From: phree11@my-deja.com
Date: Sun, 16 Jan 2000 19:33:34 GMT
Subject: REVISED: Darkness Ascending 1/? Guarded

Title: Darkness Ascending: A WIP, part 1/?

Author: Hillary

Summary: It's a post colonization story!~Lots of new and orignal
characters with reocurring favourites! All the goodies you'd expect out
of a tale of the worlds demise, complete with thrills, chills, and
death - defying plot twists.

Rating: each part is rated individually: at best, a PG-13...at worst
( or maybe best again, ) NC-17

Classification: S/XF,T : A, DAL

Spoilers: General, Widespread TXF mythology is refferenced thru season
seven. Not any future eps though past " Orision"

Distribution: Anywhere, just please keep my name on it and let me know
where it is gonna be, It's already at Spookys.

Disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the property of Chris
Carter, 1013 and Fox. I am not making any money off of this! I would
appreciate not being sued, because all you'd get out of me is the money
I spent on my abnormal psych book...

Feedback: Please! This is my first story: negative, positive, I wanna
know! Or, if you are totally anti-feedback, pressing the little
recommend button is a completely other and equally rewarding praise.
email at phree11@mydeja.com or phriendly11@yahoo.com

Note: This is a repost of this story. Why? Well, the text was all
wrong, it was hard to read, and it was covered in errors. It was
downright embarrassing! So forgive me. I thank every single on of you
out there for giving me a chance! Thanks to all the authors that
inspire me. And finally, thanks to my good friend and excellent beta,
Jessica. She's   " Simply the Best" ( Imagine the cheesy background
music now)

Part one: Guarded.1/?


Joan was worried.

Mr. Mulder was pale, too pale maybe but they would not have a doctor
come to care for him. The Doctor could not, under any circumstances, see
him.

Joan knew this;they told her everyday. Don't forget, the men said, and
even if she could find a doctor to somehow help him, it wouldn't make a
difference.

Maybe there was no doctor.

She sat here, every day. A silent vigil, by his side. "Be there when he
wakes up," they had told her, and she was reminded every day.

Every morning, it was the same. Three hundred days he had slept away.
Since the Beginning, the Beginning that had a middle and now, was
nearly at an end.

"He is our salvation"  Whose voice told her that? Why did she sometimes
hear it, a voice full of kindness and compassion, "he will help us
all..."

Would he?

She looked at his form, thin, gaunt and haggard, draped in a beige
blanket.

Does he remember in his dreams? While he sleeps, does he recall what
had happened and re-live it in full splendor? Does he even know what
has  become of the world above?

He slept fitfully, often casting the blanket onto the floor and she
would bend to pick it up. The floor was shiny and black, with little
flecks in it.

Tiles. Sometimes she counted the tiles to pass the time in between
picking up his blanket and thinking of what went on in his dreams.

Someone had told her that his body was fighting the virus. No one had
known how long the virus would stay contagious inside a human host.
They were worried and they wore white suits with plastic hoods
in his room, if they came in at all.

"Is it still contagious ?", she had asked, because people had died.
People were still dying, and she had heard of this. In broken, stilted
whispers in the hallways, people talked of the Earth above, what they
had seen...

She had known that she would never see the surface then, the day they
had all arrived and started talking about where they had come from.

" Oh no, you are Immune". They had told her,which she knew meant that
she could not contract the virus.  The virus could not and would not
harm her.

"Joan, you are immune and you are special. Remember that, Joan, you are
here to help him".

They told her she could not let them down.

She could not see their faces anymore. They had faded away into the
back of her mind. It was so long ago, and everything here was dark,
anyway. She did know that he was important, though. He knew the
answers to secrets and he knew how to find answers to the secrets he
didn't know, and that was enough. She knew this in her heart and she
wanted so badly to unlock the door that would set him free. She wanted
him to be able to live again and save the world and let her see the sun.

"Oh, Mr. Mulder  - Wake up"! Her voice was reedy, small. Childlike.
They had whispered about that, too, with disappointment in such an
imperfection.

When she asked why they were displeased with her they said that no,
They could never be displeased, because she was quite
an "accomplishment". Dr. Daniel's had been her favorite, then. He had
told her that she would be the bringer of light to the
world and it wasn't until she was born that he believed in destiny.That
had made her feel wonderful then, almost "loved".

She stopped thinking,and turned to look at him, her priority, her
sleeping charge.

He would whisper names into the darkness in the beginning of his sleep,
and she imagined that the dreams were tinged with death and desolation.
He would cry out into the night and sometimes it worried her. Joan
would imagine all the people that had owned those names, and would
repeat them quietly into the silence.

" Mom, Sculleee, Samantha, Sculeeeeeeee"

The most beautiful names.

They were not real names, because the people that had had those names
were gone now, dead and maybe buried but GONE. The men told her to
remember that too, because if her woke and asked for any of them,
he had to know that they were gone.

If he woke up.

Joan spoke to him in the darkness when he screamed.  No one heard him
because the room was soundproof, the men had told her that a thousand
times since she emerged one night shaken and refusing to sit alongside
him in the darkness any longer. As if it made it easier, knowing the
room was soundproof. A woman had winked at her then, and added

" No one's listening, anyway".


***

Scully walked away from her desk, looking at the microscope with a
combination of distaste and discouragement. Some days the two were one
and the same, and this was one of those days.

She was beginning to give up on the concept of a miracle. The serum
never changed, no matter what she could think of to catylismically
motivate it to reform: to become the harbinger that it had been to
her Earth for its new inhabitants above. But another day and nothing.

She was especially depressed because outside, above ground in D.C. it
was April. The Cherry Blossom Trees would be blooming and littering the
ground with their flowers . The days of Winter were melting into
Spring...

She sighed.

There was no use musing over what is and what will never be again. Or
at best, not in her lifetime.

She sat at her computer and heard the familiar "ding" as the port
connected. She had an e-mail awaiting her in her in box, from a Doctor
Brauchman.

She clicked the mouse to open the attachment along with it and rose to
grab a cup of coffee. At least there was still coffee. That little bit
of normalcy sometimes made the rest not so horribly bad. Even though
coffee was in high demand, they were sure to get it for her;  whatever
she needed, or wanted, was hers.

In the Beginning she'd  protested that this work was too far from the
sphere of her training. That she was severely disqualified for the task
ahead of her. She now realized that she was one of the very few that
could possibly *do* anything.

She might be able to find the key in the original virus, she might find
some ellusive answer. Everyone supported her.

It depressed her.

'Here I am,' she thought to herself, 'saving the world and doing it
completely solo . How fitting, right Mulder?'

She had done the right thing. Letting him go when she had to had given
him an oblivion she didn't - wouldn't know.

Sadness flashed in her eyes.

She *had*  done the right thing,and yet no matter how often she told
herself this,it didn't  get easier.

She never quite believed it.

She had always wanted recognition for her skills, the purity of her
science. With Mulder, sometimes that rationale had made it bearable
when she was nearly at the end of her rope, teetering on the brink
of insanity. She never realized how much she needed him for his
unpredictability, his theories, the pandemonium of thoughts that *was*
Mulder.

'Ah, I miss you', she said to the to the sky, in the silence, in her
heart.

The e-mail was unimportant. Dr. Brauchman explained that his crew had
been sent to the North Pole for a twelve year study on ice core samples.
They had luckily been free of the virus, and until recently, they had
not even  known of its existence. He told Scully that his crew would be
willing to help in any way possible, and wanted to know if she had any
ideas on sequencing the virus. A crew member had found a frozen sample
of the black oil, one of the carriers of the virus, deep inside the
earth from a core sample.He explained that the surving community, in a
round about way, had referred him to her. He wished her luck on any
accomplishments, and hoped his e-mail found her in good health.

Scully clicked reply and wrote briefly:

Dr. Brauchman:

I have not found anything of particular use, but, I congratulate you on
your good fortune. I am still hitting the proverbial brick wall but
will be happy to send you some basic lab notes and see if you have any
ideas.

Sincerely,

D.K Scully

She tapped the send button and looked into the darkness that was her
lab. Pressing the glasses further up the bridge of her nose she felt a
chill, and wrapped her arms around her waist.

She thought of the last night she had seen him, had spoken to him, and
closed her eyes, briefly. Why did she put herself through the suffering
that was in remembering ,why couldn't she just let go?

Let go.

How could she merely just let go to her life? The way it was..the way
it had been....Seven years. She rested her head in her hands, and her
hair fell forward, a fraction of an inch below her shoulders. Too long
for her own taste but she had lost any initiative to cut it. She
removed her glasses slowly and rubbed small circles above her temples.

If she had seen him, would that have made it easier ?

Of all the loss she experienced, it was his she suffered most acutely
from. He had been on his way to see her. They had been laughing,
talking, happy. If she had seen his smile and his eyes...if she'd felt
the sheer, amazing warmth he radiated once more would she feel so empty
now?

Would she ever feel that way again?


***

Joan was more worried than ever before. Mr. Mulder's face was flushed,
and he had taken to tossing and turning with an occasional moaning that
made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her heart go
still.

And then, like a miracle, like a sign , he awoke.

She was at his side immediately.

"Wh-", he began, but it was slight, and he had little energy. "How-" he
tried again but it seemed futile.

Did he remember? DidHeDidHeDidHe?

She thought maybe he had forgotten, and wondered if that was more of a
blessing.

Someone had once explained the nature of blessings, but she had since
forgotten whom.Maybe Dr. Evans, though that seemed unlikely..who? No
matter. She focused her eyes on the disoriented man before her.

" I am Joan, Mr. Mulder" She announced, her voice low, tranquil, even.

" How long"? he managed to croak, his voice raspy from disuse.

305 days since the Beginning which had had a middle and most certainly,
an end.

" Almost one year since", she paused, "the Beginning".

He stared  at her blankly.

" Do you remember"?

He looked at her, bewildered, but also as though he were in pain.
Suddenly he started to moan, a grieving, sorrowful sound, it came from
some great depth within him.

She watched him, transfixed. It would have distressed her, were the
room not soundproof .Not that it mattered, anyway. No one was
left to listen.

She gazed at him, this man, who was clutching his head ;cradling it,
perhaps he did remember.

***

Mulder stopped moaning when he came conscious that the sound he was
dully becoming aware of wasn't  coming from his head but from his
mouth. He plunged into silence hinged on the thought:

One Year. One full year, one year, one...

Gone.

A memory lay at the very back in his mind, swirling just below the
surface, and it came to focus, slowly.

They had been at the airport, Scully looking at the arrivals and
departures in the terminal. They had just wrapped up a case that was
supposed witchcraft and ended up an elaborate prank.

Go figure.

His cell phone rang, and he'd answered it,last-name only serving as
simultaneous identification and greeting.

"Fox"? his mother, her voice tinny on the other end, almost...scared.

He'd never before heard Teena Mulder sound that way.

"Mom"? he asked, filled with trepidation over the tone of her voice of
both a resonating sadness and a fear he couldn't identify.

"Fox, I need to see you. Now, as soon as possible". her voice was no-
nonsense now. " It's important".

" Mom, I'm about to catch a flight back to D.C, I'll call you as soon
as I get there".

" No! Fly to Maryland today, Fox. Meet me in Baltimore at the Airport
Hotel. This is really imperative".

His curiosity was piqued. To say he and his mother were close was a
vast understatement. The past had been a rocky one even in the best
light, but he wanted to move past that with her, if possible.

" All right, I'll cancel my flight to D.C and meet you at that hotel".

He pressed end while pondering why his mother was in Maryland at all,
and why they were meeting in a motel, and what exactly *was* going on?

" Mulder"? Scully said, " Is everything all right"?

He looked at her, her forehead pinched in concern. "It was my mom. She
needs to see me, in Baltimore no less. It's a little strange , Scully.
I'm canceling my flight to D.C and grabbing one to Baltimore".

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him, worrying her lower lip.

" Do you think everything is all right, Mulder"?

" I'm not sure. She didn't seem like herself, and she kept accenting
the fact that it was' imperative' that she see me".

She opened her mouth but was interrupted by the loudspeaker

" Flight 1485 to Regan International, now boarding".

" That's our flight. Mulder, are you sure you want to go out there
alone? I could go to Baltimore with you and....".

He could see the distrust in her expression. She doubted his mothers
motives and he could understand why.

" Scully, It's okay."

She gave him a long look filled with her doubtful musings. She opened
her mouth a moment to say something, but then closed it and nodded.

" Right then, well, I guess I better go and get on board ".

She reached for her carryon luggage, and he touched her arm lightly.

" Thanks, Scully". She gave him an odd look, and then turned her lips
in a quasi -smile.

" Be careful. Call if you need anything, Mulder, I mean it, anything-"

" I will, have a nice flight"

" Sure" she replied, with a voice laden with sarcasm.

She gave a jaunty half wave and was off.

He'd watched her walk to the gate, her hair swinging and her stride
purposeful.

He admired her for a moment before turning on his heel and heading in
the opposite direction, and then...

Then, nothing.

It was though a giant curtain had fallen around the entire scene and
left him breathless for the final act. Had he gotten there to see his
mother? He didn't know.

Joan was watching him, curiosity spread across her face.She looked
familiar. Something about her was soothing, and looked to be young, no
more than fifteen, with hair that appeared to be light;her eyes a
guiless blue... the kind of blue that reminded him of Scully's.

" Where is she"? he croaked, and Joan looked dismayed.

" You don't remember"? Joan asked him, cautiously.

But he did remember,and he knew why she wore that look of contemplative
grief.

Scully was dead.


***

Joan watched him collapse back into a mindless sleep, and she quietly
left the room. No point watching him now, when he would be so
exhausted.

