TITLE: Seventh Son (1/3)
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: jessica@amazon.com
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never were.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Not really
RATING: PG
CONTENT WARNING: None that might be too offensive, except my complete
lack of medical knowledge
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, X-File
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully investigate a man with the ability to cure
infertility. As you might imagine, heavy Scully angst.

Email me, I constantly check it when I should be working. This is the
last one from me for a while. I have to write more!



Dana Scully set her luggage down inside the door to her apartment and
leaned back heavily against the door. Her week of vacation had been far
too short and yet at the same time, boring as hell -- she didn't feel
like she'd relaxed at all. The familiar silence of her living room was
both liberating and oppressive, with the knowledge that tomorrow she had
to return to the office, to her work. 

At least, she thought, she finally had some color in her face, the tip
of her nose peeling slightly. Mulder would no doubt tease her about it. 

Mulder. It must have been torture for him. She smiled. Winning a cruise
for one had either been the best or worst thing that had happened to her
in the last six months.

The light on her answering machine blinked madly. The first voice she
heard was Mulder.

"Scully, I know you're on vacation. I know you said you're not calling
in. But I can't find the Tooms file. Ok, I don't actually need it right
now, but? just in case you call in. I felt like reviewing it. But only
call if you want to. Don't worry about it. You know what? Forget it.
You're on vacation. Enjoy."

"Scully, it's me again. Heh heh, I know I should be asleep now, it's
four a.m?. but I was thinking? remember that girl who disappeared last
month, the one who swore she was an abductee? She said her mother heard
them coming, like an earthquake? I checked, everyone in the neighborhood
heard it. Yep, you guessed it, Scully. Her boyfriend drives a monster
truck. So don't worry about it. If you are. Which I know you aren't.
Having fun without me? 'Cause I'm sure not having fun without you."

"Scully. I? oh nevermind. I found it."

"Scully, um? if you call in? I sure would love to talk to you. Call me.
Anytime. Tell me how things are. Don't hesitate to wake me. Seriously."

She sighed. She knew, if she examined her vacation, she would hear her
own voice, just as plaintive, leaving messages to him in her head. 

A new voice began to speak and she rewound to hear it.

"Dana Scully? This is Doctor Emmerman. I know you didn't expect to hear
from me, Dana, and I don't want to disturb you. But I have a situation
here that I don't know how to handle. I could sure use your help. You
and that partner of yours. Please call me."

This does not bode well, Scully thought. The last person on earth she
actually wanted to talk to was Dr. Emmerman, especially with "that
partner" of hers. Scully rewound the entire tape, erasing the messages.
She would call tomorrow. Tonight was hers. No Dr. Emmerman, no mother,
no friends. No Mulder. No Mulder? She was not sure how she felt about
that until the phone rang.

She contemplated, for a moment, not picking it up. Then, filled with a
need so strong it nearly made her cry, she picked it up and listened
without speaking.

"Scully? Are you there?"

His voice filtered across several miles of fiber optics was immediately
comforting, like hot chocolate on a cold night. 

"I'm home, Mulder."


In the morning, she was no more rested than if she'd never slept. I need
a day, she thought grimly, to recover from my vacation.

The trip had been? uneasy. She thought about it in abstract terms. Not
boring, exactly. More disappointing, like camping in the rain. She could
remember, at nearly every moment, being inexpressibly lonely. Even when
an old couple took her under their wings for the evening or a handsome
single man asked her to dinner or to dance, she found herself wishing
she had someone to really talk to. She created a running narrative of
her trip in her head, explaining things to someone who wasn't there. She
knew who that someone was. It would be good to see him again. Far too
good.

Mulder sat in the office, bouncing on his seat like a child waiting for
a treat. He practically leapt up to touch her. She let him hug her,
though it seemed unnecessary and foolish. She'd only been gone a week,
she reminded him. One week. Seven days. She could feel the eternity of
it for him and the knowledge made her feel strangely weak.

"I have so much to show you, Scully. I left everything for you. I knew
you'd want to see it all."

She sighed and fought down an urge to take his hand and lead him out of
the room, away from his work.

"Mulder, I have someone I need you to see with me."

He waited for her to elaborate and when she didn't, he crossed his arms
and nodded.

"Sure Scully, whatever you want."

Whatever she wanted. As long as it involved aliens or conspiracies or
mutant liver-eaters. She sighed.

"Just get your coat."



The ride there was awkward. She had no words to sooth Mulder's growing
anxiety, because she had no way to sooth her own. He fussed at her.

"Do you feel ok, Scully? Maybe you picked up a bug. You know what those
big central air conditioning systems are like."

"I feel fine, Mulder."

"Are you sure? You look peeked. Too much sun, Scully."

"I'm fine."

That silenced him, as surely as always. They had their little routine
down now. He inquired after her health, but he was really asking about
her feelings for him. She answered that she was fine. It meant: not yet.
He accepted it. As usual. 

Scully mused, as she pulled the car up to the curb, that she was
enormously tired of words like "always" and "usual". She wanted to do
something different, to throw off the veneer she maintained and be the
woman she sometimes was when she was away from Mulder, a woman she found
herself thinking of in the third person. Dana. 

Mulder's face was as blank as if they had just parked in front of a
7-11. She read the sign, trying to understand how he would see it.

"Emmerman Fertility Clinic."

She sighed and opened the door. There was only one way to see it, and it
would be wrong. She almost smiled, imagining of Mulder's rising panic.

