Family Ties
by e.b.e. [email protected]
"Are you sure you want to do this? Time is against us, and I don't
need to tell you what will happen if his condition deteriorates much
further."
He waits in respectful silence for the other to answer. The response
slow in coming, the doctor fidgets nervously, shoving twitching fists
into the pockets of his long white lab coat. The other man remains
silent, lined gray face calm and deliberate as he fishes a pack of
cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, taps one filtered stick out into
his
waiting grasp.
Acrid flicker of gas and flame and the Morley is lit then raised to
the
man's pale, eager lips. Deep inhalation, soothing burn in his
lungs,
comforting wreath of ghost gray smoke around his head. Then and
only then does he answer the doctor, glowing tip of his cigarette
dangling from his mouth.
"We've performed the procedure hundreds of time before. I see
no
reason to skip it this time."
"Sir, with all due respect, the circumstances this time are singularly
unique. We have to perform the brain surgery soon, or the transfer
of tissue will be impossible, and he will die. It hardly seems
worth
the risk."
The older man's smile is tight, mirthless. "I decide whether the
risk
is worth it or not. Procure a sample of his genetic material
without
delay so that we can begin the operation."
The doctor bowed slightly, scuttled off to make the necessary
arrangements. His superior sucked in another breath of harsh
chemicals and tobacco, finding the resulting tingle and tickling
cough oddly comforting. He walked slowly down the hall to his
own
room, where someone was waiting to help him with his own medical
preparations.
"Are you getting the sample?" she asked, pushing long brown hair
behind one ear.
"You doubt me now, Diana?" he smirked, dropping and grinding the
cigarette into the pristine white tiles.
"Of course not. However, the timing is less than optimal.
And I
wonder what you even hope to accomplish. At this stage of our
plans, we have little need for it."
He sighs dismissively. "You do not know the whole picture.
There
are still things left undone, debts left unsettled. Think of
this as my
gift to them."
Her eyes narrow, jealousy a dark glitter. "You'll never accomplish
it. Another abduction would arouse too much suspicion."
Laughter, low and humorless. "You really do doubt me. Your
lack
of faith is troubling. But it matters little what you believe
me
capable of accomplishing. It will be done. What's more,
she will
come to me willingly, though of course my true objective will by
necessity remain secret."
Diana shook her head, fighting an inexplicable surge of bile.
"You
would do that to them. For them."
He laughed again, and she left him to his plots and devices, silently
crying.
______________________________
"Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he looks like you. Don't
ask
me how, but he does."
She sits in the chair everyone has come to accept as hers, the torn
vinyl pulled up close to his hospital bed. Her voice is just
loud
enough to be heard over the devices which monitor his condition.
Far fewer now, no respirator to aid each struggling breath, no
advanced life support tethering his fragile life to this plane of
existence. He is better now, fully capable of sustaining his
own
involuntary bodily functions.
She sighs and shifts the sleeping child in her arms. Such a beautiful
boy, everyone tells her, downy wisps of red and deep hazel eyes.
Hazel eyes. William Charles Scully sleeps soundly in his mother's
arms, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart.
Grateful, so very grateful for everything that has happened, and yet
it
is not enough. Is it greedy, she wonders, to yearn for more when
you
have already received more than you ever dreamed? A child, a
miracle, a joy she had given up all hope of ever knowing. And
her
partner, alive and whole, returned from the mysterious unknown on
the very day her son entered the world. Truly a blessed day.
But still there is discontent, anxiety. She worries about her
partner,
her friend, who though alive and recovering physically has yet to
awaken. And this precious child she clasps unconsciously closer,
whose gift is he? So many questions unanswered, clouds which
darken her sunlight delight.
She glances at the clock on the wall, and the butterflies flutter up
to
her throat. Time for her appointment, the results of the genetic
testing she ordered performed on her infant son. Fear, so much
fear
as she contemplates the results. What did happen when she so
foolishly trusted a man she knew to be the most heinous of liars,
when she woke up with only hazy memories and a profound sense of
unease? The thought that he may have...she is nauseous with
violated rage, self-depreciation for her own naivete. But not
knowing would be worse. This child was conceived somehow, and
she has no delusions of being the Virgin Mary.
A nurse appears as if on cue to take little William back to the
nursery. "I wish you could be with me, Mulder. I could
use your
strength right now." He remains mute, and her sore and battered
soul wrenches, desperate for his return. Stoically she rises,
turns to
go. To go alone, to learn the truth about her son.
______________________________
"The paternity test came back negative. CGB Spender is not the
father of your child."
Your child. She finds the phrase ironic, for William is truly
hers and
hers alone, created by unknown means, to unknown ends. She
shivers as the cold dark fear gnaws at her mind, but mostly there is
relief. The Smoking Man may well have had a hand in this, but
it is
not his seed she bore. Thank God.
The lab technician, an ally in her cause, shakes his head nervously,
clearing his throat slightly to indicate there is more. "There
were,
however, some similarities in the DNA sequences. Not enough to
be
a match, but indicative of some blood tie to the father. Perhaps
a
brother, or a son..."
