Subject: A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1998
From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>

Title: A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts, (1/9)
Summary: Mulder and Scully encounter their Guardian Angels and
the conspiracy gets mixed up in there, too.
Category: S, A, UST/MSR, some FM/DF (but that ends quickly),
Muldertorture, Shipper Warning for the End
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler Warning: FTF, The Beginning (season six premiere)
Disclaimer: Chris Carter dreamed up Scully and Mulder and just
about everyone in this story, but I dreamed up Angela and 'Brad'.
If you want to use them, Chris, you have my permission. In the
meantime, I'm borrowing your guys. I will put them back when
I'm done. And I won't infringe on any copyright.
Archive: Heck, yes
Comments: OK, I wanted to do a lot here. I wanted to use up
Diana Fowley and get it over with, I wanted to have Mulder realize
what Scully means to him and I wanted Scully to encounter angels.
Somehow, Gibson showed up for a brief moment, and the Gunmen
just can't keep their hands out of these things. Some of you might
not like Mulder in the first part. Well, neither did I, but he redeems
himself, I hope. Anyway, if anyone is sick enough to WANT
Mulder and Diana together, this story is NOT what you were
hoping for. There is a definite shipper warning in effect.

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
Part one

Fox Mulder's apartment
Thursday, December 10, 1998
3:06 am

Fox Mulder came awake slowly, reveling in the feel of the warm.
naked body next to his. For a moment, he hugged the body closer,
shifting back into the dream he'd just come out of. A dream of
longing, his own arms and legs entwined with a beautiful red
headed woman. He almost sighed her name into the fragrant hair
covering his shoulder. But just in the nick of time, he opened his
eyes and came to a startled conclusion.

The hair on his shoulder was dark. And long. And didn't belong to
the woman of his dreams. It belonged to a woman from his past. It
wasn't Dana Scully in his arms, in his bed. It was Diana Fowley.

Anger, regret, frustration and defeat all warred within him as he
quietly slipped from Diana's long, bare arms. He stumbled to the
bathroom and shut the door before turning on the light.

Staring in the mirror was never one of his favorite past times, but he
forced himself to do it. His day old stubbled reflection stared back
at him. Dark circles ringed his eyes, the sign of too many nights
like the one just ending. What the hell was he doing to himself?

Self destructing, he mused silently. Ever since he'd made the
biggest mistake of his life, he'd been doing everything in his power
to throw his life down the toilet. Ever since he hadn't said the
words to Scully, ever since he had started to question his trust in
her.

He loved Dana Scully. He knew that. But after all he'd done for
her, after following her quite literally to the ends of the earth to
save her life, she still couldn't give him what he asked of her. She
still couldn't believe. And if that was the wall between them, it was
a hard wall to tear down. He wanted so much to take back what
he'd said, that he couldn't trust her. He hated the picture he still
held in his mind of her face as she asked for his trust. Asked him to
trust her. And he'd refused. He'd almost refused to look at what
she was trying to show him. There was link between the virus in
the Rousch worker, the 'creature', and Gibson. Scully had found it.
But she still couldn't believe.

He'd found his faith again on a frozen ice plain in Antarctica. And
his partner, the one person who _should_ have been made a
believer, was dismissing what he saw.

They'd been here before, the two of them. They'd forded this
stream, crossed this bridge. One more of their seemingly endless
dialectics as they wrestled the truth from the jaws of his gullibility
and her cynicism. But this time, there was something else added to
the mix. Another player in the game. Diana.

He wasn't lying to Diana when he told her he had gotten on fine
without her. After the initial shock of her leaving, he'd dabbled in
some affairs with members of the clerical staff. Never another
agent. Never an equal.

With time, he'd forgotten what it felt like to hold her, smell her,
take her to his bed. And he'd been all right. Better than all right.
He'd been made whole, by someone else. Dana Scully

But Scully refused to believe in him.

He'd been sitting there a long time, on the edge of the tub, chasing
his tail with his circular logic. He loved Scully, but she didn't
believe. Diana believed, but he didn't love her anymore. He didn't
think he could get in a bigger hole if he tried.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Fox? Did you fall in?"

He laughed silently. Did he fall in? Yep, and the hole was a
bottomless pit.

"Nah, ah, I'm sorry. I'll be right out."

"It's OK. I just missed you. I'm going back to bed. Don't be
long, Fox, all right?"

He cringed. God, how he hated it when she called him 'Fox'. He'd
tried several times when they'd first become involved to convince
her to call him by his last name. 'It's too formal, it sounds like
we're at the office,' she'd objected. But Scully had never batted an
eye. She seemed to relish in their mutual 'last name only' status.
He could count on one hand the times he'd called her Dana. He
could count on one finger the number of times she'd called him
Fox.

He closed his eyes and shivered. Somehow, going back to bed only
made him feel colder. He hoped morning would come quickly.

"God help me," he prayed and opened the door to face the rest of
the night.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday, December 11, 1998
8:36 am

She moved silently through the halls, acknowledging no one. Dana
Scully was usually reserved, but lately it seemed to be a matter of
conviction. She spoke to no one and no one bothered to speak to
her. She liked it that way.

For the most part, she considered her plight to be comparable to
being placed in the stocks in the center of the town square. Her
new 'office' was a desk in the center of a room full of desks.
Mulder's desk sat next to hers. They had been reassigned to AD
Kresh and as such, were working in limbo. Somewhere lost
between VCS and nowhere. Another week of investigating
fertilizer purchases. Ensuring the general welfare and making the
country safe for sugar beets. In general, it was too close to her
version of Purgatory for her liking.

But that wasn't bad enough. The comparison to Purgatory just got
finer and finer. The good sisters at St. Ursula's had taught the
impressionable young Dana Scully that the real essence of hell and
of Purgatory wasn't fire and brimstone, it was the absence of God.
It was being within sight of heaven for all eternity (or until you sins
were forgiven) but not being able to enter into it's realm. It was
knowing God was near, but never being allowed to see His face.
And that is exactly what it felt like with her partner.

Since the moment he'd rejected her trust, she'd felt like an invisible
wall had formed between them. Looks that had once been second
nature were now lacking from their conversations. He no longer let
his hand slide to the small of her back. He was less than three feet
away from her for over 8 hours a day, and she'd never felt so far
away from him in all their time together.

This morning was a perfect example.

When they were assigned to the X files, Mulder had always been at
his desk by 8:00. Only fever or gunshot wounds had kept him
away. But since the X files had been handed over to Jeffry Spender
and Diana Fowley, Mulder found more and more reasons to come
in late each day. At first, Scully had been arrogant enough to
believe he was avoiding her. After time, she realized that she
wasn't even that much a part of his equation any more. He was just
avoiding the job. He hated every moment he spent at the desk in
the middle of the room.

She tried to bridge the gap that had formed between them. She'd
made a point of getting him out of the office, walking with him on
the Mall. She even managed a hot dog lunch on the benches near
the Tidal Basin. Mulder had gone with her, had been there in
physical form. But his spirit was sorely missing. His mind was
miles away. She'd never felt so alone as when they'd been together
the last few weeks.

She'd received a phone call at 7:30 that morning which only served
to drive home that point. She'd finally gone to others for help. The
Gunmen had listened quietly to her suspicions concerning Diana
Fowley. She told them what had been in the report concerning the
incident at the Rolling Hills Nuclear Power Plant in Arizona. To
her, and to the three co-conspirators, it was obvious that Diana was
looking out for 'number one' and that was not Fox Mulder. It
didn't surprise her that Frohike, Langly and Byers were just as leery
of Diana's motives as Scully was herself. But getting the Gunmen
to see Agent Fowley as a threat, and getting Mulder to see the same
had proven to be more than she was capable. And now, it appeared
that Fowley had upped the ante.

Frohike had been breathless when he called her at 7:30. "I don't
believe it, I don't fucking believe it! How could the asshole
actually . . . I mean when he's got the best thing on earth right there
sitting next to him . . . aw, hell, Mulder always did think with his
dick half the time, but what the hell is he thinking?"

She'd pieced it together pretty quickly. The 'boys' had put Mulder
under surveillance, more because they were concerned that he
would decide to run off on some wild goose chase and weren't sure
he'd leave a bread crumb trail for anyone to follow. They never
expected to find out that he was bedding Diana Fowley.

Scully couldn't figure out which hurt more, the fact that he was
sleeping with the woman she considered the enemy, or the fact that
he was sleeping with _anyone_ but her. She spent the drive to the
office alternately beating herself up for allowing it to happen and
thinking up unique and painful tortures to put him through right
after she confronted him.

After their conversation in his hallway, when he'd tried to kiss her,
she thought it was all so clear. Then, after the foggy time, when
she woke up in a hospital in McMurdo Station, Antarctica, they had
picked up where they'd left off. At one point, Mulder had come
into her room and crawled into the narrow hospital bed with her,
rather than spend another moment in his own room by himself. But
as they left the ice fields, it seemed they'd taken a part of the ice
with them. It seemed to grow to encase their hearts.

She'd tried to explain that she didn't doubt him. She believed him,
she believed _in_ him. She just couldn't believe those things that
he believed without question. There was a difference. He just
refused to see it.

But it seemed he was hell bent on throwing himself at Diana and
right into the jaws of the shadows they'd been fighting for so long.
She wondered if it was too late to save him. Or herself.

Her phone ringing startled her out of her thoughts.

"Scully, uh, it's me."

"Mulder, it's almost 9. I can't keep covering for you," she said in a
tone that she immediately regretted. She was always complaining
that she wasn't his mother, yet here she was, sounding like a
mother on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Look, I'm calling in sick. I, uh, I just need some
time."

"Are you really sick?" she asked, concerned. He hadn't looked that
good for a few days, dark circles under his eyes. But she'd now
chalked that up to late nights with Diana.

"No, not really. Look, I'm going out of town. Probably go up to
see Mom. I just need . . . I don't know, Scully. I just gotta get out
of here for a while. I'll be back on Monday."

"Mulder, please, take you cell phone. In case you need, er, in case
I need to reach you," she pleaded.

She heard him sigh over the line. "Yeah, Scully, I promise. Look,
I'm not going off on a tangent here. I just need some time to think
some stuff through. I'll call you tonight, I promise."

For a moment, it sounded like the old Mulder. They were
connected. Together. She almost cried ad the sadness in his voice
touched her ears over the tiny wires of the phone.

"What time?"

