From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 7 Jul 2007 04:57:21 -0000
Subject: The Female of the Species by Wylfcynne
Source: direct

Reply To: Wylfcynne@aol.com


TITLE:    The Female of the Species
AUTHOR: Wylfcynne
E-MAIL ADDRESS: Wylfcynne@wordsinrows.com
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: DAL, AU/canonical character
death
SUMMARY:   What do you think Scully did after
Mulder's funeral in DeadAlive?  Do you think she
went home and took her prenatal vitamins?  Guess
again...
DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they
were, they'd be having more fun, and I wouldn't
have to save up for a new car!   Mulder and Scully
and the rest belong to FOX Networks and 1013;
the other guest and references and quotations are
the property of Universal City Studios, Inc.  I'm just
borrowing them for a little fun and games, and there
is absolutely no intent or expectation of any profit
from this little exercise.
FEEDBACK: The Wylf howls at the moon for
feedback...
DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is
dedicated to my writing partner, Ravenwald, without
whom I would still be doing all this using a ballpoint
pen, who introduced me to fandom on the 'Net, and
awakened the Muse, who had been sleeping for a
VERY long time.

XFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXF

The Female of the Species, by Wylfcynne

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and
     Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the
     squaws. 
'Twas the women, not the warriors, made those stark
     enthusiasts pale,
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
     ---Rudyard Kipling, The Female of the Species


It took some doing, but she finally chased the last
mourner from her apartment several hours after the
funeral.

Funeral... she could not stop herself from
remembering the horrific image of Mulder's body,
battered and dead, displaying clear evidence of
nightmarish torture. Finally alone, finally free from
the well-meaning concern of the handful of people
who had avoided being seen at the graveside,
Scully let herself fall to her knees, felt the jolt clear
to the top of her head. She felt the first sob break
loose and tried to fight it for a moment; she was
afraid that once she started to cry she might never
stop.

But even the Ice Queen's emotions are real, albeit
under better control than most. Dana Scully
huddled on her knees, her arms cradling her
unborn child and sobbed out her grief, her
loneliness, and her terror.

She did not sob out her rage. She could not. Rage
filled her as the tears rolled down her face, filled
her to her throat and threatened to boil up and out.

She remembered Ariel Lauria, and how calmly she
had committed her murdered husband's remains to
the grave, and she knew that there was no such
calm in her. "And," she decided, addressing her
far-too-silent apartment, "those who took Mulder
from me will not have such easy deaths as those
who killed Isaac Lauria!"

Decision made, she pushed herself to her feet and
walked heavily into the kitchen. Coffee and tea just
gave her heartburn, so she made herself a cup of
hot chocolate, indulging herself by making it with
milk. She carried it out into her living room and sat
down, putting her feet up on the footstool. She
sipped the steaming cocoa slowly, trying not to
think of all the things that would never happen, now.

She would never sit here and feel Mulder's long
strong fingers massaging her feet after a foot
chase in high heels.

She would never roll back over in bed and send
him to do the two o'clock feeding.

She would never see Fox Mulder hold his child in
his arms.

She would never...

There was a key in her door lock, turning. Scully
twisted, reaching across her own body to the table
where her Glock lay, metallic and deadly. She set
down her mug and grasped the weapon; she was
bringing it to bear as the door swung open and
revealed a tall slim man with dark hair. Her resolve
faltered for one heartstopping moment, but then
she recognized him. She cupped her other hand
under the grip of the weapon and steadied it.

"What do you want, Krycek?"

He stopped where he was, moving only his foot to
carefully shut the door behind him. She had him,
and they both knew it.

Krycek lifted his hands to shoulder height, palms
toward her. "Peace. I'm not your enemy. I just want
to talk."

"It's too late for talking." She watched as the
younger man took a deep breath.

"I know it is, Scully," he said finally. "I want to help
you avenge him."

That made no sense to her. "Why? You're on their
side."

He shook his head. "No. Not since Spender shot
my brother. Not for years before that, really."

That was news. Scully frowned, not liking the fact
that she had no facts, again. "I didn't know you had
a brother."

