Julia
Chapter Thirty

Disclaimers, etc. in Headers


Undisclosed location
West Virginia Mountains
April 6, 2001
5:50 p.m.


Scully looked up from the microscope at the
touch of a hand on her shoulder.

"Saved the world yet?"  Mulder sat down at the
table to her right, placing his gun gently on
the wooden surface.  His smile was tired, but
re-assuring, his thumb coming up to caress her
cheek.

Her smile was bright; he'd been on patrol all
day, surveying the surrounding area outside for
any sign of marauders.  The woods were full of
them these days - men with arms and a taste for
killing and stealing to survive.  There was no
law, at least not where they were hiding.

<I think so,> she mouthed, waiting for his
reaction.

It was worth the two-second delay; his face lost
all trace of fatigue and he caught his breath. 
"What?"

The data the Gunmen had managed to download from
the Headquarters in Washington - before it
decided to depart this world - had proven to be
very useful.  It detailed parts of the whole,
but it was enough for her to experiment with the
vaccine.  Just today, she felt she'd found the
right combination, and she told Mulder so.  It
would have to be tested, she added, but she was
fairly sure it would work.

Mulder's joy was amazing to behold; instead of
shouting with happiness, he just sat there, his
eyes swimming with moisture as he nodded.  "I
knew you could do it - didn't I tell you so?" 
His hand moved to her neck and he drew her
closer, his lips moving across her brow.  "I'm
so proud of you."

Scully held him in her arms, a burgeoning sense
of security taking hold for the first time since
they'd arrived weeks ago.  Information, once at
a premium, had flowed from the building, making
all the pieces fall into place.

She'd found out she'd been spared in the
Invasion simply because she'd been on
antibiotics at the time; so had many others,
including many smokers.  The black oil had been
genetically mutated with a variety of bee
diseases, some of which responded to treatment
with tetracycline and - of all things -
nicotine.  That something as insidious as
cigarettes could have ended up saving many lives
was incredible to her.  It didn't make her want
to take up smoking, however.  But it was just
another in a long line of mysteries solved - she
often wondered if that case long ago in Raleigh,
and Daryl Weaver's proclivity for living despite
his three-pack-a-day habit, were related somehow
to this discovery.  Had Cancerman had his
fingers in the tobacco industry's attempt to
create a safer cigarette?  What if that *wasn't*
the purpose of those trials after all?

She didn't lose sleep over it, though.  There
were more important things to do - such as get
the word out about the antibiotics and the
nicotine.  In spite of Cancerman's death, there
were still factions of his old guard that
remained in several cities, fighting against the
Resistance for control.  There were still bees
to contend with, but their effectiveness had
dwindled, thanks to the Gunmen's swift
communique to the Underground, mere days after
she'd returned and realized what could be done
to combat the swarms.

"Wanna get something to eat?"  Mulder pulled
away to ask.

Scully's stomach was empty; she'd skipped lunch
to finish making her notes on her discovery. 
Documentation was now the key to everything.  If
for some reason she became unable to continue,
someone else would.

<Sure,> she signed, getting up from her chair
and stretching her stiff muscles.

Mulder's hands kneaded her neck and she sighed,
melting into him.  "Then maybe an early night?"

She lifted her chin and flashed him a guarded
glance, knowing exactly what he was referring
to.  The problem was, she wasn't sure she wanted
it as well.


**********


6:25 p.m.


The Gunmen walked in as they were finishing up
their meal of canned, rather tasteless beef
stew, each of them grunting a small hello before
flopping down at the table.  Byers and Langly
grimaced at the skimpy meal and declined what
was leftover in the pot that Scully offered to
them, but Frohike dug in with relish, giving her
a smile and a wink.

Even now, she couldn't get over the way the
little man had changed.  When she'd first seen
him after they'd arrived back at the bunker,
she'd been astounded by his lean, trim
appearance.

"Had to get buff for the attack," he'd
explained.

"Yeah, the *Colonel* liked to hang around Krycek
too much after you'd left."  Langly's snide
reply had been directed at her with a roll of
his eyes.

"Shut up, buttwad," Frohike had replied before
giving her a leer.  "Like my new look?"

<Frohike, you make me want to rip your clothes
off and take you right here, right now,> she'd
signed, turning to walk from the room.

As she left, she heard Frohike ask Mulder,
"What'd she say?"

Mulder's voice drifted into the hall after her. 
"You'd never believe me if I told you, man."

Since then, Frohike had made it his mission in
life to learn sign language, something he
practiced at every opportunity with her.  She
didn't mind; she thought it was touching that he
wanted to be able to communicate with her.

