A Hint of Resurrection (2/7)
by Ellie

Email:  windblownellie@yahoo.com
Rating:  R (for some adult implications, language, and crimes against animals)
X-Files/Fringe Crossover
Timeline/Spoilers: Post-IWTB/Fringe S1 (but spoilers through S3)
Summary:  Olivia Dunham examines files from the old X-files Division, and 
requests a reluctant consult from former agent Fox Mulder.



***
Chapter 2
***

Scully spent several quiet moments absorbing the picture of a young boy.  He 
had close-cropped strawberry blond hair, curling over his head through it was 
barely longer than a crewcut.  Clear blue eyes stared back at her, over a 
smiling mouth she'd recognize anywhere.  And that nose, sprinkled with 
freckles.  The boy's lanky arms wrapped around a calf as he crouched next to 
it, looking blissfully happy.

Momentarily, she was unsure whether to weep with delight that he was alive, 
happy, and had given them a plausible excuse to go see him, or whether to cry 
against Mulder's chest that avoiding this sort of thing was precisely why 
she'd sacrificed their child in the first place, and insist that he tell Agent 
Dunham to leave it the hell alone.  She settled for turning to look him in the 
eye, and saw the same conflict reflected there.

Mulders arms were both around her then, crushing her to him as he buried his 
head in the crook of her neck.  She returned the embrace, one hand tight 
around his shoulders as the other ruffled his porcupine hair.  Slowly, he 
pulled away to look her in the eye once more.  

"What do we do?"

Before answering, she turned back to look at the picture again.  "I never 
wanted him to become a lab rat.  I *don't* want him to become a lab rat.  But I 
think that this is probably just the beginning, and it's better that we're 
there to investigate this now, figure out what's going on, and find a way for 
him to remain happy and anonymous."

His index finger traced the cuff of her wool sweater, gently circling her 
wrist.  "Is that what you really want?"

Sighing, she answered, "Given the circumstances, it's what's best."

"That's not what I asked."

"We've been given some really shitty choices to make, Mulder."  It was easier, 
safer, to feel a little angry now.  It kept her from crying.  "I don't want to 
make this choice at all.  But since I've got to make a decision, it's going to 
be to do what I can to protect our son."

Mulder nodded slowly, as if waiting for more from her.  Then, "I'll email 
Agent Dunham, tell her it's worth followup, and we're coming along for the 
ride."

*

Wedged into the seat by the window on the flight to Salt Lake City, ostensibly 
studying the file open on the tray table in front of her, Olivia instead found 
herself stealing glances at the pair next to her.  They were not surreptitious 
glances; the couple were well aware they were being watched, and seemed well 
practiced in giving nothing away.  Olivia was not quite sure what to make of 
them, even after four hours spent in their company.

Neither were quite as she'd expected, even after having Astrid pull all the 
information available on them.  Yet she recognized something of herself in 
them, a self-contained, solitary nature which in their case seemed to 
encompass them as a unit.  Mulder seemed that way inherently, deep inside 
himself.  Scully seemed to have acquired -- or developed -- it, something 
Olivia herself understood.  None of them were fond of small talk, and so for 
the hour and a half since their flight departed Dulles, Row K had been silent.

Next to her, crammed into the middle seat, she could feel the nervous energy 
coming off Scully.  Every so often, one of Mulder's hands would creep across 
the space between them, stroke her thigh, then return to typing on his laptop.  
Olivia knew it wasn't nerves over the flight; she'd understood, as soon as she 
saw them in person, together, and saw their faces jigsaw together into the boy 
in the file.  The pieces all slipped into place, and she'd felt suddenly 
guilty, felt for a moment like she was conducting one of Walter's more unkind, 
nonconsensual experiments.  But they had to know; it was the only reason for 
them to both agree, no, insist, on consulting on this.

Finally, she closed the folder in front of her and broke the silence.  "I'm 
particularly glad you were able to find time in your schedule to look in to 
this, Dr. Scully.  My normal medical consultant does not travel well, and I 
appreciate your expertise."

