Dana Scully's apartment
Georgetown
7:05 am

"Hey, you awake?" Mulder asked the petite red head who rested comfortably in the crook of his arm.

"Mmm..." she replied drowsily as she turned her head into his shoulder, her hair fanning out in a soft wave.

He tried again.  "Scully, it's time to rise and shine."

She burrowed closer to his warmth and he lightly skimmed one hand over her shoulder and back while the other threaded its way through her hair.  The thick golden band that wrapped around his fourth finger caught the morning sun and gleamed.  Mulder hugged her tightly to him, basking in the utopian feeling that always washed over him at this time of day.  Even though he still harbored guilt on too many levels for too many things, he was still able to grasp what threads of happiness he could find in his life.  And his relationship with Scully was at the top of that list. 

'Yeah,' he thought with a smile, 'the reality of waking up next to my partner is definitely better than the fantasy.'  He breathed in her unique scent and trailed his lips over her brow.  Trying to remember what his life had been like BS...Before Scully, he found that the years blurred together, no single image more solid than another.

Of course, there was his sister.  Samantha would always hold a special part of his heart and memories.  But as he had held her in spirit in that field, he had found his Truth.  She was dead--had been for years. 

To this day, Mulder still didn't know where God's presence was in the recovery of his sister.  If, in fact, it was even a factor.  And yet, somehow, on a subconscious level, he knew that no matter what other extenuating circumstance Scully could manufacture to down-play his theory of "walk-ins," at least Samantha was safe and happy.

Scully.  In the end it all came back to her. 

It was Scully who had found the link between his sister and the hospital.  Scully who had listened to the nurse's first-hand account when he couldn't bring himself to hear the words.  Scully who had held him later through the night just as she had when he'd accepted the reality of his mother's suicide. 

Scully.

She was his Truth-seeker. 

He had known this for a long time.  She had saved him not only from the ridicule of their coworkers, but also from his darker self.  A self that had thrived in the Violent Crimes Unit and had almost driven him insane more times than he would admit.  His salvation had come by her seeking the true motivations behind his actions and steadfastly remaining by his side through everything.  But even with her devotion, something inside him had continued to push, to urge him deeper into the morass.  And because of that he had put her life in danger on too many occasions. 

His hand brushed across the nape of her neck as it swept down over her hair.  For a moment, he closed his eyes and thanked whomever for saving her.  Mulder stifled a sigh, knowing she would read it through her sleep-dulled senses and rightly theorize that he was over-thinking again.  With a smile, he pulled her closer and let his hand slip down to rub her back, urging her to return to a deeper sleep.  It was only fair since he had kept her up most of the night. 

Scully moved drowsily, her left hand drifting up to rest on his chest.  Soul-deep contentment washed over him as his eyes caught the feminine version of his own gold band and his thoughts turned to the past few months. 

It wasn't long after the Amber Lynn LaPierre case that they finally broke the walls of fear and uncertainty that had lingered between them for the majority of their partnership.  Faced with the end of his quest, Mulder had realized that his life was not the empty shell his nightmares so often had predicted.  Scully was still with him.  Still ready to find the science in the paranormal world that continued to thrive.  On the heels of the realization came the knowledge that he no longer wanted their relationship to continue as it had.  And he'd suspected that she felt the same. 

He had thought it would take more than a little persuading on his part to convince Scully that life as a couple wouldn't be much different from the one they already led.  But she had surprised him.  While on a stake-out, Mulder thought he had finally found the words, the argument, that was certain to sway her analytical mind.  He was just about to reach the kicker, having laid out all of the facts in detail, when she turned in the passenger seat.  Placing a single finger against his lips, Scully had asked, "Why don't we get married?"

One week later and it was official. 

Skinner still had yet to say anything about the change in his agents' relationship.  As a trained investigator, though, Mulder realized that their boss had to have some idea that the partners were now more than mere partners, even if the man believed it to be only supposition.  In truth, rumors about Mulder and Scully's relationship had fed the FBI grapevine for years.  The fact that their validity was no longer in question now only served to amuse him. 

He easily recalled every detail of their wedding day.  Not being inclined toward the traditional big church ceremony, and with no family on his side--with the dubious exception of CGB Spender--they had rushed the blood tests through the Gunmen and effectively kidnapped Margaret Scully from a church social.  After a short drive to a small chapel in Maryland, they pledged themselves to each other until death.  It was a little redundant in Mulder's mind, but he didn't care as long as Scully was happy. 

Though they never wore their rings in D.C. while outside their apartments, on cases, Scully had argued that there was no way the local law enforcement would know their individual marital statuses, so wearing their rings in the field was fair game.  In light of her logic, Mulder hadn't put up a fight.  Not that he hadn't been eager to wear his anyway.  If it were up to him, he would've said to hell with it and never taken it off.  But the rational side of his brain had overruled his emotions, knowing that the FBI would have no choice but to split them up if the vows became common knowledge. 

He still rented his Arlington apartment, but it was only for appearances.  Just like the two rooms they always reserved while on a case.  Mulder smiled.  It wasn't a total waste of Bureau money; after all both rooms usually got used, but probably not in the way anyone at Headquarters would deem appropriate. 

Mulder glanced at the clock and resignedly squeezed the shapely bundle more forcefully.  "Dana, we have to get up.  We've got that meeting with Skinner in an hour."

She popped open one blue eye, arched her brow and peered at the clock as if daring it to show the accurate time.  As the glowing red numbers registered in her brain, Scully bolted upright in bed, but not before accidentally landing a sharp blow to her husband's chest.  "Why didn't you tell me it was so late?" she cried, casting an accusing glare in his direction. 

Mulder offered her a sheepish grimace as air returned to his lungs.  "Well, you looked so peaceful..."

With a withering stare, she climbed out of bed.  "Somehow, I don't think that excuse is going to go over well with Skinner."  She didn't bother to grab the silk robe that lay over the chair arm in her haste to get a shower and get dressed.  Mulder lips curved into a sly smile and gazed longingly at her well-shaped rear.  "You want some company?" he called after her with a leer. 
 

FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Scully sat at her desk flipping through the file that Skinner had given them during their meeting earlier that morning.  The slight crack of sunflower seed against teeth echoed softly through the basement office as she mentally prepared her argument against the plausibility of the case. 

Unbeknownst to the pair, two silent watchers followed their movements.  Both women wore modern clothes, but each possessed a decidedly ethereal glow.  The younger of the two looked on the scene with confusion; the older woman's gaze held quiet contemplation.

"Tess, I don't understand.  What could possibly be wrong with these two?" The younger woman's slight Irish lilt cut softly through the air.  Although the pair in question could not hear or see them, Monica didn't want to intrude on their quiet interlude.

"Oh, baby," the older woman replied, "there's nothing wrong now.  And after all they've been through, it's a blessing."

Monica's brow furrowed with confusion as her gaze moved from the agents to her cocoa-colored counter part.  "Then why are we here now and not earlier when we could have helped them?"

"We weren't assigned to them before," Tess replied with a patience borne of resignation.  "Owens was called in to guide them in their first major trial.  And a few others helped along the way."

Monica cocked her head to one side, her long auburn hair sliding along her shoulder, and asked with surprise, "Owens?  The archangel?"  Realizing that archangels were only called in to help with the most serious of cases, Monica looked at the pair with new eyes.

Tess nodded her affirmation.  Seeing her young charge's curiosity, she proceeded to give her more details.  "There are no perfect people in this world, baby, only people perfect for each other. Special Agent Fox Mulder and his partner, Dana Scully have taken the hard road to get to where they are now.  They've been working together for seven years, but neither could have realized at the beginning of their partnership how much they would each grow...and suffer.  I <do> know they recognized very early on that they had something unique, a bond that through sickness and health has strengthened so much that they trust each other implicitly."

Monica smiled at her supervisor's words.  "Tess, you make it sound like they're married!"

"They are," the older woman replied sagely.  "But in truth the official ceremony was just a formality.  These two have been married in spirit for many years now."

The younger angel watched Mulder's gaze lovingly trace over his wife's features as she studied the file with quiet intent.  "That's wonderful news!" she answered, a smile lighting up her face.

"Well, baby, it is and it isn't," her supervisor replied with a slight shrug.  "Although these two have survived the trials their work and enemies have placed in their paths, neither one has healed completely.  And with each new situation they encounter, the damages just continue to mount."

Monica turned her perplexed gaze toward Tess and asked, "If they are in so much danger, why does God not do anything to intercede?"

Tess sighed, the slight exhale jostling her more salt than pepper bangs.  "It's not that easy, Miss Wings.  Dana is a scientist who needs proof for everything, but she is also a devout believer in God.  Fox, on the other hand, will believe any report, no matter how outlandish, but has no faith in the Almighty.  She continues to look for the rational first before trusting her faith, while he never even considers God an option."  The angel paused thoughtfully, her wise eyes gauging the unsuspecting pair before her.  "The life they have begun to build outside these walls will one day crumble under the weight of their sorrows.  And no amount of earthly counsel can change that.  The only way they can avoid this route is to grow in spirit.  She must renew her faith, while he must build his own."

