TITLE: The New Breed.
AUTHOR: GenieVB
RATING: MT/ST/MSR/Language Warning!
THANK-YOU'S: I thank this MULDER/TORTURE Site
maintained by SMILEY!
This story is free for archiving anywhere with
my full permission and gratitude. But please
let me know where so I can brag.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files series, movie, characters,
are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
Productions and the Fox Network. I don't want
any credit, fame or fortune from X-Files, I only want
to write about your show and characters to entertain
myself and others.
As always, I drool stupidly for feedback.
avan@home.com or genyah@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Mulder & Scully do what they
must to survive.
THIS WAS A FANFIC' CHALLENGE! (the challenge being to
write a story where Mulder & Scully are thrust into a
closed
environment and left to "breed a new race" because the
collonists have invaded).
So here I am, I've started it.
The New Breed. by GenieVB
--------------------
Scully carefully measured the step of her shoes, lest
they
echo their determination to his ears that were turned
away
from her approach. She knew if her walking sounded
like
a Search and Rescue, he would say nothing to her.
She didn't ask for permission to open the passenger
door
and settle herself beside his slump.
Neither did she immedietly begin speaking.
He was crying you see.
A very typically male type of weeping. Tears that
accumulated
at the rims of his lower lids, pooled in the inner
corner of
his reddened whites, and then flowed wide and slow
like
a mid September creek. A man's tears and the hardest
for her
heart to endure because she knew the depth of the
grief
necessary to cause them.
Often, when a woman wept, it was something small and
perhaps the next day would even be looked upon by her
as silly. Not always but sometimes.
She herself had done it on more than one occassion. The
truth
of that did not invalidate the hurt. But it was so.
Mulder cried when he had nothing left with which to
ease
the pain. He cried when he felt at the end of choice or
hope.
When he looked out at the world and his life engulfed
in it's unkindness and saw nothing good for him ever.
How she hated to see those tears of his.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" She asked
after
his sniffs has receeded and his eyes had been dried
with
shaking fingers. "Or are you going to tell me a lie?"
It was best to be straight with Mulder. If she gave him
the
opportunity to beat around the bush, he would.
Evasion, thy name is Fox.
"Y-yeah."
Scully waited but nothing more came forth. She did
noticed
the reddening of the tips of his ears. Stark contrast
to the
milky flesh of his tired face.
Mulder had had his general physical that morning.
Scully
mentally sat up. She'd forgotten about that. Not
because
it wasn't important but because it was so routine and
Mulder
hated them. Waste of time, he'd muttered as he'd left
just
before eleven for the seventh floor of the Hoover
Building.
She hadn't even wished him luck. The routine of the
yearly
employee physical stood out like one duck among the
flock
of passing days.
On-site physician, one hour and done for another year.
Nothing special and back to the pond.
Except Mulder hadn't returned for their noon-hour
break.
Neither had he called.
Around twelve-twenty-five, when she'd felt the hunger
pangs
and the craving for a Latte', she'd gone
Mulder-seeking.
Main floor bathroom because the basement didn't have
one,
- had opened the door and called in - no Mulder.
Skinner's office. Even Skinner had gone to lunch.
Kimberly,
his secretary had looked up at her quizzically through
a
mouthful of muffin crumbs.
Cafeteria - though he would have come and fetched her
first.
Allison behind the counter in her stained apron also
had
not seen the object of her romantic fantasies.
"No, I haven't seen Agent Mulder." The "Mulder" said
as if
she was swallowing his penis: "Muuuul-derrr".
No answer at his house or on his cellular had then
alerted
her. There was more to it than Mulder is late as
usual.
Piss-bitchiness thrust aside, Scully had thought for a
moment.
Parking garage.
Yes. There he had been. Driver's seat, windows up,
doors
unlocked. Coat on, cell' off.
He still said nothing but turned to her and she bit her
lip.
Fuck, she hated finding Mulder like this. The worlds
worst
pack of dogs after him on a regular basis and he just
ran and dogged a bit harder. Shrugging them off like
nuisances.
When his personal demons took up the chase however,
he'd crawl into his hole and curl up like his
namesake;
out of the burning heat.
