HUMAN CREDENTIALS (20/24)

KEYWORDS: Mommy Dearest.

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Part twenty.
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"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 chin 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. I'm your partner, not your
wife."

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 on the toilet
seat.

"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 favourable 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
discoloured 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.

"Are you...uhm....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 hybridisation
techniques."

"For what purpose?"

"I think I was a lab rat used to test the validity of cloning and
hybridisation programmes, 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 humour, not just pretending to be as Scully so often did. He braced
himself for his next question, aware that he was stepping into
uncharted territory.

"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."

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.

"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 Faye's behaviour.

***

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 travelling 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 colour 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?" 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 give 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 seems to be 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."
 

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (21/24)

RATING: NC-17 for...weather forecast...you'll see...<g>

KEYWORDS: Those my mum says a young lady should not use...such
as...pineapple.
WARNING: Against every X-Files rule, good things happen in bathrooms
in this chapter, well...temporarily.

----------------
Part twenty-one.
----------------

"Something more near
 Though deeper within darkness,
 Is entering the loneliness..."

   - Ted Hughes - "The Thought-Fox"

Scully was sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the running
water's temperature when a shadow on the tiles made her raise her
head. Mulder was leaning against the bathroom doorjamb with his hands
tucked in his pockets, watching her.

"You really couldn't wait for that bath, could you?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Go back to the others, Mulder."

He stepped inside to loom above her. "And how are you planning to get
into that tub?"

"I'll manage."

She gave a little cry of surprise as she felt herself being lifted
from the ground, swirled around and dropped on the countertop behind
her and ended up nose to nose with her partner.

"That's your problem, Scully. You always manage."

She held his gaze with serious eyes.

"Not always, Mulder."

He leaned to kiss her forehead softly, his hands starting a slow
soothing caress over her thighs.

"You will, angel."

She felt her eyes well up, and looked away.

<Damn you, Mulder...>

Just when she relied on his knack of enraging her, he stabbed her in
the back with a few kind words. She needed her anger right now; it was
the only thing keeping her from falling apart. His arms encircled her
and she felt his hands resume their calming motions on her back. She
was so tired. She wanted to give in and accept the comfort he was
offering.

But not today.

She drew back with a shaky breath. "I think the bath is ready."

Mulder nodded silently and went to turn the taps off. When he came
back and reached for the hem of her shirt - intending to help her
undress - her hands flew up like panicked birds to stop him. He cocked
a teasing eyebrow at her.

"Are you going shy on me, Dr Scully?"

She dropped her hands and dipped her chin to avoid his gaze.

"No."

"Good."

He resumed his action and she let him do so. It hadn't been misplaced
modesty - she was aware she now had the required vital statistics to
enter a Miss Dachau 2000 competition.  His pity was not a crown she
was willing to wear.

When she was finally naked, she gathered her courage to take a quick
nervous peek at him.

He was looking at her with the same half-bored, half-sympathetic look
that medical staff learns to bestow on terminally ill patients.

Mulder had always been a talented pupil.

He carried her to the bathtub, and lowered her body gently into the
water before bending down to pick up her discarded clothes and
throwing them over his shoulder.

"I thought girls liked wearing their..." He stopped abruptly, his
mouth still working soundlessly as he searched for the right
definition.

"Partner's clothes?" she supplied, irony floating in her voice.

"Uhm, yeah, that."

"Not when it's because they have nothing else to wear."

He grinned. "Not anymore, thanks to our friendly shoppers."

She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the bath, letting the hot
water work its magic on her stiff muscles.

"I fear the worst," she murmured.

"Don't worry, Scully, I told them to avoid pink and ribbons."

"How kind."

"But they insisted on keeping the sequins and leopard print options."

He closed the door as a suddenly airborne sponge hit the wood with a
damp splat.

***

Alex Krycek had lost track of time when he finally felt the handcuffs
being removed from his bleeding wrist. He'd closed his eyes when
they'd begun the autopsy, but his eardrums still echoed with the sound
of the striker saw cutting through the bones of his hideously mutated
lover.

Nursing his wrist, he took a quick look around. The doctors had
vanished and so had Marita's corpse. His gaze settled on the smoking
man with blatant disgust.

"You're nothing more than a fucking butcher," he spat.

The old man's grating chuckle felt like coarse salt on a wound.

"It's no worse than what you do to Russian boys, Alex..."

Krycek clenched his jaws, a foul, bitter taste rushing in his dry
mouth and burning his gums. Desperate situations had called for
desperate measures, but that didn't alleviate the horror of it. That
boy's sewn-up face was one of his most treasured nightmares.

"...at least *she* was dead."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP !!!" Krycek lunged at the sneering man but stopped
dead in his track when he felt the steel circle of a barrel's nuzzle
chilling his forehead. A gun had miraculously materialized in the old
man's hand.

"You are too impulsive, Alex, it will kill you..."

The young spy held his breath and watched the man's wrinkled finger
apply more pressure on the trigger.

"...someday."

He wasn't prepared for the fist which hit him right in the stomach,
doubling him over and knocking the air out of him. He crumpled on the
floor and started to heave. When he lifted his head again the old man
was heading towards the exit.

"Coward!" Krycek called out to him, wheezing.

The smoking man half-turned and brought a cigarette to his lips,
smirking.

"Stop being bitter, Alex. Go out and enjoy the sun while you still
can."

Krycek felt as if his spine had just been dipped in nitrogen. Nothing
the old man said was ever innocent.

And the fact that he was still alive could only mean one thing.

The game was over.

***

Scully's eyes snapped opened some time later when she felt something
sweet being pushed between her lips. Mulder had returned and was
sitting on the edge of the tub with a plate of fruit salad
precariously balanced on his lap. She swallowed the piece of pineapple
and straightened up slightly.

"You never give up, do you, Mulder?"

"You haven't been paying much attention, partner." He waved a slice of
peach in front of her.

She sighed and leaned back into the tub, wiggling her toes out of the
water.

"All right then, feed me, slave."

"Don't push it, Scully."

She shot him an outrageously innocent look and opened her mouth to
accept the peach. The sight distracted his partner enough to shut him
up. She let him feed her bite after bite of fruit, amused to see his
eyes darken every time her lips grazed his fingers.

When the plate was empty he set it aside before returning his gaze to
her.

"Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

He beamed at her and stood up.

"Wanna come out?"

"Hmmm-mm."

He removed his own shirt to lift her from the tub and carried her
dripping body back to the countertop. Grabbing a towel, he approached
to dry her.

"I'm not completely crippled, Mulder, I can do that myself."

The towel dropped on her head and she felt her hair being rubbed
vigorously.

"No fun, Scully."

She snatched the towel away and saw him trying hard not to laugh.

"What?" she snapped.

He pointed behind her and she turned to look at her reflection in the
mirror. Her hair was a mess of unruly spikes, sticking out in every
direction. She spat a few strands clinging to her lips away with a
disgusted pout.

"Great. I look like a mad scientist," she grumbled.

Mulder chuckled. "You *are* a mad scientist."

She glared at him in the mirror and tried to comb her hair back with
her fingertips. Her partner suddenly disappeared from her field of
vision and she heard him fumble in the cabinet below her. She turned
back to see him produce a brush. He stood up again and took her chin
between his thumb and forefingers.

"Come here."

"Mulderrr..."

"Shhh."

He untangled her hair, with a clumsiness which she had to admit was
rather endearing. Once he had managed to more or less tame it, he
dropped the brush and gently pried the towel from her fingers.

<Told you, the man never gives up.>

She relaxed under his touch as he gently ran the terry cloth over her
still damp body. She lost track of time a little but not so much that
she failed to notice that he was spending more time than necessary
over her breasts.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I think they're dry now."

"Oh."

He dropped the towel but didn't move. The equation Puppy = Sugar was
all over his face...and she was the lump.

<Mulder, you're so easy to read sometimes...>

She took pity on him and reached for his stubbled cheek, drawing his
face to her. His eyes sparkled like a short-circuited neon sign,
shades of green flickering amidst whorls of golden brown. It was his
'New Case' look, the one that used to crackle with craving curiosity
at the slightest suggestion of a potential paranormal phenomenon. It
was the look which had made her stay so many years ago when she'd
fallen in love with its wild, unmitigated integrity, its blunt
honesty. She'd almost forgotten how potent it was. And it was so
strange to have it focused on her now.

Arousing.

"Thank you," she breathed against his lips.

It was supposed to be just that, a thank-you kiss. But when his tongue
pushed past her lips and chased her own she knew she was in trouble.

His hands closed simultaneously over her breasts like two eager wheel
clamps.

<Big trouble.>

She forgot why she had intended to object in the first place and drew
him closer. Her higher brain functions hung out a 'vacancy' sign as
his thumbs circled her nipples, and she hummed softly into his mouth.
She felt him smile against her lips and his index fingers joined the
dance to begin a more focused pulling motion, making her gasp.

There must have been a nipples/hands conspiracy because they were
getting along far too well.

She broke the kiss to draw a tremulous breath and he took the
opportunity to follow a trail beneath her chin, down her neck,
stopping to nip at the soft skin between her collarbones before
resuming his descent. She didn't need a geological survey map to know
where he was heading.

His lips closed on her left nipple with the focused determination of a
friendly sea anemone.

She let her head fall back with a moan and dug her nails in his
shoulders. It must have sounded like a call of surrender since,
immediately after, she felt his hand boldly push between her legs. The
pressure of his cool palm brushing the hood of her clit made her
vision flare like the flash of a camera, the bathroom taking an
overexposed hue.

He raised his head and grinned, his fingertips teasing her opening.

"You're raining, Scully."

Her hips bucked towards him, and she let out a little groan of
impatience.

"You...build...the ark and I'll gather...the animals," she managed,
her shallow breath drumming against his lips, and punctuated her
sentence by running the flat of her hand over his straining zipper.

His sharp hiss was followed by a snort and a soft kiss against her
neck. A long finger pushed its way inside her and her smirk ended in a
weak moan which she smothered on his shoulder, her parted lips wetly
connecting with his skin.

"Do you like rainstorms?" he murmured, nipping at her earlobe. He had
started a slow leisurely fuck with his finger and her own hand moulded
itself more tightly around the increasingly prominent shape betraying
his state. His gasp rushed like a hot draft along her cheek, and she
felt her hand being gently but firmly pushed away and replaced on the
counter. She felt his knee make contact with her inner thigh,
spreading her legs further apart as his lips began tracing a wet line
down her body, circumnavigated between her breasts, trailing kisses
down her stomach until he was kneeling between her legs.

"Rain...storms?"  Two syllables, hardly any catch. She was proud.

He drove the hard point of his tongue inside her navel and the urgent
hitch in her throat made him raise his head and look up at her. His
finger stopped but stayed inside.

"I love rainstorms, Scully, I love the taste of the rain on my lips."

