Progeny (5/9) by Zephathah Disclaimers and such in part 1. Do not archive at Gossamer. Missing chapters available at http://zephathah.tripod.com/ ________________________________ 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. ******** end part 5/9 of Progeny Missing chapters available at http://zephathah.tripod.com/ Please send feedback to zephathah@yahoo.com