Title: Blut
Author: GenieVB
Spoilers: Sien and Ziet
*Tho' from the 'Scully
comforts Mulder' scene,
I'm steering it onto
my own little highway.
Rating: PG - language.
Summary: Satisfaction if not
justice.
Disclaimer: Want no money
or fame from you--Carter,
or you--FOX. You're both
rolling in it. I buy
No-Name.
*****
Blut.
**
"My mother was trying to tell me something, Scully."
"She wanted to save you from any more pain."
Scully held him and said the words she knew were
empty. If she'd ever felt any disdain or anger
towards Tina Mulder, the woman's last act had
compounded it. To "save" her son from pain had
caused more for him than any other event in his
life. She doubted that not even Samantha's disap-
pearance had made him shake like he was now, or
sob uncontrollably.
Thanks Mother Mulder, Scully thought. Thanks for
nothing.
But she knew exactly what it felt like. Emily's
death had solicited grief like that from her. Yet,
she herself still had a mother, brothers, sister-in-
laws, nieces and nephews to watch grow and so rejoice
in.
Tina Mulder had decided to "end" her son's pain
(and her own had been Scully's thought when she
joined Mulder at the horrible site of his mothers
suicide), by swallowing a bottle of pills, turning
on the gas, and then lying down on her bed's frilly
quilt with the rose chintz trim. Leaving him the
impossible task of trying to weave back together
the last threads of his life, and salvage one or
two good memories of what had been a family.
Scully knew he had few.
He would salvage his spirit, Scully knew. Yes, he
would. He was so strong, after all. But at what
cost?
Some last gift, Scully had thought at the time.
Was the gas just to be sure or for dramatic effect?
Some people really do try to make an effective exit.
She'd met Mulder on the lawn outside, after the
body had been taken away and he lead her inside
to view the death scenes.
"She didn't kill herself, Scully."
"What makes you say that, Mulder?"
He'd indicated the whole house from where he was
standing by a sweeping hand, "This, all this, the
gas, the pills, the neatly made bed, it's all wrong.
Staged, like a script from a bad movie. Like they
were desperate for us to be believe it was suicide."
Scully tread very carefully. "What if it was?"
"Mom wouldn't kill herself, Scully."
"Mulder, please understand that I'm not trying to
read the mind of a woman I hardly knew, but what if
she _had_ lost hope?"
"You mean over Samantha?"
Scully nodded, unprepared for his next words.
"Maybe she didn't have anything left to live for."
"Not even me" had been his implication. Dear God,
Scully thought, I didn't mean you were nothing. But
she couldn't bite back words already spoken.
"But why now? My mother was a stubborn woman, a
strong woman. She wouldn't take the easy way out."
"Mulder-"
"She called me last night, but I didn't get back
to her."
"Called you about what?"
"I don't know but she said it was important. This,"
He nodded to the now empty bed, "was done to prevent
my learning what that was."
Scully bit her lip. Perhaps murder.
Or perhaps Mulder unable to deal with his mother not
valuing him enough to stick around. Or not valuing
life enough after her daughter had been gone for
twenty-six years.
*But why now?* It was a good question.
They'd left the house together.
*
Mulder was an orphan. It was nothing she would be
able to fix, not even with a firm hold or gentle
kisses to his neck.
Finally, his storm of grief passed and he lay down on
his couch to rest. Scully switched the television on
and left him to channel surf while she fixed something
hot to drink for them both.
This was a night she would spend with him here, in
his apartment, though not under circumstances that
were ideal. She recalled the last time she'd stayed
overnight, when she'd finally learned through Director
Skinner's handy fists on a less than willing to talk
informant, that Mulder had gone north on a quest to
learn the whereabouts of his long missing (or taken)
sister and had almost died for his trouble.
Now the one living link to any more knowledge of
Samantha was forever hidden inside the dead brain of
his mother's corpse. Scully decided that she hated the
woman, at least for doing that; for not only orphaning
her son but leaving him with no answers to ease the
pain he was in. If it was suicide, in this case, it
had been an almost wholly selfish act.
She'd said to Mulder her impromptu words of Teena
wanting to ease his pain, while knowing it certainly
wouldn't.
There was, she knew, one other still living source
of possible enlightenment regarding Samantha's fate,
but CGB Spender, formerly Ol' Smokie, wasn't
talking.