She tightened around his finger in expectation, savouring the primal
need pulsing low inside her. Still...something she couldn't quite
name, was holding her back, but whatever it was, Mulder paid no heed
to it, or pretended not to. He lowered his head, diving into the eye
of the storm.

Scully let out a choked cry as his lips touched her folds and furrowed
deeper. Visions of sunflower seeds being pulled and sucked out of
their husks blossomed in her mind. Her fingers clutched at the edge of
the countertop as her hips began moving in small circles against his
face. She felt the pressure build up inside her; the bathroom walls
were beginning to curve inwards; objects looked fuzzy and edged with
sparks through her fluttering eyelids.

<God...oh God...>

When his finger started moving inside her again, she lost her breath.
His rhythm was different now, short and fast - the bow of a mad
Russian violinist coupled with the rough plectrum of his tongue.

Unfamiliar diphthonged whimpers were bursting from her mouth at every
stroke of his fingers and lips.

She was going to sing.

Loud.

She gasped for air, her windpipe crushed by the ecstatic rush which
made her body twist and writhe against her partner's mouth. She was
climbing too fast - too soon - too high, reaching that place she never
allowed herself to visit, the chaotic and wild place she never dealt
with, the blank space on her map, the one reading: 'Here be Monsters.'

Her head was thrown back and she saw her reflection panting at her,
upside down in the mirror. Her pupils were so dilated her eyes were
almost black.

Black.

Black eyes.

<NO!>

With a terrified cry she pushed on Mulder's shoulders with both feet,
sending him slamming against the tub.

"Scully?"

He was staring at her, dazed and uncomprehending, lips glistening
under the bathroom's neon light. He stood up - rubbing his back - but
kept his distance. She saw the memory of their last night in Tunisia
bloom in his eyes like a swelling bruise.

She bowed her head, willing her heart rate to slow down, unable to
voice any kind of reassurance as much as she wanted to, trying to
convince herself that she had only been victim of an hallucination, an
after-effect of the Treatment on her damaged psyche.

The following silence was as thick and painful as teargas. She heard
him sigh and raised her head just in time to see him reach out for the
door.

"Mulder..."

He shot her a reluctant look over his shoulder, his eagerness to flee
obvious. Cowardice was a trait he only seemed to use where she was
concerned.

"Forget it, Scully. I understand." There was an irritated edge to his
voice.

"Stay."

He hesitated and approached her cautiously, expecting her to flinch at
any moment. As soon as he was within reach, she drew him close and
buried her face in his chest. His hands hung limply to his side, as if
he was waiting for her to be done with it and let him go.

Instead she drew his face close to hers.

"I freaked out," she confessed before brushing his lips in a kiss he
didn't return.

"Yeah, I saw that...I shouldn't have..." He tried to step back but she
clung to him.

"Look, Mulder, you weren't the cause of it. Okay?"

He didn't seem convinced. Guilt was his marrowbone; he couldn't focus
on anything else while he was chewing on it. She grasped his hands and
squeezed them to get his attention.

"You know I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Mulder."
She shot him a wan smile. "I'm a terrible liar, remember?"

She saw the set of his shoulders relax gradually as he considered her
words. He finally nodded, and squeezed her hands back.

"Still, you're in no shape for any of this."

She sighed and leaned forward to rest her forehead on his collarbone.

"I guess not."

She felt his fingertips brush lightly against her cheek, just as her
jaws worked to stifle a yawn, and heard him chuckle.

"Come on, Scully, let's take you to bed."

He bent over and lifted her naked body into his arms. She liked that.
A lot. Although it would probably take the nation's supplies of
Penthotal to get her to admit it.

"Promise you won't snore," she murmured in his chest.

He laid her on the bed and threw her a hurt look.

"I do not snore, *you* do," he argued, removing his jeans to join her.

"Nonsense, women don't snore."

"If that's a scientific fact, you're not a woman, Scully."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Remind me to dig out my old anatomy
books for you, Mulder."

He settled beside her and drew her close.

"I don't need no books when I have a live model to study on."

He felt her smile against his shoulder. "What am I then?"

"Uh?" He was busy nuzzling her hair.

she raised her head and looked up at him, tucking her fist under her
chin.

"I said, what am I then, if I'm not a woman?"

His eyes locked with hers, liquid and soft.

"You're beyond definition, Scully."

She closed her eyes and briefly dipped her chin as swarms of
butterflies soared from her stomach to her heart. Handling compliments
was not what she did best. When she looked up to reply her voice was
small and husky.

"Not easily filed, categorised or referenced, uh?"

He pulled her up and kissed her nose.

"I love..." He saw her eyes widen and her pupils flicker, "...the
uncategorisable."

The breath she'd been holding was released with a relieved chuckle.

"That's not even a word, Mulder."

"Who cares?"

"Hmmmm." She rolled over, turning her back to him. This conversation
was getting slightly too meaningful for her taste.

Vows had just been offered, in their own silent idiolect.

And she had no idea how to deal with that.

***

Mulder woke up in the middle of the night to the feel of something
exquisite being performed on his nether regions. He lifted his head
groggily.

"Skh-lee?"

She was obviously too busy - or polite - to reply. She produced a low
hum around him and the vibrations caressing his penis made his hips
lift off the bed. His head fell back heavily on the pillows and he let
himself being drawn into the inferno she created with her mouth as she
sucked his soul through his dick.

He wondered if he would have to sign for it.

She made him come faster than a free-falling anvil. Had his ability to
process any kind of analytical reasoning not been momentarily
impaired, he would probably have been ashamed of it.

She crawled back next to him and closing her eyes, rested her cheek on
his chest as he caught his breath, one arm loosely wrapped around his
waist.

When he finally retrieved most of his language and motor skills, he
reached out to stroke her hip. She did not stir.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"What was that for?"

"To make you come."

Scully's idea of beating around the bush was to go at it with a
flamethrower.

His hand slid towards her inner thigh. "I see. What about you?"

A warm sigh kissed his skin. "Never mind the score card, Mulder."

Her skin was damp where his fingers trailed.

"I was thinking more in terms of team spirit, partner."

She did not reply, but did not object either when his fingers crept
higher to part the wet folds between her legs. Her head slid backwards
until it rested on his shoulder, and with a long sigh she began to
relax under his touch.

His fingertips danced over and inside her with the fluttered lightness
of fireflies, igniting thousands of ephemeral live wires in her
abdomen. Blood started to pound in her temples like a galley's drum -
slow and heavy at first and then faster, louder, but never loosing its
original rhythmic pattern. It was nothing like the roaring chaos she'd
experienced in the bathroom.

This was slow.

This was sweet.

This was safe.

She climaxed with a shudder and a tiny moan muffled in his shoulder.

Sometimes later, she felt a kiss on her brow and opened her eyes.

"Easier to give than to receive, isn't it, Scully?"

She didn't reply and turned away from him, feeling like a taxpayer
who'd just dodged the IRS.

***

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (22/24)

KEYWORDS: Healing time.

DISCLAIMERS: Aliens responsible for human evolution in S7? Cat and I
came up with this idea ages ago (see chapter 10). But *we* won't sue.
<g>

----------------
Part twenty-two.
----------------

It was the chilly morning air which woke him up, and as he reluctantly
opened his eyes, Mulder discovered it wasn't surprising he was cold as
all the sheets and covers had migrated around Scully.

She was curled up in one corner of the bed - fast asleep - snugly
wrapped up like a little mummy.

He was gradually coming to realise that there were quite a few things
Scully didn't like to share - her feelings, her fears, her orgasms -
blankets just seemed to be another item on the list.

They slept together but they were not a couple in the intimate sense
of the word. The depth and exclusive nature of their friendship made
them wary lovers because they both were acutely aware of what they
would lose if they failed.

And it wasn't the kind of relationship where you could patch things up
with a bunch of flowers over a candle-lit dinner.

It was more like a powder keg. If things blew up they would be too
badly damaged even to consider a second try.

As he watched her, so peaceful and relaxed, he made the silent promise
to try his damnedest not to fuck it up this time.

Yeah, promises like that were so easy to make when she was asleep...

With a final yearning look at the blanket, he stood up and hurried to
the warm haven of the shower.

***

Faye was in the kitchen when he entered. The young clone was sitting
in front of a glass of milk, munching a toast.

"Good morning, Faye."

"Good morning, Agent Mulder."

He smiled at her, and started rummaging in the cupboards, searching
for coffee.

"You don't have to be so formal, Faye, 'Mulder' will do."

She nodded, and took another bite of her toast.

He finally found what he was looking for and headed for the coffee
machine.

"Mulder? How is my mother?"

His grip on the spoon he was holding wavered slightly. He still had
trouble hearing Faye refer to Scully like that - no matter how true it
was. He switched on the coffee machine, sat down opposite her and
helped himself to cereal.

"Asleep," he finally replied.

"No nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No."

She reached for her glass and took a sip. "That's good."

"Hmm."

They ate in silence for a while. At one point their gaze met and he
saw the young clone's green eyes scan him slowly.

"You're having sex with her," she stated without any particular
affect.

Mulder choked on his Cheerio's and felt milk sting his sinuses.

"Jesus, Faye! You always call a spade a spade, don't you?"

"What else would I call it?"

He sighed and dropped his hands on the table in an 'I give up'
gesture. "All right, all right, your... mother and I have recently
become... involved, yes."

Faye shrugged. "If that's what you want to call it. It's still sexual
intercourse to me."

He smiled at that. "When you care for the person it is much more than
that, Faye."

"And you care for her."

"Very much so."

Faye fiddled with her toast for an instant. When she looked up her
gaze was hard. "I don't."

Mulder sighed. "Don't judge her too quickly, Faye. Scully is usually a
wonderful person under normal circumstances."  Yeah. Fucked up but
wonderful.

"She can't stand me," the young woman insisted.

"It's not you, Faye, it's what you represent."

He saw Faye's gaze shift over his shoulder, and turned to see Scully
standing in the doorway clad in jeans and a tee shirt, hair still damp
from the shower. He was glad to see there were no crutches in sight
today.

"Mulder, would you mind leaving us for a while?" his partner asked,
her gaze fixed on her daughter.

The agent stood up; grabbing a cup, he served himself some coffee and

headed towards the doorway. As he brushed past her, he lowered his
head and whispered in her ear:

"Play nice, Scully."

The look she shot him could have stripped paint off the front door. He
left without pressing the point.

When he was gone. Scully entered the kitchen, made herself a cup of
coffee, and went to sit at the place her partner had just vacated. She
pinned the young clone with a determined stare and drew a deep breath.

"Tell me."

And Faye began to talk. Had Mulder stayed in the room he probably
wouldn't have understood much of the conversation. When he'd asked
about her, Faye had served him a 'lite' version of her creation. But
with her mother she knew she did not have to take such precautions to
make herself understood.

