TITLE: Progeny AUTHOR: Zephathah E-MAIL ADDRESS: zephathah@yahoo.com RATING: PG-13 (Chapter 7 is NC-17 with an alternate PG-13/R version) CATEGORY: SAR KEYWORDS: ScullyAngst, M/S friendship, eventual MSR SPOILERS: Anything about Emily, ova, etc. SUMMARY: Mulder claimed Emily was never meant to be. Was Scully never meant to be a mother? When a child's body is found abandoned in a warehouse, Scully once again faces the uncertainty and horror of the lives inflicted upon her biological children. She must find how the existence of these unexpected offspring fits into her perception of herself and her future. ARCHIVE: Spookys. Anywhere else, just let me know first. Do not archive at Gossamer; I'll send it myself. DISCLAIMER: Any names you recognize belong to FOX and CC et al. FEEDBACK: The best thing since sliced bread. Send to zephathah@yahoo.com NOTES: To my beta readers Shoshana and T Bishop, thank you for making me write a story that's better than I thought it could be. To DB - thanks for the title, and welcome to the insanity! Author's notes at the end of Chapter 9. Progeny by Zephathah ________________________________ Chapter 1 ________________________________ The late night raid had gone as planned, the FBI team moving in coordinated pairs, covering every possible exit. The warehouse was being used as a base for drug traffickers - at least, that's what the FBI thought. To some extent, they were correct. The two toughs who had been guarding the stash were taken without anyone getting hurt. The drugs were confiscated, and the agents spread throughout the building, looking for anything else possibly connected with illegal activities. What they found was beyond anything they'd expected. Agents Carson and Myers were the ones who discovered the room, buried in a warren of hulking steel I-beams. The door was open. The room was small, and with their flashlights, they could see most of it without having to expose themselves to any bad guys who might still be around. They shone their lights into all the corners they could reach from their position outside the door. What looked like large metal refrigerator units lined one wall, cabinets and a counter strewn with what might be medical equipment along another wall. The room was a mess, as if whoever had run this operation had cleared out quickly. Cabinet doors were open, drawers were pulled out, papers littered the floor. And in the center of the room, a table. A metal table on wheels. And on the table, the still, sheet-covered form of what could only be a child's body. "Jesus," whispered Myers. He was shining his flashlight on the child's head, the only part of her body not covered by the sheet. She had light red hair, just curling at the ends. They approached the room carefully, investigating the last few shadows that had been hidden by the door. Nothing there; no one alive, anyway. Carson fumbled for a light switch as Myers made his way to the middle of the room. When the fluorescent lights suddenly illuminated what was on the table, Myers' eyes widened in horror and disgust. "Jesus!" he said again, staring at the open sores covering the child's face and neck. She was clearly dead, but very recently she'd been alive: the wounds were still wet, weeping a sickly, green pus. Carson was still standing by the door, staring at the body and talking softly into his walkie-talkie, telling the SAC what they'd found. "Yes, sir. We're at the southern end of the building; Jones and Macmillan should be close to our location." A pause, while he listened to the senior agent's response. "Yes, sir. We've got the light on; it's the only light in this part of the building; we shouldn't be too hard to find." Then he added softly, "We'll need a forensics team, too." He put the walkie-talkie back on his belt and crossed to Myers' side. "Fuck," was all he said. Myers looked at him and asked, "Have you ever seen anything like this?" "Not even in my nightmares," Carson responded, grimly shaking his head. Myers ignored his nauseated stomach and dug a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket, snapping them on. "Forensics on the way?" "Yeah. *Shit*." Carson was still focused on the grotesque lesions that disfigured her face. "Might as well see what we can find." Myers banished the image of his own young daughters from his mind, focusing on the task at hand. The nightmares would come when he was asleep; he didn't have time for them when he was awake, too. The refrigerator units, if that's what they were, had been unplugged, and the doors were partially open. Whatever had been - or still was - in there, it wasn't refrigerated anymore. Myers pulled open a door to one of them, finding row upon row of little tubes, little vials, each with a neatly taped label. He picked up a few of them at random, seeing a name and date on each one. 'Maureen Rogers, 12/13/94' 'Penelope Northern, 9/30/94' 'Dana Scully, 10/28/94' Dana Scully? Why was that name familiar? He heard more agents entering the room now, snapping on latex gloves as they started investigating the scene. "Whatta we got, Myers?" Myers looked around to find Macmillan peering into another refrigerator unit. He pulled his own door open wider to show the other agent. "Hell if I know," he said. "Lots and lots of tubes. Names and dates. All women." He held out the vial in his hand to show Macmillan. "Shit!" Macmillan's eyes widened as he read the label. Myers looked at it again himself. "Dana Scully. Why's that name familiar?" "Shit," Macmillan repeated. "Mac, what is it? Who is she?" He shook his head in wonderment. "She's an agent. We were at the Academy together. Shit." "Shit," Myers agreed. ******** The ringing phone brought her out of a deep sleep; she had to burrow out of the comforter to fumble for the cell phone on her bedside table. Her hand grabbed it and pulled it back into the warm nest she'd made of the covers. "Scully," she grumbled into the phone. "Agent Scully, I apologize for the late hour." "Sir?" Scully sat up, alarmed and confused. Why was Skinner calling her at - she checked the clock - 1:17 in the morning? "What's happened? Mulder?" She heard him cough uncomfortably on the other end of the line. He paused a moment before answering. "No, Agent, nothing like that. Agent Scully, there was a raid tonight, on a warehouse out in Howard County." "Sir?" she repeated, not understanding what this had to do with her. "The SAC on the scene called me, because he knows you're one of my agents. One of his agents found -" his voice paused again, feeling its way around these words. "What, sir?" she asked, trying to remain patient. When Skinner spoke again, his words were clipped and professional, an AD conveying a concise report of the situation to his agent. "An Agent Macmillan reported finding an unplugged refrigerator filled with glass vials. They're labeled with names and dates." Her stomach twinged. She knew what was coming next. "This agent recognized your name on some of the vials." "What were the dates?" she asked, her voice flat, detached. "They coincide with the time you were missing." She sucked in a breath, feeling his words like a punch to her stomach. "What's the address? What else was found?" "Agent Scully, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to show up personally. I will talk with the SAC and make sure you are kept apprised of any developments." "Sir, what's the address of the warehouse?" It was a demand thinly disguised as a question. Skinner didn't sigh; that wasn't his style. He merely stayed silent for a moment, then gave her the location. Scully disconnected the call, then automatically hit the speed dial for Mulder's number. There was no question of trying to keep him out of this. All she could think was: again, it's all starting again. It took four rings before Mulder answered the phone; he must have actually been asleep. A muffled, sleepy groan was all the greeting she got. "Mulder, it's me." The fog in his brain vanished at the sound of her voice. Something had happened. "Scully? What's wrong?" "Get up and dressed. I'm picking you up in a half hour." "Scu-" She hung up before he could ask any questions. They could talk in the car. ******** Scully's hands gripped the steering wheel as they drove through the late-night city streets. Mulder sat in silence next to her, waiting for her to start. Something was wrong, and she would tell him what it was in her own good time. Finally she said, "There was a raid on a warehouse tonight. Over in Howard County. They found vials. Some of them had my name on the label." Mulder looked at her without saying anything. There was more, and he would wait for it. "There were dates on the label. They match when I was missing." Mulder's whole body went rigid, and he was suddenly short of breath. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He didn't want to reveal how disturbed he was, though he was sure Scully had realized the impact of her words and knew anyway. He could feel it - they were starting on another carnival ride, the Smoking Man's Funhouse, where the worst sorts of horrors lay in wait. It wouldn't do to show the strain so early. He needed to keep himself calm, to be there for Scully, who was surely far more disturbed than he by this latest development. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, refusing to look at him. He reached out and gently pried her right hand from the steering wheel, and she let him bring it to the space between them, where he held her hand between both of his. He wouldn't attempt anything more to comfort her; she needed to hold it together long enough to face the scene they were quickly approaching. Her hand felt warm and safe in his. All her life she'd wanted to be completely independent, but at the moment she was glad she had someone to share this burden, someone who understood what she needed - someone who understood what comfort she could and could not accept as they sped toward another confrontation with the atrocities They'd inflicted upon her. Scully turned into the parking lot of the warehouse, the site obvious because of the number of vehicles now pulled up to it. One of those vehicles was an ambulance. Had someone been hurt in the raid? It had been long enough now to have already gone to the hospital, if that had been the case. When Scully tried to reclaim her hand from Mulder's, he didn't let her go right away. She turned to look at him, her face blank. He squeezed her hand gently, and she let down her mask enough to smile a soft, sad smile, squeezing his hand back in silent acknowledgement of his support. They got out of the car and approached the building, his hand pressing softly at the small of her back. It would keep them connected, keep her grounded as she faced the other agents, agents who had no idea what any of this was. ******** The SAC seemed to be expecting them, an impression he confirmed by the first words out of his mouth. "Agents Scully and Mulder? Tom Logan. I'm SAC for this little affair. Walt told me to expect you." They could see the questions behind his eyes, the questions he wouldn't ask. They nodded in acknowledgement to the question he had asked, and he began to lead them through the maze inside the warehouse, filling them in on what they'd found so far. "Bill Carson and Jake Myers found the room during our search of the warehouse. This was a drug raid; we were just checking out the remainder of the premises. We've got forensics taking care of the body, and-" "Body?" Mulder interrupted, feeling Scully tense beneath his hand. She hadn't known about a body. "Skinner must not have mentioned it. We found a-" Logan paused for a second before continuing, "...a child. In the room where the vials were found. She has these-" again the pause, "pustules all over her body. They're-- ...they're *green*." The SAC could see this meant something to the two agents. The woman, Agent Scully, closed her eyes briefly, and Logan saw the concern on Agent Mulder's face as he looked at his partner. Tension was rolling off them in waves, but it wasn't the kind of tension that pulled people apart. If anything, the strain appeared to be holding them closer together. It was plain they hadn't been told about the body. Hell, that made sense. He hadn't bothered to mention it to Walt; he'd just been thinking about Agent Scully's name on those little glass tubes. They were still looking at each other, and Logan could have sworn they were having an entire conversation without saying a word. Mulder asked a question with his eyes; she answered the same way. He was glad they seemed to have such a close relationship - if Agent Scully was somehow involved with whatever had been going on in that fly-by- night operating room, she'd need someone by her side through this whole mess. Someone she could trust. Mulder gave a nod, then turned back to Logan. "Will you be in charge of this investigation?" he asked. Logan shook his head. "Probably not. This is way outside the scope of what we usually handle. Have you two- ...have you seen this sort of thing before?" Logan knew they were from the X-files division, knew 'Spooky' Mulder's reputation. He'd never given much thought to little green men before. But that kid in there - that kid wasn't human. "Yes," Scully answered. Another look passed between them. They'd never opened an official X- file on Emily; that would have entailed a report to Skinner. If Logan wasn't going to continue as SAC, they weren't about to share any information with him. If the hybrid green blood was still dangerous, somebody would've noticed by now, so no need to worry about that. Would Skinner let them have this case? Did they want this case? Yes. Sure, it was personal; technically, they shouldn't be anywhere near the case whether they wanted it or not. But it was also connected with all the work they'd done on the Consortium. That would have to be convincing enough to get themselves assigned. They would go to Skinner in the morning, after they'd seen what they could in this warehouse, and before anyone else had a chance to do the autopsy. **** They followed Logan deep into the warehouse, Mulder worrying about Scully, Scully concentrating on keeping her defenses up. It might not be one of hers, the child. There were whole industrial-sized freezers full of ova. It could be from any one of them. Inside the room where the body lay, a team of agents was collecting the vials from the refrigerator units, searching through cabinets and drawers for any more evidence. Many of the original agents from the raid had been sent away; Macmillan chose to stick around, see if he could be any help. He and Dana had been friends at the Academy, sort of. They'd hung out with the same group of people. They hadn't run into each other often since then, but just in case there was anything he could do, he wanted to be there when she arrived at the scene. No one had recognized any of the other women's names on the vials, only Agent Scully's. Those who knew who she was, who knew she worked with Mulder down in the basement, who knew anything about the X-files, looked at the green blisters on the child and wondered if ol' Spooky wasn't quite as out there as they'd thought, after all. Mac watched as SAC Logan entered the room, followed by Dana and her partner, Agent Mulder. He'd heard the rumors about Mulder, like everyone else, but he'd never worked with him personally before. They both went immediately to the table in the center of the room, ignoring the ME's who were getting the body ready for transport. He was about to approach them, call out her name, but the look on her face, a look that appeared for a brief instant before she could control it, stopped him before he'd even started. Unbelievable pain and loss, but also a sort of resignation - as if she'd been down this road before. What had happened, in the almost ten years since they'd known each other? She reached out to touch the child's hair, stroking it gently. Mulder was standing very close behind her, his hand on her back. Mac could feel how tense he was from across the room, see the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching. Mulder was angry, incredibly angry, but he was keeping it at bay, obviously for the sake of his partner. Mac walked slowly to the table, not wanting to intrude, but drawn by an insatiable need to know what the hell was going on. They didn't see him approach; they were looking at the child, talking softly in half-phrases that didn't make any sense to him. "Like me, instead of Missy." "Not clones, then." "No. Another try. God, Mulder, how many?" Mulder didn't seem to have an answer for her, just gazed at her steadily. She sensed Mac's presence, then, and whirled around, her eyes suddenly hardening. "Dana?" She softened slightly, not smiling but not glaring at him either. "Mac. AD Skinner told me you were the one who found the vials." Mac shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. He wasn't sure it was a good thing, those vials being found. "Myers found them. I recognized your name." "This is my partner, Agent Mulder. Mulder, this is Darren Macmillan. We went through the Academy together." The men shook hands, murmuring standard greetings. What now? Mac wanted desperately to know what they knew about this strange child, but he had a feeling they weren't going to tell him. "They're taking them to the lab, the vials." Mac jerked his head in the direction of the agents who were packing up the evidence. Scully nodded. She wanted to grab them, confiscate them, get them to the Gunmen, to people they could trust, but for now she would go with the system. They didn't have the case yet, and she didn't want to screw up their chances. They would wait, and trust Skinner to come through for them. She had no wish to expose everything to these mostly-strangers; they would have to hope the child's body didn't disappear as Emily's had. Actually, maybe it was better if they didn't try to take over right now - she'd never heard of any other agents having as much trouble as she and Mulder did when it came to disappearing evidence. "I'd like to take a look at the vials, now," she said, starting to move away from Mac. "Sure. I... If there's anything I can do, Dana...?" She took pity on him and laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Mac. It'll be fine." She turned back to her partner, who put his arm around her back once again. Mulder gave him a look that seemed to say he understood, he would do anything for her, too. Mac nodded at him, glad she had someone at her side who unmistakably cared for her. Mulder nodded back, then crossed with his partner to the examine the evidence. ******** ________________________________ Chapter 2 ________________________________ The ride home was silent. Mulder drove; Scully sat on the passenger's side, head tilted back, eyes closed but trembling, trying to hold it all in. He pulled up in front of her apartment building and was around the car to open her door almost before she'd realized they'd stopped. She stepped out of the car without looking at him, barely seeming to recognize he was there. She climbed the steps slowly, stopping at the door but not turning to wait for him. She made no move to pull out her keys. She was just trying to keep herself together long enough to get to the sanctuary of her apartment; she didn't