By The Pimpernel
ThePimpernel@waitrose.com
 

Rating: PG-13 but I don't want to offend anyone so let's say R for sexual
situations, and bad words.

Summary: An irreverent look at biological imperative and genetic
predisposition -- possibly. Just read and enjoy

Date: June 2004

Classification: SRA

Keywords: AU -- a 'what if' parallel time line that mangles the two, angst,
MSR sort of.

Spoilers:  YES, but I haven't yet evolved past season 7. Play spot the
reference.

Feedback: Pretty please with knobs on - thepimpernel@waitrose.com

Archive: I'd be stunned but go ahead. It's written to be read.

Disclaimer: Just five more minutes Dad, then I promise I'll put them away.

Fanfic is a self-indulgence of the non-fattening type for neither body nor
bank account. In other words any reference to characters created by Chris
Carter real or imaginary is purely deliberate but they're not mine.

I'm English, forgive me my spelling.
 
 

A bagful of rainbow crumbs to Elsie, a wonderful beta, who colours and
sparkles my grammar and punctuation into something comprehensible. That just
leaves the plot holes as a distraction.
 
 

Fourth part of the story. You probably need to read the other three for this
one to make sense. More to come, so check your WIP tolerance before
continuing.
 
 
 
 

*************************************************

Part 1 of 3
 
 

Dana Scully paced her apartment. Mulder was scheduled to come by later for
one of their usual 'Scrabble' nights. Not Scrabble as in the game, although
they were words of a sort -- conversations -- the ones that involved much
verbal skirmishing, bantering innuendo and cunning word-plays. Mulder had
dubbed it their 'Scrabble' night. It was something she normally looked
forward to these days, especially as he'd been out of town nearly a month.
Unfortunately, she was feeling cranky, angsty, unsettled... She had this
niggling itch she needed to scratch and the last thing she needed was Mulder
dangling in front of her, leaning into her space, as he was wont to do,
exercising his oral fixation. It wasn't that he wasn't a suitable male to
fix her problem, far from it; she knew he could fix it more than adequately.
Except it was a recipe for disaster, and at this point in their
relationship... friendship, not something she wanted to lose.
 
 

She toyed with the idea of phoning to cancel, but being left on her own this
evening would probably be too much temptation to go out and get herself
unruffled. But there was also the possibility that Mulder would also be too
much temptation -- damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She wondered
if she could rely on his control for a change and then paced around her
apartment again.
 
 

She needed something... someone to get rid of her tension. Masturbation
wasn't going to cut it tonight but her adopted solution for so long was no
longer a preferred method -- not since Philadelphia. Not that that had been
her problem then, just the outcome had made her wary. The next alternative
was some carefully selected 'victim', but her options were limited and the
consequences not necessarily trivial. Perhaps that was something Mulder
could help with; he might know someone who was not adverse to a one-off
physical gratification session -- no questions asked. But how on earth would
she ask him? And how would it help tonight? She paced her apartment again.
 
 

How many unattached males could Mulder know who could drop everything on a
Friday night for unconditional sex -- with a stranger? And didn't have
halitosis. Or body odour. And fitted her other criteria. And... No, it was
out of the question. And how would she ask him? It's not like he was her
sister -- Hey Mulder, got any spare men you're not using tonight? That was
probably taking the male-female friendship too far. And what if he then felt
obliged to assist her himself? No. No. No. That mustn't happen. Pace. Pace.
Pace. Frustration was evident in her face and actions.
 
 

She really should stop Mulder coming over tonight; she wouldn't be pleasant
company at best and at worst, she might hit her self-destruct button again.
It wasn't as if she hadn't known this was coming. She'd been wracking her
brain for weeks with no success, only to have it now staring her in the
face. If Mulder hadn't been away, she might have gathered her nerve to ask
him for possible solutions, but it was hardly something she could raise
during one of their spasmodic phone calls, which were usually work-related.
 
 

Her choices were suddenly narrowed when the doorbell rang. Mulder was early.
Wasn't that just a cosmic joke? Maybe she could claim a headache in half an
hour and send him home. Unfortunately, half an hour wouldn't be long enough
to bypass her problem, and... AND there was no guarantee she wouldn't
succumb in half an hour.
 
 

He didn't let her get away with her stilted, distracted conversation for
long before calling her on it. 'Was she alright? Was anything wrong?' To
which she gave a standard 'I'm fine' response. Then an emphatic
'everything's fine', only to then over compensate in the conversation
department with a long rambling diatribe about some incident on the beltway.
He let her get away with it for another quarter of an hour or so, noting her
fidgeting and general restlessness before he called her on it again.
 
 

"It's nothing, Mulder, really. I guess I'm just feeling a little punchy --
it's been a frantic week."
 
 

"You frequently have frantic weeks. Your solution is usually to have a long
soak in the tub with a glass of wine, soft music in the background, and
then... sleep it off."
 
 

How delicately put -- just what she needed... his innuendo. "Well, this time
that's not what I need."
 
 

"What do you need, Dana?"
 
 

"I don't know. I need to do something, but I don't know what. I need to
relax but I can't seem to..."
 
 

"De-stress?" he supplied helpfully.
 
 

"I guess so. I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm not very good company tonight. It might
be better if you go home."
 
 

"Better for whom? It doesn't matter, I'm not going yet. It appears to me
that a dear friend is in need of some distraction and I have every intention
of coming up with the goods. So, what started the problem? Have you been
bottling something up, someone piss you off at work, your dry cleaning got
lost, you need to let off steam?"
 
 

Well, she'd tried. She could see the self-destruct button looming large and
red. "No, nothing like that."
 
 

"It's your birthday and no one remembered?"
 
 

"No."
 
 

"Some other anniversary?" he persisted.
 
 

"No."
 
 

"Something to do with gender and a conversational route I don't want to go
down?"
 
 

"Not really."
 
 

"Well, what then?" with just a hint of exasperation.
 
 

She shrugged noncommittally.
 
 

The light bulb went off in Mulder's head. "You're horny!"
 
 

"I am not!" she stated in flat out denial, but she was flustered. Oh God,
now what did she do? There was no way he'd let this drop. She could see the
glee in his eyes. Perhaps he'd just amuse himself at her expense.
 
 

"That's it, isn't it?" he said grinning. He couldn't help enjoying this; the
opportunity to tease stretched before him like an empty three-lane highway.
Which lane should he choose? He could straddle more than one, but what about
the other one? He'd have to merge and weave.
 
 

She squirmed uncomfortably. She didn't want to admit to it but somehow she
couldn't seem to lie about it. Probably some small hope that Mulder would
find a solution.
 
 

He filled in for her. "So, what's the problem? Has your vibrator broken? Let
me have a look at it."
 
 

"No!"
 
 

"Why not? Perhaps I can fix it?"
 
 

"I don't think so, Mulder." Fix it! He had to be joking. Apart from the...
intimacy, this was a man who had exhibited all the technical abilities of a
three-year old with a banana. That is, poking said banana into the closest
hole and seeing what happened -- not even standing back in case it sparked.
 
 

"You're not going to go all modest on me are you?" he teased.
 
 

"Mulder, this is a... personal."
 
 

"So? I hope you're not discriminating, Dana. Are you saying if you were
chatting to a girlfriend, your sister, for example, it wouldn't come up?"
 
 

She ignored his choice of words. "She's a lot bolder than me."
 
 

"And you're a doctor, perfectly capable of discussing this in a detached
manner."
 
 

Also perfectly true, if it was anybody else but him she wouldn't have gotten
herself boxed in this corner. She sighed. "There's nothing wrong with my
vibrator." No point to keep dodging the issue if she wasn't going to throw
him out, which for some reason hadn't even occurred to her.
 
 

"Sure?"
 
 

"Yes."
 
 

"Can I see it anyway?" He was having a very primitive response to the
thought of seeing it in her hand -- hell, he was having a very primitive
response. Well, he didn't say 'he' could discuss this in a detached manner.
 
 

"No."
 
 

"Why not? It's not as if my masturbatory aid isn't freely available for
inspection," he said, waving his right hand in the air.
 
 

Dana closed her eyes and swallowed. She let out a deep breath -- slowly. "I
really didn't need that mental image, Mulder."
 
 

"That bad, huh? So what can I do to help?"
 
 

An eyebrow raised in amusement was her only answer, but she was desperately
hoping he was going to come up with an answer. It was why she'd told him...
let him guess in the first place, right? Why she'd let the conversation
continue.
 
 

Mulder was going full tilt with the teasing, with more than a little
intention of easing her problem the obvious way, when his brain caught up
with the consequences. And the implications. She wasn't doing a 'Kate', she
was here -- with him. She'd been waiting for him -- restlessly, but she had
been waiting. His ego soared. She was looking at him with such hopeful,
trusting eyes, while firmly glued to her chair, feet curled under her, arms
crossed, chewing her lips on the opposite side of the table to him. Oh. His
ego plummeted -- shame about other parts of him. He swallowed his primitive
instincts and concentrated. She had been waiting... and she was looking at
him hopefully. She was asking for help -- his help. His ego soared.
 
 

Dana watched him thinking. Saw the thoughts and emotions as they crossed his
face. The grinning, smug, almost predatory gleam being replaced by
disappointment, then acceptance and thoughtfulness. She could visualize the
wheels turning, the little hamsters scrabbling away. She saw the moment he
got an idea, turned it over a few times and obviously decided it was
suitable. He didn't seem to have given it that much consideration but she'd
forgive him the smug look, if he'd come up with a solution. She'd just have
to hope he'd considered all the ramifications.
 
 

 "Dana, what you need is a good physical workout. I know just the thing.
Come on."
 
 

"What?" Was that a surprised what? Or an 'I need more details' what? Okay,
she'd been anticipating a response -- just not that one. But as she'd not
managed to come up with a solution herself, just what she'd been
anticipating was hard to define.
 
 

Mulder continued regardless of her response. "Your jeans are fine, but you
need flat, comfortable shoes. Better bring a coat, you'll need that until
you get warmed up."
 
 

"Where are we going?" She wasn't completely averse to going, maybe a little
apprehensive. She'd rather expected him to put a few suggestions to her so
she could choose. This sudden need for action was unsettling.
 
 

"It's a surprise. Come on, look lively." He smiled at her, but didn't impart
any further information.
 
 

She hesitated a few moments longer, looking into his face for reassurance.
She saw no duplicity, just an excited, smiling face. That didn't necessarily
mean he had her best interests at heart. He held out his hand in added
encouragement. She tentatively put her hand in his. It was large and warm.
 
 

He pulled her out of the chair. "It'll be fun. Trust me."
 
 

"Why does that make me tremble in my boots?" But she retrieved her shoes.
 
 

He was waiting at the door with her coat.
 
 

************************************************
 
 

"Baseball, Mulder?" She was a touch disappointed -- more than a touch,
actually.
 
 

"Yeah, just what the doctor ordered."
 
 

"But it's boring."
 
 

"That's because you don't understand it. You've never played have you?"
 
 

"Somehow I've found better things to do with my time than hit a piece of
horsehide with a stick."
 
 

"Get over here, Dana."
 
 

She hesitated, unsure. Were his laughing eyes a good sign or a bad sign?
"You think this is a good distraction?"
 
 

"One of the best." He waggled the bat at her encouragingly.
 