Mulder's fingers paused over the keyboard, and Scully slowly turned to face 
Olivia.  "I'd wondered how you came to be investigating on your own.  In our 
day, that never ended well."

Olivia would have been surprised by the non-response if she hadn't known 
they'd spent more years investigating the truly bizarre than she'd spent so 
far as an agent.  "I'm the Fringe Science Team liaison.  Much of my work is 
done with professional consultants, rather than agents, on a daily basis."  
The professionalism of those professionals sometimes gave her pause, and she 
was glad that at least in this case, rumors of Fox Mulder's madness seemed 
greatly exaggerated, if not downright untrue.

"I hope I can be as insightful as your usual consultants," said Scully.  It 
might have sounded haughty or dismissive, if not for the caution belying the 
words.  That was something Olivia instinctively understood as well.

Olivia nodded and flipped her file back open.  "I'm sure you will."

The rest of the flight passed in silence.



Living in Boston, she'd forgotten how expansive the country could be.  She sat 
in the back seat of the Grand Cherokee as Mulder drove them across the vast, 
grassy plain.  Scully, in the passenger seat in front of her, occasionally 
offered a comment or direction as she navigated.  Olivia merely observed, 
surprised by their disregard for the GPS unit sitting idle on the dash.  She 
was still somewhat fascinated by the dynamic of the pair in front of her, who, 
aside from their few subtle touches on the plane and request for a single room 
at the hotel, had shown no indication of being anything other than casual 
partners.

The pastures gave way to grain elevators, houses, and something passing for a 
town.  At the stoplight, an elementary school sat to their left, while a diner 
occupied the right.  Across the intersection was the sheriff's office.  She 
watched Mulder incline his head slightly towards it, while looking at Scully.

Scully shook her head, glanced down at the paperwork in her lap, and murmured, 
"The hotel is one block down, on Grant."

Nothing else was said as Mulder maneuvered the SUV into a prime spot in the 
Holiday Inn parking lot.  Olivia slipped quickly from the back seat, calling 
"I'll check us in," through the closing car door before either of the 
former agents could unbuckle their seat belts.  By the time they entered the 
hotel lobby, rolling suitcases behind them, she had a pair of keycards to 
present them.

"The sheriff will be closed by now, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow to 
make a courtesy call and head out to the Van De Kamp ranch.  If you two want 
to get--"

"I'm sorry," interrupted Mulder.  "Did you say the sheriff was closed?"

Olivia shrugged and offered an awkward smile.  "Small town.  The office is 
open eight to five, with someone on call evenings.  When I spoke to him 
yesterday, Sheriff Flores said we could stop by first thing in the morning, 
and he'd ride out with us.  He said the property can be difficult to find."

"So what are our plans for tonight?"

"You and Dr. Scully are welcome to do whatever you'd like.  Have dinner, get a 
feel of the town, see if anything catches your attention.  I've got a meeting 
with the veterinarian who was on the scene after he gets off work at 6:30."

"Are you sure you wouldn't appreciate a consult on that?"  There was an edge 
to Scully's tone, the sound of someone not used to being dismissed.

"I'll be bringing any relevant records back for you to look at, and to forward 
on to my Boston contact to examine.  When I get back, I'll drop them by your 
room.  310."

There was a raised eyebrow from Scully, and a frown from Mulder, but neither 
said anything else to her as she headed for the elevators.  As she waited for 
the elevator, she briefly appreciated the fact that the couple would at least 
stand out less in this small town than Walter Bishop would have.

*

Scully scanned the diner's menu, then grinned as she looked up at Mulder.  
"You know, after that six month stint at Arlene's, I swore I'd never eat 
anywhere like this again.  But I'm looking at this, and feeling just a little 
nostalgic for chicken fried chicken."

"Those weren't a bad six months, as our time on the run went.  A lot of good 
pie, during that time.  Some of it even from Arlene's."

"Mulder!"  She couldn't sound serious, though she knew after all these years 
that she shouldn't encourage him.  He had no shame, even in a family 
restaurant.

"What?  I really liked that key lime pie."