"Dr. Emmerman ran the tests on me?" she told him. He moved so close to
her that their coats made a soft sound against each other as they
walked, "? when I found out about Emily. I haven't had much contact with
him since. He called last night and asked to see us about a possible
case. That's all I know. I scheduled the meeting through the nurse."

Mulder said nothing, but she could have sworn that just before he opened
the door for her, she felt his hand touch hers.

The clinic was sterile and mock-friendly in the way that all clinics
are, with pastel wallpaper and cheap, richly-stained furniture. The
receptionist smiled.

"Hello, Dana. What brings you in today?"

She winced. With Mulder's tall form behind her, she knew exactly what
the woman thought she was there for.

"Dr. Emmerman asked to see me," was all she said.

Mulder sat on one of the little striped couches, flipping absently
through a copy of  Good Housekeeping. She imagined for a moment coming
in here with him, as her husband, as her lover. It was inconceivable. He
was never so domestic.

She sat next to him, tucking her coat up and around her body like a
shield. Anywhere but here, she thought. Anywhere but here.

"Hey Scully," Mulder whispered. "You never told me how your vacation
went."

There was no reason to whisper. They were the only ones there. The
enforced intimacy spread to them, covered them. She shuddered.

"It was fine."

He rolled his eyes.

 "All right, it was nice. A little boring even. I read, I swam, I ate.
What do you do on a cruise?"

"Did you play shuffleboard?"

She shook her head.

"Did you meet anyone? interesting?"

He looked a little concerned.

"No ship-board romance, if that's what you're asking."

"Of course it is. Why not?"

"You know why not."

He hesitated. She filled in the space for him.

"I have a history of bad experiences with brief affairs, Mulder, in case
you've forgotten."

Looking directly at her, he let one leg drift over and touch hers,
gently.

"I haven't," he said.

The door opened and Dr. Emmerman peeked around as if expecting to be
bitten. After their last meeting, he might very well have reason to
expect it. She smiled as warmly as she could.

He held his hands out and smothered hers in them.

"Dana. It's good to see you again."

She turned to Mulder.

"Dr. Eugene Emmerman, Agent Fox Mulder."

The two men shook hands, eyeing each other, a tad too competitively for
her taste. They both wondered, what does the other know? It angered her.

"Let's talk in my office, shall we?"

Fortunately, Dr. Emmerman's office was not an examining room. Scully was
fairly sure she would have bolted if she'd even seen a stirrup. Mulder
took a seat in front of the desk as Dr. Emmerman sat behind it. She
found herself waiting, hesitating. 

"Dana," Dr. Emmerman said, "please sit down."

She blushed. Why was this so hard? Mulder knew. Dr. Emmerman certainly
knew. Only she felt as if she didn't know, and she wasn't even sure what
the question was anymore.

She sat down awkwardly next to Mulder. The two men watched her with
concern. She wanted to scream at them, anything to make them look away.
Instead she tucked her hands in her lap and smiled pleasantly.

"Dana," Dr. Emmerman began. "I know that what I'm about to tell you
probably has nothing to do with what you do. I'm not even sure a crime
has been committed, but I feel the need to tell someone, and I thought
of you immediately."

Scully glanced at Mulder. He was watching Dr. Emmerman, sizing him up.
Making his little notes, she thought ruefully.

"As Dana knows, I treat women from all over the country, the world in
fact, for varying forms of infertility. But over the last few years, due
to connections made through the Catholic Church and the local community,
I have begun seeing a number of women from the local Irish-American
community. In fact, I believe that was how you were referred to me,
right Dana?"

Scully nodded. Mulder was carefully not looking at her during all this. 

"Well, most of these women are highly treatable, and as word of these
successes has spread, I have gained quite a reputation with Irish
expatriates. And until now I've had no problems. Then a few months ago,
Irish women I had been treating for months were suddenly calling me and
telling me they no longer needed my services. Agent Mulder, I treat
women primarily who are having trouble conceiving, not women who are
completely infertile. So technically, all of these women could have
conceived on their own. But there was about a snowball's chance in hell
of all of them conceiving successfully within such a short period of
time. It's simply statistically impossible. So I took a chance and
contacted one of them. Her name is Shannon Sullivan. She's agreed to
talk to you two, as well."

He handed them each a piece of paper with her information on it. Scully
glanced down the page until she saw what she was looking for. "Fallopian
scarring." She sighed and looked back up. Both men were watching her
again, both looked away as soon as she noticed.

"Shannon told me something that absolutely astounded me. The father of
all these babies, over fifteen now, is the same man."

Mulder looked up from the paper, surprised. Scully smiled. Men were so
predictable, even men like Mulder.

"His name is Michael McDunnough. Needless to say, he is not the husband
of any of the women. Apparently, he's a recent visitor from Ireland,
staying in the parish for several months. She said? and I'm not sure how
reliable this is, but she seemed sensible enough when I was treating
her? she said he was a mystical healer."

 "How could one man impregnate fifteen different medically infertile
women in only two months? Do you think he's coercing them in some way,
conning them?" Scully asked.

Dr. Emmerman smiled sadly.

"It's a pretty effective con. They are all pregnant."

"Maybe he's using some sort of drug? something European we aren't aware
of yet?"

"Maybe he has 'mystical' powers," Mulder said, musing.

Dr. Emmerman stared. 

"I hardly think that's likely. Look, I'm just concerned that these women
aren't being taken advantage of in some way. He could be using something
quite dangerous. And there's something about the fact that this
so-called mystical healer is actually requiring that these women sleep
with him that makes me a tad suspicious."

Mulder shrugged and glanced at Scully. She kept her face neutral.

