MJ

FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC, 9:30 a.m.:

Dana Scully put the caller on hold and turned to her partner, Fox Mulder. "A woman wants to talk to you. Her name's Rosemary Woodhouse. She claims her husband did something to her, she's pregnant, and—"

Mulder buried his head in his hands. "Oh, no. Not another demon baby case, Scully. That's the third call this week! Since Wayne and Betsy made Weekly World News, all I do is get fucking demon baby snatchings. If Kersh sends us on another demon baby investigation I'm turning in my badge!"

"There doesn't seem to be a womb-ripping this time, Mulder. In fact, apparently she thinks she's being forced to keep the baby against her will."

"I saw this movie, Scully. It was called 'Bride of Satan' and I think it had Barbara Steele in it. Tell her to talk to Spender. He'll put her case where it belongs."

"You liked these cases once, Mulder."

"I liked Hammer Film cases, Scully. Vampires. Werewolves. Golems. Mummies. Monsters, damn it. They want someone here investigating demon babies full time, they can hire a fucking exorcist."

"Wrong movie, Mulder." She shoved the phone into Mulder's hand. "Speak to her, demon lover."

»»»

New York City, 4:00 p.m.:

The Montana was a Central Park luxury apartment building somewhat fading in glory. On an upper floor reachable by creaking staircase or equally creaky elevator was the apartment of Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse. It seemed an almost impossibly expensive place for a new Broadway actor and his pregnant wife to afford. Scully said as much. "I know," Rosemary said. "And Guy's acting career has taken off suddenly for no good reason. If he gets turned down for a part, the person picked as lead loses his voice or gets struck by lightning or gets run over by a Mack Truck. Plus, he hangs out with our neighbors. They're elderly, foreign, and they dance around naked chanting strange things."

"Probably ethnic dance," Mulder speculated.

"Mulder, this isn't like you," Scully said, dragging him into a corner of the living room. "Where's your belief in demons? What about Satanists, witches, magicians—white, black, or otherwise?"

Mulder shook his head. "Sorry, Scully, I just don't think there's a national demon baby epidemic. In this case, given our location, I suspect her husband is in league with the Consortium. It's entirely possible that she's carrying an alien genetic experiment."

"Mulder, are you serious?" Scully gaped at her partner.

"Never more serious, Scully. These apartments aren't that far from the homes of several active members of the Consortium, and their headquarters is in this city. We know they've gotten their fingers into everything else—why not theater? Using the arts to convince the public to accept the outcome of their projects. They reward their flunkies pretty well. That would explain how Guy Woodhouse can afford this apartment."

"It would also explain how Alex Krycek's drugged you into being unable to recognize an obvious case of demon baby, Mulder. The Castavets are Satanists. Her husband's in league with them. Mulder, she's going to be having the Devil's baby!"

"Quit insulting Alex, Scully. He left the Consortium the last time they tried to kill him—that exploding dildo they sent him nearly caused some major damage. I think you're having crazy Catholic fantasies again. That, or you've watched The Exorcist WAY too many times."

»»»

10:21 pm Mulder's hotel room

"Room Service."

"I didn't order."

"It's a present." A present? Mulder opened the door. It was a present all right. "Alex, what are you doing in that outfit?"

"I know you have a thing for uniforms, hot stuff." Krycek kissed Mulder deeply. "And I know you're in town on the Woodhouse demon baby case."

"How'd you know?" Mulder was nonplussed.

"I've got you bugged, silly. It's how I always know where to find you."

"I have my office swept for bugs every week, Alex."

"Not where I hid yours, lover."

"I give up. Where'd you hide it?"

"Mulder, you may be a stud but you're slow on the uptake. That wasn't a French tickler I had on that rubber we used in Chicago. I've always said you have a bug up your ass, haven't I?"

"Alex, why are you here?"

"I was thinking about fucking you senseless like usual, my lovely Zionist enemy of the people of Mother Russia sugarbuns, but if you'd rather have me do something boring like give you useful information, I could do that instead."

Mulder deliberated. Krycek was a dangerous man, a trained assassin. A wrong answer could prove fatal when dealing with him. Mulder recalled the time he'd told Krycek he was too tired for another three-hour bout of sexual athleticism and Krycek's packing his ass like it was going out of style, only to find his car wired to explode the next morning. But it was still better than having Skinner put him in a headlock and press on his carotid the time he hadn't wanted to give old hunka-hunka-burnin'-love there a blowjob while he was on the phone at work with the Director. Making the safest choice, he replied, "How about giving me information WHILE you fuck me senseless, my little Russian honey bear?"