She did laugh then, shaking her head.  The waitress approached then, older 
with blueing gray hair and a blue apron.  A name tag reading "Jo" was pinned 
on the left corner.

"What can I get for you folks this evening?"

"Diet Coke, side salad with no dressing, and a bison burger, medium well."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at her, then winked.  Jo just nodded and scribbled, 
then turned to Mulder.  "And you, hon?"

"Iced tea, cheese fries, and the meatloaf."

Scully just rolled her eyes at him.  They'd had a long-standing disagreement 
over the appropriateness of meat being served in loaf form.  He only got 
meatloaf in diners.

"You folks on your way down to Yellowstone?"

This was the cue for Mulder at his most charming, and Scully just leaned back 
in the booth and watched.  That it worked never surprised her; she knew first-
hand just how charming he would be, but it was always amazing how effortlessly 
he drew the information he wanted out of people.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head so a lock of hair flopped onto his 
forehead, making him look as handsome and boyish as that day she'd first met 
him, a lifetime ago.  "Sadly we're here for work, not pleasure.  We're doing 
some followup investigation on the ranch fire last week."

"Oh, my.  Poor Dave and Marsha, it's such a shame, that whole barn, all their 
hay, just as winter's coming on.  I thought they caught the folks that did it, 
though.  Didn't I hear Mikey roped one of 'em, just like he was back in the 
high school rodeo?"  Jo shook her head, tsking.

"Well, ma'am, we're looking in to that.  These types rarely work alone, and 
only two men were caught.  We're also taking a look at what happened in the 
barn, and to the animals."

"Oh, you're just like those folks on TV, on those CSI shows!  It must be 
fascinating work.  But all the animals made it out all right, from what I 
heard.  Thank goodness Mike and his boy showed up when they did, helped Dave 
get those sheep out in time."

"You hear of anything funny going on out that way?  People hanging around that 
shouldn't be?  Anything odd?"

"Well now," Jo paused, furrowing her wrinkled brow in thought.  "We get a lot 
of people coming through now and then.  The main highway's pretty well known 
as a scenic route between some of the bigger national parks out here, so in 
the summer, we'll see a good number of folks coming through.  No one stays 
long, and I see most all of 'em."

Mulder smiled, that not-quite-sincere, toothy grin that always garnered favor 
with ladies who didn't know him well enough to know it wasn't real.  It did 
make Scully smile, though.  "Thanks, Jo, we appreciate the info."

"You're more than welcome.  And if you're going to be in town longer than 
those tourists, I'd recommend stopping in at Marsha's little shop down on 
Cody."  She smiled at Scully and gestured to her sweater.  "You like a nice 
sweater, there's no one who knits a prettier one.  Does it all by hand, her 
and her girl Jenny.  She's the one that made Dave get the sheep to start with; 
he's always been a cattleman, but my, that wool's lovely."

"I'll check it out, Jo."  Scully did love the idea of a sweater; her great-
aunt Olive used to knit, but always sent toboggans that were useless in the 
San Diego winter, or red scarves that clashed with the Scullys' hair.  As Jo 
retreated, Scully said, "We'll want to speak with them anyway."

"I know how much you love sweaters, Scully."

"You love me in sweaters."

"I love you more out of them."

She rolled her eyes at him as Jo deposited drinks on their table and 
disappeared again.  They unwrapped straws and sipped in silence for few 
minutes, watching the occasional truck rattle through the intersection.  
Scully hadn't seen a vehicle that wasn't a 4x4 since they'd left the airport 
in Casper.  

They ate in companionable silence, having eaten what felt like half the meals 
in their lives in diners like this one, from one coast to the other.  There 
was something comforting and homey about it.  Only when slices of pie were 
deposited in front of them--key lime for Mulder, apple for Scully--was the 
silence broken.  

"We're going to see our son tomorrow."

"We don't know that for certain," said Scully, with a sigh.  She prodded a 
slice of apple with her fork, suddenly less hungry for dessert.  "He looks 
like he could be, but until we know, we can't say anything.  Even when we 
know, we probably shouldn't."  She pushed the plate away.

