From drjudd@rainbow.net.au Fri Aug 30 08:37:56 1996
OFFSPRING
DESLEA R. JUDD
drjudd@rainbow.net.au
Copyright 1996

DISCLAIMER

This book is based on The X Files, a creation of Chris Carter owned by
him, Twentieth Century Fox, and Ten-Thirteen Productions.  Fox Mulder,
Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and a number of lesser characters including
Bill Mulder, Mrs Mulder, Samantha Mulder and her clones, Maggie Scully,
Melissa Scully, Captain Scully, Sharon Skinner, Kimberly Cooke, the
Cigarette Smoking (Cancer) Man, the Well Manicured Man and his offsider,
Frohike, Quiqueg, Gautier, Jean Gautier, Ellen, and Alex Krycek remain the
intellectual property of those parties.  A number of other characters are
the author's creation and are copyright, and may not be used without her
written permission.  These include but are not limited to Dr Karen
Koettig, Agent Grbevski, Melissa Samantha Scully, Grace Skinner, Clone 1
(Cynthia), Clone 3 (Carolyn), Clone 4 (Catherine), Dr Sam Fieldman, Dr
Paul Sturrock, Dr Marion Pieterse, Wendy Tomiris, Serena Ingleburn,
Amarette, Dr Jillian Maitz, Hallie, and Emily Trent.  Any queries
concerning ownership of minor characters not mentioned here should be
directed to the author.

(See Pt 1 for complete spoiler, content, and comments info).

A few spoilers from Pilot, Duane Barry, Ascension, One Breath, Colony,
Endgame, Anasazi, Blessing Way, Paper Clip, Nisei, 7.31, Piper Maru,
Apocrypha, and Avatar.

I've rated this book R just to be on the safe side, but I think it's more
PG-13, in truth.  There's some low-level sex (three scenes, more emotional
than anatomical), low-level bad language, low-level violence, and that's
about all.

Comments, good and bad, are welcome; but make sure they're constructive,
please!  My e-mail is drjudd@rainbow.net.au, but don't worry if you see
something else in your "reply" header like magna.com, because Rainbow.Net
shares a server with another ISP called MagnaData.  And if you think my
work's worth stealing, I'm flattered; but don't even think about it. 
Archivists, feel free to add this to your collections; but be sure to let
me know.

OFFSPRING BY DESLEA R. JUDD (2/18)

