TITLE: Bloodline
AUTHOR: Cecily Sasserbaum
EMAIL: cecilysass@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully belong to Chris
Carter, 1013 and Fox. No infringement of copyright is
intended.
CLASSIFICATION: S, R, A
KEYWORDS: Angst, UST/MSR, somewhat of an X-file.
SPOILER: Emily/Christmas Carol, general knowledge up
through current season.
SUMMARY: Mulder receives cryptic photographs that lead
he and Scully to suspect that Samantha, or one of her
relatives, is still alive and well...but this becomes
more complicated. Of course.
COMMENTS:  This was originally written last spring;
hence a certain character now deceased is still alive.
If it looks familiar, it's because this was posted to
ATXFC in March 1999, but it's been revised. And
<gasp!> a sequel is coming tommorrow.
FEEDBACK: I dearly appreciate it. 


****

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
--Macbeth, Act II, scene ii, line 61

*****

At first the letter in the mail: quite unremarkable.

Scully came across it first, of course, as she was far
more likely to sort through their mail than he was. A
simple, white envelope, addressed only to Fox Mulder
-- no Special Agent title.

"You order some pictures, Mulder?" Scully asked dryly,
tossing the letter on to his desk.

"You implying something, Scully?"

"No return address," she commented, raising an
eyebrow.

And as it sat on the desk in front of him, Mulder
regarded it with only mild curiosity. No return
address. Photos, don't bend. An advertisement, maybe?

"Why would I order a couple of pictures, Scully, when
I could get a whole magazine?" he smiled, ripping the
envelope open.

And there were two snapshots: one quite familiar.

***

"The paper is Kodak, probably from later than 1976,
judging from its rigid quality and the color. Could be
as late as 1982, although our source didn't think so."
Frohike said cautiously. "And it could have been sold
anywhere in the country, Mulder. Anywhere that sells
Kodak."

Frohike was subdued and tense, watching Mulder's face
intently. They all were, realized Scully. We're afraid
because this is so close, so tangible, and that has
always meant that our next step is disastrous.

Not this time, she begged internally. Let him have
this.

"Not 1982. She doesn't look that old," Mulder said.
"1979, or 1980 seems about right."

And Scully looked again at the snapshot: Samantha
Mulder, whose face had become so familiar to her,
standing on a large rock surrounded by trees. A young
teenager, skinny, wearing exactly the kind of halter
top that Scully had worn about the same time. Smiling,
slightly, squinting a
little into the sun -- looking like her brother.
Unmistakable. 

"Does it look...posed to you, Scully?"

"Posed?"

"Like she was told to stand there, smile --  like this
was set up for someone?"

"Possibly." Scully regarded him.

"I wonder if my father got a picture like this in the
mail from time to time, letting him know that she was
still out there."

"And now they're sending it to you?" Byers said. "I
mean, why would they?"

"It has to do with the other picture," Scully said.
"Mulder, somebody's trying to tell you something."

"The other pictures is newer," offered Byers. "After
1990, our source said. But again...it could be from
anywhere."

The second photo was of a hand. Small, with almost
translucent fingernails: a baby's hand, lying back
against a black background.

Almost certainly a baby whose life is being
manipulated towards someone else's agenda, Scully
thought stonily, like my own genetic offspring.

"It's a warning," Mulder said, gazing hard.

This has happened so many times, Scully told herself.
You would suppose someday these lurchings in my
stomach would stop.

***

He let Scully buy him dinner at a Chinese restaurant
in Georgetown, and sat slouched back into the booth,
gazing out the window at the Friday night passerbys.

"Mulder," Scully said.

He looked at her, her face so tired and pale. The
familiar guilt about Scully: how had she ever become a
cog in this awful machine? Shouldn't he have let her
go long before now?

"I'm wondering what new and creative way you've found
to blame yourself for this, Mulder."

