By: Ainon
mulangst@hotmail.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 5
~
8th day, morning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mulder opened his eyes this time and saw Scully, he felt relief. It did
take him a couple of minutes to properly identify the masked and capped head
beside his bed as his own Dana Scully, but she helped him by softly saying,
"Hey."

"Hey," he croaked in reply. The last few times he'd been waking up to see
his mom sitting by his side - which felt unusual because he was always
careful about not letting her know he was sick or injured. Pretty easy feat
considering he called her only about once every few weeks anyway. Long
silences with no news from Fox Mulder were to be expected as far as his mom
was concerned. So she'd never had to wait beside his bed before. Well, not
since he became an adult.

The other thing about waking up to see his mom was that the sight of her
would trigger this endless litany in his head: 'Dying soldiers always want
their moms when they're about to die.' That line would march morbidly
through his head, in of all things, an Orson Welles kind of voice from a
very cheesy B-grade horror movie.

He'd much prefer having the corniest lyrics from the Bee Gees reel over and
over again in his mind, instead of that one very morbid - and not to mention
tasteless - boring sentence, but his drug-muddled brain refused to supply
him with even the chorus lyrics to 'Staying Alive'. This whole dying
business was going to be a pain.

"How are you today?" Scully asked.

He gave her a stiff smile. His Scully - she could ask really stupid
questions sometimes. He'd required how many transfusions yesterday? And he'd
bled again last night - he was sick of the taste of blood pooling in his
mouth - and required more transfusions of platelets to stop the bleeding.
He'd bled from places he never even knew he could bleed spontaneously from.
Then early this morning he'd had diarrhea of all things. Right now his eyes
were aching, his fingers and toes were tingling uncomfortably and painfully,
his skin felt 'funny', his stomach felt punched in, his intestines were
twisted into knots, each time he was made to eat something he had to
struggle not to retch everything back up on the nurse, his tongue felt
parched dry no matter how much water he was made to drink. And she wanted to
know how he was today? At least when his mom sat with him she didn't ask
such stupid questions.

"Life is a pain, Scully. Did I ever mention that before?" he responded and
grimaced as he tried to shift his position.

Scully helped him move. The touch of her gloved hand on his bare arm hurt
him for some reason. He winced. She thought he was wincing about his
shifting position and put in some extra effort in puffing up his pillows to
make him comfortable.

"Where's my mom?" he asked, testing his voice. He decided he could speak and
sound coherent enough.

"Holiday Inn. My mom invited her to stay over, but your mother didn't want
to impose." Mulder heard the wry tone in her voice.

"My mom's at Holiday Inn? Oh boy. Just hope she doesn't go to my apartment.
I don't want my mom to see whatever there is to see in that apartment. I
told her to go back home, actually."

"She wouldn't do that."

"No. No, she wouldn't." He almost chuckled at the childish delight he felt
to have his mom accompanying him - he had missed her. Never mind the
God-awful litany that accompanied her presence; he did want her around. He
didn't say so though. He politely asked, "So, did you get a chance to know
my mom?"

"Uh, no. I was pretty busy. Running back and forth between the lab and here.
And your mom, she, um, doesn't talk much."

"Yeah. She's not really the chatty type." He closed his eyes, and recalled
his mom crying silently beside him as the gravity of how serious and fatal
his illness was crashed down on her.

Scully said rather brightly, "I just spoke to Dr. Mason. He says there's
some good news, so I'm going to the lab later."

Mulder knew that should be his cue to ask about how her research into the
Mulder-killer retrovirus was going. But he was in no mood to find out
actually; he really truly didn't give a damn. He was already miserable
enough with whatever treatment ideas Scully and his doctors dreamed up.
Instead he wanted to ask Scully the question that he hadn't had the heart to
ask his mom personally.

"My mom isn't a marrow match for me, is she?"

"She's not," Scully answered after a moment.

Mulder heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted his mom to even consider
donating her marrow to him - she was too old to be doing such things - but
she insisted on trying whatever was necessary to save his life. Really, her
extreme mothering concern made him feel worse about how rude he'd been to
his mom after having that quack Dr. Goldstein drill a hole in his head.
After all, it was her own business if she was a wee bit promiscuous after
marrying his dad.... He quickly stopped that train of thought before it went
too far.

His main worry had been how things would turn out if his mom were his match
- should he accept her offer to donate? At her age? Or should he just accept
the way things were going on now, refuse to let his mom risk her health, and
then die a dignified death when the time came? But there was probably a God
after all. Mom wasn't a match. Saved him the trouble of worrying about
ethics, and maternal-son relations, whatever.

"Don't give up hope, Mulder," Scully said soothingly. Mulder frowned at her;
she obviously misunderstood his reaction to be one of disappointment. She
continued, "We're going to get you better."

He couldn't help but sneer, "How, Scully? The impression I get is you're
just helping me stick around a few extra days before I go into that nice
cozy six-feet deep hole in the ground."

Scully watched him with her large blue eyes and said, "Give the drugs some
time to work. I know the side effects are difficult but you have to hang on,
Mulder."

"Neither Davies nor Shaughnessy think it's working. Why should you think
it's working?"

"Did they tell you it's not working?" Scully's tone rose in accusation. He
knew she was having a hard time with his doctors this time around. It upset
him too because Scully usually seemed to get her own way around things - but
there wasn't anything much he could do to help. Scully would have to handle
things herself.

"No," he assured her. "They were talking and I heard them. They thought I
was sleeping but I wasn't."

"Well, I believe we just need a bit more time. We're trying some things in
the lab; we're getting somewhere. You'll be fine, Mulder. Have faith."

"Faith, Scully?" Mulder chuckled softly. "There's no marrow donor. Even if
you kill every single last virus, my marrow isn't going to fix itself. I
can't live on transfusions forever. But I'm not going to live forever anyway
am I? So what's the difference - die now, die next week, die next Halloween
- I'll die soon enough."

"Don't speak that way! Mulder... Mulder I've been through this. I know. I
know what you're going through - the fear, the anger... the depression. I
was so close to despair so many times. There was one night when I just sat
in my car and toyed with the idea of how much better death would be. But I
didn't want to go without a fight. I was scared, but I didn't want to just
give up. When it came to the push, I didn't want to just give up.

"I know it's hard, Mulder. I've been there. I got through it. I'm still
fighting through it. You can fight it too. You can feel angry, Mulder. In
fact you should be angry, Mulder, because it's not fair. It's not fair for
you to get sick. Think about that and don't give up on the anger. It can
sustain you."

"Seriously, Scully, does anyone really believe that I'll live long beyond
the age of 40?" Mulder asked the question earnestly, gazing straight into
her eyes. "If Fox Mulder doesn't die in the line of duty or in pursuit of
some 'truth', then he'll get killed in some hit-and-run somewhere, or get
hit by some stray bullet. Or hey, even better - he'll just get himself
killed by some strange retrovirus he got himself infected with while he was
wandering around in the Alaskan cold ice wilderness for some goddamned
reason that doesn't even matter anymore. Does anyone really believe that I'm
going to live to be a doddering grandfather on a rocking chair? I'm not
talking about a death wish, Scully. I don't go around trying to get myself
killed or anything like that. I'm talking about facts here. I can die any
time. My mom's always suspected she's likely to end up burying me... and I
think somehow, deep inside, you've always known that you're going to outlast
me too."

For a very brief moment he thought she was going to either slap him
regardless of how sick he was, or burst into tears. She did neither. She sat
very, very still, in her light green plastic gown and light green plastic
cap and with a green mask covering her mouth and nose. Her gloved hands were
folded together close to his arm. She stared right at him for a long, long
time.

"Do you trust me?"

He didn't answer her. He just looked at her the way he'd always looked at
her each time they came across a situation where he had to depend on her,
where his life lay in her hands, where he didn't have time to waste worrying
about facts when he knew Scully would be there beside him, worrying for him.
Each of those times his faith in her had been absolute. She'd always known
that.

As she knew now. She said, "Then have faith in me Mulder. I'm not giving up.
You will live."

Again Mulder gave no verbal answer. In fact if he were to open his mouth,
the words that were likely to spill out would be something like, 'Geez,
Scully, can you get cornier than that?', but he doubted this was the time or
place for such humor.

But he would believe in her. He would have faith in her. As he'd always had.

~
8th day, afternoon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully really needed a bath. A nice long bath. A warm, warm soak in the
bathtub, followed by thorough shampooing to get rid of the phantom smell of
antiseptic or whatever it was off her hair. She hadn't been home in her own
bed for three days now. They wouldn't let her sleep in Mulder's room at
night but they did allow her to sleep in the room used by on-call doctors.
She kept her things, brought to her by her always-indulging mom, in an empty
locker in the doctors' rest room, and she bathed in the bathroom where the
shower didn't quite allow her to adjust the temperature of the water
properly.

And right about now she was wishing for her bathtub. She should be worrying
about Mulder, but sometimes the mind really couldn't afford to keep at one
depressing subject for too long.

As she kept Mulder company in his isolation room through the morning she
observed that he was exhibiting even more signs of adverse side effects to
the anti-HIV drugs that he was still on. Damaging side effects to AZT were
thankfully gone since he was no longer taking it, but the side effects from
other drugs were now becoming pronounced. He was starting to have back
pains, and shooting pain in his limbs. His stomach hurt. His chest hurt. In
the early morning when he first awoke, he was fairly lucid. As the morning
progressed, at times he would wake up from slumber and call her "Mom". Then
he would suddenly say aloud, "Oh shut up!" when she hadn't even spoken a
word. At other times he would open his eyes, see her and smile that smile he
reserved just for her, but though she smiled her own special smile warmly in
return he couldn't see it because of the mask on her face. Then there was
that frightening moment when he suddenly gasped and said, "Go away". It took
her a few seconds to realize he wasn't talking to her, but to the pain that
was invading his senses. Demerol helped him a bit, but for how long? Then by
lunchtime he couldn't even hold his spoon because of tremors in his hands.

