HUMAN CREDENTIALS (20/24) KEYWORDS: Mommy Dearest. ----------- Part twenty. ----------- "It's just the night in my veins, making me crawl in the dust again, it's just the night under my skin, slipping it in." - The Pretenders - Night In My Veins - Mulder woke up and felt the cold night air rush inside the van. The gunmen had stopped at a gas station and he looked dazedly through the window to see Byers filling up the tank. They'd been driving back westwards all day and at some point he had fallen asleep on the back seat with his partner gathered against him. "Where are we?" he muttered thickly. Langly's head peeked out from above the headrest of the passenger seat. He had opened the door on his side and was about to step out the vehicle. "Pennsylvania." They were heading towards Rhode Island, Quonochontaug to be precise. Going back to Washington was out of the question. Scully needed a safe place to rest and he couldn't possibly turn up with Faye in DC. His parents' deserted holiday home was the best place he could think at such short notice, and besides it was by the sea: Scully always felt better near an ocean. The object of his thoughts shifted slightly in his arms and he took the opportunity of checking the back of her neck. The needle mark was still visible where a microcircuit, engineered by the Gunmen whilst in Washington, had been injected next to the chip to block its homing signal. She had slept right the way through their journey which had made him slightly worried, but Faye had assured him that it was part of the mending process. She'd also warned him about possible nightmares, but so far he'd failed to witness any sign of them. She shifted again, made a funny little groan in the back of her throat and opened her eyes. He smiled down at her, brushing errant locks from her temple. "Hey, sleepy head." "Hmm...'ey." Blinking, she lifted a hand to his stubbled cheek. "You need to shave," she whispered in a sleep-husked voice. He chuckled and traced the curve of her chin with a lazy finger. "You too, partner." The hand resting on his cheek drew back and slapped him lightly. "Oaf." He shot her a goofy grin in lieu of reply, as she straightened up, wincing. "What's wrong?" "I've got pins and needles in my legs." "I suppose that's a good sign if you can feel them." He helped her sit upright next to him. She looked around, while rubbing her thighs, taking note of her surroundings for the first time. She noticed the plastic cut-out of Nixon's grinning head dangling from the rear-view mirror. "The Gunmen?" "Yep, if it weren't for them I would probably still be going slowly insane in my apartment." She reached for his hand with a tight little smile and squeezed it hard in understanding. She'd nearly gone insane too during that time, but of course that was not something she was about to voice. "Thank you." He shook his head. "Thank the Gunmen. They're the ones who found out where you were. Which reminds me...you owe Frohike a kiss." She raised an enquiring eyebrow, removing her hand. "I don't remember promising him one." He looked at her like a kid busted with a fake ID and dropped his gaze to his knees. "Well...*I* kinda did..." "You promised Frohike a kiss?" "Uh..." "From me?" "Well...sort of..." When he dared looking back at her, she was staring at him with her Victorian Governess disapproving look, but two nearly imperceptible lines bracketing her mouth gave her away. Agent Scully, much to his relief, was indeed amused. "Why, Agent Mulder, I didn't know our partnership involved a legal claim over my lips." He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling like green pagan bonfires. "It was in very small print in your contract, you must have missed it..." he breathed, scant inches from her lips. He closed the remaining gap and kissed her, his heart inflating like a weather balloon as he felt her respond and lean into the kiss, until... "OW!" Mulder drew back sharply and brought a hand to his lower lip. She'd bitten him; not hard but just enough to startle. "You might want to reconsider the terms," she warned before leaning towards the window. "Where are the others?" "Probably gone to the bathroom." "Speaking of bathrooms..." Mulder watched struggle to stand up. She managed to do so, but at the first step her legs gave out and he had to catch her. She fell back onto the seat. "Don't worry, Scully, I'll carry you there." She sighed in frustration. "I don't have much choice, do I?" Mulder crouched in front of her and, laying one hand over her knee, pinned her with a worried gaze she had learnt to recognize as the 'I-have-something-to tell-you-but-you're-not-gonna-like-it' look. "Scully?" "What?" "Faye came with us." "Faye?" "Your...whatever she is..." He witnessed a phenomenon he had observed too many times. Scully's walls rising up and shutting out any light coming from her eyes like smooth and dark shields over a high-tech bunker. "I see." "Scully...she's on our side, she helped us get out. And from what she told me, I reckon she hates the men behind the Project as much as we do." His partner was staring at a spot over his shoulder with a stubbornly vacant look in her eyes. "She's not responsible for what she is, Scully. You have to give her a chance." A spark of anger flared like a comet in her artificially empty gaze. "Stop telling me what I have to do, Mulder. I'm your partner, not your wife." He slammed his hand against the upholstery. He'd have more chance of getting Skinner to wear an Afro wig. He drew a deep breath in to calm himself. "All right...you still want to go to the bathroom?" She nodded rigidly and he lifted her in his arms. She was all angles and tensed muscles against him. He climbed down from the van and headed towards the station's restrooms. *** Faye was washing her hands when they both entered. She shot them a sideway glance while grabbing a paper towel to dry her hands. "I told you she would wake up eventually," she told Mulder. Scully was looking at her stonily. The animosity emanating from her was so obvious he could almost feel the bitter taste of it under his tongue. Faye apparently paid no heed to this. She took a few steps towards them while wiping her hands and fixing her mother evenly. "I want to talk to you." "And I don't," replied Scully coldly, turning her head away. Mulder caught a glimmer of hurt sizzle briefly in the young woman's pale jade eyes. "Why not?" Scully shifted stiffly in his hold, her clenched fingers digging painfully in his upper arm. If she could have walked, Mulder was certain she would have stormed out by now. He caught Faye's unyielding stare and mouthed: "Later," with a pleading look. The blonde clone ran her tongue over her upper lip as Scully did every time she was annoyed, perplexed, or simply nervous. Mulder shuddered inwardly. Faye finally ducked her head and brushed past them to leave. She didn't look happy. He carried Scully into one of the stalls and left her on the toilet seat. "Call me when you're ready." She nodded mutely, staring at the tiled floor. He closed the door as she started reaching absentmindedly for the waistband of the sweatpants he had lent her. He stared at his haggard expression in the mirror and splashed some cold water on his face and neck. Nothing he could say could make her feel better; she would not open up to him now, not when she was trying so hard to keep a tight lid on the panic he knew was brewing inside her. The family reunion was not starting under favourable auspices... *** The pain in his outstretched arm brought Krycek back to consciousness. His brain was foggy with drugs and he had to fight to pry his eyelids open. Cigarette smoke drifted under his nose. "You betrayed my trust, Alex." The dark blur in front of him gradually took a more human shape, so to speak. "I learnt from the best," he rasped. He was slumped against the wall of a medical ward, with his right arm handcuffed to a towel rack above him. His prosthetic arm had been removed. "And you thought you could get away with it?" He tried to shrug and a burning pain shot down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he closed his hand on the steel rod and pulled himself to his feet. A sudden bout of nausea made his head spin and he felt the cool wall connect with his cheek. "I had to try," he panted, fighting to remain upright. "Why? For her?" Krycek slowly shifted his body to lean on his back and peer behind his former boss. Marita was strapped to an operating table with her nightmarish face turned towards him. Her hydrocephalic head had been shaved of what little hair was left. Dark veins criss-crossed the grey skin of her forehead and her lips had receded to a thin bluish line against her discoloured gums, the contrast with her still white and perfect teeth giving the overall effect of a grinning skull. She seemed to be watching him, but it was hard to tell with eyes that looked carved in onyx. He averted his gaze. "What's the matter, Alex, don't you find her attractive anymore?" "What do you want?" he snarled. "From you? Nothing." "You're lying." "I can assure you that I'm not." "Then what am I doing here?" A doctor stepped out of the shadows and, holding a hypodermic, approached Marita. "Well, since you put so much of your heart in this project, I thought you'd be interested in witnessing the autopsy." Krycek lunged towards the man, yanking at his cuffs. "Touch her and I'll kill you!" "How noble of you." The old man flicked his ashes and turned to wave at the doctor. "Proceed." Krycek watched powerlessly as the doctor administered the lethal injection. Marita's dark gaze was still fixed on him and he saw a white bubbly foam ooze from the corners of her eyes. He was pretty sure they were tears... *** The rest of the journey was spent in relative peace. When she'd called him to help her back to the van, she looked more calm and collected, even though her reddened eyes told him she must have been crying. She had greeted the Gunmen with genuine warmth before curling up wearily on the back seat, physically shutting everybody out. Faye did not try to talk to her again. They arrived in Quonochontaug in the early afternoon and the Gunmen offered to go and do some shopping while Faye and Mulder removed the dust sheets from the furniture, made the beds and generally busied themselves with the tedious but necessary task of making a house which has been unoccupied for several years habitable. When Mulder stepped onto the porch some time later after showering, Faye was leaning over the wooden rail, staring pensively at the sea glimmering between the pine trees. Scully had fallen asleep on the sofa almost as soon as they arrived. She slept so much he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't more a means of escaping reality rather than an after-effect of the treatment. On the other hand, it now allowed him to have a proper conversation with her strange offspring. "Faye?" The young woman turned around as if she'd been expecting him. "Are you...uhm....are you a hybrid?" She didn't seem bothered by his question. "Technically yes...but I don't have green blood, if that's what you're implying." "You're human?" "Not entirely. Most of my DNA comes from my mother, so I'm fairly similar to a true human clone, but my genome was enhanced with replicas of selected alien genes using in-vitro genetic hybridisation techniques." "For what purpose?" "I think I was a lab rat used to test the validity of cloning and hybridisation programmes, but that's all I know." "That must be really ego boosting," Mulder replied with a grin. The blonde clone didn't smile nor reply. She seemed truly impervious to humour, not just pretending to be as Scully so often did. He braced himself for his next question, aware that he was stepping into uncharted territory. "What did you want to talk to Scully about?" "I wanted to explain to her what I am." "Why?" "Since I was created without her consent, I thought it was my duty to inform her of what her genetic material has been used for." He looked slightly surprised. "Is that all?" Faye frowned, leaning her back against the balustrade and stretching her hands over the wooden rail. "What do you mean?" "I was expecting something of a less factual nature." "I don't understand." "I just thought shop talk would not be the first thing on your mind." She straightened up slightly as his words finally began to make sense. "You assumed I would try to establish an emotional connection?" "Something like that." She shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know how to proceed." The way she phrased this nearly made him laugh. "What? Were you raised in a cell or something?" "Yes." His amusement was short lived; now, he could only stare at her as confused apologies collided with each other in his mind like billiard balls on a pool table. "Don't let your eyes fool you, Agent Mulder. I'm only five years old, and the concept of family is not something my makers felt it useful to teach me." He pondered over this for a while, the little wheels in his head clicking into full shrink mode. "Does it bother you?" "Lack of knowledge always bothers me." He stood up and started pacing the porch thoughtfully. "There could already be an emotional bond you're not aware of," he mused, stopping in front of her. Her eyebrow shot up, intrigued. "Explain yourself." "Well, you were worried about upsetting her for a start..." "I don't like people being upset, it makes me uncomfortable," she cut him off. "Fair enough, but you also looked hurt when she refused to talk to you." She remained silent for a long time, creasing her brow and biting her lip as Scully did when confronted with some impossibly complex riddle. "I felt...sad," she finally conceded. He nodded. "Because what she thinks is important to you." She shot him a worried look. "Is it...normal?" At that moment she appeared to him as she really was: a child seeking reassurance. "It's perfectly natural," he replied soothingly. She accepted his answer with a tiny nod, before pinching the bridge of her nose. "My head hurts a little. I'm not used to long journeys like this." "Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep? There's nothing else to do for the time being." She nodded again and headed inside the house. Mulder watched her go, his mind reeling with the idiosyncrasies of Faye's behaviour. *** The Gunmen came back eventually and he helped them carry countless shopping bags into the kitchen. As he was carrying a paper bag full of groceries and trying at the same time to prevent with his chin the six pack precariously balanced on top of it from following the natural gravitational pull, he saw that Scully was awake and was looking groggily at the men going back and forth in the living room. After depositing the bags in the kitchen he went back to the main room and offered her a glass of apple juice which she drank greedily. He made a mental note to make sure she fed herself properly tonight. She'd been living on fruit juices since Indiana on the pretence that eating while travelling made her sick. In other words she hadn't had any solid food for the last two days, and God only knew when her last proper meal had been. Bootleg medical facilities were not known for their catering services. "The hibernation season's over?" he teased. She ignored him and hid a very unladylike yawn behind her hand before sitting up. He was glad to see that some colour had returned to her hollow cheeks. "You went shopping?" "The Gunmen did." "Let's hope they have more sense than you when it comes to nutritional value." "Just because I don't dine on tofu and bee pollen doesn't mean I don't have a balanced diet," he protested. She finally deigned to grace him with a smirk. "Mulder, you've got a complete ecosystem thriving in your fridge." "These are wrongful allegations made to discredit my credibility." "I've seen it." "Since when do you believe what you see, Dr Scully?" "Since I saw one of your take-away leftovers sporting a green Mohawk." Despite its silliness, he was aware that this type of exchange was a roundabout way for them of checking that their atypical communication channels were still open. Well at least the ones which did not trespass into the many restricted zip codes. "Punk food in my fridge? Cool!" "It certainly had no future whatsoever." He dipped his head and chuckled. When he focused on her again she shot him one of her rare genuine smiles, the one with the teeth and dimple options. Mulder decided it was a moment worth featuring right next to the alien spaceship in his 'Witnessing Of Astounding Occurrences' mental folder. A stage cough made them snap their heads towards Frohike who stood in front of them with an amused smirk and a pair of crutches. "Sorry to interrupt the Kodak moment." He handed her the crutches. "We thought you might find these useful." Scully smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you." "Anything you need, Agent Scully," he leered at her. Scully held his gaze evenly with a slightly lifted eyebrow and settled the crutches by her side. Next, she gestured Mulder off the couch and crooked her finger towards the little man. "Come here, Melvin." Her voice had dropped several octaves and Frohike's leer vanished to be replaced by sudden panic. "Sit down," she commanded. He complied and nervously watched her as she leaned towards him. "Mulder told me I owed you something, and I have to agree you deserve it." Next thing he knew his face was between her hands and she was kissing him. A long, heartfelt kiss. Square on the lips. When she drew back Frohike looked utterly shell-shocked. Mulder stepped forward and waved a hand in front of him. "Hey, Hickey?" The little man didn't react, staring blankly in front of him with the glazed blissful expression of a Garden Gnome - if anybody ever had poor enough taste to model a lawn ornament after Frohike, that is. Mulder shot a stern look at his partner. "Very clever, Scully, you've crashed his system." She replied with a 'deal-with-my-lawyer' shrug and reached for her crutches. Mulder was by her side in a flash and helped her up. "Madre de Dios," Frohike breathed, finally coming out of his stupor. Byers and Langly entered carrying the remaining shopping bags and stopped in their tracks when they noticed their friend, sitting on the sofa with his hands hanging limply at his sides and a dazed expression on his face. "Something wrong, Frohike?" Langly asked. Getting to his feet, their companion muttered something about a stiff drink and headed toward the kitchen with a somewhat unsteady gait. Langly and Byers stared at each other and shrugged before following him. Mulder turned toward