Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG. We're not at the good stuff yet.

Summary: Scully's settled into teaching and working with her interpreter/captionist. Allison is getting settled into her existence. The Gunmen still live large here, and they will continue to do so...enjoy. NoRoMos, go away.

Disclaimer: Hate these things, but hate getting sued even more. Property of Fox Network and 1013 Productions. I'm just having fun with everyone, and according to the Fair Use Statutes, I can. So there.

Omen Faustum

"Take the darkest hour, break it open
Water to repair what we have broken
There's something that you won't show
Waiting where the light goes
And anyway the wind blows
All worth waiting for."

"Windmills" by Glen Phillips and Toad the Wet Sprocket/Copyright 1994 Sony Tunes/Wet Sprocket Songs. Used without permission.

April 2, 1999
Margaret Scully residence

"Yes, Fox, she's here. She's sleeping right now. Yes, she's fine. No, nothing's wrong. Allison just suggested that they play a little hooky and Dana finally showed some sense and went along with it. Yes, Allison's here. Yes, she's fine. No, nothing happened. I think she had a touch of spring fever, that's all. Let me see." She handed me the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

"Hey Mulder. This is so cool. Congratulations!"

"Thanks. I think...right now, it hasn't even sunk in. But it has taken away any vocabulary I might have had. How's Scully doing?"

"She's okay. She just needs to take it easy. Which she pretty much refuses to do, but she went for it when I suggested we ditch."

"That's why I got so worried. You're sure she's all right?"

"She's nauseous, and she's tired, but then again, she's pregnant, so she's fine. Really."

"Do I need to come get her?"

"Well, she drove, but I do need to get back to Alexandria by 5, because Miranda has a slumber party and I am celebrating my extensive and varied social life by once again playing cards with the Gunguys. Let me guess, you're bailing tonight."

"Looks that way."

"You're missing a wonderful opportunity to lose your shirt, Mulder."

"Thank you, I have all the opportunities I need."

"Tell you what. It's already 2:00, and Sleeping Beauty has not indicated that she plans to wake up anytime soon. Would it be a problem to come and get her later? I could take her Camry back to Quantico and pick up my own beast of burden."

"Oh, yeah, picking up Scully and getting a visit with Maggie Scully is a real problem. Not!" He actually sort of laughed. "Besides, did Maggie feed you?"

"More than she should have," I affirmed.

"Okay, then you catch my meaning. She get you to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets?"

"Mulder, Maggie Scully should be the investigator, not you. That woman can get blood from a rock."

"Spooky, isn't it?"

"I think that's you, Mulder, and anyway, I need to get out of here before all the amateurs get on the road."

"Have fun tonight. Beat the crap out of all of them, would you?"

"I'm working on it. By the way, do they know?"

"Know what...oh, yeah. I'm gonna tell them this afternoon. I can't wait to see their faces."

"You're gonna miss a really good drinking party, Mulder."

***

April 2, 1998
Offices of the Lone Gunmen

I made it back to DC before it got really ugly, parked Dana's Camry in the parking garage, and grabbed my Sentra. Some smartass had etched "wash me" in the dirt that covered the back windshield. Miranda and I actually had time to enjoy a Starbucks before she needed to be dropped off at her slumber party, and then it was time for the Sabbath ritual--the Friday night card game with Langly, Byers and Frohike. Sometimes Dana and Mulder would join us, but tonight didn't look like one of these times.

Actually, Mulder was there when I arrived, collecting the proper congratulations, good wishes and threats that the Gunmen bestowed upon him and his impending fatherhood. He looked like a guy who had reached nirvana. I would never say he wasn't a humorous guy--he definitely was, if you like your humor acerbic. But nobody ever lost money saying that Mulder wasn't particularly cheerful.

That had changed in a heartbeat. Specifically, the heartbeat of one yet-to-be-born Mulderette.

"Let's hope the child looks like Dana," Frohike observed.

"Yeah, considering hoping for alternate paternity is probably useless at this point," Langly called out in his customary whine. (When had I noticed the guy whined? Eric had whined; in fact, Eric had made an art form out of  whining. Why hadn't I picked up on that before?)

"At least it's not going to look any of you--thank God," Mulder shot back. "Hey, Allison. Hanging out tonight with these losers tonight?"

"Sure, why not? I have no life."

"Did you take Scully's car back to the parking garage?"