It was at those times the hounds would sniff him out
and
succeed in ripping him open.
Christ, she hated that look, too, the one he was
giving
her now.
His post-tradgedy face, the one he tried to hide from
her.
She'd shrink inwardly when that face turned her way,
the
one that begged her to pretend that, after six years,
he was still okay. The face that told her to lie to
him
about his own wounds; that he was, indeed, the
same old Fox Mulder.
She used to play that game. Look back and reflect
things
in her face other than what her eyes told her, that
Fox
Mulder was tired and worn out and that for him to keep
going day after day was a bonafide fucking miracle.
Now her eyes said back to him: Bullshit.
No, no, Mulder, Scully thought as she waited for him
to
elaborate, we're not playing that game anymore.
***
**
"Tell me." Simply stated request as gentle as
a down pillow. No pressure points anywhere
so as not to wrinkle that careful control he'd
managed to summon for the confession.
"I had my physical."
"I know."
"He, the doctor, didn't like the results uh-of
one t-test." He cleared his throat and his
voice dropped slow low as to almost disappear
in the din of air molecules colliding around them.
"It's okay." Assure him that whatever it was, it
was between them and only them until he was
ready to reveal it to those less feeling.
"My-" He stopped abruptly. His color deepened.
Then he took a breath of bravery. Whatever it was,
it was obviously both embarrassing and painful.
"-my sperm-count is nil."
Scully froze.
The relief.
The relief was like an orgasm. She'd been expecting
"cancer", "I have Aids", "I have a year to live,
Scully".
Sperm-count.
That was treatable. Fixable.
He knew that...
""Nil"?" Scully questioned. "Don't you mean low?
It's low?"
"If that's what I meant, that's what I would have
said.
He said the smear looked "wrong". So he checked the
slide himself right there in that fucking ice-cold
examination room. Nil is what he told me. None.
I am totally sterile."
He stared at her, defying more arguement. "He wants me
back tomorrow to find out why."
"I'm sorry." There was nothing to say.
She knew what it was like to receive that news. And
she
knew he knew she knew. That's why he didn't have to
sit
there an elaborate on his feelings to her. Or his lack
of
them because news like this leaves you stone cold dead
inside at first. It gives you something new to think
about,
though:
Diseased-tainted-abnormal-mutant-thing.
Useless.
Fitting, all of them.
"I'm sorry." She repeated, feeling all of them with
him.
"Thanks." The tears came just a bit more and he let
them.
"I don't know why this is bothering me so much. I never
saw
myself as having kids anyway."
Scully read between the lines. He didn't believe that
he could
make any kind of decent father to a child. Therefore
bringing
one into the world was unthinkable.
Into THIS world.
Under HIM.
But it was different when the choice, the decision, was
taken
from you. It was an unholy theft of ones humanity.
A theft of life. Of self.
"Blessing in disguise." He said to her as her heart
broke anew.
They were both victims of gross crime.
Somehow she knew this newest attack on him was not an
accident.
Somehow, he was being punished by someone for
something.
What had he done recently but bend his back to Kershe
and his
disapproving eyes?
What had he done to deserve the discarding of his
dignity?
"I'm coming with you tomorrow."
The eyes were not totally empty that looked at her.
No hope. Compliance, yes. Acceptance of the
inevidable.
Scully took his hand in hers.
But he was like a roped creature with its head down,
waiting
for the next blow.
***
Next days follow previous days with infuriating
regularity.
Why can't time flow backwards just this once? Scully
thought as she maneuvered the car into a parking stall
and switched off the engine.
She'd done the driving that morning, picking Mulder up
on the way to work.
It just seemed the thing to do. She didn't know why
other than
he looked feeble yesterday. Hollow and mashable.
Overcooked
tortellini. And this morning he looked like he'd slept
in his clothes.
Probably had.
Or, more likely, had not slept. She'd smelled the
distinct
odor of yesterday's rye on his breath just as he'd
stuck
the toothbrush in his mouth after greeting her at his
apartment
door.
He was running behind. Doctor's office in one hour.
There was
no hurry.
Scully noted the empty liqour bottle on the coffee
table. No
glass even.
