========================================================================== NOTICE: - Deslea's URL is now http://www.deslea.com or http://fiction.deslea.com. - Email address is now deslea@deslea.com. - May be archived by Scully/Skinner specialty archives only. This information supercedes all other information found in this file. ========================================================================== Offspring *R* 3/5 Deslea R. Judd drjudd@catholic.org drjudd@primus.com.au Copyright 1996 This piece was written in 1996 by the author for personal entertainment. It is copyright and may not be used or distributed (except for the purposes of private entertainment) without my written permission. Disclaimer This book is based on The X Files, a creation of Chris Carter owned by him, Twentieth Century Fox, and Ten-Thirteen Productions. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Bill Mulder, Mrs Mulder, Samantha Mulder and her clones, Maggie Scully, Melissa Scully, Captain Scully, Sharon Skinner, Kimberly Cooke, the Cigarette Smoking (Cancer) Man, the Well Manicured Man and his offsider, Frohike, Quiqueg, Gautier, Jean Gautier, Ellen, and Alex Krycek remain the intellectual property of those parties. Dr Karen Koettig, Agent Grbevski, Melissa Samantha Scully, Grace Skinner, Clone 1 (Cynthia), Clone 3 (Carolyn), Clone 4 (Catherine), Dr Sam Fieldman, Dr Paul Sturrock, Dr Marion Pieterse, Wendy Tomiris, Serena Ingleburn, Amarette, Dr Jillian Maitz, Hallie, and Emily Trent are mine and copyright. Timeframe/Spoilers: To Avatar (Season 3). Rating: R for low-key sex. Summary: When Scully and Skinner fall in love, their troubles have only just begun... Offspring (3/5) Deslea R. Judd drjudd@primus.com.au drjudd@catholic.org Copyright 1996 Four Scully lived. The clinicians could offer no explanation for it, and the liability insurers for the power plant were perplexed; but when fourteen hours had passed with neither sign nor symptom of radiation sickness, Dana Scully discharged herself from hospital against medical advice. She snorted at Skinner's suggestion that she take a couple of weeks off ("What, to see if I die?" she challenged) and became annoyed at the close scrutiny Skinner and Mulder paid her. If she began to vomit uncontrollably, she told them, she would be sure to advise them that she was dying. Until then, could they please stop fawning over her? In the end, there had been no more vomiting and no disorientation. Not quite so unconcerned as she had made out, Scully took a biopsy of her own tissue and samples of her blood and studied them closely. She tested for foreign substances, and identified what seemed to be a enzyme of some kind which she couldn't classify. After a battery of tests, she exposed the samples to radiation. Her observations suggested that whatever the unidentifiable enzyme was, it had both stabilised the radioactive process, prematurely ending its half-life, and prompted her recovery. She was quite unable to explain her findings. Even more interestingly, to Scully, were the results of the tests taken while she was in hospital. These indicated that her major organs, including her heart and lungs, which had been seriously - even mortally - damaged, had recovered completely. That her blood and tissue systems had stabilised was atypical, but not contrary to theoretical possibility because of the constant replication of cells which took place in those systems. But organs such as the heart did not regenerate. It seemed a scientific impossibility. And yet it wasn't impossible. Because it had happened. Scully was troubled. Her scientific mind found it hard to completely accept that which it could not explain. And, too, she was still shaken by her brush with death. It was not the first time she had nearly died; but before she had experienced it as feeling incredibly frail and weak. Never before had she been so racked with pain and suffering. Physically, she had emerged from her ordeal fairly well; but psychologically, she had never been so drained in her life. But her final and greatest concern was for her child. She had recovered, it was true; but not without cost in the meantime. Could she be certain that her child had similarly recovered? There was a part of her that insisted that it must, pointing out with conviction that any such capability must be inherited, and that if her own cells - atypically - had self-repaired perfectly, then so would foetal chromosomes; which in the normal scheme of things could repair incorrectly, causing mutations. The logic, as far as it went, was impeccable; but Scully didn't believe it in her heart of scientific hearts. For one thing, this enzyme (whatever it was) was an anomaly. That meant it quite possibly could not be inherited. For another, it was by no means certain that her own body had produced the enzyme - she hadn't forgotten the medical experiments which often seemed, anecdotally, to take place during abductions, nor that many of them, according to Mulder's research, revolved around the question of radiation. No, she decided, there were no guarantees that her baby was safe. That she was not only alive but well was an incredible gift - or accident. It seemed too much to hope for that her baby might be the same. There had been no tests on the foetus whilst she was in hospital. Her pregnancy had been noticed by her doctor, but he had been so sure that both mother and child were doomed that he hadn't even noted it on her file. In the hours following the beginning of her recovery, the staff had been so busy monitoring her vital organs and her red blood cell count that the question of foetal monitoring had never come up. By the time it would have, she had discharged herself. For the first time, she wondered if that had been such a good idea. Scully shook herself. For goodness' sake, she was a doctor. She didn't need anyone to tell her if she was well or not. As for the baby; well, she hadn't miscarried. That was a good sign. (Or was it? Was it merely a life sentence instead of a death sentence?) There were studies which could be done; and done just as easily on an outpatient basis. The only question which remained was whether she was ready to know the results. 3170 West 53 Rd, #35 Annapolis, Maryland December 24, 1996 It was about a week after Scully's release from hospital that Skinner came to see her at home. She wasn't surprised to see him. She had expected him sooner, in fact. "Hello, Walter." Skinner gave a tentative greeting. "How are you?" he asked, following her into the living room. Scully gave him an amused smile over her shoulder. "You've asked me that in the same solicitous tones every day this week." "Dana-" She pre-empted him. "I'm fine, Walter, really. Please don't fuss. I'm all right. I haven't felt better in months, actually." Not that that was such a recommendation, given that the last four months had been spent largely suspended over a toilet bowl with morning sickness; but why rain on his parade? She motioned for him to sit, and did so herself at his side. Skinner shifted nervously, and Scully braced herself. She was fairly sure of what was coming, but that didn't help. "Dana, I wanted to talk to you. About the baby," he said. "And the accident." She held his gaze. "You're worried." A fearful look flitted across his face. He nodded. "Very." She didn't answer him for a moment, but took one of his hands and looked away, out the window. Finally, she admitted, "So am I." "What can we do?" She looked back at him. "We can't //do// anything, Walter. The damage, if there is any, has been done. All we can do is find out about it, and prepare ourselves as best we can." She didn't add that there might be no way of preparing for the kinds of problems this child may face, or that quite possibly it would die at such a young age that the question was a moot one. There are some things, she thought, which it isn't necessary to inflict on people. Especially people who are in pain. The idea that she, too, was a person in pain was something which never occurred to her, perhaps because she was not in the habit of thinking of herself in those terms. Skinner nodded slowly, as though her reply did not surprise him. "But we can find out?" Scully nodded. "Yes. Minor injury we might not be able to detect. But any mutations and chromosomal damage we could find out about through DNA studies. That's easy enough." Cautiously, he