his partner who, leaning on her crutches, had already started to move away from him. Her steps were slow but more or less steady as she headed for the hallway leading to the downstairs bedrooms. In two long strides he reached out for her shoulders, stopping her momentarily to steer her in a different direction. "You want to head towards the kitchen, Scully." "No, Mulder I want to head towards the bathtub." She shrugged his hands off and resumed her progression. Mulder stepped in front of her, blocking the way. "You can have a bath later. Come and eat first." "Are you giving me orders?" The temperature of the room was suddenly freefalling. "No, Scully, but I'm hungry, and you're gonna need some help to get into and out of the tub." He added his best whipped puppy-dog look for good measure. The piercing look she threw him told him that she wasn't fooled for an instant, but she nevertheless decided to give him some slack for a change and dropped her shoulders in surrender. "All right, Mulder. I guess I can stay in these clothes a little while longer." She started to slowly head towards the kitchen. "What's wrong with those clothes?" he pouted behind her. "They're yours." *** They joined the Gunmen around the wide kitchen table and helped them fix dinner. Scully noticed they had brought back quite a few vegetables and fresh fruits and shot Mulder a 'Watch And Learn'look of deadly sharpness. Byers informed her in mildly embarrassed tones that they had taken the liberty of buying her a few clothes since she didn't have any. She was too pleased by the news to let the mental picture of the three Stooges buying her underwear bother her. "Frohike tried to drag us in Victoria's Secrets but we didn't let him," intervened Langly as if reading her thoughts. "What's wrong with mixing aesthetics with necessity?" the little man countered gruffly. Mulder saw Scully roll her eyes and lightly tapped the kitchen knife he was using to attract everybody's attention. "Could we please drop the fascinating subject of my partner's underwear and talk about more serious matters?" The Gunmen went quiet and waited for him to continue. It was agreed that once they were back to Washington, the Gunmen would secretly inform Skinner of the situation, and see if they could find any trace of what had happened in Indiana. Mulder wasn't holding his breath but it was worth a try. They declined his invitation to spend the night there, preferring to leave right after dinner. The agent knew his friends felt exposed out of their messy cyber haven and were eager to head back to it. Scully told them about Krycek and Ali, watching Mulder's jaw drop when he learnt that his camel driver was the head of the medical staff there. She told them about Marita and about the kind of research Krycek had told her was conducted. But she remained vague when Mulder asked for further clarifications about the treatment and he didn't push her, sensing from the forced detached tone she was affecting that it was not something she was willing to discuss. Byers was stroking his beard reflectively. "I thought Krycek was working for the Smoking Man." "Maybe he was offered a better deal," suggested Langly. "That man turns coats more often that a politician running for election," Frohike chimed in, digging his knife viciously into a red pepper. Scully shook her head slowly. "I don't think Krycek made any deals this time. I know this may sound hard to believe but he seemed as determined as we are to prevent..." Her voice trailed off. Mulder caught sight of Frohike's Adam's apple bobbing up and down and immediately guessed that it wasn't the bits of pepper he was in the process of dicing which had just made his mouth water. He looked over his shoulder to see the young clone standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Here's someone who might be able to bring some light on the subject." He chose to ignore his partner's sudden stiff stance besides him and added cheerfully: "Come and join us, Faye." The young woman entered the room and went to take a seat next Byers - the furthest away from Scully, he noticed. "What can you tell us about Alex Krycek?" "Not much. He seems to be responsible for the logistics of the Treatment project. We ask him for the material we need and he provides it." "Do you know who is responsible for the elaboration of this project?" "Dr Khefir was the person our team was answering to, that's all I know." "Ali?" "Yes." Mulder's gaze drifted to the Gunmen. "Guys, see if you can get anything on a Dr Khefir, OK?" They all nodded. The sound of a chair being pushed back made his head snap suddenly towards his partner who was trying to stand up. He jumped to his feet to help her. "Scully?" "You guys go ahead. I just need to lie down for a bit. Excuse me..." Leaning on her crutches she left the kitchen. A heavy silence followed her departure. The Gunmen absorbed themselves in their culinary tasks. Faye was sitting very still staring at her folded hands on her lap. Mulder rubbed his neck wearily. "I'll go and check on her. Don't wait for us." Faye's eyes followed Mulder's retreating back sullenly. "What's the problem?" asked Frohike softly. "I am." HUMAN CREDENTIALS (21/24) RATING: NC-17 for...weather forecast...you'll see... KEYWORDS: Those my mum says a young lady should not use...such as...pineapple. WARNING: Against every X-Files rule, good things happen in bathrooms in this chapter, well...temporarily. ---------------- Part twenty-one. ---------------- "Something more near Though deeper within darkness, Is entering the loneliness..." - Ted Hughes - "The Thought-Fox" Scully was sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the running water's temperature when a shadow on the tiles made her raise her head. Mulder was leaning against the bathroom doorjamb with his hands tucked in his pockets, watching her. "You really couldn't wait for that bath, could you?" She sighed and shook her head. "Go back to the others, Mulder." He stepped inside to loom above her. "And how are you planning to get into that tub?" "I'll manage." She gave a little cry of surprise as she felt herself being lifted from the ground, swirled around and dropped on the countertop behind her and ended up nose to nose with her partner. "That's your problem, Scully. You always manage." She held his gaze with serious eyes. "Not always, Mulder." He leaned to kiss her forehead softly, his hands starting a slow soothing caress over her thighs. "You will, angel." She felt her eyes well up, and looked away. Just when she relied on his knack of enraging her, he stabbed her in the back with a few kind words. She needed her anger right now; it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. His arms encircled her and she felt his hands resume their calming motions on her back. She was so tired. She wanted to give in and accept the comfort he was offering. But not today. She drew back with a shaky breath. "I think the bath is ready." Mulder nodded silently and went to turn the taps off. When he came back and reached for the hem of her shirt - intending to help her undress - her hands flew up like panicked birds to stop him. He cocked a teasing eyebrow at her. "Are you going shy on me, Dr Scully?" She dropped her hands and dipped her chin to avoid his gaze. "No." "Good." He resumed his action and she let him do so. It hadn't been misplaced modesty - she was aware she now had the required vital statistics to enter a Miss Dachau 2000 competition. His pity was not a crown she was willing to wear. When she was finally naked, she gathered her courage to take a quick nervous peek at him. He was looking at her with the same half-bored, half-sympathetic look that medical staff learns to bestow on terminally ill patients. Mulder had always been a talented pupil. He carried her to the bathtub, and lowered her body gently into the water before bending down to pick up her discarded clothes and throwing them over his shoulder. "I thought girls liked wearing their..." He stopped abruptly, his mouth still working soundlessly as he searched for the right definition. "Partner's clothes?" she supplied, irony floating in her voice. "Uhm, yeah, that." "Not when it's because they have nothing else to wear." He grinned. "Not anymore, thanks to our friendly shoppers." She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the bath, letting the hot water work its magic on her stiff muscles. "I fear the worst," she murmured. "Don't worry, Scully, I told them to avoid pink and ribbons." "How kind." "But they insisted on keeping the sequins and leopard print options." He closed the door as a suddenly airborne sponge hit the wood with a damp splat. *** Alex Krycek had lost track of time when he finally felt the handcuffs being removed from his bleeding wrist. He'd closed his eyes when they'd begun the autopsy, but his eardrums still echoed with the sound of the striker saw cutting through the bones of his hideously mutated lover. Nursing his wrist, he took a quick look around. The doctors had vanished and so had Marita's corpse. His gaze settled on the smoking man with blatant disgust. "You're nothing more than a fucking butcher," he spat. The old man's grating chuckle felt like coarse salt on a wound. "It's no worse than what you do to Russian boys, Alex..." Krycek clenched his jaws, a foul, bitter taste rushing in his dry mouth and burning his gums. Desperate situations had called for desperate measures, but that didn't alleviate the horror of it. That boy's sewn-up face was one of his most treasured nightmares. "...at least *she* was dead." "SHUT THE FUCK UP !!!" Krycek lunged at the sneering man but stopped dead in his track when he felt the steel circle of a barrel's nuzzle chilling his forehead. A gun had miraculously materialized in the old man's hand. "You are too impulsive, Alex, it will kill you..." The young spy held his breath and watched the man's wrinkled finger apply more pressure on the trigger. "...someday." He wasn't prepared for the fist which hit him right in the stomach, doubling him over and knocking the air out of him. He crumpled on the floor and started to heave. When he lifted his head again the old man was heading towards the exit. "Coward!" Krycek called out to him, wheezing. The smoking man half-turned and brought a cigarette to his lips, smirking. "Stop being bitter, Alex. Go out and enjoy the sun while you still can." Krycek felt as if his spine had just been dipped in nitrogen. Nothing the old man said was ever innocent. And the fact that he was still alive could only mean one thing. The game was over. *** Scully's eyes snapped opened some time later when she felt something sweet being pushed between her lips. Mulder had returned and was sitting on the edge of the tub with a plate of fruit salad precariously balanced on his lap. She swallowed the piece of pineapple and straightened up slightly. "You never give up, do you, Mulder?" "You haven't been paying much attention, partner." He waved a slice of peach in front of her. She sighed and leaned back into the tub, wiggling her toes out of the water. "All right then, feed me, slave." "Don't push it, Scully." She shot him an outrageously innocent look and opened her mouth to accept the peach. The sight distracted his partner enough to shut him up. She let him feed her bite after bite of fruit, amused to see his eyes darken every time her lips grazed his fingers. When the plate was empty he set it aside before returning his gaze to her. "Better?" "Much. Thank you." He beamed at her and stood up. "Wanna come out?" "Hmmm-mm." He removed his own shirt to lift her from the tub and carried her dripping body back to the countertop. Grabbing a towel, he approached to dry her. "I'm not completely crippled, Mulder, I can do that myself." The towel dropped on her head and she felt her hair being rubbed vigorously. "No fun, Scully." She snatched the towel away and saw him trying hard not to laugh. "What?" she snapped. He pointed behind her and she turned to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess of unruly spikes, sticking out in every direction. She spat a few strands clinging to her lips away with a disgusted pout. "Great. I look like a mad scientist," she grumbled. Mulder chuckled. "You *are* a mad scientist." She glared at him in the mirror and tried to comb her hair back with her fingertips. Her partner suddenly disappeared from her field of vision and she heard him fumble in the cabinet below her. She turned back to see him produce a brush. He stood up again and took her chin between his thumb and forefingers. "Come here." "Mulderrr..." "Shhh." He untangled her hair, with a clumsiness which she had to admit was rather endearing. Once he had managed to more or less tame it, he dropped the brush and gently pried the towel from her fingers. She relaxed under his touch as he gently ran the terry cloth over her still damp body. She lost track of time a little but not so much that she failed to notice that he was spending more time than necessary over her breasts. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I think they're dry now." "Oh." He dropped the towel but didn't move. The equation Puppy = Sugar was all over his face...and she was the lump. She took pity on him and reached for his stubbled cheek, drawing his face to her. His eyes sparkled like a short-circuited neon sign, shades of green flickering amidst whorls of golden brown. It was his 'New Case' look, the one that used to crackle with craving curiosity at the slightest suggestion of a potential paranormal phenomenon. It was the look which had made her stay so many years ago when she'd fallen in love with its wild, unmitigated integrity, its blunt honesty. She'd almost forgotten how potent it was. And it was so strange to have it focused on her now. Arousing. "Thank you," she breathed against his lips. It was supposed to be just that, a thank-you kiss. But when his tongue pushed past her lips and chased her own she knew she was in trouble. His hands closed simultaneously over her breasts like two eager wheel clamps. She forgot why she had intended to object in the first place and drew him closer. Her higher brain functions hung out a 'vacancy' sign as his thumbs circled her nipples, and she hummed softly into his mouth. She felt him smile against her lips and his index fingers joined the dance to begin a more focused pulling motion, making her gasp. There must have been a nipples/hands conspiracy because they were getting along far too well. She broke the kiss to draw a tremulous breath and he took the opportunity to follow a trail beneath her chin, down her neck, stopping to nip at the soft skin between her collarbones before resuming his descent. She didn't need a geological survey map to know where he was heading. His lips closed on her left nipple with the focused determination of a friendly sea anemone. She let her head fall back with a moan and dug her nails in his shoulders. It must have sounded like a call of surrender since, immediately after, she felt his hand boldly push between her legs. The pressure of his cool palm brushing the hood of her clit made her vision flare like the flash of a camera, the bathroom taking an overexposed hue. He raised his head and grinned, his fingertips teasing her opening. "You're raining, Scully." Her hips bucked towards him, and she let out a little groan of impatience. "You...build...the ark and I'll gather...the animals," she managed, her shallow breath drumming against his lips, and punctuated her sentence by running the flat of her hand over his straining zipper. His sharp hiss was followed by a snort and a soft kiss against her neck. A long finger pushed its way inside her and her smirk ended in a weak moan which she smothered on his shoulder, her parted lips wetly connecting with his skin. "Do you like rainstorms?" he murmured, nipping at her earlobe. He had started a slow leisurely fuck with his finger and her own hand moulded itself more tightly around the increasingly prominent shape betraying his state. His gasp rushed like a hot draft along her cheek, and she felt her hand being gently but firmly pushed away and replaced on the counter. She felt his knee make contact with her inner thigh, spreading her legs further apart as his lips began tracing a wet line down her body, circumnavigated between her breasts, trailing kisses down her stomach until he was kneeling between her legs. "Rain...storms?" Two syllables, hardly any catch. She was proud. He drove the hard point of his tongue inside her navel and the urgent hitch in her throat made him raise his head and look up at her. His finger stopped but stayed inside. "I love rainstorms, Scully, I love the taste of the rain on my lips." She tightened around his finger in expectation, savouring the primal need pulsing low inside her. Still...something she couldn't quite name, was holding her back, but whatever it was, Mulder paid no heed to it, or pretended not to. He lowered his head, diving into the eye of the storm. Scully let out a choked cry as his lips touched her folds and furrowed deeper. Visions of sunflower seeds being pulled and sucked out of their husks blossomed in her mind. