Chapter 33 Diana pushed the video back in and hit fast forward. The grainy images of Kristen and a much younger Hannah filled the small screen. She hit the pause button. Kristen had been the first success with the new cloning technique. Retrieving her DNA from the site of the fire had been a stroke of luck. Mostly luck. It helped that Spender had Mulder under surveillance and the snitch was ambitious enough to smell opportunity when it presented itself. Letting the clone believe she had been saved through the blood of those pathetic friends of hers was sheer genius. She inched the video forward in slow motion. This particular day showed the two making cookies. Well, Kristen anyway, Hannah was just rolling flour around. It was a testament to the abilities of the scientist that Kristen never questioned the living arrangements. The two were kept confined until recently when the team deemed the new technique a success, and decided to push for phase two of the plan. They set them up in a real house, with Spender's blessing of course. He made a compelling argument for testing the product in a real situation, and it helped that Hannah was Samantha's child. The old man had a soft spot for her. Diana had her own ideas as to why that might be, but had found no evidence to support them yet. One day she'd find what she needed. The scientists couldn't wait to tinker with the clone once again, giving her new memories to go along with the new life. Something had gone wrong though, and Kristen had behaved contrary to what was predicted. Somewhere in the video she hoped was the clue that would tell her why Kristen had contacted Mulder. She was startled when a cold hand touched her arm. She gasped, her fear turning quickly to anger when she saw whose hand it was. "Don't do that again." "_I_ will do what I please, Diana." Spender released her arm. She hated all he had forced her to do; for what she had become. She hated him because he made her give up Fox, because he had allowed her to fall in love only to cruelly pull her away. She hated that he could fill her with lust for him even while hating him so thoroughly. And she hated that the project had become almost as important, as meaningful, and as necessary to her as it was to all the other key players. God help her, she believed in what they were doing, as twisted as it was. "What have you found?" He lit a cigarette. "Nothing yet." She ignored the hand he had now set on her shoulder, tried to stifle the sneeze the first waft of smoke always elicited. "I'm only on the first set of tapes." Spender leaned forward pushing himself into her ass. "How long will you be?" She chose to ignore him, to ignore the obvious ploy to get her on her back, or her knees, again." Long. I don't want to miss anything." "Oh." She heard the disappointment in his voice. She could only get away with rejecting his advances when the project was at stake. It was the only forgivable rebuff. She always managed to find enough problems to keep the contact to a minimum and if he was wise to her tricks he kept it to himself. There were any number of underlings, men and women, ready to spread their legs or their asses for the big boss, hoping it bought their advancement to the inner circle. It didn't hurt that he was a decent lay. "Well, then." He backed away and she heard him shift a little. Probably adjusting his dick in his pants before he walked out. Wouldn't do to let the others see him leaving in that state. She felt a slight twitch and fought against squeezing her legs together as she recalled the size of his cock. Secretly she believed he'd had the scientists engineer that. God knows they could do just about anything. "Why don't you come back in an hour or so?" She reached back and stroked him through his pants. "I should need a break by then." He grunted in affirmation, pushing her hand away. She heard the door close behind him and shrugged her shoulders, directing her comments to the frozen images on the screen. "Its just sex, after all." ************* Chapter 34 The ice tinkled against the side of the glass as Mulder rolled it across his forehead. The cold felt good. Almost as good as the burn the scotch made as it slid down his throat. It was late. He could tell because the traffic noise was almost non-existent, and he'd heard the neighbor across the hall come home from his pub- crawl not too long ago. Jerry hadn't come home alone. There had been a lot of giggling and drunken stumbling before the sounds became muffled behind the closed door of the apartment opposite. Mulder dragged the glass along his cheek to his mouth and took a sip. A sliver of light cut the darkness where it snuck in through the partially drawn blinds. The alcohol was doing little to relieve his somber mood. "Well, Mulder, you shit, she may have believed you this time, but you sure didn't win any brownie points." He lifted his glass into the air in silent homage to his absent partner and proceeded to drain it in one swallow. He hadn't expected her to fall into his arms, her own expression of undying love and devotion on her lips. He didn't live in a Harlequin induced reality, but he had expected more than a fuck you. Okay, so she didn't actually say the words, _fuck you_. He leaned forward and poured himself another glass. Not a gentleman's single or double shot, but a sloppy, full glass of the amber liquid. His father would have been horrified; he was always so proper when he was getting shit faced. As if it made a difference whether one did it in neat one-ounce shots or straight out of the bottle. Drunk was drunk. Their world didn't allow for many happy endings. Sometimes it was enough that they both survived to see another day, but he had expected more from her, and he wasn't sure if he was willing to try anymore. Six years was a lot of time. Granted, he hadn't been in love with her all of those years, but what they had together was forged during that time. She was willing to use his sperm, didn't want anyone else to father her child, but couldn't see herself