"She was taken as an insurance, you know," Mulder
said, stirring the sesame chicken around idly with his
fork. "That she might be made a hybrid, if everything
worked out -- but if it didn't...she was supposed to
insure my fathers commitment to the project."

"Like Cassandra," Scully nodded. "She was CGB's
insurance. Unfortunately for her."

"It's a pretty nasty trick, isn't it, Scully? Create a
human pawnshop, for the ethically challenged. Use your
family members as markers in the game."

"It's deplorable," Scully's face was dark. 

"It's effective," Mulder said. "How could my father
ever act out against them, knowing they had Sam?"

"Blackmail is usually effective," Scully commented. 

"They tried it with me, too," Mulder said. 

And he remembered the feeling of wrenching in his
stomach.
How guilt and terror can worm its way around your
intestines. How it can press itself into the sides of
your head until you're blind with pain. Or force
itself into your sleep.

"With you," Mulder continued, staring at her. "They
infected you with the virus as insurance against my
work. So that they could control me."

"Yes," Scully said, and looked down at her half-eaten
plate of food. 

"And had I not gotten the vaccine, it would have
worked." Mulder continued, his voice taking an odd
tone. 

"Mulder--" she began.

"I couldn't have gone on," Mulder said thickly. 

"That's not true."

"No, it is, Scully," he insisted. "I don't think I
could have."

"Yes, you could have," Scully said. "And it's very
important that you hear this, Mulder. Should that
happen again, should they threaten you with my life in
any context... I'm telling you now: I would rather you
continue the work. You have to continue the work."

"It's easy to say, Scully--"

"I mean it, Mulder. I don't want to be a marker used
against you," she said. "The idea sickens me."

"It would destroy me -- " he began

"You couldn't let it." 

Mulder stared hard at her, and then shrugged,
slightly.  "I would try, Scully. Good enough?"

Scully seemed to allow herself a small smile. "It's a
weak promise."

"Honest, you mean."

"I'll accept it," she said, trying to meet his eyes.

"And the same applies to me, Scully. If they should
use the same tactic. "

"All right," she said softly. She put her hand on top
of his, her eyes warm, and clasped it. "But let's hope
it never comes to that, all right?"

The waitress approached to fill their glasses with
water. "Can we have the check, please?" Scully asked.

The waitress smiled. "It's been paid for by the guy at
the bar."

What guy? A sudden tightness in his chest. Mulder
stood up quickly, scanning the restaurant.

"He left before...maybe twenty minutes ago?" The
waitress was puzzled. "Is there a problem? He said you
looked like a nice couple."

"Was he an older man? Smoked cigarettes?" Scully
demanded.

"No, he was young. Maybe in his twenties, thirties.
Wore thick glasses. He seemed nice, really."

Mulder ran for the door, pushed his way through the
restaurant out on to the street, searching for someone
who had been watching them, someone keeping tabs on
their conversation.

But it was only Georgetown at night. Hadn't he been
staring at these same passers-by, just moments before?
Well-dressed couples on dates. College students. 

Scully was standing behind him, looking at the street
scene herself.

"Did you see him, Mulder?"

"He's long gone, whoever he was", Mulder replied.

"Maybe someone just thought we looked like a happy
couple, Mulder."

"Then we should arrest him for being criminally
misguided, shouldn't we, Scully?"

And then he noticed a man standing alone down the
street, leaning for a moment against a storefront. But
just as Mulder was ready to run for him, ready to make
him give answers, several children bounded out of the
ice cream shop nearby and ran up to him, one taking
his hand. A woman in
a nice coat followed them.

"Probably a tourist," Scully said, looking at him.

But he had been standing all alone there, for just a
second...

***

Perhaps, thought Mulder, it was meant as a metaphor.

Because what could possible be more vulnerable than
the tiny hand of an
infant? He thought of the paleness of the skin, how
one could see traces
of blue vein down its wrist.

Mulder was reminded of Emily, of the pale skin and
sickly eyes of a
three-year old doomed to death. Was there any clearer
demonstration of
the precarious nature of a child's life? 