What made the whole situation incredibly messy was that side effects should
not occur this fast. This was only his third day on the antiviral drugs, for
crying out loud - everyone was baffled by Mulder's hyper-reaction. But she
saw no other alternative. She had to give the drugs a chance to work.

At the moment, samples of his blood still had plenty of viruses in them.
Since Mason had never followed up on research for the antibodies to this
particular virus, nobody knew how to look for the antibodies, so
confirmation of whether or not the viruses were responding to therapy was
still done by electron microscopy. Which was, to say the least, a very
expensive and troublesome procedure. And Mulder was supremely irked by the
amount of blood he had to surrender daily for this purpose alone: fresh
samples of blood had to be sent every morning, afternoon and evening.

Meanwhile, Mulder's anti-retroviral drugs were very expensive too. The cost
of keeping him in isolation was high. As was the cost of research to
determine how the virus spread. As was the cost of searching for a marrow
donor. Mulder was going to kill her later when he got the bills.

At least there there was Dr. Mason's good news, which as it turned out,
wasn't quite the news Scully really wanted to hear. When she brought
Mulder's most recent samples to USAMRIID after lunch, Mason informed her
that he had more proof that AZT was still the best drug to beat the virus
into submission.

"We want to kill it. Not just beat it into submission," Scully reminded him
firmly.

Mason gave her a wounded look. "I'm only starting to understand the
mechanisms here."

"What about other drugs? Mulder's side effects to AZT really are too severe
to risk starting him on it again."

"Working on that. Maybe we'll know something definite by tomorrow." The look
on her face must have been so despairing that Mason immediately reassessed
the situation. "Or maybe today? We'll really work on it. Maybe by this
evening we'll know."

But, she had to appreciate Mason's efforts. He was working very hard on this
- he had stayed in the lab last night till 2am. It wasn't his fault that
science couldn't be speeded up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost 3 p.m. when she returned to the hospital. She was just about
to turn that last corner to Mulder's room when a young woman with long,
curly brown hair stopped her.

"Excuse me, are you Agent Scully?"

Scully eyed the woman carefully. Blue eyes, long curly hair, sweet face, but
her make-up was messy as though she'd been crying. The woman was familiar,
but Scully couldn't quite place where she'd seen the face.

"How may I help you?" Scully inquired warily. Nowadays she was just as
happily paranoid as Mulder was. She half expected the woman to be some lost
relative to some criminal or freak that they had sent off to jail.

"You're Special Agent Fox Mulder's partner, aren't you? In the FBI? I'm
Samantha Adler."

Scully placed the face. This was the face on that cold, frozen body that was
fished out of a frozen river, the very face that melted into green goo right
before her eyes. But now that face, and the person whose face it was, was
right before her. Again. In living color. Scully didn't know whether to
scream in horror or pretend she had a mind-splitting, hallucination-inducing
migraine.

Samantha seemed suddenly in doubt. She stammered, "You are Agent Scully? I
mean, I - I'm sorry to have bothered you if you're not. The nurses described
Agent Scully and I thought - and you look like what they said. I'm so
sorry...."

"No, it's all right," Scully said. "I am Agent Scully. How are you related
to my partner?" Well, Scully had to ask. This was too weird to be plain
coincidence.

"I'm his sister," Samantha replied, wringing her hands together. She looked
flustered. And a little bit embarrassed too, Scully thought. "I guess maybe
he never told you about me?"

"Actually he talks about his sister all the time. It's just that, ah ..."
Scully cast around for the proper words. "He has never spoken of her as
Samantha - what was it just now? Naddler? Um, no - Adler?"

Samantha actually looked crestfallen. "Oh. Well, Samantha Adler is my name
now."

Scully didn't know what to say. Was this another little trick orchestrated
by 'Them'? Trying to take advantage of Mulder while he was in such a fragile
state? She suddenly felt a surge of anger at this woman claiming to be
Mulder's Samantha - God, how many times were 'They' going to do this to
Mulder?

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"I'm his sister," Samantha insisted. "I... I came to see him. Then I found
out from the nurses that the only relative he has on record is Mom, but
she's not here. He doesn't list me down at all, but I suppose I should
expect that. And the only other person allowed with him is you, so I decided
to wait for you."

"As far as I know, Mulder's sister Samantha has been missing since 1973. He
has never succeeded in tracking her down, and I don't quite see how or why
his sister should suddenly pop up unannounced now."

Samantha looked away. "I heard that he is very sick. I had to come... I had
to speak to him again. I promised I would contact him but I never got the
nerve to after Dad..."

"You heard that he is sick?" Scully interrupted tersely. "I'm sorry, but we
never announced this over the radio."

"Brian Oakes told me," Samantha said. She spoke as thought this Brian Oakes
was a mutual friend for them both. "I told Brian about Fox. But I've been
keeping my distance all this while. It's been almost six months since Fox
and I met again. Then last night Brian called and said things are looking
bad for Fox and he advised me to come. I didn't know what to... oh, Fox
looks so sick!"

Samantha suddenly burst into tears. Scully stared at her, thinking, 'This
woman is one gifted actress. My God, look at that. Real tears.' Aloud she
said, "What kind of fool do you take me for, Ms. Adler?"

Samantha gaped at her through her tears. "I... I don't know what you mean."

"I mean get out of my sight, you bitch. Tell the bastards who sent you that
the next time they try something like this, I'll make sure they regret the
day till the end of their sorry lives."

Scully walked away from the woman, pure anger building up in her chest. How
dare 'They'? How dare 'They' keep doing this to her partner. How dare 'They'
do this to her! Were 'They' hoping that this would distract her from her
efforts to find a cure for Mulder? Distract her from efforts to find a real
donor by conveniently placing Mulder's 'sister' in front of her? Were 'They'
so desperate as to stoop to such loathsome impersonations again?

But Samantha ran after her and grabbed a sleeve. "No, please. I don't know
what you mean. Please!"

Scully brushed her hand away roughly. "Don't make me repeat my threat, Ms.
Adler, or whoever the hell you are. Just get out of here before I call
security. I would shoot you myself except that I don't bring my gun anymore
now that I'm on leave from work - so that I can be with your 'brother'."

"But I..."

Scully raised a warning finger. "Get the hell out of my sight. And don't
ever let me see you here again."

Scully wished she could think of harsher threats to really illustrate how
angry she was feeling, but she let that go. She didn't want to waste any
more time on this imposter. She turned her back on Samantha and marched off
to Mulder's room. Samantha didn't try to follow her again. Smart woman.

It was only later as she was sitting beside Mulder, watching him sleep, that
Samantha Adler's words came niggling back at her mind.

~
8th day, evening
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder's hands and arms and feet and legs hurt. Really, really hurt. He
couldn't sleep anymore because they hurt so bad. So he opened his eyes with
the intent of asking him mom - or anyone available - to just kill him now
and put him out of his misery. And if whoever was available was so
insensitive as to disagree with that request then he sure hoped whoever it
was would instead give him enough morphine to accidentally kill him by
overdose.

The light hurt his eyes when he opened them. Someone ran a hand over his
forehead and whispered what he supposed were soothing words. He kept
blinking his eyes, tried to get used to the pain - which was pretty easy
because the pain from his limbs far overrode all other senses - and then
tried to focus on the alien thing garbed in green shower cap and green mask
that was rubbing his forehead and whispering to him.

"Uh, mom?"

"It's me."

Scully. He tried a smile. She kept muttering, but he couldn't decipher the
words. And why the hell was Scully wearing that same ridiculous garb his mom
wore? Oh, why care? He just wanted one thing and Scully could do it for
sure. "Hurts," he told her. Damn, why'd that come out? He was pretty sure he
wanted to tell her to shoot him in the head.

But Scully moved, and he supposed she did something to the IV pump that was
feeding him his morphine, and after who knew how long, the pain subsided
somewhat. Scully was still speaking to him; he had to assume she was
speaking English.

"Your mom will be back soon," she said. Mulder nodded; he could suddenly
understand her language again. How nice. She went on talking about how some
guy named Skinner dropped by to see how he was doing, and that Skinner and
his mom had gone off to talk about something. Who the hell was Skinner?
Scully seemed to know him well. He started to try to remember the names of
his neighbors when he was growing up - because if his mom knew this Skinner
too, then that meant Skinner had to be some old family friend.

"Mulder, I need to ask you something. Mulder?"

He was almost up to Uncle Martin from down the street. He tried to glare
angrily at Scully for the interruption but his eyes still hurt so he
couldn't quite focus. He didn't suppose he made much of an impression on
her.

"Mulder, is there something new you can tell me about Samantha? Your sister
Samantha?"

She sounded stressed. Her tone of voice was rather high, she seemed to
expect an answer in the affirmative. She added, "Did you meet Samantha
recently?"

"Not too recent," he replied after thinking about it a while. "We were in
this... diner. It wasn't McD's..."

"Was this maybe around six months ago?"

"Really? It doesn't feel that long ago, does it? But yeah, you were still...
I didn't know what to do. I thought I'd meet them and then decide. He
promised, you know."

"You met Samantha? Your sister Samantha?"

"I think my hands are starting to hurt again," Mulder noted tiredly. His
voice was croaky and strained - he hated the sound of it. What was Scully
talking about just now? He'd forgotten. "I don't know where... um, wait -
did I remind you to check on my goldfish, Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder, yes, you did. Mulder, did you find Samantha?"

