From drjudd@rainbow.net.au Fri Aug 30 08:37:56 1996 OFFSPRING DESLEA R. JUDD drjudd@rainbow.net.au Copyright 1996 DISCLAIMER This book is based on The X Files, a creation of Chris Carter owned by him, Twentieth Century Fox, and Ten-Thirteen Productions. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and a number of lesser characters including Bill Mulder, Mrs Mulder, Samantha Mulder and her clones, Maggie Scully, Melissa Scully, Captain Scully, Sharon Skinner, Kimberly Cooke, the Cigarette Smoking (Cancer) Man, the Well Manicured Man and his offsider, Frohike, Quiqueg, Gautier, Jean Gautier, Ellen, and Alex Krycek remain the intellectual property of those parties. A number of other characters are the author's creation and are copyright, and may not be used without her written permission. These include but are not limited to Dr Karen Koettig, Agent Grbevski, Melissa Samantha Scully, Grace Skinner, Clone 1 (Cynthia), Clone 3 (Carolyn), Clone 4 (Catherine), Dr Sam Fieldman, Dr Paul Sturrock, Dr Marion Pieterse, Wendy Tomiris, Serena Ingleburn, Amarette, Dr Jillian Maitz, Hallie, and Emily Trent. Any queries concerning ownership of minor characters not mentioned here should be directed to the author. (See Pt 1 for complete spoiler, content, and comments info). A few spoilers from Pilot, Duane Barry, Ascension, One Breath, Colony, Endgame, Anasazi, Blessing Way, Paper Clip, Nisei, 7.31, Piper Maru, Apocrypha, and Avatar. I've rated this book R just to be on the safe side, but I think it's more PG-13, in truth. There's some low-level sex (three scenes, more emotional than anatomical), low-level bad language, low-level violence, and that's about all. Comments, good and bad, are welcome; but make sure they're constructive, please! My e-mail is drjudd@rainbow.net.au, but don't worry if you see something else in your "reply" header like magna.com, because Rainbow.Net shares a server with another ISP called MagnaData. And if you think my work's worth stealing, I'm flattered; but don't even think about it. Archivists, feel free to add this to your collections; but be sure to let me know. OFFSPRING BY DESLEA R. JUDD (2/18) ONE A Bridge Unmapped U.S. Government Territory September 13, 1996 Mulder picked half-heartedly at his sunflower seeds. Scully had been missing for three days. He supposed he had slept about three hours in that time. The fear he had felt in the first few hours had given way progressively to depression, then despair. He always felt a little at a loose end when he worked on a case without her. He felt like he was straining to think of something or do some tedious task. Scully helped him to think - and helped him to stay at least halfway within the bounds of reason. He knew his predisposition was toward the unusual. More often than not, he believed, he was right - that was the nature of the X Files. But to be fair, often he wasn't - and more often still, the grains of truth were spread evenly between Scully and himself. Scully was his corrective - an essential one. Working without her was unsatisfactory at the best of times. Now, when the stakes were so high, he needed her badly. And of course had she been there, there would have been no need. Mulder was not a cautious personality. He rushed headlong on sheer instinct into situations other agents would avoid. Normally almost recklessly confident about his ability to resolve a given situation, the very fact that it was she he was fighting for made him feel uneasy and inadequate. He loved her dearly, and he feared for her greatly. As much as her refusal to accept the reality of so many of the things they investigated frustrated him, he loved working with her. She knew him so well, disagreed with him totally almost all of the time...and respected him absolutely. The feeling was mutual. But Mulder wasn't in love with Scully. It went far deeper than that. Not that he wasn't attracted to her - he was. But they'd been through so much together that the idea of romance with her seemed almost trite. To call them friends, too, seemed just as ridiculous, though he valued her more than anyone he'd ever known. The truth of the matter was that she was the other half of his soul. He was incomplete without her. In Dana Scully, Fox Mulder had found the humanity in himself that he'd thought he had lost the day that his sister disappeared. No experience either of them might have in their lives would not be filtered through the lens of the bond that they shared. He never tried to protect her - they weren't on those terms - but the times in which he had been faced with the possibility that she might not be there with him and for him had so shaken him that he had felt as though he must start his life all over again with nothing to hold on to. Faced once again with this appalling prospect, he felt all the things that he had built his life on slipping away. But beneath the depression, another emotion was simmering - one far stronger. It was rage. Once before, she had been abducted, and then he had nearly killed a man who held the key to her disappearance. He had a suspicion that if she weren't found soon, he might do the same again. He also feared that this time, if that became necessary, he would be too late: When she had been taken before, he had been told, "I like you. I like her, too. That is