Tonight, however, he spoke aloud, wanting to
tell his news quickly.  "I heard that Skinner
made it to British Columbia."

Scully sat up straighter.  <He did?>

"Yep," Frohike replied between bites of meat. 
"Encrypted message came through twenty minutes
ago.  He says to tell you both thank you...
again."

They had been unable to go after him themselves,
but Frohike had arranged for Skinner's train to
be hijacked by a sympathetic band of ex-Mounties
he'd been communicating with for months.  The
ambush in Montreal went smoothly, but it was
slow going getting Skinner to safe territory. 
As agreed, he would remain in hiding just like
them until the alien threat was truly gone from
the planet.

With Cancerman's death - and the most obvious
way the power of the chip had been used - the
aliens had run back to the skies.  Satellites
still detected their presence in the ships that
hovered above the Earth, but so far their trips
to the surface had been sporadic, met with swift
resistance from the humans now free to move
about as they wished.  No longer brainwashed by
the Administration, they'd quickly regained
their faculties and were slowly forming a new
government.  How it would all come together
remained to be seen; their small band knew
better than to set foot outside the perimeter of
their mountain before the dust had settled.

For one thing, Mulder was a wanted man.  The
television broadcasts had changed from daily
messages demanding compliance to the new order
to constant photographs of the traitors believed
to have survived the overthrow of the government
- Mulder's face and name at the top of the list.

Scully hated it.  That this man who had lived by
the truth all his life was reduced to hiding
from the very people he'd fought so hard to free
was abhorrent to her.  She knew he believed
himself worthy of their recriminations in some
ways; she could see it in the clouds of regret
that colored his face at times, especially when
he was the recipient of still wary looks from
the thirty or so men and women who now lived
with them in the bunker.  If she had her voice,
she'd scream at them that this was an honorable
man - a man who sacrificed himself to
unspeakable torture and pain so others could
live.

One day, they would leave and go above for good. 
Live somewhere quietly; Mulder spoke of this to
her as they laid together on their pallets at
night.  He wanted to find a small place in the
country where children wouldn't cringe at the
sight of his face.  Where they could live
together in peace and grow old together.

For now, though, they were stuck here.  Krycek
had never returned to the hangar; he was
presumed dead.  Frohike had taken over as leader
of their rag-tag outfit, and the group worked
toward a day when they could all surface without
fear of reprisal or death.

And Jeremiah?  No trace of him, either, though
Scully hadn't been surprised at the fact. 
Hybrids weren't exactly being sought after as
dinner guests these days; anyone with any
connection to the colonists, however remote,
were tarred with the same brush of vengeful
backlash.  Just like Mulder.

"Something else I heard today, though it's just
a rumor at this point... unsubstantiated
speculation."

"What's that?" Mulder asked, pushing away from
the table and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of
his sweatshirt.  Scully passed a paper napkin to
him, which he promptly accepted with a sheepish
grin, though he looked more interested in
Frohike's news than good manners.

She hated the way barracks life had taken away
the simplest of courtesies.  But it was nice to
see a glimpse of their humanity still - in a
'please' and 'thank you', in the privacy they
each gave one another at times, in the smiles as
they passed each other in the halls.  Things
were slowly getting back to normal; better than
normal, actually.  At least in the bunker.  They
saw hope grow with every passing day and it was
reflected in their attitudes, much to her
delight.

And to her consternation; if she could only join
in on their happiness, all would be well.  But
something held her back and she was trying her
hardest to keep her sadness from Mulder.

"Miners are being sent out west - recruiting
will begin soon."

"Miners?  For what purpose?"

"To find more of whatever the hell that chip was
made of - it's being called the new Gold Rush. 
More valuable than the most precious of
jewels... stories have been circulating about
its power.  Some say the men with the most
'krycekite' will rule the new world."

"Krycekite?"  Mulder's laugh was incredulous. 
"Sounds like something you'd need penicillin
for."

"Yeah - catchy, ain't it?  The only substance
known to bring the new order to its knees. 
Delivered by a man everyone considers a hero and
a martyr."  Frohike huffed.  "Too bad they
didn't know him like we did.  I think they could
have been a bit more original... say maybe...
'Frohikeite'?"

"Now *that* definitely sounds like it's worthy
of a venereal disease film."

Frohike colored as the other men joined Mulder
in wicked laughter.

Scully cut off their laughter with a slap of her
hand against the table, grabbing their
attention. <They can't do that - they have to
leave that material alone.> She feared its power
and knew it was better left in the ground, if
any existed.  However, she knew that a
spacecraft had been uncovered years ago on a
beach in Africa; it was highly likely that more
ships laid beneath the soil, scattered around
the world.