"Cancerman introduced me to her," Mulder said and tried to chuckle. Oh, this
he remembered. The so-called happiest day of his life when he was reunited
with his little sister from hell. He'd always hated that brat hadn't he?
Whinny little thing with pigtails... then Scully's voice cut through to him
again.

"Cancerman introduced..." Scully trailed off for a bit before starting into
nagging mode. "You found Samantha but you told me nothing? It never occurred
to you to share this news with me?"

Why was Scully so pissed for? "I didn't tell you? Then how do you know if I
didn't tell you?"

"Because a woman came to me and told me that she is your sister Samantha. I
didn't believe her, Mulder. I thought she was a liar. It was impossible that
she could be telling the truth - after all, surely my partner would tell me
if he'd found his sister? Surely he would tell me if his quest were
complete?"

Mulder tried to laugh at that. Did Scully just say 'quest' out loud? What
was this? 'Dungeons and Dragons'? Scully continued to nag.

"But something she'd said made me think. And the more I thought about it,
the more it made me want to talk to this woman again. I'd thrown her out,
you see, I wasn't sure if she would still be waiting. But she was. My God,
she was still waiting. And she was still insistent that she is your sister.
And I was right - I heard her right. I heard her say that the two of you met
again six months ago. Met again after being separated since childhood. Why
didn't you tell me, Mulder? Don't you think this is something I should know?
Mulder?"

At the end there she sounded almost like she was pleading, even though her
tone was still sharp, angry. Mulder sighed. "I thought she looked just like
the rest of them. The whole room full of them. They all looked like her. I
wondered where they went after the place burned down."

"Mulder, try to concentrate. I'm asking you, why didn't you tell me? Why
didn't you tell me that you'd found Samantha?"

"I dunno. Why are you asking about Samantha, Scully?" He'd never remembered
her to initiate any conversations about his sister before. She usually
avoided the topic, just as he usually avoided topics sensitive to her...
like her... he couldn't remember...

"She came here, Mulder. She came to visit you." Scully paused. Then she
asked her next question. "Do you know who Brian Oakes is?"

Mulder closed his eyes. His limbs were really hurting and he was starting to
feel faint, which was silly because he was already lying down in bed. Wasn't
he? God, he was so confused - and now Scully wanted to talk about Brian Who?
"Why is Samantha here?"

"Samantha came to visit you, Mulder," Scully sighed. She wiped a strand of
hair off his forehead. He opened his eyes again and stared at her. Did he
just hear her say...

"Samantha came to visit? Did my mom see her?"

"No. When she came your mom had left for a moment to..."

"Don't let my mom see her! Mom'll have a heart attack if she sees that woman
- she almost had a heart attack when I had to tell her that Samantha fell
off a bridge, never mind that I was telling her it wasn't the real Samantha.
Mom will remember that face. And, don't tell my dad either." He noticed
Scully starting back and frowning. He wondered why. She'd never met his dad
before had she? Anyway, what was he saying - oh yes, the subject of
Samantha. "She's not real, Scully. She can't be real."

"Samantha has agreed to tests which will either prove or disprove her
relations with you. She's rather keen on this herself. She says she needs to
settle this once and for all." Then, very gently, Scully said, "I'm just as
doubtful about this, Mulder. But on the bright side, if she is your sister,
really your sister, we have one more potential marrow donor. And she has
children too."

Mulder couldn't be bothered with nieces or nephews. He just wished he could
have his limbs temporarily amputated. That would be so nice. He won't have
pain. "My - still hurts."

"Mulder, I've given you enough Demerol."

"Enough? Damn it, how would you know it's enough? I want morphine."

Scully shook her head and stroked his arm with her gloved hand. He wanted to
scream from the pain the friction caused but managed to bite down on his lip
in time.

"No, Mulder. Hold on a bit, Mulder. Can you tell me how it hurts?"

"It hurts like hell," he spoke slowly and carefully and stressed every word.
Oh God, for a bullet in his head right now. Please...

"Does it burn? Does it feel like burning pain?"

"Yes, yes, it hurts, it hurts now will you give me my morphine?"

"Mulder, I have to know how it hurts so that we can figure out why it hurts.
We can't just keep treating the symptoms."

"Please, if you want to kill me can't you just shoot me, Scully? Please?"
The pain was getting worse suddenly and he was babbling. "Please, just kill
me, what do you want, Scully? It hurts!"

Scully kept talking. He didn't want her talking. He didn't want anything
that was hard to get. He just wanted the world to end or for the pain to
end, whichever, he wasn't too fussy. But if something didn't happen soon, he
was going to scream. Never mind the stuff about macho shit, he was going to
scream.

Then Scully touched his arm again and he screamed. Oh, he could scream if he
had to, no problems there. Then finally, finally! Everything was this empty
gray haze that didn't hurt too much and he hoped he'd be able to stay there
for a nice long time.

~
END PART 5
~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 6
~
9th day, late morning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully spent the better part of the morning trying to convince a weeping
Mrs. Mulder that her son wasn't going to die today.

"But he was in so much pain last night!" Mrs. Mulder said.

"The burning pain in his limbs is a side effect to the drugs," Scully
explained. "We've taken him off all the drugs that can cause this problem -
he'll start feeling better soon."

Of course the pain would likely linger on or maybe even worsen for a few
days in spite of his withdrawal from the drug, but she didn't mention that.
No use adding more distress to Mrs. Mulder's life.

Mrs. Mulder was already incredibly upset about another matter. After her
sobs had subsided somewhat, she confided, "I think Fox is becoming
demented."

Mrs. Mulder had strong grounds for this suspicion. Yesterday afternoon while
Scully was away at USAMRIID, Mulder suddenly, but calmly, told his mom that
there were tall, willowy, live things standing outside his room, watching
them through the glass partition. She was unable to convince her son that
there were no beings whatsoever peering in on them. Scully realized that
that must have been the starting point for Mulder's mental confusion, which
she herself had witnessed later in the day. Mrs. Mulder then recounted how
he awoke from a restless late-afternoon nap and proceeded to regale his mom
with an FAQ lecture of sorts on how to be a successful serial killer, and as
a bonus lecture, instructed her on the best places to stash victims' cold
bodies. Needless to say, that scared the hell out of Mrs. Mulder.

"That's not dementia," Scully said. "He was just confused. He probably
didn't realize who he was talking to. It's the drugs again, Mrs. Mulder.
Confusion and agitation are side effects as well."

"But he was talking about murder! He was actually talking about garroting
rape victims..."

"He was talking about his job. That's his job, basically. He tracks down
killers." Scully didn't add that Mulder's job description in the X-Files
division was much more diverse than that - she doubted Mrs. Mulder would
appreciate such a wealth of information at present.

When Scully visited Mulder first thing in the morning, he was awake, staring
at the ceiling. He'd bled during the night, no surprise. He was receiving
his transfusions of blood and platelets; he was also happily doped up to
drown out the pain. She didn't touch him. He never acknowledged her. She sat
in the chair and rested her arms on the railing of his bed and talked, but
he didn't seem to hear her. Either he was too doped up, or he was going
deaf, yet another side effect to anti-retroviral drugs. She preferred to
assume that it was just the morphine making him high.

Mrs. Mulder wanted to know how they were going to treat Mulder now since all
the drugs caused such severe side effects that he had to be taken off them.
Scully had no answer for that, nor could she explain that from what they
could see, those anti-retroviral drugs hadn't done Mulder any good at all.
Then Mrs. Mulder wanted to know how the search for a marrow donor was going
- but again there was no good news to share.

Since Mrs. Mulder never ever spoke of Samantha, it was easy for Scully not
to mention the Samantha who had showed up yesterday. Mrs. Mulder had already
told her before that all remaining Mulder relatives were either deceased or
too old - Bill Mulder was the youngest in his family; while she was herself
a single child. Scully did ask for another sample of Mrs. Mulder's blood,
which was given without fuss, and fortunately, without any questions asked.

Scully needed to find out whether or not the Mulders and that woman named
Samantha Adler were truly related. She personally took the three samples to
the genetics department of the university and called up the favor of someone
she used to know, and who was luckily still working there. Scully had to
warn him of the contagious status of Mulder's blood though, while skillfully
skirting around what Mulder really had, but the geneticist was willing to do
it for her. She supposed that his assumption was that the sample contained
some extra virulent strain of HIV. She didn't feel good about
unintentionally misleading him, but she couldn't let everyone else know
about the existence of this alien retrovirus either. A panic was the last
thing anyone needed.

After that it was time to go to the USAMRIID again. Mulder's morning blood
sample still had viruses swimming about, but Dr. Mason welcomed her with a
beaming smile.

"I have it," he announced. "Definite proof at last. AZT is the drug of
choice."

"AZT aggravates his anemia."

"But in spite of that, it was certainly the AZT that saved his life in
Alaska."

Scully gave Mason a questioning look. He indicated that she should peer into
the electron microscope lens. Silly thing really, since Mason could just as
easily show her what there was to see on the TV monitor. But she abided, and
looked at an older sample of cells from Mulder's bone marrow. No viruses.
Well, no motile viruses swimming around.

"You treated these cells with AZT?"

"Yes. We tested with all available antiviral drugs. Only AZT succeeded in
limiting the viral replication."

"But you haven't quite succeeded in killing the virus for good?"

Mason smiled indulgently. "Dr. Scully, you know that viruses are really
tough things to kill."

Well, she had to hope for miracles. Mulder needed miracles. She was more
than ready to admit that now.

Mason passed her the notes he'd scribbled and started readying samples and
results for her to review. He explained his theories as she read through his
notes.

