The Final Miracle
By DS firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: Fri, May 11th, 2001
Genre: Angst, baby angst
Some mild spoilers for Essence and Existence
Rating: R for subject matter (child death)
Archive: Everywhere but Keep The Faith ask first
Feedback: Please please!
Time seemed to have stopped. The room was awash in candlelight, the witnesses to the events that had just passed silent and pained each in their silent, respectful reverie.
Tears rained down Scully's cheeks onto the face of the small still body in her arms. The baby, blue and lifeless, lay wrapped in a pink blanket, her aspect peaceful. Scully could have almost believed she was only asleep. Almost.
She looked up at Krycek, trying to read his expression. He seemed almost remorseful. Propped against the pillows on the big tarnished brass bed, she straightened her spine and stuck her chin out, wiping the tears from her face. She pinned Krycek with her gaze, holding the tiny bundle up to him.
"Here's your miracle, Alex," she said softly, fighting to keep her voice from breaking. She would not crack in front of him, even if it killed her. No, it wouldn't kill her, just shatter her soul like the Dresden figurine of her mother's she'd dropped on the floor when she was five. It had hit the hardwood floor and splintered into a thousand pieces. That's how she felt at this moment-like that porcelain shepherdess-fragmented beyond repair and unrecognizable as the thing it had been before.
"Believe or not, I'm sorry, Scully," Alex said, his tone strained, like a violin strung too tight. He took the tiny bundle carefully in the crook of his prosthetic arm, attempting to do as he'd always heard-gently support the baby's head. Not that it mattered now. "Does she have a name?"
"No. What would be the point? Would it matter to the people you are taking her to?" Scully fought to keep her voice even. She'd rather die than speak her child's name in front of this man.
Monica Reyes gently squeezed Scully's shoulder, offering what little support she could. This was the most heart wrenching scene she'd ever witnessed, but none of them could afford to let their emotions get the better of them now. She and John and Skinner had to keep Scully calm or all their efforts would be for nothing.
Krycek turned to leave, not meeting the gaze of Skinner or Doggett as they nailed him with matching gazes of fury and pain. This day had been hard on all of them. None of them would be the same after what had passed.
He carried the stillborn baby girl out to the porch and handed her to Billy Miles, or more accurately the alien entity that wore Billy Miles' body like an ill-fitted suit. Billy tucked the body in the crook of his arm like a package to be carried with no thought to it's safety or comfort, with no respect for the life it had once contained. Perhaps with his own mortal coil emptied of humanity, he had no concern for the human rituals of death and dying.
As he and Krycek climbed in the black SUV Monica flinched. Through the open door she could see Billy casually toss the body in the back seat. Oh God, she hoped Scully hadn't seen.
Plumes of dust marred the perfect blue and purple sunset as the SUV drove off, its tires skidding slightly on the dusty road as it disappeared into the Georgia twilight.
Scully's resigned demeanor crumbled. Their plan had gone off perfectly. Mulder had acted the part of the slightly insane loose cannon, going as far as to impersonate Kersh at a recent crime scene. It had given him a perfect excuse to disappear from the FBI and her life. With the help of the gunmen, George Hale and his son, only 6 hours old, were probably hundreds of miles away by now. And Scully would never see them again.
She sobbed openly now, held tightly in the arms of Monica Reyes. She cried for that tiny little baby girl who'd been snatched from the morgue and would never have a proper burial. She cried for a nameless, faceless woman whom had lost her child at birth and would go home with an urn of someone else's ashes, and never be the wiser. She cried
that she'd been forced to become the type of person to commit such an act of treachery on that innocent family.
Most of all she cried over the memory of the look on Mulder's face when he'd caught their screaming son in his trembling hands as he'd made his way into the world from within her womb. The look of love and wonder in his eyes was seared upon her heart. Her nipples throbbed with the phantom memory of the single time she'd nursed her son before he had been bundled in a little blue sleeper and taken away where she could only pray he and Mulder would never be found.
In whispered tones in the few moments of privacy they had been allowed after the birth, they had named their son. To his parents he was William Noble Mulder. She didn't even
know what name Mulder, now known as George Hale, would call their son to the rest of the world. To her he was forever little Noble, rooting eagerly at her breast with his perfect rosebud mouth as Mulder whispered unimaginable words of love and commitment in her ear. He would never love another woman, never give up hope. He would wait forever until it was safe for them to seek her out, and they would one day
be a family again.
"Scully, we should get you out of here. You need to get to a hospital." Skinner finally spoke. Even with the plan executed and the final scene played out to the best of their ability, he was all too aware of the possibility that it would quickly be discovered that the body they had handed over was not Dana Scully's natural born child and Krycek or someone far worse than him would return.
Scully shook her head, wiping tears from her face with the cool washcloth Monica handed her. "No hospital. I just want to go home. Please, just take me home."
Doggett began to move around the room, disposing of any evidence that a birth had taken place. Destroying all traces of Noble's blood that could be used to track him. He carried
the bloody sheets outside and built a small fire to burn them. He returned and handed Scully a folded piece of blue fabric. It was the little knit cap they had placed on Noble's head to keep him warm in the unheated house.
"I couldn't burn it. I knew you wouldn't want something..." he couldn't go on. Something to remember her son by? He couldn't give words to the silent fear that this little shred of fabric would be the only memento she would have of her child.
She took the tiny hat and clutched it to her chest. "Thank you, John," she whispered. She would see him again. She had to believe. Mulder had told her not to give up on a miracle. She just hadn't known then how many miracles she'd have to have hope in.