"Huh?"

"What time will you call, Mulder? I want to make sure I'm home."

He chuckled softly into the phone. "Oh, Scully, no need to worry.
If I don't get you on the first try, I'll keep calling. I'll find you,
Scully. Count on it."

end part one

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part two

It was amazing, really. How some seemingly inconsequential event
could change the course of a person's life. For Fox Mulder, it
happened while he was driving I-95, heading to Connecticut.
Traffic had been light, since he had left town well out of rush hour.
The countryside was dull and gray, waiting for the winter solstice
that was due to happen in just a few days. Dead. Like his heart.

He was sinking deeper into his own morose when a flash of white
whizzed past him. Pristine white. Just off the dealer's lot white. A
van. Curiosity and raging testosterone forced his foot to the floor
of his midnight blue Taurus. He caught the white van easily and
passed it. Take that, sucker! But as he was passing the white van,
he glanced over at the driver.

Mulder's mind could be muddied with many things, including the
confusion over two women, but his memory was fully intact. He
recognized the driver of the van. It was the same man he'd seen
driving the ambulance the night Scully had been stung by the bee.
The man who had shot him in the head and left him presumably to
die on the street. The man who kidnapped Scully.

Even more telling was what was written on the side of the van. In
blue lettering, half a foot tall. Rousch Industries.

Mulder almost cackled to himself. He couldn't believe his luck. Of
course, there was a good possibility that he would literally be
chasing a wild goose. Rousch was expert at hiding it's shadier
interests. They weren't under investigation, even now, when one of
their researchers had been infected with an alien virus which
evolved in a day into a violent killing machine.

Then again, he was the only person who knew that was what had
happened. And now he'd been placed in a position to follow a
Rousch van. His guardian angel must be working overtime.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday, December 11, 1998
4:35 pm

Scully glanced at the large clock on the wall and sighed. The day
had dragged. If sitting next to Mulder when he was being distant
was bad, sitting next to an empty chair was a thousand times worse.
She was reaching to pick up the phone and dial his cell phone when
it rang, making her jump.

"Scully."

"It's me, Scully. Hey, um, I didn't go to Mom's so don't call me
there, OK?"

"Sure, Mulder. Where did you end up? I hope you've found a
place for the night, a big storm is moving in from the west."

"I'm set. Uh, Scully, look. I just wanted you to know where I'm
going. Remember that 'cat' we found in Phoenix?"

She knew he'd never see it, but she couldn't stop her eyebrow as it
raised almost to the middle of her forehead.

"Cat?"

"Yeah, the cat. The cat that ate the canary. Come on, Scully, I'm
on a cell phone here," Mulder pleaded in exasperation.

"Oh, that cat," Scully replied, still not sure what he was referring to,
but realizing he wasn't going to help her understand. Especially not
if it meant compromising his position.

"Mulder, most cats you pick up are strays and they end up
scratching you. Why don't you just let this one go." She could
only pray he would heed the warning of her words.

"I'm just following it, Scully. I think it's gonna lead me to a rat's
nest."

Her stomach hit the floor beneath her desk. Shit. He was running
off again. Well, at least that was more like the old Mulder, but it
that thought didn't stop her from worrying.

"Mulder, where the hell are you?" She glanced around quickly and
lowered her voice when she saw the other agents staring in her
direction. "Give me a location. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

"No, Scully, that's not why I'm calling. Look, I have to find proof.
Something you can't question. I have to do this. Just be there
when I bring it back, OK?"

"Mulder, I'm not going anywhere except to back you up. Now tell
me where you are, or I'll start tracking you down like a dog and
you will be wise to hide from me when I find you," she growled in a
lowered voice.

"Ohhh, Scully, you know I like it when you get rough with me," he
purred in return. She let out another growl and he chuckled then
grew serious. "Scully, I'm in Pennsylvania. That's all I'm telling
you. I don't know where I'm going exactly. If I can, I'll call you
later. But believe me, I have no intentions of grabbing this cat by
the tail. I just want to see where it's going." He stopped a moment
and she almost thought he'd hung up on her.

"You can believe me at least that far, can't you, Scully?"

It felt like a knife had been plunged into her heart. He still didn't
understand. Maybe he never would. Why the hell was she beating
her head against this wall?

"Mulder, I believe _in_ you. And I believe you. But sometimes,
I'm not so quick to be convinced of certain things are the way you
think they are."

"Well, the cat just turned up a side road and I think the mountains
are going to get in the way pretty quick, so we'll have to continue
this discussion later." He clicked off the phone and disconnected
the call.

She sat there and stared at the phone in her hand until it started to
buzz. Then she sat it back on it's base and stared at it until all the
other agents had left for the day and she was the only person in the
room.

Mountains in Eastern Pennsylvania
6:45 pm

It was dark as pitch. Clouds had moved in and covered the
moonless sky. Now the wind had picked up. It buffeted against the
car and forced Mulder to continually fight the steering wheel to
keep the tires on the road bed. He didn't have to step outside the
car to know the temperature had dropped, too.

He'd been following the Rousch van all afternoon. They'd turned
off the interstate around 4:30 and were now on a two lane with
only sporadic traffic. Mulder had worked hard to stay far enough
behind the van to remain undetected. He had no way of knowing if
he was successful or not.

Even in the darkness, he could just make out the hills and cliffs on
either side of the road. Not a nice place to be discovered, he
mused. For the first time in a long time, he wished Scully was with
him.

No, that wasn't true, he corrected himself. He always wished
Scully was with him. Beside him. Like always. Even when he was
just hearing her voice on the phone, he couldn't help but feel
connected to her. But not lately. He slammed his fist on the
steering wheel in frustration. Why couldn't she just believe?

He was so caught up in his own mental gymnastics that he almost
lost the van as it turned down a country lane. The road was little
more than gravel encircling huge potholes, but the van was taking it
at a fair clip, evidence that the driver knew the hazards by heart. Or
couldn't care less about his safety, Mulder considered. Mulder
took the road a little slower, and was in serious danger of losing the
van completely if it were to turn off again.

After half an hour, Mulder realized that turning off again was
impossible. There were no side roads along this lane and the road
was lined with the tops of tall pine trees on one side and the curves
of the hillside on the other. And it went up. A long way up, so far.
Not for the first time did Mulder wonder if he was driving into a
trap.

As luck would have it, the van took a turn and the road dipped,
giving Mulder a bit of cover. Up ahead, the road ended at a ruined
cyclone fence. The van driver got out, head bowed against the
wind, and unlocked the padlock and chain holding the fence gate
closed. Then, driving the van into the fence line, he got out again
and secured the gate. Jumping in the van as fast as he could, the
driver then headed toward a complex of buildings about a quarter
mile away.

There weren't many places to hide a car but Mulder found a
outcropping of sandy soil in a copse of pine trees with branches
near the ground. There, he parked the car and spent a couple of
minutes rummaging through his bags for some warmer clothes. He
pulled a couple of sweat shirts on before dragging his jacket on. He
double checked his holster and his ankle holster. Finally, he got
out, struggling against the buffeting winds and popped the trunk to
pull out a flashlight. Lose this and your ass is grass, he mused
silently and tucked the light into the back of the waistband on his
blue jeans. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up and headed
off toward the fence line.

It wasn't hard to find a break in the fence. Ignoring the padlock
and chain, Mulder walked a mere forty feet to the left and found the
fencing had deteriorated to the point where is was lying flat on the
ground. "Must be my lucky day," he muttered, but stepped
gingerly on the chain link as if waiting for the fence to come alive.
When it didn't, he stepped off it, again looking around to make sure
he wasn't setting off some sort of alarm. Nothing but the wind and
a whirlwind of blown leaves greeted him.

The building closest to the fence was one story and about the size
of an Army barracks. It was metal, in the style of a modern quonset
hut. All the buildings had the look of being very temporary, as if
they were thrown up in a day and could vanish just as quickly. He
made his way toward the closest building, looking for a way in.

For a moment, crossing the hardening ground toward the building,
he flashed back to the cornfield in Texas and the 'Jiffy Pop'
buildings where he and Scully had encountered the virus-infected
bees. He remembered Scully striding into the building with him,
curiosity a mere gleam in her determined eyes. He'd felt safe
walking in there with her. Out here, he felt lonely, and maybe a
little frightened.

Get a grip, he warned himself. You wanted to show her proof,
something she would have to believe, so do it, he chided. It gave
him the courage to creep nearer the building and chance a look in
one of the tiny narrow windows that broke the seamless lines of the
walls.

He was out of the wind, now, but his eyes were still tearing from
the whipping of the stray leaves. He wiped at them with the heel of
his left hand, then blinked and pressed his face close to the glass.
The sight before him forced all the air out of his lungs.

Gibson. Little Gibson Praise. He was alive, he'd survived the
monster in the nuclear power plant. His hair was growing back a
little, but Mulder could still see the gruesome scars from the 'tests'
the shadows had performed on the kid. It made Mulder's stomach
clench to think what they done to the kid, regardless of how
unusual he was.

Another figure moved into his view. He only saw the person from
the back. A woman, tallish, standing over Gibson. Gibson looked
up at her with a blank expression, neither fearful nor overly pleased.
He said something to her and she brought her hand back and
slapped him, hard. Gibson put his hand to his cheek, tears starting
to stream down his chubby face, but his expression didn't change.

Mulder's anger was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Bitch, he
thought, ready to break through the glass and stop the scene before
him. Then, almost on cue, the woman turned around and her
profile was visible through the glass of the window.

Diana Fowley.

Mulder felt sick. He bit his lip to keep from retching right there on
the ground. She'd played him for a fool. All the time he thought
Diana was trying to help him, keeping the X files safe for his
eventual return, making love to him in his own apartment, she'd
been working for the other side. He felt betrayed, humiliated. He
wanted revenge and he wanted it now.

He pushed away from the window and turned to find the door.
Without a thought to a plan, he reached out and grabbed the
handle. As bare flesh made contact with cold metal, Mulder heard
the pop, then a sizzle as untold volts of electricity shot through his
arm and completed a circuit within his own body.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

end of part two

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part three

The sharp pain from a steel-toed boot hitting him fiercely in his side
brought Mulder around. He was lying on the ground, hands bound
behind him, legs bound at his ankles. Duct tape, his memory
supplied him. He was grateful that they hadn't used any of the
miracle adhesive on his mouth.

