By: GenieVB
avan@home.com
Date: Mon, 28 Feb 2000
Spoilers: Sien and Ziet
*Tho' from the 'Scully
comforts Mulder' scene,
I'm steering it onto
my own little highway.
Rating: PG - language.
Summary: Satisfaction if not
justice.
Disclaimer: Want no money
or fame from you-->Carter,
or you-->FOX. You're both
rolling in it. I buy
No-Name.
*****
Blut.
By: GenieVB
**
"My mother was trying to tell me something, Scully."
"She wanted to save you from any more pain."
Scully held him and said the words she knew were
empty. If she'd ever felt any disdain or anger
towards Tina Mulder, the woman's last act had
compounded it. To "save" her son from pain had
caused more for him than any other event in his
life. She doubted that not even Samantha's disap-
pearance had made him shake like he was now, or
sob uncontrollably.
Thanks Mother Mulder, Scully thought. Thanks for
nothing.
But she knew exactly what it felt like. Emily's
death had solicited grief like that from her. Yet,
she herself still had a mother, brothers, sister-in-
laws, nieces and nephews to watch grow and so rejoice
in.
Tina Mulder had decided to "end" her son's pain
(and her own had been Scully's thought when she
joined Mulder at the horrible site of his mothers
suicide), by swallowing a bottle of pills, turning
on the gas, and then lying down on her bed's frilly
quilt with the rose chintz trim. Leaving him the
impossible task of trying to weave back together
the last threads of his life, and salvage one or
two good memories of what had been a family.
Scully knew he had few.
He would salvage his spirit, Scully knew. Yes, he
would. He was so strong, after all. But at what
cost?
Some last gift, Scully had thought at the time.
Was the gas just to be sure or for dramatic effect?
Some people really do try to make an effective exit.
She'd met Mulder on the lawn outside, after the
body had been taken away and he lead her inside
to view the death scenes.
"She didn't kill herself, Scully."
"What makes you say that, Mulder?"
He'd indicated the whole house from where he was
standing by a sweeping hand, "This, all this, the
gas, the pills, the neatly made bed, it's all wrong.
Staged, like a script from a bad movie. Like they
were desperate for us to be believe it was suicide."
Scully tread very carefully. "What if it was?"
"Mom wouldn't kill herself, Scully."
"Mulder, please understand that I'm not trying to
read the mind of a woman I hardly knew, but what if
she _had_ lost hope?"
"You mean over Samantha?"
Scully nodded, unprepared for his next words.
"Maybe she didn't have anything left to live for."
"Not even me" had been his implication. Dear God,
Scully thought, I didn't mean you were nothing. But
she couldn't bite back words already spoken.
"But why now? My mother was a stubborn woman, a
strong woman. She wouldn't take the easy way out."
"Mulder-"
"She called me last night, but I didn't get back
to her."
"Called you about what?"
"I don't know but she said it was important. This,"
He nodded to the now empty bed, "was done to prevent
my learning what that was."
Scully bit her lip. Perhaps murder.
Or perhaps Mulder unable to deal with his mother not
valuing him enough to stick around. Or not valuing
life enough after her daughter had been gone for
twenty-six years.
*But why now?* It was a good question.
They'd left the house together.
*
Mulder was an orphan. It was nothing she would be
able to fix, not even with a firm hold or gentle
kisses to his neck.
Finally, his storm of grief passed and he lay down on
his couch to rest. Scully switched the television on
and left him to channel surf while she fixed something
hot to drink for them both.
This was a night she would spend with him here, in
his apartment, though not under circumstances that
were ideal. She recalled the last time she'd stayed
overnight, when she'd finally learned through Director
Skinner's handy fists on a less than willing to talk
informant, that Mulder had gone north on a quest to
learn the whereabouts of his long missing (or taken)
sister and had almost died for his trouble.
Now the one living link to any more knowledge of
Samantha was forever hidden inside the dead brain of
his mother's corpse. Scully decided that she hated the
woman, at least for doing that; for not only orphaning
her son but leaving him with no answers to ease the
pain he was in. If it was suicide, in this case, it
had been an almost wholly selfish act.
