Chapter Nine:

Mulder

FBI Field Office in Chicago
10:00 a.m.


Skinner called. We were headed back to DC in the morning. A new case about a couple of campers who disappeared on a mountain known for its UFO sightings. I laughed at the irony. Normally, I was the one chasing lights in the sky.

Scully would be discharged in the morning. Due to the hypovolemia, she was being held overnight. Which was good. She needed to rest. We didn't talk much this morning, my main concern was making sure she was okay. I wondered what Cyrus had done to her. Perhaps she would tell me later. Or maybe she wouldn't.

I stared at the case file, wondering what I was going to say about it all. About Aylebourne and Cyrus. So much of it hinged on Scully, what her research into the viral agent had uncovered. Wrapping it all neatly up in science in terms Skinner would accept. I'd let her make the call. Skinner put a hell of a lot more credibility in her reports than mine.

There was another e-mail for me. From Phil. He had done more researching into the Ayleborne family tree. I scrolled through it, trying to reconcile the man I knew to the one on the screen. He was over 400 years old, by Phil's estimations. I could barely fathom what that was like. Must have gotten pretty lonely. I did understand loneliness.

I printed out the files. I wasn't sure if I'd see him again, but I wanted Peter to have it. A bit of his past. I owed him at least that much.

****

Cook County General
5:00 p.m.


I was watching Scully sleep. Her hair splayed out across the stark whiteness of the hospital pillow was a sharp contrast. As was the paleness of her skin. But she looked better than she did earlier. That ankh Cyrus had drawn on her was visible, although somewhat covered by the IVs that were pumping blood back into her.

I was overwhelmed by the desire to just get her home. Funny. When we got to Chicago, I had wanted to be as far away from DC as possible. Now, all I wanted to do was get back. I have learned that safety is an illusion anyway. Normal life was too. Chasing vampires one day, lost campers looking for UFO's the next.

But at least, we had each other.

"Hey," I said, noticing her eyes had flickered open.

"Hey," she whispered, voice sounding rough.

I moved over to the edge of the bed, sitting beside her. I reached instinctively for her hand.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, thumb stroking hers.

"I feel...heavy," she replied. "And drained."

"You're getting a fill-up." I tugged playfully at the IV. "Unleaded B-negative."

Scully smiled slightly.

"I packed your bags today," I said, thinking it would make her feel better to know we were heading home. "Skinner is sending us off somewhere else."

The room grew quiet, the only sound was the slight drip of her IV.

"What did you tell him?" she asked, studying me.

"I told him, we would have a report filed when we get back," I said, trying to be evasive.

Skinner knew she was in the hospital, he demanded an explanation to why she ended up there. With the same condition as the kidnapped victims. I had dodged the question, telling him she mysteriously appeared wandering the street. Where she was found. Anything else about her experience, she'd have to tell him herself.

Her hand reached out for mine, clutching it. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," I said, smiling at her. I was so grateful she was alive.

"Good," she whispered, sitting up a bit. "Mulder...next time we go on vacation, I pick the location, okay?"

I laughed. "That's a good sign, at least you are considering a next time."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "Do you think you could find me something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Sure," I said, standing up. I started to walk away, but her hand was still holding mine. Keeping me from leaving.

"Mulder, wait," she said quietly. She used our joined hands to rotate my wrist, so she could look at it. "Have you seen Peter?"

"No," I replied, as she shifted my cuff up slightly. Her fingers brushed my skin, but finding nothing. "He's alive, Scully."

"I thought you..." she said, voice barely audible. Her eyes stared up at mine, questioning. She shook her head and let my hand go. "I just wanted to tell him something."

I sighed, taking a few steps backwards. "Will you tell me? When you're ready..."

Scully nodded, but said nothing. I wasn't going to press her. Besides, I already knew. I could see it in her eyes.

"Be right back," I said, slipping out of the room.

I shook my head, smiling to myself as I walked down the hall.

She knew.


****

Peter


Aylebourne Apartment
6:25 p.m.


My skin was still sensitive.

