Six Billion by Jori

After surviving Hurricane Leroy, Mulder has to suffer through his 38th birthday as he and Scully try to set things straight. NC-17

Author's Notes: I am putting Agua Mala in the only logical place a hurricane with an L name would be --- mid to late October. But although this is post hurricane, it really isn't post episode.

********************
Arthur Dales from Agua Mala -- "If Agent Scully had not been there with you I shudder to think what would have happened to you. I'd say you owe her your life."

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

Marco Island, Florida
October 12, 1999
6:32 p.m.

The water is completely flat and motionless underneath the setting sun. So different than the storm I dragged Scully into four days ago. So different than my whole life right now. Flat and motionless would be nice for a change. It also would have been nice if Scully had stayed here with me instead of flying back to DC on the first plane out of this town. I decided to stay behind to help Mr. Dales clean up after the storm. The only thing we managed to clean up were a few bottles of whiskey.

It was my decision to stay behind and recover. I thought a few days of sitting on the shore staring at nothing would do me good. I don't know why I thought she might stay and stare right next to me. Why in the hell would she want to stay at a place that is hosting the amateur shuffle board team? I was fooling myself. She was in such a hurry to get away from me after this one. I don't blame her. I'm the one who fucked it all up.

Maybe I just didn't want to spend my birthday alone in DC. Not that I would be alone. Scully and I would be there at the office, working side by side. That would be it. Nothing else. But I'm the one who asked for it. I'm the one who ended it. But when I said those words, I didn't mean forever. Just until I figured out what Skinner was up to.

My cell phone rings, shaking me out of my thoughts. I retrieve it out of one of my running shoes, hoping it is Scully. It isn't.

"Hi, Mom. No, I'm not busy. No. I'm not home. Thanks," I say, pissed that it isn't Scully. I fly out of Southwest Florida at 9 p.m. tonight and I was hoping it was Scully, offering to pick me up. Instead it is my mother relaying her birthday wishes a day early.

"Yeah, Mom. It's okay. I'll be flying home tonight. You haven't bothered to come all the way down to DC for my birthday before, no need to start now," I say into the receiver only to hear silence at the other end. Hey, it is my birthday. I can be an uncaring, insensitive asshole and be excused. Of course, there is no excuse for the other 364 days.

Mothers never forget this damn day. Most people stop caring after 18 or 21, depending on how long ago they were born. But mothers never stop caring about it. I fully appreciate that giving birth to a child, especially the first child, is a momentous occasion to a mother. But after 38 years, the pain must have numbed just a little, right?

No matter how much I want to forget all about it, I knew she was going to call me. A day early in case I have big plans on the actual day. This is just like every other fucking year, only worse.

Because this year, for a brief second, the company of my mother almost sounded like a welcome relief from the loneliness.

Instead, my evening will be spent getting drunk with the boys and playing some damn internet game I can't even begin to figure out. It is just slightly better than having your mother remind you of what you did to her body decades ago.

"Thanks for calling, Mom. Yeah. Love you, too. Bye," I say, as I click off my cell phone and deposit it back into my shoe. Phone in the left shoe. Keys in the right. Where else do people store things at the beach?

Being alone is all my fault. I know it. I did it to myself this time. I reach for the phone, wanting desperately to call Scully. But I don't.

Doesn't matter anyway. I will see her at work tomorrow. We will go about our business and avoid each other as best we can. Then she will walk out to go home at 5 p.m. and I think I will say something only to find I can't. She will turn around and give me one last look with those eyes that drag my damn heart out of my chest and through my shirt each and every time, and I will finally ask her to stay for a while and she will tell me she can't. She's got to get home. She has stuff to do. She's meeting her mother. She has to take her neighbor's dog for a walk. Her high school best friend is in town.

Scully has developed a whole lot of friends since September. And I have spent most nights holed up in my office until 3 or 4 a.m. Then I come home, crash on the couch for two hours and then go back in. There is nothing to kill the pain of not seeing someone you see every day.

I watch the water, wondering why it draws people to it. Why does the setting sun hold such a fascination for man? Perhaps it is our recognition that we survived another day. The sun fights through the lofty clouds, its rays peeking out from underneath at the last minute. Storms are way off on the horizon but I will be gone before they reach this shore. My last sunset at 37. With ease, the sun finally sinks below the horizon. Around me people snap photographs and laugh. All I do is put my shoes back on, stick my phone and my keys back into my pockets and walk away from the water toward the beach access. Time to head back to my life such as it is.

