TITLE: Ersatz Promises (2/8)
AUTHORS: Susanne Barringer and Suzanne Schramm
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net; sister_suze@yahoo.com
Info and disclaimers in part 1.

Missing chapters available at 
http://www.geocities.com/s_barringer/ersatz.html


~~~~~~~~~~~~


CHAPTER 2


We've been driving all day without getting anywhere.  It shows in 
the set of Scully's shoulders as she looks up at the glass and 
steel building that holds yet another Dr. Wright.

Our visit to Dr. Zuckerman's office was fruitless since he 
conveniently took off to visit the mosques of India, even if it 
is the rainy season.  There is no physician named Jeffrey Wright 
on staff at Georgetown Medical.  Not one of the nurses who cared 
for Scully during her last visit remembers a Dr. Wright, nor can 
anyone identify the handwriting on the patient care plan that 
named Dr. Wright.  A check on the Internet turned up 58 Jeffrey 
Wright, M.D.'s on the Eastern Seaboard, but only three of them 
were within driving distance of D.C.  Neither of the first two 
has ever treated a Dana Scully.

"You up for this?"  I know I shouldn't ask, but I can't help it.  
I don't want to be treating Scully any differently, yet I find 
myself hovering nonetheless.

"Let's go," she tells me, reaching to open the car door.

My phone rings and Scully pauses, sitting back expectantly while 
I answer.

"Mulder."  I look over at Scully, hating the dark circles that 
have started to appear beneath her eyes.

"We just got a big hit on Scully," Frohike tells me, decidedly 
unhappy at the announcement.

My stomach does an icy plunge.  "A hit?"

"After you asked us to get Scully's medical records, we thought 
we'd get you what the Lombard Clinic had.  They changed all the 
passwords after you broke into the place, so it's taken us a few 
days to get in."

"And?"

"And we found a file, created three months ago, with the same 
patient code they assigned Scully two years ago.  We don't know 
yet what's in it; we're still working on that.  There are other 
files in the same directory, all of them appear to be named with 
similar hexadecimal codes."

I look away from Scully and watch the keys swinging in the 
ignition instead.  "Keep trying, we'll be there in a couple of 
hours."

"Mulder?" Frohike asks quickly, before I can disconnect.

"Yes?"

"It's not, I mean, well, it's not the cancer again, is it?"

I sense Scully shifting closer, waiting for me to give her a 
clue.  I close my eyes.  "No."  I hang up before he can ask 
another question.

"Be where in a couple of hours?" Scully asks.

"The boys hacked into the Lombard mainframe again." 

Scully's eyes widen; she's made the same connection I have.  She 
reaches for her seatbelt instead of the door.  There's no sense 
now in visiting the wrong Wright.


*****


After days of going nowhere, we might finally have a lead of some 
kind.  It's hard to know whether to be relieved or terrified.

"A big hit on Scully."  That's what Frohike told Mulder.  That 
doesn't bode well.  A big hit only sounds good when you're 
talking about baseball.

It was all I could do not to lose it in the office of the first 
Dr. Wright we visited today.  Mulder was so determined that we 
would find answers that I couldn't let him know how difficult it 
was for me.  There was a pregnant woman in the waiting room.  I 
tried hard not to resent her - her belly rounded with life, her 
face glowing with the promise of the future. 

I'm well aware the odds are against this being a normal healthy 
baby.  Why would they bother?  What would they have to gain?  
Still, I hold onto hope, even though I understand that this baby 
is not mine, not really, no matter how much I want it to be.  A 
child is growing inside me, a joyous occasion under any other 
circumstance.  It is a dream I didn't know I had until I lost it.  
Once upon a time I believed in miracles.  It is so hard to keep 
that faith now when the new life inside me is a fraud, one 
manufactured by a group of people who have absolutely no 
humanity.  I struggle to stay detached, trying not love the child 
inside me or to think of it as mine.

I will never again have a chance to carry a child, so I revel in 
each movement, each ripple, and try to remember it.  I'm well 
aware that it is too soon for me to be able to feel such things - 
further terrifying proof that this may not be the child I long 
for.  If this turns out to be nothing more than a sick 
experiment, at least I will have felt life growing inside me.  I 
cannot hate them for that.  I cannot hate them for returning to 
me, if only temporarily, the opportunity they took away.  My 
emotions ebb and flow like the movement inside of me until, in 
the end, I do not know what to feel at all.  My only constant is 
the tension of not knowing.  It pounds away at me, exacerbated by 
the nausea and exhaustion. 

