Thursday, May 16, 2002

LGM Headquarters

8:11 A.M.

SCULLY

*Knock, Knock*

"Hold yer horses--I'm coming." A moment later, I hear the numerous locks unlocking, and I'm facing a very sleepy, very disheveled Ringo Langly. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he mumbles, "Scully? What are you doing. . .?"

"I need to talk to Frohike," I cut him off in mid-sentence, already shouldering my way into the Warehouse.

"He's not here," he tells me, his eyes instantly lighting up when he sees William in my arms. He snatches the child from me and gives him a big hug. "Hey, little dude!"

"Don't cover for him, Langly," I shoot back brusquely. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," he insists in his petulant whine, still more interested in playing with my son than with my inquiry.

I'm seconds from reaching for his neck to wring the information out of him when Byers strolls out of his bedroom. "What's going on?" he asks, innocently.

"She's looking for Frohike," Langly informs him. "I tried to tell her he's not here, but she won't believe me."

"I'm not in the mood for this bullshit, guys," I snarl. "Just get Frohike out here, NOW!"

"He's telling the truth, Dana," Byers says calmly, tying the sash on his bathrobe. "I haven't seen Frohike since he left here yesterday afternoon. He was going to pick up a small cake for William's birthday." Suddenly he stops. "Didn't he make it home?" he asks, concerned.

<Christ Almighty! They're telling me the truth. Frohike isn't here. But if he's not here, then where is he?> "Yes, he made it home," I answer, " but when I got up this morning, this was on the kitchen table." From out of my jacket pocket, I hand Byers the short note that had been propped up against the sugar bowl.

He studies for a moment then looks back at me, his eyebrow shooting up in bafflement. But before he can say anything, Mulder wanders out from another room.   He takes one look at me and asks, "Scully. . .what's going on?"

"It appears that Frohike has, um, left," Byers explains quietly.

"What do you mean, 'left'?" Mulder demands. Even Langly's finally taking notice of the situation.

Byers hands Mulder the note. "See for yourself." As Mulder reads it, Langly sneaks a peek over his shoulder. After a few seconds, they both look up at me with identical compassionate expressions. 

"It's definitely his handwriting," Langly proclaims.

"So I guess we can rule out foul play," Mulder concludes, thoughtfully. 

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to punch something. I want to know what the hell is going on.

"Maybe he just went out early on a story?" Langly suggests. "A clandestine meeting?"

I don't even bother responding to it. We all know the theory is crap. I mean, the damn note says:

            "Dana,

            I'm sorry, but I have to leave. It's for the best. Please don't look for me. 

            Have a happy life. Tell Billy I love him and give him a kiss for me.

            I'll always treasure the time we had together.

            I love you.

            Frohike."

Does that honestly sound like something he jotted down because he was meeting a story contact? And I haven't even dropped the big bombshell on them. . . yet. "Then how do you explain the bankbook and the car title?" I challenge them.

"Bankbook?" Byers repeats.

"Car title?" Mulder asks, intrigued.

"Next to the note, I found the title and the car keys to his GTO, along with his savings book and some life-insurance papers."

I'm sure Langly's mouth is going to hit the floor. "The keys AND the title?" he echoes, clearly puzzled. "But. . .but that car is his pride and joy. Why would he leave that stuff behind?" <Whoop-de-do! Wake the neighbors! I do believe Langly's finally gotten it!>

"Sounds like he wanted to make sure you had money and a way to make more," Mulder deduces. "He was providing for you before he left."

<Gee, no shit, Sherlock!> "I figured that out, Mulder," I huff. "What I want to know is WHY he left and where the hell he is!"

"Did you check the hospitals?" Mulder inquires.

"Yes, I called all the emergency rooms in the area right after I found the note," I inform them. "No one matching Frohike's description was admitted in the last few hours."

It's quiet for a moment before Byers works up the courage to ask me, "Did you two have a fight?"

"No, nothing like that," I assure them. "We've had a few little spats, mostly about the upcoming move, but nothing major. We've been getting along great." Byers just looks at me, his eyebrow arced accusingly. I can almost see the wheels turning, and believe me, it's the first thought that crossed my mind this morning. He's thinking that this has some connection to my agreement with Frohike, our 'no-sex' pact. But as soon as the idea had come to me, I dismissed it. Frohike has never indicated there was any problem with our arrangement, and he's never asked me to renege on our deal--something I'd be quite willing to consider it. No, there had to be some other reason for his sudden vanishing act.