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

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
7:36 a.m.

She called in sick. I don't believe it. I play the voice mail message twice and it says the same thing both times.

Half way through the third time, I look up and discover A.D. Skinner watching me from the door. He's got his hands shoved in his pockets and he looks like this is just a casual meeting in the basement of the Hoover Building. I doubt he's bringing champagne and caviar to celebrate my birthday. Perhaps he's coming down here to fire me.

Is being a surly son of a bitch a fireable offense?

"What can I do for you , sir?" I ask, as I rock back in my chair. He doesn't sit down opposite of me, but rather he stands there glancing around before looking down at the ground. Yep. Basement floors clean up nice. Not a speck of Spender brain to be found.

"Welcome back. How are your . . . wounds?" he asks, pointing in the general direction of my neck.

"Getting better. What's up?" I ask, not wanting to cover my run in with the sea creature one more time.

"I need you and Agent Scully . . ."

"Agent Scully called in sick, sir," I say, pointing at the phone. "Actually she left a message saying she was sick."

"I just talked to Agent Scully a few minutes ago. She was in Falls Church all night helping out on the autopsies of that kidnapping turned triple homicide but she said she would meet you at National in two hours," he says, and I lean back even more. That's my, or used to be my, secret squirrel. Always doing something on the side.

"And where are we going?" I ask, wondering where I'm celebrating this glorious birthday. Please let it be somewhere gloomy so no one notices I'm not in the mood for this shit.

"Omaha, Nebraska," he says, looking down at the floor once more.

I asked for gloomy, and I got gloomy.

"What's in Omaha?" I ask, hoping this is something good. Well, at least maybe I can find myself a place to get a decent steak for dinner. And enjoy it all by myself.

"A father has taken three of his children . . . perhaps more . . . hostage in a church," Skinner says in that matter-of-fact tone he has.

"And this pertains to me how?" I ask. I hate hostage situations. Always seem to be getting tangled up in the middle of them. It would save the taxpayers a lot of money if they just sent me in as a hostage in the first place.

"He says that the children are, excuse me," he says, but then has to pull a scrap of paper out of his pocket in order to continue. "They are evil incarnate and are set to take over the world."

"Are they toddlers, because if they are that would explain this whole mess," I say and he glares at me.

"This is a serious matter. Someone there suggested he talk to you. Or you talk to him. He's hell bent on killing these kids on the altar of the a local Methodist church by midnight," Skinner continues.

"And what if they are evil incarnate? What would you suggest I have him do?" I ask. I know I'm walking a thin line right now, but I have no idea what this case has to do with me. It would be better if they sent someone from ISU out there . . .

Of course. They are the ones who probably said hand it over to 'Spooky' Mulder. Cases concerning children born of a jackal always have my name attached.

"I suggest you figure out how to convince him otherwise, Agent Mulder. Is there anything else?" Skinner asks, looking like he would rather be anywhere else but in this room with me and my uppity attitude.

Of course there are a million other things I would love to ask when he says 'is there anything else?' Like who in the hell was in the black sedan that one day? Where was he going? Why in the hell did he have to go and pull some crappy maneuver like this now?

But instead I just smile and say, "I'll get right on it, sir."

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

National Airport
9:35 a.m.

"I see you are feeling better," I say as Scully approaches me at the airport. She looks exhausted underneath the fresh make-up and pressed suit.

"After a hot bath and a little nap, I do feel better," she says as she sets her carry on bag down and takes a seat on the chair next to me. She looks at me closely, and touches my collar before quickly moving her hand away. It still hurts like hell, but I'll get by. "Did your stay at the beach help? You feeling okay?"

"As well as can be expected," I say with a sigh. I want to add *without you* but I don't. She doesn't acknowledge everything behind my words and sigh.

"So, what's this about?" she asks after clearing her throat.

"Souls from the depths of hell. The Omen part five. . . "

"Ooh . . . and I missed parts three and four," she says, a slight grin creeping on to her face. She gets it under control quickly.

"Their father says that three of his kids are evil incarnate and they must be destroyed," I say as I watch her closely. Anything with kids involved is tough on us all. Scully takes it even harder. She is a natural born mother. Just one more thing I fucked up.

She closes her eyes and tips her head back, in thought. Just looking at the curve of her perfect neck is enough to send a warmth through me take makes it feels like I just slugged down a shot of tequila.

