Human Credentials

A story about Faith, Identity... and Camels.

by Scarlet Baldy

Part 2

Chapter twelve

"My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me Like the carrion of a murdered prey And all I want is to save you, honey Or the strength to walk away."
- Fiona Apple - Carrion -

<Where am I?>

Scully woke up to unfamiliar surroundings; above her the grey fabric of a tent was radiating heat. She turned her head and saw an arm hanging limply off the side of a nearby camp bed.

<Mulder.>

Gradually snapshots clicked into place and her mental slideshow began. Sahara, Fowley, Bob, the plane trip, meeting with Mulder and Ali, the cornfields, the bunker, the stairs, the dark lake, Mulder making love to... wait - some slides were missing. She racked her brain to find them, but in vain. For all she knew she'd been beamed up from the cave into that tent - where she'd seduced Mr. Spook.

A slow smile crept over her lips before turning into a yawn. She rubbed her eyes and sat up on the bed.

The knowledge that once more some of her memories had been erased should have disturbed her, but strangely enough it didn't. She felt good - great in fact - better than she'd felt in years. The fatigue, which had been weighing her down recently, was nowhere to be found; her soul felt lighter than a feather.

She looked at her slumbering partner. He was sleeping on his stomach, naked, his sleeping bag bunched up around his feet. A thin sheen of sweat gave his back a golden glow under the morning light oozing through the tent's fabric. She let her eyes glide over the planes of his back, the xylophone patterns made by his ribs, the tight and rounded shape of his ass, his long runner's legs, his oversized feet.

And then it hit her.

She should have felt something...

A wide spectrum of emotions usually fought for supremacy inside her every time she looked at him; lately the reigning champion had been anger, while guilt and frustration fought for the silver medal.

She felt none of these.

She tried other memories, disturbing ones, the ones she couldn't call up without having the wind knocked out of her with grief.

Melissa...nothing.

Penny Northern...nothing.

Emily...nothing.

She remembered the emotions she had experienced then perfectly well, but it was with the same kind of detachment one feels when flipping through the pages of a long-lost teenage diary.

<Shock - I must be in shock...>

She checked for bumps or bruises on her skull. A blow to the head could explain the amnesia and her numb emotional state - a concussion - except that she felt strong and fully conscious, neither fuzzy nor nauseous.

She stood up, and stretched with delight, feeling all her muscles respond smoothly. If it weren't for the sand sticking to her ass and a lingering soreness in her inner thighs, she would have felt like Eve newly created.

<More like Eve newly laid...>

It was more than feeling mended: she felt brand new.

She took the few steps separating her from Mulder's bed and looked down at him once more. No doubts, regrets or guilt assailed her as flashes of the previous night danced before her eyes. She'd woken up aroused, she'd wanted him, and she'd had him. End of story.

Oh, and Fowley had seen them. She shrugged. All was fair in love and war - and war it had been. She'd been fighting with - as well as against - Mulder for 6 years. It wasn't her fault if Diana had accidentally witnessed their...peace negotiations.

She laid her hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Mulder, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open. He was one of those fortunate people who go straight from sleep to complete awareness in a blink. Then again, Mulder never really slept.

He raised himself on one elbow, lifted his eyes towards her - and stopped abruptly at mid-height.

Dana Scully suddenly remembered that she was stark naked.

She sighed inwardly. <Men!> "Hey."

"Hey," he answered distractedly, his voice like gravel.

She sat next to him on the edge of the bed and he finally managed to lift his gaze away from her breasts to meet her eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

"There's no need to blush, G-man, I don't mind."

"I can see that." His self-conscious chuckle died in his throat as concern suddenly stiffened his features like a clay mask. He sat up.

"How do you feel?"

She was about to reply that she was fine - which was true - but she had used those words too many times as a lie for him to believe them.

She laid a hand on his forearm.

"I'm good, Mulder. Thirsty and starving but apart from that, I haven't felt better in years."

He tilted his head on one side and looked at her with his trademark Paranoids R Us scrutinizing stare. Her eyes were bright and clear, void of the dark abomination which had flickered periodically over the whites of Marita's eyes. She looked better, too, much better, even if she was still far too thin to look completely healthy. It wasn't a good sign when you could count exactly how many ribs a person possessed.

He lifted his hand to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She closed her eyes and leant into his touch with a small murmur of contentment.

"Do you have any recollection of what happened down there?"

Her eyes snapped open and she straightened up, shaking her head. "No. That's what I wanted to ask you. What happened, Mulder?"

"I'll tell you in a minute." He shifted uneasily on the bed.

She lowered her gaze. Her partner was in full morning glory.

And God, was it - glorious.

"Quit staring, Scully." He threw his long legs over the edge of the bed and moved to stand up.

"Can't blame a girl for being impressed."

He raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder as he endeavored to slip into his boxers.

"Impressed? Really?"

"No need to sound so smug, Mulder. The ones I usually see are past their use-by date."

"Well, you sure haven't forgotten how to deal with live ones, Doctor Scully."

She shot him an impish smile.

"Now who's smug?" he teased, fastening the fly of his trousers.

"Shut up, Mulder, and bring me some food."

"Yes Ma'am."

***

Mulder sighed blissfully as he relieved his bladder against a palm tree. Marita's dark predictions hadn't come true. Well, Scully's eerily closed-off lovemaking had freaked him out last night, but he had been exhausted, on edge, and after all, he had very little experience of his partner's behavior in an intimate context. At work she was more guarded than a high security prison, using her eyes rather than her voice to communicate with him. Why should that change?

<Your cock is no magic wand, buddy.>

Good old macho performance anxiety, that's what it was. Oh well, never mind, he had every intention to keep practicing until his partner's vocal chords produced a sound - if Diana let him keep the tools to do so, that is.

He winced at the thought of his former lover.

Diana... The woman who'd prevented him from becoming an emaciated, haunted, pill popping wreck like his partner. The woman who'd mended him, restored his sanity... so he could go back and burn his wings on the sizzling blue flame that was Scully.

<Enough with the guilt trip, Mulder. You didn't think twice about it last night, remember?>

Something moved at the edge of his vision, bringing him sharply back to reality. He started to turn his head and just had time to see a black-clad arm raised above him before pain exploded in his head. He felt his knees hit the ground as the dark spiral of oblivion engulfed him.

***

The man signaled to his three companions to head for the tents while he took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. It was going to be an easy job. He didn't understand why the boss had felt it necessary to send four of them to neutralize a camel driver, an elderly pilot, a geek and two women. It was a waste of resources really.

He watched as his men disappeared into each tent. Killing people in their sleep lacked panache somehow, but the orders had been clear. Bring back the geek and the redhead, and get rid of the others. Hunted people always expect to be attacked at night, but in the morning they usually let their guard down and fall asleep - which was exactly what he was counting on. He slipped the handcuffs around Mulder's wrists and waited for the others to finish their jobs.

***

Fowley woke up. Her head was pounding, her slight hangover heightening every sound. And she knew immediately before opening her eyes that someone was inside the tent, someone who was trying very hard to be silent. Not a good sign.

She forced her breath to remain even and waited until the intruder's own breathing told her that he was standing just above her. She opened her eyes. A man was leaning over and she saw the muzzle of a silencer being aimed at her. Quick as a snake with dysentery, she drew her knees up and struck the stranger square in the stomach. The man fell backwards with a surprised grunt, and before he had time to recover Fowley had jumped on him, twisted his wrist and forced him to let go of his gun. Her opponent's hands shot up and grabbed her throat, squeezing hard. A red veil blurred her vision as her nails raked the sand until she felt the coolness of steel under her palm. There was a muffled 'whump' and everything went silent.

***

The soldier entered the tent cautiously and eyed the two sleeping forms on the camp beds. One of the men was snoring loudly, but despite this his companion looked fast asleep - which meant he must be a heavy sleeper. Good. The man took a few silent steps towards the older man and aimed his gun.

When he felt the thin leather cord around his neck, it was already too late.

Ali watched the man collapse silently at his feet with a detached look. Bob was still snoring.

***

Scully had found the gourd by her bed and was drinking with unrestrained delight. The tepid water was soft and soothing against the walls of her dry throat. She rummaged among the pile of rumpled clothes at her feet and 'borrowed' Mulder's approximately clean shirt. Her own clothes smelled as if Walter had slept on them.

She heard the ruffle of heavy fabric behind her. She cast a glance over her shoulder - and froze.

It wasn't Mulder.

A man in dark combat gear was pointing a silencer-equipped gun at her.

<Uh-oh. Think quick, Dana.>

She turned round to face him slowly, raising her hands above her head in surrender. As she did this, the flaps of the unbuttoned shirt gaped opened - revealing that it was all she wore.

She took a few measured steps forwards and flashed the soldier a thousand-watt smile.

His Adam's apple bobbled up and down and for a split second his concentration wavered.

A split second was all she needed.

Her clasped fists went down and her knee went up at practically the same time. The man dropped his gun and crumpled at her feet, whimpering and holding his crotch.

She grabbed the gun and waited for her assailant to recover.

<A case of feminine wiles well used, Starbuck,> the ghost of her father's voice laughed in her head.

<Doing my best, Daddy.>

***

Fowley chanced a look outside, wincing as the sharp light hit her eyes. Everything was quiet. Gun in hand, she slid outside and made her way to the nearest tent, her eyes darting around, every sense alert.

"Bob? Ali?" she called in a loud whisper once she reached the front of the tent, her eyes still scanning the campsite.

The flap lifted and Bob came out, also holding a gun.

"Guess we had the same wake up call, Di."

"You OK?"

"Yeah, Ali hit the 'snooze' button in a big way. I owe the little guy a life."

"Not the best deal he could get."

"You don't know that yet, Di," he leered at her.

She ignored him and gestured towards the last tent on the other side.

"We'd better go and check if they're OK."

The pilot nodded and, sticking his head briefly into the tent, told Ali to wait for them.

They were halfway across the campsite when the crack of a gunshot made them duck headfirst and throw themselves onto the sand.

"Shit." Bob grimaced and tried to locate the shooter.

Another bullet mewled passed them, scant inches from Diana's ear.

Raising their heads, they saw a hastily dressed Scully suddenly appear and run from her tent, flatten herself against the nearest tree and start to fire her gun in the general direction of their aggressor while shouting at them:

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

They both jumped to their feet and ran for cover.

Diana heard a gasp of pain and saw her friend waver as blood blossomed on his white shirt.

"Bob!"

She grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. They both collapsed behind the relative safety of an acacia bush.

"Scully! HELP!"

That was Mulder's voice. Lifting her head, Diana caught a glimpse of him between the palm trees a few yards away as he struggled with another of those ubiquitous black-clad men.

She saw Scully leave her position and start to race from tree to tree towards her partner, like a rabbit on speed.

<Can't resist your master's voice, can you, Red?>

Oh, OK, that wasn't fair. But having to kill someone first thing in the morning and then being shot at - all this on top of a hangover -gave her every right to be bitchy. And that was without adding last night's events to the equation...

She briefly lowered her gaze towards Bob, who was holding his side, blood oozing from between his fingers. His face was ashen.

"You OK?"

"Peachy," he hissed between clenched teeth.

In the distance, she saw their opponent manage to pull out of Mulder's grip and hit him in the jaw. The sun caught on the handcuffs around the agent's wrists, glaring brightly on the metal, and she realized then that he'd never stood a chance.

The man was distracted long enough for Scully to step behind him.

"Freeze!"

The soldier swiveled on his feet to face her. He smirked, lifted his gun very slowly, and pointed it at Mulder's head.

"Wanna play rough, sweetie?"

Scully narrowed her eyes, held the man's contemptuous stare and pulled the trigger. A perfect little crimson hole appeared on the man's forehead.

"Yup."

The man collapsed backward.

She focused on her partner, who was watching her from his fallen position with a strange look on his face.

"What?" she snapped, still reeling from the adrenalin rush.

"That's my shirt." He tried to nurse his jaw with his bound hands.

"Nothing gets past you, Agent Mulder." She knelt down to search for the handcuff's keys in the dead man's pocket.

Once his hands were free, Mulder grabbed his partner by the neck and crushed his lips against hers, his tongue darting briefly against her own before retreating.

Surprised, Scully drew back sharply. "What was that for?"

"Seeing you kick ass wearing my clothes turns me on like you wouldn't believe, Scully." He flashed his unbearable GQ boy grin at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, I'd appreciate it if you reined in your impulses till we're in private." She stood up. "Besides, what will your girlfriend think?" She nodded towards the campsite.

<Ouch.> "Low blow Scully."

This time her professional mask slipped a little and her face softened.

"Everything in good time, Mulder." She offered him her hand. "Come on."

He grabbed her hand and pulled himself up. She released him and let out a low chuckle as she noticed the impact her last words had had on him.

"You look shocked, partner. Was it something I said?"

Not waiting for his answer, she pivoted on her heels and headed back towards the camp.

Mulder took a deep breath. <Down boy!>

 

Chapter thirteen

"Oh, make me over, I'm all I wanna be A walking study in demonology."

- HOLE - Celebrity Skin -


"How is he doing?"

Scully shot a brief glance at Fowley, and removed her latex gloves. Bob lay unconscious on the camp bed, a thick white bandage covering his left side.

"I removed the bullet. Luckily it seems to have passed through his side below the diaphragm without piercing the peritoneum, and no major internal organs appear to have sustained damage. But he's lost a lot of blood; he's going to need several units transfused - and IV painkillers if he regains consciousness."

"I guess there's no point in my asking if he will cope with a three day camel trip?"

"It would kill him."

"So much for breaking the news gently."

Scully shrugged. "What can I say? If he doesn't reach a hospital within 24 hours he'll probably die."

Fowley's temper flared like a 4th of July Roman candle. "For Christ's sake! Did you really have to say that out loud? What if he heard you?"

"He won't. I sedated him."

The brown haired woman glared at her. "You're such a compassionate woman, aren't you, *Doctor* Scully?"

"Comforting you isn't part of my duty, Agent Fowley. I leave that to my partner." She stepped past Fowley, heading outside.

Diana shook her head, not believing what she had just heard. "You can be such a ..."

She stopped; it wasn't the best of times to pick a fight.

Scully pivoted to face her, raising one perfect eyebrow challengingly. "Such a what? Go ahead, say it."

Fowley clenched her jaw, seething.

"A bitch? Is that what you were going to say?" asked Scully.

"Glad to hear you know already."

"I know exactly what I am, Agent Fowley. So does Mulder, and you know what?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "He likes it."

Watching Scully turn on her heels, Fowley wondered if she could plead temporary insanity if she shot a fellow agent in the back.

Probably not.

But she was still very, very tempted.

***

"Interesting bondage technique, Scully."

Following her instructions, Mulder had found the remaining soldier in their tent, hands cuffed behind his back, feet tied together with strips of fabric apparently torn from his partner's shirt. But the most unusual piece of binding was her bra, which had been used to tie the man's bound hands close to his ankles, so he wouldn't be able to crawl away.

Mulder untied the sensible white cotton bra and tossed it back to Scully, who caught it mid-air and pocketed it, raising her shoulders in a what-else-could-I-do shrug.

Mulder turned his attention back to the man. "Who sent you?"

The man raised his head to look at them from his crouching position on the ground, but remained silent.

"Was it Strughold?"

The soldier still refused to answer. Mulder lifted him by his shirt and slapped him.