Just then, Jimmy Bond wanders out of the bathroom. He obviously has just showered; he's in a terrycloth robe and he's towel-drying his hair. Giving me a big smile, he greets us all, "Hey guys, Agent Scully--what's going on?"

"It appears we have a problem," Byers explains in his usual diplomatic way.

"What kind of problem?" Jimmy wants to know.

"Frohike flew the coop," Langly announces in his usual undiplomatic way.

Mulder groans painfully. "Real tactful, Langly."

By now I'm reaching the end of my rope and snap at the four of them, "Look guys, is it possible to carry on this silly 'Seinfeld' routine some other time? Frohike is out there somewhere and the clock's ticking."

"She's right," Mulder agrees with me. "We need a plan if we're going to track him down."

Langly flops into a nearby chair, still cuddling William. "Well, he doesn't have that much of a head start. And without his car he couldn't have gotten far."

Byers nods. "That's a good point, Ringo." Turning to me, he queries, "Was anything missing that you noticed?"

I know little things can add up to a lot in a situation like this, so I quickly think back to the apartment. Everything looked like it was still in place--nothing was missing as far as I could remember. "No, he didn't take anything."

"Clothes, underwear, nothing?" Mulder prompts.

Oh, they meant HIS stuff--I thought they were implying he had stolen some things from me. "His knapsack, some of his wardrobe. Not much," I tell them, going over in my mind what his room had looked like when I investigated it after finding the note. "The bathroom was clean--razor, toothbrush were gone. And of course, his laptop." 

I hesitate for a moment, unsure whether I should mention that the die-cast model car Mom gave him for Christmas is gone, too. He left the base, but the car was missing. Somehow that scared me more than the note or the bankbook or anything else. He loved that model. If he took it with him. . .better not to think about it. 

"What about credit cards?" Mulder presses.

Langly, Byers, and myself all just shoot him 'The Look'. "Mulder, none of us own any credit cards," Byers explains, patiently.

"Yeah, dude--too easy for Big Brother to track you," Langly continues.

"He refused to even use a Stop & Shop supersaver card," I finish. "Said he didn't want the world to know what kind of peanut butter we buy."

"Geez, there's no reason to get snippy," Mulder pouts. "I'm only thinking out loud here."

"Maybe he took his checkbook?" Jimmy suggests.

I shake my head, "No, the checking account is in my name only. It's the way he wanted it. But a good idea, Jimmy." He beams at my compliment.

"Okay, so he probably only has the cash that was on him," Mulder analyzes. "That leaves out taxis. Too expensive."

"And airports," Jimmy pipes up.

"That means we're looking at bus stations," Byers comments.

"Or trains," Mulder adds, already reaching for the phone on the workstation.

"Guys, this is Frohike we're talking about," I remind them. "Do you really think he'd do something so obvious as take a bus or a train?" Mulder pauses for a second before returning the receiver.

"Then what do you suggest, Scul?" he asks. "What do you think he did?"

The truth is I have no idea what he may have done or why he did it, and I certainly have no clue where to begin looking. I'd been so sure he would be here at HQ, or at least would have stopped by and told the guys where he was going. Now we were left with virtually no clues and no place to even begin looking. At this point, he might have as much as a six-hour head start on us. The thought that he may have just hitched a ride to somewhere springs to mind and I immediately shove it right back out again--the idea is just too scary to dwell on. A man like Frohike, with no ties and no destination will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Finding myself near tears, I whisper, "All I know for certain is if Mel wants to get lost, he will. He knows how to do it. No one will be able to find him."

Mulder steps over to me and give me a big supportive hug. "Scully, don't worry--we'll find him," he promises.

"I know a few of his hang-outs," Byers announces. "I can check them out, see if he's been around."

"I know some of his old hippie buddies," Langly reveals. "Maybe he's hanging with one of them or something."

"And I know some haunts of my own," Mulder admits, running a gentling hand down my back. "He won't escape our net."

"I wish I could believe you," I mumble, my voice hitching as it sinks in that he's really gone, and even his best friends don't have any idea where he might be.

Mulder just flashes me his playful grin. "That's always been your problem, Scully. . . you won't believe," he jokes, trying to lighten my mood. Usually it works--today it doesn't.

"So, what do you guys want me to do?"

We all turn to face Jimmy--truthfully, I had forgotten he was there. Langly's the one who finds his tongue first and says, "Stay here, in case he shows up."

