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Offspring *R* 4/5
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 (4/5)
Deslea R. Judd
drjudd@primus.com.au
drjudd@catholic.org
Copyright 1996
Six
Assistant Director's Office
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, D.C.
February 10, 1997
Scully sat down in front of Skinner, awkwardly. She
moved with a decided waddle now, trenchcoat or not. She was
beginning to wonder if she should induce birth early. She didn't
think she was going to make it through her last months
undetected, and she didn't want to draw attention to herself by
taking leave.
"You're going to love this," she said.
Skinner looked at her, his face a question mark. "Do I
really want to hear this?"
"We've got an I.D. on the genetic mother."
He raised a querying eyebrow.
"Samantha Mulder."
Skinner rested his head in his hands with a groan. "I
definitely didn't want to hear that."
"It's something," she pointed out, her tone less than
convincing.
"Not as much of a something as some housewife in
downtown D.C. who we could locate and ask questions. It's
about as helpful, in fact, as the alien DNA hypothesis." He
paused. "Does Mulder know?"
Scully nodded. "He's practically beside himself. God
forbid she looks anything like Samantha. He'll probably build
her her very own castle and guard her around the clock."
"Not necessarily a bad idea, in the circumstances."
She became pensive. "Walter, I honestly don't know
where we go from here. We can't afford to be too direct in our
approach. If we show our hand, they may figure out that I did, in
fact, become pregnant. If they suspected that, it wouldn't be that
difficult for them to find out. We could follow up the general
abductions angle, but I still don't see how we can find out what
we need to without showing our hand."
Skinner frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "What
about the Samantha Mulder question?"
Scully shook her head decisively. "No. If there was
anything there worth following up on, Mulder would have found
it already." She went on cautiously, "There is the railroad -
presumably it went somewhere or came from somewhere that
would shed light on things - but God only knows how long that
thing is. And it's not as though it's mapped. We could spend
years following up all the tracks, even if this e-mail checks out
and we can limit this thing to North Dakota. And if it doesn't,
Mulder and I have found secret Government railroads all over the
country. If they all link up, as they may, we could be there
forever." She paused. "There's something else to consider, too.
Possibly everything we need is on the train itself - the one you
found me on in the first place. In that case, it might come down
to finding that - and we have no way of identifying which one it
was, assuming as seems likely that there are many. It's probably
not impossible, but it's an enormous task."
"There is one other possibility."
"Which is?"
Skinner met her gaze. "Give it up."
//"What?"// Scully demanded, appalled.
"Dana, it doesn't matter. What happened to you can't be
changed. And we certainly can't stop it from happening again.
It's bigger than any of us. They'll kill us all before they'll let that
happen. What's the point?"
She regarded him for a moment. She knew what he was
saying. As little as a year ago she would hve agreed with him.
But-
"Walter, no. I need to know what they're trying to do,
and why. I need some answers so that I know what future this
child faces, and what I need to protect her from."
"We," he corrected. "What //we// need to protect her
from. I'm not convinced that knowing will help, but all right."
He paused. "Do we get Mulder in on this?"
Scully was puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well, of course he knows what's going on," Skinner
explained, "and we have used him as a sounding board; but do
we get him in on the legwork? Keep in mind, Dana, that this is
strictly unofficial. I can fudge your working times to some
extent, but a lot of this will be done on our own time. If your
legitimate caseload drops, you risk drawing attention to yourself.
You and I have an interest in this, but for Mulder - well, it's a lot
to ask, that's all. He'd say yes, I know that; but is it fair?"
Scully thought a moment. "Walter, Mulder and I aren't
on those terms. We're a team. If he needs help, I give it; and if I
need help, he gives it. That's just how it is." She paused.
"Besides, he's involved now, too. Samantha's in it."
"//You're// in it, Dana. For Mulder, that would be
enough."
3170 West 53 Rd, #35
Annapolis, Maryland
March 11, 1997
Scully flicked halfheartedly through the multitudes of
options her television offered.
It was unfortunate that the choices, though plentiful,
were so abysmal. The price, she reflected, of unpredictable
hours. She didn't really know why she subscribed to cable at all.
Scully was in her seventh month of pregnancy - thirty
weeks, to be precise. She carried small, and she had gained only
thirteen pounds; but she felt every one of them. She felt heavy
and lethargic and utterly apathetic. Now, she sat indifferently
before the weather channel with a small bucket of ice cream.
Now and then Quiqueg came and whined for a little, and she
gave him a taste from her finger with an indulgent smile,
smirking at the knowledge that she would normally no more
share her food with an animal than she would draw her own
blood with a dirty syringe.
That thought reminded her that she hadn't noted the
progress of her pregnancy for a while. She set down the ice
cream and stretched awkwardly over the side of the sofa. She
opened a drawer. She withdrew a manila folder which served, in
the absence of an obstetrician, for her antenatal record. It had
the name //Katherine A'Court// emblazoned across it. It was a
code, and a flimsy one at that: Katherine was her own middle
name, A'Court her grandmother's maiden name. But had she
genuinely thought her home might be searched, she would not
have kept it there at all. She drew a pen and began to write.
//Patient, F, 30/52, shows signs of mild edema in the
extremities. Weight gain within normal limits (lower end of
scale, see chart). Ligament pain. UTI has responsed to antibiotic
therapy.//
She flipped a page to her weight chart. She thought a
moment for the scale's reading that morning, then entered it. She
set the chart down and went to the hallway for her medical bag.
She brought it back and removed a sphygmomanometer,
snapping the leather bag closed again. Scully opened the grey
metal casing, wrapped the gray cuff around her arm and inflated
it with her other hand. Taking her stethoscope, she placed it over
the crook of her elbow and listened for the return of the blood
flow through the artery as she awkwardly released the air from
the cuff. She watched the mercury column drop as she waited for
the strange flowing sound.
It came sooner than she expected. She glanced up at
the mercury and automatically noted the reading. Then she
stopped and was utterly still.
After a long moment, she released the air from the cuff
and repeated the process. Nervously, she checked the reading.
Scully removed the cuff and set down the gray metal
casing with a clatter on the coffee table. She moved to the
bathroom with a calm she didn't feel. She mounted the scale.
//She had gained three pounds since that morning.//
Scully went back to her bag and fumbled around inside
it. She drew a specimen jar and a small cylindrical container.
She went to the bathroom and returned to the loungeroom a
couple of minutes later, the jar full. She dipped a small
cardboard stick from the container into the plastic recepticle.
Her brow creased as she waited, her gaze fixed determinedly (if
heedlessly) on the television.
After a minute, she looked down at the cardboard in her
hand and matched it against the legend on the container. Slowly,
she set down the dipstick and the jar, took up her folder, and
began to write.
//21:20: Patient has gained three pounds since reading
at 06:30. Urine shows high concentration of protein. BP
165/110. No noticeable change in edema. No visual
disturbances. Severe acute toxemia is indicated. BP at 03:30 to
confirm diagnosis as per American Committee on Maternal
Welfare guidelines. Patient has no history of hypertensive
disease.//
With deliberate slowness, Scully gathered together her
chart, a pen, and the sphygmomanometer, turned off the
television and the lights, and went to bed without undressing.
She set her alarm for 3:30am and settled down to wait.
