TITLE: Life on the Edge III--Knifed Through The Heart 
AUTHOR: Kate Rickman 
classification: S, A, MSR 
rated: R 

Summary: Scully plots with the Gunmen and struggles through labor. 

*** 

=Three twenty-nine AM= 

A bolt of twisting agony tore through Scully's abdomen jolting her 
awake. "Aaaaaaagh!" She gritted her teeth, willing herself to 
breathe, trying to focus through the flashing bright lights and 
jumbled images that swarmed in her head. 

Pain. 

Pain beyond anything she'd imagined. 

Pain. Searing twisting pain that threatened to tear her in half. 

"Mulder," she gasped, gulping for air, rolling onto her back. She 
felt a gush of hot wetness spread between her legs. --No. Not now. 
Not yet. Not like this.-- She struggled to sit up but the muscle 
spasm that turned her belly into a rock-hard knot had spread to her 
back and legs, effectively paralyzing her for the moment. "Mulder..." 
she called for him again, but the rest of the words died in her throat 
when she saw the expression on his face and the blood on his fingers. 

"Scully," the air leaked out of him in a hiss. 

"Aaaaaaaaiiiiieeeeeee." The contraction peaked then slowly faded, 
leaving her almost numb in its absence. Breathing heavily, she swung 
her feet over the side of the bed. She pressed trembling arms into 
the mattress, holding herself on the edge. A metallic taste filled 
her mouth. She touched her lips and saw blood. 

A wet area, stained pink, spread across the white sheets around her. 

Mulder slipped off the bed and onto the floor, sinking to his knees, 
stroking back the hair matted against her damp forehead. He gently 
clasped the swell of her belly between his palms, supporting it. "It 
still feels tight," he whispered, fear in his voice. 

"It is." Scully rubbed it with one hand. 

"Is the baby OK in there?" 

"Yes. He just wants to come out." She found her discarded nightgown 
on the floor and dropped it over her head, adjusting it around her. 

"Now?" 

"Soon." She tested her legs, shifting her weight slowly onto her 
feet. She stood, moving toward the bathroom in a cautious waddle, 
supporting her belly with a hand at one side. "My water broke. We 
need to go to the hospital." 

"But what about the blood? Is that normal?" 

She closed the bathroom door behind her without answering. --It will 
be OK,-- she reminded herself as she shuffled to the sink and twisted 
the cold water tap. --Babies born in the last month usually are OK.-- 
She soaked a washcloth and pressed the cold cotton against her face 
and neck. --Ahhh. Good.-- She moistened the cloth again, wringing 
it. --Remember Dana, this is a special case,-- she amended her 
reminder. To her dismay, the band around her middle began to tighten 
rapidly. --Oh, shit.-- She dropped the cloth on the floor and held 
the edge of the sink in a death grip, her fingers white from the 
pressure. --Too soon, too soon.--- The white tile swam in front 
of her eyes and, as she fell, she heard a blood-curdling scream echo 
faintly around her. 

=Three Weeks Ago= 

"Frohike, it's me. Let me in." Scully rapped impatiently at the 
metal door, glancing up and down the empty alleyway. 

Locks rattled up the side of the door as they were released from the 
inside. A sliver of Langley showed in the thin wedge between door and 
frame. His eyes swept down to her feet and back up again. "Whoa," he 
stepped aside, swinging the door very wide, inviting her in. He then 
closed it behind her, meticulously engaging the many locks in reverse 
order along the edge. Secure. 

The Gunmen's den--and it was a den...of something--remained unchanged 
from the last time she'd seen it, over eight months ago. Gloomy, 
crammed with electronic gear, and cluttered with papers and printed 
matter, it was a dark nest that reeked of paranoia. Scully breathed 
deeply and exhaled. --Wonderful.-- 

Byers and Frohike detached themselves from a monitor in the corner and 
piled up behind Langley. Byers' eyes drifted downward for a moment. 
He blushed, then dragged his eyes back up her body, riveting them to 
her face. "Agent Scully...it's good to see you looking so well." He 
blushed again, stuttering, "I mean...." 

"I know," Scully touched him gently on the arm. "Thanks." 

Frohike completed a slow circle. Whistled. "Impressive." 

"Surprising," Langley blurted. 

"I'll second both of those," Scully smiled, looking around. 

Byers quickly produced a chair from the back room and offered it to 
her. She sank into it gratefully, exhaled as the baby migrated into 
her thorax then shifted around in her seat, trying to get 
comfortable. She felt a hand at her ankles and looked down--Frohike 
pushed an overturned milk crate beneath her feet, then lowered them 
gently. Langley handed her a tall glass of water. --Talk about 
impressive and surprising,-- she thought, taking the water. "Thanks, 
guys," she said, drinking it gratefully. 

Three sets of eyes regarded her curiously, waiting. 

"You're looking at me as if I were a teen-aged girl who's gotten in 
trouble and been marched to the alter with her pimply-faced 
boyfriend," she burst out as she stared back at the half-circle of 
faces looming over her. 

Three sets of eyes regarded her warily, from a few inches further 
away. 