asked her, "Do you want to know?" She looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean?" Skinner chose his words carefully. "It's just that - if there is anything - serious - it might put you in a position of having to make a choice that you don't want to make." Scully spoke firmly, resolutely. She didn't think twice. "There will be no abortion, Walter. No matter what. I'm sorry if that's different from what your own choice would be. But it's not negotiable." "And that's not what I want, or what I'm suggesting. All I'm saying is that, given that your decision is made, knowing might be more painful for you than not knowing. And to no benefit." He didn't tell her that he himself was not completely sure that he wanted the power or the decision that these tests might bring in their wake. "Do you //want// to know?" Scully's voice was piercing. It demanded the truth. Oddly, the demand enabled him to search his heart, and find it. He hesitated only a moment, before nodding firmly. "Yes, I do. I'm frightened. I don't want to be frightened if I don't have to be. And if I do, then I want to know what I'm up against." Scully's response didn't surprise him. It was the response of someone who spent her life searching for the truth. "So do I." "So we'll do it?" "Yes." GenTest Pty Ltd Annapolis, Maryland December 27, 1996 Three days later, after a Christmas filled more with anxiety than joy, Scully and Skinner consulted a highly respected authority in genetic counselling, one Samuel Fieldman. Fieldman ran the GenTest Centre, a high-profile genetic testing facility often mentioned in celebrity paternity disputes. However, behind the plush, mass market appeal of his offices lay one of the best-equipped laboratories in the country and a plethora of lower-profile speciality testing facilities. Fieldman himself was a little Jewish man in his mid- forties, a personified combination of shrewd business acumen and scientific expertise. He made no apologies for his obscenely opulent waiting room. However, he knew that Scully was a doctor herself, and he wasted no time in regaling the two of them with his resume; knowing as he must that interior decorating would not impress. Succinctly, Scully outlined the situation. Fieldman, it transpired, was aware of some of the details. "I did read a snippet in the //Lancet// about your case, Dr Scully. Spontaneous cell recovery after massive radiation exposure. I wasn't aware that you were also pregnant." "Most people weren't," she said dryly. Fieldman took the hint and dropped it. "Well, anyway, you're right to be concerned. As you're of course aware, chromosome damage arising from radiation exposure, along with faulty self-repair, can cause the most devastating mutations and malformations. I don't wish to sound pessimistic, but even with your quite inexplicable recovery, the picture is not promising." Scully nodded slowly. "I know that." Fieldman took up a pen and paper. He took their names, addresses, and brief medical histories. He paused for a time whilst entering the details of the accident. "Now, how far along were you at the time?" Scully said promptly, "Four months." Fieldman nodded. "Much of the foetal development was complete, then. But everything is still immature, including vital organs and the central nervous system. That's not good." He paused. "I presume you've already given some thought to your options for investigation?" Scully nodded. "Full DNA studies. We want as much information as possible. We want to be ready for if - well, if there's a problem." Fieldman wasn't surprised. "I think that's best. We'll need blood samples from each of you so we can do comparisons that might tell us if there's been any mutation; and we'll need a sample from the foetus by amniocentesis." Skinner spoke for the first time. "What exactly is involved in amniocentesis?" Scully answered him. "A long needle is introduced through the abdomen into the uterus. Ultrasound - a sonogram - is used to gauge where everything is. A sample of amniotic fluid is taken. The fluid has cells that can be used for analysis in it - shed skin cells, that sort of thing." "Any risks?" he asked. Fieldman spoke. "About a one in a thousand chance of miscarriage." Skinner looked at Scully dubiously. Scully grinned. "For God's sake, Walter, this kid has survived a thousand rem. You think amniocentesis is going to make a difference?" He summoned a smile. "All right," he conceded. "When?" Fieldman said, "Well, we can take the blood now." He rustled through his papers. "We had a cancellation this morning for an amnio, so we can do that this afternoon, if you're free. Otherwise you'll have to wait a week. The appointment is at two- thirty." Scully said, "That's fine-" at the same time that Skinner protested. "I have an appointment, Dana. It's not something I can cancel without consequences." Scully shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Walter. It's only a needle. I can manage." She favoured him with a faint smile. "Don't be so protective. I'd really rather not wait." "It's an awfully //big// needle." She laughed outright. "And doctors make the worst patients. Don't worry. I won't faint." "Are you sure?" She took his hand. "I'm sure." In the end, Scully didn't go alone. She telephoned Mulder to let him know where she was. Mulder insisted on coming along, despite her protests. Privately, she was glad. The amniocentesis didn't worry her, but she was looking forward to the sonogram. She had so far not gone to another doctor at all, preferring to monitor her own pregnancy until the late months (doctors really did make the worst patients, she suddenly reflected with a grin), and as a result had not been for one. She didn't really want to see her child for the first time alone. She had a feeling that she would become quite irrationally emotional, and she wanted someone there. That was not something she would have admitted to anyone, including Walter; hence her insistence that he leave her. Mulder arrived in a rush just as it began. The technician was moving the sensor over her abdomen when he was allowed in by a nurse, and he came around the machinery to her far side. "How are you?" he asked. Scully smiled. "I'm okay. You didn't have to come down," she chided gently. "What, and miss the only sonogram I'm likely to see? You think I'm going to make it to the altar while my contemporaries are of childbearing age? Optimist." She grinned. "Shut up and watch the show." They turned to the monitor. Scully watched in complete scientific detachment as her child was silhouetted from every angle. She was fascinated, as she always had been, by the use of ultrasound technology, but she made no connection between the image and the life within her. But when quite suddenly the shape moved and drew a shadowy limb up to its face, she jolted on the gurney, startled. She watched in fascination as it unmistakeably sucked its thumb. Why, it - and for the first time, she felt self-conscious using the impersonal pronoun - it was a real person! For Scully, educated in a world where a child was an anonymous embryo or foetus from the first week of gestation until it was born (or at least capable of being born alive), this was a stunning idea. She had been protective of the child within her, it was true; on the other hand, that was mostly philosophical: it was alive and therefore, to her Catholic heart, absolutely sacred. But the idea that there was any kind of individuality or personality involved was new, and somehow invigorating. Just how she drew the concept of personality from an involuntary, instinctive gesture, she couldn't have said; but it was as though it had awakened in her a long-buried instinct. She continued to watch, enthralled, and barely noticed when the needle was introduced. Mulder, on the other hand, had certainly noticed the needle. Scully became aware of him tightening his grip on her hand, and when she looked up, he was positively green. She suppressed a grin as he determinedly studied the ceiling tiles. She waited until she felt the needle leave her body, then said, "It's gone, Mulder." He looked down at her, a little shamefaced. "So much for moral support," he reproached himself. She laughed indulgently. "Do I care? You were here. That's what counts." Mulder was suddenly interrogative. "Do you mind that Skinner wasn't?" Scully's smile faded somewhat as she thought a moment. She chose her words carefully. "I wish he had been, because he would have liked to have been," she conceded, "but not really. I could have put it off if I'd really needed him. It was my choice to have it done today. I don't regret that." She suddenly smiled and pointed to the box the technician was labelling, even as they spoke. "Besides, I can always invite you both over for a video night." The technician held the tape out to her. Mulder snatched it from her grasp. "You can bring the popcorn!" He made a gleeful escape to the waiting room. Scully looked up at the affronted technician. //Damn it, Mulder, do youto offend people you don't know?