Right from the spout, eh Mulder?
When she'd learned of the theft of her ovi, her tear
had been
to sit at her dining room table and look at picture
albums.
She'd dug out Bill and Tara's pictures and choked back
grief at the faces of their children and the smiling
faces of
the happy parents, something she would never now be.
She hadn't even contemplated looking at pictures of
Emily.
She'd wanted to mourn her fate, not commit suicide.
Mulder'd done his mourning inside a Twenty-Six-er.
She heard him shaking out asprins. Water running into
a glass. Swallowing. A cough.
The headache of mourning.
He'll wear his black suite, she thought.
"Thanks for picking me up, Scully." He said and
rentered
the front hallway, all in black but for a white shirt,
and
struggling with a, for once, subdued tie. He fumbled.
All the better to hang yourself? She wondered and
moved
in to finish for him.
Cinched it snug but not tight up against his throat,
just under
that adams apple that bobbed when he swallowed.
The bags under his eyes were separate creatures that
told
the tale of his self-punishment of last night. She
should have
stayed over and watched him.
What if...?
Mulder was dressed. "Ready?" He asked.
She wondered at him. Often and today again.
Took his hand and lead him out the door and down the
hall.
She was ready but not certain for what. She was ready
to
be there. Ready to catch him if he fell. Fall with him
if need
be.
And Mulder? He was just giving her that look again.
Searching for his hole.
Scully was scared shitless.
***
DR. GERARD'S OFFICE. HOOVER BUILDING:
"Now, after the exam we'll be sending you down to the
lab for
blood work, X-Rays and toxicology to see what might
have
caused this."
Mulder next endured a prostate exam, and despite
feeling
like someone was shoving a baseball bat, thick end
first,
up his butt, Gerard found nothing abnormal.
But the testicular exam next caused the formation of a
crevase
between the good Doc's eyebrows.
Mulder saw it. "What?"
Gerard released Mulder and told him to get dressed.
Teeth ground down to nubs, he did so, all the time
watching
the Doc peel off his latex gloves. Gerard was looking
at him
like this was a game he'd played all week, and now it
was
his misfortune to declare Mulder the loser.
Gerard settled back, leaning aginst his stainless steel
counter.
"There seems to be some hardening of the testes."
"What?"
Gerard pulled out a chart and suddenly Mulder was front
row
center of a cross-section diagram of male genitalia.
Gerard pointed with his finger. "Here. The Epididymis.
Where the
sperm first start their journey to maturity. It's a
fifteen foot long,
coiled tube sitting atop and slightly behind each
testicle. They lead
to the Vas Deferens ducts which go to the seminal
vesicles behind
the bladder. Here they form an ejaculatory duct, this
then passes
through the prostate, I could explain the whole thing,
but in a nut
shell if your Epididymis have hardened, it could mean,
and I'll be
frank, tumors, though possibly benign tumors, blocking
the flow of
sperm. It might mean the Epididymis have atrophied,
which is
an extremely rare condition, but there are things which
could
cause it."
"What things?"
"Testicle trauma, severe infection of the reproducive
system or
an STD, a previous cancer if those _are_ nodules or
cysts-"
"-I've never had cancer."
"Well, we'll check for it anyway of course. Have you
ever been
exposed to a toxin. A really bad viral infection might
cause
a state of atrophy, have you ever-?"
Mulder buckled his belt. "-yes to both questions."
Gerard raised his eyesbrows at that.
"The toxin was, we think, LSD or somehing like it. The
virus...
we don't really know."
"It'd be good if you could find out some specifics for
me-"
"You'll have to speak to my partner, she's a medical
doctor and she
was there. She'll be able to tell you."
Gerard straightened and followed Mulder out of his exam
room.
He spoke , his voice low, "Depending on what is
discovered, you'll
most likely be going to a specialist after this. Try
not to worry."
Mulder saw Scully stand and walk toward them from her
chair in
the waiting room. She'd been flipping through a ratty
magazine.
Mulder didn't waste time. To Gerard:
"This is Doctor Scully, she'll fill you in."
To Scully:
"I have to go get X-Rays." And left.
