TITLE: The Way Things Are 
AUTHOR: Sukie Tawdry		 
EMAIL: sukie_tawdry@hotmail.com		 
RATING: NC-17		 
SPOLIERS: Season 1 
CATEGORY: Guess you could call it AU. Diverges
 from canon some time during season 1.	 
KEYWORDS: Story, M/S (some elements of M/other) 	 
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. Sniff
SUMMARY: One night and their whole lives were changed 
 forever.	 
FEEDBACK: Good or not so good--go ahead. I can 
 take it. I'm a big girl.	 
ARCHIVE: Again, go ahead.	 	 
AUTHOR'S NOTES: At end.


Part 1 - Snow Blindness

It had been a terrible idea, right from the beginning. What 
on earth had she been thinking--screwing her partner. She'd
vowed to be smart on this new assignment. She'd walked into 
that dreary basement office and shook his hand, utterly 
determined that she wouldn't make the same mistake she had 
with Jack and Daniel and all the others.

And how long had it taken her to fall into bed with Mulder?
Not even six months--how pathetic. Certainly, Mulder was
rather irresistable, beautiful in his loose-limbed grace.
And his brilliance was as blinding as the sun glinting off 
snow. That was what it had been--snow blindness. 

But she knew from the beginning that Mulder wasn't interested
in a relationship with her or anyone else. She'd heard rumors 
that Mulder was a "pickup artist", and she'd seen plenty of 
evidence that his reputation was well earned. She'd taken 
phone messages from more than a few women--rarely the same 
woman twice. 

She'd seen him wear the same clothes to work that he'd
had on the day before, only a little more rumpled. Damn, 
if he hadn't still looked more gorgeous than anyone had
a right to, even when his suit was creased and his jaw
was stubbly. If anything, he was more beautiful with that
sleepy-eyed "I've got fucked this morning" look about 
him. He was a player, and she had sworn off players.

Oh, he flirted with her. She was pretty sure it was a knee
jerk reaction from him, something he wasn't even aware he was
doing. He teased and prodded and touched her too often and
stood much too close. Mulder pushed the limits in general 
and her buttons in particular, and he seemed to enjoy both. 

She'd known better, dammit. It didn't take a psychologist 
to see that Mulder was a tortured soul, chasing an elusive 
truth and taking wild chances in that pursuit. She'd had
to bail him out of too many tight situations when he'd 
ditched her to do something dangerous.

And it didn't take a Ph.D. to see that he dulled his pain with 
one night stands. If she were totally honest with herself, 
she would admit that she felt a tiny bit jealous of those women. 
Maybe that was why she'd behaved so stupidly.

It had been their last night in Kenwood, Tennessee after the
Samuel Hartley case. Feeling the sting of not solving the case
fast enough to save lives, they'd had a few too many beers 
in the pool hall bar. Actually, she'd been having the beer.
Mulder had been drinking scotch. Something had haunted him 
about that case, and she knew it had to do with his sister.

Mulder sat close to her, looked into her eyes a little too often. 
It unnerved and excited her, and she found herself gazing back 
at him. He had traced a lazy finger along her arm, testing, 
perhaps, to see if she flinched. She didn't flinch. 

They were both drunk by the time they left the bar. Their 
motel had been down the street, so they'd left the car at the 
pool hall and walked the two blocks. Their steps had been a 
little unsteady, his arm around her shoulders, hers around 
his waist. She was sure they looked like a couple of drunken
sailors, up until the part where he stopped in the deserted 
street and kissed her.

It had been a tentative kiss, the kind of kiss that happens
when two people are drunk, and one of them bends over to
say something to the other. Their lips met once, twice--
little nipping kisses until he pulled her close and 
began to devour her mouth.

Not that she'd fought or anything. Far from it. She'd 
twined her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue into his 
mouth. He pulled her up against his body, her toes barely 
grazing the pavement as he pressed her against his rock hard
cock. There had been little question in her alcohol-hazed 
mind as to what was going to happen next.

Her legs felt like jello as they stumbled to the motel.
She had barely gotten her door open before he had his
hand under her blouse, cupping her breast through her
bra. She was pretty sure she was whimpering by that
point. He made short work of her front-closure bra.
She wondered how much practice he had.

The kissing and groping went on and on until they'd fallen 
back onto the bed. Her nipples grew hard in the cool 
motel room air. He brushed his thumb over the tip, lightly
at first, and then more firmly. 

She had known in some little corner of her mind, that she 
should stop him from hiking her skirt up around her waist. 
When she'd reached out to unzip his pants in order to get 
closer to his cock she recognized it as a bad, bad idea. 
But he was so hot and hard that she couldn't stop herself 
from reaching into his boxer shorts and closing her hand 
around him. It made him moan so delightfully.

He tugged her panties down her legs, shredding her 
pantyhose when his nails caught on the sheer material.
And did she try to stop him? Of course not. She 
lifted her hips obligingly, turning from side to side as
he worked her underwear off.

Slick from her juices, his fingers found her clit. 
She heard herself making little sounds: mewling, moaning,
totally embarrassing noises as tongue followed fingers.
He lapped at her, chuckling softly at her bucking hips.

She must have looked ridiculous, skirt up around her 
waist, blouse open and breasts bared. At that moment, 
she couldn't have cared less as his tongue dipped into
her vagina and back up to swirl around her clit.

"C'mere," she mumbled, pulling on his shirt. He obeyed,
climbing up her body and settling between her thighs.
He pushed into her with one thrust, as she dug her
heels into the firm flesh of his ass.

It was then that reality began to pick at her brain.
She almost pushed it away, so lost in the sensation of
Mulder moving within her. But that tiny bit of 
responsibility forced her to speak when she wanted
only to moan.

"What are we doing?" she gasped as he put his hands under 
her thighs and pushed back, changing the angle and driving 
deeper into her body.

"I thought that was...obvious," he grunted.

"This is crazy...oh god, that feels good. We're
not...oh...using any protection."

"We should stop," he muttered, as he drove into her.

"Yeah," she agreed, hooking her ankles behind his
neck.

"Oh, yeah...ohyeahohyeahohyeah." But he didn't stop,
and she didn't want him to. No, she definitely made
no move to stop him. Actually, her moans and gasps
and the fact that she couldn't stop thrashing her head
from side to side, probably gave the impression 
that she wanted it to go on forever.

And then her whole body was pulsing, quaking from within.
Her back arched, and she grabbed fistfuls of bedspread
as if that would keep her from flying around the 
room. 

Her orgasm seemed to trigger a chain reaction as he
stiffened over her and grunted out words that weren't
really words. 

She didn't remember anything after that. The next
morning, she woke up alone--naked and sticky. The bed 
reeked of sex, and her clothes were strewn around the floor. 

She'd sat up too fast and moaned into her hands, trying
hard not to be sick. The wrongness of the whole thing
hit her with the force of a runaway truck. 

Mulder's clothes were not mingled with hers on the floor.
The only sign that Mulder had been there was the smell
of semen on her skin and the sheets. That and the ache
between her legs. It had been a long time between 
sexual partners, and her body complained.

Gingerly, she stood up, and holding her head, walked 
to the window and looked out. The bright Tennessee
sunshine mocked her--reminding her again of how stupid
she'd been the night before. 

She stooped to pick up her blouse, noting that some of the
buttons had come off. She gathered the rest of the clothes,
and stuffed them in her dirty laundry bag, unwilling to 
put them back on, even to go searching for Mulder.

Instead, she pulled on a pair the sweatpants and shirt she'd 
worn while lounging around the motel room during the case. 
She fought the desire to pretend this hadn't happened, to 
show up all neatly pressed and sunny for the trip home.
But she worried that if she did that, their partnership 
would be more damaged than it already was. So she went to
find her partner. 

She stood in the morning sunshine, knocking on Mulder's 
door and fighting the urge to run back to DC and hide
under her bed. Had Mulder done that very thing--left
her and run back to the comfort of his office? She
walked around the building, hoping to find a coffee
machine.

She spotted him sitting in a dirty white plastic chair
by the motel swimming pool. Though it was chilly in the
early spring air, his feet were bare and his rumpled
shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Though he probably heard
her footsteps, his gaze didn't move from the dead leaves
lying on the black plastic pool cover.

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he said as she dropped into a
nearby chair. "That was a terrible mistake and shouldn't
have happened."

"You're right. It should never have happened, but it was
as much my fault as yours." 

"I want you to know that I'm clean. What with the hospital
stay when I was shot this year, I've had more blood work 
than a Nevada hooker. And I...uh...I haven't taken a chance 
like that since I was in high school."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next. She was too 
embarrassed that with her medical background, the health 
issues had not occurred to her until he had brought them up.

"I don't drink often," he went on. "It makes me do stupid 
things. I...uh...we could have avoided the whole fucking 
mess if I'd stayed out of that bar."

"Quite the sweet-talker, aren't you, Mulder. Don't 
worry--the secret is safe with me. Nobody ever has to
know you lowered yourself to screw your partner."

"You think that's what this is about--that I'm ashamed to
have slept with you?"

"Never mind. You weren't the only one drunk last night,
and you weren't the only one who was horny." She pushed 
herself out of the chair, ready to escape back to her room.
"Listen, I know I'm blowing this all out of proportion. 
I'm hung-over and oversensitive this morning."

"No. I need for you to understand," he said, rising and
gripping her arm. "You mean a lot to me--too much, really, 
to screw our relationship up with meaningless sex."

She tried not to wince at the word 'meaningless.' It had
been certainly ill-advised, but it hadn't been meaningless
to her. 

"I don't want to screw things up either. Maybe it's best
if we just leave this here and forget it ever happened."

Forget it ever happened. That was the trouble, wasn't it?
He might have been able to forget, but now, two months later, 
she knew she would never be able to forget.

They'd gone home, though, and never spoke about it again. He 
continued to get phone calls from women, had continued to 
show up at work looking a little the worse for wear--maybe 
more often than ever. He treated her professionally and they 
continued to forge their partnership.

They proceeded in fits and starts. She tried not to bristle 
when he teased her over her lack of boyfriends before the little 
trip to the forest that nearly got them both killed. He showed 
genuine caring and concern, both during the mission and afterward 
when terribly ill, they'd landed in a month long quarantine. 

And only a few weeks ago, he had carefully put her in her place 
when she tried to call him by his first name. Fair enough. He
clearly wanted this to be a work relationship and not spill over
into private time. He was gentle about it--she couldn't fault
him. But it had stung a bit, nonetheless.

She hadn't been concerned when she missed a period. Her body 
had undergone a serious trauma when she'd been so badly 
dehydrated by the insects they'd encountered in the forest. 
Surely her cycle would return to normal when her body had a 
chance to recover completely.

But the signs became impossible to ignore when she found herself
vomiting in the ladies room three times in the past week. It 
didn't take a medical degree to figure this one out. 

Which is how she ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor of
her bathroom, tearing a tissue into confetti as she waited. 
Waited for the little stick to turn pink or blue or whatever
the hell this one was supposed to do. She'd tried four different
kinds of tests, not wanting to accept the truth as each one
gave it's verdict.

With shaking fingers, she reached for the last in the series
of little white sticks. She blinked back tears as she looked at
the plus sign. It was time to talk to Mulder.


Author's notes: I began to wonder, what would have happened in
the first season, if instead of making Gillian Anderson wear an
overcoat in July, 1013 had decided to write her pregnancy into the
show. Stay tuned for the next installment in this exercise in
"What if?" I'm going to try to post weekly or at least every
ten days.

Part 2 - Pillar of Salt

"Glad you could make it, Scully." Mulder was tipped back 
in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk. "Stuck in 
traffic again?"

She wanted to punch that smirk right off his face. She'd 
spent the morning crouched by the toilet, alternately being 
sick and checking the cadre of pregnancy tests, each one 
delivering its bad news.

"No, I wasn't stuck in traffic," she said, shooting him
a "don't mess with me" look.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his concern apparent. "I 
don't mean to pry, but you haven't been yourself lately. 
You look very pale this morning, Scully."

Just when she thought she had him figured out, Mulder would 
surprise her. When she had decided he was too obsessed with 
his work to notice anything else, he turned gentle and tender.

"I'm fine. Well, actually, I wasn't feeling that well this 
morning, but I'm better now." She cleared her throat. This
wasn't going to be easy. "Can we go for a walk, Mulder. I
need to talk to you, and I'd prefer not to do it here."

"Now you're scaring me. Are you sure you're all right? 
You're not having aftereffects from the insects, are you?"

"No. Nothing like that. I just....we need to talk."

"Okay. Of course," he said, wariness in his voice. They 
left the building, walking the two blocks to the Mall. 
Each time they had to cross a street, his hand would come 
to rest on her back. He was like that--gentlemanly and a 
little territorial. 
 
"What did you want to tell me?" he asked, when they reached 
an area away from any tourists. 

She took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to be sick. 
Now, that would be disastrous, throwing up on Mulder's shoes 
in front of dozens of gawking tourists. On the other hand, 
it would certainly open up the subject at hand.

"I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you, Mulder. 
I haven't seen a doctor yet, but...I'm pregnant. At least
that's what four separate home pregnancy tests said."

He didn't speak, and she wondered how long it had been since 
anyone had been truly able to shut him up. Finally, he 
found his tongue. "You're sure....you're sure it's..."

"Yours? Yes. Unless I had sex with someone and developed
amnesia, yes, it's yours."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." His gaze seemed 
to be fixated on a street vendor, unable to meet her eye. 

"I'm not insulted. It was a fair question. I don't sleep
around, Mulder." She pinned him with a fierce look. "There is 
no chance this is not your child, Mulder. Look, I'm not any 
happier than you are about this."

"One drunken night. One stupid, miserable drunken night. 
I can't believe this."

"Are you insinuating this is all my doing? Because, if you 
are, Mulder, I need to remind you that I was not alone in 
this stupidity."

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're right. I didn't 
mean to imply you were the only one at fault. Scully, what 
are you going to do?"

"Gee, I thought talking to you was the logical first step.
What with you being there at the time of conception and all. 
I thought you'd want to be the first to know, but obviously 
I've misjudged the situation."

"Scully, I'm not denying my responsibility, but honestly, 
what happens next is up to you." He stuffed his hands in 
his slack pockets. 
 
"I was hoping you would want to be part of that decision, 
Mulder. Obviously, you don't." She turned and began to 
walk back to the office. She fought the urge to run
as fast and as far as she could.
 
"Wait! Scully, wait." He caught up to her easily with his 
long legs. His hand gripped her upper arm. "I...I don't 
mean to be callous. I'm still in shock, okay."

"I have to go," she said, as she pulled out of his grip. 
Head held high, she walked away, glancing back when she 
reached the corner. Mulder remained where she had left him
staring after her.

The basement office was blessedly empty when she arrived. 
Mulder was probably still standing on the Mall, a pillar of 
salt, rather like Lot's wife. She retrieved the file she'd 
been working on the day before and headed up to the forensic 
area where she hoped to camp out in an empty office.

She wasn't sure what she'd envisioned when she told Mulder. 
She'd have hated it if he tried to dictate her next move. 
He was right--there were choices before her--keep the baby, 
give it up or abort-- but ultimately, the decision was hers.

She'd never felt so alone in her life. Her mother was still 
reeling from Bill Scully Sr's death. Melissa was hard 
to reach these days, still traveling the West Coast. Scully 
was too embarrassed to tell her friends. How utterly 
humiliating--a thirty-year-old physician, FBI agent, independant 
woman--finding herself "in trouble" like some teenager. 

And the father of the baby was no more interested in her than 
a teenager's one-night stand. She couldn't even be angry 
with Mulder. He'd made it perfectly clear from the very 
beginning that finding out what happened to his sister was all 
he cared about.

"Nothing else matters," was what he had said all those months 
ago as they sat in a darkened motel room on their first case. 
He allowed no distractions or impediments to his quest. The 
women he slept with were an evening's diversion, a way to scratch 
an itch. She'd seen him sidestep the morning after phone calls, 
gently and carefully extricating himself from further involvement.

It was no wonder that he was panic-stricken now. She wasn't a one 
-night stand, a pick up. They had a partneership, a relationship of 
growing trust, and that was on the line. She had no doubt that he 
cared for her on some level. She could see the affection in his
eyes, hear it in his voice.

But Mulder was a terribly isolated man. He seemed to be somewhat
estranged from his family. He didn't appear to keep in touch with 
anyone from his ISU days. He'd acted pleasantly surprised whenever 
they'd come across people from his past. Mulder traveled light.

She had turned her cell phone off earlier, and checking it now,
she saw a series of messages from Mulder. She turned it off again.
She wasn't ready to talk to Mulder, not until she sorted 
things out.

Trying to work, she concentrated on the autopsy results from 
their last case. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out 
a packet of saltine crackers. They helped the morning sickness 
a little. She munched a few, only to find herself in the ladies 
room within the hour.

She knelt on the cold tile floor after losing everything she had in 
her stomach. Thank God, the bathroom was deserted. That was all 
she needed--to set the Hoover building grapevine into motion. 
Hey, did you hear--Agent Scully got knocked up. Really, wonder 
who she took off her panties for. Well, you never know about those 
frosty types--sometimes they're real sluts. Bet it was that sexy 
partner of hers--he'd be hard to resist. Yeah, but how long 'til 
he takes a powder?

She pushed herself up from the floor, her stomach a bit steadier.
Her legs felt shaky as she walked to the sink. Mulder was right,
she looked like a ghost. He'd been generous--he hadn't mentioned
the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows under her cheekbones.
Weren't pregnant women supposed to get chubby cheeks? 

She splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She was
becoming a little concerned about the vomiting. She wracked her
brain, but couldn't remember enough from her medical school 
training to know what was normal in early pregnancy.

It was after four thirty when she went back to the basement office.
She had steeled herself to face Mulder, though she wasn't sure
what to say to him. It turned out to be a moot point--Mulder wasn't
there. She lifted a post-it note off her computer terminal, 
"Dropping off the prints from the Miller case--see you tomorrow."

Using the privacy of the deserted office, she phoned her 
gynecologist and made an appointment for the next afternoon.
Gathering her things, she left the office. Scully couldn't 
remember when she'd felt so exhausted. 

Her apartment looked dusty and neglected when she arrived home.
Lately, she had no energy at the end of the day. She couldn't 
remember the last time she had straightened up. The answering 
machine yielded a series of increasingly terse messages from 
Mulder asking her to call him. She hit the erase button. Too 
tired to eat, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the sofa.
In moments, she was sleeping soundly.

It was dark when she woke. Blessedly dark, and quiet. Her
mind felt clear for the first time in days. Suddenly, she
saw the options before her, and realized that there was only
one true choice. 

She couldn't abort this child. It was wrong. Not for anyone
else, perhaps, but for her, for Dana Scully. She had never
taken the easy way out, and to abort the child because it 
was inconvenient wasn't right for her. She'd been raised to
a strict code of right and wrong. You took responsibility for
your actions. You owned up to the consequences no matter how
uncomfortable.

And she didn't think she could give this child up, no matter
what the impact to her career or her reputation. She made a
decent living and her skills would ensure her security. With
Mulder's support or without, she would do what she had to do.

She needed to tell him. He would, no doubt, be relieved that
he was off the hook. She thought about calling him, but 
decided he deserved to hear the news in person. 

She felt more energized than she had in days. It was all 
so clear now, so simple. She hummed along with the radio as
she drove to Mulder's apartment. 

But the damned morning sickness reared its ugly head, and
she rushed to park the car. She wondered why the hell it 
was called morning sickness anyway, since she seemed to be
sick morning, noon and night.

She knocked on Mulder's door, frantically swallowing back
the nausea. In her misery, she barely listened
for movement behind the door. Desperate, she pulled out
the key she still had to Mulder's apartment, a remnant from
the days when he was freshly home from the hospital with
a bad leg wound.

She pushed the door open, frantic to get to the bathroom
before she vomited in the hall. The sight that greeted her
stopped her in her tracks.

A naked Mulder sat on his couch. He wasn't alone. The 
woman who straddled his lap was naked as well, her short
brown hair swinging as she turned her head to see who had
walked in the door.

"What the hell?" the woman screeched. What the hell, indeed,
Scully thought. Mulder was saying something, but Scully 
couldn't take the time to decifer his words. 

"Damn morning sickness," Scully muttered, as she bolted for the
bathroom.


Part 3 - Cornered

"What the hell are you doing here, Scully?" Mulder asked from
the open bathroom doorway.

"I would have thought," she moaned, "it was fairly obvious."
Could her life get any more humiliating? Throwing up in the
midst of Mulder's overactive sex life was an all time low.

"Mulder, do you want to explain this?" The woman had put on
Mulder's shirt, though it didn't cover much. She stood, 
hands on her curvy hips, perky breasts heaving in anger. Well,
maybe there were new levels of humiliation to plumb after all.
The woman eyed Scully with something between pity and disgust.

"It's complicated, Cassie. I..."

"On second thought, don't bother with an explanation. And, if 
you were thinking of calling me tomorrow--DON'T." Cassie 
flounced off, with as much dignity as an angry half-naked woman 
could muster.

Scully crouched next to the toilet, listening to the rustle of
clothes from the next room and the slam of the apartment door.
Wave after wave of nausea crashed over her.

"That went well, don't you think?" Mulder asked, sarcastically.

"Would you mind not pointing that thing at me?" Scully asked, 
gesturing at Mulder's still impressive erection.

"Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered, leaving the room. He returned
a moment later, wearing jeans. 

Her stomach had finally settled, so she flushed the toilet one last
time and sat back against the tile wall, her legs out straight in 
front of her. 

"Sorry about Carrie," she muttered.

"Cassie," he said, wetting a washcloth and handing it to her. "At
least I think it was Cassie. Or Callie."

"No, I think you were right--Cassie. Anyway, I'm sorry." The 
washcloth felt deliciously cool against her heated skin. She
draped it over her face, as if she could shut out the whole
wretched mess.

He slid down to sit beside her, his bare back to the tile wall. 
"No. I'm sorry. I was feeling a little...uh...cornered. I 
stopped into a bar..."

"Doesn't matter. You don't owe me anything, Mulder. That's 
what I came here to tell you, but I started to feel so sick."

"Scully..."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going to keep the baby."

Mulder sighed deeply. She heard his head clunk against the
tile wall. Pulling the washcloth from her face, she turned
to look at him. 