She told her how the chromosomes of one of Scully's diploid somatic
cells had been engineered with alien DNA and marker genes and then
injected into an ovum emptied of its own genetic material; how the
resulting embryo had been incubated to produce an almost-clone,
identical but for the blonde hair and green eyes that indicated the
incorporation of engineered genes into the Scully genome.

She told her everything she thought her mother ought to know.

Scully listened and remained silent long after Faye had finished,
staring at her coffee cup with a vacant gaze.

Faye shifted in her seat. "You're angry."

Scully raised her head and gave a bitter chuckle.

"Angry doesn't even begin to describe it."

The young clone dipped her chin and stared at her hands. And it
suddenly dawned on Scully that sitting across her was more than the
aberrant product of a medical rape.

There was also a person.

Someone who looked and sounded so much like a younger version of
herself.

Someone she was hurting.

Deliberately.

The realisation was like a kick in the stomach. She pushed her chair
back hurriedly and stood up on unsteady legs.

Faye rose from her seat.

"You look ill."

She took a few steps forward but Scully backed away from her, shaking
her head frantically.

"I'm sorry...I can't...I can't..."

She turned round to run out of the kitchen and collided with Mulder.

"Hey!" His arms closed instinctively around her.

"LET ME GO!" She struggled like a wild cat against him, broke free and
disappeared outside.

Mulder stared at Faye.

"What happened?"

"She's angry."

"Why?"

"Probably because I exist." The young woman sat back down and played
with her cup. "They never told me who I was. I never imagined I would
be the cause of so much pain."

Mulder laid his hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch. He removed
his hand and instead knelt beside her to catch her sad eyes.

"You're not the cause, Faye. You're just a reminder of what happened
to her. It would take anybody time to deal with that kind of
information. And you said it yourself, people who have undergone the
Treatment are emotionally fragile."

"I should leave."

Mulder shook his head.

"On the contrary, you should stay. Scully is too good at hiding her
traumas as if nothing had happened. If you leave now, she'll never
learn to deal with it."

"Maybe it's better if she doesn't."

"It'll destroy her. It was already eating her alive long before you
came. Consider yourself as the shock therapy she needs."

He stood up, joints popping.

"It'll get better, I promise."

Watching him leave Faye reflected that it was so easy to believe this
man...too easy...

***

Scully ran towards the sea, the wind cooling her tear-streaked face
heralding the promise of a storm. She stumbled and fell several
times - her legs were still weak - but she kept going, crying and
punching at the sand with both fists, raising herself again and again.

She didn't stop when the waves lapped at her feet; the roar of the
ocean was nowhere near as loud as the one in her head.

The water was freezing her legs, numbing them. She wanted to be numb,
she wanted the water to surround her and fill her lungs, clean her
insides with sweet, cold oblivion.

It was the weight of knowledge which was pulling her forward.

She had always been convinced that her abduction had been a ploy to
influence Mulder. That was only part of it. Now she also knew the
reason why they'd kept her so long. Faye had told her that very few
women among the abductees possessed sufficiently compatible genomes to
allow human/alien DNA hybridisation to be successful.

And to everybody's surprise she had turned out to be the perfect
match.

Priceless.

An Uber-mother.

She'd had many children, according to Faye. Dozens. Most of them dead
now, or insane. They were still in the fine-tuning phase of the
Project and they learnt by making mistakes. Alien DNA was such an
unpredictable acid to handle.

But they were getting better at it everyday. Faye was the proof that
it could be done.

There.

She had it.

The Truth.

It stood threateningly outside her hellish inner attic, demanding to
be acknowledged, to be taken in.

She did not have the strength to face it.

They said that when you drowned you experienced a sense of peace just
before loosing consciousness. She craved for that peace.

She stepped forward.

"SCULLY!"

Mulder felt the wind pierce his pores and chill his bloodstream as he
spotted the frail shape of his partner waist high among the foaming
waves. He ran straight in, water madly splashing around him. He
reached for her, threw her over his shoulder without ceremony and
hurried back towards the shore without stopping. She was struggling
against him, screaming and punching his back, but he didn't stop until
they'd reached the sand.

He dropped her and grabbed her upper arms roughly. She wasn't the only
one to be furious.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"
he yelled, shaking her like a rag doll.

The daggers in her eyes were gleaming with insane venom. She shook his
arms away and started pummelling his chest and pushing him away with
all her strength.

"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FEEL YOU HAVE TO RESCUE ME?
 WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE HERE?
 CAN'T YOU JUST LET GO, MULDER?"

He was as unmoveable as a stone statue under her fists, and she
quickly felt her strength abandoning her. She crumpled at his feet and
started sobbing against his ankles.

"Can't you just... let *me* go?"

She felt his hands on her shoulders as he lowered himself next to her.
He gathered her shaking body in his arms, surrounding her with a
warmth which made her ache even more.

"That's not an option, Scully." His voice was soft now.

"Why?" she thickly gasped between chattering teeth.

"You're my partner."

His serious stare underlined that this was no FBI lore he was talking
about. Seeing was believing and she hurt too much to believe. She
closed her eyes and with a choked sigh buried her face in his neck.
She felt his hand caressing her hair.

"Besides...Skinner would have my ass if I let his best pathologist
drown."

Her teary chuckle surprised them both. She raised her head to look at
him.

<Thank you, Mulder, thank you for making it easier for me.>

"You're right," she began, her voice hoarse with exertion. "We can't
have that." She brushed her lips against his. "I don't wanna share
your ass with Skinner."

He smiled. "No?"

"Not yet."

He threw his head back and laughed before tightening his grip on her
to stand up.

"Come on, Scully, let's get our respective asses warm."
 

***

Two weeks went by.

Scully was healing slowly. They were still very far from
mother/daughter bonding, but at least now, she could stay in the same
room as Faye for an entire meal without turning green and rushing out
after two spoonfuls. She still had trouble addressing her directly but
they were getting there.

It wasn't always a joy ride, though.

She'd begun to have nightmares on the third day of their arrival in
Quonochontaug.

He'd stopped counting the times when she woke up screaming; the sound
had become as familiar as his alarm clock. He would wake her up and
try to comfort her, but she never let him hold her for very long. He'd
become very well acquainted with the shape of her back.

Three days ago, she'd sleepwalked to the bathroom and smashed the
mirror with her bare fists.

She was as stunned as he was to find herself there, surrounded by
broken shards, rivulets of blood tracing complicated patterns on her
hands before dripping in fat crimson drops on the blue bathroom tiles.

He'd removed the shards, bandaged her bleeding hands, and without a
word led her back to bed.

The lump in his throat was the size of a pigeon egg when she almost
shyly sought his warmth and curled up against him that night, her
gauze-covered hands rough against his bare ribs.

She'd been quiet ever since - he didn't know whether it was a good
sign or not.

The days went by slowly. With Scully spending most of her time curled
up in bed catching up on seven years of sleep, and no news from the
Gunmen since he couldn't risk using his cell-phone, he was getting
restless. Not to mention TV deprived...

He kept himself busy by trying to repair the engine of his father's
old dinghy in the boathouse at the side of the house.

Just in case.

He had also found a chess set in a drawer, and had taught Faye to
play. She'd lost the first two games. On the third she had checkmate
in six moves.

He'd been losing ever since...

They got on well together. Having been struck by the initial
differences, he now found more and more of Scully in Faye. She
possessed the no-nonsense straightforwardness of her mother, her
ingrained honesty. She was quiet, serious and sharp.

She asked him the most naive and the most complicated questions.

She was beautiful.

Okay. Make that stunning.

And she didn't smile much.

Make that not at all.

He interrupted his train of thought momentarily to move his knight and
looked up.

"Faye?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever smile?"

The young woman stopped staring at the board and cocked her mother's
eyebrow at him.

"Why should I?"

He regretted his question; the poor kid probably didn't have much to
smile about.

"Er...people do, sometimes."

"People?"

He cringed at the coolness of her voice.

"Well...yeah, I mean everybody."

"You mean everybody who isn't a lab engineered product?"

Well, maybe she hadn't got the hang of humour yet, but she had
cynicism down to a T.

***

He went to check on Scully later in the afternoon. She was curled up
in her usual corner of the bed. The shrink inside him frowned and took
notes: foetal position, post-traumatic stress, withdrawal, denial,
yadda, yadda...

Her eyes opened as he approached the bed, their limpid blue hinting
that she'd been awake for a while.

He sat by her side.

"You know, Scully, the hundred years' sleep stuff was only a
metaphor."

She drew herself up against the pillows and he sensed the brutal
shifting in her mood from neutral to defensive.

"I'm resting."

"You're fleeing."

She closed her eyes, and released an exasperated breath.

"Mulder, I'm too tired for this."

"I'm not surprised, you look like shit, Scully, but staying in this
bed all day is not going to improve that."

"There's nothing to do."

He stood up.

"Well, maybe you could start by shifting that lovely ass of yours into
the shower, go outside, breathe some fresh air and start interacting
with the people in this house."

He knew from the way she raised her chin and narrowed her lips that he
was adding mortar to her fortress. Trying to bypass Scully's
stubbornness was like trying to cross a Javanese forest. You had a
good chance of losing your head in the process.

"I have no wish for interaction with anybody at the moment."

There goes the head...

"I'm perfectly aware of that, and I understand you need time. But your
daughter thinks that you're..."

"Don't call her that!" The blizzard in her eyes lashed out through her
voice.

But Mulder knew he held the sharp end of the stick and a bit of frost
wasn't going to stop him.

"But that's what she is, Scully, no matter how difficult it is to
accept!"

His partner looked away to blankly fix the wall in front of her, but
he kept on.

"She's here, she's real, she's not gonna disappear just because you
ignore her. Your daughter, Scully! Your flesh and blood, even more so
than any kid you could ha.."

Shit.

Nice one.

Got enough salt for this wound, have you, Mulder?

He blinked, wishing like hell he had a remote control to rewind the
scene and erase that last sentence.

Scully slowly turned her pale face towards him and smiled weakly.
Combined with the emptiness of her gaze, it was the scariest thing
he'd ever seen.

"Wrong tense, Mulder," she whispered.

His lips moved but failed to produce a sound. It was as if her smile
had sliced through his nervous system and embedded itself in his
brain, infecting him with a sample of the gaping wound inside her.

He saw her push the covers away and stand up. Her oversized T-shirt
reaching her knees, she slowly walked towards him, and gave his arm a
gentle squeeze as she brushed past him.

The bathroom door closing softly behind her sounded like a coffin lid.

***

When Scully stepped into the living room, Faye was sitting on the sofa
reading one of the magazines the Gunmen had brought back. Her partner
was nowhere in sight.

