words coming from him that Mulder had said in my dream is almost enough to spook me into fleeing again.  However, I know in my heart there is no need for that.  I am safe now.

Here.

With him and our sons.

"Are you all right?"  He questions, reaching out to place an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his concern heightened.

I nod my head.  "What did you sketch?"  I ask, as cheerily as possible.  "My sleeping form?"

He watches me a moment longer.  I know he needs to convince himself that I am indeed okay, and then he continues.  "Not funny, Sweetness."  He replies, with a still haunted look about him.  He then brightens, as he opens the book.  "You kept going on about a house."  He starts to say, while thumbing through the pages, taking a peek up at me every five seconds.

I gasp-again.  This time, not out of fear, but out of the simple remembrance of the beautiful house I had seen, if only as a mirage.  The one that, I now know, had belonged to him.

"Are you sure you are okay?"  He inquires, placing the sketchbook down.  "Dana?"  He asks, as he puts his hands upon my face, and feels his way along my head, as if searching for bumps.

At the feeling of intense deja vu, I start laughing.  "Everything is wonderful, Sashka.  Please, go on."

Satisfied that I am all right, and not giving him an "I'm fine." brush-off, he quickly kisses me and again picks up his sketchbook.  While I settle in and start to nurse our newborn babe.

He stares at us for a few moments, his speech lost.

"Sashka?  Honey, go on now.  Show me what you've got."  I say, beaming at him with a slight blush to my face..

He grins, and slightly blushes himself at having been caught staring.  "Um, you described a log house...in your dream.  I know that is must seem an insane thing to do, but I had Walter go and retrieve my sketchbook from the apartment, and while you were asleep, I started drawing, based on what you were saying."  Sorting through a couple of sheets of paper, he then pulls one out and raises it up so that I can take a look. "Is this the house?  The one you dreamt about?"

I suck in my breath, as I peer at the sight of it in front of my eyes.  A reality.

It is a perfect drawing of the log home.

He notices my reaction and continues.  "You want to know what I think about this house?"

I can only nod at him, too stunned to articulate any form of verbal response.

"Katya, this house would be perfect for us.  It would need another two rooms added for the boys, but overall..."  He pauses, gazing into my eyes, as if for my consent for what I suddenly know he wants to ask.

I break out into a grin of my own when he asks me the question I already have the answer to.

"Would you mind if I built it?  For you?  For us?  For our family?"

"Sashka."

He swiftly moves on, as though afraid I will actually tell him no.  "I know that it seems crazy.  Hell, it probably is.  But Katya, it is beautiful and I would love to give it to you.  We have the money, what with the inheritance that Mulder left you and William, and the one that my family left me, so that would not even be an issue.  I even have the perfect plot of land in mind, just on the outskirts of the city, if..."

"Aleksei?"

"Yes?"

"Yes."

He peers at me for a long time.  He stares as though he has never seen me before; even after ten years of marriage and two children.  He looks at me for so long I find myself beginning to worry.

"Aleksei?  Honey?  Are you okay?"  I ask, reaching up and running my right hand through his dark hair.

He grins.  "Lyubimoy, I am perfect.  I just...I don't know how to explain it.  For some reason, I could swear I just heard him laughing.  Almost...almost in a congratulatory way."

"Who?"  I ask, now truly distressed, and wondering just how high of a level of stress he suffered while I was out.

"Mulder."

It is my turn to stare at him.

"I know, it sounds nuts, but...Dana, I swear I did."

I watch him, and I know he is not crazy.  I have seen a lot of things in this life, and hearing a dead loved one laugh?  Well, that cannot be too paranormal, and in looking at my husband, at my two sons, I now understand what my dream meant.

Mulder was making me choose.

Choose between continuing on with my life; keeping sight of those who love me and make me happy.  Or holding on to the past.  A past that I could not change, no matter how it was played out.

"Sashka, I'll not bet against you.  I have no doubt that you just did.  Yes.  Let's build the house."

He beams at me, and just as he leans in to kiss me again, I shift our son to allow him better access, and I notice my ring.  My treasured ruby and diamond wedding ring.  No longer missing from my left hand.  I smile, as I return his kiss.  A moment later while trying to keep my tears at bay, I hear a small voice.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, William?"

"What did you name my brother?"

We look down at our eldest son, who brings so much joy into our lives, and we both smile.

"Your mother and I..."  he replies lovingly,  "...have named him Alexander Fox."