"I did."

"Yeah, we're gonna have to pick it up this weekend."

"Hey, Miranda's at a slumber party and she's not home until tomorrow afternoon. How about I pick you up and you can retrieve it and let Dana relax a bit?"

"Yeah, I can do that. She'll probably be annoyed that we're trying to do stuff for her, but she'll probably thank us anyway."

"What time?"

"What time do you get up on Saturday?"

"When the animals scream for food. 8:30 is about as late as I can get away with."

"Okay, grab me around 9:30?"

"Yeah, I can do that. Now, unlike the rest of us here, you have a life, so get the hell out of here and get on with it so that I can trounce these guys at cards."

"Yes, Ma'am," he saluted and left.

"Whaddya mean, trounce us at cards?" Langly was whining in rare form tonight--maybe that's why I never noticed it before. He looked sort of bleary-eyed and tired, which probably meant that the whining was not going to subside.

"Hey, some of us are improving at our game," I reminded him.

"Yeah, but Byers here can still clobber you most of the time."

"Patience, Langly. Persistence is everything."

"Pizza's here!" Frohike yelled as a sharp knock came to the door.

"Sounds good," Langly called back.

"That means cough up your cash, people!"

"Haven't got any," Langly moaned.

"Well, Allison, once again, you and I are entitled to devour this pizza by ourselves--if we wanted to make a point." It was Byers, grinning wickedly. Byers was not a big joker, a big smiler, but he did get his digs in every now and then.

"I placed the order," Frohike complained.

"Meaning you picked up the phone and spoke a few sentences." Langly.

"What about the five minutes on hold?"

"Hey, I'm hungry, shut up," I yelled. "And if you guys don't get upstairs like now, not only will I beat you at cards, but I will also kill off this pizza and not even smear my eyeliner."

"Nice thought, Allison, but you don't wear eyeliner," Langly observed.

(When had he noticed?)

"We're getting to be surrounded by short pushy redheads," Byers observed dryly.

"And that's supposed to be a terrible fate?" Frohike wondered aloud as pizza and beers were doled out.

"I am not pushy," I asserted.

"Yes you are." Langly insisted.

"Langly, I've been a lot of things, but I don't think pushy is one of them."

"Ha. I'll bet your husband would say differently."

"Yeah, but good luck getting him to make a commentary at this point," Frohike reminded him, a bit sharply.

"So the game is bridge?" Byers inquired, getting out the decks of playing cards.

"No, it's poker. I just spent my last ten bucks on pizza. I'd like to win some of it back," I commented.

"Poker it is," Byers began to shuffle the poker deck.

"Allison, don't ever try to tell me you're not pushy," Langly was whining, but he was sort of smiling at me.

***

I was up $70 and down four margaritas when it came to be midnight. Normally, we would play well into the morning hours, but Byers pleaded exhaustion and Frohike passed out from excessive Scotch intake.

"Langly, you mind if I make some coffee? I'm not quite ready to hit the road yet, considering I can't even feel the tip of my nose. And I don't think a DUI is going to uncomplicate my life."

"I'll make it."

"Langly, I've tasted your coffee, and I'm not that drunk."

"What's wrong? Don't like it when it corrodes the spoon?"

"Something like that."

"Feel like walking to Starbucks?"

"Sure, I can do that. That sounds good."

Jackets were grabbed and we stepped out into the night air, which was considerably cooler than during the daylight hours, but still pleasant. We walked along in silence, and it was really nice to do that. I missed having comfortable silences with Eric; I hadn't had anybody to do it with in a long time. Langly appeared at my house every Saturday, but when he was there, he was generally in activity mode, and there wasn't time on his part or mine to just sit and be quiet. I lit a cigarette.

"Got an extra one?" Langly asked.

"Huh?"

"An extra smoke."

"You don't smoke, Langly."

"I like one every once in a while." Surprise.

"Go ahead." I handed him the pack of Marlboro Lights and my Bic.

That was the sum total of conversation all the way to Starbucks. We ordered up doubles, and Langly chose a table outside. "That way you can smoke to your heart's discontent."

"So you won tonight," Langly observed.

"Yeah, I did."

"Hey, at least you don't cheat--"

"Like Mulder does." I finished the sentence and laughed for him.

"So don't you ever gloat when you win?"

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just sounds like your whole family is really competitive, and I guess I'd expect you to gloat when you win. Or at least not lose gracefully."