have enough energy to consider anything else. But she didn't have to, because she knew Mulder was there, knew he would do what needed to be done until she was back in control of herself - and knew he would never mention this... *neediness* unless she brought it up first. He unlocked the door for her and ushered her inside, calling the elevator and standing quietly by her side while they waited for it. When they reached her apartment, Mulder again unlocked the door for her. Neither turned on the lights. She stood silently as he helped her off with her coat and hung it in the closet. She didn't stir while he removed his own coat, draping it across the couch. "Scully?" His voice seemed to break her out of a reverie, and she looked at him, startled. Oh God, she could see the pain in his eyes, too, pain and something more, calling to her, and she couldn't stand it anymore. She felt the mask breaking, the tears threatening. When he reached out to her she retreated, then ran towards her bedroom as the sobs began to wrack her body. She flung herself on the bed, but it was too big, too exposed, so she crawled across to the other side. Down onto the floor, between the night table and the corner of the room, she squeezed herself into the tiny space, sobbing, sobbing, she couldn't stop sobbing. Her cries were harsh and furious, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. It was uncontrollable; she didn't care who heard her. No one else mattered - no one else even existed except her and the children They'd stolen from her. Why did They do this to her? Why did it have to hurt so much? Already, her voice was hoarse and her throat raw from sobbing and screaming. It was a horrible pressure and she couldn't get it out, it just kept coming from somewhere inside her and it would come up through her lungs and she was sobbing and screaming and no one could understand what this was like. She banged her head back against the wall because that kind of hurt was better than the hurt inside, better than the pain she couldn't do anything about. She wanted to stop thinking about her heart that was breaking, wanted to stop feeling it. She didn't want to have to deal with the pain because the pain consumed her, it controlled her life and she wanted it out. She wanted it all out; she wanted the awful, burning pressure to go away. She wanted to breathe without expecting the next breath to come out a sob because something reminded her why she wasn't whole anymore, why her heart was broken. It couldn't handle the heartache anymore, so it broke, and the shards pierced her, reminding her with every breath how much it hurt to be a wretch with a broken heart. Her heart physically ached in her chest and made her lungs heave and there was nothing she could do, nothing. Nothing to stop the pain except scream herself hoarse and sob until she ran out of breath. She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to become as small as possible, trying to protect herself, as if she could disappear from the pain that surrounded her. But there was no escape, there would never be an escape, because it was inside her. The memories taunted her, showed her what she could never have, showed her the terrible price they'd paid for the Truth, showed her the twisted existence forced upon her children, who should have been loved and wanted and above all *hers*. It would never be, it *could* never be. They'd left her empty, then tortured her further by allowing her to see the experiments on what They'd taken from her. Emily's face wouldn't leave her, that angel face of the child she hadn't been able to save. And now another one, another face to haunt her. Did this one even have a name? Had she possessed even the minimal family that Emily had? Had the child ever known love, ever felt the warmth of a mother's arms? She would never know, and she would never, ever have the chance to be that mother, to hold her own child in her arms. She twisted her hands in her hair, pulling at it, needing to do something to stop the horrible parade of faces and futures that would never be. If she could just feel physical pain, that would make the other pain go away, bury it before it buried her. She was rocking violently now, fistfuls of hair clenched above her forehead, fingernails digging into her palms. The tears burned as they fell, her eyes felt swollen and hot; she was screaming, wanting it all out, just get it all out, get it out of me, *I don't want this life anymore*. And still, she sobbed. She couldn't breathe and her throat was raw but she didn't care, she wanted it out. She was tired of it, tired of the burden, tired of the pain, the loneliness, the fear. All she wanted was to live her life without the constant threat of renewed anguish. Why couldn't she just have her life? Why? Please, let me have my life. I can't do this anymore; I can't take it. I can't take it. Let it be over. I want it all over. **** Mulder watched Scully run out of the room; he could see the sobs already convulsing her body. He'd give her time to vent and rage. He didn't want her to hold anything back because of his presence. But this was his pain, too - how could it not be, when his partner, his best friend, was at this moment in such agony that he felt it in his gut, felt it piercing his heart? Her cries tore through him. His fists clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the misery and grief he heard in her sobs. He couldn't just leave her alone; he had to at least watch over her while she spilled out her torment in the only way she could. And so he walked slowly, reluctantly to her bedroom and took up a position just outside the open door. He stood silent guard, tears streaming down his face as she screamed herself hoarse from the pain. She looked so small, huddled in the corner. How had she held on for so long? His partner, the strongest person he knew, was being ripped apart by the pain, and there was nothing he could do about it. He leaned his forehead against the doorjamb and closed his eyes briefly before forcing them open, forcing them to see past his own tears and bear witness to her angry, desperate heartbreak. Then she was tearing at her hair and knocking her head against the wall, and the utter desolation in her cries drew him into the room before he could make a conscious decision to move. He was afraid the pain would break her, and now he thought he'd been wrong - she didn't need time to be alone. She needed a place where she knew she was safe and loved, where she knew it was okay to let it all go, it was okay to break, because someone else would be there to catch her as she fell, because someone else understood, understood about the pain. He crossed to her and gently gathered her in his arms, to let her know he was here and he knew, he knew how it felt to have your heart torn in two. He would hold her as long as she needed, as long as it took for the stabbing pain to dull into something that could be borne. He would hold her together until they could rebuild the pieces. **** Someone was pulling at her shoulders, and she didn't have the strength to resist. Then the arms were around her, holding her close as she sobbed into his shirt, clutching at him, pleading with him, "I want it to be over, I want it to be over, I want it to be over," in a voice that broke his heart. He stroked her back and hair, smoothing its tangles, pressing soft kisses onto the top of her head, murmuring a counterpoint to her chant. "I know, Scully. I know you do. We'll get through this. You'll be ok. I know, Scully. We'll be ok." They stayed there on the floor of her bedroom, Mulder holding Scully in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he soothed her with meaningless, comforting noises, until the sobs came in hiccups as her burning lungs slowly regained their rhythm. She shivered and leaned into his body; its warmth surrounded her until at last she lay quiescent, her head turned against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. ******** She was exhausted. She had no dispute with exhaustion, though, because now she was too tired for the pain to be more than a heaviness weighing down her heart. When the last of her tears had fallen, Mulder gathered her closer into his arms, lifting her from the floor and laying her gently on the bed. He left her there for a moment before returning with a damp washcloth from the bathroom. Scully's eyes fluttered open when his weight shifted the mattress beneath her. She watched him with half-closed eyes as he wiped away the streaks of dried tears from her face. He looked so serious, as if washing her clean, the coolness of the washcloth soothing her burning eyes and skin, was the most important task in the world. Her skin was flushed and hot, and after he'd run the washcloth along her hairline and down her neck to the collar of her shirt, he left the room again, this time for several minutes. She could hear noises from the kitchen but paid no attention. Time passed without her taking note of it. When he entered the room balancing a large bowl filled with water and a towel from her linen closet, she hadn't shifted at all. He placed the towel at the foot of the bed and the bowl on the night table, then went into her bathroom and retrieved her pajamas from the hook behind the door. He left the pajamas by the towel and bent to remove her shoes and socks. The shoes he lined up neatly in the closet; the socks he tossed in the hamper by her dresser. He returned to sit by her side, giving her a long, questioning look that she answered, unblinking. His eyes looked pained, and she knew his pain was for her sake. When his long fingers began to calmly and steadily unbutton her blouse, she continued to watch him from beneath heavy eyelids. A fleeting thought passed through her tired mind; she was glad he understood she was entirely in his hands right now, that she trusted him to do what she couldn't do for herself. He reached for the washcloth, submerging it in the bowl. He twisted the excess water from the cloth, then brushed it across her collarbone, down to the edge of her bra. Taking each hand in turn, he unbuttoned the cuff at her wrist and pushed the sleeve to her elbow. He washed her lower arm from elbow to wrist, across the back of her hand, turning it over to stroke down the inside of her arm. He dunked the washcloth and wrung it out again. Gently, he ran the cloth from the bottom of her bra across the firm muscles of her stomach, along her sides down to the curve of her hips. Draping the cloth over the edge of the bowl, he took the towel from the end of the bed and, with both hands, patted the dampness from her skin. He dropped the towel into his lap, then tucked his hands under her shoulders to pull her upright, slipping her arms out of her blouse. He leaned her against him and turned to lay the shirt on the bed below her feet. She stirred, then, shifting her head until it was nestled comfortably between his neck and shoulder. Her arms fell loosely around his middle. He picked up the washcloth and swept it over her shoulders, down her upper arms, then up again and across her neck, where sweaty strands of hair clung to her skin. Placing the cloth back in the bowl, he rested his hands gently on her back, running his fingers over her ribcage until they paused at the strap of her bra. She hummed softly, affirmatively, into his neck, and he grasped the elastic strap to unhook it. He picked up the cloth from the water and squeezed it with one hand, letting the fingers of his other hand trail down her spine. The cloth still dripped slightly, and he let the drops trickle down her back before washing them away. He used strong, circular strokes over the muscles of her shoulders and ribs, down her spine to where her back began to curve into her buttocks, over her endlessly circling tattoo. He put the cloth back in the bowl and took up the towel to rub her dry. When he stretched his arm across her back to dry the opposite side, he rested his hand for a moment against her shoulder blade and gave a gentle squeeze, which she returned by pressing her head more firmly into his shoulder for the briefest of moments. Then the towel went on the night table, and, with her help, he slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders and arms until the fabric lay between them in her lap. He held her steady with one hand and leaned back slightly so her weight lay more fully on him as he extended his arm to grab her pajama top. He guided her arm through one sleeve, wrapping the shirt around her back and helping her other arm find its way into the top. Supporting her neck, he laid her back down on the pillow and picked up the bra, putting it with her blouse at the end of the bed. He began to button her pajama top, and she looked at him with fully open eyes now. A single tear slipped from the corner of one eye, gravity pulling it towards her temple. The shirt buttoned, Mulder wiped the tear away with a callused thumb, then caressed her temple with the back of his fingers. She closed her eyes and settled more deeply into the pillow. He scooted back slightly on the bed to unbuckle her belt and unbutton and unzip her pants, then stood up to pull them off her hips and down her legs, leaving her underwear in place. He retrieved the washcloth from the bowl, twisting it in his hands before running it down one thigh, then the other, lifting each knee to get all around her legs. He drew the cloth down to wash the dip behind each knee; his hand wrapped around each calf muscle as he cleansed it. He washed her shins, dunking and wringing the cloth again before washing each foot, carefully cleaning between each toe. He moved back to the night table, dropping the washcloth in the bowl, taking the towel back, and bending over her legs to dry them one at a time. He tossed the towel to the other side of the bed, to be hung up later. He gathered up the legs of the pajama bottoms so he could slip her feet into them, then drew the soft pants up to her waist. She lifted her hips slightly so he could pull them on all the way. He draped her clothes across the back of a chair, took the washcloth and towel to her bathroom, then returned the bowl to the kitchen. Coming back to the bed, he turned down the covers on the opposite side from where she lay. He kneeled with one knee on the bed to reach her, slipping his arms under her shoulders and knees to lift her over the comforter and onto the smooth sheets. He tucked her legs under the covers, then pulled them over her body, gathering them around her shoulders. He sat down next to her, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and watched as she slipped into sleep. He would stay the night, what was left of it, stand guard over her dreams until morning, until it was time to face Skinner. He and the couch were well-acquainted, but tonight it was too far away. For a moment he remained sitting with her hip warm against his, watching her even breaths, wishing she didn't have to wake up to the horror that awaited her. Her face was finally at peace - for now. He stood and crossed to the other side of the bed, lying down on the comforter next to her as softly as he could. He would stay close, to be nearby when the nightmares came to her. ******** ________________________________ Chapter 3 ________________________________ Their steps echoed down the hall, the low sound of his dress shoes hitting the tiles contrasting with the higher-pitched clack of her heels. They walked through the Hoover building without speaking, both their arms swinging as they passed by offices and through bullpens. They were a force, their impact causing a path to open before them and heads to turn behind them. It was clear these agents were on a mission, and they were not to be fucked with. The set of Scully's chin betrayed no hint their work had once again become intensely, painfully personal, no indication a few hours ago she had collapsed under the burden of accumulated agony. When she'd wakened, she'd discovered a thin shell had grown over the injuries done to her heart. It was enough to get her through this meeting with Skinner; it would get her through until this case was theirs. It had to - she didn't have any other option. Her eyes had opened this morning to find Mulder's face a few scant inches from hers, his long lashes resting on his cheeks, his mouth slightly open, one hand curled beneath his cheek. The sight had warmed her, and she'd almost smiled before she remembered why he was there. He was there because she couldn't handle it anymore. She had broken down last night; there was no other way to describe it. And he'd been there when she'd needed him. She was grateful, but his presence made her vulnerable, because it made her feel. She'd reached out a hand to stroke his cheek, softly, the way he'd touched her last night when she hadn't had the energy to do anything more than let him take care of her. She couldn't shut him out. It might hurt more that way, she would feel everything more keenly, but he was a part of her life. Any effort to keep him at arm's length would only hurt both of them. So they walked down the hall to Skinner's office as a team, two partners, united in purpose, stronger together than they could ever be apart. ******** "Frankly, the only reason I'm willing to assign this case to you is because no one else would know what to do with it." Neither agent responded; they continued to watch Skinner as he toyed with the pen in his hands. He leaned forward in a sharp movement, putting down the pen and folding both hands in front of him on the desk. "Agents, I'll give you this case, but I need some answers. You've seen this before." It wasn't a question, and neither of them answered it. "Where? Nothing like this has shown up in your reports. Tell me what's going on, and maybe I can help you with whatever it is." The partners exchanged glances and apparently came to some agreement. It was Scully who decided, Skinner could see that. She read whatever message Mulder was sending with his eyes, sent back one of her own, then turned to Skinner, ready to speak. "Sir, we haven't had a chance to analyze the contents of the vials, but based on past evidence we have reason to believe we know what we'll find." "And what is that, Agent Scully?" "Human ova, from a number of women including myself, removed when we were taken, mostly throughout 1993 and 1994." Skinner looked toward Mulder to confirm what he was hearing. Mulder merely returned his stare. Clearly, this was Scully's story, and Mulder would let her tell it without his usual half-assed commentary. Skinner returned his attention to Scully to find her studying him, gauging his response to what she was saying. He nodded for her to continue. "Further, we also have reason to believe that when we perform a DNA test on the child, it will show that she is my biological daughter." She stared at him, expressionless. Skinner tried to get the blood flowing in his brain again. He didn't want to ask, but he had to. He wouldn't be able to do anything for his agents if he didn't have the whole story. "What is the evidence that leads you to believe this?" She dropped her gaze without lowering her head and said in a low voice, "You mean aside from the fact she looks like me as a child?" Mulder reached out to place a light hand on her knee. She placed her own hand over his and resumed speaking without lifting her eyes, staring at the plain wood front of Skinner's desk. "Two years ago, in San Diego, I - we - found a child. She was very ill. We think she was some sort of hybrid; that's why she had green blood." She looked up into Skinner's eyes. "Her name was Emily. For reasons too complicated to explain, we had her DNA tested. I was her biological mother." She felt Mulder increase the pressure on her hand and she squeezed back. She'd wanted to be so much more than just her 'biological' mother. "She died. We never opened an official file on her. I was on vacation at the time, and after she died we didn't have enough evidence of wrongdoing. We added the relevant information to existing case files surrounding my abduction." Scully took a deep breath. Dear God, there was more. "We've known for some time that while I was missing, whoever had me taken also had all the ova removed from my ovaries. They apparently have been using the ova in gene manipulation and hybridization experiments, growing children as lab rats. Evidently, They're still performing those experiments. "At this point, we aren't sure if the lab found last night had been abandoned intentionally or if the raid surprised them into action. We won't know more until we've had an opportunity to examine the evidence." She fell silent, obviously finished with everything she had to say for the moment. Skinner was stunned. How could she sit there so calm and collected, when she was probably going to leave from here to order an autopsy for her own child? God, she wasn't planning on doing it herself, was she? Well, that was one thing he could help them with, if they were willing to trust him. When he spoke, his voice was low, and it carried his unspoken sympathy and respected her wish to keep this as professional as possible. "Agent Scully, I have a friend, someone I trust, who's a pathologist. Would you like me to ask her to autopsy the child?