She remembered the morning when she had woken up, nearly two years ago.
Her brand new life, her brand new body, a downright miracle, they had
said.

She had awoke with his name on her lips and they knew that if there
ever was a sign then this was it. They named her Joan because they
likened her to a saint, though her creation had been anything but
divine.

Was she even really real? She was born a year prior to the Beginning
and was already fourteen. It was amazing that they had made her into a
young woman, so seemingly free of imperfections.

In the start of her life, two years ago, everything had run together.
They had taught her some language before she was awakened by " advanced
technology", as they had referred to it, which were mostly audio tapes
reiterating the alphabet, stories, how religion came about and what
were parents.

Things that she could not know unless they told her.

The 'secrets of life', Dr. Daniel's had said, looking at Joan and
smiling. Then, people had been everywhere, all around, talking, showing
her things, saying " here, touch this" and, " this is what a baby
is". Lessons, day in, day out. The way the world should work.

Someone had given her a picture and said "Here, this is your mother".

Her mother.

Joan leaned against the wall, seeking shelter from the onslaught of
nostalgia for what she never had known.


***

Everything had happened so quickly, and yet Scully always remembered it
slowly, a mental freeze-frame to alienate any error, any alternate
possibilities that she had missed. She never found one.

She ticked off the events like a mental laundry list that made living
with the outcome no more easy afterwards, and left her wondering why.
She relived the moments, one by one. A now divine ritual that plagued
her every day of this new, unfullfilling life.

He'd called her from the airport, back in D.C and at Dulles, frantic,
telling her he was on his way.Delayed because all the flights to
International had been cnacelled. His voice had a nervous quality to
it, and it had put her instantly on edge. She tried asking how things
had gone earlier in the morning with his mother, but he wouldn't
explain, just told her to be there, at her apartment, when he arrived
and to be'ready'. She'd thought with a smile that she was  perpetually
ready with Mulder,and she'd hung up the phone.

She had waited anxiously, worried for the urgency in Mulders voice and
hoped that he was not driving the streets of D.C like a maniac to get
to her apartment, and in a more important order of concern, why would he
need to get to her in such haste?

They had arrived when he had arrived, she had had time to barely
register the knock and then the distinct feeling of a cloth placed
against her mouth.

Chloroform.

On her way to blacking out she wondered how they managed to get in so
quickly.

She awoke,sometime later, in the backseat of a car, the smell of
leather and cigarettes filling her nose. Unfamiliar.

She was still groggy and disoriented, and had called out,her voice a
harsh raspy sound.

" Mulder"?

" Mulder is not here, Dr. Scully". She would know that voice anywhere:
slightly patrician and yet graveled from years of Morley cigarettes.

He lit a cigarette, and then looked at her fully " He won't be joining
us, either".

" Why"? she'd demanded, sitting up awkwardly, trying to smooth her hair.

" He is in a quarantine state. You should not be overly concerned with
Fox Mulder. You are here for a reason entirely separate from him".

She felt angry, contrite, met his steel eyes and looked into them,
searching for the logic in this rhetoric.

" The end had come, Dr. Scully, for us all. You are lucky that we had
time to find the both of you, lucky we took the time...to ensure your
safety."

" Our safety"? she ground out, furious at the ambiguous nature of the
conversation, a game of cat and mouse that she was quickly losing
interest in.

" Colonization, Dr. Scully. Something we did not expect so soon, but
nonetheless....thousands have been infected, and it will only spread.
They destroyed a facility of ours staffed with our best doctors,
several warehouses were burned holding vaccines.We have little hope of
fighting, but fully intend to survive".

" I don't believe you". She said the words but they sounded hollow,
with no conviction behind them.

Something in her believed what he had said.

" I have to see Mulder". She was insistent.

" It is impossible, he was infected. With the virus". Scully had
breathed in, painfully, Mulder...

" Don't look so stricken, he should recover, he has a weak immunity.
Let him go, Dr. Scully, right now you are more priceless to the world
than he is".

She blanched at his words, striving to keep composed and wanting to
assimilate all that he had said as quickly as possible.

She shut her eyes and willed this to all be a dream, and she would wake
up, very soon...

" I know this is....difficult for you. But I am offering you immunity,
a chance to live and to help in possibly saving the world. A safe haven
and a research facility to try to stop" he paused, " this".

She was waiting for the sacrifice.

" But you will never see him again, do you understand that....Dana"?

" Why"? she asked, her voice small, constricted.Painful.

" You distract him from what we need and he would distract you from the
task. He might not harbor the virus well, he may wake up and have no
memory, asking questions with answers that you can't give".

" Or he could wake up looking for me". She suffered through the words.

" We have already remedied that. Let him go. Help us. One sacrifice is
not much" he pulled on his cigarette slowly, softly, "in the face of
saving what will be the rest of the world".

No, No, No, no...

A tear escaped  her eyes, falling with a soft "thump" on her notebook.

Her reverie was broken by a voice, a woman stood in her doorway and was
saying her name.

" Dana"? she asked, and Scully stood, smoothing her hair and
smiling a half smile, brushing away the memory.

" Ah, Margurerite, so nice to see you. What can I do for you today"?


***

End Part one..please stay tuned for part two


Darkness Ascending: Part Two: Silence.

This is rated R




Scully had kept a journal since the Beginning. At first, to conserve
paper, she had written entries on her laptop, but the clicking of the
keyboard made the task cacophonous and perhaps a little distasteful.
So she asked for leather bound notebooks for her personal journals, and
stiff wirebacked notebooks for her research. Stacked in two neat rows
on the edge of her desk, they added the only personal effect to the
otherwise sterile room. She wrote voraciously,sometimes it was the only
way to offer any silence to the memories echoing in her mind.

It was amazing the way that the writing was could be a type of vessel
that kept her afloat and focused.

Today had been so tiring, already. Discouraging. She tapped her pencil
against the notebook, a drumming that filled the room with something
other than air and the sound of  her intermittent breathing.

She grabbed a journal, and opened it idly:

Her handwriting welcomed her, neat, precise. She had written this
nearly six months ago, on a night in November that had been especially
difficult.

A woman had come in with a miscarriage, and had been totally
devastated. Scully had watched her, feeling badly for her, but somewhat
jealous. The woman and her husband had survived, together. That was
better than most. Much, much better.

She'd  been filled with emotions of greed and anxiety, and had sat at
her desk intending to only briefly outline the days tragedy, but her
emotions had been evident in the outpour on the page.

It read:

"Thursday,  November 2, 2000:

A woman lost her child today in a miscarriage. I told her it was more
than likely the stress of the past six months. She and her husband had
been heartbroken, and I could find little to say in encouragement.
God help me, I was jealous. I still *am* jealous . I am envious of this
womans ability to even conceive, here, in this world. Knowing that your
son or daughter may not ever be able to see the splendor of the sun!
Not only that but to have with her, a husband, someone who knew and
loved her both before and after the tragedy. Someone who she could
speak to and could comfort her in the darkest hours of the night. She
has no real idea of her good fortune for she has not been
utterly without, as so many of us have over the past five months. I
know that I should not be feeling this way, but in times like these I
feel so utterly broken. So terribly, indescribably alone.

This is not the person I was before the virus, before the Earth was
dominated by an alien life force. I had been kinder then, more
understanding, so much more giving. My heart, as a person,as a fellow
human being, would have softened for the woman,and remembering my
own short, bittersweet experience of being a mother I could sympathize
with the brevity of her relationship with her child.

Now a coldness has come over me, a distance that I can both see and
almost touch, it is so deeply rooted within.

I hate to feel so selfish, so self- absorbed that I blind myself to the
plight of others. So many of these people look to me for their needs
medically, and also are aware of what I am working on. I wonder if they
hope I succeed or if they have lost the initiative to concern
themselves with the outcome. Having seen so much, was their only
talisman of the life before a heart-wrenching nostalgia? Do they wonder
if they had a choice to relive the last days of decisions, the final
moment to evaluate the possibility of life or death, would they have
chosen life again?

Having known what the future holds now I wonder at my own response.

D.K.S "

She flipped the pages to a clean one and looked at it, wondering if she
felt the need to write or if it was that she merely wanted to ponder
over her words written  months ago. Did she feel the same way now?

Scully closed her eyes and sighed wearily, and decided that her answer
was yes. Perhaps she felt even more bitter than that day, for then,
unlike now, she had still held some vestige hope in her heart. Then,
she had wanted to believe that there was a possible solution so badly
that it had kept her going. Kept her focused on the Project and looking
forward to the possibilities.

There was no glimmer of hope in her heart now.

***

Mulder wondered about the other people in this underground homestead.
He'd taken to calling it "the underground ", or the "U.H" to Joan,
sometimes just pronouncing "uh" if he felt witty, which was not
particularly often these days.When he was it brought an uncertain smile
to Joans face.

He lay on his back, wishing that the underground could rustle up some
sunflower seeds. Joan had told him that she'd looked, but there weren't
any.

" Were they not planning on my staying"? he asked, looking dismayed.
Joan looked at him oddly, not recognizing that he was joking.

He still didn't know what had happened to him and to the rest of the
world, and all he could recall about Scully was the fact that he knew
she was dead.

Scully being dead was enough to cause him to stare at the wall for
hours, looking as though he wished he were somewhere else in the world,
anywhere else.

He had evaluated his room and all other things in close proximity. The
light was a strange light, it made everything have a tannish- yellow
tint. Like a modern day movie with special effects added to make it
appear to be " yellowed " with age. The air was slightly damp and
stagnant, and the space was small and impersonal. Perfect for a
quarantine unit.

Mulder supposed that a fair share of patients in commonly furnished
rooms had less luck than he on ever seeing their surroundings.

The pieces that he inexhaustibly tired to match together always would
not fit close enough, there were too many gaps and spaces in his
memory. No matter how he asked, Joan would  tell him nothing as
to why he was here, and she would not help him to recall anything. She
told him to be patient  and let things come as they may.

It was aggravating.

Every day he tried wondering if he really wanted to know what had
happened.If he wanted to recall how Scully had.....died, how the world
had ended, and how the little grey men had won out in the end.

It was a state of torture, a hell. A place of silence and darkness.How
could anyone happily survive here? Was anyone else looking up at the
ceiling and wondering how worthwhile this all was?

He closed his eyes to block out the artificiality.

His mother.

He was on the verge of a memory, he could feel it,  his mind fine tuned
itself and seemed to listen to the place inside him that the memory
came from.

Baltimore ,and the strange rendezvous at the hotel.

Mulder willed himself to remember, and in a sudden rush, he did.

She'd been waiting in the lobby, a look of disorientation and sadness
was on her face, and he had never seen his mother look so small, and
weak.

" Mom", he had said, cautiously, wondering why she had done this, "mom,
why are you here? Why was it so important that you meet me in this
hotel, so far away from home?"

She looked out of place. Like a spot on a too garishly white painted
wall,her eyes begged to be righted. To be returned to her proper place
in nature and the scheme of things. An airport hotel would never
be Teena Mulders one safe place.

" Fox", she said his name in a half-whisper, " we need to talk in
private".

He'd  looked at her blankly, wondering what this was all about, her
being in a strange city, in a strange hotel, and she was now leading
him amid "hushes" and "shhhhs". It was not like his mother at all.

They rode the elevator in silence. His mothers cheeks were flushed.
They went into a room that looked anonymous: cream walls, beige bed,
silence save for the air conditioner in the corner.

" Fox..." His mother  began, her face now somber.

" I spoke with him yesterday. He is why I am in Maryland, I went to see
him in Washington. He told me you were on assignment, so I could see
him freely".

Her eyes held unspeakable volumes and guilt, as she lowered her
lashes,  Mulder could picture him, smoking his cigarettes while
assuring his mother of an empty safety...

" He told me things, Fox. Things that I had no right to know. Things
that I never wanted to get involved in but it seems that this is all my
life has become, now. He told me that the They had returned to launch
the sickness that will kill off our population, our Earth". His mother
turned, a wistful look swept across her countenance, looking out into
the fog drenched city below.Mulder could see her blinking. She watched
the ground below for a prolonged moment.

Mulder had never seen this woman, so diminutive, all her strength
surrendered,and it appeared that she had given it up willingly.

" He said that nothing had gone according to the plan. Few had the
vaccine. Some facilities were destroyed.." her voice caught. " There is
something else I need for you to know". She turned and looked at him,
her eyes shining in the opaque light and he saw her age, he saw her
fragility, and it frightened him. It filled him with a sickly sweet
guilt for not ever giving her more of a chance, and he regretted to be
standing in this hotel room miles away from anyplace she knew, having
this conversation with her.

" He told you this? What gave you cause to believe him, mom? He has
never been honest in the past. Why now?" He wanted to understand, but
he felt angry.

Angry for her for trusting a man that Mulder could never trust. Angry
to see his mother so weak. She was a pawn in all of this, why couldn't
she see that?

Had the smoking man, CGB Spender manipulated her into telling him this?

That wasn't all that made him feel flustered and ballistic; this
conversation  held the undoing of mankind, possibly, if what she said
was true.

A tear slid from his mothers eye, had fallen to the floor with an
unceremonious silence.

" I only helped him because I had to. I have been unfair to you all of
your life, keeping so many truths from you, concealing the past from
you. The secrets of those days...." she paused, and cleared her
throat, " They matter little now. I just wanted you to know I was sorry
for failing you. For failing Samantha. For Bill".

He  looked at her, silently, assimilating her words and dissecting all
of the hidden meanings, what was said in the unsaid. She continued, her
gaze unwavering.

" For listening to your father, and fool heartedly believing that he
could change the world, or that you couldn't possibly save it".

He had  closed his eyes against his will: his father....