"Thanks, I'll leave the sore loser routine to you guys. You do it so well, anyway. Besides," I stirred my latte, "I could never keep up with my family. My brothers are all really brilliant, and my parents were both math geniuses. I mean, it's not like I flunked out of anything, but I just don't have the combination of great intellect and great determination."

"Pretty much go with the flow," he commented.

"Yeah. I'm always interested to see where the day takes me. I'm pretty passive, actually."

"That's sort of hard to believe."

"Believe it. My parents and my brothers are all really ambitious, in-control kinds of people. Well, maybe not Jason so much as Dan and Rob, but I just couldn't...keep up with them. My parents really believe that you're in control of your own destiny, that everything is up to you. No, they never went to Est, nothing like that. They just don't...tolerate weakness or failure. And I think to them, I symbolize weakness and failure."

"That's a joke," Langly snorted.

"Well, I never quite did accomplish what I was supposed to, to the degree I was supposed to. Like not getting into veterinary school. While my parents really didn't endorse it as a career choice, when I didn't make it happen, they were pretty disappointed."

"So you did other stuff."

"Yeah, I did. Going to court reporting school appalled them. It was like, so working class or something. And then not being able to hack it after a while in reporting...well...you see a trend here, I'm sure."

"Yeah, like you decided to do things that were right for you."

"Maybe. Not really at a conscious level most of the time."

"So what?"

"The conscious is what matters where I come from. Things like fate or circumstance don't seem to figure into it. I'm really not sure I believe in fate--I don't think anybody's destiny is preordained--but I did learn from Eric that I can't control everything, and I shouldn't even try to. My parents hated Eric, by the way."

"Why? Sounds like a pretty solid guy to me."

"He is--was. But he was from Hayward, his dad worked the docks, and they thought he was after the family fortune, which is respectable but compared to some of the other icons in Silicon Valley, we're not exactly giants. What a joke. Eric didn't find my family's wealth unattractive, but he also knew that my parents were not going to share as long as they walked on the planet."

"But you married him anyway."

"Of course I married him. I love him. What they thought just seemed sort of...irrelevant."

"Probably because it was."

"I just stopped trying to prove myself to them all the time, because I just couldn't. I can't compete at that level, so I do the chickenshit thing and don't bother."

"Doesn't sound chickenshit. Sounds practical."

"Yeah, that's me. Practical old Allison. No imagination, no guts, no drive."

"Allison, that's such bullshit. I mean, look at everyone around you. Take Mulder. Guy's a fucking genius, unbelievable. Until he and Scully hooked up, though, he was the most miserable motherfucker on the face of the earth. He's got drive. He's got guts. He's got more imagination than most people over the age of 10 should be allowed to have. That's not what made him
happy, though. And look at Scully. Ambitious as hell. Not scared of anything. Except maybe losing the geek that for some reason, which I am at a loss to explain, she is madly in love with." He examined the empty cup. "Want another latte?"

"Sure, sounds good."

Langly got up and ordered for us again. It was near closing time, and the crowd was definitely thinning, but we were outside, so we didn't have to run off in a hurry.

"Thanks."

"Hey, and I didn't make you pay this time."

"I paid for the last round."

"You did win at poker."

"Touche." I stuck the straw in my latte and lit another cigarette.

"You know what's really bizarre?"

"No, what?"

"Watching left-handed people do things. I mean, it just looks so strange."

"Langly, we constitute a good 10 percent of the population. It's not that odd."

"Yeah, but like, when you write, it's like you're pushing instead of pulling like most people do."

"Unless you're writing Hebrew, you don't have a lot of choice."

"Miranda's a rightie."

"Yeah, and so was Eric. My dad was a southpaw, but we were the only ones in our house."

"What's really bizarre is that when you sign, you sign right-handed."

"It's easier to teach others that way, since most people are right-handed. You theoretically use your dominant hand, but I learned to sign right-handed. Everything else, I do with my left."

"You smoke with your right."

"Sometimes. Not always."

"My dad was left-handed, too."

"Oh?" This was the first indication I had had that Langly had not just been hatched a few years ago.

"Yeah."

"Is he still alive?"

"No. He's been gone since I was fourteen."

"That's hard. I'm sorry."

"I'm sort of like your little brother Jason. My brother and sister are way older than me."

"Do you talk to them ever?"

