Title: Interstice: Saturday (1/3) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) Category: MSR Rating: PG-13 Summary: Christmas with the Scullys, 2001. Mulder's there, and so are Bill and his family, and Scully's long-lost brother Charles. Spoilers: Beyond the Sea, Gethsemane, Redux I/II, Christmas Carol, Emily; plus mentions of episodes through Season Eight. Feedback: Is REALLY appreciated at attalanta@aol.com. Archive: Gossamer and Ephemeral, okay. Otherwise, please ask. Disclaimer: Of course, the characters of Mulder, Scully, Bill Jr., Tara, Mrs. Scully, and Bill Sr. belong to Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, et al. I intend no infringement. However, Matthew, Charles, and Liam, as presented here, are my interpretations of characters introduced but not developed on the show. Author's Note: This story exists in the same universe as my first fic, Via, a post-Existence story. It's not necessary to read that story first, but it does provide some background. A Warning: This story utilizes multiple narrators, namely Scully, Mulder, Mrs. Scully, Bill Jr. and Charles. The story focuses on the relationships of the Scully family rather than that of Mulder and Scully, although this is, of course, important to the current Scully family dynamic. Music quoted from and referred to in this story include the following: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as sung by Judy Garland, "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" as sung by Bing Crosby, "Silent Night" as sung by Julie Andrews, "Merry Christmas, Darling" as sung by the Carpenters, "That's How Things Go Down" as sung by Carole King; and "Eleanor Rigby," "Penny Lane," "Let It Be," "Come Together," and "Here Comes the Sun," all, of course, by the Beatles. * * * * * "As I turned away, my heart pounding enough to shake me, I heard him say, 'Remember, whatever happens, you will always have a home,' which was true but also a manner of speaking." - Mavis Gallant * * * * * Saturday, December 22, 2001 "No one can tell what goes on between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just... come out the other side. Or you don't." - Stephen King "For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love." - Carl Sagan * * * * * MAGGIE Dust rag in hand, Margaret Scully gave the living room one last pass. The candlesticks on the mantel of the fireplace; the potted poinsettias and stained glass lamps on the end tables; the top ridges of the picture frames that made a collage of the east wall of the living room. She paused, straightening a photograph. It was one of her favorites, taken the day they brought Charles home from the hospital. He was cradled in her arms, red-faced and new. Melissa and Dana were scrunched on the couch next to her, but Billy was perched casually on the sofa's arm, his expression uncertain, suspicious. Bill knelt behind the couch, his head and shoulders rising from behind the green velvet fabric. His arms were outstretched, winding across the top of the couch, encircling all of them, even Billy. Maggie smiled at Bill, stroked her finger gently along the tiny dot of his face and down his arm. Merry Christmas, my love, she thought, resting her thumb on his round face. Thirty-four years ago, she thought absently. That photo had been taken over thirty-four years ago. She wiped her dust rag over the fingerprint she'd left on the glass. Thirty-four years was a very long time. Then Maggie turned her attention to the nativity scene arranged on the other end table. She dusted along the already-clean roof of the manger, then picked up each figurine, gently outlining the features of its face, the creases of its clothing. She was careful, so careful; this crèche had belonged to her grandmother, who had brought it over from Ireland as a new bride. Maggie arranged the tiny figures, positioning the sheep and camel and oxen around the outer rims of the manger, then filling in the spaces with shepherds and wise men and angels. Then she straightened Mary and Joseph, who knelt inside the manger, their eyes downcast in modesty and their arms open and empty. She checked the drawer of the end table, making sure the tiny Baby Jesus was still safely tucked inside. She smiled, knowing she needn't check the drawer anymore. There were no overanxious children to sneak in and remove the tiny infant, to place him in the manger before his birth on Christmas Eve. It had always been a struggle to keep the Baby Jesus out of the manger during the four long weeks of Advent. Each year, Maggie remembered, one of the children managed to slip into the drawer and set the infant in the center of the manger, giving Mary and Joseph something to train their anxious eyes on. Today was the twenty-third of December, and the crèche was empty. But not for long. Maggie heard a knock on the door, then the creak of its opening. She swiftly shut the drawer, then stepped into the kitchen to store her dust cloth beneath the sink. "Mom?" a voice called out. "Bill," she shouted back, hurrying into the hall. "Bill?" "Merry Christmas," Tara called, with Matthew echoing her greeting in his high-pitched baby voice. "Oh, come here," Maggie said to her grandson, who scrambled out of his father's arms and into hers. After a long and overdue hug, Maggie tugged off Matthew's gloves and hat. "Look how big you've gotten," she exclaimed. "If I didn't know better," she kidded, "I'd think you were a very grown-up *four*-year-old." Matthew's eyes widened, and a joyous smile stretched his face. "I'm almost four," he boasted. "I know," she said, smiling, before turning to greet her son and his wife. "Merry Christmas," she said. The three of them reached around Matthew and embraced. Bill put down the suitcases he'd been carrying and then went out to their rental car for the rest of their bags. "Our flight got canceled," Tara explained. "But we got to the airport so early that they got us onto another flight." She stopped to smile at Maggie, then tugged on Matthew's hood. "Here, Matty," Tara said, "let me get your coat off." Maggie let Matthew down and allowed his mother to peel away his thick winter jacket and scarf. "So bundled up," Maggie exclaimed. Though there was snow on the ground, it wasn't all that cold outside -- at least not yet, she thought, remembering the wintry weather the forecasters were predicting for this week -- but she knew that it must feel so very cold compared to the warm San Diego sun. "Did you see the snow outside, Matthew?" Again he grinned. "I wanna make a snowman." "Please," Bill said as he stepped inside. "Please," Matty echoed, gazing up expectantly at his father. Bill nodded. "Later," he said, dropping the last of the luggage inside and pulling the front door closed behind him. "Promise?" "I promise," Bill said, and Matthew took a step toward the stairs. "Boots, young man," Bill reminded his son, snagging the back of Matthew's sweatshirt before he tracked slushy footprints upstairs. Sitting on the bottom steps, Matthew kicked off his boots and, with the toes of his socks hanging loose, ran upstairs. "Careful," Tara called up after him. "I left a box of your daddy's old toys on your bed," Maggie added, following her grandson upstairs. She turned back to address her son. "I was getting the Christmas decorations out of the attic the other day and found some old toys belonging to you kids. I thought Matthew might enjoy them," she told Bill, who followed her upstairs and into the guest bedroom, where Matthew had already discovered the toys. "At least they'll keep him occupied," Tara said, trailing them upstairs. "We couldn't pack nearly enough toys and games to keep him busy the whole