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shock on Mulder's face, but he was focusing on the woman in front of him, whose eyes had seen too many horrors in the last seven years. Those blue eyes softened marginally as she said, "Thank you, sir. I hadn't known whom to ask." Skinner nodded and began writing notes on a pad of paper. "Her name is Teresa Lawson. I'll have her get in touch with you." He signed something on the file that lay open before him, closed it, and handed it across his desk. "Good luck, Agents." Both his agents stood, and Scully took the file from his hand. "Thank you, sir." For understanding. He nodded at her, then caught Mulder's eye before the agent could turn away. Take care of her, the look said. Mulder nodded once, unsurprised that yet another person should care so much about his partner, and followed her out of the office, his hand resting on her lower back. ******** "Her name was Laurel." Scully looked up from her laptop to see Mulder standing in front of her, a small stack of papers in his outstretched hand. An offering. With a remarkably steady hand, she reached up and took the pile from him. Clipped to the top of the papers was a photograph, a 3x5 snapshot of the little girl with a man and woman, both of whom looked to be in their early thirties. Mulder came around the desk to stand beside her as she traced the figures that smiled up at her from the picture. "Karen and William Steadman," he continued. "She had the embryo implanted, and Laurel was with them from the time she was born." Her eggs in someone else's body, her baby carried in a stranger's womb. Last night that information would have hurt beyond belief. But Laurel wasn't Dana Scully's baby; she was Karen Steadman's baby. The barbed, metal spring coiled within her had found some release in her early-morning catharsis, and she felt only relief that the child - Laurel - had even for a moment been as happy as she looked in this photograph, snuggled in her mother's arms. In every way that mattered to both mother and child, Karen Steadman had been Laurel's true mother. Mulder was hovering next to her. She gave him a brief smile for reassurance and asked, "What happened to them?" "They were killed in a car crash a little over two years ago." Something in his voice warned her there was more. He was looking at her carefully, too carefully. "Two years ago?" she asked tightly. He nodded. "Right after we found Emily." Scully blinked back sudden tears and glanced down at the picture again. "Laurel?" "Social Services had her in custody for a day - long enough for her to be entered in their Child ID program - before she was released into the custody of one Jack Laurence, who claimed to be her maternal uncle. Nothing else until they found Laurel in the warehouse. I'm going to put the guys on it, see what they can find." Two years. Ripped away from her family and turned into nothing more than a lab experiment for two years. With an effort, she pulled her mind back to the present moment and reached for the inter-office envelope lying on the desk. "A courier delivered the report from Teresa Lawson, Skinner's pathologist friend," she told him. "Scully, you didn't have to-" he began. She cut him off, saying, "Mulder, it's okay. I'm okay. I can't hide from this just because it hurts." Her voice rose, taking on an edge. She took a couple deep breaths to settle herself, then continued. "I haven't looked at it yet." She turned and looked at him steadily. "I thought we could go over it together." His heart contracted. She was trusting him with so much. "Most of the test results won't be back for a couple of days, but there's plenty of information to look at here, plus the reports on the vials." Miraculously, her voice stayed even despite the tremors she felt inside. Then his hand was on her shoulder, grounding her. He tried to smile and said, "Come on, partner; let's get out of here. We'll order in and go through all these reports." He took her hands in his, and she let him pull her out of the chair until they were standing inches apart. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer. She leaned into his embrace without hesitation. She was tired, so tired. "I know," he murmured softly into her hair. She hadn't even been aware she'd spoken aloud. Maybe she hadn't; it scarcely mattered between them. She gave him a squeeze and stepped back. She still had to make it out of the building, walk the gauntlet of too curious agents who had no doubt heard the latest rumors. And God only knew what the rumor mills were spinning today. Agent Scully's alien love child? An almost hysterical giggle escaped at the mental image that thought engendered. Mulder raised an eyebrow at her, but she just shook her head and reached for her coat, suddenly feeling better than she had all day. "Come on, let's go." ******** He watched over the top of his glasses as Scully tried to keep her eyes open and focused on the page in front of her. Various reports and files lay scattered across her couch and coffee table, and the remains of dinner cluttered the room further. Mulder put down the file he'd been reading and placed his reading glasses on top of it. They were both beat; it had been a long day and they weren't going to make any more progress tonight. He moved to rearrange the debris on the coffee table, to make room for him to sit near her. She was completely oblivious, not noticing he was there until he reached out to take the report from her hands. She looked up at him, startled. "I'm fine," she said automatically, clutching at the file. "Scully, you've been staring at that page for twenty minutes. Why don't we give it a rest for the night?" She pulled at the file determinedly, forcing him to release it. "No, I'm not ready to quit yet." "*Scully*." She winced at his sharp tone. "Scully," he said again, more softly this time. His hand cupped her cheek, turning her face to him. "Pausing for a few hours sleep doesn't mean you're quitting." "I'm fine; I need to keep going. You don't understand." Her voice hardened with barely controlled pain. He replied softly, patiently, "I do understand. You're thinking it isn't right for you to relax, to not think about things for a while, to let it go for even half an hour, because there's a child, your child, lying in the morgue right now, and there could be who knows how many more out there, just like her." His words were true and straight to the point. How could she not spend every moment looking for the Truth? How many others would be tortured and die before They were stopped? Yes, of course he understood. He was the only one who did. He'd lost someone, too, and been unable to do anything about it. He knew about the guilt and the drive to keep going. And he knew about the weariness of the body that refused to let her continue without rest. "It's so hard," she whispered. Mulder drew her head onto his shoulder, threading one hand through her hair and using the other to hold her tightly to him. He pressed a kiss into her hair and spoke in a low voice. "I know, Scully. But we'll find Them." He pulled back so he could look in her eyes. "We've got enough to go on for tomorrow; we aren't going to find anything more tonight. We can both barely keep our eyes open." "But-" Scully started to argue, not wanting to give up quite yet. "Tomorrow, Scully," he said forcefully. "We can spend the morning following up on what we've found so far, and then we'll have more test results and probably something from the Gunmen, too. Ok?" She looked away, unable to agree without feeling she was betraying the unknown children who might need her. He tugged her chin back towards him. "You're allowed to take a break, Scully. The pain that's keeping you going, it will still be there in the morning." How had he known it was the pain that kept her upright through the day? Ironic, how the same thing that had broken her last night was what gave her the motivation to continue. And if she paused - if she relaxed - if she let go of it for even a moment - would she have the strength to take up the burden again? "And I'll still be here," he continued. "We'll do it together." "How many do you think there are, Mulder?" Her blue eyes were shining with unshed tears. He sighed, wishing he could say something to comfort her. "I don't know. They left behind a lot of vials- we can at least figure out what they still have." "If they'd just left the freezer plugged in..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes became unfocused. If only. The eggs might have been fine, if only... "We're close, Scully. They're running, and we'll catch them." He said it with finality, and his confidence seemed to give her some measure of strength. She sat up straighter and rubbed at her eyes. "All right." She let Mulder take the file from her, then took his hand as he pulled her up from the couch. "You'll stay here tonight?" she asked quietly, not wanting to ask, but not wanting him to leave. He grinned at her and replied, "I've been looking forward to that sofa all evening." She managed to smile back at him as she released his hand. "Thank you." "Anytime." He stroked the side of her face, then leaned down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. "You go on to bed; I can find the blankets." She gave in to her exhaustion and swayed into him, welcoming the vibration of his gravelly voice and his comforting, familiar scent. He put his arms around her for a quick hug, then released her and stepped back. "Sleep well, partner." "You too." It was an effort to turn away from him. She'd be alone tonight, alone with her nightmares. But Mulder will be in the next room, she reminded herself - then felt childish for taking comfort in that. Part of her felt she should be strong enough to handle this alone, but there was an increasingly vocal part of her convinced she was doing the right thing by allowing herself to need Mulder. He would always be there for her. She let that thought warm her as she dropped off to sleep. ******** ________________________________ Chapter 4 ________________________________ Scully awoke to faint rays of early morning sunlight. At this time of the year, that meant she'd slept too long. But she found she was unable to begrudge herself the extra hour or two of rest. She felt almost whole this morning. The pain still lay heavy in her heart, but she knew in time it would ease. It was a somewhat depressing thought - her life had been so tossed and turned by one crisis after another that bearing the pain had become almost commonplace. But she couldn't lay down the burden, not while the Consortium still acted with impunity, not while the Truth was still out there. It had become personal the moment she'd been abducted, and there was no backing down now. She sat up in bed and stretched her arms toward the ceiling, arching her back and feeling the strength of purpose coursing through her limbs. Mulder had been right; she'd needed to take a break. And as always seemed to happen, things appeared much more manageable in the morning. She slipped out of bed and into her robe and slippers, then made her way to the bathroom, wondering if Mulder had overslept as well. Probably not, although she thought she would have heard him if he was up and about. If he was awake already, he probably had his nose back in the reports, planning their moves for the day. When she approached the couch where she'd left him the night before, she found she'd been both right and wrong. He was asleep, *and* he had his nose buried in a report. He must have either stayed up working after she'd gone to bed or awakened earlier and fallen asleep again. An open file lay on his chest and rested against his chin. She carefully picked it up without waking him and placed it on the table. When she sat next to him on the edge of the couch, he mumbled and shifted a little, then sank back into quiet slumber. His face was so peaceful, relaxed. He'd been driving himself as hard as she had; she wasn't the only one who had needed to rest for a while. She knew in some ways he felt her pain more sharply than she did. She drew a light finger along his strong, stubbled jaw. Such a stubborn chin he had. Willing to stand up to anything or anyone, including her. Despite all the suffering the past seven years had brought her, she couldn't bring herself to regret any of it. Because of the X-files, she had Mulder. Because of the X-files, her life was more vibrant, more real. More painful, without a doubt, but also more intense. After all this time with Mulder, she had come to equate 'normal' with boring, despite her protestations to the contrary. She sat there without noticing the time passing, lost in unthinking contemplation of his face. Her finger traced a line down his forehead and nose, then rested oh-so-briefly upon his lips before sweeping up along the edge of his face. Mulder awoke to the feel of a light touch on his cheek. He opened his eyes to find his partner smiling softly down at him, and his answering smile spread sleepily across his face. She looked one hundred percent better this morning, though from his own experience he knew she was still hurting. The difference now was she'd found a way to direct it. "Hey," he croaked, his voice still raspy with sleep. "Hey yourself." She drew her hand back from his face but continued to smile. He struggled into a sitting position, leaning forward until they sat with their shoulders almost touching. His mouth was next to her cheek, and his breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "Good morning, Scully." She pressed against him until they were cheek to cheek, enjoying the rough feel of his face against hers. A low hum escaped from her throat as her nose nuzzled his cheekbone. She was so glad he was here, her partner, her best friend, the one person who was always there to face the world with her. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she enjoyed this rare moment of intimacy. Usually she was too well-protected by her armor to let Mulder know how much she appreciated his presence, but somehow it was easy, natural, in the early morning light, to sit with her partner, feel his closeness, feel his warmth. She shifted until their foreheads rested against one another. Their noses bumped once lightly, then again, in a kind of slow, inadvertent Eskimo kiss. With impromptu decision, Mulder tipped up his chin until his lips pressed firmly against hers in a very deliberate kiss. Her body stilled entirely for a moment; he neither advanced nor retreated. When he felt her lips part beneath his, he almost groaned aloud. His heart started pounding as he brought a hand up to pull her closer to him. Her hands tightened around his head and held him fast as they gently explored each other's lips. A shiver of electricity traveled from gut to lips, from lips to groin. He sucked lightly on her lower lip as she tasted his upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Their tongues met once, briefly, before their lips drew apart slowly, reluctantly. They regarded each other from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, both of them breathing a little faster than normal. Her forefinger moved of its own volition, landing once more upon his soft, full lips. "Good morning to you, too, Mulder." Scully's voice was an octave lower than usual, and its husky tone sent his blood roaring south. Watching her closely, he opened his lips and drew the tip of her finger into his mouth, nipping at it lightly with his teeth. She leaned toward him like a nail drawn to a magnet, until she could rescue her finger by replacing it with her lips. This time the kiss was short and chaste, but full of promise. When it ended, neither pulled away, instead resting temple to temple. "Scully?" "Hmmm?" "Did we just kiss?" She hmmmmed affirmatively. "Just checking." Later, while Mulder was taking what was probably a cold shower and Scully was toasting bagels, she reflected on this thing, this kiss, that had happened between them. These kisses. Two of them. One, two. He kissed her, and then she kissed him. She had kissed her partner. Not that a couple kisses necessarily changed anything between them. They were already closer than most married couples she knew. But it was... nice. Nice to have this new way of communicating. They'd always said so much with just a glance or a light touch, but increasing their vocabulary wouldn't hurt. No, it wouldn't hurt one bit. ******** Shortly after they arrived in their basement office, the Gunmen called with news of a lead. With the information they had collected on Emily and Laurel, they'd been able to make a connection in the person of Leonard Sczerba, aka Jack Laurence. "I think you're going to want to take a look at this yourself, Mulder," Byers was saying. "Some of the information we found isn't making any sense to us." "In what way?" Mulder's face wore an intense look of concentration as he intermittently chewed on a plastic coffee stirrer and asked questions into the phone. "What's the news?" Scully asked after Mulder had hung up the phone. Mulder tapped the stirrer against his lip as he thought about what Byers had said. "They aren't sure," he said finally. "They're finding conflicting information; I think we need to go and see what they've got. It all has to fit together somehow. We just