His ideas were on the one hand totally implausible. On the other hand, maybe
they could, just maybe, work. Mason had worked very hard indeed these past
few days and had determined the basic mechanisms and replication functions
of the viruses. He suggested now how AZT could be used to great advantage to
weaken the viruses in Mulder's marrow prior to a bone marrow
transplantation.

"But this dose of AZT is too high!" Scully protested.

"I calculate that it's the best dose to give. I never expecteded that AZT
would be able to accomplish anything for virus Mil3, although AZT is
theoretically a common anti-retroviral drug. Virus Mil3 is just so
completely unique from HIV, so different in its mechanisms of attack and
infection."

Scully cocked her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "Virus Mil3?"

"Tentative name for the retrovirus," Mason said. Scully quickly flipped
through his notes. He hadn't even jotted that name down anywhere. He knew
what she was looking for and explained, "I was going to assign it either a
number or give it its own name three years ago when I first discovered it,
but all samples were lost before I had time to culture more. I regret to say
that I was careless. I was sloppy and complacent in making cultures - this
Mil3 retrovirus is brutal in its attack of human marrow cells, but dies
fairly quickly in a laboratory environment without the appropriate special
cultures. I'm being more thorough in my research this time around."

Scully went through Mason's notes and rechecked the samples again,
scrutinizing everything carefully. On the whole Mason had done good work in
the short time he'd had, and he'd basically covered all the basics. Except
for the severe risks that the aplastic anemia patient, i.e. Mulder, would
face if he was on AZT. She shook her head.

"There's just no way Mulder can go through the side effects of AZT again,"
she emphasized. "His blood counts plummeted almost immediately after he was
started on AZT, and he had severe bleeding. Too many blood transfusions will
do him no favors in the long run. We don't even have a matching donor yet
for bone marrow transplantation."

"But at least AZT and blood transfusions will help tide him over for a
while. Barring any adverse reactions to the blood transfusions that is. Hope
for the best."

"Other anti-retroviral drugs? Can't they do the trick?" she asked. At least
the other drugs wouldn't cause such a lethal side effect.

"No," he replied with a shake of his head. "Remember, all those other drugs
were designed with the HIV in mind. They're more specific against HIV and
only against HIV. To be honest, I am still somewhat vague on how AZT
actually works on Virus Mil3, but it works."

Scully nodded and bit her lip. So her zealousness in giving Mulder every
single anti-retroviral drug available was wrong. All he'd earned from those
drugs were mental confusion and excruciating side effects. His screams of
pain from last night were still ringing in her ears.

She leaned against the lab counter, placed her elbows on the surface,
ignored Mason for the while, and rested her face in her hands. She tried to
think. How was she going to do this now? Give him AZT and have him suffer an
even worse anemia? A severe AZT-induced anemia might very well kill him too.

Cost would also be a headache, although Mrs. Mulder had absently assured her
the other day that the Mulders could afford whatever came their way. Scully
wasn't sure just how rich the Mulders were, of course Mulder never spoke of
such things, but even if they were secretly filthy rich, the medical bills
and the cost of the transplant might put the Mulders in the poor house.
Skinner had already promised to help Mulder deal with the bureau's claims
department later - he had someone there who owed him big - but this was way
over anything Skinner could do to help. Meanwhile, would insurance or
Worker's Comp pay for all the AZT plus the costs of marrow transplantation?

One more unresolved issue: how safe was Mulder to the rest of the world? As
of today, no one was able to say with any certainty that the virus might
spread from person to person, but that was largely because Scully kept
insisting that if mere touch or close contact could spread the virus then
she would have been infected already, long ago. And she wasn't. Mason had
checked her blood too.

Too many questions. Just too many questions, all without answers. She
suddenly remembered that she was supposed to call the San Diego Police
Department today about Dt. Kresge. SDPD had finally agreed to share what
information they had on Dt. Kresge with her - but she hadn't been around to
take the call yesterday. She'd have to call them instead.

She raised her head at the sound of Mason clearing his throat. He said, "I
paged and spoke to Dr. Davies just before you arrived. She'll be coming
after she completes her rounds. You want to discuss this with her too?"

Scully looked at her watch. It was almost lunchtime; she had to get back to
Mulder. "Just tell me what the two of you decide," she said tiredly. "If Dr.
Davies also thinks that this is feasible, then we take the risk." She placed
quite a lot of faith in Dr. Pam Davies. Pam got along very well with Mason,
and Pam paid a lot of attention to Mulder.

It was so easy last time, in Alaska. She was alone, nobody else knew what to
do and she knew only that she had to give him whatever she could to save his
life, and incredibly enough - she did it. She supposed then that she had
saved his life by dumping every single anti-retroviral drug she knew into
his system. Mulder had been comatose, so he never actually felt any of the
side effects. They had been so very lucky.

"It's been what? Two days since you stopped the AZT?" Mason inquired. Scully
nodded. "So perhaps by now you can restart the AZT. His body might be able
to tolerate it again. I think you should resume AZT, you know. Two days have
gone by without the patient receiving sufficient treatment."

She didn't correct him on his use of the words 'the patient' instead of
Mulder's name. She nodded to indicate that she would consider his
suggestions and made a move to return to the hospital to be with Mulder.

~
9th day, afternoon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder had to admit that it was rather nice to be lucid and aware upon
waking up. He knew his full name, he knew his mom's and Scully's names, he
even knew he was sick in the hospital with a major problem involving
something as tiny and as insignificant to the eye as a virus.

But he wasn't too sure how long he'd been ill - it certainly felt like he'd
been sick forever. He didn't know the date or the day for today. He was just
glad to be able to wake up and remember the important things, compared to
how it'd been for a while when everything was just one huge confusing mess
of who's who and what's what.

At the very moment, there were two gowned and masked people with him in the
room: one was a nurse who was getting ready to jab a needle full of
something into him. The other... he stared hard and recognized Scully's eyes
and eyebrows. He missed seeing her whole face, missed that smile on her
lips.

The sting of the needle in his shoulder made him flinch. "That's all there
is, Mulder," said the nurse, patting him.

"You should have used this," Mulder muttered grudgingly, indicating the
central line that went in near his neck and which he knew tunneled straight
into his heart. Nurses always used the central line now to give him whatever
he needed and to take whatever samples they needed.

It was Scully who answered him, "That's filgrastim Mulder. It's usually
given subcutaneously. You need it to provoke your marrow to produce more
white cells."

"I thought my marrow was fucked up all to hell."

"Not quite all the way to hell, Mulder," was Scully's wry reply. "Or you
wouldn't still be here would you?"

Whatever. Mulder shifted his body so he could lie a bit on his side.

"Do you feel all right, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"Under what circumstances are you inquiring?" Mulder asked in return. His
voice was hoarser and his throat really hurt. He just woke up this morning
and felt this way. Didn't know why.

"Do your feet or hands hurt? Do they feel like they're burning?"

"A bit." He hazily remembered being in severe pain the previous day. Or
whenever that was. Now everything was dulled, even that needle going into
his shoulder just now hadn't stung as sharply. Which meant he was on
analgesics. He relaxed, enjoying that smooth, blurry feel to things. This
was probably morphine that he was on. An odd thought crossed his mind. Maybe
it was the morphine helping him feel less confused about matters? Hey...
maybe being a morphine junkie wasn't such a bad thing after all....

"You can hear me, Mulder? You can hear everything I say?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing. Just asking."

He watched her suspiciously but her eyes betrayed nothing. He slowly moved
one hand up to slip beneath his pillow. His movement was slow not because he
was in pain, but because he didn't have the energy. To think that there were
days when he could easily swim laps and laps in the swimming pool....

"We've taken you off all the anti-retroviral drugs for the time being."

Mulder had drifted off for a while. Now he looked at Scully again. "Why?"

She took a bit of time to answer. He wondered idly what she was choosing not
to tell him. "Only one drug is effective actually. AZT - the one we had to
stop two days ago. But to restart AZT will again cause your anemia to become
worse. You'll also have more bleeding."

"So? I'm becoming worse anyway," Mulder pointed out with calm logic.

"But if we start you on AZT again, the complications will be..."

"Scully, do what you will. It's OK by me whatever you do - if you think
there's still something that can be done, just go for it."

"Mulder, this will have to be your decision to make. If we start you on AZT
again then you will have to be prepared to face the complications."

"Fine, I'm prepared. I'm prepared. Do what you will."

"AZT should tide you over for a while until we can get that donor."

So was there a donor then? He didn't dare ask the question aloud. Somehow an
answer in the negative would be too heart breaking at the moment, even if he
was floating nicely on this morphine high. Scully talked some more,
explaining things that he knew Shaughnessy would be explaining to him again
anyway, God, these repetitive lectures by these doctors could get so boring,
then suddenly he heard Scully say the name 'Samantha'. He snapped into focus
again and glared at her.

"That's not funny, Scully."

She was plainly taken aback by the harshness in his weak voice. "Mulder, I
did tell you about her yesterday. I'm still waiting for the results that
will prove whether or not she's your real sister. But they're already
testing to see if she can be a donor match."

Scully was talking gibberish. Great, at a time when he needed to depend on
her she was talking gibberish. He said, "Samantha is dead. I think some
strangler got her in the middle of the night. I'm amazed he let me live."

"You never believed that, Mulder. Now isn't the time to start believing
that."

Mulder snorted. Oh sure, he could go back to believing little gray men were
waiting behind closet doors and under beds to grab little girls in blinding
rays of white light - but then wouldn't the poor bogeymen feel threatened by
these 'aliens' encroaching into their territorial night-time reign of
terror?