Tess quieted as Scully looked up from the file toward her partner, an eyebrow cocked.  "Mulder," she started, exasperation seeping into her voice.  "Sink holes?"

He jumped in before she could fully launch into the unlikelihood of the crime's occurrence. Mulder's voice rippled with unsuppressed enthusiasm as he warmed to his tale.  "Three weeks ago, a couple in Smithton, Kentucky, were planning the main event for the town's 150th anniversary. Before their very eyes, a sink hole formed.  The kicker is, it opened up right under a small grocery store which was owned by the family of the town's founder, John Jacob Henry. Two days later, another sink hole gobbled up the plaque that was set in 1893 in honor of Henry.  And..."

"Don't tell me," she interrupted with a raised eyebrow.  "A few days later, something else related to this family was destroyed by yet another sink hole."

Mulder leaned forward in his chair and picked up a pencil.  Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger he continued, "A jungle gym at the local elementary school.  And it wasn't just 'destroyed,' Scully.  It was disintegrated."  Her right eyebrow joined the left as they tried to merge with her hairline.  An enthusiastic gleam lit his eyes at the sight.  "When local excavation teams arrived to assess the damage, all they found were bits and pieces of the aforementioned sites."

Scully crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her desk.  "Mulder, those items could have been destroyed any number of ways.  The force of the ground's movement alone would be enough to break rocks and wood."

"To the extent of grinding a marble plaque into a pile of dust?" he asked innocently reeling her analytical mind further into the case.

Scully, however, wasn't budging quickly.  "And....this is an X-file....how?" she asked, her face a picture of disbelief.  She loved this man more than life itself, but sometimes he really could go off the deep end.

Mulder smiled enigmatically and removed a plane ticket from his inside coat pocket.  "Care to take a trip to the Bluegrass State and find out?  If you're good, I might even take you to Churchill Downs!"

Scully shook her head and raised her eyes to heaven.  'Lord, help me,' she thought.

Nearby, Tess murmured, "Don't worry baby, He will.  He will."
 
 
 

Super 8
Lexington, Kentucky

Since there were no hotels in the blip on the map known as Smithton, Mulder had booked rooms on the outskirts of Lexington leaving them 30 minutes away from the town. At Scully's request, the pair decided to check to into a hotel before meeting the county sheriff.  Scully ignored her partner's knowing grin and firmly convinced herself that her mid-afternoon fatigue had nothing to do with their previous night's activities and chocked it up to jet lag and a bumpy plane ride. 

Silently, she unpacked her suits and personal items after they'd entered their usual connecting rooms.  Mulder noticed her quiet brooding and, in an effort to help her shake it off, wandered toward the open  connecting door.  As they'd passed through the green hills and beautifully manicured farms, Mulder had admired the horses; their lean grace and gleaming coats intriguing him more than he would have realized. "Do you know anything about horses?"

She dropped to the bed, suit jacket and hanger in hand.  Nodding, Scully replied, "A little.  When I was younger, Ahab was stationed on a base in Florida.  A local racing stable offered summer jobs to kids on the base.  Mainly as hot walkers and grooms.  Bill Jr. was off on his first shakedown cruise and Missy was in her only year at college, and there weren't many kids my age there that summer.  So, I took a groom's position to fill up some time.  One of the trainers taught me how to ride and I even jumped a little."

"God, Scully," Mulder breathed as he leaned back against the door frame for support and unconsciously caressed his t-shirt.

"What?" she asked, an eyebrow kicking up.

A dreamy smile drifted over his lips.  "I just pictured you in those tight riding pants."

Scully shot him a look and corrected, "They're called 'jods,' Mulder."

Her partner nodded, still lost in thought.  "Think you could pick up a pair?" he asked as visions of playing "jockey" filled his head. 

Scully rolled her eyes, but otherwise offered no comment.  She returned to her unpacking, leaving out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  There was no use staying in her work clothes since they had yet to contact the sheriff.  She toed off her heels and slid her panty hose down, relishing in the feeling of freedom those simple actions gave her, and lay back on the bed in her lingerie. 

Mulder had apparently given up his fantasies and headed back into his room.  After a few minutes, Scully heard his low tones as he called the department and scheduled a time to visit the crime scenes.  She closed her eyes, allowing herself a small break in the rigid control she maintained.  Absently, she fingered the delicate band around her fourth finger and smiled. 

She was married.  Something she had long ago given up on.  And it was to her partner.  Even after three months, it was still hard to believe.

When she'd walked into the basement office seven years ago, she never in an eternity would have guessed where he would take her, what he would show her.  He had been so arrogant and condescending--not that she hadn't expected that from the former fair-haired boy of the Behavioral Sciences Unit--yet, Fox Mulder had surprised her.  His arrogance and condescension had been carefully crafted over the years to hide his own truth.  He was a good man, but one who had been terribly hurt as a child.  So rather than opening himself up to more hurt, he had built a shield and hidden behind his natural gifts, hoping desperately that no one would bother to look any deeper.

But that was where the scientist in her had taken over.  She had seen what everyone thought to be true about him, had heard the rumors and the nicknames, but needed indelible facts to back up the theories.  And so, she had set out to find empirical evidence; but when she began peeling back the layers of Mulder, she found his true self.  The man who so desperately wanted justice for those wronged and truth from those who lied. 

He was so much more than what he seemed.  And he was hers.

The thought brought another smile to her lips.  She raised her left hand and carefully studied the intricate laces of her golden band.  He hadn't given her a traditional ring.  After all, they weren't a traditional couple.  Oh, he would have gotten her a diamond if she'd asked, but when he'd opened the small black box the day after she had sort of proposed, her breath had been taken away.  It was perfect.  Two thick strands of gold melded together, unable to tell where one began and the other ended; it was a metallic version of themselves.

The slight sound of him hanging up the phone jostled her from her reverie and she sat up, grabbing the soft white t-shirt and pulling it over her head.  Mulder called from his room, "Hey, Scully, the sheriff is going to be gone until later this afternoon and the deputy is busy setting up for the town's celebration.  You wanna grab some lunch while we wait?"

Slipping into the faded jeans, she answered, "Sounds like a plan to me.  I'm starving."

He stuck his head in through the connecting door, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her zip the denim.  "I found a great little Mexican restaurant on the brochure in the dresser."

Scully padded into his room, her shirt untucked and bare feet peeking out from under the cuffs of her jeans.  Mulder's gaze burned its way up and down her body as he absorbed the way her clothes molded to her.  He stood shirtless, his faded black jeans beginning to constrict his very male response to his wife's attire. 

After fully indulging in a long, hungry look of her own, Scully took a deep breath and reminded, "You know the rules, Agent Mulder.  Case before love."

He quietly closed the gap between them.  "But, Agent Scully," he purred as he tunneled a hand through her silky hair, "haven't you realized by now that rules are made to be broken?"

She smiled and placed a soft kiss on his lips then sighed regretfully as she moved out of his warm embrace. "Sorry, Dana," he admonished with a wolfish smile, pulling her back into his arms.  "One just isn't enough."

He tilted her head back and lowered his lips to hers.  Electricity sparked between them as he nibbled and brushed his way across her full lower lip.  Tracing his tongue along the soft line of her mouth, he silently asked for entrance, hoping that she would give in to the feelings that so easily coursed between them.  To his delight, she parted her lips and slid her tongue against his own.  Heat coiled through her, trapping her in its overwhelming need.  Her hands trailed up his well-muscled back as a sweet battle raged between them. 

A low gurgling sound broke their embrace.  Scully blushed slightly and glanced up at her husband sheepishly.  "I told you I was hungry."

With another quick peck to her lips, Mulder smiled and pushed her back into her room to finish getting dressed.

***

The Hot Tamale
Lexington, Kentucky
 

"Mulder," Scully began as she gestured with a salsa-laden tortilla chip, "the physical aspect alone makes the likelihood of this improbable."

Her partner looked up from his own saturated chip; the gleam in his eyes urging her to continue.

"I've never studied the composition of sink holes in depth, but I do know that they occur when soil moves through limestone and breaks up the ground's structure.  Or, and more likely in this instance given the terrain, they form when the roof of an underground cave collapses."  She took a bite and continued as she munched on the chip.  Mulder grinned at her.  Never let it be said that Dana Scully ever let food get in the way of a good argument.  "For something like this to happen--let alone for the sink hole to be perfectly round like these pictures suggest--the timing and placement of such occurrences <have> to be planned."

Mulder grabbed another chip and proceeded to dunk it liberally in the spicy sauce.  "You mean something like the 'cornfield hoax?'"