"Several," Krycek nodded and slowly let his hands
drop to hang at his sides. "Jeff Spender was my
younger brother, Scully. And Mulder was our older
brother. We all had different mothers, but old
Smoky did get around in his younger days."

Scully relaxed a little.

Krycek frowned, confused. "You aren't surprised.
Why aren't you surprised?"

"We did DNA tests on the blood on the office floor.
It showed a sibling relationship to Mulder through
the father; the mitochondrial DNA were not
consistent."

Krycek shivered suddenly. "Did Mulder know?"

Scully shook her head. "No. I didn't know how to tell
him he'd lost another sibling at their hands."

Krycek nodded slowly. "Jeff, Sam and I grew up
together, but we thought we were just cousins. I
didn't learn the truth till I got hold of that digital
tape."

That made her sit up. "Did they use you for
experiments like they used Samantha?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Jeffrey, too."

"Why not Mulder?"

"Control group. All the subjects were younger
siblings."

"Why was Jeff so abysmally ignorant? Why was
Mulder kept in the dark and only teased with
half-truths? Why did they let you in on it?"

Krycek shrugged. "I don't know, Scully. The
Smoking Bastard really is the most evil person I've
ever known, and I did a high school internship with
Victor Klemper. They started out trying to make me
one of their scientists, but I'm math-handicapped.
So they retrained me as an agent provocateur and
planted me on the FBI."

"They made you an assassin."

He nodded. "I've killed for them. But the more I
learned the more I knew I couldn't let them
succeed. I've been doing what I could to sabotage
things. Mostly I've been trying to keep you and
Mulder alive."

Scully froze, and her hand tightened on the pistol in
her hand. "You failed."

His carefully-bland expression cracked, then, and
Scully was shocked to see Alex Krycek fighting
back tears. "I know," he managed to say. "But I can
help keep you and the little one safer. Please,
Scully. I never thought they'd kill him: he was
Cancerman's favorite. I still can't believe that he let
them do this!"

"I'm not quitting."

"I didn't think you would, Scully. I want to help. I
want to make them sorry for what they did to
Mulder."

"They abused him all his life," she said slowly,
"emotionally and psychologically."

Krycek shuddered. Her voice was full of broken
glass and razor blades and he was afraid if she
kept talking he would bleed to death.

But he could not stop her.

"They made him into their own Nemesis and then
they played with his emotions and his perceptions
of reality... and then they took him from me and
tortured him to death." She paused for a sip of
cocoa. "They murdered my man, Alex." Scully
studied him intently. "I want CGB Spender's head
on a pike."

Krycek grinned wickedly. "I'm up for that."

The lights burned late as they began to lay their
plans.

***

The morning after the funeral, John Doggett
dragged himself out of bed when his alarm went
off. He stood up slowly, stretching carefully. He
was stiff everywhere and everything hurt.

I feel like I've been beaten with sticks... like I slept
on rocks. I hate funerals.

Naked, he tottered toward the bathroom and into
the shower. The hot water helped loosen his
muscles, and he sighed in relief. He washed and
rinsed quickly and got out. He toweled himself off
and was heading back toward the bedroom to get
dressed when he heard the phone ring. He
stopped, but waited in the hallway, letting the
machine answer for him.

"You have reached the home of John Doggett. This
is a machine; you know what to do." His message
went off. There was a tone and the caller spoke.

"Agent Doggett? Would you do me the favor of
stopping by my apartment on your way in, this
morning? Thank you."

Doggett scrubbed absently at his hair with his
towel. Why would Scully want to see him today?
Well, there was only one way to find out...

***

He parked his truck in the street in front of Scully's
apartment building and saw a battered old VW van
that he recognized parked at the far end of the lot.
Next to it was a sleek black Porsche Boxter. He
grinned as he imagined the look on Frohike's face
as he intentionally put the Gunmen's old rattletrap
next to the sleek and exotic sports car, surely
hoping to freak the vehicle's owner.

