TITLE: Life On The Edge, Part I--Choices With Sharp Edges 
AUTHOR: Kate Rickman 
classification: S, A, MSR 
rated: R 

summary: What would it take for Mulder--and Scully--to voluntarily walk away 
from their work on the X-Files? Scully is granted her fondest wish but must
 engage in a desperate race against Time and The Smoker to protect herself and
 Mulder from evil manipulation by the Consortium. 

*** 

The telephone trilled loudly in the darkness. 

Fox Mulder rolled off the couch and scrambled across the room, 
eyeing the clock as he stumbled over a chair. Two thirteen AM. 

A cold chill washed over him as he reached blindly for the 
telephone. 

It had been two thirteen AM when he and Scully had been abducted 
by persons unknown, from seedy motel rooms in West Virginia. 

Coincidentally, it had been two thirteen AM several days later 
when a West Virginia state trooper found him wandering, naked and 
confused, on a county road. 

He didn't know it, but it also had been a little over two hundred 
and thirteen days since he had been returned, two hundred and 
thirteen days since he'd seen Dana Scully, two hundred and 
thirteen days since his heart had broken beyond repair. 

The phone trilled again. Was it synchronicity or a really bad 
omen? 

He cursed as his shin caught the edge of the coffee table, cursed 
as he careened off the wall, and cursed as he landed, hands down, 
on the telephone, knocking it off the table. 

"Dammit to hell!" He dropped to his knees, patting around in the 
darkness. Contact. The cold plastic of the telephone. Press the 
button, Mulder, he cursed himself under his breath as he struggled 
to activate the cordless instrument. Finally. "Hello." 

Pause. 

"Mr. Mulder." Sibilant. Dangerous. 

The smoky voice from his past echoed in his ear, twisting his 
stomach, sending his blood pressure through the roof. 

"Mr. Mulder, are you there?" Imperative. 

"Yes." Terse. 

"Mr. Mulder, I would like to offer you a tremendous opportunity." 

--I've had enough of your opportunities,  you bastard. 

"Mr. Mulder." Impatient. 

"Yes." 

"I'm calling to make you an offer you can't refuse." 

"Try me." 

"I'd like to make a fair trade." 

Mulder snorted and said nothing. 

"To show my good intentions, I will give you something you 
desperately want, no strings attached." 

A slight rustling. "Mulder?" Soft. Her voice. 

"Scully?" Disbelief. 

"Mulder, please come." Scully. 

"I will. Where..." 

More rustling. "Check your e-mail. Don't delay." Him again. 

Click. 

Dead air. 

Mulder dropped the phone, reaching for the lamp. Light flooded 
Scully's apartment as he vaulted for the computer and hit the 
power switch. As the computer went through its startup routine he 
tapped his fingers idly against his fish tank where it sat on one 
side of Scully's desk. The fish wiggled toward the sound. 

After his release, Mulder had maintained both his apartment and 
Scully's, unwilling to believe that she would not be returned to 
him as she had been before. For six months, he had driven there 
daily, watered her plants, restocked her refrigerator, endlessly 
changed the unused towels in her bathroom and the sheets on her 
bed in case she might suddenly appear at the door. 

Six months later, he had been forced to make a decision. Mrs. 
Scully, the Gunmen, and Assistant Director Skinner all had prodded 
him gently to move on. Like a mourning widower, he had been urged 
to let go of the past, to get on with his life, to live again. In 
typical Mulder fashion he did both: he gave up his apartment and 
moved his meager belongings into Scully's, then turned the 
apartment into a shrine. 

Mulder looked around as he launched the e-mail program, nervously 
tapping his fingers on the edges of the keyboard and the computer. 
Framed photographs of Scully covered the wall to his left, 
photographs begged from her mother and brothers, photographs 
culled from her albums, and a precious few photographs taken of 
them together. Her smile, the radiant blue of her eyes, comforted 
him when he most acutely felt her loss. They comforted him now. 

The chime of the mail program jolted him back to the immediate. 
With a trembling hand, he clicked on an anonymous message. The 
text leaped from the window into his eyes: 

"Dana Scully will be returned if you arrive within two hours. The 
clock ticks, Mr. Mulder." 