"And it isn't even Halloween yet," she says, with a sigh.

We say nothing else to each other. We have only made two trips together since that fateful day in the parking garage. On one of those trips was into the hurricane this past week. It was a trip that almost got me killed. But who gives a damn, right? She certainly didn't seem to care at the time.

The other trip was to a training seminar. I finally got roped into one of them. I thought a weekend together discussing our 'communication skills' might do us some good. Oh, she certainly communicated plenty of things to me. From 'I never imagined it would be you to end it' to 'go to hell, Mulder.' Thank the FBI for helping her get those off of her chest.

She could at least say something about my birthday. I know we've never made a big deal about these things before and just because I was too busy out in San Diego to do anything for hers doesn't mean she has to do this now. I bought her a birthday gift . . . and I notice that she is actually wearing it. Does this mean something? Perhaps she is trying to tell me she is ready to try again. Or else she is just trying to keep her wrist warm.

I touch her hand and move my fingers up to the bracelet. Little Xs and Os. Does she have any clue how much that decision hurt? Does she even understand why I did it? Why in the hell did I do it?

I straighten the bracelet out and move the clasp so it is on the underside of her wrist. She still doesn't open her eyes or acknowledge that I am touching her. I keep my hand over hers, waiting for her to jerk it away. She doesn't.

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

Trinity United Methodist Church
Omaha, Nebraska

"Are you part of the hostage negotiation team?" an agent asks us as he comes rushing our way.

"No, I'm sorry. We aren't. We are here under the orders of A.D. Skinner. I'm Agent Scul . . ."

"Scully and Mulder?" the man says as if we are some inseparable pair like Ozzie and Harriet. Ricky and Lucy. Pam and Tommy Lee.

"Yes. I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder," Scully finishes.

"Sorry for rushing at you. I'm Agent Tony Breen and there's my partner . . . hey, Nick! Get over here!" he says, calling toward someone dressed in an FBI jacket and a ball cap.

Agent Breen's partner walks toward us across the church parking lot, and halfway here, 'Nick' pulls off her ball cap, letting her long brown hair loose.

"Hey, Fox," she says upon reaching us. "How've you been?"

Instantly, Scully's body tenses and her arms fly up to their usual crossed position at her chest. Nicole Halleran just said the wrong thing. Scully, sometime during our 'communication' seminar, declared that one of the things she hated the most about our relationship was that every other woman who ever reached orgasm in my presence was allowed to call me 'Fox' except her. I told her to call me whatever the hell she wanted to call me if it made her happy. Call me Boll Weevil Mulder. I don't give a damn. That didn't seem to be the correct answer.

"Agent Scully, this is my partner, Special Agent Nicole Larson," Agent Breen says introducing the two women. Scully accepts Nick's outstretched hand but not without some consideration. "And apparently, you two already know each other."

"Yeah. Spooky and I go way back," Nick says, and Scully withdraws her hand and tucks it back under her other arm across her chest.

Strike two . . . 'Fox' and 'Spooky' all in the matter of two minutes. I wince, waiting for strike three. I can only imagine what stories might come spewing forth from Nick's mouth from our days at the academy.

"What happened, Nickie? What's up with the Larson thing? Are you in hiding?" I ask, surprised that Nicole Halleran would ever settle down.

"That was one of Nick's biggest mistakes," Breen says, elbowing his partner in her ribs.

Nicole was always beautiful. She still is. Tall with thick chestnut hair and amazingly long legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Scully looking her up and down. Scully, who is the most beautiful woman in my world, is threatened by this person. And we aren't even 'seeing' each other right now.

"So, what is going on in there?" Scully asks, finally getting us back to business.

"Delroy McRainey showed up yesterday evening to pick up his three kids from the church daycare, but instead of leaving with them to get them home in time to eat cookies and watch Barney, he boarded himself up in the sanctuary with the rest of their daycare class and has been threatening to kill them ever since. He states that they are the spawn of Satan and that they need to be destroyed by midnight tonight or else they will take over the world and immerse us in darkness. He has let all the other children go one by one except his own," Nick says, adding her own personal touches to the story. She was always good at embellishing tales.

"Why tonight?" Scully asks, looking at her watch to see how much time we have.

"Something about the number six billion come and gone. I'm not sure I grasp it all, but that is what he is saying," Breen says as he pulls a notebook out of the pocket of his FBI windbreaker. "Delroy's wife, Missy, is over there in the communications trailer. She is about to go over the edge herself. They have four more kids and she doesn't know why her husband Del would choose these three and their classmates. Maybe he couldn't catch the older ones."