When he was standing in the hallway outside, he
paused for a moment to straighten his suit, square
his shoulders, and get his breathing under control.
Something was bothering him and he did not like
not understanding what it was.

He knocked gently, five light raps.

The door opened at once; it was not Scully but
John Byers who opened it. He nodded a silent
greeting.

Byers nodded in return. "Good morning, Agent
Doggett."

He looked around the room and saw Scully in her
favorite easy chair, with her feet up on the hassock.
Frohike was in the kitchen cooking; from the smells
he was making huevos rancheros for everyone. A
tall and good-looking young man was helping him.

Langley was at Scully's computer, working intently,
and Byers rejoined him after closing and locking
the door.

On the couch opposite Scully was a striking woman
with wavy black hair and dark, intense eyes. Her
outfit looked sprayed on; he wanted to go check to
see if it was fabric, latex or body paint. But he
realized at that moment that she was wearing a
shoulder harness and a handgun hidden under the
black suede shrug. He stopped and turned to look
at Scully.

She smiled faintly at his expression. "Good
morning, John. Welcome to the Breakfast Club."

"Why did you call me, Agent Scully?" He was
careful to keep his tone soft, but he really did not
believe she needed him for anything when she had
these people available to her.

"Sit down, John. AD Skinner will be here shortly. I'll
explain everything then."

He picked a straight wooden chair at her dining
room table. He hid a yawn and wondered how long
this was going to take.

A large mug of steaming coffee materialized in
front of him and he looked up to see Byers moving
away from him to serve Scully.

"You look worse than I feel," Scully commented as
Byers set down a fresh cup of cocoa on the table
beside her and collected the empty mug.

He shuddered. "I'm sorry. I just... had a lot of
trouble sleeping last night."

Scully nodded and picked up the steaming mug to
sniff at it appreciatively. "I understand. We're here
to plan, John. We aren't giving up, and nothing's
over."

He nearly smiled. "It does make me feel better to
hear you say that."

She did not have time to answer; there was a knock
on the door, then, and Byers moved hurriedly to let
Walter Skinner into the room. The Assistant
Director stopped short when he saw everyone
staring at him.

"Agent Scully...?"

"Ah, you're here," was her answer. "Now we can
get started."

"Perfect timing, Mr Skinner!" Frohike announced as
he came out of the kitchen with a large platter of
scrambled eggs and Jimmy followed him with a
large gravy boat full of the steaming sauce.
Balanced on top of the gravy boat was a smaller
platter of buttered toast. "Everyone grab a seat and
a plate. We can plan while we eat."

Despite that suggestion, there were several
minutes of silence as everyone tucked in. Frohike
prepared a plate and served Scully, and then made
a plate for himself and ate standing up.

When she had finished eating around the scant
amount of sauce Frohike had put on her eggs,
Scully set her fork down and waited. Every man in
the room stopped eating and turned to face her.

"I understand that this is hardly mealtime
conversation, but I want you all to understand
exactly what I plan to do. If you can't or won't help,
all I'll ask is that you stand aside and not interfere."

That last sentence seemed targeted at Skinner and
Doggett, being the only law enforcement personnel
in the room.

"Agent Scully..." Doggett spoke hesitantly, unsure
of how to word a protest.

Scully took the decision out of his hands. "They
kidnapped and mutilated me and hundreds of other
people over the last fifty years," she spoke calmly.
"They used children, their own children, as
experimental animals. They played mind games on
Mulder all his life, dangling the truth before him to
watch him jump for it. They abducted him and
tortured him to death and I. Want. It. Stopped. Will
you help me?"

Her cerulean gaze pinned Doggett till he squirmed.
Slowly, he nodded. "He was a good man. He
deserved better. Yes, I'll help."

"John." Her tone turned chiding and he cocked his
head to one side, puzzled. "I'm not speaking
metaphorically, John. I'm going to burn the Project
down around their ears and I will lay Cancerman's
ugly grinning skull on Mulder's grave."

His mouth opened to respond, but shock had taken
his voice.