Even a child who had Scully for a biological parent --
a parent who was intelligent and courageous and
desperately needing -- even this child had no
guarantee of life.

Was the picture meant to remind him of Samantha, of
the ease with which someone could take the knowledge
of her whereabouts from him?

Or was the picture meant literally: a photo of a child
in danger, who Mulder, with the right information,
could possibly save?

He was nearly inside his apartment building when he
was bumped, abruptly, on the street.

"Excuse me," said the man. His eyes seemed abnormally
large behind his glasses. "I wasn't watching where I
was going."

And Mulder felt the slip of paper in his hand, as the
man walked away.

LAUNDROMAT. FOLLOW ME.

"Hey!" Mulder shouted after the man, who looked back
at him, scowled, and kept walking.

"Hey -- I'm not playing these goddamn games," Mulder
said, running up to the man. "I think you better tell
me what the hell is going on."

"Agent Mulder," hissed the man, "we are both in danger
when you talk to me in public like this."

"Who are you?" 

"Follow me into the laundromat," whispered the man.
And he ducked across the street, running inside a
ramshackle storefront: Mighty L Laundromat.


"Hey, you didn't look both ways," Mulder called after
him, feeling a hardness at the pit of his stomach.
This was his chance for some answers but he couldn't
shake this feeling of foreboding.

The man was sitting in front of a dryer, mutely
watching it spin. He was a skinny, pale little man,
rather young, with stringy hair and the strikingly
large glasses.

"What, are we going to watch your laundry dry?" Mulder
said, sitting next to him on the bench. "Who the hell
are you?"

"I work in a lab," the man responded. He kept his lips
very tight together, and looked straight forward at
the dryer. "I work for a very powerful man. He'd kill
me if he knew I came to you."

Mulder exhaled. "You have something you want to tell
me?"

"I work in a lab. I'm very unimportant. A lab geek,
really. I process results I have nothing to do
with....with most of it. It's a genetics lab hybrid
experiments, mostly. You know what I mean when I say
hybrids?"

He was sweating, Mulder noticed. Nervous as hell.

"Yeah," Mulder said. "Did you send me those photos?"

"I needed to tell you...they're waiting, I think,
until you're most vulnerable...but I think if you knew
now everyone would be better off. I think it's
necessary...oh god."

 The Lab Geek's eyes became very wide under his
glasses, and he stood up, shaking his hands in a
peculiar nervous twitch. "Oh god. The same man just
walked by the laundromat door
twice."

"Does this have to do with my sister Samantha?"

"Listen," the Lab Geek grabbed his hands. "Listen to
me, Agent Mulder, I'm going to be a dead man soon. But
this was only his project, you know? The chain-smoking
guy, my boss? Only his. None of the rest of them -- so
many of them are dead now, you know -- they didn't
know about it. It was his sick idea. For you."

"What sick idea?"

"Oh, it's all there. I've given it to her. She'll know
what to do. Run tests. You'll find it," he said,
leaping to his feet. 

"Find what? Who are you talking about?"

"Did you see that man?" The Lab Geek ran to the side
of the door, peering cautiously out the door.

"Were you followed to my..."

"Do you understand I'm about to be *killed*, Agent
Mulder? I have a family, you know!" 

The Lab Geek peered out the door until he was
convinced it was clear.

"Good luck," he said to Mulder. "I told you because
it's better you figure it out now. Because otherwise
he'll use it against you. He'll trap you. People will
be hurt -- people I care about."

And the Lab Geek took off, out the door, sprinting
into the city street.

Mulder watched him run into the distance, debating
over whether he should chase him down again or not. He
had acquired so little information from this
encounter, and yet....

His internal debate was interrupted by the cell phone.

"This is Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully's voice was breathless.
"Where are you? I called your apartment."

"Uh...I'm at the laundromat."

"I found the strangest thing in my mailbox, Mulder. In
a padded envelope, no return address. No note."

"What is it?"

