Blood of Abraham - Chapter Four
by Mik
Scully let herself in sometime after seven. I just couldn't muster the energy needed to call 'come in', let alone actually get up and grant anyone ingress, so when she got tired of knocking, she used her key.
It had been the longest day of my life - and I've spent time in Alaska. The kid cried constantly, unless assured by devotees, which would be...me, that he was still and ever shall be the center of the universe. This meant that eating, cleaning, evacuating, even thinking had to be done during those brief interludes when he was distracted by the god Morpheus.
I had not dressed, shaved, combed my hair or brushed my teeth all day. In fact, I had identified only two goals early on for any period when he was asleep: Drinking coffee and getting rid of same.
I'd had a small respite around three when Mrs. Holden and her daughter, Cherub (yes, Cherub), appeared on my door with enough equipment to outfit an entire infant militia. Cherub might have been delighted to assume my sycophantic duties for a while, but that meant I had to devote myself to Mrs. Holden, who held forth on everything from how to bathe the baby to how to wash my dishes. I think Cherub felt she got the better end of the bargain. To be fair, Mrs. Holden did make me a decent cup of tea and some tomato soup while she talked, so I listened, almost gratefully.
By the time Scully arrived, I was on the floor, trying to assemble a portable crib with more parts than most cars, and still entertain the kid, who was now propped up in his borrowed baby carrier, watching me suspiciously.
"Mulder, you look like hell."
"Thank you." I dropped a screw in my lap and had to dig for it. "It's always nice to see you, as well." I looked up at her. "What the hell is that?"
She twisted the large blue teddy bear in her hands and looked at it as if she'd had no prior knowledge of its existence. "A.D. Skinner sent it to my...nephew." Her voice was dripping in wry amusement.
"Yeah?" I looked at it again. "Why?"
"I have no idea." She set the bear on the floor next to his car seat and looked at the piles and bags around me. "What did you do, Mulder, knock over a baby consignment store?"
I gestured with my screwdriver. "My neighbor's daughter loaned me some stuff." I returned to the task at hand. "If I can just get it assembled."
"Mulder, didn't anyone ever teach you that's not the way to handle a screwdriver? You're going to stab yourself in the leg that way."
I rubbed my inner thigh self-consciously. I was going to have a spectacular bruise later. "Yeah?"
She dropped to her haunches beside me and brushed her fingers through my hair. "Oh, Mulder, when will you give up? You aren't equipped to do this. And you are probably committing several felonies in the process."
I shook my head and attempted, yet again, to get the screw into the hole. "Frohike checked for me. No missing Caucasian male infants from birth to four months reported in the last four months."
"How would he know?" Scully took the screwdriver from me. "Like this, Mulder." She gave her wrist a couple of twists and the screw whirled into position. "He can't possibly have - no." She shook her head. "I don't want to be an accessory after the fact. "But, Mulder, he couldn't have ruled out every possible missing child. What if the child is from another state...or Canada or Mexico?"
I handed her another screw. "He checked all states and provinces in North America."
"What about Europe?"
"No infant entry recorded by INS where the infant subsequently went missing."
She finished the screws on that side of the crib and paused thoughtfully. "Pregnant women who disappeared or were abducted," she suggested triumphantly.
I shook my head. "Only two in the time frame who would meet the criteria. In one case, the infant was left at a shelter. In the other, the body was found, with fetus." I reached for another part. "Scully, there's an easy solution. Do a DNA swab on him. See if he could be related to my sister."
She wrinkled her nose. "How can I do that, Mulder? I don't have access to any of her genetic material."
"You've got access to me." I tapped my chest with a wooden dowel. "We had the same mother. We've got to have enough common genetic configuration to at least rule her out."
She was shaking her head. "Without access to Samantha's father's DNA, the best I could do is prove whether or not this child is related to you."
"That's a start," I conceded. "Chances would be pretty good then that he must be Samantha's...one way or another." I handed her a screw. "Will you do it? I promise, if there's no match, I'll turn him over to the proper authorities."
She looked up at me. "Mulder," she began. Then she sighed. "All right, I'll do it. But I'm warning you, it will be very preliminary. A full workup takes weeks."