"Obviously, that wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"I never said that," he muttered. His eyes held a look of 
complete misery.

"You didn't have to. But you don't have to worry--you're off
the hook. I don't expect anything from you, Mulder, so you 
don't need to feel 'cornered'." 

"I think you should lie down," he said, scrambling onto his feet.
He extended a hand to her. "I'm worried about you."

She allowed him to help her up. He kept an arm around her waist
and led her to the living room. Why the hell did he have to be
so gentle? And why the hell did she feel such raging, pathetic
jealousy? Mulder had every right to fuck whomever he chose.

"I'd rather not lie down on that," she said, nodding at the sofa--
scene of Mulder's naked tryst. Why did she feel like a wronged 
girlfriend? Mulder obviously considered himself a free agent.

Two months ago, Mulder had turned to Scully in a drunken frenzy. 
She had merely been a warm, willing body when he needed to blot
out the pain. It clearly meant nothing to him--less than nothing. 
His only concern for her now was for a friend who had gotten herself
in a bad situation.

"Fine," Mulder sighed, leading her to the bedroom. His bedroom
was a disaster scene, boxes of files, magazines, books everywhere.
It was clear he rarely slept here. He shoved piles of papers from 
the bed, and she stretched out. He pulled her shoes off.

"I'm fine, really. I should be leaving."

"You look like hell," he said, sitting on the side of the bed. He
reached for her hand. "Your hands are like ice. Scully, is this 
normal?"

"I don't know. I've never been pregnant before."

"You're a doctor." Irritation crept into his voice.

"I'm a pathologist, Mulder. My OB/GYN rotation was a billion years
ago. I'm sure it's fine. I have a doctor appointment tomorrow."

"Look, what I said before about feeling cornered..."

"I understand, Mulder. You were blindsided. So was I, frankly.
I had plans for my life. There were things I wanted to do--things 
I hoped to do on the X-Files, and I'm not sure how having a baby 
fits into all of that. This isn't exactly what I dreamed of."

She struggled to sit up, and Mulder pushed her down gently. "I 
mean it--lay down. He stroked her hair, his hand lingering
on her cheek. "I...I want to help you. Financially, that is. 
I obviously don't spend money on creature comforts."

Annoyed, she looked around the cluttered bedroom. "I agree with
you there, Mulder, but you don't 'owe' me, okay." 

"I'm not trying to keep this a monetary arrangement, Scully. It's 
just that...it would be safer for you and for the baby if it's 
not...official."

She pushed his hands away and sat up, scooting to the end of the
bed. The urge to flee was overpowering as she shoved her feet
back in her shoes. 

"I've got to go."

"Scully, wait. There are things you don't know. This could be
dangerous in ways you can't even imagine."

"You've made yourself very clear, Mulder. Don't worry--like I said,
you're off the hook."

<><><><>

"Try and relax, Dana. You're a little tense." Paula Sherwood's
hands were gentle, and blessedly small, but Scully grimaced
anyway. 

"It's been a rough day." Rough day indeed. She and Mulder had
barely spoken. There had been no affectionate banter, no 
wisecracks, not even shoptalk. 

"Fundal height is good. Consistent with ten weeks gestation.
Everything looks great," Paula said, ending the exam. She
removed her latex gloves and helped Scully to pull her feet from
the stirrups and sit up. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll 
talk. Is the baby's father here?"

"No. He couldn't make it." 

Scully could tell from the little frown on Paula's face, the
obstetrician knew it was an excuse. Paula smiled and left the
examining room. 

Damn hormones. She hated being on the verge of tears all the time.
Scully slid off the examining table and reached for her underwear.
The set was lacy and sexy, and no one was going to be seeing it
any time soon. God that was a depressing thought, as was the
prospect of wearing big 'old lady' panties in a few months. She 
dressed quickly and went in search of Paula's office. 

"Dana, come in. I'm so excited for you. I love helping medical 
school friends start their families. How have you been?"

"Busy. Work is always interesting."

"Sounds exciting. Dana, I am a little concerned about a few things. 
I sense that you're under a great deal of stress, and that can 
affect the baby."

"I'll admit that it's been a stressful year. I'd been teaching up 
until about six months ago, when I started working in the field."

"Is the work you do dangerous, Dana?"

"It can be, I suppose. But my partner and I don't take 
unnecessary chances and we watch each other's backs."

"Dana, much as I advise women that their lives don't have to change
with pregnancy, there are certain physical limitations. How will
this affect your partnership?"

Scully couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to answer that 
question. She cast her eyes down and swallowed hard. Paula 
sighed, apparently gleaning all the information she needed 
from her patient's reaction.

"I see. Dana, I can't tell you to change occupations, or what 
choices to make in your private life, but I can tell you that 
I see the toll this is taking on you. You're two pounds lighter 
than at your last checkup six months ago. I would expect 
some weight gain by ten weeks gestation. You need to take the 
time to eat."

"Paula, I try to eat but I just haven't been able to keep anything 
down. The morning sickness is just awful. I can't believe how
whiny that sounds, but, honestly, I can't believe my mother 
did this four times."

"Well, every pregnancy is different. I have some pamphlets here 
that should help. I'd like you to try some of the suggestions
in them--small, frequent meals, saltine crackers, ginger ale. If
you're still having trouble keeping food down, we'll try some 
vitamin therapy," Paula said, handing her the materials. "It may
be miserable and inconvenient, but morning sickness is rarely 
dangerous. Just watch out for dehydration. I know you're well
aware of the signs.

"And I want you to try to slow down. You have a difficult job, 
but you need to get enough rest. Dana...is the father going 
to be able to support you in this pregnancy?"

Scully stared at the sheaf of booklets in her hands, willing 
herself not to cry at the gentle concern in Paula's voice. 

"He isn't able to be involved right now." God that sounded
like he was married. In a way, he was married--to his work, 
to the search for his sister. "It's fine, really. I can
manage. The FBI is quite "family friendly" these days."

<><><><> 

"What did the doctor say?" 

"Mulder, I don't understand you." She looked up from her 
decaf tea, shaking her head. He hadn't called after the
doctor appointment the afternoon before, but she hadn't 
expected him to. 

"It was a straightforward question, wasn't it?" Mulder 
shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uneasy under 
her cool stare.

"Oh, it was simple enough. I just can't figure out where
this concern fits in with your "unofficial" status."

"Come on, Scully. You know I care about you. 
Please...what did the doctor say?"

She sighed, eyes focused on the cloudy surface of her tea.
"She said I'm fine. Everything looks fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. I was worried."

She nodded. So worried he needed to pick up the next available
woman. She pushed that ugly thought down, reminding herself 
again that she had no right to feel possessive.

"I know you were. But I'm okay, don't give it another thought." 
Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. 

"What did she say about the morning sickness?" Why the hell
did he have that tender sound in his voice? His kindness 
grated on her skin and felt like pity. 

"She said it's perfectly normal. Really, let's drop it, all
right?"

"Sure. Forget I asked." The wounded look was one he did
well. She turned away, suddenly fascinated by a Yeti
clipping on Mulder's bulletin board.

"You can't have it both ways, Mulder. You can't behave like 
the concerned father-to-be and the innocent bystander at the
same time. It isn't fair, and it's too confusing. So just
go back to ignoring me, okay?"

<><><><>
 

Part 3 - Cornered

"What the hell are you doing here, Scully?" Mulder asked from
the open bathroom doorway.

"I would have thought," she moaned, "it was fairly obvious."
Could her life get any more humiliating? Throwing up in the
midst of Mulder's overactive sex life was an all time low.

"Mulder, do you want to explain this?" The woman had put on
Mulder's shirt, though it didn't cover much. She stood, 
hands on her curvy hips, perky breasts heaving in anger. Well,
maybe there were new levels of humiliation to plumb after all.
The woman eyed Scully with something between pity and disgust.

"It's complicated, Cassie. I..."

"On second thought, don't bother with an explanation. And, if 
you were thinking of calling me tomorrow--DON'T." Cassie 
flounced off, with as much dignity as an angry half-naked woman 
could muster.

Scully crouched next to the toilet, listening to the rustle of
clothes from the next room and the slam of the apartment door.
Wave after wave of nausea crashed over her.

"That went well, don't you think?" Mulder asked, sarcastically.

"Would you mind not pointing that thing at me?" Scully asked, 
gesturing at Mulder's still impressive erection.

"Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered, leaving the room. He returned
a moment later, wearing jeans. 

Her stomach had finally settled, so she flushed the toilet one last
time and sat back against the tile wall, her legs out straight in 
front of her. 

"Sorry about Carrie," she muttered.

"Cassie," he said, wetting a washcloth and handing it to her. "At
least I think it was Cassie. Or Callie."

"No, I think you were right--Cassie. Anyway, I'm sorry." The 
washcloth felt deliciously cool against her heated skin. She
draped it over her face, as if she could shut out the whole
wretched mess.

He slid down to sit beside her, his bare back to the tile wall. 
"No. I'm sorry. I was feeling a little...uh...cornered. I 
stopped into a bar..."

"Doesn't matter. You don't owe me anything, Mulder. That's 
what I came here to tell you, but I started to feel so sick."

"Scully..."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going to keep the baby."

Mulder sighed deeply. She heard his head clunk against the
tile wall. Pulling the washcloth from her face, she turned
to look at him. 

"Obviously, that wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"I never said that," he muttered. His eyes held a look of 
complete misery.

"You didn't have to. But you don't have to worry--you're off
the hook. I don't expect anything from you, Mulder, so you 
don't need to feel 'cornered'." 

"I think you should lie down," he said, scrambling onto his feet.
He extended a hand to her. "I'm worried about you."

She allowed him to help her up. He kept an arm around her waist
and led her to the living room. Why the hell did he have to be
so gentle? And why the hell did she feel such raging, pathetic
jealousy? Mulder had every right to fuck whomever he chose.

"I'd rather not lie down on that," she said, nodding at the sofa--
scene of Mulder's naked tryst. Why did she feel like a wronged 
girlfriend? Mulder obviously considered himself a free agent.

Two months ago, Mulder had turned to Scully in a drunken frenzy. 
She had merely been a warm, willing body when he needed to blot
out the pain. It clearly meant nothing to him--less than nothing. 
His only concern for her now was for a friend who had gotten herself
in a bad situation.

"Fine," Mulder sighed, leading her to the bedroom. His bedroom
was a disaster scene, boxes of files, magazines, books everywhere.
It was clear he rarely slept here. He shoved piles of papers from 
the bed, and she stretched out. He pulled her shoes off.

"I'm fine, really. I should be leaving."

"You look like hell," he said, sitting on the side of the bed. He
reached for her hand. "Your hands are like ice. Scully, is this 
normal?"

"I don't know. I've never been pregnant before."

"You're a doctor." Irritation crept into his voice.

"I'm a pathologist, Mulder. My OB/GYN rotation was a billion years
ago. I'm sure it's fine. I have a doctor appointment tomorrow."

"Look, what I said before about feeling cornered..."

"I understand, Mulder. You were blindsided. So was I, frankly.
I had plans for my life. There were things I wanted to do--things 
I hoped to do on the X-Files, and I'm not sure how having a baby 
fits into all of that. This isn't exactly what I dreamed of."

She struggled to sit up, and Mulder pushed her down gently. "I 
mean it--lay down. He stroked her hair, his hand lingering
on her cheek. "I...I want to help you. Financially, that is. 
I obviously don't spend money on creature comforts."

Annoyed, she looked around the cluttered bedroom. "I agree with
you there, Mulder, but you don't 'owe' me, okay." 

"I'm not trying to keep this a monetary arrangement, Scully. It's 
just that...it would be safer for you and for the baby if it's 
not...official."

She pushed his hands away and sat up, scooting to the end of the
bed. The urge to flee was overpowering as she shoved her feet
back in her shoes. 

"I've got to go."

"Scully, wait. There are things you don't know. This could be
dangerous in ways you can't even imagine."

"You've made yourself very clear, Mulder. Don't worry--like I said,
you're off the hook."

<><><><>

"Try and relax, Dana. You're a little tense." Paula Sherwood's
hands were gentle, and blessedly small, but Scully grimaced
anyway. 

"It's been a rough day." Rough day indeed. She and Mulder had
barely spoken. There had been no affectionate banter, no 
wisecracks, not even shoptalk. 

"Fundal height is good. Consistent with ten weeks gestation.
Everything looks great," Paula said, ending the exam. She
removed her latex gloves and helped Scully to pull her feet from
the stirrups and sit up. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll 
talk. Is the baby's father here?"

"No. He couldn't make it." 

Scully could tell from the little frown on Paula's face, the
obstetrician knew it was an excuse. Paula smiled and left the
examining room. 

Damn hormones. She hated being on the verge of tears all the time.
Scully slid off the examining table and reached for her underwear.
The set was lacy and sexy, and no one was going to be seeing it
any time soon. God that was a depressing thought, as was the
prospect of wearing big 'old lady' panties in a few months. She 
dressed quickly and went in search of Paula's office. 

"Dana, come in. I'm so excited for you. I love helping medical 
school friends start their families. How have you been?"

"Busy. Work is always interesting."

"Sounds exciting. Dana, I am a little concerned about a few things. 
I sense that you're under a great deal of stress, and that can 
affect the baby."

"I'll admit that it's been a stressful year. I'd been teaching up 
until about six months ago, when I started working in the field."

"Is the work you do dangerous, Dana?"

"It can be, I suppose. But my partner and I don't take 
unnecessary chances and we watch each other's backs."

"Dana, much as I advise women that their lives don't have to change
with pregnancy, there are certain physical limitations. How will
this affect your partnership?"

Scully couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to answer that 
question. She cast her eyes down and swallowed hard. Paula 
sighed, apparently gleaning all the information she needed 
from her patient's reaction.

"I see. Dana, I can't tell you to change occupations, or what 
choices to make in your private life, but I can tell you that 
I see the toll this is taking on you. You're two pounds lighter 
than at your last checkup six months ago. I would expect 
some weight gain by ten weeks gestation. You need to take the 
time to eat."

"Paula, I try to eat but I just haven't been able to keep anything 
down. The morning sickness is just awful. I can't believe how
whiny that sounds, but, honestly, I can't believe my mother 
did this four times."

"Well, every pregnancy is different. I have some pamphlets here 
that should help. I'd like you to try some of the suggestions
in them--small, frequent meals, saltine crackers, ginger ale. If
you're still having trouble keeping food down, we'll try some 
vitamin therapy," Paula said, handing her the materials. "It may
be miserable and inconvenient, but morning sickness is rarely 
dangerous. Just watch out for dehydration. I know you're well
aware of the signs.

"And I want you to try to slow down. You have a difficult job, 
but you need to get enough rest. Dana...is the father going 
to be able to support you in this pregnancy?"

Scully stared at the sheaf of booklets in her hands, willing 
herself not to cry at the gentle concern in Paula's voice. 

"He isn't able to be involved right now." God that sounded
like he was married. In a way, he was married--to his work, 
to the search for his sister. "It's fine, really. I can
manage. The FBI is quite "family friendly" these days."

<><><><> 

"What did the doctor say?" 

"Mulder, I don't understand you." She looked up from her 
decaf tea, shaking her head. He hadn't called after the
doctor appointment the afternoon before, but she hadn't 
expected him to. 

"It was a straightforward question, wasn't it?" Mulder 
shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uneasy under 
her cool stare.

"Oh, it was simple enough. I just can't figure out where
this concern fits in with your "unofficial" status."

"Come on, Scully. You know I care about you. 
Please...what did the doctor say?"

She sighed, eyes focused on the cloudy surface of her tea.
"She said I'm fine. Everything looks fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. I was worried."

She nodded. So worried he needed to pick up the next available
woman. She pushed that ugly thought down, reminding herself 
again that she had no right to feel possessive.

"I know you were. But I'm okay, don't give it another thought." 
Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. 

"What did she say about the morning sickness?" Why the hell
did he have that tender sound in his voice? His kindness 
grated on her skin and felt like pity. 

"She said it's perfectly normal. Really, let's drop it, all
right?"

"Sure. Forget I asked." The wounded look was one he did
well. She turned away, suddenly fascinated by a Yeti
clipping on Mulder's bulletin board.

"You can't have it both ways, Mulder. You can't behave like 
the concerned father-to-be and the innocent bystander at the
same time. It isn't fair, and it's too confusing. So just
go back to ignoring me, okay?"

<><><><>

Part 4 - Pitched Battle

"Dana, sweetheart, come in. You look tired; are you
feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom." Dear God, this was going to be hard. The 
memory of every time she had ever disappointed her parents 
flashed before her, from the first "C" on a test to her choice 
to join the FBI. Her mother took her jacket and hung it in 
the hall closet.

"It's just that you were in the hospital not too long 
ago." Scully glanced away, uncomfortable under her 
mother's scrutiny. Margaret Scully missed nothing.

"That was over a month ago, Mom, and I really am fine."

"Well, I'm just glad you're here. Dinner is almost
ready."

"You shouldn't have gone to a lot of trouble," 
Scully said, hugging her mother. "I'm here for the 
company, Mom." Scully tried to keep her voice light 
as the two women entered the kitchen.

"It's no trouble at all. I hardly ever get to see you, 
sweetheart. Let me fuss a little."

The scent of baking chicken filled the air, and Scully 
reflected that a smell she would have found appetizing a 
month ago was rapidly causing her to become nauseous.

"Uh, Mom, can dinner wait for a little bit?"

"Dana, honey, is something wrong? You just got very pale." 
There was a tiny vertical worry line between her mothers eyes 
that Scully couldn't remember seeing before tonight. 

"Can we go into the living room, Mom? I want to talk to you."
She couldn't stay in the kitchen a minute longer, and giving her
mother a visual demonstration of early pregnancy was not her
idea of how to open up a dialogue.

"Of course. Let me turn down the oven and I'll be right in."

Scully moved through the living room, hands clenched at her
sides. She pictured her father in this room, looking up from
his book the night she told him about the FBI. What would he say 
if he could see the profound mess she'd made of her life? 

She glanced at the display of family photos: scrubbed faces in 
school pictures, snapshots in front of the Christmas tree. 
She picked up a small silver frame, studying the photo of 
seven-year-old Dana and Ahab as they exchanged mock salutes.

Swallowing hard, she tried to force down the nausea. 
She listened to the sounds of pans clanking and the oven door 
being opened and closed. Picture in hand, Scully drifted 
over to the sofa. She turned at the sound of her mother 
entering the living room.

"All done. Dinner will hold as long as it needs to. If there
is one thing I learned with four children, it was how to hold
dinner." Margaret Scully anxiously dried her hands on a dishtowel.

"Sit down, Mom," Scully said, patting the sofa. Her mother tended 
to rattle on when she got nervous and Scully didn't think she could 
stand to wait a moment longer to deliver her news. 

"Mom. I...there's really no easy way to tell you this..." Scully
couldn't look at her mother, staring instead at the silver framed
photo.

"Dana, you're scaring me. What is it?" Margaret reached for 
Scully's hand, squeezing a little too tightly.

"I'm pregnant." There. It was out. Her mother was silent,
shocked. 

"I didn't even know you were seeing anyone," her mother said, 
finally finding her tongue. Disappointment was etched on 
Margaret Scully's face. 

"I'm not seeing anyone, Mom. I...I know Dad would be so
ashamed of me. It was an accident." Who was she kidding? 
It had been a train wreck, a cataclysm. Scully's eyes filled 
with tears. 

"And the father? Was he an accident too? Where does he fit
in?"

"He won't be involved, Mom."

"Is he married, Dana?" Her mother's mouth was a hard little
line of reproach. There were rules--things a good person did
and didn't do, and in Margaret Scully's eyes, an affair with 
a married man would be among the worst transgressions. 

"No, nothing like that. All that matters is he won't be 
participating."

"What kind of man would leave you to handle this alone, Dana?
Do you have any idea how difficult this is going to be? It was
hard--you have no idea how hard--when you all were babies and 
your father was away. It's lonely, and you're more tired than 
you ever in your life dreamed of. Oh, Dana..."

"He's not a monster, Mom. He's a good person, but he just 
can't be part of this. I...uh...I'm in this alone."

Her mother didn't speak for awkward seconds, no sound in the
room but their breathing and the tick of the clock. Slowly,
Margaret Scully reached over and took her daughter's hand.

"You're not alone."

<><><><>

Two days later, she and Mulder went to Dearborn, Michigan
to investigate a case of automatic writing that had turned
up clues in a stalled murder investigation. Life, after all,
didn't stand still because she was having a crisis.

Mulder had done as she'd asked, keeping his concern to 
himself, and in the process, keeping his distance. He spoke 
to her only when necessary and kept his comments work related. 
He made no move to carry her luggage and didn't turn around in 
the airport to see if she was following him. Head held high, 
she refused to ask for help, even when her head pounded and 
her legs felt like lead.
 
It was a pitched battle between the two of them--Mulder's 
studied unconcern, Scully's stubborn pride. Her independence 
proved almost impossible for her to maintain. Trips to the 
ladies room became longer and longer as she vomited up every 
morsel she consumed. 

In the campaign to return to business as usual, Mulder seemed to 
find an ally in the lovely detective who had called them in on the 
case. Pam Clayton was tall and slim and completely professional. 
Scully would have hated her if she could muster up the energy.

The agents spent nearly a week in Dearborn evaluating the actual 
paranormal aspects of the case and assisting with the 
investigation into the clues brought forth. And perky little 
Meg-Ryanesque Pam Clayton was with them every minute, smiling up at 
Mulder, asking him questions and generally occupying his attention.

The first day, they witnessed an automatic writing session. 
Mulder and Detective Clayton watched with barely concealed
excitement as Marcella Krause, a seventy-year-old legally blind 
retired school teacher, scratched out phrases she couldn't see, 
even with her coke-bottle glasses. Scully hung back, standing 
near an open window, both to show her skepticism and because the 
stale old-lady smell of the room was making her sick. 

"What do you think, Scully?" Mulder asked, as he walked to the
window. "I mean, if you were able to form an opinion from over
here."

"I saw all I needed to from here. Do I think Mrs. Krause 
has tapped into some source of information about the Hartfield 
murder? No. I'm not sure how she is doing what she's doing,
but I think we'll find a more conventional reason than 
'transmissions from the great beyond'."

"Well, I'd love to here your theory," Mulder said. Detective
Clayton moved over to them, resting her hand gently on Mulder's
arm.