need to figure it out." He'd been leaning against one corner of his desk, and now he stood and moved quickly to grab their trench coats, tossing Scully's to her. Her hand on his arm stopped Mulder from leaving the office. "Mulder, what have they found?" she asked implacably. She made no move to put on the coat she held in her arms. She needed to be prepared for whatever she was about to see. "They-" He stopped, looked away. She softened and turned the hand on his arm into a caress. "What is it, Mulder?" He looked down at her fingers, placed his own hand over hers. "There was a lot of activity two years ago. After..." "After Emily." He nodded, studying her to see how she would react. But she just nodded to herself, her thumb rubbing idly against his hand. "Scully, they think there were other children." He hated to give her the news, but she was right; she needed to know before they went to see the Gunmen. He saw the shutter drop over her eyes, the stiffening of her back. Her thumb stilled for a long moment, then resumed its slow movements. She nodded again, stiffly. He squeezed her hand, and she took a deep breath before facing his gaze unflinchingly. "What else?" she asked. He shrugged uncomfortably. "That's when it gets confusing. It looks like all the projects involving the children were stopped about a year and a half ago." "But Laurel was obviously still part of an ongoing experiment," she said. Mulder nodded, unhappy with the two pieces of information that didn't reconcile. She gave his arm a squeeze and withdrew her hand, pulling on her coat and heading for the door. "All right." "Scully?" "You said it yourself Mulder, we just need to figure out how it all fits together." This time it was he who stopped her from leaving the office. She turned to him impatiently, still struggling with the buttons of her coat. "Scully, look at me." She arched a questioning eyebrow at him, her eyes conveying slightly amused exasperation. Mulder chose to take a chance and follow his instincts. That's what he was good at, right? He ignored her surface countenance and spoke instead to the pain he knew was hiding behind those bright, blue eyes. "I'll be with you, all the way." For a moment he thought she wasn't going to acknowledge him, that she would shrug off his attempt to reach through her defenses, but then the mask slipped. She took a step toward him, into his waiting arms. "I know, Mulder." Her voice was muffled against his chest. A long sigh hummed into his chest. "That's the only reason I can go through with this." She seemed almost embarrassed to admit it. He held her tightly, smoothing her hair and pressing a kiss into the top of her head. After a minute she pulled back, armor in place once more. He was saddened by its reappearance, but understood the necessity. Back in dynamic duo mode, they strode from the office, ready to face the monsters. ******** Frohike took Scully's coat with a gentleman's grace, and she gifted him with a grateful smile in return. "Thank you, Frohike." "My pleasure, my dear Agent Scully." He offered a short bow, then laid the coat carefully on top of Mulder's, which was haphazardly piled on a chair. She walked over to where Langly was already showing something on the computer to Mulder. "Well?" "I can't think of any other way to explain it, Scully." Mulder tapped a couple keys to quickly glance through the material on the screen. "From what they've got here, it definitely looks like there was some sort of split. This Sczerba character went out on his own." Langly turned to Scully and said, "We've got files from his old company's computer system that show he was supposed to spread the cease and desist orders to all the affiliated labs, then collect the children." "To what purpose?" she asked. Langly glanced up at Mulder, who transferred his attention from the monitor to Scully. His face wore a carefully controlled expression as he said, "To destroy them." She flinched at his words, despite her effort to control the reaction. It was no more than what they'd expected. In the car, Mulder had explained in more detail what the Gunmen had found: high levels of activity for a brief time after Emily died, then nothing. Labs were shut down or removed beyond the reach of the Gunmen's contacts. She and Mulder had gotten too close, and They had wanted to take away the main incentive for continued investigation - her children. Langly continued, "Looks like the Steadman accident really was an accident, and Sczerba saw it as a chance to take Laurel, to continue his work. After that, he disappeared, no more contact with the rest of the group." Then Byers came up to them, offering Scully a file folder in the same way Mulder had offered the information about Laurel in their office yesterday. "There may be another one." Frohike followed right behind Byers, ready with the details. "Justin McGowan. Kidnapped from his home around the same time Laurel was taken from Social Services. From what we can gather, Sczerba got to him before the bosses got wind of his defection with Laurel. Sczerba may not still have him, but- Agent Scully-" His voice rose in alarm. She was sinking, but Mulder was there to hold her up. A son. She had a son. Two beautiful daughters, and now a son. With Mulder's arms around her to keep her steady and the Gunmen looking on, she opened the file. A laughing baby boy looked out of the photograph that lay inside. She had a son. An adorable boy with sandy curls framing his pudgy face. A button nose, big blue eyes, and little Scully ears lying close against his head. In the picture, he was barely old enough to stand on his own. He held his arms out toward whoever was wielding the camera, his little foot raised to take a step. Was this the first time he'd managed to walk without support, without falling down? Her heart spasmed in pain at the thought of being only a secondhand witness to Justin's first steps. Her son, Justin. He had a name of his own and a face any mother could love; this knowledge almost eclipsed the horror of an unknown number of children meeting their deaths because she'd gotten too close. Abruptly she closed the file and turned her face away, swallowing hard. It was easier when they didn't have a name, didn't have a face. The fleeting wonder of learning she had a son quickly faded before painful uncertainty. Was he still alive? Even if he was - how long until he died, too? She was horrified at her own thoughts and closed her eyes as she tried to regain control. Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She leaned back slightly into Mulder's chest, letting him support some of her weight. She tried to block out the Gunmen for a minute and focus on his presence, let it comfort her, allow it to settle her churning insides, follow it back to herself. She felt Mulder's questing nose and lips in her hair, and she murmured a soft reassurance to him. She would be fine, she just needed a moment. He tightened his arms around her briefly in response, ignoring the speculative glances of their friends at this un- partnerlike behavior. With another deep breath, Scully straightened, holding on to Mulder's hands as she stepped out of his embrace. She pinned the Gunmen with a stare and asked, "What kind of information do we have on where Sczerba is now? Is he still in the area? What have you found on the warehouse?" The three men blinked at this sudden onslaught. Byers was the first to recover from the abrupt turnaround. "Uh, certainly Agent Scully. Right over here." ******** ________________________________ Chapter 5 ________________________________ Mulder brought the car to a stop a few houses down from where Leonard Sczerba was currently living, if the Gunmen's information was correct. Half the time he had no idea how they dug up most of what they discovered, but he knew he could trust them. He looked at his partner with a questioning glance. "Mulder, I'll be fine," she said firmly. "I worry about you." "I know you do," she said, genuinely exasperated. She brought her hand to his cheek in a tender caress. "I know you do," she repeated more gently. He turned to press his lips to her palm, watching her as he did so. She smiled and withdrew her hand to unbuckle her seat belt. "Come on Mulder. Let's see what Mr. Sczerba has to say for himself." Mulder followed her out of the car, and they walked side by side to the small, blue, two-story house. The slightly balding man who answered the door looked too innocent to have been responsible for how they'd found Laurel. "Mr. Sczerba?" The man's eyes widened at Mulder's words. When he looked at Scully, his eyes widened even further, and he began to back away. Mulder lost no time in following him into the house through the open door. "I'm Agent Mulder with the FBI, and this is my partner Agent Scully. Is something wrong, Mr. Sczerba?" he asked, the harmless Fed just doing his job. "Planning on leaving town?" Scully asked, looking meaningfully at the half-filled cardboard boxes that cluttered the living room where they stood. Sczerba stood his ground and snarled, "You have no idea what's going on. You think They don't know where I am now? If you could figure it out, so can They. I don't intend to be here when they come for me, and I suggest you leave as well." "Sir, we can offer you protection," Scully told him. "Protection?" Sczerba looked disgusted. "You can't even protect yourselves." "Daddy?" Three heads turned in the direction of the new voice. A small boy with dark blonde hair, about three years old, stood uncertainly in the entranceway from the hall. Justin. "Justin, go to your room," Sczerba said forcefully. The sharp intake of breath was almost a gasp. Sczerba's head whipped around. "Don't even think about it, Agent Scully. He's mine now. You wouldn't even know what to do with him." Scully ignored him. "Justin, come here." She crouched down and held out her arms invitingly to the boy, trying not frighten him with the force of her own emotions. He was several feet closer to her than his 'father,' and he took a few tentative steps toward her before- "GUN!" Mulder shouted in warning, but it was too late. The crack of a gunshot reverberated through the room. Scully whirled around to see Sczerba holding a gun to her partner's head at point- blank range. Mulder was pale and unsteady; he clutched at his right shoulder, biting back the pain, trying to remain upright. She could see the blood seeping between his fingers, dying them a bright red. Too much blood. It dripped from his sleeve and formed a puddle on the hardwood floor. "Back away, Agent Scully." Before she could move, there was a *pop*, the tinkle of glass, and Sczerba collapsed at Mulder's feet. Mulder immediately followed Sczerba's body to the floor. "Scully, follow Justin! They'll be after him next!" The boy was gone; he'd run from the room, scared of all the noises. Scully glanced at the hall in a moment of indecision, then took two quick strides to her partner and knelt beside him. "Let me see, Mulder." She pulled his hand away from the wound. She immediately pressed her own hands on top of it, attempting to stop the bleeding. "Scully-" "Mulder, I'm not leaving you." "But-" "Shut up, Mulder. Can you reach your phone?" Despite her strong words, tears streamed down her face as she concentrated on stanching the wound. He was losing an enormous amount of blood, despite the pressure. Mulder struggled to stay conscious, gasping for breath as waves of pain radiated from his shoulder. He fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. They heard another *pop*, and above their heads something thudded to the floor. Their eyes met in an agonizing flash of understanding. Justin was dead. In the next moment, Mulder lost his fight with awareness. The scream was ripped from her throat even as she tried to focus on keeping him alive. It was as if she was a multitude of people existing in one moment, in one body. The hands of a doctor did their damnedest to transform a tie into a tourniquet; the eyes of a mother wept for the loss of another child; the heart of a woman shattered in fear at the possibility of losing her best friend; the mind of an agent made plans for the justice she was hell-bent on extracting for all They'd taken from her. She snatched up his phone from where he'd dropped it, hitting the button to automatically dial 911. "I have an Agent down; I need an ambulance *now*." She gave the operator her name and badge number, then ignored the voice that asked her to please stay on the line. "Dammit Mulder, I will not let you go," she growled at his unconscious form. "Do you hear me?" She lifted his head onto her lap and wiped the tears from her face. The gesture was as effective as windshield wipers during a heavy storm; the tears continued to fall unchecked. Her hands left bloody streaks across cheeks, as if she was painted with the marks of a warrior. The EMT's, when they came, had to pry her away from him. Her insistence that she was a doctor fell on deaf ears; they wrapped her in blankets and tried to check her for injuries. "I'm *fine*," she bellowed at one hapless paramedic. "My partner's been shot, not me." They insisted on taking her in a separate ambulance to the hospital. It wasn't until they were on the road that she realized she hadn't even told them about the small, lifeless body they would find in an upstairs bedroom. ******** Scully sat in the waiting room at Georgetown Memorial, eyes staring straight ahead, doing her best not to think. Her hands were clenched firmly between her knees to stop their shaking. From across the room, a woman still in scrubs looked around at the waiting friends and relatives. Several turned toward her in hope, then sank back into their seats when the doctor made straight for the small, red-haired woman sitting frozen in shock. It wasn't difficult for her to make the call - she could see the blood spattering the woman's shirt, the rust-colored streaks on her arms and face. "Dr. Scully?" The woman closed her eyes in a slow blink, then faced the ER doctor. "Your partner's going to be fine. He's lost a lot of blood, though. If you hadn't acted so quickly at the scene, we might have lost him." The only reaction to the doctor's words was a slow shuddering that passed through her body. "He's in the recovery room. Would you like to see him?" Mechanically, Scully rose from her chair and followed the doctor through the swinging doors. I killed my son. I killed him. It was an unending chant in her head. Doctors and nurses rushed around them, doing their jobs. How could they walk right by her? Didn't they know what she was? A murderer. She was a murderer, she had caused the death of her own son, and here she was, free to walk around just like anyone else. "He should wake up in an hour or two," the doctor told her as they approached a closed curtain. She pulled it back to allow Scully entrance and said, "I'll be on duty for another four hours if you have any questions." Scully nodded dully, and the doctor left her standing at the end of Mulder's bed. Out of habit, Scully reached for his chart but could only stare blankly at it. Her eyes drifted to her hands holding the clipboard, and for the first time she noticed the blood that still covered her skin. With a jerk, she dropped the clipboard back into place. Through the gap where the curtain met the wall, she could see the edge of a stainless steel sink. She edged through the opening and turned on the water as hot as it would go, scrubbing at her hands and arms until every last fleck of blood was gone. She caught her reflection in the shiny surface of a paper towel dispenser. Who was that woman in the mirror? Her cheeks were stained with red streaks, making her look like some sort of madwoman. Her hair was in disarray; sections of it were drying in a sticky mess, a result of brushing it out of her face with bloody hands. So much blood. She wrenched some paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the water, then wiped determinedly at her face. She felt like she'd never be clean again. The darkness in her was welling up; she could feel it like a poison coursing through her veins. Her breath was coming in long gasps, and she had to lean against the sink to regain her equilibrium. I had to choose. Mulder was shot. I couldn't leave him. He would have died. Was it fair, that she had traded Justin's life for Mulder's? Was it right? Why had she been required to make the choice? Forcing herself to stand upright, she discarded the sodden towels and returned to Mulder's bedside. She stared at his pale face and wished he was awake, so they could talk. She gently picked up his hand and stroked his fingers, watching as he breathed slowly, in and out, in and out. Her day was ending the same way it had started, watching Mulder sleep, but she had never imagined it would be under these circumstances. Letting go of his hand for a moment, she pulled a ubiquitous plastic hospital chair close to the bed and sank into it. She grasped Mulder's hand in her own once more, feeling the strong bones and long fingers she knew so well. His hand was warm and alive. How could she ask for more than that? She had almost lost him again. She laid her head on the mattress and draped her other arm over his legs, needing to feel him. Her eyes slipped closed, and she drowsed to the steady beep of the monitors. ******** A series of gentle tugs on her hair roused her from sleep. It took her a minute to identify the sensation: Mulder was threading his fingers through her hair, working through the tangles of dried blood. Opening her eyes was difficult, the lids weighty with exhaustion. She watched his face, drawn and pale; he watched his fingers buried in her hair, her beautiful hair, clotted with his blood. Her eyes slid closed, and she slept once more. ******** The second time she woke was when the nurse came to wheel her patient up to his room. Scully followed dazedly behind, trudging through the halls with only minimal awareness of her surroundings. She was forgetting something; what was it? When Mulder was settled in his new bed, Scully pulled this room's copy of the hospital chair to its side. The nurse tucked Mulder under the covers and left the room without even attempting to explain the concept of visiting hours to the woman who sat by his bed. The nurse had seen these two come in. The woman probably should have been admitted herself, for extreme shock if nothing else. No, trying to separate the two agents now would help neither of them. Scully positioned herself as she had been earlier: head on the mattress, arm across his legs. "Scully?" His voice was papery thin. When she didn't respond, he pulled at her arm. "Scully, c'mere," he said, trying to put more force into it. She looked up when her head began to follow after her shoulder as a result of Mulder's pull. Mulder flinched at what he saw. Her eyes were dead, blank and unseeing. Instead of the explosive grief of two nights ago, she had turned everything off inside. "Scully? I need you to come here," he coaxed. Faint bewilderment showed in her eyes, but she allowed herself to be guided out of the chair and to her feet. He had to reach to grasp the shoulder of her jacket. The move hurt his injured shoulder, but he ignored it. He wondered briefly what had happened to her coat, then realized she had probably sacrificed it at some point to the copious amounts of blood he had lost. Following his urging, she shrugged out of the suit jacket, letting it fall onto the chair. He patted the bed, and when she didn't move, he tried to wrap his good arm around her waist to tug her closer. IV lines and lack of strength limited his efforts, but she took the hint and managed to clamber onto the bed to sit next to him. "Now your shoes, Scully." She stared at her feet, still encased in those tall, tall heels. The drops of blood barely registered. Another pair ruined. She toed them off and watched them clunk to the floor. He was able to help her swing her legs onto the bed, then drew her back until she rested on his uninjured shoulder. She lay there stiffly while he caressed her arm, just stroking it over and over. At some point the tears came again, and when they did, she turned to him, her body racked by silent sobs. He enfolded her in his arms, ignoring the protest of his wound. His own tears streamed down his face as he rocked her, but he made no move to wipe them away. She pressed her face into his neck and whispered, "I couldn't lose you." He tightened his hold on her and bent his head to kiss her forehead. "I'm still here." She wriggled until he loosened his arms, then propped herself on her elbows. Her eyes were still filled with tears as she moved to wipe his wet cheeks. Her hands couldn't stop touching him; they brushed the hair back from his forehead, tucked nonexistent strands behind his ears, stroked up and down his jaw. They moved to his chest, running down the length of his torso, as if to convince herself he was really there. "Hey." He placed his hand on top of hers, keeping it in place over his heart. "Did I thank you for saving for my life?" "I couldn't lose you," she repeated, almost harshly. Her face twisted in a grimace as she tried to prevent herself from breaking down again. Her voice cracked as she said, "God, Mulder, you're everything to me, and I couldn't lose you." "You didn't," he said reassuringly. "But I couldn't save you and Justin. He's dead, Mulder. My son is dead, but I couldn't lose you. I had to choose." She lost her fight against the tears, sinking back onto the bed, back into the welcoming comfort of his arms. Mulder had no words for her, so he simply held her as he tried to sort through the overwhelming feelings swirling inside him. She'd had to choose, and she'd chosen him. Just as he had chosen Scully over what he had thought was Samantha, that night on the bridge. The parallels ended there. 