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the countertop as her hips began moving in small circles against his face. She felt the pressure build up inside her; the bathroom walls were beginning to curve inwards; objects looked fuzzy and edged with sparks through her fluttering eyelids. When his finger started moving inside her again, she lost her breath. His rhythm was different now, short and fast - the bow of a mad Russian violinist coupled with the rough plectrum of his tongue. Unfamiliar diphthonged whimpers were bursting from her mouth at every stroke of his fingers and lips. She was going to sing. Loud. She gasped for air, her windpipe crushed by the ecstatic rush which made her body twist and writhe against her partner's mouth. She was climbing too fast - too soon - too high, reaching that place she never allowed herself to visit, the chaotic and wild place she never dealt with, the blank space on her map, the one reading: 'Here be Monsters.' Her head was thrown back and she saw her reflection panting at her, upside down in the mirror. Her pupils were so dilated her eyes were almost black. Black. Black eyes. With a terrified cry she pushed on Mulder's shoulders with both feet, sending him slamming against the tub. "Scully?" He was staring at her, dazed and uncomprehending, lips glistening under the bathroom's neon light. He stood up - rubbing his back - but kept his distance. She saw the memory of their last night in Tunisia bloom in his eyes like a swelling bruise. She bowed her head, willing her heart rate to slow down, unable to voice any kind of reassurance as much as she wanted to, trying to convince herself that she had only been victim of an hallucination, an after-effect of the Treatment on her damaged psyche. The following silence was as thick and painful as teargas. She heard him sigh and raised her head just in time to see him reach out for the door. "Mulder..." He shot her a reluctant look over his shoulder, his eagerness to flee obvious. Cowardice was a trait he only seemed to use where she was concerned. "Forget it, Scully. I understand." There was an irritated edge to his voice. "Stay." He hesitated and approached her cautiously, expecting her to flinch at any moment. As soon as he was within reach, she drew him close and buried her face in his chest. His hands hung limply to his side, as if he was waiting for her to be done with it and let him go. Instead she drew his face close to hers. "I freaked out," she confessed before brushing his lips in a kiss he didn't return. "Yeah, I saw that...I shouldn't have..." He tried to step back but she clung to him. "Look, Mulder, you weren't the cause of it. Okay?" He didn't seem convinced. Guilt was his marrowbone; he couldn't focus on anything else while he was chewing on it. She grasped his hands and squeezed them to get his attention. "You know I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Mulder." She shot him a wan smile. "I'm a terrible liar, remember?" She saw the set of his shoulders relax gradually as he considered her words. He finally nodded, and squeezed her hands back. "Still, you're in no shape for any of this." She sighed and leaned forward to rest her forehead on his collarbone. "I guess not." She felt his fingertips brush lightly against her cheek, just as her jaws worked to stifle a yawn, and heard him chuckle. "Come on, Scully, let's take you to bed." He bent over and lifted her naked body into his arms. She liked that. A lot. Although it would probably take the nation's supplies of Penthotal to get her to admit it. "Promise you won't snore," she murmured in his chest. He laid her on the bed and threw her a hurt look. "I do not snore, *you* do," he argued, removing his jeans to join her. "Nonsense, women don't snore." "If that's a scientific fact, you're not a woman, Scully." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Remind me to dig out my old anatomy books for you, Mulder." He settled beside her and drew her close. "I don't need no books when I have a live model to study on." He felt her smile against his shoulder. "What am I then?" "Uh?" He was busy nuzzling her hair. she raised her head and looked up at him, tucking her fist under her chin. "I said, what am I then, if I'm not a woman?" His eyes locked with hers, liquid and soft. "You're beyond definition, Scully." She closed her eyes and briefly dipped her chin as swarms of butterflies soared from her stomach to her heart. Handling compliments was not what she did best. When she looked up to reply her voice was small and husky. "Not easily filed, categorised or referenced, uh?" He pulled her up and kissed her nose. "I love..." He saw her eyes widen and her pupils flicker, "...the uncategorisable." The breath she'd been holding was released with a relieved chuckle. "That's not even a word, Mulder." "Who cares?" "Hmmmm." She rolled over, turning her back to him. This conversation was getting slightly too meaningful for her taste. Vows had just been offered, in their own silent idiolect. And she had no idea how to deal with that. *** Mulder woke up in the middle of the night to the feel of something exquisite being performed on his nether regions. He lifted his head groggily. "Skh-lee?" She was obviously too busy - or polite - to reply. She produced a low hum around him and the vibrations caressing his penis made his hips lift off the bed. His head fell back heavily on the pillows and he let himself being drawn into the inferno she created with her mouth as she sucked his soul through his dick. He wondered if he would have to sign for it. She made him come faster than a free-falling anvil. Had his ability to process any kind of analytical reasoning not been momentarily impaired, he would probably have been ashamed of it. She crawled back next to him and closing her eyes, rested her cheek on his chest as he caught his breath, one arm loosely wrapped around his waist. When he finally retrieved most of his language and motor skills, he reached out to stroke her hip. She did not stir. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "What was that for?" "To make you come." Scully's idea of beating around the bush was to go at it with a flamethrower. His hand slid towards her inner thigh. "I see. What about you?" A warm sigh kissed his skin. "Never mind the score card, Mulder." Her skin was damp where his fingers trailed. "I was thinking more in terms of team spirit, partner." She did not reply, but did not object either when his fingers crept higher to part the wet folds between her legs. Her head slid backwards until it rested on his shoulder, and with a long sigh she began to relax under his touch. His fingertips danced over and inside her with the fluttered lightness of fireflies, igniting thousands of ephemeral live wires in her abdomen. Blood started to pound in her temples like a galley's drum - slow and heavy at first and then faster, louder, but never loosing its original rhythmic pattern. It was nothing like the roaring chaos she'd experienced in the bathroom. This was slow. This was sweet. This was safe. She climaxed with a shudder and a tiny moan muffled in his shoulder. Sometimes later, she felt a kiss on her brow and opened her eyes. "Easier to give than to receive, isn't it, Scully?" She didn't reply and turned away from him, feeling like a taxpayer who'd just dodged the IRS. *** HUMAN CREDENTIALS (22/24) KEYWORDS: Healing time. DISCLAIMERS: Aliens responsible for human evolution in S7? Cat and I came up with this idea ages ago (see chapter 10). But *we* won't sue. ---------------- Part twenty-two. ---------------- It was the chilly morning air which woke him up, and as he reluctantly opened his eyes, Mulder discovered it wasn't surprising he was cold as all the sheets and covers had migrated around Scully. She was curled up in one corner of the bed - fast asleep - snugly wrapped up like a little mummy. He was gradually coming to realise that there were quite a few things Scully didn't like to share - her feelings, her fears, her orgasms - blankets just seemed to be another item on the list. They slept together but they were not a couple in the intimate sense of the word. The depth and exclusive nature of their friendship made them wary lovers because they both were acutely aware of what they would lose if they failed. And it wasn't the kind of relationship where you could patch things up with a bunch of flowers over a candle-lit dinner. It was more like a powder keg. If things blew up they would be too badly damaged even to consider a second try. As he watched her, so peaceful and relaxed, he made the silent promise to try his damnedest not to fuck it up this time. Yeah, promises like that were so easy to make when she was asleep... With a final yearning look at the blanket, he stood up and hurried to the warm haven of the shower. *** Faye was in the kitchen when he entered. The young clone was sitting in front of a glass of milk, munching a toast. "Good morning, Faye." "Good morning, Agent Mulder." He smiled at her, and started rummaging in the cupboards, searching for coffee. "You don't have to be so formal, Faye, 'Mulder' will do." She nodded, and took another bite of her toast. He finally found what he was looking for and headed for the coffee machine. "Mulder? How is my mother?" His grip on the spoon he was holding wavered slightly. He still had trouble hearing Faye refer to Scully like that - no matter how true it was. He switched on the coffee machine, sat down opposite her and helped himself to cereal. "Asleep," he finally replied. "No nightmares?" He shook his head. "No." She reached for her glass and took a sip. "That's good." "Hmm." They ate in silence for a while. At one point their gaze met and he saw the young clone's green eyes scan him slowly. "You're having sex with her," she stated without any particular affect. Mulder choked on his Cheerio's and felt milk sting his sinuses. "Jesus, Faye! You always call a spade a spade, don't you?" "What else would I call it?" He sighed and dropped his hands on the table in an 'I give up' gesture. "All right, all right, your... mother and I have recently become... involved, yes." Faye shrugged. "If that's what you want to call it. It's still sexual intercourse to me." He smiled at that. "When you care for the person it is much more than that, Faye." "And you care for her." "Very much so." Faye fiddled with her toast for an instant. When she looked up her gaze was hard. "I don't." Mulder sighed. "Don't judge her too quickly, Faye. Scully is usually a wonderful person under normal circumstances." Yeah. Fucked up but wonderful. "She can't stand me," the young woman insisted. "It's not you, Faye, it's what you represent." He saw Faye's gaze shift over his shoulder, and turned to see Scully standing in the doorway clad in jeans and a tee shirt, hair still damp from the shower. He was glad to see there were no crutches in sight today. "Mulder, would you mind leaving us for a while?" his partner asked, her gaze fixed on her daughter. The agent stood up; grabbing a cup, he served himself some coffee and headed towards the doorway. As he brushed past her, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "Play nice, Scully." The look she shot him could have stripped paint off the front door. He left without pressing the point. When he was gone. Scully entered the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, and went to sit at the place her partner had just vacated. She pinned the young clone with a determined stare and drew a deep breath. "Tell me." And Faye began to talk. Had Mulder stayed in the room he probably wouldn't have understood much of the conversation. When he'd asked about her, Faye had served him a 'lite' version of her creation. But with her mother she knew she did not have to take such precautions to make herself understood. She told her how the chromosomes of one of Scully's diploid somatic cells had been engineered with alien DNA and marker genes and then injected into an ovum emptied of its own genetic material; how the resulting embryo had been incubated to produce an almost-clone, identical but for the blonde hair and green eyes that indicated the incorporation of engineered genes into the Scully genome. She told her everything she thought her mother ought to know. Scully listened and remained silent long after Faye had finished, staring at her coffee cup with a vacant gaze. Faye shifted in her seat. "You're angry." Scully raised her head and gave a bitter chuckle. "Angry doesn't even begin to describe it." The young clone dipped her chin and stared at her hands. And it suddenly dawned on Scully that sitting across her was more than the aberrant product of a medical rape. There was also a person. Someone who looked and sounded so much like a younger version of herself. Someone she was hurting. Deliberately. The realisation was like a kick in the stomach. She pushed her chair back hurriedly and stood up on unsteady legs. Faye rose from her seat. "You look ill." She took a few steps forward but Scully backed away from her, shaking her head frantically. "I'm sorry...I can't...I can't..." She turned round to run out of the kitchen and collided with Mulder. "Hey!" His arms closed instinctively around her. "LET ME GO!" She struggled like a wild cat against him, broke free and disappeared outside. Mulder stared at Faye. "What happened?" "She's angry." "Why?" "Probably because I exist." The young woman sat back down and played with her cup. "They never told me who I was. I never imagined I would be the cause of so much pain." Mulder laid his hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch. He removed his hand and instead knelt beside her to catch her sad eyes. "You're not the cause, Faye. You're just a reminder of what happened to her. It would take anybody time to deal with that kind of information. And you said it yourself, people who have undergone the Treatment are emotionally fragile." "I should leave." Mulder shook his head. "On the contrary, you should stay. Scully is too good at hiding her traumas as if nothing had happened. If you leave now, she'll never learn to deal with it." "Maybe it's better if she doesn't." "It'll destroy her. It was already eating her alive long before you came. Consider yourself as the shock therapy she needs." He stood up, joints popping. "It'll get better, I promise." Watching him leave Faye reflected that it was so easy to believe this man...too easy... *** Scully ran towards the sea, the wind cooling her tear-streaked face heralding the promise of a storm. She stumbled and fell several times - her legs were still weak - but she kept going, crying and punching at the sand with both fists, raising herself again and again. She didn't stop when the waves lapped at her feet; the roar of the ocean was nowhere near as loud as the one in her head. The water was freezing her legs, numbing them. She wanted to be numb, she wanted the water to surround her and fill her lungs, clean her insides with sweet, cold oblivion. It was the weight of knowledge which was pulling her forward. She had always been convinced that her abduction had been a ploy to influence Mulder. That was only part of it. Now she also knew the reason why they'd kept her so long. Faye had told her that very few women among the abductees possessed sufficiently compatible genomes to allow human/alien DNA hybridisation to be successful. And to everybody's surprise she had turned out to be the perfect match. Priceless. An Uber-mother. She'd had many children, according to Faye. Dozens. Most of them dead now, or insane. They were still in the fine-tuning phase of the Project and they learnt by making mistakes. Alien DNA was such an unpredictable acid to handle. But they were getting better at it everyday. Faye was the proof that it could be done. There. She had it. The Truth. It stood threateningly outside her hellish inner attic, demanding to be acknowledged, to be taken in. She did not have the strength to face it. They said that when you drowned you experienced a sense of peace just before loosing consciousness. She craved for that peace. She stepped forward. "SCULLY!" Mulder felt the wind pierce his pores and chill his bloodstream as he spotted the frail shape of his partner waist high among the foaming waves. He ran straight in, water madly splashing around him. He reached for her, threw her over his shoulder without ceremony and hurried back towards the shore without stopping. She was struggling against him, screaming and punching his back, but he didn't stop until they'd reached the sand. He dropped her and grabbed her upper arms roughly. She wasn't the only one to be furious. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?" he yelled, shaking her like a rag doll. The daggers in her eyes were gleaming with insane venom. She shook his arms away and started pummelling his chest and pushing him away with all her strength. "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FEEL YOU HAVE TO RESCUE ME? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE HERE? CAN'T YOU JUST LET GO, MULDER?" He was as unmoveable as a stone statue under her fists, and she quickly felt her strength abandoning her. She crumpled at his feet and started sobbing against his ankles. "Can't you just... let *me* go?" She felt his hands on her shoulders as he lowered himself next to her. He gathered her shaking body in his arms, surrounding her with a warmth which made her ache even more. "That's not an option, Scully." His voice was soft now. "Why?" she thickly gasped between chattering teeth. "You're my partner." His serious stare underlined that this was no FBI lore he was talking about. Seeing was believing and she hurt too much to believe. She closed her eyes and with a choked sigh buried her face in his neck. She felt his hand caressing her hair. "Besides...Skinner would have my ass if I let his best pathologist drown." Her teary chuckle surprised them both. She raised her head to look at him. "You're right," she began, her voice hoarse with exertion. "We can't have that." She brushed her lips against his. "I don't wanna share your ass with Skinner." He smiled. "No?" "Not yet." He threw his head back and laughed before tightening his grip on her to stand up. "Come on, Scully, let's get our respective asses warm." *** Two weeks went by. Scully was healing slowly. They were still very far from mother/daughter bonding, but at least now, she could stay in the same room as Faye for an entire meal without turning green and rushing out after two spoonfuls. She still had trouble addressing her directly but they were getting there. It wasn't always a joy ride, though. She'd begun to have nightmares on the third day of their arrival in Quonochontaug. He'd stopped counting the times when she woke up screaming; the sound had become as familiar as his alarm clock. He would wake her up and try to comfort her, but she never let him hold her for very long. He'd become very well acquainted with the shape of her back. Three days ago, she'd sleepwalked to the bathroom and smashed the mirror with her bare fists. She was as stunned as he was to find herself there, surrounded by broken shards, rivulets of blood tracing complicated patterns on her hands before dripping in fat crimson drops on the blue bathroom tiles. He'd removed the shards, bandaged her bleeding hands, and without a word led her back to bed. The lump in his throat was the size of a pigeon egg when she almost shyly sought his warmth and curled up against him that night, her gauze-covered hands rough against his bare ribs. She'd been quiet ever since - he didn't know whether it was a good sign or not. The days went by slowly. With Scully spending most of her time curled up in bed catching up on seven years of sleep, and no news from the Gunmen since he couldn't risk using his cell-phone, he was getting restless. Not to mention TV deprived... He kept himself busy by trying to repair the engine of his father's old dinghy in the boathouse at the side of the house. Just in case. He had also found a chess set in a drawer, and had taught Faye