TITLE: Peregrines (1/?)
AUTHOR: Maureen S. O'Brien 
EMAIL: mobrien@dnaco.net
ARCHIVE: Yes. Please replace previous versions with this one.
SPOILER: anything through 4th season.
CONTENT: Skinner/other
SUMMARY: X-Files/Profiler/Due South crossover. Serial killer 
Jack-of-All-Trades causes problems for the X-Files, the VCTF, 
and the RCMP.
DISCLAIMERS: This story contains characters and settings that don't
belong to me. Profiler belongs to Sander/Moses Productions. The X-Files 
belongs to CC and 1013 Productions. Due South belongs to Alliance. Cool 
shows all. If I've made any continuity errors for either show, please 
let me know & I'll correct them if I can. I know Chilmark doesn't have
a hospital. Well, in my universe, it does. Sorry.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: To Joy Parker, because she lets me call her late at 
night, and because she likes Skinner, Bailey and Meg; and to The
Gossamer Project, for turning me into an X-Phile just in time for
"Gethsemane". Sheeeesh.
Just so you know:
X-FILES: This takes place late in 4th season, after Demons but before
Gethsemane. Obviously, the events of Redux II will be slightly 
different in this universe.... :)
PROFILER: This takes place late in the 1st season, but before the
season finale. I thought of my Victoria subplot before I heard about
Sharon; consider it Jack's dry run. Dr Samantha Waters is profiler 
for the FBI's Violent Crimes Task Force, which is based in Atlanta 
and headed by her friend Bailey Malone. She is being stalked 
by a serial killer called Jack of All Trades (because he kills each 
victim differently), or Jack for short. Jack is trying to kill 
everyone else connected to Sam's life. He seems to be in love with 
her, and believes she is the only one smart enough to match him. 
George Fraley is the VCTF computer expert. John Grant is an agent 
assigned to the VCTF. Chloe is Sam's daughter. Oh, and Sam's 
parents are dead in this universe. Sorry 'bout that.
DUE SOUTH elements do not appear till part 2. This story takes
place in an alternate universe and before Stanley Ray Kowalski 
shows up for the 3rd season. Benton Fraser, a Canadian Mountie, 
and Ray Vecchio, a Chicago police detective, solve crimes. Meg 
Thatcher, also a Mountie, is Benton's boss and in love with him. 
Lieutenant Welsh is Ray's boss.  Frannie is Ray's sister. Victoria 
is...not a nice person. :)
"Peregrines" 1/?
by Maureen S. O'Brien

"What's up, George?"
The VCTF's computer expert turned around. "Morning, John. Just 
rehashing old hash, that's all. Figured I'd look through the computer
records on all the folks from Sam's past that Jack's killed, see if
anything popped up." He took a sip of coffee.
"Well, we haven't found any good new leads for a while. You might as
well try. Anything interesting?"
"Well, did Sam ever tell you her folks were in Witness Protection?"
George pointed to the laser printer. "Classic symptoms. Birth 
certificates, SSNs, all the easy ID stuff...but no DMV stuff before
a certain date, no property tax in their supposed hometown...they
just don't exist before they get to Silver Spring with Sam in tow."
He grimaced. "Sloppy, I think. But the program people say 'they don't
need to withstand a full background check to hide in plain sight'.
Hmph. Well, if Sam wants, I can crack a few systems or claim lost
records, and make the cover more solid. But since both her parents
are dead now, there's probably not much point."
John's wheels were turning. "And now Sam's had to live in hiding a 
second time. Damn. No wonder she's so protective of her daughter."
He turned to George. "So how'd Sam get in the Bureau?"
"Good question. Everybody hired gets their past investigated. Not
existing is usually a downcheck."
"Unless...somebody knew about the whole thing and got Sam 
approved. We should check this out!"
"And why is that?"
John turned around. Bailey did not look happy.
"The last I heard," Bailey said, "we were investigating Jack, not
Sam. Leave her alone."
John's eyes narrowed. "You knew about this?"
"Not per se. But when she joined ISU, Patterson told me not to bring
up her childhood. Implied something traumatic. So I didn't ask."
John looked unconvinced. Right, he thought. And you just left it
at that. Really in character.
"Then anything could have happened to her!" George was saying. 
"Maybe she even met up with another serial killer!"
"Not too likely," replied Bailey.
"The point is," John interjected, "Sam is being investigated. By 
Jack. If George found out, he probably already has. Wherever Sam 
and her parents really came from, somebody's in danger."
Bailey sighed. "You're right. We'll have to talk to Sam."
"Talk to me about what?" Sam looked bemused. "Another present 
from Jack?"
"No. Nothing like that," Bailey assured her.
"Then what?"
George sighed. "Where did you live when you were 8? Before you 
moved to Silver Spring?"
"Then you and your parents were hermits, or lived under another 
"Just look, Sam. Germantown's converted almost all its records onto
computer, and you're just not there. You didn't go to school, take
placement tests, get a library card anywhere. They didn't pay state
or city income taxes, though there's a federal return...sloppy, very
sloppy. Those Witness Protection guys again." 