"A small vial of blood, sealed tightly. I'm on my way
to the Bureau lab to drop it off and have it tested
for diseases, unusual levels of toxins..."

"Good idea. I'll need to fill you in on a cryptic
conversation I just had."

"Mulder, do you have any kind of DNA sample for
Samantha?"

Mulder stopped. "You think--"

"Some baby hair from a scrapbook, something like
that?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Mulder..." Scully's voice was gentle. "I have no
reason to think the blood is Samantha's. I think it's
just prudent to have it checked, because of the
photos."

"My mother does," he said. "I'll call her, and see if
she can have something couriered down to us."

"I'll call you tomorrow, Scully. We'll go to the lab
together."

"My favorite kind of date, Mulder."

***

The lab technician was able to process the results
much faster than Scully had expected, and they were
ready when she and Mulder arrived the next morning.

In her dream the night before, she had run down to the
beach with Melissa, both of them little girls again,
and dug her toes into the sand, and looked up to
realize that the ocean was filled with bright red
blood.

"Who has done this?" Mulder had shouted, suddenly
standing near her in the sand. He was angry.

"It was Moses, Mulder, look he's floating in the
rushes," she'd said, softly, laughing, and pointed to
a baby floating in a basket on the bloody waves,
reaching a tiny hand upwards. 

"Oh god, we'll never reach it," Mulder had cried out,
running into the ocean. His pant legs were stained
with blood and his face was anguished. "He's floating
out to sea..."

A troubled dream. The random firings of a troubled
subconscious mind, she reminded herself...

How has this vial of blood been acquired, she
wondered. Was it voluntarily given? Is its donor still
alive?

"Well, you can relax, it's definitely human blood,"
the lab technician told her, smiling and holding the
vial between her fingers triumphantly.

It was her idea of joke, to tease Dr. Spooky. But it
did make her oddly relieved.

"And you checked it against the DNA sample that was
couriered early this morning?"

"The baby hair sample? Yes. Take a look at the chart
here. Some interesting results."

Scully glanced at Mulder. He was standing on the other
side of the lab counter silently watching her,
strangely subdued.

Let this be something Mulder will be able to
understand, she prayed. Let this be something that
gives him some reassurance. That doesn't plunge him
again into despair.

She picked up the chart and read it over.

And felt her stomach lurch.

"What does it mean?" Mulder asked. "Is it Samantha's
blood?"

"There's a lot of genetic material in common here,"
Scully commented quietly. She looked up at Mulder.

"I've seen a chart that looks something like this
before," she added, staring at him directly. 

"It is hers," Mulder said dully.

"No," Scully said. Still staring. "But it's very
probable that it's a relative."

"A relative," repeated Mulder, slowly moving around
the counter towards the chart.

"I've seen this before," Scully said again, hoping he
would understand. That she wouldn't have to explain.

But he wasn't listening, he was lifting the chart and
scanning it himself -- illogically, Scully thought, as
he doesn't know what it means.

"It could be Samantha's child, Scully. The baby's
hand. Maybe it's the genetic product of Samantha
and... something else?"

"The blood is human," Scully said to him slowly,
eyeing the lab technician. "There's nothing especially
abnormal about it."

The lab technician, taking Scully's hint, walked away,
pretending not to hear their conversation. 

Scully continued: "And it doesn't have enough DNA
structure in common, I think, to be Samantha's child."

"Then what?"

"It could be your blood," Scully continued. "Let me
take a blood sample from you, Mulder. I can run the
test myself, if the lab tech will help me."

"My own blood?" Mulder was impatient. "That doesn't
compute, Scully, why would he send my own blood to me?
And where would he have acquired it?"

Scully was preparing the needle to take Mulder's
blood. "Did you give blood any time in the past year?"

"For the Red Cross, or maybe as part of a physical,"
Mulder shook his head, extending his arm for Scully's
needle. "But the man I spoke to, Scully, that lab
employee -- he indicated that this blood sample would
tell us something new, something important. What could
a sample of my
own blood have to reveal to us?"