"Don't make me lose my temper. Talk or I'll make some drastic changes to your face's topography."

The soldier sneered but did not reply.

Mulder felt Scully's hand on his shoulder, pushing him away. She aimed the man's own gun at his knee, muttering, "We've got no time for this."

And shot.

The soldier screamed in pain, squirming on the floor.

Mulder's jaw dropped in shock. "Scully!"

She ignored him and knelt in front of the wounded man.

"Talk."

Their prisoner lifted his head, anger burning in his eyes. And when his gaze locked with Scully's, something unexpected happened. Anger receded from the soldier's face and fear poured in, as if someone had suddenly flipped some invisible hourglass inside him. Mulder, standing behind them, had no idea what had triggered this radical change of emotions.

But he knew one thing.

This professional killer looked terrified.

Of her.

He started to talk then, too fast, stumbling on his words. "Strughold wanted to - to bring you two back. We - we were told to kill the others."

"Why?" Scully's voice was as hard and cold as an ice block.

"I don't know - I swear I don't know! They just give us orders!" the soldier almost wailed.

Scully stood up and turned towards Mulder. Her eyes looked...normal. She sighed. "So what now?"

Mulder looked at the man, whose knee was bleeding profusely. "How did you get here?"

"Helicopter. Two miles south," he choked out, gritting his teeth.

"More men down there?"

"No." The soldier was going into shock and having difficulty breathing.

Mulder looked at his partner. "I'm going to go down there and bring the helicopter back, then we can all get the hell out of here." He motioned towards their prisoner and added, "Take care of him."

"I will."

Mulder left.

Scully turned slowly towards the pale and clammy man.

"I know what you are..." he breathed.

This time she aimed for the head.

***

Mulder entered the tent where Diana and Ali were looking after Bob. The pilot was still unconscious.

"Diana, I need your help. There's a helicopter not far from here, and you're the only one who can fly those things."

Fowley stood up, and patted Bob's hand. "Things are looking up, buddy."

They went out of the tent and walked in silence for a while.

"At least that's one skill your *partner* doesn't have." She spat the word like an insult.

Mulder stopped. "Diana..."

She kept walking, not looking at him.

"I hope for you she's worth it, Fox - I hope she's worth *us*."

"I'm sorry."

She swiveled on her feet and glared at him.

"Don't you dare say that again. You're not sorry. I'm a mere casualty in the little mind-fuck war that you two enjoy playing so much."

He sighed. "I never intended to hurt you. I didn't want it to happen like this."

"HA! And how did you want it to happen then? A bunch of flowers and a note reading "let's just be friends"? If you ask me, that would really cramp your style, Fox Mulder!"

"I thought you would understand."

"Understand what? That you would take the first opportunity to betray me?"

"No. That there's something between Scully and me that I just can't fight."

She shot him a withering look.

"At least you should have had the courtesy to dump me before. Two nights ago, you said it was a mistake, and I trusted you. I could have forgiven a quick fuck, but that's not what this is all about, is it?"

"No."

That he would so easily admit this and give up on her enraged her even more.

<You like bitches, Fox Mulder? Here, take this.>

"Well then, let me wish you all the best to you and your little exhibitionist slut."

Mulder stopped dead in his track.

"What did you just say?" A menacing tone crept into his voice. He wasn't going to let *anybody* insult his partner.

"You may not be aware of this, but last night I came to see you, only to be greeted by the sight of your partner fucking you and looking me straight in the eyes. The little bitch seemed to get quite a kick out of it."

Mulder was staring at her with the blank look of a man who suddenly realizes he's been playing poker with the wrong set of cards.

"You think you know her, Fox, but you don't. She knew exactly what was going on. She wanted me out of the game, and she succeeded."

He shook his head fiercely, as if to dislodge the doubts Diana had just driven through his mind like so many pikes on a Corrida bull.

"No. She wouldn't do that. She's not like that."

"Yeah, right." Fowley resumed walking, not bothering to check if he was following.

She'd known all along it had only been a matter of time. So why the hell did it hurt so much?

They finally spotted the helicopter and climbed inside. While Fowley checked the dials and fired the engine, Mulder rummaged among the maps tucked between the seats. His fingers encountered a small steel object and he pulled it out. It was a box of some kind, oval in shape, and the size of his palm. After a bit of fumbling he managed to slide the lid open. It had a small LCD screen on its surface, surrounded by a narrow panel with some strange signs on it.

Diana looked at him while fastening her helmet. She was still angry at him but curiosity got the better of her.

"What is it?"

"I have absolutely no idea - some kind of sophisticated compass, maybe?" He fiddled with it, but couldn't switch it on.

"Never saw anything like that before."

"Then maybe it's just a Game Boy."

"I doubt our visitors were the type to play 'Ghouls & Ghosts'."

He nodded thoughtfully and closed the box.

***

They landed the helicopter near the campsite some 30 minutes later. Fowley went to pack her things while Mulder headed towards Bob and Ali's tent to retrieve the pilot's possessions. Ali was still by the man's bedside when he entered. Mulder informed the Tuareg of their plans and offered to take him along. The young man refused politely in his broken English.

"Effendi, no worry. Ali go home with camels."

"You sure you'll be OK, Ali? The men who are chasing us are dangerous."

The camel driver patted Mulder's arm, smiling.

"Bad men want you, not Ali."

Mulder smiled back. "You're right, it's not really safe to be around us these days."

Ali grinned. "Effendi go home marry small woman now."

The agent laughed. "I wish it were that simple."

"Life simple, Effendi. Woman difficult."

"You've got it in a nutshell, Ali."

The young man touched his hand successively to his forehead, lips and chest, in traditional Arabian style. Mulder responded in the same fashion.

"Thanks, Ali. Thank you for everything."

"Effendi welcome."

Mulder went out to look for Scully. He caught sight of her, piling up a few bags outside the tent, and headed towards her.

"How is our prisoner doing?" he asked, as he lifted the tent's flap to enter.

She looked at him evenly. "He's dead."

Mulder felt as if he'd just been reamed with a steel rod. He looked inside the tent and saw the man crumpled on the floor with a bullet hole in his forehead. He turned towards her stiffly.

"You killed him?"

"I had to."

Muscles in his jaw twitched as if he had bitten into a very sour lemon. It was all turning into a fucking nightmare. The Scully he knew just didn't kill people in cold blood.

"You *had* to?"

"This man was dangerous."

"Not after you shot him in the knee."

"I had no choice, he wouldn't have talked otherwise."

"Is that your justification?"

She pinned him with a hard stare. "I'm getting sick of your questioning my actions, Mulder. I did what was necessary under the circumstances. Would you have preferred Bob to die, while we waited for our would-be assassin to willingly share information?"

"I didn't say that."

He also didn't want to point out that it wasn't the bullet which had made the man talk. Some things were better left aside for the time being.

"This man was a killer, Mulder."

"Yes, but he was still a man."

She narrowed her eyes to two laser-blue slits. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That as a doctor, I expected you to value human life a bit more."

From the way she blinked and momentarily held her breath, he knew he'd hit a nerve and managed to hurt her. <Good to see some things don't change.>

"I value our pilot's life. Over the years I have had to learn to make choices. This man knew the risks he was taking. He was a threat to us. I didn't kill an innocent, Mulder," she replied in the clipped and precise tones which usually signaled that she was one gunshot away from losing her temper.

But he didn't care what state her temper was in - because he was nearly losing his. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "For God's sake, Scully! You put him down like a dog! No matter how guilty he was, the fact is that you killed a wounded, defenseless man, can't you see that?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped as if finally realizing the significance of his words.

She dropped her gaze. "I thought I was doing the right thing." The slightly surprised tone of her voice implied that she didn't believe it was true anymore.

He sighed, and shook his head. "Listen Scully, we'll talk about this later, OK?"

She lifted her eyes to his, and he was taken aback by their expression. It was as if she was mourning a part of herself she just realized she'd lost.

She turned away from him, grabbed her bags and headed for the helicopter.

***

Ali watched the helicopter rise, the rotors churning the palm trees' leaves into a mad dance. The Tuareg walked to his camel and opened one of the side packs. He removed a small metallic case from its depths, sat down and opened it.

Ali started typing his message in Morse code.

*You owe me a crate of Zubrowska, Alex. Can I have my lab coat back now?*

 

Chapter 14


RATING: NC-17. Definitely not suitable for young readers. Things are getting rough and disturbing. So if you expect lovey dovey mush, stop right here. Here comes the unholy trinity of violence, graphic sex and blasphemy. My beta reader tells me the final scene sounds pretty much like rape, I thought I should warn you.

SPECIAL THANKS: to Cat, for coming up with a counter theory to invalidate the one she previously constructed for Marita. Fab SRE, matey. I didn't understand a word of it (except for the fact that you probably can't shave your legs with Occam's Razor), but it sure sounded pretty 'Scully' to me. :-)
 

"Honey help me out of this mess, I'm a stranger to myself." 

- Fiona Apple - The Child Is Gone -


The flight back was tense - and very quiet. Diana and Scully ignored each other and both of them ignored Mulder. But that suited him just fine - he needed the time to think. Time to think about what Marita had said. Time to analyze the data, point by point, remembering previous cases, trying to find a flaw in her story, anything which would have convinced him that she'd been lying. He had to talk to Scully about it; although she wasn't an anthropologist, with her scientific background and her pathological skepticism she'd probably manage to dismantle the whole theory with a few finely honed facts.

For the first time in his life Fox Mulder didn't want to believe.

He didn't want to believe that Man's presence on this planet had been engineered to serve some obscure aliens' scheme. Didn't want to believe that under the earth a colossal entity was biding its time.

No.

He didn't want Marita to be right. Because if she were, it could also mean that she had been right about other things - about Scully.

*This connection affects the human psyche quite dramatically.*

He chanced a look at his partner. She was looking at the window, her gaze following the black sinuous shadow the helicopter cast over the dunes. She was still wearing his shirt, her hair was tangled in messy strands and a smear of dirt made a scar-like mark under her sun burnt cheekbone. Her lips were curved downwards in the half pout she didn't know she wore when she was lost in thought. She looked so normal, so familiar - and yet...

He had visited a vivarium once, with his father. The animals looked cute but the thick glass of their cages reminded you that their reactions were unpredictable. You couldn't help looking at them with a paradoxical mixture of awe and wariness.

Just like now...

***

Mulder dropped the hotel key on a desk which had seen better days, and headed for the shower. Bob was in a hospital at last. When they'd been sure that he was in good hands and his life was not in any danger, he and Fowley had headed for the nearest hotel - both eager to remove the grime from their sweaty, sand-encrusted bodies - while Scully had stayed behind to terrorize the medical staff, barking orders as if she owned the place.

He stayed a long time under the spray, watching the sand disappear down the plughole, his mind empty, concentrating only on the feel of the water running over his skin, caressing him with the soft whispers of a sylphine lover. When clouds of sleep started to gather in his head, he turned off the shower and dried himself sloppily. A towel wrapped around his hips, he padded to the bed and collapsed on it.

***

Scully entered the room and took in the sight of her partner lying on his stomach, his long limbs stretched like a kite frame over the white sheets, with only a towel half-covering his ass.

He was snoring.

She rolled her eyes. <Great.>

She went into the bathroom and started to undress. She stepped under the shower and soaped herself distractedly, her mind miles away - back in the desert. Something was happening to her. She'd killed a man with no second thoughts. Because it had been the simplest choice - casual Darwinism.

Mulder was right, it was so unlike her.

The look on their prisoner's face was still vivid in her mind; he had been scared of her, and she didn't know why.

She let the water pound over her face, the soldier's last words echoing in her ears.

*I know what you are.*

What was she?

Something had wrapped itself like cling film around her heart, and was gradually smothering her emotional self.

She was puzzled, when she should have felt guilty.

She was annoyed, when she should have been angry.

She was unsettled, when she should have been terrified.

***

Mulder woke up and noticed the slender shape of his partner, wrapped in a bathrobe and curled up into an armchair by the window. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Two a.m.

"Scully?"

"You only got one room."

All right, he'd forgotten the Scully Handling Rule number one: Never Take Anything For Granted.

"Does that bother you?"

"No."

"Then why don't you come to bed? To sleep," he hastened to add. No need to sound too eager. Their new dynamic was as fragile as spun glass; a single badly aimed word could still shatter it - and no doubt she wouldn't hesitate to gut him open with the shards if he wasn't careful.

She looked at him over her shoulder, and despite the relative darkness of the bedroom he knew he was being given The Eyebrow privilege.

"I'm not sleepy."

He switched on the bedside lamp, noticed he was naked and went to retrieve a pair of sweatpants from his travel bag. He crossed the room and came to crouch by the armchair, resting one hand on the armrest, not daring to touch her. She looked at him pensively and raised a hand to push a lock of hair from his forehead.

Mulder released a slow breath. <OK. We're good.>

He caught her hand in his, and kissed her palm.

"Too wound up to sleep?"

"Sort of."

He creased his brow, waiting for her to be more explicit.

"Mulder, what happened to me?"

<Here we go.> Not releasing her hand, he sat down to be more comfortable and took a deep breath.

"Do you remember seeing the oil when we were down there?"

"Yes."

"Well, apparently this oil emits a low frequency sound which the human brain normally can't register. But sometimes people who were infected develop this ability, thus inducing a kind of catatonic state. And that's what happened to you."

"Mulder, oil doesn't emit sound waves."

"This one does..."

She dropped her chin and pursed her lips. "Please, let *me* say it. This one does because it's alien."

He smiled at her softly. "Not exactly."

As he had done with Diana, he began to tell her Marita's own version of the Origin of Species.

But unlike Diana, she fought every step of the way - going into full lecture mode.

"Mulder, that's ridiculous. It's far too convoluted a theory to be even remotely possible. According to Occam's Razor, the theory making the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct. Which is likelier - that the gradual changes in human species over millennia were caused by natural selection of those of the constant chance mutations which made the genes' bearers more suited to the gradually changing conditions of the African savannah, or that those millions of tiny alterations to the DNA code were deliberately made by an outside force, one by one? The progression palaeoanthropologists see in ancient hominid remains is more simply explained by changes in climate and availability of different foods."

"I'd say the alien hypothesis is equally simple, Scully, in a Veni Vidi Mutavi kind of way."

"And what about the existence of point mutations in junk DNA? Their gradual build-up would be expected in non-functional areas of chromosomes according to neo-Darwinian theory - but why would interfering aliens take the trouble to produce such meaningless changes?"

"Maybe they're not meaningless."

"Mulder, an evolutionary process is not something you can trigger like that."

"Scully, I'm too tired to argue with you - and besides, I never thought I'd say this, but I hope you're right."

She stared at him as if he'd just said he'd grown wings and flown to Memphis.

She pointed a finger to his chest and gave him a little playful push. "All right, what have you done with my partner, alien scum?"

He grabbed her finger and held it. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

Her eyes grew cold.

Three words sprung in his mind. Foot. In. Mouth.

She withdrew her finger and raised herself from the armchair. He watched her - at a loss for what to say - as she stared out of the window, hugging herself.

He lifted himself, knees cracking, to stand behind her. Tentatively, he reached for her. She was so tense; her shoulder muscles buzzed like a high voltage line under his palms.

"Scully..."

"She lied to you, Mulder," she whispered.

"Let's hope so."

