Title: Poet <collins@olywa.net>
Author: Junior 

Since I finally finished it and got it edited (ish) and somebody said they
laughed (yeah, I don't care *why* you laughed. You laughed), I decided to
post the thing in its entirety and wash my hands of it.

The disclaimer is standard, the plot is not. I don't own the majority of
the characters. 10-13 does. Oh, wait, I saw the movie, I should spell it
out. "It's a Ten-Thirteen Production."

Moving on, thank you to JenRose for beta-ing and laughing (it may be
incredulous, but laughter is laughter). 

That's it. I'm done.

Well, not quite. You can post it anywhere, but ask first. And it's rated
PG-13. It's humor. That's all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Junior
Poet
 

Fox Mulder, space cadet and resident alien, sat back in his suspiciously
comfortable chair and sighed. Dana Scully, his analytical, dense-as-stone
partner, glared at him.

"For the love of God, Mulder, *oil that chair*." 

He looked up at her, no mean task in itself, and made a wounded puppy face.
 "But it's not my fault the chair squeaks, Scully. It's the fault of
strange alien beings that are being held in secrecy by a giant conspiracy
perpetrated by our government in order to keep their very existance a
secret, the same government that has supplied this chair, the *very same*
government that may have the key to my sister's abduction and your cancer,
the same government that is trying, time and again, to shut us down, to
keep their secrets, secrets that *we've* discovered, Scully, to keep their
secrets from reaching the public. The government has secrets that they
would kill to keep, secrets they *have* killed to keep, I've seen them take
innocent lives in order to keep their alien technology and human
experiments a secret. Those people they tested their alien DNA on, they
were *human*, Scully, and your name is among those files, although in which
context no one but *them* is sure. They sent me this defunct chair in a
desperate attempt to keep you from completing your paperwork; paperwork
vital to the success of the X-Files project, the same project the
government is trying to shut down from its highest levels. They know that
by you not completing this work, you'll put the project at risk of
termination."

She looked at him skeptically. "And that's why your chair squeaks."

He nodded at her gravely. "The one true reason. The government is
desperate. They're afraid you might discover what happened to you in those
three months, and whether it's linked to your cancer. Or my sister's
abduc--" 

She stopped him in mid-rant. 

"Mulder." 

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He looked at her, a wounded expression on his face. "Scully, you wound
me."
Propping his feet up on the desk, narrowly saving a stack of papers from
flying away in a freak breeze, he sighed,

"Uchhh, my feet."

Scully looked at him. "What about your feet?"

He looked back at her, and said simply, "They hurt."

She glanced at him, concealing a giggle, which, by human standards, would
be considered half an eye twinkle. "What? No giant conspiracy involving
the government poisoning your feet so you can't stand up, thereby rendering
you unable to participate in field missions, effectively thwarting any and
all attempts to uncover the 'truth'?" 

He merely stared at her. "When did you get psychic?"

Not entirely sure he was joking, she said, "Mulder, get to work."

He grinned at her. "Slavedriver."

She half-smiled, which was saying a *lot*. 

"Always."

****************************************************************************
 

Two Months Later

"Jeez, Mulder. Lay off the sunflower seeds." Scully cocked her head and
squinted at her partner critically. "Or let your suits out."

Mulder made a small sound at her. "That wasn't very nice of you to say,
Scully." 
She looked at him with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Not very *nice*?
 Look, I don't know who the hell you are, but could you please point me in
the direction of Mulder?"

He sniffled. Scully, utilizing her curious powers of discernment, looked
at him, genuinely concerned. "Seriously, though. What's your problem? I
mean, are you okay?"

He sniffled again. "Scully, it's just that I'm feeling very vulnerable
right now, and I don't appreciate your verbal bashing. It's damaging to my
delicate psyche."

She gaped openly at him for a moment. 

"Mulder?" 

He continued, after blowing his nose delicately. "Yes, and I'm also
feeling very unattractive. Am I pretty to you?"

She leaped from the chair and had her palm against his forehead in two
seconds flat. "You're not really that feverish," she mumbled, "so it must
be a new virus."

"What? What?" he shrieked. "Am I sick? Oh dear, I don't think I can
take this." he began fanning himself vigorously.

Scully gaped at him again.

"Mulder? What evidence have you "confiscated" for an official
"investigation" this time? Please don't say it's the alien DNA again. You
remember how long it took me to convince you that you weren't Kohlrabi,
High Priestess of the Moon Men? I don't want to go through that again."

He glared at her. "No, it's more along the lines of excessive feminine
influence. I mean, I suddenly have the strangest cravings..."

Scully's eyes began to widen. "Like liverwurst with strawberry syrup and
whipped cream? Those kind of cravings?" 

He grimaced. "Don't make me sick. That's disgusting."

She had nearly heaved an enormous sigh of relief when he continued.

"More like onion rings with chocolate sauce and some nice flan with pickles
on the side. Yummy."

Her eyes skipped saucer and teacup and went straight to dinner-plate
status. "Um...Mulder, have you been having other symptoms--uh, I mean,
problems? Like, oh, I don't know... heartburn, backaches, swollen
ankles, bloating, um...maybe a little touch of the flu...like in the
mornings?"