He'd almost decided to try opening his eyes when a bucket of water
was poured on his face. Gasping and trying to get the liquid out of
his nose and eyes without the help of his hands, Mulder shook his
head, regretting it immediately. He had the worst hangover he
could ever remember.

"Wakey, wakey, Mr. Mulder," a deep voice purred near his ear.

"I'm awake," he muttered, coughing as some of the water ran down
the back of his throat, gagging him. "Awake."

"Good. We wouldn't want you to miss the party," the voice said
with a chuckle. Suddenly, before his vision had cleared completely,
he was being lifted by his shoulders and slammed down into a metal
chair. His balance was precarious at best, with hands and ankles
useless to catch him, and he almost fell. A fist came out of
nowhere and connected solidly with the left side of his face, righting
him in the chair at the same time it left him blinking back tears.

The fist had accomplished something else. His eyesight was clear
enough now to make out where he was. It was a windowless room
about 20 feet by 20 feet. One door and that was guarded by a man
who probably got cut from the Miami Dolphin's defensive line up
by just a hair. Mulder glanced to his left and saw the first man's
twin standing there, rubbing his fist. Good, Mulder mused. At
least my jaw made an impact.

"What do you want," Mulder hissed around his newly split lip.

The Heavyweight Champ smiled at him. "Gee, you mean you plan
on being cooperative, Mr. Mulder? We'd been told you were a
pain in the ass. I was all set to be . . . persuasive." He pounded his
fist into his open palm to make his point.

Mulder stared up at him, hoping his expression was as blank as he
was trying to make it. This Neanderthal was itching to take him
apart, and Mulder had no desire to make that fantasy a reality for
the guy.

Finally, the goon pulled another metal chair over and sat down on
it, just a couple of feet from Mulder.

"How did you find your way here, Mr. Mulder?"

That wasn't too hard, Mulder thought. "I followed a white van."

Slam! Even sitting down, the bastard packed a good right. Mulder
saw stars this time. The left side of his face was seriously hurting
now. His jaw felt dislocated. He tried to work it, but only found
pain, not movement.

"I'm telling you the truth," Mulder gasped. This time, the fist came
from the right. Ambidextrous, Mulder noted. Now, his right jaw
was hurting almost as much as the left.

"Where did you pick up the van?"

All that and the son of a bitch had believed him? Mulder felt a
bubble of hysterical laughter form in his throat, but clamped down
on it hard. "Outside Baltimore on the I-95."

Champ consulted with his brother the nose tackle. When he
returned, his foot left the floor with lightning speed and he kicked
Mulder viciously on the left side, right where his bottom rib was
located. Mulder heard the crack as well as felt the white hot agony
of pain radiating up his side. He gasped for breath, but none came.

"That van is indistinguishable. What made you follow it?"

Mulder thought about his answer for all of a split second. Sonny
Liston was lifting his foot again and Mulder sputtered out his
words. "The door! The fucking door! It said 'Rousch'. I read the
door. And I followed."

It didn't stop the foot from connecting on the right side. At least
this time, the rib held firm, but Mulder knew it wouldn't last a
second attack.

"Look, I'm giving you the answers you want. Why are you doing
this to me?" he pleaded.

His tormentor's face came within inches of his own. Mulder could
smell onions and mustard on his breath and it made his stomach
roll.

"Because we can."

When the fist found his battered face this time, Mulder denied his
companions anymore entertainment. He passed out on them.

Miles away, Dana Scully was beside herself. She'd tried his cell
phone and been told several times that the customer she was trying
to reach was out of the service area. She'd almost picked up the
phone to call his mother, holding out the thought that he might
have grown a brain in the last 12 hours and gone to visit her rather
than running off to get killed. In desperation, she called the Lone
Gunmen.

The phone rang, and she grabbed it before the second ring.
"Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's John," came Byers clipped voice. "We checked
the hospital admitting sheets and the Highway Patrols for the states
of Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Delaware. We came
up with nothing. Do you want us to check Ohio and New York?"

Her heart sank. "Might as well, John. No one had a man matching
Mulder's description?"

"Sorry, no sign of Mulder, and no unidentified John Does matching
his description. No Does at all, really, which might be considered
unusual, given the fact that it's a Friday night."

"I don't think there's anything to read into that. He just might not
have ended up at a hospital." Yet, she added silently.

"We'll keep checking. If we hear anything, we'll call."

"Thank you, John. I really do appreciate all that you've done. All
of you."

"Think nothing of it, Agent Scully. We're just glad we can help,
even a little. We'll be in touch."

She laid the phone back on the receiver softly. There was no where
to turn. She had no way of finding him unless he called her and
since it was already after midnight, she wasn't expecting a call
anymore.

Tears of frustration and fear welled in her eyes. She looked over at
the statute her mother had recently given her. The Sacred Heart of
Jesus. His arms open, ready to enfold His beloved and take their
sins on as His own. She wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

"Please help me find him, God. Please. Please help me." Her
intentions sounded in the quiet of her living room, followed by her
sobs.

"Dana? Dana? Wake up."

Scully slowly opened her eyes. She wasn't in her living room,
where she last remembered being. She was sitting on the swing set
in the backyard of their house on the San Diego Naval Base. It was
warm and the sun was hot on her back.

"Dana, hey, Dana. I'm talking to you." She turned her head to find
the person speaking and dropped her jaw. Brad Pitt sat on the
swing next to her.

Well, it looks like Brad Pitt, she corrected herself.

"I know, I know. It's a horrible cliche, but it wasn't my idea." His
voice was so familiar, it was like she'd heard it all her life.

"You aren't who I think you are," Scully said slowly.

He shook his head. "Three guesses and the first two don't count."

"I'm dreaming," Scully said hesitantly.

"Boy, I hope so. It would be real hard to explain all this if you
weren't," replied the man sitting next to her.

Taking a moment to give him a good looking over, she could see he
really didn't resemble Brad Pitt at all. Oh, he was blond, surfer
blond. And tan. A deep tan that spoke of sports and working
outdoors, not hours in a tanning salon. Strong muscles that just
begged for motion. Poised, ready. But ready for what? His eyes
were the deepest blue she'd ever seen. And the sun seemed to
glow around his hair, almost like . . .

"No, it's impossible. Even in a dream," she said out loud, even
though she meant to keep the thought to herself.

"Nothing is impossible in a dream. And yes, Dana, it's possible.
Even probable. Don't try to lie to yourself, that's the worst lie you
can commit. You know you believe in us. You've seen us before."

"You're an angel?" she asked, her voice betraying her by cracking
at the worst possible moment.

"Not just 'an' angel. Your angel, Dana. I'm your Guardian
Angel."

She shook her head, partly in the negative and partly to clear it.
"Angels, Guardian Angels, are girls," she said flatly.

"Name an angel," the Brad look alike commanded.

"Easy. Michael."

"Name another," he countered.

"Gabriel."

"Both guys. Name a 'girl' angel."

She thought. She started to speak and then ended up blowing air
out her mouth. "uhhhh."

"Exactly. Dana, that picture over yours and Missy's bed was never
your idea of a Guardian Angel. You expected no less than Michael
or Gabriel. You expected John Wayne for a Guardian Angel, not
Della Reese. You expected me."

"Then you're just a figment of my imagination," she replied with a
superior smirk.

"No," he quickly corrected. "I'm a metaphysical being. I have no
earthly body, no physical form. But in order for you to understand
my prepense, I must appear before you in an image you can
recognize. Hence . . ."

"Brad Pitt? When did I ever say I thought my Guardian Angel
looked like Brad Pitt?" Scully demanded.

"I think your partner may have helped that along. Or it was _his_
Guardian Angel's idea. She tends to have a strange sense of
humor," he said dryly.

"She needs one, if she has to follow Mulder around all the time,"
she retorted, then straightened hurriedly. "Mulder. Oh God,
Mulder!"

Her angel looked at her.

"You know where he is," she accused.

"I wish I did. I'm _your_ angel. I'm here to help you. I'm not his
angel."

"But you know his angel. You'd have to, if you hang around me.
In essence, you two must be partners, too," Scully ranted excitedly.
"Find her, ask her where he is. I have to find him, please, he's in
danger, I know it. I have to find him before he gets himself killed!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Dana," the angel said
sympathetically. "Look, I'm here to help you. I'll see what I can
do, all right. But I can't find him for you. That's beyond my
scope. Look inside yourself and I think you'll be able to find him.
You two have a link, a bond. He's called to you before. Why
don't you try the same?"

The man beside her started to fade, as did their surroundings. Dana
wasn't expecting it to be over so soon. "Hey, wait! How do I
contact him? Or you, for that matter? And what the hell do I call
you?"

The angel smiled. "You're a smart kid, Dana. You always have
been. You'll figure it out. And as for calling me, well, hell is the
wrong place to look. I'll be here when you need me. But do me a
big favor. Don't call me Brad." As he faded, his smile was the
brightest part of his face.

Scully woke up to a dark living room. She had to find her partner.
Things might be strained between them, but she wasn't going to let
him down because of that. And apparently, she wasn't going to be
alone in finding him. Still, the hard parts were up to her. She just
had to think.

end of part three

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part four

Rousch Industries
Somewhere in Pennsylvania
2:35 am

"Fox, wake up."

Mulder groaned. He hurt, everywhere. And where he didn't hurt,
he knew he would start hurting if he came fully awake.

"Go 'way!" he commanded, but it sounded pretty feeble to his own
ears.

A soft tinkering laugh sounded in his ears. "Now, I don't think you
really want me to go away, Fox. Open your eyes. Or at least the
one not swollen shut."

He recognized that voice. Scully? She'd never call him Fox.
Diana? Oh, please, God, don't let it be Diana when I don't have
my gun, he begged silently. But it wasn't Diana. Diana didn't
giggle like that. Still he knew the voice. There was only one thing
he could do.

Slowly, he peeled the lid back from his left eye and tried to focus.
A cherub face, framed in soft golden curls looked down on him.

"Angela? I'm dying already?"

That laugh again. "No, Silly. You are a long way from dying. Or
you better be. Fox, when are you going to listen to me?"

"I didn't hear you," was his weakened reply.

"No, you were too busy listening to the other side," she said with a
disgusted look on her face. "The side that has you doubting Dana.
Boy, Fox, for someone who's so paranoid, you're a push over."
She crossed her arms and leaned back against . . . from what
Mulder could see it looked like she was sitting on a cot across from
where he was lying.