Her argument with Mulder had paradoxically shaken her out of the
stupor of grief which had been weighing her down since the Treatment.
She was upset, not by his clumsy words but by the acute sorrow she'd
witnessed in his eyes.

Her sorrow. Her pain.

Something she never thought she could share... until an hour ago when
Mulder had stood shell-shocked in front of her and she'd realised that
he'd just stolen a piece of the loot.

The knowledge did not alleviate her own inner turmoil. Her senses were
heightened to almost painful levels; sounds were too loud, light was
too bright, air was too oppressive. She could feel every grain of the
wood under her fingers as she skimmed her hand over the old chest of
drawers near the doorway. But the brave little sailor inside her had
emerged from the waves, spat out some water, cursed some and decided
to aim for the shore. There was still a long way to swim but she was
alive and breathing and she had every confidence now that he would be
waiting on the beach.

Now that he understood.

United for better and for worse...especially for worse. She doubted
they were designed for the 'better' option of the deal.

She walked towards the sofa.

"Where's Mulder gone?"

Her daughter briefly raised her eyes from her magazine and shrugged.
"To the boat house, I think."

"Was he...alright?"

The young clone closed her magazine, placed it on her lap and pinned
her mother with a piercing stare.

"You had a fight," she stated in her usual neutral way.

Scully's mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to find an
appropriate comeback.

She couldn't.

"Was it about me?" Her daughter queried.

The agent sighed, "Faye..."

"I told him I should leave, but he doesn't want to listen."

Scully's lips curved faintly. "Mulder never listens, at least not when
he's made up his mind about something."

"Did he learn that from you?"

In any other circumstances it would have sounded like a personal
attack, but it had been voiced so dispassionately - as if for the
young woman it had been the next logical thing to ask - that she
couldn't feel offended. Shocked, yes, but not offended.

Scully pinched the bridge of her nose. "Faye...I don't want you to
leave. I know that my behaviour towards you might make you think the
contrary but...I... it's not that I don't like you..."

"It's because of what I represent. I know, Mulder keeps telling me
that."

Scully nodded. "He's right, you know."

Her daughter shot her a sceptical look. "I would be more inclined to
think that he's trying to reassure me."

Scully shook her head slowly. "I don't..."

"You don't *have* to like me. After all, *I* don't like you."

Scully gaped at the young clone sitting in front of her. She sounded
exactly like herself as a child when tact was a social skill she had
yet had to master. Her mother had always scolded her about her
bluntness.

A kid. Just a kid.

Faye stood up to face her, well, sort of, since the young woman was a
good 5 inches taller. "And despite the fact that you're my biological
mother, I don't see why I should. You're hurting me, you're hurting
him and more importantly you're hurting yourself; when you should be
working at getting better. Your behaviour is both pointless and
unproductive."

Yes. One damn blunt clever kid.

Her daughter.

Scully smiled softly. "You know what, Faye? I think I'm just beginning
to like you."

***

Alex Krycek tightened the collar of his parka and made his way through
the snowstorm. The small Arctic weather station looked like a
conglomerate of frost-covered mushrooms oozing yellow light.

He reached the intercom and removed his glove to punch the call
button. Ali's voice spluttered on the other end.

"Inch Allah! Alex! Come and get warm, my friend!"

The security doors slid open and Krycek entered the compound, shaking
the snow off his boots.

Ali was waiting for him along with a handful of staff he recognised
from the Indiana lab.

"I hate all that snow," the young Russian grumbled, pushing away the
cold, stiff hood of his parka.

Ali's smirked joylessly.

"Well, you'd better get used to it, because you'll have to deal with
it for the next several years."

Krycek winced. "I was right then: the Project has come to term."

The Tuareg nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"How long do we have before the next phase actually begins?"

Ali shook his head and sighed defeatedly.

"It's already begun."

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (23/24)

RATING: Harmless.

KEYWORDS: Armageddon, apocalypse and elephants.

----------------
Part twenty-three.
----------------

"You fondle my trigger,
then you blame my gun."
- Fiona Apple - 'Limp' -
 

Scully was standing outside the boathouse doorway, observing her
partner trying to repair the engine of a dusty grey dinghy.

'Trying' being the operative word there.

And he was being rather vocal about it.

Enough to make the Navy brat inside her gawp with admiration.

When the spanner he was holding flew off and hit a stack of empty
jerry cans next to him, she walked silently inside and stood behind
him. He was too busy cursing to notice her.

"FUCK IT! FUCK IT! FUCK IT!"

"Is that a challenge?"

Mulder started and swirled around. "Jesus, Scully!"

She was smiling. "Need any help, sailor?"

He made a move to wipe his sweaty brow but stopped when he realised
his hands were black with grease, and used his forearm instead. He
pinned her with a look which still held the jagged scars of their
latest 'talk'.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" He was borderline
frantic.

"Nothing. I just came to see what you were doing."

She didn't wait to witness his puzzled look, but went to retrieve the
lost tool. Spanner in hand, she came back to the dinghy and
signalled Mulder to move over with a little flick of the wrist. He
shook his head.

"It's no use, Scully, I tried everything. The damn thing is busted."

His partner leaned over the engine, and began probing various parts
here and there with fingers which soon became as filthy as his. She
had that 'single focus' look on she usually bore during autopsies.

One problem = one solution and no bullshit.

The good old rigid Scully way.

It seemed ages since he last witnessed it.

Something sizzled in Mulder's chest, as if he were about to greet a
long lost friend at the airport.

His partner was now down on her knees, checking some obscure
mechanical part underneath. "I think the carburettor is clogged. If
you remove these bolts here," she pointed the spanner towards a very
indistinctive part of the engine, "then you can remove this part here,
and clean it from the inside."

She looked up to see Mulder watching her with a strange, almost
hypnotised gaze.

"What?" she frowned.

"I just got very turned on," he whispered.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and dropped the spanner in his hand.

"I didn't know you had a mechanic fetish, Mulder."

She pointed a commanding finger at the engine before he had time to
voice one of his smartass comebacks.

"Get to work. Now." Her stern tone was softened by a somewhat smug
smile.

Mulder obeyed, painstakingly endeavouring to loosen the corrugated
bolts while Scully - wiping her hands with a piece of cloth she'd
found in a corner - went to sit on an old crate nearby, suddenly
exhausted.

Her partner shot her a concerned look.

"You OK, Scully? You look kinda pale."

"Yeah, just a little tired, nothing serious."

He nodded and went back to work.

"You should take it easy."

"In case you hadn't noticed, that is exactly what I've been doing."

He raised his head, shame clinging like sweat over his face. "I'm
sorry for acting like such an asshole back there."

"That's OK, Mulder, forget it. I needed that asshole to kick my ass
anyway."

"Still, I shouldn't..."

Her hand shot up and sliced the air in front of her. "I said forget
it! I need your sympathy, Mulder, not your guilt."

He nodded sullenly, and got back to work. She could see he was
slightly hurt.

They were so good at that.

For a while there were no other sounds in the boat house than the
occasional clank of the spanner against metal.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"I had a talk with... my daughter."

The spanner hit the floor with a loud clatter as Mulder gaped at her.

"Yeah?" he breathed.

Scully lowered her head to pick at a loose thread on her jeans and
smiled faintly.

"She said my behaviour was, I quote: 'pointless and unproductive'."

Her partner produced a half-wince, half-grin, and picked up his tool
again.

"She can be rather blunt at times."

"To put it mildly."

Mulder reached for the cloth to wipe his hands and winked at her.

"I wonder where that comes from."

Her faint scowl advised him to stop wondering any further. She shifted
on the crate to cross her legs.

"You know..." she began, her fingers pulling at a splinter on the
side of the box, "I never resented Emily for being what she was. The
maternal instinct just kicked in. But with Faye...I don't know..."

Still wiping his hands, Mulder came to crouch in front of her.

"I think it was easier because you were dealing with a child, and
Faye doesn't look like one."

Scully sighed. "No... she looks... too much like me... it's..."

"Spooky?"

A tight little smile. "Yeah."

"That's right down our alley, partner." He leaned forward to kiss her
cheek. "You'll get used to her, she's a good kid."

She didn't say anything and uncrossed her legs to stand up. Mulder
raised himself and stepped back to give her the breathing space he
knew she needed to think. She walked slowly around the boat, one
grimy hand skimming over the dusty hard rubber. When she spoke it was
more a thought voiced aloud than anything else.

"I don't think I can ever be the mother she expects me to be."

Mulder leaned against the wooden panels behind him and brushed a
spider web from his shoulder.

"She doesn't expect you to be anything."

Her gaze finally settled on him, half surprised, as if she'd
forgotten he was there at all.

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"She told you."

Her toneless voice didn't augur well. He shrugged in a way he hoped
was relaxed. "She doesn't have the first clue what she's supposed to
expect. She just knows that for some reason your approval is
important to her." He paused to smile slightly, recalling the
conversation. "And it bugs her, because she can't find any logic
behind it."

"And she told you that too."

Her eyes had locked with his like two homing missiles and he felt all
his soft southern parts scurrying for cover.

"Well, she didn't exactly say 'bugs' but..."

"You two seem awfully close," she cut in, dryly.

"WHAT? What's that supposed to mean?" His shoulders pushed
simultaneously on the wooden panels he was leaning on, propelling him
towards her. She couldn't possibly believe...

"Oh, don't tell me you're jealous!"

Her gaze skittered away and settled on a murky window framed with
spider webs.

"Scully! you can't seriously think that I would...I mean...no matter
how grown up she looks, or how pretty she is, she's only a kid...and
I would have to be a very sick man to even entertain the thought..."

Her eyes returned on him and stopped him short. It didn't make sense,
but he could have sworn he spotted a flicker of irony in them.

"Not that kind of jealous, Mulder." She walked over to the window and
began to poke at the cobwebs. "I just wish..." She took a deep breath,
"I just wish I could communicate with her like you do; you seem so at
ease with each other... you talk with her... share entire
conversations and she feels comfortable with you. That's what I'm
jealous of."

While she was talking he'd come to stand behind her to lay one
approximately clean hand over her right shoulder. He felt it move
under his fingers as she ripped another piece of cobweb before adding:
"And also because I wish it were like that between us."

It was such a defeated whisper that he forced her to turn round.

"What do you mean 'like that'?"

She raised infinitely sad eyes at him. "Simple, straightforward, that
we could talk without dragging years of emotional baggage along with
us every time, without hurting each other, just talking like normal
people do."

He smiled gently at her and took her small blackened hands in his.

"We would get bored."

She returned his smile wistfully. "I'm the one who wanted to be
Eleanor Roosevelt, remember?"

He freed one hand to lift her chin towards him and breathed against
her lips.

"Scully?"

"What?"

"Normal people don't have this."

And he kissed her.

This.

Whatever *this* was.

This rush in her blood.

This pounding in her chest.

This chill on her skin.

This tremor in her loins.