Mulder agreed, his grin fading as he let their
moment of fun pass.  "I think that would be
best, too, Scully.  But I don't see that we're
in any position to stop them.  Not right now,
anyway.  It took forever for someone to find
that ship in Africa; it's liable to take years
more to unearth another one.  By that time, most
will have given up.  Man's never been known for
his patience."

She understood his reasoning, and realized that
he was right.  But she still didn't have to like
it; there was enough despair on this planet now
without greed and hunger for power blinding the
remaining humans to what was really needed most
- compassion, civility, and the chance to make
things better than they ever were.  The human
race, while decimated now, had a singular
opportunity to start over.  To make a world free
of pain and full of wisdom.

Shoving away from the table, she stalked out,
Mulder's voice calling out after her.  She
didn't slow down, finally reaching their room at
the far end of the bunker before slamming the
door behind her, anger making her shake.  A few
seconds later, she heard the door open, then
quietly close.

"Scully."

It was all she needed to let loose, turning to
vent at Mulder. <Why can't they leave well
enough alone?  We still don't know enough about
why the chip did what it did - or where it went
once it was free!  It's foolish to think we can
harness its power, Mulder.  Dangerous, foolish
folly.> Her hands wrapped around her waist and
she turned from his sad face, hanging her head.

She tensed at the feel of his arms snaking
around her, then relaxed when he began to speak. 
"I know.  But it's man's nature to be greedy,
Scully.  And the only way humans ever learn is
from their mistakes.  All we can do is hope no
one ever finds another source."

Krycek had hidden the artifact well, not
disclosing its location to anyone, not even the
Gunmen in all the time she'd been gone.  And she
prayed the secret went with him to his grave.

Sighing, she turned in Mulder's embrace and let
him hold her.

"What's the matter, Scully?" he murmured into
her hair.

It wasn't unusual for Mulder to pick up on her
moods, especially since she no longer had the
use of her voice.  He seemed able to discern
what she was feeling now more than ever, just
from reading her body language.  Unsure just how
to put what was bothering her into words, she
shrugged and snuggled closer.

"Is it the food?  The lack of privacy?  Whoa -
don't tell me I offend."

At that, she let out a small, silent chuckle
that manifested itself in a smile against the
soft cotton of his shirt.

"I knew it.  Time to switch to Right Guard,
huh?"

Sniffling, she pulled away to meet his mirth-
filled gaze.  Still bright, his eyes became
serious.  "Tell me."

Bringing a hand up, she ran her fingers through
the longer hair at his nape.  He looked so much
better now, so filled with health and vitality. 
The outdoor patrols in the spring sunshine had
restored some color to his skin, while she felt
as though she was withering away in the confines
of the laboratory.  But that would soon end, she
knew.  Now that the vaccine was almost
synthesized, she'd be able to venture out - with
or without Colonel Frohike's permission, who'd
appointed himself her protector.

<I don't know,> she said truthfully, moving away
to stand by the single lamp in the room. <I
feel... empty somehow.>

She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. 
Rescue Mulder.  Thwart the Administration. 
Perfect the vaccine.  What was left for her? 
The guys all had purpose, going about their
duties with an eye toward eventual emergence
from this hole.  And though she had Mulder, she
knew she was still missing something.

If she were honest with herself, this empty
feeling had begun with the onset of her
menstrual cycle, some two weeks ago.  She knew
it was foolish to even contemplate pregnancy,
for so many reasons, not the least of which was
it was impossible for her.  But Cancerman's
goading at the dinner table that last night had
re-awakened a need within her; the need to hold
her own child in her arms.

Skipping a cycle the first month after they'd
been here had only added to the hope.  Until she
woke up that morning two weeks ago to the ache
in her lower back, she'd held out slim hope that
maybe he *had* done something to her, made her
able to conceive.  She and Mulder had certainly
done their able best to that end, making love at
every opportunity.  Each not wanting to believe
that his father's, "she can now" meant it could
be possible, but wanting it so badly despite the
harsh living conditions.

But not so these past two weeks.  She laid in
his arms each night and put him off for one
reason or another, pleading fatigue mostly.  Her
feelings of inadequacy in that regard had never
been more pronounced in her mind than now, when
they were free to enjoy each other's bodies at
will.  When it would be only a matter of months
before they could start over, somewhere quiet,
with nothing to do but live and love.

"Empty?  Why?"  Soft, tenuous questioning, as if
he already suspected but wanted to hear her say
it.  His eyes were green and clear in the
lamplight, beckoning with concern and
acceptance.