"But I want to help," the young man protests.

"You will be helping," Mulder tells him. "You'll be our dispatcher."

"What's a dispatcher?" Jimmy asks us.

"We'll call in periodically, let you know how the search is going, and you can relay any information the others have uncovered," Mulder explains.

Byers adds, "It's a very important job, Jimmy, but I know you can handle it."

He flashes us all a big smile. It's obvious how pleased he is that the guys are putting so much faith in him. "You can count on me!" he replies, proudly.

"What about reinforcements?" Mulder questions. "Maybe we should call in Skinner."

I shake my head emphatically. "No. We shouldn't bother him with this. Not yet, at least."

"But he has access to better resources," Byers reasons. "It may be a good idea."

"It doesn't matter, John.  This isn't a missing persons case or a kidnapping--as Mulder pointed out, there's no evidence of foul play at all. There's nothing Skinner would be able to do. The F.B.I. doesn't go out looking for 50 year-old runaways."

"Well, what about Doggett and Reyes?" Langly suggests.

"They're out of town this week and won't be back until Saturday at the earliest," Byers informs us, the slightest touch of disappointment in his voice; it sounds like he really misses Monica.

"Well, I'm sure the three of us will be fine," Mulder declares.

"Four," I correct him, decisively.

Mulder places his hands on my shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. Looking deep into my eyes, he commands gently, "Scully, go home."

"But. . ."

"Dana, he's right," Byers says, putting in his two cents. "It'd be a good idea to have someone there, in case Frohike changes his mind and comes back."

Dammit, I know it makes sense, but I can't help feeling like I'm being pandered to, like I'm just a silly girl who can't handle the chase. Leave it up to 'the real men'. God, I HATE that feeling. Been dealing with it my whole life. I was a special field agent for the fucking F.B.I. . .I think I can handle this. 

Still, as much as I hate to admit it, they ARE right. If we're going to have someone here at the Warehouse, it only makes sense to have someone at the apartment, too, just in case. So, swallowing my pride, I mutter, "Okay."

Mulder smiles at me. He knows how hard that concession was for me to make. "Do you have any suggestions of your own where we could look?" he asks.

I'm not sure whether to mention the name that has been niggling in the back of my mind all morning, but if anyone would know, it'd be the Gunmen. So, summoning up my courage, I propose, "Could he have gone back to Mykita?"

"Moldinado?" Byers squeaks. "You know about her?"

I nod. "Yeah, and I know they were. . .close."

"Married, you mean," Langly cuts in.

"Right, married," I repeat through gritted teeth. "Anyway, he said you guys met up with her about a year ago." Three of the four heads bob up and down. "Is it possible he still has feelings for her, that he'd go back to her?"

At that, Byers looks over at Langly who looks over at Jimmy who looks back over at Byers. <Nothing like that ol' geek-telepathy.> With a resigned sigh, John finally states, "Well, while it appeared that he was still--fond--of her, I think that's as far as it went. Still, it might be a good place to check out."

"Any other ideas we may not think of, Scul?" Mulder asks again.

This time, I shake my head no. Except for here and home, he doesn't really go anywhere else, unless he's with me or William. That's what is making this so hard to deal with. He seemed really happy being a family man. He was so proud of William, and we truly enjoyed each other's company. With the exception of the sex, we had a perfect relationship. It just didn't make any sense that he would leave so suddenly.

Wait. There IS one other place he could go. A long shot, even more so than Mykita, but a possibility nonetheless. "Long Beach," I blurt out.

Mulder gives me a look like I usually give him when he starts in on one of his more outlandish UFO cover-up conspiracy theories. "Why Long Beach?"

"Maybe he went to Milt's place," I speculate.

"Milt?" Byers repeats, perplexed.

"Who's Milt?" Langly queries.

"Milton Frohike," I elaborate. "His brother."

I get four identical sets of blank looks. As one, they all say, "He's got a brother?"

<Oooookay. Cross THAT long shot off the list.> "Guess not, huh?" I shrug sheepishly.

Mulder just shakes his head in the negative. "Well, unless you have another suggestion, Scul, we should be heading out. Tick-tock." With that, Langly hands William back to me then all four of them head off towards their bedrooms to get dressed, but I stop Mulder as he passes. He looks over his shoulder at me, a questioning look on his face.

Swallowing hard, I find myself pleading, "If you find him, please tell him to come home. I don't know what the problem is, but whatever it is, we can fix it." Feeling the tears prickling my eyes, I add, "And. . .tell him I love him."