ONE

A Bridge
Unmapped U.S. Government Territory
September 13, 1996

	    Mulder picked half-heartedly at his sunflower seeds.  Scully had been
missing for three days.  He supposed he had slept about three hours in
that time.  The fear he had felt in the first few hours had given way
progressively to depression, then despair.  
	    He always felt a little at a loose end when he worked on a case
without her.  He felt like he was straining to think of something or do
some tedious task.  Scully helped him to think - and helped him to stay at
least halfway within the bounds of reason.  He knew his predisposition was
toward the unusual.  More often than not, he believed, he was right - that
was the nature of the X Files.  But to be fair, often he wasn't - and more
often still, the grains of truth were spread evenly between Scully and
himself.  Scully was his corrective - an essential one.  Working without
her was unsatisfactory at the best of times.  Now, when the stakes were so
high, he needed her badly.  And of course had she been there, there would
have been no need.
	    Mulder was not a cautious personality.  He rushed headlong on sheer
instinct into situations other agents would avoid.  Normally almost
recklessly confident about his ability to resolve a given situation, the
very fact that it was she he was fighting for made him feel uneasy and
inadequate.  He loved her dearly, and he feared for her greatly.  As much
as her refusal to accept the reality of so many of the things they
investigated frustrated him, he loved working with her.  She knew him so
well, disagreed with him totally almost all of the time...and respected
him absolutely.  The feeling was mutual.  But Mulder wasn't in love with
Scully.  It went far deeper than that.  
	    Not that he wasn't attracted to her - he was.  But they'd been
through so much together that the idea of romance with her seemed almost
trite.  To call them friends, too, seemed just as ridiculous, though he
valued her more than anyone he'd ever known.  The truth of the matter was
that she was the other half of his soul.  He was incomplete without her. 
In Dana Scully, Fox Mulder had found the humanity in himself that he'd
thought he had lost the day that his sister disappeared.  No experience
either of them might have in their lives would not be filtered through the
lens of the bond that they shared.  He never tried to protect her - they
weren't on those terms - but the times in which he had been faced with the
possibility that she might not be there with him and for him had so shaken
him that he had felt as though he must start his life all over again with
nothing to hold on to.  Faced once again with this appalling prospect, he
felt all the things that he had built his life on slipping away.
	    But beneath the depression, another emotion was simmering - one far
stronger.  It was rage.  Once before, she had been abducted, and then he
had nearly killed a man who held the key to her disappearance.  He had a
suspicion that if she weren't found soon, he might do the same again.  He
also feared that this time, if that became necessary, he would be too
late:  When she had been taken before, he had been told, "I like you.  I
like her, too.  That is why she was returned to you."  The fact that she
had been taken again indicated that such liking was no longer expedient.
	    His car door was yanked open.  Mulder jumped, grabbing for his
weapon, but put it away again.  "Skinner!" he gasped, then, "Sir.  What
are you doing here?"
	    Assistant Director Skinner seated himself in the passenger seat,
eyeing Mulder in disapproval.  "Woolgathering, Agent Mulder?  I've been
standing outside the car for the last five minutes.  Very sloppy."  Mulder
offered no defense, and he went on a little more kindly, "Well, I've done
my share these last few days, I suppose.  No harm done.  Just be
careful."  He paused.  "How much sleep have you had?  You look awful."
	    "And you're a thing of beauty as always.  Not enough," Mulder added,
annoyed.
	    Skinner, who could care less that Mulder was annoyed, said,  "So I
see.  Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"
	    At the risk of stating the obvious, Mulder told him, "I'm staking the
place out.  How did you know I was here?"
	    "You left a piece of paper with this location on your desk.  Like I
said, very sloppy.  What brings you here?"
	    "What brings <> here?"  Mulder demanded.  "Surely you didn't
come halfway across the country to check on my stakeout skills?"  He
suddenly caught himself.  <>  "I'm sorry, Sir.  I'm on a short fuse.  This
railroad - the one over the bank - is the one Agent Scully and I found
earlier this year, where we think she was taken last time.  I was
beginning to think it was a dead end, but an hour ago I got a tip-off on a
train headed this way.  It should be here within the hour.  If I'm right,
Scully is on it."
	    Skinner ignored Mulder's earlier outburst.  He couldn't stand
insubordination, but he also knew that Mulder was never subordinate to
anyone - not really.  It was infuriating, but with Mulder, that was the
way things were.  You could fight it, or you could accept it and move on. 
And in Mulder's case, insubordination was a strength, not a weakness.  He
nodded slowly.  "Have you any reason - besides past experience - to think
that Scully is  on it?"
	    Mulder considered Skinner for a moment, then said with vehemence,
"Cancer Man is on it."
	    "And where Cancer Man goes, trouble follows," Skinner said grimly.
	    Cancer Man was not the name by which Skinner thought of the man - in
fact, truth be told, he tried to avoid thinking of him as much as possible
- but, he reflected, it was appropriate.  In all his years in the Bureau,
he had never once seen him without a cigarette in his hand.  Mulder had
coined the name, along with Black Lung, and a few other monikers.  None of