John pulled out a chair for her and Sam sat down, her legs shaky.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Bailey was saying. "I know this must be hard for
you. But if Jack knows, we should know, too."
Sam's face was white. "But there's nothing to know! We lived in 
Germantown. Under our very own names. I can remember it all, back
to when I was three or so."
"Okay," said John. "Let's do an experiment. Sam, what was your phone
Sam rattled it off. "See? I remember. I had to learn that before I
could go to kindergarten," she explained. "It was the first phone
number I ever knew by heart."
"Then let's call it." John picked up his cell phone and dialed. The 
phone rang for a moment before it picked up.
"Hello. You have reached the Main Branch of the Germantown Public
Library. For our hours, press 1. To reach our circulation desk, press
2. For the information desk, press 3. For all other calls, or if you
are using a rotary-dial phone...."
John hung up. "Wrong number. Got the library."
"Thought you said I didn't have a library card," Sam teased.
John rolled his eyes. "Tell me the number again, a bit slower."
He got the same answer.
"Are you sure that's the right number?"
"Sure I'm sure," Sam insisted. "I can see my stubby little fingers
now, dialing it on my pretend phone. I taught Chloe her phone 
number the same way."
"Then why do I keep getting the library?"
"Numbers change."
"The main library's main line?" John shrugged. "Time to talk to the
information desk."
The woman who answered sounded like she was resisting retirement.
John explained to her, "My friend gave me this number for her 
parents' house, but I keep getting the library. I'm sure I'm 
dialing it right. Could the library's number have changed recently?"
The woman sighed sympathetically. "I'm sorry, young man. The library
number hasn't changed in the forty years I've worked here. Why don't
you let me look up the name in the telephone directory?"
John demurred politely and hung up. Then he told the others what
she'd said.
"Forty years?" George grinned. "Real sloppy!"
"Maybe they assumed there'd be no reason to call it. Or maybe they
wanted people to think they got a wrong number," Bailey speculated.
"It could even be the right number, but in a different area code."
John was watching Sam. Her eyes were wide and staring. "How do you
feel? It's a lot to absorb on one cup of coffee."
"Like the first reel of a Hitchcock movie." She shook herself. 
"There's got to be something I remember right. My kindergarten
teacher, Miss Buechele. Miss Impson was across the hall. I didn't 
have her, but...someone I knew did."
"Lemme look." George went back to the school system's records. "Oh,
they're real. But this overcomputerized town doesn't show you on
any of their class lists. We might check the original hardcopy, to
see if you got left off, or pictures of old classes to look for you
under another name. But you sure don't seem to be there."
"Maybe Jack did it," John guessed. "Killing your past."
Sam considered it seriously. "Then why not wipe my birth certificate
from the hospital records? By the way, George, I got my tonsils out
when I was 4. The nurses brought me my favorite flavor ice cream.
"Was that at Germantown General?"
"No.... No, it couldn't have been.  It was a small hospital, really
nice...Chill-something. I remember because of the ice cream. 'Chilly
ice cream from the Chilly nurses,'" she said, in a singsong. "And I
got a teddy bear to take home. I wonder what ever happened to that 
"Chilly. Hmm. Children's Hospital?"
"No, that's not it."
"Good. 'Cause I don't see any children's hospitals anywhere near
Germantown, and most children's hospitals are huge."
"Maybe it wasn't in Germantown," Bailey volunteered. "Can't we get
a directory of hospitals or something? And check first and last
names if a hospital's named after a person. Kids pick up on stuff 
like that."
The suggestions continued. Sam smiled. People in Hitchcock movies
were alone against the world. Real life was more like a Tom Clancy 
novel. All the good guys worked together, and the government was 
made of people on your side.

"So, Mulder, when was the last time you had your sister's photo
"It must have been four years ago." Agents Mulder and Scully 
exited the elevator and continued toward their basement office.
"You really should have it aged again every year. And run it through
the database for matches every six months or so."
Mulder groaned inwardly. A To-Do list? Again?
"Don't worry," Scully was saying. "I took care of it."
"Thanks, Scully." He held the door open for her and followed her in.
He slurped his coffee. "The little elves have left a present in our 
In box, I see." He opened the interoffice envelope and examined its
contents. Printouts. The first one stopped him. It was a picture of a
a blonde that he knew.
"Damn. Jack finally got her," he said, real sorrow in his tone. "She
was one of the good ones."
"Agent Waters.  You know, the profiler being stalked by Jack of All 
Trades? Why else would we get her picture?"
"Interoffice mail, that's why.  Let me see." 
He handed her the envelope.  She shuffled through the other printout
pictures. Just as she'd suspected, they were computer-generated
variations on a theme. Waters with short red hair, long gray hair,
curly black hair, green spikes.
Green spikes? she thought. A present for the basement dwellers. 
Scully found one more with long brown hair before she was back 
to blonde. She  raised an eyebrow, then found a piece of paper 
and started writing on it. Then she passed it to Mulder, saying, 
"We can take them back to the mailroom later. Right now we've 
got work to do."
