Distance Covered III: These Little Earthquakes

by Naina

"Silent night,
holy night,
all is calm,
all is bright.
Round yon virgin mother and child,
holy infant so tender and mild.
Sleep in heavenly peace."

"Sharpening stones, walking on coals, to improve your business acumen."
-REM

January, 1998
Venice, Italy

Krycek was in the tiny cubbyhole that passed for a kitchen in his Venice apartment, making a cup of coffee when he heard the familiar sound of paper sliding over hardwood floor.  He tilted his head towards the door, listening for any sounds out in the hallway as just the slightest bit of milk was added to the rich roast.  No jobs were in the offering that he knew of, everything was as peaceful as it could get and he was looking forward to a week or two of relative relaxation.  When he came out to the entryway, a plain brown envelope addressed to his name, not an alias, lay on the floor about a foot from the doorway.

Setting the cup on the coffee table, he slipped on a pair of well-worn leather gloves, carefully opening the package.  There was no disk, no samples, only a five by six glossy photo and several sheets of paper, hospital charts and records from the looks of them.  Perched on the edge of his worn down couch, he sipped the coffee and began to peruse the records, having found no cover letter to explain this delivery.  The subject was one Emily Sim, age three and a resident of San Diego, California.  There were numerous cases of her being treated for anemia, and apparently her parents had begun regular, experimental treatment with a Doctor Calderon.  Krycek started at the name.  He knew of Calderon only by reference, having heard of the doctor once or twice when the breeding program was being discussed.

What drew his attention was the parentage listed -- she was adopted.  A quick search through the pages presented birth records; the mother was one Anna Fugazi.  Krycek shook his head slightly, something about the information not sitting quite right.  There had to be more to this than an obviously fake name.  He followed the list of codes down the page, translating them under his breath.  He hadn't worked with the breeding project since before Scully had been taken, but still remembered what the codes stood for, if only vaguely.  His finger stopped at the listing of the true mother, the one whose ova had been used, but he didn't see that name.  He saw only the one below it, the name of the sperm's donor.  In English type and not Cyrillic, his Russian name looked strange.  Krycek, Aleksandr S.

His fingers were shaking when he picked up the cup and drained the last of the coffee.  He was Emily Sim's father.

God, more.  He needed more caffeine if he was to be able to look at the rest of this package.  Krycek set the papers down gently, as if the table or the sheets or he himself might disintegrate, and headed back to the kitchen.

She was dead.  He knew that before even going through the rest of the information.  That was the way things worked in this organization, as brutal and cold as that may be.  Whoever had given him this had never intended for him to meet his daughter.  He knew the drill.  Give the fuckers the cold hard facts when the shit had long since hit the fan and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Krycek gulped down another cup of the jet- fuel octane espresso, slamming the cup down hard enough for a tiny piece to chip off of the bottom.  His eyes drifted shut and his natural hand gripped the countertop.  He had to establish control; that was the way he had survived everything he'd been through.  Live and face all the shit that went down, and have the total mental collapse when everything was over and he was alone.  He could not afford to lose emotional control now, not when things were bound to get worse.

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath.  The true, genetic birth mother was clearly not Anna Fugazi.  Damn, who was she?  He hadn't paid attention.  Long strides brought him back to the little table and he grabbed the sheets, sitting uneasily on the couch's edge.  Once again, he glanced over the charts, gaze skittering over his own name and information, landing on the name above.  In a second, he was off the couch and dialing the New York office, energy focused on keeping his breathing even.

"Alex.  I trust you've received the pertinent information?"

"What the hell kind of sick joke is this?"

"You know better than to think this a joke.  What is it you're asking?"  The smoker's voice never wavered, just enough of a lilt at the end to indicate any kind of interest in the reply.

"Does she know about this?"  God, his voice was dangerously close to cracking.

"Of course.  She arranged for the funeral.  The girl's body, however, has disappeared, but you'll find a grave.  Agent Scully had her buried with the adoptive parents in San Diego."