" What are you saying to me?" his voice was ragged, a decibel below
dangerous.

She looked at him, trapped.

" Then what he told me was true. Not some ruse to get me to trust him,
right. He tried to kill me, you know that don't you? He has done
nothing but perpetuate lies and ruin any good thing in our lives....do
you expect me to believe this?" Mulder was white hot with rage. His
mother was mute, her shock of white hair made her face look
exceptionally colourless.

" If he weren't your son you would have died a long time ago, Fox". Her
tone was melancholy, and all the emotions inside him dissipated. He saw
her as a woman, one who had risked everything her entire life, and only
had sorrow to show for it.

" I'm sorry Fox. If I could change it, I would". She was crying now,
the tears falling faster and faster down her cheeks," Everything has
been a mistake. It's true that he, your father, is not a good person. I
can't convince you of his virtue any more than I can convince you that
what I am telling you is true. It's true, Fox, and there is so little
time...and I am so sorry to be having this conversation with you now,
so late..".

"Mom, listen, it's  okay. There isn't anything  to forgive". She wanted
to be free of this oppressive guilt, and he could identify with that.
He had doubted her loyalty in the past, but she was here now and
proving her allegiance to her son. She had just given him a moment in
time that he may have not been afforded otherwise.  He wondered at the
implications of her words, about the virus.

" You have to go now, Fox. He said that it all will happen quickly. I
don't know your fate. I hope you get to see her before the end..."

Her words were hauntingly prophetic, and she touched his arm, then, and
he  felt her, her energy, her presence, her love. Her love for him that
he had always wanted to discredit, and deny if he could. But
she was not keeping anything from him now, all the walls were down, and
he looked into her eyes a long moment.

" Go now, Fox." She said again, and he felt the memory fading.

Echoes. Echoes of voices and then...

Nothing. He opened his eyes slowly, as not to displace the contents of
the last few moments  by chasing them  off with light.

Black greeted him. Had he fallen asleep? He didn't  think so, because
he felt the last few minutes had  been a conscious memory. Another
puzzle piece to add to the whole. Perhaps Joan had turned off the light,
thinking that he was asleep.

He rubbed his eyes and let them adjust to the darkness. The shadowy
forms of the sparcly furnished room began to take shape slowly.

He focused on that day, the memory that still had his cheeks flushed
and his breathing altered. Had he gotten there in time? He knew somehow
that no, he hadn't. Part of this was the utter certainty that Dana
Scully was dead. He could not remember the details, but the feeling of
loss was gaping and open, like a wound. He felt her loss in every part
of his being.

What he couldn't recollect was whether or not he had seen her one last
time. He did not know if her had the power to reach out to her in those
chaotic moments that he imagined on Earth, when realization had dawned
on America and beyond  that their time was drawing to an unfortunate
close. Had he been able to give her the time to call her mother and her
brothers and to tell them goodbye ? Had he made it easier or harder for
her?

It was no use, the more he tried to remember the more his mind drew a
blank.

He lay his head on his hands and felt the tug of defeat. Try as he may,
he was only going to recall the hotel, and a fragment of a moment  at
that.

His mothers agonized face filled his mind.

Mulder did not know how anyone, after a certain point, could take this
isolation. For him to scarcely remember it made it seem slightly unreal.
He felt a sting of tears at the back of his eyes, and wished that he
could control them.

It was an excersize in futility.


***

Joan waited at the outside of his door. She wondered if he was
sleeping, or maybe thinking. She did not want to interrupt him.

He had been awake now for days, with no more recollations of the past.
She was both annoyed and discouraged by this. She had expected more
from him. For all intents and purposes, Mulder had been touted as a
perceptive, intelligent Human being that should not be underestimated.
And yet, he let himself fall victim to his melancholy.

This was something that Joan simply could not understand. She could not
grasp that human emotion of utter dispair, hopelessness. All she had
seen of the people that had lived on earth was a deep abiding sadness.
They walked the halls like empty shadows, not looking at anything,
hardly moving.

She wanted Mulder to be more....Alive.

It seemed awful for her to want to push him, to see how far that he
could go without suggestions of the past. She could not tell him
anything concrete, because the people who survived this had overactive
imaginations, and the mind will do strange things in light of mass
destruction. All the people wanted was an easy explanation, and there
really wasn't one. Joan knew that people would let their
minds latch onto improbable rationalizations , they would let
themselves believe anything, and she knew that. She thought that was
sad, in a way, the way that real human beings who lived on the real
Earth would rather believe a lie if it sounded better than the truth.

The real truth of the matter was that there was no way that a Human
being from Earth could easily adjust to witnessing 97 percent of their
population die, and to be thrown into a dark hole to live the rest of
your days because Aliens, of all things, won out in the end.

Maybe a lie *was* easier than that truth.

Aside from that, she was angry. Mr. Mulder was supposed to be her
salvation, she had been made for him, and now...

Now he was in his room probably staring at the ceiling again.

She would rather have him screaming in the night, that was more
progress than this mindless procrastination. He avoided the answers,
and he could not tell her otherwise. She had seen it in all of the
people from the original ( and as they often pointed out in quiet
conversation, "better") Earth. They all wanted to shut it out. She had
seen them pretend that what happened was just a minor "setback". Mr.
Mulder was moody and silent.

She opened the door a crack, hesitantly .She recoiled a little : he was
crying.

Joan felt instantly awful, cursing the soundproof room because
sometimes you should be able to listen.

" Mr. Mulder"? she asked him in the darkness, her voice the same low
tembre as always, but with a sadness in the undercurrent.

Joan understood what it was to cry, especially when faced with such
desolation.

" I am sorry, Mr. Mulder". She came in slowly, he rose and wiped his
face, looking at her in a mixture of shame and apprehension.

" You must think..." he held up his hands at a loss for words.

" Did you have a memory"? She could not stifle the slight note of
hopefulness in her voice, but she tried.

"Yes, though not much of one". He kept his voice at an unrevealing
monotone.

" I feel badly for pushing you, and  I know I have been. I cannot tell
you that I don't want you to remember, I do want you to, but I  do
apologize for my disrespect".

She kept her eyes averted, downcast, her voice  a mere whisper.

" Joan, I just don't understand what the importance of this is. This
place is like...a prison to me, it makes no sense as to why I am really
here. I can remember my entire life up until that night, but..."

She frowned " I let myself think that you - uh, we,  all think and feel
the same way. You have had little time to respond to this tragedy. I am
not being fair to you, I am not trying to understand your
pain....I'm so sorry" Joan felt as though she had somehow failed him.

" Please", his voice had a desperate note in it, " tell me about it".

He looked at her with such  hope.

Joan felt her heart constrict at having to do this to him, "I can't".

He stared  at the floor.

" You have to discover it without my help, Mr. Mulder-"

"Joan, just call me Mulder, all right"? There was anger behind his
voice.

" Ok, Mulder, you have been through a lot of....well, this year has
been difficult, yes"?

He smiled, somewhat ruefully, and nodded, " In the very least".
" Joan, you speak as though I'm unique...how has this affected you"?
Mulder looked at her, his head titled to one side, patiently waiting.

" 'This' "? She asked, and felt a growing unease. She could not reveal
too much too soon about herself.

" The Virus, Colonization, living underground...all of it"?

" It has been difficult". She turned away from him and felt blood flush
her cheeks. She did not want to talk about this with him, knowing she
must be dishonest, and she hated dishonesty.

" How about your family"? His tone was even, almost soothing.

" My family is .... gone".

" Dead"? He asked.

" My mother is dead". Her tone was wistful, and she sighed.

" Did she die....from the Virus"?

"No, my mother was immune. That is how I am immune, and able to help
you. What did you remember?" She asked, trying to direct the
conversation away from her.

" I remembered the last time I saw my mother, the last time I spoke
with her. She knew what was happening".

" She had the virus when she saw you". Joan told him, and softened her
eyes, happy that he decided to change the subject, and sympathetic to
his loss.

" How do you know that"? he nearly demanded.

Joan looked at him, in the semi darkness and saw a spark. An interest,
his eyes lit up and he leaned forward.

" I was told this. That is how you got the Virus".

" How did I fight it off"? he was demanding now, his face alit with
something that almost made it glow.

Joan felt wonderful. He was ready, he was on the edge, she could tell.

" You had a weak immunity. The DNA that had been exposed to the virus
had already been slightly mutated by alien DNA. They had not been sure
that you would live through it, or have any coherence when you awoke,
but you have had an outstanding recovery, so far".

He leaned back again, seeming to digest this information slowly,
contemplatively.

" So you are totally immune". Back to her again. She sighed loudly and
nodded.

" I am completely immune. I have been restricted to this area of the
compound,however. The Quarantine Area, though you are the only patient
here now. The others died".

She kept her gaze straight ahead " I have been lucky",she added as an
afterthought.

" How did you mother die, Joan"?

" Mr. Mulder, I hate to not answer your questions, but I really don't
want to answer them. She is dead, and that is all that is of any
importance. She died before..." she paused, then, quickly "she died. I
am going to fix you some lunch and I will be back soon".

Joan rose hastily, eyes downcast and misty with tears.

She looked at him for an instant, and regretted it. He was surveying
her calmly, rationally, and she could feel his mind clicking away in
the quiet of the room. As though her were studying her.

He looked at her and merely nodded.

She turned on her heel and left, Closing the door she started breathing
funny. Once she had  a panic attack when placed under the high stress
of dealing with the events that had propelled her life in this
direction, events that she had no control over, none  at all. She had
been born the full product of pre-destination. The answers that
he wanted threatened her existence, and nearly the rest of the living
world.

She willed herself to breathe. Calm breaths, she told herself, calm
breaths.

It was the questions about her mother that irritated her the most, They
made her acknowledge all that was missing. That and the fact that she
had no answers to give. Her mother was an image without a name.
A woman that had already died far before her "daughters" birth.

She wiped the stray tear from her eye and moved forward down the
hallway.

***
end part 2- To be continued!!

Darkness Ascending : Part three: Duende.

This part is rated "R"...



Scully leaned back in her chair, lifting her toes off the ground.

Today had been another difficult day.

"Four Months" she said aloud, and her voice sounded empty.

Four months ago she had been working, her head bent over a notebook, a
lab journal; her pen working furiously to write down the progress she
had made in sequencing. She had not heard the door open, but the smell
of burning Morleys left no question about who had soundlessly entered
the lab.

He never heeded the no-smoking sign at the lab entrance, or the look of
distaste she gave him when he emerged smoking.

" Dr. Scully". He said in lieu of greeting.

Her eyes rose to meet him, azure blue and unwavering.

" I have some...upsetting...news".

She had been thinking: what now? The Virus has again mutated into a
more disastrous pathogen? The world was crumbling and falling away? The
Potomac was about to surge into the Compound, crushing them all ?

She had no expectation of what he would say to her next.

" Mulder is dead".

Three words.

Those three words knocked her silly and left her breathless. She could
not speak, could not move, she felt utterly numb.

" W-what"? she stammered, " You are lying"! she spoke softly, resolved
to not lose her composure with him too quickly.

She held her tears back but they glimmered in her eyes. A litany of not
him, not now, I don't believe this, no,no,no  played in her mind.
He'd tossed an envelope casually on her desk. She didn't touch it, but
met the smoking mans gaze and held it.

" I won't believe this" She placed her hands on her hips and he matched
her stance, drawing in breath after breath of nicotine and tar, and
blowing in towards her face, saying nothing.

" I can't believe this" Her voice had lost some of its edge, becoming
more of a plea than  a declaration. Her voice rose, and she felt the
pulling of hysteria at the edge of her words.

" I can't accept this. I need- I need -" She paused and regained her
composure,he met her with silence and regarded her casually. She'd
wondered if he found her suffering to be an amusement.

" How"? she ground out.

" His body simply could not fight the virus any longer. He had survived
for six months, and that was a fairly long time of" he inhaled, paused,
exhaled "stress".

She sunk down into the chair, trembling, not believing what he was
saying and yet believing it was true. He was telling her that Mulder
was dead. He was gone. Like the others.

" Dr. Scully, you knew you would never see him again, so I took the
liberty of telling you the truth."

He watched her, extinguishing one cigarette on the polished lab floor
with precision. She watched and her eyes had gotten blurry on the image
of his foot callously grinding.

She heard herself speaking, a low, painful sound. A whisper. Barely
anything.

"Is there anything else?" She appreciated somewhere inside the gesture
of him coming here, walking in and telling her that Mulder was dead.

Her best friend, her partner, her....

Everything.

Gone.

She felt a traitor to even think of thanking this man, he who had
brought her nothing but bad news.

" I understand your loss. He was my son, after all ." He lit another
cigarette, greedily breathing in this time.

Scully had blanched and nearly got lightheaded. So this was it...two
blows in one day, Mulder's Father...

She sighed, a slight " Oh"

" I don't need to hear  anything else". She made her voice cold,
calculating, unforgiving. She'd felt so bitter, as though she were on
the edge of some dangerous precipice, and falling, falling,
falling.

" I am sorry." his tone had the same cadence, the same monotony.
Clipped, careful, precise.

Utterly emotionless.

She had watched him turn and leave the room, cursing his luxury, his
fortune. How could he be so blessed? How could he walk away without any
trace of compassion...He alone had held the power and
connections to survive while the rest of the world was left a gaping,
lonely hole. Families were  broken and torn. Her family, her mother,
her brothers, all dead. They had all been taken from her, and now,
Mulder was dead. She could have saved him.

Scully saw that she really could have saved him.