Four dark-haired boys go running by right as Breen finishes reading from his book. Tall, lanky boys who tackle each other about twenty feet from us. Breen nods his head in their direction and gives us a look of exasperation.

"What about his own three kids in there with him? What do we know about them?" I ask. Breen hands me three small portraits that have all been cut crookedly from a larger sheet. They are all girls, blond and fair with bright eyes.

"They are triplets. Born on Christmas day 1995. They aren't even four yet," Breen says.

"They look more like angels to me," Scully mutters under her breath as she takes the pictures from me.

"So, what are we doing here?" I ask, not fully comprehending our part in this whole mess.

"Someone suggested that you should be contacted because of your area of expertise," Breen says. I look over at Nick and she looks down at the ground.

"Nice to know you've been following my career, Nick. What's expected of me here? You want me to talk to him . . . convince him these kids aren't devils?" I say, remembering that hostage incident in Chicago all too well. That man was right. His boss was a monster. What am I supposed to do if these girls are Satan incarnate? I see all too vividly my birthday being spent restrained to a bed, but not in the way I've always imagined.

"We've tried everything else, and thankfully, we are surprised they are all still alive in there. We just thought he might trust experts in the field," Breen says, as he motions for us to follow him. We all make our way to the communications trailer, where we are met by yet another agent.

"Hi. I'm Special Agent Alex Hayes . . . Dana?" he asks, looking at Scully. She smiles a coy little smile at him and tips her head to the side.

"Hi, Alex. How are you?" she asks and he takes her hand in his for a moment.

"I'm doing fine. Sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances. How long has it been?" he asks, and the two seem to have disappeared into their own world.

"Three or four years, I think," she answers.

Three or four years. Three or four years? Wait a second...

"That long? I'm sure it is more like two," he says. Breen and Nick both look uncomfortable, but nothing compared to me.

"Maybe you're right. This is my partner . . ."

"Agent Mulder. I've heard a lot about you," Hayes says as he extends his hand out.

I find it a little more than amusing that I've never heard of any Alex Hayes ever before. Not once in all these years.

"All bad, I'm sure," I say, as I take his shake his hand firmly before letting go.

"Actually, yes," he says before he leads us into the mobile trailer.

***********

"Mrs. McRainey, do you know what might have set this incident off? Did your husband just lose his job? Death in the family? Problems at home?" I ask the woman sitting across from me. She keeps wringing her hands or chewing her fingernails. She looks like she is about to go over the edge herself if this doesn't end soon.

"Del hasn't had a job for two years. I've been supporting him and all these kids with a telemarketing job. I know I complain a lot about all the mouths to feed, but I never intended for this to happen," she says, tears streaming down her face.

"Did you have an argument recently? Something about the girls? About their school?" I ask, still not sure why I'm here. This is simply another incident of a dad gone nuts and taking too many people with him.

"No."

She says it resolutely but I know it is a lie. She's protecting something and not just those children.

"No?" Scully asks, sensing it too.

"He's never had a problem with our girls. He loves them to death . . ." she says, choking on those words as she realizes what she just said.

"What are their names, Mrs. McRainey?" Scully asks, as she puts the photos down in front of her.

"That's Angelica. That's Evangeline. And that is Noelle. She's the oldest," she says, but it is hard to tell. They all look alike to me. Too young to be in this situation.

"Agent Mulder, the hostage negotiation team said they want to give it another go with his wife before they consider using you," Hayes says as he indicates for Mrs. McRainey to get up.

"Just don't expect me to waltz in at ten minutes to midnight and come up with a miracle," I say as he walks away.

"I would never expect that of you, Agent Mulder," he says, as he hands Mrs. McRainey of to someone else.

"Is there anyway I can get to the field office? I want to research something that might be relevant to this case," I say, looking to Breen.

"And is there anyplace I can get a drink or something to eat . . . it has been a long trip," Scully asks and Agent Alex Hayes is just too glad to escort her out of the trailer.

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

"So, Agent Scully is quite a number, isn't she? Is she seeing someone?"

"I wouldn't know," I answer with a sigh, and this time I really don't know. I would guess she didn't run out and find someone in less than a month, but those things happen all the time. "You'd have to ask her."

I stare out the window at the beginning of autumn in Nebraska. It isn't all that impressive. Actually, it is as dismal as my mood. We race down I-80, swerving between a multitude of trucks.