Mulder looked down and read the note.
>Don't say anything. We haven't checked for bugs lately.
>Those pictures are the aged photos of your sister, in different 
>hairstyles and colors as I requested, in case dyed or with wig.
>*Write* your reply. 
Scully watched Mulder read. His eyes popped out. Then he grabbed
a pencil and started to scribble under her note.
>But, Scully...I KNOW Agent Waters. I worked with her and Bailey
>Malone back in the ISU. About the only other profilers I liked.
>I danced with her at her wedding.
>Dr. Samantha Waters. Nickname -- Sam. Could it all be so simple?
>And has anyone ever told you you're beautiful when you're paranoid?
Scully read his note, then met his eyes. His were bewildered, hers
merely ambivalent.
>I don't know, Mulder. She looks about the right age. I'd like to
>check her ear shape in a real photo. Eye color, too.
>It could all be a mistake. You could think of other possibilities,
>I'm sure: tampering with the aging software, distractions by
>the Consortium, alien clones....
>By the way, if you did more than dance with her, I'd like to
>know the whole Greek tragedy ahead of time. Cancerman makes a 
>lousy chorus.
>Yes. Frohike. 
She passed it back. Mulder grabbed a new piece of paper.
>We have to consider those possibilities, yes, but....
>Scully? Do I need my eyes checked, or did you just express belief
>in aliens AND clones? In cold, hard print?
>Eewww, gross! Girl cooties!
She gave it back.
>I said YOU could think of them.
He grinned and scribbled some more.
>Thank goodness. If you'd seriously proposed that I'd worked 
>alongside an alien clone, Scully, I would've been forced to check
>YOU for green blood.
>You ask the lab to redo the photos, and I'll look up her background.
>Then, I think we should pay a friendly visit (assuming Jack hasn't 
>got her) to our colleagues down in Atlanta at the VCTF.

"Nice to know you're on our side, son," the voice chuckled. "Be 
seeing you, Jack."
"Goodbye, sir." Jack reached out and hung up the phone. Arrogant,
chain-smoking cretin! Someday he would be able to forget all this
bowing and scraping. Someday, when his lovely Sam had been 
convinced to join him in his work, they would rule the shadows
side by side. But first he had to get rid of all the people who tied 
her down.
It was true that she didn't remember her real family, at least 
consciously. The Project had seen to that. But he knew, so it was
necessary. But unfortunately, his little psychic surgery wouldn't
work as well if Sam didn't know why those two individuals had been
chosen. She might think he was merely grasping at straws, killing
some poor profiler she knew. Worse yet, credit for the kill might go
to the Consortium, as Bill Mulder's had.
Of course, he had done that one for the Consortium's pay. But that 
had been secondary. He had volunteered for the job, assuming that
his private reasons would make the kill twice as thrilling, and
assuage his yearning for Sam's company. But no. Without Sam, 
it had all been so pointless.
So he had sent Agent Scully her aged photos. He would let Agent 
Mulder achieve his lifelong quest. Then, like Galahad, he would be
taken up to Heaven -- but with his mother for company and his sister
for mourner.
Maureen S. O'Brien   mobrien@dnaco.net  
TITLE: Peregrines (2/?)
AUTHOR: Maureen S. O'Brien 
EMAIL: mobrien@dnaco.net
DISTRIBUTION: Yes, please. Archive the heck outta it.
SPOILER: anything through 4th season.
CONTENT: crossover, Skinner/other
SUMMARY: X-Files/Profiler/Due South. A serial killer causes
problems for the X-Files, the VCTF, and the Consortium.
DISCLAIMERS: see part 1. 
AUTHOR'S NOTE: To Joy Parker, who may possibly forgive me for what I'm
about to do to Meg for what I'm about to do to Skinner; and to The
Gossamer Project, for turning me into an X-Phile just in time for
"Gethsemane". Sheeeesh.
Peregrines (2/?), by Maureen S. O'Brien
"Why does Skinner want to see us?" Scully handed Mulder a piece of 
>They re-aged the photo while I watched. And I compared it with your 
>old aged picture of Samantha.  The faces matched.  You just didn't 
>see your sister as a blonde? 
"I don't know." Mulder pulled out a sheet of paper, too.
>She doesn't look much like the clones we've seen before. But she
>does look like the aged pictures. Contacts for eye color? Is she
>a genetically modified clone? Or just a long-lost relative? Has
>anyone ever seen the color of her blood? Or was it the clones
>we've seen that were altered, to make them look more like 
>we would think a grown Samantha would look?
>I checked out Agent Waters' background. What there was of it. The 
>Lone Gunmen are doing a more in-depth check. Frohike was touched 
>that you remembered his compliment.
Scully raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't think I'd done anything lately," Mulder protested, and 
smiled innocently. Scully gave him The Look. He grinned a little 
more. The elevator doors opened and the two agents sailed down the 
hall to Skinner's office. 
"Best check Skinner's office for cigarette smoke," Mulder said, his 
voice suddenly bleak. He held Skinner's office door open for Scully, 
and they made a beeline for the two chairs in front of Skinner's desk.