She'd said to Mulder her impromptu words of Teena
wanting to ease his pain, while knowing it certainly
wouldn't.
There was, she knew, one other still living source
of possible enlightenment regarding Samantha's fate,
but CGB Spender, formerly Ol' Smokie, wasn't
talking.
If they even knew where he was.
*
Lab Technician Sodja checked the results on his
computer once more and shook his head.
Well, she'd wanted a match for the records, just to
tie up the loose ends, that's what her requisition
had requested..."a thorough search of the data-base."
Placing the three DNA film results into a manila
envelope, he sealed it, stamped it, marked it internal
post to Agent D. Scully, X Files Division, Hoover
Building, and placed it in his out box. Then he
thought better of it and picked up the phone.
*
"Mulder, I have to go out for a while."
"Work?" He sat up from the couch, squinting in the
bright early AM sun shining through his livingroom
window. "Does Skinner want us in?"
"No. It's Quantico. Just some unfinished lab work.
I'll call you when I'm through."
He nodded, padding off to the bathroom.
"Will you be all right for a few hours?" She waited
until his steady stream trickled to a halt and she
heard the flush.
He met her at the door. "Thanks for staying with me."
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Thanks for...well..
everything."
She smiled a little, acknowledging his discomfort and
so respecting his obvious desire to forget about his
breakdown the previous evening.
His cellular rang.
"Anytime." She gave his cheek a soft pat. "Call
you later."
"Hello." She heard him answer as she closed the door.
"Hey Frohike..."
Good, she thought, a friend.
*
"Are you sure about this?" Scully stared at her old
assistant. Since she no longer actually worked in
Forensics Department, she spent very little time at
Quantico, often utilizing facilities other than theirs
during the occasional case where her skills as a
pathologist were required.
"I did the search as you asked. DNA doesn't lie, Doctor
Scully. See for yourself."
Scully scrutinized the three films before her, clearly
recognizing the genetic markers, the patterns that said
he was reporting accurate findings.
She swallowed, fresh anxiety building in her stomach.
"What made you decide to do a comparison?"
Eyebrows on the rise, "Come on, Dana, I've known you long
enough to read between the lines. Your partner's mother
dies and you want me to run her DNA and her sons through
the data base to use your words "just to be sure." Then
you want a test run on this other agents blood to be
sure he is who he is. You all but shouted, Dana." He
gestured to the films on the desk, "So, these two names
came up. All have their type on file and I must say, I
find it as interesting as you do."
"You can't say anything about this."
He looked at her. "So what's new?" He cleared his throat.
"Curious?"
He wasn't sure if she was angry or not. "Not at all.
A good pathologist doesn't just record facts, he or she
asks questions: How? and Why?"
She gathered the films in her hand, stuffing them back
into the envelope. "I don't want you showing these to
anyone."
"Again, what's new?"
She looked at him directly, so her meaning wouldn't be
lost. "He's gone through a lot. I'll tell him myself."
"One thing though, Doc', this is a matter of FBI record.
You're not asking me to-?"
"No. File it where you have to but there's no reason
for you to necessarily right away let anyone know it's
there, is there?" She countered.
He spread his arms, hands up in a surrender. "It's
your ball. Consider me benched."
"Thanks Kar'."
*
Mulder almost hadn't recognized the voice on the other
side of the door. But when he opened it, the face he
did.
"Mulder."
Jeffery Spender wasn't one for sweet hello's.
Mulder stepped aside, closing the door after the
younger agent. The younger but supposed-to-be-
dead former Agent Spender.
Mulder, still a bit shaky on his feet, found himself
speechless. Finding his voice, "Aren't you dead?"
"If not for some unexpected help, I would be."
Mulder didn't feel like word games. "What do you
want?"
"Your mothers dead."