Sought him out and  helped him by being by his side. She could have
made it to him somehow, and she could have rescued him with some
miraculous inner power. But she hadn't done that. She hadn't even
looked for him. She had accepted his distance from her as a variable
that could and would be modified. Learning that he was dead only made
her realize how dependent she had grown of his always surviving. The
Mulder she'd known was supposed to walk through that door with the
truth, damnit, and he was supposed to take her with him. Isn't that how
it had gone before? Now she was forced to face the only truth
that was left: Scully allowed herself to put unrealistic faith in her
partner. She wanted to expect the unexpected so much that she refused
to see that she had sacrificed his life for her own. She could
have fought harder, told the smoking man that she refused his offer of
immunity. She should have stood by her partner, she should have looked.
Instead, she elected to live and to leave him suffering, alone through
the virus.

The click of the door had been enough to lull her into hysteria. Scully
felt herself give into the tears. Tears that made her feel self-
absorbed. She cried for Mulder, for Mulder who had lost, he had really
lost everything.She had believed...she had wanted to believe that
everything would fall into place once Mulder got well....

The faith that she had in humanity died with Mulder. To know that he
was dead spelled a finality that Scully could not ignore. She had been
fighting with hopes that one day she would not be alone. This
had been Mulders very prediction, he had been right all along, and she
never even got to tell him that she was sorry for even doubting it. He
had known all along that the Aliens would come, and that we were in for
the biggest shit storm of all time. He was right, and she felt stupid
for doubting him. She had never even told him.

Too late.

Death is final. Your opportunity is vanquished for change.All the time
for that particular emotion, that specific person, that singular
relationship is over.

Death is non-negotiable. When she agreed to not seek out Mulder, she
believed it was for the best, but something that would become only
temporary,she believed  that he would find her.

Unrealistic. Silly, insipid thoughts, even then.

Like that night four months ago , tonight, she was crying. The memory
was so intense even now, almost akin to reliving the very moment that
that she had first heard the words.

It was not until later  that night in January that she had found the
envelope. She'd forgotten that the Smoking Man had casually tossed it
onto the table, she had watched it hit the desk with a
disinterested smack.

Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and she was occasionally
hiccuping. She forced herself to stand, to walk around, to inhale, and
exhale.

Scully walked around the room twice, breathing slowly. Calming herself.
Knowing that she had undergone a lot of  mental stress. She was
understandably upset.  Telling herself that she needed to calm down, now
though; right now.

Scully hated to lose control.

She sat back down and fingered the envelope. It was in Manila stock and
was secured with a clasp. She lifted either side of the clasp slowly,
afraid of what was in the package. She felt ominous. The envelope
opened and she slid out the contents.

The first item was a photograph.

Mulder.

It was his profile, taken at just the right angle so that she could see
his entire face. It was the most somber picture she had ever seen.
Mulders coloring was light, with a blue tinge. She looked at it,
mesmerized.

She turned the picture over in her hands : 1/11/2001 - time of death,
12:29 am. F. Mulder.

She lay the picture down on the table, and forged through the envelope.
All were pictures of Mulder. The stages of his sickness, the virus.
From early infection to his death.

The last picture she flipped through was a photograph that looked to
have been taken in her apartment, and she supposed it was taken the
same the same night that Mulder had been coming to see her, the night
she had awoken groggy in a car.

The same night that this nightmarish life had begun.

He was crying, screaming. His hair was wild,disheveled. The green in
his eyes were luminescent.

She had never seen him like that.

She touched the picture lightly.

Scully leaned her head on her desk-top, ceasing the memory that haunted
her. Sometimes it seemed as though they were all she had to fall back
on, any more.

However sad that may be, Scully chose to re- live these moments out of
an emotional necessity. They were the only 'real' things  she had. When
she reflected over the past ten months, the hardest parts weren't
the physical world.  It wasn't the lack of the sun at dawn or the
clouds that are in a winter sky and circle around the moon. She did
long for the season changes, or the look of the river and the skylines.
She could manage the small living spaces underground, the
impersonal nature of the Underground and its inhabitants.

Scully walked the short distance from her lab to the area that was
technically 'hers'. She flipped the switch, giving the minuscule
furnishings a real definition. She passed them by without seeing, her
mind engulfed by the occasions of the past.

She ran a shower, and stepped out of her clothes and into the scalding
heat.

What she missed was the emotion behind the physical world. She  missed
the wonder that spring could bring. She missed the companionship
of 'knowing'; knowing that her brothers were a phone call away, her
mother mere miles. She missed the certainty of Mulder in the FBI
office every morning. Not the tangible, not the permeable effects of a
regular life, but all that was unsaid.

Mulder had been gone from her life for nearly a year, but the elapsed
time made it no easier. The water washed over her and she blindly wiped
at her face, of the life she knew.

The feeling desecrating her heart was emptiness. There was nothing left
to believe in, nothing that she could hold onto.

'God', she prayed, silently to herself. ' help me'.

She closed her eyes tightly against the warm fingers of the water. She
felt so small, so lonely. She wished that she could go back, further
into the past,  back to the car ride, or the airport, and say to Mulder

" Don't answer that call, Mulder, just come with me".

What a cruel fate, Dana Scully told herself, What a cruel, cruel fate.


***

At the moment the door closed  behind  Joan he was thinking. His mind
turning in sporadic circles, wondering where she had come from, why she
was here, what was the hidden significance?

Joan.

He contemplated what made her so hauntingly familiar. Mulder did not
want to think that she had any type of ulterior motive. She was fifteen
years old and her soft spokeness belied the fact that she was a gentle
person, an innocent girl that he was wrong to make assumptions about.
Something in her eyes when he mentioned her mother. A look that was
very poignant; almost wistful.

What was it?

This day was getting topping the list on "odd". The conversation with
Joan had unnerved him, the fact that she was being evasive bothered
him .

The investigative part of his mind told him she was hiding something.
Mulder had always relied on instinct, and sometimes instinct alone when
he couldn't get any better evidence, as was apparently the
case.

Maybe Joan had some important answers for him.

He surveyed his room and replayed snippets of Joan in his mind, the
curse of a photographic memory... Something was peculiar about her. He
could sense it when she'd  spoken of her past. He felt frustrated
that he could not act on any of his assumptions.

He thought of her posture: arms crossed across herself evasively,
protectively.

She had avoided his questions and tried changing the subject. Where was
his missing clue? What wasn't he seeing? When he asked her for answers,
she had looked down and away. He wondered why. Had she been afraid that
he might find some inner truth lurking there?

Just what was she keeping from him?

***

Joan walked down the corridor from Mulders room, slowly, keeping her
breathing smooth and regular, until she left the Q ward and went into
the common ward, Common A. She headed straight for the kitchen and
looked for a meal to fix Mulder.

She took a loaf of bread and a long knife and started cutting. He had
looked at her with such interest. Interest into her life, her feelings,
her past.

Something inside had wanted to sit down and tell him anything, long as
he was asking. Since the doctors who had raised her the first year were
gone now she often felt alienated and lonely. An outcast with no
one to talk to and certainly no one to tell the truth to. Whatever the
truth actually was.

She looked off into the distance, distracted, and almost did not feel
the cut.

It was not until she glanced down at the bread that she saw her hand.

It was bleeding.

Joan looked at it, transfixed. She had never made herself bleed before.

This was a new experience.

She was fascinated.  It ran in rivulets, onto the bread, the counter,
down her arm and onto the floor. She thought it was beautiful. Such an
amazing red! It was thick, too.

The gash on her hand was deep, but she felt little pain. She started
laughing, a ringing in her ears made her head feel fuzzy, her ears feel
as though they were vibrating.

" This is wonderful!"  She managed, feeling  a little odd and
then...blackness.

~

She awoke in a room, dim and quiet. A survey inspection revealed the
table  she lie upon, a white sheet underneath her legs.

'Where Am I? What happened? Why am I here?' they were fuzzy questions,
from the back of her mind.

The rest of the room gave her no definite clues, but she could smell
the antiseptic smell, and it reminded her of Dr. Daniel's lab before
the Beginning.

The Beginning.

She sighed, and looked around some more, feeling unnaturally calm, and
then, down at her hand. It was wrapped in a neat bandage, secured with
tape and was throbbing lightly.

She contemplated taking the bandage off and even began  fingering the
edges of the tape to look at the gash on her hand, but a sound
interrupted her.

The door, opening ;Joan looked up.

Her heart stopped beating. The woman was....she was... Her Mother.

Joan gaped at the woman, who was approaching her, a half smile on her
face. She looked friendly, kind, concerned. Joan had memorized this
face. The picture of her mother in her pocket became an omnipresent
weight, and she placed her un bandaged hand on top of it, to feel it
beneath the cloth of the sheet and her clothes. It was there, a silent
testimony of who the woman before her was.

" Hi Joan, how are you feeling".

Joan was speechless. She knew her name! They  had said her mother was
dead. Why lie about it? That her motherwas gone, dead, lost, forever.
And yet she was standing before her, her hair and eyes beautiful, more
lovely than the photograph, completely stunning in fact. Joan could
even smell her, feel the heat from her small body. She was living and
she knew her name.

Her mother looked at her a little anxiously " I'm Dana", she said,
cordially, politely.

Joan, speechless, tried placing her feelings in conscious order.This
woman knew her, but then again, she didn't. 'Dana'  was looking at her
speculatively, waiting for some kind of answer.

" H- Hello" Joan stammered. She had to think of what to do. This woman
her mother,Dana, was looking at her intensively, a small frown in
between her eyebrows.

" What is it Joan? Is the pain bothering you? I gave you an injection
of Valium to keep you calm, Joan. Tell me how you are feeling? Any
discomfort?"

Joan was overwhelmed. This could not be happening. This was the most
unbelievable thing that she had ever had happen to her in her short,
albeit eventful, life.

" I have to go". She declared , and watched as 'Dana' turned  rigid at
her words.

" I'm sorry Joan, but I really need for you to sit back, relax, and let
me keep an eye on you to make sure you are all right. You lost a little
bit of blood, and I had to repair the injury with sutures.
The injection I gave you will make you a little whoosy. It's best that
you rest here for just a while longer."

Her voice was so cool, so collected. She had a surreal below the
surface elegance, and Joan was impressed.

This woman that was her mother was a beautiful woman, and a kind woman,
and she had a soft touch.

Joan felt tears prick behind her eyes, eyes the same shade and clarity
as the woman standing before her.

" Someone is waiting for me." She said to 'Dana' matter-of-factly.

" Your parents?"

" No, they are.....dead". Better to not complicate anything before she
knew her plan of action.

" I'm sorry". There was a genuine sadness , Joan dared to look in her
eyes and saw confirmation of this dispair written in her mothers words
and expressions.

She had to get to Mulder, because somehow she knew he would be able to
help her. He had an inquiring mind. He liked to solve problems. This is
a problem that she could trust him on, she knew that, instinctively. If
there was any reason to break her silence, then now was the time.
And there was no one left to trust. She could not tell the Men of this
startling discovery, they would blanch and undoubtedly take her away
from here. Maybe even get rid of her altogether. She had never doubted
them, until now, and everything was in full color now.The ambiguous
nature of their "suggestions". The way that they had told her nothing
about the woman that is her mother. All she knew from them was that
she was genetically, biologically created from ova that came from the
red- headed woman before her.

To tell them that she knew of this womans existence was not a good
course to follow. She had never even let them know that she had a
picture, intuitively knowing that they would deny her answers.
They were not an option. They had to be the ones in  the dark now, and
she liked the feeling that gave her. Almost...control, she thought to
herself. Joan knew she had been gone for a long time, and that  worried
her. The lethargy that she was in was obviously from the drugs, and
therefore it was preventing her from finding sound reason for 'Dana' to
let her go.

" Dana," Joans voice was pleading, " It is really important that I go
to take care of some....things".

She looked right into her mothers eyes, holding the gaze.

" It's not negotiable, Joan. Now I will go and get some pain killers
and look over your blood work and be back in a moment". Dana smiled at
her worriedly,  turned on her heel and left the room, the door closing
witha soft "click". Joan marveled at the way she walked. She caught
herself daydreaming, and made herself feel focused.

She removed her body from the table-bed and felt dizzy.

She took a deep breath, and spied a door that led to a dark hallway.
She looked down, at the same clothes she had been wearing
earlier,flecked with bloodstains and the edges around her vision got
blurry,nearly black. She steadied herself, and turned the knob. She had
to get to Mulder and confide in him her secret. He was all she had, and
she knew that. He would tell her if she could or could not or not to
act on this information, to tell this woman that she was her mother.
That Joan had proof in a photograph and the rest was in her DNA.

Would he believe this? She hoped he would. From the moment she had said
his name there was something special about Fox Mulder. She was not
sure why, or what all he held for her, but she knew that he was a
necessary part of her, of her future. That he would lead her to some
resolution. The Men had never said this, but she *knew*. It was a
certainty that never faltered, no matter what she heard or was told to
do. She followed her heart down the hallway, almost getting lost and
turned around but finally, finally reaching his door.

It was up to him now, would he believe her?


***

Scully was hunched over her microscope when they had brought the girl
in. Scully had thought, by the look on their faces that the outcome was
tragic.

Another suicide?

Suicide had become the method of choice to relieve the pain and sadness
of this small, suffering humanity. Over fifty people had committed
suicide over the past year. Varying methods, usually without a farewell
letter or a reason. There was no one to give it to.

Scully rushed over, a young girl, no more than fifteen.Her hair was a
shade above strawberry blonde. Her skin was nearly translucent, and a
trickle of blood had been smeared across her face.

The gash on her hand was deep, but certainly not life threatening.
Scully took her to the table in her lab with the assistance of the wiry
young man who helped bring the injured girl in.

" I found her in the kitchen. She had been murmuring something before
she completely passed out"..