Mulder's face went ashen. He gulped loudly. "Do you mean..."

She nodded gravely at him. "Mulder, I think you're pregnant."
****************************************************************************
 
The Next Day

The fearless duo had relocated to an oddly empty physician's office, where
Scully had just given Mulder a pregnancy test. She had the results in her
hands five minutes later, and was studying them carefully, a curiously
intrigued look on her face. Mulder eyed her nervously, wringing his hands.

"Scully? Is it...I mean, well..."

She nodded. "Yes Mulder, these tests confirm my original hypothesis. You
are pregnant." But what it is I'm not entirely sure, she said to herself. 
She didn't want to upset her partner any more than he was, and she really
didn't think telling him that his child...creature...whatever it was
that it was the spawn of Kohlrabi, High Priestess of the Moon Men would be
the best of ideas. To make him flip out over having an alien child, it
might kill him. He was getting excited over the prospect of having a boy,
hell, he was halfway to naming the damn thing. On the other hand, she
reasoned, having an alien child might be the best thing for him. It would
certainly be the proof he needed. Still, she decided to keep it to herself
for the time being. 

Mulder, meanwhile, was overjoyed. *Why* he was overjoyed was anyone's
guess. She decided not to press it, however. He was sitting on the
plastic bed with the cheap, sticky paper, grinning like a fool, nearly
clapping his hands. 

Scully *grinnned* at him, an honest-to-god *grin*, and said, 

"Why Fox Mulder, you're positively *glowing*." 

He merely made delighted burbles at her. 

Scully, not trusting him to stand up without jumping up and down and
severely bashing his head on the ceiling, anchored her arm around his
waist, and led him to the car. 

"Now you wait here, Mulder. I think there's some magazines or something in
the back seat. I've got to lock up." She returned to the clinic.

Just as she was cleaning up, a note was slipped under the closed door of
the examination room. Mystified, she walked slowly to the door. She
cracked it open, and saw no one. She picked up the note. Reading aloud,

"Dear Dr. Scully. Stop following this investigation." She stopped,
puzzled. They weren't investigating anything right now. As in an answer
to her internal question, another note was slipped under the door. She
whipped the door open, and once again, the hallway was empty. Shaking her
head, she picked up the second note. Aloud,

"Shit," the letter began, "Wrong note. Dear Dr. Scully, your partner is
pregnant, yadda yadda yadda, explaination, blah blah blah, meet me at
wherever, blah blah, come alone and bring a flashlight as it is in a very
dark and moody location, yadda yadda, yours truly, some secret shadow
organization that you're not supposed to know about." She folded the note
along its original creases impeccably, then shoved it into the pocket of
her trench coat, which was already littered with gum wrappers, pocket lint,
and various alien technologies. 

She returned to the parking lot to find Mulder completely engrossed in "The
Progress Of Your Child" from one of her medical journals. Not wanting to
disturb him, she quietly took out her cellular phone and called her mother.
 She figured it was the safest place for him to go, as a new mother group
might prove disasterous. His apartment was too toxic to support any form
of life other than his own, and hers was just...hers. Her mother was
inanely cheerful to the idea of seeing Mulder, and she readily agreed. 

"Yes, I've got an errand. He can't come. Okay, good. And Mom? One last
thing. He's pregnant, so be nice to him." With that, she hung up the
phone.

****************************************************************************
 

Upon arrival at her mother's house, they were both ushered into the
kitchen, where Mrs. Scully had prepared some chamomile tea and cookies for
Mulder, and coffee with one cream for Scully. Mrs. Scully had also brought
out some of her old motherhood magazines, and she and Mulder were soon
chatting away gaily. Scully slipped out the front door quietly. Neither
of them noticed.

When she had reached the appointed meeting place, she noticed that she was
early, so she punched some Alice Cooper into the tape player. Her
favorite. She was on the verge of moshing in the car seat when there was a
light tap on her windshield. She looked up, straining to make out the face
in the pitch black of the parking garage's lower level. Lowering her
window a crack, she listened to the hoarse voice as it whispered to her. 

"Agent Scully, I have vital information as to the...delicate condition of
your partner." 

She stopped him. "Speak up, you idiot. No one in their right mind would
be in this damn parking garage at four in the morning. Sorry," she yelled
to the indignant grunts of various street people and drug addicts with
nothing better to do. "Anyway. You were saying?"

The voice continued, slightly louder. "Your partner is--"

"Louder, damnit."

"Ahem...your partner is--"

"I can't hear you."

"YOUR PARTNER IS--"

"Would you *speak up*."

"ROLL DOWN THE DAMN CAR WINDOW!" the man screamed. 

"Jeez, you don't have to shout. Anyway..."

"Your partner, Fox Mulder, is pregnant, as you well know. What I'm
assuming you don't know is that he is an alien. A female alien, to be
precise. Her name is Kohlrabi. She's very important to her people. Her
position is--" 

She cut him off. "High Priestess of the Moon Men." she said softly. 

He snorted. "Right. Yeah. Your partner is "High Priestess" of the "Moon
Men". Suppose you tell me that you're really *not* the renegade warrior
queen of Ripkos. Uh oh."

"I'll disregard that last remark. He *is* High Priestess, isn't he." 