This sparkler in her skull.

Could you lie with a kiss? Probably, but it was too good to stop him
and ask. She felt her knees buckle and pressed herself against the
wall, pulling him along with her as their kiss deepened and took a
feverish, desperate edge.

Her hands were pinned above her head, mingling with the cobwebs, and
as his body came flush against hers, she had to admit he had a point.

A very interesting point.

And a very hard one - urgently pressing against her stomach.

She arched her back and whimpered in his mouth, rubbing her hips
against his.

Someone cleared his throat behind them.

Walter Skinner was standing in the doorway.

***

<Not *again*.>

Did they do anything else these days?

Skinner was carefully making his way to the front porch when he'd
noticed the boat-house door was wide open and had opted to take a
look. He'd left his car a few yards away - Assistant Directors were
cautious people by nature.

And there he was, watching his agents going at it like there was no
tomorrow - which, considering the latest events, wasn't such an
impossible outcome.

Can you spell Deja Vu?

At least they were still fully clothed. But at the rate things were
going it wouldn't last long.

He coughed.

They reacted as if he'd poked them with a cattle prod and jumped
apart - way apart - readjusting their clothes with shaky hands.

Who needs a bucket of water when you have a healthy larynx?

"Agents." He nodded curtly at both of them before settling his gaze
on Scully. "I'm glad to see you're well, Dana."

Agent Scully's cheeks were currently trying to do chilli pepper
impersonations.

Hot little number indeed.

"Sir," she managed to choke out.

"Sorry if this is a bad time but we have urgent matters to discuss."

He pivoted on his heels and began to head towards the house.

He let a visibly uncomfortable Mulder open the front door and lead
him to the living room. Skinner ignored the sofa and headed for a
stern looking, straight back, leather armchair. Even so, he couldn't
resist closing his eyes for a minute. The colliding thoughts which
kept him on overdrive for the past few days suddenly came to a halt,
leaving him empty and very, very tired.

"Sir?" Mulder's voice. Concerned.

<Wait till you learn the news, buddy.> He refused to open his eyes
but deigned to answer: "Give me a minute."

"Would you like some coffee?"

His stomach recoiled into a tight little ball of pain at the thought.
"No, just water, please."

He heard Mulder's footsteps fade away.

"Hard day at work?" That was Scully.

He opened his eyes reluctantly. "You could say that."

"Why did you come here?"

"To make sure you were OK."

"We are."

"I figured as much."

Scully's eyes drifted to have a meaningful bonding moment with a
nearby cushion.

Skinner produced an atypical wry smile. "Off the record, I can't
really say this came as a complete surprise. In the Bureau, the
question had always been 'when', never 'whether'."

The young woman raised wide baby blues at him. "I didn't know the
status of our relationship was such a popular subject."

"Longest-running office pool."

She pursed her lips and gave a little derisive sigh. "I see."

They remained silent until Mulder came back with the drinks.

The A.D. took a sip from his glass and wrapped his big hands around
the fragile crystal. Classy tumblers. A reminder that he and Mulder
came from radically different backgrounds. Back home, tumblers had
been made of plastic, or glass as thick as the lenses he used to wear
as a kid. He looked around him and took in the Persian rugs and the
expensive furniture. The place exuded money.

Blood money.

At least he never had to wonder where money came from in his house,
mostly because they didn't have any; apart from the ridiculous amount
his father would earn, slaving away on a production line, building
cars for the William Mulders of America. Still, there had been
laughter and songs in his home, a wealth for which he suspected the
young, tortured and guilt-ridden Fox Mulder would have traded all the
brandy decanters and silver cutlery in the world.

No. He didn't envy him.

He lifted his head towards his agents, who were sitting - he noticed
with an inner smirk - on opposite ends of the wide sofa, waiting for
him to speak. He uncurled one of his hands from his glass and pinched
the bridge of his nose with fingers that were now icy and slightly
damp.

"Have you heard the news?"

They both shook their heads.

"There's no radio or TV here," Mulder explained. It had been a
long-standing argument between his parents. Her mother always said a
holiday home was for people to get away from the world. She'd been
furious the day his father had installed a phone line.

Skinner set his glass on the coffee table and slid forward on his
armchair, resting his forearms on his thighs and folding his hands.

"China closed its borders three days ago."

Scully frowned. "Why?"

"Some kind of plague; the Chinese government has declared a state of
emergency and is refusing to comment. They've set up martial law and
shoot everyone trying to cross the border, be it to get in or get
out. The only thing we're sure of is that this disease is spreading
faster than wildfire. This morning I heard that all the airline
companies have cancelled their flights towards Russia and India. But
then again both governments are unwilling to give any information on
what's really happening out there."

Mulder snorted joylessly. "Hiding the Truth is not an American
prerogative."

Scully shot her partner an annoyed look before asking, "You must have
at least some information on the symptoms?"

Skinner sighed. "We just have rumours, from those who managed to send
e-mails or phone before all the lines went dead. Apparently, people
are dying within hours of catching the virus, choking on their own
blood. We really don't know much, the problem being that nobody who
witnesses the event stays alive long enough to tell the tale."

Mulder jumped from his seat, rather agitated. "So you're telling us
that a motherfucking epidemic is currently wiping out an entire
continent, and that you guys don't have a clue what the hell is going
on?"

"Mulder!"

The agent turned to look at his partner and calmed down immediately
when their eyes met. Such wasted potential, Skinner thought; anybody
able to keep Mulder's temper in check with a single look deserved a
promotion.

"Sit down," she ordered.

Mulder complied grudgingly.

Yep. A young Jana Cassidy. Astounding A.D. material...

"This is no epidemic, Mulder. At this rate it's a pandemic."

Her partner shrugged. "What difference does it make? Picking the
proper term won't bring them back, Doc."

"Mulder, that's enough!" Skinner barked.

Scully threw her boss a quick composed look. "That's all right, Sir."

Subtext: 'I'm a big girl, beat it, Walt.'

She shifted in her seat to face her companion. "What I'm saying,
Mulder, is that a plague spreading this fast is highly unlikely to
have natural causes at its origin."

"Well done, you can come back next week."

"Let me finish. If it's engineered, there's probably a cure."

"Of course there is, Scully. The vaccine."

His partner slapped the sofa with her palm. "Dammit, Mulder, there's
no reason why the Consortium would be involved in this."

"And there's no reason why it shouldn't. I can smell Ol' Smokey's
foul stench over all this."

Skinner rocked back in his armchair. "I must say the possibility
crossed my mind as well. One e-mail mentioned a bee sting."

Mulder crossed his arms, and made a smug little gesture with his
chin. "See?"

Scully stood up, rolling her eyes.

"This plague isn't the only contagious thing here."

"What's your point, Agent Scully?" asked Skinner in a tone his
fatigue made it very hard to keep neutral.

She planted herself in front of him.

"With all due respect, Sir, I think Mulder's paranoia is rubbing off
on you."

"Scully..." her partner sighed behind her.

She whirled round.

"No, Mulder. If bees were responsible for this, it would mean entire
swarms attacking the population. If that had been the case don't you
think it would have been the first rumour to come up? The first thing
to be mentioned in those mails and calls?"

She turned towards her boss. "Was it the case, Sir?"

Skinner shook his head wearily. "No."

She turned again to pin Mulder with a 'there-you-go' look.

He held her gaze, unyielding. "Maybe it just takes one person to be
stung now to contaminate an entire group. The bees we encountered
could have just been an experimental version."

She didn't reply straight away, a sign that she was at least
considering the possibility. On his mental abacus a bead was being
slowly pushed in his favour.

She finally broke their staring contest by shaking her head. "Even if
that were true, why would they decide to relieve an entire continent
of its population? Why China? It doesn't make any sense!"

In his mind, the bead slid back.

"China is only ground zero, Scully. We're talking global spring
cleaning here."

"You're not serious!"

"Do I look like I'm laughing, Scully?"

She made an irritated little noise in the back of her throat before
launching: "A world-wide genocide? That's ridiculous. For what
purpose?"

He crossed his hands behind his head, never breaking eye contact.

"To make room."

"Room for what?"

He could tell his cryptic answers were beginning to seriously piss
her off, just by the way she over pronounced her words. That he was
getting such an inordinate kick out of it wasn't lost on him. Her
Irish temper was the greatest turn on.

He smiled softy. "You're not gonna like my answer."

She sneered at him. "I'm used to it. Shoot."

He shrugged. "All right. What if I told you Homo sapiens sapiens
isn't the cool thing to be anymore."

She shot him a sardonic smile. "I'd say you're out of your mind. Try
again."

"How about: our race has served its purpose and now the planet is
being repossessed?"

Her eyes narrowed. The Scully Special Killer Blow was on its way.

"You really do believe this evolutionary engineering bullshit your
so-called *informant* fed you with, don't you?"

His hands dropped on his lap. "I never said she was my informant."

Her chin jutted out defiantly. "You're right. Krycek did."

Mulder stood up to face her, bristling. "Since when do you listen to
that little piece of shit?"

"Since you stopped trusting me enough to share that kind of
information," she snapped back.

Skinner's voice boomed behind them. "That's enough. If you have
personal issues to discuss, I'd appreciate you doing so outside my
presence. I really don't have time for this."

The agents froze and blinked dazedly at him. When these two were
caught up in an argument, the outside world simply ceased to exist.

Skinner stood up as well. "Scully. What did you mean by 'evolutionary
engineering'?"

He never had a chance to listen to her answer. His 'danger-bell', the
one which had saved his butt so many times in Nam, pealed out as he
heard a faint noise on his right, and before he had time to
consciously register what was happening he'd already drawn his gun and
was pointing it in the direction of the stairway.

Then his lungs went AWOL.

Standing at the top of the stairs was a tall, blonde, Hitchcockian
version of Dana Scully.
 

***
 

Skinner felt Mulder's hand touch his arm.

"It's OK, Sir, it's only Faye."

The young woman made her way downstairs, slowly, her eyes fixed on his
gun. Skinner jerked slightly when he realised he was still aiming at
her, and put his gun back in its holster. His hand was shaking.

Only Faye. Right. No problem.

Scully's voice drifted through his stunned daze. "She's my daughter."

He saw the stunning creature stop halfway down the stairs to stare at
Scully as if she hadn't expected to be introduced in that way.

"Your daughter," he repeated slowly. His thoughts were moving through
treacle. It was one thing to read the reports about abductions,
stolen ova, cloning and genetic manipulation which regularly landed
on his desk - courtesy of the X-Files division - but *seeing* the
result, the proof of all those things, was an entirely different
matter.

He felt himself falling from the cliff of mere knowledge towards the
boiling river of actual experience. And at this point, he doubted he
could manage anything but doggy paddle.

He briefly closed his eyes to steel himself, wishing a glass of
strong liquor would materialise in his hand so he could smooth the
razor sharp edges of this new, unwelcome awareness.