Mulder cups my face tenderly and smiles, "WHEN we find him, you can tell him that yourself." He gives William a kiss on the cheek, then dashes after the others.

Only when I'm alone with my son do I allow the tears to flow.

14 Hours Earlier

Wednesday May 15, 2002

6:07 P.M.

Scully Residence

*Knock, Knock*

"I'll get it," I call out to Mel as he continues to putter around the kitchen finishing up dinner. Looking through the little peephole, my heart leaps into my throat. No. It can't be. I look again to be sure. He's tanner than the last time I saw him, and his hair is a little bit longer, but other than that, he looks great--really great--decked out in a pair of faded blue jeans and a new dark green Henley. Flinging the door open, I cry out, "Mulder!"

He flashes me a huge toothy grin. "Hey, Scul, didja miss me?"

I throw my arms around his neck and hug him to death, tears already streaming down my cheeks; he just chuckles and pulls me tightly to him. "Yeah, you could say that," I answer, my voice cracking slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, THAT'S some greeting!" he responds in his typical flippant Mulder-manner, even as he continues to hold me.

"I didn't mean it THAT way," I chide him. "I just meant, well, YOU know what I meant!"

"Yeah, I know," he laughs, drawing away from me and prying my arms from around his neck. He turns and steps back into the hallway--next thing I know, he's lugging a teddy bear as big as me into the apartment. "You didn't think I'd miss William's birthday, did you?" he announces.

Shaking my head in disbelief at his choice of gift, I murmur, "I should have known."

"Hey, what's all the commotion out here. . .?" Mel's question dies on his lips as he walks into the living room. Taking one look at our visitor, he gasps, "Holy Mother of God."

If anything, Mulder's smile gets even bigger at the sight of his old friend. "Nice to see you, too, Melvin," he exclaims, rushing towards a still-stunned Frohike to wrap him in a huge hug. "I missed the hell out of you."

Mel just stands there for a moment, obviously as surprised as I am by Mulder's sudden appearance. He quickly regroups, however, and is soon returning the embrace enthusiastically. "Hey, guy, great to see you, too. Can you get your hands off my ass now?"

"In your dreams," Mulder smirks, slapping said ass playfully. Jerking his thumb back in my direction at me, he adds, "I guess congratulations are in order, eh, you sly dog?"

"Well, she could only resist my charm for so long," Mel jokes, shrugging his shoulders modestly.

"I gotta say when Scully first told me about you two, I didn't believe it," Mulder admits with a slight shake of his head.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I reply, "Well, you're the one who kept telling me I should believe in extreme possibilities, Mulder."

He practically rolls his eyes. "Scully, there's extreme. . .and then there's this."

I step forward to wrap my arm around Frohike's waist, saying, "Well, love is unpredictable. You never know when you're going to be hit by Cupid's arrow."

"Yeah, I know," he shoots back with an inscrutable smile

Meanwhile Mel is looking at me with an incredulous expression. I think he's pieced it together that Mulder doesn't know about our special agreement. I'll admit that his ignorance is completely my fault. I had written Mulder a couple of weeks after Frohike and I got married, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him the circumstances surrounding that decision. As far as Mulder knew, our marriage was on the up-and-up. 

I'm not quite sure why I didn't tell Mulder the truth right away. I guess mainly I didn't want to cast any doubts on Frohike's masculinity, as it were. I wasn't ashamed of what we had done--in fact, I still think it was extremely chivalrous and generous and sweet that Mel offered to marry me and help raise my son. And I'm continually amazed at how well the arrangement has worked out, how much fun we have together, how much I enjoy being with him, how my feelings for him grow stronger day by day. And he's really been a fantastic father to William. But I also know many people wouldn't understand such an unusual relationship, including my ex-partner. If Frohike wanted to tell him the truth, that was Fro's business. Myself, I was content to let Mulder continue to believe our marriage was for real.

"So, when did you get back?" Frohike asks, breaking into my ponderings.

"Last night," Mulder admits, and I'm momentarily upset that he didn't come see me immediately, or at least call. "I'm crashing with the Gunmen for a few days until I can find a place of my own. They seem to have a spare bedroom." He gives us both a knowing wink.   "Hope you don't mind."

That's right--I had forgotten. Mulder is homeless now. He let the lease on his apartment lapse right before he left town, and all his stuff has been sent to a rented storage facility outside of D.C. Well, except for the fish tank. Skinner took possession of that from me last summer. Good thing, too--I was having even less luck keeping the little guys alive than Mulder did.