trip," she lamented before slipping past them and into the bathroom. "I thought you three could sleep here in the guest room, and Charles can have the pull-out in the study," Maggie explained. "Then, when Dana stays over on Christmas Eve, she and Fox can have the pull-out, and Charles can sleep on the couch downstairs. I've already set up the crib in the study for the baby." Bill made a thick, disapproving sound at the back of his throat. "I can't believe you're *supporting* this," he said, shaking his head. She sighed, disappointed. "Bill." "Come on, Mom." Bill's tone turned acerbic. "I realize there's nothing you can do about it, but you don't have to *endorse* this behavior." "Bill," his mother said with a glance over at Matthew, who seemed to be playing ignorantly on the floor beside the cot she had set up for him. "We could sleep boy/girl," Bill suggested. "Tara and Dana in one room, and Charles, Matthew, and me in--" "And the baby? And Fox?" she asked. "Bill, that would mean three men, a small boy, and a seven-month-old baby in one room." "Well, then, the baby can stay with Dana and Tara," Bill suggested. "I'm sure Tara won't--" "Speak for yourself, mister," Tara said, emerging from the bathroom. "Those arrangements are ridiculous, honey, and you know it. Never mind that it would leave you and Fox in the same bedroom." Bill's brow crinkled in defeat, and Tara laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Bill, this isn't summer camp. We're all adults here--" I hope, Maggie thought. "--and Dana and Mulder have been sharing an apartment for months now." Maggie refused to look over at her son, knowing all too well what his reaction would be. Of course he knew that Dana and Fox were living together, had been, in all practicality, living together since just after the baby was born, though it had taken Mulder a few weeks to terminate his lease and move himself, box by box, into Dana's apartment. "We should be glad they're going to stay over Christmas Eve night at all," Maggie added. "They live close enough that they could meet us for midnight mass, go home, and drive back here to open presents on Christmas morning. Plus, with a baby..." She sighed. "Anyway, the sleeping arrangements might not be ideal -- or spacious -- but we can make due." Bill shook his head, then slapped two suitcases on the queen bed that she had shoved against the wall to make room for Matthew's cot. Again Tara laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn't shrug her away, but Maggie noticed that he didn't exactly welcome her touch, either. Maggie watched as her son flicked open the suitcases and began unpacking, dropping piles of clothing into drawers before slamming them shut, then pushing around hangers with angry, metallic clinks. She sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, watching Bill slam about angrily out of one eye and Matthew play happily through the other. Of course it saddened her to think of the distance between her children. They had been so close when they were younger, with Bill, Melissa, and Dana especially close in age. There had been a larger space between them and Charles, her baby, but he had tagged along nonetheless, struggling to keep up. Always struggling. And Melissa, sweet, loving Melissa, had taken to Charles like a second mother, leaving Dana and Bill to battle it out as she fussed over the baby. Maggie knew that her children prided themselves in their independence, but to her they would always be but parts of a whole, parts of her, one entirely dependent on the next. Bill Junior: the oldest, taking after his father: driven and stubborn and Navy through and through. Then Melissa: Billy's opposite, calm and loving, laid back and extroverted. And Dana: intense like Billy, but more introspective, sometimes too smart for her own good, Maggie thought sadly. And finally Charles, her baby: sensitive and sweet, at times emotionally raw. So needy. Couldn't they see that who they are today has everything to do with who they were then? With who had raised them and whom they had been raised with? With who had loved them and whom they had loved, as well as, with whom they loved now? It was times like these, despite her children's many accomplishments, that Margaret Scully wondered if she had failed them. She had wanted to give her children an appreciation for family, for each other, but clearly she had not. Until so recently, only Bill had embraced family life, marrying and having a child of his own. Before her death Melissa had shown no inkling to marriage, and Dana had always been so busy, first with medicine and then with the FBI, that Maggie wondered if she would ever have another grandchild. At least she had wondered that until the Christmas Matthew was born, when she and Dana had traveled to San Diego to see Bill and Tara. When Dana had revealed both her inability to conceive a child, and her desire, as sudden and irrational as Maggie's own had been so long ago, to have one. And Charles, her baby. Maggie sometimes forgot that Charles was a grown man, that he was already older than both she and her husband had been when they had married and started having their children. The Scully children were scattered geographically -- Bill in San Diego, Charles in Seattle, Dana in Washington. If it wasn't for her, Maggie knew that the three of them would have no contact; if she didn't organize holidays, which usually only Dana, as the closest, came to anyway; if she didn't pass on their news; if she wasn't the glue holding them all together. She wanted for them the kind of relationship she had had with her own mother, with her sisters. But for so long Melissa had been the only one with whom Maggie had felt that same closeness: Melissa, who would cuddle with her on the couch and watch old Cary Grant movies, who would bake cookies with her, who would help her wrap Christmas presents without complaining about the good snowball snow she was missing. For Maggie, that closeness had made Missy's disappearance all the more difficult. It had come after a particularly harsh argument with her father after she had announced that she had quit another job -- her third in two months -- and that she was moving in with her boyfriend because she couldn't make her rent. Of course Bill had been angry and disappointed, and, knowing him, he hadn't keep secret his displeasure. And, to her eternal regret, Maggie had sided with her husband that time. She knew it was old-fashioned of her, but she just couldn't approve of Melissa's living with a man that was not her husband. She had tried, though more gently than Bill, to convince her daughter of that, to tell her that she could always move back home and take some time to get her life back together. But, instead of moving in with her boyfriend or her parents, Melissa had moved out, moved away. Disappeared. It was months before Maggie received a postcard from Melissa, on Mother's Day, no less. I'm okay, it read, and I'm sorry. I love you, Mom. The postcard had been addressed to Mrs. Margaret Scully. There had been no mention of Melissa's father or siblings, though Maggie later learned that Melissa had been in infrequent contact with both Dana and Charles. Melissa couldn't explain how she had known to return later, how she had known that Dana was sick and that she was needed. She hadn't known about her father, hadn't returned when Bill was struck down with an unexpected heart attack. After Bill's death, Maggie had been sure that she was about to lose Dana as well. Dana's relationship with her father had been particularly tense after her decision to join the FBI, but she loved him -- of course she still loved him, as he