"Sorry." She rubbed her forehead, then looked up. "I've been a bit 
overwrought lately." 

Byers pulled a chair to a conservative safe distance and sat down. 
"It's understandable. You've been through a lot of...strange 
things...lately." 

"Very strange things," she whispered. 

"I'm...we're..." he looked at the other Gunmen for confirmation, 
"...just glad you're back in one piece." 

"And then some," she added in the same whisper. 

Byers sat forward, elbows across knees, and looked into her face. 
"What can we do for you?" 

"It's what you can do for Mulder," she said, explaining what she'd 
learned from The Smoker about the nano devices that had been 
implanted in both Mulder and AD Skinner. 

Byers sat back, exchanging looks with the other two Gunmen. 
"Twisted." 

"Devious," Frohike said. 

"Nanites." Langley concluded. 

"Nanites?" Scully wracked her brain for a definition of *nanites.*. 
--What?-- 

"Trekker." 

--Oh.-- Scully nodded, understanding. Shee went on to describe how 
The Smoker could use a palmtop computer to control the aggregation 
and disaggregation of the carbon...*nanite*...particles. 

"A palmtop," Frohike mused. "What kind?" 

Scully drew a blank. --It was a little square box.-- She dragged 
her memory for a description of the thing, mentioning size, shape, 
color and some ornamentation on the top. 

"Ah!" Langley named a manufacturer and model number. 

"Radio waves. They don't need direct line-of-sight for 
communication." Byers stroked his beard thoughtfully. 

"Bummer." Langley chewed on a piece of hair. "But they probably 
operate on a fairly narrow frequency range." 

"And, assuming the frequency hasn't been tampered with, it should be 
a cinch to jam it." Frohike cracked his knuckles, ready to start. 

"We can package a frequency jammer, a shielding device," with a nod to 
Langley, "into the plastic housing of a pager, then make up some 
reason why Mulder needs to wear it." Byers sat back in his chair, 
tenting his fingers, tapping the tips together as he considered the 
possibilities. 

Scully rubbed her tummy, thinking of one way she could get Mulder to 
wear the modified pager. "But that's a short-term solution, and one 
that's going to be difficult to sell to Mulder for very long." Scully 
reminded them. 

"Ultimately, we need to get those...particles...out of his blood." 
Byers agreed. 

"I have a couple of things I'm working on." Scully smiled, started 
to feel better about finding a long-term solution to this problem. 
"Just get me a short-term patch." 

"You've got it," Frohike. 

"OK," Scully levered herself out of the chair. The Gunmen anxiously 
surrounded her, spreading out, each ready to catch her if she fell. 
She didn't. "You'll work on getting the frequency jammer into the 
pager then get it to me. I'll get Mulder to wear it." She started 
for the door, turned. "We need one for Skinner, too." 

Frohike started the Door Unlocking Ritual. 

"Oh, and another thing." She produced three small vials from her 
pocket, each containing a small amount of clear liquid. "We've had 
extensive genotyping done by the FBI laboratory at Quantico but I was 
wondering whether you guys could double check it through your... 
channels?" 

The Gunmen shot looks among themselves. "Trust no one, Agent Scully?" 

"You've got it," she agreed. 

Byers cleared his throat, extended his hand, palm up. "I think we 
can take care of that." 

She handed him the three DNA samples. "Thanks. I knew I could count 
on you." She clasped his hand briefly. 

"Oh, and Agent Scully," Byers called her back as she stepped through 
the door. "Say 'hi' from us to that pimply-faced boyfriend of yours." 

=Four forty-six AM= 

Scully floated in a place that was neither here nor there, listening 
to the sounds around her. Beeping. Tapping of soft-soled shoes, 
back and forth. Low murmurs. Pain in her left arm. She swam into 
the light and opened her eyes. The bright sterile white of a 
hospital room lay around her. A nurse made a notation on her chart, 
then padded away. Scully followed the IV line down to her left arm. 
Next to the bed, her bloody nightgown lay in shreds on a cart.. As 
she tried to unravel the patterns of two asynchronous beeping sounds, 
she remembered the searing pain in her belly. Gone. Numb, even. 
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked hesitantly down to 
where the baby should be. A big lump. Her breath came out in a rush. 
--All is not yet lost.-- 

"Scully." Mulder's voice came from somewhere over her head, tense. 

"Mulder." She raised her right hand, searching the air for him. His 
fingers laced through hers as he circled her bed and came into view. 
His face was pale; his jaw, clenched. His hair stood out all over his 
head as if he'd just gotten out of bed...--which he had,-- she added 
to herself. --They both had.-- She tried to think and found that her 
mind turned slowly. 

"They gave you some medication." Mulder answered her unspoken 
question. 

"I'll say..." she gasped as her lower body went into spasm again, 
twisting her. The two bleeping sounds began to race, one overtaking 
the other, echoing strangely in the room. She held Mulder's hand in 
a death grip, straining to breathe through the constriction. The pain 
was minimal, the physical contortion nearly tore her in half. The 
bright lights receded, the shrill beeps faded away, and the sound of 
her own racing heartbeat was loud in her ears as darkness swallowed 
her again. 

