TITLE: "The Minne Cycle - Part 7 - "Badlaa" AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof * CLASSIFICATION: MSR KEYWORDS: V R A RATING: PG SPOILERS: Badlaa SUMMARY: See part 1 DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Why would I be the lucky one, huh? They belong to CC, DD, GA, 1013 and Fox and no infringement is intended. ARCHIVING: Sure. I'll do Gossamer myself, all others: you're welcome when you tell me where it's going, 'kay? FEEDBACK: Cherished and worshipped at XxXxX Thursday, 8:37 pm Hello sweetheart, Oh Mulder, what is happening to me? Only two weeks ago I wrote to you, proud of the fact that I had managed to pull myself together and now I'm a total mess again. And it's all his fault, I know it is! I'm sorry, you don't even know what has been going on. I'd better explain a little about the case before I continue. Doggett, by the way, was acting like a total git, but what else was I expecting anyway? I should have been warned by the way he'd changed. I know he's here to shut me up. He may be getting into the swing of the cases a little, but he won't last. But about the case. It was about – well, actually I don't even quite know what it was all about as most witnesses ended up dead, but the key figure was an Indian holy man, who had somehow managed to use the body of an obese American business man to travel to the US. When here, he embarked on a regular killing spree. We haven't quite figured out how he did it, or what the connection between the victims was. We know that the business man was probably linked to an accident at an American plant that killed several people in India, but why this guy picked on children I just don't understand. It looks like he just killed at random. I had to shoot him in the end. But it wasn't him I had to shoot, he had adopted the body of a young boy and I couldn't persuade myself it was him. I am still not sure … Oh Mulder, I'm so ashamed of myself! Because, the moment I shot this boy, I realised how you would have known instinctively that he wasn't whom he seemed and you would have seen through his masquerade. And I couldn't see. And more people could've been killed because, even after all these years I still can't see the truth. And I feel so ashamed of myself every time I think about it. Because how can I keep your legacy alive, continue your search, when I'm blind? I see but I'm blind, Mulder, blind to the truth! You've taught me so much and still I can't see. I'm so sorry … I hardly dare refer to your letter, I doubt whether I even deserve what you wrote to me, your kind words of love and affection. Your letter arrived sometime during the night I think, it was neatly folded over twice and it had been slipped under my front door. I found it when I walked to the door to unlock it. I nearly had a heart attack, I think … I have been carrying it with me all day, it radiates a kind of warmth I never realised I needed this much. Or at least it feels that way. I must have taken it out and read it in excess of fifty times already, and every time I read it, or even touch it as it sits crisp and comforting in my pocket or purse, I feel both sad and joyous. Sad because I don't know where you are and because of the awful things they are doing to you and I can't stop them; joyous because you are thinking of me and because you managed to get my letters and most of all because you love me. Oh Mulder, I love you, too ... I have copied the letter while I was in the office and Doggett was out on an errand. I have your Mont Blanc pen which you very well know I always was so jealous of and which you couldn't resist flaunting! I used it to copy the letter, I don't trust the computer enough – the network would probably somehow get the info into hands I'd rather avoid right now – and a ballpoint pen would leave an impression on whatever I'd be writing on. I guess this was the safest option. I knew I had to copy it because the pencil you used to write with didn't leave a very clear impression and I was too scared it would eventually become ilegible (because I'm handling the letter so often) and then I'd have nothing at all to support me ... As far as the work is concerned, it was a long and boring day at the office with nothing but the ever-present red tape to wade through. I'm getting sick of paper work, I want a change. But I also know that I won't get that unless I transfer off the X-Files and the second I do that they'll have us shut down for all eternity. And that is the last thing we can afford happening to us. I'm still wondering, by the way, who it was that brought me your letter. It must be the same person who takes my letters to you. I keep on running over a list of people mentally, ticking off the candidates as they pass. None of them seem to be the one who is our intermediate. I wish I knew who it was, I'd probably kiss his feet and pledge my life-long devotion to him. Or her, who knows? I should, of course, have taken it down to the labs and have it checked for prints and other forms of evidence the moment it arrived, but I don't think that by now that it of very much use. I've handled the letter too much, I haven't worn gloves as I touched it, and I'm loath to give it away anyway. And, honestly, I don't even know if I need to know ... Our baby boy is doing just fine. I feel pretty good, I'm not too sick, and day before yesterday I felt him move for the very first time! At least that's what I think I felt. I'm going to have a scan done in three days, I'll tell you all about it in my next letter. It will be wonderful. Sometimes, when I have a moment, whether it's at home or in the office or even in the field, I sit and then I start day-dreaming about him and about you and me and how our family would be. You're no longer alone, Mulder, you're part of a family now and I know, it amazes me too! But it's true and it's fantastic. I was very happy to read that you want this baby. It's not that I really doubted it, but there was always this niggle of uncertainty, which your letter has removed. I felt so comforted and loved when I read it. And no, I won't name him Fox. At least I think I won't. Any suggestions to keep me from naming him Fox? By the way, I never even told you which picture I chose to keep, did I? Because I do remember telling you I took one from Mom's amazingly large collection (I thought you resented having your picture taken. I always knew Mom would get you to do just about anything for her. Well, she loves you like you're her third son so don't worry about that). Do you remember the Davis-case? We ended up in Sunnyville, one of those sun-soaked Florida retirement towns, because residents were ending up dead, their remains scattered over an area that grew increasingly wider as the murders continued. And there we were, at least thirty years too young to even attempt blending in, our suits screaming FBI and with a bunch of lovely old ladies whom you had charmed before I had even unpacked my suitcase. One of the ladies, Mrs Lovat, took a picture of you looking straight into the lens and your expression encapsuled everything I remember you by: cheeky, hot and just little wary, with that priceless little smile I just love to see. I was there when she took that picture and I can't tell you how much it turned me on, just witnessing the scene. We had some incredible sex that night. Well, here's a memory that has put a smile on my face. I must go now, sweetheart, Mom is expecting me. We're going out shopping, I need some new clothes to help me through my pregnancy and a friend of hers, Peggy Wilms, has a shop that sells stylish maternity clothes, which is good because I absolutely refuse to wear those baggy dresses! I will be in touch very soon, your letter has given me new courage to write, knowing that you can read what I write to you. I hope you know how loved and cherished you are. If you can, please write again, but if you can't manage it, don't worry, I will keep writing even if it is necessarily a one-sided correspondence. Be brave and strong, I will keep looking for you and I am sure God will let us be together very soon. Yours forever, Scully XxXxX THE END Kirsten Kerkhof The Netherlands, 16 May 2002 (c) 1