She turned to face him. The rest happened as quickly as if some god had pressed 'fast forward' on their personal VCR. She grabbed his neck, forced his head down and kissed him hungrily - or angrily, he wasn't sure which - her warm tongue parting his lips and checking out his dental status.

Once his brain cells had stopped panicking and switched on the 'getting laid' beacon, he found enough coordination to lift her up in his arms. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips, her heels digging like blunt spurs into the small of his back.

He carried her to the bed while she declared war on his tonsils.

The back of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down heavily, weighed down by 100 lbs or so of very focused Scully. When she felt her own legs make contact with the bed, she pushed him flat on his back and without further ado grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down.

She crawled back to hover above him on her elbows and knees, and he briefly wondered as she leant down to suck on his neck whether that was something she'd learnt from watching too many late night Hammer-Horror movies. He reached for the sash of her robe but she caught his wrists in a steel grip and pinned them above his head.

<It's Special Agent *In Charge* to you, old boy.>

Not that he minded. Especially when her lips started trailing a line of wet little bites down his chest. Her hands left his wrists, brushing along his arms and down his sides before settling against the hollows of his hips. Her lips had reached his stomach, and when she nipped at the thin skin stretched over his pelvic bone, his hips bucked and a moan escaped his lips. She shot him an analytical look, as if she were about to grab her legal pad and take notes.

She seemed not to pay attention to his straining hard-on, which was another attestation of her capacity for denial, since in his present state his cock could have been used for trooping the colors. Instead she slid off the bed, lifted one of his legs which had been dangling over the edge of the mattress and ran her tongue along the underside of his thigh, stopping at the line where his ass began, to trail a succession of damp and warm kisses there. Soon both his thighs were pressed against his stomach as she repeated her actions on the other side.

His macho self scolded him for allowing this rather unmanly position, but he was far too aroused to pay attention. Then the tip of her tongue pressed briefly against the sensitive patch of skin under his balls and he stopped listening altogether. His hips lifted right off the bed as a sharp surprised whimper burst from his throat.

That she managed to back away before one of his flailing legs kicked her off was a miracle. He raised his spinning head to look at her as she knelt on the floor, hands demurely folded on her lap, head tilted on one side, looking like an innocent schoolgirl about to listen to the Reverend Mother's weekly sermon. But the smug half-smile playing on her lips and the dark flicker of sin dancing in her dilated pupils somewhat ruined the picture. The little witch had known exactly what reaction to expect.

She untied the sash of her robe, let it pool around her and snaked her body between his legs. This time she went straight for the jugular -so to speak, since she wasn't heading for his throat at all.

<OH.MY.FUCKING.GOD.>

And *he* was supposed to be the one with the oral fixation?

Her tongue searched for ley lines while her lips moved in a slow and tight slide around him, making his blood thick as burning wax at the base of his spine. His ass tensed as he tried to rein in the urge to push himself deeper in her throat.

"Ooooh Ghhhh..." Yeah, okay, he was calling to a 'Ghhh' he didn't believe in, but he was ready to revise his opinion if this was what Catholic upbringing had in stock for mankind.

She stopped as abruptly as she had started, but he didn't have time to articulate any objection - for the next thing he knew she was on top of him and he was buried to the hilt inside her, tighter and hotter than her mouth had been. He reached for her one more time but she intercepted his hands again and pressed them under her own against his chest.

Part of him wanted to let go and surrender to the sweet ecstasy her lower body was generating as she started moving against him, but the other part was telling him more and more loudly that there was something missing. He had always assumed that making love to her would bring a new level of intimacy.

He was suddenly devastated to find out that he'd been wrong.

They'd shared more with a few potent looks than they did at this very moment as she drove herself onto him with her eyes closed.

He'd wanted to make love.

She was having sex.

And despite the obvious care she put into it, it remained distant, controlled - as if she was trying to achieve something specific -experimenting.

He freed his hands and reached for her hips, forcing her to stop.

"Stay with me, Scully."

She fought him, eyes still closed, pushing her hands on his chest to try to lift herself up, but he didn't let her.

"Stay. With. Me," he commanded, more forcefully this time.

She opened here eyes and he wished she hadn't.

Her pupils were two black holes where light came to die - a total eclipse over the blue moons of her irises.

It felt like the cosmic equivalent of a cold shower. She must have sensed it because she quickly averted her gaze, before escaping from his grip. She stumbled off him and backed away, the soft thud of her feet on the wooden floor strangely loud in the small room.

Rage came. Cold, hard, unyielding rage, stealing his breath, blaring in his eardrums, tinting his vision with a crimson filter. He leapt off the bed and launched himself after her as she attempted to reach the shelter of the bathroom. His fingers closed like talons on her upper arm, squeezing it so tightly he could feel the bone underneath her flesh.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, Scully?!"

She didn't reply and fought to break free - keeping her back to him. Anger was eating at his veins like sulphuric acid and he pulled her back towards him, hard.

She lost her balance and fell to the floor, taking him along with her, and he landed on top of her. She pushed on her arms, trying to lift him off. She might have been pretty strong for her size, but when push came to shove, he was still much heavier than she was.

"You're not going anywhere till you tell me what's the matter with you," he panted against her ear, pinning her arms to the floor.

Her nails clawed at the floorboards as she tried to crawl away. Her squirming motions caused his cock to slide between the crack of her ass.

She gave up struggling for a moment to catch her breath. Her body relaxed under his and became suddenly soft and inviting.

Her hips pushed up slightly against his.

He lost it.

He grabbed the back of her thighs and pushed her legs roughly apart. Raising himself on his knees, he slid one hand under her stomach and rammed himself inside her.

She cried out, and it was probably not in pleasure.

Anger fuelled his hunger as he thrust - fast and furious - into her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her hard against his groin.

"Is...this...better?" he hissed. "Is it... anonymous enough... for you, Scully? Like this...so you can't see... my fucking... face!"

Her body was limp and pliant under him, her face pressed against one of her outstretched arms. She wasn't fighting him anymore, but she wasn't participating either. It stoked his rage even further. He wanted to hurt the stranger who had taken up residence inside her and stolen her will to fight, so he kept driving into her, over and over again, until orgasm ambushed him and drowned him within a chaotic tsunami, frightening in its intensity. He collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the floor like a doomed butterfly.

His head gradually cleared with every shallow breath he took until the harsh reality of what had just happened hit him full blast in the stomach.

<What...What have I done?>

He pushed himself up with a jerk - horrified - bile rising in his throat. She didn't move; she just lay there - so still.

There was a smear of blood on her left inner thigh.

Unable to look at her any longer, he staggered to the bathroom and collapsed over the toilet, throwing up and sobbing at the same time -self-hatred, guilt and helplessness congealing in his stomach in a hard painful mass.

Chapter 15

"Once my lover, now my friend, what a cruel thing to pretend what a cunning way to condescend..." Fiona Apple - Shadowboxer -

The smell of wood; the feel of glass against his nerveless fingers; whiffs of stale smoke and alcohol drifting in and out of his nose.

Fox Mulder opened his eyes only to close them again immediately. One of his cheeks was sticking damply to the hard surface of a table, and his vision was flickering like a cheap projector. There were noises in the background - the low rumble of a fridge, the sliced rhythm of a ventilation system, and further away, voices - coming in random waves over a high pitched buzz issuing steadily from somewhere deep inside his skull.

He forced his eyes open once more, blinking hard to make his roller-coaster vision come to a halt. He lifted a head which seemed heavy with concrete and looked blurrily around him.

He was in the hotel bar.

Drunk.

<No shit, Sherlock.>

Alone.

<Scully.>

A vicious flash of memory blinded him and he let his head fall back to the table with a pained moan.

He remembered how he had ended up there.

He remembered her cold fingers against his neck as he heaved into the toilet, how she'd lifted his chin and wiped his mouth with a damp cloth; remembered hearing the sound of running water behind him and turning his head to see her - with her terrycloth robe hanging open -wiping off the blood between her thighs. Remembered how she'd held his horrified gaze evenly, calmly, as if he were merely watching her perform some casual everyday bathroom ritual. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't...

As if he hadn't...

He banged his head against the wood, grateful when the pain exploding in his head prevented him from finishing his train of thought. A wave of nausea surged in his stomach and his fingers clenched around the glass he was still holding. He dragged it to his mouth and forced himself to take a sip, his hand shaking.

Whisky. He vaguely recalled stumbling into the reception area, demanding to be let inside the bar and being sold a bottle. He must have looked pretty wild and deranged because the staff had hurried to comply without even trying to tell him that it was nearly five o'clock in the morning and that the bar had been shut for three hours.

They'd let him in, removed the upturned chairs from one of the table, given him his bottle, taken his money and left him there in the shadows as he drank shot after shot to smother the soul-ripping scream creeping in his throat.

He finally stopped sloshing the liquid around in his mouth where it was burning the soft tissues inside his cheeks. He swallowed, nearly gagged and stopped breathing. Asphyxiation seemed a better option than puking his guts all over the place, and at least if he passed out he would stop thinking. The nausea receded slightly and he breathed out cautiously.

He dipped his lips to his glass once more, and felt reality crumbling softly like a sandcastle dampened by the tide.

***

Someone was pulling on his hair, forcing his head up.

"Taking to your father's breakfast habits, Fox?"

The fingers released his hair. His forehead hit the table and he grunted.

"'Uck offf, Di."

"Yeah, right. Come on, you can't stay here."

The hand slipped under his arm and pulled upward to try to force him to stand up. He obeyed unsteadily, not finding any reason to object...indeed, not finding thoughts of any kind.

Supporting half his weight, Diana cursed and tightened her grip around his back. She'd woken up early to go to the hospital, but as she was making her way through the small lobby, the hotel receptionist had informed her in embarrassed tones that "her *friend* had fallen asleep in the bar and could she please help him make his way back to his room, where he would no doubt be more comfortable?"

As she dragged Mulder towards the stairs leading to their floor, she reflected that if he had left his room to drink himself to oblivion it was probably because things had been less than comfortable there. She'd never seen him in that state before. Mulder didn't drink much. He'd told her once that the reason he avoided alcohol was not so much because his father's love story with Jack Daniels had put him off, but because he knew that - just like his dear dad - he had been cursed with an aptitude for addiction. "I have this junkie inside me waiting to crave," he had said. Mulder didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't do drugs, because he knew that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop.

Something must have gone very wrong.

<Didn't take long for the bitch to fuck him up royally...>

She hauled him up the last few steps. She felt his knees buckle and they both swayed as he leaned more heavily against her.

"Almost there, Fox."

He lifted his head and blinked. When he saw his bedroom door a few feet away from them, his body grew rigid against hers.

"No...can't..."

He flailed at her, escaped her grasp and slumped against the wall.

Fowley sighed impatiently. "Come on, Fox, I really don't have time for your drunk pain in the ass number." She grabbed his sleeve but he batted her hand away.

"Can't see her..." he mumbled, before crumpling into a heap at her feet.

Diana knelt beside him, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself.

"Why can't you see her? What happened?"

He shook his head violently and a pained moan was the only answer she got.

She heard a door open behind her.

"Mulder!"

At the sound of Scully's voice, the drunken agent curled up even more tightly, hid his face between his knees and started rocking back and forth like an autistic child.

Fowley stood up and backed away when she saw the young woman hurry towards her partner. Scully crouched in front of him and began stroking his back and shoulders. Diana saw the redhead wrinkle her nose.

"Mulder, are you drunk?"

"Plastered," Fowley answered for him.

Scully shot her a quick glance which didn't show as much surprise as it should have, before returning her gaze to her partner.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go inside."

"Can't..." He kept rocking, still hiding his face.

"Yes, you can, come on." She began to pull on his arms, trying to make them loosen their ivy grip around his legs, but he resisted.

"Noooo...hurt you," he whimpered.

Diana saw the young woman close her eyes briefly.

"Shhhh...Mulder, you didn't...it's OK, I'm OK," she whispered softly, resuming her stroking motions along his forearms, trying to soothe him.

Fowley started to make her way back to the stairs. Whatever had happened between those two, she didn't want to know.

"Diana?"

She turned round. Scully was looking at her apologetically. Yeah, something was definitely wrong there.

"Thank you."

Fowley bit back a snide comment and settled for a curt nod before leaving.

***

After what had seemed an eternity, Scully had finally managed to coax Mulder into releasing the death grip around his legs, and taken hold of his hands.

"Mulder, we can't stay here."

Maybe it was the pleading tone of her voice, but this time he seemed to listen and lifted a tear-streaked face to her.

She squeezed his fingers encouragingly and stood up.

"Come on, partner, work with me here."

Mulder's gaze skittered away, but he complied nevertheless and let her help him stand up.

Once inside, she made him lie down and pulled the sheets and blankets over him. He was shivering.

"Scully..."

She pushed a damp lock away from his clammy forehead.

"I'm here. Sleep, Mulder."

He looked at her through slit eyes.

"What's wrong with us, Scully?"

She stroke his cheek with the back of her hand.

"I don't know Mulder, I don't know."

***

Scully fastened her seatbelt and glanced at her partner. Mulder was chewing his thumbnail and shooting nervous glances everywhere but at her.

He seemed to have developed a blind spot where she was concerned.

When he'd woken up in the early afternoon, she'd handed him a glass of water and a couple of Tylenols. He must have had a hangover the size of a rainforest - he certainly shared the same greenish complexion. He kept wincing at every raised voice or slammed door, and hadn't taken his shades off all day.

They hadn't broached the subject of the previous night's disaster, not that she'd been expecting to. If there was one thing she could still rely on despite the wreckage of their relationship, it was that there existed still enough understanding between them to know when words would do more damage than good.

Their intimacy had been bred out of silence; it wasn't always ideal nor healthy, but it was the way they functioned. And right now, it was clear that they just needed to ignore each other for a while.

They'd booked an evening flight to D.C. and returned to the hospital to check on Bob. The pilot was recovering quickly and was already complaining about the lack of brandy and cigars in his regimen. Fowley had let them know that she wanted to stay behind a little longer to take care of him. She hadn't asked any questions - just kissed Mulder on the cheek and whispered something in his ear which had sounded a lot like 'congratulations'. She'd had that 'Told You So' look written all over her face.

Scully couldn't bring herself to criticize the other agent for being petty. Overall, the woman had played more fairly than most, considering what they'd put her through. And the worse thing was that Scully wasn't so sure it had been worth it.

***

8 hours in a plane is a long time when your mind is too full of questions to let the purring sounds of the engines lull you to sleep. Mulder seemed to be having the same problem as he tossed and turned rigidly in his seat - his long legs a hindrance to his comfort as well as a tripping hazard for anyone using the aisle. She also noticed that he was keeping a safe distance between them.

There would be no drooling on each other's shoulder this time.

She couldn't even begin to explain why she hadn't wanted Mulder to touch her when they had been making lo...no, strike that, when *she* had been fucking *him* - because that's what it had been. The sexual urge had been there, but that was it. Her body hadn't allowed her to be distracted by the whole gamut of emotions usually associated with the act.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was sore. She might have liked it rough sometimes, but not *that* rough. Still, she understood why he'd reacted like that. Mulder fought his fears and frustrations with an anger he had very little control over once he'd unleashed it.

And she'd read fear in Mulder's eyes when he'd forced her to open her eyelids. The same fear she'd seen in the man she'd killed.