Shaking her head, she replied, "More along the lines of a deliberate crime against this particular family."  She took a sip of her water and pursed her lips.  "You yourself said that the sink holes were 'targeting' only pieces of property directly related to the town's founder or his relatives.  Maybe a couple of kids set this up in the hopes of spoiling the party."

Her partner steepled his hands in front of him.  "Then how do you explain the condition of the targets?" he asked with aplomb, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his partner grasping for the tiniest thread of scientific theory. 

"Well, falling rocks and debris from the formation of the sink hole..."  The rest of her explanation was cut short by the waiter returning with their food.  Just as the man was about to set down her plate, Mulder's phone rang.

"Mulder," he answered as he watched Scully take an appreciative sniff of the burrito.  "....yes....alright, we're on our way."  He punched the End button and glanced from Scully to the brightly clothed server.  "Can we get that to go?" 

***
 

Edmonton County Sheriff's Department
Smithton, Kentucky
 

The entrance to the Sheriff's department was like countless others Scully and Mulder had been in before.  Cramped and small, it housed two desks and an assortment of metal folding chairs.  The once-white walls were cracked and desperately in need of a coat of paint. Having driven through the main square--if indeed it could even be called that--the town's low economic status was almost a comedic contrast to the wealth and affluence of Lexington.   Almost.

Mulder let his hand drift to the small of his partner's back as they walked toward the receptionist's desk.  Once there, he removed it to flash his badge at the woman.  "Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI.  We're here to see Sheriff Wyatt about the sink holes."

"Oh, yes," replied the woman in a soft Irish brogue whose long red hair was neatly tucked up into a bun.  She closed the file she had been looking over and rose from the chair.  "He's been expecting you.  I'm Monica," she continued with a pleasant smile as she extended her hand to both agents.

Surprised to hear the Gaelic lilt instead of the expected country twang, Scully nodded in greeting and shook the other woman's hand.  "Can you show us where the latest incident occurred?"

Stepping around the desk, Monica nodded.  "Sheriff Wyatt is already over there.  It happened just as he was coming back into town.  He passed by it as the sink hole formed."  She led them out the side door and back onto the street.  "If you take a right back up by the square and then go about half a mile, the diner is up on the left."

Mulder nodded and gestured for Scully to precede him.  "Thanks, Monica."

"No problem.  I would go myself, but I have to stay and monitor the phones.  Since the sink holes have been appearing out of nowhere, several people have been calling in, concerned about their own properties.  Someone has to be here to calm them down," she added, the smile in her eyes brighter than the one on her lips.

Turning toward the car, Scully muttered, "Well as long they're last names aren't Henry, I would guess they're safe."

Monica cocked her head to one side and asked, "So, you've heard the rumor?  That they are only after property owned by the late founder's family?"

"Any truth to it?" Mulder asked, his hazel eyes a mixture of curious regard and surprise at the woman's openness.

Monica pursed her lips and answered, "Vengeance belongs to God, though man and nature often attempt to make it their own," before returning to the station.

Scully paused by the car door and watched the closing door, a sense of odd familiarity washing over her.  There was something about Monica.  Her whole demeanor screamed that she was not exactly who she claimed to be. "Scully?" her partner asked.

Shaking her head, she murmured, "Yeah, coming, Mulder."
 

***

Emily Anne's Eatery
Smithton, Kentucky
 

"Sheriff Wyatt, now I know what you said, but I promised Emily Anne that I would look after the diner while she was away at her mother's." Tess brushed a long lock of graying hair back behind her ear as she argued with the town's sheriff.  She was not about to back down; especially not when her assignments had yet to show up.

The sheriff lifted his hands in an attempt to soothe the riled woman.  One thing was for sure; Emily Anne's friend was quite a hellcat when she was crossed.  Tess had blown into town on the heels of the news that Emily's mama was sick.  Ever since her arrival yesterday, Tess had managed to not so subtly exert her influence on the patrons.  Oh, it certainly wasn't a bad thing.  She'd gotten Mark Ferry to go back to his wife and kids after moving out and Edward Johns was talking to his father--something that hadn't happened in years.

And now, she was bound and determined to go back into the diner, or at least what was left of it, and find out what had happened.  Wyatt had been arguing with her for what seemed like hours when he noticed that he was about to be given a much-needed reprieve.  The FBI had arrived.

Scully looked from the remains of the diner and back to Mulder as the pair walked toward the sheriff.  "See, what'd I tell you?" her partner asked as his hand slipped down to its customary place on the small of her back.  "Disintegrated."

With wry tone, she replied, "I can see that."  And in truth, it was.  The whole front of the diner now lay at the bottom of an almost perfectly round sink hole.  The wood siding of the frame no more than a pile of finely ground sawdust. Chairs and tables lay in pieces in or barely hanging onto the formation's edge.  Those who had parked near the building had been lucky.  With the exception of a cracked window or two, the cars hadn't been damaged.  The whole area looked as if a child had tired of his toys and left them scattered every which way without thought or care. 

As the two agents approached the scene, Mulder pulled out his badge and introduced, "Agents Mulder and Scully.  We're with the FBI."

The sheriff's obvious relief was almost comical, and Scully had to stifle a small smile as he foisted the vocal waitress off on the new arrivals.  "Agents, this is Tess.  She's running the diner while Emily Anne, the owner, is out of town.  Tess, why don't you tell these two what happened?"

The cocoa-colored woman turned from Wyatt and glanced appraisingly at the couple before her.  With an inward smile, she noted their fourth fingers each bore a band of gold.  But the rings themselves didn't impress her the most.  It was the care and consideration with which they treated each other.  Underneath the cloak of resigned experience that hung around them, they wore their love.  It was obvious, if one looked carefully.  His hand at her back, a skeptical look tinged with softness.  Yes, indeed, these two were going to last. 

That is, they would if Tess and Monica didn't fail in their assignments.

That thought in mind, Tess smoothed the white apron that wrapped around her hefty bulk and smiled.  "Well, babies," she began in an affable motherly manner.  "I had just stepped outside to wave at Joe Don and ask him how his sister was doing when all of a sudden this loud grinding noise started up out of nowhere."  She turned and gestured toward the sink hole.  "Just as I turned around, the diner dropped into the ground.  A minute later, I saw this gaping hole and heard another awful tearing sound."

Her eyes began to tear up as she thought about the woman who would return and find her dream shattered by an act of nature.  Tess looked back toward Mulder and said as much.

Brow furrowed in thought, Mulder responded, "I'm not so sure it <was> an act of nature, Ms..."

"Just Tess," she answered with a soft smile. 

Scully shot her partner a silent but telling glance at his words.  'Mulder.  Don't mess with the minds of the locals just yet.'

His brows lifted slightly in dry humor and he questioned silently, 'So, you have another theory?'

'Not yet,' she responded and glanced over at the former location of the diner.  She lifted a brow thoughtfully and returned her gaze to her partner

With an equally quiet nod, he agreed with her assessment.  Her strengths were much better utilized by looking at the crime scene especially since it was apparent that the witness had identified with Mulder.  Leading Tess away from the diner, he left Scully to her part of the investigation.

Sheriff Wyatt had watched the agents' interchange with curiosity and, after a minute of indecision, joined Scully as she investigated the sink hole.  Unsure she would welcome company, he asked tentatively, "So, what do you make of it, Agent Scully?" He watched as she picked her way through the strewn debris and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his department-issued jacket.  It might almost be spring, but the hollow stayed chilly until mid-May.  Having grown up in this county, Wyatt learned long ago not to trust weathermen.

The woman didn't answer immediately.  Instead, she removed her leather gloves and replaced them with a latex version, her blue eyes cataloging and synthesizing the information she gleaned from the scene.  "What do you know about the founder of the town?" she asked after a few minutes of careful study.

Wyatt pursed his lips and shrugged.  "Oh, I guess about what everyone else knows. John Jacob Henry was a hunter who founded Smithton around a small hunting lodge.  He married a woman from back East and brought her here to start a new life...established a core city for the surrounding area, based on the earnings he made from specialized hunting parties...was the first person buried in the graveyard down the road.  When he died, the town had over 500 people living here."

Scully nodded absently as though she was only half-listening.  "The perfect benefactor," she murmured as she knelt to run her fingers through a pile of dust and glass.  "And now someone wants to ruin his legacy."

***

"So, Tess, what is your relation to the owner of the diner?"  Mulder asked as he glanced back at the remnants of the building.

The woman sighed and answered, "She's the daughter of an old friend of mine.  In fact, I was the one who called and told Emily Anne her mother was ill."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully and continued, "What do you know about the town's history?  I understand that it's about to turn 150."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I really don't know much at all.  Emily Anne could tell you more; after all, she's a direct descendant of the town's founder."  Tess lifted her laced hands, adding, "Matter of fact, she is on the historical committee that's helping to put together the town's celebration."