 

She walked over to him, slowly, and reached for the proffered bat.
 
 

"Both hands."
 
 

"Huh?"
 
 

"Let me show you." Which is how she found Mulder wrapped around her, his
arms caging her so he could place his hands on the bat. He demonstrated how
to hold the bat, making encouraging suggestions into her ear. Then he swung
the bat with her a few times. He nodded to the boy he'd bribed to shag balls
and they had a few swings attempting to hit the ball. Bat and ball connected
but not necessarily with that satisfying thunk or with much direction.
Mulder offered a few more helpful hints on her swing. "Hips before hands."
And demonstrated. The hand on her hip sent tingles up her spine and her
stomach into swirls. She wasn't sure that his proximity was helping her
problem and it certainly seemed to be starting one for Mulder.
 
 

"Mulder," she said hesitantly, looking over her shoulder at him.
 
 

"Ignore it." His breath on her neck wasn't helping either. "Just get into
the swing and hit that ball. It's therapeutic. Get into the groove and all
your nagging daily concerns will just drop away. And if that doesn't work,
imagine the ball's someone you don't like and try to smack it as hard as
possible."
 
 

"I'm not a violent person, Mulder."
 
 

"Yeah, but you've got things bottled up and you need a physical release
right now. So, just go with it."
 
 

"I'm not sure..."
 
 

"Imagine it's that cop who gave you a speeding ticket last week, or someone
from IRS, or even big bad brother Bill. You're not telling me you didn't
thump him in the past. But now you're all grown up and he isn't here to do
his one useful act which is to act as a punching bag -- so, smack that ball
instead."
 
 

Okay, Bill. Yes, that wasn't much of stretch, to knock Bill into next week.
Wallop. Wow, that was satisfying. Dana probably wasn't aware as the evil
grin spread across her face but Mulder saw it. And 'Hell, shit, damn and
buggery' wasn't that just a wonderful sight. But then again, perhaps he
ought to be worried.
 
 

************************************************
 
 

"How about some ice cream?" Mulder asked. They'd finished the baseball
practice and were wandering back to the car. However, he wasn't quite ready
to give up on the evening yet and was encouraged by Dana's relaxed posture.
 
 

"Ice cream?"
 
 

"Yes, you know, something really indulgent and hormone-elevating... Oh, I
remember -- it was chocolate, wasn't it? So, chocolate ice cream then?"
 
 

"Actually, I don't like chocolate ice cream."
 
 

His face fell.
 
 

"But I do like it with chocolate chips in," she elaborated.
 
 

Understanding raised his hopes again. "Like mint chocolate chip?"
 
 

"Sometimes."
 
 

"What's your favourite?"
 
 

She hesitated before telling him, as if revealing some dangerous secret. "I
like Chunky Monkey."
 
 

"Ooh, I like Phish Food. Let's go find some Ben & Jerry's."
 
 

A little later, they sat on a park bench eating their ice cream. "Has it
worked?" Mulder asked.
 
 

"Has what worked?"
 
 

"The physical exercise and ice cream -- only a double whammy, I know, but
I'm sure you can take care of the third part later."
 
 

"Mulder!!"
 
 

"Sorry," he said, insincerely. "Well, did it?"
 
 

She gave it some consideration. She was certainly less tense, less
fraught -- feeling less explosive in general. Not that the desire had gone,
just the...  volatility.
 
 

"Yes," she said simply, "Thank you."
 
 

"Hey, no need to thank me. My oxytocin levels were boosted, too. So a
win-win situation. Has it, by any chance, raised your levels to view me with
some affection and promise to do it again... soon?" Did that sound pathetic?
It probably sounded pathetic. Fortunately, she didn't appear nauseated.
 
 

Brought up short like that, Dana had to admit to herself that she was
feeling affection towards Mulder right now. Not that she didn't hold him in
some affection anyway -- she was just feeling a little mellower. She
wouldn't admit this to Mulder, though. He might get the wrong impression.
"Don't push your luck," she replied, but with undertones of amusement.
 
 

"I've been reading up on oxytocin. Do you know that some researchers have
found that levels dip below optimal amounts in both men and women, if they
don't reach orgasm twice a week? What's more, one study showed people who
have sex at least three times a week appear ten years younger than their
actual age." He eyed her speculatively.
 
 

"Don't ask."
 
 

He grinned. "I don't suppose that chocolate raises the PEA levels making you
susceptible to falling in love with the first thing you see?"
 
 

She snorted, before looking at him. She stared at him for a few moments,
then slowly her face was overcome with awe. "You might be right, Mulder.
That's just beautiful."
 
 

For just a moment his heart stopped, until he realized she was looking over
his right shoulder. "What?" he said, turning to look.
 
 

"That tree -- isn't it just beautiful?"
 
 

He turned back to give her a filthy look and she giggled. It was impossible
to be mad at her when she did that. He accepted the joke with good grace.
 
 

"So, is it due to brain chemicals too?" he asked.
 
 

She gave him a querying look, mid lick of her ice cream.
 
 

"That the urge gets uncontrollable," he added.
 
 

"You're really pushing the affection envelope."
 
 

"You usually just tell me to piss off."
 
 

"I do not!"
 
 

"Okay, okay, you're more polite than that, despite being a navy brat, but
usually just as succinct."
 
 

She sighed. She didn't want to argue with him. She really needed to get over
this automatic defensive stance she took whenever the conversation
approached her 'needs' and especially her emotions. Mulder was much franker
about his sexuality, although strangely almost as closed with his emotions
as she was, despite appearing to be much more open. Maybe he was more
candid, it's just that he had a lower threshold so he revealed nothing.
Whereas she revealed nothing, which in effect meant she was revealing
something.  Now was not the time for internal philosophical discussion.
 
 

"I am grateful to you, Mulder." Grateful he guessed her problem without
being told, without teasing -- too much. Grateful he helped without being
asked. Grateful for being there, for caring enough. For being a friend. "For
many things. Don't you ever get to the state where... you just need to... "
 
 

"Fuck?"
 
 

"Now whose succinct? Yes."
 
 

"I have urges certainly, including desire, lust, sexual gratification but
they're easy to placate. It is other needs that get... used to get
overwhelming. The need to communicate, to touch, to connect with -- these
are much harder to substitute. Gaps that I have been letting you fill --
mostly subconsciously, until you made me think about it. Certainly the need
to experience life at a bar has subsided."
 
 

She gathered the inference -- that she was doing the same thing. That maybe
she was substituting sex for... the gaps. However, she wasn't ready to voice
that admission yet. There was also a little confession, laced with guilt in
there, which she should appease.
 
 

"I don't mind that I help fill your gaps, Mulder. But shouldn't you be
looking to get someone to permanently fill that role? Let go of the past.
You deserve to be happy."
 
 

"And you don't?"
 
 

"This isn't about me."
 
 

"I guess I'm just expecting it to just happen. Someday I'll meet someone who
will make me want to leave the past behind, but until then, I keep
remembering what I know. It's a vicious circle. Anyway, I am moving on --
just slowly."
 
 

"Mulder..." She couldn't ignore his meaning; despite what they'd said in the
past, he was still hopeful. She had no idea why, she'd thrown such an
arsenal of defences at him. "You said we were just going to be friends."
 
 

"And we are. Aren't we?"
 
 

"Yes, but... you're not hoping this is going anywhere else?"
 
 

"Nooo, but I'm not betting against it either."
 
 

"Mulder..." she said, shaking her head, "Please don't do that... it's not
going to happen... not in a timeframe that's fair to you, and... it might
never happen. I might never..." she broke off to collect her thoughts and
gather enough wit to be coherent.
 
 

Mulder waited quietly, recognising that she needed a few moments.
 
 

"Glaciers move faster than my... emotional recovery. I know I'm improving
and that you have played a part in that recovery. It's even an improvement
that I can admit that to you," she said with a little, ironic smile.
 
 

She held her hand up as he started to speak. As he closed his mouth she
spoke again, "I need to tell you something and... it's not that bad, but I
may... stumble over it. So, I need you to not interrupt... just let me tell
it in my own way."
 
 

'Not that bad'. Okay, so this wasn't the 'biggie', it was something else.
Obviously still painful, but bruising, not scaring. The sort of thing you
just needed to get out -- a quick 'tell the basic details without stopping
or drawing breath', just skimming the emotional quagmire. Otherwise, you got
lost in the thinking and reminiscing, which made it worse. You got bogged
down and it drained your energy. Like slogging on foot through two feet of
snow, instead of skiing over the top. Mulder understood -- perfectly. He
nodded his head.
 
 

Staring intently at a speck of dirt on the floor in front of her, Dana took
a deep breath. "A few years ago I became involved with a detective, for all
the wrong reasons. It was too soon after... too many things had happened. I
guess my excuse would be I wasn't thinking clearly, I was in desperate need
of support and it wasn't as if he didn't know what... about my
circumstances. It worked well... for a while. Jack... Jack had been tracking
a violent, serial bank robber and rapist... for years..."
 
 

Oh God!, thought Mulder. He could see where this was going. He debated
whether to stop her.
 
 

"He got too... involved -- he was getting very frustrated that he couldn't
catch the guy. That the guy seemed to be taunting him. He came home late one
night and he... he must have been reliving..."
 
 

"Shit!"
 
 

She looked up at his exclamation.
 
 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt but you don't have to go on..."
 
 

Now she could see his face. She could see he feared the worst.  "No, no, it
wasn't like that. He was forceful -- no, I don't mean that. He pinned me
down and it scared me and I screamed and it sort of broke the spell and he
was very apologetic... it's just... just..."
 
 

Now maybe he could help. "It reopened old wounds."
 
 

She nodded. "They weren't really old -- just scabbed over. It was nothing
really. If it had happened before, I..."
 
 

"Would have handled it better. Would have been more sympathetic, helpful."
 
 

"I felt so guilty..." She was back to staring at the speck of dirt.
 
 

"There's nothing to feel guilty about."
 
 

"Jack died a few days later. He thought he had the suspect's pattern worked
out and planned a stakeout. He was right. The suspect held the bank up. Jack
was shot by the suspect, who was also wounded in the stakeout. He survived
to escape," she added bitterly. "He died in the shoot out, when they tracked
him down."
 
 

Mulder sighed. That was unfortunate. "You've still got nothing to feel
guilty about."
 
 

She dragged her eyes back up to see his face. "What if I distracted him,
Mulder? What if..."
 
 

He was quick to disabuse her of this idea. "You can't know that. No one can
know that. Not even Jack. There's every possibility he was paying more
attention because you'd stopped him from sinking further into the abyss."
 
 

She was staring at him intently. She'd tried to come to terms with it over
the years but there was just that little nagging doubt at the back of her
mind. Mulder's opinion carried a lot of weight... in this arena, at least.
He had plenty of personal experience. Eventually, she nodded.  "I guess I
know that now, but at the time..."
 
 

"It was a setback... a big setback."
 
 

She nodded again.
 
 

Given the context to the start of the revelation, Mulder knew that she
hadn't told him to get his absolution. "And you're telling me this because I
profile and you're worried that one day I'm going to go over the edge and I
might pull you with me?"
 
 

"Or I might push you."
 
 

"Only if you needed to save your own sanity."
 