The fear caused by the sight of something which shouldn't have been there.

Something alien.

Inside her.

She rubbed the skin of her left hand with her thumb. It looked almost grey under the plane's green fluorescent snooze lights.

That figured.

***

By the time they arrived in DC, 12 hours and 6 time zones later, Scully was physically exhausted. Mentally she felt fine, calm even, but these days that state of being wasn't a surprise anymore.

A thin chilly drizzle streaking the night sky greeted them. Mulder retrieved his car from the long-term car park and drove her home.

When they arrived at her place he didn't make a move to follow her, and it wasn't her intention to try and dissuade him. But she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his, to let him know that in spite of everything she didn't harbor any hard feelings. She knew he must have been wandering within the sophisticated torture chambers he liked to create inside himself - must have been doing so since they left Tunisia, and the least she could do was to try to share a little of her strange peace of mind with him.

He flinched slightly under her touch. "I don't deserve that."

"But I do."

She opened the car door and stepped out.

"Try to get some sleep, Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave her a joyless smirk.

"There might be not much left to see after Skinner's done with me."

"He did mention he had some plans for you if we managed to bring you back. Will you let me sign your plaster cast?"

She was telling him that their light-hearted partnership was still there somewhere. He huffed at her but she caught the silent thanks in his eyes.

She met this acknowledgement with a tight-lipped smile and went to retrieve her bags from the trunk.

***

 SKINNER'S OFFICE. 9 AM.

"I don't care if they're growing corn out of their asses in Tunisia, Agent Mulder. If you ever so much as lift one skinny butt-cheek from your office chair during working hours, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your days glued to the Bureau switchboard. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Walter Skinner glared at his agent.

"I know you're not telling me half what happened out there..." he saw Scully lean forward in her seat, and held up a commanding hand before she could reply, "...but since you weren't on a legitimate assignment, I won't bother wasting my time trying to wrench it out from you. I want the two of you back in that bullpen, and this time you'll sit still, you hear me?"

The agents nodded. They both looked far too tame. Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't need to remind you that you two are persona non grata on any case bearing even the slightest connection to the X-Files. I also know you've chosen to disregard that fact, but understand one thing: pull another little trick like this one and you're out. Is that clear?"

More nods. It was like talking to those fucking plastic dogs people put in their cars.

Walter Skinner sighed. The truth was, he had received phone calls. Calls informing him that if he couldn't keep his agents on a leash, other people could, and they would pull it tight, till they choked...

"That'll be all," he growled.

His agents stood up.

"I'm advising you as a friend. Don't take it lightly."

"We never did, sir," answered Scully's low, serious voice.

The AD noticed the way Mulder was looking at him.

He knew.

As the door closed behind them, Skinner felt an acute sense of dread wash over him. The threats he'd received had been clear.

If they didn't listen, they were dead.

And they never listened.

***

The two agents stood side by side in the elevator. Mulder was casually brushing some lint off his jacket.

"That wasn't too bad," Scully ventured.

Mulder looked down at her with a slightly disgusted pout and didn't reply.

"Consider yourself lucky, Mulder, he could have suspended you."

"That's what worries me."

She raised an eyebrow. "What? That he didn't chew your ass as much as he could have?"

"That was barely a nibble, Scully, and for the record that's my 'skinny' ass from now on."

She looked puzzled. "You sound disappointed."

"The man was afraid, Scully. I'd bet my Knicks T-shirt that there's someone using every threat in the book on dear old Skinner to make sure we don't take this investigation any further."

"So you're saying Skinner let you keep your job to make sure you can't get up to trouble on your own. "

"Probably."

She smirked. "The man's a hopeless optimist."

That earned her a mild scowl. The elevator door opened and they headed towards the bullpen.

Mulder felt small fingers squeeze his arm briefly, followed by a whisper:

"And by the way, Mulder, your ass isn't skinny."

His partner brushed past him and headed for her desk.

***

GEORGETOWN, 8 PM

Scully unlocked the door of her apartment and walked in. Her flat was bathed in the soft shadows created by the street lamps. Mulder had left the office early, mumbling something about the Gunmen. It was obvious he was trying to keep his distance.

Using Frohike as a buffer zone...the man had to be pretty desperate.

She removed her coat and padded to the living room, rubbing her right shoulder. Her mood had changed progressively during the day. The strange blank calm - which was now so much a part of her that she could hardly remember feeling anything else - had given way to a certain restlessness. She wasn't worried or upset or anything, it was just a certain stiffness in her neck, a certain tension in her body, as if it were expecting something...

The cold nuzzle of a gun against her throat stopped her train of thought abruptly.

"Welcome home, honey."

She would have recognized that deceptively boyish voice everywhere...

Alex Krycek.

 

Chapter 16

KEYWORDS: Alien Sex Fiend.

DISCLAIMER: <Deep Throat voice> Mr Carter, they've been ours for a long, long time.

NOTE: I'm assuming here that Scully *did* move to Georgetown and that it wasn't another movie plot inconsistency. And don't call me sucker!<g>




"So, any idea what this thing is?"

Mulder was standing behind Langly, who held the 'Game Boy' device Mulder had found in the helicopter.

They had managed to switch it on after a little fumbling. Red digital numbers were now flashing brightly on its little screen.

"Looks like it's indicating a location," Langly pointed out. "Must be some kind of tracking device, but I've never seen anything like it."

"What location?"

Fiddling with his tie, Byers entered the data on his computer. "Let's see...uhm...USA...Washington DC...Georgetown."

The four men stared at each other.

"What's in Georgetown?" asked Langly.

"Scully," breathed Mulder, blanching.

"The chip," added Frohike almost matter of factly. Mulder stared at him. The little troll could be pretty quick on the uptake when he chose.

"Whatever or whoever it's tracking is currently moving." Langly was squinting at the numbers on the device's screen through his thick lenses.

They followed the changing numbers for a while, while Byers dutifully entered them on his computer.

"Any idea why Scully would head out of Washington at this hour?" he asked, as four pairs of eyes followed the data scrolling down on his computer.

Mulder grabbed his coat, and rushed towards the door. "Don't take your eyes off that thing."

He drove through Washington like a lunatic. Scully would have been proud.

It all made sense now.

How Krycek and Marita had been expecting them in the cave. How Strughold had been waiting for them to come out. How the soldiers had found them so easily in the desert. How in the past their enemies had always turned up when they had been so sure they'd covered their tracks. Since the implant had been put back in her neck, Scully had unwittingly been used as a tracking device.

When Mulder, out of breath, opened the door of her flat and stumbled on her briefcase, he was forced to face another harsh truth.

His little spy was gone. Again.

***

Scully opened her eyes and turned her head to avoid looking directly at the bright neon light above her. Dazedly, she took in her surroundings. She was strapped to a hospital bed in a white room, windowless, empty but for a small Formica bedside table, and possessing the distinctive disinfectant smell of a hospital. She remembered Krycek's gun against her neck and immediately afterwards the prick of a needle in her hip. Her mouth felt dry and heavy as if she'd been chewing flour.

She pulled on her restraints and sighed. No way she could free herself right now.

Some minutes later she heard the door opening and turned her gaze to see Krycek enter, all dressed in black, looking like some goon out of a cheap thriller.

She wasted no time with niceties.

"What do you want, Krycek?" she croaked.

She wasn't afraid but she was angry. It was at least one emotion she could conjure up quite easily.

The man smirked and approached the bed to lean over her. She pulled on her wrists once more. You never knew.

"It's not so much a question of what I want, as what *you* want, Dana."

He was leaning very close to her; she could feel his breath on her cheek. It was distracting. It pissed her off.

"It's Scully to you, you devious little shit. And what I want is to get out of here."

He smiled at her like a wolf and leaned closer, mere inches from her face. "Really?"

Her breathing grew more labored. She felt her skin flush with the telltale signs of arousal. <What the hell is wrong with me?>

Krycek also noticed the change, of course, and fixed her with an assessing stare which still held a certain dose of amusement.

"You feel it, don't you?"

"What?"

"The Need."

She shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Krycek lifted his good hand and let his fingertips brush her neck and trail to the side of her left breast over the green scrubs she was now wearing.

"Liar."

Scully tried to keep her breathing even, but that mere touch was inflaming her. She felt like a rubber band about to snap and melt under the heat of his hands.

Raw lust.

His lips touched her skin, traveled across her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, while his hand closed over her breast. Her nipple was as hard as a diamond stud against his palm. She couldn't move, couldn't talk to make him stop. Her breathing was quickening despite her best efforts to keep it under control.

"I could fuck you right now, Agent Scully, and you wouldn't even lift a finger to object," he whispered against her parted lips. "Not that you could," he added, running his hand down her arm to gently stroke the place where the leather strap bit into her wrist.

Her next breath came out as a moan.

His eyes met hers and his smile was almost tender. She hated him for being right.

"Do you know why?"

"No." She didn't care, didn't want to talk, all she wanted was bury herself in the smell of his leather jacket.

He moved his lips away from her and instinctively her own head followed.

He chuckled, and straightened up. "Do you know what the primary survival instinct of a species is?"

She blinked. Those weren't the words of someone about to engage a sexual encounter. She willed her breathing back to a less chaotic pace and tried to shake the feeling that her nerves had coiled themselves into one giant tuning fork humming its need for sex. It was easier now he wasn't so close.

He waited for her to compose herself and patiently reiterated his question.

"What is the primordial urge of any animal?"

That was an easy one, even for her lust-addled brain. "Reproduction," she offered.

"There you go."

"I don't..."

"When you were down the cave in Tunisia, Scully, you blacked out under a flow of information not intended for human minds. It was the only defence mechanism your brain found to keep you sane. It did understand one message, however, probably because it was the most universal one, the most powerful: the need to procreate. I bet Mulder was a very lucky man when you woke up, wasn't he?"

She bit her lip.

"Wasn't he?"

"None of your business, Krycek," she growled.

Alex threw his head back and laughed. It was an honest laugh, so unlike him.

"So you're telling me some sentient oil is pushing me to...to mate." Her tone suggested that pigs would go skydiving the day she would even consider believing this.

He pinned her with a gaze which held no gentleness. "Precisely...which is ironic considering I'd have more chance getting your bedside table pregnant."

"You - bastard..." she gasped in shock.

The man held her hard blazing stare, gauging her reaction. "Anger. Very good. It's usually the first one to return."

"The first *what*?" She hissed.

"Have you experienced a strange emotional numbness lately?"

She stared at him, opened her mouth to reply and changed her mind. Closing her eyes, she relaxed back on the bed.

"I don't see why I should answer your questions, Krycek."

"So that I can help you."

Her eyes snapped back open, wide and furious. She raised herself as much as she could on the pillow, not caring that leather was digging painfully into her wrists.

"HELP ME? You break into my home, point a gun to my head, drug me, kidnap me, and you have the gall to tell me it's for my own good? Well, fuck you, Krycek!"

There was a single knock at the door. Krycek shrugged at her before going to open it.

"What can I say? You're too rare a specimen to waste."

Scully squirmed on her bed, yanking at her restraints. "A SPECIMEN? Krycek, God help you if I ever..."

She forgot all about her threats when she saw the man approaching her.

"Good evening, Agent Scully." The man shot her one of his blinding my-toothpaste-is-fantastic smiles.

Scully could only gape at him.

Ali.

The Tuareg was dressed in a white lab coat and was pushing a steel trolley with various medical instruments on top. He set it by the bed and turned to his companion.

"So?"

"The usual; heightened sexual drive and aggressiveness."

Ali nodded, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and donning them.

"Could someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Krycek shot her an irritated glance.

"I tried, but you won't listen to me."

"Because you're full of shit, Krycek!" she sneered.

She saw his fist clench against his jacket and heard Ali chuckle softly.

"Feisty, feisty, feisty..."

"Can I ask what your role in all this is, Ali?"

The Tuareg was fiddling with instruments on his trolley. "I am the family doctor." He still had a strong accent when he spoke. At least not everything about him had been fake. He came closer to her, put a sphyg around her arm to measure her blood pressure and started pumping. "I must ask you to cooperate, dear colleague."

"Cooperate with what?"

"I need a blood sample from you."

"What for?"

"To check your endorphin and adrenalin levels."

"No."

Ali sighed and stopped his work. He brought his face close to hers. He was handsome, very handsome. Once again she felt her body respond, and cursed herself for it.

"We've no time to play around, Agent Scully. I'm asking you because it will be easier for both of us if you let me do my job. There are too few of you out there, and I can't afford to lose data because you decide to throw a temper tantrum. I'm willing to answer your questions, so keep the attitude for your partner, okay?"

"Could you stand further away, please?"

The young man smirked and complied, resuming his task. "Of course. Wouldn't want to trespass on Agent Mulder's private hunting grounds, would we, Alex?"

Krycek shrugged.

"What did you mean by 'too few of us'?" asked Scully, seething at Ali's last comment, but resolute to ignore it.

"People who are the bridge between our race and the next. The species the colonists have been waiting for, to use as permanent hosts."

Scully was tempted to scoff at this theory as she had done with Mulder, but tamped down the urge to do so. <Gather as much information as you can; you will always be able to argue about it later.>

"You see," Ali continued, "We suspect that the next species will share a complete psychic connection with the colonists. You suffer from an embryonic form of this connection while retaining most of your major human faculties. If we manage to disconnect you completely, that means we might be able to find a way to fight back, to preserve the humanity of the new race when the time comes."

"I don't feel any connection."

"Oh, but it's there, believe me, even if you're not aware of it yet."

"How can you be so sure?"

Ali didn't reply immediately but instead read her blood pressure, made notes, removed the sphyg and checked her pupils. He then stood up to prepare a syringe for a blood sample.

"Because, Agent Scully, it is obvious your behavior has been altered. And don't bother arguing with me on that. I was there in the desert and I have ears. I know what happened when you woke up. I know that you killed our prisoner in cold blood, and I suspect that you've been wondering why it is you don't feel an ounce of guilt about it, why you feel so good, so detached from the rest of the world."

He held the hypodermic in front of her.

"Now the question is: do you want to stay like that? Do you want to become one of Them?"

"I don't believe there is such a thing as 'Them'."

"You don't need to believe in a plague to catch it, Doctor Scully."

"And why would I want to change if it makes me feel so good, as you say?"

"Because it's not who you are, and you know it. You want to care, Dana."

Minutes flew as Scully pinned Ali down with a hard look of almost hypnotic quality. Finally she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him on the pillow.

"Do it," she murmured.

Ali reached for her arm and raised his needle.

***

Mulder had been driving all night with his cell phone tucked under his chin, following the directions the Gunmen gave him at random intervals. Tension and lack of sleep were making him light-headed and he knew he was going to have to stop very soon. He would be of no use to Scully if he ended up wrapped around one of the many trees of the forest he was currently passing through.

He was heading west. He'd already crossed West Virginia and was currently driving through Ohio; if he kept on like this he'd soon hit southern Indiana.

His phone rang one more time and he answered it.

"Mulder?" Frohike's voice sounded cautious.

The agent's fingers tightened on the wheel. <Bad news.>

"What?"

"The signal's gone."

He straightened up on his seat.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"Meaning, the device stopped displaying directions. All we have now is a line of flashing dots."

Mulder pulled the car sharply to the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tyres. The sky was glowing dull grey over the high trees; dawn was near.

He dreaded the answer to his next question but he had to know.