Intrigued, Mulder's brow furrowed as he bit his lower lip, his brain rapidly assimilating the pieces into some sort of a picture.  Tess watched him for a moment, curious at how easily he processed her simple words into the complex ideas that would lead him to the case's solution. 

As the silence continued, her eyes drifted back to the remains of the diner.  She shook her head sadly and whispered, "Lord, I wish You'd said something sooner."  Tess turned back and found the agent's intense gaze focused on her.  She smiled as she correctly read the curiosity, which lurked in the hazel depths of his eyes.  "God is speaking all the time, Agent Mulder.  Unfortunately, most people can't or won't hear Him until it's too late--if they ever do."  She shook her head in resignation as she saw the cynical gleam quickly replace his curiosity. 

"I know what you believe," she murmured, breaking his silent regard. "But when God talks to you, it's not schizophrenia," She paused as she quirked an eyebrow at him, the action very reminiscent of another woman he knew.  "Its called 'grace.'"  Without waiting for his answer, Tess turned and walked away.  Mulder blinked a couple of times as his photographic mind faithfully replayed his conversation with Father Gregory.  A conversation which had taken place over two years ago and one that only he, the father, and Scully had witnessed.  So how would Tess know what he'd said in that interrogation room?

***

"Aw, hell," the sheriff muttered, "looks like we've sparked some attention."  Muttering a mild curse, he grimaced and made his way toward the rapidly forming crowd near the row of cars that were relatively undamaged by the sink hole.  He lifted his hands in a placating manner and offered a short explanation to the locals.

Scully briefly glanced in Wyatt's direction then returned to her study of the splintered wood and glass.  After a moment, she heard the soft crunch of dress shoes and looked up to find her partner. 

"So, what did you find?" he asked squatting beside her.

She shrugged and answered, "Nothing unusual.  Barring the shape of the sink hole itself and its choice of a location, there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.  There's no obvious catalyst to its formation either."  Scully pursed her lips as she rose and looked toward the small gathering of onlookers that Wyatt was now trying to contain.  "There's nothing to suggest an underground cave here, but Kentucky is known for a limestone ground structure.  I want to send some soil samples off to the lab and get the chemical compositions tested.  A natural breakdown in the soil's make-up could easily account for the sink hole's formation."

Mulder rose as well and studied the crowd for a moment.  Shouts of, "Wyatt, what's going on?" and "It went after another of Henry's kin!" mixed together urging the small group's fears to higher levels. 

"It looks like the sheriff needs some lessons on crowd control," Scully murmured with a wry twitch of her lips. 

Her partner nodded.  "With the exception of one person," Mulder remarked as his eyes settled on a young woman who stood off to the side, her gaze glued to the remnants of the diner.  She glanced furtively at the agents and then turned almost as if in resignation and walked down the street.

"Ten bucks says she knows something," Scully bet, watching the woman for a moment.  She glanced up at her partner and accurately read the yearning in his eyes.  He wanted to go after her, but would stay with Scully knowing she had the better lead.  The wife in her smiled at the sentiment; he had pledged to her on their wedding day there would be no more ditching.  While it was comforting to the wife to finally know where she could at least start looking for him if something happened, it was a little confining for the agent. Without too much debate, the agent in her took over and she nodded insisting, "Go.  I'll call you if I find anything."
 
 

Main Street
Smithton, Kentucky

Mulder caught up to the rapidly fleeing woman a few yards away from the crime scene.  He watched as her shoulders tensed noticeably when he called, "Miss!  I'm an FBI agent; I need to talk to you."  It was obvious those three letters had their intended effect when she slowed a moment later and turned back. 

Casting a furtive gaze up and down the street, she finally met his eyes, a wary glint darted around the green depths.  "I'm Special Agent Mulder," he introduced, this time not withdrawing his badge.  The woman was already uncomfortable and he knew the credentials would only make her more so.  "I noticed you were at the diner.  Care to tell me why you left in such a hurry, Miss...?" Mulder asked, pasting on his most trustworthy face.

The woman, who looked all of fifteen but in reality was probably closer to her mid-twenties, ignored his prodding and licked her lips with indecision.  The agent easily read her unease and suggested, "Perhaps there's somewhere else we can go and talk?"

After a moment, she nodded and began to walk further up the street.  About a block later, she turned and entered a narrow gate.  A low wrought iron fence surrounded a turn of the century frame house.  Taking care to relock the gate, something that sparked Mulder's curiosity given the size of the town, the woman gestured for him to follow her.  Only when they were inside did she speak. 

With a slightly apologetic smile, she stated, "I'm not sure what I can tell you, Agent..."

"Mulder," he supplied quickly, "and for starters you can tell me why you're so scared."

She nodded numbly and walked into a small, but comfortable living room.  Sitting down in one of the arm chairs, she tucked her legs up underneath her and indicated that he take the opposing seat.  "Well, I'm sure you know about the other sink holes," she began and seeing his nod of affirmation, she continued, "but what you don't know is that it wasn't a surprise that they began forming.  At least not to me."

Mulder leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his easy manner urging her to go on.  "Emily Anne got the idea to throw a party for the town's 150th birthday.  She's my cousin and she wanted my help, but I knew that we shouldn't do it."

"Okay," he soothed.  "Back up for a minute.  Why wasn't it a surprise?"

The woman sighed and answered, "I guess I'd better start at the beginning.  First off, my name is Carrie Leigh Henry.  I'm named after John Jacob Henry's wife; he was this town's founder.  Emily Anne and I are direct descendents of them."  She paused as if searching for the right words to say.  "John Jacob was...well, he wasn't a very good person.  He was extremely ambitious, and would do anything to get what he wanted."

Mulder nodded, not wanting to hurry her, but eager to get to the meat of the story.  "What happened?  How was Henry able to form the town?"  Mulder licked his lips thoughtfully.  "From what I understand, the man was only a hunter, and probably not a well-educated one at that.  How did found Smithton?"

Carrie Leigh untucked her legs and clasped her hands together.  "Well, you're right about one thing, Agent Mulder.   John Jacob Henry wasn't the smartest man in the world, but he <was> cunning.  I guess he had what you might call 'street smarts.'  He knew how to play people."  After a moment of silence, she rose and walked over to the fireplace mantle and pulled down a small picture.

>From his seat on the couch, Mulder could barely see the two figures in the blurred image.  Carrie Leigh, as if almost as an after-thought, realized this and handed the frame to him.  She returned to the fireplace and watched thoughtfully as Mulder fully absorbed the picture.  "That's the only picture that was ever made of them.  Family lore has it that a traveling photographer came into town one day and wanted to take everyone's pictures."  Her brow furrowed as she retold the story.  "John Jacob and Caroline were the first to pose, but to everyone's humor, the camera broke just as the flash went off."

She shrugged and chuckled at Mulder's dubious look.  "Yeah, I know, it sounds silly, but there's no real evidence to the contrary, in fact, there's one thing that really supports it:  an unmarked headstone in the old graveyard.  Apparently, when the photographer realized what had happened, he laughed and said that he thought John Jacob was ugly, but he didn't think he was ugly enough to break the camera."

Mulder glanced back to the small photo in his hand.  He had to agree, John Jacob Henry wouldn't have won any beauty contests, but back in the 1800s, there weren't many men outside the East Coast parlors who would.  "I guess he didn't take too kindly to that sentiment?"

Carrie Leigh pursed her lips and nodded.  "To say the least.  A few days later, the photographer's body was found beaten to a pulp a few miles away from the city.  Nobody said a word, mainly because they all had a good idea who did it and no one wanted to risk the same thing happening to them if they spoke up."

"So they buried the photographer in the local graveyard and no one ever confronted him about it," Mulder surmised with a wry grin.

"Pretty much.  And the picture, as well as the tale, has been handed down through the family."

Mulder sat the frame on the low end table beside him and remarked, "So, he was more than a little sensitive about his looks.  What does that have to do with the town's founding?"

"That's just it," she replied, returning to curl up in the arm chair.  "It has everything to do with it.  John Jacob was the middle brother of three boys.  His mama doted on the youngest while his father thought the oldest could do no wrong.  John Jacob made it his life's goal to make his brothers look bad in the eyes of their parents and in return make himself look like the good son."

The agent nodded at the familiar storyline.  How many times had it occurred over the ages?  But this was the first time, to his extremely well-versed knowledge, that a town had turned on its founder.

"Michael Lee, John Jacob's older brother, was the one who actually worked to build the town.  He and a few of his friends milled timber and hauled it in to create a group of cabins that hunters would use as a stop-over between trips.  They built up a fairly big client base and even at one point had a group of rich people from the East come out.  That's when the problems started."  Carrie Leigh looked away from the agent, her voice softening as the scene played out in her mind.