Half an hour later, Mulder was squirming under the Russian honey bear's thrusts, moaning senselessly. At least, they sounded senseless to Krycek; Mulder thought he was screaming Russian endearments to his lover at the top of his lungs. If anything, Krycek thought, the sounds possibly resembled some primitive African chant, as he made out "ooh…eeee…Ooh! Ah…ahhh…"

("Ooh eeee ooh ah ahh?" Krycek thought. "No, it's some kind of coded message. Why do I keep fucking a man who moans coded alien messages in bed?" The observation didn't stop Krycek's rhythm as he packed Mulder's adorable ass.)

Suddenly Mulder's cell phone rang. Mulder reached for it out of habit. Krycek, used to his lover's idiotic behavior, continued his rhythm uninterrupted. "Mulder…"

"Mulder, it's me." Indeed it was. "What's that sound—is Krycek packing your ass again?"

"Scullee…ooh! Alex! Ooh…eeee…ooh…ahh…ahhhhhhh…."

"I knew it, he's there packing your ass again."

"Scully!"

"Mulder, I just got off the phone with Skinner. He wants us back in DC tomorrow night and he says if Alex Krycek packs your ass while you're away you're never going to have knee wrinkles in your pants again."

"Promises, promises…he always says that when Alex shows up.…God, Alex! Jesus!"

"Mulder…"

"So…what is it, Scully?"

"Well, you sound better. Finally get your rocks off there? Ask Alex if he'll stop by my room before he leaves. I want some of what he gave that Covarrubias bitch. If you didn't wear him out. Isn't Skinner enough for you? Anyway, studmuffin, Rosemary Woodhouse is in labor. She says they're not letting her leave the apartment. So you let Alex shower and get over here, and we can get out of here in a few hours." The cell phone clicked off.

Krycek grinned. "So the Ice Queen wants a piece of my ass, huh? Jesus, Mulder, people think I havre a titanium cock. Anyway, sugarbuns, what I wanted to tell you is this. The Consortium isn't in on the Woodhouse baby. Not that I know of, anyway. Since the Brit died I don't hear things the way I used to from the top brass, but it's not an alien hybrid. The alien hybrid project got put on hold pending a DNA check on your sister's paternity. The smoker still says she's not his and he's refusing to pay any more medical expenses for her."

"Alex, you know I love you and you're hung like Catherine the Great's prize stallion…" Krycek beamed at his lover's attempt to get Russian again. "But the damn thing just isn't another damn demon baby. I'm sorry."

"I'm just telling you what I know, my little piece of Jewish Cossack fodder," Krycek whispered while snuggling up to Mulder. "Think Scully'll notice if I don't drop in? I was thinking of another round here…"

"She's pretty observant, Alex. She's a trained investigator," Mulder reminded his Russian stallion. Krycek grabbed the hotel phone, dialed a number, and muttered something unintelligible in the Russian phrasing that always gave Mulder an instant erection. "What was that about, my gorgeous Stalinist Cold Warrior?"

"I called an escort service from Brooklyn Heights. Some of their guys are Russian. With the lights off, it might fool Scully. Now, get over here, my beautiful Politburo purge victim…"

»»»

Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse's apartment New York City, 7 am:

"Scully," Mulder hissed, "you look wiped out."

"I am," she leered. "Found out what Marita Covarrubias sees in that hot Russian stud of yours."

Mulder smirked to himself. Whatever Krycek had had delivered to Scully's -well, WHOever—it, or he, must have been good. He supposed all Russian studpuppies must look alike in the dark. But while Scully had been getting pounded by the escort service Commie, he'd been getting it good from his own personal love Cossack. What WAS he going to do about Skinner? The thought crossed his mind that the situation would best be settled by moving in with Skinner. Then he could kidnap Krycek, drag him to their house, and make him their own personal houseboy and sex slave. Surely Walter would like a sex slave for a present, someone to wear out his knees while Mulder was away on a case…He dimly wondered if Alex had any skills besides killing people and fucking. Maybe he knew accounting, or played chess, or he could read Mulder and Walter poetry while they screwed their brains out. Useful skills that you needed in a sex toy.

"Mulder, quit thinking about sex," Scully chided. "You'd better stop thinking about having Krycek packing your ass while you're giving Skinner head under his desk."

"You just wanna watch," Mulder whispered. "Now, Rosie here's been in labor for eight hours at least. How long do we have to wait for the non-alien, non-demon baby to be born?"

"So you admit it's not an alien hybrid?"

"Alex told me the scoop while he was packing my ass last night. Whatever it is, it's not alien. But I just don't accept that it's a demon baby. The demon babies in Virginia were all born fast. This is way too long for demon baby labor, Scully. Especially if you're right that Minnie Castavet is a crazed Satanist who's feeding Rosie weird magical herbs to aid with the delivery."

"So how do you explain the people in black robes standing around the bed chanting the Lord's Prayer backwards, Mulder?"