He didn't remember the rest of the interrogation, just ending that call and placing another to arrange for the next flight through Washington to San Diego.  Twenty minutes later, Krycek threw a duffel bag and leather satchel into the passenger seat of his battered little Opel and steered into traffic towards the airport.  It was only a little after ten, but the streets were still crowded.

In Dulles, he spent the thirty-minute layover hunched over a cup of coffee, reading over the file that had been sent to him.  Every few minutes, he would cast a subtle glance around the airport, checking for anyone that would have a clue as to his identity.  For a brief paranoid moment, he thought he glimpsed Scully and Mulder standing at a gate, and flinched.  It wasn't impossible, he knew they were still active agents, even if one of them had just lost a child as a result [direct or indirect, one couldn't be positive] of their work.  The man shifted and turned to profile, and Krycek gulped down the last of his coffee, relieved.  Not them.  Slava Bogu!

He found himself on autopilot once again in San Diego, locating the facility named by the smoking man.  He waited until late in the afternoon, lessening the chance of being stopped for ID or running into someone who would know him.  Trotting down a flight of stairs, Krycek mentally noted the names of each of the labs, checking them against the charts he still clutched in his hand.  He stopped suddenly before one door, peering in the tall, slim window.  Two men were there, one rifling through what appeared to be some kind of filing system, the other sat at a desk, going over charts.  He opened the door and entered, keeping his pace even and calm in order to attract as little attention as possible.  Both men looked up, startled.

"Sir?  Can we help you?"

Krycek paused by the man at the filing cabinets, glancing over his shoulder at what the drawer contained.  He forced himself not to suck in a breath at the slim, frosted vials of ova.  He stood back and looked back at the men, [doctors or technicians, it seemed], who returned his gaze rather fearfully.  Apparently, they had little to no contact with those deeper into the organization.  The smoker would probably have them in seizures.

"I need you to run a test.  Immediately."  His voice sounded as though his lungs and voicebox were bleeding, the tone was so raw and harsh.

"I - I'm sorry?"  The poor man behind the desk was all but shaking.  Krycek reasoned that he must look like he'd been possessed by the devil to instigate such a response without having done anything.  Which, if he wanted those results quickly, couldn't be all that bad.

"I received some charts and records indicating that a child was conceived, a little girl, in this facility, then transplanted into a surrogate mother.  This girl was apparently my child, and it's imperative that I know for certain."

One of the men, a short, gray haired fellow, gestured at the sheaf of papers.

"May I see those?"

Krycek handed them over almost reluctantly, keeping his face and posture still and impassive.

The two doctors conferred briefly, muttering and flipping through the pages.

"Emily Sim?  Passed away last week?"

He nodded.

"Alright, Mr.  Krycek.  We can take a sample of your blood, run a definitive PCR against hers."

Krycek sat on a lab table, allowing the rubber band to be tied around his upper arm [making sure it was the right] and clenched his fist, watching passively as his blood pooled into the vial.  Had the DNA in that blood combined with Dana Scully's to make Emily's?

"Can you have it done tomorrow?  The afternoon?"

The two others glanced at each other, eyebrows lifted.  Krycek flexed his shoulders, and felt the cool press of his pistol against the small of his back.  So help him God, if he had to wait more than two days at the most…

One of them nodded finally, looking defeated.  "We should have it done by seven.  We'll stay here until it's ready."

"Good."  He stood, rolling down his sleeve and taking back the papers.  "I'll be here for them at seven.  The people who ultimately control this facility are well aware of my presence, so informing anyone will lead to nothing but wasted time."  Pausing at the door, he added, "Make sure there is only one copy of the results.  Any extras will be destroyed."

The night was spent restlessly prowling the streets, stopping in a bar to let a few cool glasses of alcohol slip down his throat.  Had he felt like it, a few damned attractive women would have escorted him back to his motel room, but Krycek couldn't have been less interested.  No time.  There was no time and no meaning to fucking some nameless bitch when there was a little girl six feet sub-terra who had never known he existed.  Fuck it all, he thought, tossing some money on the bar, and went back out to the street.