"Scully doesn't believe me," he said rejectedly.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Give me a break," she said in a monotone,
then shook her head and her long curls flew around her face.

"No, I"m right! She even said as much to the committee. Angela,
you know what happened in Antarctica! You had to have seen that
ship! She did too, but she refuses to believe what she sees with her
own eyes. She won't believe me!" He was getting upset and that
just made his side hurt a hundred times worse.

"Fox, calm down now! And listen to yourself. 'She won't believe
me'. Me, me, me! Don't you see it? You're doing this to yourself.
You told Dana that you needed her to ground you, that she made
you a whole person. And now, when she's doing what she's always
done, you betray her. How could you do that?" Angela's voice
was better than a Grand Jury indictment. Mulder stopped cold in
his thoughts.

"I want . . ."

"You want her to believe _in_ you! And she does, Fox. So much
so that she wouldn't leave you when the door was wide open and
you all but tossed her out on her briefcase! 'Go be a doctor,
Scully'. Remember that little discussion? But she refused to leave
you. Why? Because she gets her jollies out of tearing down your
theories? Because she gets off on disagreeing with you before
officials? Get real, Fox!"

"She wants proof. I'm here to find it."

"You're here because you needed to do _something_. By yourself.
Mr. Macho Man. If you just needed proof, you would have asked
her along, too. But noooo, you have to be the Great Hunter,
coming back with the Wooly Mamouth over your shoulder and a
big grin on your face," Angela accused.

"Do all angels have a temper or only the ones assigned to assholes
like me?" Mulder said. He couldn't smile with his mouth, but his
eyes were twinkling.

Angela's dour face broke into a knowing grin. "You got lucky. I
think I'm the only one."

This time Mulder did smile and it almost made him pass out. He
groaned loudly. "Where the hell am I?"

"I'm assuming that question was supposed to be directed at _me_,"
Angela replied dryly, arms still crossed in front of her.

"Sorry, forgot," he mumbled. "In the building. Where am I in the
building? And . . . sorry about the 'hell' part."

"Forgiven," she said with a sweet smile. "As for where in the
building, somewhere in the center. I can't tell you exactly how to
get out, I'm not sure myself. There are a lot of . . . dark forces
around here. The other side is crawling all over this place. And if
you're thinking of making a run for it, I'd forget it. You couldn't
go ten feet without passing out."

Mentally he did a check of his body. Jaw, too painful to move it
much. Shoulders, yep, they hurt. Side? Now that was a new
experience in pain! Every breath came with a hitch and a click that
meant bone fragments scraping against each other, sending licks of
fire up his side and into his lungs. If it hurts to breath, stop
breathing, he giggled to himself.

"Fox? Fox?"

"I thought you always took me to soft places where I didn't hurt,"
he accused with narrowed eye.

"You've been completely unconscious. Not asleep, unconscious. I
can't follow you there. You need Dana."

"No."

Angela gave him a look that spoke to her utter amazement. "What
do you mean, no?"

"I'm not dragging her into this. I got myself into it, I'll get myself
out of it."

Angela rolled her eyes. "My, the testosterone is getting a tad deep
here. I should have worn my hip waders! How do you propose you
are going to get out of here on your own?"

"Don't know. I'll think of something." He tried to sit up and the
pain was just too much. He promptly fell back on the cot. He
passed out hearing Angela call his name.

"He's a stubborn one," a voice said beside her.

"Believe it. But you pulled the assignment with the most
stubborn," she replied, turning to look at the presence beside her.
He smiled at her knowingly and nodded.

"Short straw. Maybe next time I'll get the believer and I'll get the
easy assignment."

"Don't bet on it," Angela replied. "It took me a while to get the
'believer' to believe. And for the Record, Fox Mulder is _not_ an
'easy assignment'. So what did she say when you appeared to her."

"She thinks I'm a dream."

Angela raised one perfect eyebrow. "Lame, but effective. What's
she going to do?"

"She senses he's in danger. She's making calls to their friends.
She's trying hard to avoid going to any one at the office. She
won't let herself believe that she can reach him. He'll have to make
contact."

"You heard him! He's going to try this alone! And that will never
work. Did you feel this place?"

Her companion shuddered. "I felt the presence of the other side a
mile away. He needs to get out of here. Quickly."

She nodded in agreement. "Any brilliant ideas?"

"Ram horns and a couple hundred Israelites?"

Her glaring expression told him what she thought of that
suggestion.

"We can't get that involved! You know that," he told her flatly.

"If it means his life? If it means her _soul_? You know that if he
dies here, she'll be consumed with revenge. How long do you think
it will be before she's just like . . . the dark haired one?"

He sighed beside her. "Free will. It's a bitch."

"Come on! Think of something! I refuse to sit here and just watch
this play out!"

"I'm not sure we have a choice in the matter. We're here to assist,
not interfere. He'll have to come to his senses."

"Or she will," Angela countered.

They looked at each other and sighed. Finally, he broke her gaze.
"OK, what did you have in mind?"

Dana Scully's Apartment
1:15 am

She'd fallen asleep on the sofa and was jerked awake by the ringing
of the phone.

"Mulder, is that you?" she demanded.

"Uh, no, Agent Scully. It's Frohike. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to
wake you."

She sighed and looked at her watch. "It's 1:15 am, Frohike. But
given the circumstances, I understand. Did you come up with
something?"

There was some consultation going on at the other end of the line.
Hushed voices, rising in the heat of argument. Finally, Frohike
spoke again. "Look, some of us think this is important and others
don't but I'm gonna tell you anyway. We did some further
checking. Agent Fowley took the afternoon off and she's not at her
apartment."

Dana's stomach hit the floor. She drew in a deep breath. "You
think she's . . ."

"I don't know what to think, Agent Scully. I mean, trust your
instincts. You always know when Mulder's in trouble, it's a sixth
sense kind of thing with you two. But I just thought you should
know. For whatever good it might do you."

"Thanks, guys. I mean that," she said, even though she was pretty
sure her voice didn't sound sincere. "I have to think on this a
while."

"Don't doubt him, Agent Scully. We know where his heart lies.
This thing with Fowley . . . it's just his dick thinking. She was
always good at getting him in bed but it never really meant that
much. If that's even what it is and we don't know that, not for
certain."

Scully couldn't keep the smile off her face, the poor guy was
rambling. "It's OK, Frohike. Really, it's OK. I appreciate any
information. This was an important piece of information, I'm glad
you brought it to my attention. I just have to figure out how to use
it."

She shut off the phone and replaced it on the base. What if that
was what this was, Mulder and Diana running off for a romantic
weekend? She'd kill him with her bare hands, that was for certain.
But what was that nonsense about the cat and the rat's nest. No,
he was in trouble, she could hear it in his voice. And if Mulder had
been going off with Diana, he wouldn't have bothered to call at all.
He would have sent her an e-mail or left a message on the office
voice mail. His voice on the phone didn't sound like the voice of
subterfuge. And he'd never lied to her that easily. She couldn't
honestly say that he'd ever lied to her.

What was it the dream had said? Something about reaching out.
How? She was wracking her brain as it was. Mulder was
somewhere in the wilds of Pennsylvania, not a small state as far as
she knew, and there was no way to find out where he was.

She got up and dressed. There was nothing she could do at her
place. Maybe going over to his apartment would offer her some
answers. She left the light on as she closed the door.

Mulder, if you're out there, give me a call.

She let herself in with her key. The place was quiet as a tomb. She
noted with some dispair that the fish tank sat silent and dark.
Another mass suicide among his fish population and he hadn't
gotten around to getting replacements, so he'd just unplugged the
light and filter. Somehow that sight made her eyes fill with tears.

She wandered through the rooms, hoping to find something to
guide her. When she went into the bathroom, the item left
carelessly on the floor forced her to shut her eyes. A pair of
pantyhose. Undoubtedly they belonged to Diana, unless Mulder
had managed to conceal that little piccadillo from her for six years.
She scooped the item up and carried it to the kitchen, where she
tossed it with prejudice into the garbage can. Take that, Fowley,
she thought angrily.

Finally, she made her way back into the living room. Reaching
behind the couch, she plugged the fish tank back in. The light
blinked on and the bubbles started flowing from the filter. With just
that much light, she lay down on the couch and cried herself to
sleep.

end of part four

Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part five

Fox Mulder's Apartment
3:36 am

Dark. Mountains. The sun in the east, just over the tips of the
mountaintops. The air was cold and the low hanging clouds
reflected the red of the sun's rays. Red sky at morning, sailors take
warning.

Illumination. White against the darkness. Buildings, formed in a
square. Seven buildings. One close to a collapsed fence. A van,
parked nearby. Blue lettering on white metal. Rousch.

Shadows. Two bodies, one small and stretched out, the other
larger, but curled in on itself. The small on with it's hands clasped
on it's chest. Tufts of hair sticking out between rows of furrowed
scar tissue. Gibson? The larger body groaned and moved painfully
in it's sleep. Mulder. He _was_ hurt. But Gibson and Mulder
together?

A presence. Malevolent, evil. A dark, swarming cloud moving
toward the two figures, wrapping the smaller one in it's thickness.
Moving toward the other figure, clearly intending to cause harm . . .

"Mulder!" Scully woke up gasping his name. It had been so real,
so clear. Clear enough that she thought for a moment that she
could reach out and touch him, touch Gibson. They were together
and they were both in trouble.

But where?

It flashed in her mind without effort. She'd drive to Pennsylvania.
Once there, she'd know where to go.

In the mountains of Pennsylvania
7:00 am

Mulder heard the door to the cell door open. Actually, it didn't
even qualify as a cell, it was more of a storage closet with a cot and
a large sink.

Light split through the blackness and pierced right through his lids.
He threw his arm up to shield his eyes, but that only caused pain up
and down his side.

"Come on. You have an appointment."

It was the same jerk from the night before. Mulder could still smell
the onions on his breath.

"There must be a mistake. I saw my dentist for my semi-annual
cleaning just last month," Mulder said with what he hoped looked
like a smirk. He got a punch to the left side for his trouble.

"Stay quiet. Then again, I kinda like using you as my personal
punching bag. So keep it up, smart ass."

Mulder clamped his mouth shut and followed as best he could. He
was led into a large room with a tall ceiling. It looked almost like
an airplane hanger. A couple of vans, similar to the one he'd
followed the day before were parked near huge garage doors.
There were more men in the room, loading containers onto the
vans. Over in the corner, he saw Gibson. The guard led him over
to the boy and then left them to help with the loading.