 

She looked away. She was glad he understood without having to go into
details --there was another irony for someone who usually took refuge in
details. Then again, she felt ashamed, almost embarrassed that she should
think something like that about him, let alone feel it enough to actually
mention it. But she was too fragile to face that again. For God's sake, it
had taken all her nerve just to be friends. "I'm sorry. It's selfish..."
 
 

"Don't be. It's a distinct probability. A lot of profilers burn out, have
nervous breakdowns, flip their lids -- it's one of the reasons I'm allowed
my little hobby. Dana, you're stronger than you think, you know. The way you
resisted hitting me with that baseball bat is testament to that."
 
 

She had to laugh, just a little one, in relief, in fondness. There'd been
the risk of spoiling their friendship, but it wasn't fair to let him
continue like that. However, it looked like they'd pulled through. "Was I
that obvious?"
 
 

"Certainly not. You were all politeness, the merest downturn of the lips."
 
 

"I enjoyed it. I'm glad you insisted."
 
 

"In that case, you'll understand where I'm coming from when I say that in
actual fact, you have been helping keep me sane. Obviously without knowing
it. But your... pragmatism, rationalism, realism, and factualism keep me
centred, Dana. Don't underestimate yourself."
 
 

"God, I sound boring," she said, while the brain chemicals in her head
swirled and eddied. 'Do I? Am I? Did I? When? Where? How?'
 
 

"Ooh, inferiority complex winging its way from left field. So you've got
your feet on the ground. That doesn't make you boring. You're my corner I
come to hide in. You're full of individuality, intelligence, stimulating
conversations..."
 
 

"If you're trying to boost my ego, you're describing me as a dreary
conservative."
 
 

"That's not what I'm describing. Is that how you see yourself? You're just
playing the hand you've been dealt. Having lost big the first time, you
can't afford to lose again. Under the circumstances, you're playing...
cleverly."
 
 

"But not brilliantly."
 
 

"There you go expecting too much of yourself again. What you need to do is
hitch a ride on my coattails. Watch how I play. It's so much more comforting
losing someone else's money. But remember, I'm an experienced impulse
player -- I like going for the long shot."
 
 

Which means he isn't giving up on their friendship, which is a big relief --
or on them. That she's not so sure about, but somehow she's not going to
worry about it. Mulder knows where he stands and where she stands. All's
fair.
 
 

"So, do you need more ice cream?"
 
 

She smiled, shaking her head.
 
 

"Another cuddle to top up your oxytocin levels?"
 
 

Cuddle -- did friends cuddle? They might hug, but surely not cuddle.
"Mulder, we're on a park bench -- in public..."
 
 

"It's dark. There's hardly anybody about. Are you saying you've never made
out on a park bench?"
 
 

"No. But I'm older and wiser now." She didn't want him thinking she was that
conservative. Yet, she knew that was wrong. She should be thwarting any
pretensions. But somehow, she just didn't have the required killer instinct.
 
 

He took her hand between his, pulling it close before kissing the back of
her hand. A gentle brush of his lips. She gasped at the sensation. He
smiled, then kissed the back of her wrist before stroking his fingers along
the back of her hand, backwards and forwards across her wrist, drawing
attention to the scars. She snatched her hand away and folded her arms.
 
 

He shouldn't push, but she'd gotten so far -- if she could get it out while
she was in this mood, all out in one fell swoop, it would be a good thing.
"Sticking to the principle of getting over heavy ground lightly, which you
have achieved admirably so far, why don't you make a stab at that one? I
asked before if you'd been burnt -- I meant romantically, of course. Not
that I'm an expert, but those look like rope burns to me." He paused, trying
to think of something encouraging to say without sounding boorishly
inquisitive. He came up blank -- served him right for being caught in the
moment, leaping in with his impulse instead of thinking about what he should
say. "If it makes any difference, I don't think you are self-destructive."
He paused again, hoping she'd fill the gap.
 
 

Except she still had her arms crossed and had even pulled her feet up to
rest her heels on the bench -- very close to a fetal position. Staring at
some unseen spot in front of her. God, he hadn't expected to push her too
far. "Dana, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything.  I didn't mean..."
 
 

 "It's okay," she paused. In one way he was right. If she could get it out
now, she could skim the details. What's more, he'd know... something and it
would probably stop him from asking again. "Not so much burnt as more like
amputated. You know, like an amoeba with lots of pseudopodia out. Something
comes down and chops off all the extensions to make a nice round shape,
leaving lots of lifeless chunks of protoplasm and a severally reduced
amoeba. That's what it feels like to me -- like I had all my emotional,
spiritual, psychological pseudopodia out only to have them chopped off
without warning. Leaving me with just enough to function but nothing left
over to extend."
 
 

Shit, what had he said about narcissist followers and posttraumatic stress?
And why should he be surprised? He knew it went deep. It just always took
you by surprise when you knew by just how much. "You didn't lose out
intellectually."
 
 

That almost brought a smile, ever the optimist. In some way that was
reassuring. "I suppose you could say I learned from the experience."
 
 

"Rationally, you've still got plenty to spare," he went on in the same vein,
not wanting to poke the nest of vipers he'd just uncovered, but unable to
back away, glued with that fascinated curiosity that kept you looking at
something deadly -- even when not behind glass.
 
 

"Thank you -- I think."
 
 

"So, what you need is to meet another amoeba who's intellectually and
rationally challenged but has plenty of emotional cytoplasm to spare, with
whom you can conjugate before undergoing fission."
 
 

"Amoebas don't conjugate," she answered, dispiritedly.
 
 

"Time to evolve," he tried.
 
 

"I don't think I've got time for that."
 
 

"That's why you need assistance from an external force."
 
 

She bit back the reply that she was never going to rely on an external force
again. They'd had similar conversations. "I don't want to take and not be
able to give anything back."
 
 

"But you've obviously given in the past. So now, it's your turn to receive.
It makes the world go 'round."
 
 

"I couldn't accept it. Even if someone was foolish enough to want to offer,
I couldn't do that. Having seen what happens to the giver -- how could I be
the taker?"
 
 

"But it doesn't have to be like that -- you wouldn't be doing the same
thing. You wouldn't be deceiving anyone. You were deceived, weren't you?"
 
 

Big time. Caught completely flat-footed. She nodded, not trusting herself to
speak.
 
 

"I can understand that you don't want to put yourself in the position where
you are dependent on someone else for your own happiness. But the simple
things in life can only take you so far." He cast about in his mind for a
suitable analogy or example. "This is probably a really horrible thing to
say, but does your job make you happy? Do you get enjoyment, fulfilment out
of cutting dead people up for a living?"
 
 

Her mind was skittering about all over the place. Desperately trying not to
land in the quagmire, wondering whether she should be affronted but really
needing to weigh what Mulder was saying carefully. Work was easy... easier.
She could go with work. "Well, I'm not sure I get enjoyment from actually
cutting people up, but I get satisfaction from getting to the truth, from
collecting the evidence, analysing it, solving the riddle. So, yes, in a
way, my job makes me happy."
 
 

"Even though you're dependent on someone dying for that to happen?"
 
 

"Dying's a fact of life..."
 
 

"Yeah, that and taxes. I'm not trying to get into a philosophical
conversation... not on dying anyway. The point is, you enjoy giving a family
closure, whether for direct medical reasons or by giving law enforcement
evidence. You're conscientious and respectful of the body. You sometimes
give up your own time to complete the work. And you receive rewards other
than monetary value."
 
 

"Yes," she said, wondering where he was going with this. What started this
train of thought?
 
 

"You see, fortunately, there's still altruism and philanthropy in the world.
Some people are happy to share, the act of giving is their reward. In fact,
the more people give of themselves, the more content those people are with
their lives. Altruism is supposed to be hardwired into our psyches, so you
get immediate feedback to the brain, giving that joyful, uplifting mood. It
makes you feel good, so you do it again. And sometimes you get reciprocity,
which backfeeds into the mood. Heroes are found in the most unlikely places,
people rushing into burning houses to save children, people suddenly pulling
together for the greater good. That's what makes for social cohesion.
Everyone gets on better, feels better."
 
 

"Mulder, are you advocating enclosed communities? So, everyone knows one
another and can do each other good turns? Get their good deed of the day
in?"
 
 

"No..."
 
 

"Thank God for that. For a minute there, I thought I missed you being hit in
the head by a baseball and you were suffering some kind of head trauma."
 
 

He persisted with his theme, trying to get his point across. "I'm saying
it's okay to receive, to take what's offered. Because you are not a selfish
person, you give of yourself all the time. There is no intent to deceive or
betray..."
 
 

"But love is --"
 
 

"Different?" he interrupted her. "Is it? You said yourself, people can't
help whom they fall in love with, it's all brain chemistry, bad choices and
all. I'm sure friends are very similar. You can't pick your family, but you
chose whom to like, who to help. Family, friends, lovers or complete
strangers -- think of it as an emotional bank. Some people have money to
spare, some pay their money in and hope to withdraw it later with interest,
and some just rob the bank. Now someone robbed your bank, so you've got
nothing left. But I might pay in for you, maybe with the ulterior motive of
getting some of my investment returned when I have a rainy day -- when I
need a corner to hide or recover in."
 
 

"What, give you a drink, stop the bleeding, give you a pep talk and send you
back out into the fray?"
 
 

"That'll do for starters." he said, hoping she was getting the idea.
 
 

"An emotional bank sounds somewhat cynical. Like you buy flowers one week
and then hope there's enough in the bank for when you forget my birthday."
 
 

He was suddenly overcome with that gut-clenching guilt that a man gets when
a woman in his life mentions her birthday and he's completely forgotten.
Completely illogically, because she'd never told him when her birthday was.
"Could we just go with the idea rather than the details? Anyway, you'd
probably get more presents because my memory's like a sieve when it comes to
personal stuff like that, so I'd buy them just in case. When is your
birthday anyway?"
 
 

"More likely I'd get no presents at all." She still looked sceptical and
puzzled. Time for shock tactics.
 
 

"Dana, I know... I suspect you've been scathed, scorched, delimbed,
betrayed, deceived, and cheated. You feel embittered, disillusioned,
resentful and wounded. Knowing you as I do, I bet you committed fully, gave
everything, cut yourself from family and friends if they objected to your
choice -- maybe listened to advice but your loyalty wouldn't allow you to
weigh the evidence properly, ignored comments or suggestions that implied
infidelity or betrayal because you were faithful, honest, trusting and
devoted. And, it never occurred to you that someone you loved could be any
different. In fact, your own nature led to your betrayal, adding to the
ultimate ironic travesty."
 
 

She was very close to breakdown; tears shimmered in her eyes, and she was
practically holding her breath to stop herself from sobbing. He'd caught her
unawares and she was shaking in an effort to control herself. A breakdown
was not what he was after. He was after acknowledgement. He knew she knew it
but there's a difference between knowing and accepting. And wasn't there
irony in that statement for himself, too?
 
 

"The discovery that your idol had feet of clay must have been devastatingly
shocking..."
 
 

That caused a snort of derision from her.
 
 

"... but you're a strong woman. Having estranged friends and family, you
only had yourself. You picked yourself up, and carried on going, slowly
putting the pieces back together. You concentrated on your work, which hadn'
t betrayed you. Hard work gave you the distraction, the outlet for your
grief and regret. Now you've got something stable, the temptation is to
stick with it. It's safe, comfortable, known and fulfils the basic needs.
But 'you' can't stop there, Dana. You have to grow, to challenge yourself,
and not just with work."
 