Early afternoon found him dressed neatly, walking toward the front entrance to the county children's center.  Inside, he asked to meet with the woman who had spoken to Scully.  The receptionist led him to the office of Mary Ellen Gilman, the director of Child Services.

"Dr.  Gilman?  Someone to see you."

Krycek entered quietly, reaching to shake the hand Gilman proffered.

"What may I help you with, Mr…?"

"James Tata," Krycek had decided last night not to use his own name, in case Scully should hear about his visit.  The papers he'd made up during an all-nighter were for last- ditch use, since this whole thing was on the fly and nothing was of quality.  "I wanted to find out about my daughter."  The word practically choked him coming out.

Gilman nodded patiently, touching the side of her grey bun.  "Her name?"

"Emily Sim.  She died last week, I just found out."

"Ah.  Yes, Dr.  Scully did have a man with her, but I was told he was her partner.  They took Emily to the hospital when we saw that she was ill.  Did you need to see any paperwork?"

Krycek blinked.  He'd seen more paperwork on Emily than they had, he was sure of it.  No, he just wanted proof of her, something to show that she had been alive.  "No.  I just wanted to know if anything had been left behind.  I never knew her…"  He let the sentence go when Gilman nodded, a gentle smile creasing her cheeks.

"I see.  Dr.  Scully took a couple of things, most of Emily's belongings were given to the Salvation Army, Purple Heart, or the other children here."  She stood, gesturing for him to follow.  In a back room, among filing cabinets and orderly desks, was a trunk.  "We keep some toys that we simply don't know what to do with.  Ones that seem special.  This," Dr.  Gilman picked out a stuffed tiger, new it seemed, still bearing the tags, "was with Emily when she got here.  Apparently her adoptive mother bought it for her right before she died."

Krycek took the tiger, turning it over slowly in his hands.

"Is that what you were looking for?"

He felt a little burning sensation in the back of his throat, and hesitated before speaking.  "Something like this, yes.  Thank you."

"I'm sorry you never got to meet her.  Emily was a very sweet and brave little girl."

In the evening, he returned to the lab to retrieve the test results.  The same technician he'd frightened the night before passed him a new sheaf of papers, all but swearing on the Bible that it was the only record.  Five hours later Krycek was over some part of the Midwest, slowly reading through the results of the definitive test.  The scientific vernacular didn't hide the simplicity of its meaning; confirming without a doubt that he was indeed Emily's biological father.

At the stopover in Washington, Krycek considered for a brief psychotic moment calling up Scully and telling her that he'd found out.  Even in a muddled, shocked daze, he was lucid enough to realize even if the call wasn't traced in less than a minute, Mulder, if not Scully herself, would track him down and kill him just for the hell of it.

Arriving in Milan was all a blur.  Presenting his passport [one of several], finding the car, getting back to his neat little flat overlooking a tiny piazza.  He barely remembered to lock the door behind him and check the alarm before staggering into his bedroom.  Krycek could not remember the last time he had felt so physically ill…probably after realizing what was being done to Scully and the other women.  He managed to dig the little stuffed tiger out of his carry-on and kick off his shoes before slumping onto the bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

The next few days passed in glimpses of consciousness and semi-coherence.

Waking to find the tiger clutched to his chest, soaked in tears.

Stumbling into the bathroom, cracking his knee on the cold tile floor as he bent, choking, over the toilet.

Screaming, hoarse and exhausted, in a crazy mixture of Russian and English, at the men who had caused all this pain.  Those fuckers, the bastards who taken Emily's life, his life, Scully's…thousands of lives in so many different, convoluted, sickening ways.

Shame.  The emotion was so overwhelmingly devastating that he could not do more than relieve himself or consume more than a glass of water for over two days.  His fault, this was.  He could have said that Scully was fine, nice, not at all an inconvenience.  She and Mulder could have a nice normal relationship.  Her sister would be alive, she could have children.  No.  She had to be a problem.  Was this what Mulder felt like?  Carrying the burden of screwing someone else's life up to the point where you broke from the sheer guilt?