"Maybe it's not yours, then," Scully answered. She
wiped a cotton ball with alcohol over Mulder's arm,
and injected the needle into his vein. 

"Can you help me with a second DNA test?" she called
to the technician.

And as Scully watched the needle fill with Mulder's
dark red blood, she felt her chest tighten, her
stomach lurch with the beginnings of nausea.

When will he realize? she thought furiously. How could
he not have seen the similarities? It occurred to her
instantly, almost the second she picked up the chart.
But then, he hadn't  been there when she had found out
about Emily.

Mulder's eyes were on her, as she extracted the
needle. "You don't think it's my blood at all, Scully,
do you?"

She stopped and stepped towards him, cautiously.

"No, Mulder," she answered. "I don't."

He didn't say anything in response, but she could tell
that this time he had understood.
-

***

Silently they sipped Bureau coffee, sitting side-by
side on uncomfortable vinyl seats in the lab's waiting
area.

Scully had expected she would be the first to speak,
but she was not.

"This can't be the same as Emily, Scully," Mulder said
suddenly. "It doesn't fit into what we know about this
organization. Everything we've encountered indicates
that they were using human eggs, not semen, for these
experiments. "

"It probably isn't...the same as Emily," Scully
replied, carefully using the same euphemism he had.
"If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it is
very different. But we can't know anything until we
see the completed chart."

"And how would a sample of my semen be obtained?"
Mulder continued. "How could this have been
engineered?"

"Maybe it wasn't 'engineered', Mulder," Scully
replied. "Is it possible that there could be a child
fathered through conventional means?"

"Through conventional means?" Mulder said. "What are
you implying, exactly?"

Scully looked away, awkwardly. "These things happen to
people, Mulder. Could they have tracked down a child
that you had fathered at some point in your life
without knowing it?"

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Oh Jesus, Scully..."

"I'm sorry to pry, Mulder," Scully said, "but it seems
more likely than other options. They know that they
could use your child against you, Mulder. Insurance.
Like they did against your father."

"I had some casual liaisons in college. I guess it
could be remotely possible..."

"The photo of the infant's hand dates after 1990,"
Scully reminded him. "If we're assuming the photo is
of your offspring, it would mean a liaison after
1990."

"Then believe it or not, Scully, the list of potential
maternal candidates shortens considerably," Mulder
said. 

And with a sudden bitter laugh, he stood up.

"It's so unreal, Scully, it's just not possible. I
think we're going to find that this blood test is not
going to indicate I'm the father of any child."

"Forgive me for this, Mulder," Scully said softly,
"but Diana Fowley? Did that happen around or after
1990?"

Mulder stared at her. "Scully?"

"If she was able to work with them..."

"It's absurd, and it's insulting," Mulder answered,
standing up. "Without any basis."

"Mulder, you're not--"

"The chart," he said quickly. And Scully watched the
lab technician come through the glass doors of the
waiting area.

"Here it is, Agent Scully," the lab tech said quietly.
She wasn't making jokes anymore, Scully realized. And
she seemed in a hurry to leave, letting the doors
swing behind her.

And the chart was in Scully's hands, in front of her.
She read it, feeling her stomach jump yet again.

"Mulder," she breathed in, deeply. "there is a ninety
percent chance that you are the father of the person
who this blood was extracted from."

"Oh no," Mulder whispered. "How--"

"We could run the test again, if you doubt it," she
continued, "but I would consider this conclusive."

"Then they have some child, then, Scully, that has the
misfortune of carrying half my DNA," Mulder said
bitterly. 

"Mulder--" Scully began.

"Some child who they'll screw around with and make
crazy and unhealthy, all for my sake. All for me! Will
I ever have any family members, Scully, who aren't
featured in the X-files?"

"We'll find it," Scully replied. "We're going to find
it. They're not going to hold this over you, Mulder,
not a child's life."