"I've looked over the phrases Mrs. Krause wrote, and some of 
them are very promising. I'd like you to take a look, Agent 
Mulder."

Of course, Mulder had to give Pam his undivided attention. 
To be fair, Detective Clayton had been warm and friendly to 
Scully, seeking her expertise on the forensic details. 
 
Scully lived on ginger ale and saltine crackers. One night, 
she treated herself to a 7-Up for a change of pace. It really 
didn't matter, since she couldn't keep any of it down. By 
the third day, she began to worry a bit, knowing she would need 
to call Paula as soon as they got back to DC.

Much to Mulder's pleasure, the clues developed into some
excellent leads. Scully reminded herself it didn't matter
how the information had come about as long as it helped solve 
the crime and led to a conviction. But it still rankled her 
to see Pam beaming at Mulder.

Detective Clayton invited them both to dinner on the night
before they returned to Washington. Meals had been a trial
all week, with Scully attempting to avoid Mulder's scrutiny. 
She'd managed to be away from the others at mealtime as often
as she could. 

The prospect of being a third wheel as Mulder charmed the lovely 
Pam was just too much for Scully and she begged off, saying she 
wanted to order room service and have an early night.

She managed six saltine crackers and a half cup of chicken
bouillon but lost all of it within the hour. She worried that
for every drop of fluid she took in, she lost more with every 
session of vomiting.

She tried to sleep, but her body was restless. The sheets 
felt rough as her arms and legs thrashed about. Scully dozed, 
her mind fuzzy and unfocused. She tried not to listen for
sounds from Mulder's room. 

It was late when she finally heard footsteps in the hall. The 
door to Mulder's room opened and closed. Voices drifted 
through the wall--Mulder's drone and the higher lilt of a 
woman's voice. She recognized that light tone as belonging
to Detective Clayton's. Scully grimaced in the dark. 

The voices murmured in conversation for what seemed like
hours, and Scully found herself straining to see if she could 
detect a shift from the drone of speech toward giggles and 
moans. 

"Oh God," she muttered as she realized what she was doing. 
She didn't need this. Life was wretched enough without being 
the unwilling witness to Mulder's overactive sex life, she pulled 
a pillow atop her head to block out the sound and tried to sleep.

Exhaustion overtook her eventually, and she fell into a deep
dreamless sleep. She woke feeling bruised in the morning. Regarding 
her image in the bathroom mirror, she noted her alarming pallor. Her 
eyes seemed lost in purple shadows. She gave up trying to cover 
the damage with makeup. 

Her suit seemed to hang on her frame, the button on her skirt a 
little loose. But she was beginning to detect a hard little bulge 
below the waistline and she knew that soon, her secret would be 
out. Then the rumors would start, the whispers behind her back.

Her legs felt like rubber as she walked to Mulder's door.
He answered her knock, looking crisp and healthy. He was in
his stocking feet, his shirt untucked.

"Come on in, Scully. I'm just about ready," he said, 
buttoning his shirt cuffs. "I ordered some toast and 
orange juice. Why don't you help yourself."

In the short time she'd known him, she couldn't remember
Mulder ever ordering toast for breakfast. She picked up a 
half slice of dry toast, taking a tiny bite. It gave her
something to do that didn't involve looking at the 
unmade bed.

Mulder sat down to tie his shoes, and she couldn't resist
any longer. The bed was well rumpled, sheets tangled and
pillows thrown about. Scully turned away and looked out
the window.

"All ready. Let's go," he said.

She slept most of the flight home, grateful for the 
brief oblivion. She would open her eyes from time
to time, and Mulder always seemed to be watching her.

It was nearly 2:00 PM when they landed at Dulles. Mulder
surprised her by not relinquishing her bag when he 
pulled it from the luggage carousel. She wanted to
protest, but knew she wouldn't have been able to manage
it. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other
as it was.

They had almost reached the exit when the world tilted
and she stumbled against Mulder. He dropped the suitcases
and caught her before she fell. Her last thought as
she fainted dead away was that this was the first time
Mulder had held her since that one insane night.

Part 5 - Beeswax

 
She woke to the sound of a heart monitor and the unmistakable
smell of a hospital room. Eyes still closed, she was aware 
of two sensations: the vague pinching of an IV needle on the
back of one hand and the security of a strong grip holding 
her other hand.

She remembered bits and pieces of the last hours--Mulder's
voice, choked with emotion as he called for help in the
airport, the shriek of the ambulance siren, the sting of
blood work being drawn.

She opened her eyes to see Mulder's worried face. His jaw
was covered with stubble, his eyes dark with fear. He 
sat in a hospital-issue plastic chair, worrying that incredible
bottom lip with his teeth.

"The baby?" she croaked.

"The baby is fine," he reassured her, squeezing her hand.

"You're going to blow your cover, Mulder, if you hang around
like this," she croaked. Her head felt like a soap bubble, 
floating through the air. He smiled and brought her hand to
his lips. 

"I'll take my chances," he mumbled against her fingers. "How
do you feel?"

"A little woozy, I guess. Pro'ly something in the IV." She
couldn't get her tongue to work properly. "I wanna see my
chart. Find it, okay."

"Are you going to be able to read this?" he asked, lifting
her chart from the holder on the end of the bed. 

"Just give it to me, okay," she said, prickling with annoyance.

He handed her the chart and she held it in front of her face.
The words all bled together, indecipherable in her medicated
state. Hoping to at least fake it, she made "hmmm" sounds,
flipping the pages briskly. 

Mulder seemed to be fighting a smile. If she could get out
of bed, she'd smack him. Taking the chart out of her hands,
he returned it to the end of the bed.

"Your doctor was in earlier. She said you became severely
dehydrated. They're giving you fluids and something for the 
nausea--said it might make you drowsy. You've been drifting 
in and out." 

Mulder's recap of her condition seemed to ignite something
inside him. He paced from bed to window to door, as if he 
needed to work off excess energy. He turned to her and
she could see a flash of anger pass over his features. 

"Scully...I wish you'd told me how sick you were," he said,
his voice tight with control.

"I wish I had, too," she said, forcing her eyes to remain
open. "But you were busy with Dective...De-tec-tive Clayton."

"Scully, we were working on the case. That's all."

"Tha's not all, at all...that sounded so funny. God, I'm loopy. 
You shouldn't pay any attention to me...but then, tha's not much 
of a stretch for you, huh? Anyway, I know she came back to your 
room last night--I could hear you. It doesn't matter...none of 
my beeswax." She had the vague feeling that she was saying too
much, but she couldn't seem to stop. She giggled, the sound 
peculiar in her ear. "That's what my brother used to say -all- 
the time, 'Go 'way squirt--none of your beeswax'."

She giggled again, and remembering that she never giggled, 
tried to make a stern face. Oh, dear, but she was flying high. 

"She came back to my room after dinner and we talked. Nothing
more." Irritation had made his voice loud. Mulder took a deep 
breath and spoke again, this time in a softer voice.
"Why don't you take a nap? You can hardly keep your eyes open."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said. She tried to keep her 
eyes open, but unfortunately, the mere suggestion that she
take a nap proved too much to resist and she fell asleep before
she could ask Mulder why he was always so bossy.

 
Mulder was standing by her bed when she woke again. This time, 
Dr. Paula Sherwood was with him, speaking in a low voice. 

"Ah ha, Sleeping Beauty awakes! I was just telling Agent Mulder
about the time we dressed Dr. Spritzer's lecture hall skeleton 
in that Frederick's of Hollywood get up."

"Oh Lord, Paula," Scully groaned. "I'll never live that down
now."

"Sorry about that." Paula grinned at her. "Something tells
me you can hold your own."

"Oh, she's more than capable," Mulder said, dryly. "When she 
isn't passing out on me."

"Yes, when she isn't passing out. Dana, I've got a bone to 
pick with you. You were supposed to watch out for dehydration,
remember? Well, you shot right past morning sickness and ran
headlong into Hyperemesis Gravidarum."

"I know, I know. We were out of town, and it just got away
from me. I was going to call you as soon as I got back, 
really."

"How do you feel now? Any nausea?"

"I feel pretty good, actually. No nausea at all. I was 
very groggy before, but I'm more awake now."

"I lowered the dosage on the Phenergan. I'm going to 
continue the saline drip until your electrolytes stabilize
and you can hold down solid food. Dana, this was awfully 
close."

"I know it was. I'll be more careful--I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Dana. I'm going to let
you get some rest. I want to get home in time to kiss the 
kids goodnight before bedtime. I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Good night, Paula."

"Good night, Dr. Sherwood," Mulder said, standing and
offering his hand. Paula leveled a shrewd look at him
before as she shook his hand. With a final wave, she left.

"I think she suspects something," he said, looking toward
the open doorway.

"Well, you're pretty transparent, Mulder. With you 
hanging around looking so worried, she's going to
make assumptions. I didn't say anything to her."

Mulder yawned and returned to his seat by her bed. He
looked exhausted. Waking up to find him with her had 
meant a lot to her, but it was better not to grow too
used to his presence. 

"Mulder, it must be late. You should go home."

"You probably want to get to sleep," he said. She thought
there was a hint of regret in his voice.

"I slept all day. I'll be awake for a while."

"I'm pretty wired. I'd like to stay a while longer,
if that's all right."

"Suit yourself," she said, shifting to a more comfortable
position on her side. A vague memory of giggling nagged
at her brain. "I...uh...I hope I didn't say anything
stupid when I was medicated."

"You were pretty...medicated," he said, smiling at her. 
"Scully, you said you heard Pam Clayton in my room last 
night. I...uh...I just want you to know that all we did is 
talk. She left about 11:00 and I watched TV for a while 
and went to sleep."

"Mulder, you don't have to explain." She closed her eyes in
embarrassment. "I hope I didn't say anything....I mean, it 
really isn't my business what you do on your own time."

"I think maybe it is your business, Scully. Or maybe it 
should be. Shit, I don't know what I'm saying. It's not 
that I didn't notice Pam was beautiful, but it felt wrong. 
I...it just felt wrong. I know you don't have any reason to 
believe me. I've hardly been celibate, but I've always made 
it a rule to keep distance between work and any 
'extracurricular activities'."

"I guess meaningless sex with me was your exception to
the rule," she stated, leveling a look at him. There was 
a certain satisfaction to see the look of chagrin on Mulder's 
face.

"I...I shouldn't have said that to you the next morning, 
because it wasn't true. That night was anything but 
meaningless to me."

"It meant so much, you couldn't wait to escape?"

"Do you want to know my first thought when I woke up that
morning?" he asked, taking her hand. "After the initial
shock of waking up in bed with my partner, I thought...I 
thought I'd never seen anyone look so beautiful that
early in the morning. I lay there watching you for the
longest time. Your skin was all creamy white--and
your lips were parted just a tiny bit, so pink and 
perfect..."

He seemed to stop himself, afraid perhaps of having
said too much. She felt tears slip down her face. Mulder 
brushed them away with his thumb, his hand drifting down to 
cup her cheek. 

"I wanted nothing more than to gather you up in my arms,
kiss you awake and make love to you all over again. And 
then reality came crashing down." His fingers withdrew
from her face, and he sat forward with his hands between 
his knees. 

"I realized how high the stakes were, how much was at risk. 
Scully, our partnership means everything to me. It's been 
a long, long time since anyone had given a damn whether I 
lived or died." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Did you 
ever wonder why I never went out with the same woman twice?"

"I have my theories."

"One-night stands don't last long enough to get complicated.
The women want nothing more than a good time with no strings. 
And that's about all I'm capable of providing. Scully, my last 
real long-term relationship died of neglect. At the end of the 
day, I'd given every bit of energy over to the work. I had 
nothing left for her. Eventually, she wised up and left. I 
wish I could be the man you deserve. But I can't give you what 
I don't have."

His voice broke her heart, so full of sorrow and regret. 
She ought to be angry. She should rail at him--shout that
she needed him, their baby needed him. But she couldn't. 
Damn him for making her care. "Go home, Mulder," she said 
gently. "Get some rest."

He stood and brushed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll see 
you tomorrow."

She switched out the light as he left. It was a long time 
before she slept.

Part 6 - Armistice

With the blessed end of the first trimester, the nausea had abated. 
Scully gained seven pounds in three weeks, making her doctor very
happy. The recuperative powers of the human body amazed Scully.
Relationships were a little harder to mend, but she and Mulder 
did their best and settled into a pattern. They studiously 
ignored her pregnancy.

They continued to work well together, maintaining an enviable 
solve rate. He made the leaps and she proved him right. 
They achieved an armistice in the painful war they'd fought.

Mulder had been subdued, almost as if he was grieving. He no 
longer showed up rumpled in the mornings. He was neatly dressed 
each day, but he looked as if he wasn't sleeping well. His
face seemed thinner, the cheekbones and jaw in sharper relief.

The phone calls from assorted women had ceased, as far as she 
could tell. No breathlessly generic 'Is Fox there?' queries. 
It had been a long time since she'd overheard Mulder brushing 
last night's date off. 

There was a yearning quality to Mulder these days. He always
seemed to be on the verge of asking her something. She would
catch him reaching out to touch her, only to see him force
his hand back to his side. His eyes always seemed to track 
her movements.

She tried not to read too much into Mulder's silent surveillance. 
After all, he'd always been a little territorial. So perhaps 
now he carried her suitcase when they were traveling, 
or dropped her off at the door instead of letting her walk 
through the parking lot. Well, nice guys did that
kind of thing. And Mulder had always been considerate.

And if he called her more often in the evenings, well, friends
talked on the phone. She reminded herself that it really didn't 
mean anything. It was confusing, though, this kindness without 
commitment.

She made an appointment to speak with Skinner. Mulder offered
to go with her, but she needed to do that alone. No need to 
engage Skinner's suspicions any more than she had to. Mulder 
would have fidgeted in his seat, giving off "it's me" rays.

She marched up to the fourth floor and announced herself to the 
AD's assistant. Straightening her suit, she prayed the changes
to her body weren't too obvious yet. The skirt's waistband 
was finally getting tight. Soon, she'd have to start holding it
together with a safety pin. Thank goodness the jacket to this
suit was long.

Skinner's admin answered her phone, speaking in a low voice.
"The assistant director will see you now," she announced.

"Agent Scully." Skinner looked up from the stack of paper on
his desk. His white shirt was perfectly pressed, the creases 
on the sleeves knife sharp.

"Thank you for seeing me, sir," she said, entering the office and
moving to a chair opposite her boss's desk.

"What is this about, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, as he sat down
and gestured for her to do the same. "Are you having a problem
with Agent Mulder?"

"No, sir. This has nothing to do with Agent Mulder. I do have 
something that I need to tell you, though. I'm pregnant."

She rather enjoyed watching Skinner's face as she delivered her
news. In the second before his expression returned to stern and
businesslike, she caught surprise and curiosity. And he couldn't
legally ask her any of the questions that must be rattling 
around in his head. His eyes strayed briefly to the chair Mulder 
usually occupied before returning to her face. 

Scully had never trusted this man completely. He'd never given her 
any reason to doubt him in the short time he'd supervised the X-Files 
team, but there had always been something off kilter. There always
seemed to be the stink of cigarettes in the office, and she knew the
AD didn't smoke. She remembered the strange man who had hung 
back in the shadows of the office amidst a cloud of smoke, silently 
observing. The same man had been present the first time she met with 
Chief Blevins, upon her assignment to the X-Files. Though she'd 
never heard him speak, the man had always seemed ominous.

Skinner cleared his throat and leveled a careful look at her.
"Have you shared this news with Agent Mulder?"

Scully glanced over at the sofa against the wall. The heavy glass 
ashtray on the end table contained several cigarette butts, a thin
twist of smoke still drifting up from one.

"Yes, sir. Agent Mulder is aware of my condition."

"I see," Skinner said, gruffly. "You'll inform me if your doctor 
makes any changes in your work status." 

"Certainly, sir. I'll let you get back to work," she said as
she left the office.
 
Standing in the hall, she pondered AD Skinner's inscrutable 
connection with the man responsible for the cigarette butts. 
Mulder had talked about obstacles put in the path of his work. 
Was this man the source of those obstacles?

She returned to the basement office to find Mulder standing at the
worktable she used as a desk. He held the black and white 
ultrasound photo she'd brought back from her appointment the day
before. There were tears in his eyes and an expression of such 
longing on his face. She froze in the doorway, unable to look away. 

The ultrasound appointment had been an awkward situation. Scully 
told Mulder she had to leave the office early, but with all 
pregnancy-related subjects out of bounds, she hadn't told him why. 

So, her mother had gone with her, watching with Scully as the 
image of the baby appeared on the monitor. It had been a
bittersweet experience, seeing her child for the first time
and realizing how much she wanted to share it with the child's 
father. 

She'd left the picture in plain sight, not as a rebuke or 
tease, but as an opportunity. Holding the photo with a trembling 
hand, he gasped as if someone had struck him, seeming to crumble 
internally. Something broke apart in her at the sight of 
Mulder obviously in pain. 

She cleared her throat, and Mulder hurriedly replaced the 
picture on the desk. "I'm sorry. I...uh...the picture was
out, and I thought it might be evidence from the Bielman case." 

She smiled at his fib, crossing the room and picking up the 
picture. "It's all right. You can look at it," she said,
pointing. "You can see the head here and the way the arm is
bent--see, she's sucking her thumb."

"She?" 

"That's what the technician thought. I don't know if I'd be
painting the nursery pink on that evidence alone, but I am 
starting to think of the baby as 'she'."

He looked at her midsection, shaking his head. "Amazing."

"It is pretty amazing. Seeing her appear on the monitor just
about blew me away. I guess I hadn't really thought beyond 
the initial shock of being pregnant. But there is a baby here," 
she said, resting her hand on the small mound of her belly. 
"A whole new little person."

She took his hand in hers, gently placing it where his child
lay within her. He closed his eyes, gasping slightly before
he drew his hand away.

"I can't. I...I wish it wasn't like this. Scully, it isn't
safe for me to be involved."

"Is this about your sister?"

Mulder sighed. "At some point, everything comes back to 
Samantha."

"Are you afraid this baby will be abducted, too? Or is it
that you'll get distracted? That you'll stop looking for 
Samantha? What exactly are you afraid of, Mulder? I don't 
understand."

"There are things I can't tell you. It's just too dangerous.
If I had any sense at all, I'd ask Skinner to reassign you."

She stared at him for a long time. "Well, I certainly appreciate
having decisions taken out of my hands, Mulder," she said 
sarcastically. "Reassignment. Is that what you want?"

"No! Not at all, but it isn't about what I want. You'd be a lot 
safer if you weren't connected to me in any way. Both of you."

<><><><>

They were called to consult on a case in Fredericksburg for the 
next few days. Too close to justify overnight accommodations, they'd
made the hourlong drive each day. The ghostly visions of Confederate 
soldiers had turned out to be film school students making a very low 
budget horror film. She and Mulder drove back to DC after wrapping 
up the case. 

"It's almost 6:00," Mulder said. "We should stop for dinner."

She smiled in the darkened car. For a man who routinely forgot to 
eat when he was working, Mulder had been vigilant about mealtime on 
this case. He obviously didn't want a repeat of the Dearborn 
debacle. "Okay."

They stopped at a Crackerbarrel in Dumphries. Mulder seemed 
to pick at his food, all the while watching her carefully as 
she ate her dinner. She could swear he counted each forkful. 

The line for the register was long, so she wandered the gift 
shop while he waited to pay their bill. She looked at the 
old-time dolls, china tea sets and hand-painted jumpers, 
shaking her head at the inflated prices. 

A display of baby paraphernalia caught her eye. She knew she 
should stay away, but she found herself holding a sweet, pale
yellow sweater, tenderly embroidered with apples and pears.

"So tiny," Mulder said. She hadn't heard him approach, and
now he stood at her elbow.

"Yeah," she agreed. She moved to replace the sweater on the
display shelf, when Mulder took it out of her hand. He moved
around another shopper, returning to the cashier line.

"You don't have to do that, Mulder," she said, catching up to
him. 

"I want to. Please, let me do this one admittedly inadequate
little thing."

She nodded, tears in her eyes as he took out his wallet and
paid for his purchase. How ridiculous, she thought; it was 
only a trinket from a gift shop chain. But somehow it touched 
her. Mulder smiled, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her 
the brown paper bag. 

They rode the rest of the way home in silence. She held the 
brown bag over the rise in her belly, as if to say, "Here baby, 
your daddy bought you something. He just may never be able to 
let you love him."

He guided the car to a stop in front of her apartment. He'd 
insisted on picking her up each day for the drive to 
Fredericksburg. As she reached for the door handle, he touched 
her arm.

"I'll call you later," he said. "I mean, if that's all right." 
Mulder's face was tender in the muted light from a streetlamp. 
She was seized by a wave of attraction, shocked at the power of 
it after all that had happened.

She loved this man. What had begun as infatuation had deepened 
and transmuted into something she could no longer deny. It
wasn't sensible; it would only bring her pain. Scully had repeated
the phrases over and over, a mantra of caution and sensibility. 
But in the end, all the words in the world couldn't change one
unmistakable fact: she loved him. 

Scully tried to keep her eyes on the misty street beyond the 
windshield, but her gaze strayed to the man next to her. 
Mulder's eyes were trained on his hands, locked tightly 
on the steering wheel as if he were afraid it might fly away.

As if resisting a powerful force, his gaze drifted around
the car before locking onto her face. There was a hunger in
his expression, an ache so deep it took her breath away. 

The air between then seemed magnetized. Mulder leaned closer, his 
breath whispering against her face. She remembered another night
when she'd turned her head to find Mulder this near. They'd
been propelled that night by lust and intoxication. Tonight,
there was something much stronger at work.

His lips were warm as they brushed against hers. Had they
been this soft that night? She tilted her head slightly and
deepened the kiss. Her fingers rose to cradle his cheek before
slipping into the silky hair at the back of his head. He
pulled her into his arms, tenderness becoming passion. Surely,
he hadn't kissed her like this months ago. No one had ever 
kissed her with this much emotion. 

He pulled away, gasping for air and visibly shaken. 

She shook her head, hoping to clear it. Would things ever be 
easy between them? "I'd better go," she murmured, reaching for 
the door handle. 

Mulder touched her lips with his thumb. "I...uh...I'll call you 
later," he said, his voice trembling a bit. 