He had half a mind to end it all right there.  Instead, Krycek curled into a ball on his bed, fighting back the screams.  The tiger watched from the top of his dresser, beside the glossy black and white photo of Emily, taken days before her death.

December, 2001
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

David was jabbering away to the stuffed cat he clutched, toddling around the living room as Scully fixed dinner for the both of them.  He'd been talking, babbling really for almost eight months now; she reasoned he'd spout sentences well before he turned two.

She set the sandwich and bowl of applesauce on the tray of the high chair, then her own salad on the kitchen table.  Thankfully, her son was a neat enough child that they could both eat at the same time.  Scully poked her head around the kitchen doorway.

"David, dinner!"

The dark-haired toddler didn't look up from playing with the large Legos he had stacked before him.  The stuffed tiger, a gift from Alex, sat at his side as the little boy contemplated his plastic blocks.  Scully smiled, crouching beside her son.

"Whatcha making?"

"Towuh."  David answered solemnly, eyeing one red block.

"A tower?  A big one?"

He nodded, not looking at his mother, placing the red block carefully on top of the stack.

"How about some dinner?  You can build the tower some more after you eat."

David acquiesced, not saying any more until he was almost finished eating.

"Dada?"

Scully started, almost gagging on a sip of orange juice.  It wasn't that she'd forgotten, that was nearly impossible.  Krycek, or the more familiar Alex, now, had written or called several times over the past year and five months.  Each time, he'd spoken or written to David briefly and said he'd see them in the near future.  After a year had passed, Scully had thought of asking him to stop; it wasn't fair to any of them to make false promises.  Then, two months ago, he had given her a date.  December second.  He would be free.  Free to live his life?  To be with them?  She wasn't sure, but she was relieved at the idea that perhaps her son would know his father, in some form other than long-distance communication.

Alex was coming here.  He would stay with them for a few weeks, until the new year, and after that…they didn't know.  But David was aware of the coming arrival.  He asked again, "Dada?"

"Yes, David.  He's coming tonight."

Scully picked up his bib to wipe his face and little hands, then freed him of the chair so he could play while she cleaned up.  She had made up the full-sized bed in David's room, figuring that would be more comfortable than her couch.  David had been sleeping through the night for a couple months, only waking if he wasn't feeling well.  Remembering Alex's interest in cooking, she'd taken special care at the grocery store that afternoon, buying some fresh organic produce and nice breads instead of grabbing whatever David would stuff in his mouth.  Both refrigerator and pantry were filled to nearly bursting point, and she had to wonder how long it had been since she'd shopped like that.

Scully dried her hands and hung up the dishtowel, a glance at her watch showing enough time to give David a bath and wrestle him into some pj's before Alex showed up.  True to form, half the bathwater was on the floor and David had proven the strength of his vocal cords by the time she could rinse all the shampoo out of his hair.

Ten minutes later, the seventeen-month- old was dry, diapered and ready for bed when the knock resounded through the little apartment.  Scully froze while David grabbed his tiger and ran down the hall to the entryway.

"I get!  I get!"

Scully recovered, shaking her head and smiling.  "Okay, Dave.  Let me see who it is first."

"Dada.  Mommy, Dada!"  David tugged on the flannel pajama pants she'd thrown on after the bath, hopping up and down.  She put her eye to the peekhole to see Alex's face in profile, dark hair almost black in the dim light of the corridor.  She smiled, looking down at David's eager face.

"Okay, you can get the door."

Scully stood aside, watching David stand on tiptoes to turn the doorknob.  Moments later, there was Alex, standing in her doorway, practically boot-to-sleeper-toe with their son.

"Hi."

God, he looked good.  "Hey.  How was the flight?"

"Boring.  I was nervous, coming here."

The skin around his bright emerald eyes - David's eyes - crinkled when he smiled.  He looked older, she realized, standing aside to let him in and taking a duffel bag.  Older, but far more relaxed and at ease.  He had always been on edge in the few times she'd seen him before last April, every sense on overdrive, so controlled but at the same time skittish as a colt.  She watched him gaze down at David, who was again clutching the tiger to his chest, staring back.