 

"You think you know me? Know my situation? You think that superior brain of
yours has got me all worked out?" That was defensive, petulant and peevish.
He was so close and yet so far, but she still felt he was poking in
places -- sensitive, painful places he had no right to be. It was the anger
that stopped her falling into the pit of despair.
 
 

"No. I was hypothesising, based on my own experiences and what I know of
you. I think I probably got a bit carried away. Dana, I'm not trying to be
antagonistic here and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin the mood, but
this is a loop you need to break out of. I'm here to help, but you need more
than me. Friendship and altruism -- just think about it."
 
 

And just as quickly the anger dissipated as she realized he'd been revealing
himself as well as her. That he was indicating a problem that she would do
well to acknowledge. She'd ignored advice in the past - almost fatally so.
What was it he said -- 'I was warned about her but I thought she just hadn't
found the right man. How naive is that? She married me for God's sake, I
thought that made a difference. I thought it was for life. Right up to the
day she walked away.' That summed it up quite well.
 
 

Sometimes she got so wrapped up in herself, she forgot the world was still
revolving, that other people slipped or were pushed into the primordial mud
of emotion and escaped. That if you weren't careful, your own attempts to
escape, the thrashing and flailing about, might cause whirlpools to pull you
back under. If Mulder was pointing out a problem, she would do well to look
closely at it, whether the advice was solicited or not. Now she took a few
moments to think. He'd risked a great deal to tell her -- spoiled the mood
and not to his benefit - altruism indeed.
 
 

"Mulder... I... we've covered a lot of ground... quickly. I need to look
back at the devastation and think about... things."
 
 

"Good," he said with a relieved smile.
 
 

"And what about your 'vicious circle'?"
 
 

"Mine?" The disconcerted look on his face revealed that the correlation had
not occurred to him. He gave a huff of laughter. "Well... if, while you're
thinking, you come up with any acts of altruism that'll boot me out of the
circle, feel free. Hey, look at that, Dana." He pointed towards a
streetlight.
 
 

She turned to look, despite expecting a contrived distraction.
 
 

"I've been collecting them."
 
 

"What?"
 
 

"It's a little rainbow, just under the light. Do you see it?"
 
 

She nodded. "Collecting them?"
 
 

"Yeah. I've started looking out for them. It's amazing how many you find if
you're looking. Little slivers of colour here and there."
 
 

"And just where are you holding them?"
 
 

"Here in my heart, of course. When I've got enough for a full rainbow, I'm
going to give it to you."
 
 

"Idiot," she said smiling -- definitely doing a 'Mulder misdirection' again.
But she was touched, deep down inside. She even refrained from pointing out
she'd given up on the dream of a rainbow.
 
 

He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. And,
despite all the conflicting emotions swirling in her head, she relaxed into
it and let him.
 

**********
Part 2 of 3

"You're joking? How'd he recognise her?" asked Frankie
around a mouthful of pasta. The story was interesting, but she
needed to get back to work promptly -- budget meeting
immediately after lunch. So she was multi-tasking by
necessity, not from any urgent desire to part from her
companion.

"Apparently, Dana keeps an old family snap in her purse,
which Mulder saw. Still, seeing the resemblance between a
young teenage girl and that facial reconstruction was a leap in
the dark. You know, you've got enough time to savour your
food -- you don't have to inhale it."

Frankie scowled at Rudiger. Part of her wanted to bite his head
off for presuming to tell her how to eat, another part was
acknowledging that he was probably right. And yet another
was musing on the judicious changes that Dave was displaying
with regard to her eating habits -- actually, her health in
general. Subtly discouraging her from eating fat-laden, artery
clogging, cholesterol burdened, carbohydrate boosted, vitamin
deficient, comfort-giving food for every meal. He didn't, in
fact, interfere or evangelistically try to convert her to rabbit
food or anything. They'd had pizza on Friday nights, for
example. But, somehow, she found herself eating salad instead
or fries, pasta instead of pizza, fruit instead of pie. The ice
cream and chocolate stayed though; there were limits after all.
Not only that, now that she came to think about it, but he'd
actually gotten her to walk around the park with him the other
day. Walking! Frankie's idea of exercise usually involved a
trolley and a food market, or just to add excitement to her life,
occasionally a video store. Yet she'd gone without hesitation,
tempted... blinded... enticed by a juicy bit of gossip. Could you
get addicted to gossip?

She'd obviously paused long enough for Rudiger to reassess
what he'd just said to the point where he was now squirming.
Oh, not visibly, but inside he was bracing himself; she could
just see a faint sign of perspiration on his brow. Decisions,
decisions. Which way to jump? His wife's illness and his
consequent care had made him more aware of people's eating
habits, she knew. The repetitive questioning -- was she eating
enough, too much, not enough of the right things, how to tempt
her appetite? Old habits died hard, including her own. Would
her dignity be that compromised if she swallowed it now? Was
this a slippery slope though? Oh stuff it! Poor old duffer
needed to wean himself off his habits slowly. What harm did it
do to let him use her? She wasn't easily budged. Rampant
curiosity won the day. Besides, she was beginning to enjoy her
conversations with Dave -- you know, as in looking forward to
them. That was worth a bit of nagging any day.

"Yeah, Dana was upset -- understandably. Being asked to
identify your sister from a faxed facial reconstruction is pretty
low on most people's list of highlights for the day. How long
had she been dead?"

Dave slowly let go the breath he hadn't realized he'd been
holding. "Couple of years. The body was badly decomposed
when it was found and was mistaken for someone else until
that woman turned up some months later -- also dead. It looks
like Dana's sister's death was the result of her being in the
wrong place at the wrong time. The local cops never got any
leads. Even when they did the facial reconstruction no one
recognised the face. That picture had been hanging on the
notice board for months. It was sheer serendipity that someone
was clearing a few notices from the board and uncovered that
one just as Mulder was walking passed."

"And he recognised it? Just like that?"

"No. He kept going back to look at it. He mulled it over for a
couple of days before faxing a copy to Dana, but whether that
was from a reluctance to give her bad news or because he
wasn't certain, I'm not sure."

"She was... She went white, but quickly got herself under
control."

"She wanted to come out. Mulder had to explain the
background and then ask for her mother's address. She didn't
have a current one. He traced her to Baltimore."

"Didn't know... Is that trouble brewing there?"

"Possibly. Mrs. Scully collared Mulder just as we were
leaving. I couldn't overhear their conversation but there were a
couple of occasions when it looked like Mulder was
squirming."

"And I missed it. Damn!"

Rudiger grinned. "Have you got some cruel and spiteful streak
I should know about?"

"No.... not really... maybe occasionally. Okay, maybe I'm
displaying a petty human trait. It's not that I don't recognise
Mulder's arrogance for what it is. But you have to admit that
seeing Mulder squirm features high as an entertainment factor,
if only because he's rarely discomposed. Stop smiling at me
like that."

"I can't help it -- you, admitting to a human trait."

"Careful, you wouldn't want to see my 'beastly' side," she
countered, but she wasn't really offended.

"I think it's adorable," he smirked.

Frankie snorted. "I think the sun's fried your brains. You
should make sure your trousers cover your ass when you're
gardening. Oh God, look at the time. I've got to go." She
scrambled in her pockets, looking for money.

"It's okay, I'll get it. You go." He waved his hand in the
direction of the door.

She paused. It was an innocent enough offer, but somehow it
touched a feeling from long ago. A man paying for her meal.

"You can pay next time."

"Yeah, right. Thanks." Then shaking the mental moths away,
she strode out in her usual fashion.
 

**************************************************

When next Mulder and Dana met, there were a few awkward
moments. "Sorry," "No, you did the right thing," "Not how I
would have liked to find her," "I'm sure," "Wasn't sure what to
do," "No need to apologise."

And eventually Mulder blurted out, "I met your mother."

"Oh?" was Dana's intelligent response.

"She wanted to know how you were."

"What did you tell her?"

Mulder had no idea why, but meeting Dana's mother had felt
like the Spanish inquisition. Pleading, hopeful eyes with a
touch of gimlet. He didn't feel he could tell her where Dana
was when Dana had expressed a desire not to communicate; it
would be a breach of trust. Yet he felt that Mrs. Scully
deserved... something. One daughter lost to brutal
circumstances, in the wrong place at the wrong time -- no
doubt a case of mistaken identity. Another daughter who she
felt had just walked out of her life -- and both discovered on
the same day. Quite an emotional upheaval.

Mrs. Scully had collared him at the police station, pointed out
by a well-meaning cop, just as he and Rudiger were heading
for the airport. She'd wanted to thank him, then ask a few
social pleasantries like 'how had he known Melissa, her
daughter?' He admitted he hadn't and started to squirm. He
explained about seeing a photograph and noticing the
resemblance -- pure coincidence, conjecture and serendipity.
'Glad he had been of service, given her closure, sorry that it
should be in such a way' and tried to beat a hasty retreat; he
had a plane to catch -- nothing doing. 'What photograph?' she
enquired, mildly. He'd had to admit it was Dana's, despite the
fact he could see the axe falling. 'You know Dana?' had been
the inevitable question. He acknowledged that he saw her
occasionally in his line of work. That they passed in the
autopsy bay. 'For the FBI?' she wanted to know.  'No,' he'd
replied. This was followed by a stream of questions. 'What was
she doing? Where was she? How was she? Was she okay?'

He could only give reassurances that she was well and doing
okay when last he saw her. In the end her gave her his card and
told her to send him a letter for Dana and he'd pass it on the
next time he saw her, but as Dana wasn't a missing person and
considerably overage, he couldn't pass on her address. An
adult was entitled to their privacy, after all. The guilt he felt at
being able to cover himself by legalities was far outweighed by
the thought that Dana would probably kill him, using obscure
but painful medical techniques, if he breathed a word of her
whereabouts. The relief he felt when Rudiger urged him to
hurry or they'd miss their plane was obliterated by Mrs.
Scully's parting question. He'd been able to answer that one
truthfully, that he had absolutely no idea. Now as he sat
opposite Dana eating dinner, it was foremost in his mind... but
he had no idea how to ask her.

"I told her you were fine. I have her new address. She'd like
you to get in touch."

She took the piece of paper he proffered. "Baltimore?"

"Closer than you expected?"

"Yes," she admitted.

What about the baby, Dana? kept running through his mind.
When did you have a baby? Where, when, whose? What the
hell happened? But he didn't ask. This was definitely
something he shouldn't know. She'd have to tell him in her
own time. But still a secret like that would gnaw at him until
he knew 'all'. An unhappy love affair was one thing...

After their last meeting he'd been unsure of his reception. Sure,
they'd seemed to part on good terms... even moved forward a
step, but thinking about it later, he considered that he may have
gone a tad far, a touch heavy-handed. She hadn't seemed angry
at the time but possibly, she'd been shell-shocked. Now that
she'd had time to think about it, she might have plans to dissect
his balls... or sew his lips up... or something. That, and he'd
been thinking about what she'd said. The vicious circle. A fine
one to be giving advice. The fact that he knew he was in a loop
but did nothing about it. Was he really hoping that Phoebe
would come back into his life? Just pick up where they'd left
off? That she was a sensitive free-spirit who he'd failed to
appreciate and if she'd just give him one more chance all
would be well? Maybe there was a quirk in his psyche that
meant he enjoyed getting his emotions yanked out by their
chest hair, being led around by his balls. He hated self-analysis
-- his intellect told him he knew exactly what the answer was
and how to fix it. His ego was afraid to read the outcome
because it might result in him sobbing his heart out while
hiding under the bed.

