#chptr 2

One little last csm pov and then you guys are free and it's only for the first segment the rest of this chapter (and fic) will be from Scully's pov, it is nearly over.

Do want to say that the vibes of this fic are very similar to the vibes of en ami (maybe even worse) if thats not your thing back out now (i too wanna back out but someone's gotta steer this boat and i know where its going so that helps) if you are continuing on reading, please stick with it cause that Smokey bastard is gonna get his comeuppance. As usual this was written on my iPad so sorry if the format is off.

@today-in-fic / ao3

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It worked. It actually, really worked.

Spender scrambles to stand up, a burning need to touch this wondrous thing he has created. He reaches out and she flinches just slightly.

Spender halts his movements. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He is certain he never could. Gentler than he has ever been in his life, his hand creeps towards her arm. He holds it up, the skin cold in his palm. 

“You’re freezing,” he comments with a frown. She is not pulsing with the warmth of life the way he thought he would. A glance upwards to the exposed sky and the rain, light now, falling down on both of them. He thinks he sees her shiver. 

He hurries to the small fireplace, stoking the fire back to life after its embers had been blown out by the wind when the room exploded. Fire going, he reaches for his coat still hanging on the wall, all the while feeling those blue eyes watching him. 

Spender wraps the coat around her, the fabric enveloping her completely, and spins her so her legs dangle off the table, feet unable to reach the floor. “Tomorrow I will buy you some clothes,” he tells her. She does not respond, no change in expression, no words spoken.

“Can you speak?” He asks her.

Dana’s mouth opens as if to say something then promptly closes. Spender frowns but it is of no worry to him, he has done the impossible and revived the dead, he is the resurrection and the life, a God. The talking will come later.

The joy of all he has accomplished tonight overcomes him. He must ring the Syndicate, and Bill Mulder specifically, tell them that it worked, that their future and survival in the New World is secure. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to Dana’s cold forehead. “My wonderful creation,” he whispers against her skin while her blue eyes peer up at him. “And, I, your magnificent creator. Your father.” Spender closes his eyes, relishing in his feat.

“Father…” a voice croaks from beneath him. Dana’s voice. Raspy with disuse but there. 

A living, speaking, undead creature.

It worked.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

ONE MONTH LATER.

She was the Mistress of the House. A Princess. She commanded shadows and controller rats. She knew every secret passageway, every hidden nook. She knew the shortcut from the library to the kitchens. She was the apple of her father’s eye, the only person who mattered in his life and thus he was the only person who mattered in her life since he was the only person she ever saw.

With the exception of that first week. An audience was held in the parlour room. Presented to 19 men, forced to stand on a box in the middle of the room whilst these strangers had gawked at her. She had been terrified up there.

“Find my eyes,” her father had whispered to her as he helped her stand upon the box. “I am the only thing that matters to you, as you are to me, but I need these men to see you.”

Dana nodded, feeling braver knowing her father would be there the entire time, and when the men had stared at her, she had only stared at her Father, his eyes never leaving hers, pride shining in them.

“Can it speak?” One of them had asked and Dana had frowned at that. She wasn't quite sure what she was but an “it” wasn't it. She didn’t like that.

“Yes she can,” her father said, stressing the “she”. That had made her smile. He was always there for her. Her father nods towards her. “Show them,” he tells her.

Dana took a deep breath, recalling what they had spent the past three days learning and remembering to keep her voice clear, just as her father had instructed.

“My name is Dana Spender. I am the daughter of Carl Gerhard Busch Spender and I am…” She hesitates, eyes scanning over the unfamiliar faces, all staring back at her with unreadable expressions. She flicks over them all until her eyes land back on her father, watching expectantly. He gives her another nod of encouragement, whispering the words Say it…

Dana takes a breath, standing a little taller, a little prouder. “And I am his greatest creation.”

Her father puffs out a bout of smoke, flicking the ash of  a newly lit cigarette into a tray. “Satisified?” He asks the room.

“I must say Spender,” the man from earlier- who called her an “it”- speaks. “An incredible feat you have accomplished.” He stands up and shakes her father’s hand. “We are grateful to have you onboard.”

Her father takes the other man’s hand. “You shall have my written article about it sent to you tomorrow.”

“We patiently await it.”

That had been the last Dana had seen of those men. Whilst the others had left, one man had stayed behind, but Dana had been dismissed from the room and never got to meet him personally. Three hours later, Dana had watched him leave the house into an awaiting coach, from her window. She hadn't seen him since.

Over the course of the next week, her father had taught her to read, and write, and answer mathematical calculations. Dana had proven herself to be a quick learner, gaining the knowledge at a faster rate than her father expected. By the third week she was assisting her father in his lab. 

“What is it you do exactly?” She had asked him one day.

“I’m a scientist and a doctor,” her father had answered. “I help heal people.”

“Like this man?” She gestured to the man laying on the table. 

One could argue she saw her father’s patients but Dana never counted those, they were always asleep whenever she saw them and she never got to see them awake.

“Yes, like this man. Syringe.”

She passes over the syringe, watching as her father injects something into the man’s arm.

“Could I help heal people one day?” She asked.

Her father looks at her and while she can't see the smile hidden beneath his mask, she knows it there by the crinkle in his eyes. 

“You’re doing that now. Cotton pad.”

When she wasn't helping her father, she was in the library. Dana found she liked books; the smell of them, especially, the scent reminded her of something but she couldn't recall what. She liked the subjects, too. Medical journals if she wanted to learn more about a procedure she had watched her father do. She liked fictional books, as well, especially the adventuring kind. She found herself pulled towards the ones that took place at sea. She would remove them from the library and take them up to her room, sit by the window she had decorated with the extra pillows and blankets from her bed and read from noon until the sky darkened outside and she needed a light to see. 