"When these people got here, Michael Lee was supposed to lead them through the area so they could hunt and fish.  Well, John Jacob heard of the plans and he and some of his buddies jumped his brother one night and beat him up so badly that he wasn't able to lead the trip.  The next morning as the visitors got ready for the hunt, John Jacob told them that he was actually the guy who put the cabins together and organized the hunting trips.  Michael Lee died from complications from the beating while they were gone.   My family thinks he was bleeding inside and nobody knew it."

Mulder nodded with understanding.  Score one for the world of modern medicine. 

She sighed.  Even after all the times she had heard the story from her mother, Carrie Leigh still felt a twinge of loss over Michael Lee's death.  True, she'd never known him, but from all accounts he had been a good man.  And he'd been cheated out of what should have been <his> legacy.

"When the hunting party returned a few days later," she continued, "John Jacob found that his younger brother, David, had fallen in love with the daughter of one of the visitors.  She had wanted to come to Kentucky and see the area, but her father wouldn't allow her to go with them on the hunting trip, so she'd stayed in one of the lodges. 

"Her father, Robert Martin, was a little uneasy about the match until he saw how much in love the two were and since he'd married for love himself, he wasn't about to deny his daughter her choice in a husband.  So, a big party was held that night with music and dancing.  David and Martin's girl disappeared about mid-way through and the next thing anybody knew, she was screaming her head off." 

Carrie Leigh shook her head sadly.  "She'd been raped...and John Jacob was quick to accuse his brother of doing it."  She paused and let the insinuation hang lifeless in the air between them.

"But John Jacob was the one who actually raped her, wasn't he?" Mulder asked leaning forward.  "That was the one way he could finally destroy his younger brother."

She nodded and added, "And destroy him it did, in more ways than one.  David was heartbroken, pleading with her and Martin, swearing up and down that he didn't do it, but no one believed him.  The only witness was John Jacob and no one thought he would accuse his brother without cause.  Martin, of course, demanded punishment and back in those days, there was only one way.  He took out one of his fancy pearl-handled pistols and shot David on the spot.

"The whole place was in shock, but not one of them was going to go against the will of a grieving father.  The girl was now considered 'damaged goods' and all hope of her finding a husband was gone, especially if she turned out to be pregnant.  Well, John Jacob, always wanting to look good in the eyes of others, stepped in and told Martin he'd marry his daughter.  Said it was only fair since it was his brother who had done it.  Elated, Martin agreed and the wedding took place the next day.  No one ever knew the truth.  I'm not even sure Caroline did until after John Jacob's death."

"So she was Caroline Leigh Martin?"

Carrie Leigh offered him a wry grimace and nodded.  "My great grandmother.  Ever since I first heard the story, I've always wondered about her.  How she could live with such a man, bear him children..."  Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the small picture on the table.  The couple stared out from 150 years ago in stark relief.  Their faces tense and fixed like so many other photos from that time.  But Carrie Leigh often thought that she could see the pain lurking in the hollow depths of Caroline's eyes.

"How do you know all of this if the town doesn't?" Mulder asked startling her from her reverie.

"It was a story that was passed down through our family.  John Jacob got TB as a child and somehow got over it, but when he was in his fifties, it came back and killed him.  On his deathbed, he was feverish and spouting all kinds of nonsense.  At least what his nurse thought was nonsense, but when Caroline went in to check on him and heard him raving about everything that had happened, she fainted dead away.  He died that night, but not before spilling every last rotten detail of how Smithton was created.  And no one's ever said anything until now because of the shame that would be associated with our name." 

She picked at one of her fingernails, her resignation slumping her shoulders.  "At this point in time, I'm tired of living with the secret.  And people nowadays just love hearing other people's dirty laundry.  I think the threat of shame has passed; it's just time to let it out and see which way everything falls."

"So how were the targets chosen?  This isn't a random process since each site has a connection to Henry."

"It's more than that.  They're chosen based on the crime committed there."  Carrie Leigh rose from her chair and walked over to a framed drawing that hung on the wall.  She glanced back over her shoulder and raised her finger to point out various locations.  "This is a map of the town that hunters used years ago.  You can see the three main lodges here.  Now, if you look at the local area, none of the major landmarks have changed over the years."  She smiled softly and commented, "One of the benefits of living in a small town; progress really never seems to find us." 

Mulder peered at the map over her shoulder, orienting himself to the place at each point in time.  "So, I assume that this," he indicated the area around the three lodges, "was the general vicinity where Caroline was raped?"

"Matter of fact it was here," Carrie Leigh corrected, trailing her finger closer to the trees.  "And that's where the plaque dedicating the town park is...or was...  No, the place where the cabins were, that's where Michael Lee was beaten."

"And what's there now?" Mulder asked, his brow furrowing.

Carrie Leigh blanched.  "That's where the grocery store used to be."

A light of dawning awareness flitted through Mulder's gaze.  "So the town is taking this by the numbers, hitting the sites of the crimes in sequential order."

"Hmmm...I hadn't thought of it like that," the woman murmured as her eyes drifted over the map. 

"If Caroline was raped near the plaque, then David must have been shot where the school playground now is since what's left of the jungle gym is now in a pile of metal filings."  He tore his eyes from the map and looked down at Carrie Leigh.  "What happened at the diner?"

She sighed and bit her lip.  "Well, I guess that's where you could say the final injustice happened.  Still reeling from David's death, their mother lashed out at John Jacob.  The morning after the shooting was the day he and Martin had set for the wedding.  Everyone was there with the exception of his parents, that is until the part where the preacher asks if anyone has any objections."

Mulder nodded as a wry grin tugged at his lips.  "She had one I take it."

"Oh yeah," Carrie Leigh confirmed.  "She stood at the back of the lodge where the ceremony was taking place and yelled, 'John Jacob if you go through with this, you are no son of mine.  I will never look at you again!'  To which John Jacob promptly replied, 'I could care less, you old hag.  The only one of us you loved was David and now you've got no choice but to love me, seeing as you have no other sons.'"

"Ouch," the agent muttered as he crossed back to the end table and picked up the picture once more.

"To say the least.  But the worst of it was his words got to her so badly that she died right there on the spot.  I guess it was a heart attack."  She sighed and returned to her chair, curling her legs underneath her once more.  "Well, I guess there's nothing else to do now; the four crimes have been avenged.  Sheesh, I was hoping somehow the last one could have been stopped.  Emily Anne put the money our uncle left us when he died into that diner.  Lord knows how she's going to rebuild it."

Mulder continued to stare at the picture, clearing his mind to allow all he had learned to settle into its proper place.  Something was missing.  Somehow he didn't think the revenge was as complete as Carrie Leigh thought.  After a moment of careful study, he asked almost rhetorically, "Where's John Jacob in all this?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, leaning forward to get a closer look at the picture.

"Why attack the sites of the crimes and not the person who did them?" the agent pondered, his voice lost in thought.

Carrie Leigh shrugged, "Maybe because it can't get to him.  After all, he's been dead for quite a while."

At her words, Mulder turned sharply and asked, "Where's he buried?"

The woman blinked, startled by his movement as well as the question.  "Out Route 3, in the old graveyard.  Place hasn't been used since the '20s.  I think that might have been around the time the state government actually started to care where people were buried."

Mulder nodded, the final clue falling into place.  "Thank you for your help, Carrie Leigh.  I'll be in touch."  Without a glance back, he turned and let himself out the front door leaving a confused Carrie Leigh sitting alone in her living room.
 

***
 

Rural Route 3
Edmonton County, Kentucky
 

Mulder sat in his customary place behind the wheel as they traveled at a moderate pace along the back roads of the county.  He had picked Scully up at the station a few minutes ago, pulling her from a phone conversation with the lab in Lexington.  Apparently the soil samples had come back normal, just as he had begun suspecting they would. 

Breaking their comfortable silence, he glanced thoughtfully at his partner and murmured, "Well, this definitely gives the old song new meaning, 'it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.'"

"Mulder," Scully intoned in a voice that plainly imparted her incredulity. 

Unpreturbed, he continued, "Think about it, Scully.   The sink holes didn't start appearing until <after> the official announcement was made about the celebration."

"And the town thought it would get revenge on Henry by gobbling up properties owned by his descendants?"  Her usual raised eyebrow was accompanied by a rueful shake of her head.

Mulder met her exasperated stare with a grin and answered, "Exactly!"

Scully's brow furrowed with disbelief as she tried to process his outlandish theory.  "The <town>, Mulder?"

"Well, why not?" he retorted, as he ran a hand through his hair.  "It knew of its inauspicious beginning and obviously didn't want the rest of the world to remember, let alone throw a bash for the man who had lied and murdered to get his way."  He shot her a meaningful glance and continued, "The four sins have already been revenged, but his headstone is still in a place of distinction in the old graveyard."