"Yeah," he said meekly. 

"That leaves only one question. How? Okay, two questions. How and why?"

Her mind was whirling. He hadn't been hallucinating that time. He *was*
High Priestess of the Moon Men. She felt like an idiot. Or as dense as
stone. How had Mulder, of all people, gotten pregnant? Oh god...not
that...

"To answer your second question first, the Moon Men are having a severe
population shortage. They need the Priestess' litter to boost morale, to
show the rest of them how it's done. You know, like a revival."

"Wait a sec. Her *litter*? There's gonna be more than one of these
things?"

He nodded, or at least his shadow nodded. "Several. Moon Men generally
have litters of ten to twenty, but the royal bloodline is much greater,
usually about forty." 

"Aah." 

"Precisely."

"What about my first question? I doubt there are many eligible Moon Men
just cruising around Earth."

His shadow nodded again. "The only way to retain the royal bloodline is to
have a genetic bonding with the human race. That is why the royal family
is of a completely different genetic makeup. So imposters can't just claim
imperial blood." 

She nodded thoughtfully. "Good idea."

"They find that it's quite effective."

Realization hit her like a litter of imperial Moon Men. "Human. DNA. 
For. Mating. But. Mulder. Is. A. Woman. Trapped. In. A. Man's. 
Body. Which would indicate..." she drifted off.

The shadowy man finished her thought for her. "Which would indicate your
partner is not all he seems to be."

"Who's the lucky father?"

"I'm afraid I've said too much already. Good day, Agent Scully." 

When she returned to her mother's, Mrs. Scully and Mulder were actively
knitting. Mulder had already made a tiny pair of boots, and her mother was
on her fourth hat. She thanked her mother, and grabbed Mulder by both
arms. 

"But...but...my knitting..." he moaned.

"Later," she said tightly. "We have to have a serious talk."

"Serious?" he whined. "Sounds serious. Is it about little Danny?" 

God, she thought. This is going to be difficult.


***********************************************************************
 

Scully needed to talk to someone. Specifically, someone else. Mulder was
driving her insane. She had grudgingly risked taking him to her apartment,
and was regretting her decision with every passing second. He had minced
and pranced about until she had nearly screamed. Then he had flopped on
her pristine IKEA sofa and begun leafing through a maternity magazine that
had been donated by Mrs. Scully, saved from the birth of a friend's
granddaughter. He had managed to contain himself to a "Look at *this*,
Scully! Isn't it *heavenly?!" every few minutes. He had already decided
upon the wallpaper trim for the baby's bedroom (Happy Bears At The Circus)
before Scully had even managed to remove her suicide pumps.

"Scully! Scully! Look! Look! I *have* to get this!" He was waving the
magazine in her direction excitedly. Sighing resignedly, she pushed
herself off of her deceptively comfortable chair and walked slowly to him. 
He had stopped his frantic flapping of the magazine long enough for her to
see the object he so hotly desired. He was jabbing his finger impatiently
at a peculiar grayish cube. She peered at it more closely. Eyeing it
curiously, she asked, 

"What is it?"

His face fell. "Jeez, Scully. It's only a WAVE MACHINE. It only keeps
your unborn child SANE while in the WOMB." 

"Mulder," she said pointedly, "you don't have a womb." 

He pouted for a moment, then something else in the magazine caught his eye.
 

Scully, meanwhile, was lost in thought. Kohlrabi needed to mate with a
human male...Mulder *was* Kohlrabi...a woman in a man's...

Oh God. That meant...

She willed herself not to delve too deeply into that subject, yet her mind,
always the traitor, refused to let go of one nagging thought.

Please God, let it be a one-night stand.

****************************************************************************
 
The next morning, Mulder, inanely cheerful as was the case recently, had
bounced into her bedroom at six am, insisting that they get up, as so to be
"bright eyed and bushy-tailed" for work. She threw a pillow at him, and
nearly threw her alarm clock when he moaned,

"Oh! The fetus!" 

Dragging herself from her bed, still only half-conscious, she locked
herself into the warm, steamy solitude of the bathroom. If she had her
way, she'd never leave, but she figured that Mulder would cheerfully use a
battering ram on her door, so she was only safe for a half-hour, forty-five
minutes if she could drag it out.

Sure enough, thirty minutes later, there was an incessant pounding on the
door, curiously similar to the cadence that was banging its way round her
brain. 

"Scully! Coffee!" 

"Go away!" she screamed. "You too!" she yelled in response to the
pounding on her ceiling. "Why can't you all just go away?" 

Sighing resignedly, she stepped out of her foggy cubicle, and dried off. 
Wrapping a terrycloth robe around herself, she cracked the door open
carefully. 
She slammed it shut when Mulder tried to send a coffee mug through. 

"What did you put in it?" she demanded through the door. "I know your
methods. You can't keep fish alive because you put sugar in the water."

"Wouldn't you? It'd sure taste better!" 

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

She could *feel* him pouting through the plywood. 

"All right. Fine. I'm coming out. If you're wearing pink, I'm screaming
again."

Lucky for her neighbors, he was dressed in a relatively normal (for him)
suit. She eyed him critically, then said, 

"Change your tie."

He looked down, immediately self-conscious.