If they even knew where he was.
*
Lab Technician Sodja checked the results on his
computer once more and shook his head.
Well, she'd wanted a match for the records, just to
tie up the loose ends, that's what her requisition
had requested..."a thorough search of the data-base."
Placing the three DNA film results into a manila
envelope, he sealed it, stamped it, marked it internal
post to Agent D. Scully, X Files Division, Hoover
Building, and placed it in his out box. Then he
thought better of it and picked up the phone.
*
"Mulder, I have to go out for a while."
"Work?" He sat up from the couch, squinting in the
bright early AM sun shining through his livingroom
window. "Does Skinner want us in?"
"No. It's Quantico. Just some unfinished lab work.
I'll call you when I'm through."
He nodded, padding off to the bathroom.
"Will you be all right for a few hours?" She waited
until his steady stream trickled to a halt and she
heard the flush.
He met her at the door. "Thanks for staying with me."
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Thanks for...well..
everything."
She smiled a little, acknowledging his discomfort and
so respecting his obvious desire to forget about his
breakdown the previous evening.
His cellular rang.
"Anytime." She gave his cheek a soft pat. "Call
you later."
"Hello." She heard him answer as she closed the door.
"Hey Frohike..."
Good, she thought, a friend.
*
"Are you sure about this?" Scully stared at her old
assistant. Since she no longer actually worked in
Forensics Department, she spent very little time at
Quantico, often utilizing facilities other than theirs
during the occasional case where her skills as a
pathologist were required.
"I did the search as you asked. DNA doesn't lie, Doctor
Scully. See for yourself."
Scully scrutinized the three films before her, clearly
recognizing the genetic markers, the patterns that said
he was reporting accurate findings.
She swallowed, fresh anxiety building in her stomach.
"What made you decide to do a comparison?"
Eyebrows on the rise, "Come on, Dana, I've known you long
enough to read between the lines. Your partner's mother
dies and you want me to run her DNA and her sons through
the data base to use your words "just to be sure." Then
you want a test run on this other agents blood to be
sure he is who he is. You all but shouted, Dana." He
gestured to the films on the desk, "So, these two names
came up. All have their type on file and I must say, I
find it as interesting as you do."
"You can't say anything about this."
He looked at her. "So what's new?" He cleared his throat.
"Curious?"
He wasn't sure if she was angry or not. "Not at all.
A good pathologist doesn't just record facts, he or she
asks questions: How? and Why?"
She gathered the films in her hand, stuffing them back
into the envelope. "I don't want you showing these to
anyone."
"Again, what's new?"
She looked at him directly, so her meaning wouldn't be
lost. "He's gone through a lot. I'll tell him myself."
"One thing though, Doc', this is a matter of FBI record.
You're not asking me to-?"
"No. File it where you have to but there's no reason
for you to necessarily right away let anyone know it's
there, is there?" She countered.
He spread his arms, hands up in a surrender. "It's
your ball. Consider me benched."
"Thanks Kar'."
*
Mulder almost hadn't recognized the voice on the other
side of the door. But when he opened it, the face he
did.
"Mulder."
Jeffery Spender wasn't one for sweet hello's.
Mulder stepped aside, closing the door after the
younger agent. The younger but supposed-to-be-
dead former Agent Spender.
Mulder, still a bit shaky on his feet, found himself
speechless. Finding his voice, "Aren't you dead?"
"If not for some unexpected help, I would be."
Mulder didn't feel like word games. "What do you
want?"
"Your mothers dead."
Spender didn't mean to be so blunt or so callus,
blurting it out with such disregard for Mulder's
feelings, but when he saw Mulder's face go plaster
white, he backtracked a little. "I'm sorry. I'm
being direct because we don't have much time."
"Time for what? And how did you know my mother
was dead?"
Spender had more to tell him. "Can we sit down?"
Mulder sat on the couch with Spender taking
the wooden desk chair opposite.
"Get to the point, Spender, I've already had my fill
of beating around the bush."
"I knew- I _suspected_ something might happen
to your mother, I phoned her but she wouldn't
talk to me. And I know she's dead because then
I went there to speak to her and found her.
I'm the one who made the phone call to the police."
It was all Mulder could do not to wrap his hands around
Spender's throat and squeeze the air from his body.