Spender didn't mean to be so blunt or so callus,
blurting it out with such disregard for Mulder's
feelings, but when he saw Mulder's face go plaster
white, he backtracked a little. "I'm sorry. I'm
being direct because we don't have much time."
"Time for what? And how did you know my mother
was dead?"
Spender had more to tell him. "Can we sit down?"
Mulder sat on the couch with Spender taking
the wooden desk chair opposite.
"Get to the point, Spender, I've already had my fill
of beating around the bush."
"I knew- I _suspected_ something might happen
to your mother, I phoned her but she wouldn't
talk to me. And I know she's dead because then
I went there to speak to her and found her.
I'm the one who made the phone call to the police."
It was all Mulder could do not to wrap his hands around
Spender's throat and squeeze the air from his body.
Mulder clasped his shaking hands together, trying to
hide his horror, betrayal and grief. This man had
had no right to be the last person to see his mother,
or the first to see her dead body.
In his mind, Mulder screamed at her. It should have
been _me_. Why couldn't you _ever_ talk to me?!
Spender noticed the tiny tremor run down Mulder's
body and he was not without remorse for having to
tell him these things. He was also not without
empathy. He knew what it was to lose a family, your
only family.
"She was murdered." Mulder said it as a statement
of fact, not as speculation.
Spender voiced his own ideas, "Maybe. In any case,
I think I might know the reason why."
"Oh? and what is that?" Mulder was angry, angrier
than Spender had ever seen him, and the anger was
being directed at..he didn't know. Maybe everywhere,
all at once.
"My mother knew the truth, or discovered it," Spender
continued, "and so she was killed, along with all
those men."
"Those men worked with your father. He's responsible
for their deaths, he sent them there. He's responsible
for my sister's abduction, he responsible for my fathers
murder and I think he's the one who killed my moth-"
"-I know that!" Spender finally shouted back, then
stating something the other man ought to know and
understand. "You're not the only one who's lost
someone because of him!"
That silenced Mulder for the time being, and Spender
let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm here because of
that. Because of him."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want to kill him. I need your help."
Mulder paused for only a heartbeat, "I don't know
where he is. No one does."
"Then we need to work together-"
"You're out for Smokie blood? Why come to me?"
Spender ignored Mulder's questions and asked
one of his own, "If she was murdered, why do
you think he would want your mother dead?"
"Because she was going to tell me about Samantha,
why she was taken, where she is." At Spender's
tolerant head shake, Mulder darkened again, "Why
do you think?"
"Because he has what he needs now, and he's tying
up loose ends."
""What he needs"? From her?"
"From you."
Before Mulder could comment, someone knocked on his
door. when he answered it, Scully entered carrying
something and when her eyes found Spender, she halted,
as if unsure whether to stay or turn around and leave
again.
"Agent Scully."
Scully entered cautiously, getting a certain amount of
comfort from the gun she had stuck between her belt and
the skin of her back.
At her look of disbelief, Spender nodded, "Yes, I'm
surprised to be alive too."
But alive when he shouldn't be. Like father, like son,
Scully thought. "Why are you here, Spender?"
"Trying to explain things to Mulder."
"Things?"
He looked from her to Mulder and back, knowing it was now
two against one. "Yeah. "Things"."
She sat on the end of the couch farthest from near where
Spender sat. He noted it, but ignored the slight. It wasn't
important.
She layed the papers she'd brought on the coffee table before
her. "I don't pretend to know how it is you're alive, Spender,
and I'm not going to waste time speculating whether or not
you're here to speak the truth, but since you are here, it's
just as well. This concerns you too."
She had their attention and Mulder sat down again, right
beside her.
"I did the autopsy on your mother," She addressed Mulder
directly, "the results indicated nothing suspicious, nothing
out of the ordinary except for the drugs in her system
and a high level of carbon monoxide in her blood and tissues,
evidence consistent with death by overdose and oxygen
deprivation."
She waited a few seconds for Mulder to swallow that before
continuing. "I also ran a DNA test as you requested, to
be sure it was her."
Scully layed out, not one sheet before them, but three.