He was tired of believing whatever people wanted him to believe. The truth
was he didn't know what happened to Samantha. Maybe it was time he let it
rest. Tell his mom to buy a tombstone with his sister's name engraved but
with the date of death left blank. If he died too then his mom could bury
both offspring at once. After which she could go gallivanting into the
sunset with that SOB cigarette-smoking man. Talk about his mom's disgusting
choice in partners. What did that SOB have that his dad never had? He would
prefer a better man for his mom really... but seriously what was he
thinking? He wouldn't want his mom with another man. That would feel so...
so... weird... His mom? With someone else who wasn't his dad? Gross out
idea.... Maybe he got it all wrong all this while; his mom never cheated on
his dad. Why had he suspected his own mother of infidelity in the first
place? That's not the kind of thing you suspect of your own mother.

Scully took his hand and squeezed it, obviously in an attempt to regain his
wavering attention. There was a sharp, shooting pain, but he didn't pull his
hand away. "Don't give up on me, Mulder. I'm trying my best to save your
life here. I'm not going to allow you to give up on me."

Now where would Scully get the idea that he was giving up? Really.... He
said to her, "Scully, like I said, I'm giving you permission to do whatever
you need to - what's the term? Heroic measures? Yeah, well - I allow you to
take whatever heroic measures you deem necessary to save my life. Put me on
life support, whatever - if you think there's still hope. I'm saying this
right now while I am of sound mind. Do I need a witness for this? So that
there will be no doubts later on?"

He waited as Scully fumbled around for the right reply. When she took too
long, he added, "I am of sound mind right now, Scully. I know exactly what
I'm talking about. I know it's not really fair to burden you this way, but
well, I don't see any alternatives for the near future. I don't think my mom
will object to anything you do. I've never known her to be for euthanasia."

That last word seemed like a bitter slap in the face for Scully. He couldn't
see half her face but he just knew. This time she found the right words and
she spat them out fast. "That's what I'm talking about, Mulder. You're going
about this the wrong way! You're supposed to fight, damn it. You're not
supposed to lie there and wait for the inevitable."

Scully, Scully, his dear Scully. He smiled at her. "I'd sit up if I could,
Scully. Trust me, I prefer sitting up. Bedsores are such a pain in the back,
you know?"

"Mulder!"

He sighed wearily. He did not need emotional confrontations right now. He
really, really did not need such things. He was miserable enough, really.
"Scully, what can I do, Scully? What can I do? I'm too sick to even care,
okay? That's how sick I am. I hate to bring this up, but I think you know
what I'm talking about. You've been there, done it. And you're safe now - I
am so grateful for that..."

"It's the will to live that carried me on, Mulder. You have that too. You
have the strength, the will to fight. Don't just lie passive in wait for the
miracle."

"You hope for miracles still, Scully? I don't count too much on miracles for
myself, really. Whatever power-that-be that's doling out miracles never
liked me very much, I think. I don't know if there're any healing shamans
heading our way, but trust me, if I knew I'd be sure to give him a call. You
know any faith-healers in town, Scully? I'm still wondering where I can find
a nice life-energy crystal, or - or - whatever. I don't know. Whatever." He
paused in his own rambling. When she didn't add anything, he said, "I wonder
if I'm starting to lose my mind. I'm of sound mind right now, but I just
know - I just know I'm losing my mind."

"You are not losing your mind, Mulder," she said firmly. "It's the drugs.
Adverse effects include confusion and forgetfulness, and it'll be a while
before the drugs are fully metabolized and removed from your body. After
which these adverse effects will cease. You'll be fine. If we start you on
AZT again, you'll have other complications but AZT isn't going to cause as
much neurological interference. Don't lose hope, Mulder. Don't lose hope on
miracles happening." She stopped, then added what had to be her corniest
line ever. "It'll take time to find the miracle, so you have to keep
fighting until we do."

He didn't pick on her about her choice of words though. He could hear the
slight shakiness in her voice and knew that she was either on the verge of
crying, or she was lying at him through her teeth and he really was going
crazy.

Never mind. Let Scully do what she needed. It was terribly unfair to be so
totally dependent on her now, but there really wasn't anything he could do
about this himself. Maybe he should pray? There was a thought.

"Why aren't you starting this, this what was it? AZT?" he asked, just to
break the silence. Well, he felt it was silence. Unless Scully had spoken
and he hadn't heard her. That wasn't such a strange thing, lately. "If I've
been off it for a couple of days then shouldn't you start it again as soon
as possible?"

There was a long pause, long enough to wonder if he had indeed asked the
question aloud, then Scully said, "I'll just ask the nurse to have it ready.
We have to wait for Dr. Davies."

"What for? You're a doctor too."

"But she's the virologist. Don't worry. You'll be all right, Mulder. You'll
be fine."

He had to believe that Scully believed it. She gave his hand a good strong
reassuring squeeze and this time he winced. There was a flash of stricken
guilt in Scully's eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he murmured. A thought crossed his mind and he was tired enough
that discretion was thrown out the window. "Were you ever in pain, Scully?
When you had the cancer? Did it ever hurt?"

"Not really," Scully answered. "I... no, it didn't hurt. It didn't reach
that point yet. There were other problems. But I was spared the pain."

He stared at her for a moment. He was too tired to weigh whether her answer
was a reassuring lie or an honest fact. He said, "Well, you got away with
all the luck then, Scully. Because I'm telling you, all this hurt is a
pain." He chuckled softly at his own really bad joke. He could imagine her
smiling sadly at him, he could almost swear he could see tears in her eyes.
He better just shut up and go to sleep, but she whispered at him to stay
awake a bit longer because a nurse was coming in to feed him. Then he felt a
gentle hand nudging him but it wasn't Scully anymore. It was the nurse with
his lunch. Scully had already left.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully spoke to the nurse, gave her a few instructions, then left her to
feed Mulder his lunch. She couldn't wait even though she wanted to; she had
to make that call to SDPD before Dt. Kresge - assuming he was there - ended
his shift. She had just discarded her gown and her gloves when Shaughnessy
showed up. They smiled stiffly at each other as Shaughnessy waited for her
to finish washing and scrubbing her hands.

"Our virology lab folks have confirmed that skin, exhaled air, saliva, sweat
and urine are clean," he said. "The virus remains only within the red blood
cells. There is no still guarantee though that he can't infect anyone else."

"So you're maintaining the level of isolation?"

"You betcha. If his blood can infect, we have no way of knowing it yet.
Also, I should mention this before I forget; Dr. Marcus Phelstone will be on
the team as well from now on - he does a lot of high-risk marrow and stem
cell transplantations and we'll need his input on Mulder's situation. Dr.
Jack Benton is a nephrologist I asked to stand by in case we suddenly face
acute renal failure. Dr. Greg Winver is my colleague and fellow hematologist
who will be on-call if I'm not around. We have a pretty good team working on
making Mulder better here. He better be grateful and repay us by living."

"Well, I'm checking on another possible donor afterwards," she said, hoping
the news wasn't premature.

"OK. Cross our fingers," Shaughnessy said. He was optimistic for a change.
Then he had to spoil it all by asking, "And have you heard from San Diego?"

"I'm going to settle that now," Scully replied.

"Oh, good. That'd be so nice. It feels like I've been waiting for days for
you to settle it now."

Scully remained calm. "The hospital refuses to release any information
without patient consent. There's nothing I can do about that."

"Fair enough. But you still can't contact the victims?" He placed heavy
emphasis on 'still'.

She pretended not to understand what he was trying to imply. She said, "I've
found out about one. I'll know about the other soon enough."

Shaughnessy shrugged. "Whatever. Their medical case notes don't matter
anymore at this point, unless they've developed anemia too. Otherwise, I
don't think I want to be bothered about those San Diego victims. Curiosity
only carries me so far, you know."

Scully couldn't respond to the sarcasm. Without any solid evidence at hand,
there was nothing to say. Shaughnessy had made that very clear. Ironic that
the person who adored proper solid evidence as much as she did would be the
one who would pose the most challenge.

Shaughnessy said, "Anyway, I have other things to deal with here. Um, I'll
ask you since Mulder's still a bit confused in there, isn't he? He might not
answer me straight. OK - what prophylactic protection, if any, did you use
when you were with him?"

"Sometimes none. Sometimes we'd be someplace where I had to use my bare
hands. But I suppose coincidentally I never had any cuts in my hands." The
look on Shaughnessy's face was priceless - for the simple fact that she had
no idea why he was looking at her that way. "What?" she asked, bewildered.

"I'm talking about prophylactic measures during more, um, intimate
occasions," he said slowly. "You know where I'm getting at?"

She actually blushed. "Mulder and I do not engage in such activities. We're
professional partners! We... we do not do that!"

"Yeah, sure," Shaughnessy cocked his head to one side. "And you only use
your bare hands?"

"Whenever he's injured! I assumed that was what you were referring to." She
was still waiting for the blush in her cheeks to fade away. This was
embarrassing. Fortunately, Shaughnessy wasn't interested in sexual details;
he went off on another tangent.

"He gets injured a lot, doesn't he? I swear his medical file would be a boon
of rich material for any intern interested in emergency medicine, but
anyway, where was I? OK, so you and him aren't into this, as you say. We
still need to be sure about the number of people he might have been intimate
with. They should be tested too, just in case. Does he have any steady
girlfriends, anyone you know?"

She thought he'd abandoned that line of questioning. She answered too
quickly, "No, Mulder doesn't have a girlfriend. He doesn't have anyone that
I am aware of."

Again Shaughnessy gave her a look. She could have kicked herself. That was a
bad answer. A very bad answer. She added lamely, "He just works too hard."