// Groaning inwardly, she offered the woman a smile, and set about placating her. 5th Floor Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington, D.C. 19 January, 1997 The phone rang. Dana flipped it open. "Scully." "Dr Scully? It's Sam Fieldman at GenTest Centre. Can you talk a moment?" Scully nodded automatically, then remembered he couldn't see her. "Yes, that's fine." "Dr Scully," the cultured voice crackled down the line, "I think that you and Mr Skinner should come down here right away." "What is it?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe. Mulder walked in and caught something of her alarm. "Look, you know I can't go into details over the phone. I will tell you that something is wrong, but it doesn't seem to be to do with your exposure to radiation. We've found some DNA that we can't classify. It's like nothing we've ever seen before. Dr Scully, I really think you should come in. Today." Scully breathed out, shakily. "We'll be there as soon as we can." She flipped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket, suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated. "What was that all about?" She looked up. Mulder was there. Mulder was always there. And that was best, because she had a suspicion that before the end of the day she was going to need him, badly. She was silent. "Well?" he insisted. Ruthlessly setting aside the little voice in her head which was already mulling over the implications of what she'd been told, she steeled her shattered nerves by pressing her nails into her palm until they hurt. She told him. Mulder's expression was one of gratified excitement. "Unclassified DNA. By definition, alien. Alien - do you know what this means?" Suddenly, he asked interrogatively, "Scully, when //exactly// did you get pregnant?" Scully began to shake even before she answered. She suddenly felt very cold, and the tight little bundle kicking against her insides suddenly seemed oppressive...malevolent. "The day you and Skinner found me. That night...he came to me." She clung to that. //Skinner came to me. He said he loved me. That's how it's meant to be. You make love with someone who loves you, and you make a baby. That's how it's been since the dawn of time.// Except that //wasn't// how it was, was it? For every child born of love, there were four or five born of desperate loneliness, of recreation, of abuse, of prostitution, of domination, of youthful impetuosity. The term "love-child" was a misnomer, in or out of marriage. Love was no guarantee. But what about monogamy? Surely that was a guarantee? Pregnancy wasn't like HIV, for God's sake; it wasn't catching. She had only been with Walter. As far as she could remember. Mulder's voice was sharp. It seemed intrusive. "One of the days you lost?" Scully made a quick, uncontrolled movement, averting her gaze from Mulder's. She got to her feet, shakily. "I don't like what you're saying, Mulder," she said warningly. "I don't want to hear it. This baby is Walter's, do you hear?" Unable to take any more interrogation //(From him? Or yourself?)// she stormed out. Mulder could have kicked himself. He'd been so excited about the prospect of new information on the abductions - and, by God, a real, live, alien foetus - that he had forgotten that this time, it wasn't just a case. This time, it was Scully. And Scully's child. He ran after her. "Scully, wait!" he called. "I'm sorry!" He was too late. She had run out the door. //Damn it, Mulder, you've done it again.// GenTest Pty Ltd Annapolis, Maryland 19 January 1997 Scully pulled into the parking lot. Without speaking, she switched off the instruments and the ignition. She stared straight ahead for a moment. "Dana?" Skinner's voice was strained. She didn't answer. //"Dana."// He touched her arm. She turned to face him. "What is it, Walter?" Her voice was devoid of character or expression. Skinner looked at her. Her skin was pulled tight across her face. Her normally beautiful features were set in a grimace. Her eyes were distant. Scully, he knew, was not far away from the edge. But- "I have to know, Dana." She looked away. "I'm here for you, no matter whose child this is. But I have to know. I have to." He paused, but she wouldn't look at him. "Dana, when you were away..." he trailed off momentarily, hesitated. There was no way to ask that wasn't cruel. "Dana, could you have been raped?" Scully didn't answer him. Her expression stony and cold, she opened the car door and walked away. He leaped out and followed her, breaking into a run. "Dana!" he called. He caught up and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her around to face her. "Dana!" he cried out. "Damn it, could you have been raped?" //"I don't know!"// she cried in sudden anguish. "I can't remember!" One look at her face, and Skinner was gone. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and held her, crying unashamedly the first tears he had shed since Sharon had died. Scully held on, shaking violently against him. But still she didn't cry. A few minutes later, rather more composed, the two of them walked through the doors to the GenTest Centre. Skinner's unnaturally bright eyes were the only clue to the recent storm. They were shown into Sam Fieldman's office, and in due course, Fieldman joined them. They rose and shook his hand in turn. "Dr Scully, Mr Skinner. It's good to see you again." "I wish I could say the same," Scully said ungraciously, on edge. She chastised herself. It wasn't like her to be rude. "I'm sorry," she apologised. Fieldman gave her a compassionate smile. "Doctors make the worst patients. And so would anyone, in the circumstances. Take a seat." Both Scully and Skinner took their seats, Skinner moving his fractionally closer to hers. She might want to be stoic, but he had a feeling he would need her before they were through here, even if she didn't need him. As it was, his mind was jamming with every possible terrible twist to this horrid saga. //Radiation. Cancer. Alien. Rape. Death.// The words swirled monotonously through his brain, like a surreal tape on life's little jukebox. He realised that Fieldman was speaking, and endeavoured to clear his head. "As you know, we were initially looking for mutations and interruptions in the DNA chain which might indicate problems arising from your exposure to radiation. We did that, and found some disturbing information." Fieldman paused until he judged that they had had a chance to prepare themselves. (Not that any amount of time could prepare themselves for this, of course. Fieldman had a feeling that he had seen the most bizarre thing he was ever going to see in his career - if not his life). "Firstly, the question of radiation exposure. This in itself was fairly straightforward, and I might add, rather surprising, given the levels to which you were exposed, Dr Scully. The very fact that you are alive after exposure to over a thousand rem is incredible - all the more so as you show no signs of permanent injury." That wasn't precisely true, Scully knew; her internal organs had recovered, but her teeth seemed more brittle, somehow. She suspected that the same applied to her bones. She had noticed no further deterioration from the time of her recovery; but they hadn't completely recovered, either. Fieldman continued. "The foetus - do you want to know the sex, by the way?" Both nodded, and he continued, "Well, it's a girl. The foetus showed no signs of radiation damage or sickness of any kind, either. No mutations to control genes, nothing to even suggest that she might have a higher susceptibility to cancers than the norm. It's quite amazing, in the circumstances." He turned to Scully and looked at her, curiously. "Also interesting