Even the light weight of the sheets against it stung me as I lay there. But I wouldn't have moved if ants had been crawling all over me.

I was laying curled up on one side, facing my wife. She lay in the same position, facing me. And all we did was touch and gaze into each other's eyes.

I could feel her hands on my chest, her fingers tracing my clavicles, trailing along my chest. My own fingertips were caressing her face, trying to memorize every feature by touch.

Hardly a word had been exchanged between us all day. All of our communication had been physical. Touches, kisses, embraces. We had tried to make love at one point, but my skin had protested quite strenuously.

However, I could feel it healing as the day progressed, feel it itching as the cells finished up repairing themselves. And now I was ready to try making love again.

I softly kissed her, pressing my body to hers. My skin rebelled for a moment, then settled down. Her arms slid around me as I carefully rolled her on her back.

"I need you," I whispered against her lips. Her arms tightened around me as I kissed her again.

I had never said that to her. I had told countless times that I loved her. She knew that was how I felt.

But never once since we'd met had I told her I needed her.

My skin tingled as her fingers trailed down my back and I felt her whisper, "I need you, Peter." Our kisses soon deepened.

At that moment, the alarm clock went off.

"Peter," she whispered as I nuzzled her neck.

"Hmmm?"

She sighed, relaxing in my arms as I let my mouth play over her throat. I could feel her voice vibrate against my lips as she moaned softly.

"Peter," she whispered. "We have to get ready."

This time, I sighed, absorbing the sweet scent of her skin, the scent of roses, as I did. "Yes."

As much as I wanted to stay in bed, in Jessie's embrace, the sun was setting, allowing us access to the outside again. And there was one more thing we needed to do.

I pulled myself up from her warm body and smiled down at her.

"We do owe it to her," murmured Jessie.

I nodded, then slid out of the bed to hold a hand out to her.

****

Cook County General
7:10 p.m.


I don't think Agent Mulder expected to find us in his partner's hospital room. The look of masked surprise on his face when we walked in told us as much.

Agent Scully hadn't been expecting us either, nor had she been expecting the bouquet of daisies I handed her. But the delighted smile that crossed her face spoke volumes.

I noted with some relief that the color had begun to return to her face. The fact that she was hungry was also a good sign. The plate of eggs and toast off to one side told me as much.

An awkward silence fell over the room. And knowing how much Jessie hates silence, I was certain she would be the one to break it.

I was right.

Digging into her pocket, Jessie came up with Agent Scully's badge and ID. She handed them over to her. "I think these are yours."

"Thank you," she answered, taking them from her.

The awkward silence fell again. Again, Jessie broke it.

"Dana, I'm sorry," she said softly, staring down at her shoes as if unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry you were caught up in all of this because of some stupid mistake." She suddenly gave a small, almost bitter laugh. "I guess I'm saying I'm sorry for having red hair."

Agent Scully peered at her for several moments before finally speaking. "Clairol number 145?" she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Jessie lifted her head to stare into the small woman's face. Then she laughed again, only this time it held amusement. "Exactly."

She jerked her thumb at the man sitting next to her. "Mulder here, gives me gray hairs."

Jessie smiled, tilting her head towards me. "Peter tries."

They grinned at each for a moment before grumbling in unison, "Men."

"Ah yes, men!" came a wonderfully familiar voice as the curtain surrounding the bed was swept aside and we found ourselves staring at the biggest bouquet of calla lilies we'd ever seen. They were moved aside, revealing Jeremiah's smiling face. "I do love them, don't you girls?"

As if to prove his point, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't help laughing. He then turned to Agent Mulder and for a moment, looked as though he was going to do the same to him. But he stopped, waving a hand in his face.

"Ah no," he said with a wink to Agent Scully. "You're taken."

The delighted look on Agent Scully's face didn't go unnoticed by any of us when Jeremiah walked in and as he set the lilies down on a nearby chair, his manner suddenly toned down. He smiled tenderly as he took her hand. "How are you, Dana?"

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again as her eyes turned downwards to stare at the sheet covering her. Before they turned away, I caught the glimmer of tears there.