still loved her -- and she had tried so hard to please him, even though she had finally broken free, made up her mind to follow her dreams instead of her father's. Maggie had been afraid of losing Dana, and indeed she had, for the almost-year between Bill's death and Dana's kidnapping. But then, miraculously, she had gotten her baby girl back, alive and in one piece. And, equally miraculously, she had gotten Melissa back. Maggie couldn't help but feel as though she had made some sort of unintentional trade, her husband for her daughters. Two for one. And then losing Melissa... it had almost been too much to bear. She had been lucky in that Missy's death had kept Dana close, had given to her the daughter who had always belonged to her father. It tore Maggie's heart out every time Dana came to her, usually late at night and entangled in a life-or-death crisis, needing her help. Or, more often, needing her comfort. And sometimes just needing her presence, as she had when she discovered little Emily in San Diego that Christmas, the year that Matthew was born. The frequency of those visits had worried Maggie, but, in a guilty sort of way, it also made her feel good. Needed. And it had been a very long time since Dana had needed her. * * * * * Bill was still unpacking and huffing about indignantly when the doorbell rang. Maggie raced downstairs, feeling like a schoolgirl nervous about her first date, so excited was she to have all her children home again. At least all her living children, she amended with a mental apology to Melissa as she passed the family photographs on the wall. Footsteps clattered on the stairs behind her as Maggie reached for the door and opened it. Standing on her front step was Charles. Maggie grinned and pulled him inside, holding him tight, not wanting to let him go. "Jeez, Mom," he said into her hair, "you're crushing me." "My baby," she whispered, reaching up to smooth his wavy red hair and feeling tears spring to her eyes. Finally she pulled back and held him at arm's length, studying the face she had once known so well, the face that had so often cried against her shoulder. But Charles was no child. He was as tall as Bill but thinner, skinny almost. She worried that he wasn't eating enough, scolded herself for not taking the time to teach him how to cook more than spaghetti and hot dogs. He was still a redhead, but his hair, which was badly in need of a cut, had darkened and now stood in sharp contrast to his too-pale skin. Was he getting out enough? Maggie worried. He looked as though he needed some sun and maybe a little exercise to build up some muscle on those lanky limbs of his. His eyes sparkled behind his rimless glasses, and a thin silver earring hung from his left earlobe. "Charles," Bill said as he stepped off the stairs and behind his mother. "Bill," Charles said, and approached his brother with his arms out. Bill hesitated for a minute, then stepped into his younger brother's embrace, holding stiffly before thumping his brother on the shoulder and backing away. "Hi, Charles," Tara said, stepping forward though Matthew held tight to her thigh. "Tara. We met once, Thanksgiving, six years ago?" Charles nodded. "And your wedding, briefly. I remember," he said, and he and Tara hugged around Matthew. "And who is this big guy?" he asked, stooping down to his nephew's level. Matthew stared intently at his uncle, this stranger in front of him, but didn't let go of his mother's leg. Charles stared intently back, a small grin on the edges of his lips. "What's your name?" Charles asked. His nephew looked up at his mother, then over at his father, before turning back to his uncle. "Matthew." Charles smiled. "My name's Charlie," he said. "*Uncle* Charlie," Bill clarified. "Charles is my brother. You remember, Matthew, we told you you were going to meet your uncle?" Matthew nodded solemnly, his eyes still locked with Charles's. "How old are you, Matthew?" Charles asked. Matthew glanced up at his mother, then held out three tiny fingers. "Three?" Charles said. "And I hear you've got a birthday coming up in a few days, too." Matthew nodded, eyes wide. Finally Charles stood and smiled at his brother. "Where's Dana?" he asked. "They should be here soon," Maggie said, checking her watch. "Let's get your things upstairs." Charles hefted his duffel bag and an oversized art portfolio over his shoulder and followed his mother upstairs. "I've put you on the pull-out couch in the study," she told her son. "But I was hoping you would move to the couch downstairs on Christmas Eve, when Dana and Fox stay over with the baby." Charles nodded as his mother swung open the door to the study, a converted bedroom. Charles dropped his bag onto the couch, which had already been made up as a bed. He quickly surveyed the room, then turned to face his mother. "Soooo... This guy Fox. What's his story?" Maggie sighed. Where to start? "He was her partner at the FBI," she said, and Charles raised an eyebrow at her. "Partner, huh?" "And her friend," she added. "But beyond that, you'll have to ask Dana." And then let me know, she wanted to add, but did not. Charles nodded slowly. "Why don't you unpack your things," she suggested. "We'll let you know when Dana arrives." * * * * * MULDER Mulder pulled the car onto US-50 and set the cruise control to 67. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, and the highway was crowded with cars, some headed home for the holidays, others getting an early start on the night's partying. The edges of the previous night's snow had already darkened from the exhaust fumes of that day's heavy traffic. But the dusting of snow on the trees was still white and clean. Like new. Mulder glanced in the rearview mirror, eyeing the baby in his carseat. Bundled up in his hooded snowsuit and scarf, William's face was barely visible, and he waved a tiny hand that was folded into the mittens on the end of his sleeves. "Scully," Mulder said, glancing over at the passenger's seat. "Shouldn't we uncover him a little? It's kind of warm in here, and it's a forty-five minute drive to your mother's." "Does he look warm to you?" Scully asked, craning herself around the front seat to get a better look. "I don't know," Mulder said. "I can't see his face." Scully turned around long enough to shoot him an irritated gaze, daring him to call her overprotective. Mulder shifted his shoulder against Scully's back, which was now almost wedged into the space between the front seats. He allowed his eyes to shift next to him, to Scully's backside. Mulder smiled appreciatively. "Are you warm?" she asked the baby, tugging at his scarf. "Da da da," he called out as soon as the restricting fabric was loosened from his face. Mulder grinned almost guiltily. Liam had been saying "Dada," and a handful of other near-words, for over a month. But, to Scully's escalating frustration, he had yet to attempt a "Mama." It seemed almost unfair, considering the nine months she alone had nurtured and carried and protected him. "Mama," Scully prompted, and Mulder again glanced in the rearview mirror. Scully's face was close to their son's, her lips slowly forming "Mama," but Liam simply smiled and clapped his hands together. "If I didn't know better," she said, settling back into her seat and adjusting the seatbelt, "I'd think he was laughing at me." "He'll say it," Mulder assured her, allowing his hand to drift from the steering wheel to rest on her knee. "I know," she said, setting her gloved hand atop his bare one. Mulder turned his attention back to the road, changing lanes to zip past a slow moving semi-truck. A small red sports car snuck by on his left. Mulder wondered, as