"Good night, Mulder."

She turned as she reached the door of her building, dazed by
what had happened. She caught Mulder's eye as he watched her
from the car, his expression unreadable. When was this fucking
rollercoaster going to stop? Her heart couldn't take any more
sharp corners and sudden dips.

As she arrived at her apartment door, she realized she'd left the 
baby sweater in the car. Well, she -had- been distracted. She'd 
ask Mulder to bring it to work when he called her later.

She unlocked her apartment door, and pushed it open. Her
last conscious thought as hands grabbed her and a strange
smelling cloth was pressed to her mouth, was of the little 
yellow sweater and the man who bought it.

<><><><>
 
Part 7 - Confinement

Her first sensation was needing to go to the bathroom. Nothing
new there--she was four months pregnant and pretty much always
had to go to the bathroom. Head throbbing, Scully opened her eyes 
to find herself lying on a hospital bed in a white-painted room. 

The room was nearly featureless--no decoration and no furniture 
beyond the bed and a small bed stand. She could see a white tile
bathroom, the door of which had been removed. "So much for 
privacy," she muttered, her mouth dry as cotton.

Her legs were wobbly as she slid off the bed. She remembered
kissing Mulder, walking to her apartment and then nothing. Scully's
hand flew to her mouth, suddenly recalling the sweet smelling cloth
that had covered her face and obliterated the world for a while.

Had the smell been chloroform? Forcing her panic down, she tried 
to recall what chloroform smelled like. Arms protectively wrapped 
around her belly, she prayed that whatever the hell they'd used on 
her, hadn't hurt the baby. 

A fragment of a song played in her head. She couldn't remember 
where she'd heard it, but with a hand on her belly, she whispered 
the words, "Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around." 
Dear God, she was losing her mind--humming show tunes, no less.

"Big talk, huh, baby. Haven't been so successful in the protection
department, have I." 
 
Her clothes had been replaced by a blue and white patterned hospital 
gown. From the draft on her backside, she determined that she wasn't 
wearing anything underneath. A stack of identically printed gowns 
sat on the end of the bed, and she slipped one on to act as a 
bathrobe, covering her bare back.

The floor was cold as she walked to the bathroom. The whole room 
felt chilled, especially with her less than adequate clothing. A 
wave of dizziness hit as she glanced up at the ceiling, spotting 
several closed-circuit cameras. She shivered, realizing every move, 
every breath she took was being monitored.

Her desire for privacy was overcome by the pressure on her bladder, 
and she walked into the bathroom. Physical needs met, she washed 
her hands, glancing around the room. Lots and lots of white tile 
and not much else. A commode, sink and open shower were all the 
room contained. Everything was recessed and out of reach: light 
fixtures, soap dispenser, even the toilet tank. There was nothing 
she could use to defend herself or escape.

She tottered back to the main room, trying the handle on the door. 
Of course, it was locked, as she assumed it would be. There was a 
small window in the door, and she had to stand on tiptoe to see 
through the wire-mess embedded in the glass. A blank wall was the 
only view available. She fought the urge to pound on the door in
hysterics. She jiggled the door handle again, a little more 
desperately this time.

Scully examined the nightstand to find the drawer and cabinet 
section were locked tight. She climbed onto the bed, wracking her 
mind for anything she could use to her advantage. Trying to force 
her eyelids to stay open was becoming harder and harder as the 
residual effects of the drugs in her system took their toll. 
She fought to stay awake, but sleep overtook her.

She woke to the sound of the door being unlocked. Scully climbed 
out of bed as two people entered the room. Both were in hospital 
scrubs, their heads covered by paper operating room hats and their 
lower faces by sterile masks. The taller of the two individuals 
was a woman, though her body was bulky. The man was short but 
extremely muscular, biceps bulging against the short sleeves of 
his scrub top.

"Dr. Scully, I see you've awakened from your afternoon nap. What
lovely timing. We're going to take a little trip." The woman's 
voice was melodious, lilting and quite ominous.

"Don't come near me!" Scully shouted, as the two approached. "I'm 
a federal agent! Let me go!" The woman's eyes and broad pink 
forehead were all Scully could see of her face. The eyes were pale 
blue, the eyelashes so blond they appeared white, giving her a 
strange rabbit-like appearance. The woman seemed to enjoy Scully's 
protestations, smiling through the mask.

Scully fought, using her FBI training, bloodying the man's nose to 
her great satisfaction. She lashed out with her feet, getting in 
some effective kicks, but eventually found herself overpowered. The 
man caught Scully's arms, twisting them behind her back and forcing 
her face down onto the bed.

"NO! Stop this now!" Scully cried out, voice muffled by the blankets.
"I'm pregnant! Don't hurt my baby--stop!"

"We're well aware of your condition, Dr. Scully. I had hoped to 
avoid drugging you again, but you leave me little choice." Again, 
the cheerful, terrible voice. Scully face was pushed into the 
mattress, muffling her screams. She could feel cold air on her 
backside as her gown was flipped up. "But, you'll be relieved to 
know, this won't hurt your baby at all."

Scully felt the sting and burn of an injection in her hip. She 
continued to flail under the strong man's hands, but gradually, 
her movements became sluggish. She was powerless as they easily 
hoisted her onto the bed.

Laying in a drugged stupor, Scully felt herself lifted onto a 
gurney. She tried to move, but her arms and legs wouldn't obey
her commands. Even her voice would not work. She was screaming 
in her head, but no sound escaped her lips. 

She couldn't keep her eyes open against the bright lights as they 
wheeled her out of her room. Scully knew only the sensations of 
movement and rough handling as the gurney came to a halt. Her last 
impression before succumbing to complete oblivion was having her 
bare feet placed in cold metal stirrups.

Scully came back to herself with the sensation of cramping. Her
eyes flew open in alarm, fear sweeping away the tendrils of 
unconsciousness. She lay curled on her side in the hospital bed,
arms protectively hugging her midsection even in sleep. 

Memories of being overpowered came back--the rabbit-eyed woman and
her muscular helper. The woman's sing-song voice grated in Scully's
mind, the pleasant words belying the heartless message. 

Scully ran nervous hands over her rounded abdomen. There seemed to
be a tacky residue on her skin. Her fingers found a bandaid, high
on her belly. There was another bandaid at the crook of her
arm, the adhesive pinching her sensitive skin. She pulled that one 
off, examining the needle mark and bruising on her arm. 

What had happened to her? She reached between her legs, closing her
eyes in disgust as she detected the slipperiness of lubricant. 
Someone had performed a pelvic exam, and most likely amniocentesis.
Scully felt chills, realizing that her pregnancy was at the very 
early limit for that test. She bit her lip, imagining the large 
needle used in that test, picturing it piercing her innocent baby. 
God, if they'd hurt this child, she would hunt them down and kill 
them without a second thought.

There was a tray on the bed stand, containing a dish with a metal
cover, a container of milk and a small box of cereal. She lifted
the cover to find eggs, toast and bacon. Pushing the tray away,
she lay back on the bed. Even the innocuous box of corn flakes 
was suspect in this nightmare place.

Mulder had tried to warn her. She'd discounted his words; assuming
he was simply terrified of fatherhood. She owed him an apology 
and sincerely hoped she'd get the opportunity to deliver it. The 
thought that she might never see Mulder again nearly brought tears 
to her eyes, but she refused to let *them* see her cry. If she 
started to cry, she might never stop.
 
She knew he must have been frantic when she didn't answer the phone
the night he'd dropped her off at her apartment. He had always
taken his responsibility to her seriously--to watch her back, to
be there for her. She prayed that he wouldn't do anything foolish
in his anxiety. 

Her family would be terribly worried. She hated the idea of her 
mother, so recently widowed, trying to deal with the disappearance
of her youngest daughter. 

The sound of the lock turning brought her out of her thoughts. 
The door swung open and Dr. Rabbitface entered the room with 
a fresh tray in her hand. She placed it atop the untouched tray
from breakfast.

"How are we feeling today?" she asked, her voice slightly 
muffled by the mask on her face. Holding Scully's wrist,
she took her pulse. "Any cramping? Spotting?"

"Go to hell." Scully pulled her wrist out of the woman's grasp.
 
"If you don't answer my questions, Dr. Scully, the orderlies 
will hold you down while I examine you." Rabbitface's tone was
reasonable and even as she reached into her pocket for a pair
of latex gloves. 

"Some cramping. No spotting," Scully enunciated carefully. 
Happy now?"

"See how much easier it is when you cooperate?" The woman eyed
the stack of trays. "You must eat, Dr. Scully," she said, her 
voice dripping with concern. "It isn't healthy for the baby."

"I'm sure you were terribly concerned about my baby when you 
performed tests on her."

Rabbitface took the untouched breakfast tray. "The health of 
your child is of paramount importance to me. I expect you to 
eat your lunch. You won't like the consequences if you don't 
do as I say."

The door closed after the woman with a chilling finality. 
Scully pulled the blankets around her a bit closer. She tried
to remember the last meal she'd eaten. How many days had it been
since dinner on the way back from Fredericksburg? She ignored 
the hunger pangs, still unwilling to eat anything brought by
Rabbitface.

Why did they keep the room so cold? Was it to keep her huddled 
in bed? That tactic was apparently working as she shivered 
and looked around the brightly lit room.

The lights never dimmed here. She wasn't sure how much time 
had passed with no cues except the meal trays. For all she 
knew, it had been four in the morning when lunch was delivered. 
Scully dozed on and off, eyes closed against the light.

Scully was awake this time when the door was unlocked. She 
slid out of bed, not wanting them to find her at a disadvantage.

Dr. Rabbitface entered followed by two orderlies, one of 
whom carried a fresh meal tray. The woman eyed Scully 
with disappointment, as she examined the untouched luncheon 
tray. "We can't have this, Dr. Scully. I would rather not
resort to force feeding. Hmm...perhaps a little aversion 
therapy is in order." 

The woman turned to the orderlies and nodded in Scully's 
direction. "Hold her."

Scully fought, but was no match for the two orderlies. She
was quickly restrained her between them. Rabbitface smiled 
sweetly as she untied the strings of Scully's hospital gown, 
snatching it away. Goosebumps rose on bare skin.

Scully struggled between the two smirking orderlies. Rabbitface 
stripped the sheets from the bed and gathered up the stack of 
hospital gowns. She went into the bathroom and returned with a 
small pile of towels. 

"Perhaps a little exposure will stimulate your appetite,
Dr. Scully. You'll be happy to know that this won't harm 
your baby at all." Glancing at the orderly, the woman smiled.
"I imagine surveillance won't be such a chore now."

In a voice laden with reason and sympathy, Rabbitface
continued, "Now, you needn't worry that the food is drugged.
You've seen how easily we can subdue you. There is simply no 
reason to add anything to your food. Now, if you eat your dinner 
and all your meals tomorrow, we'll see about returning your gown. 
Good night, my dear."

They left, carrying every scrap of fabric out of the room. 
Shivering in the cold air, Scully eyed the dinner tray. 

"Fuck them," she muttered, curling up on the bare mattress.

They must have increased the air-conditioning. The room felt
like a meat locker, and Scully shivered under the bright lights.
She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, as if she
could protect her child from the evil that permeated the very
air of this place. 

Her mother would tell her to pray to God for protection, but
Scully wasn't sure if God was listening these days. She'd 
seen so many monsters--all too human creatures, preying on 
those who couldn't fight back. If God was out there, 
he'd apparently turned a blind eye.

When she had been young, faith was easy and the world had
seemed good and true. The prayers of her childhood were 
comforting chants, whispered in the darkness of her bedroom.

Purely as meditation, Scully began to recite those prayers now. 
Her doubt in God's interest did not take away any of the comfort 
in repeating the words over and over. She found the greatest 
succor from the "Hail Mary." Perhaps she just identified with 
another pregnant woman who found herself in tough times.

Morning came in the form of a fresh breakfast tray delivered
by an orderly. Scully had spent part of the night shivering
and weighing the danger of possibly drugged food against 
becoming weak from hunger. She had little doubt that further 
refusal to eat would result in a nasogastric tube or worse.

Ever practical, Scully consumed most of her breakfast. 
She ignored the smug look in her nemesis' pale blue eyes when 
the breakfast tray was traded for a lunch tray. 

After Scully had eaten her dinner, Rabbitface appeared with
hospital gowns, sheets and a blanket. Her voice throbbed
with satisfaction and triumph. "It's so much nicer,
isn't it, when we do as we're told." 

Scully resisted the urge to spit at the woman. Rabbitface
left carrying the empty dinner tray, and Scully reached
for a hospital gown. 

The days seemed to blend together with nothing to distinguish
each one. Scully tried to keep track of the time by
counting the trays of food that had come into the room.
With the three trays that she hadn't eaten, she counted
two dozen meals. 

It was after the twenty-fourth meal tray that Scully began to
feel dizzy. She lay in bed, wishing the room would stop
spinning as Rabbitface entered the room. 

"There was somethin' in the food, wasn' there?" Scully
slurred. She struggled to sit up. There were now two
rabbitface'd women, smirking at Scully. One of them
pushed her back on the bed.

"Why Dr. Scully, I'm crushed that you can ask that," the
woman said with mock indignation. Hands held her down
as she thrashed weakly on the bed. "You just need a little
nap." 

<><><><>

In case you were curious, the line Scully sang was from "Nothing's
Going to Harm You," from Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. 

Part 8 - Safe

"Cain' find 'em, no sir." 

Scully forced one eye open to see a wizened dark face inches
from her own. 

"Ah think somebody stole 'em," the old woman said with conviction. 
"Coulda been you. D'you take my shoes?" 

"Huh?" Scully opened her other eye and looked around. She was
in a hospital--there was no mistaking that, apparently lying on
a gurney pushed against a corridor wall. 

"Mrs. Kitchings, you need to come back to the exam room, honey." 
A nurse approached the old woman. "Let the lady sleep, okay?" 

"I think she stole m' shoes."

"Mrs. Kitchings, your shoes are back in the exam room." 

The nurse glanced at Scully. "This doesn't look like one of our 
blankets," she said, curiosity in her voice. She checked Scully's 
wrists for a plastic identification band. "Now, where did you 
come from?" 

"Don't touch me," Scully growled, pulling her hand back, panic
rising within her. Would Rabbitface find her and put her back in 
the cold white room? 

"Dr. Nasir!" the nurse called out. "This patient doesn't have
an ID bracelet."

A dark-skinned balding man walked over, shaking his head. "How 
long has she been here?"

"It's been so busy tonight; we've had them stacked out in the 
hallway. I didn't notice her until a minute ago," the nurse said. 
She turned to Scully. "Do you know how you got here?" 

Dazed and frightened, Scully tried to climb off the gurney. She
had to get away--they might be coming to get her, to hurt her
baby. "Don't come near me," she warned.

"Easy...easy," the doctor said, grabbing her arms. "We only
want to help you."

The struggle to escape caused the room to spin. Scully squeezed
her eyes shut trying to ease the dizziness. "Please don't hurt 
my baby," she mumbled as she passed out.

<><><><>

"Dana! Oh my God, Dana, everyone's been so worried about you."
Paula Sherwood burst into the cubicle, embracing Scully as she
sat on the exam table. Pulling back a little, Paula looked at
her patient. "They called up to Obstetrics, asking if we'd lost a 
patient. As soon as they described the woman, I knew it was you."

The second time she'd come back to consciousness, Scully had been 
coherent enough to identify herself. She'd held herself together,
making sure the hospital staff bagged the gown and blanket she'd
been left in as evidence.

Dressed in a fresh gown and covered by a new blanket, she tried to
make sense of what had happened to her. The dizziness was gone, 
but she was left with a dull headache and a knot of fear in her
belly.

"Where were you, Dana? Are you all right?"

"I don't know...I was kept in a room. I don't know where." Scully
looked down at her hand, resting on the small bulge in her abdomen.

"Your mother's been frantic," Paula said. "And your partner...Dana,
I was getting worried about him. Have you called them?"

"I tried. One of the nurses brought me a phone. I talked to my 
mother--I thought she was going to pass out on me. I wasn't able 
to get hold of Mulder though--I left messages, but he wasn't answering
his phone or his cell. God, I hope he's all right."

"I think the question is, 'are you all right'?" Did they hurt you?" 
Concern played across Paula's face.

"Paula," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not sure what they 
did to me."

"Oh Dana." Paula slipped an arm around Scully's shoulder. "We'll
find out, okay?"

"Okay," Scully whispered. Her stomach roiled in fear and uncertainty 
as Paula collected the items she'd need for an exam. 

"Dana...I have to ask you something. Do you think you were raped?"

"No. Not sexually." Scully closed her eyes, willing herself to 
continue. "They drugged me several times, and I know they 
performed tests. But, I don't know what they did when I was 
unconscious. I think they did an amnio. Oh God, Paula...what if 
they hurt my baby?"

"We're going to find out, I promise. "Right now, I'd like to draw
blood for some testing. Are you comfortable with that?" Paula 
asked. 
Nodding, Scully looked away as Paula worked. It comforted Scully, 
knowing that Paula was saving her patient from one more pair of hands 
touching her. "All done. Dana, we're going to get through this. 
I'm going to have you lie down now."

Scully's body wouldn't obey her, her arms and legs felt paralyzed 
with 
fear. Paula rubbed her shoulders, speaking softly. "I know this is 
hard, Dana. But it's the only way we can find out what happened." 

Scully nodded, the lump in her throat making speech impossible, and
allowed Paula to help her get into position. The doctor was gentle 
as always, talking through the entire exam. Every action was made 
with a quiet notification beforehand. 

"Dana, I think we should treat this as an assault," Paula said, as 
she reached for a rape evidence kit. 

Scully squeezed her eyes shut, nodding. She tried to control her 
breathing, reminding herself that this necessary and careful exam 
bore no resemblance to the invasion her body had undergone when she 
was unconscious. But that didn't stop the tears from slipping down.

"All done. Dana, everything looks fine. I'm just going to listen
to the heartbeat." 

Paula stripped off her gloves and straightened the hospital gown
over Scully. She fitted the earpieces in place, and positioned 
the stethoscope over Scully's abdomen. Her face broke into a 
smile.

"Sounds great. Nice, strong heartbeat."

"Thank God." Scully exhaled shakily, covering her face with her 
hands. 

"Listen for yourself." Paula smiled, fitting the earpieces onto 
Scully and moving the stethoscope into place. Scully gasped with 
joy at the sound of the baby's fast, strong heartbeat.

Paula extended a hand, helping Scully sit up. Both women turned 
at the sound of shouts and scuffling beyond the door. 

"I need to see Dana Scully!" Scully's breath caught at the sound 
of Mulder's voice.

"Sir, you have to calm down! The doctor is in with her now. 
Sir! You can't go in there."

"Scully! Scully!" The pounding on the door echoed like gunfire.

"For Pete's sake, hold on a minute," Paula muttered, opening the
exam room door. Mulder burst through, saw Scully and seemed to
sway on his feet. 

He crossed the room in three long strides, enfolding Scully in an
embrace that threatened to fracture her ribs. Burying his
face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddered against her.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he murmured into her hair. 
Her hands moved over his back, feeling the too sharp bones of his
shoulder blades through the limp fabric of his shirt. 

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so." She blinked back tears. For the first time since 
she walked into her apartment, who knew how many days ago, she 
felt safe. Now, if she could only figure out how to go to work 
every day wrapped around Mulder, she might just make it.

"I'm sorry. So, so sorry," he whispered against her.

"It's okay. I'm okay." She turned her face into the crook of
Mulder's neck, inhaling the scent of pain and sweat.

*cough* "I'm just going to run these blood samples out to the 
desk." 

They continued to cling together long after Paula quietly 
closed the door behind her. When they separated, finally,
Scully took a good look at Mulder. 

What she saw shocked her, and she understood why Paula had been
so concerned about him. His face was all angles, his jaw a sharp,
painful edge. His hair had become overgrown, casting shadows 
where it hung over his eyes. It was the pain and desperation in 
those eyes that took her breath away.

"When was the last time you slept, Mulder?"

He offered a wry smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't 
matter. Nothing matters now that you're safe." Hunger radiated 
from his eyes, and he seemed unable to look away. His hands never 
left her, touching her arms, her face, her hair. Even a discreet 
knock on the door failed to distract Mulder.

"Dana? Dana, are you in there?" 

"Come in, Mom," she called out, recognizing her mother's worried 
voice.

"Oh thank God." Her mother flew across the room, arms outstretched.
Mulder reluctantly stepped back, allowing Margaret Scully to embrace
her daughter. "Oh, honey, I've been so worried."

"I know, Mom. I'm so sorry." 

"Hello, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, shuffling his feet and looking
at the floor.

"Agent Mulder." Her mother's tone was wary as she nodded to him. 
He seemed to fade into the background, perhaps unsure of his place
now that her mother had arrived. But his eyes never left Scully.

"You're shivering, sweetheart," her mother said, her arm protectively
around Scully's shoulder. "I brought some clothes as you asked. 
The waistband on the pants is elastic--I think they'll fit." Maggie
pulled a turquoise jog suit out of a bag, her fingers busily 
smoothing the fabric.

"Thanks, Mom," Scully said as she reached for the suit. "I
can't wait to put on some real clothes."

"Do you need help, dear?" 

"I'll be fine, Mom. I just want to get out of here."

"Well, I see good news travels fast," Paula said, returning to
the room. "It's wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Scully."

"I'm just so happy that Dana is all right," her mother said. 
"She is all right isn't she?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Scully said, hoping to regain some control of 
the situation. "And as soon as I get dressed, I'm going home."

"Is that wise?" Margaret Scully asked Paula. "I mean, Dana was
unconscious just a few hours ago." 

"Dana, we probably should keep you for observation," Paula said,
turning to her patient. Scully was grateful someone was talking 
to her.

"Paula, I want to go home." She glanced around the examining 
room with a shudder. "I...I don't think I could bear a
night in the hospital."

Paula met her patient's eyes with understanding. "I'd prefer
you to be here, but I agree--you can't rest if you don't feel
safe. I do think someone should be with you, though."

"Of course she shouldn't be alone..." Mrs. Scully began.

"She won't be alone." The three women turned, surprised at the 
intensity of the quiet, deep voice. "I'm taking you home, 
Scully." 