"Good morning. You must be wondering why I called you here."
Scully and Mulder exchanged glances. Naaaah. Too easy.
"I must say that it's a pleasure to speak with you over a matter 
other than totalled cars or menaces from beyond. I have your passes 
to the welcome party tonight at the Canadian Embassy."
Mulder took the invitations from Skinner. "Uh, sir, about that 
"You aren't going to tell me that you're not going." It wasn't a 
question. "Because the heads of every division in the FBI are 
going to be there. Especially the ones under my jurisdiction. We 
are going to show our respect as an organization for the Royal 
Canadian Mounted Police, and its highest ranking representative 
on US soil."
Scully caught Mulder's eye. "Will that include the VCTF, sir?" We 
might not have to catch the red-eye after all!
"Yes, SAC Malone is coming up from Atlanta. And Agent Mulder, I 
realize you had tense relationships with many of the people you 
knew in the ISU...."
"Not with Malone, sir," Mulder reassured him. "The X-Files Division 
can play well with others upon occasion." Especially when we've got 
a great way to meet inconspicuously.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Mulder, because I seem to remember 
what happened the last time you went to a party at the Canadian 
Embassy. You asked the military attache his opinion of the Weapon 
X Project. With names, dates, locations and details."
"I was trying to make conversation about a Canadian cultural hero, 
"The attache did not read comics, Mulder. He reported that classified
information about black ops had been leaked to an American. The 
Canadian military establishment was sent into a panic searching for a 
program that did not exist. It's a good thing your friend Matheson
was able to intervene on your behalf. Not everyone can start an 
international incident between friendly countries with one smart 
"What can I say, sir? It's a gift.... And it wasn't a remark. It was 
a conversational Gambit."
Scully looked at her partner reproachfully. He subsided. She turned 
to Skinner. "I don't believe Mulder will be causing any trouble with 
the Canadians."
"I hope you're right." Skinner brightened. "I'm looking forward to 
meeting this new RCMP commander, Meg Thatcher. She once foiled an 
attack by nuclear terrorists...."
Meg stared into the mirror and sighed. Not because there was a 
problem with her appearance. Her evening gown was elegant, it was 
a good hair day, and she thought she'd convey just the right 
blend of beauty and business.
This is a good thing, she kept telling herself. Being transferred 
from the Chicago consulate to the embassy in Washington was a 
promotion to a position of great prestige. She was being shown 
off tonight, showing the USA's national law enforcement 
organizations what the best of Canada's looked like. Her country 
was entrusting her with a job that required her to be something 
of a diplomat as well as keeping the ambassadorial staff safe. 
She should have been thrilled.
And she was. But she was also missing Ben.
Ben had been so excited for her, getting a posting he said she well 
deserved. He had even done research for her, putting together 
foldersful of information on the people and organizations she'd 
work with in DC. They'd been more complete and useful than the 
briefing material the RCMP had issued. Of course. That was Ben all 
over. It was only in the last few days that he'd managed to admit 
how much he wished that she could stay or he could go with her. As 
if she would have thought less of him for being less than superhuman. 
That was Ben, too.
The official farewell at the Consulate had been a formal dinner. 
The unofficial goodbye party had been a barbecue at Ray Vecchio's 
house. She still had trouble believing how many people Ben had 
gotten to come; many of them were people she'd only met briefly. 
But Ben remembered them, and they had come and wished her well. 
She had never been much for showing her feelings, but the guests 
had all seemed to understand why she had thanked them so stiffly. 
Then, as they stood around chatting and eating, Lieutenant Welsh 
had called for a toast. His cops heard his soft proposal and 
pounded on their beercans with their plastic forks until the 
backyard was silent. 
"To a good cop," he said.
She'd felt tears pulling at her eyes as she drank her diet ginger 
ale. Then she'd heard the murmur of soft seconds, and seen cans 
begin to rain down on the recycling bins, more hitting than 
missing. And then she _had_ cried.
Late in the afternoon, while Ben was helping Mrs. Vecchio, she'd 
made a point of going to find Ray. He was doing the same thing 
he'd done most of the day: standing in the side yard, grilling 
burgers, weiners, and Italian sausage. Thankfully, there were 
no Johnsonville Brats left. Bratwurst should be gray, the way 
God and Germany intended. Dief was watching him work. It looked 
as though Ray had intentionally dropped a few his way, so Dief 
licked his chops hopefully as Meg approached. 
"This is a wonderful party," Meg began. "Thank you."
"Thank Frannie," he said uncomfortably. "She's done most of the 
work. I just cook this stuff."
"I just wanted to know...why did you go to all this trouble? You 
and I have never been the best of friends."
He took a sip of beer. "Well, Dragon Lady, you were a lot better 
for Benny than Victoria."
"I'll try not to let that go to my head."
He snorted. "Well, you were. I was glad Benny found somebody who 
wasn't psycho. And I just hope this doesn't hurt him too bad."
"So do I."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You gonna be okay?"