Her pediatrician had asked for basic information on Alex, for reference and family history.  He'd given her the basics: blood type [B positive], histories of cancer and heart problems [none], his own height and weight [six feet, one and a half inches, 187 pounds, respectively] and what he knew of his own childhood records [he'd call his mother and have her fax them].  They could tell already that there would be little bits of her, but for the most part, David would be a dead ringer for his dad.  When Alex obligingly lifted his son up, holding him at chest level, she could see it clearly.  Same seal colored hair, round, wide-spaced green eyes, and the sweet straight nose that turned up at the tip.  Already, the chubby little face was showing signs of his father's Slavic ancestry.  There were freckles across the bridge of the toddler's nose, and a few red streaks in his hair in the summer, both from her Irish heritage.

"Dada."  David grinned, flashing his seven baby teeth and shoving the stuffed toy at his dad's face.

"Who's this?  I sent this to you, right?"

"Tigey.  Cat," was the proud reply.

"He never lets that toy out of his sight.  He has plenty of others, but if Tigey's missing, God forbid."  Scully returned from putting his bags in the second room.

"Do you want something to drink or eat?  I went shopping earlier today."

"Sure, thanks."

She made him a quick dinner, a sandwich of fresh chicken breast and veggies, and watched while he helped David build a small, simple fortress out of the oversized Legos.  He told her about his physical therapy, allowing her to roll up his sweater sleeve and examine the scar and new limb.  All that remained was a white scar, about 3 millimeters wide, around the circumference of his upper arm, below the shoulder joint.  Scully probed gently at the muscle above and below the area, impressed that the attachment had gone so well.  The skin on both sides was smooth and of the same even tone, sleekly well-muscled.  The physical training and Arizona sun made it seem that this was the arm he'd always had, it looked so normal.

"Does it hurt still?"

He shrugged.  "Sometimes.  It took a while for me to be able to do any resistance exercise without seeing red.  Water and heat therapy help, but I would go through a bottle of Ibuprofen in two weeks before we could start that."

He yawned, stretching his arms above his head.  Scully let a smile lift the corners of her mouth, noticing that although he continued to play, there was a definite droop to David's eyes.  She could tell from experience that the toddler was about two minutes away from falling over, asleep.

"I think it's bedtime for the both of you," she teased, reaching over to scoop David into her arms.  He whined, struggling for a moment, then pressed his face into the side of her neck and went limp.  Alex didn't argue, just picked up the stuffed tiger and followed Scully into David's room.

"You can unpack tomorrow," Scully told him, settling David in his crib before turning to face him.  "I thought it would be easier for you to sleep in here until we decide what to do for the future.  Is that okay?"

Alex nodded, taking in the comfortable full- sized bed, chests of drawers, and the sleeping figure of his son.  "I've slept on balconies with my wrist cuffed to the railing on freezing nights.  Believe me, Scully, this is great."  He offered her a quiet, unaffected smile.  "Thank you."

Scully had seen that smile before, once or twice while on the road and a couple more times while at the compound in Tempe.  It made her realize, with a tiny start, that she had missed his company over the months.  Their four weeks together had brought her well past the point of tolerating a man she'd once hated vehemently, and into the realm of truly liking him.  What was more, she didn't feel guilty for it.

Returning his smile, she gave him a quick hug, feeling him start slightly at the show of affection.  There was a spark of curiosity in those wide-set pine eyes, but his head tilted a degree at her still warm expression, and he blinked, eyes clearing.

"There's a baby monitor on the nightstand, and I can hear him if he wakes up, so don't worry.  The bathroom's across the hall, I have my own.  Will you need anything?"

"Nope.  Sleep well, Scully."

"G'night.  You, too."

A series of curious, intermittent babbling roused Alex early the next morning, and he sleepily turned his head to see David peering at him through the bars of his crib.  The toddler sat upright in his dark green fuzzy sleeper, clutching Tigey, his soft crown of hair rumpled only slightly.  Alex smiled, dragging one arm across his face and rolling drowsily onto his back.