them were complimentary.
	    Skinner himself knew little about him.  He knew that he had power
over the FBI, the CIA, and most other government intelligence agencies;
and he had been advised by people superior to himself not to cross the man
or disobey him.  The consequences could be dangerous - a fact with which
he was personally acquainted.  However, the man's actual position was
unknown to him, and not for lack of inquiry.  Skinner suspected he was
positioned within the military, but was unsure of how or where.  What he
did know was that he was deeply interested in the X Files and appeared to
have some involvement with the government forces opposed to their
investigation.  On more than one occasion, attempts had been made on both
Mulder's and Scully's lives on his orders, resulting in the deaths of
Mulder's father, Bill, and Scully's sister, Melissa.  Sharon's murder,
too, lay at his door.  Cancer Man, Skinner thought, was the contents of
the X Files personified.  "All right," he said at last.  "Do you have a
plan?"
	    Mulder nodded.  "Yes, Sir.  Here's what I had in mind."
	    It was a relatively simple plan (and calling it a plan, in view of
its lack of detail, was to Skinner's mind rather generous).  They would
get on board.  They would leave some rags on the tracks in the hope that
the driver would mistake them for an animal or person and slow down,
enabling them to get on safely.  They would wait high up on the bank,
however, until they were certain that the train would  slow down.  If it
didn't, they would take the more risky course of jumping onto the roof of
the train and clambering down to one of the doorways.  Once inside, they
would overpower anyone they had to in order to search the train, find
Scully if she was on it, or ride the train to its destination if she
wasn't in the hope that the destination would provide enlightenment. 
(Just how they would do that undetected if they had overpowered half the
train, Mulder didn't volunteer.  Skinner, annoyed, told him to arrange
someone to trail the train on their behalf in case they had to make a
quick exit.  Mulder was put out at his impulsive determination being
thwarted, but telephoned someone named Frohike to do so).
	    Mulder was anxious to confront Cancer Man, if he were on board. 
Skinner baulked at this.  It was an unnecessary risk.  He just wanted to
get Scully out of there, and he sure as hell didn't want Cancer Man
knowing he'd been personally involved if it could be avoided.  His own
position had become increasingly tenuous since he had first defied the man
two years previously, re-opening the X Files after the latter had had them
shut.  He knew that already there was certain information to which he was
no longer privy.  His job, he could take or leave, if it came to a
crisis:  the Marines would take him back in a second.  But when Cancer Man
was involved, the stakes were a lot higher than that.  He had a gunshot
scar on his stomach and a buried wife to prove it.
	    So Skinner vetoed any attempts to get to Cancer Man.  Mulder
grudgingly agreed, but Skinner knew better than to trust that totally.  If
they didn't find Scully on board, Mulder would lose his cool (not that he
had that much in the first place), and probably turn the train upside down
to get to him.  Who knew?  Maybe he'd even kill the man - Scully's life
was on the line, and Skinner knew that the friendship between those two
was such that neither dismissal nor a murder charge would stop him.  As
much as the idea of removing Cancer Man appealed to Skinner (who in other
circumstances would happily have done the deed himself), he and Mulder had
to be kept apart at all costs.  Frowning at the difficulties that that
prospect alone might entail, Skinner settled down to wait.
	    It was growing dark, and Mulder was cold.  There was a gnawing
feeling in his stomach.  He could cope with Scully being gone when he was
thinking, working.  But now, waiting, he could feel a coiling, tightening
sensation in the depths of him.  Maybe conversation would kill the
anxiety, although he doubted it.  He turned to Skinner.  "I'm glad you're
here, Sir.  You still haven't told me <> you're here, though."
	    It was a question.  Skinner answered it.  "I respect you both, and
the risks that you take for the truth - risks I have not always been
prepared to take."
	    Mulder glanced at him suspiciously.  He'd been missing himself, and
Skinner had never come cross-country looking for him  - not until Scully
had called him, at any rate.  Could he really be here simply out of
respect?  Mulder supposed he could, but then again, there was that grim
determination of Skinner's expression.  No, it wasn't respect, or
protocol.  "With respect, Sir, there's more to it than that."
	    Skinner started, then suddenly grinned.  Trust Mulder to cut through
the bull.  "Yes, there is," he admitted.  "I like  her.  And she reminds
me a lot of someone - someone I used to care for.  Hardly a scientific
reason for being interested in what happens to her, but there it is."
	    "The woman in the photo on your desk?"  Mulder hazarded.  He had
noticed the resemblance - had in fact thought nightmarishly that Skinner
had assigned his mistress to keep tabs on him until he had surreptitiously
inspected the photo and noticed its age.
	    "Grace, my wife - before Sharon," he added by way of explanation. 
"She died."
	    Mulder was embarrassed.  "I'm sorry."
	    "Ancient history, my friend."
	    They lapsed into silence for a time, Mulder popping sunflower seeds. 
Skinner tried one and said they were revolting.  "It's not the taste, it's
the texture," Mulder laughed easily.  "They're just different, that's
all."
	    "Whatever you say," Skinner muttered dubiously.  He became aware of a
rumbling behind them.  Instantly at attention, he hissed, "Listen."
	    Mulder opened his car door.  "Showtime."