"Preliminary is good enough," I agreed. I shifted to the opposite side of the crib. "So, Skinner sent the kid a teddy bear. That's almost...almost human of him."
Scully picked up another screw. "He is capable of sentiment, Mulder. You've just never seen it because you've always been on a quest to send him around the bend."
I handed her the rail. "What did he say?"
"Nothing particular." She bent her head to better see where she was aiming the screwdriver. "He just came by our department and said he'd heard I had an unexpected arrival. Then he asked where you were and I told him you'd called out with a cold. Then Kersh appeared."
"Like a jealous wife," I muttered.
She lifted her head. "You know, that's exactly what I thought. Where's the rubber rail guard for this...it should be a long strip of – there...by your foot. Anyway, Skinner left the bear in your chair, had a couple of words with Kersh, and left." She took the strip of blue, formed rubber and slid it into place. "That was it."
"The kid seems to like it." It was true. He was twisted just enough in his carrier to stare up at the blue, plush face.
"Mulder?" She knee walked to the last corner of the crib. "Why did you name him Bram?"
I scratched my chin with the other rail guard. "Rhymed with Sam, I guess."
"Ah. As good a reason as any." A moment later she pushed herself to her feet and brushed off her hands in satisfaction. "One crib. Now, where's the mattress?"
"I'll get it." When I got back from the bedroom, dragging the mattress after me, Scully was back on her knees, grinning and shaking her head at the baby, and he was doing something that looked like laughing. But neither of them was making a sound. "It's like watching a silent movie," I said, hefting the mattress into the crib. "Watch your head."
Scully ducked her head, chuckling. "Wow, they thought of everything. What about sheets? Did they think of sheets?"
I went back into the bedroom and produced a stack of folded and pressed cotton.
"Blue's Clues," she said, shaking them out, and spreading one over the mattress. "He's gonna' be a smart boy, isn't he?" she asked the kid.
"Scully, tell me something; what is it about babies that turns reasonably sane women into babbling lunatics?"
She was on her toes, leaning into the crib, to smooth and tuck the sheet at the corners. "Oh, I don't know," she grunted. "Hope, I think." She straightened and fingered her hair back from her face. "At this age, they aren't polluted by society or testosterone."
"I think I've just been insulted." I backed up a few steps. "You want some coffee?"
"Yeah, that would be nice," she agreed. "Where do you want this?"
"I'm going to put it in ...." I stopped. I looked at the assembled crib, and then I looked at my bedroom door. "I guess I should have put it together in there."
She leaned back in and tugged the mattress out. "Get the coffee started."
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I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but when I woke, the crib and baby regalia were gone, there was a pizza box looking right at home on my table, and my head was against Scully's thigh. For a moment, I thought the last twenty-four hours might have been a dream. Then I saw the screwdriver and hammer on my desk, and that blue bear sitting in my desk chair.
I dragged myself up, rubbing my eyes. "Hi," I said weakly. "When did I crash?"
Scully looked at her watch. "About three hours ago. Mulder, did you get any sleep last night?"
"Oh, yeah, sure I did." I stretched. "Where's Biograph Boy?"
"I put him to bed a couple of hours ago."
"And he complied?"
"Yes." She made it sound as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "I fed him, bathed him and put him down."
"So, why did I have to walk the floor with him last night?"
She chuckled and stood. "It's all a matter of showing the child who's in control. Surely, as a psychologist you know that."
"God, I hate it when you're smug, Scully."
She laughed again and took her coffee cup into the kitchen. "I need to hit the road." She returned, holding up a small evidence bag. "DNA, as promised. I'm going over to Quantico after work tomorrow and use their labs to get a DNA test started."
"Thanks, Scully." That seemed so inadequate. So I pulled her into an awkward hug. "Really. Thank you."
She seemed as uncomfortable with the embrace as I did, and backed away slowly. "Well...anyway, I'll see you later."
"Yeah. Thanks." I followed her to the door. When she shut it behind her, I felt an unexpected sensation of being trapped. In my own home. It was ridiculous. I wasn't trapped. I could open that door and walk out. Of course, I couldn't go very far, because I couldn't leave the kid unattended. Which, I guess, did mean that, technically at least, I was trapped in my own home.