"When I ran it through the medical data-base, I found this."
She indicated marks on the first sheet with her finger. "It
_was_ your mother, Mulder, who died."
He nodded. "What are these others?"
Scully glanced to Spender and back to Mulder. She indicated
the second sheet. "This is your DNA," Showing him the marks
with her finger, "It has markers here and here, matching
you to your mother."
Mulder nodded, with her so far. It was elementary genetic
truth and nothing unexpected.
"This one," Scully rested the tip of her finger on a single
marker on the third sheet, "this person shares your DNA. This
mark indicates you are related."
"Who's is this?"
"Jeffrey Spender."
Mulder stared at her, down at the sheet and then at Spender.
Quite a while at Spender.
"I think you suspected this, didn't you, Mulder? But
until now, never discussed it with me or anyone."
"I was out of my head, that day, Scully. Mom never admitted
to anything."
"I heard her words, Mulder. Her death brought them back to
me."
"What words.?" His memory of that day in his mother's
house was truly foggy. All he remembered was screaming
at her and she slapping his face as hard as she could.
"You asked her who your father was. Do you remember what she
said?"
It was there now, pound against his consciousness like a
small hammer. *"Why?! So you can kill him _again_?!"*
Mulder looked across the coffee table to Spender, who
was looking uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter." He said
to both of them.
Scully sighed. "Mulder, why didn't you ever ask me
run this test? Didn't it seem odd that Spender- that CGB
- took that photo from your apartment? Didn't you
ever wonder why your mother said those things she did?"
"I _said_ it doesn't matter. What matters is finding
CGB and him telling me what happened to Samantha and then
I'm going to-"
Scully looked at him and his unspoken vengence. "And
what, Mulder?"
He stood, his hands on his hips, looking down at the
papers layed out on the coffee table, looking down at
them from a great distance it seemed. Standing miles away
from the whole scene, at it and himself as though through
a telescope, trying to figure out who the hell he was
seeing. Who he _was_.
"I don't care about any of this."
"You want to find CGB?" Spender asked him pointedly.
When Mulder threw him a "no shit" look, "Then you
have to work with me, which doesn't thrill me much
either, by the way."
"You want to kill your own father?" Mulder asked.
"Don't you?" Spender bit back, then added, "He didn't
think twice about putting a hole in my chest. Do you
think he'll flinch about putting one in yours?"
Scully stared. "Are you saying CGB is out to kill Mulder?"
"Of course."
"Why?" Mulder asked.
Spender couldn't believe the naivety, "Because now
that he's got what he wants, and now that your mother
is dead and can't talk, you're the last tie to him
and his group, to the experiments, to the murders."
Scully watched Mulder, who seemed to be considering
Spenders words at least, not dismissing them outright.
"He may be right, Mulder. They used you, they took
what they wanted, and now what's to stop them?"
"He's not my father."
Spender didn't argue. "He's still a murderer. Unfort-
unately, because he was my father, I believed him,
tried to make sense of what he was doing. I'm here
to stop you from making the same mistake."
"I have never believed that son-of-a-bitch!"
"But you're taking no precautions. You're getting up
every day as if you have no reason to be careful.
But you do."
"Why don't you try making sense, Spender." Mulder
snapped.
***
Continued in 2/2
Blut 2/2 GenieVB
****
"I suspected, Mulder, that because you think he might
be your father, that ultimately he wouldn't hurt you,
but he didn't think twice about putting a bullet in my
chest."
"I can take care of myself."
"Oh, yeah. I saw how you took care of yourself when
that little ball of cells started growing in your
brain." Spender stood, "This is useless." He walked
to the door.
"Spender, wait." Scully said and turned to Mulder.
"At least listen to him."
Spender turned back but didn't sit down again. "That
thing they cut out of your brain, Mulder, it's been
there a long time. Longer than you know."
"You're a liar, Spender."
"You idiot! You were abducted!"
"That's bullshit. I remember that night."