Meanwhile, he expected Dana to take him seriously. He was
all ready to rush off into the sunset leaving the mess behind
him. If he kept running it might never catch up. Dana was
more pedantic. She was tidy-minded, 'a clear up your messes
after yourself, so you don't have to keep looking over your
shoulder' type person.

What about the baby, Dana?

Dana, too, had gone in for a bit of introspection. She should
have been snarling with resentment at his audacity, his
interference. And although her first instincts had been
defensive, when left to her own devices to mull it over, she
was too experienced to pretend not to understand his meaning;
too intelligent not to acknowledge a hit. Even now the pain and
hurt of Daniel's betrayal, his cruelty, was raw and close to the
surface. She'd never forgive him and she certainly couldn't
forget. And Mulder was right. Her own nature had betrayed
her, so consequently, she couldn't forgive herself. Amongst
everything, she'd shamed and dishonoured herself. She'd side-
stepped some of her morals and principles, giving them up
willingly for love, to someone else's urging... influence and
persuasion. It had all seemed so simple, so logical when her
objectivity was clouded by love -- desire. Lust, she admitted to
herself.  Then she'd been trapped by her other ideals, morals
and principles. Unwilling to admit she'd been wrong,
unwillingly to fail, to concede defeat. She'd committed herself
and Dana Scully didn't fail. When in reality she should have
been 'committed', continuing to blind herself to the obvious,
denying the truth though it stared her in the face.  She
remembered with shame, pleading with Daniel not to go, that
she loved him, that they could work it out, that she'd do
whatever he wanted. It had nearly been her undoing. Never
again, she'd vowed. Never again would she love like that.
Never again would she plead with a man to stay, never again
would she say 'I love you' to anybody. Least of all to herself. If
she couldn't trust herself she certainly couldn't trust a man, if
she couldn't be... she knew her weakness now; love made her
feeble-minded, therefore she could not allow herself to fall in
love. She needed to be detached and objective about people.
Then she'd be safe; then she wouldn't get hurt.

But self-recrimination was an unproductive self-indulgence.
She'd turned to work as balm for a broken heart and raging
inferiority complex. Work had never betrayed her. She'd nearly
betrayed it, sacrificing her own aspirations and ambitions to
someone else's ideas of what direction her career should take.
Fortunately, her options had still been there, a little off
schedule but still there, and she'd leapt at it. Here was her
escape from herself, her outlet for grief, somewhere she could
hide and get lost while she slowly rebuilt her life, her self-
respect, and her confidence.

Enter one Fox Mulder, who seemed to be able to boost her
self-esteem in one breath and shake her confidence with
another, and yet... and yet it was as if he prized her out of her
safe, shadowy corner into the howling wind but didn't
necessarily let her fall. He pushed and pulled her along,
showed her the best place to stand, then released her and stood
back. Having paid attention only to the fact he was violating
her boundaries instead of what it was he was trying to show
her, she instinctively turned, hoping to box his ears before
being blown over only to find, that though there was a stiff
breeze, the sun was shining and really it was a nice day and
that she could stand on her own two feet. On the whole her
behaviour, when viewed dispassionately and with detachment,
was not pretty -- no matter how she tried to justify herself.
Snarling resentment and wounding peevishness were not
acceptable conduct -- maybe understandable in the heat and
hurt of the moment. Looking back, she couldn't understand
why Mulder had persisted.

So, tempted though she was to resent his interference, she'd
grown enough to realise and acknowledge that gratitude was
more in order. Not that overwhelming, one-sided gratitude was
necessarily good for a relationship either. But he didn't rub her
nose in it: 'you're stronger than you think', 'you're my corner I
come to hide in'.

He tried to give her back the feelings of equality. She would
have liked him so much more -- if only they had met before. If
only, if only, if only. More useless, unproductive thoughts. She
couldn't do anything about the moments in the past, and she'd
promised herself to live life as it was instead of what she
thought... or hoped it would be. She could do something about
the moments to come... Nothing world shattering maybe, but a
butterfly's wings and all that. Whatever, good for the soul or
not, she acknowledged to herself that her behaviour towards
Mulder was not entirely unblemished and that maybe she
should do something about that.

So when first they met this evening, and the awkwardness of
him conveying the details of Missy's death was passed, she
saw him still looking a little tentative. Although a small part of
her sniggered and smirked at his discomfort, she remembered
her resolve, and didn't add to his uneasiness, but smiled and
told him to relax. She wasn't going to bite. His relief was
almost comical.

Then the poor man had to tell her that not only had he found
her sister dead, but that he'd been grilled by her mother -- an
interview in which he seemed to have conducted himself with
amazing dexterity. Yet he still looked edgy. Whatever else she
was feeling, the sight of him braced for the firing squad made
her feel small. It was not a pleasant thought that she made him
feel like that, that she'd put him in that position. It was very
lowering. She wondered, not for the first time, what it was he
saw in her that made him so persistent. Why was she his
corner?

If she'd known he was wondering about a baby, her feelings
would not have been so magnanimous. As it was, she was
feeling sorrow for her sister, unsettled about her mother, guilty
about Mulder and generally miserable. She'd tried to formulate
some sort of apology but stumbled over it. Mulder had made
some smart arsed comment trying to disclaim any need, to
which she'd responded with a smack on the arm, saying he
shouldn't make fun of her when she was trying to be contrite.
His incredulous face, accompanied by the question as to
whether she was feeling all right, was the catalyst that finally
allowed her a hearty bout of cathartic tears. He'd moved to
gather her into his arms, muttering something about not
diluting her wine when he had a manly breast at her disposal. It
had made her laugh through her tears, as it was meant to do,
and somehow she'd recovered her poise with little sign of
embarrassment.

**************************************************
 

Having, eventually, admitted the justice of his remarks, she'd
sat and contemplated what next she should do with her life. If
anything. She had a life, which was something. Perhaps not
exciting, but what she had she was grateful for. So what else
did she want out of life? She'd thought long and hard about it
before deciding on any action.

Having gotten to the point where she didn't necessarily see
Mulder as the enemy nor yet as an irritation, and not feeling
particularly embarrassed by shedding tears in front of him,
she'd have thought their next meeting would be... at least
pleasant. But when next she saw him, her reflex smile of
pleasure was rapidly followed by cold white panic with a
sinking feeling in her stomach. In the cold light of hindsight,
there was really no reason why she should have felt panic.
She'd been acting on his advice after all. Getting on with her
life. But somehow, she'd felt... guilty.

What possible excuse could she give him for being here? She
wasn't quite ready to reveal the decision she'd made about the
next step in her life, especially as it would probably come to
nothing. And of all the places to meet him, this had never
featured in her imagination. Fate must be having a giggle at
her expense.

She was standing in the middle of the clinic's reception area.
There was no way she could avoid him seeing her. The very
act of bolting to the front door would draw attention to herself.
She managed to plaster a smile on her face when he caught
sight of her and started in her direction. She prayed she wasn't
sweating too much.

"Well, of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into
mine. Fancy meeting you here" was his opening gambit.

"Just what I was thinking myself. What on earth brings you
here... or is that a personal question?" said Dana, working to
the principle 'The best means of defence is to attack'.

"You suspect I might be earning a little cash in hand? Why?
Would you be interested in my deposit?"

Her heart lurched this time, even though she knew he was
joking. He was joking, wasn't he? She gave him the glare, not
actually trusting herself to speak but hoping to brazen it out.

It appeared to work. He smiled. "Actually, I'm here on a case.
About babies with vestigial tails. Prehensile," he said,
demonstrating with his finger.

"Mulder... Fine, don't tell me," she said, with a touch of
exasperation.

"You're so sceptical. Do I lie to you? It's true. Look." He
flashed a photograph before her eyes.

She had a sudden demeanour change. "Good Heavens. Caudal
appendages... It's extremely rare, but it has been known to
happen. Foetuses have them, their coccyx enlarges to contain
the spinal fluid and then it shrinks as the child develops. I've
heard about such things, but never seen it... but I don't see why
'you' would be interested?"

"Five times within the last three months, all in a town with a
population of less than 15,000 people? It seemed to be more
than a statistical anomaly. "

"Some family relationship?"

"Nope," he said, smugly.

"Well, if the sperm wasn't from the same donor, then it's
probably a job for the local health department," she said
practically.

Mulder's face dropped. "Same donor..."

Just at that point, a woman walked up, putting on her coat.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Dana. I got tied up. We can eat at
the Italian 'round the corner... Oh, sorry." She stopped
abruptly, noticing Mulder.

"No problem," said Mulder. "Actually, there's something I
need to go check with the doctor and I wouldn't like to get
between two hungry ladies and their food."

With that he scooted off and the two woman set off for lunch --
much to Dana's incredible relief that an explanation to Mulder
was not immediately required, and leaving him with the
impression that she was lunching with a friend. She'd seen his
face lighten with Sylvia's appearance, as if part of a puzzle had
been solved satisfactorily. And she was lunching with a friend.
It just wasn't the reason for her being there. Although she knew
perfectly well that her privacy had been maintained,
nevertheless, to think that Mulder had been wandering the
halls of the clinic, while she'd been undergoing an ob/gyn
examination -- mostly naked, on her back, with her legs spread
-- was... disconcerting.

The two friends directed their steps towards the restaurant. "He
looks nice," began Sylvia.

Of course there was bound to be a recoil to successfully
circumventing Mulder. However, an offhand reference of
Mulder to Sylvia ought to get her over this uneven ground.

"I guess he's okay," replied Dana, aiming for nonchalance.

"Okay? Have you got early onset dementia?"

"He can be a bit of a jerk," she responded rapidly, then felt bad
because that was unfair.

"You know each other?" asked Sylvia, homing in on a possible
juicy bit of conversation.

Quick and casual, Dana, she reminded herself. Quick and
casual. "We met through work. He's an FBI agent, wedded to
his work. He's here about the babies born with tails...?" she
said, hoping to redirect the conversation somewhere safe.
Though why she should consider a conversation about Mulder
with Sylvia unsafe she would have been at a loss to explain.

"Oh yes. Isn't that just the most peculiar thing?"  Sylvia went
on to give her the story. This took quite some time, given
Sylvia's gleeful elaborations and suppositions along the way.
It boiled down to four couples undergoing insemination
therapy as a means of conception, successfully ending with the
births of healthy babies. Each baby just happened to be born
with a tail. The first one was carefully explained away, but by
the time it got to five, people were getting suspicious and there
were mutterings about legal proceedings. The doctor was
deflecting responsibility, especially as the last one born was a
natural conception to a single mother, claiming the father was
from another planet. Well, that explained Mulder's interest.

It had been sheer serendipity that she'd run into Sylvia, a friend
from before Daniel, and during. They'd lost contact when
Sylvia and her husband had moved East and she herself had
withdrawn. She'd lost the addresses of her old friends along
with everything else, and emotionally battered as she'd been,
she'd not had the energy nor the motivation to try to re-
establish contact. She certainly couldn't have coped with the 'I
told you so's in the immediate aftermath of the Daniel debacle.