"I can look into this, Dr. Emmerman," she said, rising, "but at this
time it doesn't sound as if any crimes were actually committed. These
women apparently got what they were looking for, even if the methods are
somewhat unconventional."

Dr. Emmerman and Mulder also stood. She suddenly felt very small and
tired. As she always did when overwhelmed, she heard Mulder's voice in
her head, telling her that her little feet couldn't reach the peddles.
Today, she thought, they were barely reaching the floor.

"That's all I was looking for, Dana. Someone to check things out, make
sure it's all above board. So far the pregnancies appear normal, but if
there is some sort of fertility drug involved?"

They all nodded. Scully pulled her coat around her body and politely
shook the doctor's hand. Anywhere but here, she thought, and opened the
door to the reception. 

Two women sat with their husbands or lovers, holding hands. She had an
irrational urge to grab Mulder's hand and pull him close to her. Instead
she slipped out of the building at a trot and nearly flung herself into
the passenger side of the car. Definitely not reaching the peddles, she
thought.

Mulder slid into the driver's side and waited while she busied herself
with the seatbelt. Then he leaned across the car and touched her hand.

"Scully," he said softly, "you don't have to do this. I can go check him
out."

She shook her head. 

"I'm fine."

He snorted and started the engine.

"You know, Scully? I'm really, really tired of hearing that."

She turned, feeling like a cat about to pounce. She reigned it in.

"Really, Mulder. Why is that? Because you're always asking how I am like
I'm a child and maybe, just maybe, I'm tired of answering?"

He smiled, just enough to annoy her further.

"Gee, I don't know Scully, maybe that's it."

She opened her mouth to reply, but he shushed her with a wave. He was
suddenly very close to her in the small confines of the car.

"Or maybe it's because I've caused you more pain than most people could
bear in a lifetime, much less forgive someone for and maybe every time I
ask you I'm really waiting for you to answer that no, you're not fine,
you hate me, you're leaving and going to take that assignment in Salt
Lake City, but maybe, just maybe, one of these days you won't say you're
fine, but will instead tell me that you're wonderful and I'll be able to
relax just a little bit."

She was floored. He had the ability to take what she thought was a
conversation about their partnership, and turn it into a conversation
about Them with a capital T.

"God, Mulder. You're so paranoid. I'm fine means I'm fine, all right?
And I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. Jesus."

He sat back and started the car. She turned to the window and wished the
door to the car would open and let her out in her bedroom, alone.

"So you're all right with this case?" he asked, sucking on a sunflower
seed that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Talk about mystical
powers.

"This is a case?" she replied. "I think the good doctor is miffed
because he's lost valuable clientele."

"The thought had crossed my mind," he agreed, still crackling and
suckling like a small pig. She was on edge, easily annoyed. There were
times she found the seed-sucking sexy, like watching someone tie a knot
in a maraschino cherry stem with their tongue.

"We'll see what Shannon Sullivan says." Scully leaned back and stretched
in the seat. Unconsciously, she placed one hand on her belly, then
caught herself. Mulder fiddled with the radio, then turned it off. She
watched the people in the car next to her. Just a young couple, talking.
Probably that's how she and Mulder looked, from the outside.

Mulder was in a pensive mood. He was ruminating, chewing over thoughts
in his head like a cow in a shady field. 

"What?" she said. "What's bothering you?"

He jumped slightly and smiled at her, all teeth.

"You really can read my mind. It isn't just my imagination."

"Just tell me."

"I was just wondering why it is that some people define themselves,
valuate their lives, solely on their ability to actually physically
reproduce. I mean, to go so far as to sleep with a man who isn't your
husband in order to get pregnant? that boggles me.  I guess I'm saying?"

She stopped him by interrupting. "You're saying parenting is so
important, yet we don't pay thousands of dollars to learn how to do
that; we pay for some guy in a white coat and a turkey baster so we can
experience the miracle of birth."

"Exactly. I hope you're not uncomfortable with this line of thought.
It's not personal, at least I don't mean it that way."

She sighed. He really was a bore sometimes.

"No, Mulder. Though if it was anyone else, I would be. I don't know. I
can't tell you why the knowledge that I can't bear children of my own is
so devastating. I have no explanation for that. Maybe it's biological."

"Probably."

He was still stuck on something. She prodded.

"But?"

"But? you know Scully, when  I think about you, I think about all the
things you have, not what you don't."

Suddenly she was shy, devastatingly so. Whenever he said something
personal, she became sixteen year-old Dana Scully, sitting on a first
date with the way-too-handsome captain of the football team, not knowing
how to kiss with tongue.

"Mulder? I don't know what to say to that."

He shrugged, seemingly unaffected, though she knew that wasn't the case.

"How about 'thanks'?"

"Thanks," she said, blushing miserably.

She was completely out of control, she realized. She wanted to kiss him
passionately and then knock him out cold with her fist. What was it
about the biology of her life that made her so crazy? Her inability to
control it no doubt has something to do with it. Fate, she thought, was
a miserable dried-up she-bitch who absolutely hated life.

They had arrived at Shannon Sullivan's. She sighed, gathered up the coat
and then let it drop, conscious of the action. It's just a pregnant
woman. No big deal.

Maybe I'll just get really drunk and get another tattoo, she thought
unhappily. 


End Part One, Hang on for parts 2 and 3...

Seventh Son (2/3) by Jess


Shannon Sullivan was the sort of pregnant woman who is universally
described as 'glowing.' She radiated pure reproductive bliss from every
clear pore on her face, from every strand of her luxurious hair and from
her clear green eyes. She handed them both very strong English tea with
milk and enough sugar to make Scully's teeth ache. It was delicious.