"But it's a perfectly decent tie."

"That's just it," she replied. "It's *too* decent. Everybody will know if
you're not wearing a failed power tie. Put on something with...I don't
know. Neon green bananas or something." 

His face twisted. "Move." he said, and bolted for the bathroom door. She
grimaced at the sound of retching. 

"Flush," she reminded him. 

****************************************************************************
 
Later that morning, in the office, Mulder actually appeared to be hard at
work, while Scully was leaning back in her chair, feet propped on desk. 
Mulder glanced up, saw her, and clucked,

"Four on the floor, don't want any trips to the hospital!" 

Obligingly, she plopped to the floor. She had disregarded one of his
comments earlier, and that had resulted in a disastrous bout of crying that
had nearly attracted the attention of a janitor. 

She had been deep in though all morning. Meanwhile, Mulder was whipping
through his backed-up paperwork at a record pace, which led her to the
conclusion that pregnancy really *did* mess him up. 

Thoughts were whizzing through her head a mile a minute. Who was the
father? When were Kohlrabi's people going to retrieve her and her litter? 
How did Mulder live his entire life as a man? Who the HELL was the father?

She decided to attack the third question first. Kohlrabi had probably been
either a dormant gene in his body, triggered when the need for imperial
blood had imposed itself on the planet, or he was maybe just a host body,
and Kohlrabi had implanted herself *somehow*, or third, and most likely,
Mulder had been Kohlrabi all of his life, and he just had split
personalities or something. Then there was the possibility that Kohlrabi
had just fabricated Mulder's entire existence, except...it would just be
too damn hard. All the people that he knew...his family, his nonexistent
friends...his seemingly thousands of nemeses...maybe it *was* possible.
 Mulder *was* kind of a loser... 

The other questions would be harder to answer. Hell, she didn't even
*want* to answer the first one. She knew that she had to, and she
grudgingly set about the task of who to include.

Skinner.

The very thought made her shiver. Liquid rippled up her spine, and she
wanted to vomit. Images roiled through her head. Unpleasant ones. Very
unpleasant ones. Unfortunately, he seemed to her the most likely
candidate. They saw each other often (she covered her face with her hands
in a desperate attempt to block out disturbing mental pictures), and she
had been thinking for awhile that he might be gay. Not the stereotypically
flamboyant, flashy kind, though. The overly masculine, butch type that was
in a way even more obvious. 

Please, no.

She racked her brain frantically for other possible candidates, and came up
with none, save for possible one-night stands that she somehow hadn't found
out about. 
She knew that this wasn't the case. Mulder could never keep a secret from
her. Especially if it was worth a damn. And Scully figured that this was
worth a very big damn indeed.

Mulder, meanwhile, was out toasting another pizza pocket. 

****************************************************************************
 
Scully was home, pacing. Mulder was there, watching her pace and doing
needlepoint. 

"Scully, isn't this absolutely adorable?" he gushed, holding up an
unfinished piece of embroidery cloth. On it was a boxy teddy bear and
several half-finished alphabet blocks. 

"Positively sweet," she snapped, and continued pacing. 

His face fell. "You didn't have to snap." 

Her eye twitched under the strain of keeping herself together. The
pressure was rising, she could feel it. Soon the whole thing would break...
 


"Mulder, did you sleep with Skinner?"

Oops. 

He turned toward her, a peculiar expression on his face. It was a mix of
bemusement, outrage, incredulity, and there, in the corner, was it--yes it
was--a tiny bit of guilt. 

She gasped. "You *did* didn't you! You fucked Skinner, and now you're
pregnant!" 

"Scully, language consideration, please! I don't want my child to be
exposed to that, especially during these vital months of development!" 

"Oh, would you give me that!" she yanked the magazine out of his hands and
threw it out the window. A disgruntled shout floated up to her apartment
from the street below. 

He whimpered momentarily at the loss of his magazine, then turned his
attention to the matter at hand. 

"All right. So I was intimate with Skinner. So?"

She would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

"SO? Mulder, I don't think you quite realize--"

"I think I realize it very well." 

She folded her arms and waited for her comment about him being pregnant to
catch up with him. Twenty seconds later, it did.

"THIS IS SKINNER'S CHILD?" he shrieked. "No. No way. It's not humanly
possible." 

"It's possible for the Moon Men," she answered calmly. 

He looked at her like she had just gone crazy, which seemed pretty
accurate, even from her best medical and logical perspective. 

"Scully..."

She gave him one of her patented "Mulder-You're-An-Idiot" looks. "Mulder. 
Please try to pay attention. I was going to save this for later, but I
obviously can't anymore. I'm going to be very brief, and...straight." 
She paused. 

Mulder had relocated to a chair, where he had perched himself primly, legs
crossed, one hand fanning himself frantically.

"All right. Mulder, you are not a man. You are, in fact, Kohlrabi, High
Priestess of a race of aliens called the Moon Men. You were, I presume,
sent to Earth to mate with a human male, thus impregnating yourself,
whereupon you would return to your planet, with the royal bloodline
remaining intact."

He digested the information for what felt like hours, and, in fact, was. 

"So that means," he said slowly, "I'm a woman? A *woman*?" 