settling down with him? He wondered if this was all there would ever be for the two of them. A knock on the door sliced through his thoughts. Go away, Scully. The knocking grew louder, more insistent. He saluted the door and took another drink. "Mulder, open up." Shit. He didn't want to deal with Skinner right now. "Mulder, I'm coming in one way or another." He pulled himself up and made it to the door without banging his knees or stumbling. Chalk one up for the Mulders' ability to hold their liquor. He turned the dead bolt roughly and staggered back to the couch. He figured Skinner would overlook his lack of manners. "I'm surprised you can see the glass well enough to aim for your mouth." Skinner flipped the hall light on. "Fuck." Mulder closed his eyes tight against the sudden brightness. "Turn it off. Please." He opened one eye slightly to see Skinner holding up the nearly empty bottle. "Is this the first, second or third?" "I stopped keeping track yesterday, but you can check under the couch if you really need to know." "Scully called me." "Well, isn't that magnanimous of her." "She's worried about you. Worried enough to call and interrupt my evening when you wouldn't answer her calls." "Sorry, sir." He opened his arms wide spilling some of the scotch, "but as you can see, I'm _fine_. And that's a Dana Katherine Scully _fine_. You tell her that." "Don't be such an ass, Mulder." "If you're not going to leave, then at least sit. This is hurting my neck. And feel free to pour yourself one," he indicated the bottle Skinner still held. "I think there's one left in there. Glasses are -- you know where they are. Or you can just drain it." "No thanks." Skinner set the scotch on the table as he sat down. "So, I'm fine and you don't want a drink. What can I do for you then, sir?" "You know, Mulder, I don't pretend to understand your relationship with Scully, but why she puts up with your crap, I'll never know. When are you going to grow up? This is the second time in less than a week that you've got shit faced with," he turned the bottle around, "Glenlivet. I don't know why you bother with the expensive stuff; you'd never know the difference past the first few shots." "Got it. I'm an ass, I don't deserve either Scully or good whisky and I need to grow up. All done?" He was taken aback when Skinner leaned forward, his face set in what he assumed was Skinner's take no prisoner's military mask. He had pretty much drunk himself sober, and any remaining fuzziness fled at the cold look in his boss's eyes. "Now you listen to me, _Agent_ Mulder. You asked me to help you and I have. I've put my neck on the line for you more than once this week, but if I have to choose between you and Scully there will be no contest. Get your ass off this couch and get back over there. And take a shower first. You smell like a bar." Skinner stood. "I don't know what the two of you are up to all the time, but I am not stupid. Never mistake my avoidance of certain topics for ignorance; if I don't know things, I cannot be coerced into giving up information." He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a white business size envelope, dropping it on Mulder's lap. "Get moving, Mulder. I don't want to get another phone call from Scully tonight." Skinner reached across and flipped on the table lamp, then moved over to the door. "I'll see you Monday morning at eight. In my office. Don't be late." Mulder watched the door close and set his glass on the table. He picked up the envelope before getting up to lock the door. With a sickening feeling, he realized Scully must have been really worried to call Skinner late on a Saturday night. And Skinner was right, he smelled awful. He made his way to the shower, opening the envelope as he went, pulling out the papers it contained. A picture fluttered to the floor and he bent to pick it up. Shit, that hurt his eyes and his head. He detoured to the kitchen to down three Advils with a large glass of water and then focused his attention on the picture. It was actually a photocopy of a picture, but the quality wasn't bad. It showed the same white building from the picture he had found at the crime scene, but this time the name GenTech was clearly visible. A younger Diana posed by the front door, smiling for the camera, Strughold's hand on her shoulder. He guessed it was either spring or fall as both Diana and Strughold had sweaters on. There were only a couple of evergreen bushes visible at the edge of the picture. He scrutinized his former lover closely. They had met for the first time in early 1986 and had pursued a tumultous relationship for the next four years. Their on again/off again relationship had culminated in a brief engagement just prior to the discovery of the X Files in 1990. He still had both wedding bands somewhere. He wasn't sure why he'd kept either of them. When things fell apart later on that year they did so with a bang. Diana took off for Europe and he was left with his Files. He still felt he got the better end of the deal. This picture of her appeared to have been taken around the time they first met, and knowing what he did now about the machinations of the Consortium, her appearance with Strughold made perfect sense. It still hurt to realize he had been manipulated from the beginning, but it no longer surprised him. He made his way back to the bathroom as he unfolded the papers. The numbers made little sense to him, but -- shit. He recognized some of the names. Kids. These were the kids. There were other numbers that appeared to cross-reference the names to -- he flipped to the second sheet. Initials and numbers -- parents he guessed when he recognized Scully's initials. He hastily shoved the papers back in the envelope and decided to forgo the shower. He needed to see her right away, before anyone discovered what Skinner had given him. He grabbed his jacket and his keys. There was another question that begged to be answered in all of this. How the hell did Walter Skinner get hold of this information? *************