to me personally was your own body's response, Dr Scully. As you know, in the end we took a small sample of your tissue to test for changes, and we did that on-site, in one of the specialist labs. We exposed the tissue to radiation. The cells showed typical signs of radiation exposure for a period of around five hours. However, the radioactive process inexplicably ended quite suddenly, and the cells then began to spontaneously recover. By the time a further five hours had passed, everything was normal. As far as we could make out, some sort of enzyme-like substance was involved, but we can't identify it. Whatever it was, it kick-started an auto-repair response, one which caused or enabled a complete recovery - even in the most seriously damaged cells. This does not differ substantially from your personal findings or those of your clinicians, Dr Scully; but I did feel that it was important to see for myself exactly what happened in case that shed some light on your child's situation. In the end, of course, it was a wasted exercise, because we can't explain it, or even document how it was done. Quite fascinating scientifically, as you will appreciate, and also quite inexplicable." He paused. Neither Scully nor Skinner registered any signs of relief, and Fieldman was glad, given the rest of what he had to say. He hesitated maddeningly, then cleared his throat. "I'm afraid, Dr Scully, Mr Skinner, that the good news ends there. There's no easy way to tell you the remainder of our findings, and it's even harder because I don't understand them myself." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then went on cautiously, "In the course of DNA studies, we made some other findings. One of these was the presence of human DNA which was unidentifiable. It originated from neither of you, but a third party. This in itself is not unusual - it's not uncommon for a couple to genuinely believe that a pregnancy is theirs, when it isn't. I say that without judgement on either of you." Skinner looked away with a swift movement. Scully bowed her head suddenly. She didn't try to defend herself: there was no need. He knew that. Still, it hurt; he wouldn't deny that. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, but he reached out blindly and took her hand in his. She held it, tightly. Fieldman continued, his eyes fixed discreetly on Scully's file for a time. "What makes it so unusual is that there are signs that this party's DNA has been altered, presumably by genetic engineering. I don't think this level of interference can be explained by natural mutation, particularly given the nature of the alteration. The interference seems to involve some kind of splicing of DNA with foreign genetic material, although exactly how this was done is impossible for me to say because we don't recognise the foreign material. It bears no resemblance to either human or animal DNA. It's in a completely different category, and we just can't classify it. The main areas in which this appears are sectors determining immunology and the central nervous system, although there are traces everywhere." Fieldman's features tightened with the effort to convey that which he didn't understand. "Dr Scully, I don't have any answers for you. I don't know how this happened, or even exactly what has happened. All I can tell you is the outcome." Scully said cautiously, "And the outcome is that this child is not entirely human." She seemed completely devoid of emotion, save for a certain stiffness in her body. Fieldman hesitated. "I didn't say that, Dr Scully. Not on the record. The most I will say is that there are genes present which are not consistent with human DNA at any of its evolutionary stages." Skinner gave him a withering look, but Scully understood. She would not have committed herself to such a statement, either. Skinner himself should also have understood, but she was beginning to realise that the professional Skinner was quite different from Skinner, the person. For Scully, who was so buried in her work and her science that analysis had become her way of life, this was foreign - and intriguing. Fieldman went on, "Off the record, I would suggest that you think over your options. We don't know how the effects of all this may be manifested in the foetus or her offspring, assuming she's capable of reproduction at all. We don't know what this child will look like, whether she will be superhuman or subhuman in her abilities and skills - we just don't have the technology to find out whether this - this //lifeform// will be capable of existing in human society. It's an extraordinary case." "It means something else," Scully said. She didn't want to continue, but it had to be said. She tightened her grip on Skinner's hand. She had only just realised what it had meant to her for him to be with her in this pregnancy. With a pang of regret, she knew that whatever support he gave her, she was now essentially alone. "This isn't Walter's child." Fieldman's response was unexpected. He was silent for a moment, but they could see his mind working. Finally, he said slowly, "Dr Scully, you're both right and wrong. It's true that this foetus cannot possibly have originated from the two of you. But- " " 'But'?" Skinner's voice was tight with confusion. "Mr Skinner, your inherited DNA was unmistakeable in the foetus. It's Dr Scully's which is absent. The foreign material - whatever it was - originated with the ovum. Dr Scully, there's no easy or kind way to tell you this, but genetically speaking, this isn't your child." Scully's jaw dropped, thunderstruck. She sat back suddenly in her chair, as though she had been hit. She said, slowly, "Oh, my God." She was silent for a long moment, before saying quietly, "I'm not the mother. I'm a - host-" she broke off. Skinner watched her, alarmed. Fieldman dropped his gaze. "I wouldn't have put it so brutally myself, Dr Scully. I know a lot of IVF mothers of children born of donated ova who would disagree." "They chose," she said simply. "I didn't." Fieldman nodded silently. Then, in response to Skinner's suggestive frown, he rose. "I'll give you some time alone." "It must have been while I was - gone." The self-evident fact was said tonelessly, with neither hope nor despair. Her emotionless veneer was starting to frighten him. "How? Skinner asked. "Don't they do that surgically? Wouldn't you have known?" "Laparoscopy," Scully said automatically. Her brow furrowed as she thought. This was a scientific question; she could bear to dwell on this. "I might not have known, Walter. They shot me in the stomach. That's where the wound from a laparoscopy is - right in the navel. I wrote off all the discomfort I had that week or two afterwards to being shot. My God," she said in dawning realisation, "that's probably //why// they shot me there." She was silent a moment, thinking. "This is obviously part of some kind of breeding program. They couldn't have counted on me to have gotten pregnant to a man in the normal scheme of things. It must have been complete embryos. An unfertilised ovum - that would have been like deliberately setting a timebomb. That must have been a mistake." She paused, the lines of her face etched deeply as she frowned. "It wouldn't be hard to find out - about the laparoscopy, I mean - there will be a hairline scar. I'll look when I get home." "Dana-" He broke off. She turned to face him, almost puzzled at his concern. "I'm fine, Walter." Skinner's voice was penetrating. "Are you? Dana, you're so wrapped up in the science of this that you've lost touch with your own feelings." She flinched; her sister had said something similar to her only days before she had died. Scully didn't answer him, and they were silent for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Skinner considered the situation. He knew what Dana had said about abortion before. But surely this was different. For God's sake, the child wasn't even human. It was a grotesque existential accident of mammoth proportions. And yet, that wasn't the whole story. It wasn't even //most// of the story. Whatever the genetic facts, in every way that mattered, this was his child with the woman he loved. He wanted the child. He didn't want to lose any more in his life. But could he make her give birth to it (he had to say 'it'; 'her' hurt too much right now), and raise it? What if she just //couldn't?