<><><><>

Part 9 - Mr. Accidental

A fragment of bright yellow crime scene tape still clung to her 
front door. The plastic was slippery against her fingers as she 
pulled it off. "Lovely," she muttered, shivering a little despite 
Mulder's jacket worn over the jogging suit. Mulder stood beside 
her, his hand warm against her back.

"Your bag is still in evidence," he said. "It was found inside the 
open door of the apartment. You must have dropped it when you were 
grabbed. Your mother gave me her key at the hospital."

"Why didn't you tell her you already had a key?" she asked. It had
been months since they had exchanged keys during Mulder's 
recuperation from the wound he'd received in North Carolina.

"Didn't have the guts," he replied, hiding a smile. "Let's just
say, your mother intimidates me a little."

She was a little surprised at her mother handing Mulder a key to 
anything, much less her daughter's apartment. Margaret Scully 
had been less than enthusiastic at the idea of Mulder staying 
with her.

"Dana, I want you to come back to my house," she'd said at the
hospital. 

Scully had been adamant; she needed to sleep in her own bed. If she 
didn't go home that night, she might never be able to face returning 
to the place where she'd been kidnapped. 

The larger hurdle was in persuading her mother that Mulder should
accompany her home. It had been Mulder who pointed out that as an
armed federal agent, he was better equipped to protect Scully. 
Reluctantly, Margaret agreed to wait until the next day to stop
by with groceries. Scully was sure her mother would be up all
night, shopping and cooking.

Mulder unlocked the apartment door, pushing it open. Scully 
swallowed past the lump in her throat, walking into the living
room on legs that felt like rubber. 

"There may be a little fingerprint dust here and there," he said,
walking ahead to turn on a lamp. "I called Skinner while you were 
getting dressed. He agreed to hold off on any questions until 
tomorrow."

She slipped out of Mulder's jacket while he busied himself with the
lights. Surreptitiously, she brought the fabric to her face and
inhaled, breathing in the warm, clean scent of Mulder's aftershave. 
She had come so close to never seeing him again. Shuddering, she 
remembering how frightened she'd been, how alone. She dropped the
jacket over the back of the couch.

The room tilted slightly. As she reached out to steady herself with
a hand on the sofa, Mulder rushed to her side. "Hey, we need to get 
you to bed." 

If she'd had an ounce of energy, she would have bristled at Mulder's 
"take charge" routine. Instead, she allowed him to lead her through 
the living room and into her bedroom. 

"Can you hand me a nightgown?" she asked as she sat on the bed. 
"Top drawer of the dresser." 

Mulder looked exceedingly uncomfortable rummaging around in her 
lingerie drawer. She might have smiled if she wasn't so drained.
The remains of the drugs in her system seemed to press down on her
like an ocean of water. He finally drew out a blue plaid 
nightshirt, a Christmas gift from her mother several years ago. 
"This one okay?"

"Fine," she answered. It was certainly appropriate, she thought,
for a high school sleepover. Maybe she and Mulder could make
brownies and set each other's hair. 

"Can you manage?" he asked. 

He seemed relieved at her nod and left, closing the bedroom door 
behind him. Slowly, she unzipped the jog suit top and slipped it 
off. Her hand rested on the gentle bulge of the baby, and she 
wondered when she would start to feel the child move within her. 
Sometimes, it all felt a little unreal--the physical changes, the 
emotional upheaval--as if it were all happening to someone else.

She shrugged into the nightshirt, standing to shake it down
over her hips. Scully toed off the sneakers her mother had 
brought with the jog suit. Skimming the slacks down, she kicked 
the them off and dropped back on the bed. God, she was tired.
The simple act of climbing into bed seemed an insurmountable
task. 

"You okay?" Mulder called through the door, probably having
hovered right outside. 

"Yeah. Come on in," she answered. He looked exhausted standing
in the doorway, with eyes slightly glazed over and shoulders 
slumped. How long had it been since he slept for more than an 
hour or two?

"I wondered if you needed any help." Mulder approached the bed, 
straightening the pillows and drawing the comforter down so she 
could slip underneath.

"I...uh...I do have a favor to ask." Sitting against the pillows,
she glanced down at the blanket. "Would you stay with me until I 
fall asleep?"

He nodded, turning out the light. "Sure," he answered, softly. 
She slid down, turning on her side. Mulder sat on the end of the 
bed, his back curved in exhaustion.

"Why don't you lie down?" she asked. He shook his head in token
resistance. Looking into her eyes, he smiled ruefully before 
pulling off his shoes and stretching out beside her. It was a 
toss up as to which of them was asleep first.

<><><><>

"Hold her down."

Her arms and legs were held down, gripped by hands like iron
vices as she struggled fiercely. "Let go! Leave me alone!"

"Settle down, my dear," Dr. Rabbitface said, her voice honey
sweet. The woman's eyes glittered like blue ice chips. "We 
need to do a few more tests."

Rabbitface held a large syringe above Scully's abdomen. The
long needle glinted in the bright light, its sharp tip moving
closer and closer to the bare skin. 

"Get away from me," Scully shouted. "Mulder! Mulder, help
me!"

"I'm here. I'm here, Scully. It's okay. You were dreaming." 

Mulder pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "You're 
safe now."

She realized her face was wet with tears, strands of hair 
plastered to her cheeks. Mulder brushed the hair back, 
looking into her eyes. "Can you tell me about the dream?"

She shook her head. To talk about it would make it too real,
would bring it right into this room. "Maybe later, okay?"

"Sure," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "We'll do 
whatever you need. Do you want some water?"

"No, thank you. What time is it?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"About four," he said glancing at his watch. "You need to try 
and sleep some more."

She nodded, sliding down in bed. Mulder lay spooned behind her, 
his hand tenderly stroking her hair. "I won't let anything 
happen to you."

His arm snaked around her waist, hand resting on her belly. 
With Mulder's breath stirring her hair, Scully drifted off.

Waking to sunlight streaming between the slats of her blinds,
the dream was almost forgotten in the safe warmth of her bed.
Mulder was gone, but his scent remained, comforting her as his
presence had in the middle of the night.

She stretched, cat-like, luxuriating in the softness of her own
nightgown and sheets. Rolling onto her side, she peered at 
display on her alarm clock. She hadn't slept until 10:30 in 
years. Life always seemed so much easier to face in the morning.

Using the bathroom, she turned the lock with satisfaction, not
because she needed to, but because she could. Her stomach
growled, and for the first time in days, she she wanted to eat.
These were such small things, but miraculous to her now. 

She heard the murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen as 
she opened the bedroom door. Wrapped up in her bathrobe, 
she allows hunger and curiosity to draw her to the kitchen.

"Well, Dana was never one to fuss," her mother said. "She 
fractured her wrist when she was six, rough-housing with her 
brothers. Not once did she complain; we didn't know it was 
broken for two days until I noticed she was favoring it."

"That sounds like Dana. I didn't know she hadn't told you
about the dehydration."

An uncomfortable silence had settled over the kitchen. 
As she reached the door, Scully saw Mulder standing by
the counter, studying his fingernails with more intensity
than they warranted. Her mother sat at the kitchen table,
her hands cradling a mug of tea.

"Good morning. I can't believe how long I slept." Scully
walked into the kitchen. "Or that I made such interesting 
breakfast conversation," she muttered under her breath.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Are you hungry? I brought
some groceries."

"Starved. I'll just get some cereal."

"Nonsense. Sit down. Let me get you some juice,"
her mother said, rising from her chair. "I can whip
up some eggs in a jiffy."

Scully sat, watching Mulder move out of her mother's
way as Margaret bustled between fridge and table and
stove. His shirt was creased from being slept in, his
jaw covered with stubble. 

A frying pan sat on the range burner, recently used. A 
plate containing the remnants of breakfast and a used
juice glass lay in the kitchen sink. 

"Agent Mulder, would you like more eggs?" her mother asked.

"No thank you, Mrs. Scully." He turned to Scully. 
"Uh...I'm going to hit the shower, if that's all right."

"Sure," Scully said, bemused. Her mother laid a heaping
plate of scrambled eggs and toast before her. Scully 
watched Mulder's retreating back over the edge of her
juice glass. 

Could things get any more surreal, she wondered, than her
mother cooking Fox Mulder breakfast. Only the concept of
Mulder showering in her apartment while mother eyed daughter
with a pensive gaze.

"I take it that's Mr. Accidental?" her mother asked.

Scully choked on a sip of juice. "Mom..."

"Don't bother to deny it, Dana, because we both know it's
true." Her mother returned to the table with a refilled tea
mug. "Eat your eggs before they get cold."

"Mom, there were reasons I couldn't tell you."

"I know, I know. There are far too many things you can't
tell me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was in the hospital last
month. I knew you'd worry, and I really was fine."

"Dana, you don't end up in the hospital because you're fine.
I don't want you to keep things from me anymore. I don't like
having to find things out from a complete stranger." Margaret 
glanced in the direction of the bathroom. "I will admit, 
though, he was the only one who would give me a straight answer 
when you were missing."

"You must have been so worried."

"We were all worried. I don't think Agent Mulder ate or slept 
the entire time you were gone. He'd stop by with whatever news
there was on the investigation...one night I thought he was going 
to collapse on my doorstep. Dana, I just don't understand." 
Her mother broke off and listened for the sound of the shower. 
"He obviously cares for you. Why won't he acknowledge this child."

"It's hard to explain, Mom. Mulder...Mulder was afraid that his
involvement in this pregnancy would bring unwanted attention from 
some men he has been investigating for work."

"And you think that's who kidnapped you? Dana, what kind of men
is Mulder investigating? Is it...organized crime?"

"In a manner of speaking. They're certainly organized."

"Oh, honey...what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just don't know what's going to happen."

The cessation of running water signaled the end of the conversation.
The women listened to the distant sounds of Mulder moving around
the bathroom.

"Scully," he said as he returned to the kitchen. "I just talked
to Skinner. He's going to come by after lunch. He said he wanted
to handle your debriefing himself."

"I'm flattered," Scully said dryly. "Assistant Director Skinner is
our new boss," she told her mother.

"Uh, Scully. I'm going to run to my apartment while your mom is 
here. I need to pick up a few things."

"Mulder, you must have things you need to do. I'll be all right,"
Scully said.

"Everything I need to do is here, Scully. I...uh...I'm going to 
move in for a while."

"Funny, but I don't remember advertising for a roommate. Tell me,
Mulder, how does this fit in with your non-involvement policy?"

"I was wrong about that. I thought you'd be safer if I kept my
distance. But that was a mistake--you were in danger anyway.
I won't get in your way," he assured her. "We'll be roommates--
nothing else, I promise."

"That's not the point, Mulder. I can take care of myself. I don't
need a bodyguard or want you here out of some misplaced feeling of 
obligation."

"Scully, I've never doubted you could take care of yourself. Hell,
you've saved my ass a few times." Mulder seemed to realize they 
weren't alone in the room, turning to see Margaret Scully watching
them with curiosity. "But right now, you need someone. Scully,
I couldn't handle it if something happened to you. I...I need to be 
here, okay?" 

Something in his eyes kept her from arguing further. "One week,"
she offered. 

"A month," he countered.

"Two weeks," she said. "And that's final." 

<><><><>

Part 10 - Hunch


"We're all grateful for your safe return, Agent Scully." 

Assistant Director Skinner's large frame dwarfed the easy chair as he
fidgeted with his pad and pencil. She regarded him from the sofa, 
still a bit surprised that he was conducting the interview himself.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, clutching a mug of hot tea between her
chilled hands. "I'm glad to be back."

Mulder sprawled at the other end of the sofa, his eyes never leaving 
her. He'd arrived earlier that afternoon with a duffle bag, two 
suitcases and a large carton of papers--far more than two weeks worth 
of belongings. She'd half expected to see his fish tank strapped to 
his back. Now, he was making himself quite comfortable. Skinner 
eyed him with curiosity.

"The hospital gown and blanket are still being examined, and the 
analysis from your physical exam isn't back yet," Skinner said,
shifting position in his chair. "Agent Scully, what do you remember?"

"Agent Mulder and I returned from Fredericksburg on..." She couldn't 
remember what night it had been, which upset her more than she
would admit. 

"Tuesday. July 10th," Mulder prompted. He watched her through hooded
eyes. This was the first time he would hear her story; she'd been too
exhausted to talk on the drive home last night. He'd seemed 
satisfied 
just to have her beside him, but this afternoon, she had his 
undivided 
attention.

"Yes. We returned the evening of the 10th. Mulder dropped me off
around 8:30. I unlocked my apartment door and walked in. Someone
grabbed me and placed a cloth over my nose and mouth--possibly 
chloroform or another sweet-smelling anesthetic inhalant; I was 
unconscious almost instantly." Her mouth was unbearably dry. 
Taking 
a sip of her tea, she forced herself to go on. She hoped her voice 
was
calm and matter-of-fact, and didn't reflect the turmoil in her mind.
"I woke in what appeared to be a sparsely furnished hospital room. 
I'm 
not sure of the actual location...I was locked in the room the entire 
time, except when I was examined." 

"Examined? By whom?" Skinner asked. He seemed to have gone rather 
pale, sweat glistening on his bald head. 

"I never saw their faces--they wore surgical masks. There were three
individuals, one woman and two men. The woman was large and 
powerfully
built, very blonde, almost white hair under a surgical cap, and pale
blue eyes. The two men were both muscular and dark-haired with dark
eyes. They overpowered and drugged me." 

She stopped and took a long drink of tea. Her hands had begun to 
tremble, creating a tiny tidal wave in her mug. Mulder was no 
longer lounging on the sofa. He sat forward, hands clasped between
his knees, tension evident in his every fiber. 

"Have you and your doctor been able to determine...what was done to 
you, Agent Scully," Skinner asked, his eyes trained on his pad. 
Mulder had sprung off the couch, pacing the edges of the room.

"As I said, I was sedated throughout the exam. But I believe 
blood was drawn and a pelvic examination was performed." Just 
within her line of sight, Mulder froze, his body vibrating like a
tuning fork. "And an amniocentesis was probably done, though it was
dangerously early for that test to be administered."
 
"Did it hurt the baby?" Mulder asked, his voice choked with emotion.
He returned to the couch, perching on the edge of the seat.

"I don't think so. My doctor thinks the baby wasn't harmed. She's 
scheduled me for a full exam and a sonogram, just to be on the safe
side."

"And after the testing, was there any other interaction with your
captors?" Skinner asked.

"They brought meals, clean linen. I saw the woman most often. She
appeared to have a medical background. She took my temperature and 
blood pressure--superficial testing only. But there was always this 
element of control."

"Did they hurt you, Scully?" Mulder asked, his words sharp and 
tight.

"No. Their purpose seemed to be making sure I knew I was vulnerable,
that they could subdue me whenever they chose. They made it clear
that they didn't want to hurt the baby, so their approach was more
psychological than physical."

"Agent Scully, it's clear the focus of this abduction was your
pregnancy." Skinner cleared his throat. "Who knew about the baby?"

"Mulder, my mother, my doctor, and....you, sir."

"And the baby's father?" Skinner asked.

"The father is aware," Scully answered, her voice cool and 
controlled. 
She willed herself not to glance at Mulder. Skinner's eyes drifted 
from her to Mulder and then back, but he didn't pursue the question. 

"And you told no one else, Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" Mulder 
shook his head. "What about your mother, Agent Scully? Did she
tell anyone?"

"I doubt it. She isn't likely to broadcast the news that her 
daughter is going to be an unwed mother." 

"And the father," Skinner said. "Would he have told anyone?"

"The father has made it clear he won't be involved. I doubt he 
would be discussing it with anyone." She fought back a bitter 
chuckle before leveling her gaze at Skinner. "Sir, did you tell 
anyone about my pregnancy?"

She couldn't categorize the look that briefly passed over Skinner's
face: guilt, anger, or maybe just surprise that she'd confront him
on this. It passed almost immediately as Skinner composed himself.

"I haven't...spoken to anyone about your condition," he said, rising
from his chair. "Agent Scully, you must be exhausted. I'll
call if I have any further questions."

<><><><>

"You missed a spot," Mulder said, pointing to a smudge of tomato
sauce on the back of a dish.

"Thanks." She dunked the dinner plate back into the soapy water. 
This was truly bizarre--washing up after dinner like an old married
couple. If she didn't dwell on the details of an unwilling father,
unwed pregnancy and unpleasant abduction, she and Mulder could be
almost normal.

They'd enjoyed a dinner consisting of her mother's lasagna and garlic 
bread. Mulder had put away two servings leading Scully to wonder if 
she could afford the grocery bills he'd generate. But remembering 
how thin he'd felt when he embraced her, she found herself offering 
him a third helping. 

Margaret Scully had surprised her daughter by accepting Mulder's 
houseguest status without argument. Scully wasn't sure what 
precipitated that agreement. Perhaps her mother thought a reluctant
father was better than no father at all. Unfortunately, Mulder 
was concerned with her safety and nothing else. He had no intention
of being more than a bodyguard.

"What did you mean back there...with Skinner?" Mulder asked as he 
took a wet dish out of her soapy hand.

"I answered his questions. What do you mean, 'what did I mean back 
there'?" Scully rinsed the suds from a salad bowl.

"Skinner thinks the baby's father is a deadbeat, Scully."

"What does Skinner's opinion matter? The less he knows about the
whole thing, the better."

"It sounds as if you suspect him of involvement in your abduction."

Mulder carefully placed the dish on the counter as Scully handed
him the clean bowl. She looked down at the steaming dishwater. 

"It all seems so coincidental; I meet with Skinner, and in a 
matter of days, I wake up locked in a hospital room.

"That's quite a stretch, Scully. Do you have anything beyond
coincidence to base this on?" Mulder lounged against the counter,
waiting for her to finish the next dish. She scraped fiercely at
a clump of congealed cheese on the surface of a plate.

"No, nothing concrete, but I had the strangest feeling when I left 
his office that day."

"So you're condemning him on a 'hunch'?" he asked, incredulous.

"Mulder, you make leaps every day, and I'm expected to jump along
with you. Will you give me a little credit here? There was a 
smoldering cigarette butt in his ashtray, and the place reeked
of smoke. We both know who hangs around that office. I don't 
think Skinner scratches his backside without that man knowing
about it."

The dishwater sloshed as she scrubbed the plate, splashing up on
the front of her shirt. "Damn it," she muttered, wiping at her
belly with a dishtowel. 

"I think you're wrong about Skinner," he said with conviction.

"Oh, and what do you base that on? A 'hunch'?"

"He was there for me when you were missing. I was going off
the deep end there, Scully. I mean, really losing it." Mulder
seemed embarrassed by his admission. "Skinner isn't that
good an actor. He was genuinely worried about you. And he kept
me from falling apart."

She rinsed the last dish and handed it to Mulder. Emptying
the dishpan, she turned to face him. She was moved by his
honesty, but couldn't deny her instincts. 

"Something isn't adding up about him. I don't know what's
wrong, but he's connected somehow." She dried her hands on 
a dishtowel and turned to him. "I'm tired. I think I'm going 
to take a bath.

Mulder was still leaning against the kitchen counter, lost
in his thoughts, when she left the room. Entering the
bathroom, Scully closed the drain on the tub and turned the 
taps full throttle. She poured a capful of sandlewood bubblebath 
under the rushing water and checked the temperature of the water. 
Rising from the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the 
mirror.

They say pregnant women glow. This pregnancy had been
anything but easy, but as she looked at her reflection, 
Scully had to admit there was a certain luminescence to her
skin. Her eyes were brighter, her hair shinier. How
incredibly ironic.

Scully went into the bedroom to undress, stripping off the 
slacks and long-sleeve top she wore. Looking down at her
rounded belly, she realized that maternity clothes were 
definitely on the horizon. She removed her underwear and 
wrapped herself in a white terrycloth robe.

The bathwater continued to rise, filling the air with woodsy 
scent. Scully shrugged out of the robe, accidentally 
over-turning a metal towel rack when the sleeve got caught 
on it. The rack toppled with a mighty clatter as it hit the 
tile floor.

She replaced the rack, straightening the towels, when she
heard pounding on the bathroom door. Before she had a chance
to open her mouth, the door flew open, revealing a worried
Mulder.

"Are you all right?" he gasped. His expression changed from 
worried to embarrassed in the space of a heartbeat as he 
realized she was naked. "I'm sorry. I called out, but you 
didn't answer. I was afraid you'd fallen."

His gaze never left her, eyes glued to her changing body. 
Embarrassment changed to something else, as a look of
amazement overtook Mulder's face. He seemed transfixed,
staggered by the changes in her body.

"I knocked over the rack. I didn't hear you over the running 
water," she said. Indeed, the noise almost drowned out the 
sound of her heart thudding in her chest. The water needed 
to be shut off, but she couldn't make her body move. She was 
barely able to breathe. 

His hands twitched as his side, almost as if he were fighting
not to reach out and touch her. She glanced down, noting the
roundness of her enlarged breasts, the nipples hardening even
in the warm air of the bathroom. She rested her hand on the
gentle curve of her belly. "I think I'm getting clumsy."

"I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he
whispered and shook his head, as if to clear it. "I should
let you take your bath."

His embarrassment seemed to return as he slipped out of the
room. She watched the door close behind him, trying to 
figure out what had just happened. As she slipped into the
still warm water, she smiled at the sound of Mulder gently
banging his head against the wall.

<><><><> 
 
Part 11 - Off-balance

"You have a headache because you're experiencing caffeine 
withdrawal. You can have real coffee, Mulder. I won't be 
upset."

"As long as you have to drink this swill, I do too," Mulder said. 
He tossed two aspirin back and washed it down with a gulp of 
lukewarm decaf. 

Two weeks had come and gone, and Mulder showed no signs of packing
up. She hadn't the heart to bring up the deadline, maybe because 
she enjoyed the company. It was nice to see him across the
breakfast table, spooning up his sugar-frosted cocoa puffs.

Scully did her best to put the abduction behind her, but the 
impact of the experience came through in ways she couldn't control. 
She woke screaming many nights, rousing Mulder from his makeshift 
bed on her sofa. He'd stumble into the bedroom, hair on end, and 
eyes at half-mast. Though frustrated that she wouldn't share her 
fears with him, he never denied her the comfort of his embrace.

He also didn't call her on the odd little habits that had cropped 
up. He'd eye her long-sleeves and layers of clothing in midsummer, 
but never broached the subject. And if he wondered why she checked 
the doors several times a day, unlocking and locking them again, but 
he never questioned her on it. 