"Not really. They pretty much stopped speaking to me...when I went to prison."

Okay, this was news.

"You don't need to answer this, but what did you go to prison for?" I like to know if my life is in mortal danger. It helps.

"For hacking. I did about two years at Lompoc Country Club for breaking into the DOD computers."

"I see." I don't think I was drunk anymore. And I was definitely listening.

"I got my doctorate in applied math at UVa. I was really interested in security systems, communications, stuff like that. It was like a challenge. Whatever firewall or trapdoor got thrown up, I wanted to see if I could knock it down. And I could. I could get into any of them." This was said pretty matter-of-factly for a hacker, which is surprising since most hackers choke on their own hubris.

"So what happened?"

"I got careless. And I got caught." He shook another cigarette from my pack. "I smoked a lot of these at Lompoc. Better not get back in the habit."

"So who caught you?"

"A Fibbie named Luanne Russell. Kindred spirit to Dana Scully, only with a cyber twist."

"Obviously it hasn't ended your illustrious career."

"No, but when I got out, no organization would go near me. Except the NSA. They offered me a job." That made both of us howl with laughter.

"The National Security Agency...offered you a job."

"Yep."

"Needless to say, you didn't take it."

"Do I look like I'm insane?"

"Don't make me answer that."

"Okay, fair enough. I met Frohike in a flophouse around this time. He was drinking really bad, his wife left him way back, he'd been nailed for doing illegal wiretaps, screwing up the phone system, did some time at Club Fed in Danbury."

"How old were you when you got caught?"

"24. I started college when I was 16. Got my PhD at 22. Youngest applied math PhD ever at UVa."

"Prodigious child."

"Yeah, I was." Matter of fact. Why not?

"So we started out, it started out trying to get revenge on people who'd nailed our butts. Then we met Byers at this lame electronics fair...and we met up with Mulder, who was in Fibbie mode, trying to nail a chick for giving out government secrets...and without all the gory details, the Lone Gunmen were born."

"You've never gotten caught again."

"Hey, we learned stuff from our experiences. Perhaps not what people thought we should have learned, but we did learn."

I was pretty silent for a while.

"Shocked?"

"Maybe a bit surprised."

"Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Don't tell Miranda anything about this. Not now."

"Langly, I was not going to tell Miranda anything at this point. Besides," I grinned wickedly, "I haven't verified any of your information."

"Now you're learning," he smiled.

***

We walked back to Chez Mess, aka the offices of the Lone Gunmen, in silence.

"Hey Allison."

"Yeah?"

"Can I still do my laundry tomorrow?"

"Of course, you dolt. Why not?"

"Well...I just thought...I don't tell people about this stuff. I could tell you because you...you don't judge. You evaluate, but you don't judge."

"Judging is for people who never make mistakes," I commented drily.

***
April 3, 1999
Home sweet home

I should not have had espresso on top of tequila.

No, it did not make me nauseous. I was quite sober for the drive home, if very tired, and I fell into bed immediately.

I'm not a person that remembers her dreams. Waking dreams, yeah, like ones you have where you dream of winning the Power Bowl and having no bills, but dreams in sleep...they're over when I wake up. They're history.

"Hey Big Al."

What?! Only one person in the world used that pet name for me...

"Eric?!"

"Miss ya, Big Al. I've been looking in on you and the 'Randa."

"Eric? Honest, I didn't have that much tequila!"

He smiled gently. I could see his face. The long dark hair, worn loose around his shoulders; the full beard, going grey; the bottomless eyes, deep brown and sensuous.

"So it's been a long strange trip, to paraphrase the Grateful Dead."

"You could say that."

"You seem to be doing all right."

"Eric, things are never what they seem to be. I am so fucking lonely without you."

"Hey, I miss ya, too. Why do you think I stopped by tonight?"

"It's really you."

"Of course it's me. Who'd you think it was?"

"Eric...please tell me you really didn't die."

He looked sad. "I'd like to, but that's unfortunately not the case. I can't stay long, Al, but I really miss you, and I'll do whatever I can to look after you and the 'Randa."

"Thank you. Eric, I love you so much...Eric, did you...suffer at the time?"

"It was over so fast, I didn't have any pain, Al. I just knew I couldn't get back to you guys, and that was the only painful part. But I'll come and drop by every chance I get, and I'll look out for you in any way I can. I miss you a lot."