"And that's why you spent decades trying to recall it,
because you remember? They've cloned people, Mulder.
Do you think it would be any harder for them to
screw with your mind? Make you forget? You were
taken and returned the same night your sister was
taken. they did it then, spliced the alien DNA cells
into your brain. You were part of The Work from the
beginning. You were Daddy's personal little project."
"Scully tell him to shut up."
When she heard that, it only reenforced her belief that
Mulder was on the edge. That he was afraid he wouldn't
be able to control himself if Spender said much more.
"Spender, that's enough." She moved to stand between
them and addressed Spender. "So you think Mulder's
mother killed herself because she knew this all along?"
"Or because she was about to tell the truth."
Spender answered.
There was silence in the room while they both watched
Mulder absorb it all. "She didn't kill herself."
"Fine." Spender said. "All the more reason you should
ant to find some kind of justice for her death, and me
for my mothers murder."
"I just have one question, Spender." Mulder said.
In the room, Scully thought she heard a pin drop.
"What?"
"Why didn't you stay dirty? Why clean up now?"
Spender glared at Mulder, his face darkening,
"Because no matter how much I saw of his world that
was true, none of it justified him standing there and
watching my mother burn to death."
Mulder considered Spender for a moment, and thought
of his own mother dying in a room filled with gas and
blood filled with sleeping drugs. He nodded.
"I'm going with you." Scully announced.
*
"Where is he?" Mulder asked, driving east on 87.
Scully was beside him and Spender in the back, sitting
straight and stiff, as they were all just FBI agents
and it was their first day on the job together.
"In hiding. Sort of. He lives under an assumed name."
Spender offered no other information.
"Do you know _where_?" Mulder did not hide his
impatience with the man in the rear seat, nor did he
disguise his dislike of him. Nor did he completely
trust him. CGB's _son_ after all, bullet scar or no
bullet scar.
"Yes. But I don't know if he's there."
"Then why are we going?"
"We're going home."
Scully turned half in her seat, looking around. "Who's
home? Yours?"
"His. And what used to be mine." He looked back, "You
didn't think he lived in his car or in a hotel? He does
have a house, just like normal people..."
"Define normal." Mulder said but Spender ignored him.
"..and a garage, and a mailbox, and back accounts. He
even has a hot tub."
Sarcastically, "Yeah, but does it have bubbles?" Mulder
kept his eyes on the road, straight ahead like lasers.
"I didn't ask for this." Spender said.
Suddenly, Mulder was furious, "No, but when you found
out the truth about him, you went along with it! You
had a choice but you bent over-"
"-he was my FATHER!"
"-over to dear old Dad!" And because of that, Mulder
screamed in his head, my mother is dead. My sister
is gone and my mother is dead!
Spender sat forward, right behind Mulder's ear. "I
didn't choose him!"
"You sold out, Spender. That man has never cared-"
"I made the wrong choice. I thought I was going to
be saving people-"
"-cared about anything or anyone in his whole life!"
"I made the wrong choice, all right, Mister America?!"
Spender shouted Mulder down. "I did not know what I
was getting into and I had no idea what he was capable
of. I closed my eyes to it. I didn't believe the rumors.
Had I known innocent people were going to be hurt,
I would have stopped him."
"Can we calm down, here? I'd like to arrive in one
piece." Scully's heart pounded and she was far more
afraid for the volatile situation than she let on.
Mulder hadn't had a moment to grieve over his mother
yet and there was no telling how he might act under
more stress. There was no telling what he would do
once he found CGB. There was no telling what any of
them were going to do.
"Mulder, stop the car." Scully asked.
Mulder looked sideways at her, anticipating a lecture
or ass chewing, but stopped car and they both piled out,
leaving Spender by himself.
Scully walked away from the car to put a modicum of
distance and privacy between them and Spender's ears.
Mulder followed.
Spender knew they were going out to argue about him. Was
he trustworthy? For them to trust him, they'd have to put
aside their doubts about his character. That's what you
do at first when you don't know someone well. It's what
he had done with his father. He'd _wanted_ to trust him
and had been lied to.