// It hurt him more than he had ever been hurt in his life to do it, but he took her hands in his. "What do you want to do?" She met his gaze. She recognised the surrender of the decision to her in his eyes, and she loved him for it. She gave a sad little smile. "No," she said resolutely. "No abortion. No more deaths to these people." She paused. "This child is a creation of my own actions. I chose to be with you. And yet she's not mine. I have no right of control over her destiny." She looked at him squarely. "It's still a life, Walter; a blameless life. I don't have the right to make this decision." He nodded, and for him, that moment would always be the moment that he committed himself irrevocably to his child. "All right." Fieldman came back into the room, clearing his throat. Scully looked up as he retook his seat before them. "Dr Fieldman, could you reconstruct as best you can the substance of the foreign human DNA before it was tampered with?" Fieldman's brow furrowed. "I can try, Dr Scully. But don't expect 100% accuracy. A certain amount of guesswork will be involved. I can also give you a reading of the incomplete data, which will be accurate as far as it goes." "All right. Send it to me at the Bureau, as quickly as you can." Scully paused, thinking furiously. "Tell me, have you billed my medical insurance for these tests and consultations yet?" Fieldman shook his head. "Probably not. We were going to claim it against the FBI's employer liability insurance, in light of the fact that you were working during the power plant incident; and presumably they would have referred it to the power plant's liability insurers. We only send non-standard claims once a month. I can go and check, if you like." Scully nodded. "Please do. I'd like to settle privately, if it's not too late to do so. Today, if you'll take a check." His eyebrow rose, even as Skinner turned to look at her, surprised. "It's a lot of money, Dr Scully. Thousands." "I don't care." Frowning, Fieldman rose and left the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Skinner asked her, "Why?" Scully turned to face him. "If any of this is even half true, they will be watching me to see if I am pregnant. They will be watching for any transfers to desk work, any attempt to claim my employment benefits for pregnancy, and probably my medical insurance as well. If it's complete embryos they were aiming for, they must know that the chances of implantation are slim; but I'm sure they will still be watching, just in case." Skinner nodded slowly. She laughed suddenly. "I'm starting to sound like Mulder. //They// this, //they// that." Skinner's voice was gravelly. "If anyone's got a right to be paranoid, it's you, Dana. My God-" "Not now," she said crisply, and as if on cue, Fieldman returned to the room with a sheet of computer paper. "Your invoice, Dr Scully." As she fished in her purse for her checkbook, Skinner took it from him. It //was// a lot of money. Not a fortune, but a nice deposit on one. He took out his own checkbook. "Dana, I think maybe this should come from my account, don't you?" he asked, pointedly. Scully looked at him, instantly on guard. "Why, yes - yes, you're right. Thank you." She watched him write out the slip of paper and hand it to Fieldman. //I nearly left a paper trail straight to this place,// she thought, suddenly completely unnerved. She struggled inwardly to keep a grip on things, going through the motions of farwells and shaking hands. She walked out of the building at Skinner's side, and when they reached the car, she fumbled with the lock, dropping the keys with a clatter. Skinner swooped them up. "I'll drive. You're in no fit state." "And you are?" she demanded, her voice hollow. The accusation was fair, so he didn't respond to it. Instead, he maneouvered her into the passenger seat, got in, and drove off. "Where are you taking me?" she asked wearily. She had seen that he wasn't taking her to the Bureau, and although her surroundings were familiar, she was in a fog and she just couldn't piece together the route in her head. "Home. You're going to sleep and then we're going to talk to Mulder." She nodded in mute agreement, then lapsed back into her stupor. Skinner wondered when she would break. Five 3170 West 53 Rd, #35 Annapolis, Maryland January 19, 1997 In the end, she broke quite suddenly. They were in the kitchen of her apartment, and Skinner insisted that he get the coffee. It wasn't only solicitude. He feared she would burn herself, she was shaking that badly. But Scully kicked up the most infuriating fuss, accusing him of patronising her and trying to be big and strong instead of expressing how //he// was feeling. (The pot calling the kettle black, Skinner reflected). She became furious, then overwrought, then suddenly collapsed on the floor in floods of tears, her arms crossed over her head. Alarmed but not surprised, Skinner dropped at her side and cradled her there, until later, much later, she quietened, making little breathless hitching noises every now and then. Then their lips met, and suddenly they were comforting each other in the only way they could, losing themselves and their pain in one another. They moved to her bedroom and undressed one another, and even when, tenderly, he entered her, even when they came together, still they held each other with their eyes, lost in one another's agony. When they were spent, they lay with their hands linked over the swelling in her stomach. Then there were more tears, his; and he wept in that unashamed way that a man does only with his lover in the bed that they share. Deeply moved, Dana held him and kissed away his tears; and he was comforted. Finally, they fell into a fitful sleep, their embrace tightly protective. Skinner was woken by a rattling outside Dana's apartment. There was the sound of a key in the lock, the turning of tumblers. He extricated himself from Dana, quickly pulled on his trousers and threw his shirt on. Not bothering to button it, he drew his weapon, went to the living room, and trained it on the doorway just as the door swung soundlessly open. "Federal agent. Drop your weapon and place your hands behind your head," he demanded as the shadow of a man presented itself. Mulder complied, stepping into the light. Skinner lowered the gun. "Don't you ever announce yourself?" he demanded. "Or knock?" "Only at your office, Sir," Mulder said wryly, lowering his hands. "And usually not then, either." He put the gun down on the coffee table and turned away to button his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. "What are you doing here?" he asked, turning back to face him. To his surprise, Mulder was red-faced. "When neither you nor Agent Scully returned to the office, Sir, I became worried. I thought you'd had bad news. I didn't think - I mean, I didn't realise-" he broke off, discomfort showing in his expression. "I didn't mean to intrude," he apologised softly. Skinner held up a hand, dismissing this, frowning. "Unfortunately, Agent Mulder, you were right. The news is bad - very bad." He regarded him for a moment. "You'd better sit down." Scully woke to voices in her living room. She sat bolt upright for a second, but then she recognised them as Skinner's and Mulder's. She lay back down for a few minutes, collecting her thoughts. She thought of the baby moving within her, and of her sister, and even of her father. //Ahab, what would you have done?// But she didn't need his message from beyond to know - indeed, once she had rejected a psychic man's offer to give it to her. She already knew: he was her father. //I would do what is right, Starbuck,// she could imagine him saying. //I would do what's right, and hope that that's enough.