he often had during the many hours he and Scully had spent together in a car, where the other drivers were headed. Were they, too, going to start a nearly weeklong visit with a family they barely knew, yet were suddenly part of... sort of? It was during Thanksgiving dinner that Scully's mother informed them -- warned them, Mulder now thought -- that both Bill and Charlie would be in town for Christmas. On Thanksgiving, Christmas had seemed like such a long way off to Mulder, and he didn't think twice when Scully accepted her mother's offer to join the rest of the family at her house. Maybe it was the tryptophan in the turkey -- though Scully assured him that the media buzz about this somnambulant chemical was exaggerated if not completely off base -- but Mulder's thoughts hadn't moved past their cozy Thanksgiving dinner for four, cooked by Scully's mother in their apartment. A month had seemed like forever in the future as he cut a piece of sweet potato pie and transferred it messily onto a dessert plate. But now, with only a forty-five minute drive standing between him and Bill Scully, Mulder was starting to feel the heat. He slipped his hand from beneath Scully's and turned the temperature down a notch. He was glad to see Scully's mother, with whom he and Scully and Liam had enjoyed a pleasant Thanksgiving. However, as the calendar flipped to December and Mulder was forced to face the reality of spending the holidays with Clan Scully, uneasiness took over. Mulder had never met Charles, Scully's younger brother, but he had spoken to him briefly on the phone several months ago. He had been calling to talk to Scully after receiving the photographs of the baby she had sent him. However, Mulder had only had enough time to introduce himself before Scully snatched the phone from his hand. But it wasn't Charles that Mulder was nervous about seeing. Scully had spoken kindly, though infrequently, about her younger brother, who, Mulder understood, had been living in Seattle for the past few years. Scully had explained that Charles worked as the manager of a bookstore, though his true passion was for his art, on which he spent his nights and weekends. No, it was Bill Scully that Mulder was reluctant to see again. He hadn't spoken to or seen Scully's eldest brother for four years, not since Mulder had stayed over at Bill and his wife, Tara's, house when Scully called him after discovering Emily's existence. But Scully had. And she had sent Bill and Tara the same photos of the baby as Charles had received. And Tara had called a week later, eventually coaxing Bill on the phone. Mulder had been trying to soothe Liam, who was upset that his mother was talking on the phone instead of feeding him. So he took the baby into their bedroom to muffle the sounds. But, when Liam wouldn't let up, Mulder had to bring the baby to Scully, who had put the call on speakerphone while she nursed. So Mulder heard the majority of Scully's conversation with Bill, although he took to pacing anxiously around the room when biting his lip wasn't enough to hold his tongue. He told himself that this was a private conversation between Scully and her brother, and that he should leave the room and let them continue. But Scully didn't take the call off the speakerphone even after she had gotten Liam settled at her breast. So he figured that maybe she wanted him there for moral support. Okay, so he wanted to stay; he would admit that much. He had been hoping that she wouldn't wave him into the other room or shoot him that "give me a minute" look. And she hadn't. So he heard Bill's carping, accusatorial tone, his assessment of Mulder as "your crazy partner" and "that man." He hadn't heard it all, but he had heard enough. Over the years Mulder had seen Scully in more tense situations than he cared to remember, and he had always admired the way she kept cool in times of strife. Of the two of them, he was usually the more emotional. However, he had never admired her more than he did that day, while she spoke with her brother on the phone. Scully had grown calmer and calmer as Bill grew more and more angry. "Do you know what you're doing to Mom?" he'd accused. "She's worried sick about you." "She never said anything to me," Scully said. "Of course not," Bill roared. "She doesn't want to upset you so soon after you've given birth." And you don't care about that, huh? Mulder thought. "Bill," Scully said in a sigh. "No, Dana. Listen to me. Mom doesn't need this kind of stress." And neither does your sister, you bastard, Mulder thought. "She isn't so young anymore." "Bill," Scully tried to say, but again was cut off. "It's bad enough that you won't tell Mom who the father is," Bill said, his voice raising. "Jesus, Dana, she's your mother, not some casual acquaintance. You owe it to her, and to the rest of the family, to tell us the truth." "I *owe* it to her?" "Yes," Bill said. "You owe her something for all she's put up with, with you and that job. How many times have you come to her for a shoulder to cry on after that crazy partner of yours has either disappeared, or done something stupid and dangerous, or both? "And then you continue working while you're pregnant -- and from what Mom says, it was a difficult pregnancy -- putting both your life and your baby's life at risk. And don't think we don't know why. Mom told me about your partner disappearing. "How could you be so stupid, Dana? You risk your health, and your baby's, for a man who doesn't think twice about walking out on you while you're pregnant. What, did you think you were the only one who could find him? It's just like with your cancer, thinking you could cure yourself." But she did find me, Mulder thought, watching as Scully gently stroked Liam's head as he nursed. How could she remain so calm, Mulder wondered, when her own brother had shifted into attack mode? Mulder felt his own anger rising up so many times during that conversation; watching Scully and Liam, he had wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone lines and strangle Bill for threatening their tenuous happiness. Apparently Scully's thoughts were not far from his own. "I did find him, Bill," she said. "At what risk?" Bill shot back, his crisp anger not lost across thousands of miles of phone cables. "And then you disappear yourself, so close to your due date. Driving to the middle of Georgia? How could you be so irresponsible? What did you expect Mom to think during all this, when you weren't answering your phone or your door? She was worried sick, Dana." "I had to, Bill," she replied. "You don't understand. And Mom knew where I was." Mulder nodded, remembering the frantic phone call he had received from Margaret Scully the morning after Scully and Reyes left town. He had berated himself for not calling her first to assure her that Scully was okay, but he had had so many more pressing concerns on his mind, between Billy Miles and Krycek and Noel Roher. And, obviously, Scully. Of course, he had been able to give Mrs. Scully little comfort, but at least he had shared with her everything he knew, at least everything he thought she needed to know. "And now Mom says you're living with him," Bill had choked out. "I'm sure Mom won't say anything to you about it--" Yeah, Mulder thought; Margaret Scully has too much tact for that, and too much respect for her grown daughter's ability to live her own life "--but someone's got to. Do you honestly think that's the best way to raise a child, living with a man you aren't married to? What would Dad say?" This time Scully cringed along with Mulder. Stranger as he was to Scully's family, he knew that bringing up Captain Scully's