why she was returned to you." The fact that she had been taken again indicated that such liking was no longer expedient. His car door was yanked open. Mulder jumped, grabbing for his weapon, but put it away again. "Skinner!" he gasped, then, "Sir. What are you doing here?" Assistant Director Skinner seated himself in the passenger seat, eyeing Mulder in disapproval. "Woolgathering, Agent Mulder? I've been standing outside the car for the last five minutes. Very sloppy." Mulder offered no defense, and he went on a little more kindly, "Well, I've done my share these last few days, I suppose. No harm done. Just be careful." He paused. "How much sleep have you had? You look awful." "And you're a thing of beauty as always. Not enough," Mulder added, annoyed. Skinner, who could care less that Mulder was annoyed, said, "So I see. Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" At the risk of stating the obvious, Mulder told him, "I'm staking the place out. How did you know I was here?" "You left a piece of paper with this location on your desk. Like I said, very sloppy. What brings you here?" "What brings <> here?" Mulder demanded. "Surely you didn't come halfway across the country to check on my stakeout skills?" He suddenly caught himself. <> "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm on a short fuse. This railroad - the one over the bank - is the one Agent Scully and I found earlier this year, where we think she was taken last time. I was beginning to think it was a dead end, but an hour ago I got a tip-off on a train headed this way. It should be here within the hour. If I'm right, Scully is on it." Skinner ignored Mulder's earlier outburst. He couldn't stand insubordination, but he also knew that Mulder was never subordinate to anyone - not really. It was infuriating, but with Mulder, that was the way things were. You could fight it, or you could accept it and move on. And in Mulder's case, insubordination was a strength, not a weakness. He nodded slowly. "Have you any reason - besides past experience - to think that Scully is on it?" Mulder considered Skinner for a moment, then said with vehemence, "Cancer Man is on it." "And where Cancer Man goes, trouble follows," Skinner said grimly. Cancer Man was not the name by which Skinner thought of the man - in fact, truth be told, he tried to avoid thinking of him as much as possible - but, he reflected, it was appropriate. In all his years in the Bureau, he had never once seen him without a cigarette in his hand. Mulder had coined the name, along with Black Lung, and a few other monikers. None of them were complimentary. Skinner himself knew little about him. He knew that he had power over the FBI, the CIA, and most other government intelligence agencies; and he had been advised by people superior to himself not to cross the man or disobey him. The consequences could be dangerous - a fact with which he was personally acquainted. However, the man's actual position was unknown to him, and not for lack of inquiry. Skinner suspected he was positioned within the military, but was unsure of how or where. What he did know was that he was deeply interested in the X Files and appeared to have some involvement with the government forces opposed to their investigation. On more than one occasion, attempts had been made on both Mulder's and Scully's lives on his orders, resulting in the deaths of Mulder's father, Bill, and Scully's sister, Melissa. Sharon's murder, too, lay at his door. Cancer Man, Skinner thought, was the contents of the X Files personified. "All right," he said at last. "Do you have a plan?" Mulder nodded. "Yes, Sir. Here's what I had in mind." It was a relatively simple plan (and calling it a plan, in view of its lack of detail, was to Skinner's mind rather generous). They would get on board. They would leave some rags on the tracks in the hope that the driver would mistake them for an animal or person and slow down, enabling them to get on safely. They would wait high up on the bank, however, until they were certain that the train would slow down. If it didn't, they would take the more risky course of jumping onto the roof of the train and clambering down to one of the doorways. Once inside, they would overpower anyone they had to in order to search the train, find Scully if she was on it, or ride the train to its destination if she wasn't in the hope that the destination would provide enlightenment. (Just how they would do that undetected if they had overpowered half the train, Mulder didn't volunteer. Skinner, annoyed, told him to arrange someone to trail the train on their behalf in case they had to make a quick exit. Mulder was put out at his impulsive determination being thwarted, but telephoned someone named Frohike to do so). Mulder was anxious to confront Cancer Man, if he were on board. Skinner baulked at this. It was an unnecessary risk. He just wanted to get Scully out of there, and he sure as hell didn't want Cancer Man knowing he'd been personally involved if it could be avoided. His own position had become increasingly tenuous since he had first defied the man two years previously, re-opening the X Files after the latter had had them shut. He knew that already there was certain information to which he was no longer privy. His job, he could take