=Three days ago= 

Skinner turned from the window. "What's that?" 

Scully pulled at the blanket over her legs, adjusting it. She 
settled more comfortably into the sofa. "...when you were sick and 
almost died last Spring. I know how they did it." 

Skinner showed her his back and said nothing. 

"They did it to Mulder, too." 

His back stiffened. 

"Look, Skinner, we know how to get around it." She pulled a small, 
black pager from her pocket and turned it over between her hands as 
she spoke. 

Silence. 

"We already know how to block the signal." 

"Signal?" That got his attention. 

She nodded and explained the biotechnology of the particles that had 
been seeded in his bloodstream. 

"That sounds pretty far-fetched, Scully." 

"It's..." she cleared her throat, forcing the word from her lips 
"...alien technology, sir." 

Skinner shook his head. "I don't know..." he started to say. 

Scully interrupted him. "Do you have a better explanation?" 

"You say you have a way to block those things?" 

=Four fifty-nine AM= 

Scully drifted back to consciousness, surfacing through a wave of 
sound--beeps, peeps, tapping footsteps, the hum of voices. 

"Scully." Mulder leaned over her, wearing hospital scrubs this time. 

She smiled weakly. "I've faced down liver-eating mutants, flesh- 
eating bacteria, mind-altering mushrooms..." 

"I only did those in college," Mulder broke in. 

Scully ignored him and continued. "...mind-altering mushrooms, and 
man-eating sea monsters, then I pass out from a simple cramp." 

Mulder looked down at her fondly, brushing her hair back from her 
face and tucking it behind one ear. "Nothing's simple about you, 
Scully. And a contraction is a helluva cramp." 

"Ah, you silver-tongued Dev..." Her spine bowed into an arch as she 
struggled to cope with the new wave of pain. --Breathe, breathe, 
breathe,-- she coached herself, thanking God and pharmacology that 
the pain wasn't more severe. The tension eased and she lay back on 
the gurney. "I could use some of those mushrooms right about now," 
she gasped, breath rasping in her chest. 

"If I had some, I'd give them to you," Mulder promised, "If I could 
take your pain, I'd take it from you." 

--Ah, Mulder.-- Another spasm gripped herr, tighter this time, 
squeezing the air out of her, an Anaconda of a contraction that made 
her head spin and sparks fly behind her eyes. "Yaaaaaahhhhhhh!" she 
screamed at the ceiling tiles. 

Something popped. 

--Uh-oh.-- 

All hell broke loose. 

"She's hemorrhaging!" The doctor shouldered Mulder aside, grabbing 
the rails of Scully's gurney, pushing her out the door. Two nurses 
ran with him, one stabilizing the IV pole and the other leading the 
way, sweeping pedestrians and swinging doors from their path. 

"What's happening?" Mulder loped beside him. Confused. Panicked. 
Terrified. 

"Placenta previa. The placenta implanted too low in the uterus, 
putting your wife at high risk for abruption and hemorrhage, 
particularly in late term." 

"And you just discovered this?" 

"You wife has been aware of the problem and the risks it entails." 

Mulder froze in his tracks, left behind as the doctor and nurses 
wheeled Scully down the hall at a full run. 

=Yesterday= 

"There's a couple of abnormalities." 

Scully felt her blood pressure surge at the word. "What do you 
mean, abnormalities?" 

Byers shrugged, jamming the autoradiographic film into the clip at 
one end of the light box. He flipped the switch. White light 
flickered then caught, illuminating the film from the back, throwing 
ladders of bold black bands into relief. "The lanes in the middle 
are from the baby's DNA." He pulled a pen from his pocket and used 
it as a pointer. "You can see that every band that he has, either 
you or Mulder have in your profile." He worked his way down the 
film, correlating the results, band for band, with Mulder or Scully. 
Then he stopped, looked over at Scully with a puzzled expression on 
his face. "Except these two." He tapped the pen against two bands 
that lay side-by-side in the middle of the baby's profile. 

Scully leaned closer, checked back and forth between the three 
profiles. Byers was right. Those two bands didn't match. "So what 
are they?" 

"A mutation?" he suggested reluctantly. 

=Ten thirteen AM= 

--Your wife is aware of the problem-- 

He remembered his shock as the doors swung shut behind the running 
doctor, nurses, and Scully on the gurney. The doors drifted back and 
forth, slowly closing on air, as he stood, staring. 

--Damn you, Scully.-- 

He had leaned, forehead-first, against the cold cement of the wall, 
bouncing his head lightly against the hardness as he struggled to 
understand why she continued to lie to him, hide things from him that 
he needed to know, that he deserved to know. 

--After all this time, after all we've beeen through together, after 
the miracle of this baby, can't you trust me, even a little bit?-- 

The doors sighed open. 

Mulder turned from where he sat contemplating the morning sun through 
the tinted glass of the window. 

"Mr. Mulder," the doctor sat down beside him, pulling off his mask to 
disclose a serious expression. "There's a problem." 

 
           The End 

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