"So you think that whatever-this-is will attack the gravesite of a man who's been dead for more than a hundred years just so the locals won't throw him a party?" 

Mulder shook his head.  "I think it's more than that.  I think that the town wants to teach its citizens a lesson.  Basically, what goes around comes around."

Scully pursed her lips and said nothing.  Every once in a while she could steer him off of such a sensational track, but only when she had hard scientific evidence to back up her argument.  When there wasn't any, she had long ago discovered it was wiser to be silent and regroup for another round. 

"According to Carrie Leigh," Mulder murmured as he peered through the treeline, keeping one eye on the road, "we should almost be there."

Scully glanced up from the map in her lap and asked, "Mulder, are you sure we're even on the right road?  From what I see, this one doesn't even exist."

He leaned over and followed the path her finger traced on the state map, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. 

"Mulder, watch out!" she cried second later. 

His head snapped back to the road just as the pavement dropped right out from under them.  Mulder swerved hard to the right to avoid tumbling down into the chasm.  The wrenching sound of steel on steel cut through the air as the back wheel caught on the edge and the gap in the ground widened, pulling the car down.  He gunned the engine trying to use the car's inertia to pull them out of the hole. 

Just at the car lurched forward the remaining ground gave way.  Mulder's sigh of relief turned into a gasp as a huge tree trunk filled his line of vision.  The car slammed headlong into the hundred year old oak whiplashing Mulder in his seat.  He barely had time to look over at the empty passenger seat before everything went black.
 
 

Rural Route 3
Edmonton County, Kentucky
 

Mulder awoke a while later to the steady drone of the car horn.  Lifting his chest from its resting place on the steering wheel, the noise stopped and the memory of the crash slowly returned.  He scrubbed his hands over his face, his fingers massaging his temples, trying to ease the pounding in his head.  After a moment, his eyes focused.  "Scully?" he asked groggily.

No response. 

Not even a moan.

"Scully?" the sharp of edge of fear laced his voice as he frantically began looking through the car. 

Mulder jerked off his seat belt and instead of wasting time shoving open his own door, clambered across the passenger seat and crawled though the hole where the passenger door used to be.   Relieved to be free of the vehicle, Mulder curled up in a ball on the ground, for a moment forgetting what had prompted his move in the first place.  His breath came in short, heavy spurts, the exertion of moving proving to be more than he could physically handle for the moment.  But as his breathing began to slow, his brain processed the smell of gasoline mixed with air. 

"Oh, hell!" he breathed as he forced himself to his feet and stumbled away from the car.  Careful to avoid the deep sink hole that had formed only minutes ago, Mulder spotted an unnatural looking lump a few feet ahead.  "Scully!" he cried his slow steps inching their way toward her. 

Just as he reached her, the car erupted into a huge fireball, the force of the explosion knocking him off-balance.  Leveraging himself off of Scully, he desperately searched her neck for a pulse.  "Come on, Scully," he breathed, lowering his ear to her sternum, palpating and listening for the tell-tale signs of a heartbeat.  He heaved a sigh of relief as the soft thump of her pulse slowly penetrated his ears.   His relief was short-lived however.  He pulled her right arm away from her head to move her to a more comfortable position and felt the warm wetness of blood.  Without another thought, he ripped her sleeve away from her arm and sucked in a quick breath.  Whatever she had landed on broken her arm; he could see the ominous white of bone poking through her pale skin.

"Oh, shit!  Dammit, Dana, don't do this to me!" he cried as he jerked his tie loose and frantically searched for something to split the compound fracture.  Finding a thick branch, he split it over his knee and secured it around her bicep, using his tie and belt.   He tore the rest of her sleeve off and covered the opening, hoping to stave off any further blood loss.  Once he had secured the make-shift bandage, he opened her eyelids and peered into the unfocused orbs.  "Dilated's good, right?" he asked rhetorically, unable to remember exactly what she had told him on countless check-ups.  He pulled off his suit jacket and heard a soft clunk as he lay it over her. 

The phone!  In his concern, he'd forgotten all about it.  He tugged it out from the inside pocket and caressed his wife's cheek while he dialed 911.  "Hang on, baby, I'm gonna get you out of here."  Mulder glanced down at the phone, knowing that it should be ringing and that the operator should have already answered.

Instead of a reassuring ring, a steady beep echoed through the still night.  No service.  A half-moan, half-wail tumbled from his lips.  "No, this can't be happening," he muttered and savagely punched the numbers again.  Once more, the phone beeped instead of rang.  Mulder scrubbed his free hand over his face and murmured, "Dana, hold on!  Hold on, sweetheart.  I'm going to go over here a little ways and try the phone again."  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.  "Please, stay with me."  He swallowed painfully and rose.  His eyes never leaving her prone form, Mulder shook his head with self-loathing.  "How much longer will she take this?  Every time she's hurt, it's my fault."

Mulder closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block the memories that flooded over him.  Each frantic trip to the hospital.  Each bedside vigil begging her not to die.  Days lived in constant worry over her health.  All because of him and the quest to find his sister.  A sister who had been dead for longer than she'd lived.  For all the happiness he'd found in his marriage, the dark, soul-deep fear still hid just under the surface, eager to emerge in times of trauma.

"I'm sorry, Dana," he murmured.  "You'll never know how sorry I am." He turned and began to roam the field in the desperate search for a signal.

>From across the field, two figures watched, surrounded by a golden glow.  Monica shot Tess a worried glance, but so far Andrew had yet to appear.  A good sign in her mind, but sometimes, he waited until the last minute.  Tess glanced over at Monica and chastised, "I know what you're thinking, Miss Wings, and he's not coming.  God has already told me that."  She pursed her lips at her young charge's sigh of relief.  "But, that doesn't mean that we don't still have a job to do.  Now go to it." The older angel stared meaningfully at Dana then followed Mulder past the treeline. 
 

***

"Dana?" a softly lilted Irish accent asked its tone soothing and curious at the same time. 

The voice pierced through the haze that surrounded the agent.  Scully's brow furrowed as she shifted on the ground and moved closer to the sound.  That accent.  It sounded for all the world like....  "Aunt Olive?"

"Shh..." the voice responded and a gentle hand swept away the lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes.

The agent's eyes slowly focused in on the hand and traveled their way up to find the face that belonged to the low tones.  "Monica?  What are you doing here?" Dana asked, blinking a couple of times to focus on the sheriff's secretary.  She could easily do so if that bright glow would fade just a little bit.

"It's OK, Dana," Monica replied with a soft smile.  "You're unconscious.  You were thrown from the car when the sink hole formed."

"Mmm..." Scully murmured, the reality of her situation finally sinking in.  She stifled a gasp of pain as the throbbing in her arm began to increase. 

"It's alright. You've broken your arm, but God is watching over you," the Gaelic tones soothed the woman lowered herself to her knees.

Scully jolted suddenly, the memories of the accident falling into place.  "Mulder?  Where's Mulder?"

The other woman brushed her hand against Dana's cheek and answered, "He's fine.  More than a little concerned about you, but he is unhurt."  She paused a moment and looked pointedly at the agent.  "But right now, you should rest.  You <will> survive this, Dana.  God will make sure that you will be OK."

Scully shook her head dumbly.  "Why?  How do you know this?"

Monica's smile brightened as the light intensified.  "I know because I am an angel, sent by God to tell you that He loves you.  So very much, Dana Katherine.  He has watched over you for a long time."

"How..." Scully began, her rational mind unable to absorb the turn of events.  During her last encounter with an angel, she had been shocked by the four different faces that he had shown her.  Monica, though, still looked just as human as before. 

"You've had many angels helping you in your journey, with Mulder and without him." The brightness of the light faded somewhat as Monica continued.  "But along the way, you have lost sight of the One who knows all things.  You have questioned your belief in Him, worried that He or some other force used you as a tool of destruction."   She paused again, willing her words to sink in, for Dana to accept their truth. 

"You must remember, that above all else, He is in charge.  He knows everything that has happened and everything that will happen.  And you must rely on Him first, before anything else in your life.  Before your science, before your logic, and..." Seeing the cautious question burning in Scully's eyes, Monica nodded, "and, yes, even before Mulder. 

"Mulder bows down before the idol of his sister, of his Quest, and you have joined him.  You have forgotten that you should have no other Gods before Him.  You know this to be true.  And yet, over the years, you've allowed your logic and reason to outweigh the perfect simplicity of God's explanation.  You have not relied on Him to give you the answers you seek.  You have not asked Him for his healing touch."

Dana felt the tears forming in the backs of her eyes only moments before they spilled over onto her cheeks.  With a sad smile, she said, "I am a scientist."

"But you are first and foremost a child of God," Monica reminded.  "God is the one who gave your brilliant mind.  He is the one who knows all the answers, not some piece of metal that washes up on a beach."

Scully shook her head, "But what it said..."

Monica smiled and softly interrupted her excuse, "It said what it was supposed to say."