to play. She'd lost the first two games. On the third she had checkmate in six moves. He'd been losing ever since... They got on well together. Having been struck by the initial differences, he now found more and more of Scully in Faye. She possessed the no-nonsense straightforwardness of her mother, her ingrained honesty. She was quiet, serious and sharp. She asked him the most naive and the most complicated questions. She was beautiful. Okay. Make that stunning. And she didn't smile much. Make that not at all. He interrupted his train of thought momentarily to move his knight and looked up. "Faye?" "Yes?" "Don't you ever smile?" The young woman stopped staring at the board and cocked her mother's eyebrow at him. "Why should I?" He regretted his question; the poor kid probably didn't have much to smile about. "Er...people do, sometimes." "People?" He cringed at the coolness of her voice. "Well...yeah, I mean everybody." "You mean everybody who isn't a lab engineered product?" Well, maybe she hadn't got the hang of humour yet, but she had cynicism down to a T. *** He went to check on Scully later in the afternoon. She was curled up in her usual corner of the bed. The shrink inside him frowned and took notes: foetal position, post-traumatic stress, withdrawal, denial, yadda, yadda... Her eyes opened as he approached the bed, their limpid blue hinting that she'd been awake for a while. He sat by her side. "You know, Scully, the hundred years' sleep stuff was only a metaphor." She drew herself up against the pillows and he sensed the brutal shifting in her mood from neutral to defensive. "I'm resting." "You're fleeing." She closed her eyes, and released an exasperated breath. "Mulder, I'm too tired for this." "I'm not surprised, you look like shit, Scully, but staying in this bed all day is not going to improve that." "There's nothing to do." He stood up. "Well, maybe you could start by shifting that lovely ass of yours into the shower, go outside, breathe some fresh air and start interacting with the people in this house." He knew from the way she raised her chin and narrowed her lips that he was adding mortar to her fortress. Trying to bypass Scully's stubbornness was like trying to cross a Javanese forest. You had a good chance of losing your head in the process. "I have no wish for interaction with anybody at the moment." There goes the head... "I'm perfectly aware of that, and I understand you need time. But your daughter thinks that you're..." "Don't call her that!" The blizzard in her eyes lashed out through her voice. But Mulder knew he held the sharp end of the stick and a bit of frost wasn't going to stop him. "But that's what she is, Scully, no matter how difficult it is to accept!" His partner looked away to blankly fix the wall in front of her, but he kept on. "She's here, she's real, she's not gonna disappear just because you ignore her. Your daughter, Scully! Your flesh and blood, even more so than any kid you could ha.." Shit. Nice one. Got enough salt for this wound, have you, Mulder? He blinked, wishing like hell he had a remote control to rewind the scene and erase that last sentence. Scully slowly turned her pale face towards him and smiled weakly. Combined with the emptiness of her gaze, it was the scariest thing he'd ever seen. "Wrong tense, Mulder," she whispered. His lips moved but failed to produce a sound. It was as if her smile had sliced through his nervous system and embedded itself in his brain, infecting him with a sample of the gaping wound inside her. He saw her push the covers away and stand up. Her oversized T-shirt reaching her knees, she slowly walked towards him, and gave his arm a gentle squeeze as she brushed past him. The bathroom door closing softly behind her sounded like a coffin lid. *** When Scully stepped into the living room, Faye was sitting on the sofa reading one of the magazines the Gunmen had brought back. Her partner was nowhere in sight. Her argument with Mulder had paradoxically shaken her out of the stupor of grief which had been weighing her down since the Treatment. She was upset, not by his clumsy words but by the acute sorrow she'd witnessed in his eyes. Her sorrow. Her pain. Something she never thought she could share... until an hour ago when Mulder had stood shell-shocked in front of her and she'd realised that he'd just stolen a piece of the loot. The knowledge did not alleviate her own inner turmoil. Her senses were heightened to almost painful levels; sounds were too loud, light was too bright, air was too oppressive. She could feel every grain of the wood under her fingers as she skimmed her hand over the old chest of drawers near the doorway. But the brave little sailor inside her had emerged from the waves, spat out some water, cursed some and decided to aim for the shore. There was still a long way to swim but she was alive and breathing and she had every confidence now that he would be waiting on the beach. Now that he understood. United for better and for worse...especially for worse. She doubted they were designed for the 'better' option of the deal. She walked towards the sofa. "Where's Mulder gone?" Her daughter briefly raised her eyes from her magazine and shrugged. "To the boat house, I think." "Was he...alright?" The young clone closed her magazine, placed it on her lap and pinned her mother with a piercing stare. "You had a fight," she stated in her usual neutral way. Scully's mouth opened and closed several times as she tried to find an appropriate comeback. She couldn't. "Was it about me?" Her daughter queried. The agent sighed, "Faye..." "I told him I should leave, but he doesn't want to listen." Scully's lips curved faintly. "Mulder never listens, at least not when he's made up his mind about something." "Did he learn that from you?" In any other circumstances it would have sounded like a personal attack, but it had been voiced so dispassionately - as if for the young woman it had been the next logical thing to ask - that she couldn't feel offended. Shocked, yes, but not offended. Scully pinched the bridge of her nose. "Faye...I don't want you to leave. I know that my behaviour towards you might make you think the contrary but...I... it's not that I don't like you..." "It's because of what I represent. I know, Mulder keeps telling me that." Scully nodded. "He's right, you know." Her daughter shot her a sceptical look. "I would be more inclined to think that he's trying to reassure me." Scully shook her head slowly. "I don't..." "You don't *have* to like me. After all, *I* don't like you." Scully gaped at the young clone sitting in front of her. She sounded exactly like herself as a child when tact was a social skill she had yet had to master. Her mother had always scolded her about her bluntness. A kid. Just a kid. Faye stood up to face her, well, sort of, since the young woman was a good 5 inches taller. "And despite the fact that you're my biological mother, I don't see why I should. You're hurting me, you're hurting him and more importantly you're hurting yourself; when you should be working at getting better. Your behaviour is both pointless and unproductive." Yes. One damn blunt clever kid. Her daughter. Scully smiled softly. "You know what, Faye? I think I'm just beginning to like you." *** Alex Krycek tightened the collar of his parka and made his way through the snowstorm. The small Arctic weather station looked like a conglomerate of frost-covered mushrooms oozing yellow light. He reached the intercom and removed his glove to punch the call button. Ali's voice spluttered on the other end. "Inch Allah! Alex! Come and get warm, my friend!" The security doors slid open and Krycek entered the compound, shaking the snow off his boots. Ali was waiting for him along with a handful of staff he recognised from the Indiana lab. "I hate all that snow," the young Russian grumbled, pushing away the cold, stiff hood of his parka. Ali's smirked joylessly. "Well, you'd better get used to it, because you'll have to deal with it for the next several years." Krycek winced. "I was right then: the Project has come to term." The Tuareg nodded. "I'm afraid so." "How long do we have before the next phase actually begins?" Ali shook his head and sighed defeatedly. "It's already begun." HUMAN CREDENTIALS (23/24) RATING: Harmless. KEYWORDS: Armageddon, apocalypse and elephants. ---------------- Part twenty-three. ---------------- "You fondle my trigger, then you blame my gun." - Fiona Apple - 'Limp' - Scully was standing outside the boathouse doorway, observing her partner trying to repair the engine of a dusty grey dinghy. 'Trying' being the operative word there. And he was being rather vocal about it. Enough to make the Navy brat inside her gawp with admiration. When the spanner he was holding flew off and hit a stack of empty jerry cans next to him, she walked silently inside and stood behind him. He was too busy cursing to notice her. "FUCK IT! FUCK IT! FUCK IT!" "Is that a challenge?" Mulder started and swirled around. "Jesus, Scully!" She was smiling. "Need any help, sailor?" He made a move to wipe his sweaty brow but stopped when he realised his hands were black with grease, and used his forearm instead. He pinned her with a look which still held the jagged scars of their latest 'talk'. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" He was borderline frantic. "Nothing. I just came to see what you were doing." She didn't wait to witness his puzzled look, but went to retrieve the lost tool. Spanner in hand, she came back to the dinghy and signalled Mulder to move over with a little flick of the wrist. He shook his head. "It's no use, Scully, I tried everything. The damn thing is busted." His partner leaned over the engine, and began probing various parts here and there with fingers which soon became as filthy as his. She had that 'single focus' look on she usually bore during autopsies. One problem = one solution and no bullshit. The good old rigid Scully way. It seemed ages since he last witnessed it. Something sizzled in Mulder's chest, as if he were about to greet a long lost friend at the airport. His partner was now down on her knees, checking some obscure mechanical part underneath. "I think the carburettor is clogged. If you remove these bolts here," she pointed the spanner towards a very indistinctive part of the engine, "then you can remove this part here, and clean it from the inside." She looked up to see Mulder watching her with a strange, almost hypnotised gaze. "What?" she frowned. "I just got very turned on," he whispered. She quirked an eyebrow at him and dropped the spanner in his hand. "I didn't know you had a mechanic fetish, Mulder." She pointed a commanding finger at the engine before he had time to voice one of his smartass comebacks. "Get to work. Now." Her stern tone was softened by a somewhat smug smile. Mulder obeyed, painstakingly endeavouring to loosen the corrugated bolts while Scully - wiping her hands with a piece of cloth she'd found in a corner - went to sit on an old crate nearby, suddenly exhausted. Her partner shot her a concerned look. "You OK, Scully? You look kinda pale." "Yeah, just a little tired, nothing serious." He nodded and went back to work. "You should take it easy." "In case you hadn't noticed, that is exactly what I've been doing." He raised his head, shame clinging like sweat over his face. "I'm sorry for acting like such an asshole back there." "That's OK, Mulder, forget it. I needed that asshole to kick my ass anyway." "Still, I shouldn't..." Her hand shot up and sliced the air in front of her. "I said forget it! I need your sympathy, Mulder, not your guilt." He nodded sullenly, and got back to work. She could see he was slightly hurt. They were so good at that. For a while there were no other sounds in the boat house than the occasional clank of the spanner against metal. "Mulder?" "Hmmm?" "I had a talk with... my daughter." The spanner hit the floor with a loud clatter as Mulder gaped at her. "Yeah?" he breathed. Scully lowered her head to pick at a loose thread on her jeans and smiled faintly. "She said my behaviour was, I quote: 'pointless and unproductive'." Her partner produced a half-wince, half-grin, and picked up his tool again. "She can be rather blunt at times." "To put it mildly." Mulder reached for the cloth to wipe his hands and winked at her. "I wonder where that comes from." Her faint scowl advised him to stop wondering any further. She shifted on the crate to cross her legs. "You know..." she began, her fingers pulling at a splinter on the side of the box, "I never resented Emily for being what she was. The maternal instinct just kicked in. But with Faye...I don't know..." Still wiping his hands, Mulder came to crouch in front of her. "I think it was easier because you were dealing with a child, and Faye doesn't look like one." Scully sighed. "No... she looks... too much like me... it's..." "Spooky?" A tight little smile. "Yeah." "That's right down our alley, partner." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "You'll get used to her, she's a good kid." She didn't say anything and uncrossed her legs to stand up. Mulder raised himself and stepped back to give her the breathing space he knew she needed to think. She walked slowly around the boat, one grimy hand skimming over the dusty hard rubber. When she spoke it was more a thought voiced aloud than anything else. "I don't think I can ever be the mother she expects me to be." Mulder leaned against the wooden panels behind him and brushed a spider web from his shoulder. "She doesn't expect you to be anything." Her gaze finally settled on him, half surprised, as if she'd forgotten he was there at all. "How do you know?" "She told me." "She told you." Her toneless voice didn't augur well. He shrugged in a way he hoped was relaxed. "She doesn't have the first clue what she's supposed to expect. She just knows that for some reason your approval is important to her." He paused to smile slightly, recalling the conversation. "And it bugs her, because she can't find any logic behind it." "And she told you that too." Her eyes had locked with his like two homing missiles and he felt all his soft southern parts scurrying for cover. "Well, she didn't exactly say 'bugs' but..." "You two seem awfully close," she cut in, dryly. "WHAT? What's that supposed to mean?" His shoulders pushed simultaneously on the wooden panels he was leaning on, propelling him towards her. She couldn't possibly believe... "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous!" Her gaze skittered away and settled on a murky window framed with spider webs. "Scully! you can't seriously think that I would...I mean...no matter how grown up she looks, or how pretty she is, she's only a kid...and I would have to be a very sick man to even entertain the thought..." Her eyes returned on him and stopped him short. It didn't make sense, but he could have sworn he spotted a flicker of irony in them. "Not that kind of jealous, Mulder." She walked over to the window and began to poke at the cobwebs. "I just wish..." She took a deep breath, "I just wish I could communicate with her like you do; you seem so at ease with each other... you talk with her... share entire conversations and she feels comfortable with you. That's what I'm jealous of." While she was talking he'd come to stand behind her to lay one approximately clean hand over her right shoulder. He felt it move under his fingers as she ripped another piece of cobweb before adding: "And also because I wish it were like that between us." It was such a defeated whisper that he forced her to turn round. "What do you mean 'like that'?" She raised infinitely sad eyes at him. "Simple, straightforward, that we could talk without dragging years of emotional baggage along with us every time, without hurting each other, just talking like normal people do." He smiled gently at her and took her small blackened hands in his. "We would get bored." She returned his smile wistfully. "I'm the one who wanted to be Eleanor Roosevelt, remember?" He freed one hand to lift her chin towards him and breathed against her lips. "Scully?" "What?" "Normal people don't have this." And he kissed her. This. Whatever *this* was. This rush in her blood. This pounding in her chest. This chill on her skin. This tremor in her loins. This sparkler in her skull. Could you lie with a kiss? Probably, but it was too good to stop him and ask. She felt her knees buckle and pressed herself against the wall, pulling him along with her as their kiss deepened and took a feverish, desperate edge. Her hands were pinned above her head, mingling with the cobwebs, and as his body came flush against hers, she had to admit he had a point. A very interesting point. And a very hard one - urgently pressing against her stomach. She arched her back and whimpered in his mouth, rubbing her hips against his. Someone cleared his throat behind them. Walter Skinner was standing in the doorway. *** Did they do anything else these days? Skinner was carefully making his way to the front porch when he'd noticed the boat-house door was wide open and had opted to take a look. He'd left his car a few yards away - Assistant Directors were cautious people by nature. And there he was, watching his agents going at it like there was no tomorrow - which, considering the latest events, wasn't such an impossible outcome. Can you spell Deja Vu? At least they were still fully clothed. But at the rate things were going it wouldn't last long. He coughed. They reacted as if he'd poked them with a cattle prod and jumped apart - way apart - readjusting their clothes with shaky hands. Who needs a bucket of water when you have a healthy larynx? "Agents." He nodded curtly at both of them before settling his gaze on Scully. "I'm glad to see you're well, Dana." Agent Scully's cheeks were currently trying to do chilli pepper impersonations. Hot little number indeed. "Sir," she managed to choke out. "Sorry if this is a bad time but we have urgent matters to discuss." He pivoted on his heels and began to head towards the house. He let a visibly uncomfortable Mulder open the front door and lead him to the living room. Skinner ignored the sofa and headed for a stern looking, straight back, leather armchair. Even so, he couldn't resist closing his eyes for a minute. The colliding thoughts which kept him on overdrive for the past few days suddenly came to a halt, leaving him empty and very, very tired. "Sir?" Mulder's voice. Concerned. He refused to open his eyes but deigned to answer: "Give me a minute." "Would you like some coffee?" His stomach recoiled