Two hours. He swiveled to look at the clock. Two twenty-one AM. 
He swiveled back and scanned the message again. The words 
flickered in front of his eyes. 

--Where, dammit. Where? 

Then he noticed a small icon next to his address. An attachment. 
Double clicked. Too fast. 

--Slow down, slow down. 

He breathed deeply, forcing himself to click more slowly. A .gif 
file. A map. More specifically, a map of Maryland. A thin red 
circle in the northern part of the state marked a location. He 
grabbed his jacket and pulled on his shoes. When the map slipped 
out of the printer, he studied it again, tilting it against the 
light, seeing an address printed in matching red beneath the 
circle. 

Go. 

The door slammed in the frame, rattling the photographs on the 
wall, sending the water in the fish tank sloshing from one side to 
the other. 

*** 
Rural Maryland 
3:51 AM 

Mulder switched to high beams, creeping along the rural lane, 
scanning the roadside for any indication that he had arrived at 
22 Laurel Lane. Trees met in a dense arch overhead, blocking 
light from a full moon that hung over the horizon. The road curved. 
On the right, a pale yellow glow flickered through the foliage. 

The headlights lanced across a mailbox. Number 22. He turned the 
wheel and bumped his way along a drive, coming to a stop in front 
of a house. Dim light filtered through sheer curtains at the windows 
of one room. With a twist, the engine fell silent. Mulder sat for 
a moment, listening to it tick as it cooled in the night air. 

Movement. 

In the dim light, he saw a figure sitting on the front steps. A 
figure with red hair. 

He nearly fell, leaping from the car, rushing to her side. 
"Scully." 

She reached for him, her tears sparkling in the moonlight. 

He fell into her arms, holding her to him, burying his face in her 
neck, smelling her scent. "Scully, Scully, Scully," he whispered 
against her ear as he drew her into his arms. 

He caressed her back, feeling her through the light wool of her 
coat. "Is it really you?" 

"Yes, it's really me." She stroked the hair away from Mulder's 
forehead. 

"I can't believe it." Mulder ran his index finger over and around 
the small scar at the base of her neck. Scully. 

"Mulder," she whispered into his hair. "They told me...you'd 
gone. Left me." 

"Never." A solemn vow. 

"I knew that." Deep sigh. "But I was alone, so alone. You can't 
imagine." 

He felt the chill pass through her and held her closer. He could 
imagine. He had been there. He remained numb in many places even 
as her warmth radiated against him through the many layers of his 
clothing. "So was I." He described how they'd dumped him, naked 
and seriously disoriented, on a county road. "Are you OK?" 

Slight hesitation. "Yes." 

He leaned back, looking down into her face, tipped toward his in the 
moonlight. "What's wrong?" 

She smiled weakly. "Nothing...now." She leaned against his chest, 
sliding her arms around his waist, burrowing her face in the front 
of his jacket. 

"Scully..." 

The front door opened, flooding the porch with incandescent light. 
The odor of cigarette smoke drifted through the night air. 

"Mr. Mulder." Him. He stood outlined in the glow that spilled from 
the door behind him. 

Mulder's stomach twisted, his fists clenched involuntarily. 

"Please, come inside so that we can talk." The Smoker gestured with 
one hand, a glowing red arc that swept toward the door. "Miss 
Scully." 

Mulder looked at Scully. 

She nodded. 

He stood and offered his hand. 

Scully rose awkwardly to her feet, her coat falling open, the large 
rounded mound of her belly showing in the light. 

Mulder froze, stared. Numbly he reached out, glided his palm lightly 
over the swelling. 

Scully lay her hand lightly over his, not speaking, not explaining. 

"Bastards." He jumped to his own conclusion. 

"No." Soft, placating. 

"I'm going to..." 

"No, Mulder." Louder this time. Confident. 

He looked into her eyes, large and dark blue in the dim light. 

"Listen to him." She inclined her head at the Smoker, who stood 
waiting in the doorway. 

--Listen to him? Is this Dana Scully talkking? Is she under the 
influence of mind-altering drugs? Is she a nearly perfect alien 
clone, right down to the implant scar on the back of her neck? 

"Come." She tugged gently at his hand, pulling him into the light. 