"It might be the only way to explain what happened."

Looking up at him, she saw the nervousness in his eyes, the tension coiling in 
his body.  "Completely disregarding Jeffrey Spender's claim that whatever he 
injected William with made him 'normal', how would reveling that we're his 
parents do anything to clarify the situation?"

"Doesn't he have the right to know?"

"At seven?  No, he's not old enough to have that right yet.  And I gave up the 
right to tell him."  She stared fixedly at the edge of the formica table.

"I didn't."  At that, she looked up at him.  There wasn't anger in his words, 
only sadness.  He put his fork down carefully on the plate next to the pie 
crust.  "I don't know if I can not say something."

"Before we left, we agreed on this, Mulder."

He nodded.  "I know.  But we may not have a choice.  Not if he's really--"

"Don't.  Don't even say it.  Until we have more evidence, there's no proof 
that anything out of the ordinary happened here.  Or that he's even our 
William."

Leaning back in the booth, his eyes roved over her.  "If I didn't know you so 
well, I'd be a little worried by how rational you're being about this."

A thin smile that didn't quite reach her eyes tugged gently at her lips.  
"Then I'm glad you do."  She prodded at the remains of her pie.  "You ready to 
go?"

Mulder nodded and waggled his fingers in Jo's direction, resulting in a 
receipt appearing swiftly at the corner of their table, two peppermints on 
top.  He slipped a few bills under it, and tucked it all under the edge of his 
plate.  "C'mon."

Olivia had taken the SUV to her appointment with the veterinarian, so they 
walked.  The evening was cooler than they were used to in Virginia, the wind 
sweeping down from the Rockies and across the flat land even faster than it 
did down from the Blue Ridge mountains.  Scully stayed close at his side, out 
of the gusts, but pulled away, tugging at his sleeve as they passed Cody 
Street.  

They paused in front of the wide pane of glass, artfully painted with a 
flowing script reading "Gathering Wool."  Skeins of yarn piled in the window, 
soft and inviting, gold, burgundy and sienna.  A pair of scarves twisted 
across the front of the window, aqua and ruby.  A couple of neatly folded, 
elaborately cabled sweaters sat to one side.  The shop behind the window 
display was dark.

"Ten to four.  Not bad hours if you can get 'em."  Mulder tapped the glass of 
the door, where a hand-written sign was posted giving the shop's hours.

A strong gust of wind swept up the street, rattling the glass of the window, 
twisting their long coats around their legs.  Mulder moved closer again, 
sheltering her from the wind.  "Let's get back.  It looks like we've got a lot 
to do tomorrow."

"I think *Agent Dunham* has a lot to do tomorrow," she said as they returned to 
the Main Street.

"You think she's deliberately keeping us out of the loop?"  He wrapped an arm 
around her shoulders, pulling her close.

She shook her head, hair catching on his coat.  "No, not in any malicious way.  
But I think she doesn't quite know what to make of us."

"We'll make ourselves the most useful consultants she's ever seen tomorrow."  
One eyebrow quirked up at him, and he retorted, "You know I can play nice with 
others when I want to."

"Yes, you can, but you have trouble remembering to keep playing nice."

"Isn't that what you're for?  Keeping me in line?"

"Because that's worked out so well for us over the years."

That he was able to laugh at that was testament to the resilience of the 
relationship formed while she'd tried to keep him in line.  He dropped a kiss 
on the crown of her head as they made their way down the block to the hotel.

*

It felt like bits of hay had been blown into areas she'd never know existed, 
but Olivia resisted the urge to scratch, or try fishing it out of the recesses 
of her clothing, as she stoically rode the elevator up to the third floor.  
Outside 310, she paused, brushing a bit of dust of the hem of her coat, and 
listened.  There was a low hum of voices, though of the television or the 
room's occupants, she couldn't tell.  Two sharp raps on the door and the 
sounds remained steady, so she decided it was the TV, though the sound was 
overwhelmed entirely by the sound of locks and tumblers releasing before the 
door swung open.