"Goddamnit!" Mulder slammed his hand against the wall.
"He was waiting to tell me, Scully -- that goddamned
bastard. Waiting for the most effective moment to
tighten his grip on me."

"Mulder --"

And she had the impulse to embrace him, suddenly, and
reached to pull him to her, to comfort him. 

This happened to me, too, she thought desperately.
Don't you remember? How comforting you were to me
then? 

But he stepped back.

"No, it's not going to happen like this," Mulder shook
his head. "I'm not going to sit back passively,
Scully, and mourn, and let them dangle this carrot."
He grabbed his jacket and moved for the door.

"Where are you going, Mulder?"

"I'm going to find the Lab Geek again somehow, Scully.
I'll make the son of a bitch clear his conscience."

"How..." called Scully. But Mulder pushed through the
doors, letting them swing behind him.

***

According to her Bureau file, Diana Fowley lived in
the Watergate Apartment complex, and Scully found that
strange in itself -- the price range was certainly
beyond *her* salary, anyway.

This was going to be awful, she thought miserably. She
had no idea what she was about to say to Diana, and
was certain it would be a humiliating exchange. 

But she couldn't shake the possibility that Diana was
the mother of this child of Mulder's. That Diana, and
her involvement with the conspiracy, was the
connection that could give them a lead.

"Agent Scully," Diana opened the door, smiling
slightly. "This is certainly unexpected."

"I have some questions for you," Scully said. "If you
have a second."

"Am I under investigation?" Diana said smoothly. "I
wasn't aware."

"No, of course not. This isn't a Bureau matter --
exactly."

"So it's personal, then, Dana?" Diana smiled. "Come
inside, and take a seat."

"I'm afraid this is a little awkward," Scully said
calmly, as she sat down on to Diana's sofa.

"Because you've assailed me repeatedly with
unjustified insinuations about my ethics?" Diana
suggested. 

"No," Scully replied, ignoring the bait. "Because it
involves your personal life. Have you ever had a
child, Diana?"

Diana's expression did not change. "No, I have not."

"You were never pregnant, at any time, from after
1990?"

Diana smiled, slowly, realization seeming to break
over her face. 

"I didn't have a child fathered by Fox Mulder, Dana,
if that's what you're asking."

Scully clenched her teeth, fully aware of the
impression she must be making.

Diana continued, leaning in towards her and smiling:
"You'll have to look elsewhere for that candidate."

She definitely knew something. Unmistakable. Scully
felt her stomach knot up with anger.

"I'm not entirely convinced of your honesty," Scully
said tightly.

"You could check my medical history. It's in the
Bureau files."

"Would you give me your permission to check your
medical history? I will do it tonight," Scully replied
quickly, feeling her cheeks inflame.

"Why should I? You haven't indicated to me what this
is even about. Does Fox even know you're here?"

"Why don't you allow me to take a sample of your blood
or hair to run a DNA test? I can confirm or refute my
accusation conclusively then."

"And what accusation is that, exactly?"

"It is my belief," said Scully, standing up, "that you
know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You're wrong," Diana replied. "Now get the hell out
of my apartment."

But Scully found that she couldn't control her temper,
somehow. "You can tell CGB that he'll fry in hell for
what he's done. You can tell him that from me."

And as she turned to walk out the door, Diana said,
coolly: "He gets told that by more powerful people
than you. On a day to day basis."

Scully turned and looked at her for a moment.

And then left, leaving the door hanging open behind
her.

***

The hospitals had turned up no leads. Nothing! 

And Mulder's head was beginning to pound furiously.
His good old guilt headache: an old friend from
childhood. He had stopped for a moment, to sit in his
car, and regroup.

He had called the morgues first. Looking for a white
male, twenty to thirty, pale, blondish hair, glasses.
Probably a homicide, he suggested to the person on the
phone.

And then he'd dutifully gone down to the morgue to try
to identify some who had fit the description. Lots of
dead white males, as it turns out, but none of them
were the Lab Geek.