"Hi, Agent Mulder. Sorry they keep hurting you," the small boy
said with a sad expression. Mulder thought about it, and it was the
only expression he'd ever seen on the boy.

"Likewise, Gibson. Are you OK? Did they hurt you again?"

"They haven't opened up my head since the last time. I scared
them, but they're trying not to show it. No, they haven't really hurt
me. But they're thinking of hurting you. A lot."

"Thanks for the heads up, but I'd figured that out already," Mulder
replied.

"If you can get out of the van, I'd do it. They plan on killing you
and dumping the body where it won't be found." The boy's
expression hadn't really changed, he might as well have been
quoting baseball stats to the agent.

"Thanks, Gibson. I'll do what I can."

The guard returned with his friend from the night before. Mulder
looked at them through his one good eye. "Hey, didn't you guys
do a tag team on Monday Night Nitro a couple weeks back?" The
first guard grabbed the agent by the arms from behind, while the
other pounded on Mulder's chest and stomach for an eternity.

When the guard finished beating up the agent, he wiped his hands
on Mulder's shirt. "Keep it up, smart ass. Not only was that fun,
but I need the work out," he said with a smile and pulled Mulder's
arms behind his back again. A few moments with the duct tape and
the guard dragged the bound and almost unconscious agent to one
of the vans, throwing him in the back. The doors were slammed
shut and in the dark interior, Mulder allowed his head to sink to the
floor and tried not to pass out. He needed time to figure out his
options.

The driver's door opened and the same two guards got into the
front seat of the van. Mulder realized his time was limited. He had
to think fast.

The Pennsylvanian mountains
same time

"Agent Scully, are you sure we're heading in the right direction?"
Langly had somehow ended up in the 'shotgun' position of the
well-travelled Vanagon. Byers and Frohike sat in the back while
Scully negotiated the mountain road.

Scully allowed herself to think about the answer. All morning long,
she'd been a mad woman, running on sheer adrenaline. From the
moment she'd left Mulder's apartment to the second she'd finally
convinced the Lone Gunmen of the validity of the search, she'd
bossed, bullied and blustered to get her way. But somewhere in all
the rush, she knew she'd need some assistance. Since back up from
the Bureau was out of the question, she turned to the only people
she had available. And they would just have to do.

"Agent Scully?" Langly asked again.

"Yes, this is the right direction."

Langly flashed a look back to his buddies in the rear and the three
exchanged shrugs. It was obvious that they weren't comfortable
with the lack of information Scully had provided, but they weren't
about to question her at the moment. They were more than a little
afraid of what that action would provoke.

"Look at the sky. Doesn't that mean something?" Byers asked,
peering out into the grey morning.

"Red sky at morning, sailor take warning," Frohike quoted. "Bad
omen. Means a storm is coming."

"This storm has been coming for a long time, guys," Scully said
cryptically and pushed the gas pedal closer to the floorboard.

"It's really bad form for the rescue party to go over a cliff on the
way to the rescue," said the blond man sitting next to her. She was
just about to tell Langly where he could 'stuff it' when she realized
it wasn't Langly speaking. It was Brad. Or whatever his name
was. She almost lost control of the vehicle.

He reached across her and held tight to the steering wheel, keeping
the car going straight. "Steady there. That's exactly what I was
talking about."

"You're a dream," Scully hissed, just under her breath.

"No, you want to _think_ I'm a dream. I'm real. I can assure
you."

Scully looked around her angel to Langly, who appeared not to
notice the third person in the front seat.

"If you're so real, how come Langly isn't throwing a fit," Scully
whispered low.

"Because he can't see me. Or hear me. I'm not his angel."

Scully started to close her eyes, but remembered in time that she
was driving. "Look, could we discuss this some other time," she
hissed.

"What's that, Agent Scully?" Byers asked from the back seat.

"Uh, just thinking out loud, John. Thank you." She turned to glare
at her angel and he smiled and wiggled his eyebrow, just like her
partner.

"Don't do that!" she commanded.

"OK, OK, I just thought some background noise would smooth
everybody's nerves. You don't have to get so mad," Langly said
with a wounded expression as he pulled his hand away from the
radio buttons.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Langly! Not you. Uh, I mean, yeah, you're
probably right. Turn on the radio. Find a lite rock station, if you
don't mind."

Langly grimaced but did as she requested. He settled back and
stared out the window again.

"Don't do what?" the angel asked innocently.

"Wiggle your eyebrows while you're smiling," Scully whispered a
little more freely, now that the radio was acting as cover. "You
look like Mulder when you do that."

"Sorry," he said sincerely.

"So, why are you here?" she asked, timing her question to the
chorus of the song. All three co-conspirators appeared to be
Arrowsmith fans. Or at least had seen 'Armageddon' more than a
couple of times.

"I talked it over with, well, your partner calls her Angela. I think
there's a way we can help you. But you don't have much time.
Turn right at the next road. I'll show the way."

Scully nodded and searched the road for the next turn off.

"And Dana, we don't have a lot of time. But I want to tell you,
you were right. He's in a lot of danger."

"I know that. I had a dream. A real dream. Whatever. There's
some buildings in some sort of complex and they have Gibson
there, too. It's run by Rousch."

The angel nodded grimly. "Angela said she's pretty sure they plan
on killing Mulder this time. He's caused more trouble than he's
worth. And since someone has convinced them that you two aren't
as close as you once were . . ."

"Damn that bitch, Fowley!" Scully blurted out, which brought the
impromptu sing-along to an abrupt stop. She glanced at her
companions, the human ones, with a sheepish expression. "Sorry,
guys. It just got to me, that's all."

"Completely understandable, Agent Scully." Once again, shrugs
were exchanged and the three went back to looking out the
windows.

"I know how you feel," the angel said sympathetically. "It's a
battle we've fought for a long time. But rest assured, when the real
war starts, you'll have plenty of backup."

"The Bureau?" Scully asked with a quick look over at his face.

"Better. A multitude of heavenly hosts. The army of the ages."

Scully drew in a deep breath and drove on.

end of part five
Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part six

The back of the van was dark, but the two up front were chatting it
up nicely, keeping Mulder company. Apparently, the plan was to
take the agent out into the wilds of the mountains and put a bullet
in his head. The body would then be dropped down the nearest
ravine, and more than likely, discovered some ten or twenty years in
the future.

Mulder wasn't nearly as impressed with the details as they were.

"Fox, you have to get out of here."

Mulder squinted at the darkest corner of the back of the van and
could just make out Angela's face.

"Angela, I know that," he whispered in that direction. "Some
suggestions, any suggestion, would be greatly appreciated."

Angela seemed to be considering that for a moment. "What about
these racks?" she asked.

If his legs hadn't been taped together, he would have kicked himself
in the ass. The racks! Both sides of the van were equipped with
metal racks, nice racks with ragged sharp edges underneath. With
more than a little discomfort, Mulder wiggled over to the nearest
one and positioned his ankles under the lowest shelf. It took some
doing, but in a few moments, his legs were free.

"Great job, hot shot, but what about your hands," Angela frowned
from the corner.

"Look, if you're not an active participant, you don't get to
criticize," he hissed back. Fortunately, the two up front were busy
arguing over who was going to get to put the bullet in his brain, and
who was going to have to hoist the body over the cliff. He was
more than happy to have something else to occupy his mind.

"I'm not criticizing. I'm just curious as to how . . ."

At that very moment, the van hit a pothole. Ordinarily, that
wouldn't have been a problem, but there had been a steady snowfall
since they'd left the complex and the road was now slick with ice
and slush. The van skid out of control.

Mulder wasn't in any position to see too clearly, but he heard the
unabated screams of the two men in front as the van slid over the
side of deep ravine, going top over wheels down the side of the hill.
With no ability to hold on, Mulder was tossed like a rag doll in the
back of the van, hitting the shelves and racks on each side until the
van came to a stop.

Mulder didn't move for a long time. He was pretty certain he
couldn't at first. He crained his neck and looked up toward the
front seat. The sight made him wince. Neither of his captors had
opted to wear their seat belt. One man was hanging out the side
window and from what Mulder could see, he was decapitated. The
other man was no where to be seen but the missing front windshield
was enough of a clue for Mulder.

"Fox, get out of this van. Now!" Angela shouted, even though she
was sitting right next to him.

"Great idea, Angela. But I'm still a little tied up . . ."

"Fox, it's not safe here. The van is not stable, it's going to fall.
You have to get out NOW!"

Mulder considered his options. He decided to try the back doors.
They looked to have survived the crash relatively intact. Very
carefully, he scrunched himself toward the doors and reached his
foot up to the handle. It was a flip type handle, and he could just
get the toe of his shoe under it. With effort, the latch gave way and
the door opened a few inches.

"Now Fox! Now!" Angela prodded and Mulder slide toward the
door. He pushed it open further and pulled himself into a sitting
position. It was just enough shift in weight to tilt the van
downward and he was dumped fifteen feet to the ground below.

For a long time, he saw stars. His back was definitely injured in the
fall, his tailbone was numb at the point of contact and there was a
shooting pain all the way up to his neck. Scully is gonna be pissed
as hell, he considered. But that was the least of his problems. He
looked above and realized that if he didn't move quickly, the two
thousand pounds of the finest van Detroit had to offer was going to
cover his final resting place. He did the only thing he could
possibly do. He threw himself the rest of the way down the hillside.

Rousch Complex
7:45 am

"Not exactly Fort Knox," Frohike noted as they pulled up with
binocular range of the fence and buildings.

"Don't let it fool you," Scully replied.

All three men nodded solemnly.

"So, assuming they have Mulder, how are we going to get him
out?" Langly asked, shifting toward Scully.

It had started to snow just a few minutes before and already the
ground was sporting a thin blanket of white. Scully chewed on her
lip and pondered their options.

"I don't like the idea of sneaking in there. For one, it's daylight and
too easy to spot us. Two, the snow will make tracking us a breeze
even if we were successful. Three . . ." She looked at her
companions with a clinical air. She left unsaid the fact that three
fourths of the group was unprepared for such an operation.

"Maybe we should call out the cavalry?" Byers suggested. Frohike
and Langly rewarded the comment with withering glares.

"How about a frontal attack?" Forhike countered. "Agent Scully,
you and I stay back here, while Byers and Langly go up to the main
building, claiming to be lost. Maybe they can figure out where
Mulder is along the way."