When he reopened his eyes Faye was standing in front of him.

"Faye, this is Walter Skinner, assistant director with the FBI, our
boss," explained Mulder behind him.

The young woman extended her hand and he stared at it dumbly for a
moment before realising that he was being rude and hurrying to shake
it.

Her slim fingers were warm and real against his palm. He didn't know
why he'd expected them to be cold.

"Why are you here?" she asked, releasing his hand. Her voice was a
touch deeper than Scully's, but similar enough to make his flesh
crawl.

He heard Mulder chuckle behind him. "Faye, you really do need to work
on your social skills."

If her features had left any doubts about her origins, the finely
arched and haughty eyebrow she raised at Mulder would have settled
them entirely.

It definitely bore the Scully copyright.

Skinner shook his head in disbelief and looked successively at his
agents. "I'm listening."

"The birds and the bees and the test tube babies, Sir," answered
Mulder.

Skinner rolled his eyes and shot a pleading look at Scully, but as his
agent opened her mouth to answer, Faye interrupted her.

"To my knowledge, they did not experiment on birds."

Mulder's mouth began to curve in the beginning of a grin before
freezing abruptly. He stepped forward, invading the young woman's
personal space as he always did when he wanted to pry information from
someone. Faye did not seem to mind as she held the agent's inquisitive
stare impassively.

"Faye? You know about the bees? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I do not have any valid data to communicate on the subject.
I just know the Project used them for certain experiments."

Skinner observed Mulder run his hand through his hair in frustration
while the young clone continued to fix him, poised as the proverbial
sphinx.

Scully moved closer to ask softly: "Do you know if they were working
on viruses?"

Faye nodded. "I brought some samples to one of the virology lab once,
which was situated in the restricted area. I saw cages with infected
animals."

"Smallpox?"

"I don't think so, the label on the cages read 'T.B'."

Scully locked eyes with her partner, open-mouthed.

Skinner made the logical leap as well, thinking about the symptoms
he'd described earlier. "But isn't tuberculosis a chronic illness,
with debilitating symptoms lasting for years?"

"Seems they somehow managed to make this strain of it go turbo,"
replied Mulder.

Scully pursed her lips. "Not exactly how I would have put it, but
yes, they could have shortened the incubation period and accelerated
the appearance of acute symptoms, perhaps by boosting the mutation
rate of the viral genome."

Mulder noticed Faye's puzzled look. "We'll explain later, Faye."

Skinner fished something from his pockets. "I have to get back to
Washington." He approached Scully and pushed a folded piece of paper
in her hand. "Listen, there was another reason why I came here. I
wanted to tell you that you might not be safe here for much longer.
As far as I know, nobody has started looking for you yet, which could
be something to do with the present situation, but in any case I don't
think you can afford taking chances." His eyes settled on Faye.
"Especially now."

Scully lifted her head, having read the address hurriedly
scribbled on the paper. "Montana? Why Montana?"

"I've got a friend I trust there. And I know that if there's one
person who can keep you safe it's him."

"Moses Stanley?" Mulder was squinting over his partner's shoulder.
"Who is he?"

Skinner wasn't about to tell them that his best Nam buddy was a
survivalist living in a remote fortress hidden deep in the Montana
wilderness. It wasn't something an Assistant Director should
boast about. They'll figure it out soon enough.

"I told you, just a reliable friend."

Mulder was about to press further but Scully silenced him with one of
her speech impeding looks.

"Thank you for helping us, Sir. We'll leave tomorrow."

Skinner nodded and started to head for the door. But Scully stopped
him. "Where are you going?"

"I told you, back to D.C."

The small agent stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. "Sir,
you're obviously exhausted. Right now, you need rest and food."

He stepped forward, towering above her, but she didn't even blink,
let alone move.

"I'm fine."

She glared up at him, well aware that he was giving her a taste of
her own medicine. "You're not leaving."

Skinner looked over his shoulder to see Mulder chew on his lips to
ward off a smirk, and assume a "no-way-I'm-getting-into-this" stance
when their eyes met.

Coward.

He looked back at Scully. "Agent Scully, I can't afford to rest."

"You're not fit to drive."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, too tired to argue. She was right,
of course. He was just afraid that if he collapsed on a bed now, he'd
sleep for two days straight.

Scully gently took hold of his arm and his eyes snapped open. He
couldn't even remember closing them.

She smiled at him. "I'll show you the guest room."

He followed her down the corridor and nearly bumped into her when she
stopped in front of one of the dark wooden panelled doors. She opened
it and stepped aside. The A.D. hesitated.

"I appreciate your concern, Agent Scully, but I really must inform the
Bureau as soon as possible. I want our teams to know what to expect
if this plague hits the country. This really can't wait."

"I agree the matter is urgent, but if you crash your car on the way
they'll wait even longer." She gestured for him to step inside.
"Bathroom is on the left. Feel free to use the shower. There are
towels in the drawers. We'll wake you up for dinner in a few hours,
and then you can go."

Skinner sighed and shook his head. "I could order you to let me
leave."

She held his stare, her little chin raised in challenge. "With all due
respect, Sir, that would be a very stupid order."

Skinner leaned his forehead on the doorjamb. "All right, all right,
you win." He shot her a weary look before straightening up. "Don't let
me keep you, Agent Scully. You look like you could use some rest too."

He went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

***

The living room was empty when she returned. She heard voices coming
from the kitchen and headed towards it. Leaning her shoulder against
the door jamb, she observed Faye and Mulder - standing by the
fridge - in the middle of a rather animated conversation. Apparently
Faye was disagreeing with him about something.

"Your question relies on variables which aren't even remotely
possible."

"But you have to *imagine* it is possible, that's what makes it fun!"

"I fail to see the fun of that. Even if you had a big enough fridge,
it would probably be most unhappy in it. Not to mention the fact that
it wouldn't be able to get inside by itself, let alone get out."

"What would?" enquired Scully, making the both of them snap their
heads towards her.

"The elephant," answered Faye.

Scully shot his partner a long-suffering look. "Mulderrrr, *not* the
elephant joke."

He faked a wounded pout. "I thought you liked it."

She merely tilted her head with a pitying look.

"And it certainly couldn't leave *several* footprints in a standard
size slab of butter," added Faye sternly, still pondering over the
ridiculous statements of the joke.

Scully snorted.

Mulder opened the fridge to retrieve some orange juice. "I give up!
She's even worse than you."

Scully almost missed Faye's hurt blink. It was hard to keep in mind
that her tendency to take everything literally didn't stop at jokes.

Drawing a deep breath, she approached her daughter, feeling suddenly
incredibly clumsy. She noticed the way the young woman's shoulders
tensed imperceptibly as she reached out for her arm, and hoped it was
because Faye wasn't used to being touched rather than because she was
wary of her.

"Faye, that was another joke. A figure of speech."

Her daughter, who had been staring at her mother's hand on her upper
arm, lifted her head to meet her gaze.

"Is that so?" She sounded sceptical.

Mulder's astounded voice behind her made Scully start and drop her
hand. "Come on Faye! Did you really think I meant it?"

"Yes."

Mulder gently pushed Scully aside to face the young clone.

"All right, tell me exactly what you think I meant."

"Just what you said, that I'm worse than my mother."

"And what did you think I meant by 'worse'?"

The young woman frowned. "Exactly what worse means: 'less good',
'inadequate', 'flawed'."

Mulder shook his head. "The first definition of 'worse' is 'bad to a
greater degree'."

"What is your point?"

"My point is that if you apply that definition then what I allegedly
meant was..." he stepped back to point at Scully like a lawyer
presenting a vital piece of evidence, "...that she is bad and you're
even more bad."

He leaned towards the young woman, until his face was very close to
hers. "Now, you tell me, do I really have such low consideration for
my partner?"

Faye looked at Scully, then back at him. "No...no, of course you
don't." She sighed and dropped her head. "I'm ashamed of my stupidity.
I'm sorry."

"Faye, look at me."

When she raised her head, the agent firmly took hold of both her
shoulders.

"Just like your mother, you're nothing short of exceptional, never
doubt that. Ever."

The mother in question was glad nobody was paying enough attention to
notice her sudden blush.

The young clone pinned him with her disconcertingly direct stare. "But
not exceptional enough to get your jokes."

Mulder smiled gently. "It doesn't matter, kiddo, they're lousy jokes
anyway." He drew her in a hug, stroking her back reassuringly.

Scully always marvelled at how easy it was for him to touch people.
At first she'd found it intrusive, this way he had to always linger
with a hand on her shoulder or at her back. Then she got used to it,
even took some comfort in it, construed that the tactile medium was
his way of checking that the reality he had so little faith in still
stood its ground, that the important things and people in his life
were still there, at arm's length, reachable. It was the bold and
asexual touch of a twelve year old who had had first hand experience
of how quickly things could vanish.

She saw Faye hesitate and then awkwardly lift her hands to rest them
lightly against his back. It looked like a new experience to her.
Scully felt an unexpected pang of maternal pain stab her stomach.

She also realised that Mulder was watching her as he hugged her
daughter, silently asking her if she minded. She smiled sadly at him.

<Go ahead, Mulder, give her the human warmth I'm unable to summon for
her. God knows the kid needs it.>

Mulder smiled back, and with a final pat on Faye's shoulder drew away.

"Keys," the young clone said.

"What?"

"To get into your fridge it would need the keys to your house."

"Faye?"

"What?"

"Just drop it, will ya?"
 
 

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (24/24)
RATING: NC-17. Bring it on!
CATEGORY: Kama Sutra 101.

KEYWORDS: Sex Drive. Not necessarily in that order.
 

CAUTION: This chapter contains an unusual level of mush. This is
especially dedicated to Jules who suggested that after all her poor
sausage and her little Wiener schnitzel* have been through they did
deserve to reach what she nicely referred as 'A Soft Place'. That, and
I needed someone to take the blame <g>. And this is also for Lian and
her 'keep it simple' suggestion.

*I know, Jules, I made that last one up.

----------------
Part twenty-four.
----------------
 

  "It's the end of the world as we know it,
  and I feel fine."
    - R.E.M. -
 

Scully was knocking at Skinner's bedroom door.

"Sir?"

When no reply came, she glanced at her watch. 8pm. Four hours of
sleep wasn't much, but it would have to do. She knocked again,
hearing Mulder's footsteps down the hallway.

She shot him a glance and gave a little shrug.

"No answer?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Maybe he's gone through the window."

She shot him a wry smile. "No, not Skinner. He's not the ditching
type, Mulder. He's probably just dead to the world." She softly opened
the door, leaving her partner behind with his mouth hanging open in an
aborted protest.

As it turned out, she was right. Walter Skinner's imposing frame was
sprawled on its back across the mattress, sound asleep, with the
comforter bunched around his feet. He was snoring softly. His jacket
and tie were neatly folded over a nearby chair.