Dana Scully, in stocking feet and t-shirt, was more petite than Olivia 
remembered, looking more like some transplanted heroine of a Victorian novella 
than a neurologist and former federal agent.  Olivia knew looks could be 
deceiving, and had already recognized that for all the warnings about Mulder, 
it was Scully who was more of a risk on this case.  She understood, as the men 
at the Bureau did not and could not, exactly how powerful a mother's instinct 
to protect could be.

"Dr. Scully."

"Agent Dunham."  Scully did not swing the door open to invite her into the 
room.

"I brought a copy of Dr. Harne's records for you."  She passed the motley 
assortment of papers, stuffed hastily into a manila folder, over to Scully.  
"They weren't particularly enlightening, as he arrived at the scene after the 
animals had all been rescued from the fire.  He examined all of them, and 
there are reports for each, but they all note a clean bill of health, except 
for a bit of singeing to the coats of a few of the sheep."  

Scully nodded and flipped the file open.  "Are there records on the previous 
health of the animals?"

"At the back.  Mostly routine records on births, vaccinations, that sort of 
thing.  He said it had been a very well cared for flock, but hadn't seen 
anything unusual about them.  Nothing about the circumstance indicated to him 
that there shouldn't have been issues with smoke inhalation and more severe 
burns.  He's got no explanation, only what he saw, which were generally 
healthy sheep."

"Well, I'll take a look, see if there's anything that pops out to Mulder or 
me.  Thank you, Agent Dunham."  She stepped back and started to close the 
door, then paused.   "What time did you want to head out in the morning?"

"I'll meet the two of you in the lobby at 7:30."  She stepped away before the 
door could be closed in her face.  A few steps carried her next door to 308, 
which was as bland as any hotel she'd had the displeasure to stay in across 
the country, with pastel colors, slippery looking synthetic fiber bedspread, 
and particle-board furnishings.  Her laptop sat on the small table, and she 
sat down almost immediately and wakened the computer from sleep mode.  
Slipping the flash drive into the USB port, she copied the digital veterinary 
reports onto the hard drive, and uploaded them.  With a few clicks, she'd sent 
them off to Astrid, with the request that Walter have a look at them.  She 
would be interested to see if his requests for further information meshed with 
Dr. Scully and Fox Mulder's. 

The bathroom was just as bland as the room, white tile with cream accents and 
overly bleached towels, but she was glad to shed clothing that had spent ten 
hours in transit and an hour on the farm as the vet tended to his own animals 
as he spoke about his experiences on the Barker farm that fateful day.  She 
was grateful for industrial water heaters as she cranked the shower to the 
hottest setting and scrubbed the grime of the day off, calculating the time in 
Boston.  Nearly eleven, and she'd been on a shuttle from Logan at seven in the 
morning.  No wonder she was tired.

When she emerged from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a scratchy towel, she 
felt clean and relaxed.  As she rummaged through her compact duffel for the t-
shirt and running shorts that served as pajamas, she became aware of the 
sounds from next door, barely muffled by the thin motel walls.  It was not the 
creak of bedsprings or a thumping headboard, but a distinct feminine wail.  
She stood upright, grey shorts in one hand, unsure that she could really be 
hearing what she seemed to be hearing.  They'd seemed to discreet to this 
point, barely touching in her presence; surely they'd spent enough time on the 
road to realize that she must be able to hear something this loud in her room.

Then, with muffled clarity but sharp tone, she heard Scully's voice.  "Mulder, 
for God's sake."  She didn't sound at all like someone who'd been wailing.  
Or, Olivia realized, continued to moan even as she spoke.

"What?"  There was laughter, male laughter, clear even through the walls.

"She's right next door.  Don't torture the poor girl like that.  Or give her 
ideas.  Just behave yourself for one damn night and let me read this."

Olivia shook her head as the sound from next door died down, replaced with 
muted sounds that implied the evening news rather than adult entertainment.  
Turning the slick comforter down to reveal stark white sheets, she didn't 
spare another thought for her newest consultants as sleep overtook her.

***