"You've got it bad for her, don't you. Damn. I was hoping she was single."

"Nick, right now as far as I know, she is. But . . ." I start to say.

"You don't think she'd go for it? One never really knows until they try, now do they, Fox?" she says with a laugh. She rolls down the window and lights up a cigarette. "You still smoke?"

"It has lost its appeal," I say as she blows a puff of smoke in the direction of the window. Nicole and I were at the academy together and we spent a lot of time smoking and bullshitting. And occasionally drinking. Well, more than occasionally. I wonder if she still has that habit, too. She's funny and boisterous and incredibly open around people she's comfortable with. Since I know almost everything about her, I must be one of those people.

"I'm sorry. I will only smoke this one. I've got to do something when the situation gets this stressful," she says. She messes with the radio dial and complains when she finds the farm report on the first channel she selects. "Tony loves this country crap. I miss the city."

"I thought this was a city?" I say, as I look at a few tall buildings as they appear on the horizon.

"Yeah. Right. Easy for you. You got to stay in DC. Headquarters now even. Hell, you weren't even happy six floors down at Quantico? You had to have the Hoover building," she says, as she blows out more smoke, but this time in my direction.

"If it makes you happier, I'm in the basement of the Hoover building," I say.

"Oh, yeah. I live in Cow Town Central and you are stuck in the basement of the Hoover building. That seems fair," she says, the resentment not hidden in her voice.

"Come on, Nick. When are you ever going to let it go? I worked to get where I am," I say, and want to chuckle. I've given up a good portion of my life to make it to the basement. What does that say about where I'm headed? But I'm not completely stupid. I know that by now I should have fired ten times over. Twenty even. Actually, I should really be dead. Someone keeps me there.

"You worked real hard," she says, and I know she isn't going to drop this.

"Like you did? If I recall, you tried to sleep your way to success with one or two or a dozen men," I say, my tone just as smug as hers. "And a few women."

"And then you slept with the rest of them. The women that is, of course. Wouldn't want to tarnish that image of yours," she says with a wink.

"Nick, it was a long time ago. I try not to think about it," I say as she swerves around traffic to make it on to the right expressway downtown. I try hard to remember all those nights we spent drinking somewhere. All the other men were always jealous that I got to spend so much time with the beautiful Nicole Halleran. Little did they know, we were usually off trying to pick up women together. And she was far better at it than I was.

"A very long time ago," she says with a knowing smile.

We spent one night together. It ended up being one long, ego deflating night for me. Not that it wasn't great being the first man to ever bed this incredible looking woman, but in the morning she informed me how much better it was with other women. And I thought Phoebe was cruel. It never happened again. Especially after I found out she just did it as a first step to move on to men who could get her where she wanted to go outside of bed.

"So, what's up with the Larson thing?" I ask and a cloud passes over her face.

"Nothing," she answers quickly and I know it will take more than that to get it out of her.

"Nothing?" I ask. She still doesn't answer.

"So, about Agent Scully . . . do you think she'd be interested in a threesome?" she asks with a quick smile. She hasn't lost that lovely sense of humor.

"Nick, if one of those three people includes me, I know you aren't even interested."

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

FBI Field Office
Omaha, Nebraska
 

"Find what you are looking for?" Scully asks, as she looks over my shoulder at the computer monitor. I wish I knew what I was looking for. Doesn't seem to be much here to link Christmas triplets and the Prince of Darkness. Sounds like a damn porno movie.

"No. Did you?" I ask, remembering who I last saw her wander off with.

"I'm not looking for anything," she says as she sits down next to me.

"Believe it or not, neither am I," I say, as we begin to speak in our strange code in which we say one thing that means something else.

"So, you brushing up on your Satanic lore?" she asks as he focuses on what I'm reading. She notices I have a page about angels up. "Oh, taking a different angle these days?"

"Something has got to work. They are right. It is surprising that he has gone this far and hasn't killed them and then himself yet. Something is stopping him, and that wife of his certainly isn't spilling any family secrets," I say, as I go looking for something else.

"Why are we here, Mulder?" she asks with a sigh.

"I've been asking that all day. I wish I had an answer for you. So, why did you call in sick this morning?" I ask. She doesn't answer right away.

"I was tired. That's all. The victims . . . there was three children . . . all girls," she says quietly. "I don't want
to see it again tonight."

"Who murdered them?" I ask, turning towards her.