Mulder clasped his shaking hands together, trying to
hide his horror, betrayal and grief. This man had
had no right to be the last person to see his mother,
or the first to see her dead body.
In his mind, Mulder screamed at her. It should have
been _me_. Why couldn't you _ever_ talk to me?!
Spender noticed the tiny tremor run down Mulder's
body and he was not without remorse for having to
tell him these things. He was also not without
empathy. He knew what it was to lose a family, your
only family.
"She was murdered." Mulder said it as a statement
of fact, not as speculation.
Spender voiced his own ideas, "Maybe. In any case,
I think I might know the reason why."
"Oh? and what is that?" Mulder was angry, angrier
than Spender had ever seen him, and the anger was
being directed at..he didn't know. Maybe everywhere,
all at once.
"My mother knew the truth, or discovered it," Spender
continued, "and so she was killed, along with all
those men."
"Those men worked with your father. He's responsible
for their deaths, he sent them there. He's responsible
for my sister's abduction, he responsible for my fathers
murder and I think he's the one who killed my moth-"
"-I know that!" Spender finally shouted back, then
stating something the other man ought to know and
understand. "You're not the only one who's lost
someone because of him!"
That silenced Mulder for the time being, and Spender
let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm here because of
that. Because of him."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want to kill him. I need your help."
Mulder paused for only a heartbeat, "I don't know
where he is. No one does."
"Then we need to work together-"
"You're out for Smokie blood? Why come to me?"
Spender ignored Mulder's questions and asked
one of his own, "If she was murdered, why do
you think he would want your mother dead?"
"Because she was going to tell me about Samantha,
why she was taken, where she is." At Spender's
tolerant head shake, Mulder darkened again, "Why
do you think?"
"Because he has what he needs now, and he's tying
up loose ends."
""What he needs"? From her?"
"From you."
Before Mulder could comment, someone knocked on his
door. when he answered it, Scully entered carrying
something and when her eyes found Spender, she halted,
as if unsure whether to stay or turn around and leave
again.
"Agent Scully."
Scully entered cautiously, getting a certain amount of
comfort from the gun she had stuck between her belt and
the skin of her back.
At her look of disbelief, Spender nodded, "Yes, I'm
surprised to be alive too."
But alive when he shouldn't be. Like father, like son,
Scully thought. "Why are you here, Spender?"
"Trying to explain things to Mulder."
"Things?"
He looked from her to Mulder and back, knowing it was now
two against one. "Yeah. "Things"."
She sat on the end of the couch farthest from near where
Spender sat. He noted it, but ignored the slight. It wasn't
important.
She layed the papers she'd brought on the coffee table before
her. "I don't pretend to know how it is you're alive, Spender,
and I'm not going to waste time speculating whether or not
you're here to speak the truth, but since you are here, it's
just as well. This concerns you too."
She had their attention and Mulder sat down again, right
beside her.
"I did the autopsy on your mother," She addressed Mulder
directly, "the results indicated nothing suspicious, nothing
out of the ordinary except for the drugs in her system
and a high level of carbon monoxide in her blood and tissues,
evidence consistent with death by overdose and oxygen
deprivation."
She waited a few seconds for Mulder to swallow that before
continuing. "I also ran a DNA test as you requested, to
be sure it was her."
Scully layed out, not one sheet before them, but three.
"When I ran it through the medical data-base, I found this."
She indicated marks on the first sheet with her finger. "It
_was_ your mother, Mulder, who died."
He nodded. "What are these others?"
Scully glanced to Spender and back to Mulder. She indicated
the second sheet. "This is your DNA," Showing him the marks
with her finger, "It has markers here and here, matching
you to your mother."
Mulder nodded, with her so far. It was elementary genetic
truth and nothing unexpected.
"This one," Scully rested the tip of her finger on a single
marker on the third sheet, "this person shares your DNA. This
mark indicates you are related."
"Who's is this?"
"Jeffrey Spender."
Mulder stared at her, down at the sheet and then at Spender.
Quite a while at Spender.
"I think you suspected this, didn't you, Mulder? But
until now, never discussed it with me or anyone."
"I was out of my head, that day, Scully. Mom never admitted
to anything."
"I heard her words, Mulder. Her death brought them back to
me."
"What words.?" His memory of that day in his mother's
house was truly foggy. All he remembered was screaming
at her and she slapping his face as hard as she could.