"I think so. I hope so." She'd been able to live before she met Ben. 
It hadn't been great, but she could still do it. "Thanks for asking."
"Well, if those Feds in DC start to get you down, you know you can 
always come back."
I can't, she thought. I couldn't possibly. "Thank you."
Saying goodbye to Ben had been the worst -- and the best. She still 
wasn't sure how or why they'd gotten together. He was her 
subordinate, even if he was so good at his job that the description 
hardly seemed to apply. She disapproved of office romances, 
particularly since she'd been subjected to sexual harassment early 
in her own career. But somewhere along the line, they had fallen 
in love despite themselves. 
It was an incredibly stupid thing for two smart people to do.
It was the best thing that had ever happened to them.
And now, it was over.
Meg checked the clock. Almost time to head downstairs to the party. 
No time to think about that night almost a fortnight past, or that 
afternoon in the airport, with Ray staying out of sight until she 
was gone and it was time to drive Ben home. But she could think 
about that morning, in Ben's room, when he had asked her which 
uniform she preferred he wear to the airport. She knew that, left 
to himself, he would have picked the dress scarlet tunic he loved 
so well. She liked the browns herself. They were less conspicuous, 
and suited Ben at least as well. But she loved him. She told him 
to wear the scarlet, and resolved herself to being a spectacle for 
O'Hare International.
And now, it was time. She would not feel homesick for Canada or 
Chicago. She would not be Ben's Meg. She was Thatcher again, the 
Dragon Lady, and more than a match for any bureaucrat on Earth.
That carried her through endless introductions, names and faces 
that had to be held in memory. Through endless conversations in 
which messages were given and impressions left. And through five 
or six FBI Assistant Directors (how many did they have, ten?), 
each wearing a tux and plainly wishing it were just another dark 
suit.  And each one far more respectful of the RCMP than their 
agents in the Chicago field office had ever been.
"This is Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the Criminal 
Investigative Division," the Director was saying.  "Walt, Meg 
Now this was someone she'd wanted to meet. Both the briefing and 
Benton's file folders had said good things about him. There were 
sharp eyes behind his glasses. His grip was firm, but he made no 
attempts to test her strength by crushing her hand. Why should he? 
He was a big man, knew it, and had no need to push it. She liked him.
"Your people do good work," she said bluntly. "I'm particularly 
impressed by your new unit, the VCTF. Does it make things difficult, 
supervising a team in a different city?"
"Sometimes, but SAC Malone and his people are very capable. They go 
where the work is, and if they need help, they call me. I don't need 
to look over their shoulders much."
She nodded. "And you also supervise the X-Files Division. How do 
you get such a high solve rate with only two people?"
Just a hair of satisfaction in his expression. Nothing like having a 
stranger praise your pet projects in front of the boss. "Again, it's 
the people involved. SAC Mulder and his partner Scully are a credit 
to the Bureau. Very self-reliant, very driven."
She cocked her head. "In my experience, any manager who gives his 
people all the credit deserves a great deal of credit himself -- 
for understanding what his people can do and helping them do it."
He met her glance. "And that would be why that short speech of yours 
gave so much credit to Constable Fraser and his friend Detective 
She blushed a little. "No...no, that was to emphasize the value of 
cooperation between countries. And because it was true." 
He gave her a look. 
She smiled. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
"Well, I'd like to interrogate you a bit more," he smiled back, "but 
I know you've got a lot more people to meet. It's been a pleasure."
"Likewise." She smiled at him one last time and moved along. Never 
time to talk to the ones you really wanted to talk to, darn it. Maybe 
she should make time.
Mulder glanced at Scully. She glanced back. They nodded at each 
other in agreement. Skinner had it bad, and Thatcher was at least 
interested. But they were both so reserved that nobody else seemed 
to have noticed -- hopefully, the MIBs and the Washington gossips 
"I saw Bailey Malone over on the other side of the room."
"The mountain comes to Mohammed, Scully."
"Don't look and don't get excited, but Agent Waters is over there, 
Of course Mulder immediately started swiveling his head around. 
Scully closed her eyes. "Mulderrr. Skinner will make sure we see 
them. You've waited this long. Don't lose it now."
Mulder settled down. "I know, I know. But I feel like...like someone 
who's been wanting to go to Jerusalem his whole life. And then, he 
finds out the city's fifteen minutes drive from where he lives."
She frowned. "Now how did that go? 'It is not something mysterious 
and far off. It is not up in the sky, that you should send someone 
to get it, or across the sea, that you should send someone to tell 
you about it. It is very near, already in your hearts.'" She 
shrugged. "Or something like that."
"Good paraphrase of Deuteronomy, Scully."
"Thank you." She smiled slightly. "But don't forget; there are a 
lot of towns called Jerusalem in this world. Make sure you didn't 
find one in Wyoming."
"But if it is the right one...."
"Then I'll be here."
"And if it's not?"
"Then...next year in Jerusalem."
Bailey glanced at Sam. "How do you feel?"
"Surreal. I mean, an embassy party? Me?"