But not before he'd learned a few things himself.
As he watched them argue, their gestures angry and quick,
before his vision was his mothers blackened, crispy
corpse, curled up in the body bag like singed hair,
and the medical examiner saying:
"Spender, Cassandra L."
Spender understood Mulder's reluctance to trust him or
believe anything he had to say. But there was a time he
also had believed little that Mulder had to say. Back
before the stark knowledge of what some men were
capable. Men like his father.
Those kinds of men trusted no one and believed only in
themselves and their own agenda. It was time to stop such
men.
Jeffrey Spender, watching them argue, thought only of
his mother.
"You said it yourself, Mulder, your mother is dead." She
began. "And maybe your sister, too, and before you get that
look, admit it, just for once, that she could be dead too."
Mulder's eyes were stormy, the circles under them would not
lend confidence to his ability to reason. He was exhausted.
"So, I'm supposed to believe everything he says? I'm supposed
to embrace him as my long lost brother?"
"If not, then why are we out here?"
It was a reasonable question. "If he can lead me to CGB and
maybe my sister, it's worth the risk."
"Okay. So we agree he might be telling the truth regarding
the foregoing. Then might he not also be telling the truth
about Smokie's wanting you dead?"
"Maybe. Maybe he just wants a hand getting his own pay back."
"Sounds familiar." Scully quipped, then relented a little.
"Look, Mulder, like it or not," she stuck a thumb over her
shoulder, "there's your family now. You can't choose your
relatives. Maybe you don't trust him or like him. Maybe you
hate him in fact, but if he knows where CGB is, if you can
get an answer or justice at least, what the hell do you
have to lose? Unless you think _I'm_ lying?"
She searched his face. "I know you don't want to trust him
because he's CGB's son. Maybe you think Jeffrey's just like
him."
"Maybe I am."
Scully grabbed his elbow. "You're _nothing_ like him.
He hurt people. You tried to stop him."
He shook his head. It was difficult to process. It was
too much. His mother, his sister (was she dead? wasn't
she?), and now this former agent, turn-coat and liar,
was...who? His little brother? Mulder shrugged the
idea off for now.
"I know you, Mulder. It's not in you to be cruel. you
know I'm telling you the truth."
"I know. But I don't know what to do."
He seemed so tired, so uncertain. It was like he was stuck
at some kind of dead end and there were no signs to tell him
which way to turn. "Maybe Spender does. Why don't we find out,
okay?" She took his hand in a gesture of truce, and affection.
She knew he was a mess inside but now was not the time or
place to encourage an exploration of it.
"Can we keep the peace for now, until we find out one way
or another whether this is a wild goose chase?"
Spender watched them walk back to the car, knowing he had
been the main subject of discussion.
"So?" He asked sarcastically, "Did I pass?"
Scully threw him venomous look "Just tell us what we're
about to do, Spender."
"Yeah, what happens when we get there? Do we walk right up
to his door? Knock?"
Spender bit back a snarky answer, "We call him. Have him
meet us. I'll set it up."
"Why you?"
"Because he thinks I'm dead and once he finds out I'm not,
he's going to want to correct that. But I don't intend to
be anyone's sheep ever again. that's what we are to men
like my father. Sheep for the laughter."
"So what are we going to do?" Mulder asked.
"Strike the shepherd."
*
When the knock came, Jeffrey answered it, opening it wide,
and standing back, allowing his father to pass. He
smelled of old smoke and expensive aftershave.
"Jeffrey."
There was no mention of the bullet wound to his chest,
no smile or frown of greeting, certainly no apology
for trying to murder his own son. Just an air
of arrogance that made Jeffrey's stomach turn.
"Father."
CGB walked to the one window and brushed aside the
thick curtain. "I take it you're well."
"No thanks to you."
CGB turned, contemplating him. "I assure you it
was necessary, you were turning on me. The
importance of the work, the future of humanity,
you would have out all that at risk. I don't
expect your forgiveness, but I know you understand
I had to do it."