She ran her hands down the front of her jeans
and bit her lip before replying, <Damn it,
Mulder.  I wanted it to be true.>

Realization dawned on his face.  He knew of the
skipped cycle - how could he not?  But he'd
never said a thing when she'd finally resumed
menstruation; she supposed her attitude in the
weeks hence was enough to put anyone off. 
Slowly, he stepped forward, lowering his chin to
say, "You wanted a baby."  

Her face scrunched up and her eyes filled with
tears.  Yes, she nodded.

"Aw, Scully," he whispered, pulling her back
into his arms.  "You know that's not possible."

She nodded again, her damp cheeks wetting the
front of his shirt.  The impossibility didn't
prevent her from wanting it, though.

"There are - listen to me, Scully - there are
children still out there.  Hungry and alone,
needing love and protection.  When we get out of
here, one of them will find us.  He or she will
take one look at you and they will love you
forever, just as I do.  You'll have your child,
Scully.  You'll have ten.  You'll have twenty -
as many as you think we can take care of." 
There was a smile in his voice as he added,
"I'll even learn how to be a farmer, so we can
feed the little suckers."

A mental picture of Mulder wading through a hog
trough made her smile and she reached up to give
him a kiss, suddenly happy.  He told her what
she wanted to hear, gave her the future in a
handful of words.  And she knew he meant every
one of them.

"Mmm..." he said against her mouth, "feel like
practicing a little?  Who knows - maybe we'll
get lucky.  And if we don't, we'll always have a
helluva good time trying, won't we?"  He pulled
at the yellow ribbon that held her hair away
from her face until it flowed loose around his
hand.

That, she couldn't deny.


**********


7: 15 p.m.


She loved making love with Mulder.  Nestled in a
far corner of the bunker, their room was
isolated - per his request - and he took great
pleasure in enjoying her body, just as she did
his.  There were times he made such noise, she
was grateful for the privacy.  Then there were
other times, like now, that he moved above her
so slowly and painstakingly silent that she
wanted to scream at him to hurry.

"I love watching you," he'd told her not long
ago.  "Your face tells me everything I need to
hear."

Just as he was doing now, sliding in and out of
her while his eyes raked her face, touching upon
every inch of her skin.  Their cots had been
abandoned the first day; they'd pulled the thin
mattresses off of them and scrounged for several
more, making a thick pallet of comfort on the
floor.  His hands snaked under her back and he
cupped her shoulders, dipping his head to shower
her face with hot, wet kisses.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured.  "Come for me,
Scully."

He reared up, sliding his hands down to her
hips, thrusting forcefully, urging her on with
muttered words of love and desire.  She raked
her nails down his chest, her head twisting on
the pillow as pleasure ballooned within her.

He was pure beauty in motion, his face hard and
damp, his hair now long enough to fall around
his forehead and neck in damp curls.  The
lamplight cast one cheek with a fine golden
sheen while the other was shadowed.  One day,
she wanted to do this in full sunshine.  Her
mind pictured his prone body lazing in green
grass and she would look at her leisure,
memorizing every curve and line.

But for now, this was enough.  The feel of his
cock swelling within her, the taste of his
sweat-slickened skin, the smell of the outdoors
that clung to him, promising that her fantasy
would come true one day.  And God, the sounds he
made... the rough moans, the soft whispers, the
heart-grabbing cries... she didn't think she'd
ever get enough of that.

Lost as she was in sensation, she jumped at the
first touch of his thumb between them, her
narrowed eyes flying open.

"Gotcha," he smiled, and she was gone.

Arching her back, she felt the contractions
begin.  Pulling at her, pulling at him as he
cried out her name and followed her into
oblivion, collapsing onto her.  Her hands
soothed his back as his hips gave a few more
lazy circles into hers, his chest heaving as he
gulped for air.

For long moments, he stayed where he was, their
bodies molded together in sticky, humid bliss. 
Her hands dipped low on his back, pressing
stealthy fingers into the hard bone above his
ass, wanting him to stay where he was.

"God, Scully," he whispered into her neck, his
hips reacting to the pressure in a reflexive
thrust.  "What are you doing?"

Dipping lower still, her finger slipped in to
find his prostate.  He flinched once, then
relaxed with a groan.  His cock, still semi-
hard, gave a last pulse into her warmth. 
Trembling now, he chuckled into her ear, "Okay,
stop before you kill me."

Rolling with her, he laid on his back and his
cock slipped from her, much to her sorrow.  His
arms fell away like limp noodles and she
grinned, nuzzling his chest before settling in
at his side.

"Promise me you'll do that again."