She looked at him. "Let me spell it out. Y-O-U A-R-E A W-O-M-A-N."

He searched the room frenetically for an answer. "But, but, if I'm a
woman, what about Walter?" 

Ugh, Scully thought to herself. This is just disgusting. She decided to
toy with his emotions, kind of a payback. It reasoned itself perfectly in
her slightly frazzled mind. 

"You *used* him, Mulder. He was just your pawn, tossed carelessly aside
when your task was completed. You gambled with his emotions, made him
*feel* for 
you--" I can't believe I'm saying this, she thought. Why can't I just
call in sick? 

Mulder was bawling openly. "N-never! I would never do that to Walter!" 

"But you did, Mulder. And there's nothing to be done about it now."

He ran off to her bedroom, crying like a baby. 

Scully flopped onto her drab sofa. The past moments forgotten, she was
awash in numbers. Mulder had first exhibeted signs of pregnancy about. .
.hmm...a month and a half ago? And who knew how long Moon Men, or rather
Moon Women, were pregnant for? Longer? Shorter? In-between? And where
the hell was he gonna have all these kids? Certainly not in any hospital
on Earth, at least. Maybe one of those abandoned warehouses they were so
good at nosing out. When was his ship coming? *Was* his ship coming? She
knew that there was no way those forty brats were staying at her place. 
She'd seen what kids had done to her friends. No way.

****************************************************************************


Unfortunately, Tuesday was a nice day.

She knew that neither of them could spot a decent warehouse unless it was
either night, or unnaturally dark and rainy. 

Mulder, in the seat next to her, was deeply immersed in a copy of "Baby"
magazine. He looked like he had eaten several ovveripe watermelons, to
compliment the dozen six-foot subs that padded his waistline. She pressed
the gas unconsciously, and the car rocketed forward. She searched the
freeway feverishly, scanning for what might have passed for a warehouse or
even an *outhouse*, God, she was desperate. 

There--by the 121 exit ramp! Was it--yes! An old pharmaceutical storage
facility! She swerved, heedless of the traffic. The blare of horns and
obscene shouts of passers-by did little to faze her. 

She was a woman on a mission. 

The car lurched to an abrupt stop with a squeal of protest from the tires. 
She sprung from her seat and yanked a bemused and frightened Mulder from
the passenger side. Dragging him with a force that seemed to supercede any
other, she pulled him to the warehouse door. They made a peculiar picture;
the tiny, frail-looking woman dragging a tall, pregnant man across a dusty
parking lot. 

Once they had reached the doors, Scully, still working on her adrenaline
rush, yanked the doors open with a rusty squeak that grated her ears and
caused her last nerve to fray dangerously. 

Not pausing for a second, she hauled Mulder through the opening, and heaved
him unceremoniously onto the mysteriously waiting gurney. 


"Okay," she said, "Have your kid."

He looked at her strangely.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

He heaved a sigh. "Scully, you being a doctor, I would have hoped that
you'd know that people don't have children on command. There's a long and
tedious procesSSS!" The last word was drawn out and cut off by a loud,
high-pitched girly scream. Smiling triumphantly, Scully folded her arms
across her chest. 

"*Now* do you believe me?"

He was concentrating on his breathing, like he had learned to do in Lamaze
class. It had been a bit difficult getting him in, but they just acted
like it was Scully who was pregnant, something she would never repeat, and
something he owed her dearly for.

Scully, meanwhile, was getting into the scrubs she had packed weeks earlier
in anticipation of this very event. She snapped on the latex, and was
about to deliver the first child, er, baby, er, *thing*, when she realized
something very important. 

"Mulder, how am I going to get these things out of you?"

She instantly regretted her slip of the tongue, but thankfully, Mulder
didn't seem to have noticed. He was, however, leaving permanent marks in
the metal rails of the gurney.

She surveyed the scene in front of her for a moment, then murmured,

"Hmmm. Guess it's gonna be a C-Section." She prepared her scalpel, and
went to work. Having neglected to drug Mulder, she found it was no mean
task to make the proper incision. 

Fifteen minutes later, things seemed to have calmed down a bit. Mulder had
passed out, and Scully was just finishing up the task of delivering 
the...babies. 

By the time she had removed the forty-seventh thing (and nasty little
creatures they were, too; bald and wrinkled like old men, every last one of
'em), she began to wonder if something was not seriously wrong. The
Mysterious Shadow Man had said forty. But she was nearly to fifty. Either
she had counted wrong or--

Oh, shit. What was that old saying about bald men and testosterone...

After a few moments of mental math, she had arrived at the conclusion that
there were going to be more than forty babies. Cursing herself for not
bringing a conveyor belt, she continued to remove the last hope for the
Moon Men.

****************************************************************************
 

When they were finished, it was four in the morning. There were
fifty-seven squawling, bawling...things. They were truly hideous. 
Little, pink, shiny, wrinkly, bald, long, slightly sinewy... gross. She
shuddered. Frankly, the little beasts looked unnervingly like a certain
Assistant Director she would have to face early tomorrow morning, and
frankly, it scared the shit out of her. 

"Mulder!" she hissed. "Mulder! Wake up!"

He rolled over groggily. "Wha happa?"