Sylvia tried a probing question in Daniel's direction. Dana
explained that that topic of conversation was not open for
discussion and Sylvia went on to bring her up to date with
several years of gossip that she'd accumulated and was only
too pleased to be able to pass on. Overall, it had been a
pleasant lunch of reminisces and tittle-tattle. They'd even made
plans to meet again, which Dana actually meant to keep.

As they walked back to the clinic, Sylvia to go back to work
and Dana to retrieve her car, it was only natural that fate tried
to balance life's little ironies by conspiring to have Mulder exit
the front door of the clinic just as they approached it. If Dana's
heart missed one more beat today she'd probably end up with a
coronary.

"Oh, hi. You'll be pleased to know that you can be smug,
Dana," was Mulder's greeting.

"Smug?" Dana replied, confused.

"Yeah. The doc did a DNA comparison, he said something
about there being a consistent set of markers... Whatever, the
babies all have the same father. He was grateful to have the
obvious solution pointed out to him."

"Naturally, it lets the clinic off the hook, but those cases were
sperm mobility issues. There's going to be some words said in
those households when the finger of suspicion points to the
wife having conceived naturally and not by the husband,"
pointed out Sylvia.

"One local Lothario? Five different women from different
backgrounds? It might be more insidious," responded Dana.

"What are you thinking?" asked Mulder.

Dana crossed her arms. She really didn't want to follow
through with her thoughts... they were frightening. "That this
isn't anything to do with consensual sex. That it could have
involved some form of Rohypnol rape."

"Shit," said Sylvia.

"It's been called the date rape drug. High doses of it cause a
loosening of inhibitions, memory loss. Now if the father was
somehow able to slip the drug to these women..." continued
Dana, feeling very uncomfortable and exposed.

"A tranquilliser? I didn't think of that," responded Mulder.
"But when and where would he have had the opportunity to
slip it to them?"

"Well, the usual scenario is to combine it with alcohol but...
women having a ob/gyn examination are extremely
vulnerable... "

"You think someone in the clinic...?" The gears in Mulder's
head whirled, reviewing all the people... men he had met that
morning.

"Doctors swear an oath... I don't like to think that..." Dana
mumbled.

"Maybe it's one of the auxiliary staff... or even someone in
administration," tried Sylvia, not liking where Dana's thoughts
were going either. For several reasons.

"Of course. No doubt when you find out who it is, all will be
revealed," Dana directed at Mulder, trying to lighten the
moment and not plunge into unproductive, dark, intimidating
thoughts.

A sudden commotion behind Mulder had them all looking in
that direction. Rudiger shouted for Mulder, and he hared off in
that direction with not even a token goodbye, intent once more
on a quarry.

Sylvia, realizing the time, had to give a hurried goodbye as she
rushed back to work, leaving Dana alone with her thoughts --
which was a mixed blessing.

**************************************************
 

Dana was surprised when Mulder knocked on her door. It was
a Friday night, but they hadn't arranged anything, and she'd
received the impression from earlier in the day that he would
be tied up with the baby tails. The bottle of wine was also
unexpected -- he usually brought beer. He also had this look...
The only way she could think to describe it was odd... goofy.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him.

"Is this a bad time?" he countered.

"Nooo... I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry... Am I interrupting something?" he said, noticing
books and papers spread across her table.

"I'm working on a monograph I'm writing for the penology
review -- Diminished Acetylcholine Production in Recidivist
Offenders."

"Ohh..." he said, a little crestfallen.

"It'll keep," she said, motioning him to the couch. She went to
get glasses and a corkscrew from the kitchen.

"So, did you get to the bottom of the tailed babies?" she asked
as she came back into the living room and sat down.

"It was nothing -- just small potatoes," he said evasively.

She drew the cork and poured the wine. "Well, it must be
something. Did you find the father? Who was that you were
chasing?"

"It didn't pan out," he shrugged noncommittally, accepting the
glass of wine.

"Is there something bothering you, Mulder?"

He looked thoughtfully into his glass for a few moments.
"Dana, can we not talk about work? Can we just talk?"

Dana looked confused. "We are talking, Mulder."

"Yeah. Yes, but can we really... talk?"

She drew a breath. Whoa, where was he going with this? She'd
asked for time to think about what he'd said before and, despite
seeing him at the clinic today, she hadn't actually been
expecting to talk about it again, more just... maybe doing
something slightly differently.  Unless he had some inkling
about why she'd been there. Surely, he wasn't going to push
her on this now? This wasn't his usual approach; he usually
displayed more sensitivity and dexterity -- well, until he got
close enough for the kill. And as for other stuff, she thought
they'd agreed not to talk about... certain things. She looked at
him. Of course, she could be doing him an injustice. He might
want to talk about himself... his situation. She'd thrown her
own thought-provoking accusations at the time. She sighed,
remembering her resolve to not be so defensive, amongst other
things.

A while later, Dana was feeling the relaxing affects of the
wine. She was enjoying herself. They'd been talking about
childhood incidents, now they were up to youthful
indiscretions. Well she was. Mulder hadn't disclosed much of
anything, but she didn't really mind. There was nothing
threatening or upsetting in these stories and Mulder had always
reciprocated -- in fact, he usually started these things, making
her feel obliged to give in return. At some point, Mulder had lit
the fire, which now blazed in the fireplace, and she had put
some music on. She let her head flop back against the couch
back, half listening to Al Green's "Ain't It Funny How Time
Slips Away" playing in the background, while imperturbably
watching Mulder pour wine into her glass, thumping the bottle
for the last few drops. He'd asked about Sylvia, which had
seemed innocent enough. That had led to Marcus.

"So, did you forgive Sylvia for spoiling your now or never
moment?" he asked.

"Sylvia, yes.  Her idiot prom date, no.  We all had to ride back
on the um... what do you call it? The um, the pumper truck."

"In your prom dress?"

"In my prom dress."

"With Marcus?"

"Yeah, with Marcus, the twelfth grade love of my life. I can't
believe I'm telling you this!" she said, laughing into her glass.

"I'm sure you had more now or never moments?" Mulder said
scooting closer to her on the sofa, gazing into her eyes.

Her laughter stopped, her eyes widened and she let out a gasp
of surprise. Her heart rate jumped rapidly. What the hell did he
think he was doing? she thought. Surely he wasn't going to
try... anything? They'd had 'this' conversation.

He leaned closer to her.

Her lips parted in shock. Yes, definitely shock. He was going
to try and kiss her. After all his talk of friendship and altruism
-- he was going to kiss her. Her anger soared. He was just an
opportunistic male after all -- just with a more cunning
strategy. Well, she wasn't going to be taken in by the sly, old
fox. Fox by name, fox by nature. How could he possibly think
she'd welcome this? A sliver of logic slipped through the
alcoholic anger. Maybe it was just one of his teases? He'd done
that before -- better not punch his lights out until she was sure.

He was now so close she couldn't focus on his lips. She'd have
to let him kiss her, then slap him. Right? Just a little kiss --
until he'd committed himself. She steeled herself -- that was
the right word wasn't it, for when your stomach swirled, your
heart pounded, the blood rushed through your ears and your
breathing speeded up? Their lips were about to touch when her
front door burst open, making her gasp and startle in shock.

Then she froze in stunned amazement staring at Mulder in
'battle stance' in her doorway, weapon drawn, staring in her
direction in equal amazement. Dana gathered enough wits
together to look at the Mulder on the sofa. There was
something about the eyes. She scrambled to her feet with a
yelp, pushing 'Mulder' away from her.

She looked from one to the other. The Mulder in the doorway
gave the Mulder on the sofa the 'give it up' look. With a sigh
the Mulder on the sofa slumped back dejectedly and morphed
into a man Dana had never seen before. She stared at him in
incredulous bewilderment. The man just shrugged.

**************************************************
 

Several days later, Dana and Mulder met for dinner.

"How do I know that you are the real Mulder now?" Dana
asked, only somewhat in jest. She'd spent several days
trying not to feel guilty about being caught in very close
proximity to, what turned out to be, another man. It
wasn't as if she and Mulder had never been that close
before -- well, maybe it was a fraction closer -- or that
they were involved with each other with an agreement for
exclusivity. Perhaps guilty was too strong a word, but
uncomfortably embarrassed she most certainly was; it
was just really awkward to give full rein to her curiosity
when she'd been at the receiving end. Fortunately,
fascinated inquisitiveness was the overriding emotion, so
the conversation hadn't been too stilted as they discussed
the 'case'. Van Blundht's physiology was intriguing, to
say the least, and had carried them through most of the
evening, but eventually they could circle the burning
issue no longer.

"That rather depends on how much of yourself you
revealed to the imitation Mulder," said Mulder, trying to
put an airiness into his voice and a friendly, teasing look
on his face that he was far from feeling. He'd been trying
to deal with the astounded jealousy, with the full
gratuitous smack-you-in-the-mouth violent emotions he'd
felt at seeing Dana, on her couch, in a skin-touchingly
close embrace, with another man. Except, she'd thought
the man was him. So what did that mean?

Revealed? Was that a dig? "Are you going to get
personal?" asked Dana, a touch defensively.

"Well... How about if I asked you who Marty was?
Would that information be unique to me? Or would you
prefer to take a pound of flesh to check my muscle
structure?"

"Don't tempt me!"

"I can pull faces." He demonstrated. "But ultimately, I'm
still me."

"Is that a good thing?"

"What I don't understand is how he found you. I keep
everything I know about you up here," he said, tapping
the side of his head. In fact, he'd been expecting some
righteous indignation on this point, and him to be doing
some fancy footwork disclaiming all knowledge. "Didn't
you think something was wrong?" He spun his knife
around on the table, to keep his hands and eyes occupied,
while trying not to get caught giving Dana surreptitious
glances.

Dana was getting very nervous about this. Perhaps she
could move the conversation on. "Well... There were
several things that weren't consistent but then it's not as if
we have a regular pattern. He... asked about Sylvia. It
seemed natural enough. We just sort of progressed from
there..." She twisted the paper napkin in her fingers and
watched his hands playing with his knife, while trying not
to get caught giving Mulder surreptitious glances.
 

Unfortunately, Mulder, though often easily diverted,
although with a disturbing habit of coming back to a
point sometimes up to several weeks later, was still
musing about how Van Blundht had found her. "Sylvia...
Yes, I see. I dare say he saw you there, but why did he
pick you? It's not as if you are trying to get pregnant."
He'd moved on to playing with the spoon now, jabbing
one end in an attempt to get it to somersault.

Dana went very still and quiet, letting her eyes drop to
watch her fingers shred the napkin.

"Dana?" he tried gently, a little puzzled at having
received no response.

What should she do? Was she ready to have this
conversation with Mulder? If she put it off it would only
get harder. What was she afraid of anyway? It was her
life, her decisions. He'd been encouraging her to move
forward, after all. "It's partly your fault," she said,
defiantly looking him in the eye.

That stopped him playing with his cutlery. "Ehh?"  Whoa,
where'd the conversation go? "My fault... that he picked
you?"

She smiled faintly at his worried frown. "Yes. If it wasn't
for you I wouldn't have been at the clinic."