"Mulder?" she suddenly whispered, without looking up.

Agent Mulder watched her for a moment, then looked up at Jeremiah, who said nothing. I watched as some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them.

After a moment, Agent Mulder nodded. He touched her shoulder. "Listen, the Aylebourne's and I are going to take a walk. I need to talk to them about something anyway." He touched her hair. "I'll be back soon."

She silently nodded, still staring at the sheet.

Agent Mulder motioned us to follow him as he stepped towards the door. As we stepped into the hallway, my ears picked up a faint intake of breath from her. I glanced at Agent Mulder, knowing that human ears wouldn't have heard it.

But the brief expression on his face told another story.

After a moment, he turned away from the door and started down the hallway, leading us away from the room.

"Is she going to be all right?" I asked him.

He smiled and I noted that it was a smile tinged with relief. "Yeah. Scully's a survivor."

I nodded. "We're all survivors of something, Agent Mulder."

He nodded.

We were wandering past the nurse's station towards the waiting room when Agent Mulder suddenly veered off, heading for the desk there. Jessie and I stopped in our tracks, startled by his sudden movement.

I glanced at Jessie and found her looking up at me. We shrugged to each other, neither of us having any idea what was going on. I reached out and took her hand.

When Agent Mulder stepped back towards us, he was carrying several thick file folders in his arms. Tilting his head towards the waiting room, he walked off. Exchanging confused glances, we followed him.

"I thought you should know," he said without preamble as we stepped into the empty waiting room. "That a friend of mine has been doing research on you and your family."

I felt myself tense up as anger began to pulse through me. Why was he still invading my privacy? Jessie quickly squeezed my hand and I immediately calmed down. I frowned at him. "May I ask why?"

"I asked him to," he said simply.

I remained silent, uncertain of how reply to such a blunt answer. Agent Mulder spoke before I could say anything. "Do you remember when you said you never knew how your mother or your sisters died?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Well," he said quietly. "These might give you some answers." He held the file folders out to me.

I stared at them a moment before taking them. "What are they?"

"They're transcripts," he said softly. "Of the diaries of Margaret Aylebourne, Catherine Aylebourne, and Elizabeth Aylebourne."

I stared at him, stunned.

"I didn't know who was who," he shrugged. "But I figured you would."

I stared at the folders in my hands and my knees suddenly felt weak. I felt myself sink to the waiting room sofa.

"I do know, Agent Mulder," I whispered, fighting back tears. "Margaret was my mother. And Caty and Lizzie were my sisters." I suddenly laughed at a stray memory. "They called me Petey because I was the baby of the family." I shook my head, feeling my laughter die. "I never knew what happened to them."

"I know a little something about that," I heard him murmur to himself. And for a brief moment, I wondered who it was he had lost.

He continued a moment later. "Phil Warrens is the guy who did all the legwork. He told me he has the original diaries in his possession if you want them. I included his address, phone number, and e-mail address in there if you want to contact him." He pointed at the folders in my hands.

I felt Jessie sit down next to me, an arm slipping around my shoulders. But my attention was focussed on the folders in my hands. Finally, I looked up at him.

"I can't tell you what this means to me, Agent Mulder," I said softly. I rose to my feet and held my hand out to him. "Thank you," I said quietly.

He blinked at me in surprise, as if he didn't expect to hear me say those two words. After a moment, he nodded.

Then he reached out and shook my hand.

****

Scully

Cook County General
7:20 p.m.


Jeremiah reached in his pocket and handed me a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," I said, quickly wiping the tears away. There was something about his man that allowed me to be comfortable enough to let the emotion go. Something I rarely did. But he was the only person who understood what I was feeling right now, having been there himself just days ago.

"For tears? No one should be sorry for tears, Dana," Jeremiah said softly.

Who carried handkerchiefs? His was embroidered even. JJA. I traced it with my fingertip. I could smell the calla lilies, they were beautiful.

"So, I see he got you too," Jeremiah said, reaching for my arm. He studied the ankh for a moment. "Now we're twins."

I grinned at his joke. His blue eyes met mine as he took my hand in both of his.