"Any idea what this means, Frohike?"

Silence. His friend was hesitating.

"Frohike?"

He heard hushed voices arguing briefly at the other end of the line.

"Er...it could mean that we are outside the range in which the chip can pick up a proper signal..."

"Or?"

He heard the little man draw a deep breath.

"Or...that the chip stopped sending signals, that it has been...deactivated."

Mulder leant his forehead on the steering wheel. The chip was activated by brainwaves. Logically it would stop working when brainwaves ceased.

He didn't need the implications of Frohike's reluctant information spelt out to him.

She could be dead.

 

Chapter 17

KEYWORDS: Awakening.



Scully was staring blankly at the wall. Her nose was blocked, her eyes were swollen and itchy and she couldn't feel her legs. She'd been here only four days, but it seemed like a lifetime.

To say the last days had been difficult would be a gross understatement.

On the second day, Ali had turned up with a hypodermic and an apologetic look, telling her that the PET scan she'd grudgingly agreed to undergo showed aberrant activity in certain areas of her brain, and that her blood samples contained some striking abnormalities.

He'd said he had to act before it was too late.

Despite her outraged protests, he'd injected her with - she learned later - a cocktail based on catecholamines. To begin with it had been fairly pleasant. She'd felt quite euphoric, sated.

But it didn't last. Soon all her muscles grew taut and her body started to convulse, her spine arching off the bed like an electric arc, as if she were under the onslaught of a powerful orgasm - minus the pleasure. It felt as if her body was generating its own electricity and was sending it to explode in her head. It could have been bearable if it had happened once, maybe twice.

It lasted 8 hours.

Almost as soon as one seizure stopped another would begin, only minutes later. After five hours she was crying and begging them to make it stop. Pride can be such a remote concept when you think your entire muscle tissues are about to rip themselves to shreds. She had felt blood filling her mouth as she bit her lip to keep from screaming. After that, Alex had pried her jaws opened and inserted a piece of wood between her teeth. Bless the little motherfucker's heart.

When the spasms finally receded, her brain felt frayed like a sponge left too long in bleach, and a dull pain was throbbing along her optic nerves. Her vision was blurred and her body was shaking with the strain imposed on her over abused muscles. Ali covered her shivering form with several blankets and switched off the light. She welcomed the darkness and fell into a fitful slumber filled with dreams plagued by dark and unnamable entities hovering above her, whispering a hellish lullaby.

On the third day she woke up feeling as frail and vulnerable as a newborn kitten. Ali came and removed her restraints; she was too weak to move anyway, let alone escape. She curled up into a ball, refusing food or drink, and slept most of the day.

When she opened her eyes again there was an IV line in her left arm. A surge of anger blazed through her unexpectedly and she yanked the offending needle out of her arm. She slipped from under the covers to stand up and realized - too late - that her legs wouldn't support her. She fell off the bed in an undignified heap and started to pummel the floor in frustration, yelling a stream of colorful and sexually explicit insults to the walls, the bed, and the universe at large like the true navy brat she was.

Probably alerted by the commotion, Alex came in and lifted her in his arms. Oblivious to the blows she redirected to his chest and the highly audible aspersions she was making on his mother's career choices, he put her back in bed without a word and left again.

She felt so raw and hurt inside, her psyche bleeding as if scraped with coarse sandpaper. Her emotions were back all right, but tangled in a messy web threatening to overwhelm her, to drive her insane. She gave up the fight for control, burying her face in the pillows and starting to cry.

She cried for her sister, for Emily, for the women in Allentown; she cried for the stranger she killed, cried for Mulder's bruised soul. She cried for herself, for all the things she could never change, for the regrets, the shattered hopes. She cried for hours in long loud raking sobs for all the things she'd ever held back, until exhaustion pushed her into a dreamless sleep.

***

The door opened and she paused in her scrutiny of the opposite wall to watch Ali enter, smiling as ever.

"And how are we this morning?"

The look she shot advised him to shove his doctor/patient routine in a dark and very tight place.

Ali sighed good-naturedly and approached the bed to check her vitals.

"I can't feel my legs." Her voice was hoarse from having put such strain on her vocal cords over the past two days.

The young Tuareg looked up at her. "It'll pass; it's only a temporary side effect."

"It better be." She didn't need the use of her legs to ruin the orthodontic dream he was flaunting at her.

Ali scribbled some notes on his pad - ignoring her glare - and sat by her side.

"You gave us quite a show yesterday," the young doctor remarked conversationally as he checked her pulse.

Scully bit her damaged lip and looked away.

Ali patted her arm reassuringly. "Don't be embarrassed, it's a necessary phase. It means the treatment is working."

"I felt better before."

"No, you didn't *feel* before. The lack of emotional response was fooling you into a fake sentiment of well-being." He secured her IV line and, seeing her skeptical gaze, added, "I know you feel like hell right now: humanity reasserting itself is not a pleasant process; but believe me it's worth it."

His intense determination to convince her reminded her of her partner.

Mulder.

She'd been gone for four days now. How would he be coping? He was probably reliving her abduction all over again.

A wave of sadness washed through her. Ali raised questioning eyes.

"Something's wrong?"

"Mulder. I need to contact him."

The young man shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Dana. I'm sorry but we just can't take the risk. Mulder has always been under close surveillance by the Syndicate's minions, even more so since you broke into Strughold's compounds in Sahara. Allowing you to get in touch with him would lead them here immediately."

"How do you know they weren't watching me as well? That they didn't follow you here?"

Ali's face became suddenly closed off. "It was a risk we were willing to take."

"Why?"

"I told you, you're important to us."

Scully sharply leaned back on the pillow with irritation.

"Oh, that's right, I'm a *specimen*."

Ali sighed. "You need to rest." He began to stand up but felt Scully's hand close around his wrist.

"Wait. How many?"

"What?"

"How many? Like me."

The young doctor fixed her with his warm dark gaze, apparently debating whether to answer. Scully's grip tightened on his wrist.

"Tell me."

Ali sighed and gave up. "Twelve. That we know of. And that's including you."

"What happened to them?"

"We only had access to seven people. Out of those seven, five underwent the treatment. You're number six."

"And?"

Ali pulled his hand out of her grip and stepped back. "Listen, I don't think it's the best time to talk about this..."

"Tell. Me. What. Happened." Despite her gravely voice, her words were scalpel-sharp enunciated.

The Tuareg came back, sat again next to her on the bed, drew a deep breath and pinned her with a 'don't-say-you-didn't-ask-for-it' gaze.

"All right. Three committed suicide within a week of receiving the treatment. One went insane. Only one so far seems to have made a full recovery."

Ali saw the young woman's fingers clench over the blanket, the only outward sign that the news affected her. Her features were set in a carefully composed mask.

"That's not a high success rate."

Ali shrugged. "33%, doesn't seem such a bad result to me."

"But that's assuming I make it."

He smiled at her. "I have no doubt about that. You're strong, stronger than the others. They couldn't even manage to articulate a whole sentence at this stage."

She didn't return his smile but eyed him coldly. "You had no right to put me through this without my consent."

"I was trying to save your life. Your *human* life."

"Could have fooled me."

"Believe me, this treatment was the lesser of two evils. Remind me to introduce you to number seven when you're feeling better."

"The one who wasn't treated?"

"Precisely."

"What's with him...or her?"

"It, rather...but that's enough talk for today. Get some rest." Ali stood up and headed towards the door.

"But..."

"I said 'enough'. Doctor's orders."

Sulking, she watched him leave the room. She lay back down on her pillow with a sigh and fell asleep within minutes.

***

Scully had been gone for a week now. After losing her track, Mulder had been to every police station in the area where he'd lost the scent to personally report his partner missing.

South Indiana police got a good earful of Spooky Mulder at his most frantic. They loved every minute of it. In fact they loved his performance so much that one exasperated soul had called Skinner to inform him of the situation.

Skinner had ordered his agent back to Washington in his best Marines tone and filed an APB on Agent Scully. When Mulder had stormed into his boss' office with his wrinkled suit and bloodshot eyes, Skinner had declared him unfit for work and sent him home. The bullpen staff had ducked for cover when the AD office's door had slammed with a force which shook the entire floor ominously.

Skinner considered himself lucky that the hinges were the only casualties.

***

Mulder stared at the line of flashing dots. He'd taken the device back from the Gunmen despite their protests. The object was the only link he had with Scully and he'd be damned if he let it out of his sight. He'd left it on his coffee table on top of an old National Geographic and next to a bottle of whisky. He needed the liquor to make himself stop pacing like a lion in a cage.

On the third day he'd tried to go back to the Bureau to have a word with Spender, convinced that the Smoking man was behind all this and that he might be able to pry some information from the little weasel. Unfortunately Security had received strict orders not to let him in and when he insisted had thrown him out without ceremony.

He'd called Skinner to complain, but the AD had told him that in his present state he was persona non grata in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, before assuring him that he would inform him as soon as they had the tiniest hint of a lead.

A week went by and the only information Skinner was able to give was that Agent Scully had vanished without a trace and that he had taken the liberty to call her mother. Mulder didn't even want to begin to think about Margaret's reaction to the news.

Several times Mulder had suppressed the urge to smash the device against the wall and had settled for his glass instead. The wallpaper on the wall opposite his sofa was stained and sticky with whisky.

A knock on his door roused him from his alcohol-induced stupor. He regretfully detached his gaze from the red dots blinking mockingly at him and padded wearily to answer it.

"Gee, Mulder, you're a mess!"

Frohike stood in the doorway taking in his friend's unshaven, rumpled appearance. The little man wrinkled his nose.

"When was the last time you had a shower? You smell like a drunk tank."

"What do you want, Frohike?" rasped Mulder, retreating to his couch.

"I may have something for you."

Mulder lifted his head sharply. "What?"

"Well, since we couldn't find any trace of a signal, we decided to look for the opposite." The little man removed a map from his pocket and laid it flat on the table.

"What do you mean?"

"We ran a radar check of the area where Scully disappeared...and came up with this." He pointed at the map. "See this circle here? Five-mile radius. No signals."

"So?"

"God, Mulder, stop the booze, your neurons are guacamole! No signal at all! No electric lines, no TV or radio frequency, no power generator, nothing!"

Mulder leaned forward and traced the circle with his index finger. "Someone's screening the area."

"Exactly. Someone who's got something to hide."

Mulder jumped from his couch, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Let's go."

Frohike lifted his hands. "Nuh-uh. First things first - you shower, mister. I ain't crossing two states in a van with you smelling like too many armpits dipped in J&B."

"A van?"

"The boys are waiting downstairs. We're all coming along. You might need our expertise."

Mulder shot him his first smile since Scully had disappeared, and ran to the bathroom, shouting over his shoulder:

"Remind me to kiss you, Frohike."

"I'll take a rain check and give it to the delicious Agent Scully!"

***

Krycek was in the main control room working on his prosthetic arm with a small screwdriver.

Ali lifted his eyes from the pile of papers messily scattered on his desk, stretched his arms above his head and poured himself a glass of tea from the iron kettle which seemed to accompany him everywhere. His gaze drifted towards his companion.

"What's the matter with your arm?"

"I think I busted a joint when I lifted Scully."

Ali grinned. "She can't be that heavy."

"No, but she was struggling and my arm is not harpy-proof."

"You quite like her, don't you?" Teased the young Tuareg.

Alex shrugged, still fiddling with his arm. "What can I say? She's my oldest enemy."

"Before Mulder?"

"Mulder is not my enemy."

"*He* obviously doesn't know that."

"We use different methods to achieve the same goals. He'll realize that one day."

"What about Scully?"

"Scully just hates me."

"For any special reason?"

"We both want the same thing."

"Revenge?"

Krycek shook his head with a wry smile. "Mulder's ass."

Ali's unrestrained laughter boomed against the walls of the small room but was suddenly cut short by a series of urgent bleeps coming from the control panel linked to Scully's heart monitor. A security camera had been installed and both men rushed simultaneously to look at the screen. The form on the bed was lying very still but her heart rate was increasing by the second.

"Here we go again!" muttered Ali as he flew out of the room.
 

Chapter 18


"I crash and I burn, maybe someday you'll learn, I'm only human on the inside. I stumble, I fall, baby, I do it all..."

- The Pretenders - Human -



Scared. To death.

She was breathing in sharp little pants, blood pounding behind her temples, wide-awake, terrified. It was the childhood fear of the elusive monster under the bed all over again, increased exponentially by an adult experience of terror. In the grown up world of nightmares, monsters did not stay under the bed. They climbed in with you, straddled your hips and weighed on your chest, their cold breath wetly chilling your neck. They curled their heavy hands around your throat, feeding on the fear echoed by the quickening of your pulse.

Invisible but so tangible.

This one was going to rip her throat open, she was sure of it.

She had the utter conviction that, were she to move an inch, she would die. She'd never experienced that feeling with such a perfect clarity before, not even in the last days of her cancer, when she thought there was no hope left. Death had been hovering in her hospital room but she had refused to acknowledge it. And Death had never been so bold as to climb in her bed without permission.

But monsters had no manners.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doorknob turn.

She screamed.

Ali burst in the room and rushed to her side, taking hold of her shoulders.

"It's OK, calm down, it's OK..."

She was shaking like a leaf, her body felt cold and sticky with sweat under the thin cotton of her scrubs.

"Something...something...wanted to kill me...it was there..."

"Shhh...it's all right. There's nothing here but you and me. It's only a panic attack. Happens a lot afterwards." He told her in soothing tones while rubbing her back. She sagged against him, fighting hard to get air into lungs and losing the battle. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage like a squash ball struck by a hyperactive cocaine addict.

"Can't breathe..." she gasped.

"It'll pass. You need to relax." He produced a hypodermic from his lab coat pocket. "Here, let me give you this."

"What...is it?"

"Just a mild myorelaxant. Lie back down. We can't allow letting your heart strain too much after what we just put it through."

He gently pushed on her shoulders and she complied. She would have agreed to a morphine shot at that point to get rid of the oppressive feeling crushing her chest.

When he was done, the young doctor patted her arm.

"There. This should do the trick in no time."

He was right. Seconds later, she was already breathing more easily. Ali went into the small adjoining bathroom and returned with a cloth. He leaned down to wipe her damp brow, but she snatched the washcloth from his hand, before he had time to reach her face.

"I can do it." She snapped, visibly annoyed at being fussed over.

"As you wish." He stepped back doing his best to hide an amused smirk, remembering how Krycek had described her as a control freak. He'd naively thought his friend had been exaggerating a little.

"I can't stand this room anymore." She said, holding the cloth to her forehead and closing her eyes.

Ali nodded in sympathy. "You'll be out soon."

She eyed him skeptically. "Are you saying you're going to let me go?"

"You're not a prisoner."

"No kidding."

Ali sighed. That woman must have been crossbred with at least half a dozen mules.

"Listen, as soon as you're fully recovered, you'll be free to go. You may not be aware of this, lady, but your presence is a threat to all of us."

"I didn't ask to come here."

Ali muttered an expletive in his native tongue and in three long strides reached the intercom by the door.

"Alex? I need a wheelchair."

***

There are some times when you just want to punch people's lights out, hoping that they will see sense when words alone don't seem to be getting through. Frohike was thinking that now was one of those times.

"Mulder if this is the place, it's probably heavily guarded. They'll be on us like a ton of bricks if we step any closer." The four men were standing behind the rusty gate leading to the factory main entrance.

