"Barrel of a Gun" by Depeche Mode, from The Singles 86>98

Her sleep comes sporadically these days, sometimes a few hours at a time, flutters of dreams taunting her as she lies in her bed, her knuckles white as she clutches the sheets. It is a fear she has not known in years, not the constant worry that has kept her numb for twenty-five years, but a sharp, acute terror that comes with certainty, with the knowledge of what will unfold in the days to come.

It was easier not to know, Teena Mulder decides.

At first she thinks the knocking is the rain against the trees outside, branches lashing against the windows of her house, but it is too regular, too persistent. She throws on a bathrobe, catching a glimpse of her drawn, haggard face in the mirror as she reaches into the nightstand for Bill's revolver. Buried beneath a shroud of satin, it bears the faint scent of her old woman's perfume, irreconcilable with its metal coldness. She slips it under the folds of her robe, and goes to answer the front door.

Every stair creaks on the way down. She and the house have grown old together.

Teena is not particularly startled to see the face of a ghost through the peephole. She draws the gun, though its weight does little to reassure her against the vengeance of the dead. Still, her finger is on the trigger as she unlocks the door.

"That won't be necessary," Dana Scully waves her hand towards the weapon. "You have nothing to fear from me tonight."

Teena loosens her grip on the revolver, but she does not put it down, instead moving aside to allow the ghost to enter. Scully has been walking in the rain. Her hair clings in wet tangles against her face, drops of water on her eyelashes and cheeks like tears. She shivers, clad in a T-shirt and jeans, thinner, Teena thinks, than she had been in life.

"I can think of better people to haunt," Teena says.

Scully offers her a tired smile. "I didn't come to haunt you either."

Teena closes the door against the wind and rain, then leads Scully into the kitchen. They sit down at opposite ends of the table. Teena does not offer her visitor coffee.

"I need his real name," Scully says. It is not a question - it is a demand.

"Whose?"

"You know whose. C.G.B. Spender...the smoking man..."

Teena leans back in her chair. "I can't give it to you," she replies.

"Your children's lives are in danger, Mrs. Mulder. He knows where they are. He's been keeping them prisoner--"

"Fox is there by his own free will," Teena interrupts, "And Samantha is there for her own safety."

"-- and you have done nothing..."

"I've given you all the information that I have."

"And now the same people responsible for my...death...are coming for them." Scully half-stands, bracing her weight against the table. "Tell me his name."

"It won't do you any good." Teena keeps her voice even, cold. "I'm not entirely sure of the name he uses these days. And even if I knew, it wouldn't help you track him down...or to find them." She folds her hands together, lowers her eyes. "He's done everything in his power to protect them. And if he can't...what can you do?"

"How do you live with yourself?" Scully whispers.

"I ask myself that question every day." Teena glares back now, defiant. "Do you think you're the only ghost who haunts me?" She shakes her head. "I'm very sorry, but there is nothing more I can tell you. It would only further endanger them."

"Or save them."

"Do you expect me to take that risk?"

"Mrs. Mulder...if you do not help me." The ghost trembles. Teena looks away. "If you refuse to help me, they are already dead."

Teena opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. She clenches her fists together, bites back tears. Scully had better be certain - the web is closing in around them from all sides.

"He left two hours ago," Teena says in a low voice, "He was headed for a place...Wee-something. An air force base."

"Wiekamp," Scully blurts out.

"That's it."

The ghost stands. "Thank you, Mrs. Mulder."

Teena reaches out, abruptly, to grab Scully's arm. She is almost surprised to feel warm, solid skin beneath her hand. "Wait."

"I can't."

"Just tell me..." A pained swallow. "I need to know that I've done the right thing."

Scully pauses for a moment, then says, "I suppose we'll see." She starts to pull away, then reconsiders. "Give me your gun."

"Agent Scully?"

"Agent Scully is dead," the younger woman replies. "My name is Jane Green. And I need your gun."

Teena hands it to her wordlessly. She follows Scully out to the hallway, stands on the lowest stair as the ghost turns the handle of the door.

"Is there anything else I can do for you...Jane?"

Scully looks down at the weapon in her hand. "Lock the door when I'm gone," she says, "Don't mention to anyone that I was here. And," her voice is oddly gentle, "Take care of yourself, Mrs. Mulder."

The sound of the door as it slams shut is barely distinguishable from the pounding rain outside.

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