"You have to understand," she was saying in a rich accent unlike
anything Scully had ever heard, "we are a very closed community.
Insular, even. We stick by our own. It comes from the background, from
where we're from."

Mulder was sipping his tea delicately, savoring it. He loved sugary
things.

"Where's that, exactly?" he asked.

She smiled. "Belfast."

Mulder continued to sip, Scully could feel his body shift next to hers.
It explained the accent, she thought. 

"I had no idea there were so many people here from the North," he said.

"Well, as I said, we take care of each other. Most of us are friends or
family."

Scully took another sip of scalding tea. Shannon Sullivan rubbed her
stomach as she spoke, though she was barely showing. She had been the
first.

"So tell us about Michael McDunnough."

Shannon smiled, a lazy, sexual smile. Scully could taste sugar lingering
on her tongue. She felt heady and light, the result of too much
adrenaline, she thought, and took another sip. 

"Michael? Michael is special. I don't know how much you know about Irish
folklore, Agent Mulder, but we aren't unique as far as I know in placing
great powers on those who are born seventh in a family of sons. Are you
familiar with the legends?"

Mulder nodded. This was his forte.

"The seventh son myths are nearly universal, though in some cultures
it's the third son who gains special powers. And a seventh son of a
seventh son is even more powerful. Usually they are thought to be able
to cure disease and provide pilgrims with good luck."

Shannon nodded.

"Michael is a seventh generation seventh son, Agent Mulder. The most
powerful of all seventh sons. He modestly admits to curing only a few
things, but I believe he is capable of miraculous cures of nearly every
disease known to science. To put it in succinct terms."

Mulder was nodding eagerly, already accepting. He had, she realized,
accepted whatever was to come before he'd even known what it was.

"You're saying he can cure cancer, arthritis, anything he wants?" she
said.

"Anything. I ought to know."

The two agents hesitated, unsure how to keep things from getting too
personal. Scully spoke first, feeling Mulder's discomfort palpably.

"So how do you know, exactly, Mrs. Sullivan? I'm afraid Dr. Emmerman
was? sketchy."

Shannon Sullivan set her tea down on the table in front of her knees and
smiled warmly. 

"I was, as you know, having difficulty conceiving a child. A disease
when I was young had left too much internal scar tissue. My husband and
I were looking at artificial insemination, but the prices are
exorbitant, as you no doubt have heard. We aren't wealthy. We have a bit
set aside, but not enough to be throwing money around where it might not
do any good."

Scully nodded. She was well aware of the costs. 

"Anyway, that's where we were when Michael came into town. Of course,
I'd heard of him, from people I knew back home, but I've been over here
for nearly twelve years, so I wasn't totally familiar with him. My
mother suggested I speak to him about my? problem. He was willing to
help. I talked it over with my husband, he met Michael, and we all
agreed that it would be better in the long run to have someone we knew,
someone we trusted, then to pay thousands of dollars and end up with
nothing."

"But," Scully interrupted, "you didn't even know if it would work."

"Ah," Shannon held up one hand, stilling her, "but I did, Agent Scully.
I knew women in Ireland who Michael had? treated."

"And your husband didn't object?" Mulder seemed as mystified as she was.

"Oh of course he did, but he objected to shelling out $10,000 a pop
more, I guess."

They were all silent for a moment. Fifteen women, Scully thought, all of
whom probably had husbands, lovers to object. But the need for a child
had overwhelmed them all. It astonished her less then it ought to have,
she knew.

"And it did work," Mulder added, nodding at her belly.

"Yes," she said, with that same sexy smile, "it did."

"Mrs. Sullivan," Scully said slowly, gathering her thoughts, "you
volunteered for this."

"Yes. Absolutely."

"You were not coerced."

"No, not at all. We approached him, remember."

"Did he give you anything to eat or drink, before?"

Shannon shook her head.

"We were at my own house, too."

Scully shut the notebook she had opened on her lap.

"Thank you very much. I don't think there's much more we needed to
know."

Mulder hesitated in the doorway.

"Do you know where we might find Michael now? I'd like to ask him a few
of these questions face to face to tie things up."

Scully sagged.

"Sure, I'll write down his address for you."

Shannon scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Mulder.

"Thank you for coming by, Agents," she said, still stroking her stomach.
"I appreciate that someone is concerned enough to check up on me."

Scully nodded politely and slipped out the door. The car seemed a
million miles away. Little feet, she thought, hell, the problem is short
legs. 

Mulder caught up to her and grasped her arm.

"You're not fine, so don't even say it. You practically ran out of
there."

She shook her head.

"I just don't think there's a case here, Mulder."

He opened his mouth to argue, but was stopped by his cel phone's ring.

She slipped into the car quickly, before he could ask her anything
more.  She watched him lean back against the side of the car. Things
would be so much easier if she had controlled her emotions, never let
herself show her affection for him.  It was so much easier before?
before what, she wondered? When had she not felt this way? A day, an
hour? Before she walked into his office and saw him sitting there
wearing those horrible wire-rimmed glasses and had him laugh at her?
Before she bolted into his room in her robe? Before she was missing?
Before the cancer? Before? There was no before. Her life began and ended
here, in this moment. If she thought about before, she would have to
acknowledge after, and she knew that neither of them were ready for
that. 

He slid the phone into his pocket and opened the door. 

"Guess who that was?"

"Skinner."

"Good guess. He wants to know where his little agents are, why they
aren't down in the basement wearing their chains."

She smiled.

"What did you tell him?"

"That you had a lead into a possible x-file."