into a tight little ball of pain at the thought. "No, just water, please." He heard Mulder's footsteps fade away. "Hard day at work?" That was Scully. He opened his eyes reluctantly. "You could say that." "Why did you come here?" "To make sure you were OK." "We are." "I figured as much." Scully's eyes drifted to have a meaningful bonding moment with a nearby cushion. Skinner produced an atypical wry smile. "Off the record, I can't really say this came as a complete surprise. In the Bureau, the question had always been 'when', never 'whether'." The young woman raised wide baby blues at him. "I didn't know the status of our relationship was such a popular subject." "Longest-running office pool." She pursed her lips and gave a little derisive sigh. "I see." They remained silent until Mulder came back with the drinks. The A.D. took a sip from his glass and wrapped his big hands around the fragile crystal. Classy tumblers. A reminder that he and Mulder came from radically different backgrounds. Back home, tumblers had been made of plastic, or glass as thick as the lenses he used to wear as a kid. He looked around him and took in the Persian rugs and the expensive furniture. The place exuded money. Blood money. At least he never had to wonder where money came from in his house, mostly because they didn't have any; apart from the ridiculous amount his father would earn, slaving away on a production line, building cars for the William Mulders of America. Still, there had been laughter and songs in his home, a wealth for which he suspected the young, tortured and guilt-ridden Fox Mulder would have traded all the brandy decanters and silver cutlery in the world. No. He didn't envy him. He lifted his head towards his agents, who were sitting - he noticed with an inner smirk - on opposite ends of the wide sofa, waiting for him to speak. He uncurled one of his hands from his glass and pinched the bridge of his nose with fingers that were now icy and slightly damp. "Have you heard the news?" They both shook their heads. "There's no radio or TV here," Mulder explained. It had been a long-standing argument between his parents. Her mother always said a holiday home was for people to get away from the world. She'd been furious the day his father had installed a phone line. Skinner set his glass on the coffee table and slid forward on his armchair, resting his forearms on his thighs and folding his hands. "China closed its borders three days ago." Scully frowned. "Why?" "Some kind of plague; the Chinese government has declared a state of emergency and is refusing to comment. They've set up martial law and shoot everyone trying to cross the border, be it to get in or get out. The only thing we're sure of is that this disease is spreading faster than wildfire. This morning I heard that all the airline companies have cancelled their flights towards Russia and India. But then again both governments are unwilling to give any information on what's really happening out there." Mulder snorted joylessly. "Hiding the Truth is not an American prerogative." Scully shot her partner an annoyed look before asking, "You must have at least some information on the symptoms?" Skinner sighed. "We just have rumours, from those who managed to send e-mails or phone before all the lines went dead. Apparently, people are dying within hours of catching the virus, choking on their own blood. We really don't know much, the problem being that nobody who witnesses the event stays alive long enough to tell the tale." Mulder jumped from his seat, rather agitated. "So you're telling us that a motherfucking epidemic is currently wiping out an entire continent, and that you guys don't have a clue what the hell is going on?" "Mulder!" The agent turned to look at his partner and calmed down immediately when their eyes met. Such wasted potential, Skinner thought; anybody able to keep Mulder's temper in check with a single look deserved a promotion. "Sit down," she ordered. Mulder complied grudgingly. Yep. A young Jana Cassidy. Astounding A.D. material... "This is no epidemic, Mulder. At this rate it's a pandemic." Her partner shrugged. "What difference does it make? Picking the proper term won't bring them back, Doc." "Mulder, that's enough!" Skinner barked. Scully threw her boss a quick composed look. "That's all right, Sir." Subtext: 'I'm a big girl, beat it, Walt.' She shifted in her seat to face her companion. "What I'm saying, Mulder, is that a plague spreading this fast is highly unlikely to have natural causes at its origin." "Well done, you can come back next week." "Let me finish. If it's engineered, there's probably a cure." "Of course there is, Scully. The vaccine." His partner slapped the sofa with her palm. "Dammit, Mulder, there's no reason why the Consortium would be involved in this." "And there's no reason why it shouldn't. I can smell Ol' Smokey's foul stench over all this." Skinner rocked back in his armchair. "I must say the possibility crossed my mind as well. One e-mail mentioned a bee sting." Mulder crossed his arms, and made a smug little gesture with his chin. "See?" Scully stood up, rolling her eyes. "This plague isn't the only contagious thing here." "What's your point, Agent Scully?" asked Skinner in a tone his fatigue made it very hard to keep neutral. She planted herself in front of him. "With all due respect, Sir, I think Mulder's paranoia is rubbing off on you." "Scully..." her partner sighed behind her. She whirled round. "No, Mulder. If bees were responsible for this, it would mean entire swarms attacking the population. If that had been the case don't you think it would have been the first rumour to come up? The first thing to be mentioned in those mails and calls?" She turned towards her boss. "Was it the case, Sir?" Skinner shook his head wearily. "No." She turned again to pin Mulder with a 'there-you-go' look. He held her gaze, unyielding. "Maybe it just takes one person to be stung now to contaminate an entire group. The bees we encountered could have just been an experimental version." She didn't reply straight away, a sign that she was at least considering the possibility. On his mental abacus a bead was being slowly pushed in his favour. She finally broke their staring contest by shaking her head. "Even if that were true, why would they decide to relieve an entire continent of its population? Why China? It doesn't make any sense!" In his mind, the bead slid back. "China is only ground zero, Scully. We're talking global spring cleaning here." "You're not serious!" "Do I look like I'm laughing, Scully?" She made an irritated little noise in the back of her throat before launching: "A world-wide genocide? That's ridiculous. For what purpose?" He crossed his hands behind his head, never breaking eye contact. "To make room." "Room for what?" He could tell his cryptic answers were beginning to seriously piss her off, just by the way she over pronounced her words. That he was getting such an inordinate kick out of it wasn't lost on him. Her Irish temper was the greatest turn on. He smiled softy. "You're not gonna like my answer." She sneered at him. "I'm used to it. Shoot." He shrugged. "All right. What if I told you Homo sapiens sapiens isn't the cool thing to be anymore." She shot him a sardonic smile. "I'd say you're out of your mind. Try again." "How about: our race has served its purpose and now the planet is being repossessed?" Her eyes narrowed. The Scully Special Killer Blow was on its way. "You really do believe this evolutionary engineering bullshit your so-called *informant* fed you with, don't you?" His hands dropped on his lap. "I never said she was my informant." Her chin jutted out defiantly. "You're right. Krycek did." Mulder stood up to face her, bristling. "Since when do you listen to that little piece of shit?" "Since you stopped trusting me enough to share that kind of information," she snapped back. Skinner's voice boomed behind them. "That's enough. If you have personal issues to discuss, I'd appreciate you doing so outside my presence. I really don't have time for this." The agents froze and blinked dazedly at him. When these two were caught up in an argument, the outside world simply ceased to exist. Skinner stood up as well. "Scully. What did you mean by 'evolutionary engineering'?" He never had a chance to listen to her answer. His 'danger-bell', the one which had saved his butt so many times in Nam, pealed out as he heard a faint noise on his right, and before he had time to consciously register what was happening he'd already drawn his gun and was pointing it in the direction of the stairway. Then his lungs went AWOL. Standing at the top of the stairs was a tall, blonde, Hitchcockian version of Dana Scully. *** Skinner felt Mulder's hand touch his arm. "It's OK, Sir, it's only Faye." The young woman made her way downstairs, slowly, her eyes fixed on his gun. Skinner jerked slightly when he realised he was still aiming at her, and put his gun back in its holster. His hand was shaking. Only Faye. Right. No problem. Scully's voice drifted through his stunned daze. "She's my daughter." He saw the stunning creature stop halfway down the stairs to stare at Scully as if she hadn't expected to be introduced in that way. "Your daughter," he repeated slowly. His thoughts were moving through treacle. It was one thing to read the reports about abductions, stolen ova, cloning and genetic manipulation which regularly landed on his desk - courtesy of the X-Files division - but *seeing* the result, the proof of all those things, was an entirely different matter. He felt himself falling from the cliff of mere knowledge towards the boiling river of actual experience. And at this point, he doubted he could manage anything but doggy paddle. He briefly closed his eyes to steel himself, wishing a glass of strong liquor would materialise in his hand so he could smooth the razor sharp edges of this new, unwelcome awareness. When he reopened his eyes Faye was standing in front of him. "Faye, this is Walter Skinner, assistant director with the FBI, our boss," explained Mulder behind him. The young woman extended her hand and he stared at it dumbly for a moment before realising that he was being rude and hurrying to shake it. Her slim fingers were warm and real against his palm. He didn't know why he'd expected them to be cold. "Why are you here?" she asked, releasing his hand. Her voice was a touch deeper than Scully's, but similar enough to make his flesh crawl. He heard Mulder chuckle behind him. "Faye, you really do need to work on your social skills." If her features had left any doubts about her origins, the finely arched and haughty eyebrow she raised at Mulder would have settled them entirely. It definitely bore the Scully copyright. Skinner shook his head in disbelief and looked successively at his agents. "I'm listening." "The birds and the bees and the test tube babies, Sir," answered Mulder. Skinner rolled his eyes and shot a pleading look at Scully, but as his agent opened her mouth to answer, Faye interrupted her. "To my knowledge, they did not experiment on birds." Mulder's mouth began to curve in the beginning of a grin before freezing abruptly. He stepped forward, invading the young woman's personal space as he always did when he wanted to pry information from someone. Faye did not seem to mind as she held the agent's inquisitive stare impassively. "Faye? You know about the bees? Why didn't you tell us?" "Because I do not have any valid data to communicate on the subject. I just know the Project used them for certain experiments." Skinner observed Mulder run his hand through his hair in frustration while the young clone continued to fix him, poised as the proverbial sphinx. Scully moved closer to ask softly: "Do you know if they were working on viruses?" Faye nodded. "I brought some samples to one of the virology lab once, which was situated in the restricted area. I saw cages with infected animals." "Smallpox?" "I don't think so, the label on the cages read 'T.B'." Scully locked eyes with her partner, open-mouthed. Skinner made the logical leap as well, thinking about the symptoms he'd described earlier. "But isn't tuberculosis a chronic illness, with debilitating symptoms lasting for years?" "Seems they somehow managed to make this strain of it go turbo," replied Mulder. Scully pursed her lips. "Not exactly how I would have put it, but yes, they could have shortened the incubation period and accelerated the appearance of acute symptoms, perhaps by boosting the mutation rate of the viral genome." Mulder noticed Faye's puzzled look. "We'll explain later, Faye." Skinner fished something from his pockets. "I have to get back to Washington." He approached Scully and pushed a folded piece of paper in her hand. "Listen, there was another reason why I came here. I wanted to tell you that you might not be safe here for much longer. As far as I know, nobody has started looking for you yet, which could be something to do with the present situation, but in any case I don't think you can afford taking chances." His eyes settled on Faye. "Especially now." Scully lifted her head, having read the address hurriedly scribbled on the paper. "Montana? Why Montana?" "I've got a friend I trust there. And I know that if there's one person who can keep you safe it's him." "Moses Stanley?" Mulder was squinting over his partner's shoulder. "Who is he?" Skinner wasn't about to tell them that his best Nam buddy was a survivalist living in a remote fortress hidden deep in the Montana wilderness. It wasn't something an Assistant Director should boast about. They'll figure it out soon enough. "I told you, just a reliable friend." Mulder was about to press further but Scully silenced him with one of her speech impeding looks. "Thank you for helping us, Sir. We'll leave tomorrow." Skinner nodded and started to head for the door. But Scully stopped him. "Where are you going?" "I told you, back to D.C." The small agent stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. "Sir, you're obviously exhausted. Right now, you need rest and food." He stepped forward, towering above her, but she didn't even blink, let alone move. "I'm fine." She glared up at him, well aware that he was giving her a taste of her own medicine. "You're not leaving." Skinner looked over his shoulder to see Mulder chew on his lips to ward off a smirk, and assume a "no-way-I'm-getting-into-this" stance when their eyes met. Coward. He looked back at Scully. "Agent Scully, I can't afford to rest." "You're not fit to drive." He pinched the bridge of his nose, too tired to argue. She was right, of course. He was just afraid that if he collapsed on a bed now, he'd sleep for two days straight. Scully gently took hold of his arm and his eyes snapped open. He couldn't even remember closing them. She smiled at him. "I'll show you the guest room." He followed her down the corridor and nearly bumped into her when she stopped in front of one of the dark wooden panelled doors. She opened it and stepped aside. The A.D. hesitated. "I appreciate your concern, Agent Scully, but I really must inform the Bureau as soon as possible. I want our teams to know what to expect if this plague hits the country. This really can't wait." "I agree the matter is urgent, but if you crash your car on the way they'll wait even longer." She gestured for him to step inside. "Bathroom is on the left. Feel free to use the shower. There are towels in the drawers. We'll wake you up for dinner in a few hours, and then you can go." Skinner sighed and shook his head. "I could order you to let me leave." She held his stare, her little chin raised in challenge. "With all due respect, Sir, that would be a very stupid order." Skinner leaned his forehead on the doorjamb. "All right, all right, you win." He shot her a weary look before straightening up. "Don't let me keep you, Agent Scully. You look like you could use some rest too." He went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. *** The living room was empty when she returned. She heard voices coming from the kitchen and headed towards it. Leaning her shoulder against the door jamb, she observed Faye and Mulder - standing by the fridge - in the middle of a rather animated conversation. Apparently Faye was disagreeing with him about something. "Your question relies on variables which aren't even remotely possible." "But you have to *imagine* it is possible, that's what makes it fun!" "I fail to see the fun of that. Even if you had a big enough fridge, it would probably be most unhappy in it. Not to mention the fact that it wouldn't be able to get inside by itself, let alone get out." "What would?" enquired Scully, making the both of them snap their heads towards her. "The elephant," answered Faye. Scully shot his partner a long-suffering look. "Mulderrrr, *not* the elephant joke." He faked a wounded pout. "I thought you liked it." She merely tilted her head with a pitying look. "And it certainly couldn't leave *several* footprints in a standard size slab of butter," added Faye sternly, still pondering over the ridiculous statements of the joke. Scully snorted. Mulder opened the fridge to retrieve some orange juice. "I give up! She's even worse than you." Scully almost missed Faye's hurt blink. It was hard to keep in mind that her tendency to take everything literally didn't stop at jokes. Drawing a deep breath, she approached her daughter, feeling suddenly incredibly clumsy. She noticed the way the young woman's shoulders tensed imperceptibly as she reached out for her arm, and hoped it was because Faye wasn't used to being touched rather than because she was wary of her. "Faye, that was another joke. A figure of speech." Her daughter, who had been staring at her mother's hand on her upper arm, lifted her head to meet her gaze. "Is that so?" She sounded sceptical. Mulder's astounded voice behind her made Scully start and drop her hand. "Come on Faye! Did you really think I meant it?" "Yes." Mulder gently pushed Scully aside to face the young clone. "All right, tell me exactly what you think I meant." "Just what you said, that I'm worse than my mother." "And what did you think I meant by 'worse'?" The young woman frowned. "Exactly what worse means: 'less good', 'inadequate', 'flawed'." Mulder shook his head. "The first definition of 'worse' is 'bad to a greater degree'." "What is your point?" "My point is that if you apply that definition then what I allegedly meant was..." he stepped back to point at Scully like a lawyer presenting a vital piece of evidence, "...that she is bad and you're even more bad." He leaned towards the young woman, until his face was very close to hers. "Now, you tell me, do I really have such low consideration for my partner?" Faye looked at Scully, then back at him. "No...no, of course you don't." She sighed and dropped her head. "I'm ashamed of my stupidity. I'm sorry." "Faye, look at me." When she raised her head, the agent firmly took hold of both her shoulders. "Just like your mother, you're nothing short of exceptional, never doubt that. Ever." The mother in question was glad nobody was paying enough attention to notice her sudden blush. The young clone pinned him with her disconcertingly direct stare. "But not exceptional enough to get your jokes." Mulder smiled gently. "It doesn't matter, kiddo, they're lousy jokes anyway." He drew her in a hug, stroking her back reassuringly. Scully always marvelled at how easy it was for him to touch people. At first she'd found it intrusive, this way he had to always linger with a hand on her shoulder or at her back. Then she got used to it, even took some comfort in it, construed that the tactile medium was his way of checking that the reality he had so little faith in still stood its ground, that the important things and people in his life were still there, at arm's length, reachable. It was the bold and asexual touch of a twelve year old who had had first hand experience of how quickly things could vanish. She saw Faye hesitate and then awkwardly lift her hands to rest them lightly against his back. It looked like a new experience to her. Scully felt an unexpected pang of maternal pain stab her stomach. She also realised that Mulder was watching her as he hugged her daughter, silently asking her if she minded. She smiled sadly at him. Mulder smiled back, and with a final pat on Faye's shoulder drew away. "Keys," the young clone said. "What?" "To get into your fridge it would need the keys to your house." "Faye?" "What?" "Just drop it, will ya?" HUMAN CREDENTIALS (24/24) RATING: NC-17. Bring it on! CATEGORY: Kama Sutra 101. KEYWORDS: Sex Drive. Not necessarily in that order. CAUTION: This chapter contains an unusual level of mush. This is especially dedicated to Jules who suggested that after all her poor sausage and her little Wiener schnitzel* have been through they did deserve to reach what she nicely referred as 'A Soft Place'. That, and I needed someone to take the blame . And this is also for Lian and her 'keep it simple' suggestion. *I know, Jules, I made that last one up. ---------------- Part twenty-four. ---------------- "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine." - R.E.M. - Scully was knocking at Skinner's bedroom door. "Sir?" When no reply came, she glanced at her watch. 