"Right, sure. So we shall assume that Mulder never engaged in unprotected
sexual intercourse because he never had the time to look for anyone to
engage in such activities with, and the only individual he maintains a
steady - albeit platonic - relationship with is you?"

When Scully blushed some more Shaughnessy clucked his tongue and waved her
off. He took off his white coat, hung it up on a hook and started to scrub
his hands. "Never mind. I'll just go through this sexual history bit in
detail with Mulder. Hell, this kind of talk should perk the poor guy up...
unless like you say, he's never getting any."

Scully bit back a few scathing remarks that she could have let loose, mainly
about how Shaughnessy shouldn't have tried asking her about Mulder's
personal life, and how he certainly shouldn't have assumed that the two of
them were sexually involved, but her own damned reaction to Shaughnessy's
fact-finding questions made her feel too silly about trying to start an
argument. So she ignored his last statement, muttered instead that she'd see
him later, then before going off, she stopped to look into the room through
the window. Mulder was eating. And he did seem able to swallow whatever he
was fed.

After satisfying herself that Mulder was going to be okay, physically at
least, she went to use one of the public phones to make that call to the
SDPD. Her one last lead as far as San Diego went. The last time she used her
cell phone the connection had been bad. This time she was put on hold for a
fairly long while, and had to listen to very annoying music - why was it
that the music was always annoying? Finally a woman's voice greeted her.

"Special Agent Dana Scully? I apologize for not giving you this information
earlier. We had to get consent from his family, you know, since you never
faxed over any legal papers as to why you wished to contact him."

"I've been trying to get in touch with him regarding a medical matter. It's
imperative that I speak to him; the sooner, the better. I thought I've made
this very clear the past few times I called."

"Yeah, I know. But this is real bad news. See, Dt. Kresge died two and a
half months ago. Awful thing. Motor vehicle accident. Now his family is
having some sort of problems with his estate and they left explicit
instruction that no one outside this department..."

Scully lost track of what the woman was saying on the other end. This could
not be happening. This had to be some warped coincidence - but if
coincidences were coincidences why should they feel so contrived? She
interrupted the woman. "Was there an autopsy performed?"

The voice sounded peeved. "Like I was tellin' you, the cause of death was
pretty clear. He was burned beyond recognition. What was left of his remains
was cremated."

Of course. Of course he would be cremated. Now that she'd been given the
go-ahead to share what gory details there were, the woman yacked on, but
Scully had what she needed to know. She thanked the woman and hung up - she
didn't even know her name, hopefully there would be no further need to
contact SDPD for information regarding Dt. Kresge.

Perfect dead end. Perfect coincidence. News about the doctor had finally
been relayed to her by the San Diego hospital late yesterday - the doctor
had died of undescribed complications about two and a half weeks after her
exposure to Emily. No reason was given as to why the hospital had to delay
the release of this information. Family refused autopsy on religious
grounds, then the family promptly cremated her remains. Of course. Of course
she would be cremated. Cremation was so in vogue now. So neat. All traces
gone.

And of course, the hospital wasn't going to release any further information
about either victim. And the other doctors who'd been involved with Emily
and the two victims had all transferred out to other hospitals, without
leaving any forwarding addresses. And of course the hospital seemed to think
that such mass exodus of staff wasn't in the least bit unusual.

Scully wearily wandered into the doctors' rest room and leaned her forehead
against the cool metal of her borrowed locker door. Mulder was the only
known survivor of the retrovirus infection after all; no way to compare
antibodies or run tests now. Not that there could have been enough time to
run tests even if that doctor and Dt. Kresge were alive and available -
they'd be all the way at the other end of the country.

Why oh why didn't she think to do any investigations back then, when things
started happening in San Diego? She should have, of course, but at the time
being a prudent scientist had been the furthest thing from her mind. She was
too busy mourning over Emily and children that she would never be able to
bear, she was too upset to think of anything other than her induced
barrenness, her 'rape' at the hands of God knows what. It had been her right
to mourn over those things really, her right, her business. She could have
had a nervous breakdown from all that she'd had to go through, from last
year's cancer on to discovering Emily, but she was lucky - she managed to
regain her stamina and put up a strong front, even managed to deflect
Mulder's concerns. She carried on with life and tried to forget about San
Diego. As a scientist she shouldn't have, she realized that now. But there
was no way to turn back time, to redo things. Feeling angry and bitter all
over again wasn't going to save Mulder's life.

Her forehead was getting numb. She sighed and straightened up, rubbing one
palm against her forehead, hoping that there were no paint flecks sticking.
She used her other hand to unlock her locker, and rummaged in her small bag.
She was running out of fresh things to wear - she'd need to ask her mom to
bring her more things today.

The door suddenly banged open. Scully literally jumped - after all the years
working on the X-Files it took a lot to spook her - but this time her heart
gave her a real start. Shaughnessy stormed in.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

She actually backed away from him. He was leaning in on her, encroaching
into her personal space. She was flabbergasted and alarmed. "What?"

"I'm asking you. Who do you think you are? What the hell gives you the right
to prescribe drugs for my patient?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about my patient. Your friend. Fox Mulder. What the hell do you
think you're doing giving him AZT?"

"I did not!"

"No? Well then you'll love to hear this story I have to tell. It's one of
those days when I have a bit of time off lunch, so I sit and wait for my
patient, Mr. Mulder, to finish his lunch. Gives me a chance to watch him and
talk to him. He's sick as a dog, but this time when I ask him about Bill
Clinton he knows that good ol' Bill is the President of the USA, and not the
rocket scientist who invented some telescope out in Guatemala or Peru,
wherever. I'm thinking that at least his mental faculties are improving,
then lunch is over and he hasn't vomited anything, and the nurse asks me if
he should have all his meds now, or if I want to do physical examination
first. And I say, 'Oh, give him his meds first'. Nurse says, 'All his meds,
doctor?'. And of course, I say 'yes'.

"I see you're starting to get the drift of the story, Dr. Scully. So I talk
to Mulder some more, examine him here and there, finally nurse comes back in
with the drugs - the proper lunch time mid-day drugs I'm thinking. I let him
take his pills while I write a few things down in his chart, then
everything's down, Mulder says thank you - then get this, you'll love this -
he asks me, 'How fast will it be before I start getting the side effects to
AZT again?'. I'm groaning at this point, I'm like - 'God! I thought his
memory is getting better', and I'm telling him sweetly, 'Mulder, we're not
giving you AZT anymore, don't worry' and the nurse tells me, 'Oh but doctor,
I just gave him AZT'. You want me to tell you the end to this story, Dr.
Agent Scully?"

Scully was shaking her head, forcing herself to keep calm in the face of
Shaughnessy's rage. "I never told the nurse to give him AZT. I told her to
have the AZT ready so that..."

"That's my point!" Shaughnessy yelled. "You told her. You didn't tell me. I
was right fucking there but you did not tell me! Goddamn it, all you had to
do was say, 'By the way I told the nurse to get AZT ready. I know AZT is bad
for Mulder, but I thought it'd be fun to just have that drug lying around
again. So if the nurse asks you if she should give all the meds - be very
careful what you answer'. Forgive me Doctor, but was that so hard?"

He swiftly cut off her attempt to defend herself. "I don't know if you make
this a habit to second guess Mulder's physicians. But this isn't some hick
Alaskan hospital. This is my hospital. Mulder is my patient. You are here
with us on the team that is treating Mulder because as a pathologist you
have had prior experience with this virus. And because, if I can say this
without letting it get to your head, you seemed to me to be a pretty damn
good scientist. So that's your job here - you find out about the virus so
you can tell the rest of us what the hell we can do to fight it. I don't try
to do your job, do I? And what are you again when you're not shooting bad
guys? You are a forensic pathologist. When was the last time you treated a
patient?"

"I saved Mulder's life! In Alaska..."

"By God's good luck you did! You didn't know what the damn hell you were
doing anyway, did you? When was your last ward rounds, Doctor? Final year of
med school? Even remember what a heart murmur sounds like? I do rounds every
single day. I treat patients every single day. Of course I can do an autopsy
too if I have to but you'll do a better job of it than me. And sure, I can
deliver a baby but I don't go soliciting pregnant women, do I? And that's
why you don't get orthopedic surgeons cutting off umbilical cords, or
gynecologists fixing bones. And you don't get pathologists doing
reconstructive heart surgery. Are you catching my drift here? You do your
work, I do mine. You want to be a maverick, save Mulder all on your own,
then fine. Get him out of here, put him in bed at home, buy as much AZT as
you want from the pharmacy, do what you want with him. But so long as he is
my patient, don't you ever, ever, get it into your head to tell nurses what
to do without consulting me first."

"I was not second guessing you! I wanted to have the AZT ready. AZT might be
his best chance..."

"Not at the dose he got. The dose that you, my dear Doctor, prescribed. I
don't even care right now what on God's good earth inspired you to start him
on it again. His blood counts are going to fall rock bottom. His white blood
counts, red blood counts, platelets. I'm going to have to mobilize the Blood
Bank now to prepare as many units of blood and platelets as possible. So
excuse me, Doctor, while I go try to salvage the best of the situation, a
situation that could have been averted if you had even bothered to behave
the way you're supposed to. Welcome to the wonderful world of clinical
medicine. This is on your head, Doctor. Whatever happens, it's on your
head."

Shaughnessy whirled around and stalked to the door. Scully found her tongue
as he was reaching for the knob.

"Fuck you, Shaughnessy!"

He turned around. "Oh, grow up," he said. He walked out, but didn't slam the
door.