"You are real, huh?  You and your mom."  He looked over to meet David's sober stare.  Christ, it felt as if the small child's gaze was boring into him, that he could see the uncertainty his father was trying so hard to shield.

He slowly got up, stretching from toes to fingertips, and stepped to the side of the crib.  "Want to get up, buddy?  Get some breakfast?"

Cautiously, Alex leaned over and picked up the infant, holding him to his side as he'd seen Scully do.  David continued staring at him for a few moments, then drew back slightly, his smooth little brow wrinkling.  He didn't cry or wail, just let out a few confused whimpers.

"You don't remember… ah, man.  Uh, Scully?"

At the doorway to the bedroom, Scully appeared with an apologetic frown.  "I heard you over the monitor.  I kind of figured he wouldn't remember you yet."

She took the struggling baby, soothing him against her shoulder.  "Hey, Dave, it's your daddy.  He got here last night.  You played with him before you went night-night.  I'm sorry," she turned to Alex, leading him to the kitchen, "why don't you feed him while I get us something?  He should like that."

"Is he messy?"

"No, not at all, actually.  We have a very neat child."  She plopped David into the high chair and handed Alex a bottle, a little bowl of Cheerios, and a cup of yogurt with a spoon.  He warily tied a bib around the child's neck, took a deep breath, and dug the spoon into the yogurt.

David adjusted to his father's presence quickly and easily.  Scully had taken a three-day weekend when Alex arrived, but Monday she had to head back to work.  The two males were left at home, with nothing to do but lavish attention on the other.  Alex was man enough to admit that the first few days were tough, with David upset and confused when his mother was absent when he woke in the morning or from his afternoon nap.  Scully would leave them things to do, errands to run, or a list of suggestions for trips downtown.  She took the only car to work, but it was easy enough, Alex discovered, to take out the stroller and walk to a metro stop.  He could do this stay- at-home-dad thing, at least for a while.  They hit the Zoo, the Smithsonian and the Air and Space museums, but David was too young for any of the monuments and anyway, Alex preferred to keep his distance from anything of that nature.   Despite his citizenship in both the States and Canada, he tended to avoid any kind of allegiance towards any particular country.

By the time three weeks had passed, near Christmastime, Scully felt that her two men were sufficiently comfortable with each other for her to have a night out.  She had been invited to a dinner for a Pathological society, and was looking forward to an evening out on the town, as it were.  She started to leave instructions as to what David could eat, his bathtime, and bedtime, but Alex brushed her away, smiling blithely.

"Scully, it's okay.  I know what to do.  Dave and I will be fine, right malchik?"

Watching David grin, leaning against his dad's leg, she realized that, in the most basic sense, Alex's Russian nickname for their son fit perfectly.  Little man; a two- foot, sable-haired, emerald-eyed absolute charmer of a child.

"Bye mommy!"

Scully chuckled, crouching so he could hug her.  "Getting rid of me?  You really like Daddy, huh?"  Meeting Alex's eyes, she explained, "With his babysitters, he would throw fits you wouldn't believe, starting the moment he saw them come in.  I hardly ever went out."

She stood, slipping on the long, wool/cashmere overcoat that had been a gift from Mulder the winter before his death.  Adding her gloves, keys and purse, she smiled a little nervously.

"You look great."

Scully smiled.  "Thank you.  I needed that."  Midnight blue silk crinkled under the pads of her fingers as she buttoned the coat.  The dress, which was a flattering A-line that hung to just above her knee, had seemed appropriate, its style midway between business and dressy.

The replying smile showed only in the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes, a silent acknowledgement.

"Have a good time.  Say goodnight to mommy."

"Night-night mommy."  David waved up at her, smiling cheerfully and still hanging onto Alex's jeans.

"I'll be home around eleven."

The evening was peaceful.  David was fed and bathed, then they watched Looney Tunes until the baby grew drowsy.  Maggie Scully called as Alex was choosing a story to read from Scully's Dr.  Seuss collection.

"Dana's out for the evening, at a dinner.  Can I take a message?"