" Do you know her name"? She asked him, while making a cursory
examination and flushing the wound with sterile water. The man flinched
and looked away.

" I think it's Joan. She doesn't live in A. She lives in Q".

" I  didn't know there was a "Q"" Scully murmured, thoughtfully.

" Uh, yeah...well, will she be all right"?

" She will, thanks for bringing her in...I'll let her know that you
helped".

Scully bent down over the hand. It would need stitches. She
administered a local antiseptic, and gave the sleeping girl and
injection of Valium to keep her calm. Most patients awoke in the rooms
screaming, afraid that they had been infected, that that was why they
were here. Valium allowed them to wake in a fairly safe state, open to
suggestion and overwhelmingly calm.

Scully repaired the girls hand with smooth stitching. The handy-work
was neat and precise, and she applied an antiseptic ointment on the
girls hand before dressing the wound.

She left her to rest, but before going, looked down at her sleeping
form. She was a lovely girl, and Scully found herself wondering about
the girls parents. Were they alive as well? Why did she live in a
different part of the Structure? Where was "Q"? Scully had not even
heard of it, but resolved to ask Joan when she awoke.

A few moments passed and she waited for the bloodwork to finish
running. She took out her journal and added Joan to the register of
patients who had come, and would go.

***

Joan stood outside Mulders door. He could see her golden head in the
window and wondered why she was waiting to come in.

The doorknob turned slowly.

" Mulder"? she called in her soft voice.

" Come in Joan"...he wondered where she had wandered off to the past
few hours. He thought she'd gone to make lunch. His mouth was opening
in the shape of a sarcastic comment until he saw her. Disheveled, a
streak of dried blood across her face.

She was uncommonly pale.

" Joan..what  happened"?

She looked at him blankly, before acquiescing to his request for
information.

" I need your help" she sounded desolate, frightened. The look in her
eyes was one of pure unadorned hope, and a little trepidation.

" I can trust you, can't I Mulder?"  It was more statement than
question.

" Of course, Joan."

He felt as though he were on a precipice, standing with his arms wide
open, free. He leaned forward, poised, ready.


***


End part 3

Darkness Ascending: Part Four : Revelations wip 4/?
part four: " Revelations"

Mulder waited for Joan to continue, her small form looking frightened
by the prospect of divulging her secrets. He could recognize that look
anywhere: he had seen it on the faces of unwitting informants thousands
of times in the past, on cases.

He did not let his gaze shift from her face, wanting her to feel secure
in the fact that he was there, and would wait as long as she needed him
to, she could trust him.

Joan shuffled her feet and looked at the floor.

" I cut my hand", she said, simply, and then wavered a little, looking
as though she may start to cry. He was compelled to know the reason.
What had swayed her to such an emotive state?

" How"? it seemed an innocuous enough question.

" I was in the kitchen slicing bread. I was thinking about other
things....and I noticed I had cut it".

He watched her, as a type of wonder and excitement grew across her face.

" It was beautiful. The blood. I have never bled before. I did not know
that it would look so red, so pure. It was so warm, running a little
river down my wrist, all over the handle of the knife. I must have let
it bleed a full  minute before even noticing it".

" What happened then"?

" I must have passed out, and when I awoke, I was in an unfamiliar
room, the doctor's room".

Mulder was confused as to where all of this was leading, never mind the
strange fascination Joan had had with never bleeding.

 " Back up for a minute, Joan. Why had you never bled before. That
is, well, nearly impossible - how old are you"?

" Almost fifteen" she said, and the look of excitement was quelled by
one of fear.

" How can you be nearly fifteen and never have suffered any type of
injury or gone through a  medical exam and not have ever bled"?

" I know it is improbable. Of course I have had blood taken, but I have
never actually seen my blood in such close proximity before. I was
mesmerized by it, it was so lovely, so perfect, so incredibly liquid".

Mulder was beginning to wonder if perhaps Joan was repressing her
childhood. That could explain why she was reluctant to speak of a past
that she possibly couldn't remember. For anyone to be so fascinated by
the appearance of their own blood....something had to be amiss.

" But the main thing is not the blood, Mulder, it was the doctor".

" The doctor"?

Joan was near tears again, shaking slightly at what she was going to
say to him and looking at him half-wearily.

" She was my mother". Joan stated firmly, with conviction, and looked
down at her shoes.

" Your mother"? Mulder asked, incredulous.

" Yes".

" Joan, not to seem ignorant here, but I thought your mother was dead".
Some reprehension had crept into Mulders voice.

" She was dead. They said she was dead, but she was alive". Joan came
next to him and looked into his eyes. "As alive as you and I and she
looked at me and said my name".

" I'm waiting for the "But,  Joan".

" She doesn't  know me", Joan said simply, her voice hinging on an
inner pain. " She never knew me, Mulder".

" How is that possible"? he was bewildered, but in his mind, the
analytical part unsilenced by the tragedies he had experienced over his
life, was slowly putting pieces together that he found unbelievable.

" They lied to me. I don't understand why they had to lie, to save me
some explanation of why my mother would never know me or recognize me
or know I even existed"?  Her eyes registered an absence of thought for
what she was saying.

" Not dead! Such a little variable in face of the whole, right, Mulder"?
She looked at him, expectant.

" Who were you, really, before this ? " Joan asked him, her voice
incredibly steady and measured.

" They stopped telling me things past how important you were to keep
you placated, to keep in a fuzzy realm of stilted remembrance. Do you
remember the night you came here? I saw them drag you in, your voice
was harsh and yelling, and you were half out of your mind. You had
gotten the virus, and it was stating to cause psychological effects.
You were kicking and screaming a name, over and over "Scully". And the
man who smokes so many cigarettes said to me " Here is your
"Mulder" Joan. The one you were made to save".

Mulder looked at her and saw the fear at having revealed this to him in
Joan's eyes. She was scared, and understood that fear. They had
manipulated her, a young girl, into keeping him where they wanted him.

" This woman, this doctor, are you sure she was your mother"?

" Yes, I have a picture of her that a doctor gave me before the
Beginning". Joan rifled her pocket and held it to him, fingers
trembling, Mulder took the photograph, gingerly turning it in his hand
to show the face that he would know anywhere.

Scully.

She was standing in a doorway. He remembered this day, although it had
been years ago, in the Fall, around the fifth year of their
partnership. She had one hand carelessly placed on the door frame,
leaning in and scanning the room until she had found him, leaning over
a body and taking photographs. He had looked up and saw her, her hair
framing her face at a perfect angle.She was wearing an  amused
expression, one eyebrow carefully arched over her azure eyes. She had
her mouth slightly open, her cheeks flushed from the wind and the cold.
A black overcoat surrounded her form, clad beneath in a suit. Three-
inched heals, head to toe elegance, the picture-perfect FBI G-woman.

Scully.

He could not believe this photograph, what it may mean, the many
implications. All twirling about in his head and in his heart, calling
from an inscrutable depth : what if.

Impossible, Impossible.

He closed his eyes and he saw blood, the blood of Dana Scully as he had
found her that warm June night. He remembered the pallor of death on
her face, the coldness of her hands, her sightless eyes....

" Mulder"? Joans voice came from far away, connecting him to the
present and severing the gruesome memory.

" Scully is dead, Joan. I saw her, dead. I remember how she looked now.
I can see it in my mind if I just close my eyes". he stepped away,
moving his body with the force of grief.

" I know Scully is dead, they told me that she was dead.."

" Then why are you telling me this woman in this picture is alive,
Joan. That you just saw her and got your hand bandaged by her, What is
going on here?".

" I am so tired of this God - damned game". He flung the picture to the
floor, and watched as Joan, speechless, picked it up.

" This woman, this.....this...." her eyes filled with tears that
toppled over the edge of her face and splattered her cheeks with
wetness " This is "Scully" "?

Mulder looked at Joan and instinctively knew she was not lying. She had
no idea that the woman in the picture was Scully, and she actually was
crying. Her eyes held too much torture and pain, un -understanding and
deep regret to be lying.

" Joan, I am sorry" he said softly, knowingly.

" This is Scully", She repeated, with more conviction.

" This picture is Scully, but I don't know who this woman is. She could
be a decoy, a clone, anything to mislead us, Joan".

" Mulder, there was something about her. Something in her eyes that
made me know, fully, that she was my mother. Something within me just
clicked, it made sense. Do you understand what I am telling you? She is
alive, you have to trust me, now. She is alive".

***

When Scully returned from running lab work, she found the exam room
empty.

" Joan"? she called out, but there was no answer. She opened the door
to the dark corridor.

Nothing.

Scully looked around the room to see if anything was amiss. Other than
her patient, all looked to be in order.

Why had she gone?

She had mentioned needing to get somewhere, but Scully was sure that
Joan would listen to her, or at least be slightly whoosy from the
Valium. She had not been given a small dose. It should
have been enough to sufficiently cause Joan to have some difficulty
escaping.

She looked down at the blood work in her hands, a simple CBC and a
Blood Glucose. Everything looked fine, aside from the  Glucose being a
little low. Joan was otherwise a  healthy teen-ager.

It bothered her that she did not even get to ask Joan any real
questions. She felt inadequate in that Joan had rushed off into the
night, disregarding Scully's request. It was unsettling.

She would look into it more thoroughly  tomorrow. Today still had its
share of work to be done.

***

Joan looked at Mulder wearily, the day finally taking its toll on her.
She glanced at herself in the sliver of mirror. She looked pale and
withdrawn. She also felt disoriented, as though she weren't
really there. She moved to the edge of Mulders bed and sat down,
tilting her head towards Mulders lowered one.

He had been shaking his head back and forth for five minutes.
She wondered at what he was resolving to do. Joan wanted him to go and
see her, and to confirm her existence, and had told him this.

" Please, Mulder, believe me...." she had said, and he had looked at
her with an expression torn between pleasure and pain.

" What if she is a decoy? A clone? A really great look alike? Joan,
these men can do anything they want! They can make any person any
one !" he said, startling her for the room had been so
quiet.

" I don't think so" That was all Joan could manage to covey. I don't
think so, Mulder. She looked pretty real.

" Mulder, her eyes were kind. She smelled wonderful. She was a live,
breathing, doctor. She *is* Dana Scully". Joan tried to sound
absolutely certain, even if it was for selfish reasons. She needed
to know, and her mother would not trust her coming into her lab and
telling her that she was a product of genetic engineering.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if her certainty was accurate was
right. He was right to be worried, because these people made things
happen and they certainly did not let things happen.

There was no chance in their perfect little universes. Joan was afraid
to cross them but emboldened by the strange light-headiness and the
supreme joy she had felt upon learning that the woman that was her
mother was really alive, and never dead.

She looked at him again, his head still in his hands and he was sighing.

" Take me to see her".

***

A moment.

Mulder told himself that that was all he needed right now, and all he
wanted. To see her for a moment would somehow be enough time to confirm
or deny her identity.

He nearly stopped and turned around a thousand times. Joan led the way,
avoiding others by taking the back hallways. He felt a strange
exhilaration and a nervousness and he told himself, that no matter
what, he wasn't going in there tonight. He needed time to determine the
best course of action. A lot of time. He just wanted to see her. It
would commit her to his present memory and hopefully erase the vision
of her, sprawled on the apartment floor, long dead, too long dead to be
revived. Her skin had been blue and she was cold then.

To see her warm and human and alive....

Joan gestured to a door, with a glass panel. Unmarked.

He looked at her, and gestured for her to go back to the Quarantine
unit, and she nodded.

He pressed his face against the glass and saw her, his breath catching
at the sight.

Her head was bent and peering over a large journal, and she was
writing. Her pen strokes were the same, the way she moved was the same.
She was rapt, fascinated by her task and he was entranced watching her.

It was the most haunting experience of his life.

Should he go to her?

At this moment, he had little compulsion to listen to the voice of
reason.. What did she think had happened to him? Would she want to see
him? Would this only open a wound resolved for Scully
on the fateful June night?

This woman, every nuance of her body, her smooth action, her amazing
presence, it was luring him in. He placed his hand on the doorknob,
closing his eyes and hoping a little fate would have the good grace to
intervene.

***

 Scully was writing in her journal, final recap of the day as well as
some absentminded doodles on the side of the page. Find Joan was in the
center of one page with small circles drawn around it.

An overwhelming feeling washed over her, reminding her of Mulder. As
though she could feel his presence. The room was silent, and she tried
to absolve and silence the memories playing in her mind, the
relocation's she would rather not delve into, this long day had gone a
little too long.

A feeling swept over her; weightily, like destiny. The hair on the back
of her neck rose up, sensing a forgien electricity. Someone was
watching her.

She lifted her eyes to the door..

Mulder held his breath, watching her head rise and seem to stare right
at him.

Dare she notice his figure, shadowy, forlorn in the door way, behind
the glass.

Mulder.

It was undeniably him. She peered into the darkness. A trick? An
illusion ? Had she toppled, like so many others, into the realm of
insanity?

She walked to the door. He, or whoever was in her doorway, did not
move. He looked in at her and she felt her world stop spinning.
The doorknob was turning.

He moved into the room in an instant, and knew from the look on
Scully's face that she did not believe what she was seeing, and yet she
moved to him, close, closer, until she was looking in his
eyes, and then crying.

" Mulder, Oh, God, Mulder" her voice was as he remembered, the perfect
combination of nonchalance and disconnected passion. Scully.

***

" Is it you, is it really you"? she whispered to him, and he nodded.

She felt overwhelmed, overcome by the sight of him, whole, living,
breathing. Here. She closed the distance between them with outstretched
hands, and he took them, greedily, eyes shining.

