TITLE: The Female of the Species AUTHOR: Wylfcynne RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: DAL, AU/canonical character death SUMMARY: What do you think Scully did after Mulder's funeral in DeadAlive? Do you think she went home and took her prenatal vitamins? Guess again... DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for a new car! Mulder and Scully and the rest belong to FOX Networks and 1013; the other guest and references and quotations are the property of Universal City Studios, Inc. I'm just borrowing them for a little fun and games, and there is absolutely no intent or expectation of any profit from this little exercise. DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is dedicated to my writing partner, Ravenwald, without whom I would still be doing all this using a ballpoint pen, who introduced me to fandom on the 'Net, and awakened the Muse, who had been sleeping for a VERY long time. XFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXF The Female of the Species, by Wylfcynne When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws, They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws. 'Twas the women, not the warriors, made those stark enthusiasts pale, For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. ---Rudyard Kipling, The Female of the Species It took some doing, but she finally chased the last mourner from her apartment several hours after the funeral. Funeral... she could not stop herself from remembering the horrific image of Mulder's body, battered and dead, displaying clear evidence of nightmarish torture. Finally alone, finally free from the well-meaning concern of the handful of people who had avoided being seen at the graveside, Scully let herself fall to her knees, felt the jolt clear to the top of her head. She felt the first sob break loose and tried to fight it for a moment; she was afraid that once she started to cry she might never stop. But even the Ice Queen's emotions are real, albeit under better control than most. Dana Scully huddled on her knees, her arms cradling her unborn child and sobbed out her grief, her loneliness, and her terror. She did not sob out her rage. She could not. Rage filled her as the tears rolled down her face, filled her to her throat and threatened to boil up and out. She remembered Ariel Lauria, and how calmly she had committed her murdered husband's remains to the grave, and she knew that there was no such calm in her. "And," she decided, addressing her far-too-silent apartment, "those who took Mulder from me will not have such easy deaths as those who killed Isaac Lauria!" Decision made, she pushed herself to her feet and walked heavily into the kitchen. Coffee and tea just gave her heartburn, so she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, indulging herself by making it with milk. She carried it out into her living room and sat down, putting her feet up on the footstool. She sipped the steaming cocoa slowly, trying not to think of all the things that would never happen, now. She would never sit here and feel Mulder's long strong fingers massaging her feet after a foot chase in high heels. She would never roll back over in bed and send him to do the two o'clock feeding. She would never see Fox Mulder hold his child in his arms. She would never... There was a key in her door lock, turning. Scully twisted, reaching across her own body to the table where her Glock lay, metallic and deadly. She set down her mug and grasped the weapon; she was bringing it to bear as the door swung open and revealed a tall slim man with dark hair. Her resolve faltered for one heartstopping moment, but then she recognized him. She cupped her other hand under the grip of the weapon and steadied it. "What do you want, Krycek?" He stopped where he was, moving only his foot to carefully shut the door behind him. She had him, and they both knew it. Krycek lifted his hands to shoulder height, palms toward her. "Peace. I'm not your enemy. I just want to talk." "It's too late for talking." She watched as the younger man took a deep breath. "I know it is, Scully," he said finally. "I want to help you avenge him." That made no sense to her. "Why? You're on their side." He shook his head. "No. Not since Spender shot my brother. Not for years before that, really." That was news. Scully frowned, not liking the fact that she had no facts, again. "I didn't know you had a brother." "Several," Krycek nodded and slowly let his hands drop to hang at his sides. "Jeff Spender was my younger brother, Scully. And Mulder was our older brother. We all had different mothers, but old Smoky did get around in his younger days." Scully relaxed a little. Krycek frowned, confused. "You aren't surprised. Why aren't you surprised?" "We did DNA tests on the blood on the office floor. It showed a sibling relationship to Mulder through the father; the mitochondrial DNA were not consistent." Krycek shivered suddenly. "Did Mulder know?" Scully shook her head. "No. I didn't know how to tell him he'd lost another sibling at their hands." Krycek nodded slowly. "Jeff, Sam and I grew up together, but we thought we were just cousins. I didn't learn the truth till I got hold of that digital tape." That made her sit up. "Did they use you for experiments like they used Samantha?" "Yes," he nodded. "Jeffrey, too." "Why not Mulder?" "Control group. All the subjects were younger siblings." "Why was Jeff so abysmally ignorant? Why was Mulder kept in the dark and only teased with half-truths? Why did they let you in on it?" Krycek shrugged. "I don't know, Scully. The Smoking Bastard really is the most evil person I've ever known, and I did a high school internship with Victor Klemper. They started out trying to make me one of their scientists, but I'm math-handicapped. So they retrained me as an agent provocateur and planted me on the