Too dazed to protest further, he followed her to a small parlor. 

A fire crackled in the grate, casting flickering shadows around the 
room. Scully led him to a settee near the fire, sat down, patted 
the velvet next to her. Mulder sat obediently as The Smoker took 
the wing chair across from them. 

Mulder's eyes caressed the swell of her belly as he reached out, 
tracing the hardness with his fingertips. 

--Scully...what happened to you? 

The Smoker cleared his throat, interrupting Mulder's thoughts. "Mr. 
Mulder, I'm here to make a deal with you." 

Mulder glared at him. 

"There is no reason to be hostile. I'm here to give you want you 
want...what you need." 

Mulder bristled. "You took away what I want and need." 

"And I'm returning her to you." Reasonable. 

Mulder glanced at the object of their conversation where she sat 
quietly, almost serenely, at his side. 

--She's been brainwashed, programmed, aliien mind-probed. He 
reached out to her emotionally as he turned his attention back to 
their adversary. 

"Yes." The Smoker took a long drag on his cigarette. "The Deal." 

Mulder took Scully's hand between both of his. He felt her fingers 
thread through his own. 

"As I already promised you, Miss Scully is free to go." 

Mulder started to stand, but Scully pulled him back. 

"Listen" was all she said. 

The Smoker continued. "However, I have a another proposition for 
you." 

A gust of smoke washed over Mulder, burning his eyes. He refused 
to blink. 

"I would like you to go back to the Bureau and take up your life 
...with one exception." 

--Ah...the hook. 

"I want you to ignore anything related to...our...business, turn a 
deaf ear to our work." 

"Unlikely..." Mulder tensed, felt a gentle squeeze, relaxed. Deep 
breath. "You said that Scully would be released, no strings 
attached. That's a pretty big string." 

"I did and she will." Another cloud of cigarette smoke. 

"So..." Mulder gestured for him to continue. Confused. 

"There's something else." The Smoker inhaled deeply. "We have 
...given...Miss Scully something she desperately wants." 

The baby. A shiver ran over Mulder as he imagined alien fetuses 
and alien-human hybrid children, genetically engineered for an 
evil purpose. 

"The child is normal, Mr. Mulder." 

--Likely story. 

"The child is *yours,* Mr. Mulder. Yours and Miss Scully's." 

A blow to the gut. Mulder gasped for air. "How?" 

"As you know, we have her ova...plenty of them, cryogenically 
stored, preserved in perfect condition." 

Mulder thought of the rows upon rows of drawers in the cryogenic 
vault at the Lombard Research Facility. Drawers containing the 
seeds of Scully's stolen children alongside drawer after drawer 
of children stolen from hundreds of other women. 

"Having a child of her own is Miss Scully's fondest dream, one that 
she thought was lost to her forever." 

--Because of your and your kind, you smokking bastard. 

"I know that you would do anything to make Miss Scully happy, even 
at your own expense." 

Mulder tentatively stroked the swelling that held his child, his 
fingers sliding lightly over the mound. His child. His child and 
Scully's. He felt as if his head might explode. He wanted to 
scream, jump, cry, laugh. Even in his wildest beer-soaked fantasies, 
he had never dared to visit this place. 

The Smoker continued. "It was a simple matter to harvest your sperm 
when you and Miss Scully were taken a few months ago." 

Mulder recalled vague memories of that time, being in a bright room, 
surrounded by beeping instruments and white-coated forms. 

"In vitro fertilization is routine, Mr. Mulder. Routine." The man 
stubbed his smoke in a convenient ashtray then shook an unlit 
cigarette from the pack and placed it between his lips. With a 
flare of a match, he lit it, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs. 

Mulder could almost see the black tar rolling through the man's veins 
as he slowly expelled a dense cloud of smoke into the air, savoring 
the flavor as it rolled over his lips. 

"I could have used an...anonymous...sperm donor," The Smoker pulled 
on his cigarette again, leering a bit at the possible identity of 
such an anonymous donor, "but I thought it was a nice touch to use 
you. It raises the ante a bit." 

Mulder, red-faced, imagined his hands squeezing the leer from that 
face. Bastard. 

"So I offer you this additional deal: the baby for your deaf ear." 