"Skinner tries to help his people's careers. When we finally get 
Jack, he wants people to know more about you than that Jack came 
after you. That way, you can write your own ticket in the Bureau."
"How can you think that far ahead?" Sam stared into the distance.
"It could happen tomorrow."
"Right." She glanced at him. "And the horse could sing. But I don't 
even know if I'd want to stay."
"Then at least you got some free food out of it. And a night free 
from Jack."
Jack smiled at the security monitor, watching the way she gestured 
with her drink, the way her gown's sleeve fell against her arm. "You 
look lovely tonight, Sam."
Maureen S. O'Brien  mobrien@dnaco.net  
TITLE: Peregrines (3/?)
AUTHOR: Maureen S. O'Brien 
EMAIL: mobrien@dnaco.net
DISTRIBUTION: Yes, please. Archive the heck outta it.
SPOILER: anything through 4th season.
CONTENT: Skinner/other
CLASSIFICATION: CS (or something.)
SUMMARY: X-Files/Profiler/Due South. A serial killer causes
problems for the X-Files, the VTCF, and the Consortium.
DISCLAIMERS: see part 1.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: To Joy Parker, who is gonna get to watch the Victoria
episode any day now; and to The Gossamer Project, for turning me into 
an X-Phile just in time for "Gethsemane". Sheeeesh. Also, my thanks to
Loligo, for true praise; Hong Te, for inspiring me to get Fraser into this 
party, and the spirit of Victoria for getting a storm to take out the power
and slaughter the downtown ash trees 2 minutes after I rewatched her
"Possession" scene. What I do for research....
Pererines, Part 3
The city of Chicago mimics the preferred habitat of the peregrine but 
with numerous advantages. The skyscrapers are pseudo-cliffs along a 
waterway (Lake Michigan) that funnels numerous prey species 
through the area during spring and fall migrations. Chicago provides 
an ample supply of winter food in the number of pigeons (Columba 
livia) and starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) in residence. Free of natural 
predators such as the Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus), the 
largest threat to the city-dwelling peregrines comes from other 
adult peregrines attempting to establish territories.
Chicago Peregrine Release and Restoration Project.
Benton Fraser sat alone in his apartment. He would not normally have
thought of himself as 'alone'. After all, his wolf Diefenbaker was
there, lying close by. Furthermore, his apartment was only one of many
in the building, and he knew all his neighbors by sound as well as by
sight. That was Mr. Lee down below now. Beyond that, he lived in the
middle of one of the great cities of the world, Chicago, with all its
many suburbs. Considering that the largest city he'd ever lived in
before moving here was Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, that seemed like more
than enough company most nights of the year.
But among all those people, not one of them was Meg, and that meant
he was lonely. Ray, and Elaine, and Det. Huey, and Lt. Welsh, and 
Francesca, and Mrs. Vecchio, and all his other friends (nearly a
hundred, he thought, wondering how he met so many nice people) were 
out there in the city, but no Meg. She was a little less than
half a continent away, and tonight was her welcome party. He had sent
her flowers by FTD. He hoped they had arrived on time. She might need
some cheering up, among all those new people.
She would find new friends, he knew. She was slow to make friends, 
somehow, but she was such a nice person. And she would meet a man.
Some nice man, who would see what a special person Meg was, and woo
her. (He never thought what an old-fashioned expression that was.)
And win her. And worse, wed her. He sighed. 
Beside him, Dief the wolf sighed too. At this rate, there'd be no 
jelly doughnuts tonight.
"Cheer up, son," Ben's father advised him. "There are plenty of fish
in the sea."
"That depends on where you fish, Dad." Ben sighed and looked around.
There was his father, a ghost dressed in a Mountie's scarlet tunic.
Even death couldn't keep away parental care and advice. Even if,
sometimes, you wanted it to. "Anywhere on Earth, there's only one
"Good thing, too."
"Er, I was just saying she's a good woman. Very...upright. Does 
things by the book. Um. Anyway, I was just going. Don't get too 
depressed, son."
And he was gone. Ben relaxed. He hadn't seen much of his father in
life, but he saw an awful lot of him now. It was just that nobody 
else could see him.
He sat there for another minute, still feeling down. Then he heard a
knock on the door. Who could that be at this time of night? He got
up to see. Maybe it was one of his neighbors, needing some help.
Maybe it was Ray. He opened the door.
"Hi," she said. "Long time no see."
Her dark and curly hair now had a few strands of gray that caught the
hall light and turned silver. Her eyes were still midnight. Her mouth
still had the shape he'd memorized long ago, when he was delirious
and she kept reciting a Hopkins poem with images like tongues of
fire. Her words, her mouth and her body had been the only warmth
for three days of blizzard, and he had given her a large part of her
soul in exchange. But when he came back to himself and civilization,
he had remembered that he was an officer of the law and that she
was a fugitive criminal. He had spoken for her, but she had gone to
prison. And blamed him. And when she got out, she came back to 
him -- but only to try to put him in the same position. To give 
him no other choice but to flee with her. It had nearly worked, and
Ray ended up shooting him, however inadvertently, to end it all on
a particularly high note.