disapproval was not the way to win Scully over. Or to get her to see your point of view. By this time, however, Liam had drifted off to sleep, and Scully handed him over to Mulder, who took the baby into their bedroom and settled him in his bassinet. So Mulder didn't hear Scully's response to Bill's low blow. Instead he hummed softly to Liam, trying to drown out the angry bursts coming from the speakerphone and the measured responses coming from the couch. But they -- or, rather, Bill -- were still at it when he rejoined Scully in the family room. "--and not getting married. It's like you've abandoned your upbringing and your religion. And to what? To join this man's paranoid quest? History has proven that you can't keep yourself safe doing that, Dana. How can you expect to keep your child safe?" Bill was on a roll. "And what are you going to tell this baby when he grows up -- because, believe me, Dana, they do grow up -- when he asks about his father? Are you going to let him assume that this man who's living in his house is his father? If the guy's still around then, that is," Bill spat out. "Or are you going to keep everything secret from him, just like you have from the rest of us? We're your family, Dana; I don't see why you can't tell us the truth." Again Mulder bit his tongue. He could see quite clearly why Scully didn't want to tell Bill the truth, given his overreaction to the announcement that Mulder had moved in with Scully and Liam. However, what Mulder didn't understand was Scully's reluctance to tell her mother that he was Liam's father. Margaret Scully had seemed receptive to the idea of Mulder moving in when they shared their news with her over dinner one night. Mulder thought the older woman had been expecting an altogether different announcement, but she recovered nicely from her surprise and congratulated them. So why couldn't Scully confirm, at least to her mother, that Liam was his? "It's personal," Scully said to Bill. Mulder knew that that response wouldn't have quieted him, if he were Bill Scully -- a thoroughly frightful proposition he didn't allow himself to dwell on -- and he also knew that, if he was anything like his sister, it wouldn't pacify Bill either. And it didn't. "Again with the 'personal,'" Bill scoffed. "The same reason you gave for not telling me about your cancer. Jesus, Dana, I'm your brother. If you can't share something personal with me--" Liam's cries broke into his uncle's argument. Scully closed her eyes and leaned back into the couch, and Mulder dashed into their bedroom to soothe him. He closed the door behind him and Bill Scully's voice faded into nothingness. It wasn't until Mulder had rocked Liam to sleep, placed him carefully in his bassinet, and returned once again to the family room that Mulder saw that Scully had taken Bill off speakerphone and had stopped trying to respond to Bill's diatribe, which had metamorphosed into a muffled, angry rise and fall. The sign for the Rowe Boulevard exit came into view, and Mulder flicked on his turning signal and maneuvered into the right-hand lane. He glanced over at Scully, wondering what she was thinking, whether she, too, was worried about Bill. She hadn't seen her brother for months, not since before Liam was born. And before that it had been even longer, perhaps a year or more. Mulder's only salvation was that they weren't staying at Scully's mother's house, as her brothers were. They had agreed to stay over on Christmas Eve night so they could keep up the early-morning Scully family tradition of opening presents at the crack of dawn. Strange tradition, Mulder thought, but then who was he to call anyone's family strange? After his sister's abduction the Mulder family had celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah with TV dinners and gifts bought on the way home from a long night at the office, if he was lucky. It was because of those memories that Mulder had coaxed Scully into agreeing to visit with her family for Christmas. While she was more than happy to see Charlie and her mother, Scully had been understandably reluctant about spending so much time with her older brother. However, and perhaps despite his good judgment, Mulder had convinced her that her mother's house was where they needed to be, at least for the holidays. Mulder didn't want Liam growing up with the same separate, disenfranchised feeling that he himself had had. Liam needed to know his uncles and his cousin as well as his grandmother, to understand his roots, even if they were a bit twisted. And Mulder knew that his son would get little from his side of the family tree. His parents and sister were dead, and there were few relatives with whom he had kept in touch. Though there was no love lost between him and Bill Scully, the man was his son's uncle, and would play some part in his son's life, though Mulder admitted that that prospect was easier to swallow when Bill was home in San Diego or at some unknown sea port, than when he was on a plane headed for DC. Scully had been surprised when Mulder explained all this to her. Not disagreeable, but surprised. And she had, in turn, surprised him by suggesting Liam not forget his father's roots either. On Mulder's confusion, she had elaborated, shyly suggesting that they celebrate Hanukkah as well as Christmas, if he was comfortable with it. She had said that, though he wasn't particularly religious, his background was now also Liam's, and that maybe they should learn more about it. He had been reluctant but had eventually agreed, figuring that fair was fair. So they had hunted through Mulder's parents' things, boxed up in musty U-Store-Its and in the attic of the house in Quonochontaug. They had managed to unearth a heavy gold menorah that had belonged to his father's mother, as well as a children's picture book about Hanukkah. Mulder steered the car through the streets of Margaret Scully's Annapolis neighborhood, dread creeping over him. His life had changed so much in the past two years. At times, he could scarcely believe that he was the same man who had routinely fallen asleep to the drone of an infomercial and spent his weekends in his basement office. No, he thought, his life had not only changed; it had grown. Again he looked over at Scully, who was still gazing out the passenger side window. The evolution of his life was the reason why he felt so anxious as the car crept slowly, inexorably, towards Scully's mother's house. He would have felt more comfortable if he was arriving alone, as Scully's partner, planning to convince her to forego her family time to investigate a suddenly crucial case. He knew that role; he had played it so many times before. But now he had a new role. They had always hesitated to call each other anything but partner. That one word had always summed up their relationship in a way that no other word could. Partner implied equals; Partner carried none of the preconceptions of Boyfriend and Husband. But now Partner meant so much more. Maybe it wasn't his business if Bill Scully disapproved of Dana Scully, FBI partner, but it was most definitely his business if Bill hurt Dana Scully, Partner. Even more, Mulder felt a fierce protectiveness where his son was concerned. Scully could take care of herself, that she had proved to him again and again. But Liam was relying on him, on both of them, and Mulder would not disappoint him. Mulder pulled onto Margaret Scully's street, trying to calm himself by remembering that Bill and his family wouldn't be there yet. Charles's flight was scheduled to arrive earlier than Bill's, and Mulder knew Scully was looking forward to a brief visit with just Charles and her mother