'Samantha' had been a clone. Justin had been an innocent little boy. But the choice had been the same. Despite the ache in his heart for the anguish of the woman beside him, he felt a little spark of warmth spreading inside him. ******** ________________________________ Chapter 6 ________________________________ Raised voices arguing in the hall drew Mulder from sleep. It took him a moment to orient himself as he became aware of the warm weight lying against his side. He was in the hospital, again. And Scully was sleeping in his arms, driven once more to the edge of exhaustion. Some guardian angel nurse must be watching over them, to allow them this night's rest together. Whoever their angel was though, Mulder had a feeling she was losing the battle against a pre-dawn visitor outside his door. His guess was confirmed a moment later when AD Skinner stalked into the room, his face a thundercloud. Shit. With any luck, Scully would remain in dreamland for the duration of his visit. Mulder was sure she would not be pleased that Skinner had found them in this position. He was the one awake, though, and instead of excuses and explanations he just stared at the AD, daring him to question, to comment. Skinner was, in fact, startled to find his agents sharing a hospital bed. He was even more startled to see the amount of blood on Scully's clothing. He'd been briefed on what little the investigating team knew about what had happened, and no one had mentioned Scully receiving any injuries. "I'm sorry to disturb your rest, Agent," Skinner greeted him, his stiff bearing and clenched jaw belying the calmness of his tone. Mulder nodded noncommittally. "Was she wounded?" Skinner asked somewhat hesitantly. "They only told me about you being shot." Mulder looked down at his partner and shook his head, saying, "No, it's all my blood." "And you're still breathing?" The joke fell flat. Hell, it hadn't been much of a joke. Skinner felt out of his element. Mulder seemed to be at his most inscrutable, revealing nothing about the previous day's events through looks or words, and at the same time he was blatantly holding his sleeping partner in a tender, even loving, embrace. Dealing with Mulder was much easier when Skinner was behind his desk, wielding the power, and Mulder and his partner were seated before him, healthy and whole, obstinate and insubordinate. He decided to try again. "She's fine, though?" Even as the words left his mouth, before the glint of anger sparked in Mulder's eyes, Skinner knew his words had been poorly chosen. He knew about Justin; he'd even visited the morgue to pay his respects to the small boy, lying cold and stiff beneath a white sheet. But Mulder gave him no chance to take back his words. Mulder's eyes hardened, and he spoke in a low, tight voice. "She lost another child today, her son, because she was busy saving my life. How do you think she's doing, *sir*?" He spat out 'sir' like an epithet. Skinner held in his own temper and bowed his head in silent apology. "I'm aware of Agent Scully's loss. I regret if my remarks seemed inconsiderate." He seemed about to continue, but he closed his mouth abruptly when Scully began to stir. Mulder's attention immediately went to her, tightening his arms around her and bending his head close to hers. Her hand clutched spasmodically at his shirt, and he raised his own to cover it, wincing slightly at the pull on his shoulder. "Shhh, Scully. It's okay, I'm here, I'm okay. Go back to sleep. I've got you," he crooned softly, as if to a child. Scully's hand relaxed as Mulder rubbed it over and over again. She sighed and mumbled something incomprehensible, then fell quiet once more. Satisfied that she was asleep, Mulder focused on Skinner and asked quietly, without hostility, "Was there something you needed, sir?" "Answers, Mulder." He paused, then said, "We have a full team of agents running around trying to figure out what's going on. I've been holding them off, but I need to give them something. What happened yesterday?" He kept his voice just above a whisper, not wanting to disturb Scully or do anything that might upset either agent. "They got to him first," Mulder replied simply, uncaring. Skinner couldn't help the note of impatience that crept into his voice at this less than satisfactory answer. "Could you be a little more specific, Agent Mulder? We have an agent shot in the arm with a handgun and a man and boy assassinated - a bullet through the head with a high-powered rifle." Mulder looked away, blinking rapidly, and Skinner once again regretted his choice of words. "There won't be any more killings," his agent said thickly. "They've collected all of them now." "They've collected all of *what* now?" Skinner asked, not following this train of thought. "The children." Mulder's tone was bleak, without hope. "Excuse me, sir. I need to get my rest." As if a switch had been flicked, suddenly Skinner knew he didn't exist for Mulder anymore. He watched as the man carefully shifted until he was curved protectively around his partner. After a moment, Skinner left the room silently, his mind wrapped around the intricate tangle of loss and love in his agents' lives. ******** When Scully awoke, her first thought was - at last. Mulder's arm was strong and warm around her; his long, lanky form pressed comfortingly along the length of her body. Then memory came flooding back once more. She stifled a painful gasp by the simple expedient of pressing her mouth into Mulder's shoulder. He didn't stir. With care, she was able to extract herself from his embrace, grimacing in disgust as she took account of herself - bloody shirt, bloody hair. She felt sticky, dirty, and decidedly uncomfortable in yesterday's wrinkled clothes. She slid off the bed and fumbled into her shoes, noting they had their own share of bloodstains. She made a half-hearted attempt at smoothing her hair, then gave it up as a lost cause. The first order of business was a shower, then a call to Skinner to report. Dealing with the grief would have to wait. Had she really just spent the night sharing a hospital bed with Mulder? The events of yesterday and last night seemed surreal in her memory; she could see them clearly, but it was as if they had happened to someone else. She checked on Mulder's shoulder. Despite the amount of blood he had lost, the injury wasn't all that bad. He would have to wear a sling for a while, though. That was bound to cause some friction between them - she would nag him to wear it, and he would take it off whenever her back was turned. She smiled down at her sleeping partner; it would be nice to get back to their familiar bickering. Scully left the room reassured that Mulder was healing well and went in search of a change of clothing. A helpful nurse found some scrubs for her to wear and directed her to a shower and locker room. Alone at last, she stripped off her ruined clothing, feeling the exhilarating freedom of being naked after too long in the same clothes. The shower felt as good as a hard massage, and Scully spent a long time under the pounding hot water, letting it wash the sweat and blood away. She faced into the spray, eyes closed, and wondered if it would ever end. Ever since Skinner's call had awakened her the night of the raid, she'd been on an emotional roller coaster. Finding and losing another child; then learning of Justin, only to lose him, too. And through it all - Mulder. She liked the growing intimacy between them, the new easiness with which they seemed to be able to touch each other. She didn't mistake his sympathy for pity; she knew allowing him to support her made it easier for him, too. The water streamed down her face, dripping off her eyelids, nose, lips, and chin. She tilted her head back to let the force of the water fall on her chest. It beat against her skin and eased the knotted emotions buried in her heart. The decision to go to Mulder instead of Justin had been easy. It had been frighteningly easy, considering how much she thought she wanted her children. The only reason she had hesitated was because Mulder had yelled at her to go after the boy. But it was to Mulder she had run. Her experienced eyes had gauged the amount of blood he was losing and made the decision, despite knowing Mulder was right - They would be after Justin next. When they heard the shot that killed him, the only thing she could do was work even harder to make sure Mulder stayed alive. Her children had been nothing more than pawns in someone else's game. The same game had already taken away her hope of a future with her own children. It was something to which she had gradually become accustomed. The sudden appearance of two more children created from her ova had been excruciating, but the fact remained that she had made her peace with what had happened to her. Yes, it still hurt sometimes when she saw mothers with their small children. But nothing in her life was like those mothers' lives. Staying with the X-files ensured that. But she also had something those other women didn't - Mulder. And as she'd so painfully discovered yesterday, she was not willing to give him up, not for anything or anyone. The shower stall was filled with steam, surrounding her with its warmth. She stood with her head bowed and her back to the spray, letting the heat soothe the tight muscles in her neck. The feel of the water running off her body was like shedding an old skin; if only she could shed the heartache as easily. She lifted her arms and turned round and round beneath the shower head, exposing every bit of her skin to its pressure. Someday-- someday it would end. Even if it didn't, she would face everything and everyone that came against her, and she would survive, regardless. **** After her shower, Scully made her way back to Mulder's room. He was still asleep, snoring lightly. A quick glance at his chart confirmed he'd been given another dose of some really good painkillers. That would keep him out for a while. She located her cell phone in the pocket of her jacket and dialed Skinner. Her report was short and to the point. She gave him what information they had on Sczerba, but they both knew this case was now just one more dead end. One more X-file to collect dust in the basement. Skinner didn't mention Justin, didn't mention experiments or abductions, and she was grateful for his inexplicable lack of questions. He ordered her to take the rest of the week off, with the excuse of looking after Mulder. She didn't protest, too weary of it all to wonder why Skinner was being so solicitous. After a polite inquiry into the state of Mulder's injury, they said their farewells. Her thumb disconnected the call, then hovered over her mother's speed dial button. When was the last time she'd spoken to her? Before this nightmare had even begun. A shaft of guilt swept through her. Her mother, who had always been there for her children, who would do anything to insure their safety. She put the phone back in her pocket and resumed her watch over Mulder's sleep. ******** Scully unlocked Mulder's door for him and preceded him into the apartment. She dumped his bag on the couch and headed for the kitchen. "Tea?" "Sure," Mulder replied, heading for the blinking light on his answering machine. Frohike's recorded voice greeted him. "Call us. Destroy this tape." Mulder shook his head at his friend's paranoia and picked up the phone to call him. The line was already ringing when Scully suddenly took the phone from his hand and disconnected it. He looked at her, surprised and a little shocked. She seemed chagrined at her own impulsive action, clutching the phone and looking agitated. "Scully? What's up?" She just shook her head and placed the phone back on his desk. "Hey, it's me." He touched her shoulder, turning her to him. She wouldn't meet his eyes but said, "I just... I just wanted to have one night to relax. I thought they might have found something else, and I didn't want to have deal with it tonight." "Sure, no problem Scully," he said easily. "I'm sorry; never mind. It's probably nothing. Go ahead and call them." She picked up the phone and started to dial for him, but he gently guided her hand to put the phone back down. "No, it's ok. I could use a break, too. I should probably let this-" he wiggled his arm in its sling, "heal up first before I go trying to put myself in the hospital again." "What's this, Mulder? Common sense, from you?" "Ah, you must be rubbing off on me, Scully." She quirked an eyebrow at him, and everything was all right again, the tension drained from the moment. The whistling tea kettle called Scully back to the kitchen, and Mulder sank into the black leather sofa, turning on the television with the sound muted. She returned a few minutes later bearing two cups of steaming tea. Mulder took one from her, tested the temperature with his tongue, and scowled at her. "Scully, you gave me that herbal stuff!" "Drink up, Mulder. It's good for you." Scully sat on the other end of the couch, smiling behind her mug. He grumbled, but he didn't refuse to drink it. They sipped their tea in quiet companionship, gradually relaxing, letting the burdens of the past few days fall from their shoulders. They had survived yet another round of the game. It was arguable whether they'd lost or won, but they'd survived. A Pyrrhic victory, if anything. They were alive, but another child was dead. Justin had now joined Laurel, Emily, and all the other children they would never find, presumably destroyed when the labs were shut down two years ago. The thought most prominent in their minds, though, was not about the children. The only constant through every trial over the last seven years was their bond of trust and friendship; it had become more important than any joy or agony that passed through their lives. They'd both had enough of the pain and grief over the last few days. They were ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of being with a friend, to renew their bond and remind themselves that this at least, would not pass away. It was enough to simply be in each other's presence, to let the developing intimacy exist between them. Scully slipped off her shoes and stretched out her legs along the couch until her toes tucked under the warmth of Mulder's thigh. He rubbed her calves and ankles absently with one hand as he drank his tea. She sighed contentedly at his touch, and he put down his mug and shrugged out of his sling so he could massage her legs with both hands. Scully considered glaring at him for taking off the sling, but his hands felt so good... she decided he could take care of himself. She finished off her own tea and set the mug on the table. Mulder's hands were running up and down her legs, ankles to thighs and back again. She sank further down into the couch, and he picked up her feet and laid her legs across his lap. His hands worked their way up her thighs once more; he leaned over to reach her hips and waist. How had her shirt come untucked? She didn't remember removing it, but his hands were cool against her overheated skin, caressing the smooth firmness of her stomach, the bottom of her ribs, then down to her belly button, his thumbs dipping below the edge of her jeans. Her next breath was a moan, and she closed her eyes against the waves of arousal emanating from everywhere his hands touched. When she opened them, he was staring at her with those big, bedroom eyes. She would drown in them if he kept looking at her like that. Her tongue slid out and licked her lips in unconscious anticipation. He leaned closer, inching toward her. She was melting from their combined heat. Her lips parted as his face neared hers. The sudden banging on the door startled them, and Mulder dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan. She laughed softly and fingered the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Whoever was at his door knocked again impatiently. "Mulder, open up!" Damn. The Gunmen. Mulder sighed heavily and lifted his head. Scully was smiling at him, understanding in her eyes. "It's ok, Mulder. Go answer the door. They won't leave you alone until they've told you about whatever it is." He nodded in agreement and leaned in for a quick kiss on her lips. When he drew back, she followed him, her lips still attached to his. He quickly reversed direction until Scully was once more lying back against the couch, their lips devouring each other. "Mulder, we know you're in there; we hacked into the hospital records!" Mulder tore himself away from those luscious, luscious lips and stood up before he lost all willpower. Her mouth was turned down in a mock pout, but then she laughed out loud at his expression of frustrated hunger. "Go on," she said, still laughing. He growled, "Be careful, woman," before