It was a long time before she slept.
3170 West 53 Rd, #35
Annapolis, Maryland
March 12, 1997
//3:45: BP 170/110. Diagnosis: Severe acute toxemia
(pre-eclampsia). Patient's urinary output decreased. Increased
edema of hands and wrists. Severe headache. Clinician believes
patient is progressing to eclampsia. Treatment by magnesium
sulfate to reduce BP. Steriod therapy to maximise foetal lung
development. Induced delivery within twenty-four hours.
Attempt will be made to deliver vaginally. Patient accepts risks
involved. Cesarean section only if necessitated by foetal or
maternal distress.//
Scully looked at what she had written for a moment.
Then, she picked up the telephone. She dialled a Baltimore
number.
"St John's Hospital, can I help you?"
"Karen Koettig, please."
The response was swift and annoyingly chirpy. No-
one, Scully thought, had any business being so happy at ten to
four in the morning. "Dr Koettig is not on duty right now, can
someone else help?"
Scully thought a moment. She could try her home; but
then, knowing Karen, she probably wouldn't be there. "Could
you page her? It's an emergency. My name is Dr Dana Scully.
She has the number."
"I'll make sure she knows."
Scully rang off.
It was about two hours later that Dr Karen Koettig
arrived at Scully's apartment. She took one look at Scully and
said gently, "You should be in hospital."
Scully nodded. "I know that." She was silent a
moment. "Did you get everything?"
"I did, and all I can say is that you're lucky it was four
in the morning. Do you know how hard it is to sneak out a
humidicrib? I mean, we're not talking promo post-it pads, here."
She suddenly felt ashamed. "I should have thought
about the risks to you, Karen. I'm sorry."
Karen snorted. "Don't be silly. How many essays of
yours did I plagiarise, Dana?" Suddenly serious, she said gently,
"We've known each other too long to worry about that sort of
thing - even if it has been ages since you've been in touch."
"It's been a rough year."
"So I gathered." Her voice became serious. "Are you
going to tell me what's wrong? Why you won't go to the
hospital? And what the big secrecy deal is? Dana, you must
know that giving birth prematurely with toxemia at home is
tantamount to suicide."
Scully hung her head, suddenly exhausted. "Karen,
wait until we have everything set up. I'll tell you what I can
then."
Karen Koettig was a tall, athletic woman with a mane of
chestnut hair tied back severely in a no-nonsense ponytail. She
wore a sensible suit and sensible shoes, but her makeup was
heavy and her jewellry abundant.
As Scully had expected, she had interrupted Karen in a
night out on the town. Some things never changed. In med
school, it had been Karen who just scraped by after too many late
nights and too little study, and Scully who had methodically
planned her time, going out partying only at times which she had
allocated for the purpose at the beginning of semester. Scully
had emerged valedictorian. Karen had always joked that Scully
could have lived as she did and she as Scully did, and the result
would have been the same.
For all that, though, Karen was a fine doctor. One of
the most respected OBGYNs on the East coast, she taught and
was often invited to speak at conferences. She had shot to the
head of the department at St John's at a young age. Karen was
not an academic. She was something better than that: she was
an expert in the real thing. And she wasn't afraid to take risks for
real people. For her baby's sake, Scully thought, that was just as
well.
About half an hour later, they were sitting in Scully's
bedroom. There were towels draped over the bed, and Scully
was sitting up, an IV protruding from the back of her hand.
Karen topped up the magnesium sulfate. "We'll check on that in
a couple of hours," she said. "I'd like not to induce, in the
circumstances, if at all possible; but if your blood pressure
doesn't start to fall I'll give you some dinoprostone to start the
ball rolling. Oxytocin is contraindicated in pre-eclampsia.
We've got the steriod treatment underway, so your baby will be
in the best possible position for delivery if we need to do it."
Scully looked up at her friend, gratefully. "Thank you,
Karen. I couldn't have done this alone, even if I'd had the
equipment and the medication."
The other woman gave her a look which clearly read,
I'm-doing-this-against-my-better-judgement. "I don't like it,
Dana. And I like it even less that you won't tell me why."
Scully regarded her for a moment. This woman, who
she hadn't seen in over a year, had endangered her job and driven
from Baltimore in the middle of the night on a moment's notice
to help her. She deserved - well, she deserved //something.//
She was silent as she tried to think of the best way of
approaching it.
Finally, she said slowly, "Karen, there's a limit to what I
can tell you for your own safety. I will tell you that it's to do
with my work with the Bureau." She paused, then went on
cautiously, "I was - well, I was involved in some medical
experiments - and not altogether voluntarily. I was also exposed
to massive amounts of radiation three months ago in a separate
incident - an accident at a nuclear power plant. The Kuringai
accident."
"The DKS case," Karen murmured, referring to the
initials by which her case had been referred to in the //Lancet.//
"Dana Katherine Scully."
Scully nodded. "There are people who would be very
interested to know that I was having a child. I can't afford for
there to be any paperwork which might indicate that. That's why
I can't go into hospital. I couldn't even go to antenatal visits - I've
been monitoring myself." She paused. "There's something else."
Karen raised an eyebrow with a do-I-want-to-hear-this
air. "What?"
"I had genetic tests. There were certain - anomalies -
which raise questions about the effects of the experiments on the
baby." Scully hesitated, searching for a way to convey the fears
she harboured without expressing the panic she felt. "Karen, I
don't know what this child will look like. If she's - different -
then I don't want there to be people wandering about with that
kind of knowledge." Scully paused. "Besides - I want to be
alone when I see her for the first time...when I know. I wouldn't
have had anyone with me at all; but with the toxemia, I can't take
the risk on going into convulsions or coma without backup."
"So you've been hiding this pregnancy all along?" Karen
demanded, appalled.
Scully nodded. "Thank God I'm small. I've been on
active duty all along. I couldn't take the risk on drawing
attention to myself by requesting a transfer to desk duty."
"No-one knows?"
Scully stretched out a little. "My partner, Mulder, and
the Assistant Director, Walter - they know. That's all."
Karen's voice was penetrating, incredulous. "Not even
your mom? Your brothers and sister?"
"Not Mom or my brothers. Melissa-" Scully broke off.
"Melissa's dead. They killed her. They were trying to kill me."
She looked away, blinking suddenly. She still couldn't bear to
think of Melissa, who had been killed for being mistaken for her.
She still felt a heavy burden of guilt because she had been away
from her apartment after arranging to meet Melissa there.
Maybe, if she'd only been there-
//Stop it, Dana!//
Karen touched her hand, careful to avoid the drip. "I'm
sorry, Dana. It's bad, isn't it?"
Scully turned to face her. "Yes, it's bad."
"Can your boss do anything?"
"Walter? He would if he could. But it goes a lot higher
than that." //How high?// she suddenly wondered. "The
project, I would say, doesn't even exist on paper. It would be
paid for out of blind Congressional funds - funds that don't need
to be accounted for, or which are allocated to a dummy project.
Even the Bureau doesn't count for much when defense is
involved. I think that's what the experiments are about. I think
they're to do with biological warfare."
Karen frowned. "What about your partner? What does
he do? Could he do anything?"