	    Dana Scully's mind was swimming.  She could see, hazily, but the
circuits connecting what she saw with her mind were fuzzy.  She had a
vague idea of whiteness, and of faces in masks.  Or was that a memory? 
Now that she thought about it, the others had scattered after hearing a
heavy thudding on the roof of - was it a building?  No, it was moving. 
She had a sense of deja vu.  She knew this had happened before, and she
knew, somewhere in her mind, where she was and what was happening.  But
she couldn't identify it.  It was like groping in the dark.  A ship? 
Truck?  God, where was  she?  Where had she been last time?  (Last time? 
Last time what? )  Trailer?  No, she was sure it wasn't a trailer, but
that rang a bell somehow -
	    <>
	    She heard a dull thud behind her, and a moan.  <>  she
thought a little incoherently.  She didn't feel hurt.  In fact, she didn't
feel much of anything.  There were voices calling her name.
	    She tried to answer, but she couldn't coordinate herself well enough
to form any words.  She made some faint sound and stirred a little, but
that was all.  She registered two familiar voices (Mulder?  Skinner?  What
were they  doing in this crazy dream of hers?), then drifted off.
	    Mulder said anxiously, "She's drowsing - probably drugged.  Damn it,
Skinner, how are we going to get her out like this?"
	    Skinner leaned over the gurney, his mouth close to her ear.  "We did
this in Vietnam if we needed to make someone come to quickly - to get the
wounded out of the line of fire."
	    Scully felt the bite as a stabbing pain in her earlobe.  "Ow!" she
cried, sitting up abruptly.  She felt woozy, but she was alert.  She was
conscious of a dampness spreading over the shoulder of her blouse.  She
touched it, looked at it, and grimaced.  It was blood.  Ears always bled
badly, she could vaguely remember her old anatomy lecturer saying.  She
looked up.  "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded, her voice a
little sluggish.
	    Skinner wiped his mouth, leaving a pink stain on his cuff.  "Sorry. 
We didn't know how to wake you."
	    "Where am I?"
	    Mulder glanced at Scully.  "A train.  The  train.  You were abducted
three days ago.  Can you walk?"
	    "Three days?""  Scully asked, aghast.  "I lost <>?"
	    Mulder's voice was sharp.  "Post-mortems later, Scully.  We don't
have time."
	    "You don't remember anything?" Skinner asked, dragging her to her
feet and pulling one of her arms around his shoulders as she slumped.
	    Scully shook her head uneasily.  "No.  I don't."  She tried to walk,
but she just couldn't control her limbs well enough.  "How do we get off?"
	    Skinner shook his head, but Mulder said determinedly, "The same way
we got on.  We jump."