"I saw things," I started, as he scooted closer to me. As if I was revealing a secret only the two of us could share. "About Peter Aylebourne."

"If you are going to tell me he's a vampire, darling Dana. I already know," he whispered, bringing our joined hands to his lips. "Quite a shocker, isn't it? I thought so, too. When I found out."

"No," I answered. "That's not what I meant. He got inside my head, Cyrus did. At least I think that's what happened." I touched my throat, imagining the vividness of the dream. My rational mind was fighting the possibility that it was anything else but that. A dream. I was barely conscious anyway, I could have imagined the whole thing. I certainly could find no evidence that I was bitten by a vampire. My hand traveled up to my neck, feeling only smooth skin. Unbroken.

"You feel so vulnerable, don't you?" he continued. "But there is something else bothering you."

I looked down, nodding my head. "It's more than that, Jeremiah. It's trying to reconcile what I can prove scientifically and what I am willing to accept that goes beyond that."

"Ah," he said, understanding. "You don't believe in that sort of thing. But you did have the proof, didn't you? You were working on it with me. A viral agent."

"Yes," I breathed. "I wanted to prove something to myself. That science can explain this condition. But now..."

"You have your answer," he finished. "And you must make a decision."

He stared at me, but did not press me further for an explanation. Instead, he released my hand and reached into his pocket.

"I have two surprises for you," he announced, smiling. He pulled out a small velvet pouch, his long fingers reaching inside. "For my government-sanctioned guardian angel. An angel."

He produced a small pin. A small, gold cherub angel.

"You shouldn't have," I said, as he pinned it on my hospital gown.

"Nonsense," Jeremiah replied. "I don't want you to forget me. And..."

He reached into his other pocket. Handing me a brochure. Similar to the one I'd found on him.

"I just got these back today. New show at my gallery. It's not all up yet, but I want you to be my personal guest Friday night for a private showing. You can even bring what's-his-name," Jeremiah said with a smile. "What kind of wine do you like?"

"I...won't be here," I replied, opening the brochure. My eyes fell on one painting. It was called "Goddess", painted by Peter Aylebourne. It was a beautiful portrait of Jessica. Painted with such beauty and skill. And love.

"Dana, darling. You are breaking my heart," he said, clutching his chest. "Where are you going?"

"Back to DC tomorrow. Another assignment," I answered, eyes still on the painting.

"Oh," he said, looking at me sadly. "Your work must be very important to need you so soon after this."

"It is," I said. "But thank you."

There was a knock on my door. Jeremiah turned about, leaning back to see who it is.

"Peter! Damn it, love. It's my turn now," he said, smiling at his friend.

"Sorry," Peter said, coming in quietly. "But before I go, I wanted to talk with Agent Scully."

Jeremiah sat there.

"Alone," Peter said, emphasizing the word.

"Oh, heavens," he replied, watching my reaction. Then he lowered his voice to me. "Do you want me to go?"

I nodded. "I need to talk to him."

Jeremiah stood up, straightening his suit into crisp, clean lines. He leaned in, kissing my cheek softly. "Goodbye, dearest angel. Be careful." He stood up and raised his nose dramatically in the air to Peter. "You. I shall deal with later."

Peter watched quietly as he left the room. The same, uneasy silence fell between us.

"Your skin," I whispered, looking him over thoroughly. He had been burned. All over. "You were burned. I saw that."

"I have to know," he started, taking a few measured steps towards me. "What is your report going to say about me? It's not for me I ask, but for Jessie. I want to protect her."

I studied him as he stood front of me. He feared for her sake. Despite everything he had gone through, he was not worried about himself.

"My report will be inconclusive. I do not have sufficient scientific data to support Mulder's theories," I answered, folding my hands on my lap. "The viral agent present in the blood stream is not on record anywhere that I could find. It dissipates quickly, avoiding accurate analysis. Without further testing, I have no case."

"But you do," he whispered, sitting on the edge of my bed. But maintaining his distance. "It's present in me. In Jessie. It makes us what we are."