Scully was puzzled. "What does he- oh! I see. Mulder
isn't my boyfriend. He's my partner at the Bureau. Walter - I
don't know how you'd describe Walter and I. But he's the baby's
father."
"He's the father and he isn't here?" Karen demanded,
protectively.
Scully looked away guiltily. "He doesn't know. As far
as anyone's concerned I'm working from home today."
"You don't want him here. Why?"
"I told you. I want to be alone when I know."
Karen became suddenly angry. "And what if she isn't
normal, Dana? What are you going to do then - drown her?
Being alone isn't going to change anything. It's not like you to
be superstitious."
"It isn't superstition!" Scully snapped defensively. "If
she isn't normal, I'll tell Walter and Mulder and we'll hide her, or
get her surgery, or do whatever we have to do to protect her. But
I don't want to help anyone else cope until I've coped myself."
Her anger died as quickly as it had arisen. "That must sound very
selfish."
Karen shook her head. "No. Not at all." She added
pointedly, "But it sounds lonely."
Scully bowed her head. "Please don't, Karen. Not
now."
"All right."
The phone rang.
She touched her side, reaching automatically for her
cellular phone. With her eyes, she acknowledged Karen's smirk
as she mouthed, //Yuppie,// and shamefacedly pulled the
cordless phone from its cradle. They had both become
everything they had sworn at university they wouldn't. "Scully."
"Scully? It's Mulder. Listen, I've had some news on the
railroad question." He was breathless with excitement.
Scully's voice was peremptory. "Tell me."
"Frohike, it seemed, got a little bit intrigued after we
got off the train that night. Quite aside from our asking for help,
he's been watching the railroad, at random moments, ever since -
and tracking any discussions about Government territories on the
Net, too. Last night he hit paydirt. He got a lead from one of his
Internet buddies about a branch line. He followed it cross-
country to a waste area north of Mercer, North Dakota. He
found a warehouse of some description. He says he's found
someone with some interesting information, but he won't tell me
anything over the phone."
Scully looked up as Karen took her blood pressure.
Her expression said it all. She held up the tube of dinoprostone.
Scully nodded, and took the applicator from her. Dinoprostone
was applied to the cervix intravaginally, and that was one job
Scully intended to do herself. Karen left the room.
"Scully?"
"What, Mulder?" she asked, preoccupied.
"We've got to get over there. I've booked us a flight."
"I can't go. It's either going to have to wait or you'll
have to go alone."
Mulder was stunned. "Scully, you don't seem to
understand-"
She snapped, "Mulder, I understand that it's got to wait.
I'm sorry." Her voice was strained. God, it worked so quickly!
She stiffened, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just trust me,"
she said through gritted teeth.
He was silent for a moment. "Something's wrong, isn't
it?"
"Nothing's wrong," she said, annoyed. Damn him, how
did he know these things?
"I'm coming over."
"Mulder, don't do that- dammit!"
She threw the phone across the room in uncharacteristic
temper. He'd hung up.
3170 West 53 Rd, #35
Annapolis, Maryland
March 12, 1997
There was a knock at the door. Scully shook her head
at Karen.
"Scully? I know you're in there. Your car's still there.
Scully?"
Mulder rapped on the door again, this time more
insistently. "Damn it, Scully, what the hell's going on? You
never work at home." There was a rattling of keys. "I know you,
Scully, and I know when something's-" the door burst open "-
wrong."
He stopped short and looked through the open doorway
to Scully's bedroom. He took in the towels, the IV equipment,
the humidicrib, and the brunette stranger. He stared in
comprehension at Scully, who was pacing the floor in a thin, old
nightgown, which had damp patches of perspiration here and
there. "My God."
"I have days when I regret giving you keys to my
apartment, Mulder," Scully said wearily. She went on, her voice
crisp and calm (far calmer than she felt), "I have toxemia. We
have to deliver today or neither of us will survive. This is Karen
Koettig. She's an old friend from med school. She works at St
John's, Baltimore. I guess you could say she's paying the price
for past transgressions."
"Pinching clothes, essays, and the odd boyfriend, to be
precise. The punishment hardly fits the crime," Karen rejoined,
but her tone was absent as she administered something into the
IV.
"Fox Mulder, good to meet you," he said, just as
absently. He turned to Scully, who was still pacing with a
monotony which for some reason annoyed him. "How much
does she know?"
"Enough to know to keep quiet; not enough to hurt
her." She stopped still and grimaced for agonising minutes; but
she did not cry out. Mulder watched her, helplessly; but when it
was over, he went to her side and helped her to the bed. Scully
didn't protest, or say she was fine; and this more than anything
frightened him.
Karen glanced at her watch. "Long and close together,"
she said of Scully's contractions. "It won't be long. Mulder, did
you say your name was?" He nodded. "Make yourself useful
and get her some ice in a glass to suck on."
"I'm hungry," Scully said suddenly, impulsively, though
she knew better.
Karen's tone was scornful. "With that much medication
in your system? Not on your life. You'd throw up immediately.
Besides, I want an empty stomach in case we have to do a
caesarean."
Mulder groaned. It was real, then. He knew better than
to consult Scully on this one. Instead, he went to the living room
and called Skinner.
Skinner arrived at eleven thirty. Mulder was sitting
behind her, massaging her back. When he arrived, he gave
Scully a reproachful look. "Dana, why didn't you let me know?"
She looked up at him, her face hot with shame, but she
didn't offer an answer. She didn't need to. She'd never spoken of
it, but he knew she was terribly frightened of what this child
might be. He relented and went to her side. Mulder discreetly
rose, saying he'd get some more ice, and left.
Their eyes locked for a long moment, then finally,
Scully leaned forward against him. He held her tightly. "Are
you okay?" he demanded gently, knowing even as he spoke that
it was a stupid question.
She shook her head. "I'm terrified," she admitted
quietly.
"Of the birth, or of what you might find out?" he asked.
He knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it. Mostly,
selfishly, because he was terrified himself.
"Walter, what if Mulder's right? What if she isn't
human? I'm as sceptical as you can be on the alien question, but
that DNA - whatever it was, it wasn't human. What if she's so
//different// that we can't hide her, or protect her? At least
while she's inside me, I know she's safe. What if she isn't
capable of relating to me as her mother? How could we raise
her? What would happen to her?" Scully's voice was shaking.
"Dear God, Walter, what are we going to do?"
Skinner's voice broke. "I don't know, Dana."
"I just don't know."
Scully gave birth an hour and a half later.
It was a much more social event than she had planned,
in the circumstances. For a while, Skinner sat behind her, his
body supporting hers; but then Mulder got squeamish at the
blood and had taken his place, massaging her back. Scully bit
back a smile at that.
Skinner, in the end, delivered their child under Karen's
supervision. Karen herself had respectfully averted her gaze as
the infant was born, talking Skinner through the process.
Skinner lifted the baby onto Scully's stomach. She
took one look at her daughter and broke into tears, suddenly
realising how resigned she had been to every possibility. Mulder
held her tightly.
Her daughter looked completely human.
Dana held out her arms, and Karen quickly cleared the
baby's nose and mouth and delivered her to them. She took the
baby and held her against her breast, still crying.
She looked at her closely. With a head of blonde hair
and a fine covering of down not uncommon in premature babies,
she had a delicately rounded mouth and big, round, dark eyes.