"No I don't, Mulder."

Mulder ignored her.

"I told him I'd come in, but that you were going to go check out the
Irish Lothario."

She examined her feet, carefully.

"Maybe I should go see Skinner and you should go see Mr. McDunnough."

Mulder nodded. "If you want me to, but Skinner asked for me. You can
wait and we can go see him together, if you like?"

She sighed. He was babying her. But then, she was behaving like a child.
None of this had anything to do with her, with Emily, with her missing
time. It was just some horny Irishman. She could handle it.  She thought
of that time with Donnie Phaster and how understanding and annoying
Mulder had been. She hated being weak, but even more, she hated being
understood while she was weak. She raised her head and looked him in the
eye.

"I'll go. Don't worry about it."

"You're sure?"

"Mulder, I'm fine."

He nodded and handed her the keys. "You can drop me off," he said.


Michael McDunnough was staying with his nice old Irish grandmother, the
kind with thick ankles and too many collector's plates hanging on the
wall. Wiping her hands on a flowered apron, she showed no real surprise
at seeing an FBI agent at her door.

"Of course you can come in, Pet. Give me your coat. I'll go get
Michael."

She looked like she could hardly walk, but she trotted right up the
stairs.

Scully glanced around the comfortable living room. Old photos hung above
the small fireplace, brass donkey and rabbit figurines marched across
the top of the television. An old clock filled the room with gentle
sound of its pendulum swinging. She was reminded of her own
grandmother's house. Not enough doilies, she thought with a smile. The
chair she sat in was losing its stuffing. Sliding in, her feet dangled
like a child's.

She was still perched like Edith Anne when she heard footsteps on the
stairs. Struggling, she dragged herself up and stood.

If Mulder could have seen the young man who held out his hand to her, he
would have withdrawn the Irish Lothario label immediately. Michael
McDunnough wasn't handsome or tall or broad shouldered or much of
anything, really. He had thick black wavy hair and skin that looked to
have had acne years before. When he smiled, his teeth were slightly
crooked. Scully was astounded. It wasn't that Michael McDunnough was bad
looking, because he wasn't. He was perfectly pleasant to watch. But
great Irish lover, no. She realized she had been picturing Liam Neeson
and smiled at herself.

"It's very nice to meet you, Agent Scully. I have no idea why the FBI
would be interested in me, so you'd best tell me quickly what I'm
accused of doing."

His accent, like Shannon's, was not the traditional Irish brogue, but
something lighter, more familiar. It must be the English influence,
Scully thought. The Belfast accent held an air of irony, as if the
speaker were laughing at the world. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. McDunnough, you aren't accused of anything. I'm here
looking into something for a friend."

She realized how it sounded. The old woman nodded, patted Michael's arm
and left them alone.

"I see," was all he said.

"I've been asked by Dr. Eugene Emmerman to look into claims that you are
fathering children for women who are thought to be infertile, or?"

He smiled and cut her off.

"You want to know how I do it."

She nodded.

"Yes."

"Magic sperm," he said, and then laughed.

"I take it that's not it."

"No," he said. "That's not it. Ms. Scully, are you familiar with Irish
legend? You are Irish, aren't you?"

She nodded. "A little. Yes, I know you're a seventh son. My partner and
I spoke to Shannon Sullivan earlier."

"Your partner? Where is he now?"

Surprised, Scully stammered. "He's? he's at the office. How did you know
he was male?"

"I read your mind. No really, I just assumed, government agencies being
what they are. But it would have been nicer to hear that he was also a
beautiful woman."

She blushed. She couldn't believe it, but she blushed. Men commented on
her looks all the time when she was working a case. This was no
different, but she blushed even more just thinking about it.

"No, he's a man," she said. "At any rate, that's irrelevant. We were
discussing your? abilities."

"I have certain gifts. I use them, when I choose, to help people. My
grandfather was famous all over the Republic for his ability to cure
warts. Can you imagine? Men used to come for miles, my grandfather would
touch them, and their warts would be cured. Never had one himself,
neither did my father or any of my uncles. I can do a few more things
than he could. Nothing spectacular, mind you, but I have certain
talents."

"Curing infertility isn't spectacular?"

"So now you believe me?"

She shook her head. "No, actually, I don't."

"Then what do you think I do?"

"I think you give these women confidence in their bodies' ability to
conceive. I have an Aunt who couldn't get pregnant, tried for nearly ten
years. They adopted a child, finally, and nine months later she gave
birth to my cousin. Stress is a powerful thing. Performance anxiety, so
to speak. Take that away and most women with difficulty conceiving would
have a much easier time."

Michael McDunnough smiled warmly.

"What a lovely theory. So you won't be needing a wee sample, Agent
Scully? You think it's just mind over matter?"

"Yes, so to speak."

She stood, anxious to go.

"I don't believe I have any reason to investigate this further, Mr.
McDunnough. Shannon assured us that her treatment was obtained
voluntarily. There are no complaints filed against you. Thank you for
your time."

He nodded and shook her hand again. Only this time, he didn't let go.

Leaning forward, he pulled her close to him and whispered near her ear.

"I could help you, Dana, if you like."

She felt as if she'd been violently kicked. Plucking her hand from his,
she took several steps back.

"What are you talking about?"

He watched her, unfazed.

"You already know. Dana, I can give you back what was taken from you."

Her eyes widened, her body tensed. She wanted to run so badly, she could
hear her own breathing echoing in her head.

"You read my file. At Dr. Emmerman's."

"I've never been anywhere near Dr. Emmerman, as I'm sure he'll attest. I
know because I touched you. I thought so the first time, the second time
confirmed it."