I lean back in the seat and my hand falls onto my belly reminding 
me once again, as if I needed it, of what it is I'm fighting for.  
This baby, this life.  Is there any chance at all that this isn't 
some cruel game?  They have taken me twice now, used my body 
twice.  How can I believe there are any miracles left?

Mulder struggles, too.  I'm achingly aware of the way he watches 
me constantly, how he takes my arm on stairs and curbs so I don't 
trip, how he asks me a dozen times a day if I need anything.  I 
am granted this rare glimpse of Mulder as a father, of his 
possessiveness over my pregnant self, of the way he already loves 
this baby, despite himself, even though it is not his, probably 
not even mine.  He, too, tries to cope with the ambivalence - 
hating what they did, but loving the product of it.  Hoping it 
will be worthy of love.  Hoping we will get the chance to love 
it.

***

When we arrive at the Gunmen's, they greet us quietly, but Mulder 
is a
whirlwind of energy and urgency.  "Tell me what you found."  He 
brushes right past Langly and Frohike to lean over Byers's 
shoulder for a better look at the computer screen.

"Here's the information we pulled last night."  Byers looks 
uneasy, his body hunching protectively over the keyboard.  "This 
is a genetic profile of Scully from after she was abducted."  He 
points at the screen.  "And here's what we found at Lombard."

Mulder shakes his head, making a helpless gesture with his hands.  
A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach reminds me that if 
we're talking genetics, the news is already more serious than I 
hoped.

Byers continues, giving me a brief uncomfortable glance.  
"Remember the branched DNA we found after the abduction?  It was 
latent then, because we assumed they'd finished their 
experiments."  Byers gives me another sideways look.  "But here, 
see, it's been reactivated."

Mulder sighs and rubs his eyes.  "So what does that mean?"

"We don't know exactly," Langly cuts in, taking over the 
explanation.  "When you were returned..."  At least he directs 
his comments to me and doesn't act like I'm not in the room.  "We 
figured it was just waste.  We don't know why it's suddenly 
reactivated.  But there's something else going on, here, with the 
P53 gene."  He nudges Byers aside and strikes a few keys on the 
keyboard.  A genetic map comes up on the monitor.

"That bastard Scanlon was supposedly performing gene therapy on 
P53 when you had cancer.  Here's a sample from when you were 
being treated."  He gestures at the screen and then taps a couple 
of keys.  "Here it is now.  See how this area has regenerated 
itself?  There's something major going on; we just don't know 
what."

Mulder looks at me for the first time since we entered the room.  
I see my shattered hopes echoed in his eyes.

Frohike steps up.  "The other thing we noticed is here."  Another 
couple of keystrokes, another graph comes up.  "It's about what 
you might expect, given the reactivated DNA, and pretty much 
matches up with what we had after your abduction.  Except 
this..."  Frohike points to a spike on the left side of the 
graph.  "Your estrogen and progesterone are markedly elevated; 
it's almost like, uh, never mind."  Frohike trails off, flashing 
an apologetic look in my direction.

"How does all this compare with the information you have from 
when Scully was abducted?" Mulder asks, changing the subject for 
me.  I'm happy to let him ask the questions right now.  I can't 
seem to piece all this together in my mind.  It feels like I'm 
watching a discussion about somebody else, some hapless character 
from a bad science fiction movie.

Langly presses a few more keys to bring up side-by-side windows.  
"Basically, you're way more screwed up now than when you were in 
the coma."

Frohike pokes Langly in the ribs.  "Sorry, Scully," Langly says 
with a sheepish grin.

Byers steps toward me and I can't stand the look of sympathy on 
his face.  "Are you going to tell us what's going on?"

I look at Mulder and silently beg him not to tell.  I don't think 
I could cope with anyone else knowing about this right now.

He understands.  "We don't know," he answers.  "Scully was in the 
hospital a couple months ago with the flu.  We think they did 
something to her."

Frohike flexes his hands.  "Oh, they did something, all right."