"You asked her who your father was. Do you remember what she
said?"
It was there now, pound against his consciousness like a
small hammer. *"Why?! So you can kill him _again_?!"*
Mulder looked across the coffee table to Spender, who
was looking uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter." He said
to both of them.
Scully sighed. "Mulder, why didn't you ever ask me
run this test? Didn't it seem odd that Spender- that CGB
- took that photo from your apartment? Didn't you
ever wonder why your mother said those things she did?"
"I _said_ it doesn't matter. What matters is finding
CGB and him telling me what happened to Samantha and then
I'm going to-"
Scully looked at him and his unspoken vengence. "And
what, Mulder?"
He stood, his hands on his hips, looking down at the
papers layed out on the coffee table, looking down at
them from a great distance it seemed. Standing miles away
from the whole scene, at it and himself as though through
a telescope, trying to figure out who the hell he was
seeing. Who he _was_.
"I don't care about any of this."
"You want to find CGB?" Spender asked him pointedly.
When Mulder threw him a "no shit" look, "Then you
have to work with me, which doesn't thrill me much
either, by the way."
"You want to kill your own father?" Mulder asked.
"Don't you?" Spender bit back, then added, "He didn't
think twice about putting a hole in my chest. Do you
think he'll flinch about putting one in yours?"
Scully stared. "Are you saying CGB is out to kill Mulder?"
"Of course."
"Why?" Mulder asked.
Spender couldn't believe the naivety, "Because now
that he's got what he wants, and now that your mother
is dead and can't talk, you're the last tie to him
and his group, to the experiments, to the murders."
Scully watched Mulder, who seemed to be considering
Spenders words at least, not dismissing them outright.
"He may be right, Mulder. They used you, they took
what they wanted, and now what's to stop them?"
"He's not my father."
Spender didn't argue. "He's still a murderer. Unfort-
unately, because he was my father, I believed him,
tried to make sense of what he was doing. I'm here
to stop you from making the same mistake."
"I have never believed that son-of-a-bitch!"
"But you're taking no precautions. You're getting up
every day as if you have no reason to be careful.
But you do."
"Why don't you try making sense, Spender." Mulder
said contemptuously.
Author: GenieVB
Spoilers: Sien and Ziet
*Tho' from the 'Scully
comforts Mulder' scene,
I'm steering it onto
my own little highway.
Rating: PG - language.
Summary: Satisfaction if not
justice.
Disclaimer: Want no money
or fame from you--Carter,
or you--FOX. You're both
rolling in it. I buy
No-Name.
*****
Blut.
**
"My mother was trying to tell me something, Scully."
"She wanted to save you from any more pain."
Scully held him and said the words she knew were
empty. If she'd ever felt any disdain or anger
towards Tina Mulder, the woman's last act had
compounded it. To "save" her son from pain had
caused more for him than any other event in his
life. She doubted that not even Samantha's disap-
pearance had made him shake like he was now, or
sob uncontrollably.
Thanks Mother Mulder, Scully thought. Thanks for
nothing.
But she knew exactly what it felt like. Emily's
death had solicited grief like that from her. Yet,
she herself still had a mother, brothers, sister-in-
laws, nieces and nephews to watch grow and so rejoice
in.
Tina Mulder had decided to "end" her son's pain
(and her own had been Scully's thought when she
joined Mulder at the horrible site of his mothers
suicide), by swallowing a bottle of pills, turning
on the gas, and then lying down on her bed's frilly
quilt with the rose chintz trim. Leaving him the
impossible task of trying to weave back together
the last threads of his life, and salvage one or
two good memories of what had been a family.
Scully knew he had few.
He would salvage his spirit, Scully knew. Yes, he
would. He was so strong, after all. But at what
cost?
Some last gift, Scully had thought at the time.
Was the gas just to be sure or for dramatic effect?
Some people really do try to make an effective exit.
She'd met Mulder on the lawn outside, after the
body had been taken away and he lead her inside
to view the death scenes.
"She didn't kill herself, Scully."
"What makes you say that, Mulder?"
He'd indicated the whole house from where he was
standing by a sweeping hand, "This, all this, the
gas, the pills, the neatly made bed, it's all wrong.
Staged, like a script from a bad movie. Like they
were desperate for us to be believe it was suicide."
Scully tread very carefully. "What if it was?"