// Even as an adult, she had never really understood that. She knew that it was important to do what was right, somehow; but she hadn't understood that you could never exert any control over the actions of others, whatever you did - not really. If you wanted things to be right, you had to do what was right yourself and hope that it was enough. She understood now. And now she committed herself, again, to doing whatever she had to do to protect this child with whom she had been entrusted. Because that was what was right; and it was the only thing in this situation that she knew was right. Scully dressed in a pair of track pants and a loose shirt. She didn't have that many clothes that really fitted her anymore. She didn't need them: she was always swathed in her trenchcoat at work. If her belly strained against her trousers, it didn't really matter, because no-one saw them. Her weekends were spent quietly at home; she had stopped seeing her family. Not that she mistrusted or feared them; she simply hadn't thought it a good idea for them to know she was pregnant until she was sure her baby hadn't been harmed by the accident at Kuringai. And until she knew exactly what this child she was carrying was, perhaps that was just as well. She emerged from her bedroom. Mulder and Skinner looked up, Mulder with some suprise. She was puzzled, then realised: Except for her sonogram, when she had been swaddled in a surgical gown and sheet, Mulder had never seen her this way, her pregnancy showing. "You filled him in?" she asked Skinner. Skinner nodded; then, respectful of the bond they shared, he rose and went to the kitchen. Mulder rose also and took her hands. "I'm sorry, Scully. For how I acted and for what you've learned." He stepped forward and embraced her, warmly. She held him tightly for a long moment, then smiled at him gently and pulled away. "How are you?" he asked gently as they sat. She gave a twisted little smile. "I'm coping, I guess. I wasn't doing so well earlier. I felt kind of frozen - emotionally, I mean; but physically, too. I was so //cold.// I felt- I don't know, paralysed, somehow." He bowed his head, ashamed. "And I was too busy playing ghostbuster to be there. I'm sorry, Scully. You deserve better than the way I treated you." Scully took his hand. "Don't, Mulder. It's over. You're here now. And I don't think anyone could have done anything for me before. It was something I had to break through myself. Walter was here, but even he couldn't do very much except stay with me through it." She paused. "Let it go." Skinner emerged with coffee, and the three of them sat silently for a time, lost in thought. Suddenly, he asked, "Did you check?" Scully looked at him, puzzled, a moment; but then her expression cleared. "The laproscopy? Yes, there's a scar." She paused. "The only thing I don't understand is why it's there. With IVF, they normally use a tube intravaginally into the uterus. Laparoscopy is more often used to collect ova. It doesn't make sense, because the ova used weren't mine." Mulder spoke up. "I went through this with a cousin of mine a few years ago. They used a program called GIFT. I don't know what it stands for. But they surgically implanted ova and sperm into the fallopian tubes to fertilise naturally." "Gamente Intra Fallopian Transfer," Scully expounded. "It's more invasive in one sense, but there's a higher success rate than with IVF. It's also ethically more acceptable because there's no question of freezing complete embryos, and no question of destroying lives once a decision has been made to thaw the cells unused - not that the people who took me seem too concerned about ethics," she added bitterly. "It does make more sense that way, medically speaking," she conceded, "but I stand by what I said before. It must have been IVF - complete embryos. Implanting unfertilised ova - even if you implant sperm too - is just too risky for the purposes these people have in mind. What was to stop me from conceiving with a man with whom I was involved - as in fact was the case?" Skinner spoke slowly, thinking it through. "I'm not so sure about that, Dana. For one thing, they had no way of anticipating that you would be rescued. Chances are they would have held you until they had ascertained the success of the experiment - maybe even until the child was born, if it had been." "There's something else," Mulder said. "They'd have done their homework. You haven't been involved with anyone in years - hell, I don't think you've even dated in years, have you?" She shook her head. "That's my fault, dragging you into my messes and scrapes. They couldn't have predicted you two getting together in the aftermath. And," he added, "it means you haven't been on the Pill, I suppose? Because that would cause problems with you getting pregnant." Scully nodded slowly. "Yes, that's true...I suppose that makes sense." "And maybe that's why you were chosen for the project," Skinner pointed out. "But //why?// What's it all for?" Mulder answered. "I don't want to hit a nerve here, but I think it's part of the experiments to create an alien-human hybrid." Scully stifled a groan. "But why?" Skinner repeated. "To what purpose?" Scully put forward her own theory. "Whatever it is, I think it's to do with bio warfare. I think it's an attempt to alter immune and other base responses in order to provide an artiliary soldiered by immunes in the event of germ war - not to mention to provide the basis of human survival, in some form, were such an event to happen." "I think that's part of it," Mulder agreed, "but I'd apply the same to nuclear warfare. The question of radiation exposure, all of that." Scully looked at him dubiously. "Not the radiation thing again?" Mulder grinned, half annoyed, half amused. "Scully, do you remember those French seamen on the salvage vessel?" Scully nodded. "How could I forget?" Several months previously, a French vessel on a mysterious salvage mission had been found, all but one of its occupants afflicted with severe radiation sickness. Those suffering had died within days. The remaining seaman, a man named Gautier, had shown no signs of illness; but had acted strangely in subsequent days. Eventually, Mulder had found him, passed out; and when he came to, he had no recollection of any of the events leading up to their rescue. His wife, Jean, had suffered the same fate, making her way to Hong Kong before being found similarly collapsed. Corrupt Agent Krycek had manifested similar symptoms before disappearing. Mulder had formed the opinion that they had been hosts to an alien lifeform, and that the salvage mission had been in the process of retrieving a UFO with radioactive qualities. Now, Mulder said cautiously, "I know what you think of my theories on that case; but isn't it possible that whatever Gautier was host to protected him from the effects of the radiation to which he was exposed?" Scully wasn't won that easily. "Go on," she said dubiously. "Presumably, because whatever Gautier was host to was capable of rendering radiation benign?" Scully thought a moment. "Not precisely. It doesn't become benign, as such. The chain of reactions stops at some point - the radioactive substance stabilises. And radiation isn't an entity in the sense that a virus or bacteria is. You can't have an immune response, per se. It's a process. It breaks down cells. Theoretically, his cells could have self-repaired. This doesn't happen in practice because one, the damage is too great to be repaired, and two, the self-repair mechanism itself is also broken down and either doesn't work or repairs in a way which is faulty. And with gamma radiation, there's never a chance anyway because normally the substance - the cell, say - never completely restabilises." "For the sake of argument, let's say these creatures have some sort of properties which interrupt and stabilise the process, and enable their cells to self-repair - perhaps an ability which evolved because they live in an environment of high radioactivity. As, apparently, do those who are hosts to those creatures - at least while they are hosts. As," he said pointedly, "do you." "Mulder, I-" Disbelief already showed in her expression. Skinner spoke up. "Dana, you were exposed to over one thousand rem of radiation. You should have been dead inside of six hours. Can you explain that?" Scully turned to Skinner, stunned. "You believe this?" "I want to believe that there is an explanation for all this. That it isn't just some cosmic fluke. I want to believe that there is a reason for this, and that there are people who did this to you, and that we can find them and make them pay." Scully turned to Mulder. "Mulder, it's true that foetal hormones have been found in minute levels in the mother's system - hormones which have been overridden by the mother's cells as foreign. But that's the only known crossing of foetal characteristics of any kind into the mother. For this kind of cell- repair, she would need appropriate enzymes in enormous quantities - quantities far greater than those which could originate in the foetus, much less cross into the mother. And anyway, even if that did explain my recovery, it doesn't explain why Gautier showed no symptoms in the first place." "Gautier was host, presumably, to a mature, fully- formed, completely alien lifeform. The enzyme concentration would be greater and stronger. Maybe his cells repaired almost instantly, so that he showed no effects. You, on the other hand, are host to a partly-formed, immature lifeform which is only partly alien and therefore would not have the strength to pre- empt an attack, but which with a greater time frame could still induce a recovery." "Mulder, there's been nothing documented-" "Scully, of course there isn't! They're completely different creatures - your DNA testing showed that. You can't expect the normal rules to apply!" Scully became angry. "Isn't it convenient that nothing you work on ever has to make sense? 