Scully watched him push through the swinging doors and
almost
didn't hear Gerards question.
"I'm sorry?" She said.
"I wonderd why Agent Mulder's bout with the toxin and
the virus was
never recorded on his chart here?"
"Oh. Umm, well, he was being treated under a different
doctor at the
time."
"It still should have been made part of his medical
history as an Agent
of the F.B.I.."
Scully was suddeny angry and no just at Gerard. But at
the situation.
Mulder'd been through enough. So had she. Ans she was
angry with
Mulder because he was doing that "I'm closing off my
pain" thing.
Scully looked at Gerard and put on her own
professional, doctor
face. "What do you need to know?"
***
X-Rays confirmed Gerard's suspicions.
Both Epididymis had atrophied, no sperm could flow.
The X-Ray technician had injected the delightful dye,
taken
the pictures and, after reading them and handing his
own
findings to the Physcian in attendance, Mulder found
himself standing before the Back-lit, staring at
cross-section
of his own out-of-commission sex organs. He didn't know
why
but it made his stomach heave.
"Does this mean-"
"No." The doctor, (that she was female made it worse to
even
look up from his shoes), quickly answered. Scully
wasn't so
hard, he trusted her not to be patronizing or
overbearing. But
he'd found such was not usually the case.
This one, however, smiled slightly to put him at ease,
"That's
always the first question and the answer is, your
performance
will be unaffected. You'll be able to attain a normal
erection."
That made him color a bit. //Like I've lately had the
pleasure.//
"So, what now?"
"Now we send you to Doctor Thomas Thorndyke."
Thorn-DICK??
She saw his face, "It's pronounced Thorn-die-k.
Hopefully
you'll be able to figure out what's going on."
Oh. Thorn-DIE-k. Wonderful. Was that fate whispering in
his
ear?
Mulder took the name and number of his newest
destination,
remembered to thank her and left.
***
Gerard asked:
"So he's been through some very serious illnesses. What
follow
ups have been done?"
"I can get that information to you, I don't have all
his complete
charts on-hand."
Gerard nodded. "You're a pathologist?"
"Yes."
"Have you treated him yourself for anything?"
Tricky question. She was not a legally practising
doctor. Mulder
was an F.B.I. Agent, a federal employee, an officer. "I
have, but
only under emergency circumstances where NO. OTHER.
HELP. was
immedietly available."
Gerard, wanting to calm the hackles he'd just raised on
her, "Relax,
I know what it can be like in the field, I treat
unusually dressed
superficial wounds all the time here. I'd say he's
lucky to have
a medical doctor as a partner. But it might be to his
benefit if
you spoke to him about it, especially after hearing
some of the
stuff he's been through. Do you know if Agent Mulder
takes care
of himself? Is he on anything, does he use recreational
drugs?"
"As to the drugs, no. I know that for certain. He does
tie one
on occassonally, but that's rare. As for taking care of
himself...
if you mean does he examine himself, I don't know, the
subject's
never come up."
"Perhaps you'd like to talk to him. He was pretty
shut-off with me."
What's new? She thanked Gerard and left.
***
They met in the car.
"So, how are you?" Scully asked.
"If I tell you how I am, Scully, I want you to promise
not to ask
any more questions."
"Why?"
"That's a question." But he looked out his side
window.
Preparing for battle, Scully thought.
"I have the name of the next pit stop. I just want to
handle this one
on my own from here-in." He tried not to sound bitter.
"Thanks for
being
with me this far."
So then, it's not a temperature-induced Zero Count. "So
what's wrong?"
Mulder read from a scribbled note he'd made for
himself: "The
Epididymis,
both of them, have atrophied. They don't know why."
"We'll have to find out why." She assured him. "I'm
sure it can be
treated."
"I'll find out why, Scully. This is...hard to share
with you. I'm
sorry."
She understood. It had taken tremendous courage for her
to call Mulder
that horrible Christmas. But she had and he'd come,
though in
retrospect,
at the time, she knew she hadn't let him know how much
she'd
appreciated
it. In fact, she'd almost brushed him off at the
hospital. And it had
hurt
him.