Too round, too dark, she suddenly thought; but she pushed the
thought aside. //Not now.// She ran her palm over the tiny
smooth head and took one of the baby's tiny hands in hers.
"Hello, Baby," she whispered in awe.
Reluctantly, but knowing their time was short, Dana
relinquished the baby to Walter. He held her, his face impassive
as though he didn't quite understand who she was, but then his
expression grew tender, and somehow amazed. For long, long
moments, he stared at this child of his, stunned by emotions
which were outside of his experience.
He suddenly came to himself and gave her to Mulder,
who swallowed hard. Dana wondered how much of his sister
and his father he saw in this child. Mulder had just broken into
a strange, almost sorrowful smile when Karen gently asked for
her. She took her and placed her in the humidicrib.
They sat in a sort of shocked silence for a time, while
Karen tended to the child. Dana reflected with sudden, stupid
hilarity that they were about a minute away from breaking into
floods of tears, all three of them - either that, or an encounter
group session. How strange, she thought, that such an ordinary,
everday, //mundane// experience - however intimate - should
leave them all gasping for breath like a fish suddenly dumped out
of its comfortable watery grave.
Eventually, they dispersed, and Karen tended to Scully's
care. Skinner gave a shaky sigh and went to the kitchen,
supposedly to get some tea. But Scully saw him lean heavily
against the bench before she looked away. When Karen had
finished, Mulder returned and went to the humidicrib and stared
at the tiny creature inside. She watched him with the baby, and a
shadow flitted across her face. Mulder saw it. "What's wrong?"
She gave a weak smile. "It's nothing. It's just-" she
stopped, drawing the sheets closer around her with a sudden
shiver. At his querying look, however, she went on, "I knew she
wouldn't, but somehow I just sort of expected her to have red
hair. Like me and my sister. She doesn't. She's blonde." She
added with difficulty, "Like Samantha."
He looked at her compassionately. "Scully, don't. She's
your child, not Samantha's. God help me for saying this, but if
she's co-operating with these people, she doesn't deserve her.
And even if she isn't helping them voluntarily, you're her mother.
My sister...my sister isn't."
She favoured him with a smile, rose awkwardly, and left
them alone.
She touched his arm. "Walter."
He turned to face her, then pulled her close. "Dana," he
breathed, holding her tightly.
They stayed that way for a long moment, and then broke
apart. "How are you?" he asked, smoothing back her hair.
"Tired, I guess. I'm sort of on a high, though, too."
"I know what you mean." He paused. "I love you,
Dana." It seemed important to tell her.
She nodded in acknowledgement of this. "I love you
too, Walter." She suddenly knew that that was true. "I should
have told you that much sooner."
Walter smiled at her with great tenderness. "I knew.
I've always known." That wasn't strictly true, of course; in those
first few months he had been terribly jealous of her bond with
Mulder, insecure in her feelings for him. But in later months,
that had subsided. He had never articulated it, even to himself;
but somewhere along the line he had realised she loved him too,
and always would. And the fact that in her own way, she loved
Mulder every bit as much, had ceased to matter. The two could
co-exist.
He touched her cheek. "So what now?"
Scully shook her head firmly. "I'm not ready to make
any decisions about the future right now, if that's what you're
asking. I need time. Let's just go with the flow, okay?"
He let it go. He felt as though the enormity of what had
happened that day had erased all the frustrated impatience he'd
held inside these last few months. There was a sort of humility
in it. "All right." Skinner paused. "Have you thought of a
name?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Scully broke into a smile. "I was thinking - maybe
Melissa." They had never dicussed names before. If the truth
were told, they had both been so frightened that she wouldn't live
that they hadn't dared. "Any thoughts on a middle name?"
Skinner nodded slowly. He'd thought of suggesting
Grace at one stage, but- "I don't know how you'll feel about this,
Dana, but did you see the look on Mulder's face when he held
her for the first time?"
She caught his implication at once. "You're thinking
Samantha?"
Warily, not sure if he was overstepping the mark, he
nodded. "In a way, this baby belongs to all three of us."
But Scully's smile grew extraordinarily tender. And she
recognised his unspoken acceptance of the place Mulder had for
her, would always have for her, and she loved him for it. "He'd
like that. He's lost so much-" she broke off. "All right."
"Melissa Samantha it is."
Karen Koettig looked from Skinner to Mulder, and
demanded, "So what now?"
Scully was showering, and then, God willing, she
would sleep. She looked terribly frail...drained. Mulder glanced
warningly at Skinner. Skinner said slowly, "Well, there are
pragmatic issues. We need to find a cover story for the baby.
Dana can't just show up one day with a baby from nowhere. And
she does have to be registered, if only from a point of view of
social security. But she can't be registered as a Scully.
Unfortunately, it's the government we're dealing with, not just
some small community or circle of friends. If it were only that,
we could just say she was the child of a distant relative who had
died or something like that. But of course, that won't do. That's
easy enough to check." He paused. "But there's time to worry
about that later. Karen, Dana and the baby - how are they,
really?"
Karen flicked a chestnut lock over her shoulder,
impatiently. "The baby should be fine. She had an Apgar score
of eight of out ten, which is fairly average for a term baby. For a
premmie, it's excellent. The humidicrib is more of a precaution."
She paused. "People think of it as something which indicates
something is wrong. Often it doesn't. It merely regulates the
environment in which the baby lives - the temperature, which she
just can't do for herself at this stage, and oxygen if necessary,
which in her case isn't indicated." She regarded them a moment,
then went on, "Frankly, this child astounds me. She has some of
the characteristics of a premmie baby, such as down on her body,
and her size; but her lung function and the like seem to be those
of a term baby. Just the same, we can't know for certain the
extent of her survival capabilities in view of her prematurity -
however promising the indications." She paused. "I'd really like
to see her hospitalised; I'll tell you that frankly. At the moment,
she's fine; but if anything were to go wrong, which is not
impossible, she might not survive without help. I can get her into
St John's under a false name if Dana will agree, but the two of
you might need to work on her. There would be no problem with
one of you guarding her - I could say she was the child of a VIP,
maybe a diplomat, and if anything that would eliminate the need
for explanations. Being a Catholic hospital, we don't have quite
the same accountability concerns that go with being funded - at
least not at that admin level."
Both men nodded. Mulder asked, "And Scully?"
"Dana's blood pressure is falling, as is the norm after
birth in pregnancy-related hypertension - which is all toxemia is.
The crisis is over on that level. She is going to have to think
about how she's going to handle the next few days. She's going
to be exhausted. She could, theoretically, go in briefly to work
tomorrow, as long as she took it easy, just so she could be seen
to make an appearance; but I'd like to see her rest for a few days.
She was dangerously close to eclampsia, which could easily have
killed her. She's going to be pretty drained for a while yet. I'll
stay with her until tonight, maybe tomorrow; but a few days and
then three and six weeks after that I want to see her for a
checkup. There are some things which you really can't do
properly yourself, no matter how skilled a doctor you are. And
Dana doesn't have the obstetric experience I have."
Just then, Scully emerged from her bedroom. All three
looked up, and were stunned to see that she was dressed in a
navy suit and the inevitable trenchcoat. Seemingly oblivious to
their scrutiny, she went to the lamp table, opened the slim
drawer, and drew her handgun.