"Smooth." A mocking voice sounded from behind
him and Doggett whirled to see a slim dark man
dressed in black urban camouflage standing
behind him, a 40-caliber Glock dangling casually in
his hand, the barrel aimed at the floor.

Behind him, Doggett heard Skinner's chair go over
as the Assistant Director lunged to his feet.

"Krycek!" Skinner snarled and Doggett went for his
gun, knowing Skinner was going for his.

"Hold!" Scully snapped, and everyone froze. "John.
Walter. Stand down. Alex is on our side."

"Since when?!" Skinner was still holding his gun on
the Russian.

Doggett backed a step, wanting to get back to back
with another Marine.

The Gunmen and their two friends were standing
very still, waiting to see who would open the ball.

Yves flexed her hands slowly, trying to decide who
to shoot first.

"All right," Doggett's voice was forced out through
gritted teeth. "What's going on, here? Who are you
really?"

Alex laughed delightedly. "You have been paying
attention!" Then, much to Doggett's shock, Krycek
calmly holstered his sidearm, tucking it away into a
shoulder holster neatly hidden under his suit jacket.

Doggett glanced at Scully, who chuckled. He
shivered; there was cold steel in her voice.

"Relax, John, Walter," she spoke quietly. "Alex has
signed up. He has joined the team. He's on
probation..." She traded a glance with Krycek that
John would have loved to have understood, "but I
believe him."

"Why?!" the word exploded from Skinner. His
Glock was still aimed unwaveringly at Krycek's
chest.

Krycek took up the tale, then, explaining briefly what
he and Scully had worked out the night before.
"So," he concluded, "are you in?"

Doggett did not hesitate. "Yes."

Skinner echoed him and holstered his Glock.

***

The next edition of The Magic Bullet was printed
with thick black borders around each page. The
headline was:

WAR DECLARED!

Washington DC. FBI Special Agent Fox W. Mulder
is dead (see obituary, page 6). Agent Mulder was
well known by name and reputation to our regular
readers, both for his occasional contributions to this
periodical and for his investigative work, often
reported here. The editorial staff of TMB were
honored to have called him our friend.

Agent Mulder was abducted in Oregon by a UFO
over three months ago; his abduction was
witnessed by an FBI Assistant Director. His body
was recovered at a cult site in Montana. He had
been tortured to death; we are sure we do not need
to provide our readers with the details. The medical
examiner placed time of death only hours before
he was found.

Fox Mulder will not be forgotten.

For years the Consortium let Mulder live because
they feared his martyrdom would mobilize us. They
were correct to fear us.

It's time to stop just talking about opposing alien
colonization, folks. There's no time left. Mulder's
partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, is pregnant
with his child. He was taken before she could tell
him of their own personal miracle. If we want their
child-- and our own children!-- to grow up free and
not as guinea pigs for the Greys, we need to find
them and defeat them now. Mulder died trying; let's
make sure he did not die in vain.

Quislings will not be tolerated!

Send all your information in re abductions, the
experiments, people referred to as "merchandise",
the Greys, microchip implants, brain cancer
clusters, genetically engineered bees, corn or
other crops, black worms, people with their eyes
totally blacked-out, or anything pertinent, to
[tipline@avengemulder.org].

Free Terra!



******** October 13, 2007

The sun was just setting, making the shadows very
long. The trio of armored black Hummers slid
through the shadows like the military scouts that
they had so recently been.

The cemetery had been neglected during the worst
of the fighting, but since the victory someone had
been working to restore some order. The place
looked well-groomed.

In the second vehicle, a little boy peered out the
gunport beside him and bounced excitedly.

"Mom, look! Sheep!"

"Yes," she chuckled. "They keep the grass cut
short and they eat the weeds."

"Where're we going, Mom?"

"There's something here I need to show you, Will,
and a promise I need to keep." Her hand caressed
the plastic container beside her on the seat.

*****

She who faces death by torture for each life beneath her
     breast
May not deal in doubt or pity, must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions; not in these her honour
     dwells,
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
     ---Rudyard Kipling, The Female of the Species