"This can't be another thing that the Syndicate has created to make us believe."  Dana closed her eyes, the tears of memory threatening to overwhelm her.

"No, my presence is from God.  As was that vessel.  He is the author and creator of everything.  In your heart, you know this.  You've accepted it as truth, which is why you struggled so hard with the vessel's existence." 

"But why?" the scientist in Scully asked.  Her brow furrowed with confusion, she pressed, "Why a space ship?  Where did it come from and who brought it here?"

"Oh, Dana, I know you want answers to those and so many other questions, but the answers are not mine to give nor are they man's.  The answers belong to God.  And He will reveal them in time.  In His time, not man's time."   Monica brushed a light hand over Scully's forehead, smoothing the questioning furrow that had formed there.  "God <will> give you the answers, even if you don't know where to look," she added with a secretive smile. 

Scully blinked at the familiarity of Monica's words.  She had spoken another version of them to Mulder the first day they'd met.  And trusting in her own earthly knowledge, she had believed them, wholeheartedly.  But as they had investigated, she learned that some questions didn't have answers, or at least answers that made sense.  Could God have been the reason behind them?  Is that why so many times she could only shake her head in wonder at the scientific implausibility of them? 

She knew that someone had warned her to stop looking for Donnie Pfaster.  That song had continued to play over and over in places where by all logic and reason it shouldn't have.  At the time, Dana had thought it to be Orison's doing, but now she wasn't so sure.  In the days after Pfaster's death, she had prayed that it was God who had been watching out for her that day.  That she had killed evil incarnate with His light of goodness and truth.  But even though she had been raised that He is a God of righteousness and peace, some niggling doubt had remained as to whether or not it was truly His hand at work.  Now, though, in light of what Monica said, Dana realized that God was present in her after all. 

Monica watched as Dana's analytical mind processed all that had been revealed to her.  She smiled as her mystified gaze slowly changed to one of contented contemplation.  Her healing process had begun.  After a moment, the angel whispered, "Trust in Him.  He will never let you down."

Monica softly squeezed Dana's shoulder then disappeared, taking the light with her, leaving Scully alone in the dark, her thoughts and God her only company.  And slowly, she began to whisper, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..."
 

***

Tess found Mulder sitting by a tree, still in full view of his partner, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands.  The white dress shirt he wore blood-spattered and rumpled. His cell phone lay a few feet away, as if it had been violently thrown there in a fit of rage. 

"Useless," he murmured futilely.  "The damn thing is <useless>!"

'He looks miserable,' Tess thought with a flash of sympathy for this man who had already faced so many hurts.  Determined to reach through his pain, she sat down next to him.  "Fox, I know you love Dana.  And would do anything to help her, but right now, the only one who can do that is God.  She's in His hands--has been since the moment of the accident."

Mulder raised his head and turned his distraught gaze on the older woman.  "Tess?  What are you doing here?  How did you get here?"  A small light of hope flickered in his eyes.  "You can help her!  You can go get help!"

Tess shook her head.  "That's not why I'm here, Fox.  God will protect <her>.  I'm here for you."

"You've got to be kidding," Mulder chuffed as he turned to look at the woman.  "Dana's lying over there, unconscious, and probably dying, and you want to leave this in the hands of God?  I can't do anything to help her so why should He be able to?"

Tess pursed her lips with consternation.  "Oh, so now you're comparing yourself to God?" she asked caustically.  "I know you've been through dangerous situations with her.  Through them all, you have protected Dana to the <best> of your ability--even if it meant traveling some roads alone."  Laying a comforting hand on his arm, her voice softened with tenderness.  He was such a <good> man.  No wonder God was trying so hard to bring him back into the fold.  "You even found a cure for her cancer, but those things do <not> make you God."  She gripped his chin firmly, forcing his wandering eyes back to her gaze.  "And the reason I know these things....is because I am an angel."

As soon as the words left her lips, Tess' waitress uniform was replaced by a long, flowing gown of white.  An ethereal glow radiated from above and surrounded her.  Mulder's jaw dropped, his mouth forming soundless words.  He tore his eyes from hers and looked up at the stars, trying to judge if they could emit that type of light.  The light that had surrounded Samantha was nothing like this.  With Samantha, she seemed to be almost half in this world and half in another.  Tess, however, was surrounded by a radiance that warmed, not the cold blue glow that spoke of death.  After a moment of careful consideration, his eyes returned to hers.

She smiled gently.  "God has sent me to tell you that He loves you, Fox..."

He felt her words like a bucket of cold water and was ashamed of his unabashed awe.  She was lying. "Really?" he scoffed as he turned away from her. 

Tess nodded, as if expecting his belligerent response.  His childhood had taught him to distrust and even condemn faith of any kind in a higher power.  His sister, torn from his life at a young age, the numerous subsequent broken hearts he suffered as he tried to find someone to help him ease the pain of her loss, and finally the trials he had faced during his partnership with Dana.  But even though he had grown from facing up to his past mistakes, his life hadn't changed.  His marriage, as committed as he was to it and to Dana, was still one last desperate attempt to ease the burdens and the hurts that had so injured him throughout his life. 

What Fox Mulder had yet to realize was that he would never be able to heal by himself.  No situation, no matter how wonderful or fulfilling would ever take all the pain away.  He had to look to someone else for that.  And now it was Tess' responsibility to make him see that.  'Sometimes,' she wished silently, 'it would be nice to have an <easy> case.' 

"When Dana was first assigned to you, Fox," Tess began in a strong clear voice, "you were about to start a journey which would not only hurt your FBI career, but would also threaten your life.  God knew this and He sent someone to help you.  Someone you would be able to trust wholly and without reservation.  He sent you Dana.  You needed her if you were to survive the road you had chosen to travel."

Mulder shook his head slightly.  "You're not telling me anything I don't already know.  I realize what she has done.  How she makes me a whole person, but I don't believe that God had anything to do with that.  The Syndicate sent her to debunk my work.  And the joke was on them."

"Oh, Syndicate, Schmindicate," Tess scoffed.  "Do you really think they have the ultimate power over this earth?"

"They seem to think they do," Mulder replied with a self-deprecating grimace.  "After all, Colonization is imminent, or so I've been told."  He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to another tree.  After a moment of consideration, he turned back and leaned against it, as if he could no longer support his own weight.

Tess smoothed the skirt of her white dress.  The bright light having faded to a low glow, she now looked more like her normal self, rather than the angel she claimed to be. "Colonization?  The only thing that is imminent is God's return to this earth.  He has said that in the last days many will call out to Him, but He will turn them away saying that He does not know them."  She paused a moment, her silence reinforcing her message.  "Fox, he has loved you from the day you were born, has watched you grow into a man, but you don't know Him.  He is your Father, a father who lives in the light rather than cloaked in shadows and he wants to know you...as a father knows his son."

Mulder snorted and leaned his head back against the tree.  "Why should He know me at all?  We haven't had all that great of an understanding since Samantha was taken."

"And whose fault is that?" Tess asked stoutly, planting her hands on her hips.  "<God> never left you.  You left Him."  Her voice softened as she continued, "But He still loves you, Fox.  Even as much as you love Dana and would die for her, God would do all that and more for you.  And all He asks in return is that you know Him."

"What has knowing Him ever given Scully?" Mulder countered, his normal religious skepticism filtering through his tone.  "She had cancer, lost a sister and a daughter and God did absolutely nothing to stop it!"

Tess smiled sadly and offered up a silent prayer, asking for the words to break through her assignment's stubborn resolve.  "Fox, God does not rejoice in the pain people go through.  He is the great Healer, of both physical and emotional pain.  No one hurt more than He when Dana was suffering.  But He was there.  Waiting for her to call on Him.  And even when she didn't, He was still there, ready for her to one day turn to Him.  Just as He is there for you."

Mulder buried his head in his hands.  "I've never relied on Him before, so why should I start now?"

"Haven't you?" the angel countered with a curious tilt of her head.  "Didn't you pray during the time that Dana was gone?  Didn't you cry out to Him asking Him to keep her safe?  Didn't you thank Him when she was returned?"  She peered closely into his blank face, hoping for some sign of realization. 

Had he prayed?  He must have at least whispered something in the back of his mind all those lonely days without her.  He had looked to the heavens desperately searching for her for three months.  But could it be he just hadn't looked high enough?

Mulder jumped with surprise as he felt Tess' softly aged hand cover his shoulder.  He hadn't realized she'd moved toward him.  She offered him an encouraging smile. "Fox, God wants to know you, but first you have to let go of your pain.  The pain that binds you to the past.  Yes, you've accepted that Samantha is dead and rejoiced that Dana's cancer is gone, but you still haven't healed.  The only way you'll do that and be able to go forward in your life with Dana as a fulfilled, whole person is to give that pain over to God.  Let Him heal you." She squeezed his shoulder once and looked down into his confused features.  Tess glanced back at Dana's still form. 