She's right, I conceded, detouring through the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. I'm not prepared to handle this. It's hard enough being responsible for my life, how can I take on someone else's, someone that helpless?
Because my hand seemed to be shaking, I splashed a little coffee over the edge of the cup as I poured. What if I had been holding the kid when that happened? He could have been burnt. What if I didn't put that crib together just right, and it collapsed with him in it? What if I didn't wake up when he wanted to eat or be changed? What if I got sent out on a field assignment, or had to work late at the office, or just wanted to go out for a run?
I'm too irresponsible to be an uncle.
And yet, there I was, in my bedroom, in the dark, looking down into a crib, looking at this very small human being, so full of trust that he could sleep soundly, even though he must know he was in the care of the world's worst guardian.
Not wanting to risk spilling coffee on him, I backed away from the crib, and eased down to the floor, looking at him through the bars. I remembered looking at Samantha this way, from just this angle. I was four and there she was, asleep in my old room, in my old crib, surrounded by my old toys. And the man I grew up believing was my father was looking down at her with such a look I never understood until this moment. To him, she was flawless.
If I closed my eyes, I could remember trying to get up on my toes to see her better, wanting to see what it was my father was seeing. And I could feel his hand on my shoulder. Hear him talking to me, hear him tell me that this was my baby sister, and I must take care of her because she was fragile and helpless and always would be smaller than me.
I opened my eyes quickly because I knew there were tears lurking in those memories.
I hadn't done a very good job of looking after her, had I? "What is this, God," I mused, bitterly, "my second chance?"
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Kersh called the next morning to give me a good reaming, during Bram's ten oh five wail. I stepped out into the hall, so that Kersh wouldn't hear the screaming. "I'm sorry, Sir? What did you say?"
"I'm saying that you'd better have a solid medical excuse for being absent from work two days in a row," he barked.
"I do. I have a -"
"I expect to see a doctor's certificate to that effect, Mulder."
"A doctor's certificate? But that's if you're out more than three days," I protested.
"That policy gives administrators discretionary leeway, and I'm exercising that leeway. You will provide documentation of your incapacitation from your physician of record, or his agent."
"Her agent," I corrected helpfully. "Dana Scully is my physician of record."
"Your partner?" I could feel a full steam bluster coming. "Your partner is hardly qualified -"
"She's a medical doctor," I reminded him.
"Isn't she a pathologist?"
"And your point is?"
That shut him up for about thirty seconds. "You know my point, Agent Mulder. You'll be here promptly. And with a statement from your physician."
"Yes, Sir," I said tightly, pressing the handset against my chest. "Shit." I knew exactly what he was going to do next. He was going to call Scully into his office and put pressure on her to tell him exactly what had rendered me incapacitated. Shit again.
Inside, Bram's wailing had taken on a sort of frantic sound, as if he knew he had been left alone. His fists and feet were trembling in fury and his face was a dangerously deep red. I scooped him out of the car seat and paced around the room in agitation.
Monday morning. There was no way Scully could get me DNA answers by then. I needed a babysitter. And fast. I considered asking Mrs. Holden, but ruled her out almost in the same breath. I gave about half a thought to calling my mother, but seeing this kid, who looked so much like her missing daughter, was probably enough to put her into a Monty Python style jerk-and-keel-over-dead. Maybe Scully's mother would consider playing grandmother by proxy. I would have to ask Scully once she got through being pissed by the verbal enema she was no doubt receiving from Kersh.
The kid slowly reduced his level of distress to whines and hiccoughs. "How do parents do this on a regular basis, huh?" I asked him.
He declined to respond. But based on rumblings in other areas, it was clear his mind was occupied with more important matters.
I was dealing with those matters and struggling not to breathe in the process when Scully called. "Not a good time, Scully," I said, trying to talk without any intake of breath.
"And you think it's convenient for me to be jerked into Kersh's office and ordered to explain what's wrong with you?" She sounded even less pleased than I had anticipated.
I tried to lighten the mood with humor. "Scully, you may be my physician of record, however you aren't really qualified to answer that question."
She didn't laugh. "Mulder, what's the matter? You sound as if you're having trouble breathing."
"Oh, no," I gasped. "I'm having trouble not breathing. Let me call you back, will you? Five minutes, I promise." I dropped the phone into the sofa pillows where I'd found it, took a gulp of air, and resumed the task at hand.