Scully said nothing. She merely took the nearest creature, which she
unceremoniously had nicknamed "Spike," and handed it to him. He screamed,
tossed the baby into the air, and she had to grab it in a classic catch,
invented by Joe Namath and perfected by Dana Scully. "What is it?" he
shrieked. 

"It's your kid, Mulder. And those," she said, waving her hand at the
crates and boxes and trays filled with writhing pink masses, "Are his--I
think it's a him--fifty-six brothers and sisters and other various its."

"I had *fifty-six* of those things?"

"Fifty-seven, Mulder," she corrected, none too gently. 

"Did you give me drugs?"

"No, Mulder, you had already passed out, and I saw no need for drugs. 
Besides, I didn't know if you wanted natural childbirth or not."

"Shut up!"

"Ah, good, you're returning to your former bitter, rejected self!"

"Bedside manner, Doctor Dana."

"Mulder," she said loudly. "I just saved the royalty of whatever damned
planet this Kohlrabi chick is from. Harvested from you. You're a damned
cornfield, Mulder. I could process your innards and sell you to
Kellogg's."

"Eeew," he said, but to her relief, he didn't bolt for the bathroom.

"Yeah, eeew." Her voice was tired, and a twinge bitter.

"What did I do?" he asked pathetically.

"What," she said slowly, "did you *do*?"

"Yeah!" he whined.

"Okay, Mulder. You want to know? Really?"

He nodded slowly, losing his bravery. She could see it. She didn't care.

"Number one," she began, ticking the numbers off on her fingers, "You did
your boss. Or your boss did you, I don't want to know the details. Two. 
You got pregnant because of this rather... chilling exchange. Three. 
*I* had to deal with your moody, whiny, vomiting, naming, knitting,
swelling, tired, pissy, irrational, mushy, emotional, teary, shrieky, pink,
blue, green, purple *and* pastel phases. Four. I had to deliver these. .
. these... *things*. Need I go on?"

"No, I've heard enough. Let me see one."

"You won't faint?" he shook his head. "You're *sure*?" she asked, a
dubious expression on her face.

"I *promise*!" he whined.

"Okay, but I'm not taking responsibility if you drop-kick it and then the
Moon Men get pissed at you."

"I won't," he sighed.

"Here," she said, carefully selecting a relatively attractive baby. "Take.
. . uh," her mind whirred frantically. "Tito."

"Oh, he's beautiful!" After a moment of deliberation, Mulder looked up at
her quizzically. "Um, Scully? What is it doing?"

"What do you mean, what is it--oh, shit," she said, glancing at it. The
infant was yawning, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, excepting, of
course, the two-inch fangs protruding from its slightly yellowed gums,
which was a lot, considering that the things were just under seven inches
long. Its mouth was opening wider... and wider... and wider... until
it appeared to be about to eat its own head. She stared at it for a
moment, tilted her head in thought, and said, "What if it's hungry?"

"I don't know!" he said frantically. "You're the doctor!"

"You're the mother!" she said in the same frantic tone he'd had.

"Don't mock me, Scully," he said coolly.

"Well, it's not my fault if the Moon Men didn't send instructions for these
things. Check for a label."

"Oh, right. I'm sure they included a label. Like my fifty-six children--"

"Fifty-seven," she reminded him.

"Whatever," he said. "Like my fifty-seven children are laundry. I'm sure
they all have care labels"

"Couldn't hurt to check," she said matter-of-factly.

"Fine," he sighed, and turned it over in his hands. "No label."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Ummm... uh... a little help, here?"

"No idea. But you'd better think of something soon, because Tito's getting
a little bit upset."

Mulder glanced at the monstrosity in his hands, and saw that it was
currently attempting to eat its hand off.

****************************************************************************
 

"Are they all asleep yet?" he asked. She nodded.

"Thank God," she said, and yawned.

"Now, what are we going to do? We can't hang around here until the Moon
Men decide to appear."

"Do you think it's safe to leave them?" she asked. She didn't want to run
the risk of upsetting Mulder, delicate as he still was.

"Probably. They'd scare off any possible abductors."

Finally, he was beginning to see the light. 

"And I was thinking I want to go home, shower, maybe get some lunch."

"What are we going to tell Skinner, Mulder?"

He winced. He'd purposely been avoiding the subject. "Aw, Scully! Can't
we just burn that bridge when we come to it?"

"Mulder," she said patiently, "I think you've already come to it. As I
recall, that's what got us into this mess in the first place."

"Could you not make jokes?" he asked, his voice pained. "This is
relatively serious."

"Yeah, especially when you consider that Skinner has no idea he's a papa."

Mulder blanched. "What are you going to tell him?"

Scully laughed out loud. "What am *I* going to tell him? Excuse me? Am I
the one who's been fucking my boss for God knows how long?"

"Two years," he said offhandedly.

"That's just gross, Mulder. Don't you ever tell me anything specific about
your sex life ever, ever again."

"Okay, but you asked."

"It was rhetorical, Mulder."

"Sorry."

They sat in silence for awhile, until Mulder finally spoke.

"I'm hungry."

"Good," she practically sighed with relief. "Let's get out of here."

They stood, stretched, and all but dashed for the car.