"Well, at least we know he's in there," Langly said dryly, gesturing
to an abandoned dark blue Ford Taurus partially hidden in the
brush. "Can't the guy even _look_ at a Buick?"

"The way we go through cars, we need to get ones where we know
all the buttons," Scully sighed. She wasn't going to let on that a
part of her still held out hope that Mulder really had run off with
Diana for a wild and passionate weekend. Not a large part, she
reminded herself, but the part that wanted him safe from harm, no
matter what the cost.

"How about waiting for nightfall?" Byers offered meekly. Three
pairs of eyes glared at him. "OK, forget I mentioned it."

Scully reached to her waist and drew out her weapon, checking the
clip and slamming it shut. "I go in, alone. You three stay here. If
I'm not back in . . ." a quick glance to her watch, "30 minutes, you
are to go back down this mountain, screaming bloody murder."

All three men balked at once. "Agent Scully, that's suicide!"

"You can't go in there by yourself!"

"Mulder will kill us if anything happens to you!"

She shook her head and held their gaze with a steady, determined
expression. "I'm the one trained for this job, guys. Like it or not,
the testosterone stops here. Now, I need you to be out here, in
case I have trouble. Especially if Mulder is hurt. We're gonna
need you here, ready to hightail it down this mountain. Is that
understood?"

For a full minute, she expected a mutiny. Then, slowly, there was a
nod from Byers, a second later, Langly followed suit. Frohike
never did express agreement, but returned her gaze.

"Frohike. Please. I really need you on this," she pleaded, with
more than just a little of her best 'femme fatale' voice thrown in for
good measure.

The little man's glare narrowed. "You and Mulder really are a
matched set, aren't you?" It was a comment, not meant to be
answered. "Ah, hell, I'll wait. But in 30 minutes, well, somebody
will go down this mountain. I can't guarantee I'll be with them and
that's as good as you'll get!"

She thought about handcuffing the gnome to the back bench of the
van, or maybe just 'winging' him in the leg to stop him from going
in later, but in the end, she just left him be. In her heart, she knew
Frohike had enough sense to do the right thing at the right time.
And besides, if she had a Guardian Angel, surely the little man in
the back seat had one as well.

She pulled the van over to a few yards away from Mulder's.
Already, the snowfall was starting to cover the abandoned vehicle.
A voice inside her told her not to worry, just concentrate on finding
him. She steeled herself and with a thumbs up from her three
companions, she left the warmth of the van to fight the howling
winds outside.

With the falling snow and the dark clouds, visibility was down to
almost zero. Scully thanked her lucky stars, or whoever, and
pushed on against the wind toward the fallen section of fencing.
Dressed in a white parka with white snow pants, she congratulated
herself on, for once, dressing appropriately. All these years with
Mulder have to account for _something_, she thought ruefully.

The absence of guards around the buildings bothered her. If you
don't use guards, you use electronic surveillance, she reminded
herself. And most heat sensitive equipment would pick her out as
easily as if she were walking in naked on a bright sunny day. Even
so, she would have expected some kind of an alarm to sound.

"Don't turn around!" She had just made it to the lee side of the
closest building and was about to look in the long window when
she heard the command. "Put your guns on the ground, Agent
Scully and then put your hands in the air."

"Agent Fowley. Fancy meeting you here," Scully said dryly. She
didn't have to see the woman to recognize the voice.

"You just can't mind your own business, can you, Scully. But then,
I guess you might have gotten some of that from Fox. He has a
way of rubbing off on people after a while."

"Too bad his integrity never managed to rub off on you," Scully
retorted and Fowley hit her hard across the head with the butt of
her gun. Scully dropped like a rock, unconscious.

When Scully came around, she was in small windowless room,
handcuffed to a metal folding chair. Diana Fowley was sitting
across a metal table, scowling at her.

"Where's Mulder?" Scully hissed, shaking her head to clear her
vision.

"I don't think you're in any position to ask questions, Dana," Diana
purred. "What makes you think Fox is here, anyway?"

Scully eyed her oppponent. "If you hurt him . . ."

"What? What could you do about it if I did? But just so you don't
spend too much time fretting about it, he's dead. I don't think
they'll be recovering the body anytime soon, but then, you won't be
around for the funeral, anyway."

Scully's heart stopped. No, it wasn't possible, her mind screamed.
She would know, she would feel it. She closed her eyes and
reached out as far as she could. It was something she'd learned to
do in their first years together. She could tell immediately if Mulder
was injured. She'd know he'd been shot on the dock in Raleigh
before she even left Liz Hawley's side.

No, he was alive. He was in deep trouble, but he was alive.

"You're lying," Scully seethed through clenched teeth.

"If he isn't dead at this moment, he will be soon, my dear. And
you'll be joining him, so don't you worry that pretty little head,"
Diana said bitterly. "I never thought I'd see the day when Fox
Mulder would fall for a short, skinny, red head."

Scully looked at her, trying to hide her obvious confusion.

"Oh, don't play the innocent," Fowley growled. "I knew from the
start what was going on, where I stood. Outside, looking in. I can
have him in any way but the way that counts. You have his heart,
my dear. You own him, heart and soul."

"At least you don't," Scully muttered. This was an interesting turn
of events, but it wasn't getting her out of there. "So, what do you
plan on doing, Diana? Killing us, making sure our bodies aren't
found. But someone will be suspicious. There'll be an
investigation."

"I don't think so. See, after they find the 'evidence' my partner is
leaving at your apartment, the investigation will be called off.
Don't really need to investigate when two 'young lovers' run off
together, now do they? And your resignations, which are due to
arrive at AD Kersh's office at 8 am sharp on Monday will nail the
lid on the case."

"Spender and Kersh are in on this with you," Scully said flatly. She
had always had a bad feeling about Spender, not as much as
Mulder, but she didn't like him at all. As for Kersh, she'd briefly
thought he might be on the 'other side', but she'd chalked it up to a
feeling of rebellion against his 'iron rule'. Now, she realized it was
her 'woman's intuition' as Mulder called it, working over time, in
both cases.

"Skinner will . . ."

"Skinner won't lift a finger. He almost saw his career end, thanks
to the two of you. With the 'proof' we'll provide, he'll wish you a
happy life and gladly forget you ever crossed his path. Just think,
the perfect ending. No hero's funeral, no martyr to the cause of
truth. Just two people who finally let their libidos carry them to
some tropical island where they can live out their days in naked,
erotic bliss. Ahhhh," she sighed deeply, her eyes dancing with
mirth. "That's the problem with an organization run by men. The
old farts never saw past their noses all this time. It took a woman
to figure this way to handle the two of you."

Scully closed her eyes and tried desperately to think of a way out.
In the meantime, Diana smiled at her.

"Give it up, Dana. It's over. Have the good grace to take it like a
grown woman, won't you? Now, I have things to attend to, but
someone will be here soon, to take care of the more distasteful
matters at hand. I can't really say it's been a pleasure. I'm glad
you're going to be gone. I really have grown to hate you in the last
few weeks, my dear. I hate the similarities in our names most of all.
Very inconvenient in a moment of passion."

Diana walked out, slamming the door shut behind her. Dana was
left wondering exactly what the other woman meant.

end of part six
Vickie

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part seven

Mulder awoke with a loud groan and in more pain than he could
ever remember feeling.

Please, Scully, no catheters, he silently pleaded. I don't mind the
IV's but those damned tubes up my . . .

"Fox. Open your eyes."

The voice wasn't Scully's. And, thank God, it wasn't Diana's.
Which left only one person, or entity that he could think of.

Angela.

Mulder slowly peeled his lids away from his eyeballs like they were
the peels off grapes. "Ange . . ." He didn't get any farther when
another nasty spasm of pain rocked through his side and chest,
causing talking and even breathing to be impossible.

"Just lie still a minute, OK?" she directed.

He could see her now, through his one good eye. The other eye,
although open, wasn't letting in very much light for some reason.
Once he got a bead on her face, he was able to look around and
realize their location.

All around him was white.

"I'm dead. But I didn't think it would hurt this much." He felt
perfectly calm about his supposed fate, but then, there wasn't much
he could do about it if he really was dead.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Fox, believe me, you won't hurt in
Heaven. You just have to take my word for it. You aren't dead."

He could see a worried 'yet' that was laying silent in her eyes. He
looked around again. Then it hit him like a sledge hammer. Cold.
Violent shivering and pain like needles all over his skin and flashes
of Alaska, he had to get warm, _had_ to get _warm_! It came to
his mind a little slower. He wasn't dead, he was covered in snow
and so was the mountainside around him.

One thing the cold and snow accomplished, it woke him up. He
wasn't able to turn his head much, but he did manage to look to the
right and to the left a little, but a large tree trunk stood in the way
of his view. He had rolled down the hill, all right. He landed up
against the trunk of an ancient oak, it's branches not that far above
him because of the grade of the hillside. He could make out his
pathway down the mountain for twenty or so yards above him. His
body had crushed small saplings and swept away piles of oak and
maple leaves as it came crashing down the hill. He noted that a nice
pile of those same leaves were acting as a mattress beneath him and
seemed to have shielded his body when he'd slammed against the
tree. If not for the leaves, he probably wouldn't have survived.

"It worked in a pinch," Angela said in answer to his silent inquiry.

"Why couldn't you have just _caught_ me and _carried_ me
down?" he growled in pain and frustration.

"Not in the most recent contract," she grinned with amusement. He
still wasn't smiling so she relented. "Come on, Fox. Do you think
angels get out and stop traffic? No! We're the little twist of the
wheel or the extra pressure on a car's brake to avoid the fatal
accident 'just in the nick of time'. And another thing. I've always
hated that expression. Do you know what the word 'nick' is
supposed to signify in such occasions? And it's not a good thing!"

"I'm in the middle of the forest primeval in a snowstorm, I can't see
out of one eye, I can't move my back and my Guardian Angel is on
a tear about a cliche that I don't even use," he moaned, just under
his breath. "Angela, get me out of here!" he demanded, much
louder.

"I'm working on it!" she shouted back, then quickly looked
horrified. "Sorry, oh, Fox, I'm so sorry, but it just sort of slipped
out!"

"S'awright. It happens around me a lot," he sighed and tried to
think of anything but the pain. "I just wish Scully had an idea
where to look."