"No, it's alright.  This is Alex?  It's Maggie, Dana's mother.  I don't believe we've spoken before."

"Um, no we haven't, actually."  David stirred on his shoulder, and Alex took some comfort in rubbing the warm little back.  The thought of meeting any of Scully's family worried him more than he would admit.  She'd told him how much Bill, her older brother, had disliked Mulder, and blamed him for all that had happened to Dana and, indirectly, her family.  If Bill ever found out that most of those events could be linked to him, he was a dead man.  Not that he wasn't already, in the eyes of some people.

"I expect you'll be coming with Dana and the baby Christmas morning, though?  We'll get to meet you, finally."  Maggie sounded warm and gracious even over the phone.  Alex relaxed infinitesimally, still cautious of dropping his guard, even to someone who couldn't see him.

"Yes, I will.  Should I bring anything?"

"Just an appetite and holiday cheer.  We'll take care of the rest.  Tell Dana I'll talk to her tomorrow."

After hanging up the phone, Alex saw that David was sound asleep, and there was no need for a story.  He put him to bed, then finished wrapping the last of his Christmas purchases, setting aside the ones to be sent to his family in Toronto.  Emeril Live!  was on the Food Network when that was done, then when there was nothing of interest on the other ninety-some channels, he looked through the employment section of the Post before retiring to bed.

When Scully let herself in a few minutes after eleven, the apartment was dark and silent.  The little tree by the living room window threw constellations of colored stars against the darkened walls, interrupted occasionally by the glint of silver tinsel.  There were no stockings hung on the mantel, something Scully had chosen not to practice years ago for a reason she couldn't quite recollect.  It had something to do with her single status, and the sole stocking being a reflection of that, she knew.  Maybe, with David in her life, and Alex, that would change in the future.

Scully reasoned that since 1993, she hadn't had a truly decent Christmas.  In 1999, she and Mulder had broken that streak.  They'd been involved for about a month at the time, but the newness… well, there really hadn't been any newness to the whole thing.  The week from Christmas to New Year's had been joyful just due to the fact that she wasn't suffering from any trauma and he, for the first time in who knew how many years, wasn't alone.  The next year, tragedy revisited and she was still mourning the loss of Mulder, and, it seemed, her spirit.  Despite the efforts of her family and friends, she had taken little comfort in their company.

Then David came along, and while all was not well again, it was the best approximation she'd experienced in a long time.

This year, she had both David and Alex.  He had grown so comfortable and close with both her and the little boy that she couldn't imagine him leaving after the New Year.  Neither of them had brought it up; she didn't want him to leave, and sensed that he didn't want to, unless asked to do so.  He didn't know her well enough to give her a meaningful gift, or she him, but they made do.  Each seemed content with bestowing gifts upon their son, and sharing in his obvious happiness.

Alex stood nervously in the foyer of Maggie Scully's Baltimore home, trying to relax and follow Scully's lead.  Upon arrival, the three of them had been showered with hugs and handshakes, and David had toddled off with his cousin Matthew to the toy-infested family room.  Maggie and Tara handed out mugs of piping-hot apple cider, and the adults retired to the den, close enough to hear the boys play without interfering.

"So, Alex, what have you been doing with your days?  Do you miss Arizona?"

Alex was only faintly surprised.  Of course Scully had mentioned him to her mother before his arrival.  "Not really.  I've been doing the stay-at-home father routine, I'm looking around for a job."

"You worked with Dana before?  At the Bureau?"

From Bill's carefully even tone of voice, this was a make-or-break question.  Mulder had never had a chance at being in the man's good graces, just from being her partner.  William Scully junior made no pretense at liking his sister's job, and Alex had to work that somehow to his advantage.

"Briefly.  I was only there for about a year, did a few cases with her and Mulder.  It wasn't quite what I had expected, so I moved on."

The nod Maggie gave him allowed him to relax, and Alex settled against the back of the sofa, glancing at Scully beside him.  The amused light in her eyes indicated an all- clear.  So far, so good.