His voice trails off, cheeks flushing. No easy way to broach such
a
delicate subject. "I know I asked this before, about the possibility
of
Agent Mulder being the father..."
"No, I don't see how. We never...it wasn't like that between us."
"And Agent Spender, I know he was killed long before this
happened."
Her nose wrinkles in disgust as the dead man's face flares in her
mind's eye. "Yes, long before."
The technician makes a non-committal noise in his throat, feeling his
face burn to the tips of his ears. "Agent Scully, I ran another
paternity test. Not because I doubt your word, but given the
strange
circumstances of your pregnancy and the anomalous results of the
first one..."
And she knows. She has always know, it seems. Even as her
mind
seeks to rationalize it all, formulate a cogent theory, her heart
embraces what has not yet been spoken, all the while shouting for
glee, the sentiment echoing in her brain.
'I told you so.'
'I told you so.'
A sheaf of papers and test results is pressed into her hands, the truth
blaring in black and white. "I don't know how, Agent Scully,
but I
ran this second possibility three times just to be sure. There's
no
mistake. Agent Mulder is the father of your son."
The room spins about her, lost in a whirlwind of confusion and an
elation she doesn't dare to examine too closely. 'He's the father,
Mulder's the father...' But how? Why? And she thinks
she does not
care, because it is him, and when did anything ever make sense
where he is concerned?
The door swings open, banging into the wall with a jarring crash, a
breathless nurse popping her head into the room. Brief rush of
irritation at the interruption until Scully recognizes her as one of
the
shift nurses from Mulder's floor, a regular to his room during her
numerous visits. The smile on her face delivers the news before
her
gasping voice can, and Scully is running out the door almost before
the message is audible.
"Dana, he's awake, and he's asking for you."
______________________________
"Scully, I don't know what to say. I'm...overwhelmed, to say the
least. I thought you couldn't have children. I saw your
ova..."
She cannot stop smiling. He is sitting up, back braced against
a
mountain of pillows, holding William. The child snuggles
instinctively closer to the warmth of his chest, holding fast to the
pinkie finger dangled against his tiny fist. Mulder grins and
coos to
the boy, who gurgles in reply.
"Your son, Scully. God..."
A tear slips down her cheek as she drinks in the sight of them.
Long
lost partner, miracle child. Father and son. "There is
more, Mulder.
Think you're up to hearing it?"
He nods, still staring at then soft wriggling bundle in his arms.
She
tugs at his wrist, the one attached to digit her son holds captive,
and
reluctantly he pulls it from the infant's grip, sliding his fingers
between her own. Rapture, this feeling, to be with him again.
So
long since they spoke, since she could touch him. And now, this
news...
"He's yours, Mulder. Yours and mind. I don't know how that's
possible, but I looked at the test results myself. You are William's
father."
There is silence, impossibly heavy against her struggling breath, her
pounding heart. Then his incredulous smile crests like the rising
sun,
and she can see the sincerity of his happiness in those liquid hazel
eyes. "Me? You're absolutely sure?"
"Yes. You." Only you.
His laughter is choked, giddy. "I was trying not to be jealous
of the
daddy. I didn't even want to speculate..."
"Me neither."
"How? How is it possible that this wonderful boy is mine?"
His laughter is contagious, bubbling out of her soul. Cathartic
after
these days of misery, so marvelous to feel happiness with Mulder,
with their son. "I wish I knew. It hardly seems fair though,
does it?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Fair how?"
"Usually the pain of labor is caused by more pleasurable activities
that, sadly, were absent here."
His eyes sparkle mischievously. "Scully, are you saying you would
like to engage in such activities with me? I mean, it'll probably
be a
little while before I'm up to it, so to speak, but let me talk to the
doctors..."
William's cry prevents her response, but the warm rush continues
unabated. Mulder cradles his head, transferring the boy gently,
smoothly, into his mother's waiting arms. Suddenly shy, she turns
away, prepared to leave in order to feed her son. Too presumptive,
she thinks, to expose herself like that. Too intimate.
"Scully."
"I have to feed him, Mulder."
"Don't leave. I'd like to watch."
Her eyebrow raises now, and his flush colors his paler than normal
face. "I don't mean it as anything...sexual. I just don't
want you to
feel like you have to hide. I want to be here for as much of
this as
you're comfortable allowing. I want us to be...."
It catches in his throat, so momentous, so terrifying, but he has never
wanted anything more. And neither has she. "I want us to
be a
family."
So she sits by his hospital bed and feeds their son, his presence
reverent, comforting. So much yet to decide, to discuss, to learn.
Truths about his abduction, everything that has happened to them
both. But none of seems to matter at that moment, both of them
content to bask in each other's presence, love for each other and the
new life between them.
Their son.
Finis
End notes: Sorry if I got any medical facts wrong. I'm not a doctor.
Frankly, I blatantly pilfered the paternity test idea from the show.
But since I stole the story line and the characters, I figured what's
one more theft between friends?