"Mom wouldn't kill herself, Scully."
"Mulder, please understand that I'm not trying to
read the mind of a woman I hardly knew, but what if
she _had_ lost hope?"
"You mean over Samantha?"
Scully nodded, unprepared for his next words.
"Maybe she didn't have anything left to live for."
"Not even me" had been his implication. Dear God,
Scully thought, I didn't mean you were nothing. But
she couldn't bite back words already spoken.
"But why now? My mother was a stubborn woman, a
strong woman. She wouldn't take the easy way out."
"Mulder-"
"She called me last night, but I didn't get back
to her."
"Called you about what?"
"I don't know but she said it was important. This,"
He nodded to the now empty bed, "was done to prevent
my learning what that was."
Scully bit her lip. Perhaps murder.
Or perhaps Mulder unable to deal with his mother not
valuing him enough to stick around. Or not valuing
life enough after her daughter had been gone for
twenty-six years.
*But why now?* It was a good question.
They'd left the house together.
*
Mulder was an orphan. It was nothing she would be
able to fix, not even with a firm hold or gentle
kisses to his neck.
Finally, his storm of grief passed and he lay down on
his couch to rest. Scully switched the television on
and left him to channel surf while she fixed something
hot to drink for them both.
This was a night she would spend with him here, in
his apartment, though not under circumstances that
were ideal. She recalled the last time she'd stayed
overnight, when she'd finally learned through Director
Skinner's handy fists on a less than willing to talk
informant, that Mulder had gone north on a quest to
learn the whereabouts of his long missing (or taken)
sister and had almost died for his trouble.
Now the one living link to any more knowledge of
Samantha was forever hidden inside the dead brain of
his mother's corpse. Scully decided that she hated the
woman, at least for doing that; for not only orphaning
her son but leaving him with no answers to ease the
pain he was in. If it was suicide, in this case, it
had been an almost wholly selfish act.
She'd said to Mulder her impromptu words of Teena
wanting to ease his pain, while knowing it certainly
wouldn't.
There was, she knew, one other still living source
of possible enlightenment regarding Samantha's fate,
but CGB Spender, formerly Ol' Smokie, wasn't
talking.
If they even knew where he was.
*
Lab Technician Sodja checked the results on his
computer once more and shook his head.
Well, she'd wanted a match for the records, just to
tie up the loose ends, that's what her requisition
had requested..."a thorough search of the data-base."
Placing the three DNA film results into a manila
envelope, he sealed it, stamped it, marked it internal
post to Agent D. Scully, X Files Division, Hoover
Building, and placed it in his out box. Then he
thought better of it and picked up the phone.
*
"Mulder, I have to go out for a while."
"Work?" He sat up from the couch, squinting in the
bright early AM sun shining through his livingroom
window. "Does Skinner want us in?"
"No. It's Quantico. Just some unfinished lab work.
I'll call you when I'm through."
He nodded, padding off to the bathroom.
"Will you be all right for a few hours?" She waited
until his steady stream trickled to a halt and she
heard the flush.
He met her at the door. "Thanks for staying with me."
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Thanks for...well..
everything."
She smiled a little, acknowledging his discomfort and
so respecting his obvious desire to forget about his
breakdown the previous evening.
His cellular rang.
"Anytime." She gave his cheek a soft pat. "Call
you later."
"Hello." She heard him answer as she closed the door.
"Hey Frohike..."
Good, she thought, a friend.
*
"Are you sure about this?" Scully stared at her old
assistant. Since she no longer actually worked in
Forensics Department, she spent very little time at
Quantico, often utilizing facilities other than theirs
during the occasional case where her skills as a
pathologist were required.
"I did the search as you asked. DNA doesn't lie, Doctor
Scully. See for yourself."
Scully scrutinized the three films before her, clearly
recognizing the genetic markers, the patterns that said
he was reporting accurate findings.
She swallowed, fresh anxiety building in her stomach.
"What made you decide to do a comparison?"
Eyebrows on the rise, "Come on, Dana, I've known you long
enough to read between the lines. Your partner's mother
dies and you want me to run her DNA and her sons through
the data base to use your words "just to be sure." Then
you want a test run on this other agents blood to be
sure he is who he is. You all but shouted, Dana." He
gestured to the films on the desk, "So, these two names
came up. All have their type on file and I must say, I
find it as interesting as you do."