"Eric, I'd do anything so that we could have our old lives back."

"I would, too. But it's not going to happen."

"So I am just dreaming this."

"Not exactly. It's real. It's just fleeting."

"This is a trite question, Eric...but are you happy where you are?"

"Al, I'm not sure that's a relevant question. I'm not suffering, if that's what you mean. It's like a different universe out here. But you're still there, Al, and you need to go after happiness in any form it will come. You're going to be there for a while. So let it happen when it comes. There's enough pain to go around already."

"Isn't that the truth?"

"Yeah. It is. Look, I need to go now. I love you, Allison Ruth Gerstein."

"I love you too...ERIC!"

The alarm went off.

***

I awoke totally disoriented. I had had the most vivid dream of my life. Or was it a dream? I could visualize it perfectly. I could recall the conversation verbatim between Eric and me. (Must be that court reporter training, Allison). It seemed like he had been right there with me...

Mulder and I were on car detail, so I showered up, threw on some clean clothes, and filled my commuter mug--the extra large one. I headed up the highway for Annapolis. (I had been living here too long. I was calling them highways instead of freeways. So much for over three decades in the Golden State).

I buzzed Dana's apartment and Mulder yelled that he would be right down. Ten minutes later, he came running out with wet hair and no shoes. It occurred to me that he had overslept.

"Hey Mulder."

"Hey yourself. Mind if we stop for some coffee?"

"Sure, I can always use more."

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You don't know the half of it, I thought.

"I'll be fine. I was just up really late. How's Dana holding up?"

"She's okay. Slept until dinnertime yesterday, and then we came home and she went to bed. She's still playing Sleeping Beauty."

"Rest helps. I was really sick when I was pregnant. Sleeping was about the only relief I got."

I thought I sensed a bit of relief slide over his face. Dana's condition was obviously causing him a lot of worry, in spite of his near-ecstasy over its occurrence.

"I don't know the neighborhood too well. You know where Starbucks is, don't you?"

"Oh, I think we'll skip Starbucks this morning. Turn left at the next light." He directed me through the quiet streets of Annapolis, out of the town, until we were on the highway. We then got off on one of the county roads, where he directed me to turn into what looked like a redneck bar.

"Hey Allison, how about some breakfast? I didn't have time to cook and I'm behind in my RDA of grease and cholesterol."

"Sure."

The inside of the place smelled like grease, stale cigarette smoke, beer and strong coffee. We sat down at one of the empty tables. A large man doing a fair imitation of a Hell's Angel pulled up with a coffee pot.

"Mulder, you asshole. Long time no see."

"Mitch, how goes it?"

"About the same."

"Hey Mitch."

"I know what you want, Mulder. But for the lady?"

"You have waffles?"

"Yep. Want some bacon with that?"

"No--"

"She'll have the side of bacon, and I'll eat it."

"Mitch, I've got news."

"What kind of shit did you get yourself into this time, Mulder?"

"Actually...Scully and I are expecting."

"Whoa! So what are you doing with another redhead in my bar?"

"This is Allison. She's Scully's interpreter. We're picking up Scully's car, and Allison here looked like she needed some sustenance."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, dear lady. Don't worry, I won't hold it agains you that you're hanging with this loser this morning."

"Nice to meet you too, Mitch."

"So Mulder, you lucky dickhead," Mitch pulled up a chair, "when's the blessed event?"

"Looks like the end of November."

"And how is the beautiful Ms. Scully?"

"Not feeling the best, but that's pretty normal early on."

"Yeah, my old lady, both of ours, she was sicker'n' a dog with the both of them. Congratulations, asshole. Now my public awaits, so let me put your order in."

We sipped coffee in silence. Mulder kept staring at me quizzically. Finally he spoke up.

"Allison, I'm not trying to pry--"

"Sure Mulder. You're always trying to pry."

"Okay. Guilty as charged. But you seem awfully quiet this morning. Sure you can handle these card games with the guys?"

"The card games are not the problem. I had a very...unusual night last night."

"How so?"

"Well...we stopped playing cards pretty early on. Frohike passed out."

"Yeah, but did you whip their butts?"

"I did. Then Langly and I went out to Starbucks and hung out for a while."

"Okay, we already knew Langly drinks coffee. It's one of his more normal attributes."

"Mulder, is it true that Langly did some prison time?"

Those big hazel eyes widened about a mile. "He told you that?"