before Bill arrived. Mulder figured Scully wanted to get the baby settled and introduce Mulder to Charles first, and Mulder was all for that. He wanted a chance to get on Charles's good side before Big Brother Bill prejudiced the man against him. He could use another ally. Finally Mulder pulled the car into a familiar driveway, behind an unfamiliar van. He put the car in park and heard Scully sigh next to him. "Bill's already here," she said. "How do you know?" Scully nodded at the bumper of the van, the corner of which was marked with a small, square Lariat Rent-A-Car sticker. "Charlie wouldn't rent a van," she said. "I thought their flight wasn't supposed to come in until later," Mulder said. Scully shrugged. "I guess not." Mulder unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door, but Scully didn't move. He turned to her and laid his hand on hers. "Do you want to go back?" he asked, only half teasing. "No." But still she didn't move. So Mulder reached down and unbuckled her seatbelt. Finally she pushed open her door and got out of the car. Together they leaned into the backseat to check on Liam, who had been lulled to sleep by the drone of the drive. Scully fixed his scarf and hood so that they once again obscured his face, then stepped back, allowing Mulder to unlatch the carseat from its base and carry Liam into the house. * * * * * MAGGIE "Merry Christmas," Dana called out, and Margaret Scully craned her neck at the sound. Dana stood in the foyer, an overstuffed diaper bag slung over her shoulder. She held out her arm, propping the screen door open for Fox, who stepped in behind her. He held the baby carrier low and in front of him as he closed the door behind them. Maggie scrambled off the couch and over to her daughter. "Merry Christmas," she said, then, "Oh, let me see my grandson." Fox glanced down into the carrier. "He's still asleep," he said in a low voice. He raised the carrier so she could see the baby, just his tiny pink nose sticking out from under so many colorful layers of fleece and cotton. "Let me set him down in the family room," Dana said, heading with Fox toward the back of the house. The rest of the family followed them, an overeager parade, wanting to get a glimpse of the baby. When they got to the family room Fox set the carrier on the floor beside the couch, then unzipped his jacket. Dana focused her attention on the baby, carefully loosening his scarf and easing the hood away from his face. She unsnapped the front of his tiny snowsuit to reveal a flannel snowflake-print jumper. "Oh, Dana, he's beautiful," Tara exclaimed, reaching around her mother-in-law to run a finger down the stretch of soft flannel. "He's already so much bigger than in the pictures you sent." Dana smiled proudly, still bent over the baby's carrier, fussing with the buckle, attempting to undo it without waking him. Fox lifted Dana's hat off her head, and she looked up, realizing that she was still wearing her coat. Finally she unzipped it and handed it to Fox, who took it and his own to the front closet. Quietly and reluctantly the family headed back into the living room without the sleeping baby, Matthew running ahead with a red train engine in his hand. Maggie finally caught Dana and hugged her hello, passing her on to Tara for a greeting and pulling Fox into a quick embrace. After a brief hesitation, he hugged her back. Maggie couldn't help but notice Bill watching them carefully until Dana caught his attention and gave him a stiff, tentative embrace. They settled back in position, Dana joining her mother and sister-in-law on the couch and Fox sitting across from them in an armchair. "Where's Charles?" Dana asked. "Right here," came his voice from the hall. "Charlie," Dana exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and almost launching herself into her younger brother's arms. "Hey, stranger." When they pulled back Charles held his sister at arms' length. "Hey, Dane, it's great to see you." Charles ruffled his sister's hair and she dodged away from him, spinning to face Fox. Fox stood and offered his hand to Charles. "We haven't met. I'm Fox Mulder." Charles stuck out his hand but crinkled his brow. "Who?" Maggie watched Fox and Dana exchange glances, and she herself suppressed a grin at Charles's antics. Dana should realize her brother was just kidding, Maggie thought, but, by the panicked look on her daughter's face, she knew that Dana and Charles's relationship had grown too distant. "Fox Mulder," Dana said to Charles. "I'm sure Mom--" Charles shook his head, maintaining his puzzled expression. "I'm sure I would've remembered a name like Fox." He squinted and gave the man a slow once-over. "And you and Dana...?" "Mulder's my--" Dana faltered. Knowing her daughter could no longer fall back on the old standby of "partner," Maggie wondered what her daughter would say. Her boyfriend? Her son's father? Whatever she chose, it would not be enough. Maggie waited for Dana's response in an awkward silence with the rest of the family. Even Fox looked eager. "Hey, Dane, I'm only kidding," Charles said, smiling and pulling his sister back into a hug. "Gotcha." Then, to Fox, "I'm Charlie, Dana's younger, funner brother." The two men shook hands again. "So, Dana called you Mulder, but Mom--" "Mulder's fine," Fox said, and Charles nodded. "So, Dane, Mom says you had a baby, but, you know, I see no evidence..." Dana smiled. "He's sleeping in the family room. Come on," she said, and the family once again trailed her into the other room. "Look who's awake," she cooed when she caught sight of her son, who was now smiling, his big blue eyes watching them carefully. Dana disengaged Liam from his snowsuit and Fox held the puffy blue garment as Dana lifted Liam from the carrier. She hefted the baby onto her hip and turned to face Charles. "Meet your family," she said to her son. Tara reached out and smoothed a hand over the soft red-gold hair on Liam's head. "Look at this hair," she laughed, "just like your mommy." The baby crinkled his eyebrow and regarded his smiling aunt carefully. Maggie watched her younger son hesitate, then hold out a hand to his nephew, who turned away shyly and buried his head on his mother's shoulder. Dana rubbed his back comfortingly. "Aw," Maggie said as they all laughed. "You'll come to Grandma, won't you?" she asked, holding out her arms. Dana handed her the baby, who looked at her cautiously before breaking into a smile as he recognized her. Tara and Charles crowded around Maggie, and Matthew jumped around their legs. "Lemme see, lemme see," he whined. "Here, let's go back into the living room," Maggie said, cradling the baby, and they wandered into the hallway, Dana carrying the diaper bag. "Mom, I'm gonna put this in the fridge," she called out, holding up a zippered pouch. "They're Liam's bottles and some teething toys." "You're calling him Liam," Charles said, weighing the name. Fox nodded. "Liam," Charles repeated. "I like that. Much better than 'Bill,' anyway," he teased. They all turned to look at Bill, who was settled on the floor across from where Maggie and the rest of the family sat with the baby. He forced a grin, but Maggie regarded him carefully after the others had turned back to the baby. He narrowed his eyes, as if studying the little boy. "We figured there were enough Bills," Fox was saying. "Scully's father and brother, my father..." But Maggie still watched her own Bill, whose mood hadn't much improved since their discussion about the sleeping arrangements. He sat on the perimeter of the family; even Matthew, who had been playing on the floor with his father prior to his aunt's arrival, had abandoned him