8pm. Four hours of sleep wasn't much, but it would have to do. She knocked again, hearing Mulder's footsteps down the hallway. She shot him a glance and gave a little shrug. "No answer?" he asked. "Nope." "Maybe he's gone through the window." She shot him a wry smile. "No, not Skinner. He's not the ditching type, Mulder. He's probably just dead to the world." She softly opened the door, leaving her partner behind with his mouth hanging open in an aborted protest. As it turned out, she was right. Walter Skinner's imposing frame was sprawled on its back across the mattress, sound asleep, with the comforter bunched around his feet. He was snoring softly. His jacket and tie were neatly folded over a nearby chair. Scully approached the bed, hating to have to wake him up, but knowing he would never forgive her if she didn't. She shook his shoulder gently. "Sir?" Skinner's eyes opened and his eyes focused on her face uncomprehendingly. "Am I dead?" he whispered. "Not to my knowledge, Sir." The A.D. blinked several times and the disorientated look left his features. He straightened up to sit at the edge of the bed, trying to bring some order back to his rumpled suit. "What time is it?" "8pm." "I have to go," he grumbled, bending to reach for his shoes. "Sir, there are certain things Mulder and I think you should know." He raised his head. "About what?" "About some unexpected turns of event, Sir." His gaze quickly went from one agent to the other before returning to his shoelaces. "If you're worried about what the OPC might think, let me tell you they have other fish to fry at the moment." "I don't think that's what Agent Scully was referring to, Sir," interjected Mulder. Skinner had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed before standing up to reach for his tie. "You've got ten minutes," he warned gruffly, before disappearing into the bathroom. It took more than that. But Skinner, enthralled by their story, soon forgot to check his watch. They told him about the secret labs run by Krycek in Indiana, and the tests conducted there. Scully related her encounter with Marita and the subsequent experience of the Treatment. She also voiced her concern about the black oil's ability to influence the human mind. "It can behave like a parasite, Sir, a parasite with a high power of suggestion. As far as I understand it, it slowly *persuades* its host that he or she is no longer human." Skinner frowned. "Like in that movie 'The Thing'?" Mulder shook his head. "No, in 'The Thing' the alien DNA destroyed the human cells and mimicked them. In this particular case the lifeform doesn't destroy anything. It merely suggests." "But you said Marita looked barely human." Scully nodded. "Psychosomatic disorders can cause perfectly genuine physical reactions. My guess is that this is just the next level, where the body starts believing the mind and altering its state accordingly. Redefining itself according to this new perception." "We are what we think we are," concluded Mulder. Skinner was relentlessly pacing the bedroom. "Could this be linked to the plague devastating China?" Scully's shoulders stiffened. "It's unlikely, Sir." Mulder tilted his head in a 'Come on, Scully!' look. "The plague kills people, Mulder, it doesn't change them." "Because they are not the right type! This isn't supposed to work on us!" The frustrated sigh his partner released sounded like a growl. "So if that's the case, why did it happen to *her*? Hell, Mulder, why did it happen to *me*?" Mulder's lips curled faintly. "I dunno, Scully, maybe you're just higher on the evolutionary scale than the rest of us." The A.D. intervened just in time to avoid a blood bath. "I think I have a fair idea of the situation, Agents. That'll be enough, thank you." He retrieved his coat which was folded over an armchair, and put it on, pretending to ignore the silent battle of wills taking place behind his back. He glanced at his watch: 8.40pm. He really should be on his way. But not before asking one final question. "Agent Scully?" The young woman reluctantly stopped glaring at her partner to focus on him. "Where does your...er...daughter fit into all this?" Her voice didn't reflect the sullen clouds passing over her eyes for a single instant. "Faye is a lab rat, Sir. She was part of a hybrid development program. Krycek found her. She was working for him in the medical compound where he took me." Skinner ran a hand over his bald skull. "She's a hybrid?" "Yes, but unlike any we have encountered before. Physiologically she seems to be 100% human. Her blood is red, she cannot shape-shift and apart from her accelerated growth..." "Accelerated growth?" "She's five years old, Sir." The A.D. let out a low and stupefied "What?" "She says she sheds skin more quickly than a snake," added Mulder. Scully's neck snapped towards her partner, her eyes wide. This little piece of information had obviously not been shared yet. But as far as he was concerned he had enough data to keep him busy all the way back to D.C. He acknowledged Mulder's answer with a slow nod and started heading towards the door. "You know what amazes me the most of all the things you told me?" he began as the three of them were making their way down the hall. "That Alex Krycek seems to be on the good guys' side?" ventured Mulder. Skinner nodded. "Exactly." "Yeah, I must say I still have difficulty wrapping my mind around that one too." "And that's saying something," added Scully's sarcastic voice behind them. *** They watched Skinner leave the house, his black overcoat billowing around his ankles as he strode purposefully over the front yard before disappearing across the street. And despite the fact that their boss didn't show any outward sign of having been deeply affected by the news, Mulder had noticed the final glance he'd thrown at Faye before stepping out of the house. He'd looked at her as if she'd been a bad omen. On the doorstep Mulder had the sinking feeling that they would never see Walter Skinner again. Scully's hand sliding into his hadn't done anything to reassure him. He didn't need to look at her to know she was sharing his thoughts. He could read the pressure of her palm and the curl of her fingers like a soothsayer. *** Mulder finished packing his bag. It hadn't taken long, as he didn't have many belongings here. Skinner had promised a car would be there in the morning to allow them to drive to Montana. He chucked the bag down by the door and silently entered the bathroom. Scully was brushing her teeth. He leaned against the wall by the door and watched her rinse her mouth. Their argument was far from over and Skinner wasn't here any more to serve as buffer zone. She finally turned towards him and crossed her arms over her chest. Yup. A hundred pounds of trouble in a baggy T-shirt. "So you believe this plague is an alien conspiracy?" Her question was edged with the metallic echo of a gun being cocked. "I do, Scully." "Based solely on what this informant of yours told you." "I don't see any reason why she would have lied to me." "I'm not saying she was lying, Mulder. I'm just saying she could have been wrong." "I think you're afraid, Scully." "You're right, Mulder, I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I realise that you've been withholding things from me again. I'm afraid because you're so ready to go out on a limb based solely on what a very sick woman told you, rather than listening to what I have to say. I'm not afraid of what is happening out there, Mulder. I'm afraid of what is happening to us." Mulder's head drooped and he shook his head. "Scully, I knew Marita long before we..." "Fucked? Is that what it takes to make you trust people, Mulder? Does that mean you were fucking her too? How many times did it take to make you believe her so blindly? There must a required amount because I sure haven't reached it yet!" He didn't know how he arrived there, but suddenly he was cornering her against the sink, and his hands were tightly gripping her wrists. "Stop it, Scully...just stop it." "Mulder, you're hurting me," she hissed. He released her and stepped back a little. "So are you." They stared at each other for a while. Scully let out a long sigh, rubbing her sore wrists. "This isn't working, is it, Mulder?" "Are you giving up?" he asked dejectedly. "Are you?" she breathed tonelessly. He grabbed a nearby towel and started fiddling with its corners. "We've always disagreed, Scully. Just because we're sleeping together doesn't mean we're gonna stop fighting. And it certainly doesn't mean we're gonna start playing fair. We never did." "So what now?" "I say we should drop the 'emotional baggage' - as you put it - for a while, and start again like level-headed adults." She smiled faintly at that. "Can we?" He smiled back and tucked the towel on the rack behind him. "It's worth a try." They made their separate ways back to the bedroom. Mulder went to sit in the armchair, while Scully chose to sit cross-legged on the bed. He longed to touch her, but knew it would be inappropriate right then. The stakes were too high. They had to prove to one another that they could still interact like partners, no matter what kind of relationship they were engaged in. That was the unspoken rule. Partnership came first. Always would. She smoothed her oversized sweatpants over her thighs. "You start." He took a deep breath in. "All right. Facts: a) A plague bearing all the symptoms of tuberculosis is currently devastating China and the neighbouring countries. b} Faye says that the consortium were working on tuberculosis. c) The consortium are working hand in hand with the aliens. My conclusion: The consortium released this virus to help the aliens achieve their goal. Your turn." Scully lightly tapped her thighs with her palms. "All right. a) We don't know if it's tuberculosis yet, since no victim has been properly examined. b)We don't know what the consortium's goal is. We merely *suspect* they are working for the aliens. c) We don't know what the aliens' goal is. My conclusion: we lack sufficient evidence to draw any kind of conclusion at this point. Your turn." He was actually enjoying this. "All right. a) Marita's brain was directly influenced by the black oil, therefore had an inside knowledge of the aliens' motives. b) She said the aliens engineered human evolution to be able to survive on earth by using the final species as host. c) I think the new species already exists among the population. Conclusion: The aliens are making room for their slaves." Scully shot him a teasing smirk. "All right. a) Marita was insane. Ali did mention that people like us were a kind of 'bridge' between our race and the next. But I think he was trying as hard as you are to find answers that suited him. b) I still don't think evolution is something that can be engineered, and if these "advanced" people can still interbreed with the general population then by definition they're not a new species. c) I think the black oil acts like a parasite and that given the right circumstances anybody could be contaminated. Conclusion: We're definitely dealing with an alien threat, but it has nothing to do with what's happening in China, because I don't believe in a Grand Master Plan on this scale. " Mulder chuckled. "This is going pretty well, don't you think?" Scully ran her hands over the comforter. "Yeah, but we still don't agree." He scratched his nose and shifted on his armchair. "Maybe we don't have to." He stood up and lifted the curtain to stare through the window. Dusk was well under way. Outside, the sea was a navy blue shimmer between the pine trees. "A) I'm a self-centred bastard. b) You're a stubborn little bitch. c) That's us, how we work. Any kind of change will take time, on both sides." He was still facing the window, expecting something hard to hit him between the shoulder blades any minute. Which is why he jumped a foot when her husky voice whispered right behind him: "D) Why don't you come to bed?" He turned round slowly to look down at her. "Because I'm afraid of getting my ass kicked for what I just said?" She lifted a small hand to caress his cheek with her fingertips. "You don't know me at all, do you, Mulder?" "I don't?" "Nuh-uh. Or you'd know I wouldn't kick your ass for being honest." She raised herself on tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Come on. We've got a long day tomorrow." *** Mulder adjusted the rear-view mirror of the nondescript Ford Taurus Skinner had provided them with. Faye was curled up on the back seat. Just like her mother, she could sleep anywhere, and had been doing so with a vengeance. The confined shelter of the car made her feel safe. He'd noticed how she didn't feel comfortable in open spaces, probably not being used to an environment without walls surrounding her. They'd been driving for twelve hours practically non-stop, and his eyes were beginning to water with exhaustion. He rubbed them and yawned. Scully noticed, and interrupted her scrutiny of the passing scenery. "Let's find a motel, Mulder. I think that's enough for today." "Okay." He chanced a look at her, but her gaze had gone back to the window. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "What are you thinking about?" "Nothing." "You haven't said a word in two hours. Is something bothering you?" He felt her shift slightly in her seat, but kept his eyes fixed on the road. "No...it's silly." "The unflappable Dr Scully entertaining silly thoughts? Naaah. Come on, tell me." He heard her sigh. "I'm thinking about what Skinner said when he woke up... when he asked whether he was dead." Mulder threw her a puzzled look. "What about it?" "I was wondering if death is what I inspire to people nowadays." He started to laugh. "I don't see what's so funny." Her voice sounded genuinely hurt. "Is that what you think?" he chuckled. "I knew I should have kept my mouth shut." His right hand left the steering wheel and searched blindly for her own. He found her knee instead and patted it gently. "Oh, Scully. You don't get it, do you?" "Get what?" Okay, she was pissed off now. "That Skinner thought he'd died and gone to Heaven." "You're not serious!" "Uh-huh. That's what I always ask myself when I wake up and the first thing I see is you." She swatted his hand away. "Stop making fun of me, Mulder." "The guy's got a mighty crush, Scully." "Stop it!" "It's true!" "Mulder! It's *Skinner* we're talking about." "Yeah, the same Skinner who made a pact with Ol' Smokey to try to save your life when you had cancer. Don't tell me that wasn't way beyond the call of duty." "He did that to prevent *you* from doing something stupid." He briefly turned his head to grin at her, batting his eyelashes. "Think I should ask him to marry me?" She rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Mulder." "You don't believe me, do you?" "Glad to see your deduction skills are not irremediably impaired." "Sorry to break your bubble, Scully, but I know a smitten guy when I see one." "And pray, how did you get this amazing insight?" He shrugged casually, his voice suddenly becoming soft and serious. "Recently, every time I look in a mirror." She didn't answer him; her face was once again turned towards the window. He stretched his neck to try and catch a glimpse of her shadowy profile, periodically lit by golden streaks from the streetlamps edging the highway. She was smiling. *** Thirty minutes later they were checking in the Silver Lining Motor Lodge. He carried Faye's bags into her room. The young clone stepped in, shortly followed by Scully. "I've never been in a motel before." "Count your blessings," replied her mother, opening the connecting door to drop her own bags. "I'm gonna go and get something to eat," Mulder said, disappearing into the bathroom. Scully watched Faye walk around the room, lifting the curtains, skimming her hand across the coffee-stained desk, opening the wardrobe. "You alright, Faye?" The young clone blinked at