" How"? She said again, afraid to say more, unsure of herself and what
she was feeling. This moment was fragile. It teetered between a
tangible reality and a dream.

What was real? She asked herself. Was this a sad culmination of months
of disparity and loneliness?

His hands were warm, solid, firm. Mulder.

In that moment Scully felt supreme. She was sure of herself and the
gift, the miracle, she had so hoped for had been granted. She was
amazed at her luck, the simple brilliance of it all.

" You are alive" she said, her eyes looking at him on the brink of
tears, an incandescent aquamarine.

" So are you"! he replied, and tugged her into his arms and into an
embrace.

He could feel her heartbeat against his chest: a steady monotony that
he could set his watch to. He breathed her in and felt her hair against
his chin. They held eachother for an unascertainable amount of time,
before resting heads, forehead to forehead, in a gesture that was
familiar to them both.

He felt so much for this silent woman in his arms.

This woman he thought was dead, that he would never see again, alive,
beneath him, breathing.

He felt wonderful.

She pulled away, looked into his eyes and touched his face, lightly
dragging her fingers across his cheek, brushing across his lips and
then against his brow. Her face held a mixture of serenity and
lingering surprise, he could see the disbelief in her eyes that
seven years of partnership had made him prone to recognize.

She stepped away, and then looked around, trying to place herself in
reality.

" Mulder, you can't be here". She was whispering, conspiratorially, and
guided him out the door into her office, through an adjoining door to a
vacant, dark, hallway.

" Come with me" she hissed, and extended her hand outwards. He grabbed
it and followed.

Scully moved cautiously down the hall, darting nervous glances about
her all the while grasping his hands, belying her trepidation with the
pressure of her hand tightening around his.

She took a key ring from her pocket. He looked and saw the familiar
Apollo key chain and smiled that she had a chance to even keep it.
The room was dark and sparsely furnished.  She closed and locked the
door behind her, and stood with her back to him for a few moments,
breathing deep breaths and shaking her head in continued disbelief.

" Scully"? he asked, and she turned. Her eyes were red and slightly
puffy. He looked at her in the darkness and saw the fear radiating from
her like waves.

" How is this possible"? she asked him, then, not waiting for an
answer, continued " The Cancer man told me you were dead. That you had
died four months ago from complications from the Virus. Aside from
that, he told me you were in Russia, which is not just around the
corner. And supposing that you did find me, how did you get here? No
one can get in", she looked exasperated, and it reminded him of the X-
files, and the way Scully would give him the how - the
- hell - did - you - make - that - rabbit - jump - out  - of  - your -
hat, Mulder? look.  She needed a rationale and quickly, he sensed the
foundation she relied on was crumbling.

" I had the virus, but I didn't die. I woke up five days ago in a
Quarantine ward. I have only bits and pieces of memory from the day I
got here. I remember the morning, at the airport, and I remember my
mother. And I  " remembered" that you were dead. I was trying to cope
with that until my little caregiver, Joan, came rushing in this
afternoon telling me that you were alive".

" Joan" she said, simply.

" Yes, and Scully, there is more".

***

End part four : More to come!

Part Five: Bittersweet

Scully leaned against her door and looked at Mulder, unable to move
past the few steps she had already made. He stood a mere five feet from
her, looking down at her, and she was frozen. This was happening. It
wasn't a hallucination and she hadn't died . This was real. It seemed
like she should be dreaming this, and she probably was dreaming this,
but she wasn't. He was here, in her face, alive, breathing.

It scared the hell out of her.

The emotions taking life in her conscious caused a dizzy fuzz to flash
before her eyes as the old Dana Scully, the Dana Scully FBI agent and
human Earth citizen, who was just getting used to the whole alien idea,
mind you, met the new Dana and she had to face up to some consequences.
He had been alive. He had been alive and she had been alive. She had
not even sought him out! She had believed he was dead!

She must have looked horrified because she heard Mulder speaking.

"Scully, are you okay?" the worried look swimming in his eyes, so
familiar.

" Mulder, I'm fine". she breathed in a little shakily and managed a
wobbled smile.

" So, who's going first?" Mulder quipped, and turned around to look
over Scullys little tiny space that was impossibly impersonal.

" Nice, Scully. I love the white on beige look this place is so popular
for."

She almost laughed, but managed a strained  " Thanks" in his direction.

" Coffee Mulder?"

" I'd love a cup. Wow, Scully, so domestic." he was grinning at her,
and she felt nervous.

This whole thing was so surreal...

" Scully, I know this is all really hard to believe but we need to
stay  focused." Mulder looked at her, and she managed to bring her eyes
to his. They were as intense as ever, she always had admired that in
him, the passion that he could light in anything.

" I can't believe all of this. It all seems so....surreal."

" Scully, I think you should sit down, I'll make the coffee". She
nodded, and walked away from him slowly, found an available chair and
sat in it. She heard Mulder fumbling in the kitchen, and it all seemed
too ordinary for her to mentally process. Mulder, who until this
moment she had been convinced was dead, was alive and making her a cup
of coffee.

The most improbable thing in the Universe was this moment. Ninety-seven
percent of earth's population was dead. Ninety Seven Percent, and that
was a *good* estimate. She was one of the few alive, and no one in the
six degrees of Dana Scully Separation had made it aside from, come to
find out , Mulder! Of everyone in her universe, it was Mulder
who survived. Against the odds, against her own judgement.

Which got back around to the fact that she had just let him go, without
fully realizing it, all those months!

" Mulder" she called, and he emerged, carrying two cups, looking at her
like she was.... Fragile.

" What, Mulder" She thought she sounded normal, but he was looking at
her as though perplexed.

" Scully,  What is it".

" This is just unreal, Mulder, that is what it is. I'm  having a hard
time accepting all of this".

" That's fair".

He handed her the cup, and she took it, but started speaking as he was
sitting.

" I have been...Mulder, I gave up". she looked into her coffee, looking
for words, for answers, for the truth.

" Scully-"

" I didn't see it clearly until just now, Mulder, I didn't. I.." she
was near tears, they made her voice thick " I believed everything,
Mulder. All of it. When he said you were dead, I believed him, Mulder.
I feel..."

" Scully, lets start from the beginning. Let's go slow. He reached out
to touch her, but she pulled from his imploring hands. She wouldn't
lift her eyes.

" I feel so inadequate".

She leaned her head over the mug, a veil around her face, to stop any
tears from escaping her eyes;she didn't want to cry. She couldn't lose
her hard won control before Mulder.

" Look what kind of person I've become, Mulder. Look at me" she
gestured towards herself absentmindedly, one hand akimbo with coffee
cup, the other with fingers pointing accusingly at herself.

" Scully," he sounded so level, so regular, so very himself, and it
made her feel achingly guilty.

He had been alive.

She had believed the lies.

" Where did they keep you"? She asked, she needed to know.

" Not more than five minutes away. In another ward, Ward "Q". I slept
it all away, I didn't see any of it.  None of the virus, nothing past
June Twenty First" She felt herself stiffen.

" You didn't see anything?" She tucked her legs underneath herself, and
watched him. He was looking at her as though he were
almost....disappointed.

"I didn't see anything. In fact, I only remember a little but from that
day, as it is. I remember seeing my mother".

Scully was amazed, this conversation was nearly a year overdue and was
actually happening. It was astounding, incredible, exhilarating.

" I also remember seeing you in your apartment, and I thought you were
dead". He swallowed, and she felt a chill race up her spine.

" You didn't see me dead. The virus you had was very contagious. It
caused physiological effects within an hour, two hours after exposure".

" I don't understand, Scully. Tell me about the virus, tell me about
what happened, and then we'll get back to me. I need to know." he
looked at her pointedly, and she was touched by the fact that he was
still so unflappably Mulder. That he still could pick up the pieces and
move on. That he had been awake for only a few days and had already
found her..She had never known anyone like Mulder, anyone who
could pick up the debris from any catasrophe and make it functional,
give it life, grace it with a new understanding. It was as though he
already accepted the outcome, and she couldn't believe that for over
ten months she'd been trying...trying to at least accept, and
he, awake for mere days was already there. There in that mental place
of inherent complacity that she so envied. How could he always be so
unbelievably calm when facing the events of the past year! She ran her
hands through her hair, trying to evoke some comprehension
from within. Mulder, at least, hadn't changed. Wether the feeling that
accompanied that admission was hope or dread, she didn't know.
She took a deep breath, and began.

***

Mulder watched Scully transform, at once from an emotional woman to a
cool, clearheaded professional. The switch was immediate as soon as she
launched into a narration that coming from Scully a year ago would have
been much, much more than bizarre. It would have been a great joke to
hear her speaking of the circumstances that led to the earth succumbing
to an alien virus so advanced that it could be considered a life-form.

" Colonization began on June twentieth, when the first virus was
released. It was a highly communicable virus, fact acting and deadly,
causing swelling of the cerebral cortex and profuse sweating, fever,
eventually dehydration and death. Each victim was individual in
how long they lived past infection, some for days, and others from mere
hours. It was very contagious, spread more rapidly than a cold or the
flu in that anything was a vector: the air, contact with another human,
et cetera. This killed roughly eighty- five percent of the
total population in two weeks. That's amazingly fast, some would have
said before this it was impossible, but it was launched from all
directions. It was quick and easy. That is what you were exposed to,
because the black oil was afterwards. "

" I have it on good authority that I contracted it from my mother".
Mulders tone was flat, measured.

" Did she know"? Scully asked him in the mid- darkness of the room and
it sounded as though she were soothing him.

" She did, Scully, She tried to warn me. The smoking man told her". He
saw Scully recoil at his words.

" What is it?"

" He told me things, Mulder. He made little deals with me and told me
I'd never see you again.He told me you were sick, far away", She
swallowed, her voice more and more constricted as she strove to
finish." He told me you were dead,and then he told me he was
your father".

He sensed that she was angry about this, as though there were something
he had been keeping from her intentionally, and now resented him for.
" Scully, he told me that he was my father while using me as a lab rat.
He offered me fucking salvation and then cut in my brain. I didn't
believe it then and I saw no reason to tell you. My mother confirmed
it. In that hotel room. It was just a few days ago for me, Scully.
I've  lost a year and.."

" I know". Her voice was flat and dispassionate.

" Does that upset you?" he asked, quietly.

" Yes and No. Yes, in that I am happy that you have been lucky enough
not to see what has happened, that you didn't witness what I witnessed.
You were free from that, and you will never know what it is like to
actually see it unfold before your eyes. Bu-."


He stopped her sentence by touching her arms with his fingers, making
her pay attention to his words.

" I know what that feels like, in the very least. I want to be here for
you now, Scully. I want you to be here for me, too".

She looked into his face, a mixture of tenderness and intense sadness.
Not far beneath that lay the pallor of guilt.

She was so close that he could smell her, and he breathed her in,
finding that her scent had not changed. Eternally Scully. She seemed so
slight, sitting with her lips pursed and searching the depths of her
coffee cup for hidden answers to life's many questions.

" Fine" She murmured.

He wanted to erase the pain in her, the dispair that she wore like some
fundamental piece of clothing. It grew on its own accord and permeated
the room, the cloying presence of depression.

" I miss so much, you know. I even miss the mundane, like pumping gas,
and the way my heels sounded clicking through the hallways. I miss
everything, Mulder -"

He crossed the few steps to her and took the coffee cup from her hands,
and pulled her close, out of the chair and into his arms. Her fingers
formed fists against his chest. She turned her face against him, and he
could feel her breathing.

" You don't have to do this, not to yourself, you know that. He lied to
you to keep you away from finding me. I understand why you believed
him".

" No, Mulder, No"- He hugged her tighter.

" Shh, I want you to let it go. If you need me to accept some apology-"
She pulled back ,looking into his face, tears swimming in her eyes.

" Oh, Mulder -"

" Shh, Scully". He grazed her temple with his lips " I need you to be
strong now, I need to know that I can trust  that in you".

She nodded.

She still had that strength within, Mulder could feel it in her, a
vibration beneath the cool exterior of her skin.. Her passion he'd
known so well through the years had been tested, perhaps more so than
her faith. It had been difficult the past year for her. He could see it
in her smile, in the way she carried herself, even her tone of voice
was different, subdued .

He felt that despite that, Scully was still herself, and he wanted her
to realize that. They had deceived her, and life had done it's fair
share, causing her to misplace her simplest confidences. The tiny
comforts of reality meant something to her, he knew that, he knew
her. A year may have separated them physically, mentally, emotionally,
but he felt he could fix that. They were together now, and that
mattered. That was what mattered the most.

The moment seemed to last forever, he held her for an endless second in
time, enthralled from the simplicity of the joy it could possibly
bring. She took the lucidity he offered, the solace, he shared his
personal strength. He took tiny answers from her in the moment of
perfection. She was fully alive in his arms and he could feel that
life. It thrilled him.

She pulled away a moment later, a sheepish look painted on her face. He
wanted to capture that look, add it to the millions of obscure Scully
faces that he'd seen over the years. The way she was so diverse, so
multi- faceted mesmerized him. He thought she was beautiful.

" Mulder ?"

" What Scully?"

" You just had an strange look on your face."

" It was nothing."

" Ok, Well - " She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and
turned away from him, settling back into her seat.  He took the seat
opposite hers and leaned forward.

" Tell me more about the virus".