That much is good, Mulder reminded himself. That means
that he is out there somewhere alive, walking around
with the answers rattling around in his head.

And the cell phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts
again. 

It must be Scully, he thought, and was struck with
sudden guilt remembering their last encounter, hours
ago. He had been his usual graceless self.

"Mulder," he said, picking up the phone.

"Congratulations are in order, I suppose," came the
voice on the other end.

It was not Scully at all.

"You black-lunged son of a bitch," Mulder replied.

"It seems we've had a slight security problem, and
you've found out about our little surprise for you."

"I'll kill you when I find you," Mulder said in a low
tight voice. "I will put my gun in your face and pull
the trigger."

"Yes, yes, so you've said before, Agent Mulder. I
think I have information you'll need first."

Stay calm, Mulder, he reminded himself. Obtain
information. Would Scully fly off the handle like
this?

"What do you want from me? What are you asking for me
to do?" Mulder continued.

"Your father was once somewhat troublesome to our
operation, you know, Agent Mulder."

"Not troublesome enough," Mulder replied.

"But after your sister's abduction, he was much easier
to convince, somehow. It happened to all of us,
knowing the fate of our own blood lay in our
decisions."

"Your own blood," Mulder repeated, disgusted.

"When you began to cause us real trouble, Agent
Mulder, I developed this plan myself. I remembered
your father's face when..."

There was a careful pause.

"Well, we thought you might best respond to similar
tactics. Some of my colleagues thought it
unnecessary, but I nursed it as a side project. And of
course now most of my colleagues are dead."

"Where did this child come from?"

"Oh, Agent Mulder, from a human sperm cell and an egg
in a laboratory. Nowadays it's a fairly common way to
come into life, really. I believe I was there to
witness it firsthand."

Mulder ground his fist into the car dashboard, but he
kept his voice steady. "How did you obtain my sperm
cells?"

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed. "We
could obtain your tonsils if we wanted them, Agent
Mulder. Or the President's, for that matter."

Keep asking questions, Mulder reminded himself. Don't
let him distract you.

"Where was the egg obtained?"

A pause.

Then, very carefully: "We have many ova at our
disposal, Agent Mulder. We could select whichever we
thought best."

"An abductee's ovum," Mulder replied. "From the hybrid
experiments."

"And of course, why should we involve a stranger," the
voice continued, "when two birds could so effectively
be knocked down with one stone?"

And Mulder froze in his seat, his limbs stiffening and
his heart escalating.

"Agent Mulder?" the voice asked. "Are you still
there?"

Mulder hung up the phone, and heard a dial tone.

He felt himself shaking, and his mouth was peculiarly
dry.

Slowly he managed to press down on the cell phone
buttons.

"This is the lab?" he said, almost a whisper. "Agent
Mulder here. I'd like you to run another set of DNA
tests on that sample we ran over today."

***

Three hours later, Mulder was sitting in the dark in
the basement office,
staring at the vial of blood, rolling it around in his
fingers.

In the darkness the blood appeared thick and black, a
foreign substance.

Mulder stared at the vial as it turned over, the
darkness trickling from one side of the to the other.
Black blood.

The key turned in the office door, and the door
opened.

"Mulder?" Scully was silhouetted by the hall light.

"Yeah."

"I got your message." She took a step in. "What are
you doing here in the dark?"

She flipped on the light switch, and he was amazed,
for a moment, how the black blood became bright
crimson in a flash. 

"Scully--" Mulder said, but couldn't continue. His
voice was too hoarse.

"What's the matter?" Scully said, walking for him.
"Did you find the Lab Geek? What did he tell you?"

"I don't know how...I can't begin to --" He broke off.
Mulder could only stare at her miserably.

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" She stepped towards him
again. 

"Here," he finally said, giving her an envelope. "I
got a call from CGB today, Scully...I had them run
another test at the lab."

"Another DNA test?" Scully pulled the chart out of the
envelope. "For what purpose?"