"I like that name.  Fox."  He replies, smiling down at his new baby brother.  Ever so carefully, he tentatively reaches out and touches the baby's face, and then he smiles.  "Hello, Alexander, I am your brother, William.  But, you can call me Will."

My husband and I share a look, as he responds.  "It is a nice name, William.  Do you know that it was an honor for me to have known a man named Fox?"

He looks up at his dad for what seems like a long time, at least for an eleven year old boy, and then he replies.  "You mean my other daddy.  The one who died helping to protect Mama?"

"Yes, William.  The very same.  You want to know something else?"

"What Daddy?"

"He was one of the best protectors."

"Is that why God made him into an angel?"

"Yes, Darling."  I tell him.  "That is why he is an angel."

~~~

EPILOGUE:

One Year Later

"Alex?  Dana?  We are here!"

Alex stands from our couch in the living room, where he has been sketching his latest work, and walks up to greet Monica, as she and John walk in the front door.  John proudly carries their three month old son, Jay, in his arms and I can't help but smile at the sight..

"Wow!  This place is stunning!"  Monica states, as she places her diaper bag on the floor beside the front door.

As I walk over from the kitchen counter, with Fox toddling slowly behind me, Alex and I both laugh at her.

"Monica, it is not like you were not here during the construction."  I remind her.

"No.  But still, now that you are all moved in, it looks...well?  It looks...different.  More...homey."

I smile widely, still unable to believe myself that my family and I live in the house that, literally, came from a dream.

"I think that she is still a bit shocked herself, Monica."  Alex laughs while grinning at me, as she leans down and picks Fox up from the floor, while I in turn, take Jay from John's arms, and playfully tickle my husband's side.

"Stop it, Alex.  You know how surreal it feels for me at times; that our home is almost identical to that which I described while 'asleep'."

"Yes...well...nothing is too much for you, or our sons."  He replies with a wink at me, as he and John begin walking toward the kitchen to begin their turn at cooking our weekly get-together dinner.

"He is absolutely adorable, Mon."  I say as I look down at her son, while we walk through the house to Fox's bedroom.

"Thank you, Day."  Monica beams.

After depositing Fox into his bed for a nap, Monica and I walk back through the house toward the bar and sit down; relaxing while the men start to prepare grilled salmon with a mixed vegetable medley for dinner.

"Where is William?"  John asks, as he looks over at his wife, smiling at the image of her with their child.

"He is currently in his bedroom kicking the crap out of Walter at DOOM."  Alex chuckles, as he begins washing the fish.

We all join him in laughter; picturing the sight of Walter Skinner, Deputy Director of the FBI, getting beat at a video game by a twelve year old boy.

"He loves it, though.  No matter how much he may complain that William never lets him win."  I reply.

"Yes.  I do."  Walter agrees, as he and William walk in to join the rest of the family.  He walks over to the sink and scrubs his hands, then starts to cut up the carrots, as John slices the tomatoes.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Will?"  Alex asks, looking across the kitchen.  "What is it?"

William walks up to him and looks at the vegetables, scrunching his nose.  "Do you think tomorrow night we could order in pizza?"

We all break into laughter, fondly remembering whom his simple request reminds us is missing.

"Yes, Will.  I think that could easily be arranged."  Alex replies, ruffling William's chestnut hair.

After the dinner has been prepared, and we are all about to take our seats at the log table that was custom made for the kitchen, I glance around and grin.

Alex smiles at me, taking my hand.  "Are you happy, Katya?"

"Yes, Sashka.  I am happier than I have ever been."  I reply honestly, as he kisses me.

As the rest of the group begins to eat, I hear Fox beginning to fuss and make my way through the house to his room.  Leaning over the crib, I pick him up and walk back out to join the rest of the family, stopping along the way to look at Alex's painting, proudly hanging by the front door, and I smile.

"Angel."

Surprised by hearing our son's first word, I call to the others and they hurry over to join us, each looking between him and the painting, smiling.

"Yes, Fox.  That is an angel.  Angel Mulder."  Alex informs his young son, as he reaches for William and pulls us all into an embrace.  We all look at the image he had painstakingly been working on over the last two years, and just completed.

The work of art of a smiling Mulder, with pearl-colored wings.

Wrapping all of us in his protective arms.

~Fin~

Copyright ~ January 10, 2002
Tammy D. Aiken-Phillips