Something inside me snaps, and suddenly I realize that sitting 
around listening to all this mumbo-jumbo isn't going to get us 
the answers we need.

"We have to find Dr. Wright."

The three Gunmen turn to look at me in surprise at my sudden 
participation in the conversation.

"He's the key to this.  Help me find him."  All of a sudden my 
voice sounds desperate and pained.  Byers looks at me sadly.  
Damn it all. I swallow the rising lump in my throat.  I can't 
lose it, not here.

Frohike taps a few keys.  "Maybe this will help.  Your file was 
forwarded to the Lombard Clinic from an office in Doylestown, 
Pennsylvania.  Let me just check... Yes, there's a Dr. Jeffrey 
Wright on staff at the Bucks County Medical Center.  He could be 
the one you're looking for, except he's an OB/GYN."

I feel the blood rush out of my face and have to reach out for 
the table to keep from losing my balance.  If there was any doubt 
about the circumstances of this pregnancy and when it occurred, 
they've just been put to rest.  An OB/GYN treated me while I was 
in the hospital with the flu?

Mulder sees my reaction and reaches out to help steady me.  
"Scully?" 

"I'm fine."  I push his hand off my elbow and don't fail to see 
the hurt look on his face.  "How long will it take to go through 
the rest of the records you downloaded from Lombard?"

The Gunmen's attention is shifted from my sudden lightheadedness 
back to their computer.  "A day, maybe," replies Frohike.

"Get me a list of anyone else whose profile has changed in a way 
similar to mine.  Then cross-reference them and see if any have 
been hospitalized recently."

Frohike nods.  "Of course.  We'll get right on it.  Do you 
want...?"

I don't give him time to finish.  "Call me when you get the list.  
We're going to Doylestown to find Dr. Wright."


*****


I have to hurry to catch up with Scully after she leaves the 
Gunmen's office.  I manage to take hold of her arm just as she 
reaches the car.  "We're not going anywhere tonight.  I want you 
to go home and rest."  She looks like she's about to argue with 
me, so I give her arm a gentle squeeze.  "Please, Scully.  Just 
rest.  We'll start out first thing in the morning."

She bows her head for a moment, considering, then pulls her arm 
free.  "Fine.  Take me home.  We'll go early tomorrow."

Neither of us speaks as I drive her home.  Part of me is grateful 
that we have a direction to go in.  The rest of me is frightened, 
deeply afraid for Scully and for the child she carries.  Her 
silence tells me that she is feeling the same way.

What would happen if I missed her exit?  What if we just kept 
driving into the night - away from D.C., away from Doylestown, 
away from the FBI and from all the ties that keep us here?  What 
if it were possible to take her somewhere they could never find 
us and let Scully start again?

I turn off at her exit, knowing Scully would never choose the 
easy road if it meant deceit.  Her head tilts back against the 
seat as she watches the outside world glide by.  I wonder if 
she's considering not going home.  Ask me, Scully, I think.  Ask 
me.

At her apartment, she gets out of the car with a short "Tomorrow" 
in my direction.  I wait as she climbs the stairs and enters the 
building.  A light comes on in her apartment and I watch her 
windows, tracking her progress from living room to bedroom.

It definitely stands to reason that Dr. Wright has some 
connection with the Lombard Clinic.  Why else would he be 
forwarding records to them?  I don't believe for a moment that 
we'll find him in Doylestown tomorrow.  I don't think Scully 
believes it either.  There was no point in rushing there tonight.  
Dr.  Wright is long gone.  No doubt the key players all scattered 
when we requested her medical chart.

Scully's curtains part and she waves me away.  I return the wave 
and she disappears, the curtain falling back into place.  I reach 
for my cell phone and dial.

"Yo."  It's Langly.

"You said those records were forwarded to Lombard?  Find out 
where else they were sent and then call me.  I don't care what 
time it is."

I hang up the phone and Scully's living room lights go out.  
After about ten minutes her bedroom light does, too.  I pull away 
from the curb.

As much as I'd like to believe that the child Scully carries is 
hers, that it will always be hers, I don't.  I can't.  Not when I 
wonder where it came from and why.

This child is not a free miracle.  No matter what the cost, I 
won't have Scully paying for it.

*****

End 2/8