her. "Yes." She went to sit on the bed and opened the drawer of the bedside table, before pinning her mother with one of her trademark direct stares. "You don't like motels." Scully smiled. "Mulder and I have spent too much time in them when we were out on cases. I much prefer being home." "Home..." She shut the drawer gently. "I wouldn't know." She stood up to study the television. "How many channels can you get?" Scully shrugged. "I don't know, ask your..." WHOA. Where the *hell* did that come from? Clearing her throat she hastened to add: "I mean, ask Mulder, he's the one who's glued to the damn thing all night." She turned to avoid looking at her daughter, only to find herself facing a very smug, very grinning Mulder. "Will Chinese do, Mom?" As long as the chopsticks were pointy enough, it probably would. Homemade acupuncture could ruin a guy for life... *** Plane is good. Plane is *very* good. Five days of staring at nothing but backwoods gas stations, cows, more cows, cheap motels and countless greasy spoons, and she was feeling nostalgic. Oh, and let's not forget one donkey. What she wouldn't give for an airport check-in right now. She wouldn't even mind the queue. According to her map they wouldn't reach Montana for two more days. Mulder, being his paranoid self, had left the major highway three days ago on the grounds that he'd seen the same blue Buick behind them two days in a row. The fact that it had been driven by an elderly couple hadn't budged him one little bit. But coming from a man who thought Florida was the anteroom of Hell, it didn't really surprise her. "Never trust someone with purple hair," he'd said, "We all know what they did to Elvis." Then Faye had asked who Elvis was, and the next few hours had been spent with Scully imagining scenarios which would have made Tarantino wet himself. And that was even before he began to sing... It was with undisguised relief that she dumped her bags in yet another motel and let herself drop heavily onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow with a satisfied groan. "You OK, Scully?" "Hummffyeah.." "Want me to sing you a lullaby?" She hugged the pillow tighter and grumbled to herself: "I know I have a scalpel somewhere..." His dead weight falling next to her on the bed made her bounce. She didn't even have the energy to tell him off. She felt his hand rub between her shoulder blades. Now, that was better. "I think we need a day off," he said. "We need a year off, Mulder," she muttered. His hand continued to draw soothing patterns on her back. "Tell you what. We'll take it easy tomorrow, leave in the afternoon, take time to have a real breakfast or something." She turned her head slightly to cast him a sceptical glance. "Mulder? Is that you?" His hand stilled. "Aah...I think Faye doesn't care for driving very much." So. That's what it was. "Yeah, I noticed." Although Faye was doing her best to hide it, it had quickly become obvious that she was prone to carsickness. Scully had wondered at first why Mulder would suddenly stop on various pretences - checking the tyres, getting something from the trunk, stopping to get gas when their tank was still half full - until she'd looked in her courtesy mirror to see Faye turning a rather unbecoming shade of green. After cursing the both of them for not having told her sooner, she'd shoved Dramamine into her daughter's clammy hand. But even with the help of medication, the long journey was still putting quite a strain on the young clone. She turned on her side, tucking her hand underneath her head to support it, and looked at her partner. She didn't know how to feel about the fact that he seemed more aware of her daughter's needs than she was. "So, to sum it up, you want us to take it easy because of Faye?" His eyes darted around fretfully, trying to detect where he could safely step in this metaphorical minefield. "Well... partly." He rolled on his back, and stared at the ceiling. "We could all do with a break, of course." "Mulder, cut the crap. Why didn't you just say so in the first place?" He sighed and closed his eyes. "Scully..." She moved quickly to straddle him, taking his face between her hands and forcing him to look up at her. "Listen to me, Mulder, listen carefully, because I'm going to spell it out for you." He blinked at her like a dazed rabbit. "I have a 5 year old daughter who looks 20, to whom I never gave birth. I'm trying to adjust to that and it's not easy. But I do care about her. I *do*. And I can also see that you care a great deal for her too. But you don't have to hide it from me, Mulder." She straightened up and let her hands slide over his chest. "I'm not jealous, Mulder. The woman in me doesn't feel threatened and nor does the mother." Mulder swallowed. Speaking of woman...the feel of her thighs pressing against his hips was beginning to distract him. "But you did say..." "I know what I said. And I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that for many reasons I'll probably never be as close to her as you are." He opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him with two fingers over his lips, bending over to pin him with a firm stare. "But that's *my* problem, Mulder. My problem, not yours. And I will never resent you for it. Do you understand?" He hurried to nod. Scully would have probably won many more arguments in the past if she had done so in this position. Of course this information would remain classified. She patted his shoulder with a teasing smile. "Good. So if you want to play the doting father, knock yourself out." He lifted a hand to her neck, bringing her face to his, while the other slid over her jeans-clad bottom. "Is that a proposal, Agent Scully?" "Certainly not." She let him kiss her but drew back when his tongue tried to part her lips, choosing instead to pepper a line of soft kisses over his jaw, his nose, his forehead. His fingers tangled in her hair, manoeuvring her mouth back to his, but she escaped him again to bestow her favours on his neck. He growled, grabbed her at the waist and flipped her over. "Mulder!" He lowered his head to catch her mouth, but she turned her head away, a soft smile playing on her lips. The snapshot of that moment filed itself neatly in a his mental folder, section 'Scully In Bed', under the letter 'P' for 'Playful'. It saddened him to think that it was probably their first genuine moment of intimacy together, void of any anger, alien impulses or clumsy desperation. He hadn't touched her since the 'bathroom incident' and still kicked himself for having tried to make love to her while she was still recovering from the mysterious Treatment. The one so terrible that she still refused to talk about it. But right now he was pinning her to the bed and she didn't seem to mind. He lowered his mouth to her neck and nibbled his way up until he met her earlobe and closed his lips around it, his teeth lightly pulling at the tiny pearl earring she was wearing. She let out the sweetest gasp. When he returned to her lips she didn't turn away this time. He felt her soften under him as the tips of their tongues met. They probably lost nine minutes here and then. But when one of his hands drifted to her breast she pulled his face away. "Mulder. Stop," she breathed raggedly. Okay, maybe she did mind after all. "Why?" "It's still early." He chuckled and kissed her nose. "I like it when you're being shy." She pushed on his chest. "I said no." He raised himself and looked down at her with a frown. There was a knock on the connecting door. Scully lifted an eyebrow at him. "See what I mean?" Mulder sighed and climbed off the bed to open the door. Parenthood was loosing its appeal all of a sudden. Faye tilted her head when she saw him. "You look unhappy." "I...uh...no, I was just about to doze off, that's all." "I just saw Elvis." Mulder's initial bemused frown was quickly replaced by a wide grin. "Faye! Did you just make a joke?" The young clone calmly raised a pink flyer to his eye-level. "He gave me this." Mulder took the paper and began to read it, moving slightly sideways when he felt Scully's hand on his waist. "What is it?" she asked, trying to take a peek over his arm. The cheaply made print bore a drawing of the King in his 'Jailhouse Rock' days surrounded by musical notes and stars. "Roy 'Elvis' Roberts. Tonight at the Tow Truck Cafe, 8pm," he read out loud. "Cool!" He heard his partner mutter something about bad karma behind him, and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Come on, Scully! It's just down the road. It'll be fun." She looked up grudgingly at her daughter. "Faye? You really wanna go and see that? " "I think it would be an interesting experience." Scully let out a put-upon sigh. "Alright, then." She swivelled on her feet and jabbed her finger repeatedly on Mulder's chest. "But you. Will. Not. Sing." He pouted. "Spoilsport." *** "Trying to get me drunk, Mulder?" Scully eyed the third shot of whisky which had materialised on the sticky counter in front of her. "Mm-hm, so I can take advantage of you later," he leered, precariously leaning over on his stool to nuzzle her cheek. She drew back sharply, eyebrow arched in a warning hook. He knew she hated public displays of affection - which, of course, was exactly why he was doing it. "Are you aware of the effects of alcohol on the male libido?" Great. Doctor Scully had decided to make a special guest appearance for the sole purpose of slicing and dicing his ego. He huffed, straightened back on his seat and downed his own shot, slamming it down on the counter with a satisfying clomp before returning his gaze to the main attraction of the evening. Of Elvis, Roy Roberts had the sideburns and the bloated waistline, and that was about it. But the customers of the Tow Truck bar didn't seem to mind the lack of musical authenticity. They drank, danced and laughed and all in all looked like they were having a good time. Just another Friday night in a north Dakota suburb. Simple pleasures. Why was he suddenly feeling so out of place? He stopped fiddling with his glass and glanced sideways at Faye next to him. The young woman had her back to the bar and was sipping a Coke, her eyes following the movement of the crowd around them. She didn't seem to be paying much attention to the music, but with her you never knew. The girl put her mother's inscrutability to shame. He also noticed the young blond hunk sitting a little bit further along the bar, apparently gathering his courage to talk to her. The slap on the back one of his buddies had just given him, followed by a nervous glance in their direction, had tipped the agent off. He smiled faintly, remembering the moment they had crossed the threshold of the small local dive. Lucky son of a bitch. That was the gist of what he'd read in the eyes of the scattered crowd of men as he'd walked into the bar with Scully and Faye at his side. He'd never seen so many Adam's apples per square metre bobbling up and down. And he suspected Faye was the major reason for the sudden convergence of appraising and lustful stunned stares in their direction. That, or he was more good-looking than he'd thought. He watched the young guy make his move. "Uh...hi, I'm Eric, I don't think I've seen you here before." Mulder winced inwardly. His gaze drifted towards Scully - who, incidentally, had emptied her glass and was munching peanuts - and saw that she was also following the scene with interest. A little smirk graced her lips when their eyes met. "We're just passing through," Faye replied coolly. "Ah. Where are you from?" "Alaska," offered Mulder over the young clone's shoulder. Faye turned her head to frown at him and he winked back. Eric briefly glanced up at the agent as if he were some pesky rodent and chose to ignore him. "Can I offer you a drink?" "I already have one." Eric stared dumbly at the Coke she was holding and blinked. "Er... yeah... yeah." He brightened up suddenly. "Well, how about a dance then?" thought Mulder. Faye's gene pool shone in the arch of her brow. "You're asking me to dance with you?" "Er...yeah, if you don't mind, that is." "I don't know how to dance." The agent saw Eric's eyes light up like a Vegas one-armed-bandit. "I can teach you," he offered enthusiastically. Faye chewed on her lip and looked over her shoulder to see Mulder shrug, before returning her gaze to her eager would-be dance instructor. "All right. Teach me." Eric swallowed with difficulty - apparently not believing his luck. He held out his hand with a nervous smile and amidst a chorus of whistles led her to the centre of the floor where a few other couples were dancing. Roy Roberts had begun to croon 'Love Me Tender' on the cramped stage. Mulder swivelled on his chair, and pulled at Scully's sleeve. "Come on, partner, let's dance." "Hey!" He pushed her towards the improvised dance floor. "Sorry, Scully, I know this isn't your thing but I want to keep an eye on these two." He slapped both of her hands onto his shoulders, grabbed her waist, drew her close and began to sway to the music, watching Eric explain to Faye how to avoid crushing your dancing partner's toes. "You know, Mulder, maybe Eric could teach you a thing or two." He pulled back slightly to catch her eyes, frowning at their steely blue shade. "Something wrong with my dancing?" "No. With your manners." "Scuh-leee..." "You could have asked nicely." He scoffed. "Right, like you would have said yes." "I might have." "'Might' isn't good enough. I didn't have time to convince you." "So instead you just forced me into it. Smooth, Mulder, real smooth." He squeezed her waist gently. "Come on, Scully, this dancing thing is just an excuse to make sure Faye doesn't get into trouble. A means to an end, that's all." "Well, that's a relief," she replied dryly. He sighed, his tone taking a slightly irritated edge. "I could never understand why you always get so worked up about little things like this." She removed his hands from her waist and stepped back. "I'm not 'worked up', Mulder. I'm tired, and I'm going back to the motel." Mulder stood in the middle of the dance floor, watching her disappear through the crowd and wondering what the hell had just happened. After a while, he became suddenly conscious of the music around him. Roy Roberts was wailing the final line of the song in his fake baritone: "Neveeer let meeee gooooo..." Well, he just did. Bummer. He turned just in time to see Faye step away from Eric and followed her gaze as it suddenly zeroed in on the young man's zipper with the blunt accuracy of a metal detector. Seemed that young Eric was sporting steel. Mulder launched himself towards them. The young clone lifted her uncompromising stare to Eric's flushed face. "You're getting an er..." "Uhm... I'm afraid it's time to say good-bye, Faye. The penguins are waiting," Mulder cut in, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and steering her towards the bar's exit. He waved at a bewildered Eric, shouting, "Thanks for the lesson, buddy." He opened the door and signalled the young clone to step outside. "Rule #1, Faye. Never state the obvious." "But he had..." "I know what he had. But you don't say such things to a guy's face. It makes him uncomfortable." "I don't see why. It's a normal biological reaction." "Christ, you sound like your mother." "Talking of my mother, where is she?" "Gone ahead. She was tired." They walked for a while in silence, heading back towards the motel. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "Penguins?" "Well, I did say we came from Alaska." "Penguins live in the Antarctic." "Whatever." "You could have said puffins." "Puffins?" "They're birds." "Ah." "Don't you watch the Discovery Channel?" He grinned. "Not really my brand of entertainment." It wasn't long before they spotted Scully ahead of them. They'd been walking fast, in Mulder's usual rhythm, going from point A to point B as quickly as he could, no waste of time. And with Faye's long legs he hadn't bothered to slow down. He always had to slow down with Scully. On many levels. She forced him to pay attention, to tamp down his natural impetuosity, to think about consequences, to take time to listen. He wasn't good at that - and more often than not complied grudgingly - but she'd never given up, trotting at his side, giving up along the way her natural inclination to watch her every step, taking risks in order not to let go. He'd taken for granted that she would always catch up, that whenever his mad racing for the Truth would cause him to stumble she would be there to drag him onto safer ground, to stabilise him. Yeah, she'd slowed him down, but he was grateful for it. Without her obsessive caution he would probably be pushing up an entire flowerbed of daisies right now. He'd never bothered to slow down enough to say thank you, though. Perhaps that was the problem. She'd once said she'd been holding him back. Could it be that on some levels she considered herself a burden, an annoying impediment he'd grown accustomed to have around? Could it be the reason she gave so little of herself - because she thought he couldn't spare the time? Would you relinquish your control, let your walls tumble down, if you weren't sure whether the person on the receiving end would be around long enough to pick up the pieces? Maybe it was time to kill the engine long enough to assure her that he would - try. "Scully! Wait for us!" His partner stopped and turned towards them, watching them approach with an even gaze. "Finished dancing already?" "Yeah, young Eric became a tad...overwhelmed." Mulder replied. They resumed walking. "Overwhelmed?" Asked Scully. Faye shot Mulder a sharp look before asking: "Mother? Is dancing a prelude to sexual intercourse?" Scully hid a smile. "Overwhelmed...I see...no Faye, it can be, but it isn't always the case. Mostly people dance because they enjoy the music and it's a way for them to express that pleasure." "Oh, our young friend was expressing his pleasure all right..." Mulder added, kicking out a pebble. "He thought I was ill," Faye said. "Uh?" "He seemed to think I had a fever." "A fever?" Scully's slightly concerned voice chimed in. "Yes. He said I was hot." *** "Mulder, stop sniggering." Her partner shut the motel door behind him. "Come on, Scully. Even you have to admit it was funny." "Even me?" "You know what I mean." She sat on an armchair to remove her shoes. "What? Are you suggesting that I have no sense of humour?" Her tone of voice was light, but after her behaviour at the bar tonight he'd better be careful. Time to put those eggshell slippers on, just in case. He sat on the bed and mirrored her movements. "On the contrary, Scully. I think you have a great sense of humour." "But?" He sighed, He wasn't going to be let off the hook so easily. He stopped tugging at his laces to wipe his hands on his trousers. Might as well go for honesty. It was easier with alcohol in his bloodstream; besides, she did say she valued honesty, didn't she? "It's just that, most of the time, you're just so... goddamn serious. It's sometimes hard to remember you have it in you," he said finally. When he looked up, she was staring at him with an impossibly smooth and even stare. A hurt Scully was a dissimulating and silent one. "I hate it when you do that, you know?" he said. "Do what?" "Look at me like that." She tilted her head. "How else do you want me to look at you, Mulder?" He stood up and walked to her. He laid his hands on both armrests and leaned over her. "I want to see you." She raised her face to him, looking uncomfortable to have him suddenly standing above her, encaging her. "Isn't that what you're doing?" He shook his head slowly. "You're not here... not really. You're just pretending to be." "Mulder..." He heard the panic creep into her voice. "Distancing yourself so it doesn't hurt. You do it all the time, Scully." She lowered her head and drew her knees to her chest, refusing to look at him any longer. "I don't need a shrink, Mulder." He straightened up and walked around the armchair until he was standing behind her. With his hands on her stiff shoulders, he lowered his mouth to her exposed neck to taste the salt on her skin. She shuddered. "What do you need?" When she didn't reply, he let his hands slid from her shoulders to her breasts. And suddenly she wasn't in the armchair anymore. She'd bolted so fast that she seemed to materialise at the far end of the room. "Damnit, Mulder!" Her eyes were blazing with all the righteous outrage summoned by her Catholic upbringing. "Let me tell you what I *don't* need. *You* messing with my head as some kind of sick foreplay!" So that's what it feels like to be standing ankle deep in egg yolk. He pushed the armchair across the room in frustration, a bitter, acidic, whisky-tinged taste rising up in his throat. Sick. Yes. He was sick. Sick of trying to reach her. Sick of banging his head against her walls. Sick of bleeding on the barbed wires of her defences. Sick of it all. Sick of her. "Very well." In three long strides he reached the door and stormed out. The door slamming shut sucked the damp smell of the night inside. It had begun to rain. Scully's back slid against the wall as she slumped to the floor, hiding her face in her hands. Excess baggage. *** She looked at her alarm clock again. 