"You can't say anything about this."
He looked at her. "So what's new?" He cleared his throat.
"Curious?"
He wasn't sure if she was angry or not. "Not at all.
A good pathologist doesn't just record facts, he or she
asks questions: How? and Why?"
She gathered the films in her hand, stuffing them back
into the envelope. "I don't want you showing these to
anyone."
"Again, what's new?"
She looked at him directly, so her meaning wouldn't be
lost. "He's gone through a lot. I'll tell him myself."
"One thing though, Doc', this is a matter of FBI record.
You're not asking me to-?"
"No. File it where you have to but there's no reason
for you to necessarily right away let anyone know it's
there, is there?" She countered.
He spread his arms, hands up in a surrender. "It's
your ball. Consider me benched."
"Thanks Kar'."
*
Mulder almost hadn't recognized the voice on the other
side of the door. But when he opened it, the face he
did.
"Mulder."
Jeffery Spender wasn't one for sweet hello's.
Mulder stepped aside, closing the door after the
younger agent. The younger but supposed-to-be-
dead former Agent Spender.
Mulder, still a bit shaky on his feet, found himself
speechless. Finding his voice, "Aren't you dead?"
"If not for some unexpected help, I would be."
Mulder didn't feel like word games. "What do you
want?"
"Your mothers dead."
Spender didn't mean to be so blunt or so callus,
blurting it out with such disregard for Mulder's
feelings, but when he saw Mulder's face go plaster
white, he backtracked a little. "I'm sorry. I'm
being direct because we don't have much time."
"Time for what? And how did you know my mother
was dead?"
Spender had more to tell him. "Can we sit down?"
Mulder sat on the couch with Spender taking
the wooden desk chair opposite.
"Get to the point, Spender, I've already had my fill
of beating around the bush."
"I knew- I _suspected_ something might happen
to your mother, I phoned her but she wouldn't
talk to me. And I know she's dead because then
I went there to speak to her and found her.
I'm the one who made the phone call to the police."
It was all Mulder could do not to wrap his hands around
Spender's throat and squeeze the air from his body.
Mulder clasped his shaking hands together, trying to
hide his horror, betrayal and grief. This man had
had no right to be the last person to see his mother,
or the first to see her dead body.
In his mind, Mulder screamed at her. It should have
been _me_. Why couldn't you _ever_ talk to me?!
Spender noticed the tiny tremor run down Mulder's
body and he was not without remorse for having to
tell him these things. He was also not without
empathy. He knew what it was to lose a family, your
only family.
"She was murdered." Mulder said it as a statement
of fact, not as speculation.
Spender voiced his own ideas, "Maybe. In any case,
I think I might know the reason why."
"Oh? and what is that?" Mulder was angry, angrier
than Spender had ever seen him, and the anger was
being directed at..he didn't know. Maybe everywhere,
all at once.
"My mother knew the truth, or discovered it," Spender
continued, "and so she was killed, along with all
those men."
"Those men worked with your father. He's responsible
for their deaths, he sent them there. He's responsible
for my sister's abduction, he responsible for my fathers
murder and I think he's the one who killed my moth-"
"-I know that!" Spender finally shouted back, then
stating something the other man ought to know and
understand. "You're not the only one who's lost
someone because of him!"
That silenced Mulder for the time being, and Spender
let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm here because of
that. Because of him."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want to kill him. I need your help."
Mulder paused for only a heartbeat, "I don't know
where he is. No one does."
"Then we need to work together-"
"You're out for Smokie blood? Why come to me?"
Spender ignored Mulder's questions and asked
one of his own, "If she was murdered, why do
you think he would want your mother dead?"
"Because she was going to tell me about Samantha,
why she was taken, where she is." At Spender's
tolerant head shake, Mulder darkened again, "Why
do you think?"
"Because he has what he needs now, and he's tying
up loose ends."
""What he needs"? From her?"
"From you."
Before Mulder could comment, someone knocked on his
door. when he answered it, Scully entered carrying
something and when her eyes found Spender, she halted,
as if unsure whether to stay or turn around and leave
again.
"Agent Scully."
Scully entered cautiously, getting a certain amount of
comfort from the gun she had stuck between her belt and
the skin of her back.
At her look of disbelief, Spender nodded, "Yes, I'm
surprised to be alive too."