"You are not under investigation," I said, staring into those clear blue eyes. Seeing what I saw in that dream. Whatever made him what he was, didn't define who he was.

He closed his eyes, a sigh escaped his lips. "What changed your mind? I know what he put you through. I know what you saw."

"Your humanity," I said, not needing to explain.

Peter stared at me, almost transfixed by those words. His eyes started to brim, and he took a deep breath. "Thank you. For giving me back something I thought I had lost."

I stared back at him. Into those eyes. There were just blue. Clear, shining blue.


****


Jessie

Aylebourne Apartment
Three months later


"Goddammit!"

Angrily, I brought my hands down on the piano keyboard in an explosion of discordant sound, promptly interrupting the Mozart piece I was playing. The boom box on top of the piano, unaware of my rage, continued to happily play on; the sound of a symphony filling the apartment. I was ready to knock it to the floor and had even tensed my arm to swing it out, sweeping the box away.

"Easy! Easy!" called Peter's voice from behind me. A moment later, I felt a gentle pair of hands come to rest on my shoulders. "Just calm down."

I sighed. "It's these damn ten bars after the adagio. I keep tripping them up."

"You can play them," Peter said as he softly rubbed my shoulders. "I've heard you play this entire piece perfectly. Both you and I know you can do it."

"Then why am I screwing up such a simple section?"

"Perhaps, because you've been sitting here playing for four straight hours?" The gentle touch of his hands deepened as he began to massage my shoulders. God, it felt good. "Or perhaps you're nervous about all of this."

I sighed and closed my eyes as I leaned back against his body. "I've never played with a symphony orchestra before. I've never done anything this big," I murmured. I felt his hands softly stroke my hair. "I'm not nervous, Peter. I'm scared."

That was no exaggeration.  I was scared. And I was beginning to question my own sanity for taking on such a project. Playing live for the President of the United States with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra backing you up was no small task. Everything had to be perfect.

"Well then," he said with a smile in his voice as he patted my shoulders. "Nervous, scared, or frazzled from playing for so long, you need a break." He reached past me and snapped off the boom box. "Come on, I'll make you some tea."

I didn't argue as he took my arm, stood me up, and guided me to the kitchen. Sitting me down in a chair, he turned to the stove and set the kettle down on it to start heating the water up. As the kettle silently waited for enough heat to start making noise, Peter began to go through the cupboards, looking for the tin of Earl Grey. Funny, he always seemed to be losing that thing.

I watched him for several moments, thinking of the strange and wonderful life we now led together. Three months ago, I had almost lost my husband to a madman's rage and an inferno of sunlight. The experience had changed us both. Peter had suddenly become much livelier, much more willing to throw caution to the wind and take more chances. It was as if facing death had shown him that, even with all the centuries he had, and all the possibilities of immortality he possessed, there was never enough time; that it could all end at any moment.

The experience had changed me in much the same way. Taking on the challenge of this gala charity concert was proof of that. I also found I was a little more willing to trust people.

When I had first been turned, I'd been terrified of the possibility of exposure; that some nutball believer would take matters into his or her own hands and drive a stake through my heart.

Agents Mulder and Scully changed that.

"Insufficient evidence," Peter had said to me as he'd stepped out of Agent Scully's hospital room. That was all he'd needed to say. And apparently that was all she'd said in her report, because that was the last we'd heard of our FBI friends.

Jeremiah had tried to keep in touch with Agent Scully. E-mail, I think. Whether or not he received any replies from her, he never told us. And that was all right. Peter and I understood the bond that had developed between them. Besides, Jeremiah had always respected our privacy. It was only right that we respect his.

I thought of them often, wondering how they were getting on with their lives, wondering if they ever achieved that little bit of normalcy they had been searching for here in Chicago. I had hoped to keep in touch with them myself and every now and then, I would send them flyers for Peter's exhibitions or programs from my concerts. I had even sent them invitations to this gala concert I was helping set up. While I somehow doubted they would be there, I hoped that they would appreciate the gesture.

Peter had once told me that, throughout the long time I would live, there would be people who would enter my life that I would forget the moment they left. And there were others that, no matter how brief my time was with them, I would never forget my entire life. I was beginning to believe that Agents Mulder and Scully were a part of the latter group.