They certainly were a pair, she thought, as she took a bite of 
cantaloupe and watched Mulder grimace over his coffee. His 
behavior confused her. Though he despised it, he drank decaf 
coffee in solidarity with her. But when Paula sent her for a 
repeat ultrasound a few days ago, he politely declined her 
invitation to come in and stayed in the waiting room.

Had he been afraid seeing the image of his daughter would bond
him to her? Maybe Scully had hit on the truth weeks ago--Mulder 
thought he would become distracted by this child and abandon his 
search for Samantha. 

So Mulder kept up his careful resistance against anything
that might tie him emotionally to the baby, with odd moments of 
utter devotion. Between Mulder and her increasing girth, she 
couldn't tell what kept her more off-balance.

"We're going to be late, Scully." Mulder stood, stretching
his arms out, the crisp white of his shirt dazzling in the 
morning light. He carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink.

Having Mulder around was proving to be a huge distraction. 
Late at night, she would shuffle past his boxer-clad form on 
her way to the kitchen for a glass of milk. The sight of him, 
half-naked and stretched out on her sofa was almost more than 
she could handle.

Her bathroom smelled of his soap and aftershave. Her hall 
closet carried the scent of his leather jacket; she found
herself occasionally running her hand over its suppleness. 
The smooth wool of his suits, the fresh cotton of his 
shirts--she was in Mulder sensory overload.

She should have sent him packing--should have thanked him
for his support and protection and waved goodbye. It hadn't
been easy, but she'd come to grips with her feelings for him 
weeks before. Loving someone who felt only fondness and 
responsibility for her was the hardest thing she'd ever done. 

And yet, there were times when she caught Mulder watching her
with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks. He never
commented when she lounged around in her soft cotton pajamas
or left the shower with damp hair and dewy skin. But she
wondered if perhaps she was having much the same effect on
Mulder as he was having on her.

"Let's go," she said, rising and smoothing the fabric of her
jacket down. She'd finally broken down and bought a few 
maternity suits, but they were still baggy on her. Her mother 
had found some loose-fitting cotton knit separates that looked 
professional, and they had become her daily uniform.

Her changing figure was definitely generating stares, as she
knew it would. Arriving at work each morning with Mulder and 
leaving with him each evening was certainly providing fodder 
for the water cooler speculation society.

If Skinner had heard rumors about their living arrangements, he 
kept quiet about it. In fact, her only contact with her boss 
since the interview in her apartment was one five-minute meeting 
where he informed her the blanket and hospital gown had 
yielded no usable forensic evidence. The rape kit showed no 
evidence of semen or other foreign substances and the blood 
work had also proved inconclusive. The sedatives had broken 
down completely in her bloodstream.

She hadn't been surprised; the people who took her wouldn't 
have left a trace. 
 
Work had become her refuge. The familiar patterns of analyzing 
data, performing autopsies and arguing with Mulder felt safe.
Even the boring aspects of routine paperwork and expense reports
were a source of comfort. She recognized the Mulder she found 
in the basement office. The Mulder in her home confused her, 
but the partner at the office was someone she understood.

In their short but intense partnership, Mulder had been all she
could have asked for in terms of allowing her to carry her 
weight. Knowing he trusted her to keep up with him had meant a 
great deal to her. 

Mulder had always been a bit protective, taking the responsibility 
of watching her back very seriously. But lately, small changes
had crept into his attitude. They spent far more time in the
office catching up on paperwork and less time out in the field.
And when they were in the field, Mulder seemed glued to her side.

A case in point was the investigation they'd been working on for
the last few days. Arthur Davison's DNA was recovered from the
body of a rape/murder victim and his teeth marks were found on
her breasts and stomach. What should have been an open and shut
case was complicated by the fact that Davison had been in jail 
at the time, unable to post bail on a sexual assault charge.

Davison had been convicted of two other rapes over the last
five years, and had been suspected in a number of others. In
each case, he'd left bite marks on the victims. Sandra 
McCaffey had differed from his other victims in only one way--
she was dead.

In past investigations, Mulder would suggest splitting up
so they could cover more ground. This trip, she had a tall, 
handsome shadow. She was never out of his line of sight whether
she was examining the murder victim or speaking with police
officers. 

This morning, they were interviewing Arthur Davison at the 
jail. Mulder was convinced that Davison had some ability to
be in two places at the same time. They were still debating
that explanation on the drive to the jail.

"Bilocation, Scully. Surely a nice, Catholic girl like you 
knows about bilocation."

"I'm familiar with the term, Mulder. Certain saints and holy
people could be seen in two places at once. Surely, you're 
not comparing Arthur Davison with St. Anthony of Padua..."

"Arthur Davison was booked at 3:35 on July 25. Sandra McCaffey
time of death couldn't have been earlier than 11:00 on that
night, yet his semen was present in her vagina and his teeth
marks in her tissue. How do you explain it if you eliminate
the possibility of bilocation?"

"Mulder, there could be several completely mundane explanations."

"Well, you concurred with time of death, if I recall correctly."

"Time of death was consistent with the evidence."

"And she couldn't have survived for any time after the skull 
fracture?"

"No. The damage was such that she would have died instantly,
but we have no proof that Davison killed her, only that he raped 
her. Someone else could have killed her later."

"The blows to McCaffey's head were so violent, pieces of skull 
were embedded in the brain tissue. That kind of damage was 
inflicted in rage, the kind of rage a sexual assault would 
generate. Scully, no one else killed Sandra McCaffey. Arthur 
Davison raped and murdered her."

The argument was shelved as Mulder pulled into a parking space.
They proceeded to the front desk and checked their weapons. 
The agents were shown into the interview room where they waited 
for Davison to be brought down.

The suspect had waived having counsel present for this interview.
He'd apparently asked for a public defender for the first 
questioning after his arrest, but determined the lawyer was a 
"stiff," and that he, the suspect, was smarter than his counsel. 

Mulder and Scully sat on one side of the interview table. They
didn't speak while they waited for the suspect. Mulder flipped 
through the file notes, his foot beating a steady tattoo against
the table leg. 

Davison was brought in, shuffling his feet in ankle restraints. 
His swagger was evident, even with his hands in cuffs as he 
dropped into his chair. His dark eyes burned with a low flame
of anger.

"Hey, a girl cop. Must be my lucky day," Davison said, smirking.

"Interview with Arthur Davison. August 11, 1994. Agents present:
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder." Scully spoke into the small tape
recorder and placed it on the table between them.

"Mr. Davison, did you know Sandra McCaffey?" Mulder asked.

"I know a lot of people," Davison answered. "Some, I'd like to 
know a little better." The suspect leered at Scully, rattling
his handcuffs as he gestured in her direction.

"When did you have sex with Sandra?" Mulder sat forward, the 
authority in his voice intended to engage Davison's attention. 

"I don't even remember the bitch."

"Well, if she were still alive, I'm sure she would remember you.
Your teeth marks would remind her. So tell me, how did you do 
it?" 

"How did I do what? Oh, wait...I got it. I stuck my dick
through the bars. Yeah, that's it. I fucked her right through 
the jailhouse bars." Davison snorted with laughter. "I 
was here by suppertime. You got nothing on me." 

"Is it that you hate women so much that you're able to rape and
kill them without even being present?" Mulder leaned forward,
his arms folded on the table.

"You're fucking nuts. You know that? You're crazy."

"We know you raped her, Arthur. The evidence doesn't lie. And
when you were finished, you killed her." 

"I didn't kill nobody." Davison turned to Scully. "I'm just 
a sex machine," he sang "and I won't work for nobody but you."

"So you only rape them," Scully said, sharply. "You only beat 
them and sink your teeth into them. Does that make you feel 
powerful?"

"Listen, Bitch," Davison snarled. "You don't know shit." 

"You raped her, didn't you, Davison. You bit into her flesh and 
then you killed her." Scully's voice was scornful. 

"I didn't kill nobody, Bitch. You better shut the fuck up. 
Maybe we ought to put that pretty mouth of yours to some good 
use," he said, half rising out of his chair.

Mulder was on his feet in a flash, leaning across the table to 
shove Davison back into his chair. The suspect raised his hands, 
defensively. "Okay, okay...I get it. She's your bitch."

Mulder's hands were flat on the table, his body a study in rage. 
Her partner looked as if he could beat Davison bloody without a 
second thought. 

"That's enough," she murmured softly beside Mulder. He glared
at Davison a moment longer before taking his seat again.

"I got nothing more to say; I was in jail when that bitch was 
killed and you can't touch me on it," Davison said with a smirk.
"First time I was ever glad to be here."

<><><><>

"Do you want to explain what the hell you were doing in there?" 
Her heels click out an angry beat as she stalks across the 
parking lot to the car.

"What was I doing?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, what were you doing? What the hell was all that male
posturing with Davison? I was finally getting somewhere 
with him."

"The only thing you were close to getting was a possible assault 
by that guy."

"He was in restraints, Mulder. I was in no danger and you 
know it. I knew exactly what I was doing in provoking him. Hell,
I've seen you do that a dozen times."

"That's different," Mulder said. He reached the car first, his
long legs allowing him to overtake her. 

"Mulder, why haven't we been out of the office in weeks?" she
asked.

"You're upset because you have cabin fever? Okay, so we've been in
the office a lot lately." Mulder's hands were on his hips as he
looked down at his feet. His voice was soft when he spoke again.
"You needed a break, Scully; a lot has happened to you." 

"Mulder, you have to let me do my job. You can't wrap me up in 
cotton and lock me away just because I'm pregnant." 

"I also can't stand by and watch a lowlife like Davison 
threaten you."

"Mulder, would you have felt the need to interfere if I were a
guy?" Scully felt the hot flush of anger rise up from her 
collar. "What about if I hadn't been pregnant? Would you
have done that?" 

"But you are pregnant," he said, his voice ringing loudly. He
glanced around the parking lot as two police officers looked
at him. Lowering his voice, he continued. "You're pregnant
with my baby, so you'll have to forgive me if I feel a little
protective."

"I'm grateful, Mulder. More grateful than I can say for all the
support you've given me since I was returned."

"It was important to me," he said, ducking his head. 

"It was important to me, too." She reached out and took his hand.
"But I just wonder what it all means. You say things like
'you're pregnant with my baby,' but I still don't know where
you really stand and it confuses me."

"I wish I could tell you what you want to know."

Tears stung her eyes as she realized how impossible it all was.
She'd been living in a dream, enjoying Mulder's company and 
support. But too soon, the pull of the truth would draw him
away from her. Scully had never been one to hide from reality.
The two of them had been playing house and it was time to get
used to taking care of herself. She squeezed his hand.


"Mulder," she said, gently. "I think you need to move back 
home."

<><><><> 

Part 12 - For What It's Worth

"Have you seen my blue shirt?" Mulder asked, cramming jeans and 
underwear in his duffle bag. 

"Maybe it's in the laundry," she offered. Actually, it was 
tucked at the bottom of her sweater drawer. God, she was 
pathetic--she'd probably fall asleep clutching it tonight.

"Let me know if it turns up." 

Did he suspect she'd stashed the shirt as a keepsake? Highly 
unlikely, she thought; he had no idea she was in love with him. 
She was too adept at hiding her feelings and Mulder too wrapped 
up in his quest.

"Sure," she softly replied.

Mulder glanced up at her as he zipped the duffle bag. His
face was a mask of hurt and confusion. He'd barely spoken to 
her after she suggested he leave. They'd returned to the office, 
tense and awkward with each other. Scully had busied herself 
with reviewing Sandra McCaffey's autopsy results. 

She knew that he didn't understand. He felt obligated and 
guilty and was handling that the only way he knew how: by 
being over-protective. But no matter how desperately she
might want it, it was never going to be more than that.

"I'd better get going," he said, placing a few files in
a cardboard box.

Why did this hurt so much? They had agreed on two weeks
and the time long past being up. It was supposed to be a
temporary thing. She was sending a houseguest home, not 
getting a divorce. So why did her heart feel torn within her 
chest? Turning her head, she blinked back tears. 

"I almost forgot something," he said as he dug into the
side compartment of the duffle bag. "I meant to give this 
to you when you first came back."

He drew out a small paper bag and handed it to her. The 
pattern on the paper was familiar, and her hands began to
shake as she reached for it. Swallowing hard, she opened
the bag and drew out the little yellow sweater. 

"I left this in your car..." She brought the garment up to her 
cheek, feeling the soft fabric. Memories of that night flooded 
back to her--Mulder's tenderness and the way his kisses had
tasted. "So much has happened since that night."

"I could apologize a thousand times, and it wouldn't 
begin to express how sorry I am," he said, his voice soft.

"Sorry for what, Mulder?" she asked. "If anyone should 
apologize, it's me. You tried to warn me about the dangers.
I thought you were blowing it out of proportion, that you were 
looking for an excuse to distance yourself. I vowed if 
I got the chance, I'd apologize for doubting you."

He shook his head, eyes downcast as if afraid to look at her. 
She watched his jaw clench and release.

"You were right," he said, finally raising his eyes. "I was 
terrified of losing my focus. Petrified. So, I pushed you
away and tried to drown myself in meaningless sex. Scully, if
I could go back and do it all again..."

"Mulder, we didn't plan this. It happened and we just have to 
deal with the way things are. And we both made mistakes. I 
wasn't honest with you about how sick I was. Don't you think
I wish I could go back and change that?" 

He scraped a fingernail along the duffle bag's zipper, eyes
down as if he was trying to gather his courage. Finally, he 
raised his eyes and spoke.
 
"Scully, I know I don't any right to say this--after all, it's 
your house. But...I don't want to leave."

She reached out to touch his arm. "This," she gestured around the 
apartment, "this has been wonderful, but we both know there are 
things in your life that aren't going to let you stay. I have to 
get used to being on my own, Mulder. 

"My work...my sister, they're still important to me, but almost 
losing you showed me what really mattered. I'm not sure of a whole 
lot these days, Scully. I don't know how to keep you safe, and I 
don't know if this baby would be better off without me. The only 
thing I know for sure is that I need to be with you."

"Mulder..."

"For what it's worth, Scully, I love you." He looked at her 
with such naked emotion, she felt as if she could look into his 
soul and see the truth of his words. 

She couldn't force words around the lump in her throat. Sliding 
her hand down his arm to take his hand, she found her voice. 

"It's worth a lot."

His arms circled her, pulling her to him. Resting her head on 
his chest, she counted the beats of his heart. His hands drew 
gentle circles on her back as she wrapped her arms around his 
waist. 

Mulder slid his hands up to cradle her cheeks and look into her 
eyes. Desire was now mixed with the love she'd found there 
moments ago. Her heart pounded in her breast as he leaned down 
to kiss her.

His lips were warm and soft, as he brushed light kisses over 
her face, finally claiming her mouth. Her lips parting under 
his onslaught and she slid her hands over his torso and under
his shirt. His skin was hot to the touch, the muscles firm. 

His tongue teased and explored her mouth. Someone was humming, 
deep and throaty and she was surprised to find that it was 
her. He chuckled against her mouth as the vibration tickled 
them both.

"I've dreamt of this," he murmured against her mouth between 
kisses. "Of holding you, and touching you."

She wanted to wrap herself in him, to fill herself with him. 
His arms were solid around her. He was her safe place. 

"I want you," he murmured between kisses. "I don't know how
I managed to wait this long."

"Come on," she replied, taking his hand. "Let's not wait any 
longer."

She led him to the bedroom, her body thrumming with tension. 
She wanted this, as much as anything she'd ever wanted in her
life. Switching on the bedside light, she turned to look into 
his eyes again, wondering if doubt had begun to cloud them.

But she found only certainty and love. He reached for the
buttons on her blouse, slowly unfastening each one. She 
raised her hands to part the shirt and slip it off her 
shoulders. 

Mulder's fingers traced along the lace edge of her bra. 

"So soft," he whispered. 

She shivered, his touch like an electric current on her skin. 
Her hands slipped under his shirt, skimming over the firm 
muscles of his chest. He drew the t-shirt over his head, 
carelessly tossing it aside. His skin glowed golden in the 
lamplight. She leaned forward to nuzzle the dusting of hair 
at the center of his chest, delighting in his clean scent. 

"I can't believe how nervous I am," he chuckled, his face 
in her hair. "My hands are shaking."

Indeed, she could feel the trembling against her back as he 
released the clasp on her bra and freed her breasts heavy with 
pregnancy. His hands cupped them, stroking her nipples with 
his thumbs. She moaned, warmth spreading through her, 
settling low in her belly.

How different this was from their first time. That had been 
hot and hungry, clouded by an alcohol haze. This was slow and 
deliberate, each movement languished over. Mulder kissed the 
little hollow at the base of her throat, his hands skimming
over her body, palms smooth against her rounded belly.

"Beautiful," he whispered, dropping down onto his knees. "So 
beautiful. I love the way your body is changing."

"I'm getting fat," she said, laughing. "Do you even remember 
what my body looked like? You barely got a look at it before 
the baby."

"Every inch is burned into my memory--the sight of you dropping 
your red robe that night in Oregon, the way you looked the night
we made love. Everything."

Drawing her slacks and panties downward, he danced kisses along
the line of darkened skin that bisected her stomach. 

"I love this little line here." His breath tickled against her 
belly. 

"It's called linea negra," she gasped, trying to calm her racing
heart. "A common skin condition in pregn..."

She lost all coherency as he pressed his nose and mouth into the 
nest of curls between her legs. Her knees trembled as he 
lowered her onto the bed and dragged the clothes off her legs. 

Mulder spread her legs, kissing the tender skin at the inside of 
her thighs. Her back arched as his lips grazed her clitoris.
She moaned as his tongue explored her folds, a small fish darting 
in and out of the shallows.

He seemed to have a knack for hitting the right spot. Her hips 
bucked as he swirled his tongue around that perfect place. His 
hands stroked her thighs, holding her open to him. Little
breathy gasps slipped from her mouth, becoming louder with each 
flick from Mulder.

Scully had never been a noisy lover. Oh, she'd enjoyed herself, 
quite a bit in fact, but she always maintained a certain reserve. 
So it came as quite a surprise that under Mulder's talented 
mouth, she was a screamer. 

She was still gasping as Mulder laid his head on her belly. "I 
didn't get to do that last time," he said. "I love listening to 
you, knowing you're making those sounds because of me. I want 
to do that a million times."

"I could live with that," she quipped. 

One tug on his arm and he was beside her. Scully rose up on one 
elbow, stroking her fingers along his golden skin. His abdomen
quaked with silent laughter under her tickling touch. He was no 
longer chuckling when her hand strayed under the waistband of his 
jeans to caress the heated skin of his stomach.

"You're overdressed," she said, leaning over to kiss him. He 
tasted of her, and that made her unspeakably happy.

"I'll have to do something about that," he replied, unbuttoning 
his jeans. She assisted him, drawing the zipper down and tugging 
his jeans and boxers down his legs.

He was magnificent. She'd never had the opportunity to enjoy the 
sight of a fully aroused naked Mulder. Their one coupling was 
too crazed for them to even remove their clothes. And she'd been
much too nauseous and humiliated to appreciate the view when she 
had stumbled in on him and Cassie/Carrie/Callie. 

Mulder hardly seemed to breath, lying so still and beautiful.
She skimmed her hands over his body, the hair on his chest and 
arms tickling her palms. Kisses followed hands, sprinkled on his 
skin wherever she pleased. Collarbone, nipples ribcage, navel, 
ending with a long brush of lips down to his hot, hard cock. 

He gasped when her mouth closed over him, his hips rising off
the bed. Sliding her lips down, she sucked gently, then a 
little harder. Mulder groaned, his hands tangling in her hair. 

Scully took special delight in the moans she drew from Mulder with 
each lick drawn from base to the tip of his cock. Swirling her 
tongue around the head seemed to elicit the most remarkable 
reaction.

"I'm so close," he mumbled, caressing her face. "I want to make
love to you."

She raised her head, smiling at him. Swinging a leg over Mulder's
body, she straddled him, her hot core resting against his cock. 
His hands reached for her tender breasts, tweaking her 
nipples into aching hardness. 

They both gasped when she wriggled into position and slid down 
onto him. Mulder's hands drifted along her ribcage to rest on 
her hips as she began to rock forward and back. 

She remembered how good it felt to have him inside her, but the 
memory of that entire night was blurred with the frenzy of lust.
Now, she took a moment to absorb the sensation of fullness, the 
delicious friction and the look of pure joy on Mulder's face.

"Oh God, I've missed this," she gasped.

His eyes were open, fixed on her face and radiating love. She
arched her back, loving how the position accentuated the roundness
of her belly. 

"Amazing. Just amazing," he said, placing his hands over her 
abdomen.

Heat built in her, infusing her. She reached forward to brace
herself against the mattress, her hands on either side of 
Mulder's shoulders, her body moving faster and faster. His 
hips rocked under her as he, too, neared climax. 

She squealed, the sound strange in her ears, as a wave after 
wave of pleasure washed over her. Mulder's grunts signaled 
his own release, his face contorted into an almost comical mask.

Poised over him, she allowed the physical sensations to work 
their way through her. She cataloged the pulsing here and the 
winding down there until something she'd never felt before 
whispered through her abdomen.

"Oh my God," she gasped. Her hands flew to her belly.

"What? Are you all right?" Mulder asked, concerned. 

"Better than all right," she replied, grinning. Scully moved 
his hand over her stomach to find the right place. "Feel that? 
The baby is moving!"
 
<><><><> 

Part 13 - Complicated

"I'm gone a few months and 'Little Miss Goody-two-shoes' takes a
walk on the wild side."

"Melissa!" Scully said, as she embraced her sister, inhaling the 
scent of patchouli. "I think it's been more than a few months.
When did you get back?" 

"Last night. Sorry to barge in so early on a Sunday morning, 
but I couldn't wait another minute to see this for myself." 
Melissa's eyes flashed with amusement. A dozen bracelets clinked
on her wrists as she unwrapped her shawl.

"Mom's been in touch, I take it." Scully straightened her bathrobe,
tying the belt a bit more securely over her belly. Still in her 
pajamas and slippers, hair in a ponytail, she felt muted next to
Melissa's exotic vibrancy.

"I finally caught up with my mail in Taos. I had a stack of 
letters from Mom telling me that you were: a) pregnant, b) missing,
c) returned and d) had a complicated relationship with the baby's 
father." Melissa grinned widely as she smoothed a hand over 
Scully's abdomen. "Dana, I can't believe it."