to squeeze between his mother and grandmother on the couch, regarding his cousin carefully. "Liam," Charles repeated, and the baby, recognizing his name, turned to face his uncle, his pale blue eyes wide. "Liam Scully. It fits him." "Mulder," Dana said as she joined them in the living room. "Hmm?" Fox answered, turning to Dana. "Liam *Mulder,*" Dana clarified, balancing on the arm of the chair where Fox was sitting. All eyes turned to her, including Liam's. Including Maggie's. It was the most Dana had ever said to confirm the assumption that Fox was Liam's father. Now Maggie glanced at Bill, who was looking at his sister with narrowed eyes. Of course he had suspected it; they all had. You need only watch Fox with Liam -- or with Dana, for that matter -- to know. And they were living together. What more evidence did Bill need? It was obvious to them all, but Dana had never said anything to confirm or deny their assumption. Maybe she thought it was unnecessary; maybe she thought it wasn't their business; maybe she thought it would put too much pressure on her relationship with Fox, who had had an even more stressful year than Dana. But, even though she had longed to be included in her daughter's life, Maggie wasn't surprised by her Dana's silence on the subject. She had always kept too much inside. And, now that Maggie considered Bill's expression, she realized that it was more disgust than surprise. She would have thought Bill would be glad that they had done something in the conventional way, giving Liam his father's last name. Maggie herself had been glad that Dana and Fox seemed to be moving towards a more defined relationship, towards -- dare she hope? -- a marriage. "Do you think he'll come to me?" Tara asked, breaking the awkward silence. Dana shrugged, and Maggie handed Tara the baby. "Hello, sweetie," she cooed. "I'm your Aunt Tara, and this is Matthew, your cousin." Liam reached out towards his cousin's face and the boy offered him the train he was holding. "No, Matty," Tara said, intercepting the toy. "It was nice of you to share, but Liam's just a baby. He's too little for the train." "Here," Dana said, digging through the diaper bag and handing Matthew a thick, water-filled, plastic wand-type toy, one end filled with glitter and small plastic fish. "This is his favorite." Matthew dropped his train and took the wand, turning the toy upside down, watching the plastic pieces settle to the bottom. Finally, reluctantly, Matthew handed the toy to his cousin, who shook it gleefully and kicked against his aunt's lap. Maggie smiled down at Liam and bent to kiss the top of his head as she stood. "I'd better check on dinner," she said and left for the kitchen. Maggie basted the roast and turned on a burner for the carrots that waited in the steamer. One ear still in the living room with her family, she washed the baster out in the sink. She could hear their voices but could only make out every other word, not enough to follow their conversation. To her, they simply sounded like a family. * * * * * MAGGIE "I thought tomorrow we could all go to Chesapeake Bay Mall," Maggie said as they sat down for dinner. She passed a serving dish piled with parsley-basted carrots to Charles, who was sitting to her left. "You got some last minute shopping to do, Mom?" Charlie asked, taking the dish. He spooned carrots onto his plate, then passed the serving dish over to Tara. Maggie smiled. "There are a few things I need to pick up," she admitted. "But Chesapeake Bay Mall has the best Santa in the county. I thought we could take the children, for pictures." "That's a good idea," Tara said as she cut Matthew's roast beef into bite-size pieces. "We had a photo of Matthew taken in San Diego, but it'd be nice to have one of both boys together." Maggie nodded. That had been her thinking as well. She so rarely saw Matthew that she was eager for any new photographs of her grandson. And, she guessed, from the few times Dana had been to San Diego or Bill had been to DC, that Liam and Matthew would probably not have the luxury of growing up together. So sad, Maggie thought. Matthew had cousins in California, but Matthew was Liam's only cousin, and probably would be for some time. Maggie couldn't imagine Charles being ready for a family anytime soon. And, remembering back to what Dana had told her about her infertility, Maggie could only conclude, sadly, that Liam's birth had been a miracle, a once-in-a-lifetime event, and that it was most likely that Liam would be an only child. "Mom? You okay?" Maggie looked up at the sound of her daughter's voice. "Fine," she said, smiling across the table at her daughter, who was mashing carrots with her spoon for Liam. The baby sat, in an old high chair Maggie had dug out of the attic, between Dana and Fox. Liam patted the palms of his hands, which were already coated with smashed food, on the high chair tray, spreading mashed potatoes over its surface. "Da da da," he called out happily. Maggie's eye was caught by Bill, who sat across from her, opposite the head of the table. He visibly stiffened at the sound of Liam's babbling. Maggie shook her head just slightly. Obviously Bill was still hung up on Fox and Dana's relationship. Maggie had hoped that he would come to know Fox in these few days, come to see that he was the right man for his sister and the right father, the only father, for his nephew. Fox turned to the baby with a smile. "What is it, buddy? Are you making a mess of your dinner?" Fox wiped Liam's face with his napkin, then turned to Dana. "Did he have his bottle yet?" "No," she said, then pushed back her chair. "I'll get it," he said, rising from the table and laying his hand on her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. A minute later, Fox returned with the bottle, which he placed on Liam's tray. "Da da," Liam repeated, baring his gums and two bottom teeth in a big grin directed at Fox. He grasped the bottle and expertly fit it into his mouth. "Does he say, 'Mama' yet?" Tara asked. Dana looked up from her son, a look of good-natured irritation on her face. "No," she said. "Just 'Dada.'" Maggie nodded. "That's how most babies are," she said. "You three all said 'Dada' first, but Melissa said 'Mama.' At least I got one," she joked. Tara laughed. "'Dada' was Matty's first word, too. Remember that, Bill?" She looked over at her husband, who nodded and managed a proud smile. "I told him that 'Dada' is most babies' first word, but, honey, you acted like you'd beaten me in some kind of parenting competition." She laughed. "He held that over my head at least until Matty's first birthday." They all chuckled. "I think 'Dada' was my first word, too," Tara said. "I remember calling my mom to ask her about it when Matthew took so long to say 'Mama.'" "'Da' sounds are easier for babies to make," Charles explained. "I remember that from an anthro course I took in college. Something about sounds originating at the pallet versus sounds originating at the lips. "Hey," he said, turning to his sister, "you should try teaching him to say 'Dana.' That'd probably be easier." "I don't know, Charles," Dana said as the family smiled at her brother's suggestion. She locked her glance on Fox. "All things considered, Liam probably won't call me anything until he can say 'Scully.'" Again they laughed, and Liam put down his bottle to look curiously around the table. Likewise, Maggie set down her fork and gazed slowly around the table at her family, who were recovering from their laughter and returning to their dinner. My family, Maggie thought proudly, wishing Bill were there with her to see the adults their children had become. She looked around