'It's alien, so it doesn't have to.' What a cop-out," she said disgustedly. "You know that's not true. I think there probably is a certain logic to all of this, just as there is in this reality. But I also think that what we presuppose in this world we can't necessarily presuppose in another. That's all." Scully felt ashamed. She didn't agree with him, but he was right - she was being unfair. She looked away a moment. Finally, she said, her tone more even, "All right. Let's take as our assumption that some sort of experimentation has taken place, involving GIFT, with a view to creating a life form with certain coping mechanisms relevant to defense. As to the details of the source of those properties, let's agree to differ for now - it doesn't make that much difference for the immediate moment, anyway. How do we go about investigating further?" "I think you were on the right track asking for a DNA breakdown on the genetic- on the ovum," Skinner corrected. A look of pain flitted across Scully's face. "You mean on the genetic mother." Skinner bowed his head. "I'm sorry." There was an uncomfortable pause; until finally, Mulder could no longer stand it. He broke it. "You think we should run searches against the databases?" he asked, dubiously. "It's something," Scully said. "But Scully, we're probably talking another abductee here, not a criminal. She may not have a record, and if she does, it's likely as not to be something that doesn't involve leaving bodily fluids at a crime scene - like tax evasion. So unless she's from Virginia," Mulder said, referring to that state's practice of taking fluid samples from all criminals, "you won't find her." Skinner spoke up. "Look, it's a long shot. But frankly, Mulder, it's the only clue we have." "I still think we'd be better going to the source of it all...the railroad. They had to be taking you somewhere - a holding facility, labs, something." "That's your agenda talking, Mulder," Scully said pointedly. "That railroad branches off everywhere, and as soon as my absence was detected, they stopped the train and went back, isn't that right? Frohike got nothing but a few hundred extra miles on his car for his trouble. The railroad is bigger than our resources right now. The DNA search is manageable. It might not help, but it's not going to do any harm." Mulder regarded them both. "All right," he said finally. "Let's do it." 5th Floor Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington, D.C. February 6, 1997 There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Scully called, not looking up from her computer. A diminutive brunette entered pushing a small trolley. "Good morning, Agent Scully. How are you?" She raised her head then. It was Amarette, the junior mail clerk. Scully liked Amarette. She was only seventeen, and her youthful enthusiasm was a nice change from the jaded cynicism of the more experienced officers. Her occasional lapses in protocol were more amusing than anything. "Hi, Amarette. I'm well. Yourself?" The girl flashed a dazzling smile. "Just great. It's a lovely day." She looked in her trolley. "Not much for you today. But there was a courier just now." She handed over a small pile of envelopes and packages. Scully smiled, taking them. "Thank you, Amarette." "Well, see you later." The younger woman moved on, the door clicking shut behind her. Scully perused the envelopes. Most of them were internal; results from pathology made up a large number of them. The important ones she already knew about; the remainder she set aside. A few memoranda were similarly set aside, and a couple more went in the bin. There was one from Personnel advising that pays from February 1 would not be processed until February 3 due to a computer error. Considering it was now three days later, the warning was somewhat overdue. Scully tore that one up with a wry grin. It was inefficient, but it was typical. She came to the courier parcel, and almost dropped it when she saw the GenTest Centre logo in the corner. Her work forgotten, she tore it open and drew out the two reports - the analysis of the DNA of the genetic mother, with a number of sectors omitted; these, she knew, were the ones which had originally been labelled //Unidentified.// The second contained those sectors with Fieldman's speculations as to their original composition. Rising, Scully went to the door and opened it. But then her hand fell away from the doorknob, her natural caution coming to the fore. If she made an urgent request on this, it might come to the attention of those who would like to know about it. She couldn't risk it. It had to seem routine. She returned to her desk, dug out another non-urgent DNA comparision, and clipped the three together with a //Request For Database Search// form. It pained her to do it, but she ticked the box marked //Routine,// put it all into an internal envelope, and set it down in her //Out// tray. She tried to return to her work, but it was no good; her gaze kept drifting to the envelope as she waited impatiently for Amarette to return and pick it up. She opened her e-mail, hoping Mulder had sent her something of interest to distract her. //D_Scully@FBI.gov,// she typed in impatiently at the prompt, followed by her current password, //nursowen.// //You have new mail,// the screen declared with a chime as though it had done a rather special trick. She scanned the twelve entries, dismissing most of them for the moment on the basis of their headings. One of them intrigued her, however. The sender panel was blank; the subject panel read, //Railroads.// She clicked on the open button. The message window contained just three words: //North Dakota. SAM.// Scully went to her preferences and selected, //Show Path.// She returned to the message window, expecting to find the name of the server from which the message had originated; or at the very least her own server's name. But the path panel, like the sender panel, was blank. Frowning slightly, she exited e- mail and telephoned computer support. It took only a few seconds to confirm what she suspected: such an error should not have occurred; but given that it had, the information didn't seem to be recoverable. They could try, the technician said doubtfully. Scully told them not to bother, and hung up. Her brow creased, she sat back, wondering: //Who is SAM?