"Oh, she does. Well, not exactly, but she's up at the compound
right now. I'm sure she'll figure it out . . ."

"How did she get to the compound?" Mulder demanded, eyes
narrowed in accusation.

"Uh, those three guys you know?"

Mulder closed his eyes again, but this time the pain was completely
emotional. "The Gunmen?"

Angela shrugged. "I guess."

With eyes still closed and teeth clenched tight, Mulder continued in
a low growl. "Scully went in there with no one for back up
_except_ three misfits who can't find matching socks in the
morning, much less know how to infiltrate a military operation?"

Angela smiled and shook her long, blond curls. "Of course not,
silly. She has Brad with her."

That got his eyes open quickly. "Brad?" Mulder asked, the
curiosity warred openly with a good dose of jealousy.

"Brad. _Her_ Guardian Angel. Brad. Remember, I told you to tell
her that he looks just like Brad Pitt." Angela's laugh was a tinkling
sound in the silence of the snow. "He really hates that name," she
giggled.

"Now I'm getting the inside track on angel jokes," Mulder
muttered.

"Anyway, none of them are 'alone' as you put it. I trust these
angels, Mulder. We're a pretty elite corps, you know. Angels who
can keep up with the likes of you _have_ to be," she added proudly.

"Well, don't go blowing your own horn, yet. You might all be
finding new assignments _real_ soon," Mulder said weakly. He
was cold and hurt and quickly running out of steam.

"Now, what have I told you before, Fox? Heaven is _not_ ready
for you just yet!" Angela said and Mulder was certain he felt a soft
warm breeze brush his forehead as he closed his eyes. "Sleep, Fox.
I'll keep watch. You're safe with me. For now, just sleep." It was
the last thing he remembered as the drifted into the darkness.

Scully was still pondering the meaning of Diana's words when she
heard a sound behind her.

"Wanta get a move on, here?" her angel asked, arms on his hips and
staring at her with a frustrated glare.

"Excuse me?" she asked, left eyebrow raising a good half an inch.

"You can't stay here. She's sending in people who are going to kill
you. You have to get out of here!"

"No shit!" Scully huffed and then pulled on her handcuffs. "But if
you take note, Sherlock, I am currently bound to this chair. Now,
if you happen to have a key . . ."

"They took yours, didn't they?"

"Along with my guns and my cell phone, yes. Which means I'm
just sh -"

"Wait a minute. This chair is pretty old. Maybe a little forceful
movement could . . ." He spread his arms wide to imitate sudden
freedom. "Give it a try."

This is nuts, Scully decided silently, but gave the handcuffs a tug.
Miraculously, the left side of the chair gave under her weight. She
redoubled her efforts and in a few minutes, one arm was free.

"Great, now, do it again," her angel encouraged.

A few well placed tugs and the second arm was free and Scully sat
with two sets of handcuffs dangling from her wrists. "OK, I'm free.
Now what?"

"Remember all those times you've crawled through heating ducts?"

Scully glared up at the ceiling and sure enough, there was a fairly
nice sized grate just a few inches from the top of the wall.

"You've got to be kidding. How do you propose I reach it?"

The angel leaned up against the table, as if to give it a shove.
"Ready made ladder."

"No wonder they require 'furniture staking' at those teamwork
conferences," Scully sighed and pushed the table against the wall
under the grate. She did need to add the chair Diana had occupied,
but after a few more minutes, she was hauling the grate down from
the wall, and pulling herself into the opening.

"How long will I have?" she asked, as she noticed that her angel
was staying behind. "Aren't you coming with me?"

"You'll have about five minutes before they come for you. Now
haul . . . you know what!"

"You're staying behind?" Dana asked, not bothering to mask her
obvious confusion.

"No, I'm right behind you. I just have a little something I have to
do first. Now hurry!"

Scully shimmied down the air duct, avoiding the areas of open grate
and moving as quietly as she could. Eventually, she looked out
onto a corridor and beyond she could see an outside exit. She
started to work at the grate but something brushed her hand.

"Not yet," he hissed in her ear.

Just that moment, three men came barreling down the hallway, full
steam.

"OK, now." Scully took the order well, pushing against the grate
and lowering it to the ground before she followed it. In a minute,
she was out the door and running as fast as she could away from
the buildings.

"We need wheels," the angel said, running effortless beside against
the howling wind.

"We have wheels, just beyond the gate," Scully reminded him.

"I think they might have gone down the hill already," he warned
her. Sure enough, the vanagon was gone, but Mulder's car was still
parked in the copse of trees.

Scully dug in her pockets, then realized Diana's friends had taken
her keys. Finally she picked up a rock and broke the window.
"Sorry, Mulder, but it's an emergency."

"I don't think he'll mind," her angel commented as she reached
under the dash and found the appropriate wire to silence the horn
blaring in the forest. After a little more fiddling, she was able to
find the spare key Mulder kept under the seat.

"Paranoia has it's place, but men are always losing their keys,"
Scully explained, and put the key in the ignition and started it with a
roar.

She sat there, waiting. "I have no idea where to go," she pointed
out to her companion.

"Oh, yeah," he said, suddenly coming to himself. "I was just sort
of, well, proud of you just then. Yeah, uh, north. There's a road
back that way, you have to skirt the fence, but you'll find it. It goes
down the mountain. And we better hurry."

"He's hurt, right?" It wasn't really a question, but he felt
compelled to answer it.

"Yeah."

"Bad?"

"Let's just get there fast, OK?"

Scully nodded and drove as fast as the road would allow.

end of part seven

*****

A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part eight

Scully was having hard time keeping control of the car on the
narrow mountain road. The ground underneath was icy and
covered with snow and that made it slippery as all get out. She
tightened her grip on the wheel and turned to the seat beside her.

"Where? Where is he?" she demanded for the fifth time in just as
many miles.

"I told you, I don't know!" he said in exasperation. "Hey, I'm
_your_ angel. I would know where _you_ were."

"Then get _his_ angel on the line and find him!" Scully ordered.

The look he gave her made it obvious she didn't know what she
was asking. "It doesn't work like that. Besides, you'd have better
luck getting in touch with _him_ than I would getting in touch with
his angel!"

Scully shook her head. She didn't like to think about the time
Mulder had come to her when she was sure he was dead. He'd told
her in a dream that he was alive, and warned her to be careful. But
this was different. She was awake. She didn't think she could
make it work. She didn't believe in it. But if it meant Mulder's
life, maybe she should try.

She concentrated with all her might and suddenly stomped on the
brake so hard, she went into a skid. She fought the wheel for
control, but didn't get it before the car crashed, passenger front
panel first, into a large pine at the side of the road. When the roar
was out of her ears, the sickening sound of a ruptured radiator was
sounding loud just outside the windshield.

"You should have turned into the skid," her angel said calmly.

She shot him a lethal glare. "You should have turned the wheel so
I could have avoided this!" she exclaimed, pointing to the rising
column of steam coming from under the hood of the car.

"Well, at least you're in the right place." At her angel's direction,
she looked over the cliff at the side of the road. There was a burnt
out wreck of a van, still smoldering at the bottom of a ravine.

Scully got out of the car, silent as stone. Her breath came in short
pants and little clouds of steam punctuated each one. She stared
for a long time at the ruin below. "He's not there," she stated.

She didn't notice her angel blowing out a relieved breath.

"Come on. We have to find him."

Even with the snow, it wasn't that difficult to figure out what had
happened. At least, it wasn't that hard for Scully to figure it out.
She could see clearly where the van went over the side, it had
swept a path all the way down, coming to rest in some tree
branches, before falling the rest of the way down the ravine and
exploding into flame. But there was another path, smaller and at an
angle from the car. About the size a human body would make if it
were to tumble down the hill.

She returned to the car for a moment and popped the trunk. She
grabbed a backpack stored there, and quickly stuffed a couple of
blankets into it before strapping it on her back. Then, she headed
down the hillside.

He felt someone touching his head. A hand, soft, warm. Suddenly,
he felt the softness of a fleece blanket being lowered and tucked
around his body. As much as he wanted to, he just couldn't open
his eyes, but he knew that touch anywhere. Scully had found him.

"So where the hell is this angel of his so I can kick her ass," Scully
huffed as she did her best to enclose her partner in some degree of
warmth."

Her angel looked a little embarrassed at her outburst and nodded to
a vacant space near Mulder's head.

"I can't see her, huh?" Scully asked.

"She kept him alive this long. He could have died in that van," her
angel pointed out.

Scully thought about that a moment, then looked over in the
direction her angel had previously nodded. "Thank you for that."

Immediately, a glowing shape took form before her eyes. Blond
curls streaming down a perfect, well, angelic face. Blue eyes, tiny,
heart shaped lips. And a smile.

"My pleasure. It's nice to finally meet you, Special Agent Dana
Katherine Scully," Angela said in a soft saprano voice.

Scully sucked in her breath and looked away, but managed to only
look into the eyes of her own angel. "Geez, I'm surrounded by
you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Angela asked, with a wink to her comrade.

"I guess not," Scully admitted. Scully shook her head and leaned
over to take a better look at her partner. "His breathing is
compromised. He's broken a rib or two along the way." She
checked his extremities. "Looks like an electrical burn on his
hand." His eyes told her a familiar story when she lifted the swollen
lids. "Concussion. Well, Mulder you did a number on yourself this
time," Scully concluded.

"He hurt his back," Angela added.

Scully frowned. "Without an X Ray, there's no way for me to
know how badly. His reflexes don't seem to be affected," she said,
more to herself than to anyone, or thing nearby.

As she was pulling back the blanket to check his legs and feet,
Mulder let out a low moan.

"Mulder. Mulder, it's me," she said, brushing the hair off his head.
He looked a little funny, with the scarf she tied around his head to
keep the body heat in.

"Scu-u-l-l," he moaned again.

"Shhh, partner. Just take it easy." She took a handful of snow and
let it melt in her hand, blowing on it to speed it along. She brought
the melted snow up to his lips. "Sip this. Not much, but it will help
your throat."

He swallowed and she did it again. "Nat-t-ture's ice ch-ch-chips,"
he shivered.

"How did you hurt your back? Can you feel your legs?"

"F-f-fell out of the v-v-van. Landed on m-my a-a-ass. My b-b-butt
is n-n-numb, but n-n-not l-l-legs."

"You probably landed on your tailbone. A compression fracture.
We'll have to be careful getting you up the hill, but you should be
fine," she assured him.