It wasn't until after New Year's that it well and truly hit her.  Scully was puttering around the apartment, straightening up before heading to bed, and passed Alex on the couch.  He was stretched out, again looking through the employment ads, jotting down notes now and then on a pad by his thigh.  Without being ostentatious about it, he was relaxed there, at home in her apartment.  In their apartment.

She paused at her doorway, slamming the brakes on her train of thought.  Their apartment.  True, the lease was in her name, even though she had let the owner know when both David and Alex had taken up residence.  This wasn't about material ownership, though.  Co-habitants, friends, companions, however she wanted to put it, the fact she was skirting was that they were a family now.  A snug little trio of herself, David and Alex.  Her mother had seen it -- the easy camaraderie between the two of them, and its reflection on their son.  Maggie hadn't voiced it, just threw small contented glances at her daughter, thankful that all was right at last.

Their little boy was asleep in his crib.  Alex was in the living room, looking for a job.  She was settling in, getting ready for bed.  There was no marriage, no romance or intimacy even, but still they were a family.  Scully stared into her bedroom, considering this thought pattern.  David would be two late this coming spring, and would likely switch from a crib to a real bed.  He should have his own room, right?  It wasn't very fair, in some undefinable way that she wasn't quite ready to contemplate, for them to continue the current arrangement.  She glanced around the room, remembering how Mulder had all but moved in.  There was room for his clothes at the very least.  Letting a small breath out through her nose, Scully turned back to the living room, leaning against the doorway to her room.

"Alex?"

He looked up from the paper, rubbing tiredly at one eye.  "Hmm?  What's up, Scully?  Going to bed?"

"Yeah."  She had to concentrate for a moment on not shuffling her feet.  "If you'd like, I was thinking that we could start moving some of your things in here."  She tilted her head towards the interior of her room.

His eyes widened, and she noticed the twitches in his cheeks.  He was trying not to smile, not too much anyway.  "Really?"

"Really.  I was thinking that we were more of a family now."  She felt that she should explain it more, but the soft light that graced his eyes and cheekbones manifested his understanding.  He knew.  She wanted him to stay, and he didn't want to leave.

"Sure.  We'll do that this weekend.  Tomorrow afternoon okay?"

"Fine with me."  She returned his smile.  She was as healed from Mulder's death as she would ever be.  The ability to let another man into her life and, soon, her bed was an indication of that.  It went unsaid, but understood, that intimacy was not included yet, but not out of the question for the future.  Her heart was not yet ready.

"Goodnight.  Don't stay up too late."

"Night.  Thank you, Scully."  She hesitated briefly in closing her door to flash him one of her rare full-fledged smiles.  Alex blinked slowly, a chuffing sigh escaping from his chest.  He gathered his papers and made his way to bed, switching off all the lights as he went.

Scully came into the kitchen the next morning smelling fresh coffee and pancakes, and hearing David's rapid-fire giggle.  Her little boy, she saw, was gleefully trying to smear maple syrup wherever he could reach.  He'd already gotten the tray of his high chair, himself, and was presently trying to include his dad.

"Looks like you're having fun."  Scully chuckled as Alex dodged another sticky- fingered swipe.  He glanced at her, sleek dark brows arching.

"You can clean it up."  He stabbed another piece of pancake with the fork, aiming it towards David's open mouth.  "Didn't you tell me he was neat?"  When David obediently took the food without another attempted swipe, he added, "All right, malchik.  Good job."

Scully grinned, stirring some sugar into the mug of coffee he'd set out for her.

"I love that name you have for him.  Little man."

"Malchik? It fits him, don't you think?"

She nodded agreement.  "Got a name for me?"  She was teasing, but his face sobered slightly.

"Lusha."

She frowned thoughtfully, rolling it over in her mind.  "Lusha…what does it mean?"

He didn't take his gaze away from hers, touching his fingers first to his temple, then sternum.  Mind and heart.  "Soul."

End Part 3

Russian Translations: [in order of appearance]
Slava Bogu!  [slahva bogoo] = Thank God!
Malchik [spelled phonetically] = little man
Lusha [loosha] = soul

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