"I can't see any guards."

"Well if this is a secret facility, they are not going to advertise it by posting guards outside are they?" The little man growled at him.

They'd assumed that the originating point of whatever was used to create a radar shield had to be somewhere near the centre of the circle Frohike had drawn on the map. A few questions to the locals in a nearby town had confirmed that a few months back, the old tyre factory had been bought by a government agency - which one they couldn't say - but that soon after unmarked trucks had been seen heading towards it. Still, the few people who had been curious enough to wander in the area had come back saying that the place still looked as deserted as it had been for the past ten years.

Mulder looked at the ugly structure of dusty concrete and corrugated steel and groaned in frustration. Frohike was right. But he still felt the urge to throw caution to the wind and rush inside the place, shooting everyone or everything that would stand in his way.

"I think we should wait for the cover of night." said Byers.

Langly nodded and lowered the pair of military binoculars he'd been holding against his glasses. "He's right. And you know what Mulder? These guys don't need guards." He handed him the piece of equipment. "Not with the shitload of cameras poking out from under the rooftop."

Mulder pressed the binoculars against his nose.

"This is the place, guys. She's here."

"Maybe, but a dead knight is of no use to his betrothed, Mulder," pointed out Frohike.

The agent sighed and rubbed his neck.

"All right, we wait."

Frohike gave him a playful slap on the back. "Good boy."

"And Scully's not my 'betrothed'."

"Is that so? Am I to understand that the valiant Agent Mulder finally faced the ire of Sir Walter and took the flower of the fair Agent Scully?" The little man leered at him.

"None of your fucking business, Frohike."

"I take that as a yes."

***

Krycek arrived pushing the wheelchair. Ali turned around and approached him.

"Thanks."

"Where are you taking her?"

"She needs to be convinced that we did the right thing."

Scully noticed Krycek's shoulders tense, as well as a sudden uneasiness in the two men's stare.

"You don't have to come along, Alex."

Alex shook his head and produced a half-hearted grin which closed like a wince.

"No. It's OK. I'll go. Besides you need to go and check Dimtri. He tried to hurt himself again."

Ali's face darkened in concern. "What did he do this time?"

"Enucleation with a coffee spoon. Faye stopped him just in time."

The young doctor let out a tired sigh. "Bless the ever efficient Faye."

Both men turned toward Scully simultaneously. She couldn't decipher the look they both threw at her, but she didn't like it.

"Who's Dimtri?" She asked.

"The unlucky lab rat." Answered Krycek.

Ali shook his head, took a few steps towards the door and hesitated.

"Alex, this can wait."

"Get the hell out of here, Doc."

Ali pursed his lips and shrugged before leaving the room.

Krycek wheeled the chair by Scully's bed.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Pay our respect to number seven."

He lifted her from the bed and helped her into the chair, laying a blanket over her bare legs with unexpected gentleness. They exited the bedroom and Alex wheeled her through a labyrinth of grey corridors. Scully glanced at him over her shoulder.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing. I just don't like having you behind me, Krycek."

"It's an acquired taste."

"I highly doubt it."

He stopped the wheelchair in front of a steel paneled elevator, and leaned over her to press the call button.

"Do you need hard evidence, Agent Scully?" He breathed against her cheek.

Her hand shot up, closed on his right ear and twisted it painfully. Krycek backed away with a yell and a Russian curse which was probably X-rated.

"Next time, I won't aim for your ear, Krycek. I advise you to keep your distance if you want your *evidence* to remain intact."

The elevator doors opened and Krycek pushed her chair roughly inside, still rubbing his ear.

"Don't push your luck, Dana." He growled.

She raised a smug eyebrow and patted the sides of her wheelchair.

"Seems to me you're the one doing the pushing, *Alex*."

***

They entered a room, the furthest wall dominated by a large two-way mirror. Krycek wheeled Scully in front of it. Beyond the glass panel she could look into another room, nearly as bare as her own. Sitting cross-legged on a cot, was a woman. From where she stood Scully could only see her profile, half hidden by stringy blonde hair. As if sensing their presence, she lifted her head and turned it slightly towards them.

Scully's recollections of their trip to the cave were hazy at best, but she remembered catching a glimpse of the same woman before everything went blank. The one Mulder had called Marita. Only now did it strike her that she and Mulder had seemed to know each other already.

Whatever that meant.

Looking at her face, Scully blinked. Something was wrong. She tried to stare, but couldn't quite focus. Marita's features seemed to be blurring and changing as if something under her skin were trying to make itself known but hadn't quite grasped the hang of it - like some morphing program gone erratic. The only constant were her eyes, which shone like two smooth pieces of coal. Entirely black.

"That's the woman I saw in the cave," she told Krycek, "who is she?"

Krycek shot her a look of surprise quickly followed by a vicious smirk.

"I see our dear Mulder has been keeping things from you again."

Her pale blue eyes went liquid with hurt before crystallizing into icy chips of contempt. It didn't take long for her to know exactly what he was doing, and why he was doing it. Alex could never resist picking at other people's scabs, especially not when Mulder had been involved in the initial wound.

"Spit it out, Krycek."

The man shrugged.

"Marita Covarubias, former UN representative, Syndicate spy...and Mulder's own personal *informant*." His last word couldn't have been more laced with disdain if he'd said 'whore'.

He saw the muscles jump in tiny jerks behind her skin as she gritted her teeth and wondered what was making her the most furious, the thought that Mulder might have slept with Marita or that he never bothered to mention her existence. Knowing Scully, it was probably the latter which pissed her off the most.

"What happened to her?"

"She's been in close contact with the oil too many times, had several 'episodes' like yours. It became increasingly difficult to bring her back...and every time we did, she was a little less like us and a little more like them."

"Why wasn't she treated?"

Scully was surprised to witness an unusual cocktail of pain and guilt flash in her captor's eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was just a little too detached to be genuine.

"She always refused it, said she could control it, that we needed the information to fight back. It was her choice."

"But you didn't need her approval, after all you didn't ask for mine."

Krycek moved her wheelchair closer to the glass panel.

"Look at her Scully, it's too late, she's already changing. We had no idea this would happen until a few days ago."

"But you let it happen. You let this woman sacrifice herself for your goddamn cause." She snapped.

Her chair spun around so quickly she thought she was going to topple over. She found herself under the heat of Krycek's scorching glare, leaning over her with his good hand gripping the arm of her wheelchair.

"*OUR* goddamn cause. This whole fucking planet's cause!" He yelled at her. He balled his fist and slammed it on the armrest, sending her chair rolling backwards abruptly. Scully managed to grab the wheels and stop the motion just before hitting the wall.

Krycek was staring through the glass, clenching and unclenching his fist, his breathing coming in short hisses through his nose.

"What is happening to her?" She queried in the soft, conciliatory voice she usually reserved for children. A hurt Krycek was an unpredictable one. Better not to up the ante.

He didn't answer immediately, still staring blankly in the other room. When he finally did, his voice was toneless.

"She's developing strange abilities. She says her body is trying to readjust itself to fit her new perception of herself. Don't even ask me how such a thing is possible."

This would explain the strange sensations she'd experienced in front of mirrors. A shiver jolted icily down her spine. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together in a way she didn't like. Because it bluntly showed that the only liar here, had been herself. Ever since she'd categorically refused to believe that she'd been infected with more than a freak virus in Antarctica. Ever since she'd pegged her strange behavior on posttraumatic stress.

The woman in the room was indeed infected - not by a new virus - but by a new parasitical life form. Where it really came from was irrelevant at this point. It was a complex, dangerous and powerful organism which preyed on the human mind before assimilating it as one of its own.

It wasn't something she could refuse to face anymore.

It was something to fight.

"Can you talk to her?" She asked Krycek after a while, a renewed determination clipping her tone. The man turned to stare at her with a hint of surprise. He'd obviously noticed the change.

"When her mind is not completely focused on surfing the 'oilnet', yes, we can. But it's becoming an increasingly rare occurrence."

"You mean she can communicate with them from here?!"

"That's what she says."

"So they know where she is."

"That's a possibility."

"Then you're not safe here."

He snorted at this.

"I see you are beginning to have a good insight of our situation."

He started wheeling her outside the room. Further down the corridor she spotted a group of men and women in lab coats talking in a doorway. She had been tempted to think that Ali and Krycek were the only souls running the place.

"So this is a research centre?"

"I guess you could call it that, yes."

"Ali said something about preventing a 'psychic connection' with the colonists. Is this what those people are working on? Trying to prevent cases like Marita?"

"Mostly."

"Any success so far?"

"Well, you had first hand experience of the Treatment, and you're the proof we're beginning to get the hang of it. But what we really want to do is to prevent the 'connection' from happening at all. The problem, you see, is that we have yet to find out who's susceptible and why."

"No common denominator?"

"Not as far as we know." As they neared the elevator, the doors slid opened and a man stepped out, flipping pages on a clipboard. Alex quickened his pace.

A slim hand reached out from inside the car to keep the doors from closing.

Suddenly, Scully felt herself being sharply pulled backwards and heard Krycek tensed voice say precipitately: "We'll take the next."

But it was already too late. Too late to prevent her from seeing the person standing inside the elevator.

It was a young woman in a lab coat, a tall and slender blonde in her early twenties with her hair tucked into a no-nonsense French twist.

But it wasn't her figure nor her clothes which made Scully's eyes turn grey with shock.

It was her face.

The woman's green gaze settled on the agent in the wheelchair, and her finely arched eyebrows raised in surprise. She lifted her eyes. They took the texture of granite as she pinned Krycek with a hard stare.

"Number six?" She asked coldly.

"Faye..."

"Why didn't you tell me, Alex?"

When no answer came, the woman released the door, stepped outside the elevator and greeted Scully with a curt nod.

"Mother."

Chapter 19

KEYWORDS: Lab-brat.

DISCLAIMER: Resistance is futile. They've already been assimilated.



"I'm a mother And I fake like a mother I understand time and it isn't on my side."

- I'm A Mother - The Pretenders -


<Mother.>

On her wheelchair, Scully closed her eyes and clamped her lips between her teeth to keep them from trembling.

"Make her go away."

Her choked whisper was laced with desperate panic as she blindly reached behind her for Krycek's prosthetic arm, her fingers digging into the unyielding plastic as if she intended to meld her prints there.

Krycek shot Faye a warning look and brushed past her to summon the elevator.

Scully didn't say a word as Krycek wheeled her to her room, nor as he helped her back into her bed. She turned her back to him, fists curling under her chin as if she was trying to hold onto something.

Her sanity probably.

He left and made his way back to the control room. Ali was going to be furious. Since Scully's arrival they had planned everything to make sure that 'never the twain should meet'. It was the reason they had installed the agent in the remotest part of the facility, the reason they'd been the only two people to take care of her during the procedures. Visiting Marita should have been safe, as Faye wasn't assigned to this level today.

It was unfortunate.

As much as he liked to toy with the nerves of the little redhead, Scully was simply in no condition for such an encounter; Ali had been adamant about that. The newly treated subjects were psychologically fragile and Faye's existence was not the sort of news likely to hasten Scully's recovery.

During her abduction, Faye had been created from a cell sample taken from her body. Chromosomes had been removed from the cells, engineered using synthetic DNA and injected into one of her ova that had been emptied of its own chromosomes. This cell had been induced to multiply and the resulting embryo to undergo accelerated growth.

Because Faye had been made from the genetic material of an ordinary body cell of Scully's, she was born with chromosomes already more than thirty years old; ageing had been abnormally rapid. She had had a mere two years to learn the basic human training of a child before she reached her emotionally retarded adulthood. She was intelligent -frighteningly so even - the genetic engineering had ensured that, and she had had a chip implanted in her neck at 'adolescence' so that transfer of information could begin. She'd acquired her mother's medical knowledge through this medium, and she'd learnt to be thorough and efficient but very little else. Chips conveyed data but not the memories attached to their acquisition: she knew that the best way to disable the replication of an alien retro-virus was to keep the infected body cold, for example, but wasn't aware of the race against time which had led Scully to this discovery, and could not have appreciated the emotions involved.

Raw facts were all she ever got from her mother. And at the time she didn't even know she had one.

She was a lab rat, a creature kept alive and experimented upon to test the validity of various cloning/hybridization programs such as the Kurts and the Emilies. Deriving her DNA mainly from her mother, she was much more clone-like than the Emilies, despite her blonde hair and eye color which were just engineered marker characteristics, a proof that the synthetic DNA had been successfully incorporated. Within her cells, replicas of carefully chosen alien genes provided templates for their alien products, as scientists watched her for effects on physiology or behavior.

A handy source of non-human protein.

They had found her during a scavenging mission to a Roush lab in North Dakota. She'd been given work there as a lab assistant - under close surveillance, needless to say. When they had taken possession of the place and got rid of the guards, it hadn't taken much to convince her to follow them and embrace their cause. She possessed her mother's sharp sense of justice, of what was right or wrong, and had seen enough during her short life to understand that the people who created her had only their own selfish interest in mind.

She had not been brought into this world out of love, and was perfectly aware of that.

Faye kept to herself and had no concept of such things as small talk, addressing people only when strictly necessary. Faye didn't grow up within a family, was never told bedtime stories, never learnt any songs, never had any hugs. She didn't quite know how to interact with the other members of the team, coming across as a little too blunt, a little too cold, a little too honest.

And she never smiled. It unnerved people.

The IQ of Einstein, but the emotional development of a fridge.

Alex was reaching the control room when Ali burst out of it, a panicked look on his face.

"They found us! We have to leave!"

Krycek rushed into the room and saw the soldiers surrounding the compound on the security cameras. He slammed his fist onto a red button set at the edge of the control panel and a deafening alarm resonated inside the room, echoed by dozens others along the corridors.

The two men started to run.


***

"What the fuck...?" Frohike ducked for cover and watched his friends do the same as four black helicopters surged out from behind the rooftop of the old tyre factory in a flurry of madly slashing rotors and flying dust.

They had been spending the afternoon debating about the best way to reach the disused staff entrance they had spotted at the back of the building without being seen by the security cameras, when the roar of several engines had alerted them. They watched from behind thick bushes as the helicopters landed and several commando soldiers jumped out of them and surrounded the place. *They* sure weren't bothering to wait till nightfall.

"Mulder, we have to get the hell out of here!" whispered Frohike urgently.

"No!"

"Mulder..." Byers pleaded softly.

The agent shook his head. "If we move they'll see us. They don't expect to find anybody outside, so they won't look for us as long as we don't move."

Langly buried his neck deeper between his lanky shoulder blades, muttering: "I hate it when he's right."

Three soldiers were now breaking down the back door and within seconds had disappeared inside the place.

"This is weird, Mulder. I thought the guys at this place *worked* for the military," whispered Byers.

"So did I. Perhaps we stumbled upon the black sheep of the family."

When the place had cleared, Mulder stood up.

"Go back to the van," he ordered. "Don't wait for me. I'll call you."

"Mulder! You're not serious, you can't go in there!"

But the agent wasn't listening any longer; he'd already started to crawl his way towards the factory.