"Their stepfather kidnapped them from their Georgia home, took them to his old address in Virginia and lit the mobile trailer he used to live in. Their step-grandmother tried to rescue them , but they were already dead from smoke inhalation. The oldest was ten. The youngest was 17 months," Scully says, her voice conveying unimaginable loss.

"Why'd he do it?" I ask. "Is it related to this case?"

"He did it . . . because he wanted his own family. Not his new wife's old family. I was out there doing a favor for someone," she says. She shuts her eyes briefly, as if that will help her forget the images. Now I know why she didn't want to come to work. It had nothing to do with me.

"This is interesting," I say, as I open the address to a website Frohike sent me.

"What is it?" Scully asks, moving closer to me.

"A small group of people who believe that when the earth's population reaches six billion, Armageddon is inevitable within five days," I say, reading their manifesto. "And they are located right here in Omaha, Nebraska."

"What? You think he's going to kill these three children to prevent it from happening? It was just an estimated date. Five days might have come and gone already since the 'actual' six billionth baby was born. Some even say it happened in June," Scully says.

"Maybe he's using this satanic angle to cover his real reasons for doing this," I say, looking at the page closer. Nothing here says 'go out and kill your children.' "So, what are you doing here?" I ask her.

"Looking for you. I think they are ready for you to go in and do your magic," she says, placing her hand on my arm.

"What magic would that be?" I ask, looking at her closely. Nothing I've done has been magic lately. She knows that better than anyone.

"The magic where I don't have to face looking at three more dead children tonight," she says, looking at me with those eyes that still floor me.

"I'll see what I can do," I say and she smiles briefly. For her, I'll storm that damn church and carry those kids out myself.

"Hey, Dana . . . you ready?" Agent Hayes asks, as he sticks his head in the room. I spin around to look at him, then look back at Scully. Who in the hell is this guy?

"Sure. I'll be right with you, Alex," she answers. She pats my arm a few times and gives it a squeeze before she finally gets up.

"Agent Larson will be ready to take you back to the scene in a few minutes, Agent Mulder," he says, and I wonder why I just can't go with them. Scully looks at him as if she is going to ask, but I just shrug my shoulders and turn back to the computer.

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

"So, what are your big plans, Mr. Basement of the Hoover Building? You have any clue what you're getting into?" Nick asks me as we drive back across town.

"I've been in these situations before," I say. She doesn't need to know the outcome to any of them. "I know what I'm doing. Hey, who is this Agent Hayes?"

"Alex? Our wonderful ASAC. He just joined us from the Salt Lake City field office a few months ago," she says as she lights a cigarette and swerves around construction barricades all at the same time. She blows out a puff of smoke and laughs. "What? You worried he's going after your girl?"

"She's not mine."

"Right. You walk away and her eyes follow you where you go. You leave the scene and she follows you to where you are," Nick says, sighing.

"Scully isn't like that . . . it isn't like that between us," I say, wishing she would just let this go.

"And then there's you. You make fucking puppy dog eyes at her every time she looks your way as if pity will get her back. I never thought I'd see you fall . . ."

"Get her back?" I ask, wondering where she got the notion that if we were together, we aren't now.

"Woman's intuition."

"So, why are you now a Larson instead of a Halleran?" I ask, putting her in the awkward position for a change.

"I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Running away from what I really am. Hoping to fit into this goddamn midwestern lifestyle. But it didn't work. This is what I am and I love most of my life. I couldn't run away. It didn't work," she says, and she grinds her cigarette out in the ashtray even though she took two drags from it. "And it won't work for you either."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," I say, as I look at the quickly darkening Nebraska sky. Just a few hours until midnight.

"Yes you do. Right now you are living a lie. You think this is better for her. It isn't. You love the girl, do something about it," she says quietly.

"Did you do something about it?" I ask, still trying to figure this woman out. No matter how long I know her, I'm sure I never will.

"Yes. But . . ."

"Well, we are a 'yes, but' too. Our lives are far too complicated. Nick, there are things out there . . . people out there . . ." I start but she interrupts me.

"She got killed. Shot in the line of duty. Goddamn waste . . ."

"I'm sorry," I say, knowing full well what I would go through if I lost Scully. Lost her for real this time. I think my heart would die with her. I would have to go on living, but I don't know how.

"She was everything . . . she was the reason my so called marriage ended. I thought I was going to die, too, but instead I landed in Nebraska. Close to being dead, but not quite. So what I'm telling you is whatever it is keeping you apart -- it doesn't matter," she says, and she lights a new cigarette.