Tit for tat. "Okay. But I'm here if you need me,
Mulder. I'd rather
be in on this but I'll respect your privacy. Wll you
anser one question
for me?"
He nodded.
"Do you take of yourself properly?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you self-exam. This problem might have been
there for a
long
time, and the sooner something like this is treated,
the better are the
chances-"
"I know the statistics." He snapped then felt ashamed.
Sighed. "Look,
guys
just don't go around feeling up their balls."
"In other words, you haven't. You're pushing forty and
you've never
examined
yourself?"
"No. All right? No, I haven't. Everything's
always..."worked" just
fine, not
that I've had-"
He stopped. "Can we drop this now?"
She was defeated. When Mulder clammed up, he clammed up
tight.
"Remember what I said."
He nodded and started the car.
***
Scully was home.
Mulder was in apartment 42.
He imagined her sipping tea under a quilt on her couch
on such a cool night. Reading a book, maybe, in her
_home_. Wondering why he'd been such a fuck-head
to her.
He wondered too from his darkened apartment 42,
where he'd stumbled in after three bars (fuck the
fucking
doc's name and the fucking appointment on the fucking
slip in his fucking pocket!), and a liqour store and
seeped
into the center of his couch like a greasy spill.
Psychologically, he accepted that havING an empty clip
didn't make him less of a man. But his heart kept
arguring the point. So emotionally, he felt like a
eunich.
Man sans balls is no man at all - that's what he kept
feeling.
Scully was barren also. But her eggs, at least she had
those. Suspended in a preserving fluid and kept at
minus
two hundred centigrade in the private deep freeze of
her
choosing, but she had them.
Some day when her clock started chiming, she at least
had the option of artificial
insem-...insam-...implantation,
or whatever the no-fuck it was called.
She'd need a sperm doner of course.
Not him. Nobody _ever_ him.
He'd always hoped (hah!) - no - dreamed and fantasized
that, when that day came, he might be considered for
the
job. And not just the preliminaries, but the whole
contract;
daddy, hubby, best friend and lover.
Now he wouldn't even make the starting list.
Mulder swigged back a jigger of burning whiskey. He
was
pretty convinced that he and alcohol would become fast
friends.
"How much of that shit are you going to down, Mulder?"
Mulder half leaped, half fell off the couch, trained
his gun
that in his drunken state had by some bloody miracle
made
it to his hand from his holster, into the shadows and
the
origin of that voice he knew and hated so well.
"Krycek! Come out, you son-of-a-bitch or I'll start
ssshooting.
I'm drunk, I shwear to god, I will becausse right now I
don't
give a fuck who I hit."
"Feeling a little _teste'_, are we?" Krycek emerged
from the
darkness.
"My favorite coward." Mulder said, "What the hell are
you
doing here? You have five sheconds to ansher or I'm
gonna
blow your prick and you in different directionsss."
"We did it to you."
Black pupils in green inside bloodshot blinked. "What
the fuc-?"
"We did "It". Your little problem. Just last week
actually.
Remember that boobied bitch who kept hitting on you at
Rooney's,
that dump? Remember she kept buying you drinks and you
just
kept drinking them."
"You're a goddamn liar."
"Uh uh. It's a simple process. Two toxins delivered one
after the
other. One to numb your senses, although you were
pretty souced
by then..." Krycek moved ever so slowly towards Mulder
who was
swaying and still focused on the wall where he used to
be. "...the
other did the actual "surgery". Amazing stuff, really,
it uses the
genetic code, the exact DNA string designating the part
that it needs
to zero. And neutralized. We invented it by the way."
Mulder's finger tightened on the trigger. If he could
just get Krycek
back in his sights, he would fire. Fuck, it would be
better than sex
to see that double-crossing, lying, psycho bastard
bleed out right
there on the floor. It would at least compensate a
bit.
But Mulder was far too drunk and Krycek far too fast.
One kick and
Mulder's gun flew to a far corner of the room, another
and Mulder
himself was down, doubled over and holding his painful
and booze
distended stomach.
The next, Mulder was slipping into unconsciousness with
one jab
from the hypodermic Krycek jabbed into his butt.
"Sweet dreams,
Mulder. See you in the New World."
***
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