Scully stood very, very still. She could weep, of course she could.
Shaughnessy's words were sarcastic, bitter, harsh, cruel. Or she could hate
him and allow the hate to gnaw at her as she went out to the parking lot to
slash out the tires of his car, but she should allow Mulder that honor. But
first perhaps, she should calm down her racing heart.

She slammed the door of her locker shut. She had planned to have a quick
bath, followed by an even quicker lunch, after which she had planned to find
out Samantha Adler's status as a marrow donor. The bath and lunch were
unnecessary luxuries now. Time was running out. Because of her, time was
running out faster than it should.

~
END PART 6
~~~~~~~~~~

REGARDING A CURE
PART 7

Scully had to know whether or not Samantha Adler was a suitable donor for
Mulder. Once she knew that, she would know what her next move would be.

What she did not do first though, was visit Mulder. She knew that she
should, at least to check that he was still okay, but she couldn't quite
face him right now. Would Shaughnessy have said anything detrimental to
Mulder about that accidental dose of AZT? Would Shaughnessy turn Mulder
against her? She knew that wouldn't happen, but still, what would she say to
Mulder then? What would she say to Mrs. Mulder?

The technician she wanted to speak to wasn't there, so she sat on a stool
inside the quiet molecular genetics lab and ignored the rumblings of her
empty stomach. How could she still be hungry when she'd so effectively lost
her appetite? Shaughnessy's words were going to taunt her for days to come.
She hated him. She hated to admit he was right. She hated to admit that
Mulder was very likely to suffer tremendously because of her. She had been
so sure of her plans, of what she needed to do. Too sure perhaps. Somewhere
along the way her confidence had transformed into cockiness, and she was
deeply ashamed that such a thing should happen.

There was another reason to avoid Mulder for a while. Truth was, her visits
to Mulder in his isolation room were unsettling. Oh, she'd waited by his
side in hospitals often enough, helping him through recovery, tolerating his
occasional outbursts of sick frustration or feverish ramblings. But this
time was different. He was disintegrating, wilting away right before her
eyes. Sane and lucid one minute; spouting nonsense the next. Half the time
she couldn't be sure if he really understood what she was saying. Other
times she was wondering if he was really serious about what he was saying,
or if he was spiraling into confusion and delirium. Tears of frustration
would then well up in her eyes because there would be absolutely nothing she
could do to help him.

She sighed, and tried to stop herself from this wretched run of wallowing in
depressing thoughts, a hobby she was becoming very good at. She needed to
conserve her mental efforts to figuring out the right moves to make to save
Mulder's life. She wanted to save his life. She had to.

Just in time, the technician returned. He startled when he saw Scully
sitting on the stool near his work bench.

"What are you doing in here? You can't come in!"

"We met yesterday..."Scully reminded him, none too subtly.

"Yeah, right, I forgot. Sorry." He shrugged. Then he frowned and asked, "You
waiting for me?"

"Yes."

"You could have just called me, you know."

"I'm just anxious about the possible donor for the aplastic anemia patient,
Fox Mulder? The samples I brought to you yesterday evening? I'm wondering if
you have the HLA analysis results by now."

"For Fox Mulder? Of course not yet," he said. "We're still running the..."

"I need to know as fast as possible."

"I'm sorry you took the trouble to come here and all, but there really is no
way to do anything faster. Maybe by tomorrow..."

Scully suppressed the sigh of annoyance and left the lab without another
word, rudely ignoring the technician's confused look. She was picking up
quite a few bad Mulder habits. As she walked she used her cell phone to call
the number that Samantha had given her yesterday.

"Hello?" Samantha's voice was harried, as though she'd run in from
somewhere.

"This is Dana Scully. I'm calling from the hospital."

"Why? Is Fox..."

"Could you please come here? Now?"

"Why?" Samantha repeated. She sounded panicky.

"It's all right; Fox is fine." Which was also what Scully was telling
herself. "I'd like to talk to you face to face."

"Oh. I..."

"Just come here as soon as you can. I'll wait for you in the hospital
lobby."

Scully didn't want to risk Mrs. Mulder seeing Samantha, so the lobby was the
safest place. She knew by this time Mrs. Mulder would be with her son and
would remain with him in the isolation room till about 5 p.m. when Scully
would take over. It was an unspoken time arrangement that she and Mrs.
Mulder had.

Samantha agreed to the meeting, and Scully broke off the connection. She
stood for a while in the corridor next to the elevators. She could either
take one up to Mulder's room and quickly see how he was doing, or she could
play the coward and avoid the confrontation and go down to the lobby
instead.

She chose the lobby.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~

Samantha arrived in twenty minutes, hair pulled back in a low ponytail and
the makeup on her face not quite even. She was also quite flushed and
sweaty. Scully wondered what the weather was like outside. Save for the
occasional trips to the USAMRIID, she'd been cooped up in this hospital with
Mulder for days. And even when she was outside, she was too preoccupied with
the matters at hand to take stock of the color of the sky.

"How is Fox?" Samantha asked worriedly as she sat down beside Scully.

"Fine," Scully replied instantly. She didn't want to dwell on that matter.
"I'll get straight to the point. Fox is very ill. Transplantation with
marrow or stem cells from a matched donor is his best chance for survival.
Since we're assuming that you are Fox Mulder's sister, you're the best
candidate for the donor. Unfortunately, we have to consider the alternatives
should you turn out to be a mismatch."

Samantha stared at her. "What does that mean? Mismatch? I won't be able to
donate?" Scully gave a small nod indicating that that was correct, and
Samantha asked, "Would that also mean that I'm not his sister?"

Scully shook her head. "Actually there is no relation rule about that. You
can be his sibling but still not be his match. His mother is not a match
either. We are hoping for the best, but we are still very worried. If you
can't donate then the list of possible donors will - well, it'll be down to
zero."

"Do you think my children can donate? Or do you only use adults?"

"We can have marrow from a child too - it's been done countless times. If
the child is a match."

"Well, okay, so if Fox and I really are related then maybe one of my
children will be a match?"

Scully almost opened her mouth to drum in the lesson again about family
relationships not having much bearing on whether or not one could be the
donor, but instead she kept her mouth shut and nodded her head eagerly. This
was her real purpose for calling Samantha. On the off chance that Samantha
really was the one Mulder had spent his life looking for, she had hoped that
she could somehow convince Samantha to volunteer one of her children as a
donor. Back-up plan.

"How old did you say your children are?" Scully asked, though she remembered
very well what Samantha had told her yesterday.

"Oldest is nine, middle one is seven, the youngest is almost two."

"Can you bring them here?" Scully asked innocently. Samantha's children were
with her husband in Chicago. Samantha was staying alone at a hotel here in
Washington. Scully had made sure that the hotel was the furthest away from
Mrs. Mulder's Holiday Inn.

"I'm sure I can," Samantha said. Then she hesitated. "I will have to discuss
this with my husband."

"Of course," Scully said. What was important was that this woman, whether or
not she was really related to Mulder, had voluntarily agreed, without any
coercion on Scully's part, to having any one of her children become a marrow
donor should one prove suitable for Mulder. Scully wasn't sure if Samantha
fully understood what was happening, and she didn't care. All she wanted now
was a new group of possible healthy donors for Mulder. She didn't really
give a damn about whether they were really family or not, and whether the
kids would be happy about it or not. When had she learned to be so devious?

"I'll call Keith, my husband, tonight," Samantha said, planning aloud. "Do
you want all three? I mean, Sarah..."

"It is possible to harvest marrow and stem cells from babies and small
children," Scully said with calm professionalism.

Samantha blinked, then quickly averted her gaze. "I see. Well, all right.
I'll talk to Keith." There was a short pause before she blurted out,
"There's this other thing. Well, you see, I was talking to Brian Oakes - he
was with me, in fact, when you called just now."

Scully frowned. There was that name again. "Brian Oakes?"

"Brian Oakes, the family friend I mentioned?"

Scully was worried about Samantha's constant communication with the man. She
asked, "I've just been wondering, how does he know Fox? I asked Mul- Fox
about Brian Oakes but I don't think M- Fox knows him."

So it was a white lie. Mulder was so confused yesterday he'd forgotten his
own father was dead. Even if Mulder ever knew who Brian Oakes was, he was in
no condition to remember.

Samantha smiled uncomfortably, as though she were about to confess a deep,
dark secret. She said, "Brian knows Fox as an FBI agent. He's known about
Fox for a while, though now that you ask, I'm not sure if they've ever met.
I mean Brian never knew that Fox was my... well." She took a deep breath.
"Anyway, Brian was a friend of my Dad's. When my Dad found Fox, Brian was so
surprised - he never imagined! He chided me for not wanting to try to get to
know Fox and not trying to call my mom. But I was... I was afraid. It's been
so hard, really, these past six months. Dad died right after he took me to
meet Fox. Brian says it's all coincidence, but Fox did say some things about
Dad..." Samantha bowed her head. "Then the way Dad died..."

Scully watched her carefully, wondering about this display of sorrow. What
was Samantha talking about? Were there things that Mulder should have told
her, which he hadn't?

Then Samantha, after having recovered sufficiently, suggested, "Anyway,
Brian knows this man who's really good at helping people. His name is Jeremy
Walker, and Brian's told him about Fox. Mr. Walker is going to come by and
see if he can help."

"Who is this man?" Scully asked suspiciously. This was not a turn of events
she could have foreseen.

"I don't know how you feel about these things," Samantha said and chuckled
nervously. "The guy is kind of like a faith healer, you know? Brian wanted
so much to help. He had already called Mr. Walker. I didn't have the heart
to refuse. Besides what harm can there be?"