Spender felt his muscles tighten, his shoulders were
knots of tension. This was his father. His _father_.
Father.
There was no meaning attached to it. No feeling. No
pride, no understanding.
No sympathy.
Spender felt detached from the conversation, if it
could so be called, and from this stranger standing
before him. Yes, his feelings were subjugated to
his mind and will. They'd been whipped into a little
cabinet and the key had been easily turned.
He then felt the horror in realizing he was far more like
his father than he thought.
"I'm here to Make a deal with you." Not true, but it was
enough to let CGB think he was the wuss he believed
him to be.
"A deal? And what is my part?" CGB lit a smoke, as if
the act of breathing fire transformed him into something
super-human. Potent and untouchable.
"Leave agents Mulder and Scully alone and I won't talk."
CGB studied him for a moment. "Jeffery, I think you know
that's impossible. The _work_. If anyone should learn
about it before the right time, it would all fall apart."
The predictable, expected answer, but Spender was still
disappointed.
Jeffrey's face turned purple with rage. ""The Work"?!
What about people? What about my _Mother_?"
"Your mother had to die. She was going to blow the lid
off of everything. All of our plans..Jeffrey, don't
you understand? They're coming. Listen to me, it's
closer than ever."
He didn't believe him. Even if it were true, he couldn't
be trusted to speak the _whole_ truth. "What is?"
CGB looked at his son in confusion. "The End. The
invasion. One day we're going to wake up and see
the world being decimated, run through with aliens,
the human race being wiped out. Only those with the
courage and foresight to work as we have worked will
survive it. Only those who've had the guts to Make
the necessary sacrifices, including the disposal of
traitors, will live on."
"How many more have to die, father? You let mother
die, you had Diana Fowley murdered-"
"She would have betrayed me. As you did. As Bill
Mulder was doing. I have higher hopes for you, son.
I certainly hope you didn't come her to appeal to my
conscience."
"I just want to be sure I know where I stand. And that
if I join you, I want assurance that no more innocent
people will die."
"They were not innocent! Don't you see? I'm a savior.
I'm the Messiah, come to save mankind but to do that means
some of the unbelievers must be sacrificed. We're gods.
You could be with us, too, if only you'd believe and take
the steps you know you must."
Spender listened to his father and wondered if he
had these speeches written down on a little note-pad
in his breast pocket. Did he really believe he was
a savior and not a cold-blooded manipulator and murderer?
Did I really come from this man? Spender wondered.
What am I, other than his son? Will this be _me_ in
thirty years?
"Father...."
CGB extended his hand to him, his face breaking into
a smile, like the Devil smiles, when he's baked up
a particularly good pie of temptation, when he thinks
he's won with ice-cream on top.
"...Father, I'd like you to meet someone."
Immediately the connecting door opened, and in walked
four persons. The first was man with thinning grey hair
and glasses dressed in a suit followed by a small woman
in hospital blues and white lab coat. Following her
were two beefy looking men who could only be there for
the muscle they sported. They were dressed in blues
also.
All in clothing that said "hospital".
"Father, this is Doctor Grant."
GGB's smile faded as the doctor, with a polite, tolerant
smile, shook his hand briefly.
"Have you heard enough?" The younger Spender asked the
doctor and those attending him.
"Yes." and turned to CGB again. "Mister Spender. Your
son thinks it would be a good idea if you came and
stayed with us for a little while. Would you like
that?"
"No, I wouldn't "like that"." CGB turned to Spender,
"What's going on? Jeffrey, who are these people?"
"They're doctors, father. They're going to help you."
CGB stared, his eyes wide, he licked his lips nervously.
"What do you mean?"
Spender didn't answer, only stepped back as the two big
men took hold of CGB's arms and began escorting him from
the room. "Jeffrey! What are you doing?!"
"Did you take your medication today, Dad?"
CGB stopped, planting his feet. "Yes. My medication.
Jeffrey, you know I have to take it or I'll begin
reading minds!"