FBI." "They made you an assassin." He nodded. "I've killed for them. But the more I learned the more I knew I couldn't let them succeed. I've been doing what I could to sabotage things. Mostly I've been trying to keep you and Mulder alive." Scully froze, and her hand tightened on the pistol in her hand. "You failed." His carefully-bland expression cracked, then, and Scully was shocked to see Alex Krycek fighting back tears. "I know," he managed to say. "But I can help keep you and the little one safer. Please, Scully. I never thought they'd kill him: he was Cancerman's favorite. I still can't believe that he let them do this!" "I'm not quitting." "I didn't think you would, Scully. I want to help. I want to make them sorry for what they did to Mulder." "They abused him all his life," she said slowly, "emotionally and psychologically." Krycek shuddered. Her voice was full of broken glass and razor blades and he was afraid if she kept talking he would bleed to death. But he could not stop her. "They made him into their own Nemesis and then they played with his emotions and his perceptions of reality... and then they took him from me and tortured him to death." She paused for a sip of cocoa. "They murdered my man, Alex." Scully studied him intently. "I want CGB Spender's head on a pike." Krycek grinned wickedly. "I'm up for that." The lights burned late as they began to lay their plans. *** The morning after the funeral, John Doggett dragged himself out of bed when his alarm went off. He stood up slowly, stretching carefully. He was stiff everywhere and everything hurt. I feel like I've been beaten with sticks... like I slept on rocks. I hate funerals. Naked, he tottered toward the bathroom and into the shower. The hot water helped loosen his muscles, and he sighed in relief. He washed and rinsed quickly and got out. He toweled himself off and was heading back toward the bedroom to get dressed when he heard the phone ring. He stopped, but waited in the hallway, letting the machine answer for him. "You have reached the home of John Doggett. This is a machine; you know what to do." His message went off. There was a tone and the caller spoke. "Agent Doggett? Would you do me the favor of stopping by my apartment on your way in, this morning? Thank you." Doggett scrubbed absently at his hair with his towel. Why would Scully want to see him today? Well, there was only one way to find out... *** He parked his truck in the street in front of Scully's apartment building and saw a battered old VW van that he recognized parked at the far end of the lot. Next to it was a sleek black Porsche Boxter. He grinned as he imagined the look on Frohike's face as he intentionally put the Gunmen's old rattletrap next to the sleek and exotic sports car, surely hoping to freak the vehicle's owner. When he was standing in the hallway outside, he paused for a moment to straighten his suit, square his shoulders, and get his breathing under control. Something was bothering him and he did not like not understanding what it was. He knocked gently, five light raps. The door opened at once; it was not Scully but John Byers who opened it. He nodded a silent greeting. Byers nodded in return. "Good morning, Agent Doggett." He looked around the room and saw Scully in her favorite easy chair, with her feet up on the hassock. Frohike was in the kitchen cooking; from the smells he was making huevos rancheros for everyone. A tall and good-looking young man was helping him. Langley was at Scully's computer, working intently, and Byers rejoined him after closing and locking the door. On the couch opposite Scully was a striking woman with wavy black hair and dark, intense eyes. Her outfit looked sprayed on; he wanted to go check to see if it was fabric, latex or body paint. But he realized at that moment that she was wearing a shoulder harness and a handgun hidden under the black suede shrug. He stopped and turned to look at Scully. She smiled faintly at his expression. "Good morning, John. Welcome to the Breakfast Club." "Why did you call me, Agent Scully?" He was careful to keep his tone soft, but he really did not believe she needed him for anything when she had these people available to her. "Sit down, John. AD Skinner will be here shortly. I'll explain everything then." He picked a straight wooden chair at her dining room table. He hid a yawn and wondered how long this was going to take. A large mug of steaming coffee materialized in front of him and he looked up to see Byers moving away from him to serve Scully. "You look worse than I feel," Scully commented as Byers set down a fresh cup of cocoa on the table beside her and collected the empty mug. He shuddered. "I'm sorry. I just... had a lot of trouble sleeping last night." Scully nodded and picked up the steaming mug to sniff at it appreciatively. "I understand. We're here to plan, John. We aren't giving up, and nothing's over." He nearly smiled. "It does make me feel better to hear you say that." She did not have time to answer; there was a knock on the door, then, and Byers moved hurriedly to let Walter Skinner into the room. The Assistant Director stopped short when he saw everyone staring at him. "Agent Scully...?" "Ah, you're here," was her answer. "Now we can get started." "Perfect timing, Mr Skinner!" Frohike announced as he came out of the kitchen with a large platter of scrambled eggs and Jimmy followed him with a large gravy boat full of the steaming sauce. Balanced on top of the gravy boat was a smaller platter of buttered toast. "Everyone grab a seat and a plate. We can plan while we eat." Despite that suggestion, there were several minutes of silence as everyone tucked in. Frohike prepared a plate and served Scully, and then made a plate for himself and ate standing up. When she had finished eating around the scant amount of sauce Frohike had put on her