Mulder rose, groaning mentally. The others might not
know what she was planning, but he knew her too well. "Scully,
no."
Her tone was warning, defiant. "Frohike's waiting."
Skinner, taken aback, exclaimed, "Dana, please! It's too
soon-"
Scully looked at him, implacable. "Frohike's waiting,"
she repeated. "And I need to know." She glanced over at the
baby. "I need to know - for her."
"What about the baby?"
Scully's response was crisp. "The baby must be
admitted to hospital. There is nothing about her appearance to
arouse suspicion, and to keep her here in that case is too risky. I
don't want to chance her having problems without intensive care
facilities, not now that it's unnecessary for her to do so."
Karen spoke for the first time. "I can arrange that. I'd
already raised the possibility."
"Of course you had. Any doctor would." Scully went
to Skinner then. "Walter, would you go with the baby to St
John's? I don't want her to be alone, and I just can't stay." Her
voice was tender - regretful.
Skinner started to protest, but Karen touched his arm.
"Don't bother," she said gently. "It's useless."
He looked at Scully. "All right," he said quietly.
"Surely you don't approve of this?" Mulder demanded
of Karen and Skinner, mutinously.
Karen snapped, "Of course I don't. But Dana knows the
risks. You can't stand in the way of a mother who has to do
what's right for her child. Believe me, I have to try and do it
almost every day. Fortunately the stakes are not usually so
high."
Scully looked on, suddenly amused. "Are any of you
going to talk about me as though I were in the room?"
Karen turned back to her and took her hands. "Dana, if
you start to hemmorrage, or you develop a fever, or //anything//
untoward at all I want you to drop everything and come home.
All right?"
Scully nodded. "I promise."
"And you'll come for a checkup as soon as you get
back?"
"Absolutely."
"And you do know you're utterly insane?"
"Utterly."
"All right." She leaned forward and embraced her.
Scully smiled at her, then turned to Mulder.
"Well, are you going to drive, or do I have to do that,
too?"
Mulder looked at the others with an expression of
surrender, then followed her out the door.
Seven
Neonatal Intensive Care Unit
St John of God Hospital
Baltimore, Maryland
March 12, 1997
Skinner and Karen Koettig arrived at St John's Hospital,
Baltimore, at four in the afternoon.
No sooner had baby Melissa been settled into the
neonatal intensive care unit and Skinner ensconsed at her side,
when a nurse came rushing in. "Dr Koettig," she said in quiet
but urgent tones. "You're needed in surgery. It's Emily Trent."
"Surgery? What the hell happened?"
"Emergency caesar. They think they've lost the baby."
Karen motioned to another nurse. "I'll fill out the
paperwork on this admission when I get back. She's premmie -
thirty weeks - but seems fine. She shouldn't need anything
special." Without waiting for an answer, she bustled out.
It was some time later that Skinner, who had been
trying to read rather than lose himself in his child (and was
losing the battle utterly), looked up at the sound of footsteps.
Karen had returned.
"I might have a solution to your problem."
There was no joy or triumph in her voice, however.
Karen Koettig sounded (and looked) defeated. She pulled a
chair up alongside Skinner's and slumped into it, dejectedly.
He waited until she was ready to go on. Finally, she
said in a gravelly voice, "You never really get used to it." She
shivered a little. "Losing patients, I mean. I had a seventeen year
old girl in there. A runaway. Homeless. She was seven months
pregnant when an oncologist friend of mine contacted me. She'd
been found collapsed and brought to his hospital, where she was
diagnosed as suffering from uterine cancer. It must have been
hereditary for her to get it at that age. It was exacerbated by the
pregnancy, which wasn't picked up because she didn't seek
antenatal care. Wasn't in a position to, of course. I brought her
here when his hospital threw her out for not being able to pay.
I'm not supposed to, because she's got no earthly way of paying.
I don't care what she can and can't pay, Walter; I'm not throwing
a homeless, terminally ill child out on the street."
He bowed his head. "She's dead?"
Karen shook her head. "Not yet. There was foetal
distress and we did a caesar and hysterectomy. The child's gone.
She's doomed, but she insisted on carrying to term to give the
child a chance." Skinner shuddered. This was too like Grace. It
cut too close to the bone. "I would never say this to her, but it's
just as well. The child was half-caste. There's no family to take
it when she dies, and half-castes don't fare very well on the
adoption market."
Skinner suddenly saw where she was headed. "You
haven't filled out the paperwork on the infant, have you?"
"Not yet. I suggest you go and talk to her. She's awake,
though pretty cut up. I'll stay with Melissa." Skinner rose.
"Walter?" He turned.
"Be gentle with her."
Route 47
South-East Mercer, North Dakota
March 12, 1997
"Scully-"
She pre-empted him. "If this is going to be a protective
speech of concern, Mulder, you can save it. I know what I'm
doing, and I know I'm going to pay for it later. But it has to be
done."
"You look like you're paying for it now."
Scully looked pale and drawn. Her face was deadly
white and her normally brilliant emerald eyes were a dull,
washed out sea-green. She stopped him to go to the bathroom
every half-hour (which she laughed off as normal after birth, and
he supposed she'd know; but it still worried him), and spent most
of the drive drowsing. He thought being separated from her
daughter so soon must be excruciating. Her face whenever he
mentioned the baby confirmed it.
She had wanted to fly all the way, but that Mulder had
vetoed. Frohike knew that they had been delayed and would
wait as long as he had to. Purchasing the plane tickets would
have been difficult as they had no way of explaining the
expenditure - not that Skinner would have questioned the
purchase, of course. These were the arguments which he had
offered, but what it really came down to was that he didn't want
her leaping into whatever was waiting for them in Mercer
without so much as a sleep after a gruelling induced labour. It
wasn't so much out of concern for her delicate system (although
she did look frail) as common sense: if they got into a dangerous
situation with her in her current condition, they might not get out
again. Scully had perhaps acknowledged the wisdom of this; for
although she looked at him, frankly disbelieving, as he raised his
admittedly weak objections, she had not argued.
So they had flown as far as Minneapolis, where a not-
particularly-interesting X-File which he had been shelving for
weeks awaited them. After reporting with the local authorities in
a manner which was completely token, they had taken a room
and a car, and driven north-west to Mercer. They arrived shortly
after nightfall.
Frohike met them in a greasy diner on the outskirts of
the town. He bustled towards them, all excitement. He looked at
Scully and his face fell. "You look - as lovely as always, but you
look like you've been through the wringer!"
Scully bit back a smile. She looked anything but
lovely, but she supposed that that was Frohike's awkward attempt
at tact. "It's been a rough day." She paused. "I'm fine, Frohike.
What have you got?"
"I don't know if this means anything to either of you,
but I've got a woman who claims she's your sister, Mulder."
Mulder's eyes widened. "I didn't even know you had a sister, you
secretive bastard. Pretty, too."
Trying for levity, Mulder said, "Yeah, and that's exactly
why I didn't tell you about her." It didn't work. His voice tight
with anxiety, he said quietly, "Tell me."