"I'm trying to get used to it, myself." 

She was getting used to a lot of things. Six weeks of waking up 
next to Mulder, having breakfast with him, arguing with him at 
work, eating dinner and falling asleep in his arms. Oh, and 
making love. A lot of that. 

"Come in, I'll pour you some coffee," Scully said, leading the way
into the kitchen. "Hope decaf is okay--it's all I have."

"Decaf is fine." Melissa watched Scully reach for two mugs and 
fill them with fragrant coffee. "Day, look at you with a belly. 
How far along are you?"

"Six and a half months." Scully rested her hand on the rise of
her abdomen. "There's no mistaking this for 'putting on a few 
pounds' anymore."

By now, the entire population of the Hoover Building was aware 
of her condition. In the vernacular of pregnancy, Scully had 
"popped." She hadn't developed a waddle yet, but three inch 
heels were a thing of the past.

"Does Billy know?" Melissa asked, frowning. 

"Mom told him. Thank God, he's still at sea. I'm hoping he 
calms down before he gets back. Charlie called me. He was so
funny--wanted to make sure I named the baby after him."

"Where is Charlie these days?"

"Still in Japan. He's been there for a year and a half."

"I never thought little Charlie would run farther than I did,"
Melissa said, wistfully. "So, tell me about this 'complicated
relationship' you have with the father-to-be? Mom said you work 
with him."

"He's my partner."

The conversation paused at the sound of a key in the front door, 
followed by shuffling noises and a thump or two. 

"Scully? You up? Hey, do I detect the scent of swill?"

Mulder burst into the room, drenched with sweat from his run, the 
bulky bundle of Sunday newspaper under his arm. Soaked sweatshirt
clinging to his athletic frame, he took her breath away. The paper 
landed on the counter with a slap.

"I didn't know you had company," Mulder said, mopping his face 
with a dish towel. 

"Mulder, your sneakers are muddy," Scully said, trying to hide
her pleasure at the sight of her dripping partner. "This is 
my sister, Melissa. Melissa, this is my partner, Fox Mulder."

"The prodigal daughter?" Mulder asked, toeing off his sneakers. 
Drying his hand against his pant leg, he leaned over the table 
to shake Melissa's hand. "It's good to meet you."

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world." Melissa studied 
Mulder's face with fascination. "I just had to meet the man 
who knocked up my baby sister."

"Melissa..." Scully sighed. Her sister never minced words.

"Sorry," Melissa said, blatantly unapologetic. "I'm still in a 
state of shock."

"Tell me about it." Mulder blushed under Melissa's scrutiny, 
dropping his gaze as he moved to the coffeemaker and poured 
himself a cup. Scully hid her smile as he took a long drink 
and came up grimacing. Two months after moving in, and Mulder 
still made faces when he drank his decaf.

"Mmmm mmm. Bad to the last drop," Mulder quipped. He sniffed 
the air in his immediate vicinity, crossing his eyes. "I'm 
pretty ripe, here. Think I better grab a shower."

Mulder emptied the rest of his coffee into the sink and rinsed 
out the mug. As he passed Scully, he tenderly cupped the back 
of her neck with one coffee-warmed hand. The women were silent 
as they watched him retreat from the room.

"Well, Dana," Melissa said with an observant smile. "I think 
there's a lot that Mom didn't tell me."

<><><><>

Margaret Scully had certainly been accurate in her assessment of 
the current situation. How could life with Fox Mulder be anything 
but complicated? The man was a walking contradiction--egocentric 
and selfless, visionary and blinded, somber and passionate.

He was relentless when he focused on something, and he seemed
to have fixated on her. Specifically, Mulder had become
obsessed with pregnancy. He never tired of touching her body,
gauging the changes to her breasts, her abdomen, her skin or
any other part of her. 

She would find Mulder reading pregnancy books in bed, lamplight
gleaming on his bare chest, glasses perched on his nose. He 
had a thousand questions.

Could she tell if her pelvic bones had begun to shift yet? 

No.

Had she thought about giving birth in a tub of water? 

Maybe.

Did she know that they could have sex almost up to the time
of birth?
 
Yes. If they were very lucky.

She was pretty sure he hadn't told his parents about the
impending grandparenthood. He didn't seem to have much 
contact with them at all. As far as she knew, the last
time Mulder had spoken to his father was from the hospital
in Raleigh when he was laid up with a leg wound. 

Mulder had spoken to his mother only once since he moved into 
Scully's apartment, a painfully stilted birthday greeting. 
The misery on his face when he hung up kept her from asking 
him about his reticence. 

She would have worried about his inability to be honest with
his parents if he hadn't been so genuinely enthusiastic. He
came along on her doctor visits--all the way into the exam 
room. There was no mistaking the look of amazement and joy 
on his face when he listened to the baby's heartbeat for the 
first time. 

And then there was the nursery. Scully came home late one 
afternoon after lunch and a shopping trip with her mother to 
hear loud voices drifting through her apartment. 

"You missed a spot, nimrod."

"Would you watch what you're doing, Langly. You're getting 
it all over." 

"Jeez, Byers. The kid will be in college before you finish 
that wall."

"Will you guys settle down? I thought you were here to help."

She traced the voices to the spare bedroom, now empty of 
furniture. Pale yellow paint was everywhere, on the walls,
the dropcloth covered floor, on Mulder and two of the three
other men in the room. 

"Scully! I thought you'd be out a little longer," Mulder said,
wiping his hands on a rag. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Oh, I'm surprised all right. Mulder, what on earth..." She tried
to ignore the rabid stare of the smallest of Mulder's three
helpers. 

"Do you like the color? It's called "Baby Chick'. I remember 
you said you weren't going to paint the room pink on the basis
of an ultrasound, so I thought this was a safe color."

As Mulder rambled, the three men watched him, obviously amused at 
his nervousness. Where did Mulder meet such an odd assortment of
people? 

"I can see Mulder isn't going to introduce us. If you'll permit
me, lovely lady, Melvin Frohike at your service," the small man
said, extending a paint covered hand. "Oops, sorry. You don't
want to be wearing baby chick yellow."

Frohike wiped most of the paint off and shook Scully's hand, his
eyes never leaving her face. A theatrical cough got his
attention and he shook his head slightly as if to clear it. 

"The scarecrow here is Richard Langly." Scully nodded at the 
gawky man, who had held up messy hands and smiled, shaking his
head. His paint-streaked blond hair hung over his shoulders. 

"John Byers, Ma'am." She shook the clean, dry hand of the 
soft-spoken man. Unlike the others, he didn't have a spot of
paint on his neatly pressed khakis and immaculate polo shirt.
"We're friends of Mulder's."

She glanced at Mulder, trying to take in this new aspect of him.
These men seemed genuinely fond of Mulder, enough to help with
the paint job on a sunny Saturday afternoon. 

"Mulder, you are one lucky dog," Frohike said, slapping Mulder
on the back. "This is one lovely lady. I gotta tell you, man, 
we were totally floored when you called us. Mr. 'One Night Stand'
needed us to paint a nursery."

"Hey Scully," Mulder interrupted and attempted to walk her out
of the room, "Being around these fumes can't be good for you."

"Mulder, you're using latex paint," she said, pointing at the
can by Langly's feet. "I'm perfectly safe, and I'm enjoying
the conversation."

"We have a million stories," Frohike said, obviously amused by
his friend's discomfort. "There was the time Mulder..."

"Enough, Frohike. Come on, Scully. Show me what you bought
while the three stooges here get busy." Mulder guided her 
from the room, shooting Frohike a pointed look.

The men finished the second coat of paint, and Scully ordered
pizza while they washed up. Sitting around her kitchen table,
the three men told her how they began working together and how
they met Mulder. She'd seen their newsletter among the pile 
of papers on Mulder's desk and found its wild claims rather 
amusing. Looking around the table, she tried to reconcile 
the three completely mismatched people with the wild stories of 
government conspiracy.

Scully found herself relaxing and laughing at their stories. 
Mulder seemed to enjoy himself too. She realized how rare it
was to see the solitary Mulder interact on a social level. 
These were extraordinary men to be able to draw him out.

She looked from face to face around her table, marveling at
the experience of sharing food and conversation. It occured
to her this must be what normal couples do on the average 
Saturday night.

<><><><>

Their days were filled with work, and their nights were filled
with each other. After investigating leads, filling out paperwork, 
researching phenomena and submitting expense reports, they'd 
come home and have each other half stripped before the apartment
door closed.

She and Mulder continued to disagree at work, which she found 
incredibly reassuring. Mulder still gravitated to the paranormal 
interpretation of every anomaly, and Scully leaned toward the 
scientific explanation. 

The Arthur Davison case was a prime example. Even after 
another man confessed to finding the raped and beaten Sandra 
McCaffey and killing her, Mulder was still convinced that 
Davison was responsible.

Angel Munoz was a dishwasher at the Poblano Grill, a quiet man 
with no previous arrests, not even a parking ticket. Munoz 
maintained that he'd found a stunned McCaffey, bleeding in the 
alley behind the restaurant and smashed her skull with a brick. 
Munoz had no idea why he'd killed her; he said it was as if
someone else controlled his body.

People sometimes behave impulsively, Scully argued. Something 
triggers them to take action that has no precedent. The facts 
all added up now, neatly and precisely. Davison's DNA was 
present in McCaffey's vagina and his teeth marks on her body, 
because he *had* raped her earlier that day. She didn't die 
until after Davison had left her in the alley and been 
arrested elsewhere in the city. 

Munoz found her and killed her, but because he was wearing 
latex gloves for work, he left no fingerprints on the brick. 
His clothes were covered by a plastic apron, leaving his 
clothes free from blood. Understandable evidence, neatly tied 
up with a ribbon.

And utter hogwash, according to Mulder. The actions of normally
non-violent men have been directed by others--he had two file 
drawers full of similar cases if she cared to read them. 
Davison's hatred of women was so strong, so powerful, it had 
taken on a life of its own. This festering hatred had waited 
after Davison left the scene and entered a new host: Munoz. 

Munoz, who was on suicide watch now, and who loved his wife
and three small children--was a gentle and stable man according 
to every person they'd interviewed. The ribbon on Scully's 
bundle of evidence was frayed and tangled. 

She had been called as an expert witness at Munoz' preliminary 
hearing, explaining Sandra McCaffey's autopsy results. Mulder
hadn't been required to testify. He'd spent the morning 
sitting with her in the courtroom as she waited to be called.

Scully was still waiting to testify when the midday recess was 
called. After a quick bite near the courthouse, Mulder 
returned to the Hoover building for a meeting. He seemed to 
throw caution to the winds, when he turned to her on a busy 
Washington sidewalk and kissed her. She smiled all the way 
back to court.

Her smile was gone by the time Munoz was brought back into 
court. The man appeared stricken, his eyes filled with fear 
and pain. Scully wondered if Mulder might not have been right 
all along. She'd seen other defendants in court, people who 
were defiant, angry, sneering, icy calm, delusional or even 
bored. None of them had ever looked as devastated as Angel 
Munoz.

She delivered her testimony, acutely aware of Munoz' reaction. 
The man seemed to flinch with each detail of the damage to 
McCaffey's body. She was completely drained by the time she 
was able to step down from the stand. 

It was nearly four o'clock when she returned to the basement
office. She stood at the door, listening to the drone of
Mulder's voice. Engrossed in a phone conversation, he didn't
notice her entrance.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked, his back to her. "No.
I can't." Mulder shook his head as if whoever was on the
other end of the phone could see his refusal. He seemed to
stiffen, perhaps in reaction to what was being said. "Yes.
Where? All right." 

He hung up the phone, releasing a ragged breath. It was only
when she dropped her briefcase that he turned to look at her.

"All done?" he asked. He fidgeted with the papers on his
desk.

"I hope so. I don't know how much more I can take of this."

"I...uh, I have to leave for a little while, Scully." He ran
his fingers through his hair, leaving it in little spikes.
"I have to chase down some evidence."

"Evidence, Mulder?" she asked. "From which case?"

"Gotta go, Scully," he said as he hurried from the room.
"Back soon."

She tried to keep busy, organizing the notes from the 
McCaffey case. Davison's trial for the rape and beating 
would be starting early next month. But she couldn't quite
escape the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

She waited. She paced, and straightened her desk, and 
dusted some of the assorted oddities on the shelves at 
the back of the office. Five o'clock came and went, 
followed by six and seven. 

She'd resisted calling him, afraid perhaps of giving in 
to the fear that he wasn't out running errands--that he 
hadn't just lost track of time. She eyed the items on
his desk, hoping for a clue to his whereabouts. The urge 
to tear the desk apart was strong, but she fought against
it, chiding herself for her lack of faith in Mulder. 

By eight o'clock, she was irritable, annoyed, hungry
and worried. The phone in Mulder's apartment rang
and rang, his voice on the answering machine a hollow
substitute for the real thing. No one picked up at
her place either. 

She tried his cell phone, her hands shaking a bit as
she hit the button for speed dial. Icy fingers seemed
to trace along her spine as she waited for him to
pick up.

*The cellular customer you are trying to reach is 
unavailable*

<><><><>

Part 14 - Faith

If she ever got her hands on him she was going to kill Mulder. 
What on earth was he thinking? Or not thinking. She flashed
back to a motel room in Idaho and Mulder slipping out of a room 
when her back was turned. That time, he'd ended up dazed and 
unable to recall what happened to him. What condition would she 
find him in this time?

She'd gone home around 8:30, unable to stay a minute more in the 
empty office. Mulder was a grown man. She wasn't even sure he 
was in trouble. He might be following a perfectly reasonable
lead. He could take care of himself. She just had to make 
herself believe it.

She'd be fine, if she could just get that damn alarm to stop 
blaring in her head. Scully tried to eat some dinner but ended 
up tossing most of the Lean Cuisine meal into the trash. 

By ten o'clock, she couldn't quiet her fears any longer. She 
called the telecommunication department, luckily getting someone
she knew. The woman agreed to trace the call put through to 
Mulder's extension around four o'clock that afternoon. 

Fifteen minutes later, her contact called back with the 
information. The call had originated from a pay phone in 
O'Neill's Irish Pub. Scully recognized the name of the upscale 
bar near the Hoover Building.

Mulder was probably waiting for a contact that never showed up,
sitting in the bar or standing on a street corner. She was
sure he was perfectly safe. She was definitely over-reacting.

Scully couldn't call Skinner, at least not yet. She had no evidence
that Mulder was in trouble, only her admittedly hormone-laced 
instincts to tell her that something wasn't right.

She shrugged into her coat and grabbed her car keys, checking 
to be sure her weapon was secure at the small of her back.
Locking the door behind her, she drove to the bar.

O'Neill's was dark and noisy though it was past peak for 
weeknight drinking. Well-dressed if somewhat rumpled patrons 
shouted drunkenly over the blaring music, while the local
news flashed mutely from the overhead TV. 

"Hey, Keesha, another brew." 

Careful of her long nails, the bartender deftly filled a glass 
and delivered it to the waiting customer. Scully waved her
badge to get the woman's attention 

"When did you come on shift?" Scully asked, shouting to be
heard above the noise.

"Pulled a double--been here since noon. What's the problem?"

"I'm looking for a man," Scully said, slipping her badge back in 
her pocket.

"Honey, aren't we all!" The woman's brown eyes crinkled in
amusement. 

"The man I'm looking for is thin, six feet tall, dark hair, 
well dressed."

"Personally, I like mine kind of buff," the bartender laughed. 
"But to each her own, I always say. Listen, I see a lot of 
people, and I try to forget them as soon as they pay their tab. 
I don't remember anybody looked like that."

Scully sighed, trying to rein in her anxiety. 

"Do you have a pay phone?" Scully asked. Keesha gestured through 
an arch to a shadowy hallway. Scully squinted through the smoke, 
her heart sinking; the phone wasn't visible from the bar. Hell, 
the question had to be asked, no matter how pointless. 

"Did you notice someone making a call around four this afternoon?"

"Lady, you think all I do is look at people? I don't know..."
Keesha paused in thought. "Come to think of it...a woman did
ask me where the phone was. Coulda been around four. Coulda 
been earlier."

"What did she look like?" Scully asked, fingernails digging into
her palms. The baby moved within her, and she placed a hand over
that spot as if to comfort her child.

"Tall, blonde. Good-looking. It was busy--I barely glanced at 
her." A look of dawning understanding passed over the woman's 
face. Keesha's expression softened as she looked at Scully's belly.
 
"Geez, I'm sorry. What kind of shit cheats on a pregnant woman? 
You know what? You deserve better than this. I'd kick this guy to
the curb, if I was you."

<><><><>

She returned to her apartment, hoping desperately that she'd walk
in to find Mulder watching TV and wondering where she'd gone. 
Disappointment sliced through her as she passed through the empty
apartment to her dark bedroom.

With only the light from the hall, she dropped her coat on the 
chair in her bedroom and kicked off her shoes. Her lower back 
ached as it did most nights now the baby threw her posture 
off. Mulder gave her a massage every evening, working the knots 
out with his strong, talented hands. God, she wished he was 
home.

Still in her work clothes, Scully stretched out on the bed. She 
needed to weigh her options, but her body was screaming for rest. 
Barely able to keep her eyes open, exhaustion took its toll and 
she fell asleep.

She was cold, so very cold. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in 
the sterile furnishings. Oh God, she was back. Scully had counted 
every one of the ceiling tiles when she was here before and knew 
each inch of the walls. Groaning in misery and fear, she waited 
for the footsteps in the hall announcing her tormenter's approach.

But there were no sounds beyond the door. Swinging her legs 
over the side of the bed, she hopped down. She was glad to 
find they hadn't dressed her in a hospital gown this time--she 
was still wearing her maternity suit. The floor was cold 
under her stocking-clad feet. 

She reached the door, and to her surprise, the handle turned 
easily and the door swung open. Maybe this time she'd be able 
to escape before Rabbitface caught her. Her shoes were 
nowhere to be found, but at least she was silent as she slipped 
into the brightly lit hall.

There didn't seem to be a stairway or elevator at either end 
of the hall, but instead, a closed door at each end. Perhaps one 
of them led to an exit. It seemed to be colder out here than in 
her room. She hurried to one door, pulling it open. 

She shivered as she peered into an examination room jammed with 
medical equipment. She couldn't identify any of the machines as 
she squinted at their flashing digital displays. A tray of 
instruments was laid out next to the exam table. They gleamed 
brightly and all looked torturous, but like the machines, each
one was foreign to her. She blinked her eyes, astounded at the
unfamiliarity of everything. Only the stirrups on the exam table 
were recognizable. 

There was no exit through this room. She closed the door behind 
her and scurried down the hall to the other door. As she 
approached, she heard a woman moaning. Was someone being hurt? 
Her knees felt as if they were made of jelly as her hand grasped 
the doorknob. She had to find out who was behind the door 
and save her.

The door swung open and she held her breath at the sight before 
her. The man and woman in the room didn't hear her; they were too
engrossed in fucking to notice. The woman's moans grew louder as 
the man drove into her, his well-muscled buttocks straining with 
each thrust. The woman's blonde hair cascaded as she tossed her 
head from side to side.

The man was panting, a fine sheen of sweat on his taut back. His
dark head was down as he pistoned into the woman. Suddenly, he 
threw back his head in passion, and Scully saw the man was Mulder. 
Gasping at the shock, she gripped the doorframe to keep from 
falling. The sound at the door finally getting his attention, 
Mulder glanced at her, an expression of mild amusement on his face.

"Well look who's here," he said, smirking. "Enjoying yourself, 
Scully?" 

She awoke with a jolt, every muscle tensed. Pushing the hair from
her face, she struggled to sit up. Scully shook her head, trying
to clear cobwebs that remained from the dream. Damn that bartender 
for putting the awful image in her mind.

The room was still dark, though the light behind the window shade 
hinted at early morning. She looked at her clock and saw
that it was just after five in the morning. Mulder had been 
missing for over twelve hours now. 

Cursing whatever insecurities still dwelled in her, she climbed 
off the bed. "Fucking hormones," she muttered, making her way 
to the bathroom. Scully turned on the shower, stripping off her 
suit while the water warmed. 

It all came down to faith. Did she have faith in Mulder? Did
she believe he loved her and would never betray her? She had
only to recall his eyes, the complete truth and honesty when he 
looked at her, and she had the answer to her questions. All
she had to do was believe.

She stepped under the spray, allowing the hot water to wash away
the remnants of her dream. Scully's hands lingered over the 
baby within her, drawing soapy circles over her belly as she 
tried to calm her breathing.

Scully finished her shower and dressed quickly. Standing in 
the kitchen, she watched the sun rise as she ate a bagel that 
seemed to have no flavor at all. It was barely seven o'clock
when she left her apartment for work. 

She knew most mornings, her boss arrived early, even before his 
assistant. Scully waited on the bench outside Skinner's office.
Standing, she caught his attention as he strode down the hall. 

"Agent Scully," he said in surprise. "Is something wrong?" 

"I think so, sir. Could we go in and talk?" she asked.

Skinner ushered her into his inner office, gesturing for her 
to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk. She bit her lip
trying not to focus on why the other chair was empty. Her boss
hung up his overcoat before sitting behind his desk.

"So, Agent Scully, what's the problem?" he asked, his voice not
unkind. "Does this have to do with Agent Mulder?"

"He's missing, sir." 

"I saw him yesterday afternoon, Scully. He can't have been missing 
for long."

"Well, no," she conceded. "He flew out of the office around four
yesterday afternoon. Said he was chasing down some evidence, but
I honestly can't think of any case that had anything pending."

"Agent Scully, I'm still not sure what the problem is. Mulder's
been known to tear off on his own."

"He...uh...he didn't come home last night," she said, unable to 
meet Skinner's eye after such a personal detail. 

Her boss seemed to mull this over, perhaps coming to grips with 
the implications. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Agent Mulder 
has been a bachelor for a long time, Scully. Could he...have 
needed some time away?" 

"No, sir. At least, I don't think so. I think he might be in
trouble."

Skinner studied the backs of his hands, his expression unreadable. 
He was silent so long; Scully began to wonder if her boss had 
forgotten she was there. His voice startled her when he finally
spoke. 

"I'll make a few inquiries. Go back to your office
and see if he left any clues there." 