"Nah, not at all," Frohike quickly assures him. "But if you're looking for any good. . . health films. . .I gave them all to Langly." I couldn't help chuckling. I often wondered what had happened to his 'collection'.

Before we have a chance to continue our reunion, however, distressed cries ring throughout the apartment. Frohike just looks at me and jokes, "Sounds like Master William's up from his nap. I'll check on him if you check on dinner."

"Sure, Mel," I tell him, then turn to Mulder. "You're joining us, right?"

Casting his eyes downward and shuffling his feet, he mutters a hesitant, "Well, I don't want to intrude. . ." 

I know my friend too well. While his words are saying one thing, his whole body is saying 'Please let me stay!'. "You're not intruding," I state resolutely. "Frohike made his famous chicken noodle casserole tonight. It's William's favorite. And there's a ton of it."

He looks up with a smile that just lights up the whole place. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," I smile back.

"Gee, never would've taken you for the next Julia Child, Frohike," Mulder teases his friend.

"Yeah, I'm not just a pretty face," Mel calls over his shoulder as he enters William's room.

Looping my arm through Mulder's, I lead him into the kitchen, praising Frohike's talents. "He's actually a pretty good cook. I really lucked out." Craning my neck to look him in the eye, I add a snide, "Maybe he can give you lessons someday."

"Hey, I don't need lessons on how to dial up Chinese take-out," he fires back. "I'm quite proficient at that."

"I'm sure you are," I giggle, grabbing a couple of potholders off the counter. I carefully remove the hot dish from the oven and lift up the cover to show Mulder. "See?"

Mulder takes a whiff of the perfectly browned casserole and sighs, "Mmmmm, that DOES smell good." His stomach must agree as it rumbles loudly. He just gives me an embarrassed hangdog look. "Sorry about that."

"When was the last time you ate, Mulder?" I scold, renewing our long-standing feud. Mulder would survive on sunflower seeds and black coffee for a week if I didn't remind him to eat once in a while.

"As a matter of fact, I grabbed a taco with Langly earlier," he announces smugly. "Regardless of what you think, I CAN survive without all your fussing." He pauses for a second then adds with a grin, "But it's great to hear it again."

"And you'll hear it often," I promise, opening the door to one of the overhead cupboards to get some plates."

"Hey, let me get that," Mulder offers, reaching over my head and pulling down some dishes. "How many do we need?"

"Just you, me, and Mel," I say, going over to the fridge instead and getting a fresh pitcher of iced-tea. I notice Mulder's eyes just light up when he sees the decanter; maybe it was Kismet that I decided to make it earlier.

"What about your mom?" he asks, placing the plates on the counter and reaching back up for some glasses. "Isn't she coming over for the party?"

"We're not having a party tonight," I inform him, digging the ice cube tray out of the freezer. 

He stops in mid-retrieval, one glass in his hand. Peering over at me, confusion written on his face, he questions, "But, isn't it William's birthday today?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that," I give a conspiratorial smirk. "Actually, there's going to be a big shindig at Mom's house on Sunday. Family, friends, hotdogs, hamburgers. Lots of potato salad. You WILL be there, right?" My tone clearly implies that 'No' is not an option.

"Maybe," he answers warily, returning to his task and pulling down two more glasses. "Is Bill going to be there?"

Ahhhh--the reason for his apprehension. "No, he won't. His ship is out on maneuvers in the Pacific somewhere. Believe me, Frohike's just as happy about the situation."

He gives me a big grin as he sets the glasses on the table. "Then I'll be there with bells on."

"That makes an interesting picture," I tease, adding some ice cubes to the glasses while he turns around to get the plates he had set on the counter. "I can't wait to see the look on Skinner's face when you walk into the party."

I swear he almost drops the dishes at the sound of our ex-boss's name. <Geez, I know the Big Guy is intimidating but to get THAT rattled just hearing his name?> "Skinner's going to be there?" he asks, softly.

"Of course," I cluck, filling the glasses with tea. "He was at the top of the guest list."

He gapes at that, stunned. "You mean, you and he. . .?"

"A lot has changed since you left, Mulder," I inform him as I return the pitcher and ice cube tray to the fridge and pull out a large garden salad. Placing it on the table, I take a seat before continuing, "You were right about Walter all along. He was always on our side, and I did him a grave injustice for many years by not trusting him. I've been trying to make up for it as best I can. So we get together whenever possible. In fact, we just had him over for dinner last week." I smile broadly. "He's a great guy--and a great friend."