"Scully, please have respect for the Castavets' ethnic heritage. I'm sure this is a normal Transylvanian birth custom. We xenophobic Americans may think it's a little strange, especially if instead of being an only nominally Jewish faggot who went to college in another country and not worrying about it, we're some obsessed, overscrupulous Catholic twat who sees Satanists under every rock just because there are people wearing black robes, upside-down crosses, and inverted pentagrams while pissing on crucifixes and reading prayers backwards as part of their hereditary cultural observances."

"Wow, Mulder, you sure put me in my place." Scully stared at her feet. "I'm a doctor, a woman of science, but sometimes I let my religious belief blind me to the truth. Boy, am I glad I work with a psychologist who can remind me of my instinctive insular Irish-Catholic Navy brat prejudices and get me back on track, while also lending me his boyfriend to help me get rid of my sexual repressions and unhealthy celibate solitude."

Mulder patted his partner on the back. "Hey, Scully, what's a best friend for? I mean, watch 'Will and Grace'."

"Maybe we should just leave," Scully suggested.

"No, Scully. Although there's no evidence of this being a demon baby case or an alien hybrid, I have the feeling that there's more here than meets the eye. Alex said it wasn't an alien hybrid, but he admitted he's out of touch with the top Consortium evildoers these days. My sweet Russian Easter babka may have missed something."

"Mulder, do you have to keep coming up with those nauseating endearments for the Rat Bastard of Love?"

"Scully, Alex gets incredibly turned on when I try saying Russian stuff to him in bed, so I have to practice. He gets all excited, packs my ass till I pass out, and calls me his beloved Siberian gulag inmate or something else equally hot."

"That's way more information than I've ever wanted, Mulder. I don't even think I want to watch any more. Mulder—look!" In the door walked a previously conspicuously absent Guy Woodhouse, taking a long drag on a Morley, and dressed in oddly elderly-looking clothing. The old, but once expensive, navy suit looked oddly familiar as Woodhouse leaned against a door frame, one leg crossed over the other, watching the entire scenario quietly from a distance. He nodded to Mulder and Scully—odd, since they'd never met him before, having seen him only in photographs in the apartment.

Noise came from the bedroom—not the chanting, but a long scream. Then, "it's a boy!"

Neither Mulder nor Scully could see what was happening in the bedroom as Minnie Castavet finished the delivery and handed the baby up to Rosemary. Suddenly, another scream from Rosemary. "His eyes! What's the matter with his eyes?"

"He has his father's eyes," the Castavets told her.

Scully and Mulder elbowed their way into the room to see the infant. Krycek was right—it certainly wasn't an alien hybrid, whatever it was. It didn't look that demonic…but the expression in its eyes…on its face…the pure evil Scully could see radiating from it…"Mulder—my God, Mulder, it looks like Cancerman!"

"Thank God!" Woodhouse exclaimed. Mulder and Scully turned around as he peeled off a toupee and latex mask. Guy Woodhouse…was…Cigarette Smoking Man?

He walked up to Mulder. "All I've ever wanted was a normal child, Fox. Your sister—well, she was normal, but those green tentacles she's sporting these days just aren't right, even for a hybrid. And you—well, I have to admit, it really doesn't bother me that my oldest child's queer as a three dollar bill, but really, you didn't get my brains if you're willing to let Alex Krycek be the lead packer at the fudge factory. That's not common sense—why do you think we keep trying to kill the little rat bastard? And Jeffrey -well, God! My genes produced a wimp like that? Finally I've got a little smoking bastard of my own. After all this time, a normal baby."

Mulder curled a fist. "You son of a bitch, I'll teach you how to talk about my little Russian peasant babushka Alex!" He was going to defend Alex as far as he had to—he could imagine returning to Alex's arms when he got back to the hotel, hearing Alex calling him sweet nothings in Russian, like "yellowbellied Trotskyite dog…."

"Don't even bother, Mulder," the Smoker replied. "Don't you know your boy's been shagging your moron brother Jeff too? Jesus, get an IQ like we sent you to Oxford for. Dump the rat and go shack with Skinner. At least he's got a brain in his head. Alex is pretty but he's dumber than shit, and one of these days we ARE gonna get the little prick. Maybe exploding vibrating anal beads'll get him. Now, excuse me, I've got to bond with my child." He headed to the bedside amid a chorus of "Hail, Satan! Hail, Satan!" A fine wisp of cigarette smoke rose over his head, completing the Luciferian effect, as he leaned over Rosemary and little baby Cancerman.

Mulder turned to go. "Well, Scully, does this qualify as an X-File?"

"Mulder, the next time we get a demon baby investigation, I promise I'll give it to Spender…" They exited the apartment, made their way across the street to Central Park, and vowed never to investigate another demon baby case until cows fell through the roof.