// Basement Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington, D.C. February 15, 1997 The cellular phone rang. Juggling her coffee mug precariously in the crook of her arm, Scully dug it out of her pocket and flipped it open. She set down the mug as an afterthought. "Scully." The reception was rotten. She moved to the window. The improvement was slight. "Agent Scully, it's Agent Grbevski. How are you?" The man's booming enthusiasm was annoying. "I'm fine, Grbevski - very well. Yourself?" she asked impatiently. "Good, Scully, real good," he boomed. "Listen, I ran that DNA you gave me against our records. I didn't find a perfect match with anyone we've got, nor anyone we're cross-referenced with." Scully's heart sank. "That's okay, Grbevski. It was a long shot, anyway." Grbevski made a noncommittal sound. "Maybe not such a long shot, Scully. I did find one very close match with the incomplete readout you gave me, although it does have some points of dissimilarity with the full one. It's not him - the DNA you sent was XX, female - but it's not impossible for your real match to be a close relative - a sister, I'd say. The similarity is striking. I doubt it would stand up in court without the actual match, but hell, it's a lead." Mulder knocked, and she beckoned him in. "Have you got an I.D. on this guy?" she was saying. There was a shuffling of papers. "Sure have. He's one of ours, actually. Got some perspiration and some blood from a murder scene a bit over a year ago - retired State Department guy called William Mulder. The sample was from his son. Fox Mulder. Special Agent. They call him Spooky - into paranormal cases and all kinds of weird stuff. Based here in Washington. Know the one?" Scully's heart was beating very fast. "Yes," she said, her voice strained. "I know." She paused, thinking frantically. "He was on the scene with a relative. Bum steer. But thanks for following up." Grbevski boomed, "That's what I'm here for. You sure I can't interest you in dinner?" Scully grinned. Some things never changed. "Some other time, Grbevski." "I'll hold you to that," he warned. "Damn you, you will, too, won't you?" Grbevski just laughed, and rang off. The laughter in her voice died as soon as the phone clicked, and as she put it away, she sat down with a thud and stared up at Mulder. //Samantha.// //Samantha Ann Mulder.// //Samantha Ann Mulder, Walter Skinner, and an alien, identity unknown. What a merry little menage et trois. And I'm carrying their combined child. It just gets better and better.// "So what did our infatuated Texan friend have to say for himself?" Mulder grinned. "I'd love to see his face if he knew you were seeing the Assistant Director." His emphasis on the word //seeing// left no doubt as to the word he would have liked to substitute. Scully snapped, "You could just as well tell him I'm pregnant to you, Mulder, or so I hear." Mulder, understandably puzzled, gave her a quizzical look. "Come again?" Scully sighed and motioned for him to have a seat. "Grbevski found a close match on the DNA reading Fielding gave us." She wasn't sure if she meant 'us' in the sense of her and Walter or her and Mulder or all three of them, but Mulder read it to mean her and him. It was automatic. They were a team. Mulder's eyes widened. "Thank God, we've got a break at last, Scully. Who is it?" Scully shook her head hopelessly. "It just leads straight back to where we started, Mulder. The abductions." "Meaning?" Scully leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. "Meaning, Mulder, that the close match is you." Not waiting for comment, she continued, "The actual match is almost certainly a close relative of yours. A sister, most probably." She paused. "Mulder, I'm sorry. It seems like every time we have a case we get a lead on her - hell, we know more about what she's doing than she does, I think - but we never get close enough to find her." Mulder had flopped down into the chair in front of her. "Samantha." His voice was stunned. He looked up at her, hopefully. "Samantha was alive six months ago." Scully looked dubious. "Not necessarily, Mulder. They can freeze ova." "But they usually don't, do they?" "No," Scully admitted, cautiously. "You've got to be much more careful than with embryos. An embryo can survive minor damage, but because an ovum is a single-cell organism, any damage at all will kill it." She paused. "You've also got to be sure that the chromosomes split into twenty six pairs before you do it, otherwise the resulting infant can have chromosomal disorders." She looked at Mulder. "But it can be done, and done for long periods. These people are like mad scientists. They probably would freeze them without concern for those sorts of considerations." Mulder went on. "Not with those sorts of risks, not after all the trouble they'd gone to to engineer the DNA in them. The ova must have been fresh." Scully laughed suddenly. "So to speak. You may be right, Mulder, but don't forget, the ova - and presumably the sperm which we presume was implanted - had been genetically altered. We can't be certain that the normal rules apply." She paused, suddenly grave. "I don't want you to get your hopes up, Mulder. We just don't know. And even if we did, we can't know where she is now, or whether she's still alive." Mulder shook his head suddenly. "She's not dead, Scully. I'd know." There was no response she could make to that, so she remained silent. Suddenly, he grinned. "Scully, I'm going to be an uncle." To his surprise, Scully rose from her chair and walked to the window. She put her hands absently over her swollen stomach. Mulder glanced at the door, cautiously. It was closed. "You know, Mulder, it's funny." She bit her lip. "It seems like everyone has a claim on this child except me. Skinner's her father, you're her uncle, Samantha's her mother - hell, even those bastards who did this helped create her. I'm carrying her in my body, and I feel her when she moves and kicks, and God help me, even when she has the hiccups - but what am I to her? I'm nothing." Her body suddenly slumped in defeat. Mulder went to her then. He touched her arm and turned her to face him. "That's not true, Scully. Samantha and those people-" (//and those creatures,// he added mentally) "- gave her cells. You and Skinner gave her life. They're donors, if you want to be kind about it, or witch-doctors if you don't. You're her mother." He searched for words that would speak to her, mean something to her, and found them. "They played God, but in continuing with this pregnancy, you've returned to God what is God's - the power over life and death. Believe me, Scully. You and Skinner are her parents in every way that counts. She'll grow up to know that." "Assuming she lives to grow up," she said bitterly, looking away. She looked back at him, her gloom gone as suddenly as it had arisen. She gave him a smile. "Thank you, Mulder." "All part of the service." She gave him a gentle smile, and returned to her seat. Mulder did the same; then, remembering what it was he had wanted to discuss with her, handed her a file and began to speak. Scully listened, but there was something nagging at her in the back of her mind. It revolved around the idea of Samantha. //Samantha Ann Mulder, Samantha Ann Mulder,// her mind played over and over again - why was she so hung up on her full name? //Samantha Ann-// Scully sat bolt upright. "I'm an idiot!" she cried, slamming her hand down on her desk. Mulder started. "What?" Scully looked at him, reluctant to get his hopes up. But she couldn't lie to Mulder. "Samantha Ann Mulder," she said slowly. "S-A-M." They had argued about SAM before. Scully, desperately clutching at straws, had wanted to believe in the mysterious e-mail. Mulder had been sceptical - for once. What if it was a trap? Now, torn between logic and his own need to believe, his brow puckered. "Why would Samantha conceal her whereabouts on the system? Why would she be so cryptic - why not give us an exact location? And why would she e-mail you, and not me?" Scully considered. "Maybe she was concealing her activities from people at her end, not ours. Maybe that's why she contacted me instead of you. Maybe she doesn't even know exactly where she is, or where the railroad is. That territory isn't mapped, remember. Mulder, if this was a trap, they'd give us more than this." Mulder winced. He had said almost exactly the same thing the last time they'd received a mysterious e-mail. That had led to a group of mysterious women who appeared to be clones, women with green blood that corroded whatever it touched. "I wish you wouldn't use my own arguments against me," he said crossly. Scully grinned at him. "Besides, I was wrong that time. It was a trap." Scully's grin faded. "Touche. All right, let's consider it suspect. But we still have to check it out." Mulder nodded. "Okay. But let me put Frohike on it, all right? I don't think it's a good idea for you to go walking into what is quite possibly a trap." "You're getting protective again," she reminded him good-naturedly. She was right, but Mulder shook his head. "It's more practical than that. What if you walk into this, and it is a trap, and you get taken again. Do you want to risk them taking you and finding out that you're pregnant?" Scully bit her lip. "Of course not." "Then you'll let me hand it over to Frohike and stay out of it?" It was against the grain, but he was right. The risk was too great. Scully hesitated a final moment, then said softly, "Okay." To be continued...