"I know you want to help her, baby, but what you have to realize is that you are not her savior.  There is someone with a higher calling than you who will fill that need.  What she needs right now is your faith," she counseled sagely.  Tess offered him a soft smile and added, "All you can do is hit your knees....and trust in God to do the rest."

She patted his shoulder one last time, and disappeared.  In one instant, the warm, loving light that had engulfed the deserted field was gone, replaced by the moonlit darkness.  Mulder shook his head, trying to grasp all that she had said. 

He glanced up and down the treeline.  Surely, he hadn't dreamed the whole conversation.  He shivered slightly as the warm, tingly feeling that had surrounded him faded, allowing the chilly air to drift over him.  He felt strange, as if he were floating in a huge tub of warm water.  Not drowning, but content, safe...like a huge bear hug.  The kind of hug his grandfather used to give him when he was little.

Mulder's slight smile at the memory turned into a grimace.  Samantha's abduction had come on the heels of his grandfather's death, thus ending the only happy period in his childhood.  He shook his head, marveling at the accustomed ache that radiated throughout his body.   The emotional scars he carried since his childhood had become familiar over the years, not really friends, but dark acquaintances that always remembered his failures and were there to remind him of them lest he forget. 

Mulder couldn't imagine what it would be like to not have them.  But he knew that Scully deserved better than the emotional wreck that was her husband.  She shouldn't have to tolerate the screams that tore him, sweating, from sleep, nor the guilt that overwhelmed him any time he saw pictures of Melissa and Emily.

He'd known all along that Scully should have better, but somehow he had managed to ignore the goading quips that lay ready to torment as he'd spoken his marital vows.  He had suppressed the voices thinking that he had finally found closure with Samantha and his family. 

But now his scars had been brought out into the light for a full inspection.  And as he carefully viewed each, he realized how tired he was.  Tired of carrying the burden of his parents' pain, tired of the hold that slim brunettes still had over him, tired of being known only as "Spooky" Mulder who believed his sister had been abducted by aliens. 

He closed his eyes ready to wallow in his exhaustion when a tiny thought flickered through his brain.  He was not tired of Scully, of being her partner and husband and mostly of being her friend.  She made him want to wake up every day and find something new to appreciate in life.  She was his friend and had always had faith in him. 

What if Tess was right and God really wanted to give all that and more to him?  Was it worth not taking the risk and continue to be locked in the past, to wage a torturing war with his emotional demons for the rest of his life?  Especially if what Tess had said was true and that healing was available if he would only ask?  Fox Mulder had never been one to back down from a curiosity.  But neither had he ever been a ready believer in the idea of a Supreme Being. 

Sighing softly, Mulder leaned his head back against the tree, tears pooling in his eyes.  'Scully, you've believed for so long.  Struggled to reconcile your faith with science and you've succeeded in your own way.  Can I do the same?  Can I abandon what I hold as truth and accept something different?  And if so, how can I do so and not be branded a hypocrite?  I want to believe, but I don't know if I can.' 

He looked over at Scully's still form and bit his lip.  Maybe it was time to find out.

Mulder lifted his eyes to the sky and, looking past the stars, pled with God.  Crickets chirped around him and, a few yards away, an owl added its own cry.   A moment later, everything stilled and a heavy silence permeated the air.  Mulder felt the gentle tug on his soul and fell to his knees, his body wracked by hot, wrenching sobs as twenty years of pain was laid at the feet of another.  Someone with shoulders strong enough to hold not only his sorrows but also the sorrows of the rest of the world. 

The tears slowly dried leaving Mulder with a sense of euphoria and he felt a warm hand touch his bowed head.  The warmth flooded him leaving a peace and contentment that he had never felt before in its wake.  Silence, thick and heady, surrounded him, allowing him to bask in its healing touch.  As the feeling strengthened, words rushed over his lips, offering thanks, pleading for help, but above all giving praise.

An eternity passed in the stillness. 

Then the phone rang.

Jolted from his silent prayer, Mulder stared at the phone, which still lay a few feet from him, discarded.  He scrambled to his feet and grabbed it, punching the Send button just as it settled in his hand.

"Mulder."

:"Agent Mulder!" replied the voice of Sheriff Wyatt.  "Are you alright?  Someone saw an explosion over there earlier, and I knew that was the general area where you and your partner took off to.":

Uncaring about the new set of tears that washed over him, Mulder answered, "Sheriff, we need a paramedic--a life flight.  Agent Scully has been badly injured."

:" Well, son, we were afraid that at least one of ya'll was hurt, so I went on ahead and called Lexington Mercy and gave them your general area.  The chopper should be swinging over ya'll in a few minutes.":

"Oh, thank God!" Mulder murmured and in the distance, the familiar sound of chopper blades echoed through the air.  Lifting his eyes to the heavens, he whispered with heartfelt thanks, "Thank you, God."
 

***

"She's going to be alright," the paramedic soothed while he strapped Scully to a board.  His partner threaded an IV into to the top of her hand then checked her eyes for pupil response.  "As soon as we get her into the air, we'll hook her up to an EKG.  And once we're in the hospital, I'm sure the doctor will send her in for a CT to see how much head trauma she's had."

Mulder nodded dumbly, everything after the first five words having disappeared into the air around him.  The second paramedic gripped the agent's arm slightly, offering what support he could to the obviously relieved man.  With a smile, he murmured, "She's in good hands.  She'll make it."

Mulder raised his wife's hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles before the two paramedics carried her to the chopper. Waiting as the pair settled her in, he breathed, "From your lips..." 

And from the treeline where she and Monica watched, Tess murmured, "No, Agent Mulder, from yours."
 

EPILOGUE

Lexington Mercy Hospital
Lexington, Kentucky
 

Mulder stood near the window his eyes lazily wandering the Lexington skyline.  It had been almost 10 hours since the helicopter had landed on the roof of the hospital and the paramedics, joined by a group of doctors and nurses had rushed Scully down into an operating room. 

Her arm had been reset in an easy surgery and as soon as she'd been released into the recovery room, the doctors had wheeled her out for a CT scan.  Mercifully, the crash hadn't led to any head trauma and the radiologist concluded pain and shock had brought on her unconsciousness. 

She'd woken up a few hours ago and Mulder had offered her some ice chips to soothe her anesthesia-induced thirst.  Minutes later, she'd fallen back to sleep and had stayed that way until now.  Scully eyes fluttered open and moved around the room, landing at last on the scrub-bedecked back of her husband.  "Mmm...Mulder?" she asked stretching as much as the confining bed would allow.

He turned instantly at the sound of her voice and smiled.  "Hey, sunshine.  How ya' feeling?"

Her brow furrowed as she cataloged the feelings that slowly registered in her sleep-dulled brain.  "Arm itches," she muttered.

"That's the cast," Mulder answered nodding as he sat down on the side of her bed.  Lacing their fingers together, he brought their joined hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. 

"Mulder," she began as she picked her words carefully.  "What happened in that field...after the accident..."  Unable to find the words she wanted, Scully blurted, "Monica's an angel."

He nodded and smiled softly, shushing her with a single finger against her lips as she tried to explain further.  "I know," he replied with calm intent.  "So is Tess."

Scully slowly processed his casual acceptance of her words and when his admission about Tess' ethereal status finally registered, she stared, dumbfounded at him.  "But...but, Mulder.  They're <angels.>"

Nodding once more, he allowed her to continue.  "And you have no problem with that?  That there is finally proof of God's existence?"

Mulder shook his head, the smile staying firmly in place.  She looked so cute whenever he threw her for a loop.  "What Albert Hosteen said is true, there <are> more worlds than you can hold in your hands.  Tess showed me the path, and I took a leap of faith."

Scully nodded numbly, still in shock over her normally skeptical partner's unquestioning acceptance of what she had believed since her childhood.  Unable to continue that line of thought until she'd completely returned to her normal faculties, she asked, "Henry's grave?"

Mulder quirked his eyebrows.  "Sheriff Wyatt called while you were in surgery.  After the chopper picked us up, he and his deputy searched the area, including the gravesite.  They found two sink holes; the one that caught us and one that formed right under Henry's grave."  He shook his head as he played with their joined hands.  "There's nothing left.  Not even a piece of the headstone. The town has finally found its revenge and I guess it's finally at peace."

Scully's blue eyes searched his face, almost unable to believe the change she found there.  A new light danced around in their hazel depths and, surprised, she reached her free hand up to stroke his cheek.  For the first time since she'd known him, there was no sadness lurking in the shadows of his gaze.  Only happiness and contentment.  "And so are you," she breathed.

Mulder flashed her a heart-stopping smile and nodded.  The skeptic had become a believer.
 

END
 

Author's note: the full prayer is, "From your lips to God's ears."