or leave, if it came to a crisis: the Marines would take him back in a second. But when Cancer Man was involved, the stakes were a lot higher than that. He had a gunshot scar on his stomach and a buried wife to prove it. So Skinner vetoed any attempts to get to Cancer Man. Mulder grudgingly agreed, but Skinner knew better than to trust that totally. If they didn't find Scully on board, Mulder would lose his cool (not that he had that much in the first place), and probably turn the train upside down to get to him. Who knew? Maybe he'd even kill the man - Scully's life was on the line, and Skinner knew that the friendship between those two was such that neither dismissal nor a murder charge would stop him. As much as the idea of removing Cancer Man appealed to Skinner (who in other circumstances would happily have done the deed himself), he and Mulder had to be kept apart at all costs. Frowning at the difficulties that that prospect alone might entail, Skinner settled down to wait. It was growing dark, and Mulder was cold. There was a gnawing feeling in his stomach. He could cope with Scully being gone when he was thinking, working. But now, waiting, he could feel a coiling, tightening sensation in the depths of him. Maybe conversation would kill the anxiety, although he doubted it. He turned to Skinner. "I'm glad you're here, Sir. You still haven't told me <> you're here, though." It was a question. Skinner answered it. "I respect you both, and the risks that you take for the truth - risks I have not always been prepared to take." Mulder glanced at him suspiciously. He'd been missing himself, and Skinner had never come cross-country looking for him - not until Scully had called him, at any rate. Could he really be here simply out of respect? Mulder supposed he could, but then again, there was that grim determination of Skinner's expression. No, it wasn't respect, or protocol. "With respect, Sir, there's more to it than that." Skinner started, then suddenly grinned. Trust Mulder to cut through the bull. "Yes, there is," he admitted. "I like her. And she reminds me a lot of someone - someone I used to care for. Hardly a scientific reason for being interested in what happens to her, but there it is." "The woman in the photo on your desk?" Mulder hazarded. He had noticed the resemblance - had in fact thought nightmarishly that Skinner had assigned his mistress to keep tabs on him until he had surreptitiously inspected the photo and noticed its age. "Grace, my wife - before Sharon," he added by way of explanation. "She died." Mulder was embarrassed. "I'm sorry." "Ancient history, my friend." They lapsed into silence for a time, Mulder popping sunflower seeds. Skinner tried one and said they were revolting. "It's not the taste, it's the texture," Mulder laughed easily. "They're just different, that's all." "Whatever you say," Skinner muttered dubiously. He became aware of a rumbling behind them. Instantly at attention, he hissed, "Listen." Mulder opened his car door. "Showtime." Dana Scully's mind was swimming. She could see, hazily, but the circuits connecting what she saw with her mind were fuzzy. She had a vague idea of whiteness, and of faces in masks. Or was that a memory? Now that she thought about it, the others had scattered after hearing a heavy thudding on the roof of - was it a building? No, it was moving. She had a sense of deja vu. She knew this had happened before, and she knew, somewhere in her mind, where she was and what was happening. But she couldn't identify it. It was like groping in the dark. A ship? Truck? God, where was she? Where had she been last time? (Last time? Last time what? ) Trailer? No, she was sure it wasn't a trailer, but that rang a bell somehow - <> She heard a dull thud behind her, and a moan. <> she thought a little incoherently. She didn't feel hurt. In fact, she didn't feel much of anything. There were voices calling her name. She tried to answer, but she couldn't coordinate herself well enough to form any words. She made some faint sound and stirred a little, but that was all. She registered two familiar voices (Mulder? Skinner? What were they doing in this crazy dream of hers?), then drifted off. Mulder said anxiously, "She's drowsing - probably drugged. Damn it, Skinner, how are we going to get her out like this?" Skinner leaned over the gurney, his mouth close to her ear. "We did this in Vietnam if we needed to make someone come to quickly - to get the wounded out of the line of fire." Scully felt the bite as a stabbing pain in her earlobe. "Ow!" she cried, sitting up abruptly. She felt woozy, but she was alert. She was conscious of a dampness spreading over the shoulder of her blouse. She touched it, looked at it, and grimaced. It was blood. Ears always bled badly, she could vaguely remember her old anatomy lecturer saying. She looked up. "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded, her voice a little sluggish. Skinner wiped his mouth, leaving a pink stain on his cuff. "Sorry. We didn't know how to wake you." "Where am I?" Mulder glanced at Scully. "A train. The train. You were abducted three days ago. Can you walk?" "Three days?"" Scully asked, aghast. "I lost <>?" Mulder's voice was sharp. "Post-mortems later, Scully. We don't have time." "You don't remember anything?" Skinner