"C-c-c-old, Sc-cul-ly. S-s-so cold," he sighed. He pulled open his
one good eyelid and stared hard at the sky.

"What are you looking for, Mulder?" she asked softly.

He kept staring for a moment, then dropped his gaze to her face.
"S-s-s-sleepin' b-b-bags," he said with a crooked smile.

She almost laughed out loud, but forced her lips into a thin smile
instead. "Well, I guess a 'bed roll' will just have to suffice," she
said and pulled one side of his blankets up then laid down next to
him, tucking the blankets around them both. She pulled him closer
to her and nestled her head on his shoulder. "Better?"

It hurt like hell, but it was the kind of pain he reserved for his
dreams. "M-m-much," he sighed.

They were quiet for a while and Scully thought he'd fallen asleep.
She had her hand over his heart, under his shirt, so she was keeping
tabs on his breathing. He shifted a little and then snuggled closer to
her.

"I slept with Diana, Scully."

She held back a sigh. At least he's warmer, a quirky part of her
brain supplied. He wasn't shivering anymore. But she could use a
different topic of conversation.

"Mulder, what you do on your own time . . ."

"Bullshit, Scully. Bullshit," he said emphatically, and it brought on
a coughing fit. She held him tightly, bracing his injured side as he
coughed. When he was done, she helped him get settled again.

"I don't love her. It was stupid. I don't know why -"

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Mulder, as much as you
want to confess, I don't want to know. I just wish you'd
understand that I don't think Diana is on your side."

"I know that, too," he said bitterly. "I found that out earlier, at the
compound."

The hurt in his voice broke her heart. She reached up and kissed
his cheek. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry she hurt you." Scully
wasn't about to go into how Diana had almost seen to her own
execution. There would time enough to go over those details when
they were safe.

"I'm more sorry if I hurt you, Scully. I never wanted to hurt you.
Never. I just wanted so bad for you to believe. And you wouldn't.
And I thought she did, but she was lying."

Again, Scully touched his mouth with her fingers. "Mulder, what if
I told you that I've been, uh, visited?"

That got his attention. As well as he could, he bent his face down
to look directly into her eyes. "The 'visitor' that comes once a
month?"

She rolled her eyes and then shook her head. "No, not that 'one'.
A, uh, heavenly visitor. Mulder, I saw my angel." She almost
expected an argument, since Mulder and religion were mutually
exclusive. To her relief, he smiled.

"Does he look like Brad Pitt?"

She laughed. "Yes, in a 'Joe Black' sort of way. I noticed your
angel looks like that woman from 'Ally McBeal'. The legal
secretary."

He thought about that for a moment. "Hey, I think you're right."
Then, amazement took over his face. "Scully, how would you
know what _my_ angel looks like?"

She smiled a knowing smile. "I figured it was about time we met,
since we tend to have matching job descriptions," she laughed
softly. "Cover Mulder's Ass. That about sums it up," she added.

He tried to look stern and offended, but he ended up looking drunk.
"Well, then I want to meet this 'Brad' character. I want to make
sure he measures up."

"Would everyone just stop with the 'Brad' business," a voice said,
materializing before them. It was Scully's angel, looking rather put
upon. At his side was Angela, who was sporting a huge grin.

"See, Mulder. Almost just like Brad Pitt. Hey, you guys make a
cute couple," Scully smiled happily.

"You two aren't that bad, yourselves. We just wanted you to know
that the 'cavalry is on the way. You don't have much time alone,
so you better make the most of it." Slowly, both angels faded into
the snowfall. "See you two next time," Angela's voice left a
tinkling sound in the silence.

"Scully, do you really believe?" Mulder asked, breathlessly.

"Mulder I have no proof. But just like my belief in you, I don't
need evidence of this. I just know it's true," she said with tears
shining from her eyes.

"You believe in me?" he asked, his voice taking on the sound of a
little boy.

"I've always believed _in_ you, Mulder. Always."

"Would you believe me if I told you I love you, Scully." His eyes
were big and trusting and she couldn't look away if she tried.

"Yes, Mulder. I believe."

end of part eight

Vickie

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A Multitude of Heavenly Hosts
part nine

Dana Scully came awake slowly, reveling in the feel of the warm,
naked body next to hers. For a moment, she hugged the body
closer, shifting back into the dream she'd just come out of. A
dream of completion, her own arms and legs entwined with a
handsome, strong, dark haired man with beautiful hazel eyes. She
almost sighed his name into the hollow of the throat where her head
rested. But just in the nick of time, she opened her eyes and came
to a startled conclusion.

It was Christmas morning and she had a lot of things to accomplish.

Smiling at the tousled headed man-child in her arms, she placed a
gentle kiss on the stubbled cheek and slipped out of the circle of
arms around her waist. Her bed partner immediately missed her
warmth and instinctively reached for her, but she tugged the covers
up around his shoulder. Hearing him murmur a soft 'Scully?' as she
crawled the rest of the way off the bed, she leaned over and gently
stroked his forehead.

"Shh, Mulder, it's all right. It's still early. Go back to sleep. Santa
hasn't been here, yet."

A smile formed on his lips, and with his eyes still closed, he
snuggled his arms around her now vacant pillow and drifted deeper
into sleep. She smiled in triumphant and wandered into the
bathroom.

Dana Scully was not a person to stand in front of the mirror, but
this morning she made an exception. Looking back at her was a
face she almost didn't recognize. Her eyes were brighter than she
could ever remember, her skin, usually not her favorite attribute,
seemed to glow with the warmth she'd recently found. In short,
she was looking at the reflection of a woman in love. Her smile
grew brighter. But she had work to do.

Grabbing her robe off the back of the bathroom door, she pulled it
on and padded off to the kitchen. Reaching into the refrigerator,
into a box clearly labeled 'tofu', she pulled out a flat box and
brought it over to the table. Gathering the items she needed from
her briefcase, she had the gift wrapped and under the tree in a
matter of minutes. Then she set about pulling out eggs, sausage,
and the makings for pancakes and set the coffee going.

"You don't think he'll be mad when he sees that gift?" a male voice
asked behind her.

She startled, but quickly recovered. "Why would he be mad?" she
asked casually, moving around the blond haired man as if it was
perfectly natural to have an angel of God standing and talking in
your kitchen.

"Well, it's sort of devious, you know."

"I intend to tell him all the functions of the item. Even the ones he
might not approve of," she said hautily. "Hey, shouldn't you be off
somewhere, singing songs of praise?"

He smiled at the slight. "Actually, today we sit up there and listen
to _you_ guys sing. You don't do a bad job of it, either."

Scully smiled at that. "I never got a chance to thank you properly.
For all you did."

"I read the report over your shoulder. Your old boss never found
either that other agent or the boy Mulder saw?"

Scully shook her head. "Nope. Agent Diana Fowley has
disappeared without a trace, as has Gibson Praise." The last was
said with a distinct note of sadness.

"Don't worry about the boy, Dana. He has a really good angel,"
her angel assured her.

That brought a smile to her lips. "As good as mine?" she asked
coyly.

"Aw, I better go. You're gonna use me to make Mulder jealous,"
he teased. Before he started to fade, he reached over and placed a
gentle kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Dana. Did you finally
get your Christmas wish?"

Before she could answer, he was gone from sight. In the doorway,
holding himself up on a cane, was her partner. He'd just been
released from the hospital the day before, and he was still bruised
and weak. But he was alive. And he was with her. The man of her
dreams.

"Who were you talking to?" Mulder asked, yawning, and moving
slowly to the chair at the table. "Oh, Merry Christmas, by the
way."

Ignoring his question, she leaned over and kissed him hard on the
lips. "Merry Christmas, to you, too." She went back to the
counter and got him a cup of coffee. "Your first present. Real
coffee. Not decaf." She handed him the cup and he closed his
eyes, sniffed and smiled appreciatively.

"I thought my first Christmas present was last night," he said with a
wink.

"Oh, there'll be more of that, especially when you're back is better.
But this morning, I have something else I want to give you."

He frowned. "Scully, you know I haven't had time to go out . . ."

She put her fingers on his lips to silence him. "This is a gift for
both of us, really." She walked over to the little table top tree he'd
allowed her to set up on his coffee table and picked up the box
she'd just wrapped. Walking back to the kitchen, she handed it to
him. "Besides, I expect a really big New's Years gift. And then
there's Valentine's Day, and my birthday, St. Patrick's Day, Easter,
Fourth of July . . ."

He laughed, pulling off the wrapping from the box. "Oh, I get it. I
get to _pay_ all year long for this."

"You betcha!" she smiled broadly in return. She pulled a chair next
to him and watched in rapt attention as he opened the box and
pulled out the item.

He held it up, admiring it. "A watch! It's beautiful. But Scully, I
have a watch," he said meekly.

Her smile grew mischievous. "Not like this one." She reached
over and pulled the small instruction booklet out of the box,
flipping to some page in the middle. "It's a homing device."

She laughed aloud at the look he gave her. "A homing device?" he
asked. "What, so you can keep tabs on me," he teased, wrapping
his arm around her and pulling her onto his lap.

"Well, it beats playing 'needle in a haystack'," she retorted. "Read
the inscription."

He squinted at the tiny, precise etching on the back of the watch.
She noticed his eyes were quickly filling with tears. There was a
catch in his throat as he read the words aloud. "I believe . . . in us.
Love, S." He turned his head to place little kisses all over her face.
"I love you."

"I love you, too," she answered and kissed him back.

"You know, you don't get paid to be a voyeur," Angela said to her
companion from their perch near the ceiling.

"No, it's just one of the perks," he said with a wink. "And if they
spend a little more time in bed, well, maybe they won't be such a
handful."

Angela shook her head, blond curls sailing around her. "Don't bet
on it. I have a feeling they're going to be even harder to keep up
with."

"Well, then, maybe we should consider joining forces. We did a
pretty good job with them recently. You know, two angels are
better than one."

She smiled broadly at him. "We're angels. Are you trying to be
cupid?"

"Moi?" he said in feigned shock. "Never."

"They do make a cute couple. But I think it's time to let them have
a little privacy."

"OK, I'll just listen, not watch." At her disapproving glare he
added, "Hey, it's a rough job, but somebody's gotta do it!"

the end

Vickie

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Hey, ma, can we go Catholic so
we can get communion wafers and
booze?

Bart Simpson, 'The Simpsons'
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