heading for the door. The sooner he got rid of them, the sooner he could return to his new favorite pastime: kissing Scully's lips. He was going to knock his friends' heads together for interrupting, then shove them right back into the hallway. ******** CHAPTER RATING: NC-17 for explicit sex between consenting adults. PG-13/R version: http://zephathah.tripod.com/progeny7pg13.txt ________________________________ Chapter 7 ________________________________ "Guys, this *really* isn't a good time," Mulder said as he opened the door to the sight of the three Lone Gunmen, each in various poses of obvious excitement. Christ, Langly was practically beaming, holding a stack of something close to his chest. "Mulder, we've got some really hot--" Byers quickly changed tack and said, "Agent Scully, how lovely to see you." Mulder turned to see a slightly mussed and definitely thoroughly kissed Scully coming up behind him. She ducked under the arm propping open the door. "Hi boys." Frohike's eyes shone. "Agent Scully, you're positively glowing tonight." He reached to take her hand and gave it a gentlemanly kiss. She retrieved her hand from his grasp and folded her arms across her chest. "What's up?" "Actually Agent Scully, this concerns you, too," Byers said. "May we come in, Mulder?" He waved them in, defeated. "What have you got?" "We think we've found something," continued Byers as he entered the apartment. "After all the labs were shut down, they still had all those ova, right? There were a number of large donations to several government fertility clinics right around that time. We were able to track down one batch of them, and we think we found a woman who had several of Agent Scully's ova implanted. She has two children, a boy and a girl." From the expectant looks on their faces, the Gunmen obviously thought she would welcome the news eagerly. They were perplexed when her relaxed, smiling face transformed into a blank mask. Oh God, she thought, I cannot go through this again. Mulder took one look at his partner and reached for the files Langly was clutching tightly in his hands. Langly let them go willingly, his face registering confused dismay at this less than enthusiastic response. "Thanks for bringing this over, guys. We really appreciate it." Mulder turned his back to Scully and started ushering the Gunmen out the door. "Geez, Mulder, we're sorry. We thought she'd be happy," Frohike whispered. "Don't worry about it; she'll be fine. You guys did a great job." He practically pushed them out the door, shutting and locking it even as they continued to apologize to him. He leaned back against the door, pinching the bridge of his nose. Damn. Scully had been right; they should have avoided the Gunmen until tomorrow. She was no longer in sight, and he walked through the apartment looking for her. He found her in his bedroom staring blankly at something in her hands. He moved closer and saw it was the photo of Samantha and himself that he kept beside his bed, next to a picture of Scully she probably didn't know he had. He walked up beside her, laying an arm across her shoulders lightly. She responded immediately, putting the picture down and wrapping both arms around his back. "I can't do it, Mulder. I can't do it again." Her voice was low and exhausted. He tightened his arms around her, and she looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Does that make me a bad person? I don't want to know, Mulder. I don't want to see my own children. I don't think I could stand the pain again." He brushed a lock of hair away from her face and said, "No, Scully, it doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you human." She turned her face back into his chest, crying silently into his shirt. He smoothed her hair and rubbed her back, kicking himself for ever answering the door. They would have gone away eventually, and then he and Scully would have had at least one night free of nightmares. More children. And this time, seemingly not a part of an experiment either. Healthy, normal children. Possibly even happy children. "Scully?" he asked gently. "I'm not going to push you into anything, but maybe you should talk to someone about this, before making a final decision..." She laughed bitterly and pulled away from him. "Who would I tell? Who could possibly understand what I've been through?" He shrugged uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. He couldn't disagree with her; it was the same reasoning he used whenever she urged him to talk to someone. "Maybe you could talk to your mother," he suggested. Her lips tightened into a line and she turned her face away. "Scully, have you told your mother about Laurel and Justin?" He reached for her, but she backed away, out of his reach. "When was the last time you talked to your mom?" he asked carefully. She didn't answer, refusing even to look at him. Dammit, he should have seen this sooner. He knew how close Scully's relationship with her mother had been, what a force Maggie Scully was in her family. Scully was dealing with a lot of guilt about her own state of motherhood, and obviously she'd had trouble talking about it with her mother. He didn't want to push her even farther away, so he merely said, "Just think about it, okay?" She looked back at him, her eyes troubled. "Please? Just think about it." She nodded, once. He stifled his sigh of relief and opened his arms, an invitation to comfort. This time she came to him, letting him surround her with his warmth. "Stay here tonight," he murmured into her hair. She raised her head, a question in her eyes. "Just to sleep," he answered, his lips quirking in a half smile. Then his face became serious, and he said, "Let me hold you." She managed to smile back at him as she nodded in agreement. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and released her. They prepared for bed silently, a little awkward at deliberately planning what had before only happened in times of crisis. She borrowed a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to wear and went into the bathroom to change. When she came out, Mulder was already in bed, waiting for her. He drew back the covers for her, his face studiously nonchalant. She slipped under the sheets and into his arms, and somehow what had seemed awkward only a moment ago, now felt completely natural. Their bodies molded to fit against each other, Mulder nuzzling the side of her face as they shifted to match up curves and valleys. Scully sighed as his hand drifted down her back until it reached the edge of the t-shirt, then crept under it to gently knead her lower back. Their bodies were pressed together with no space between them; it was incredible, this feeling of completeness they found in one another's arms. Scully felt her arousal building once more, and she trailed soft kisses along his jaw and nibbled at his mouth until he opened his lips to her kiss. Her mouth pulled at his almost desperately, and suddenly she felt the tears welling up inside her. She broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his, trying to control her emotions. He touched her cheek gingerly and asked, "Scully? Are you-" She pulled back to wipe the tears from her eyes angrily, arousal turning into frustration. "I'm tired of crying, Mulder." She breathed a long sigh and leaned into his hand as it brushed back her hair. "I'm tired of having a reason to cry." "Maybe we can work on that," he said softly. "Just don't ever leave me, Mulder," she said, her eyes boring into his. "I've almost lost you too many times." She laid a hand over his heart to reassure herself of its steady beat. "Never, Scully. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried." He grinned at her, and she attempted a smile in response. His grin softened into a tender smile. "C'mere, baby," he soothed. He pulled her to him and stroked her back through the thin cotton of her shirt. She laid her head on his shoulder and draped a leg over one of his. The steady motion of his hand lulled her into a contented state, poised between sleep and wakefulness. A thought occurred to her, briefly pulling her toward slightly more lucid awareness. "Mulder?" she queried drowsily. "Hmmm?" "You called me 'baby'." "I did?" "You did." "Oh." He was silent for a long time, and Scully felt herself drifting off. "Do you mind? I could call you 'pumpkin' instead," he said lightly, turning it into a joke. She mumbled, "No, 's okay. You can call me 'baby'." She lifted her head an inch to look at him sternly. "But don't even think about calling me 'sweetie pie'." "Honey bunch?" "Go to sleep, Mulder." She plopped her head back on his chest and closed her eyes. "Sure thing, sugar plum." She found a spot between two of his ribs and twisted the skin lightly. "Did I ever tell you about the fascinating lecture in med school where they taught us how to incapacitate someone using just two fingers?" "Now, sweetheart, there's no need to-" He broke off in a squeal of pain. "All right, all right. You win. *Scully*." She released the pressure point, and he sighed in relief. They lay together quietly, letting the night take them into sleep. "Scully," he murmured. "Hmm?" "Nothing, just... Scully." Her mouth curved up in a smile, and she gave him a light squeeze around his waist. He could put more emotion in her name than any stupid endearment. He whispered, "Scully," one more time, and then they were silent. ******** Morning came entirely too soon, the patter of rain rousing Mulder from his dream. But reality was better than dreaming, he thought, as he registered Scully's presence beside him. She lay sprawled bonelessly on her stomach, one knee pulled up and one arm wrapped around a pillow. Her face was turned toward him, and he enjoyed the sight of her sleeping peacefully, comfortably, in *his* bed. Her nose wrinkled and her eyelids twitched as she groped arduously toward waking. He watched as she slowly blinked once, twice, clearing the morning gumminess. She glanced quickly around the room without moving her head, taking in the unfamiliar sights. Then he saw the recognition click in her eyes and was gratified by her sudden easiness at finding herself in unexpected circumstances. She planted her hands on the bed near her shoulders and straightened them, lifting herself up and arching her back in a long, delicious stretch. She hummed in satisfaction and rolled her neck several times, working out the tightness. She dropped heavily back onto the bed and turned to him with a sleepy, "Morning, Mulder." "Good morning, sunshine." He was grinning foolishly at her, but he didn't care. She groaned and buried her head in the pillow. "No sunshine until I've had my coffee." He laughed out loud, then pulled himself up and swung out of bed. "Come on then, rain cloud." **** Mulder was taking a gulp of orange juice when he saw it, and he almost choked on the cold liquid. Scully was standing before the Mr. Coffee, waiting impatiently for the pot to fill with enough coffee for her first cup of the day. It was a sight he had seen often over the past seven years. Except, usually they were in the basement office, not his kitchen. Usually she was dressed in an ultra professional suit, complete with 3-inch heels, not one of his old grey t-shirts and a pair of his boxers - and barefoot, too. Usually her hair was perfectly coifed, every strand in place, not rumpled with a decent case of bedhead. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful. "Mulder, you're gazing," she said without turning. How had she known? He immediately busied himself with making toast. "I do not *gaze*." Hadn't he said that to someone before? He was so full of shit. "You are so full of shit." Well, it was good to know they agreed on something. He snuck a glance at her, a bashful smile pulling at his face. She had turned to face him, hands on her hips. The incongruity of the image hit him again, and all he could do was stare. "*What* are you looking at, Mulder?" "You." He said it so directly, with such honest sincerity in his voice that she caught her breath. She covered her reaction with a raised eyebrow and asked, "What about me?" She was very pleased with the lack of tremor. "You're beautiful." How could he do this to her - say such sweet things when circumstances refused to allow her to take him seriously? Beautiful? She was in boxers, a t-shirt, and no make-up, she hadn't shaved her legs in days, and she didn't want to even think about what her hair looked like. Mulder grinned as she gaped at him wordlessly. He took a couple steps toward her and said, "You are. Standing here in my kitchen, wearing my clothes and nothing else, waiting for the coffee, you are beautiful." She crossed her arms over her obviously braless front and stuck out her chin. "Well, it's about time you noticed." "Ah, Scully, I've definitely noticed." He was towering over her now, so close to her she had to crane her neck back to look at him. "You like the t-shirt look?" she asked, recovered now from her momentary shock and ready to play the game. Mulder nodded. "Especially when it's my t-shirt." Scully looked down at the shirt she was wearing, as if noticing for the first time it wasn't one of her own. "Oh, right, this one's yours." She touched the sleeve, seeing in her mind how snugly it fit over his biceps when he wore it. "The grey one. My favorite." "Scully, you have a favorite among my t-shirts?" Had she said that out loud? She shot a glance up at him and saw he was genuinely surprised - and more than a little pleased. "I must say, Mulder, I think it looks better on you than me." She trailed a finger up his forearm, watching the goose bumps she left behind. He reached for her, but she stepped back, teasing him with a smile. "I think it looks better on the floor," he growled. "Is that a request, G-man?" He licked his lips as she fingered the edge of the shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal her smooth, pale skin inch by inch. He had to touch it; the expanse of bare flesh was like a siren calling his name. His fingers followed the edge of the hem as she raised it over her stomach, over her ribs to where the curve of her breasts began. His thumb ran up over her breast, over the nipple that was already hardening at his touch. In one swift motion, Scully lifted the shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. She pushed her breasts into Mulder's hands and murmured, "You're right. It does look better on the floor." His hands were running all over her naked skin, reveling in this new playground of delights. He pulled her to him and bent his head to nibble lightly on her ear. "Scully?" His voice was raspy and hoarse, and unbelievably sexy. She felt the moisture between her legs, the growing heat flooding her body. "Yes?" she replied, her voice cracking. "I want to be inside you." She groaned and reached up to pull his mouth down for a kiss. When they came up for air she breathed, "That works out well." Mulder was busy ravaging the soft skin between jaw and shoulder and could only manage a questioning grunt in reply. "Because I want you to be inside me, too." It was too much for Mulder, and he grabbed her around the waist and lifted, ignoring the pain in his arm. She wrapped her legs around him and held on tightly to his shoulders. He maneuvered them through the apartment and back to the bedroom, all the time continuing to kiss and suck the tender flesh of her neck. He lowered her until she was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she used her feet to push down the soft pants he'd worn to bed. It was tricky to get the waistband over his erection, but Scully still had the skills she had learned as a little girl, competing with Missy to see who could write better using her toes. Little Dana had always won. They had to part briefly while Mulder's shirt was pulled over his head and thrown across the room without a second thought. Then their lips were back on each other's, devouring, exploring, making side trips to investigate newly discovered territory. Mulder grabbed her boxers and pushed them roughly over her hips and off her legs. She wrapped her thighs around his waist once more, pulling closer to him, pressing her heat and wetness against his skin. His cock was trapped between their bodies, and she used his shoulders to hitch herself up until he was pressed against her entrance. "I want you inside of me," she moaned into his ear. He tightened his arms around her and stood erect, supporting her as he turned to press her back against the wall. "Is this how you want me, Scully?" he breathed. "God, Mulder, *yes*." He pushed into her, and she felt the walls of her vagina contract around him. He rocked in and out, deeper each time until at last he was buried in her completely. They looked at each other, eyes bright with amazement. "I'm here," he said gruffly. She leaned in for a gentle kiss. "Welcome home." They were utterly still, lost in this moment they both had wondered would ever come. Then Mulder began to withdraw slowly, and Scully closed her eyes and pressed her head against the wall, overwhelmed by the sensation. Then he was moving rhythmically back and forth, sliding in and out of her as she used gravity to increase the impact of each thrust. She was tight, so tight; it felt so good. He never wanted to be anywhere else. "Nowhere else," she gasped. "Only in me." The feel of him driving into her was like the ramming home of some eternal truth. It filled her, and she pulled him tighter, wanting more. Mulder slammed into her, harder, harder, spurred on by her demands for "More, I want more." He could feel the orgasm building, feel it approaching the breaking point. "Do you want me to come inside you? Is that what you want?" he rasped. His thrusts quickened, and she could only reply in nonsensical monosyllabic sounds, urging him on. He exploded inside her, breath coming in heaving gasps as he buried himself as deep as he could go. Then she was convulsing around him, her cries hoarse and uncontrolled. She arched into him, the friction increasing the waves of pleasure coursing through her. He crossed his arms around her back and stumbled backward to the bed, falling onto it with Scully resting on his chest. She lifted herself off him with a drawn out groan and slid to the side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. When he had his breath back, he turned on his side, brushing the hair out of her face with trembling fingers. She greeted him with a widening smile, and he kissed her softly on the lips. Then he tapped her on the nose and asked, "Ready for that coffee now, sunshine?" Laughing, she tried to trap his finger between her teeth, but he pulled back in time and offered his lips instead. After a long, slow kiss, he helped her up from the bed, and together they searched for their discarded clothing. He offered her another t-shirt to wear, and as she accepted it with a smile, he asked, "Scully?" He hadn't released his hold on the shirt, and he used it to pull her closer to him. His fingertip traced the delicate bones of her face, his eyes following the movement of his finger. Abruptly he said, "You know I love you, don't you?" Her expression softened, and she brought up a hand to hold his against her cheek. "I know, Mulder." She kissed his palm and looked at him, saying, "I love you, too, you know." He pulled her into a hug, enclosing her in those long, long arms, and said softly, happily, "I know." ******** ________________________________ Chapter 8 ________________________________ The tap-tap-tap of Scully's keyboard was driving Mulder crazy. It was like Chinese water torture; each keystroke in itself wasn't offensive, but their insistent and unending rat-a-tat-tat was pushing him over the edge. He twirled a pencil in his fingers and tried to concentrate on the screen in front of him. What could she possibly be doing, anyway? They'd been back at work for a week, all outstanding paperwork had been finished and delivered, and a new case had yet to appear. Mulder had to work at finding enough tasks to keep him occupied - mostly that consisted of surfing the Web or throwing pencils at the ceiling - but Scully seemed to have no problems filling her time. He clenched his fist around the pencil to still its movements and looked across the office to where Scully was industriously typing away on her laptop. She was wearing her serious 'I'm working' face, so instead of attempting to distract her with some outlandish theory, he took the opportunity to study his partner. For the first couple days back at the office, he'd studiously *not* watched her, feeling he should be circumspect, now that they were... 