Scully approached the bed, hating to have to wake him up, but knowing
he would never forgive her if she didn't. She shook his shoulder
gently.

"Sir?"

Skinner's eyes opened and his eyes focused on her face
uncomprehendingly.

"Am I dead?" he whispered.

"Not to my knowledge, Sir."

The A.D. blinked several times and the disorientated look left his
features. He straightened up to sit at the edge of the bed, trying to
bring some order back to his rumpled suit.

"What time is it?"

"8pm."

"I have to go," he grumbled, bending to reach for his shoes.

"Sir, there are certain things Mulder and I think you should know."

He raised his head. "About what?"

"About some unexpected turns of event, Sir."

His gaze quickly went from one agent to the other before returning to
his shoelaces.

"If you're worried about what the OPC might think, let me tell you
they have other fish to fry at the moment."

"I don't think that's what Agent Scully was referring to, Sir,"
interjected Mulder.

Skinner had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed before
standing up to reach for his tie.

"You've got ten minutes," he warned gruffly, before disappearing into
the bathroom.

It took more than that. But Skinner, enthralled by their story, soon
forgot to check his watch. They told him about the secret labs run by
Krycek in Indiana, and the tests conducted there. Scully related her
encounter with Marita and the subsequent experience of the Treatment.
She also voiced her concern about the black oil's ability to influence
the human mind.

"It can behave like a parasite, Sir, a parasite with a high power of
suggestion. As far as I understand it, it slowly *persuades* its host
that he or she is no longer human."

Skinner frowned. "Like in that movie 'The Thing'?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, in 'The Thing' the alien DNA destroyed the
 human cells and mimicked them. In this particular case the lifeform
doesn't destroy anything. It merely suggests."

"But you said Marita looked barely human."

Scully nodded. "Psychosomatic disorders can cause perfectly genuine
physical reactions. My guess is that this is just the next level,
where the body starts believing the mind and altering its state
accordingly. Redefining itself according to this new perception."

"We are what we think we are," concluded Mulder.

Skinner was relentlessly pacing the bedroom. "Could this be linked to
the plague devastating China?"

Scully's shoulders stiffened. "It's unlikely, Sir."

Mulder tilted his head in a 'Come on, Scully!' look.

"The plague kills people, Mulder, it doesn't change them."

"Because they are not the right type! This isn't supposed to work on
us!"

The frustrated sigh his partner released sounded like a growl. "So if
that's the case, why did it happen to *her*? Hell, Mulder, why did
it happen to *me*?"

Mulder's lips curled faintly. "I dunno, Scully, maybe you're just
higher on the evolutionary scale than the rest of us."

The A.D. intervened just in time to avoid a blood bath.

"I think I have a fair idea of the situation, Agents. That'll be
enough, thank you." He retrieved his coat which was folded over an
armchair, and put it on, pretending to ignore the silent battle of
wills taking place behind his back.

He glanced at his watch: 8.40pm. He really should be on his way. But
not before asking one final question.

"Agent Scully?"

The young woman reluctantly stopped glaring at her partner to focus on
him.

"Where does your...er...daughter fit into all this?"

Her voice didn't reflect the sullen clouds passing over her eyes for a
single instant. "Faye is a lab rat, Sir. She was part of a hybrid
development program. Krycek found her. She was working for him in the
medical compound where he took me."

Skinner ran a hand over his bald skull. "She's a hybrid?"

"Yes, but unlike any we have encountered before. Physiologically she
seems to be 100% human. Her blood is red, she cannot shape-shift and
apart from her accelerated growth..."

"Accelerated growth?"

"She's five years old, Sir."

The A.D. let out a low and stupefied "What?"

"She says she sheds skin more quickly than a snake," added Mulder.

Scully's neck snapped towards her partner, her eyes wide. This little
piece of information had obviously not been shared yet.

But as far as he was concerned he had enough data to keep him busy all
the way back to D.C. He acknowledged Mulder's answer with a slow nod
and started heading towards the door.

"You know what amazes me the most of all the things you told me?" he
began as the three of them were making their way down the hall.

"That Alex Krycek seems to be on the good guys' side?" ventured
Mulder.

Skinner nodded. "Exactly."

"Yeah, I must say I still have difficulty wrapping my mind around that
one too."

"And that's saying something," added Scully's sarcastic voice behind
them.

***

They watched Skinner leave the house, his black overcoat
billowing around his ankles as he strode purposefully over the front
yard before disappearing across the street.

And despite the fact that their boss didn't show any outward sign of
having been deeply affected by the news, Mulder had noticed the final
glance he'd thrown at Faye before stepping out of the house.

He'd looked at her as if she'd been a bad omen.

On the doorstep Mulder had the sinking feeling that they would never
see Walter Skinner again. Scully's hand sliding into his hadn't done
anything to reassure him. He didn't need to look at her to know she
was sharing his thoughts. He could read the pressure of her palm and
the curl of  her fingers like a soothsayer.

***

Mulder finished packing his bag. It hadn't taken long, as he didn't
have many belongings here. Skinner had promised a car would be there
in the morning to allow them to drive to Montana.

He chucked the bag down by the door and silently entered the bathroom.
Scully was brushing her teeth. He leaned against the wall by the door
and watched her rinse her mouth. Their argument was far from over and
Skinner wasn't here any more to serve as buffer zone.

She finally turned towards him and crossed her arms over her chest.

Yup. A hundred pounds of trouble in a baggy T-shirt.

"So you believe this plague is an alien conspiracy?" Her question was
edged with the metallic echo of a gun being cocked.

"I do, Scully."

"Based solely on what this informant of yours told you."

"I don't see any reason why she would have lied to me."

"I'm not saying she was lying, Mulder. I'm just saying she could have
been wrong."

"I think you're afraid, Scully."

"You're right, Mulder, I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I realise that
you've been withholding things from me again. I'm afraid because
you're so ready to go out on a limb based solely on what a very sick
woman told you, rather than listening to what I have to say. I'm not
afraid of what is happening out there, Mulder. I'm afraid of what is
happening to us."

Mulder's head drooped and he shook his head. "Scully, I knew Marita
long before we..."

"Fucked? Is that what it takes to make you trust people, Mulder? Does
that mean you were fucking her too? How many times did it take to make
you believe her so blindly? There must a required amount because I
sure haven't reached it yet!"

He didn't know how he arrived there, but suddenly he was cornering her
against the sink, and his hands were tightly gripping her wrists.

"Stop it, Scully...just stop it."

"Mulder, you're hurting me," she hissed.

He released her and stepped back a little. "So are you."

They stared at each other for a while. Scully let out a long sigh,
rubbing her sore wrists. "This isn't working, is it, Mulder?"

"Are you giving up?" he asked dejectedly.

"Are you?" she breathed tonelessly.

He grabbed a nearby towel and started fiddling with its corners.
"We've always disagreed, Scully. Just because we're sleeping together
doesn't mean we're gonna stop fighting. And it certainly doesn't mean
we're gonna start playing fair. We never did."

"So what now?"

"I say we should drop the 'emotional baggage' - as you put it -
for a while, and start again like level-headed adults."

She smiled faintly at that. "Can we?"

He smiled back and tucked the towel on the rack behind him. "It's
worth a try."

They made their separate ways back to the bedroom. Mulder went to sit
in the armchair, while Scully chose to sit cross-legged on the bed.

He longed to touch her, but knew it would be inappropriate right then.
The stakes were too high. They had to prove to one another that they
could still interact like partners, no matter what kind of
relationship they were engaged in.

That was the unspoken rule. Partnership came first. Always would.

She smoothed her oversized sweatpants over her thighs. "You start."

He took a deep breath in. "All right. Facts: a) A plague bearing all
the symptoms of tuberculosis is currently devastating China and the
neighbouring countries. b} Faye says that the consortium were working
on tuberculosis. c) The consortium are working hand in hand with the
aliens. My conclusion: The consortium released this virus to help the
aliens achieve their goal. Your turn."

Scully lightly tapped her thighs with her palms. "All right. a) We
don't know if it's tuberculosis yet, since no victim has been properly
examined. b)We don't know what the consortium's goal is. We merely
*suspect* they are working for the aliens. c) We don't know what the
aliens' goal is. My conclusion: we lack sufficient evidence to draw
any kind of conclusion at this point. Your turn."

He was actually enjoying this. "All right. a) Marita's brain was
directly influenced by the black oil, therefore had an inside
knowledge of the aliens' motives. b) She said the aliens engineered
human evolution to be able to survive on earth by using the final
species as host. c) I think the new species already exists among the
population. Conclusion: The aliens are making room for their slaves."

Scully shot him a teasing smirk. "All right. a) Marita was insane.
Ali did mention that people like us were a kind of 'bridge' between
our race and the next. But I think he was trying as hard as you are
to find answers that suited him. b) I still don't think evolution is
something that can be engineered, and if these "advanced" people can
still interbreed with the general population then by definition
they're not a new species. c) I think the black oil acts like a
parasite and that given the right circumstances anybody could be
contaminated. Conclusion: We're definitely dealing with an alien
threat, but it has nothing to do with what's happening in China,
because I don't believe in a Grand Master Plan on this scale. "

Mulder chuckled. "This is going pretty well, don't you think?"

Scully ran her hands over the comforter. "Yeah, but we still don't
agree."

He scratched his nose and shifted on his armchair. "Maybe we don't
have to."

He stood up and lifted the curtain to stare through the window. Dusk
was well under way. Outside, the sea was a navy blue shimmer between
the pine trees.

"A) I'm a self-centred bastard. b) You're a stubborn little bitch. c)
That's us, how we work. Any kind of change will take time, on both
sides."

He was still facing the window, expecting something hard to hit him
between the shoulder blades any minute. Which is why he jumped a foot
when her husky voice whispered right behind him:

"D) Why don't you come to bed?"

He turned round slowly to look down at her. "Because I'm afraid of
getting my ass kicked for what I just said?"

She lifted a small hand to caress his cheek with her fingertips. "You
don't know me at all, do you, Mulder?"

"I don't?"

"Nuh-uh. Or you'd know I wouldn't kick your ass for being honest." She
raised herself on tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Come
on. We've got a long day tomorrow."

***

Mulder adjusted the rear-view mirror of the nondescript Ford Taurus
Skinner had provided them with. Faye was curled up on the back seat.
Just like her mother, she could sleep anywhere, and had been doing so
with a vengeance. The confined shelter of the car made her feel safe.
He'd noticed how she didn't feel comfortable in open spaces, probably
not being used to an environment without walls surrounding her.

They'd been driving for twelve hours practically non-stop, and his
eyes were beginning to water with exhaustion. He rubbed them and
yawned. Scully noticed, and interrupted her scrutiny of the passing
scenery.