Frohike shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I got a
tipoff and came here to follow up on a branch line. I found a
train shed at the terminus with an adjacent old warehouse - that's
what it looks like outside. Inside there are labs, and a bunch of -
well, you'd have to call them cells. They're nice enough
apartments, but there's no doorknobs on the inside. There was
only one train in the shed, and it was equipped with a full
surgical setup - theatre, rudimentary intensive care and recovery,
and nitrogen storage. I thought they were into organs at first, but
I looked in, and all I could see were petri dishes." Mulder and
Scully exchanged glances. "I don't know what was in them.
There was a computer which probably had a database of the
contents - they were catalogued by number - but I heard voices
and I had to get off. Just as well, because it pulled out a few
minutes later." Frohike paused. "I went back into the
warehouse. Security was fairly lax. There are a lot of guards,
mind you; but they're complacent. It's too isolated for them to
have much in the way of trouble, I suppose. I went into one
office and found a woman rifling through a filing cabinet, and
she was as terrified as I was - she wasn't supposed to be there
either. I asked her name, and she said she was Samantha Mulder.
That's when I told her I was working with you."
Mulder nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak.
Scully asked, "What else did she say?"
Frohike shifted uneasily. "She said she'd been in that
facility, and others like it, for most of her life. She knew how to
get out of her cell, move around the warehouse and use the
computers to find things out, but she didn't know enough about
the area outside the warehouse to risk an escape attempt.
Apparently she tried once elsewhere and paid pretty dearly for it.
She said she did once manage to make some sort of arrangement
with some women who needed to contact you themselves, but
something went wrong and the women were killed." Mulder
bowed his head, remembering the woman who had claimed to be
his sister. She had been some sort of genetically engineered
clone. Once he had hated her for lying to him, but that had faded
over time. She had redeemed herself by willingly exchanging
herself for Scully in a hostage situation, ultimately being killed
herself. And she had led him to the other clones, who would
have helped him find her had they, too, not been killed.
Frohike continued. "I tried to convince her to come
with me to you, but she wouldn't. She said there were others she
wanted to get out and she wanted you to come to her - and maybe
help her if it was safe to do so. She's waiting now."
Mulder nodded. "All right. Let's go."
Scully took his arm. "Mulder, what if it's a trap?"
He looked at her. "Frohike got in and lived to tell the
tale," he protested.
"And maybe Frohike isn't who they want," she
countered. "What if it's me? Or you?"
Frohike cleared his throat. "Miss Mulder said this
might come up. She said to tell you the two of you were playing
Stratego the night she left."
"Anyone could have known that," Scully said. "It's in
your second lot of hypnotherapy notes, Mulder; and it was also
posted as an addendum to her file."
"She said she was winning."
Mulder's eyes widened. "Only she and I knew that," he
said softly. "No-one else - not even the hypnotherapist." He
turned to Scully. "I have to do this, Scully, you know that."
She nodded, suddenly resigned. "I know. And I'm with
you. But for God's sake, promise me you won't do anything
rash."
"I promise," he said readily.
"Liar," she accused. "Come on, let's go."
A Warehouse
Unmapped U.S. Government Territory
North Dakota
March 13, 1997
They found her in a disused office in the bowels of the
building.
Mulder drew in his breath when he saw her. Scully
took his hand for a moment, squeezed it gently.
She looked identical to the woman who had claimed to
be his sister so long ago. With a mane of wavy blonde hair and
laughing blue eyes, she reminded Mulder of photographs of his
mother when she was young, before his father had taken the light
away.
He stepped towards her involuntarily, but Scully
grabbed his arm, preventing him from going to her. "How do we
know you're not another clone?" she asked evenly, ignoring
Frohike's confused glance. Her tone was not so much
confrontational as conversational.
The woman smiled indulgently. "Thank God you've got
someone looking after you, Fox," she laughed. She picked up a
letter opener from the desk and stabbed the back of her hand
viciously. She held it up.
The blood dripping down it was red.
Mulder broke away then, and went to her, throwing his
arms around her, laughing. Scully held her breath, waiting for a
shot to ring out or for him to drop to the floor from some evil
injection, but it didn't happen. Unbelievably, it didn't happen.
The woman was laughing and crying and saying his name.
It was really her.
It was impossible to believe. After all this time, all
these trials, it was as simple as walking into a building and
seeing her and calling her name. Scully didn't know if she'd
expected fireworks or a UFO launch, but somehow, the moment
was too important, too special, to be so mundane. It was the
same feeling she'd had after she'd given birth to Melissa.
Scully watched them in amazement for long, long
moments. It was only when Frohike turned to her in concern that
she realised she was crying, too. A little shaken at her own
response, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and went
to them. She barely noticed when Frohike said something about
wanting to check out the area, and discreetly slipped away.
Automatically, she pulled off her scarf and bound
Samantha's wounded hand. Samantha gave her hand just as
automatically, still staring at Mulder. Mulder was cradling his
sister's face in his hands, tears streaming unashamedly down his
cheeks. Scully was entranced at the whole dynamic of it, the
love between the two of them. The bond between her and
Mulder was such that she felt his joy as acutely as he did, if that
were possible.
Trying not to give way again (was this a postnatal
hormonal thing? she wondered idly), she finished with
Samantha's hand and started to move away.
Mulder seemed to come to himself then. "Scully, come
back. Samantha, this is-"
She finished for him. "Special Agent Dana Scully. I
know." She turned to Scully. "In case you hadn't guessed, I'm
SAM." The way she said it seemed to imply uppercase letters.
"I guessed," Scully replied, conveying her
understanding.
Samantha broke away from Mulder then. "Come," she
said urgently. "We have a lot to discuss."
A Warehouse
Unmapped U.S. Government Territory
North Dakota
March 13, 1997
A few minutes later, they sat in Samantha's cell. It was
safe there, she explained; she had doctored the surveillance
camera so that the security guards only ever saw a repetitive tape
of her doing routine tasks. Scully gathered that Samantha's years
in custody had left her with more skills than winning at Patience.
Frohike, she said, knew where to find them when he wanted to.
Mulder was breathless with excitement. "Samantha, we
have to get you out of here."
She gave him a gentle smile. "Your friend told you it
wasn't as simple as that, Fox. There are others here, too. I have
to get them out. I would prefer your help, but I will understand if
you feel the risk is too great."
Mulder looked at her, incredulously. "Don't be silly,
Samantha. Who are they?" he asked.
Samantha hesitated, shooting Scully a glance. "They're
abductees. Like Dana."
"//How// like Dana?" he asked, automatically repeating
her words. Scully reflected that she didn't think she'd ever heard
him use her name - even about her, much less to her.
Samantha hesitated once more, but finally, she
admitted, "They're pregnant. All of them. They only bring them
here if they get pregnant - otherwise they let them go." She
looked at Dana, piercingly. "They wondered if you got pregnant,
since you got away before they could find out. They watched
you for a while, and decided you didn't. But I wondered." She
paused. "I see by your face that you did."
Scully met the other woman's gaze for a long moment,
trying to decide whether or not to trust her. Finally, she nodded.
"She was born this morning."
"She? It was a girl?"
Wordlessly, she nodded, suddenly frightened. She was
sitting here with her baby's mother, and she was frightened.
Finding her voice, she said tremorously, "Samantha, what do you
know about all this?"