But alive when he shouldn't be. Like father, like son,
Scully thought. "Why are you here, Spender?"
"Trying to explain things to Mulder."
"Things?"
He looked from her to Mulder and back, knowing it was now
two against one. "Yeah. "Things"."
She sat on the end of the couch farthest from near where
Spender sat. He noted it, but ignored the slight. It wasn't
important.
She layed the papers she'd brought on the coffee table before
her. "I don't pretend to know how it is you're alive, Spender,
and I'm not going to waste time speculating whether or not
you're here to speak the truth, but since you are here, it's
just as well. This concerns you too."
She had their attention and Mulder sat down again, right
beside her.
"I did the autopsy on your mother," She addressed Mulder
directly, "the results indicated nothing suspicious, nothing
out of the ordinary except for the drugs in her system
and a high level of carbon monoxide in her blood and tissues,
evidence consistent with death by overdose and oxygen
deprivation."
She waited a few seconds for Mulder to swallow that before
continuing. "I also ran a DNA test as you requested, to
be sure it was her."
Scully layed out, not one sheet before them, but three.
"When I ran it through the medical data-base, I found this."
She indicated marks on the first sheet with her finger. "It
_was_ your mother, Mulder, who died."
He nodded. "What are these others?"
Scully glanced to Spender and back to Mulder. She indicated
the second sheet. "This is your DNA," Showing him the marks
with her finger, "It has markers here and here, matching
you to your mother."
Mulder nodded, with her so far. It was elementary genetic
truth and nothing unexpected.
"This one," Scully rested the tip of her finger on a single
marker on the third sheet, "this person shares your DNA. This
mark indicates you are related."
"Who's is this?"
"Jeffrey Spender."
Mulder stared at her, down at the sheet and then at Spender.
Quite a while at Spender.
"I think you suspected this, didn't you, Mulder? But
until now, never discussed it with me or anyone."
"I was out of my head, that day, Scully. Mom never admitted
to anything."
"I heard her words, Mulder. Her death brought them back to
me."
"What words.?" His memory of that day in his mother's
house was truly foggy. All he remembered was screaming
at her and she slapping his face as hard as she could.
"You asked her who your father was. Do you remember what she
said?"
It was there now, pound against his consciousness like a
small hammer. *"Why?! So you can kill him _again_?!"*
Mulder looked across the coffee table to Spender, who
was looking uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter." He said
to both of them.
Scully sighed. "Mulder, why didn't you ever ask me
run this test? Didn't it seem odd that Spender- that CGB
- took that photo from your apartment? Didn't you
ever wonder why your mother said those things she did?"
"I _said_ it doesn't matter. What matters is finding
CGB and him telling me what happened to Samantha and then
I'm going to-"
Scully looked at him and his unspoken vengence. "And
what, Mulder?"
He stood, his hands on his hips, looking down at the
papers layed out on the coffee table, looking down at
them from a great distance it seemed. Standing miles away
from the whole scene, at it and himself as though through
a telescope, trying to figure out who the hell he was
seeing. Who he _was_.
"I don't care about any of this."
"You want to find CGB?" Spender asked him pointedly.
When Mulder threw him a "no shit" look, "Then you
have to work with me, which doesn't thrill me much
either, by the way."
"You want to kill your own father?" Mulder asked.
"Don't you?" Spender bit back, then added, "He didn't
think twice about putting a hole in my chest. Do you
think he'll flinch about putting one in yours?"
Scully stared. "Are you saying CGB is out to kill Mulder?"
"Of course."
"Why?" Mulder asked.
Spender couldn't believe the naivety, "Because now
that he's got what he wants, and now that your mother
is dead and can't talk, you're the last tie to him
and his group, to the experiments, to the murders."
Scully watched Mulder, who seemed to be considering
Spenders words at least, not dismissing them outright.
"He may be right, Mulder. They used you, they took
what they wanted, and now what's to stop them?"
"He's not my father."
Spender didn't argue. "He's still a murderer. Unfort-
unately, because he was my father, I believed him,
tried to make sense of what he was doing. I'm here
to stop you from making the same mistake."
"I have never believed that son-of-a-bitch!"
"But you're taking no precautions. You're getting up
every day as if you have no reason to be careful.
But you do."
"Why don't you try making sense, Spender." Mulder
said contemptuously.