'intimate.' Every time he'd caught himself staring at her, he'd forced himself to turn away. But then he realized there was no need to punish himself that way. Hadn't he always relaxed and refreshed his eyes by letting them rest on her for some length of time? Wouldn't stopping such behavior be the more suspicious option, at this point? Not that they were going out of their way to hide anything. But it wouldn't be professional to bring their personal lives to the office. Both Mulder and Scully valued the longstanding professional relationship they'd always maintained. Of course, that tended to be closer than most other partners he knew... And their new intimacy had become an extension of the intense closeness and easy camaraderie that marked their working relationship. The ringing of the office phone pulled him from his contemplation of the way Scully's eyelashes fluttered as she moved her eyes from her screen to the notes beside her computer and back again. He brought his attention back to the desk in front of him and picked up the phone. "Mulder." Scully stopped what she'd been doing to follow Mulder's half of the exchange. There wasn't much to hear, though. He grunted into the receiver a couple times and hung up after saying, "Sure thing." He immediately stood up and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair. "Skinner wants to see us. A new case." "Good. I've had enough of these old lab reports." Scully saved her file and rose to follow him from the office. "Anything new on the Playboy website today?" Mulder affected a pained expression. "Scully, you wound me. I was conducting research." "Is that what you call it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'll be interested to hear the results of your work." "Ah, but it would be so much more fun to show you." He leered at her suggestively. "I look forward to your presentation, Agent Mulder," she replied, smirking as she swept by him and out the office door. Was it just him, or did her hips have a little more sway in them than usual? He held himself in check and took two deep breaths before following her. He had wondered if their debates and flirtations would lose their edge, but they had merely gained an added dimension since they'd started sleeping together. In the privacy of their apartments, things quickly turned outrageous. At the Hoover Building they kept it more reasonable. Or tried to, at any rate; they didn't need to add any grist to the rumor mill. They had always been the recipients of more than their fair share of speculative glances. Their exile in the basement, the nature of their cases, Mulder's need to buck the system for his quest, for his partner, and Scully's need to do the same in return for her partner, had all conspired to provide them with a certain amount of isolation among their peers. Other agents might respect them or ridicule them, but no one got close - and everyone wondered. As they left the basement to meet with the AD on the fifth floor, observers might have noted an unusual closeness in the two agents. But everyone who was anyone knew this pair was unusual in a number of ways, the least of which being their intense partnership. Scully and Mulder bantered lightly as they paced towards Skinner's office, wondering what sort of case he had for them, both of them hoping it had nothing to do with dead children. Maybe a nice swamp monster or mysterious lights in the sky. **** Kimberly hung up the phone and caught at their attention. "The Assistant Director will see you now." They stood and instinctively smoothed their suits, then walked in step through Skinner's office door. The AD was not sitting behind his desk. Instead, he stood by the window and appeared to barely notice their entrance. Mulder and Scully took their seats a little uncertainly, wondering at Skinner's behavior. After a long silence, he turned to them and asked, "Agent Mulder, how are you healing?" "Uh, fine, sir," Mulder replied, lifting his arm and wiggling it to show its mobility. Skinner stared at them, obviously preoccupied with something that was bothering him. Abruptly he walked behind his desk and sat heavily in his chair, rolling it forward as he picked up an open folder that lay on his desk. "I have a case for you," he said without looking at them. He shuffled through the contents of the file. "Three children are missing from their homes in Duluth, Minnesota. No evidence has been indicating a forced entry, no messages from any kidnappers have surfaced. Nearby residents reported bright lights on the nights the children disappeared." Now he raised his head to measure their reactions. Scully managed not to flinch, and Mulder's eyes merely hardened as he returned Skinner's stare. "You're on a flight out of National at 9:20 tomorrow morning." The AD stood and offered the file to his agents. Scully also stood, and she accepted the file with a controlled nod. Mulder, however, remained seated, eyes focused on nothing, breathing calmly. "Agent Mulder? Is something wrong?" The agent trained his eyes on his boss and said, "The flight will have to be later. I have something I need to take care of before we leave." Scully glanced at her partner in surprise. Her eyebrow lifted in silent question, but Mulder was looking fixedly at the AD. Skinner was about to ask him what the hell was more important than three missing children, but the look in Mulder's eye made him keep his mouth shut instead. He felt bad enough about assigning this case to him. He would trust Mulder's reasons without hearing them. So instead of objecting, Skinner nodded and said, "A few hours won't make much difference." Having received the AD's approval, Mulder rose from his seat and waited for Scully to precede him out of the office. She gave him a look that told him she'd go along for now, but he damn well better explain himself when they were alone. His reply was a tight smile, and together they left the office to descend once more into the depths of the basement. But when they got to the office, Mulder began gathering his coat and briefcase without speaking. Scully leaned against the doorjamb with arms folded, growing increasingly exasperated as Mulder ignored her. "Mulder!" He paused in the midst of placing another file in his briefcase. "Scully?" His tone was intentionally bland. He wasn't being sarcastic or playing innocent, which told her he wasn't sure how she would react to whatever he had to say. Scully dropped her arms to her side and crossed the few steps to his desk. "Mulder, what do you have to do tomorrow morning that's so important? I'm surprised you didn't try to get us out on a flight this afternoon." Mulder resumed his motions as he answered her, keeping his voice carefully even. "Actually, Scully, I thought you might like to see your mother before we left town." "You postponed our flight so I could visit my *mother*?" Exasperation was growing into anger. Mulder tried to shrug nonchalantly, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He stopped what he'd been doing to look at her. "I think it's important that you talk to your mother about-" He looked away from her and took a quick breath. "-about what's happened before we fly halfway across the country to investigate more missing, and possible murdered, children." "There's no indication these children have been killed," Scully replied, falling back on her investigative role. "If they had been kidnapped with any intention of being returned, the parents would have heard something by now. You know that as well as I do. Unless you'd like to propose a more *extreme* theory - perhaps involving alien abduction?" His voice rose in frustration. Why did she always have to throw up a brick wall? "And you're changing the subject. You need to talk to your mother." "My mother is fine." "For your sake, not hers." "I appreciate your concern," she said, trying to keep her irritation in check. "But I think I can handle my relationship with my mother without your advice." "You've been avoiding her for the past two weeks. You return her calls when you know she'll be out. You need to deal with this." The steel in her voice echoed the hardness in her eyes. "I'll thank you to let me decide what it is I need." Now it was Scully who gathered her belongings and shrugged into her coat. Mulder tried to regroup. "Scully," he said, trying to be gentle. "I'm concerned how this case is going to affect you." Scully stopped abruptly and turned a cold glare in Mulder's direction. "Are you questioning my abilities to perform in the field, Agent Mulder?" she asked stiffly. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm just trying to look after you." If possible, Scully's gaze dropped a few more degrees. "I can take care of myself," she told him in a clipped, angry voice. She strode quickly out of the office without looking back. ******** Mulder rested his forehead against her apartment door and knocked again. He had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate his using his key in this instance. His knuckles rapped insistently against the wood. "Scully? Come on, Scully. Open the door." He stumbled over the threshold as the door opened beneath his weight. He caught himself and regained his balance, but she was already walking away from him, not bothering with any greeting. He closed the door behind him and slipped off his coat before following. She was in the kitchen, tearing lettuce for a salad with precise movements. Her face was a mask, but Mulder could read the small signs of conflict and tension within her. He moved behind her and began to gently massage her shoulders and neck. She ignored him. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I overstepped my bounds." His hands smoothed the cloth over her arms and turned her to face him. She allowed the direction of his hands and looked up to see his hazel eyes filled with a familiar mix of sadness, concern, and love. How long had she been seeing that particular expression on his face? Many years, now. Since her abduction, at least. But only in the past few years had she been able to identify the emotions he so baldly displayed. Love. She'd seen the love change, as their partnership grew in strength. Sometimes - most of the time - his over- protectiveness chafed her, but her anger was no match for the honest concern in his eyes as he watched her, gauging her mood and her reaction to him. "Scully, please. You can't keep denying what's happened." She stiffened at his words, her anger flaring again. She spoke sharply as her glare drilled into him. "Just what am I denying, Mulder? That I lost another child? That I let him die? That I'll never raise any of my own? I *know* that, Mulder. I know all those things. I've accepted it. I don't flinch every time I see a mother and her child. I don't cry myself to sleep every night when we're on another case involving children. I'm not going to spend the next twenty-five years wasting my life on a quest, searching for the children I'll never have." The words remained unspoken, but they both heard them resounding in their heads. Mulder released her, eyes wide with shock. The surprised hurt was written clearly across his face. Scully was astonished by her own cruelty and felt sickened by what she'd said. How could she have used those words against him? "Oh God, Mulder, I didn't mean that." He backed away from her, trying to maintain control. "Is that how you think of me?" he asked in a strangled whisper. "Mulder, no." She reached out to him, grasping his wrists before he could pull away. "Listen to me, Mulder. I don't think you've wasted your life. I didn't mean it that way." But he was shaking his head, refusing to look at her. "Mulder!" she barked. His eyes snapped to her face at the harsh sound. She spoke intently, needing him to believe her. "I was angry at you. I spoke without thinking." He appeared to be listening to her, and, encouraged, she continued. "I was angry, Mulder, because you keep forcing me to face something I just want to go away. Can you understand that? I don't want to lie in bed agonizing over Emily and Laurel and Justin." Tears began to fall silently down her cheeks. "I want my life to be my own, Mulder." Mulder slowly brought up a thumb to wipe gently at the wetness on her face. "But they're a part of your life, Scully," he said, barely above a whisper. "Not in a way I'd have ever wanted for you, but they are a part of you. When you deny them that place in your life, you deny a piece of yourself." She was mesmerized by his soft tone, the steady caress of his fingers on her cheek. "But it hurts," she murmured. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly to his chest. "I know, Scully." She wrapped her arms around him, her hands clutching at the muscles of his back. The soft cotton of his shirt soaked up her tears, and she snuffled into it until her breathing was even once more. She tightened her arms briefly before releasing him and taking a half step back to look up at him. "Better now?" he asked, smoothing her hair back from the side of her face. She nodded. "Better." "Will you go talk to your mother tomorrow?" She tried to quell the sudden irritation and looked down at her feet. "Mulder..." He tilted her chin up with his index finger. "Please, Scully?" His eyes pleaded with her. She sighed in resignation. He was right. She knew it, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She closed her eyes and acquiesced. "Yes, Mulder. I'll go see her tomorrow." "Scully, I-" he broke off, suddenly uncertain now that she agreed with him. He honestly thought she'd feel better once she'd seen her mother, but his victory felt hollow. He didn't want her to go just because he thought she should. "Mulder, it's ok. You're right. I've been avoiding her." She heaved a breath and wished the truth didn't have to be so painful. "She didn't think I could be a good mother to Emily, and she-" Scully looked up at him, wondering if she should tell him. He waited patiently for her to continue. "Sometimes she resents how important you've become to me." "Maybe she's right to resent me. I've caused a lot of pain to your family." "No, Mulder," she said firmly. "I've made my own choices in this. And I chose again last week." She grasped his hand and squeezed. "You are my life. And nothing will ever change that." He drew her into his arms again, hoping the cost of their decisions wouldn't have to be paid in anyone else's blood. ******** Mulder tapped the steering wheel nervously. He was parked outside Maggie Scully's house, waiting for Scully to appear. She'd told him to pick her up at 11 o'clock, which gave them plenty of time to make their flight. They'd stayed together last night, then Mulder had driven Scully to her mother's house early this morning, where he'd dropped her off with a lingering kiss to see her through what would undoubtedly be a painful conversation. He'd had time to return to his apartment, pack a bag, go for a run, take a shower, and putter uselessly around his living room while waiting for it to be time to get Scully. True, he'd pushed Scully into this, but now he was worried he'd been wrong. He and Scully had enough difficulty dealing with the insanity their jobs brought them; how would someone like Maggie Scully handle it? Would she blame him? Or worse, would she blame Scully? He sat up straighter when he saw the front door open. Scully walked out, her head held high. He could see her mother at the door, but she neither waved nor smiled. Things had not gone well, then. He got out to open the door for Scully, and she smiled wearily at him, grateful for this small act of caring. He shut the door once she was safely inside the car, and walked around to the driver's side. He paused at the door and looked toward the house. Maggie Scully continued to watch them without moving. Then, finally, she nodded to him. He wasn't sure what it meant, but at least it was acknowledgement, of a sorts. He nodded back and climbed into the car. Scully was staring out the window, but she turned to him readily when he reached out to touch the back of her hand. He questioned her with his eyes, and she leaned over to press her cheek to his. She kissed him lightly, then drew back. "It'll be ok, Mulder. She doesn't quite understand- any of it, but she's still my mother. And I'm the only daughter she has left." She dropped her eyes in remembrance of this old and familiar pain. Mulder squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I wanted to thank you, Mulder." She lifted her head to face him again. "For knowing what I needed." The strain in her voice revealed how difficult this was to say. "You would have figured it out eventually," he said. "I know." She smiled at him, and the tension eased. "But thanks anyway. You were right." Mulder feigned astonishment at this admission, and she slapped him lightly on the arm. "Don't worry, Scully," he said, grinning. "I won't let it go to my head." She grabbed another quick kiss, then sat back to buckle her seat belt. "Let's get a move on, Mulder; we've got a plane to catch." ******** ________________________________ Chapter 9 ________________________________ Mulder glanced over at his partner. She was still staring out the airplane window, lost in thought. They were heading back to D.C. after two weeks in Minnesota. It had been two weeks of bitter cold wind, tightly strung nerves, hair-trigger tempers, and drafty motel rooms that thankfully boasted a connecting door. Two weeks of searching for three lost children whose bodies would probably never be found. A man had been arrested for their murders, but that was the best they'd been able to do. They had sniped at each other during the days and huddled together for comfort during the nights. It had taken them a little while to get back in the groove of being in the field, and perhaps some of the tension had come from that, but eventually they'd settled in to do their jobs. He could admit it now - he had worried about Scully. He needn't