"Nick, I never thought I'd see the day you became sentimental," I say.

"And I never thought I'd see the day someone owned you, heart and soul. But are you sure she wouldn't be interested?" Nick says with a smile.

"Nickie . . ." I say as we pull into the church parking lot.

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. But maybe I should ask Agent Hayes instead of you," she says, as she cuts the ignition. I see Scully and him standing next to his car, and he brushes a strand of hair from her face. What in the hell is going on here?

"Yeah. Maybe you should."

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

Trinity United Methodist Church
Omaha, Nebraska

"You're too late," Scully says as she walks towards the car. I was out the door before Nickie could even turn it off, and Scully is illuminated by the headlights. There are even more flashing emergency vehicle lights than when I left or else it just seems that way in the darkness

"Too late for what?" I ask. Judging from the scene I just witnessed, I could be too late for so many things. Agent Hayes follows closely behind her.

"They sent the SWAT team in ten minutes ago after hearing a several shots fired. Mr. McRainey was found dead as were his daughters. Upon examination, I believe they have been dead since this morning. Probably right after he released the other children," Scully says, her eyes focused on mine.

"She's not doing the autopsy," I say to Hayes before he can even reach us. Nick is out of the car and scanning the crowd looking for Breen.

"Mulder, that is my job," she tells me, a slight trace of anger rising in her voice.

"Dana is . . ." Hayes starts to say.

"Agent Scully," I say, bothered for some reason that he keeps calling her by her given name. Who in the hell is he?

"Agent Scully is the most qualified . . ." he says before I interrupt him again.

"She just did this to three little girls last night. Give her the damn night off," I demand, and Scully just looks more pissed by the second.

"Fine, Agent Mulder. I'll arrange for her to perform the autopsies at NMC at 7 a.m.," he says before turning on his heel and walking off.

Breen has finally found his partner and they stand silently watching this little show go on. Scully has her hands on her hips and anger is just bubbling up from her.

"Don't you ever do that again," she tells me, her eyes fiery.

"I said I would keep you from doing those autopsies . . ."

"Not like this, Mulder. It is over. It has to be done . . ."

"Tomorrow," I say.

"Always doing it your way. You just don't give a damn about what I think," she says as she turns around and walks away in the direction of Agent Hayes.

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

Zoomer's Bar and Grill
South Omaha, Nebraska

"Thought I'd find you here," Scully says, as she sits down next to me at the little dive of a bar found down the street from the motel.

"Well, it's been one of those weeks," I say, as I swallow the last of my drink and turn to face her. I have drank more in the past week than I have in the past year. She remains silent as she plays with a bar napkin in front of her.

"How come you didn't just jump right in there believing him? Normally, the idea of monster children would have appealed to you. Yet, I found you looking up information on angels," she says after telling the bartender she'd like a glass of white wine.

"I didn't want you to have to go through it again. I was willing to do anything to keep you from having to do the autopsy on those three girls," I tell her honestly. She swallows hard as the gray-haired man sets a glass of wine in front of her.

"I don't need your protection," she finally says.

"I know you don't, but . . ."

"But what? You think you need to protect me all the time? I can't get by without you looking out for me? You need to protect me from whatever it is Skinner is up to? Protect me from my job? My life?" she asks, her eyes as fiery as they were earlier. I just keep digging myself in deeper and deeper.

"I know you would do fine without me. I know you've been doing fine without me these last weeks. You proved that earlier this week, during that storm," I say, looking away from her. I almost died without her anywhere near me. I could barely cry out for her, but it didn't matter. She wasn't coming. Luckily, I figured out how to save myself. She remains silent again, and takes several sips of her wine. Our last night together was spent drinking wine and eating ice cream. I just didn't know it was going to be our last night together.

"Mulder, don't you think it damn near killed me when that man wouldn't let me get to you? Did you think I would honestly let you die out there if I could have prevented it?" she asks, her voice filled with emotion.

"I don't know," I answer.

"Then you don't know me. You watch me through the other end of your telescope, thinking you know me but you still only know me from a distance. Kind of like how you stare up into space, waiting for the answers to come down from the heavens for you. The damn answers have always been there. Right here under your nose, but you need to ask the right questions. Ask me the right questions for a change," she says, taking a nervous sip of her wine.

"Okay, Scully. How has it been without me? How have you been doing?" I ask, and she puts her hand over mine.