the table, at Fox and Liam and Dana, at Bill and Matthew and Tara, and, finally, at Charles, sitting next to her. Maggie looked back over at Bill, her firstborn, still her baby. He put a forkful of pot roast in his mouth, and Maggie watched him chew quickly, then swallow. She was struck by how much her son resembled his father, his strictly straight posture; his slow, stubborn sense of humor and eventual booming laugh; his strength. Maggie watched as Tara snaked an arm behind Matthew's chair and clasped Bill on the shoulder. She squeezed his shoulder and he turned to her and smiled. Then Bill set his fork down and cleared his throat. The rest of the family looked up from their plates. "Tara and I have some news," Bill said, reaching his hand up to clasp his wife's. Maggie smiled, sure of what their announcement would be. Tara was pregnant, she knew. Maggie had been getting the strongest vibe to that effect ever since Bill, Tara, and Matthew arrived earlier that afternoon. She wasn't sure what it was, exactly; it was just a feeling. A strong feeling. Tara didn't look any different, but Maggie had always had a knack for knowing these things. She had even guessed about Dana's pregnancy, and that had been a tough one, far from likely or even, they thought, possible. But the awkward, half-happy, half-scared message her daughter had left on her answering machine had only confirmed the feeling festering in Maggie's gut. She had even had these feelings about two of her own pregnancies, first with Melissa and later with Charles. She had been aware of both those pregnancies the next morning, when she had awoken and just felt... different. The first time, with Melissa, Maggie had told her husband and he had laughed. And she had laughed with him. How silly. They couldn't be pregnant again. They were spending a long weekend at a bed and breakfast in Vermont and, in their giddiness at being away from Billy for the first time, they had pushed her feeling out of their minds. But then, a week or so later, when her pregnancy began to seem less like a joke and more like a probability, they had started to get a little nervous. Billy was only four months old, and they hadn't been planning for another baby so soon. But that was Melissa, keeping things interesting. The second time, with Charles, Bill and Maggie had both been significantly more receptive to the possibility of another pregnancy. They had begun to think that three children would be all for their little family, when Maggie once again gotten that feeling. This time, when she told Bill, he believed her straight out. He urged her to make an appointment at the base infirmary before he shipped out the next week, and she had. And she was right. There was Charles, an unexpected gift. Her baby. So now Maggie waited eagerly but confidently, as Bill and Tara grinned at each other over Matthew's head. "I've been reassigned," Bill said with a smile. "Reassigned?" Maggie asked. "Where?" Charles added. Now it was Tara's turn to grin. "Norfolk," she said. "Norfolk?" Dana repeated. "Virginia?" Bill nodded. "Norfolk, Virginia. Instead of on-ship engineer, I'll spend most of my time at the base. I won't have to travel as much, which will definitely be nice, and we'll be closer to you here in DC, Mom." And closer to Dana, Maggie thought. "A promotion?" she asked. Bill nodded. "I've had my sights set on this kind of position for years," he said proudly, and Tara smiled over at him. "That's wonderful, Bill," Margaret said. "It'll be so nice to have you three back East, to get to see Matthew more often." Tara nodded and Maggie turned her gaze to her daughter-in-law. Bill's news hadn't quieted the expectant feeling in the pit of Maggie's stomach. Not at all. Maggie studied Tara's face, her bright smile and twinkling eyes. Tara turned to face her mother-in-law. "You know," Tara said, her grin broadening. But Maggie simply smiled back at her. "Know what?" Dana asked, glancing between Maggie and Tara. "Know our other news," Tara said, looking back over at Bill. "We're pregnant." "Ooh," Maggie exclaimed. "I knew it! I just *knew* it." She jumped from her seat and ran to the other side of the table to embrace her son and his wife. Dana reached around the table and gave Bill a quick, almost formal hug, and Charles did the same with Tara, who sat next to him. "Congratulations," Fox said, taking advantage of the excitement to try to slip a spoonful of mashed potatoes into Liam's mouth. "When are you due?" Maggie asked Tara as she headed back to her seat at the head of the table. "June," she said, sitting back down. "And the timing couldn't be better. Bill's new assignment doesn't start until March, so we'll have plenty of time to move out here and get settled before the baby's born." Tara kept talking, detailing their tentative plans for visiting Norfolk before they headed back to San Diego, and the perfect timing that wouldn't force Bill to ship out just weeks after the baby's birth, as his previous assignment had required after Matthew's. But Maggie's thoughts had strayed from her daughter-in-law's plans. Again she looked around the table, stopping lovingly at each face. How exciting it was for her children, she thought, including Tara and Fox in her warm feelings. She remembered this time in her life so fondly, the years she and her husband had started and then nurtured their own family. Even though Bill's travels had passed the majority of the everyday parenting to Maggie, she cherished that time in her life. There were babies to feed and bathe and soothe, and small children to play with and read to and teach. She both envied the futures her children had ahead of them and, at the same time, rejoiced in the luck she had in being there to share them. Everything was falling into place for Bill and Tara, with Billy's new assignment and Tara's pregnancy, with their move back East. Not only would they be close to Maggie and Dana, but they would be closer to Tara's parents, who lived in Pittsburgh. Of course, Tara's oldest sister still lived on the West Coast, in Los Angeles, Maggie remembered, but she had another sister who lived in New York and whom, Maggie was sure, she would be glad to see more often. And Dana and Fox. Maggie looked over at them, both of their heads bent over Liam, trying to coax another spoonful of mashed carrots into his mouth. It appeared that things were working out between them, but of course Maggie hoped they would make it official. She supposed she was old-fashioned that way, but she knew it would be easier for them if they were married. They were no longer partnered together at the FBI, so they had no worries about Bureau prohibitions of spouses working together, if such prohibitions even exited; Maggie wasn't sure. Then again, they never seemed to do things the easy way, but, somehow, it all seemed to be working out well. At least, Maggie thought, it was working. She watched Liam's stubborn smile as he shook his head, refusing a spoonful of potatoes this time. And Charles. Maggie sighed. Talk about not doing things the easy way. Maggie prayed for each of her children and grandchildren every night, and for Tara and Fox. But Charles had long held a special place in her prayers. He, as much as Dana, seemed to make things so much more difficult than they needed to be. For years he had battled with his father, with his brother. She knew that Dana had been through the ringer in recent years, but it was Charles who had had a lifetime of fighting, of toil. Every night Maggie prayed for peace for her Charles, for the ability and willingness to relax into his life before it was too late. * * * * * Continued in Interstice: Sunday