"Because I was encouraging you to get out more?" He
guessed she was just funning -- not actually blaming him.
But he wasn't entirely certain.

"Because you were encouraging me to move on with my
life."

Right. Okaaay. Of course. No, he still wasn't with it. "So,
you looked up an old friend and went to lunch..."

She was faintly amused that he'd completely stopped
fidgeting. That had to be first in all the time she'd known
him. It was obvious his mind had all hands to the pumps
trying to work this one out. She, on the other hand, was
now completely calm. "So, I was pursuing my options to
have a child."

Broadsided. There were other words, gob-smacked,
thunderstruck, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, astounded,
amazed, shocked, stunned, astonished... speechless, drop-
jawed, eye-poppingly, tongue-swallowingly surprised,
that fit the bill. "Urghhg!"  was all he managed to get out.
"I didn't... uhmm, that is... err... who." He closed his
mouth, swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "I know
you included children in your girlish dreams, but I
hadn't.... I guess I hadn't thought you meant imminently. I
didn't realise you were seeing anybody..."

"I was going to use an anonymous donor."

Was? "Anonymous... Couldn't you start by trying the real
thing -- as a next step?"

"That particular step comes with all sorts of
complications which I'm not prepared to take on. Having
children was... I guess you just take it for granted that
some day the time will be right, the planets will all be in
alignment and it will just happen. Well, having reassessed
my life, it's not going to just happen so I... you know."
She ended with a wry smile.

He still felt like he was scampering after rabbits. "This
was a next step -- it seems more like a leap to me." He
still had that touch of astonishment in his voice.

"That's because you don't want children," she replied
mildly.

"I never said that, Dana. It's just that for you, this seems...
impulsive."

She could understand why he might think that, but to her
it was something that had been close to the forefront of
her mind for a long time. "This is something I wanted,
that seemed achievable."

Mulder's mind still hadn't really taken it in. Nevertheless,
there was Dana sitting still, perfectly calm. She was
radiating sincerity and earnestness. "So, you're going
ahead?"

"I uhm... there's... this might become... biologically
detailed, Mulder. It might make you uncomfortable.
Perhaps we should let the subject drop." Faint hope, she
thought, but it allowed her a few minutes to collect her
thoughts. She should have expected him to take the
conversation in this direction. She should have been more
prepared -- then again, preparing for a conversation with
Mulder was usually a waste a time. He frequently took a
direction she couldn't anticipate.

"No, I don't think so, Dana. Yes, this conversation is
outside my usual conversational expertise but... I'm sure
I'll find it fascinating. Give me all the gory details, you
know how you enjoy blasting me with facts. Don't have
any qualms about my male squeamishness." He, on the
other hand, was starting to find his feet.

Could she have this conversation with him? He had no
idea what he was getting himself into. He was in ignorant
bliss. She did feel this desire to discuss it with someone --
it was a big step, after all. He hadn't so far actively
discouraged her from having children; he'd just been
taken unawares. That was hardly surprising. He'd
probably recovered from the shock now and was
embarrassed by his initial incoherence. He did look
genuinely interested; he had that sparkle in his eyes. But
there be dragons in this area. If only he wouldn't delve
too deeply.

The protracted silence caused Mulder to speak again.
"Maybe it's not me who's uncomfortable. Am I ignoring
'no thoroughfare' signs and treading on your delicate
sensibilities again? I apologise. You know what I'm like
when my curiosity is roused."

"Why is your curiosity aroused?"

"Who knows?" He shrugged. "Maybe because it's you
and I'm always interested in knowing more about you."
You never know -- she often responded to directness
positively.

"Your life must be at a particularly slack point if you find
me interesting, Mulder."

Then again, maybe she wouldn't. "Dana... I'm as beguiled
by your mind as you're intrigued by Eddie Van Blundht's
musculature. That fascination I can understand but this
apparently sudden desire to have children doesn't fit with
the Dana Scully I know, and I'm just trying to fit another
piece of the jigsaw. And don't give me any clichés about
'getting to know you'." His last sentence forestalled any
misdirection she might have had in mind.

"I think that's unfair, you often divert attention from the
main theme. It's okay," she said putting out her hand to
avert his objection. "I'll talk. My desire to have children
isn't sudden... we all have a natural instinct to
propagate..."

"We do?"

"There are theories which pose that our bodies are,
simply, vehicles for genes needing to replicate."

"And all those hormones and neurotransmitters whiz
around driving us to obey the laws of nature; to get out,
seek mate, attract mate, hump mate. Repeat until
exhausted or dead. Your biological clock's ticking..."
Then he remembered Mrs. Scully's question. "But why
now? I know you said you didn't want the complications
but within a couple of years you could meet someone,
settle down..."

"It would be nice to be able to think so, but that's a bit of
a fairytale. It's not going to happen and I'm not going to
take that chance. As you said, my biological clock's
ticking and it's not going to be easy for me. I need to give
myself plenty of opportunity."

"Not easy...?"

Of course, he would pick up on that. It was bound to
come out, but if she skimmed... "A few years ago, I was
pregnant... I miscarried..."

"I'm sorry..."

"There were... complications. At the time, the doctors
were doubtful whether I'd ever be able to sustain another
pregnancy. I err... guess I wasn't ready to accept that I'd
never have any children and now seemed like an
appropriate time to explore my options. I'd hoped... but..."

"Yes..." he encouraged her. He had a dozen questions --
but how to ask?

"The odds aren't great and the treatment is expensive to
start with. In my case, it's likely to be prolonged and
repetitive, so the costs could spiral. Given that I'm just
coming to the end of paying off my previous debts, I
probably shouldn't embark on such a financial
commitment. Unfortunately, given my age, the longer I
wait..."

"The less chance you've got," he finished for her.

She nodded and shrugged.

"But you'll be able to conceive?"

"Actually, conception isn't the problem -- it's
implantation and sustaining the pregnancy that's the
issue."

"Does that mean you could conceive naturally?"

"Yes," she said guardedly.

"So... I think I'm back to my original question. Couldn't
you try the real thing? The odds are better than celibacy
and if nothing else, it's your cheapest option."

"That's true, but medical problems aside, it comes with
other complications -- the man. I don't want any romantic
complications, Mulder. Not even to get pregnant."

"It doesn't have to come with romance. You could try an
advert for a sperm donor. You know, similar to that
woman who advertised for sex." He had a mischievous
gleam in his eye.

Dana's eyes widened in surprise. "What woman?"

"I can't remember exactly. She was an older woman
whose husband had died who thought she'd been missing
out on life. She put an advert in a newspaper. 'I'm 59
years old and I'd like to have a lot more sex before I'm 60
in six months time.' I'm paraphrasing. Apparently, she
was very successful."

"I'm surprised she wasn't inundated with weirdoes."

"She had a lot of weeding out to do but there were some
genuine replies. She ended up with five lovers."

"What?" Dana exclaimed, in round-eyed surprise.

"She decided to keep the weekends for pottering around
the garden," he said, by way of enlightenment.

"You're joking?"

"Only about the garden. So, you could try the same thing,
Dana."

"I don't think so, Mulder." She shook her head to
emphasize the distance she was putting between herself
and this idea.

"Why not -- if you want children that much? 'Sperm
donor required, must have IQ over 120, spotless genetic
make-up, good physical attributes, pathological tendency
towards neatness, and a really high tolerance for being
second-guessed. Good health record and blood work
required.' It has the benefit of simplicity, no additional
equipment required."

She laughed.

"What? The IQ should be over 130?"

"Mulder... it wouldn't work. How many men do you
know who'd masturbate into a cup, on a monthly basis...
for a complete stranger... for nothing?"

"Ahh... Well, I did say no additional equipment. If you
take the cup out of the equation..."

And the turkey baster, she thought. "I might get a lot of
responses, but not many who fit the description."

"You only need one," he pointed out.

"I repeat, how many men do you know who would be
willing?"

He sidestepped. "You're being negative, and thinking like
a woman. Men don't need romance."

She pursued. "Really -- no kissing, no cuddling, no
fondling -- just impersonal sex for the purpose of
procreation."

"The big question is, would you do it?" It was a dodge
but there was no point getting bogged down in the details.
Besides, she'd claim he wasn't objective, which would be
true. If he tried to argue the point now he'd project and
allow 'intimacy' to creep into the conversation, which
would be fatal.

"Well..." she glanced at him, then away. Of course she
wouldn't. Would she? She licked her lips. It was a crazy
idea. She should dismiss it out of hand -- it had suicidal
written all over it, but it was a hope -- dangled temptingly
before her nose. She didn't get many of those -- hopes. It
shouldn't really be tempting, but it was. Could Mulder be
right? It would have to be really disinterested altruism on
the part of a stranger. She wasn't sure many male 'friends'
would be that altruistic -- perhaps it would be easier for a
stranger. Dana tried to imagine which would be easier.
She'd certainly made a habit of having sex with
strangers... but not exactly disinterested sex. Although
one or two had come pretty close to the mark, thinking
about it. Would that 'type' of man be just as 'disinterested'
if impregnation was the aim? Would she want that 'type'
to impregnate her? And there went her objectivity out the
window. Funny, when thinking about selecting a sperm
donor, her thoughts hadn't really run into the type of man
who would donate sperm -- for money.  These men were
screened and one tended to think of hard-up students, not
some sleazeball from a bar who, in reality, was just as
likely to get through the screening process. That made her
wonder how many sperm donors lied. So, someone she
knew, or could at least meet first, might be preferable.

Mulder watched the emotions flit across her face. A
vague thought that somehow he'd missed his opportunity
to ask about the miscarriage crossed his mind. "I take it
from your prolonged silence, that you would consider it?"
prompted Mulder.

She jumped, and then blushed. "I guess... logically, I
would have to consider it... theoretically, at least."

"Theoretically?"

"Yes." She nodded, this time to emphasize her closeness
to the theoretical aspect.

"Did I miss some leading edge scientific advance?
Surely, 'practically' would be more appropriate?"

"It's the practicalities I'm thinking about."

"So what are the practicalities? Apart from the act itself."
Sex, he was thinking. He'd been trying for clinical
detachment but now... he just couldn't help himself. The
male mind had a tonal rate of thinking about sex every
twenty seconds, some of it subconsciously. Now here it
was... at the forefront. How was he supposed to not think
about it? He wasn't even going to try.

"How much do you know about the human reproductive
cycle, Mulder?"

He couldn't keep the grin off his face. "I've got practical
experience... on the dummy run side, no actual practical
experience. And only from the male perspective. I've
never experienced period pain first hand, although..." He
caught himself before making a faux pas. "I know plenty
of theory."

"So you know that human sperm, although manufactured
constantly, takes two to three months to mature? That
certain activities, like excessive alcohol intake on one
occasion, can have a detrimental effect on sperm quality
which may result in fertility problems for several weeks?"

"Maybe I need a refresher."

She smirked. "On the female side, a woman is born with
all the ova she'll ever have and at puberty starts to
ovulate. Ovulation normally occurs once in a cycle,
not necessarily in the middle, but usually fourteen days
before the start of the next period. Again, certain factors
such as health, diet, and age may inhibit ovulation.
The ovum lives for twelve to twenty-four hours --"

"You mean there's only one day in a month that a woman
can get pregnant?" interrupted Mulder, feeling somehow
that he'd been cheated somewhere along the way.