"I don't recall giving you the go ahead to tell other people about Mulder."

"Brian is only trying to help!" Samantha said earnestly. "He says Mr. Walker
has performed incredible miracles before. If Fox is my brother, then I guess
we should try whatever we can right? I don't buy so much into this faith
healing stuff either, but well...."

Scully couldn't stop herself from asking. "And what if Mulder, Fox, is not
your brother?"

Samantha looked straight at Scully as she replied, "Well, you said that
tests can prove it."

"Not quite the answer to my question."

"I don't know," Samantha said tersely. "Until six months ago I thought my
brother was dead. I thought I was an orphan. But if Fox is my brother then I
will do what I can. I'll talk to my husband and we'll see. We'll see."

Scully could think of nothing else to say. She didn't like the idea that
information about Mulder's illness was now pretty much leaked, but Scully
couldn't exactly continue to pick on the issue because she couldn't afford
to antagonize Samantha, who, together with her children, accounted for
Mulder's possible donor pool. Without another word, she got up to leave.

Samantha grabbed her arm. "Dana? I just need to ask you this. How's my mom?"

"She's holding on. I get the impression she's a very strong woman."

"Think she might be happy to see me?" Samantha asked, sounding sadly unsure.

Scully maintained her neutral expression. "I'm sure she will be. I know she
misses you."

Samantha nodded and let go of Scully's arm. Scully hesitated for a moment,
then gave her a kind squeeze on the shoulder before walking off towards the
elevators.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~

If his mother weren't sitting there beside him he would have sworn and
cursed and cussed. He would unleash every single foul word he'd ever heard
uttered...

"Are you all right, Fox?" No doubt she must have noticed the way he had
suddenly awoken with a pretty bad case of the shakes.

He smiled at her, though he was sure the smile came out more as a grimace.
"Think maybe I need to uh, well, I would like to..."

His mother nodded in understanding. "I'll go out."

A few minutes later, his mother was out the door and a nurse was beside him,
pulling his blanket down. She had the bedpan ready in her other hand. Mulder
managed to push the nurse's hand away to stop her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't need to go. It's my back. It hurts. And I'm cold."

"Do your limbs hurt also?" the nurse asked as she kindly pulled the blanket
back up. He was shivering.

"No. It's my back that hurts. Really really hurts."

"Do you want me to call the doctor for you?"

The idiot. What did she think? That he was telling her this just so she
could jot down more little details for his biography? Well, not bad, she was
smart enough after all. She had proceeded to buzz for someone on the
intercom. Then she came back and adjusted the IV pump. That had better be
for the morphine.

Mulder still had the vicious urge to swear in response to this predicament -
why did dying have to be such a drag? - but timing was such; that was the
exact moment he launched into a coughing fit.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Mulder was standing outside in the corridor when Scully stepped out of
the elevator. Scully almost flinched. Did Mrs. Mulder already know? Her
second thought was that something had desperately gone wrong with Mulder,
but she quickly realized that if that were so Mrs. Mulder wouldn't have left
him.

"Hold it for me, please," Mrs. Mulder said. Scully held the door of the
empty elevator open with a hand.

"Mrs. Mulder, are you all right?"

"I'm just... I just need to get out for a while." Mrs. Mulder gave a quick
smile but Scully noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Is Fox all right?" Scully latched on to Mrs. Mulder's arm as she was about
to step into the elevator.

Mrs. Mulder didn't look at her. "They say he will be. I just need to go out
for a while, I.... Excuse me."

Scully released her and a moment later the elevator door slid silently shut
in response to Mrs. Mulder's persistent jabbing at the 'close door' button.
Scully paused for the barest moment, then rushed to Mulder's room. A quick
glance into Mulder's room through the window and she saw what the problem
was. There was Mulder, sitting up in bed, eyes squeezed shut, coughing blood
into a plastic bowl. No wonder Mrs. Mulder ran off. It was better to just
get away, rather than wait around to witness this without being able to help
or give comfort in any way.

Dr. Shaughnessy was in there with Mulder already. In fact, he was the one
holding the bowl. Scully slowly turned away from the window and walked to
the waiting room. Nothing she could do either, not right now. Was Mulder
reacting to the AZT? Already? If so, what to do? What to do?

She got quite a shock to see Jeremiah Smith standing in the lounge. Her
peripheral vision registered Samantha's presence too, but it was Jeremiah
Smith she stared bug-eyed at.

"Dana, this is Mr. Jeremy Walker," Samantha said quite cheerily. Scully
found herself wondering about how Samantha's moods seemed to fluctuate from
sorrowful to distress to merriment.

Samantha continued her introductions. "He arrived just after you left. Mr.
Walker, Agent Dana Scully."

The Jeremy Walker who looked like Jeremiah Smith smiled politely at her and
held out a hand, which she duly ignored. Scully tore her eyes away from him
and turned on Samantha.
"I thought I made it quite clear yesterday that you are not to come up
unless I'm the one who brings you up."

"Yes, but since Mr. Walker is already here..." Samantha had a defiant look
in her eyes. For just the briefest instant, she could have been a female
version of a stubborn Fox Mulder. Samantha asked, "How is Fox? Can I see
him?"

"No you can't," Scully snapped. "He's not feeling very well."

"I know that, or he wouldn't be in this hospital, would he?"

Scully glared at Samantha and tried to determine if she was being a wise-ass
or if she was just stating the obvious. Samantha stared right back at her.

So Scully turned her attention back to the Jeremiah Smith look-alike. "Mr.
Walker," Scully said, placing harsh emphasis on the name 'Walker'. "Are you
always so quick to visit the dying?"

He was plainly appalled. "Agent Scully," he said, his voice the same deep
baritone of the Jeremiah Smith she remembered. "I was told to make haste. I
was very fortunate to have run into Mrs. Adler in the lobby."

"Mr. Brian Oakes sent you." Scully accused.

"Well, yes, of course," was the man's bewildered reply.

"For what purpose?"

This felt very strange. Here she was standing in the lounge, just a few
yards away from the isolation room where Mulder was coughing blood out of
his guts, or esophagus, or wherever it was that was bleeding, conducting an
impromptu interrogation of a man or maybe even a thing that was the spitting
image of Jeremiah Smith.

Who was, in fact an alien, if Mulder was to be believed, an alien who had
been disposed of by yet some other alien, who believe it or not, was a
bounty hunter by occupation.

Of course there were at least six identical Jeremiah Smiths scattered around
the country - she had found them all herself in the social security records
database - but subsequent searches by Mulder and herself had failed in
tracking them all down. They'd both all but given up on the idea of ever
encountering the Jeremiah Smiths again. Whatever the Jeremiah Smiths were -
Scully had never quite decided what to call them - 'clones' seemed the only
appropriate word. Anyway, the Jeremiah Smith clones had simply vanished off
the face of the earth. Until now.

The man was saying, "For the hope of perhaps being able to help someone, to
save and heal a soul..."

"Cut the crap," Scully snapped. A tiny part of her wondered whether the 'bad
cop' routine was really applicable for this moment. "Why are you here?"

"I was told someone needs to be saved."

"Really? And you think you can save him? You?"

"I understand any degree of skepticism that you may feel," the man replied,
quite bravely, considering that Scully was glowering angrily at him. "I
claim no special talent. I do not claim alternative methods of treatment.
Rather, with God's good will, I am here only to aid and to guide the light
of healing on any soul who needs it. Dear Agent Scully, there is no need to
be hostile surely, to the hope that faith can be..."

"I assure you, dear sir, that I'm not hostile to the idea of faith in
healing. I just don't want anything to do with you, or your damn healing."

"I beg your pardon?" the man gasped. His shock was either genuine or
incredibly well acted.

But just as things should heat up, Scully had suddenly and disappointingly
run out of things to argue about. She was quite deflated. And insulted.
First 'They' dangled Samantha in front of her. Now they were trying to jerk
her around with this Jeremiah clone?

"Look, just - just get out of here."

"Agent Scully..."

"Get the hell out of here," Scully said, her voice louder.

Finally, Samantha protested. "He's here to see if he can help my brother. I
think we should at least see Fox and..."

"I don't care what you think. I don't think you should see Mulder - Fox. And
right now, it's what I think that matters."

Samantha looked absolutely heartbroken. The man just seemed embarrassed, as
though he'd just been caught unawares in a lovers' spat.

Samantha said, "Fine. Since that is the way you feel about things, we'll be
on our way."

"And don't bother bringing him back," Scully said. "I think I know his kind,
and I don't want his kind anywhere near Mulder."

"I must object to your tone, Agent Scully," the man said, irritated that his
dignity should be tarnished. "I am neither a pagan worshipper nor a voodoo
healer. I..."

"Shut up. I don't want to hear you or see you. I've met your kind before.
Now get out of my sight."

Scully purposely turned her back on the two. Whatever she may have believed
about Samantha was questionable again, but she may still come in handy. For
Mulder. Scully knew Samantha had to be at least human. Samantha's blood
samples hadn't poisoned anyone, last she heard. Scully turned around again.

"Samantha?"

"Yes, Dana?" Samantha sounded absurdly hopeful. Probably thought Scully had
seen the light, come to her senses, was making amends, whatever.

"I will call you tonight to hear what the final decision will be regarding
your children being tested as donors? If you plan on going anywhere, at
least give me the number where I can reach you."

The look on Samantha's face was totally unreadable, but if Scully had to
guess, she'd say that Samantha was absolutely disgusted with her.

"I'll be there when you call," Samantha answered coolly. She turned away
from Scully and gripped Walker's arm. "Mr. Walker, I must apologize..."

Scully stalked off to Mulder's room, where Mulder should have hopefully
ceased coughing up his bloody guts. She didn't need to hear what the actors
had to say to one another.

~
END PART 7
~~~~~~~~~~