"How is he doing? Is he looking well?" my friend inquires anxiously, then, seemingly embarrassed by his enthusiasm, he turns his back on me and busies himself digging silverware out of the drawer.

"He's fine," I assure him, "and he looks fantastic. Says he gets more sleep now that we're out of his hair. . .well, what's left of it." 

He gives a nervous chuckle at that before asking, "No more unexpected health problems?"

I know instantly what he's talking about. A time-bomb that Walter lives with everyday, as I live with my neck-chip. Those damn nanocytes had almost been the end of him on numerous occasions. Each day that passes without another attack makes it easier to believe the nightmare is over for good, but he'll never be completely free. Sometimes I wish I could dig up Krycek's body and kill him again for everything he put me and my friends through. . .Ratboy didn't suffer enough in my book. 

"None so far. It seems that whatever control Krycek had over him died the day Alex did. There's been no more nanocyte activity. As far as we know, the damn things are no longer active." I swear I can hear an audible sigh of relief.

As he works his way around the table, setting out the silverware, he nonchalantly says, "So he's happy, healthy. . .?"

"And lonely," I finish. "He misses us and the thrill of the chase more than he thought he would, though he'll never admit it. But now that you're back, I'm sure he'll have more adventure than he knows what to do with." I find myself smirking, knowing that Skinner's life just got a whole lot more exciting.

"If I have anything to say about it," he agrees with a smirk of his own. "So you and the big boss are homeboys now?"

"Mmm-hmmm. In fact, he's even babysat for us a couple of times. By the way, we need some salad bowls here."

Giving me an 'aye-aye, captain' salute, he goes over the cupboards, opening two before he finds the wooden salad bowls; he even remembers to get the salad thongs without any prompting. The guy's learning. Coming back to the table, he confides, "I'm really glad to hear you say that you've changed your mind about the Skinman, because there's something I really need to talk to you about. . ."

"Oh, you sure do, mister," I announce, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the chair beside me. "I want to know where you've been these last nine months, what you've been doing, what the hell you were doing in Vancouver!? Tell me everything."

"Everything?" he laughs. "That could take a while."

"Well, we've got a while, don't we? I mean, you ARE back to stay, aren't you?" <PLEASE tell me you're back to stay! I've missed you so much!>

"I sure hope so," he replies with a touch of melancholy.

"Hope so?" I feel my heart grow heavy at the thought that his return is only temporary. "You mean, you're going to leave again?"

"Not if I can help it," he smiles impishly, and I'm reminded how much I've missed his playfulness. "I've got everything sorted out, wrapped up loose ends that were hanging, and now I think it's time to leave the past in the past, and concentrate on my future. I'm finally ready to settle down."

"Oh, my," I gasp, my heart actually skipping a beat at the implication of what he has just said. <Is it possible? Has he really come back for me? NOW what do I do?> But before the conversation can continue any further, Frohike joins us, carrying William on his hip.

Mulder's eyes nearly pop out of his head. "My God, is THAT William?" he exclaims, excitedly. "He's gotten so big."

"Why does everybody say that?" Mel wonders aloud.

"Can I hold him?" Mulder asks, holding out his arms. When Mel hesitates uncertainly, Mulder quickly adds, "It's okay, Frohike. I won't drop him." With an almost resigned shrug, Frohike finally relents and hands the boy over to our friend.

"Hey, little guy," Mulder coos, tickling William under his chin, causing the child to grin and giggle, just as he always did whenever Mulder would do that. While Mulder's not a natural around children, he always had a wonderful rapport with William. He continues speaking in a very soothing, gentle voice that I very rarely hear him use except with his son, "I guess you don't remember me, huh? But I sure remember you. I thought about you all the time. There's so much I missed and I'm sorry about that. Maybe someday you can understand why I did what I did." He pulls the child tightly against his body, hugging him close.   "If you only knew how much I love you, kid." Glancing over at me, he pronounces, "He looks just like you, Scully."

"But he's got YOUR eyes, Mulder," I counter.

"You think so?" 

"Uh-huh. . .everyone does. Skinner certainly thinks so. He's mentioned it many times."

He looks back at William, cocking his head, a sparkle in his own bright hazel eyes at the notion. "You know, I think you may be right," he grins.