Only Meg had ended the hunger he had for Victoria, despite the 
darkness in her soul. Now Meg was gone, and Victoria was back. 
He felt like a vampire hunter caught without his cross.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she said, amused at his staring.
He looked at her, opened his mouth, then paused and visibly thought 
over the matter. Then he shook his head.
"No. I...don't think it would be wise."
"Why? Is she here?"
"Your Mountie girlfriend."
"No." He looked at her. "She is not here, and she is no longer my
lover. A modicum of research would have told you that." He did not 
blush. He was simply relating the facts.
"Then why not?"
He sighed. "Because she taught me that love does not have to
be vampiric in nature. She never tried to take away my friends or
shoot my wolf." Naked pain was in his eyes. "Why? You didn't have 
to avenge yourself. Didn't you know that I would have laid my life 
at your feet to make reparation? But you traded both our lives to 
hurt people who'd never hurt you, just so that you could hurt me."
Her eyes mirrored his. The same pain for different reasons. "How
could I love you with all of them around? How could you love me?
We were meant to be the way we met -- the only two people in the
He looked interested. "So what would have happened if I'd gone
with you, and while we were on the Amtrak together, I'd made
friends with some of the other passengers?"
"You wouldn't've had much time for that."
He blushed, but persevered. "But surely we wouldn't have spent every 
waking hour alone together."
"Why not?"
And suddenly his look changed, and she knew that he was pitying her. 
Soon the words would come, about how she should get some help. The 
same words her sister had said, before Victoria sent her down the 
cliff in the car. And it was all this Thatcher's fault.
She laughed. "Just kidding. Well, I'll be going now. But think about 
it. We can still go someplace warm. Warmer than this wintry April in 
"I like winter," he said firmly. "I'll be calling the police to 
report you, you know."
"I know."
"Well. Take care of yourself."
"Someone has to."
She turned to go, and he shut the door. But for a long moment, he 
leaned his head against its wooden back. 
Victoria. Come back to me....
No. Never let me see you again.
Then he hurried to his neighbors to use their phone. 
But one thing bothered him. He knew Victoria, and he had seen that 
look on her face when he spoke of Meg. And somehow, if Meg was 
walking around in the same night as Victoria, he thought that Meg 
ought to be warned.
The introduction protocol had finally gotten around to section 
chiefs. Skinner was introducing his new Canadian friend, Meg 
Thatcher, to all the Violent Crimes guys. Including himself and 
Scully, and then SAC Malone of the VCTF, and Agent Waters. 
Dr. Samantha Waters. Mulder watched her with fascination. All the 
little gestures of hers that he had casually seen so many years ago 
in the ISU were now taking on new significance. Her hand brushed
under her nose. Did that remind him of Sam?  How about the way she 
cocked her head?
Scully elbowed him. "You're staring, Mulder."
"I can't help it."
"She's already got one stalker. She doesn't need two."
He sighed and turned his head a little. But he couldn't turn off his
thoughts. He waited impatiently until Skinner and Thatcher moved off.
Now, he thought. Now I'll go.
But Malone and Waters were turning toward them. Waters was giving
him a little wave! 
"Agent Mulder. Just the man I wanted to see," said Bailey. He knew
Mulder disliked his old nickname. "Didn't you originally come from 
Martha's Vineyard?"
"Magnet for storms and old money? Yeah, for my bad karma."
"We've got a case that's pointing us there, and we'd like your help
with some of the local layout. If we can find somewhere private...."
Bailey paused. "Not to exclude you, Dr, Scully. I'm Bailey Malone,
she's Sam Waters. I'm glad Mulder finally has a good partner. From 
what I hear, he needs all the backup he can get, with the cases he 
finds to investigate."
Scully looked pleased and surprised. "Why, thank you."
Sam saw Scully's expression and smiled at her. "We're profilers 
ourselves, and a little too good for some people's comfort. 
Believe me, when half the people you meet think you're some kind 
of witch or telepath, you don't feel like calling Mulder 'Spooky'. 
At least, we didn't. I think a lot of the others wanted to mock 
your theories, Mulder, because they hoped that would make them 
feel less odd themselves. Not that I believe in the aliens, mind 
you," she said, turning to forestall a Mulder comment.
Mulder closed his mouth. "You know me too well," he pouted.
"Experience," the other agents chorused. They looked at each other
and grinned.
"I thought we were going to have a conference here," Mulder said
"We are. First Annual Conference on Mulder and the Paranormal," 
said Scully. 
The four agents walked out of the room inconspicuously and found
a quiet corner in the Embassy's library room. All four agents had
to fight the urge to study the shelves as intriguing titles caught
their eyes. Poor books. Who actually read them here? 
"Maybe we could arrange for a foreign exchange program," Mulder
mumbled. He'd never seen a complete set of Cabell before. Then he
straightened up. "What information do you need, Malone?"
"Bailey. Bailey. I'll keep telling you till you say it," he insisted,
for the thousandth time since they'd first met. "Anyway, there are 
indications that Jack may be planning to kill some people on 
Martha's Vineyard."