He managed to reach the door without being noticed, and slipped inside. He could hear the muffled sounds of the soldiers running ahead of him. Following them at a safe distance, he saw a handful of them disappear through a door on his left, waited a bit and cautiously pushed the door open, gun in hand. He found himself staring down a stairwell and made his way down the steps. A minute later he reached a security door with its digital keypad torn from the socket, hanging from it by a jumble of colored wires. Flattening himself against the doorjamb, he peeked through the slight opening. He heard gunshots and scuffles in the distance and chose to head for the lower levels.

On a hunch.

The stairs ended in front of another door similar to the previous one. He withdrew a small magnetic card from his pocket. Time to see if 'Sesame', as Frohike proudly called it, was really worth the money they'd given those Japanese hackers. He slid the card through the slot and watched the red light...remain red.

<Sesame my ass.>

He was about to try again when he heard a click. He flattened his palm tentatively on the door and it opened without resistance.

He looked at the innocent-looking card and smiled before pocketing it and stepping into a grey corridor lined with nondescript doors, some of them open. Everything was quiet and smelled of hospital disinfectant. A glance inside one of the rooms, equipped with an IV stand and heart monitor, confirmed that he was in some kind of medical facility.

The cold metal of a gun against his neck froze him into place.

"Drop your weapon."

His heart jumped and skipped a beat, not because of the danger but because the voice was extremely familiar.

"Scully?"

He heard the sharp click of the gun being cocked and felt the steel press harder against his skin.

"I said, drop your weapon."

He complied and his Sig clattered on the floor.

The pressure against his neck eased.

"Turn around slowly."

He obeyed and found himself staring at a woman. A woman who talked with his partner's inflections, a woman whose entire face shouted Scully at him. Same nose, same lips, same chin, same forehead, same cheekbones.

But she couldn't possibly be Scully. She was too tall, too blonde, too young, and the distrustful eyes scanning him were distinctly green.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He collected himself as you usually do when someone points a gun to your face and demands answers.

"I'm from the FBI. I came here to look for my partner."

"Show me your badge."

He did as asked and the woman in front of him inspected his ID briefly before signaling with a sharp movement of her chin that he could put it away. She lowered her gun slightly but remained on her guard.

"Scully's your partner?"

"Is she here?"

"Yes."

<Bingo.> "Take me to her."

The young woman hesitated. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."

"Listen, there are soldiers upstairs currently ransacking the place. Whatever orders you might have had don't apply anymore. I'm just trying to find her before they do."

The young Scully look-alike tilted her head slightly, considering her options. She finally gestured with her gun towards the corridor.

"This way."

She let him step forward and directed him through a series of doors and uniformly grey corridors. The place was huge and had been designed like a maze, probably on purpose.

But he was more preoccupied by the young woman walking behind him than by the architecture; a woman who seemed yet another living proof that Scully's genetic material had not been left to waste. A surge of anger pumped acid into his stomach.

<Bastards.>

They stopped in front of a door which bore the number "6" drawn in black marker. Faye nodded her head. "In there."

Unconsciously holding his breath, Mulder opened the door.

He took in the small form curled on the bed with her back turned to him.

"Leave me alone."

He would have recognized that pissed-off alto among thousands. It really was her this time.

"Someone didn't get any coffee today."

His partner started and turned sharply towards him with wide eyes.

"Mulder!"

He rushed towards her and enveloped her in a fierce hug. He felt her little hands clutch like claws at his shoulders as she repeated his name, probably trying to convince herself that she wasn't hallucinating.

He released her gently and stared at her. She looked sick. Her skin was stretched like rice paper over her cheekbones and the eyes looking at him were sunken and feverishly bright.

"God, Scully, what did they do to you?"

She shook her head, unwilling to answer, and squeezed his arm. "How did you find me?"

"That's a long story, and we don't have time." He stood up and reached for her shoulders to help her stand up. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"Mulder..."

He was already hauling her out of bed, but as her feet touched the ground he felt her knees buckle and he hurried to tighten his grip around her.

"...I can't walk."

"What?" He looked horrified.

"It's okay...I was told it was temporary."

"Who told you? The same people who kidnapped you?"

She looked away. "Let's go, Mulder." She gestured with her chin towards one corner of the room.

His lips thinned in anger, but he didn't say anything. He lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the wheelchair.

***

Faye was waiting for them outside and when Scully saw her she sharply turned her head away to stare at the wall.

"What's that abomination doing here?" she hissed.

"Scully!"

The blonde clone looked unfazed and ignored the insult. "They'll be here any minute now, follow me!" she ordered, and hurried off down the corridor.

Mulder could hear the muffled sounds of standard-issue military boots echoing in the distance. He started to push, but Scully blocked the wheels with both hands.

"Mulder, we're *not* going with her."

He leaned over her, sighing impatiently. "You'd rather deal with Old Smokey's minions, Scully?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I would."

"Scully..."

"She's one of them, Mulder, she's one of their creations. How could we trust her?"

He firmly pried her fingers away from the wheels and folded her hands over her lap. She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. He smiled apologetically and started to push the wheelchair.

"Sorry, Scully, but between two evils, I'd rather choose the one who looks like you."

***

They came out a few miles away from the factory as the sun was beginning to set.

They had been led to what looked like a dead end, and Mulder had briefly believed that they had indeed fallen into a trap until their strange guide had activated some invisible mechanism on the smooth wall, and a panel had slid open. They made their way through an endless tunnel leading to a disused sewage system. He had to take Scully on his back, and leave the wheelchair behind, in order to follow the thin concrete ledge which ran along the sewers. The feel of her bare thighs against his ribs was mildly distracting... at least until the memories of their last sexual encounter surfaced in his mind like bloated carrion, decaying his budding arousal instantaneously. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on watching his step.

About an hour later, they collapsed on a patch of grass surrounding the muddy bank of the exit.

"Scully, you OK?"

His partner was lying on her back hiding her eyes from the light with one arm thrown over her eyes. "Too bright."

He stroked her arm. "We'll get you some cool shades, partner."

She nodded weakly and curled up on her side, burying her face in the crook of her arm.

He turned towards their guide, who was sitting a few feet away using her discarded lab coat to wipe her face, wearing a somewhat disgusted frown. She looked so much like Scully it was unsettling.

She caught him watching her and raised an achingly familiar eyebrow.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Faye."

A hundred questions burned his lips, but he thought better of it. Scully was clearly upset by the woman's presence, and he didn't want to aggravate the situation by demanding answers his partner was probably not ready to hear. Queries about Faye's background would have to wait.

"Do you know where we are?"

The woman gave him the details of their location and he drew his cell phone to call the Gunmen, keeping one eye on Scully's motionless form meanwhile.

When he was done, he focused on Faye again and gestured towards his partner who seemed to have fallen asleep.

"What happened to her?"

"She was treated. She needs to rest."

"Treated? Against what?"

"The Colonists were gradually interfering with her thought processes. The connection with them needed to be severed."

"You're telling me she was kidnapped to be cured?"

"Yes."

"Is any of this related to her previous abduction?"

"No. This research unit didn't exist then."

"So why choose her?"

"Subjects like her are not widely available."

He bristled slightly at the woman's choice of words. "I had guessed altruism wasn't your main concern."

"No, it wasn't."

There was none of his partner's warmth in the woman's voice. <Well, she might be Scully's spitting image, but that's all she is.>

He threw a quick glance at his curled-up partner.

"So...is she cured?"

"She seems to be. Although it's likely she'll remain emotionally unstable for a while. You might want to keep an eye on her."

He winced. "She's gonna love it."

Faye shrugged.

He stopped his train of thoughts - which involved a ballistic Scully biting his head off for hovering - and fixed on the young woman again.

"Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working *for* anybody, Agent Mulder, I work *against* the Colonists and the men who support them," she replied vehemently.

He was about to ask her the reasons behind this choice when he heard his name being called. Raising his head he saw Frohike waving at him from the top of the small slope rising behind them, above the gaping mouth of the sewer pipe.

"Here's the cavalry."

He waved back and leaned over his partner who looked dead to the world and brushed his index finger lightly over her cheek.

"Hey, Scully?"

The small agent didn't react. He raised his head towards Faye with a concerned frown.

"It's all right, their sleep is close to coma the first few days. Let her, she needs it."

He nodded and lifted his unconscious partner in his arms before following Faye up the steep and crumbly slope.

***

"Holy mother of God!"

The three Gunmen were standing in front of the van, frozen into place, gaping at Faye. Frohike looked as if he'd just been presented with the World's Eighth Wonder.

Mulder brushed past the young woman who looked rather uncomfortable at being suddenly the centre of attention. "Don't mind them, they're harmless."

He stepped forward with Scully in his arms.

"Guys, this is Faye. You can lift your jaws off the tarmac now."

The three men shuffled and coughed, muttering barely understandable greetings. Byers managed to pry his eyes from her long enough to catch Mulder's.

"Is she..."

"Don't ask."

The agent climbed into the van and gently laid his partner on one of the back seats. Frohike climbed after him, while Byers returned to the driver's seat, shortly followed by Langly who busied himself with the maps bunched inside the glove compartment.

Frohike watched Mulder rummage in his bag, looking for clothes which could fit Scully.

"Is she all right?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine." <And you've been hanging around her too long, boy.> "Turn around, Frohike."

The little man grumbled, "Egoist," but complied. Mulder removed his partner's scrubs and changed her into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants which hem he had to roll up several times. He clenched his jaw, trying not to think too much about the dark bruises circling her ankles and wrists.

His friend was looking at Faye through the window. "You know, Mulder, I'm seriously thinking of joining the enemy."

Mulder raised his head and followed the little man's gaze.

"Stop thinking with your dick, Hickey."

"Someone who can create such a gorgeous creature can't be completely bad."

"I'm sure Scully will be delighted to hear that."

Frohike's gaze dropped quickly to his feet.

"Uhmmm...yeah, forget about it, will ya?"

Mulder patted him on the shoulder and climbed out of the vehicle.

"Faye. I don't know what your plans are but there are still a few things I need to ask you. Would you mind coming with us?"

The young woman shrugged. "If something like this ever happened, I was supposed to hide and wait until things settled down."

"Well, in that case..." he gestured towards the van with a smile, "...welcome aboard."

The young woman didn't return his smile. She seemed to be anxious about something. He stepped closer to her.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

Mulder frowned. That wasn't the Scully denial he'd been expecting. He kept forgetting how different the two women were despite their striking resemblance.

"What is it?"

"I would like to come with you, but...I'm not sure my mother wants me to."

It took a while for Mulder to answer, startled as he was.

"Your mother...you mean Scully?"

"I thought that much was obvious."

Mulder ran a hand through his hair, at a loss what to say. Yes, of course it was obvious, he just didn't have any time to wrap his mind around the concept.

"I think...I think she has yet to come to terms with the fact that you exist."

Faye nodded thoughtfully. "I understand."

They both climbed in the van in silence.

 

Chapter 20

KEYWORDS: Mommy Dearest.



"It's just the night in my veins, making me crawl in the dust again, it's just the night under my skin, slipping it in."

- The Pretenders - Night In My Veins -


Mulder woke up and felt the cold night air rush inside the van. The gunmen had stopped at a gas station and he looked dazedly through the window to see Byers filling up the tank. They'd been driving back westwards all day and at some point he had fallen asleep on the back seat with his partner gathered against him.

"Where are we?" he muttered thickly.

Langly's head peeked out from above the headrest of the passenger seat. He had opened the door on his side and was about to step out the vehicle.

"Pennsylvania."

They were heading towards Rhode Island, Quonochontaug to be precise. Going back to Washington was out of the question. Scully needed a safe place to rest and he couldn't possibly turn up with Faye in DC. His parents' deserted holiday home was the best place he could think at such short notice, and besides it was by the sea: Scully always felt better near an ocean.

The object of his thoughts shifted slightly in his arms and he took the opportunity of checking the back of her neck. The needle mark was still visible where a microcircuit, engineered by the Gunmen whilst in Washington, had been injected next to the chip to block its homing signal. She had slept right the way through their journey which had made him slightly worried, but Faye had assured him that it was part of the mending process. She'd also warned him about possible nightmares, but so far he'd failed to witness any sign of them.

She shifted again, made a funny little groan in the back of her throat and opened her eyes. He smiled down at her, brushing errant locks from her temple.

"Hey, sleepy head."

"Hmm...'ey."

Blinking, she lifted a hand to his stubbled cheek.

"You need to shave," she whispered in a sleep-husked voice.

He chuckled and traced the curve of her shin with a lazy finger.

"You too, partner."

The hand resting on his cheek drew back and slapped him lightly.

"Oaf."

He shot her a goofy grin in lieu of reply, as she straightened up, wincing.

"What's wrong?"

"I've got pins and needles in my legs."

"I suppose that's a good sign if you can feel them."

He helped her sit upright next to him. She looked around, while rubbing her thighs, taking note of her surroundings for the first time. She noticed the plastic cut-out of Nixon's grinning head dangling from the rear-view mirror.

"The Gunmen?"

"Yep, if it weren't for them I would probably still be going slowly insane in my apartment."

She reached for his hand with a tight little smile and squeezed it hard in understanding. She'd nearly gone insane too during that time, but of course that was not something she was about to voice.

"Thank you."

He shook his head. "Thank the Gunmen. They're the ones who found out where you were. Which reminds me...you owe Frohike a kiss."

She raised an enquiring eyebrow, removing her hand.

"I don't remember promising him one."

He looked at her like a kid busted with a fake ID and dropped his gaze to his knees.

"Well...*I* kinda did..."

"You promised Frohike a kiss?"

"Uh..."

"From me?"

"Well...sort of..."

When he dared looking back at her, she was staring at him with her Victorian Governess disapproving look, but two nearly imperceptible lines bracketing her mouth gave her away. Agent Scully, much to his relief, was indeed amused.

"Why, Agent Mulder, I didn't know our partnership involved a legal claim over my lips."

He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling like green pagan bonfires.

"It was in very small print in your contract, you must have missed it..." he breathed, scant inches from her lips. He closed the remaining gap and kissed her, his heart inflating like a weather balloon as he felt her respond and lean into the kiss, until...

"OW!"

Mulder drew back sharply and brought a hand to his lower lip. She'd bitten him; not hard but just enough to startle.

"You might want to reconsider the terms," she warned before leaning towards the window. "Where are the others?"

"Probably gone to the bathroom."

"Speaking of bathrooms..."

Mulder watched struggle to stand up. She managed to do so, but at the first step her legs gave out and he had to catch her. She fell back onto the seat.

"Don't worry, Scully, I'll carry you there."

She sighed in frustration. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

Mulder crouched in front of her and, laying one hand over her knee, pinned her with a worried gaze she had learnt to recognize as the 'I-have-something-to tell-you-but-you're-not-gonna-like-it' look.

"Scully?"

"What?"

"Faye came with us."

"Faye?"

"Your...whatever she is..."

He witnessed a phenomenon he had observed too many times. Scully's walls rising up and shutting out any light coming from her eyes like smooth and dark shields over a high-tech bunker.

"I see."

"Scully...she's on our side, she helped us get out. And from what she told me, I reckon she hates the men behind the Project as much as we do."

His partner was staring at a spot over his shoulder with a stubbornly vacant look in her eyes.

"She's not responsible for what she is, Scully. You have to give her a chance."

A spark of anger flared like a comet in her artificially empty gaze.

"Stop telling me what I have to do, Mulder!"

He slammed his hand against the upholstery. He'd have more chance of getting Skinner to wear an Afro wig. He drew a deep breath in to calm himself.

"All right...you still want to go to the bathroom?"