****************************************************************************
 

"Is he in?" Scully asked the pleasant-looking young woman in Skinner's
front office. She nodded, and, without getting consent, Scully dragged
Mulder, literally kicking and screaming, through the door into the AD's
office.

"Sir?" she asked, and prided herself on having enough self-control not to
say "Sire." He looked up from his paperwork, a startled look on his face. 
He composed himself quickly, and assumed his proper BMOC stance. 

"What is it, Agent Scully, Mulder?"

It took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed for her not to gag as
Skinner desperately tried to sound like Mulder's superior, but was unable
to restrain the feral growl from escaping in his voice as he said Mulder's
name. Images whirled through her mind unbidden, most of them involving
leather. Suddenly, she wondered what the large oak cabinets in Skinner's
office *really* contained. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she tried
to concentrate at the task at hand.

"Sir, I believe Agent Mulder has something to tell you." She jabbed her
partner, sparing no sharp elbow. He turned to her, giving her an evil
look.

"If looks could kill," she murmured.

"Agent Mulder?" The AD was getting annoyed. Mulder cleared his throat,
opened his mouth to speak--

And was interrupted by a fire alarm.

"Lucky bastard," she growled at him. "I wanted to see how that'd end."

"Like mom always said," he whispered flippantly, "It's fun to play with
matches." He flashed the book at her, open and with a match freshly torn
out.

"I'm gonna kill you, Mulder," she snarled.

"Just try."

She looked like she was about to make good on her threat, when Mulder
grabbed her arm and began hauling her out of the building.

"Good God, Mulder! What's wrong?"

"Look!" he yelled. She glanced back, and saw flames erupting from the
men's room just down the hall from Skinner's office.

"Did you do that, Mulder?"

"Yes," he said sheepishly. "I didn't think it'd get that big."

"What did you do, light a trash can on fire?"

"No," he said quietly. "I dropped a match on the paper towel dispenser."

"Good freaking job, Mulder!" she shouted. "You're gonna burn down the J.
Edgar freaking *Hoover* building! The J. Edgar Hoover building! Do you
realize how deep in it you are?"

"It's better than telling Walter I've had his baby."

"Fifty-seven, Mulder."

"Whatever."

They were hauling it across the parking lot when they realized nobody was
following them. 

Except Walter Skinner.

"Oops," Mulder said.

****************************************************************************
 

"I think you two had better explain to me what's going on here." Skinner
said later that day. The two agents were sitting in his office, looking
down in shame. "I'm waiting," he said menacingly.

"Well, sir, it's rather hard to explain..." Mulder began.

"Hard indeed," murmured Scully. 

He elbowed her in the ribs. "Shut up!" he hissed.

"No, I'd rather hear what Agent Scully has to say."

The room was silent for a long while, until the AD began turning an
interesting shade of red. Finally, Scully could take it no longer.

"Sir, I'm going to be exceedingly blunt about this. You did Mulder and he
had your children."

Time itself stopped. 

A casual observer would not have know the difference between the three
government employees and a set of department-store mannequins if it were
not for the deep scarlet blush rising on the necks of the two men. 

Walter reached over and pressed a button on his phone. "Holly," he said, 
"hold my calls."

He then, without looking at either of them, walked very slowly to the doors
and locked them, one by one, deliberately and methodically. Then, he
walked very slowly to the windows and closed all of the blinds. When the
room was sufficiently dark, he sat back down and crossed his fingers.

"Agent Scully," he said softly, "Please repeat what you just now said."

"Well, sir," she began uncomfortably, "It has come to my attention--" here
she paused-- "that you and Agent Mulder have been having a...
relationship of sorts, and that one such... liasion... resulted in
Mulder's pregnancy and subsequent mother--father--parenthood."

Skinner nodded slowly, a look of quiet understanding on his face. "I see."

"Walter?" Mulder ventured. "Walter? I had my children just yesterday. 
They're--"

Skinner cut him off with an upraised hand. "Children?" he asked. "There
are more than one?"

"Um, fifty-seven, sir," Scully said in a very dry voice. 

"They're cute," Mulder ventured helpfully.

"Thank you, Mulder," Scully said, a warning tone in her voice.

"Where are these...children?" Skinner asked suddenly.

"They're... well, sir... they're..."

"Where are they, Agent Scully?"

"They're..."

"If you don't give me proof of their existence, I'm going to assume that
this is a very, very obscure joke."

"No joke, Walter," Mulder said, offering little in the way of help.

"Mulder," Scully said sharply. "Shut up."

He seemed trying to burrow into the lining of the chair, his face screwed
up in a tight little knot. "Yes, Scully," he whimpered.

"Agent Scully, how is this possible?" 

"Well, sir, it seems that Agent Mulder is the host for an...
extraterrestrial being, which goes by the name of Kohlrabi--" 

"Like the vegetable?" Walter asked, his voice incredulous.

"Yes, sir, like the vegetable. Anyway, this Kohlrabi is a figure of some
importance, namely, being royalty. The planet Kohlrabi is supposedly from
is experiencing a severe population shortage, and, in an attempt to
preserve the royal bloodline, sent Kohlrabi to mate with a human male--"
Walter's face crinkled in embarrassment, and she didn't know if she wanted
to laugh or puke.