eggs, Scully set her fork down and waited. Every man in the room stopped eating and turned to face her. "I understand that this is hardly mealtime conversation, but I want you all to understand exactly what I plan to do. If you can't or won't help, all I'll ask is that you stand aside and not interfere." That last sentence seemed targeted at Skinner and Doggett, being the only law enforcement personnel in the room. "Agent Scully..." Doggett spoke hesitantly, unsure of how to word a protest. Scully took the decision out of his hands. "They kidnapped and mutilated me and hundreds of other people over the last fifty years," she spoke calmly. "They used children, their own children, as experimental animals. They played mind games on Mulder all his life, dangling the truth before him to watch him jump for it. They abducted him and tortured him to death and I. Want. It. Stopped. Will you help me?" Her cerulean gaze pinned Doggett till he squirmed. Slowly, he nodded. "He was a good man. He deserved better. Yes, I'll help." "John." Her tone turned chiding and he cocked his head to one side, puzzled. "I'm not speaking metaphorically, John. I'm going to burn the Project down around their ears and I will lay Cancerman's ugly grinning skull on Mulder's grave." His mouth opened to respond, but shock had taken his voice. "Smooth." A mocking voice sounded from behind him and Doggett whirled to see a slim dark man dressed in black urban camouflage standing behind him, a 40-caliber Glock dangling casually in his hand, the barrel aimed at the floor. Behind him, Doggett heard Skinner's chair go over as the Assistant Director lunged to his feet. "Krycek!" Skinner snarled and Doggett went for his gun, knowing Skinner was going for his. "Hold!" Scully snapped, and everyone froze. "John. Walter. Stand down. Alex is on our side." "Since when?!" Skinner was still holding his gun on the Russian. Doggett backed a step, wanting to get back to back with another Marine. The Gunmen and their two friends were standing very still, waiting to see who would open the ball. Yves flexed her hands slowly, trying to decide who to shoot first. "All right," Doggett's voice was forced out through gritted teeth. "What's going on, here? Who are you really?" Alex laughed delightedly. "You have been paying attention!" Then, much to Doggett's shock, Krycek calmly holstered his sidearm, tucking it away into a shoulder holster neatly hidden under his suit jacket. Doggett glanced at Scully, who chuckled. He shivered; there was cold steel in her voice. "Relax, John, Walter," she spoke quietly. "Alex has signed up. He has joined the team. He's on probation..." She traded a glance with Krycek that John would have loved to have understood, "but I believe him." "Why?!" the word exploded from Skinner. His Glock was still aimed unwaveringly at Krycek's chest. Krycek took up the tale, then, explaining briefly what he and Scully had worked out the night before. "So," he concluded, "are you in?" Doggett did not hesitate. "Yes." Skinner echoed him and holstered his Glock. *** The next edition of The Magic Bullet was printed with thick black borders around each page. The headline was: WAR DECLARED! Washington DC. FBI Special Agent Fox W. Mulder is dead (see obituary, page 6). Agent Mulder was well known by name and reputation to our regular readers, both for his occasional contributions to this periodical and for his investigative work, often reported here. The editorial staff of TMB were honored to have called him our friend. Agent Mulder was abducted in Oregon by a UFO over three months ago; his abduction was witnessed by an FBI Assistant Director. His body was recovered at a cult site in Montana. He had been tortured to death; we are sure we do not need to provide our readers with the details. The medical examiner placed time of death only hours before he was found. Fox Mulder will not be forgotten. For years the Consortium let Mulder live because they feared his martyrdom would mobilize us. They were correct to fear us. It's time to stop just talking about opposing alien colonization, folks. There's no time left. Mulder's partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, is pregnant with his child. He was taken before she could tell him of their own personal miracle. If we want their child-- and our own children!-- to grow up free and not as guinea pigs for the Greys, we need to find them and defeat them now. Mulder died trying; let's make sure he did not die in vain. Quislings will not be tolerated! Send all your information in re abductions, the experiments, people referred to as "merchandise", the Greys, microchip implants, brain cancer clusters, genetically engineered bees, corn or other crops, black worms, people with their eyes totally blacked-out, or anything pertinent, to [tipline@avengemulder.org]. Free Terra! ******** October 13, 2007 The sun was just setting, making the shadows very long. The trio of armored black Hummers slid through the shadows like the military scouts that they had so recently been. The cemetery had been neglected during the worst of the fighting, but since the victory someone had been working to restore some order. The place looked well-groomed. In the second vehicle, a little boy peered out the gunport beside him and bounced excitedly. "Mom, look! Sheep!" "Yes," she chuckled. "They keep the grass cut short and they eat the weeds." "Where're we going, Mom?" "There's something here I need to show you, Will, and a promise I need to keep." Her hand caressed the plastic container beside her on the seat. ***** She who faces death by torture for each life beneath her breast May not deal in doubt or pity, must not swerve for fact or jest. These be purely male diversions; not in these her honour dwells, She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else. ---Rudyard Kipling, The Female of the Species