She nodded rigidly and he lifted her in his arms. She was all angles and tensed muscles against him.

He climbed down from the van and headed towards the station's restrooms.

***

Faye was washing her hands when they both entered. She shot them a sideway glance while grabbing a paper towel to dry her hands.

"I told you she would wake up eventually," she told Mulder.

Scully was looking at her stonily. The animosity emanating from her was so obvious he could almost feel the bitter taste of it under his tongue.

Faye apparently paid no heed to this. She took a few steps towards them while wiping her hands and fixing her mother evenly.

"I want to talk to you."

"And I don't," replied Scully coldly, turning her head away.

Mulder caught a glimmer of hurt sizzle briefly in the young woman's pale jade eyes.

"Why not?"

Scully shifted stiffly in his hold, her clenched fingers digging painfully in his upper arm. If she could have walked, Mulder was certain she would have stormed out by now.

He caught Faye's unyielding stare and mouthed: "Later," with a pleading look.

The blonde clone ran her tongue over her upper lip as Scully did every time she was annoyed, perplexed, or simply nervous.

Mulder shuddered inwardly. <This is too fucking weird.>

Faye finally ducked her head and brushed past them to leave. She didn't look happy.

He carried Scully into one of the stalls and left her there.

"Call me when you're ready."

She nodded mutely, staring at the tiled floor. He closed the door as she started reaching absentmindedly for the waistband of the sweatpants he had lent her.

He stared at his haggard expression in the mirror and splashed some cold water on his face and neck. Nothing he could say could make her feel better; she would not open up to him now, not when she was trying so hard to keep a tight lid on the panic he knew was brewing inside her.

The family reunion was not starting under favorable auspices...

***

The pain in his outstretched arm brought Krycek back to consciousness. His brain was foggy with drugs and he had to fight to pry his eyelids open.

Cigarette smoke drifted under his nose.

"You betrayed my trust, Alex."

The dark blur in front of him gradually took a more human shape, so to speak.

"I learnt from the best," he rasped.

He was slumped against the wall of a medical ward, with his right arm handcuffed to a towel rack above him. His prosthetic arm had been removed.

"And you thought you could get away with it?"

He tried to shrug and a burning pain shot down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he closed his hand on the steel rod and pulled himself to his feet. A sudden bout of nausea made his head spin and he felt the cool wall connect with his cheek.

"I had to try," he panted, fighting to remain upright.

"Why? For her?"

Krycek slowly shifted his body to lean on his back and peer behind his former boss.

Marita was strapped to an operating table with her nightmarish face turned towards him. Her hydrocephalic head had been shaved of what little hair was left. Dark veins criss-crossed the grey skin of her forehead and her lips had receded to a thin bluish line against her discolored gums, the contrast with her still white and perfect teeth giving the overall effect of a grinning skull. She seemed to be watching him, but it was hard to tell with eyes that looked carved in onyx.

He averted his gaze.

"What's the matter, Alex, don't you find her attractive anymore?"

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"From you? Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I can assure you that I'm not."

"Then what am I doing here?"

A doctor stepped out of the shadows and, holding a hypodermic, approached Marita.

"Well, since you put so much of your heart in this project, I thought you'd be interested in witnessing the autopsy."

Krycek lunged towards the man, yanking at his cuffs.

"Touch her and I'll kill you!"

"How noble of you." The old man flicked his ashes and turned to wave at the doctor.

"Proceed."

Krycek watched powerlessly as the doctor administered the lethal injection. Marita's dark gaze was still fixed on him and he saw a white bubbly foam ooze from the corners of her eyes.

He was pretty sure they were tears...

***

The rest of the journey was spent in relative peace. When she'd called him to help her back to the van, she looked more calm and collected, even though her reddened eyes told him she must have been crying. She had greeted the Gunmen with genuine warmth before curling up wearily on the back seat, physically shutting everybody out.

Faye did not try to talk to her again.

They arrived in Quonochontaug in the early afternoon and the Gunmen offered to go and do some shopping while Faye and Mulder removed the dust sheets from the furniture, made the beds and generally busied themselves with the tedious but necessary task of making a house which has been unoccupied for several years habitable.

When Mulder stepped onto the porch some time later after showering, Faye was leaning over the wooden rail, staring pensively at the sea glimmering between the pine trees.

Scully had fallen asleep on the sofa almost as soon as they arrived. She slept so much he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't more a means of escaping reality rather than an after-effect of the treatment. On the other hand, it now allowed him to have a proper conversation with her strange offspring.

"Faye?"

The young woman turned around as if she'd been expecting him.

"So, what are you? A hybrid?"

She didn't seem bothered by his question.

"Technically yes...but I don't have green blood, if that's what you're implying."

"You're human?"

"Not entirely. Most of my DNA comes from my mother, so I'm fairly similar to a true human clone, but my genome was enhanced with replicas of selected alien genes using in-vitro genetic hybridization techniques."

"For what purpose?"

"I think I was used as a control to test the validity of cloning and hybridization programs, but that's all I know."

"That must be really ego boosting," Mulder replied with a grin.

The blonde clone didn't smile nor reply. She seemed truly impervious to humor, not just pretending to be as his partner so often did.

"What did you want to talk to Scully about?"

"I wanted to explain to her what I am."

"Why?"

"Since I was created without her consent, I thought it was my duty to inform her of what her genetic material has been used for."

He looked slightly surprised. "Is that all?"

Faye frowned, leaning her back against the balustrade and stretching her hands over the wooden rail.

"What do you mean?"

"I was expecting something of a less factual nature."

"I don't understand."

"I just thought shop talk would not be the first thing on your mind."

"shop talk?"

Mulder sighed, "what I'm saying is...you finally get to meet your mother and the only thing you want share with her is scientific data about your conception?"

She straightened up slightly as his words finally began to make sense.

"You assumed I would try to establish an emotional connection?"

"Something like that."

She shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know how to proceed."

The way she phrased this nearly made him laugh. "What? Were you raised in a cell or something?"

"Yes."

His amusement was short lived; now, he could only stare at her as confused apologies collided with each other in his mind like billiard balls on a pool table.

"Don't let your eyes fool you, Agent Mulder. I'm only five years old, and the concept of family is not something my makers felt it useful to teach me."

He pondered over this for a while, the little wheels in his head clicking into full shrink mode.

"Not really a people person, are we?"

"Not really."

"Does it bother you?"

"Lack of knowledge always bothers me."

<Well, well, well, wouldn't your mum be proud of that one.>

He stood up and started pacing the porch thoughtfully.

"There could already be an emotional bond you're not aware of," he mused, stopping in front of her.

Her eyebrow shot up, intrigued. "Explain yourself."

"Well, you were worried about upsetting her for a start..."

"I don't like people being upset, it makes me uncomfortable," she cut him off.

"Fair enough, but you also looked hurt when she refused to talk to you."

She remained silent for a long time, creasing her brow and biting her lip as Scully did when confronted with some impossibly complex riddle.

"I felt...sad," she finally conceded.

He nodded. "Because what she thinks is important to you."

She shot him a worried look. "Is it...normal?"

At that moment she appeared to him as she really was: a child seeking reassurance.

"It's perfectly natural," he replied soothingly.

She accepted his answer with a tiny nod, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

"My head hurts a little. I'm not used to long journeys like this."

"Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep? There's nothing else to do for the time being."

She nodded again and headed inside the house. Mulder watched her go, his mind reeling with the idiosyncrasies of her behavior.

***

The Gunmen came back eventually and he helped them carry countless shopping bags into the kitchen. As he was carrying a paper bag full of groceries and trying at the same time to prevent with his chin the six pack precariously balanced on top of it from following the natural gravitational pull, he saw that Scully was awake and was looking groggily at the men going back and forth in the living room.

After depositing the bags in the kitchen he went back to the main room and offered her a glass of apple juice which she drank greedily. He made a mental note to make sure she fed herself properly tonight. She'd been living on fruit juices since Indiana on the pretence that eating while traveling made her sick. In other words she hadn't had any solid food for the last two days, and God only knew when her last proper meal had been. Bootleg medical facilities were not known for their catering services.

"The hibernation season's over?" he teased.

She ignored him and hid a very unladylike yawn behind her hand before sitting up. He was glad to see that some color had returned to her hollow cheeks.

"You went shopping?"

"The Gunmen did."

"Let's hope they have more sense than you when it comes to nutritional value."

"Just because I don't dine on tofu and bee pollen doesn't mean I don't have a balanced diet," he protested.

She finally deigned to grace him with a smirk. "Mulder, you've got a complete ecosystem thriving in your fridge."

"These are wrongful allegations made to discredit my credibility."

"I've seen it."

"Since when do you believe what you see, Dr Scully?"

"Since I saw one of your take-away leftovers sporting a green Mohawk."

Despite its silliness, he was aware that this type of exchange was a roundabout way for them of checking that their atypical communication channels were still open. Well at least the ones which did not trespass into the many restricted zip codes.

"Punk food in my fridge? Cool!"

"It certainly had no future whatsoever."

He dipped his head and chuckled. When he focused on her again she shot him one of her rare genuine smiles, the one with the teeth and dimple options. Mulder decided it was a moment worth featuring right next to the alien spaceship in his 'Witnessing Of Astounding Occurrences' mental folder.

A stage cough made them snap their heads towards Frohike who stood in front of them with an amused smirk and a pair of crutches.

"Sorry to interrupt the Kodak moment." He handed her the crutches. "We thought you might find these useful."

Scully smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you."

"Anything you need, Agent Scully," he leered at her.

Scully held his gaze evenly with a slightly lifted eyebrow and settled the crutches by her side. Next, she gestured Mulder off the couch and crooked her finger towards the little man.

"Come here, Melvin."

Her voice had dropped several octaves and Frohike's leer vanished to be replaced by sudden panic.

"Sit down," she commanded.

He complied and nervously watched her as she leaned towards him.

"Mulder told me I owed you something, and I have to agree you deserve it."

Next thing he knew his face was between her hands and she was kissing him. A long, heartfelt kiss. Square on the lips.

When she drew back Frohike looked utterly shell-shocked. Mulder stepped forward and waved a hand in front of him.

"Hey, Hickey?"

The little man didn't react, staring blankly in front of him with the glazed blissful expression of a Garden Gnome - if anybody ever had poor enough taste to model a lawn ornament after Frohike, that is.

Mulder shot a stern look at his partner.

"Very clever, Scully, you've crashed his system."

She replied with a 'deal-with-my-lawyer' shrug and reached for her crutches. Mulder was by her side in a flash and helped her up.

"Madre de Dios," Frohike breathed, finally coming out of his stupor.

Byers and Langly entered carrying the remaining shopping bags and stopped in their tracks when they noticed their friend, sitting on the sofa with his hands hanging limply at his sides and a dazed expression on his face.

"Something wrong, Frohike?" Langly asked.

Getting to his feet, their companion muttered something about a stiff drink and headed toward the kitchen with a somewhat unsteady gait.

Langly and Byers stared at each other and shrugged before following him.

Mulder turned toward his partner who, leaning on her crutches, had already started to move away from him. Her steps were slow but more or less steady as she headed for the hallway leading to the downstairs bedrooms.

In two long strides he reached out for her shoulders, stopping her momentarily to steer her in a different direction.

"You want to head towards the kitchen, Scully."

"No, Mulder I want to head towards the bathtub." She shrugged his hands off and resumed her progression.

Mulder stepped in front of her, blocking the way.

"You can have a bath later. Come and eat first."

"Are you giving me orders again?" The temperature of the room was suddenly freefalling.

"No, Scully, but I'm hungry, and you're gonna need some help to get into and out of the tub." He added his best whipped puppy-dog look for good measure.

The piercing look she threw him told him that she wasn't fooled for an instant, but she nevertheless decided to cut him some slack for a change and dropped her shoulders in surrender.

"All right, Mulder. I guess I can stay in these clothes a little while longer." She started to slowly head towards the kitchen.

"What's wrong with those clothes?" he pouted behind her.

"They're yours."

***

They joined the Gunmen around the wide kitchen table and helped them fix dinner. Scully noticed they had brought back quite a few vegetables and fresh fruits and shot Mulder a 'Watch And Learn' look of deadly sharpness.

Byers informed her in mildly embarrassed tones that they had taken the liberty of buying her a few clothes since she didn't have any. She was too pleased by the news to let the mental picture of the three Stooges buying her underwear bother her.

"Frohike tried to drag us in Victoria's Secrets but we didn't let him," intervened Langly as if reading her thoughts.

"What's wrong with mixing aesthetics with necessity?" the little man countered gruffly.

Mulder saw Scully roll her eyes and lightly tapped the kitchen knife he was using to attract everybody's attention.

"Could we please drop the fascinating subject of my partner's underwear and talk about more serious matters?"

The Gunmen went quiet and waited for him to continue. It was agreed that once they were back to Washington, the Gunmen would secretly inform Skinner of the situation, and see if they could find any trace of what had happened in Indiana. Mulder wasn't holding his breath but it was worth a try. They declined his invitation to spend the night there, preferring to leave right after dinner. The agent knew his friends felt exposed out of their messy cyber haven and were eager to head back to it.

Scully told them about Krycek and Ali, watching Mulder's jaw drop when he learnt that his camel driver was the head of the medical staff there. She told them about Marita and about the kind of research Krycek had told her was conducted. But she remained vague when Mulder asked for further clarifications about the treatment and he didn't push her, sensing from the forced detached tone she was affecting that it was not something she was willing to discuss.

Byers was stroking his beard reflectively. "I thought Krycek was working for the Smoking Man."

"Maybe he was offered a better deal," suggested Langly.

"That man turns coats more often that a politician running for election," Frohike chimed in, digging his knife viciously into a red pepper.

Scully shook her head slowly. "I don't think Krycek made any deals this time. I know this may sound hard to believe but he seemed as determined as we are to prevent..." Her voice trailed off.

Mulder caught sight of Frohike's Adam's apple bobbing up and down and immediately guessed that it wasn't the bits of pepper he was in the process of dicing which had just made his mouth water.

He looked over his shoulder to see the young clone standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Here's someone who might be able to bring some light on the subject." He chose to ignore his partner's sudden stiff stance besides him and added cheerfully: "Come and join us, Faye."

The young woman entered the room and went to take a seat next Byers -the furthest away from Scully, he noticed.

"What can you tell us about Alex Krycek?"

"Not much. He is responsible for the logistics of the Treatment project. We ask him for the material we need and he provides it."

"Do you know who is responsible for the elaboration of this project?"

"Dr Khefir was the person our team was answering to, that's all I know."

"Ali?"

"Yes."

Mulder's gaze drifted to the Gunmen. "Guys, see if you can get anything on a Dr Khefir, OK?"

They all nodded. The sound of a chair being pushed back made his head snap suddenly towards his partner who was trying to stand up. He jumped to his feet to help her.

"Scully?"

"You guys go ahead. I just need to lie down for a bit. Excuse me..." Leaning on her crutches she left the kitchen.

A heavy silence followed her departure. The Gunmen absorbed themselves in their culinary tasks. Faye was sitting very still staring at her folded hands on her lap.

Mulder rubbed his neck wearily. "I'll go and check on her. Don't wait for us."

Faye's eyes followed Mulder's retreating back sullenly.

"What's the problem?" asked Frohike softly.

"I am."

 

To be continued...