"The lab technician told me what the results meant,"
Mulder continued.

Scully's eyes widened ever so slightly as she read the
chart's header.

"You ran it against my DNA," she said.

"Yes," Mulder said, watching her.

She continued reading, and Mulder watched her face,
watched her mouth tighten.

She looked up, her face blank. "I'm the mother."

"A ninety-five percent chance, Scully."

"They used my harvested ova," she said softly. "They
used it to create an insurance that we wouldn't
destroy their work."

"Scully -- " Mulder said, helplessly. "I can't begin
to tell you how sorry I am that they did this to you
again."

She was looking past him, and Mulder thought her hands
trembled slightly.

"Don't they see," Scully said, in a steady voice, "you
don't create children for the purpose of blackmail?"

"They knew," Mulder said, his voice cracking, "that it
would be worse for us this way. They knew they could
keep up both from working on the X-Files, not only
because of the human instinct to protect one's own
offspring, but because both of us couldn't bear to
hurt the other."

She still wasn't looking at his face, and Mulder
thought he understood why. He took a deep breath.

"There's more, Scully. This was lying on the desk when
I came in this evening."

He handed her a padded envelope. "It's a videotape. No
markings. No return address. Addressed simply to Dana
Scully and Fox Mulder."

Scully pulled the video tape out, slowly, and stared
at it, her eyes strangely bright. 

"I guess," she said, "we should watch it."

"I could watch it first, if you want," Mulder said.
"I've had longer to adjust to this..."

"No," Scully said quietly. "No, we'll both watch it."

Mulder took the videotape from her hands, and walked
across the room, slipping it in the VCR.

***

The confusion first of static, and flecks of white and
grey, then a moment of darkness and vague sounds of
movement.

A woman's voice, faintly, "Say hello to the camera.
Say hello."

Autumn leaves, bright red. A grove of trees, maple and
oak. The camera jumped nauseatingly.

The woman again: "Are you going to say hello to the
camera?"

Then suddenly, very close, a pale face, two wide set
hazel eyes, framed with large eyelashes. Exquisite!
Scully gasped.

The camera pulled back: it was a child around a year
old, barely standing on its own under the trees, a
head full of sandy colored hair, its sex
indeterminate. 

Staring at the camera seriously. Its face wary.

Looking so small underneath the towering fiery maple
trees.

"Show how you can count," suggested the unseen woman. 

The child cried out a syllable, and thrust a finger
forward, looking cautiously at the woman who stood
somewhere behind the camera.

"That's right, one," said the woman.

The child saw something on the ground, suddenly, and
looked up at the woman seriously, its mouth slightly
open.

The camera zoomed in, lurching. The child's face:
round and pale, looking down at the ground, its
eyelashes shading its eyes.

"Do you see something...what is it?" said the woman.

The child leaned over precariously, reaching for the
ground, and picked up a bright red leaf. Its arm
extended, shaking the leaf towards the unseen woman,
its eyes wide and bright.

"It's a leaf, yes, it's red," the woman said. "So
terribly smart!"

The child smiled, just slightly, its lips pink and
full over its teeth, and Mulder felt guilt press
against the sides of his cranium.

***
They watched: rapt and frightened. Feeling the horror,
yes -- the swirling anxiety and anger -- but also the
deep pull. 

Standing next to each other, untouching and unmoving,
afraid to look away from the screen. His mouth
slightly agape. Her eyes wide and filling with tears.

And although it made them weak with fear, they found
themselves searching the child's face and body:
searching for tiny fragments, the slightest
characteristic or movement of: yes, themselves, but
mostly of each other. 

The deep pull, giving way to deep hopeless yearning.
And again they were reminded of the vast deep expanse
of their own aloneness.

And the dark red glow of the leaves on the television
screen fell over their frozen faces, giving them an
eerie blood red sheen.

*****

Our state cannot be sever'd; we are one,
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
--John Milton, Paradise Lost

****