	    Their alight from the train was not quite so straightforward as the
boarding.  Most of the people Mulder and Skinner had knocked out were
still out; but one, apparently, had woken.  They were confronted just
metres from the door by a lone gunman.  He took aim, seemingly at Scully. 
Skinner whirled sideways in an attempt to shield her, but was hampered by
her weight.  The gunman got in one good shot which passed straight through
Skinner in the fleshy part of his arm before lodging in Scully's stomach. 
In the same second, Mulder shot him, as much out of outrage as instinct.
	    "Is he dead?" Skinner asked.
	    Mulder was grim.  "I don't know and I don't care.  He would have
killed her.  Let's go."
	    Skinner frowned, looking at Scully, whose blouse now sported another
bloodstain.  "What kind of shape are you in?"
	    Scully shook her head.  "I can't feel much.  I guess I'm pretty
doped.  But that won't last.  Let's get out of here."
	    Mulder dragged open the sliding door.  They paused a moment, then jumped.

	    Walter Skinner watched as his wounded arm was dressed.  "Will it be
okay?" he asked.
	    The doctor looked up from her file.  "Oh, yes.  The round went
through cleanly.  I'd go easy on it for a while; but it will be fine. 
Watch for any suspicious pain that could indicate infection.  But don't
worry about it."
	    He nodded, not really interested.  He'd been shot several times in
his career, all more badly than this.  It was something to say, that was
all.
	    Scully, they had been told, would be fine.  The wound was
superficial, probably thanks to Skinner in taking the worst of the
bullet's momentum.  Miraculously for a stomach wound, no organs had been
involved.  She was sleeping off the remains of whatever drug she had been
administered while he, Skinner, was tended to for his wound.  Mulder was
arranging their flight home, which they hoped would take place that
night.  It was only eight now.  They could be home by eleven.  He and
Mulder were rather bruised for their jump from the moving train, but
Scully, too drugged to tense up her body, had been completely unhurt.
	    Except for being shot.
	    They had been able to get no sense from her.  She maintained that she
remembered getting out of her car when it stalled and walking a little
way.  Then she went blank.  Mulder said she might make a little more sense
when she was straight, but Skinner doubted it.  Now, all he wanted was to
get as far away from that damned railroad as possible.
	    As far as he could ascertain, they had not been pursued; and even the
lone gunman at the door struck him as a bit of a token gesture.  He had an
uneasy feeling that they had gotten away because they had been allowed to
do so.  Which made him wonder if, in escaping, they weren't playing into
Cancer Man's hands.  
	    But that was something he couldn't afford to consider right now. 
They had to get home.  They had been through too much, all of them; and
especially Scully.  He wondered how well she would cope with her
experience once she was lucid enough to appreciate what she had been
through.
	    Just as the nurse was finishing, a shadow formed against the
curtain.  "Sir, can I come in?"
	    "Come in, Agent Mulder.  Close the curtain," he added ironically.  To
his amusement, Mulder did just that.  The nurse moved on.
	    "We have a charter waiting.  I thought that was best, given Scully's
condition."
	    Skinner nodded.  "That's wise.  Is she fit to travel?"
	    Mulder nodded.  "More or less.  She's dressing now.  She's conscious
and more or less alert, but she's still a little disorientated.  She wants
to go home, though."
	    "All right, then," Skinner replied, rolling down his sleeve and
getting to his feet.  "Let's go."

	    Their return flight was uneventful.  Scully appeared, subdued, her
bloodied blouse replaced by a too-big business shirt which Skinner
recognised as Mulder's.  Mulder himself wore an old pullover.  She walked
a little awkwardly, and slept for most of the flight.
	    Mulder, for his part, was pouring over his files, making excited
little notes here and there.  <> Skinner
grinned.  <>  He felt as though he was
watching someone do a crossword.  Skinner, however, was content to sit and
reflect.
	    He stole a glance at the motionless figure to his right.  It seemed
to him for a moment that he was looking at Grace, and his eyes grew
tender.  Quite unexpectedly, he felt something well up from deep inside of
him - something he hadn't felt since Sharon had died.  It was deep and
terrifyingly passionate love.  Not given to fits of great emotion, Skinner
blinked in stunned surprise, jarred from complacency.
	    The moment passed.  He shook himself.  It wasn't Grace.  It was
Dana.  And then, because Walter Skinner was an essentially truthful man,
he admitted reluctantly to himself that that fact made not one iota of
difference to his feelings.
	    <>

Coming In Part 3:  Scully and Skinner/Scully's Strange Behaviour

-- 
 _______________________________________
|                                       |
|Deslea R. Judd (drjudd@rainbow.net.au) |
|"The Owls Are Not What They Seem"      |
|           - The Log Lady, Twin Peaks) |
|_______________________________________|

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