Peter had drunk in every word of the transcripts Agent Mulder had given him several times over. He had discovered much to his surprise and joy that not only had his sisters missed him, they had never once believed his soul had been damned to hell, as was the thinking of vampires in those days. He also discovered to his delight that he was an uncle. Catherine had had two sons. The oldest she'd named Peter, the youngest, David. Elizabeth had also had two children, a son and a daughter.

Upon discovering all of this, Peter had immediately contacted Phil Warrens, the researcher Agent Mulder told us about, who agreed to research as much of the family tree as he could up to the present day. That had been two months ago. And I often teased Peter that he must have one big oak of a family tree.

My thoughts were interrupted as Peter set a mug of tea in front of me. I smiled at him as he settled himself down in a chair opposite me. He smiled as he reached out and took my free hand as I picked the mug up to take a sip. I smiled behind the mug as his fingers began to stroke the inside of my wrist. I shivered. Peter always knew exactly how to touch me.

The happy moment was interrupted by the sound of the intercom buzzing. With a melodramatic sigh, Peter carefully let go of my hand and stood up to trot over to the door and hit the intercom button. "Yes?"

"Delivery for Peter Aylebourne?"

I swallowed nervously, remembering the last time Peter had gotten any sort of delivery. Old fears died hard.

"Take the back elevator up to the top floor," he called into the intercom.

"Yes, sir."

Minutes later, Peter was signing for a large box the deliveryman carefully handed him. Closing the door behind him as he left, Peter peered curiously at the box.

"Should I ask?" I called out to him as he headed back to where I was sitting at the kitchen table.

"I'm not sure—." He stopped, his eyes suddenly widening before a beautiful, excited smile crossed his face. "It's from Oxford!" he cried.

A thrill of excitement rippled through me. Peter had been waiting for this for a while now. I watched his wide eyes as he darted over to the kitchen table and gently, almost reverently, set the box down on its surface. He stared at it for several moments.

"Well?" I asked.

His voice was a whisper. "I don't know if I should--."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" I yelped, leaping to my feet. Darting over to a nearby counter, I yanked one of its drawers open and pulled out a pair of scissors. Plunking myself down at the kitchen table again, I quickly cut open the tape strapping the box shut. I was about to pull it open, when Peter's hands came down over mine.

"Jessie," he whispered. "Please. I need to do this."

Suddenly I realized what I was doing. I was invading an area I shouldn't have been anywhere near. Pulling my hands away from his, I nodded.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He shook his head. "It's all right."

Quietly, he sat down and for several long minutes, just stared at the box. Finally, his eyes lifted to me, filled with questions. I did my best to give him an encouraging smile. He smiled back, some of the tension leaving his face. Finally, after a few more moments, he opened the box.

What he pulled out was a complete surprise to me.

It was a book; a worn, cracked, leather-bound book.

He carefully turned it over in his hands, his eyes wide. Then after several moments, he slowly opened it. I watched as his eyes widened further, slowly filling with tears as another smile broke across his face.

I didn't say anything, yet a million silent questions were running through my head as I watched him read the words on the page before him.

Finally, he spoke.

"It's my mother's handwriting," he murmured, his fingers reaching up to lightly run down the page. "Even after 400 years, I still recognize it."

I felt myself smile. "What does she say?" I asked softly. "Or shouldn't I ask?"

His wide blue eyes turned to me, filled with surprise. "Of course you can ask!" he exclaimed. "I promised you I'd tell you my history." Carefully setting the book down, he reached out and took my hand. "I want you to hear this. I want you to know where I come from."

I smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. "I'd like that."

A smile crossed his face as he brought my fingers to his lips. Then, releasing my hand, he picked the book up again and quietly began to read to me.

"To my dearest son..."

****

FINIS

"Sweet darling
Don't you know that we're no different to anyone
We stumble
We falter
But we're no different than anyone"
"Stay By Me," Annie Lennox



Thank you for reading—Andie and Mojo


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