"Yeah, last night. And we were sober."

Mulder started to laugh. "You know, he knows that I know, and I know that he knows I know, but it's not something...let's just say he's not known to make public service announcements regarding it. He told you? What did you do, put thumbscrews on him? Or was it the comfy chair?"

"No, no, not the comfy chair!"

"Ah, you've watched Monty Python."

"And appreciated it."

Mulder chuckled and shook his head. "That's wild. He actually told you--voluntarily?"

"Yeah. He's not very penitent about it, I gather."

"Now that sounds more in character."

"He also asked me not to tell Miranda about it. Which was really weird. I mean, it's not like I'm dealing with a pedophile or ax murderer here, so it's not even relevant here."

"I think he's got a soft spot for your daughter."

"Well, they are mentally about the same age, but I think I'd give Miranda the edge on emotional maturity."

"Hands down," Mulder agreed. "Allison, I think Langly's cast more than a glance in your direction."

"Mulder, get real."

"Allison, you wound me."

"Mulder, my husband hasn't even been in the ground six months!"

"I don't think Langly worries about social proprieties like mourning periods."

"I have to be significantly older than he is."

"He's 35. He's not that much younger than you. Besides, you look a lot younger."

"And I feel about a thousand years older. Particularly after what happened last night."

"Don't tell me--he put the moves on you."

"Mulder, I swear that men have one-track minds. No, this isn't about Langly. This was...I was dreaming, but it wasn't like any dream I've ever had. In this dream, Eric was right there...in my room...and we were having a conversation. But it was so real. I saw him, right there, like he was still alive. He was totally visible in a head shot. The hair, the beard, the eyes, the voice, the vocab...it was as if he was really there. I don't dream like this, Mulder. I practically never remember anything I dream. I
don't have nightmares on any regular basis. And I will reiterate once again that I was cold sober by this point."

Now Mulder looked positively intrigued. I'd momentarily forgotten the guy was a shrink by training.

"Do you believe it was just a dream?"

"What else would it have been? Eric died almost six months ago."

"Uh-huh." They must teach that in shrink school.

"It was just so...vivid. Like there really was this presence in my room. And like I said, we were having a conversation."

"How long was the conversation?"

"Not very. He said he couldn't stay long, but that he would come back every chance he got. And that he missed Miranda and me."

"Anything else?"

"He told me he was not in any pain. He told me he didn't suffer when he died, except that he couldn't get back to Miranda and me. He said it was really...different where he was."

"Did he say where he was?"

"No. He just said it was different."

"What else?"

"He used his pet name for me, which, ironically, is Big Al. Nobody else uses it, and so help me Mulder, if you even think about it, your genitalia are going to be nothing but a fond memory."

"Okay, okay." You could tell he was contemplating some mischief, though. I'd have to alert Dana to keep him on a short leash. "What else did he say?"

"He said...I was going to be here for quite a while, and to go find some
happiness."

"Any tactile sensations?"

"No. I think I was too much in shock over the visual one."

Mulder was contemplating all this. "And you still believe you just had a dream?"

"I wouldn't know what else to think."

"Did you consider that you may have had a paranormal experience?"

"It was certainly paranormal for me, Mulder. I must be losing it."

"No, Allison, you're not losing it. Sorry. That's for the rest of us. Scully and I always marvel at how grounded you are. I don't think you have anything that suggests any type of pathology, beyond some reasonable and mild depression over the changes in your situation." Therapist talk now. "Do you have any neurologic problems?"

"Do you count migraines?"

"How frequently do you get them?"

"Maybe four to six times a year."

"That's not particularly severe. It wouldn't necessarily indicate any abnormal pathology. What do you take for them?"

"If it's not too bad and I'm not nauseous, Excedrin. If it's really gruesome, I have some Imitrex inhaler. I tend not to use it because the side effects are pretty sucky."

"Yeah, I tried it. Couldn't sleep for three days afterwards."

"Do you get them much?"

"Maybe about once a month. More if I've got a case that's getting to me really bad."

"Nasty."

"Yeah."

We finished eating in silence. Mulder was always a gentleman in the classic sense about picking up the check, and I didn't argue. We drove on towards Washington and finished the car pickup.

"Allison. Let me know if you have an experience like this again."

"I will. Now go the hell home to Dana."

"Yes, ma'am."

END OF PART 7