"Is that true, Agent Mulder?"

He nodded feebly. 

"Are these aliens returning for their children any time soon?"

"We're not sure, Sir," she said.

"Not *sure*? You're saying that we could be stuck with these children for
eighteen years? We'd have to teach them to drive, coach them through
puberty, pay for their education--"

"Basic public education is free, Walter--"

"Mulder!" Skinner and Scully yelled simultaneously. "Shut up!"

"So basically, they could have just sent this person with no intention of
picking her and her brood up again."

"Basically," she said miserably.

"Agent Scully, this is totally unacceptable. I want this dealt with. 
You're dismissed."

****************************************************************************
 

Damn it, this wasn't even her fault! What could she possibly have to do
with two grown men having consentual unprotected sex? It was none of *her*
business! In fact, the entire situation was making her a bit green in the
face! So why was *she* getting chewed out while Mulder got to whimper his
way through the entire thing?

The answer hit her, and she groaned. "Mulder, are you always on the
bottom?"

"Of what?" he mumbled sleepily. He was at her apartment, crashed on the
couch.

"You know what I mean," she said irritably. "Are you?"

"Yeah," he said, embarrassed. "Usually."

"I thought so." That answered a lot. Not that she wanted to get into
anything between them...

She settled down to read, and was on the first page of "Cosmic Voyage,"
part of her secret stash, when a blindingly bright light filled the room. 

"Mulder!" she shouted, smacking his shoulder. "Mulder, wake up!"

"Wha?" he asked groggily. "Whazzup? Scully? What's going--oh my God."

"The Moon Men," she murmured, and he nodded, openmouthed. 

"Oh shit!" he yelled suddenly. "The kids!"

Scully stared at him, wide-eyed. "Oh no!"

They tore out of the room and were buckled safely in the car in less than
two minutes. They were at the warehouse in less than fifteen. 

"They're still there," Mulder breathed, indicating the light hovering above
the building.

"Let's go!" she shouted at him, slamming the car door sharply and running
into the warehouse. Babies squawled at her from everywhere. "Mulder!" 

"What?" he said, appearing at her side. 

"Don't *do* that!" she hissed. 

"So where are they?" he asked casually. 

"Right--" she said, indicating a glowing figure-- "There."

Mulder's mouth dropped open. One by one, the babies were floating over to
the being and disappearing in a blinding flash of light. Soon, they were
gone. The glowing figure approached Mulder.

"Scully," he whispered nervously. "What are they going to do?"

"Best guess?" he nodded. "They're getting the queen back."

"Will it hurt?" he whined.

"Probably," she said matter-of-factly. As if on cue, the glowing alien
extended a probelike thing, and poked Mulder for a moment. He shrieked. 
"I doubt that hurt," she said.

"It didn't," he whispered. "Just nervous."

"FOX MULDER." a voice that sounded just like James Earl Jones boomed. "YOU
HAVE FULFILLED YOUR DUTY TO THE MOON MEN. IN RETURN, YOU MAY SELECT ONE
THING FROM THE UNIVERSE THAT YOU WISH, AND IT SHALL BE YOURS."

"Goody!" Mulder cheered. "Scully? What do I want?"

"How about... "

****************************************************************************
 

THREE WEEKS LATER
A SMALL ISLAND IN THE CARRIBBEAN

"Marita?" Mulder said imploringly, "Could you freshen our drinks?"

"Sure," the former UN ambassador said. "Now, you had the bloody Mary,
Scully had the vodka rocks, and Walter, you had--what did you have?"

"J&P. Don't spare the juice."

"Right-O." She bounced off to get the tray.

"Alex? Oh, Alex?" Mulder whistled. "Cabana boy?"

A very floral Alex Krycek wandered over glumly. "What?"

"My shoes need a polish."

"But you're wearing Birkenstocks--"

"Polish. Now. And when you're done with my shoes, you can polish Agent
Scully's--" 

"But she's not *wearing* shoes," Alex whined.

"Shut up. I'll send you back to Siberia, don't think I won't do it. When
you're done there, go tell Pete that we're out of fresh oysters. The tide
just came in upstate Maine. Tell him that if he catches a lobster, he'll
get to keep half of the oyster shells and a double ration of fish heads."

Alex moped off to a smoking hut. Words were exchanged, grunts of pain
could be heard, and presently, he walked out, the infamous Cigarette
Smoking Man in front of him, Alex using his prosthetic limb as a billy
club.

"Oh, good, Pete. I'm sure Alex told you what your duty was?"

He seemed about ready to spit on the sand when Alex clubbed him upside his
head with his plastic arm. 

"Thank you, Alex. You may go fishing for marlin now."

"But I don't have a boat! Or a net or a pole!" he whined.

"That's why God gave you two--oops, excuse me--one hand!"

Mulder laughed, Scully laughed, Skinner growled in good humor. 

And they were fully happy, except when the first child-support check came.


The End.

***

I know, I know. It was cheap. But I had fun.

FeEdBaCk: collins@olywa.net

Remember: If you don't respond, I'll keep writing. Of course, if you do
respond and it's good, I'll keep writing. So I guess what I'm saying is .
. . um... I don't quite know what I'm saying. 

Once again:

collins@olywa.net