" Well, there are three distinct and separate forms of the virus .They
are distinct mostly in that they were present at different periods of
time throughout the course of colonization. The first phase was the
most deadly, as I mentioned. This phase was unexpected by the
scientists who had been working on the vaccine. It was similar to the
effects of the Alien blood we have encountered on occasion of the
bright green variety, but it is not spread through a gaseous medium. It
was a contact virus: more contagious than Rhinovirus and
certainly, in it's short course, more communicable. The next phase was
the Black oil. Roughly ten percent of the population died from the
Black oil, and these are just rough estimates, but, it is on good
authority that five to six percent suffered from the original black
oil...the kind that we have seen, as well. The third phase was the
final colonization phase, which is, for all intent and
purposes, still going on. Not even half of a percent of the Earth's
population were chosen to be vessels for the alien gestated life form."
Scully shuddered, and then continued. "That makes roughly 97 percent of
6,000,000,000 people died Mulder. Thats over five billion
people. Roughly, in all of the world maybe, and it's a rough maybe at
best, 1,800,000 people are alive and fighting this every day. If they
aren't out there above ground they're underground, fighting to stay
sane."

She looked over at him, and grimly smiled " I assume
that the virus had a Natural Selection element in play. The first
killed off all of the weaker humans, the second eradicated any
stragglers. Finally, the third was the tool of colonization." She rose,
and went to get more coffee
" You want a little more, Mulder?"She called, and he followed,
accepting the coffee and then settling back into the chair.

" The most fascinating part of the virus is this: when you examine them
under the microscope, they are essentially the same thing: same
composition, the same molecular structure. All three are sensitive to
temperatures below freezing. The beings themselves are sensitive to the
cold as well, and won't venture to the coldest parts of the globe. I
received an e-mail two weeks ago letting me know that a North Pole
Survey Crew had survived and was willing to help me in the fight".
She laughed a short laugh, and looked into her hands.

" So, what is it that they have you doing for them". His tine was soft,
he expected anything. It made him suddenly afraid, afraid of what she
had done, what she might have sacrificed in this to live. What job did
they instruct her to do that caused such sadness, such pain?

" I am working on a counter -virus. One that can attack the residing
Aliens above and be used as a weapon. A virus to destroy them and to
let us have the Earth back".

" Have you accomplished that?" He was intent, and noticed her composure
drop a little.

" No," she answered softly," I haven't. Virology was never my best
subject, Mulder. I was a medical doctor, not a master of Alien Viruses."

" Do you think its possible?" She scrunched the skin on her forehead
and wiped the lines away with her hand.

" Anything is possible, Mulder. I have seen that."

" So, you have been working on this for nearly a year and have little
results? Why did they want you working on this?"

" Not they - him. The smoking man,  CGB Spender, your father-"
He visibly shrunk at the words " Don't call him that. He may be, but..."
Compassion skirted across her face," I understand".

" Well, he must have orchestrated the attack at my apartment - I went
to answer the door and the next thing I knew I was in a car, driving
along, and he was telling me about the Virus, what had happened, and
why he needed my help. He told me you had the virus then, and that I
had to "choose" to not see you again, in order to work on a cure and
live".

" I suppose he didn't bother to mention that you are immune to the
virus".

Her eyes widened, " What"?

" You are immune, Scully."

" How do you know that?"

" Another good authority" He wondered if she were ready for this news,
where he had learned this piece of valuable information that Scully had
apparently not been aware of.

" Where, Mulder. Who?"

" I should start from my beginning, before I tell you all the tricks I
have up my sleeve"

" Mulder-" there was a warning note in her voice.

" Give and take Scully, thats the name of the game".
She arched an eyebrow " Well, you haven't heard the rest of my year".

" Then by all means, go ahead".

She gave him a testy look before continuing " Regardless of Immunity or
not, at the time I thought I was susceptible to the virus. I took what
he said with more than a grain of salt and accepted his offer,
foolishly trusting him, and believing that you would find some way
around it".

" What's that supposed to mean,' find some way around it'.?"

" Well, you always do" She smiled at him, warmly, genuinely. He felt a
lump rise in his throat.

" At least I did until January twelfth, which was the day that he told
me you were dead. He threw some pictures on my desk and said your body
gave out from the stress of the virus." She looked at him, searching
his face, looking for any sign of...forgiveness.

" That bastard", was all he could say.

" The rest of my year has been spent battling the omnipresent
depression. I've seen fifty two suicides in the past year. In fact, I
thought I had another one today, a young girl that cut her hand, but
she was all right. Mulder, what is it"?

" I need to tell you about that girl".

" What girl?"

" The one you saw today, Joan".

" How did you know her name?"

" She has been the person caring for me the past ten months. She is the
one that told me you were alive."

Scully looked at him, a little dumbfounded.

" That's right, you mentioned that...when you first came to the lab
door" she murmured, a note of suprise in her voice that she hadn't
remembered it already.

" Scully, Joan is special."

"  How so, Mulder?  In what way?"

" In a lot of ways, Scully, and I don't know if you are ready to hear
this."

"Mulder, I am ready to hear whatever you have to say. Don't assume-"
she was getting angry,thinking that he was probably doubting her
rational mind.

" I don't mean that in a degrading way, Scully. This is important. This
is-"

" Yes, " she had a strained note in her voice.

" Scully," he lowered his to a near whisper, almost a conspiratorial
one, and leaned forward. He watched her lean forward too, a look of
anticipation on her face, " She is  like Emily."

***

Scullys heart stopped beating.

She.

is.

like.

Emily.

What did that mean? She didn't want to think of what that meant! Joan
was a nearly grown young woman, it was impossible, impossible.
The little voice inside her head mimicked her " but anything is
possible".

" How" she managed, and it was a weak thing, her voice, a terribly
shattered thing. He touched her hand, and she felt his warmth seeping
through her skin, seeking to draw out the cold. " They made her,
Scully. She is genetically your daughter."

She should cry at the words, her daughter. She should laugh at them,
wave her hands triumphantly, but it left her feeling dizzy and lost.

" Scully?" she heard the worry in his voice. So much worry in one day
was going to be the end of her. Tears, from some faraway deathless well
rose in her eyes.

" Mulder" she said, wonder in her voice, a tiny bit of hope.

" Scully" he said her name again, but more confident this time.

" She took care of me while I slept, fighting the virus. When I woke
up, I couldn't remember that last day, it was all a blur. All i could
remember was that you were dead, that they had said you were dead and
that I had confirmation of it. I slowly remembered seeing my mother in
that Airport hotel. She told me of the virus and told me to go to you I
remember going, I can almost remember getting there, but everything
else is fuzzy, distorted, lost.  I asked Joan to tell me what happened,
but she said that she couldn't, that I had to remember it all on my
own. Joan and I started talking about things, I asked her about her
family. She said that they were all dead. Then she told me that her
mother had not had the virus, that she'd been immune. I had a feeling
that something wasn't entirely kosher Scully. I mean, she was evading
my questions, looking at her hands and everything. She kept trying to
deflect the conversation from herself.  I kept on having this feeling
that she was holding back. Turns out that I was right.

" Mulder, slow down. This is all going really fast for me. I need a
minute to think."

She turned away from him and looked at the wall. She stood and found
herself speaking before she thought of the words.

"How?" That dangerously enticing mix of agony and joy on her lips.
He knew she wanted answers, ones that could be easily
processed,rational thoughts and feelings painted in nice colors. She
wanted the logic in everything, her mind worked best that way, in plain
black and white.

" Joan wants to answer your questions".

" Joan! Mulder, where is she"? She asked, a bit of trepidation in her
voice. She  had forgotten to ask where Joan was all along.

" I asked her to wait for me to come back and get her, when you were
ready. I thought this may be....difficult....for you Scully".

" I appreciate your kindness and concern, I do. I think I should see
her now, but -"

" I know you have the strength to do this Scully"

" How are you so sure?" She had a note of helplessness in her voice,
and he tried to sound reassuring in his response.

" I know you, Scully".

She nodded.

" Should I come with you when you go to her?"

" I think it would be dangerous for the both of us to be prowling the
hallways together. We're both supposed to think the other is dead, I
should remind you" He gave her a toothy smile and she tried to feel the
warmth but she was numb.

`God, Give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change'. The
line from a poem she had read a lifetime ago, popping into her mind in
this of all moments.

" I think you are right". She moved towards the door. " She's probably
scared out of her mind, Mulder. Wondering how things are going....go
and get her, bring her here, we'll talk. And Mulder- be careful. There
are people watching everywhere...don't let anyone see you."

" I figured as much...Joan gave me the back hallway tour to get here,
so I'm just going to retrace my footsteps....Scully?"

" Yes," She looked up, uncertain.

" It's really good to see you."

She smiled akwardly, "Well, Mulder, it's really good to see you too..."
she murmered, moving towards the door.

Mulder followed her to the door, amazed at her enduring composure,
hoping she believed in the strength that he knew to be unwavering
within her.

" Are you okay, Scully" He asked anyways, knowing the answer.

" Considering the fact that I woke up this morning fully believing that
I was alone in this world, and then finding that not only is my partner
alive but I also have a teenage daughter, I'm doing fine."

" That's the Dana Scully I know"

She managed a wan smile, opening the door, suddenly afraid that this
would be the waking point of her dream, and touched his arm to believe
he was still there.

Nothing wavered, there was no shift, he still stood.

" Hey Scully, I know we have a lot to do when I get back, but
afterwards, would you mind cutting my hair"?

***
That's all of part five, part six revised is coming up soon!

Part six. Arpeggio



Joan never wore a watch. They scared her.The digital watches that hung
on the walls in the hallways were an eerie red color that Joan didn't
like very much. They seemed to follow her down the hallways, mimicking
her steps, watching. She was afraid that quite possibly clocks had some
secret eyes that she couldn't actually see. She hated to even look at
them. What did time matter anyway, except to remind them all of the
ever present passing.

She was waiting. For a long time now, in Mulder's dark room. Pillows
were on his bed, covered in a blanket, it looked like he was here but
he wasn't. She pretended he was sleeping, that made it easier; she
wasn't alone then. She busied her mind with what she was going to say
when Mulder got back.

Would she jump up and say " Is she ready?!" with ten types of
excitement in her voice?  Would she stay still, " Is it really her!"

That question was answered deep within: "yes".

But it wasn't *her* voice. It was the other voice that she heard
sometimes in the darkness. And it was the voice that revealed secrets
into the darkness that she knew somehow were important. The voices were
far away, she knew that, but everyday they seemed closer. She had to
strain less and less to hear the words. They made sense, they had
clarity, at times they were close to her ear. So close she could
imagine the breath of the speaker. A phantom utterance that both
enthralled and frightened her.

" He will save us, he will save us all". That one was all the time, a
thousand voices, it came from within.

They had a melody. It was beautiful.

But everything was beautiful to Joan. She wished that she had a better
vocabulary: it takes a lifetime to learn words.

"Dana Scully" she said aloud, as though this were some far away
conversation, as though she had a guest.

Would  Dana  Scully want to see her?

When her mother knew the entire story of how she was brought into this
world, would she want to know her - could she accept her as her
daughter?

Maybe so, maybe not.

'I love this name, Dana Scully' she said within, and repeated it, over
and over, different ways sometimes but the same words: Dana, Dana,
Dana. Scully, Scully, Scully.

Sometimes she could re-envision her face from Memory. Just a few hours
ago. He hand was throbbing to remind her that she had cut it. She
looked at the bandage and touched it: soft.

Just like Dana Scully.

Her mother, her mother, her mother.

When the door creaked she jumped a little, and grinned when she saw
Mulder, who was smiling back.

" It's her"! Joan proclaimed, and he smiled wider, nodding, and sat by
her.

" What do you think?" Joan asked, her whisper, hoarse voice was high
pitched, barely intelligible.

" It's her" he said, and took Joans hands in his and smiled at her, and
with a newfound awe " And you really are her daughter".

" Yes." she replied, and then got still " Does she want to see me?"

" Of course" Murder's smile faded." Of course, but.."

" But?"

" This has all happened so fast, so quickly that she is still letting
it all sink in. That's difficult for her, it takes an almost...blind
faith....to accept something like this without question.  So much has
happened to her...and even though we talked I'm still a long way from
understanding everything."

Joan looked at him, mute. Maybe *she* wasn't ready for all this, and a
sudden disquietude shook her, but then Mulder was standing, tugging on
her hands and bringing her to her feet.

" C'mon, let's meet her."

" Now?" Joan creaked. She felt the paranoia mix with a serene feeling
in the center of her chest. She breathed in breath that was followed by
whispers..

" Go to....", " mother", "Dana"  Joan shook her head.

" Joan?" Mulders face was in front of hers. The voices stopped. The
room was normal again, dark and ordinary.

" I hear voices" she said,  " Millions of voices, but they are all the
same".

Mulder looked at her a long moment, and then he blinked.

" Let's talk about it with Scully" he had a nervous note in his voice.

" Okay, okay" she finally agreed, and followed him. They had to walk
quickly, taking advantages of the shadows and the light, careful fast
steps down the corridor, avoiding people. The blood thundered in her
ears as the endless streams of 'what ifs' assaulted her ears...
Then they were there, and she was at the door, a smile on her face that
Joan didn't recognize. Scully took Joan's hands, fingering the bandaged
one and looking at her with concern.

" Is it bothering you?" she asked, and Joan nodded " It stings a
little".

She watched as the woman before her ( Her mother!) tenderly examined
the hand and then walked off, only to return a moment later with some
oddly shaped white objects.

" Here, Joan, take these. They'll help with any pain." Joan took them
from her hand and followed her mother into a tiny kitchen space, where
a glass of water was handed to her, and she swallowed the pills as
Dana, her mother ( ! ) told her.

Everything else happened quickly, brief moments intertwining until she
was sitting, cross- legged on the floor, speaking of her life before
she knew Mulder, before she knew anything. When she and her siblings
had been thought of only as organisms, the essence of the project.
Nothing more than an entity. To reflect on that time was almost
difficult for Joan, to think of herself as merely *that* . It felt
empty, it felt barren, in comparison to who she was now. Was she still
a mere entity? Dr. Daniel's had thought not, Mulder had seen her as
real, she had bled real blood. She was real, no longer a whim or a
creation, no longer a mere accomplishment.