"I know most of it," Samantha replied. "I'm something
of a computer hacker, as you've seen. As you probably realise, a
number of projects are going on, all to do with alien genetic
material. There were the cloning experiments, which created
alien clones of humans; and Fox, you came across the results of
those. There have also been human clones and alien-human
hybrids, and a few experiments with the morphing aliens, as
well." She paused. "I and a small number of others have been
the basis of these experiments. We have been lucky in that we
have been well treated, because we are the centre of the
experiments. Others, such as the hybrids and the pregnant
women, have often not been so lucky. When an experiment does
not work as planned, terminal force is often ordered." Mulder
winced, remembering a trainload of alien-human corpses he had
once found. They had been viciously executed.
Samantha went on. "I have no doubt that other extra-
terrestrial related testing is occuring, but that is outside of my
knowledge. The various genetic tests and experiments have all
been with a view to warfare, both nuclear and biological. Their
immune systems are different and they have a capacity to
withstand radiation. Their craft and other debris from their
planet emit it, and they are capable of doing so themselves at
will, I believe." Her brow creased. "I don't think they're trying to
utilise the radioactive qualities themselves - more the capacity to
withstand radiation. The idea is twofold - one, to create a breed
which are capable of fighting in nuclear or germ war conditions,
and two (and I gather this has become the primary aim in the last
decade) to create a breed which will survive such war, by
engineering human genes to incorporate the survival
characteristics of the aliens."
Mulder spoke. "How long has this been going on?"
"Decades," Samantha responded. "Understand, it's a
long process. First, they thought that to utilise these qualities,
the hybrids and clones needed to be almost entirely alien. And
genetic engineering was in its most primitive stages." She
paused. "They found that the early hybrids were too alien.
Rebellion was a problem because they had those other, less
desirable alien traits - such as high level psi, the ability to emit
radiation, extraordinary intelligence, and so on. Later, they tried
cloning, then engineering in various ways to create more human
hybrids." She paused. "The early hybrids, which were mostly
alien, were incubated in alien mothers. They found that human
mothers miscarried. They thought it was an immune response,
but they could never correct it. Later hybrids, who were
increasingly human, were carried by humans. Most of them also
miscarried, but there have been a few successes. The human
mothers seem to have an increased complication rate -
hypertension, placenta praevia, gestational diabetes, and the like.
They don't know why. As I presume you found, the gestation
period is shorter, too; because the alien gestation period is only
six to seven months." Scully started in sudden comprehension.
That was why Melissa's lung function was that of a term infant.
It also explained her toxemia despite a lack of history of
hypertension in herself or her family. "The hybrids, who now
tend to be 40-60% human, are usually alien in appearance. Their
immune qualities and so on are quite satisfactory, however; and
ten years ago, that would have been enough. But now that
human survival in as complete a form as possible is the primary
aim, they are attempting to reduce the alien content further,
giving human appearance and as great a human DNA as possible
- not to mention increasing the rate of successful pregnancy.
Tests are ongoing."
She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but she had to.
"What do you know about the tests on me?" Scully demanded.
Samantha turned to face her. "Human ova - mine - with
alien splicing at a human-alien ratio of 3:1. The sperm, I believe,
came from one of the clones, with human-alien ratio of 2:3. The
resulting child should have been a little over 50% human. They
tried the clones for the alien content with the hope of overcoming
the problem of human appearance. They haven't succeeded
previously with such a combination, however; the foetuses seem
to have the same sort of blood as the clones - green and acidic, as
you've seen. The mothers miscarry - again, an immune response.
One mother gave birth, but came in contact with the infant's
blood in childbirth and died. The child, in turn, had some sort of
immune response to the mother's blood and also died."
Scully shuddered.
"But you survived," Samantha said, awed. "And so did
the baby - didn't she?" she added, hurriedly.
She nodded. "I became pregnant with your ovum, but
not the clone's sperm. Walter, my partner-" she paused
diplomatically (and how strange it was to call Walter her partner!
Mulder was her partner. Walter was - well, Walter) "-um, beat it
there." Mulder smirked. //Adolescent,// she reproached
mentally. "Melissa looks entirely human, and her blood seems
normal. DNA testing has shown the splicing you refer to. She's
about 87.5% human."
"DNA testing?" Samantha queried.
Mulder answered. "That's the other interesting thing.
Coincidentally, Scully was caught in an accident with nuclear
waste at a power plant. Everyone else died, but she and the baby
were fine. She knows more about it than me, but enzyme activity
seems to have been responsible. The DNA testing was done to
see if there had been any mutations as a result."
Samantha's eyes widened. She stared at them, stunned.
"Well, I'll be- it actually works with that little alien input!"
Recovering a little, she added, "That's incredible!" Noting their
strange looks, she went on, "You must understand, you do
acquire a certain scientific curiosity about these things when you
live them. I didn't mean to offend, Dana."
Scully shook her head. "No, that's fine," she said
absently. Cautiously, she continued, "We knew you were the
genetic mother, Samantha. We ran a check on what we could
construct of her from the DNA we got from Melissa. Mulder
was a very close match. We knew it had to be you." She met the
older woman's gaze, suddenly very frightened, very protective of
her daughter. She resisted the urge to shout, //Damn you,
Samantha, she's MINE! Damn you to hell for being here and
knowing about Melissa! Damn you for coming back now!//
But Samantha took her hand. "I'm not her mother,
Dana. You have no idea how many children of mine I've seen
being carried by other women, how many I've seen miscarried, or
born and died, or even murdered. At some point you stop
thinking they're yours. Because no amount of pain you can
suffer compares to the pain of the women who carried them."
She looked away, tears in her eyes. "There was one...he was a
hybrid, and he looked - grotesque; there's no other way to say it.
He was part morph, and they knew as soon as they saw him that
he could pass on the retrovirus - it was the only part-morph they
ever made." She swallowed hard. "They killed him, right there
in front of me and the mother." She paused. "My heart broke
that day, but I survived. The mother didn't. They hypnotised her
to not remember, but even though she forgot the events, she never
forgot the pain. She suicided a week after they released her."
Scully bowed her head, ashamed of her thoughts.
Moved, she drew Samantha close, her normal reserve forgotten.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Mulder looked on helplessly.
After a long moment, Samantha drew away. Composing
herself, she repeated, "No, they aren't mine; but I do feel
protective of them, just the same. That's why I have to get them
and the mothers out." Mulder nodded wordlessly, his eyes
bright.
Scully spoke. "Where are they?"
Samantha flicked her head downwards. "There are
more cells downstairs."
They were interrupted by a series of beeps outside the
door as someone keyed in an access code. Scully and Mulder
each drew their guns, and Mulder moved in front of his sister;
but Samantha pushed him aside.
The door burst open, and a young woman in her
twenties burst in. "Samantha!"
Samantha's tone was brisk and professional. Clearly,
Scully thought, Mulder's sister ran things among the prisoners -
and the girl was her offsider. "Hallie, what is it?"
The girl was in a state of panic. "The security guards
are clearing out, and the support staff are already gone. I
checked the chief of staff's desk. It's pretty much cleared out,
too; but there was a memo in the photocopier. The order came
through this morning."
Samantha's jaw dropped. "So soon? I thought we had
at least another month!"