"Let's find a motel, Mulder. I think that's enough for today."

"Okay." He chanced a look at her, but her gaze had gone back to the
window.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

"You haven't said a word in two hours. Is something bothering you?"

He felt her shift slightly in her seat, but kept his eyes fixed on the
road.

"No...it's silly."

"The unflappable Dr Scully entertaining silly thoughts? Naaah. Come
on, tell me."

He heard her sigh. "I'm thinking about what Skinner said when he woke
up... when he asked whether he was dead."

Mulder threw her a puzzled look. "What about it?"

"I was wondering if death is what I inspire to people nowadays."

He started to laugh.

"I don't see what's so funny." Her voice sounded genuinely hurt.

"Is that what you think?" he chuckled.

"I knew I should have kept my mouth shut."

His right hand left the steering wheel and searched blindly for her
own. He found her knee instead and patted it gently.

"Oh, Scully. You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Okay, she was pissed off now.

"That Skinner thought he'd died and gone to Heaven."

"You're not serious!"

"Uh-huh. That's what I always ask myself when I wake up and the first
thing I see is you."

She swatted his hand away. "Stop making fun of me, Mulder."

"The guy's got a mighty crush, Scully."

"Stop it!"

"It's true!"

"Mulder! It's *Skinner* we're talking about."

"Yeah, the same Skinner who made a pact with Ol' Smokey to try to save
 your life when you had cancer. Don't tell me that wasn't way beyond
the call of duty."

"He did that to prevent *you* from doing something stupid."

He briefly turned his head to grin at her, batting his eyelashes.
"Think I should ask him to marry me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Mulder."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Glad to see your deduction skills are not irremediably impaired."

"Sorry to break your bubble, Scully, but I know a smitten guy when I
see one."

"And pray, how did you get this amazing insight?"

He shrugged casually, his voice suddenly becoming soft and serious.
"Recently, every time I look in a mirror."

She didn't answer him; her face was once again turned towards the
window. He stretched his neck to try and catch a glimpse of her
shadowy profile, periodically lit by golden streaks from the
streetlamps edging the highway.

She was smiling.

***

Thirty minutes later they were checking in the Silver Lining Motor
Lodge.

He carried Faye's bags into her room. The young clone stepped in,
shortly followed by Scully.

"I've never been in a motel before."

"Count your blessings," replied her mother, opening the connecting
door to drop her own bags.

"I'm gonna go and get something to eat," Mulder said, disappearing
into the bathroom.

Scully watched Faye walk around the room, lifting the curtains,
skimming her hand across the coffee-stained desk, opening the
wardrobe.

"You alright, Faye?"

The young clone blinked at her. "Yes." She went to sit on the bed and
opened the drawer of the bedside table, before pinning her mother with
one of her trademark direct stares. "You don't like motels."

Scully smiled. "Mulder and I have spent too much time in them when we
were out on cases. I much prefer being home."

"Home..." She shut the drawer gently. "I wouldn't know." She stood up
to study the television. "How many channels can you get?"

Scully shrugged. "I don't know, ask your..."

WHOA.

Where the *hell* did that come from? Clearing her throat she hastened
to add: "I mean, ask Mulder, he's the one who's glued to the damn
thing all night." She turned to avoid looking at her daughter, only to
find herself facing a very smug, very grinning Mulder.

"Will Chinese do, Mom?"

As long as the chopsticks were pointy enough, it probably would.
Homemade acupuncture could ruin a guy for life...

***

Plane is good. Plane is *very* good.

Five days of staring at nothing but backwoods gas stations, cows, more
cows, cheap motels and countless greasy spoons, and she was feeling
nostalgic.

Oh, and let's not forget one donkey.

What she wouldn't give for an airport check-in right now.

She wouldn't even mind the queue.

According to her map they wouldn't reach Montana for two more days.

Mulder, being his paranoid self, had left the major highway three days
ago on the grounds that he'd seen the same blue Buick behind them two
days in a row. The fact that it had been driven by an elderly couple
hadn't budged him one little bit. But coming from a man who thought
Florida was the anteroom of Hell, it didn't really surprise her.
"Never trust someone with purple hair," he'd said, "We all know what
they did to Elvis."

Then Faye had asked who Elvis was, and the next few hours had been
spent with Scully imagining scenarios which would have made Tarantino
wet himself.

And that was even before he began to sing...

It was with undisguised relief that she dumped her bags in yet another
motel and let herself drop heavily onto the bed, burying her face in
the pillow with a satisfied groan.

"You OK, Scully?"

"Hummffyeah.."

"Want me to sing you a lullaby?"

She hugged the pillow tighter and grumbled to herself: "I know I have
a scalpel somewhere..."

His dead weight falling next to her on the bed made her bounce. She
didn't even have the energy to tell him off.

She felt his hand rub between her shoulder blades. Now, that was
better.

"I think we need a day off," he said.

"We need a year off, Mulder," she muttered.

His hand continued to draw soothing patterns on her back. "Tell you
what. We'll take it easy tomorrow, leave in the afternoon, take time
to have a real breakfast or something."

She turned her head slightly to cast him a sceptical glance.

"Mulder? Is that you?"

His hand stilled.

"Aah...I think Faye doesn't care for driving very much."

So. That's what it was.

"Yeah, I noticed."

Although Faye was doing her best to hide it, it had quickly become
obvious that she was prone to carsickness. Scully had wondered at
first why Mulder would suddenly stop on various pretences - checking
the tyres, getting something from the trunk, stopping to get gas when
their tank was still half full - until she'd looked in her courtesy
mirror to see Faye turning a rather unbecoming shade of green. After
cursing the both of them for not having told her sooner, she'd shoved
Dramamine into her daughter's clammy hand. But even with the help of
medication, the long journey was still putting quite a strain on the
young clone.

She turned on her side, tucking her hand underneath her head to
support it, and looked at her partner. She didn't know how to feel
about the fact that he seemed more aware of her daughter's needs than
she was.

"So, to sum it up, you want us to take it easy because of Faye?"

His eyes darted around fretfully, trying to detect where he could
safely step in this metaphorical minefield.

"Well... partly." He rolled on his back, and stared at the ceiling.
"We could all do with a break, of course."

"Mulder, cut the crap. Why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Scully..."

She moved quickly to straddle him, taking his face between her hands
and forcing him to look up at her.

"Listen to me, Mulder, listen carefully, because I'm going to spell it
out for you."

He blinked at her like a dazed rabbit.

"I have a 5 year old daughter who looks 20, to whom I never gave
birth. I'm trying to adjust to that and it's not easy. But I do care
about her. I *do*. And I can also see that you care a great deal for
her too. But you don't have to hide it from me, Mulder." She
straightened up and let her hands slide over his chest. "I'm not
jealous, Mulder. The woman in me doesn't feel threatened and nor does
the mother."

Mulder swallowed. Speaking of woman...the feel of her thighs pressing
against his hips was beginning to distract him. "But you did say..."

"I know what I said. And I'm still trying to come to terms with the
fact that for many reasons I'll probably never be as close to her as
you are."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him with two fingers
over his lips, bending over to pin him with a firm stare. "But that's
*my* problem, Mulder. My problem, not yours. And I will never resent
you for it. Do you understand?"

He hurried to nod. Scully would have probably won many more arguments
in the past if she had done so in this position. Of course this
information would remain classified.

She patted his shoulder with a teasing smile. "Good. So if you want to
play the doting father, knock yourself out."

He lifted a hand to her neck, bringing her face to his, while the
other slid over her jeans-clad bottom.

"Is that a proposal, Agent Scully?"

"Certainly not."

She let him kiss her but drew back when his tongue tried to part her
lips, choosing instead to pepper a line of soft kisses over his jaw,
his nose, his forehead. His fingers tangled in her hair, manoeuvring
her mouth back to his, but she escaped him again to bestow her favours
on his neck. He growled, grabbed her at the waist and flipped her
over.

"Mulder!"

He lowered his head to catch her mouth, but she turned her head away,
a soft smile playing on her lips. The snapshot of that moment filed
itself neatly in a his mental folder, section 'Scully In Bed', under
the letter 'P' for 'Playful'. It saddened him to think that it was
probably their first genuine moment of intimacy together, void of any
anger, alien impulses or clumsy desperation. He hadn't touched her
since the 'bathroom incident' and still kicked himself for having
tried to make love to her while she was still recovering from the
mysterious Treatment.

The one so terrible that she still refused to talk about it.

But right now he was pinning her to the bed and she didn't seem to
mind.

He lowered his mouth to her neck and nibbled his way up until he met
her earlobe and closed his lips around it, his teeth lightly pulling
at the tiny pearl earring she was wearing.

She let out the sweetest gasp.

When he returned to her lips she didn't turn away this time. He felt
her soften under him as the tips of their tongues met.

They probably lost nine minutes here and then. But when one of his
hands drifted to her breast she pulled his face away.

"Mulder. Stop," she breathed raggedly.

Okay, maybe she did mind after all. "Why?"

"It's still early."

He chuckled and kissed her nose. "I like it when you're being shy."

She pushed on his chest. "I said no."

He raised himself and looked down at her with a frown.

There was a knock on the connecting door. Scully lifted an eyebrow at
him. "See what I mean?"

Mulder sighed and climbed off the bed to open the door. Parenthood was
loosing its appeal all of a sudden.

Faye tilted her head when she saw him. "You look unhappy."

"I...uh...no, I was just about to doze off, that's all."

"I just saw Elvis."

Mulder's initial bemused frown was quickly replaced by a wide grin.
"Faye! Did you just make a joke?"

The young clone calmly raised a pink flyer to his eye-level. "He gave
me this."

Mulder took the paper and began to read it, moving slightly sideways
when he felt Scully's hand on his waist.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to take a peek over his arm.

The cheaply made print bore a drawing of the King in his 'Jailhouse
Rock' days surrounded by musical notes and stars. "Roy 'Elvis'
Roberts. Tonight at the Tow Truck Cafe, 8pm," he read out loud.
"Cool!"

He heard his partner mutter something about bad karma behind him, and
cast a glance over his shoulder.

"Come on, Scully! It's just down the road. It'll be fun."

She looked up grudgingly at her daughter. "Faye? You really wanna go
and see that? "

"I think it would be an interesting experience."

Scully let out a put-upon sigh. "Alright, then." She swivelled on her
feet and jabbed her finger repeatedly on Mulder's chest. "But you.
Will. Not. Sing."

He pouted. "Spoilsport."

***

"Trying to get me drunk, Mulder?" Scully eyed the third shot of whisky
which had materialised on the sticky counter in front of her.

"Mm-hm, so I can take advantage of you later," he leered, precariously
leaning over on his stool to nuzzle her cheek.

She drew back sharply, eyebrow arched in a warning hook. He knew she
hated public displays of affection - which, of course