She shook her head.

"That's impossible." She could hear herself in the small room, pleading.

"Not at all, Dana. I know things about you that you can't even remember.
I can tell the things that are foremost in your mind. I know about the
time you were gone, what they did to you. I know about your daughter.
And I know about your partner."

"You don't know anything."

"I know how you feel. I know it as surely as if you told me."

She snatched her coat from the hands of the old woman, who hovered in
the door.

"Stay away from me," she snapped at them both. "I don't believe in any
of this."

Michael seemed unaffected by her anger.

"If you can abandon your cynicism, Dana, you know where I am."

The old woman opened the door, watching her with great sympathy. Scully
felt like spitting in her face. Racing down the stairs, she threw the
car into gear and made it six blocks before she had to pull over to cry.


End Part 2 of 3.... last part contains lots of hot sex. Not really.

Seventh Son (3/3) by Jess



Mulder was waiting for her in the basement, cracking sunflower seeds and
reading over a case file. 

"Hey stranger, how'd it go with loverboy?"

"Fine," she barked, throwing her coat over her chair and flopping down.

He paused mid-chew and stared at her.

"Something wrong, Agent?"

"No."

He nodded slowly. 

"So was it Sammy the Super Sperm? How does he do it?"

"Masses of Gaelic charm, Mulder. I don't know. He just does. There's no
case. What have you got?"

"Me? I got nothing. I got the body of a thirty year-old man over in the
morgue with two rather interesting fang marks on his neck, but other
than that?"

"You want an autopsy."

"If you feel up to it."

She seethed. "Of course I feel up to it, Mulder. I'm a professional, not
a kindergartner."

"Yes," he said mildly, "and that's exactly how you're behaving right
now, too. Very professional."

Struck by his soft voice and knowing how angry he really must be, she
stuck out her tongue and raspberried him.

"That's better," he said, but the tone had vanished.



She managed the three hours the autopsy took rather well. Working made
it harder to think, to ponder the nature of what had happened to her.
But as she wound down, cataloging the last few items, noting a
discrepancy here and there, her mind began to poke at her. By the time
she reached her apartment, it was screaming.

You could go, it said. You could have another baby, like Emily. 

This is ridiculous, it also told her. This is fantasy. 

But then how did he know about the eggs? Even Dr. Emmerman didn't know
the exact reason, didn't believe it. So how did he know?

You were set up.

By who?

By Them.

Don't be stupid. They don't care. Only I care.

She tried to eat dinner, to unwind with a bath. Nothing helped. She even
thought, for a moment, about calling Mulder, but the idea of telling him
any of it was so painful she simply couldn't do it. This was hers, she
knew. 

She made it to ten o'clock before she picked up her car keys and started
to drive.



Michael McDunnough didn't seem particularly surprised to see her at his
door at ten-thirty. He pulled her in gently and smiled as he took the
coat she was suddenly very reluctant to lose.

"Gran's gone to bed. Come on in here, you won't wake her."

He led her into the living room, sitting her carefully on the couch. A
small fire crackled in the fireplace, an uneaten sliver of toast sat on
a plate next to it. 

"I'll get you some tea, if you like."

She shook her head. Dread filled her. 

"This is crazy. I'm going." She stood. Michael touched her arm, not
holding her back, just resting his fingertips there. Warmth radiated
from them. She felt suffused with light, suddenly, as if she was being
pleasantly electrocuted.

"Stay," he whispered. "I can help you. You won't regret it, I promise."

She nodded and sat back down. "No tea," she said.

"It's just tea, Dana. I didn't drug it."

"No tea," she repeated.

"No tea then."

He sat down next to her and touched her hair by the back of her neck,
exposing her ear.

"Your real hair color is brown, isn't it?"

"Did you 'see' that too?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I can see the roots, here." He touched her
just behind her ear and she felt a giddiness creeping around her head. 

"How do you do that?" she whispered, feeling as if someone were giving
her the most amazing massage in the universe.

"It's a secret," he murmured and kissed her neck. It was unimaginably
sweet. She moaned and turned to let him kiss her mouth. 

"Relax, Dana. We'll take our time, if you like."

She wasn't thinking about it.

"Sure," she whispered and kissed him passionately.  He met her kiss and
she could feel it all the way down to her toes. 

This isn't real, she thought. This isn't what this is supposed to feel
like. There was something vaguely artificial in her enjoyment, something
stimulated and supported. She could have sworn she was being drugged,
but could taste nothing from him. Besides, she thought, how could he
drug you with his fingertips? Poison? No? His tongue brushed hers and
she forgot to worry anymore.


Mulder opened the door immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for
her. She was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were red, her cheeks patchy
with salt. He said nothing, just opened the door and ushered her over to
the couch. She let him sit next to her, put his arm around her. Knowing
that he didn't really understand made it worse. He had to understand.
She pushed away.

"It's not what you think," she said.

He smiled. "How many times have I said that to you, Scully, and did you
ever believe me?"

"Stop joking."

He did. "What's wrong? Is it about Emily?"

She shook her head.

"Did I do something insensitive? I asked about the autopsy, remember?
What did I do?"

"Mulder, he knew. Michael McDunnough knew about me."

She could see him begin to catch on, watch his mind working. I've known
him too long, she thought.

"About your? abduction and things?"

Things. It was so childish, so Mulder. Avoidance. She nodded. He
swallowed.

"I went to him. He said he could cure me. I believed him."

In all the scenarios she had played through in her head on the drive to
his apartment, she would never have expected Mulder's reaction. 

