From: xf_emily_sim@yahoo.ca   
      
   Title: S.N.A.F.U. Part 3 Chapters 11-13   
   Author: Emily Sim   
   Headers: see part 1   
      
   **************   
      
   Chapter 11   
      
   The phone call she'd been about to make momentarily   
   forgotten,   
   she set the note aside and took a deep breath,   
   fighting the urge   
   to have a quick glance through all the items. Krycek   
   had probably   
   arranged them in order, and that could be important.   
   She needed   
   to be patient and review what she'd been given the way   
   it had   
   been ordered, methodically, just like any of their   
   cases. She set   
   aside two smaller envelopes and went through the   
   papers first.   
      
   The first few were photocopies of a case file, but not   
   one she   
   recognized. She spent a few moments becoming familiar   
   with the   
   principle players, noting that the dates coincided   
   with her   
   missing time and that one name, Kristen Kilar, figured   
      
   prominently throughout. There were copies of notes on   
   LAPD   
   letterhead from Detectives Nettles and Munson and   
   various reports   
   from experts pertaining to the victims. She noted that   
   a forensic   
   dentist had been called in, a Dr. Jacobs, and she   
   wondered if it   
   was the same man who had spoken at Quantico for one of   
   her   
   courses.   
      
   Turning a page brought her to Mulder's familiar   
   scrawl, five   
   pages worth. His notes, detailed and precise, laid out   
   a story   
   that she found both unbelievable and perfectly   
   feasible at the   
   same time. When she reached the end, skimming what she   
   could for   
   the sake of time, she realized something was missing.   
   Reading   
   back over the last page and a half, she realized the   
   detail she'd   
   come to expect from her partner was absent. It was   
   almost as if -   
   - her heart sank as she pulled the first picture out   
   from a   
   separate envelope.   
      
   It was a clear shot of Mulder and a woman she assumed   
   was   
   Kristen, locked in a passionate embrace. The next two   
   pictures   
   moved the opening shot a little more towards an   
   intimacy she knew   
   formed part of the missing details. She was pretty   
   sure what she   
   would see in the rest of the pictures, and decided to   
   set them   
   aside for the time being. She couldn't afford to let   
   herself   
   become more emotional than she already was. Besides,   
   pictures had   
   been doctored or even manufactured before. She   
   wouldn't put it   
   past their enemies to try something like this.   
      
   The rest of the papers were medical reports. In place   
   of the   
   patient's name was a series of numbers, and the   
   reports   
   themselves seemed routine, just blood pressure, heart   
   rate and   
   temperature readings. They varied a little, but   
   nothing that   
   would indicate an illness, in fact, this patient   
   seemed perfectly   
   healthy. She was about to dismiss them as superfluous   
   until she   
   came to the last two pages and discovered the reason   
   for the   
   readings. Whoever this woman was, she had been   
   pregnant.   
      
   She went back through the pages, determined to have a   
   more   
   careful look at them. There were eight reports,   
   arranged in order   
   by month. If it were possible for her heart to further   
   shatter,   
   it did. The reports began in December and ran through   
   to August.   
   The last paper she held gave the essential birth   
   details of the   
   baby girl born that month. She felt tears threaten as   
   she   
   remembered Emily and an empty coffin. She took a deep   
   breath and   
   steeled herself. Even if this was about more children   
   like Emily   
   -- especially if it was about Emily -- she needed to   
   be level   
   headed. She didn't want to begin to think about the   
   dark haired   
   Kristen and Mulder and what it all might mean.   
      
   She picked up the second of the two envelopes that   
   were   
   included and opened it. She pulled out a PCR she   
   assumed belonged   
   to the mother, based on the same series of numbers   
   written in the   
   corner. The numbers used to identify the woman were   
   familiar to   
   her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and   
   cleared her   
   mind. The numbers meant something.   
      
   It didn't take her long to figure it out, and she felt   
   foolish   
   for missing such an obvious clue the first time   
   through. She   
   picked the up the phone to call her partner.   
      
      
   ****************   
      
      
    Chapter 11B   
      
      
      
   The first thing that struck Mulder, as Kristen led him   
   into her   
   home, was the understated elegance. It was in direct   
   contrast to   
   her home in California. Where that house had been   
   sparsely   
   furnished, and had seemed almost clinical, this was   
   full of rich,   
   warm earth tones. Underneath colorful Indian rugs the   
   floors were   
   wide plank wood, maple he guessed, noting the clear,   
   almost   
   spotless grain. A staircase curved its way to the   
   second floor   
   and a hallway that stretched in both directions.   
      
   As she ushered him into a sitting area he took in the   
   artwork   
   gracing the walls. Most seemed to be originals, or   
   first run   
   prints, he noted, as he got closer. A baby grand piano   
   filled one   
   corner and the tables were dotted with pictures of   
   Hannah in   
   varying stages of babyhood and as a toddler. He chose   
   an   
   overstuffed armchair and waited until she had settled   
   herself   
   opposite him in the loveseat.   
      
   "Can I get you anything?"   
      
   "No, thanks, I'm fine." He cringed a little, hearing   
   himself echo   
   Scully's infamous line; he hated the words, and true   
   to her   
   meaning, he was far from fine.   
      
   Kristen twisted her hands nervously. "I guess you   
   might have a   
   few questions."   
      
   "Uh, yeah, a few." Or more, he finished silently. The   
   place was   
   giving him the creeps. The initial feeling of warmth   
   and coziness   
   was fading. The house seemed devoid of anything   
   related to a   
   child. Aside from the pictures he could see no   
   evidence that a   
   child lived here. He didn't expect the sitting room to   
   be   
   littered with toys, but there was bareness to the   
   place.   
      
   "You sure you don't want anything? Tea, coffee?"   
      
   "I'm sure. Where's Hannah?"   
      
   "In bed. I thought it might be easier."   
      
   "Oh."   
      
   "I'm sorry to have sprung this on you. I thought about   
   calling so   
   many times, but --" She shrugged her shoulders. "I   
   just never   
   knew how to tell you."   
      
   "So, what -- you thought just showing up with her at   
   my office   
   was the way to go?"   
      
   "I guess it wasn't the best way to handle it. It   
   didn't seem like   
   such a stupid idea at the time. I'm sorry to have   
   sprung this on   
   you."   
      
   "How did it happen?"   
      
   "_How_?"   
      
   "I saw the fire, saw the reports from the fire-chief.   
   Four   
   bodies. One of them yours."   
      
   "I tasted his blood, the blood of a believer, the   
   Father."   
      
   "And what, you were burnt up but you came back,   
   pregnant?"   
      
   "The fire didn't kill us, it couldn't."   
      
   "And who did you kill? Wasn't that part of the   
   ritual?"   
      
   "Myself."   
      
   He closed his eyes, assaulted by images of a burning   
   house and   
   naked flesh. He remembered sitting on the hillside   
   afterwards,   
   the sharp tang of smoke in the air, the haze on the   
   horizon,   
   Scully's cross a heavy weight against his throat.   
      
   "What do you want from me, Kristen?"   
      
   He watched her hesitate, struggle to answer.   
      
   "I guess I want our daughter to have a home."   
      
   "A home? You mean with you and me? That kind of home?"   
      
      
   "She needs a home."   
      
   Her words were like nails on a chalkboard, scraping   
   his   
   tenuous hold on the conversation. His focus narrowed   
   and he   
   watched Kristen lean over to retrieve something from   
   the drawer   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)