2 am, and still no sign of Mulder. A worried Faye had knocked at her door a few minutes after the argument, having heard the door slam. Scully had tried to reassure the young clone, telling her that this kind of behaviour was a common occurrence between them. Before leaving, Faye had said even she knew that the best way to get along with people was to focus on the similarities rather than the differences. Scully had said it was more complicated than that. Her daughter had replied that that was a convenient belief. Unable to sleep, she finally stepped out of the bed and grabbed her coat. She went outside to check his car, but he wasn't in it. She made her way to the reception in the rain, her stomach churning with a sense of impending doom, which, fortunately, turned out to be unfounded when moments later she learnt that Mulder had booked another room a few hours ago. She should have gone back to her room and let things slide. Everything would be fine in the morning. Eventually. No. Not this time. As her father would say, in his colourful navy metaphors: 'If you ain't flushin', sailor, it'll keep stinking'. Their mutual cowardice was rotting away a relationship which was ripe to evolve. And instead, they were slowly poisoning each other. Time to reach for the bleach. She found his room on the other side of the motel complex, and after taking a deep breath in, knocked firmly. No answer. She knocked again. "Mulder, I know you're there." "Go away, Scully." A trickle of icy water sliding down her neck made her shiver. Think, think, think, damnit. She cleared her throat. "Faye was worried." She jumped when the door jerked opened suddenly. "That is such a cheap shot, Scully." She looked up at him. "I know, but it's working." "It isn't, and you know it." He moved back to close the door but she pressed her hand against the wood to stop him. "Mulder, I really think we need to talk." "You've got such a nerve to come here and say that to my face!" "I'm sorry, Mulder, but it didn't look like talking was your major concern back there." "You're wrong, Scully. I was trying to...I wanted..." he made a frustrated gesture, "...oh never mind." He reached for the door again. She touched his arm. "Mulder..." He yanked his arm away. "FUCK YOU, SCULLY! IT'S TOO LATE!" She held his gaze firmly. A yelling Mulder was infinitely less frightening than a silent one. Anything to keep him talking. "I never knew you to give up so easily." He stepped out in the rain to loom over her, fuming. "So easily? Where have you been those past few years?" he spat. She sighed, her head dropping to look at the mud smearing her tennis shoes. When she looked up again, the water soaking her face and hair had finally reached her eyes. They were shimmering like a reflecting pool. "Away... you were right, Mulder." His eyes became huge like the saucers he claimed he'd seen. His body seemed to solidify. She half expected snakes to start hissing on top of her head. Funny how powerful words often went in threes. She just needed to hammer that home now. "And I'm sorry. But I had no choice; understand that I was merely trying to keep my sanity, and that was the only way I found. I needed to do this to stay strong, so one day I could come back. And I'm ready now...but I don't know how...and you have to help me. Help me come back, Mulder." Gusts of winds were chasing the mixed waters from her cheeks and her lips were trembling from the cold, but she didn't care as her eyes remained locked on his, waiting for him to recover. Chess. The Queen had just knocked the King off his felt ass. Mulder's breath hitched. "You're not just saying that to..." Trust Mulder to become a doubting Thomas at a time like this. She stopped him by raising her hand and pressing her palm flat on his plexus. "No. I mean it." And this time he believed her. She saw it in his eyes as anger ceased to fuel the grey whirls in his irises and shone with a sense of peace which engulfed her like a bubble. State of Grace. She'd heard the term before, but always believed it was reserved for a few chosen ones, holy men, saints. She'd never thought it could happened to two FBI agents soaked to the bone on a motel parking lot. But it did happen. She saw his head bend in a perfect arc towards her, felt the warmth of his hands settle on her hips, felt her own, rising to his chest. Slowly, so slowly, until she was tasting the rain on his lips. They moved against hers, whispering: "Thank you." And everything went silent inside her. *** Back in their motel room, they didn't speak as they removed each other's damp clothes. They would have time for that later. Words were double-edged swords they'd decided to leave outside for the time being. Truce. Nothing before and nothing after. Just this, the feel of the sheets as her back hit the mattress, Mulder above her, caressing her face, touching her breasts, opening her legs. His tongue like twirling velvet in her mouth, hardening cock pulsing against the skin of her thigh, the initial resistance of her body, the delicious mix of pain and pleasure of having him pushing inside her, his low moan answering her sharp one, the contractions of his ass under her hands. Moving, sliding, rocking. Sweat and short breaths, hands roaming, searching...finding, feeling where their lower bodies connected, stoking the fire of their need with delicate brushes of their fingertips. There was a moment of overwhelming panic, when the sensations became so intense she felt she was losing control over them. She started struggling under him with breathless little sobs, hands flaying against his shoulders, head thrashing over the crumpled sheets. "...Scully." Her name on the end of a breath. Just that. Simple. He didn't fight her, just didn't stop moving, his hands sliding under her ass to hold her closer to him, hips pumping faster even, watching her. Her nails broke the skin on his shoulders. "Mulder..." "Shhhh...it's alright, angel, I'm here." And he was. After years of trial and errors, he'd gradually charted her inner map. He was so far inside her mind now she could never show him the way out again. He was standing in the attic. He hadn't slain her monsters, but had opened a skylight. It was small but it was a start. And as she looked up, solar winds came pouring in. And the triumphant cry escaping her throat was only human. *** She was woken up by someone kissing her shoulder. Nice. She stretched a little, feeling her partner spooned against her back. Even nicer. But at the moment there was only thing she wanted. More sleep. "Good morning," a low, sleep-husked voice murmured in her ear. She shot a blurry glance at the alarm clock. "Muldeeer...it's 5.30 am," she whined, "you said we would take it easy today." His teeth nibbled her neck. "We are." She twisted her head to look at him with her eyebrow raised. "You mean you woke me up for no good reason?" "Are you always such a grouch in the mornings?" She pushed her ass against his groin. Yup, it was morning for him all right. "It depends." He gasped and his hips jerked backwards. When she rolled over to face him, he was lying flat on his stomach, breathing hard with his eyes squeezed shut. "Mulder?" She reached for his shoulder. "Mulder, what is it? Answer me." He shook his head, eyes still shut. "Flashback..." Ah. Back in Tunisia. Again. It had been a traumatic experience for him. Her recollections of it were distant as if it had happened to another person. She hadn't been really there at the time. But Mulder had, and was wearing the T-shirt: "I Raped My Partner In Africa", written in big bold letters. The hell if she was going to let their damaged past spoil the little cocoon of normality they'd manage to build over the past few hours. She let her eyes drift over his naked body, his shoulder blades, his spine, the hard muscles of his buttocks. He was tensed in all the wrong places. She raised herself and covered his body with hers, and began caressing his ass with her lower stomach. She lowered her head to whisper against his spine. "You know what they say about falling off a bicycle, Mulder." She could feel the effects her movements were having on him. His hips were coursed by little spasms and his fingers were digging into the edge of the pillow. "Nobody ever said anything about hurting the bicycle, Scully." She sighed and licked at the skin between his shoulder blades. She heard him moan and felt his hips moving underneath hers as he rubbed himself against the mattress. "Things get mended, Mulder." She unclenched the hand which was gripping the pillow and forced it between their bodies until it was settled palm up between her legs. "Why don't you check for yourself?" He made an inarticulate sound and his hips jerked under her. It wasn't long before his fingers uncurled and stretched to slide inside her, and began moving in tiny thrusts. "See...Mulder, it's...oooh...just fine." She took hold of his shoulders and pressed herself harder against his palm, her lower body rippling along to the pumping of his hips. It was quite similar to riding a dolphin. She couldn't wait to see the tricks he could do with his fin. Their awkward position soon became frustrating and after one final push and a wet kiss on his left shoulder blade, she slid off him. They must have created a considerable amount of static because he was glued to her back like a magnet within seconds, repeating her name like a mantra as he devoured her neck and ran his hand up and down her thigh. "You're right, I'm a grouch in the morning," she confessed, hooking her foot behind his knee to draw him closer. She felt his impatient cock slid into the crack of her ass, brushing along her anus. Arousal spiked her blood like firewater as a dangerous heat shot through her belly so fiercely she bit her lip to smother a whimper. She reached out blindly behind her to dig her fingers in his hip. "Improve my mood, Mulder." *** The muffled sound of the television woke her up sometimes later. She groaned and buried her head in the pillow. His morning channel surfing habit would have to go. But at the moment she was feeling merciful. He'd improved her mood all right. She didn't know what had turned her on the most: feeling him impaling her from behind, his big hands kneading her breasts, or the fact that he'd virtually lost it straight away, pounding into her like a lunatic, when she'd expected him to be slow, cautious even. Control, thy name is not Mulder. Not that she'd been complaining. Thanks to her partner's opposable thumbs, a miracle of human evolution, it hadn't been long before she'd joined him, bucking and thrashing in his arms like a storm torn high-voltage line. "Good morning. Again." She raised her head and smiled at him with sleepy eyes. If she'd had known sex would make him so polite, she would have fucked his brains out on day one. She noticed he was already dressed. "Coffee?" she asked. "In the bag over here." She nodded, slid off the bed with a wince and headed for the bathroom first. She caught sight of her dishevelled reflection limping towards the mirror. Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss John Wayne... She came back moments later and went to retrieve her coffee, taking a peek through the window. The rain had stopped. "Scully." "What?" When he didn't reply she turned to look at him; his voice had barely been a whisper. He was staring at the television with an ashen face. *** Water. Just water. Nothing else but water. Flowing above her, running over her skin, enveloping her in a soft shroud, cutting her off from the outside world. Time out. Just for a little while. Mulder's channel surfing had stopped short on a CNN exclusive newsflash. Berlin. Choppy images taken from a helicopter. Corpses everywhere. Bloody handprints covering walls and shop windows in a hideous fresco. A pale and sunken-eyed Dan Rather announcing President Clinton's imminent speech to the nation. Scully had fled into the shower. Behind her closed eyelids, the imprint of a little girl's body, lying like a broken puppet on the German tarmac. Blood smeared around her opened mouth in a chilling imitation of some messy strawberry-munching kid. A cold draught brushed her spine as Mulder stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and saying nothing. Water, just water and their heartbeats. Tolling the knell. ------- Epilogue -------- The snowstorm is going to last a few days. Who cares? Certainly not him. Alex Krycek watches the condensation of his breath freeze on the window. He turns around and looks at the devastated lab, his feet crushing a test tube. Drops of blood have landed on the plaster wall. Cassiopeia. Rubbing his eyes, he walks towards the chair where Ali is. His contact lenses are hurting him. He removes them. They're oily. He lets them fall to the floor. He won't need them anymore. He'd always wondered why the smoking bastard had let him go. He'd thought it was because it didn't matter. He should have known better. Everything always mattered for the devil. Especially loose ends. He's having trouble thinking. It won't be long now. He pats Ali's shoulder. "Dasvidania, Tovaritch." There is no reply. And there will never be any. Not with a hole that size in his friend's chest. His eyes settles on the creature crouched in the shadows. Their dark gazes meet. Alex goes back to stare at the window. *** A man and a woman entwined in a bed. Asleep. Birds singing outside to herald the new day. The sun rising, losing its pink shade as it gains strength. One ray landing on the bed, warming the man's cheek. His eyes blink open. A motel room. The last one. The journey is finally over. They're in Montana. Soon they will have to get up. The woman in his arms murmurs in her sleep and he draws her closer in the crook of his shoulder, brushing a kiss on her forehead. Yes, soon they will have to get up and face the world. But not just yet. Five more minutes. Mulder closes his eyes again. He feels his cheek become cooler. His last thought as he dozes off is 'cloud'. Outside everything is silent. The birds have stopped singing. The passing cloud casts a strange fluttering shadow over the fields. A sound comes from the skies. The cloud is buzzing. *** THE END *** ------ NOTE: You made it to the end? Jolly good show! I'm wondering how many of you out there are going to read this. You know, it took me more than a year to get there, and it would take you only a minute to hit 'reply'. Be human...;-) scarletbaldy@hotmail.com --------------- Final Ramblings: Ahem...ladies and gentlemen, this is an very emotional moment for me and I'm going to try not to pull a Gwyneth on that one First I want to thank all of you out there for having had the patience to wait for this final instalment of Human Credentials. Your feedback over this year has meant a lot to me. I hope it was worth it. Anyway...this story wouldn't have existed without my dear friend and beta reader Cat. Matey, if you want me to believe that the Spookster and Sunshine shagged in that lift in Paper Clip, I will. I owe you that much. You can wipe that smug grin off your face now. I said, now. Most of all I want to thank my beloved 'Woussies': Cat of course, Caroline, Jules, Fiona and Lian. Girls, you are my human credentials. Knowing you makes me happy. It's that simple, and it's a lot. Britain wouldn't feel so much like my home if you weren't in it. *Mouaaah*. I also would like to take this opportunity to point out, that if I'd never read Iolokus, I probably will never have started to write Human Credentials. I've already bored everybody to death with this but still, I'll say it again. Iolokus is to fanfic what Hamlet is to litterature. Nobody will ever reach the dark, haunting perfection of MustangSally and Rivka T work. It's my bible and my inspiration. And I humbly bow before its authors. Well that's it. I'm going now, I can smell something burning. I think Waltah's set fire to his apron again. I think he does it on purpose, the scallywag. ************************************************************