He slid down in front of her on the floor and wrapped his arms around
her knees.

"Oh God, Scully, I hope it worked," he said into the cloth of her jeans.

"Mulder," she said gently, "I didn't go through with it."

He was silent for a moment, his head down.

"Thank God," he said, which made her smile. He looked up at her then. 

She said nothing, just pushed the hair back from his face. She knew she
loved him, it wasn't even a question anymore. Acceptance had crept in,
over months, years, she didn't know when. But sometimes, she loved him
enough to sacrifice everything for him. Tonight was like that, tonight
had reinforced it. Not his movements, his reaction. Instead it was the
moment, flat on her back with the creases on Michael McDunnough's couch
eating into her skin, his touch like molten lead, when she heard
Mulder's voice as clearly as if her were standing in the room watching
her.

"Scully, when I think about you, I think about all the things you have,
not what you don't."

And there it was. She sat up, pulled her shirt tight around her,
apologized and left. In the car, certainly, she'd cried, feeling her
loss. But it was also her gain. She knew that now, with Mulder stuck to
her legs like a child needing attention. 

"I just value myself too much," she told him. "And I thought about what
you said, about how you saw me as whole, not missing something, and that
did it. I want to get pregnant, Mulder. But not at the expense of what I
believe to be right. You had faith in me."

"I always have," he said.

"I know."

They sat quietly for a long moment. He sat up then, onto his knees. She
leaned forward and let him kiss her, gently. It didn't feel like kissing
an electric charge, the way Michael McDunnough had. Mulder's lips gently
pulled at hers when he moved away. Her whole body ached, not with an
artificial warmth, but a very real one. 

Mulder kissed her again, half-standing, pressing her gently back against
the couch. Her mind blinked on and off like a neon sign, short-circuited
by him. Tonight, she thought, was not the perfect night for this. She
was still shaken, still angry, still disappointed. He deepened the kiss
and she found herself grasping his face, pulling him into her. Melissa
had told her once that true love happened when you had the least room
for it. It just muscled itself in and stayed there stubbornly, like a
tom cat. That was how you knew it was true, by its obstinance. She had
never met anyone as obstinate as Mulder.

She pushed him away, gently, so he wouldn't be hurt. She could see he
was anyway.

"I'm not ready for this," she whispered. "Not tonight. Not after?
everything."

He sat back on his haunches and nodded, reluctant, his cheeks flushed.

"Ok," he said. "I can wait. I have been for so long."

She laughed and leaned back into the couch, pressing her hands to her
aching eyes. "I'm so tired."

"Stay," he said. "You can sleep in my bed. I have a real one you know."

"Will you be there too?" she asked.

"Are you kidding?" he said, and she smiled again.



By morning, sitting in the car drinking coffee hot from the McDonalds'
drive-through, she knew she was halfway human again. She felt? better.
There was no other word for it. The fatigue, the stress, the anger of
the last few months -- hell, maybe years -- had faded into a sort of
buzzing contentment. Mulder waited for the light to change, thumping out
a rhythm on the steering wheel. Scully watched him, feeling oddly shy
and incredibly giddy at the same time.

The vampire, if that's what it had bitten the body in the morgue, was
all that awaited them now. Something surface, she thought, something
light as air. Not heavy with emotion or pain, but gliding above them on
soft skin wings.

Her cel phone rang and she answered it without caution.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully? This is Shannon Sullivan."

She felt the soft floating creature wheel slowly back. It was not quite
over.

"Hello Shannon, what can I do for you?"

Mulder glanced over at her, curious and a little concerned. Without
thinking, she reached up and stroked the back of his neck. 

"Michael asked me to call, see if you were all right."

"I'm fine," she said, and meant it. Mulder caught her hand with one of
his and turned it over to examine it, as if it were the most fascinating
thing he'd ever seen.

"Good. Look, he's leaving tonight to go home to Belfast and we're
throwing a party at The Dog and Goose. He asked specifically for you. He
said he had something to give you before he left."

Scully was silent for a moment. The last thing she wanted was to see him
again.

"I don't know?" she began.

"Please," Shannon said. "He was very concerned. He really would like to
see you. I promised him you'd come."

Mulder was watching her now, still caressing her hand.

"Tell him I'll be there, but I'm bringing someone with me."

"I understand," Shannon said.


The pub was crowded with people, pressed into seats and against the bar
until Scully felt she would be swallowed whole and regurgitated
somewhere else. Mulder moved against her, a comforting presence. 

He found them stools at a tiny marble table and set off to get them
beer. 

"Stay right here, Scully," he shouted over the pounding voices. "I'll
never find you again if you move."

She smiled. The pub wasn't that big. 

"You found me in Antarctica, Mulder, you can find me here."

He looked down at her as if she had descended from heaven.

"God I love you," he said suddenly.

Her stomach twisted with arousal and fear.

"Oh brother," she said, smiling widely. He laughed and disappeared into
the crowd.

It was as if the lack of his presence opened her up to others. Shannon
Sullivan appeared from nowhere to tap her on the shoulder.

"Agent Scully," she shouted. "I'm so glad to see you came."

Scully nodded, tense. She was not in the mood to chat. "Where is he?"

Shannon seemed to sense her discomfort. 

"I'll tell him you're here."

Scully felt nervous and shaken. Where was Mulder? She wanted to grasp
him, pull him to her and be absorbed into him until no one else could
find her.

"Dana," Michael said, standing right behind her, his mouth nearly on her
ear. She jumped.

"Hi," she said, turning quickly.

"I'm glad to see you," he said, his voice silky even in the noisy bar.
"I was afraid after last night you wouldn't want to come."