I managed to wrestle him into a clean diaper and a clean onesie, as Scully and Cherub called those union suits with feet. The kid had a real aversion to clothing. He resisted every attempt to dress him, but I swear he actually assisted any efforts to remove his clothing. "I know you don't like these," I commiserated, working one of his flailing feet into the terry cloth outfit. "But you'll appreciate this when they put you in a necktie every day." I started snapping it up. "Oh, c'mon, don't cry. You don't have to wear a tie if you don't want to. Just be more careful about career choices than I was."
I put him back in the carrier and gathered up the debris. "Ready for lunch?"
He bounced and kicked in reply.
"You're a man of few words, Bram. I like that. Now," I grunted as I pulled myself off the floor, "if we could just make you a man of few screams."
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The gods of harassed childcare givers must have smiled on me that afternoon. After only one bottle, two diapers, three burps and a dozen passes around the living room, my potential nephew took a genuine nap -the kind you find in the O.E.D. under Give Mulder a Break.
I grabbed that break with both hands; I made coffee, made a used diaper run to the trash chute, and then collapsed on the sofa, a cup of coffee balanced precariously in my fingers as I slipped ever closer to a coma.
And I would have made it if the sofa hadn't started trilling at me like an angry canary. I lifted my head, trying to figure out when my faithful futon became capable of communication. The sound stopped and I closed my eyes.
Then I opened them again. "Duh. Phone." I put the coffee down and groped into the pillows under my ass. Scully. Shit again. I told her I'd call her back. I hit redial. This was no way to keep her cooperation, minimal as it had been.
"What happened?" she demanded. "You said five minutes. That was over an hour ago."
"I...uh...well ..." I sighed. "Kids are hard work."
"Which is why they should be left to the professionals, Mulder."
"Message received, Scully," I answered curtly.
She wasn't contrite. "Where is he? I don't hear him, for a change."
"He's asleep. A real, honest to God nap." I glanced toward my bedroom door. "I didn't know he knew how."
"What are you going to do on Monday? Kersh expects you in, no excuses short of an obituary. Although," her voice got even grimmer, "just between us, I don't think he'd mind that."
"Well," I hesitated. This was not the optimal moment to ask her, but I'd run out of options. "I was wondering if maybe your mother -"
"Don't even think about it," she said in a voice sharper than a razor's edge.
"Right." Her response was a little more heated than the question called for, I thought. "No thinking about it."
There was a long, awkward silence. "Well, I'm leaving shortly, to go over to the lab."
"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say. "Is there anything I can do?"
"You know what you can do, Mulder. And I'm saying it for your sake as much as his."
"Thank you." I matched her razor sharp tone.
"Well," she repeated, "I'm going."
"Fine." I flipped my phone shut. Why couldn't she understand? She's supposed to be my best friend. The person who knows me better than anyone. And she couldn't understand why I needed to know. I tossed the phone down angrily and grabbed for my coffee.
The phone rang again.
"Ah, an apology," I decided. "That's more like it." I reached for the phone. "Mulder."
It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even Scully. It was Frohike. Being nosy again. Wanting to know if he could hack into any more databases for me. "No, but thanks for the thought. It's very heartwarming that you're willing to commit felonies for me."
"Anything for a friend," he said with such sweetness I could see him doing his circle jerk gesture to Langley and Byers. Byers!
"Hey, lemme talk to Byers." A good solid guy. He must know about kids. He's responsible. As responsible as a renegade, living under the radar anti government snoop could be. He wears a tie, for God's sake. "Hey, John."
That was a mistake. It immediately put him on his guard. "What do you need, Mulder?" he asked, with more than his usual reserve.
"A favor. A really big favor." I waited a moment. "What do you know about babies?"
There was a long silence on his end, and then I could hear him relate my question to the others. Then Frohike snatched the phone back. "So you are exploiting children."
"No, not exploiting, and not children. One child. And he's not being exploited." I cut myself off, exasperated that I let him get under my skin like that. "Look, it's a long story, and not one I want to tell over the phone. Do any of you have any experience babysitting?"
When they got through laughing, Bram had three godfathers, just like that old John Wayne movie.
End Chapter Four