asked, dragging her to her feet and pulling one of her arms around his shoulders as she slumped. Scully shook her head uneasily. "No. I don't." She tried to walk, but she just couldn't control her limbs well enough. "How do we get off?" Skinner shook his head, but Mulder said determinedly, "The same way we got on. We jump." Their alight from the train was not quite so straightforward as the boarding. Most of the people Mulder and Skinner had knocked out were still out; but one, apparently, had woken. They were confronted just metres from the door by a lone gunman. He took aim, seemingly at Scully. Skinner whirled sideways in an attempt to shield her, but was hampered by her weight. The gunman got in one good shot which passed straight through Skinner in the fleshy part of his arm before lodging in Scully's stomach. In the same second, Mulder shot him, as much out of outrage as instinct. "Is he dead?" Skinner asked. Mulder was grim. "I don't know and I don't care. He would have killed her. Let's go." Skinner frowned, looking at Scully, whose blouse now sported another bloodstain. "What kind of shape are you in?" Scully shook her head. "I can't feel much. I guess I'm pretty doped. But that won't last. Let's get out of here." Mulder dragged open the sliding door. They paused a moment, then jumped. Walter Skinner watched as his wounded arm was dressed. "Will it be okay?" he asked. The doctor looked up from her file. "Oh, yes. The round went through cleanly. I'd go easy on it for a while; but it will be fine. Watch for any suspicious pain that could indicate infection. But don't worry about it." He nodded, not really interested. He'd been shot several times in his career, all more badly than this. It was something to say, that was all. Scully, they had been told, would be fine. The wound was superficial, probably thanks to Skinner in taking the worst of the bullet's momentum. Miraculously for a stomach wound, no organs had been involved. She was sleeping off the remains of whatever drug she had been administered while he, Skinner, was tended to for his wound. Mulder was arranging their flight home, which they hoped would take place that night. It was only eight now. They could be home by eleven. He and Mulder were rather bruised for their jump from the moving train, but Scully, too drugged to tense up her body, had been completely unhurt. Except for being shot. They had been able to get no sense from her. She maintained that she remembered getting out of her car when it stalled and walking a little way. Then she went blank. Mulder said she might make a little more sense when she was straight, but Skinner doubted it. Now, all he wanted was to get as far away from that damned railroad as possible. As far as he could ascertain, they had not been pursued; and even the lone gunman at the door struck him as a bit of a token gesture. He had an uneasy feeling that they had gotten away because they had been allowed to do so. Which made him wonder if, in escaping, they weren't playing into Cancer Man's hands. But that was something he couldn't afford to consider right now. They had to get home. They had been through too much, all of them; and especially Scully. He wondered how well she would cope with her experience once she was lucid enough to appreciate what she had been through. Just as the nurse was finishing, a shadow formed against the curtain. "Sir, can I come in?" "Come in, Agent Mulder. Close the curtain," he added ironically. To his amusement, Mulder did just that. The nurse moved on. "We have a charter waiting. I thought that was best, given Scully's condition." Skinner nodded. "That's wise. Is she fit to travel?" Mulder nodded. "More or less. She's dressing now. She's conscious and more or less alert, but she's still a little disorientated. She wants to go home, though." "All right, then," Skinner replied, rolling down his sleeve and getting to his feet. "Let's go." Their return flight was uneventful. Scully appeared, subdued, her bloodied blouse replaced by a too-big business shirt which Skinner recognised as Mulder's. Mulder himself wore an old pullover. She walked a little awkwardly, and slept for most of the flight. Mulder, for his part, was pouring over his files, making excited little notes here and there. <> Skinner grinned. <> He felt as though he was watching someone do a crossword. Skinner, however, was content to sit and reflect. He stole a glance at the motionless figure to his right. It seemed to him for a moment that he was looking at Grace, and his eyes grew tender. Quite unexpectedly, he felt something well up from deep inside of him - something he hadn't felt since Sharon had died. It was deep and terrifyingly passionate love. Not given to fits of great emotion, Skinner blinked in stunned surprise, jarred from complacency. The moment passed. He shook himself. It wasn't Grace. It was Dana. And then, because Walter Skinner was an essentially truthful man, he admitted reluctantly to himself that that fact made not one iota of difference to his feelings. <> Coming In Part 3: Scully and Skinner/Scully's Strange Behaviour -- _______________________________________ | | |Deslea R. Judd (drjudd@rainbow.net.au) | |"The Owls Are Not What They Seem" | | - The Log Lady, Twin Peaks) | |_______________________________________|