Okay, she told him with a nod into his shoulder. 
Some time passed before she lifted up to look at
him.  He half-dozed, so sated and peaceful she
was in awe of his beauty.  Her fingers stole
through his hair and he opened his eyes.

"I need a haircut, don't I?"

<No,> she mouthed, telling him with her gaze
that she liked it very much. It gave him a more
youthful appearance, erased some of the stress
and fear of the last months. <I like it.>

"It's getting in the way."

<Next week?> she pleaded for time. <I'll trim it
next week.>  Spying a flash of yellow snaking
across the blankets, she reached for it and
dangled it before him. <Or you could use my
ribbon.> Her smile was flirting, the desire to
see him with long wavy locks written on her
face.

"And put up with the Colonel's jealousy?  I
don't think so."  He twined the satin around his
fingers before bringing it to his lips, his
mouth firm as he put an end to her fishing.  "A
haircut, Scully."

She said nothing, just leaned down to give him a
soft, goodnight kiss.  She'd get her way one
day, she was sure of it.

She reached up over him and pulled the string on
the ancient lamp before giving in to the lure of
sleep.  As she drifted, she let her fingers
sneak into his hair, where she massaged his
scalp and played like a child with a favorite
bedtime blanket. 

Just as she was drifting into dreams, she heard
his voice one more time, roughened by
approaching slumber.

"Okay, maybe not for a couple of weeks.  Then
it's *got* to go."

The corners of her mouth turned up.


**********


April 7, 2001
3:47 a.m.


It was the itch that woke her.  Not really
annoying, just... insistent.  She rolled over
and rubbed her fingers over the spot, letting
her eyes flutter open to the darkness.  Where
was she?

Stilling, she listened to the soft breathing
that drifted to her ears.  A snore, really -
just barely audible, but there.  She wasn't
alone.  Panic tore through her and she stumbled
to her feet, searching for her clothes.

A voice in the back of her mind urged her on,
clamoring for freedom.  Ignoring the rustle
behind her, she groped along the floor and
exhaled sharply at the feel of cold denim. 
Quickly, she donned the jeans, then the socks
and boots that laid within arms' reach.

Go, go, it said.  Outside.  Someone's waiting
for you and you must go.

Tears of fright streamed down her cheeks and her
arms flailed in the darkness, searching for the
last piece of clothing.  Relief hitched her
breath as she felt the softness of a pullover; 
in an instant, she dragged it over her head.

Light filled the room and she whipped around,
meeting a pair of sleepy eyes.

"Scully?"

No, no.  Don't stop me.

On shaky legs, she started forward, avoiding the
man in the makeshift bed.

"Scully!"

God, no!  His hand closed around her ankle,
and she fell to her knees, straining against the
confinement.  Behind her, she could hear his
curses, hear him struggle against the blankets.

"Damn it, stop!"

Kicking, grunting, she stretched out as far as
she could, spying the door so close, yet so far
away.  He wouldn't let her go.  Why wouldn't he
let her go?

Then, it was there in her peripheral vision. 
Lying there cold and inviting, its black metal
presenting her chance at freedom.  Her fingers
curled around its grip and she twisted, bringing
it up.

He backed off, his hands coming up.  "Whoa." 
Eyes wide, his mouth softened into a warm,
slightly familiar grin.  But she knew better,
despite his soft, "You're dreaming, Scully.  Drop
the gun."

As she stood, so did he, all the while crooning
nonsensical words meant to distract her, she
knew.  Her free hand felt for the door and she
finally closed her fingers around the doorknob,
losing her focus for just a moment.

It was all he needed, as he lunged for her.

The pop of the gunshot echoed in the room and
she flinched, her focus on the dot of red that
blossomed on his upper chest.  He staggered, his
hand coming up to cover the wound before he fell
back.

"Scully."  Raw disbelief made the word a breathy
plea for help.

Her arm, already tired from holding up the gun,
fell to her side.  The denial bubbled up from
within and she opened her mouth, the words raspy
in a throat lazy from months of disuse.

"My name is Julia."

The gun clattered to the concrete and she
turned, walking out the door and into the night.

"Scully!"

The hoarse cry followed her out the exit.  She
stepped over the bodies of the two dead guards,
the light beckoning as it approached.

She said it again.

"My name is Julia."

She brought a hand up to shade her eyes as the
helicopter came closer.  It landed before her as
several dark figures came out of the nearby
trees to surround her.  Facing the nearest, she
cocked her head to one side, saying the only
thing that seemed to resonate in her blank mind.

"My name is Julia."

The voice behind the black mask was pleased and
a gloved hand took hers to lead her to the
helicopter.

"So it is.  Welcome back."



End Chapter Thirty