"Or?" Through a clenched jaw. 

"Do I need to draw you the picture?" 

"Yes. Tell me what you would do. Kill the baby? Abduct it?" 
Mulder sneered, sitting forward, easing some weight onto the balls 
of his feet. Ready. 

"Of course not. We would never willingly come between Miss Scully 
and her child." 

Mulder opened his mouth, closed it again. Between *Scully* and the 
baby? Wait a minute. "You mean...you'd take both Scully and the 
child." 

A large cloud of smoke blew over his face in reply. 

--Son of a Bitch. 

Scully stirred at his side. 

The SOB continued. "I've done you a great service, Mr. Mulder. I've 
given you what you could never have on your own. A miracle." 

He felt Scully's hand tremble in his grasp. 

"How do I know this is my child...Scully's child...and not some 
genetic bastard?" 

"I've seen the DNA results." Quietly. "It's our child." 

He turned to Scully again, looked deeply into her eyes. "You're OK 
with this?" 

"I would not have chosen to do it this way, but what choice do I have 
now?" She gripped his hand, her voice thick with emotion. "I've 
given up many things for my career, for the X-Files, but I never 
willingly gave up motherhood. You know that." 

He did. 

"This may be my only chance," she added unnecessarily. 

He knew. He understood. He flogged himself with the guilt. He 
would never stand between her and that chance, even if it meant 
stepping aside and letting her go, tearing his heart out all over 
again. But how far would he go, how much would he personally give 
away to ensure that she would stay by his side? 

Scully gripped his hand tightly, holding it against the swell that 
sheltered their child. 

Mulder dragged his eyes away from Scully. "So let me make this 
clear: you permit us to leave, to go back to our lives unmolested, 
and you will leave us alone forever..." 

"...so long as you leave *us* alone." He flicked ash onto the carpet. 
"Tit for tat." 

"As simple as that." 

"A offer you can't refuse." The Smoker nodded. "One that you won't 
refuse," he predicted, the hint of a gloat on his face. 

Mulder weighed the issues. Scully, her child...his child...free to 
resume their lives. If they agreed to ignore the workings of the 
dark consortium headed by this evil man. Simple. Just shut his 
eyes. 

He ignored the Smoker for a moment. "Is this what you want, Scully?" 

"Yes." One word. 

Emotions churned through him. Joy. Fear. Anger. Dread. Love. 

A door creaked open to admit an elderly man, dressed in robe-covered 
pajamas. 

"Ah, Mr. Palmer." The Smoker rose. "Thank you for joining us." 

Mr. Palmer stood tentatively in the doorway, a folder in his hand. 

"Please." The Smoker waved him inside. 

The elderly man shuffled across the carpet in his slippers, handing 
the folder and a pen to Mulder. 

Mulder opened the folder. Blinked. A marriage license. Fox William 
Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully dated...seven months ago. Before the 
abduction. This is too much. The papers shook in Mulder's unsteady 
hands. 

"I thought you might like the legitimacy for your child." 

"So thoughtful," Mulder said, meaning anything but. A marriage would 
be one additional sword the older man could hold over their heads. 
His examined the certificate--all spaces filled with accurate 
information, signed by Scully--in detail, thinking, weighing the 
meaning and the possibilities. 

Scully shrugged. "This isn't necessary." 

"But you signed it." He showed her the paper. 

"I know." She didn't look. "But it isn't necessary." 

Mulder chewed on the end of the pen, considering his options. Then 
he signed the paper and passed it back to the old man. 

Palmer passed the paperwork to The Smoker. 

"It will be filed in the morning." The Smoker folded the license and 
tucked it in his pocket. ""Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder. 
And may I be the first to offer you felicitations on the birth of your 
child." 

Mulder lunged for him, stopped, seething. 

"That's right, Mr. Mulder." The Smoker followed Palmer through the 
small door at the back of the room, then stopped. "Don't forget 
our deal." 

--Deal. Right. 

"And Mrs. Mulder..." he rasped as an afterward. 

Scully hesitated, belatedly recognizing her new name. She turned 
slowly, looking at the man with distaste brimming in her eyes. 

"...don't forget our deal." 

Mulder felt her tense beneath his hand. 