Hallie shrugged. "According to his e-mail, he knew
there had been a security breach last night-" //Frohike,// Scully
thought "-and he asked for instructions. I gather that was the
impetus for accelerating the order."
"What order?" Mulder asked. "I'm her brother," he
added, by way of an incomplete introduction.
Hallie dismissed this. "I know that ," she said
scornfully.
"News travels among the prisoners," Samantha said as
an aside. "The order is to terminate the project."
"The project?" Scully asked suspiciously. "Or the
project subjects?"
"They're one and the same thing," Samantha said
calmly.
Mulder grabbed her by the arm. "All right, let's get out
of here."
But Samantha pulled away. "How long?" she asked
Hallie.
"I don't know. But with security gone, I'd say not long."
The older woman turned to Mulder. "Fox, you and
Dana go and find Frohike and get him out. From the questions
he was asking me, I'd say he was most interested in the computer
systems room, just off the west door - the one you came in by.
I'm going to warn the others. It shouldn't take long."
Mulder's eyes blazed. "No way, Samantha. I'm not
leaving you."
"You're an agent, Fox. You know better. You have to."
"No!"
Samantha leaned forward and kissed him gently. "Yes,
Fox. You must. And you will. Because you know it's the right
way to do it." She paused. "When we get out, I'll meet you at the
eastern door - or whatever remains of it. Hopefully, I won't be
alone."
"And what if you don't?" he demanded of her.
She smiled then, sweetly, the way he remembered from
when they were children. "If I don't, then you'll go on. You'll
find the other women, if there are any, and you'll look after them
and Scully and her baby, and you'll go on." She took his hand.
"But I will."
It broke his heart to do it, but he nodded. Taking
Scully by the arm, he hurried out.
Ten minutes later, they were in the computer systems
room in the building's western wing. Scully wiped a bead of
perspiration from her brow at the carefully controlled climate of
the room.
Mulder was searching. The building was empty; there
was no need for discretion. "Frohike!" he called, to no avail. "I
don't think he's here," he said, more annoyed than concerned
right this minute. Damn it, his sister was on a kamikaze rescue
mission and he couldn't even help her because he was busy
searching for an alcoholic paranoic! "He's probably found the
executive bar and is getting drunk right this minute," he
muttered.
"You don't mean that, Mulder."
He shot her a look, then admitted, "No, I don't." He
sighed. "Come on, let's keep looking."
But before they could leave the room, Scully's phone
rang. She flipped it open. "Scully."
It was Samantha, and her voice was tinged with urgency
- no, fright. She was speaking quickly - too quickly. "Scully,
I've found it. I've found the bomb. I can't disable it, and we've
got less time than I thought. You have to get out."
"How long?"
"Fifteen seconds."
The words hadn't fully reached her when Scully's eyes
widened. She grabbed Mulder's arm and pulled him towards the
door. "Can you get out?" she demanded, her voice louder than
usual with barely controlled panic.
Samantha's voice was resolute. "I don't think so. Tell
Fox I love him. And kiss the baby."
Scully yanked open the door and dragged Mulder out.
He had some inkling, then, and he tried to tear away. Scully held
him with all her strengh. "Mulder, no, you can't get to her in
time!"
They struggled for precious seconds. Incredibly, Scully
was able to drag him a few feet from the building. The phone
flew a good few feet further still, and both of them screamed in
its general direction, "Samantha!"
Mulder leaped for it, landed heavily on his stomach.
He grabbed it. "Samantha, I love you!"
Scully reached him a moment later. She could hear
Samantha, her voice high and clear and strong. It was a voice of
courage. There were three beeps in rapid succession, then a
second of silence in which she spoke. "Don't mourn, Fox. This
is right."
And then the building blew.
Scully opened her eyes.
She was conscious first of the tremendous heat
emanating from behind her, then of the rough gravelly surface
beneath her. There was a howling, roaring sound. She dragged
herself to her knees and looked around.
It was an inferno.
There was nothing left of the warehouse, it seemed,
except for a few sticks. There was no way of knowing what
remained behind the wall of flames, but Scully suspected there
wasn't much. She turned to her left.
Mulder sat, cross-legged, staring dully into the blaze.
He was bleeding from one shoulder, but seemed oblivious to the
fact. He was rocking, hugging himself. Scully thought he
looked like a wounded animal.
She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Mulder," she yelled to be heard above the flames. She squinted
against the impossibly hot wind.
He turned to look at her. "She's still in there!" he
shouted. "My sister's in there!"
"Mulder, no-one could have survived that!" She tried to
make her voice gentle, which was a ridiculous exercise, given the
decibels with which she had to use it. "She's gone!" She took
his arms and leaned closer, trying to convey with her face the
sorrow for him that she couldn't convey with her voice. "She's
gone."
He looked back at the raging warehouse.
This wasn't how she'd meant to tell him, shouting above
a howling firestorm; but somehow, she knew it was right.
"Mulder?" she cried. There was no answer. "Walter and I
thought of a name!"
He turned to look at her. "Melissa?" he yelled. He
showed no surprise, and no confusion at her statement, which
she realised must seem utterly out of context.
"Melissa...Melissa Samantha."
Mulder stared at her for a moment, then crumpled. He
buried his head in his hands. She held him tightly, and there in
the heat and the noise, he wept in her arms.
They found Frohike an hour later.
He was collapsed on the eastern side of the complex.
He'd been outside when the explosion occurred, but had
apparently found himself on the receiving end of flying
schrapnel. He was burned, bleeding, and concussed; but
according to Scully, he would live.
They took him to Mercer General Hospital and stayed
with him. His burns were second degree and might scar. They
would certainly pain him for weeks to come. Skin grafts were a
possibility. But Frohike was in reasonably good spirits. Mulder
had a feeling this was the sort of episode which kept him in the
government surveillance game. One of these days, he thought,
Frohike's quest for the ultimate adrenaline rush would get him
killed.
Samantha, Frohike told them, had caught up with him
and, distant and preoccupied, told him to get out. She'd led him
to an exit, but when he'd turned, she'd gone back into the
building. Less than a minute later - not enough time for her to
reach any of the other doors - the warehouse had gone up. She
could not possibly have gotten out without him seeing. He didn't
have to tell them that she could not possibly have survived
without his knowledge.
Mulder turned away at this, but his look was resigned.
Scully asked him about the other women, but Frohike shook his
head. Samantha had not gotten any of the women out. Any who
had survived the blaze would not be capable of escaping the
troops which he was sure would go in to kill any survivors. The
project was a failure, so they had decided to erase the evidence
and start fresh. Scully nodded in understanding...but
understanding didn't help.
So many women, so many unborn. So many hopeless,
useless deaths. And she had been allowed to survive to raise her
daughter. //Dear God, why?//
But she knew why. This unholy experiment had had
nothing to do with God, with the natural forces of creation. And
God had remained distant of it as a consequence. But in seeking
what was truthful and right, she had returned to God what was
God's, as Mulder had put it.
And God had smiled on her child.
Even in the pain and the suffering and the darkness of
that night through which she comforted her tortured partner,
Dana Scully felt singularly blessed. Somehow, she knew that
everything was going to be all right.
And somewhere in the ruins of the warehouse, green
acid bubbled and boiled like a witches' brew.
Like an omen.
To be concluded...