" I am the pinnacle of Dr. Stephan Daniel's career. He was one of the
doctors in charge of the entire project, and he made it a point to try
to tell me everything about myself. In a way, I think he felt badly
that I was created without  anyone really being concerned over who I
was going to become. They thought of me as an entity, the Men behind
the Project rarely referred to any of us as much more. For a time,
before Mulder awoke, I often thought of myself in similar fashion.The
Project began before I was even a possibility: they started with
clones. Male clones. They were mindless, which had a  severe
disadvantage:but they did let the doctors determine what traits would
be evident from your ova". Joan watched as her mother flinched a little
from the course the conversation was taking, but Joan plunged forward
anyway.

" They determined  over time that they had the best chances for success
with a female creation. So they went about making little girls, not
clones, but attempted hybrids. The little girls always had problems:
mental illness or incapacitates, horrible birth defects and congenital
diseases. They all died."

" My....other daughter, Emily, she died a few years ago.." Her  mothers
voice held pain in it's depth, and Joan felt incapable of relieving her
sadness.

" I am sorry." Joan said, and then " Is this too much too soon for
you?"

" No, Joan, go on".

" Well, the project leaders, the Men, told the scientists they needed
to be quick in finding a successful way to make a hybrid. The Others
had Cassandra, who was a successful Alien - Human hybrid. The doctors
had only known that she was a success, and that they had made her with
alien body parts gradually, and that she was a completely perfect
sample. That is when Dr. Daniel's, who was working on advancing
growth of tissue, was brought into the Project, and he conceptualized
me."

She breathed in, one long breath, and then continued. "Dr. Daniel's had
been very successful with sheep. He had made a sheep - goat hybrid
within a secret government facility. The Men thought that if anyone
would be able to accomplish the goal it would be him.You see, the Men
wanted a  successful hybrid that was essentially alien in biological
origin. Of course the alien genes were spliced with Human DNA
for certain qualities: appearance, the capacity for emotion, voice, et
cetera. What was borrowed from the Alien DNA was the incredible
regenerative qualities, a natural immunity to the virus, some other
things. Not everything was disclosed to me. There never seemed to be
enough time, I think. For a while, a long, long while, I comprehended
very little. My intelligence had to be developed and shaped. I was not
only educated about my own origins, but also the origin of all other
things that were exclusively human. I resent that the virus stopped so
much of the work and the testing of my boundaries. It's not completely
known what capacities that I have that are Human and distinctly Alien.
When a human technically, biologically became alien," Joan looked at
Mulder, who nodded that he understood " The doctors hypothesized that
they could extract the DNA supplemented with Alien DNA and transplant
it successfully with similar results. What was understood about this
was hardly taught to me. All I know is that the human being could not
physically withstand the mental overestimation. Even when transplanted
from Mulder, it was unsuccessful. The smoking man was persuaded by Dr.
Daniel's to allow the doctors to take the DNA and splice it with Human
DNA, and make a true hybrid. The others before me were made from older
alien DNA, and completely Alien at that. This is why Dr. Daniel's felt
that they failed. There was no way, with our technology, to
successfully create a hybrid on our own, with strictly Alien DNA. It
was Mulder that made my creation possible, and for that I am indebted."
Her mother raised a hand in the air, looking at Joan both speculatively
and with apprehension. Joan got an overwhelmingly strong sensation to
comfort her, and so she moved closer, taking her mothers extended
hand and looking at her.

" You think this is so intense", and Joan was amazed at the timbre  of
her whisper, or that the words were coming from her mouth. She could
see in colors what her mother was feeling: she could feel in this soft
hand hold what her mother was: infinitely strong but innately fragile.
A complete comparison and contrast. And on the surface, a surface that
ran deep within her mothers soul she saw love.

She looked into her eyes " I see you" Joan whispered, " I know what you
are thinking".

She watched her mothers eyes widen, in obvious attempt to comprehend
her words, but her face suddenly began to fade. She blinked, and
reopened her eyes but the blurring hadn't improved.

Joan felt the hair on her neck rise, she felt lucid. She was no longer
the commander of her body, which should be alarming, yet was strangely
comforting. She could sense her mouth moving, forming words, words from
a far away place that echoed without meaning in her mind. Nonsensical.
All that she could tell was that her voice was not a raspy half -
useful thing. It wasn't a whisper, it was a full, rich voice, it was
perfect.

And the voice had words, and it was speaking to her mother, and to
Mulder, who watched her with wide eyed bewilderment, not sure what was
happening. Joan had no control. No control over her hands, her
mouth, her face. The beating of her heart drowned the syllables she was
pronouncing, it was the beautiful voice. She knew this voice, it was
the one within, the gentle voice from within that told her little
secrets, tiny truths that, until now, she had been private audience. IT
WAS NOT HER. She was incapacitated, broken, and then falling, faster
and fasted into a soft warm goodness a million miles away. She was
floating in blackness surrounded by pin pricks of light. All around her
a whispered chorus, her real voice, her real self, saying " Stars".


***

Until this moment, things were going well. Scully had been taking this
all in with a composure Mulder didn't know she even had.

Then again, this was all before Joan started speaking in a voice that
Mulder and Scully simultaneously recognized : Cassandra Spender.

This can't be possible, he though to himself, and watched  Scullys face
contort in a way that screamed the words : It can't be possible.

Did she still have a hard time believing?

He had to admit to himself, that in this moment, so did he. It was hard
to follow that Joan would not be here were it not for the both of them,
which made him feel savagely protective of the both of them: a
mother and child tableau.

A surreal tableau at that. He wondered what Scully was feeling as Joan
knelt at her feet, looking at her reverently, staring into her eyes and
reading the contents of her soul. Mulder watched that, he envied that,
he wanted to be able to do that to her right now. Right now when she
was a million miles away.

That was when it happened: Joan metamorphosed. She sat taller,
straighter. She looked at the both of them and began to speak in a
clear resounding voice.

Split personality? Perhaps...

Until he recognized that voice: gravely but well tempered. Until he saw
those eyes : beseeching, not Joan.

She was in there, beneath everything, not looking out of the orbs
entirely possessed by someone else. No, not someone, Cassandra Spender.
" They didn't tell her everything, you know that, they didn't really
tell her why. They didn't expect success, so used to failure, they
didn't even think that They would make it this far. And he thought he
was so smart, by protecting you with her...He never sees things as they
are past his own selfishly destructive vision. But none of that
matters, this is important that you listen. You need to believe her,
because you can't accomplish this without her, you need her, Dana, Mr.
Mulder..."The voice was fading, it sounded far away although Joan,
physically, herself, was there, kneeling before Scully, and then
suddenly limp. She fell to the floor like a rag doll, and Scully was
reacting. Mulder admired that, her reaction. Always swift,
always composed.

" Joan"! she was yelling the name, and Joan rolled, moaning a little.
Scully sighed, a slight release of tension from her shoulders as she
lay Joan onto the floor, telling her to stay still, stay clam. She was
pale, leaning over her daughter. Scully turned her head and looked at
him, a anxiety-ridden expression on her face.

***

" What happened"? Joans voice was normal again, and it relieved her.
"I was someone else" she rasped.

Her mother put her hand on her forehead, soothing the hair away from
her face. She was on the ground.

Last she remembered, she had been floating in some strange space. A
space filled with lightness and dark.

" Stars" she said with wonder, and then she looked into her mothers
eyes." I saw stars. Where was I?"

Joan rose up, to a sitting position and looked at Mulder, who was
surveying the scene with composure.

" You were here Joan, but for a moment you weren't completely
yourself. " Dana, her mother answered softly.

" How do you feel?" she asked her, helping her up to a sitting position.

" Dizzy, a little. Otherwise I feel fine. I could hear myself taking, I
sounded different. It was strange. But it was like it was from some
long tunnel, some obscure place. I couldn't find my arms, I was totally
without motion. Just floating. I couldn't stop my mouth from moving."

" Has this happened before?" Mulder asked her, and she shook her
head `no'

" I want you to rest, for a little while Joan. A lot has happened
today, and.." her mothers voice fell away, uselessly.

" No" Joan said as forcibly as possible. " You need to know the rest,
about me. About why I am here, what I know".

Mulder leaned towards Dana and reached for her shoulder. She pulled
away.

" I don't know Joan" she said, and looked at her, a worried look on her
face more pronounced than the one she had seen earlier, in the hospital
room, when she had first seen her...
It seemed so much longer that a few hours.

" I'm  fine". Joan said, and repositioned herself on the floor. Her
mother readjusted herself as well, but she didn't return to the couch,
leaving Mulder alone up there. Joan caught the look that Mulder gave
Scully when she remain on the floor, and it made Joan smile.

" When the two of you are together, I understand so much. I understand
the importance that you have for her" she looked at Mulder, who looked
ashamed. He looked at her mother briefly, she did not turn around.

" I was born April 29, in the year before the beginning. It took under
four months to gestate and grow in the tanks completely. A phenomenal
amount of time, all because of Dr. Daniel's' experimental advancing
technology. I fared better in those four moths than the three young
girls they made with the new DNA from the DNA the smoking man took from
you, Mulder. The other three died. I survived. In the tank, they
gave me lessons on audio tape, they taught me words, the alphabet,
basic lessons imbedded in my sub-conscious. Thirteen years of human
socialization. When I was complete, I didn't know how to speak
fully, and yet I said your name, Mulder. When the smoking man heard of
this he decided I was exceptionally special. He thought It was
miraculous, and the others did too, when they learned that it was
from you that I was made, in some respects. So, they named me " Joan".
Over the months they taught me things, basic things, things about life
and science and education. Little lessons everyday. It was Dr.
Daniel's who taught me the most, though. He managed to make so much
clear to me. I still don't understand it all, but I have a good
memory.  The virus killed them all. A man came into the area on June
twentieth and infected everyone, causing anyone in the "Q" ward to
contract the virus, I was immune. The Smoking man had the vaccine and
the immunity, dually protected. He brought Mulder in the same day
that everyone was dying. I had never met him, I don't know who he was
except in what I had been told.

He told me that Mulder was the man I was made to save. I was to protect
him. And I have."

She rubbed her hands on her legs, not looking up. " They made me swear
not to tell anything. The never really said what would happen if I
did , but I assumed that it would be awful. I have willingly kept this
secret,  until finding out that you were alive and they had been lying."

***

Scully leaned into the couch and felt it's support. The cold fabric was
relaxing, soft, inviting.

What a story.

She watched as Joan began yawning from the pain killers, and Scully
felt relieved. She needed time to think, time to take this all in and
dissect it all, put it in it's proper places.

Mulder was watching her. It  was amazing, the connection they had.. She
felt him in her skin, staring at her back, wondering if she was all
right.

She was.

The most all right she had been in a long time, ten months, to be more
precise. She felt righted in the world, she knew her place.

If it only all made simple sense.

That was the main problem : it didn't. It was improbable, unrealistic,
a complete fairy tale.

She believed it.

She ushered Joan to her bedroom, laying her on the soft comforter and
telling her to go to sleep. She watched her fall into the soft throes
of sleep and smiled. Her daughter.

Impossible and yet entirely possible.

She rose quietly and re-joined Mulder.

" She's asleep." she said and looked at him. He was watching her, a
look of  trepidation on his features. He made her feel...she stopped
the thought, and crossed the room to look up at him.

" I got used to you in heels" he said, distractedly.

" Really? Sorry to disappoint. I didn't get a chance to bring my
favorite pumps", she smiled at him, and gasped when he grasped her
shoulders, pulling her close.

He was inches from her face, leaning over her, towering over her
amazingly, and she looked up, daunted by the `thump, thump, thump', of
her heart.

Jesus, he made her feel a million things when he was this close.

" You believe this"? he asked, his voice a little over a whisper.

" Yes" she breathed.

" It amazes me that you do" the same intense whisper, breathing against
her face, she missed this, she had missed him so. Today had been wonder
after wonder.

She leaned a little closer, saw something change in his eyes and he
looked down, his eyes on her face, her lips, looking as though he were
suddenly drowning.

He pulled away and stalked from her abruptly, moving a good ten feet
and not looking at her anymore.

She closed her eyes and made herself breathe.

" What are we going to do?" he asked, even toned.

She forced her hands to stop shaking.

" I really don't know Mulder."

" I believe her too, Scully. And when she was telling you...when she
had another voice-"

Scully interjected " Not `another voice', Mulder, it was Cassandra's
voice."

" I know. But that has got to be impossible."

" I thought you were the believer, Mulder." she said wryly, and he gave
her a half smile.

" I am, but I like some logic in what I believe".

" She is my daughter, Mulder...and in some respects, Mulder.."

" I know. In some respects she is mine too...and C.G.B Spender's"

" No, Mulder, more so you. She feels that she *has* to protect
you...and what do you make of  Cassandra's cryptic message?"

" I'm not sure I understand it all." He said simply, and stared at the
wall for a long moment.

A loud knocking at the door made them both jump, Scully wordlessly
instructed Mulder to go to her bedroom, her fingers over her lips. He
nodded.

She approached the door cautiously, the knocking continued, and then
she could hear a voice.

" Dr. Scully, help, please, Dr. Scully..."

She opened the metal door and stared at the woman in the hallway, her
hands and face smeared with blood, her skin pale and eyes wide.

" P..P..Please help me....My boyfriend" she said, and then she sucked
in a raspy breath "He tried to go outside...he was attacked....oh God,
oh God,....it was a fucking alien...oh God."

***