Scully glared at The Smoker then averted her face, not responding 
with words. 

The door clicked shut. Fire snapped in the grate. A grandfather 
clock in the corner quietly marked the passage of time. 

"Is there something else I should know," Mulder asked quietly, 
thinking of The Smoker's parting shot to Scully. 

"No." Softly. "He's just yanking your chain." 

"Really?" He expected the man to double cross them in some way. 

"Really." 

--Why can't I believe you, Scully. You'ree hiding something from 
me...but what? 

"It's nothing, Mulder. Let's go." She nudged him toward the door. 

Mulder felt Scully's hand at his back, sliding around his waist. 
He slipped one arm around her shoulders and held her against his 
side, looking down into her honest blue eyes. Whatever it was 
between Scully and The Smoker, he trusted her judgement that it 
would not be allowed touch them and their child. Scully would 
watch their backs. He would turn to the future. "So." 

"So." She lay one hand protectively over their child. 

Mulder smiled, feeling as if the muscles in his face would crack. 
Three hours ago, he was a broken man, lonely, defeated. Now he was 
married to the woman of his dreams--the woman he loved and respected 
above all others in the world--and about to be the father of a child 
he never dared even to dream about. He was happy and confused, 
frightened and excited. And optimistic. "Please tell me that you're 
really you and that you haven't been alien mind-probed." 

She snorted, a very Scully snort of disapproval. "My mind is the one 
place I haven't been probed recently." 

Anger surged through him at the thought of her treatment. He stepped 
backward, toward the door closed between him and The Smoker, stopping 
as Scully pulled him back into her embrace. 

"Mulder, if I could undo this," she patted her belly gently," I would 
undo it." 

Mulder started to protest. "But...." 

Scully cut him off with a look. "This isn't good for our work, our 
careers...or life as we knew it." 

"But that can change." Softly. 

Scully studied his face carefully. "Can it?" 

"Yes." He looked down at her again, saw the tentative expression in 
her eyes. His heart filled with the love he had always denied feeling 
for her. 

"Can we?" 

"We have." Six months in the Depths of Hell had changed him utterly. 
He had gained focus. He understood his real priorities. He 
acknowledged his needs. He had been handed a precious second chance 
and, by God, he would not blow it. 

"You can turn your back on that man and the conspiracy?" Doubtful. 

"There are other ways." In her absence, he had struggled to move 
forward without her, almost failing. But at the point of near 
emotional and physical collapse, he had met and groomed a young 
acolyte in the mission of the X-Files. The young recruit burned with 
passion for the work. He could be relied upon to hound the smoker 
and his kind relentlessly. Yes. There were other means to the same 
end. He guided Scully through the door into the hall, then outside 
onto the porch. A pink glow bleached the night sky in the east. 

They paused on the bottom step, each turning to the other. Mulder 
placed his hands lightly on both sides of her belly, caressing their 
future gently. He shook his head in wonder. "Wow. I don't know 
what else to say, Scully." 

"Just say that you'll take me home." She smiled, tired but hopeful. 
"I need to get away from this place and back to...a life. My life. 
*Any* life. Whatever that is anymore." 

Mulder touched his wife's cheek in wonder. It was warm, wet. He 
brushed away her tears easily with one finger. "And what if that's 
an alien monkey baby in there?" He prodded her belly with one 
finger, gently. 

Scully sighed, turned slightly sideways, nestled close against him. 
"Then we'll be famous and write a book and go on the Jerry Springer 
Show to talk about it." 

"Life could be worse." Life without her was unthinkable; life 
together was a gamble, a challenge, and an uncommon gift. 

He felt the gust of her laughter against his lips as he brushed them 
lightly against hers. Their first kiss. He dipped his head for 
another taste, opening his mouth against hers, surrendering to the 
gentle softness of her mouth. He fell into her, took her inside him, 
felt her warmth flow through and around him as his lips moved over 
her lips. 

Nearby, a rooster crowed to the morning sun. 

"I think that's our cue." Scully, relaxed in his arms, laughed 
gently. 

"Then let's go home," he said.
 
           The End 

Find the rest of the series here: 
 http://www.geocities.com/mulderscreek/fics/lifeonedge.html