have. She was still recovering from the emotional trauma of all that had happened, but when *weren't* they recovering from some sort of trauma? Scully's concern for the missing children during the case had been the outrage of any sane, moral adult - not the soul-wrenching anguish he had feared, the pain of a mother who'd lost her own children. She was an FBI agent, and that meant she could do more than watch and wait, as the grief-stricken mothers of the victims had to do. She'd had the training and authority she'd needed to track down and apprehend the perpetrator. Now they were winging their way back home, to see what else the world would fling at them to discover, to investigate, to solve. Did she still want to get out of the car? To settle down, have a house - and a family? And if she no longer wanted that, if she instead wanted to stay and fight, with him, was that one more thing he'd taken from her? The very *desire* for a normal life? He reached out and touched her hand, intending-- he didn't know what. Maybe to try to convince her, one more time, how she'd be better off if she'd never met him. But at the first pressure of his fingers, she turned her hand beneath his until they were palm to palm. Without turning to face him, she slowly brought his hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Scully?" he asked, a little uncertainly. She still seemed far away, in her own world. She squeezed his hand and laid it against her cheek, closing her eyes. "I'm ready now," she said finally, her voice sad but revealing an underlying strength. She faced him, and his hand automatically slid behind her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. Her eyes bore into him. "I'm ready to see them." ******** The information the Gunmen had provided included names, an address, and background on Sarah and Jonathan Lerner and their year-old twins, Caroline and Jonas. Sarah was a professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill; Jonathan worked from home and looked after the kids during the day. The file folder containing this information was in the bottom drawer of Mulder's desk in his apartment, where he had carefully stowed it the morning after the Gunmen's unexpected visit. Mulder and Scully flew into D.C. on a Thursday. That Saturday, they drove to North Carolina. The ride south was filled with silences. Mulder drove; Scully slept, or stared out the window, or studied Mulder, or looked through the folder lying on her lap one more time. From time to time, one of them would reach across the seat to lay a barely-felt touch on the other's hand or cheek. They hadn't discussed what they would do when they got there. Scully wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't sure what to feel. She remembered the tug she felt when she'd discovered Emily, the need to hold her, to have her. What was she feeling now? It was still confusing, still painful. But she knew where she wanted to be, knew what path she wanted to follow. And she knew who she wanted on that path with her. She wondered how he was dealing with all of this, what pain he kept locked inside when he comforted her so freely. She watched him as he drove, his hands steady, his eyes focused. Had he ever wanted a family, children? Had he ever wanted her children? Or was he glad that she had, for all intents and purposes, given up on ever claiming her lost children? Scully had told him why she needed to see these children who'd been born of her ova but not of her womb. She felt she had a responsibility, a duty, to see they were well cared for, happy. But she wasn't going to North Carolina to take them away from their home and family. Her own life was no place for a child, and these two already had their own place, with parents who loved them. Using her folded jacket as a pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to banish the images of laughing, playing children who had hair in as many different colors as could be seen in the flames of a fire. **** It hadn't been difficult to get a map of the neighborhood where the Lerners lived. Mulder found his way through it with ease and parked on the side of the road, next to a park that stretched for several blocks. Mulder reached out to hold her hand as they stepped on to the sidewalk. They had forsaken their FBI-best, and both were dressed casually in jeans and sweaters. She could almost believe they were any other couple, strolling along this tree-lined street in the heart of suburbia. The street addresses were clearly painted on the curb in front of each house. 2305, 2307, 2309... 2311. They stopped a house away from the green-shuttered Colonial with 'Lerner' in block letters on the mailbox. It was a mild day, and they could see the front door was open to let a breeze in through the screen. The screen door opened, and Scully's heart jumped in response. Her hand jerked in Mulder's, and he gripped it harder. A women came out with an empty double stroller, which she bumped down the porch steps to the front walk. She turned back to the house, where a man was attempting to close the door behind him while balancing a small child in each arm. She laughed at the comical, frustrated expression on his face and said, "Let me take Jonas from you, hon." The woman walked up the steps and grasped one red-haired toddler under the arms, lifting him to her hip, where she bounced him gently. He giggled in response, patting her face with his hands. The man succeeded in closing the door, and when he turned to follow his wife, Scully could see the waving arms and babbling mouth of the other child. Caroline. Her father hefted her more securely into his arms and carried her down the steps to the stroller. Jonas was almost secured in the stroller when Jonathan Lerner approached with Caroline, but at the sight of his sister he squirmed in his mother's hold until he was half out of the carriage. Both children were smiling and talking nonsense to each other, and their parents handled them deftly and with good humor, wrestling them into their stroller. Scully found she had somehow gravitated closer to Mulder's side as they watched this family prepare for their outing, and now his arm was wrapped around her shoulders as she leaned into him. She slid her arm around his waist and looked up at him. His eyes revealed similar emotions to her own, sad and utterly amazed as he focused on the children. She felt Mulder's whole body stiffen as he startled. The Lerners had managed to contain their unruly twins and were now walking along the sidewalk towards them. Automatically, they stepped aside to let the family pass. The couple smiled and nodded, then continued on their way, barely pausing in their own chatter with each other and the children. Mulder and Scully turned to look after them, not moving until the Lerners had turned into the park and disappeared from view. **** Later, Sarah would wonder why the face of that nice-looking woman they'd seen stayed in her head all day, and why she seemed almost familiar. Must be the red hair, she thought. Maybe Caroline would grow up to have hair that vibrant color. And as Jonathan fell asleep that night, he would remember the intense gaze of the unknown man who held his wife so reverently in the curve of his arm. He'd noticed how still they were, a point of utter calm as a light breeze swirled around them. They'd both turned to watch as the stroller passed. Jonathan was used to smiles, commiserating and joyful, at the sight of his twins. This couple had offered no such expressions, but their eyes had stayed glued to his family. He couldn't quite figure out what it was about them that stuck in his mind. Despite their outward appearance of utter conventionality, they had looked a little lost here in this most conventional of neighborhoods. That was it: they looked at his run-of-the-mill family - his wife, their children, and himself - as if they'd never seen such a thing before, maybe never believed it could exist. Jonathan had greeted them with a quick nod, which they had returned. He had perceived them as being quiescent, but when he looked in their eyes, it was almost as if he could feel roiling energies underneath that calm exterior. He wondered what their lives were like, that they held this hard shell of integrity around them, binding them to each other, yet setting them apart from people like himself and his family. Then he heard one of the babies start to cry - probably Caroline, she usually started it. And of course, Jonas came in right on cue, and all thoughts of the couple he'd seen earlier that day slipped from his mind. ******** They headed back to D.C. that night. Once she'd seen Caroline and Jonas with her own eyes, Scully found she was ready to go home without any further contact. It had been enough. And if they stayed, even just overnight with plans to leave in the morning, she couldn't quell the doubt that she might want more - to see them again, to hold them... Her perfect children. Perfectly normal, perfectly happy. She felt tears threatening and blinked them back. It was too late for her and her perfect children. She had a different future now. As the car sped north on I-95, their brief visit to North Carolina took on a surreal quality. She wondered what it would feel like in a week, in a year, in ten years. Sometimes her whole life felt surreal. It was so different from how she'd imagined it would be, rewarding and agonizing in ways she could never have foreseen when she joined the FBI. Too many thoughts whirled in her head, blanketing her mind with a fog she was unable to penetrate. Lost in the innumerable variations of how her life might have been and how it might be, Scully barely noticed when thoughts became dreams and she slipped into a restless slumber. ******** She came to awareness suddenly, a scream barely stifled in her throat. Part of her was still lost in sleep, until her senses reported in one by one. First she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her and the warm hands soothing her. She could feel tracks of wetness down her cheeks; she'd been crying in the dream. Then the familiar smell of her apartment - she was home, in her own bed, safe. And Mulder was there; his scent surrounded her. She heard her own heaving breaths, ragged and hoarse, and Mulder's soft words whispering in her ear. "Shhhhhh. I've got you, Scully. It's only a dream. Shhhhh. You're ok." She turned into him, pressing her face to the warm skin of his chest. Her arm crept around his back and she clung to him, close to panic even as the dream faded from memory. He held her tightly, rocking slightly back and forth until her breathing calmed and she relaxed against him. He lay back, holding her in the curve of his arm, her head resting on his chest. Her skin was chilly to the touch, and he rubbed her back and arms to warm her. Once she was fully awake and back in control of herself, she pulled away, giving him a soft kiss of reassurance before turning her back to him and spooning against his side. He followed her movements until he was curled around her, one arm tucking her to him. He didn't press her to talk, though he knew she wasn't even trying to go back to sleep. Her eyes remained open but unfocused. Her arms folded themselves tightly in front of her body for protection - against what, she didn't know. She registered Mulder's presence as the source of warmth at her back and the comfortable weight that lay across her middle. After a time, she began to speak, telling him of her fears, her hopes. How she had thought she wanted to be a mother, how she had thought she wanted more than anything the children who had been stolen from her. That it frightened her, to need him so much she was willing to sacrifice her own child to save him. That she no longer felt in control of her own future. He listened without commenting or judging; he just held her. He recognized it was easier for her to tell him these things if she didn't have to look at him while she spoke. He made no attempt to get her to face him, though he wished he could see her eyes, to help him understand the thoughts and feelings behind the words. She fell silent, and neither of them moved or spoke for some time. Then she turned to him, looking up at his familiar features, barely visible in the near-darkness. "Do you understand, Mulder? Do you understand why I'm scared? I thought I was strong; I thought I could handle anything. But I can't handle the thought of losing you." Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, and she let them fall unchecked. "I feel like a horrible person because I let my own child die. You're the most important person in my life, and you could be taken from me at any moment, without warning. "I feel guilty because I let him die, but I refuse to feel guilty for loving you. How can I make the choice between your life and someone else's? How far will I go to save you?" "Do you regret your choice?" Mulder asked quietly. "Did I even have a choice?" "We always have a choice, Scully." His fingers stroked her temples as he spoke. "Sometimes I feel like I'm on a speeding train that's running out of track, but it was my choice to get on the train." She searched his eyes, trying to see the truth in them. She considered her actions over the past few weeks and began to speak again, hesitantly this time. "When we were in that house, and Sczerba shot you-- there was never a moment when I could have left you there. After it happened... I wondered why God or the Fates had forced me to make such a decision, to choose between you and my son. But I think... I think we're both right, Mulder." She paused, clearly trying to find the words for what she was discovering within herself. "I didn't have a choice at that moment, because I had already chosen, a long time ago. Maybe there was once a time when I would have gone to Justin instead-- I didn't even realize that had changed. He was my last chance, Mulder." Her voice broke, but forced herself to keep talking. "My last chance to be somebody's mother. But what I discovered is that you're more important to me. *We* are more important. Our friendship, our work, our future." Abruptly, her eyes hardened, and she grasped his chin firmly in one hand. "Don't you dare feel guilty about that. I can see it in your eyes; you're beating yourself up already." He dropped his eyes, but she pulled his chin up until he looked at her. She spoke deliberately, enunciating each word. "If you're guilty, then so am I. Do you remember the bridge, Mulder? Do you remember saving me, when you could have saved your sister?" "She was a clone," Mulder said, refusing to accept her logic. "But you didn't know that," she replied implacably. "Should I still feel guilty because of that? Should I have felt guilty then, when I realized I was jeopardizing your quest by becoming so important to you?" Mulder was shaking his head and drawing breath to speak, but she laid two fingers on his lips and continued. "I did feel guilty," she said softly. "I was distracting you, taking you away from your work, doing with friendship what I had been assigned to do with science." Mulder tried once again to interrupt, but this time she covered his mouth with her whole hand and glared at him. "Let me finish." He nodded, and she dropped her hand. "I thought if I threw myself into the work, if I made up for what I'd taken from you, then it would be ok, and I wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore. And I don't. I have to believe that our partnership has meaning, that together we are greater than the sum of our parts." She found his hand and twined their fingers together. "But somehow I forgot there were two sides to that. I'd accepted my importance in your life, but I thought I could keep my independence. I thought I could stop myself from needing you so much," she said, looking at him steadily. "But it's too late. It has been for years; I just didn't know it. You are as essential to me as air and water, Mulder. Never doubt that." Mulder had lowered his eyes again and seemed almost embarrassed. She ran her fingers through his choppy hair and pulled him to her, nuzzling the side of his face. His fingers tightened convulsively around hers, and she remembered how his words had struck her, when he had told her she was his one in five billion. She untangled her hands and framed his face, bringing their foreheads to rest against each other. How many times had they touched like this, when the moment cried out for sharing pain, trust, love. "Do you think you're the only one who would go to the ends of the earth to save their partner?" He shook his head slowly, brushing his forehead back and forth against her skin. "You would find me and bring me back." "Yes, I would." She pulled back a few inches to see his eyes. "And that will never change, so you'd better get used to it." He smiled faintly, then it faded as he remembered her pain over having sacrificed Justin for him. "But will you get used to it?" She thought about it carefully, wanting to be as accurate and honest as she could. "Mulder, you are my best friend. I needed to figure out for myself what that means." Slowly, then with increasing certainty, she continued, "We've been to hell and back together. Who I am today is because of my life with you. *You* are part of who I am. And I am a part of you. I wouldn't have it any other way." Mulder wrapped his arms around her, securely, tightly. "Scully, you're the best part of me," he whispered. She squeezed him harder, pressing a kiss into the side of his neck. She pulled back and kissed him again, this time lightly on the lips. "Thank you, Mulder." His brows rose in surprise, and he asked, "For what?" "For being in my life. For being you. For knowing when to push and when to back away." She traced the outline of his lips. "Thank you for loving me." She bent and kissed his eyes closed, then relaxed into his arms. The silence of the night surrounded them, and they drifted off to sleep, warmed by each other's presence. ******** fin end part 9/9 of Progeny This story is available in its entirety at: http://zephathah.tripod.com/ AUTHOR'S NOTES: The idea for this story came to me in a flash one night while I was trying to fall asleep (which resulted in a late night raid on the computer, typing furiously to Shoshana). It started out almost as an excuse for ScullyAngst and Comforting!Mulder, but discussion with my beta readers uncovered more serious questions: Was Scully meant to be a mother? Does she really have a 'mother's love' for the children created from her ova? If a child was left at her doorstep, yes, I can see her rearranging her life to care for the child, but what if she had a choice? This story is an answer to those questions. The smut was completely unintentional; the characters took over the keyboard and wrote it themselves. I hope you've enjoyed the ride, and thanks for reading! I'll take one more opportunity to mention how amazing my beta readers are. They helped me straighten out everything from awkward sentences to tangled plot lines. Shoshana and T, thank you for your unending support and encouragement, and for keeping me from making a complete fool of myself every time I post a story... I want to hear from you! Please send feedback to zephathah@yahoo.com begun: November, 1999 finished: February 7, 2000