That window became a place of solitude. From it, she would watch her father leave on errands, see people wandering about. From here she could see the Main Street where the shops lined up, the people chatting and going about their day. 

Dana longed for someone to talk to. Someone other than her father. She was stagnant, stuck. She wanted to sail the seas, meet interesting people, or simply walk into a shop and buy some bread. Eventually, Dana stopped reading and just stared out of the window, longing for the simplest adventure of just walking down the street.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Could I go out with you one of these days?” She asks over lunch.

Her father falters, pausing mid sip of coffee before swallowing it down quickly and placing the mug on the table.

“I’ve told you before Dana,” his voice was gentle and kind as always. “You’re not well enough.” He takes another sip.

Dana looks down at her hands. They were slightly paler than her own father’s and always felt cold to touch but other than that, she felt fine.

“Perhaps just one?” She tries to keep the begging tone out of her voice. Her father didn’t like it when she begged. “Just to see what it’s like–”

The mug is slammed down onto the table, jostling other plates and cutlery and her down glass of water, making Dana jump. 

“I said no,” her father tells her, his voice having a sharp edge to it that almost brings Dana to tears. “I can’t…” he sighs, readjusting his fork that had moved slightly to the left. Hard edge gone now, he says gently. “The answer is no, Dana. You must respect that.”

Fully chastised, head bowed, Dana nods, turning away so her father cannot see the tear that escapes her eye.

Her father stands and walks towards her chair. With gentle fingers, he tucks them underneath her chin and brings her face, eyes brimming with unshed tears, to look at him. Guilt fills him at the sight of them. 

“I love you, my wonderful creation,” he tells her and presses a kiss to her forehead.

Dana shuts her eyes and wills the tears, sadness, and loss of hope away.

“I love you, too,” she lies because at that moment she didn’t love him. She hated him. 

But her lie remains hidden and her father is satisfied. “Eat,” he says to her. “You’re too skinny.” With one final forehead kiss he leaves her to her meal.

Dana is not hungry. She is never hungry. Or thirsty. She eats because it’s expected but she is never hungry. 

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“Dana!” Her father shouts, calling for her. “Dana, are you in here?” He pushes open her bedroom door, never knocking even when she was getting dressed. (“I brought you into this world, Dana. Your nakedness doesn't repulse me.” It repulsed her; the strange Y shaped scar running from her collarbones to her stomach, the bruising on her neck. She stopped looking at herself in the mirror when she dresses) 

Dana had been attempting to read her book but she had found herself in a slump lately, nothing interesting to her. Nothing but that outside world she couldn't access. She stands from the window when her father enters, carrying a long black bag in his arms. Earlier, she had seen him leave and two hours later he had returned carrying the same black bag he holds now. 

“I bought you something.” He bought her many things when he went out; clothes, books, small gifts. He had found a snow globe with a pirate ship sailing at sea once, it sits on her shelf along with her other gifts. Seeing it reminded her of something but, as usual, she couldn't recall what. “Would you like to see it?” Dana nods. 

Her father unzips the bag, revealing a long black dress. Dana stares at it with wonder.

“Do you like it?” Her father asks.

“It’s beautiful,” Dana says, unable to pull her eyes away from it. The neckline was low, however. Too low. She touches the high collar on the clothes she wore now. “But there’s no collar.” Her father made a point to only buy her clothing which covered her neck.

“That’s not a problem.” Her father pulls out a long piece of ribbon, the exact same material and colour as the dress. “That’s why I have this.” Dana’s hand falls away from her neck and she smiles. Her father always having a solution.

“Try it on. Please.” His voice sounds thick in ways she’s never heard him sound before but she strips before him anyway, for once not caring about her body in sight of the dress, he helps bring it over her head, the material soft and satiny, Dana can't help but run her fingers through the skirt. Her father guides them over to the floor length mirror and turns her so she faces it so she can view herself. Her dress’s neckline starts from just above her breasts, lifting them just slightly, the top ends of her Y shaped scar on show. She touches the left one self consciously as her father ties the ribbon around her neck.

“They’re visible,” she says, pulling a finger over the raised tissue.

Her father finishes tying the ribbon and looks at her through the mirror. “An accident from when you were younger,” he says. His gaze wanders to her chest in the mirror and Dana shifts uncomfortably. “No one will comment.” 

There’s a dark look in his eyes that Dana has never seen before that makes her stomach tighten with nerves. Her father bends ever so slightly, lips gently brushing the top of her shoulders. 

“Father?” Dana asks with a hint of uncertainty. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring you,” her father whispers. He moves upwards so that his nose touches the skin of her neck, just below the ribbon. He closes his eyes and inhales then opens them, leaning his chin against her shoulder.

“You are the most beautiful creature walking on this planet, you know that?” He says to her.

Her stomach still clenches with unease but yes, she could believe that, wearing this dress. Beautiful like the princesses from her books. 

“And you’re mine.” That causes her to look up, tensing. “My most beautiful creation.” He presses a kiss to her temple and, like it pains him the most, pulls himself away from her. “Stay in the dress,” he says from the door, hand on the handle. “Do yourself a pretty hairstyle. We have company in an hour.”

Her father leaves, no more word on the matter. Dana turns back to herself in the mirror, reaches out to touch her reflection then touches her neck where his nose and lips had been just moments before.