Doctor Grant quizzically glanced over at Spender who
shook his head in the negative and winked.
"I need it. You know what will happen. Get your paws
off me, you idiot! Jeffrey, I need that medication
or my mind will become so powerful, no one will be able
to stop me! I'll become like them! A human computer. You
know what will happen, Jeffrey! Why are you doing this?!"
CGB looked back, pleading at his son, who's eyes were
inscrutable, as his fathers used to be.
"I'm doing this to help you, Dad. To save you...."
CGB stared. Understood. "No, no, no!" They dragged
him from the room, kicking and yelling his revenge,
"You think you can hold me?!", he yelled to his
traitorous son.
..."And to save us." Jeffrey said to the empty room.
Mulder and Scully emerged from the connecting door.
"I don't understand one thing." Mulder said.
Jeffrey, not really seeking rapport, answered shortly,
"What?"
"How he didn't know we or the others were here."
"He said it." Jeffrey answered.
"The medication." Scully finished, understanding. "Except
he must have had it in pill form, in doses small enough not
to damage." She looked up at Mulder. "You were given the
same thing, only a more potent injection. That's how
Skinner was able to speak to you that day at the DOD."
Scully recalled the sight of a catatonic Mulder, all
but a physical vegetable beneath a mind working like
an out of control freight train where his body simply
couldn't keep up.
Mulder nodded, not relishing his own memories of that time,
only months previous. "Why are you doing this, and don't
tell me it's just because you wanted justice for your
mother or as a favor to me."
Spender stared at Mulder. "No, I didn't. I don't believe
men should play at being gods, deciding for everyone how
to fight the future, or welcome it. I tried to think like
him, be him, but I didn't like the feel of it on my hands."
Dirt, she wondered, or blood? "You think he was right,
though, don't you? About the aliens?" Scully asked.
"Even if I do, wouldn't you rather fight for your life
with your own hands, your own way? And even if we are to
perish at the hands of an invasion, would you really
want to live in a world where men like my father would
be in power?"
"Can't argue with that." Mulder said.
"Do you think it would have come down to that?" Scully
asked, "the selling out of his own race? I'm not defending
CGB here but, are you certain you know him well enough
to make that judgement?"
"I have blood on my hands, agent Scully. believe me, I know
him." He pulled something from his pants pocket. "But I
didn't "serve" the "shepherd" in vain." He handed them
a small square object, a floppy disk. "This is all you'll
need to convict most of those involved with my father.
Names, places, dates, events, money exchanged. I kept
some of the money for myself." He smiled ruefully. "I
can't stay in the country of course or I'll end up
in jail right along with them."
At their questioning faces, "I was one of them. I have
to go. Fortunately, "daddy" left me a rich man."
"Where will you go?" Scully asked.
"South America maybe. Somewhere warm with lots of sunshine."
All the more to dispel the dark days behind him,
Scully reasoned. As she would have done.
"The rest of the money is in Swiss bank accounts and others.
It's dirty most likely, but maybe you can do something
with it, now, make it clean."
Mulder asked:
"How many patients at the institution?
Jeffrey looked down at the carpet, wondering how thick
the padding would be in his father's room. "About
fifteen hundred."
Remembering Mulder's dying brain and body, tormented by
the presense of others, it dawned on her, "He'll - it
could kill him."
Spender just nodded.
"You realise", Scully said, "that by committing him,
it will be difficult to specifically prosecute _him_
for any crimes he does confess to, disk or no."
"Yes, but no one else will be hurt. My father was their
ace in the hole. Without him and that little ball of
nerves in his brain, they will have no insight into the
alien activities. They'll be blind. Lost little sheep."
Mulder asked:
"How could you - how were you able to set this up?"
Jeffrey looked at him, wondering which way he meant,
_How_ could you? or How _could_ you?.
Deciding Mulder was only interested in facts, "Have him
committed you mean? Rein him in?"
To his own questions, Spender's simple answer spoke volumes,
"I'm his son."
*
END