"It has been shit, Mulder. Not that I can't survive without you. But you know what? I don't want to have to survive without you," she says softly.

"Why did you let me do it?" I ask, hoping the questions are the right ones this time.

"I let you do it because you felt you had to. I wanted you to . . ."

"Learn the hard way?" I ask.

"Yes. Learn the hard way," she says. "Did you learn?"

"Learn that I can't protect you from everything? I don't think I'll ever learn that, Scully. Because the thought of you getting hurt in even the smallest way is too much. You have suffered enough," I say, and I remember crying by her bedside, not knowing how to save her.

"Thank you, Mulder. For trying," she says.

"Can I ask another question, Scully?" I ask and she nods her head yes. "Who in the hell is Alex Hayes?"

She smiles a little and asks me a question back. "Only if you tell me who in the hell Nicole Larson is."

"Okay. Fair's fair. Nick and I were in the academy together. And before you let your thoughts go any further, Nicole Larson is far more interested in you than me," I answer and Scully smiles even more.

"Oh, really. . . why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asks.

"Sooner that she and I were just friends in the academy or sooner that she was interested in you?" I ask and she just cocks her head to the side and lets it up to my imagination. "So, who is Hayes?"

"Alex Hayes is the closest thing to a best friend that Jack Willis ever had. That's all. We all spent time together back when Willis and I were dating. Alex was married then. His wife died of cervical cancer about four years ago," she says and I release an unexpected sigh of relief.

"So . . ." I say after several minutes.

"So . . ." she says.

"I'm sorry, Scully. Sorry for all of it. Sorry I hurt you so much," I tell her, taking her hand in mine.

"You want to know why he did it?" Scully asks, changing the direction of the conversation.

"Who?" I ask, forgetting all the events of the day after several drinks.

"McRainey. He did it because those little girls weren't his. His wife finally opened up and told us the truth after we pulled their bodies out of there. He killed three innocent little girls because they weren't his. Just like that man in Virginia. What in the hell has the world come to?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say, knowing how much she would want just one of those little girls.

"He fell into that 'Six Billion' group and used that as his excuse to do it. They convinced him that they were demonic. And he went along with it," she says, her voice rising with emotion.

"I don't know what to say this time," I tell her. Nothing will ever ease this goddamn pain I've causes.

She says nothing. Just stares at me. A smile flickers across her face again.

"Anyway, Mulder. Happy Birthday," she says, as she pulls me toward her for a kiss.

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

"I missed you," she whispers to me in the darkness, her body moving above mine, slowly yet with only one purpose.

"Not half as much as I missed you," I say and she leans closer to me and I feel her tongue move across my neck. "Ouch!"

"Sorry. I forgot," she says, as she moves her mouth to mine instead. Her tongue delves in, and finds mine. She tastes sweet and it feels like a million years since we did this, not just a few weeks. I wrap her in my arms, never wanting to let go.

She moves her mouth away from mine, and moves us around so that I am on her and I slide into her with the ease that comes from delightful familiarity. She is warm and wet and her legs wrap up around my waist, pulling me in further and further. Just like she does to my heart.

"What did you miss the most?" she asks, her voice raspy with desire.

"I missed being alone with you. I missed talking to you during and after making love to you. I missed watching your face while you come," I say and I can barely make out a small smile crossing her face.

I slide into her with ease, our bodies fitting together as always. Her hand moves between us to her clit, and I can feel her quick rhythm begin.

"Can't I at least do that for you?" I ask her and she laughs. "Or can you take care of yourself in that department, too?"

I roll us so we our on our sides and I can touch her. She moves her hands away and wraps her arms around my neck, bridging the distance now between us.

"So, did you miss . . ." I start to ask and she silences me.

The only noises in the room are her slight gasps at each thrust I make into her. She leads my hand to where she wants it to go and what she wants it to do. Her eyes are closed tight and I know she is close. Just as close as I am. Another few thrusts, another few gasps and we both come, holding on to each other.

I pull out of her and hold her tight to my chest as I try to control my breathing. Tomorrow I will have to let go enough to let her do her job, no matter how much I hate this particular aspect of it. But for now, I can hold on to her.

"Scully?" I ask as she snuggles closer to me.

"Hmmm...." she says, almost asleep already.

"You're now my one in six billion," I whisper to her as she drifts off to sleep.

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

The End of Six Billion
 

Continue to next story: HEART OF THE MATTER

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