"Essentially. However, sperm can live for two to three
days in the woman's reproductive organs. And there are
reports that it can survive up to seven days, so it's
possible for fertilization to take place several days after
intercourse. In simple terms, copulation once, close to the
time of ovulation, will give successful conception."

"Just once? Surely..."

"Once is all it takes, Mulder."

Well, yes, he knew that. But if it was that easy... "Yes,
but it usually takes more than that doesn't it?"

"Obviously, there's a wide variation. There can be many
barriers to conception and carrying a baby to full-term. A
couple trying to have a baby would be advised to have or
to adopt a healthy lifestyle, with a balanced diet and
regular exercise. No smoking or drinking or recreational
drugs. To avoid exposure to industrial and occupational
hazards by following safety procedures and wearing
protective clothing when provided. Also, to avoid
exposure to sexually transmitted diseases by adopting
safe sexual practices, such as using condoms and
reducing the number of partners. Further, there is some
evidence that suggests that stress reduces semen quality
and possibly affects ovulation, probably due to hormonal
changes in the body, so stress management should be
practiced." She smiled at him. She knew very well that
her answer wasn't along the lines he'd been thinking but
she couldn't resist the clinical response.

Sex. He could do that. He was a fairly clean-living guy;
the state of his kitchen didn't count did it? He made a
mental note that he really should clean out his fridge
again. Pizza was a balanced diet, wasn't it? Maybe if he
asked for extra tomato. Occupational hazards... hmmm,
maybe he should take more care what he stuck his fingers
in. He already exercised so that was no hardship and the
rest hardly came into it. "The regular exercise would be
once a month, would it?"

She gave in this time. "Well, the medical advice would be
that couples have intercourse once a day beginning about
five days before the predicted day of ovulation until signs
and symptoms show that ovulation has occurred."

"Only once a day?" He was pleased his voice was well-
modulated. Once a day for five days. Seeeeeeeeexx!,
went his mind.

Typical male, she thought. She could see what he was
thinking. "After ejaculation, the sperm count needs to be
allowed to increase to insemination levels. For the best
probability of fertilization, there should be at least
twenty-four hours between ejaculations."

"Oh. I've read that men produce fifty thousand sperm per
minute," he tried.

"And one ejaculation contains three to five hundred
million sperm," she countered.

"But it only takes one sperm to fertilize an egg," he
parried.

"Yes, but it takes millions to break down the mucus
lining of the ovum wall to allow that one to enter.
The ultimate in self-sacrifice. Once one sperm cell
enters, the ovum wall changes consistency preventing
entry of any more sperm."

"Oh," he conceded. He pondered that one for a few
moments. "And how do you know that ovulation has
occurred?"

"That's more difficult to determine. However, the position
of the cervix can indicate what stage of her cycle a
woman is at, as can the conformation of the mucus in the
vagina. Although the latter is subject to inconsistency
when contaminated with semen. Also basal temperature
increases by approximately point two degrees Centigrade
following ovulation. In fact, research has shown that the
chances of conception are limited to the five days before,
and the first day after the temperature rise, that is just
before rather than after ovulation. Hence the medical
advice. However, the most fertile day was found to be
two days preceding the temperature shift, so with a
regular cycle intercourse could be restricted to those two
days."

Damn. He was conscious of disappointment in various
regions of his body. Five sounded much better. Still twice
was better that none, right? "That's it? Two days of sex
and nine months later a bundle of joy?"

"We've already established it only takes once. But yes,
essentially that's it. However, there's only a twenty to
twenty-five percent chance of fertilization occurring, so it
can take several months for pregnancy to occur.
However, it shouldn't take longer than twelve months."

"Twelve," he said, nodding sagely. Sex, went his mind.
He was aware of a reignited interest in various regions of
his body. "And you know you're pregnant when...?"

"If the ovum is fertilized, implantation of the embryo
occurs about six days after ovulation. A post-ovulatory
temperature rise that is sustained for eighteen or more
days is an indication that pregnancy is underway. A
pregnancy test taken after a minimum of fourteen days is
more accurate, although not always reliable."

"Well, all in all it doesn't sound too onerous. But I guess
you'd want proof of fertility, evidence of past success...
what was it? Sperm motility issues? Would you need to
send the guy for inspection or would you do that
yourself?"

"Well, detecting fertility, even with a track record, is not
that easy... Measuring sperm count is a very technical
business and results can be affected by many factors,
including the length of time between ejaculation and
semen sample analysis, and how the sample is kept when
being transported to the lab. Sperm count in an individual
can vary enormously from day to day, so a single sample
is inadequate to assess semen quality. Usually at least
two, preferably three, samples are analyzed, each at least
two to three weeks apart."

"You mean you can't just tell by looking at the swimmers
under a microscope?"
Why did she feel this conversation about theoretical
practicalities was spiraling rapidly towards the physical
reality? "Obviously, it's possible to check that the
spermatozoa are of normal shape and form, that they are
alive and are swimming with forward movement, some of
which should be swimming rapidly, others can be moving
more slowly so long as they are moving forward. I can't
remember off the top of my head what the percentages
should be. And of course the concentrations have to reach
a minimum. However, sperm count is only an indication
of fertilising capacity and a normal count does not
guarantee success. In addition, more is not necessarily
better, as too high a sperm count can also result in
fertility problems."
"Right. So what you're saying is the man would need to
visit the clinic to have his inadequacies exposed. A guy
might balk at that, Dana. Couldn't you just go with the
odds?"
"If the donor is going to balk at a clinical examination
wouldn't he also balk at impersonal sex? It would only be
the same tests that all sperm donors go through. As the
aim is impregnation then all possible barriers should be
eliminated. That includes anything in his lifestyle that
might be detrimental to sperm production. "

Mulder didn't think it was the same thing at all, but
thought better than pursuing it as it might expose a
certain personal interest that he wasn't quite willing to
openly display just yet. "This would be part of the 'wear
boxers' practice, would it?"

"Actually, the evidence does not suggest that wearing
boxer shorts, immersing the testicles in cold water or any
other of the old wives tales will improve semen quality."
She wouldn't mention to Mulder that she had read an
interesting research study from the Netherlands, which
showed that wearing tight leather trousers and tight
plastic underwear together affected sperm motility, but
neither had an effect alone. He'd have way too much fun
with that.

"I don't see how a guy who's going around being a sperm
donor can practice safe sex. He might be a regular stud.
That could be a stopper, couldn't it? I suppose you could
consider someone practicing safe sex with other partners
provided it was within the limitations you've mentioned."

"I was speaking in generalities. I think this is where the
practicalities conflict with... my own feelings. Logically,
of course, that's a perfectly acceptable scenario.
Unfortunately, I find myself thinking in terms of
exclusivity, which is unreasonable... Well, thanks for the
suggestion, Mulder, but I don't think it's viable."

"Why? If that's how you feel, just add it as another
parameter. What've you got to lose? So, let's recap. You
need a healthy, reasonably intelligent male, prepared to
give you his medical history and undergo inspection,
available for copulation duties a minimum of two nights a
month..."

"It need not necessarily be nights..." She didn't know why
she was prolonging this discussion; it was out of the
question.

"What, you're going to do nooners? Perhaps someone
with a fetish for cold, flat metal surfaces. Or perhaps
you're thinking of an alternative morning exercise to
jogging." He really must get those autopsy table thoughts
out of his head. It might be argued that was a sign of an
entirely healthy interest in sex and anything that
happened between consenting adults was perfectly
normal...  but surrounded by dead bodies?

"Don't get too carried away there, Mulder. I was just
trying to eliminate the depth of the commitment."

"Right. So, a minimum of two consecutive 'days'... I take
it you know your cycle?" He looked at her enquiringly.

She tried not to squirm. She wasn't comfortable
discussing her 'cycle' with Mulder. It just seemed too...
intimate. She sighed. She really ought to be used to this
by now. How many times had they touched each others
boundaries in this area? And, the theoretical aspect of this
discussion was hanging by a thread. Detachment
required. "Nooo... my cycle isn't regular."

"Oh. What's the implication of that?" Sex, went his mind.
There was no getting away from it.

"Theoretically, it would make sense to start having sex
twelve days after the start of the last period and continue
until a day after the temperature spike."

That meant more sex, right? A gleeful, happy dance from
certain regions of his anatomy. "So, what's that...?"
Arithmetic had never been his forte but some incentive
seemed to be triggering the appropriate neurons. "Five...
eight... ten days?"

"It wouldn't have to be every day, as the sperm live for
several days. Every two or three days would be
adequate."

Let her think that; however, it gave him a lot more to play
with. "Despite the medical advice? Okay. So do we have
enough to draft an advertisement?"

It was certainly an idea, if only... "I don't think I have the
nerve, Mulder. There're too many things that could go
wrong -- too many consequences."

"I detect negative vibes. What you need is a dose of
testosterone to get you motivated."

"I am motivated, Mulder. But experience makes me
cautious. And... Well, it's... I'm..." So close, she wasn't
going to get squeamish now. "This was all theoretical
anyway."

"How about if I make discreet enquiries amongst my
acquaintance -- the 'currently sexually quiescent but for
lack of opportunity' ones?"

Her heart jumped. Suddenly this was getting very real,
very close. "You know someone who might fit the bill?"

Sex. Me. Me. Sex. Try as he might, and he had to admit
to himself that he wasn't trying very hard, he was reacting
in a very primitive way. 'Regressing to an almost
prehistoric state, obeying only the, often savage, laws of
nature'. Where'd he heard that quote before? Never mind.
Basically, he was having an animal response. Civilization
and social mores had him giving a wide berth to the
thought of children, but here he was thinking, sex, mate,
impregnate, reproduce. If Dana was going to have a baby,
something deep inside wanted it to be his. The thought of
her swollen, pregnant body waddling around... he wanted
it to be his. All those antisocial characteristics -- slyness,
cunning, territoriality, possessiveness, jealousy -- were
just not far enough under the surface. He wanted to rut,
hide her in the cave and guard her against all comers,
then rut some more. Then when it became obvious she
was pregnant, he could strut around saying 'I did that'.
Me, me, me and MEEEEEE. First things first, he had to
catch his mate. Brute force wasn't going to cut it.
Cunning came to the fore.

"Possibly. But... Well... altruism aside, if you want the
exclusivity, even for impersonal sex, you might have to
give a little bit on the limits. I mean could you even do
that yourself, Dana? The no kissing and things."

"Yes... I suppose so. But..."

"But?"

"It doesn't matter. If I ever got that far..."

"If? Does that mean you're not going to try?" Sex, his
mind went again. The tonal rate had increased to every
six. Sex.

"Do you really think it would work?" she asked warily,
feeling this was way beyond the realms of common sense
but anxious not to miss a possibility.

"I can't see anything wrong with the theory. Perhaps not
the most conventional approach, but if you get what you
want..." He shrugged. Sex.

"Would someone that altruistic just walk away? I'm sure
it would just get complicated. If it was just once or
twice... but any prolonged interaction would lead to
complications."

"I don't think it would be a problem, Dana."

"I don't see how you can be so sure. How would..." She
paused as sudden inspiration hit her like a thunderbolt.
"Mulder... you're not thinking... are you going to
volunteer yourself?"

Damn. Well, he had to get to it eventually. "I'm
considering it in theory." Sex.
 

End part IV (3/3)