"I didn't," she said. "But you said you had something to give me."

"I do," he nodded. "Dance with me."

Surprised, she shook her head. "I'm here with?"

"Your partner, I know. I saw him. Very handsome. He won't mind a wee
dance, Dana. Just one."

She sighed. 

"I don't want to," she said, sounding childish to herself.

He touched her shoulder and she felt the heat from his fingers.

"It's the only way to give you your gift," he told her. "I swear."

Shrugging, she rose and followed him out through the crowd toward a
small dance floor. Mulder wouldn't mind one little dance, she thought.
Yes, he would, she answered herself. And so do you. But it was as if
something had a hold on her, tugging her gently forward. People moved
across the floor, laughing drunkenly. She found herself swept up by
Michael and swung around quickly.

"This is true Irish dancing," he told her, not touching her beyond her
hand and her waist.

"I know," she said.

He spun her again, her head swinging back dizzily. He was so small and
innocuous.

"You should tell him you love him back," Michael said suddenly. "I can
tell you want to."

"Leave us alone," she said firmly. "I don't need magic to work my way
through this."

He laughed, loudly. "Of course you don't. You already have it, I think."

She smiled, reluctant.

"What did you want to give me?"

"Cut to the chase, eh Agent?"

"Right."

He leaned closer, drawing him to her. "I want to tell you the truth,
Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully. I know it means a great deal to
you."

"In some contexts," she said, trying to pull away a bit but not quite
succeeding.

"I've been lying to you, to women I've met for a long time. I can't help
it, it's just so easy."

She knew what was coming, but she was still unprepared for it.

 You see, Dana, it's not in my dick. I don't have to sleep with them to
cure them."

She closed her eyes for a moment, angry and saddened beyond words.

"Where is it?" She murmured.

"It's everywhere. In my hands, my face, my mouth. I guess in my dick
too, but that's irrelevant. I've known many, many desperate women, Dana.
And I've never had any of them turn me down. Not one."

"I'm so glad to be the first," she said coolly.

He smirked and tightened his grip on her waist.

"I've been using my powers for evil instead of good?"

She rolled her eyes. He grinned.

"?That's why I decided to help you anyway. I want to do something truly
great for once, something deserving of my heritage. And honestly, you're
the only one who ever really deserved it."

She was startled. 

"Deserved what?"

Michael put his hand gently on her stomach. She felt the warmth there
immediately, then behind it, something else. Pain.

"Concentrate on my voice, Dana," he whispered. "Don't think about it."

"My God," she moaned, nearly paralyzed. "What are you doing to me?"

"Ever the scientist, eh skeptical Scully? I'll tell you. Listen now,
don't panic."

Her breathing was strained, even to her own ears. The sensation of being
ripped open was nearly unbearable. She clutched him, wanting him to
stop, unable to move away.

"You know, Dr. Scully, the nature of the human body, that any cell could
perform any function, if it was programmed to do so."

She moaned and felt the tears streaking down her face.

"I am telling your body to reorganize, to send in reinforcements, to
change the structure of a few cells from your liver, from your skin,
from your blood to become what you need. Salamanders do it all the time.
In layman's terms of course, I'm no scientist. But this is how I
understand my power. This is what I believe to be true."

"Please stop," she whispered. He was the only thing holding her up.

"I'm almost done, Dana."

"Don't let go," she told him. "I'll fall."

The pain seemed to localize, to hit each of her ovaries like tiny pin
pricks. She winced as it began to fade.

"Your partner's coming now, Dana, to catch you. He'll be here in a
minute. I have to go."

She heard him talking but the room was spinning now, out of control. She
felt him start to let her go, heard Mulder's voice, screaming.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

Heard the answer.

"Gave her back the only thing she lacks."

Felt Mulder grab her failing body, hold her near him and then lower her
to the floor.

The room slowed and her eyes cleared. Mulder knelt above her, his face
terrified and anxious. Around him, others had appeared, including
Shannon Sullivan, who smiled at her. Michael was gone. She groaned.

"Mulder, I'm fine," she said and saw his answering grin.

"I've never been so glad to hear that," he told her, helping her up
gently.


The airport was crowded with holiday travelers. Mulder sat next to her,
chewing on a straw, watching. Just a few feet away, Michael McDunnough
walked down the ramp toward the plane. He didn't see her, didn't turn
around. When he was gone, she stretched and turned to her partner.

"Thank  you," she said.

He shrugged and spit out the straw.

"That's it?" he said.

She nodded.

"That's it."

"Let's get out of here."

She picked up her purse and followed him out of the airport bar into the
mass of walking people. She was tempted to grab his hand.

Why not, she thought. We're off duty. We're casually dressed. Why the
hell not?

He squeezed her fingers, pleasantly surprised.

"Dana?" he said suddenly. Ever since their kiss, he'd taken to calling
her by her first name. It was weird, but enjoyable.

"Yes, Fox?"

He grimaced. "God, only you, do you understand?"

She nodded, smiling. "What did you want to ask me, Mulder?"

"Did you? have you seen Dr. Emmerman? About the tests?"

She shook her head and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Why not?" he asked. "What if it's actually true?"

She stopped and turned to face him.

"What if it's not?" she said. "I think I'd just like to take my chances,
like everyone else."

"And just what do you think your chances are, Dr. Dana Scully?"

She smiled at him and he leaned down to kiss her.

"Pretty good, Mulder, pretty good."



Ahhhh... the end. I'm less confident about this one than Goblins and
Ghosts, so any lavish praise would be appreciated... sigh.