"But I thought he was restricting his kills to people Waters knows,"
Mulder objected.
"Well, that's the kicker. Sam?"
"I'll tell him." She took a nervous breath. "I always thought I grew 
up around here, in Germantown. But my life there, my parents' lives, 
seems to be a fabrication. Based on the internal evidence of my 
memories, I must have grown up somewhere else. Probably Chilmark on 
Martha's Vineyard. I seem to have been hypnotized into forgetting 
that. But if Jack has been stalking me and investigating my life 
enough to kill people I knew during my later childhood -- and if he 
had my christening gown...."
"He had your christening gown as a trophy?" Mulder's eyes were wide. 
She told him. "He left it for us to find, and I recognized it."
"That was when my mother's house was burglarized," he muttered. "She
couldn't find anything stolen. Just some mementos tossed around. She
must have forgotten it."
"What are you talking about, Mulder?" asked Sam.
"You'll see. Scully, show Waters one of those pictures."
Scully drew one out of an envelope in her handbag. "Do you recognize
this person?"
Sam crossed her arms and leaned forward to look, all her 
concentration on the picture. "It's me," said Sam. "I'm about 12. 
Where'd you get it?" She half-dreaded the answer. Not Jack again.
"That's an aged picture of Mulder's sister Samantha. With blonde hair."
"The one that disappeared. The one whose picture was always on his 
"That's the one."
"Why didn't I ever recognize myself? Bailey, did you ever notice a 
"No. And I'd like to know why."
Mulder was frowning. "Mind control. Post-hypnotic suggestion, 
probably, with a dash of some kind of drug."
Post-hypnotic suggestion won't do all that, Mulder. Scully bit 
her tongue and managed not to say that out loud. At the moment,
that wasn't the point. 
"They must have laughed at us," Mulder was saying. "All those years
Fox Mulder spends searching desperately for his sister, when she 
used to work two cubicles down from him."
Sam stared at him. "I ought to be laughing at that sort of theory.
But I seem to be living in one of your theories, these days."
Then Mulder and Sam stared at each other, barely breathing. Two
profilers, trying to remember each others' quirks and correlate them
into a picture of a person. Sam stared the hardest, willing her
memory to return and show her a dark-haired boy. But it didn't. A 
brilliant and fragile man she knew only superficially had cast her 
as his sister, and she didn't know any of the right lines.
She almost felt resentment. She had her own life, laboriously carved 
out from the midst of her pain and fear. She had her daughter Chloe 
and her best friend Angel, and she kept them as far from the VCTF's 
world as she could, in spite of Jack. But with Mulder as a brother 
and abduction -- kidnapping? -- in her past, she would never be able 
to keep out all the darkness.
But then again, how successful had she been at that before?
"It's strange, but I always wanted a brother," she offered. "I 
thought about having sisters, but I just couldn't picture it. A 
brother I could handle. Preferably an older brother, since my 
friends told me that younger brothers were all brats."
"I daydreamed a lot about getting my sister back," he returned.
"Would she still be the same age? Would she be hurt, or brain-
damaged, or just...dead? I've seen clones of her, designed to be
mute and used like worker bees. And a woman I thought was her,
swept out to sea. But you're alive, and well, and brilliant. You've
got a lovely little daughter, and you're one of the bravest people
in the Bureau. I hope to hell you are my sister, Samantha. Because 
any family would be proud to have you."
He held out his arms a little, like an invitation, and Samantha
hugged him. Awkwardly. He was very tall, like a big brother should 
be, though she wasn't the shortest person in the world. He was too 
thin; she could feel that even through his tux. And suddenly she 
didn't care if he was blood or not. She had never gotten to know 
him properly in the ISU, because she had had Bailey and her husband 
Tom to take up all her time. But damn it, he needed a sister, and 
she would be one.
They stepped back from each other, Mulder with great reluctance. She 
glanced at his partner, to see how she felt about this. Scully was 
smiling, her eyes brilliant with unshed tears. Mulder turned around 
to see what Sam was looking at, and put his hand up to Scully's eyes 
to wipe them away. It was an astonishingly intimate gesture, Sam 
thought. Bailey might have done it. But Bailey was like a father to 
her. No wonder her brother had the Bureau gossips talking.
Her brother. Yeah, that sounded right.
"I hate to break the mood," said Bailey quietly, "but there was a 
reason we wanted to know about Martha's Vineyard."
"Mom." Mulder's voice was grim. "We should call the police in 
Chilmark, such as they are, and warn them. Not to mention the ones 
in Greenwich. That's where my -- our -- mother lives now. She should 
go into protection."
"Can we go out there? Can I meet her?"
"I guess there's no way to put it off."
Interesting way to put it, thought Sam, and remembered the profilers 
who thought Mulder must have been abused as a child.
This sister thing could have its drawbacks.
Jack smiled. "For everything there is a season, Sam," he intoned. "A 
time when you may embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing."
Maureen S. O'Brien  mobrien@dnaco.net