Mulder trusted this man and deep down, part of her wanted to 
trust him too. Regardless of Skinner's involvement with the 
cigarette man, she detected an integrity, a desire for honor. 
Scully rose, energized by the prospect of action. As she 
reached the office door, his voice was gentle as he called 
her name.

"Scully. I'll call you if I find anything." 

She returned to the basement office and stood in front of 
Mulder's desk, no longer worried about over-reacting. As she 
picked through the files, tabloid clippings, notes from cases 
they'd worked on, she tried not to think as Mulder's lover, 
but as the investigator she had always been. 

She found no clue in the desk that would tell her where Mulder
had gone. She found his rather endearing reminder to himself 
to pick up more Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Brownie ice cream. It 
was her favorite flavor and she hadn't even asked him to get it. 
Probably self-defense; she smiled to herself. Pregnant women 
were safer to deal with when you had a container of ice cream 
in your hand.

Scully spent the day in the office, jumping each time the phone
rang. Her heart would pound as she'd pick it up, only to find
that it was Agent Henderson from Fingerprint Analysis, or an 
elderly woman who was sure a gnome was living under her front 
porch and was responsible for the disappearance of her cat, 
Fluffy. 

Skinner came down to the basement office at the end of the 
afternoon, unfortunately without good news. He'd called in a 
few favors, but hadn't found any information on Mulder's location. 
Scully wondered what it had cost her boss to ask questions of the 
shadowy men he dealt with. 

The big man took a close look at her pale face and sent her home. 
He promised to call her with information as soon as he could. 
She couldn't bring herself to argue. It wasn't as if she'd been 
able to work, and she was exhausted. 

Worry, fear and seven months worth of pregnancy had sapped any 
energy she had this morning. Wearily, she snapped off the office 
lights and locked the door behind her.

Scully was distracted as she arrived back at her apartment. It
was now over twenty-four hours since Mulder had left the office.
So many things could happen to a man in twenty-four hours. 

The key turned in the lock, but the door wouldn't open. Something
seemed to be blocking it--something that groaned when she gave
the door a shove.

"Oh my God, Mulder! What happened to you?"

<><><><>

Part 15 - As He Is

"Ooooohhh."

Mulder moaned as she slipped into the apartment, pressing the door 
into his body. He laid curled on his side, knees drawn up 
protectively, arms wrapped around his middle. There were 
streaks of blood on his white shirt.

"What happened to you?" she asked, lowering herself to the floor.
Her abdomen bulged as she kneeled over Mulder, gently pulling his 
arms away from his midsection. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," he grunted. Her hands were on him, feeling his arms
for broken bones, pulling his eyelids back to check the pupils for 
dilation. His clothes were a mess, the shirt filthy and the pants 
shredded along one thigh. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, and 
he was missing one shoe.

"Did you get hit on the head?" she asked, her fingers feathering
through his hair. Good. No blood or swelling. His hair felt 
gritty, though, as if he'd lain on gravel or sand.

"I don't think so," he replied, his words clumsy due to a cut on 
his lip. "That's probably the only part that didn't get hit."

He struggled to sit, groaning with the effort. She unbuttoned
his shirt, pressing along his ribs. "You've got a lot of 
bruising here," she said as he moaned again. "You might have
a fractured rib or two."

"Somebody seemed to have confused me with a punching bag." He
grunted as she palpated his abdomen, her hand moving beneath
the waistband of his slacks. She waited for the innuendo that
never came as Mulder squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled 
slowly. 

"Doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding," she said, touching 
his face. His eyes opened, and he tried to smile around the
cut on his lip. "You're going to have to take it easy, though."

"I can handle 'easy'."

"Oh God, Mulder. Where have you been?" Her voice sounded harsh
in her ears, anger and worry still present along with the relief
at seeing him. 

"I was chasing a lead," he muttered as her hands moved along his 
legs checking for bleeding or broken bones. He hissed as her 
fingers probed along his right hip, where his pants were frayed. 
"Shit, Scully--watch it."

"The skin's completely abraded here, Mulder. Do you remember 
how this happened?

"I...ow...I fell from a moving car. That's how I got away."

"Well, you can tell me all about it on the way to the hospital."
Scully pulled the sides of Mulder's shirt together and stood up.

"I don't need to go to the hospital, Scully," Mulder said, 
grabbing her hand. "I just need to get some rest." 

"Mulder..." He struggled to stand, as if being on his feet 
would give him the advantage. He'd have a better chance of 
convincing her if he wasn't hunched over in pain.

"I don't have a concussion. I've had broken ribs before and 
they didn't even tape them. I don't need to go to the hospital 
where they're going poke and prod and run tests that make me 
*more* uncomfortable than I already am."

She studied his face, noting the scrapes and bruises. One eye
was swollen, and his full lower lip still oozed blood. In 
spite of the damage, she couldn't disagree--he didn't appear 
to be seriously hurt.

"Okay. But I reserve the right to haul your ass to the ER if 
I think it's necessary." 

"Scully, my ass is at your disposal," he said, arms hugging
his bruised midsection. He tried to smile, the grin uneven
from the swelling of his lip. "The rest of me, too, pathetic
as it is."

"I wish..." she sighed, her voice trailing off. She should 
be relieved to have him back, safe and reasonably sound. But 
what about the next lead, the next phone call, the next time 
someone yanked his chain and offered him the answer to all 
his questions?

"What?" he asked. 

"Nothing. It's nothing." She shook her head. "Come on, you 
need to take a shower and wash those cuts and scrapes before 
they get infected. And then you're going to tell me exactly
what happened once you left the office."

Mulder nodded, his eyes troubled, as if he wanted to tell her 
something but feared it would hurt her. She led him into
the bathroom, her mouth set in a straight little line.

Scully opened the shower door, turning on the water. Mulder
leaned against the sink, appearing a little dazed as she 
retrieved towels and a washcloth from the linen closet.

"Strip, Mulder." 

"What kind of boy do you think I am?" he asked in mock affront. 
She tried not to smile, but the return of Mulder's teasing
was too great a relief.

Mulder tried to slip out of his shirt, groaning in pain with 
the effort. Shaking her head, Scully unbuttoned his cuffs,
gently pulling off the shirt. She crouched, belly in the way,
to remove his lone shoe and socks. 

Using the edge of the sink as leverage, she pulled herself
up, grunting with the effort. She was only seven months 
along--by the time this baby was born, she'd have to be
rolled along like a giant beach ball. 

Scully lifted Mulder's hands, studying his arms. Livid bruises 
circled his wrists, to her practiced eye a sign of restraint 
with handcuffs. His midsection was purple with contusions, 
more shocking in the bright light of the bathroom.

"You're a mess," she said, unbuckling his belt and drawing the
pant's zipper down.

"I think this is just an excuse to get into my pants."

"Yeah. That must be it." She pushed his pants and boxers 
over his legs, causing him to yelp when she brushed against 
the side of his body. She bent to examine him more carefully. 

The bruising around the ribs continued downward, almost as far
as his groin. A layer of skin had been literally worn off his 
hip, pinpoints of blood beading on his flesh. Sympathy welled
up in her as Mulder seemed to waver on his feet.

"Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest."

She reached into the shower, determining the water to be
warm enough. With a slight push from Scully, Mulder 
stepped under the water. She handed him the washcloth and 
closed the shower door.

Visible through the pebbled glass, he seemed too weary to 
move, bracing himself against the tile and fumbling for 
the soap. Scully watched the water beat down on his bowed 
head and something broke apart within her. 

She kicked off her shoes, pulling the sweater over her head
and tossing it on the floor. Stripping out of her maternity 
slacks and hose, she opened the shower door.

Mulder raised his head, obviously surprised at the blast
of cooler air entering the shower stall. Relief seemed to 
wash over him as she stepped into the steamy shower.

"Tight squeeze," she said, her belly bumping against him.

"Plenty of room," he assured her. He rested his hands on 
her shoulders, smiling at her with hope in his eyes. Hope
that she could accept his tilting at windmills, that she
understood his heart. 

"Bend down a little, Mulder. I want to wash the grit out 
of your hair." 

She poured a little shampoo in her hand and worked it
into his hair. He whimpered a little as she massaged
his scalp, the sound of his pleasure sending warmth 
through her body. He sighed audibly when her fingers
stopped their work.

"Rinse," she instructed, and he tilted his head back
to catch the stream of water. She held her breath at
the sight of Mulder, shampoo bubbles running down his
face and over his shoulders and chest. 

Scully soaped a washcloth, scrubbing his shoulders and 
arms before drawing it in gentle circles over his chest 
and abdomen. As the washcloth drifted lower, she found 
Mulder growing hard under her hand. "You're incorrigible, 
you know that?" she laughed. 

"Can't help it. You have that effect on me," he said, 
his voice a low growl.

"Nothing more than a physiological reaction to stimulation."

"You're such a romantic, Scully."

Her gentle hand at his arm signaled him to move. Holding 
his elbows close, he turned in the close quarters.
The muscles in his back rippled under her hand as she
scrubbed his back. He hummed in pleasure as she drew
the washcloth down over his perfectly formed ass. 

"This is mine, huh?" she asked, smoothing a palm over the 
smooth wet skin.

"Oh, yeah," he replied, sounding pleased at her comment 
and wriggling his backside against her belly. "All yours."

"Well, *my* ass is clean now. Turn a little--I want to
wash that scrape on your hip." 

He shifted position as she requested, holding his arm
against his chest to give her room to work. Mulder seemed 
to be moving more easily, the warm water perhaps having 
relieved some of his discomfort.

Warm water not withstanding, Mulder bellowed as she scrubbed 
the raw area as gently as she could. "Sorry," she said.
"You've got half the road stuck to you."

"Felt like I slid for fifty feet after I hit the pavement."

She moved her body, allowing the spray of water to rinse
the soap from his hip. "Can't wait to hear all the details."

Squeezing into the corner of the shower, she crouched to 
reach his legs and feet. The gunshot scar on his thigh was
at eyelevel, a neatly healed pucker. She noticed more scrapes 
on Mulder's knees and thighs, but none as fierce as the 
abrasion on his hip. 

Raising her hand above her head, she wiggled her fingers to 
signal her need for assistance. Mulder took the cue, pulling
her up and pressing a kiss against her temple as she rose.

"Out with you," she ordered. "You're clean."

He seemed a little shaky as he stepped from the shower and
reached for the towel. Scully quickly washed and rinsed her 
body, watching Mulder towel off on the other side of the 
glass door.

The air felt cool against her skin as she left the shower and
joined Mulder. Grabbing another towel, she briskly rubbed 
herself dry. His eyes followed her movements as if he couldn't
get enough of her. There were still beads of water on Mulder's 
arms and chest. Broken and bruised, he was still the most 
beautiful sight in the world.

Her towel still in hand, Scully gently patted the moisture from 
Mulder's skin, especially careful on the raw places. Looking 
into his eyes, she rested her palm against his breastbone. 

"I don't know what I would have done if something happened to 
you, Mulder."

"I know," he said, his fingers winding into her wet hair as
he looked down at her. "I'm so sorry you were worried." 

Scully nodded, a lump in her throat making it impossible to
speak. How could he care so little for his own safety? His
only regret seemed to her worry over him. She shivered despite
the warmth of the steamy bathroom. What was that old saying?
Someone walking on your grave. Or maybe the grave of the
man she loved.

"I'll get my bag and take care of your hip," she said,
reaching for the pajamas hanging on the back of the bathroom 
door. Scully followed a naked Mulder into the bedroom,
snagging her medical kit from the closet. 

Mulder reached for the edge of the comforter, fumbling with
fingers made clumsy by exhaustion. She touched his arm 
briefly, moving past him to flip the bedding down. 

"Lie down," she instructed. Scully slipped into her pajamas 
as Mulder stretched out on his side, facing away. She remembered
his long hospitalization, and how he would avert his eyes from
medical procedures. "Scoot over a little, Mulder."

He shifted over, giving her room to sit behind him. His eyes
were at half mast as his body relaxed. It must have been a long
time since he'd had a chance to lie quietly. 
 
Beads of blood had begun to collect again on Mulder's hip. She
used a gauze pad to carefully blot them away before applying 
antibiotic ointment and covering the skin with a dressing. When 
she had taped gauze over the dressing, she patted his bottom. 

"All done."

"Would you mind terribly if I just slept this way?" he asked.
"I can't bear the thought of putting pajamas over my hip."

"I have absolutely no objections," she said, stroking her hand
along his back. She cleared away her equipment, returning to
the bathroom to wash the ointment off her hands. 

Mulder was barely awake as she approached the bed. Scully snapped 
off the light and walked around the bed to climb in beside Mulder. 
The jostling of the bed roused Mulder who smiled sleepily at her. 

"Thank you," he said, yawning. "For patching me up.

"Seems to be in my job description. What happened to you Mulder? 
she asked, her voice soft and urgent. "Where did you go?"

"I had a phone call," he said wearily. "A lead that I just
couldn't pass up."

"Samantha," she said. It wasn't a question and she didn't expect 
an answer. She watched his face as he seemed caught in some
internal turmoil.

"Doesn't matter, really," he said, finally. "Turned out to be a 
fake. I was supposed to meet the contact in the last booth at 
O'Neill's Bar. I waited for half an hour, but nobody came. The 
phone in the back hall was ringing, so I got up to check it out. 
A man came out of the men's room and before I knew it, there
was a gun in my ribs, and I was out in the alley behind the bar."

"Did you recognize the man?" she asked.

"I only got a glimpse at him. There were others in the alley,
but I was pretty busy being a punching bag at that point and 
didn't get to take names," he said, embarrassment clear in his 
voice. "I'll spare you all the details. Let's just say these 
guys didn't have my best interests at heart. I walked right 
into that, Scully. God, what a fucking idiot."

His swollen lip was making it a struggle for him to speak. 
Leaning forward, she brushed the gentlest of kisses against 
less bruised corner of his mouth.

"You're not an idiot. I'm just glad you're safe." She pushed 
the hair from his forehead, watching his eyes drift shut. 

"Shit," she muttered, remembering Skinner and his unofficial
investigation. Rising from the bed, Scully left the bedroom 
and went to call her boss. She dialed Skinner's office, knowing 
without a doubt the big man would still be at work, though it 
was nearly eight o'clock.

"Mulder's back, sir," she said when he picked up on the second
ring. "A little the worse for wear, but safe."

"And what the hell happened to him?"

"I only got the condensed version, sir. He was chasing a lead 
when he was jumped and beaten."

"I'll expect the un-abridged version from Agent Mulder," Skinner 
said, relief in his voice. "I want to see both of you in my 
office tomorrow morning, that is, if Mulder is up to it."

"He'll be there, sir, if he can get his pants on."

"What?" 

"He's got scrapes in some uncomfortable places," she explained. 

Skinner seemed happy to get off the phone after that, the
big man apparently disquieted by wondering exactly where the
injuries might be. She hung up the phone, and looked around
the kitchen. Weighing hunger against exhaustion, she decided
that chewing would require too much energy. Sleep would be
delicious.

Scully turned out the lights and checked the locks on the front
door. Entering the bathroom, she barely had enough energy to 
pick up the wet towels and hang them over the shower door. She 
brushed her teeth, examining her face and noting the lovely 
combination of round pregnancy face and dark circles. 

She was careful not to wake Mulder as she entered the bedroom, 
moving as quietly as possible. Scully smiled as she watched 
Mulder's sleeping form. She needn't have worried; he'd probably 
sleep through a nuclear blast tonight. 

In spite of the damage he was unspeakably gorgeous, lying naked 
across her bed. From his long, beautifully formed feet and legs,
to his soft tousled hair, he was a breathing work of art. She
stood by the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of his 
chest and the twitching of his hands as he slept. 

Her heart ached within her, as if it was being squeezed by an
unseen hand. How could she live without him? The decision to 
raise this child alone had been simple, back when that seemed to 
be the only option. But as her love for Mulder deepened, so did 
the risk to her heart. She could no longer contemplate a life 
that didn't contain this man. 

Scully remembered a Christmas long ago when her father was far 
away. Bill Scully was always missed when he was at sea, but 
missing him was so much harder during the holidays. 
Ten-year-old Dana had railed one day, unable to understand how 
her mother could stand the loneliness.

"Your father needs to do his job, Dana," her mother had said.
"And I love him, so I have to support that."

"I don't understand, Mom. How can you give your love to 
someone who isn't here for you?" Dana had asked. In her pre-teen
idealism, love was permanent and all-encompassing. 

"You can't love someone for how you want them to be, Dana.
You have to love them as they are."

Scully carefully pulled the sheet up over Mulder's naked form
and climbed into bed beside him. Though still asleep, he stirred 
when he felt her presense one hand blindly reaching for her. She 
took his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. She'd just have to 
love him as he was.

<><><><> 

Part 16 - Meet the Mulders

"What did your mother say when you told her?" 

"Just that she wanted to meet you. I'm not sure the news really
registered."

Mulder's eyes were fixed on the road before them. His jaw clenched
and unclenched, a sure sign he was feeling tense. The knuckles
on his hands were white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

They'd decided to visit his mother before Scully got too big to 
make the five hour drive between DC and Connecticut. So, as soon 
as the bruises on Mulder's face healed enough to no longer be 
frightening, they made arrangements for a weekend trip.

Scully adjusted the seatbelt, smoothing her hands over her belly. 
The baby was moving, one foot making a persistent arc across the 
crest of her belly. Maybe the child could sense the tension in 
her at the prospect of meeting Mulder's parents.

Bill Mulder was traveling down from Martha's Vineyard to this 
odd reunion at his ex-wife's home in Greenwich, Connecticut. 
Her partner had seemed both surprised and troubled at the idea 
of seeing his long estranged father. Mulder had gone for a long 
run after hearing news of his father's visit. He'd returned several 
hours later, pale and shaking from exertion, his eyes haunted. 

"Do you want to take a break?" he asked. "There's a rest stop in 
about five miles."

"No, I'm fine." She shifted in the seat, trying to find a more
comfortable position, but such a thing did not appear to exist 
during the final six weeks of pregnancy. The five hour drive had 
actually taken closer to seven, with numerous stops along the way.

"We'll be there in about forty-five minutes, anyway." Mulder 
didn't sound enthusiastic about this. Scully tried to enjoy
the New England fall foliage. The trees were at peak color 
on this early November afternoon, a riot of gold, red and orange.

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey; after a few
minutes, she found her eyes drifting shut. The deceleration of 
the car ended her doze as Mulder pulled into the driveway of a 
well-kept white colonial home. The sun had begun to set, leaving
the front lawn in deep shadow.

Getting out of the car was becoming more and more difficult. In 
another week or so, she'd need Mulder to pry her out, but today 
she was able to dislodge herself from the passenger seat. Mulder 
came around to meet her, their bags slung over his shoulder. 

"Fox! I was getting worried." A tall, austere woman stood at 
the front door, the autumn breeze stirring her short, gray hair.
"I thought you'd be here earlier."

"Sorry, Mom," Mulder said, as they climbed the steps to the 
front door. "We stopped a few times along the way." His hand
was at Scully's waist, fingers pressing into her flesh as if to
reassure himself that she was there. As they entered the foyer, 
Mulder kissed his mother on the cheek. 

"Mom, this is Dana Scully." He didn't elaborate or define their
relationship. Maybe he felt that the obvious pregnancy and his 
arm around her were explanation enough. Mrs. Mulder's smile
seemed forced and frozen as her son's statement hung in the air.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, Miss Scully. Fox has talked
about you often." 

Considering how infrequently Mulder seemed to speak with his
mother, 'often' was probably a relative term. 

"I'm so happy to meet you, Mrs. Mulder. Please call me Dana."

Mrs. Mulder led them into the quietly elegant living room, the
soft light of antique brass lamps keeping out the afternoon gloom.

"Fox, I'm sure Dana would like a little rest before dinner. Why 
don't you take her up to the guest bedroom? Your old room is ready 
too."

"Sure Mom," he said, hiding a smile. Scully was puzzled as she
followed him up the stairs. As they reached the top of the 
steps, she poked him in the side, causing him to wince even as
he chuckled. Scully remembered that his ribs were probably
still a little sore. 

"What's so funny?" she whispered.

"My mother," he replied, his voice low and throaty with laughter.
"Putting her son and his very pregnant lover in separate rooms."

Scully hid her smile as Mulder led her into a large bedroom,
placing her suitcase on the hope chest at the foot of the bed.
He put his arms around her, their baby between them. 

"I think Mom is right--you should lie down and rest. I'm going
to see if my mother needs help with dinner." He pressed a kiss
to the top of her head and left the room.

Scully stood by the bed and yawned. She hated being treated like
a child, but she really was tired. Pregnancy brought so many
irritations. Swollen ankles, heartburn, backache, stuffy nose--
all were annoying, but she managed to tolerate them. 

The emotional aggravations were far worse for Scully. Virtual
strangers felt they had the right to touch her belly--everyone 
from the old man who ran the newsstand to Mrs. Hauer in the next 
apartment. 

She hated the knowledge that for the next few weeks, she couldn't 
be in top form--couldn't protect herself, couldn't watch Mulder's 
back. With her short stature, the added weight threw off her 
center of gravity, making her clumsy and slow. The vulnerability 
was galling.

But the most exasperating thing was feeling like an invalid or a 
child. Having to eat things she wasn't hungry for, drink things 
she didn't want. Being told to take a nap in the middle of the 
day and really needing the rest. This was not easy for a woman 
who prided herself on being in control.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, kicking off her shoes and climbing 
onto the bed. She was asleep in minutes, the trip having taken 
more out of her than she would admit. 

Scully woke to the sound of voices and the delicious smell of 
cooking. Levering herself off the bed, she walked into the 
adjoining bathroom and washed up. Once her hair was neatened 
and her teeth brushed, she made her way down to the living room.

"I haven't forgotten my responsibilities, sir." Mulder's voice
drifted up as she descended the staircase. 

"I hope that's true, Fox. I sincerely hope that's true."

"Scully! I was just going to wake you." The profound look of 
relief on Mulder's face broke her heart. He looked like a 
drowning man who'd just been thrown a rope. Her partner left 
the sofa, where he had been sitting across from an older man. 

With an arm slung around her shoulders, Mulder drew her into the
living room. "Dad, this is my partner, Dana Scully."

Bill Mulder rose to shake Scully's hand, the ice in his scotch
clinking from the motion. His fingers were chilled from holding 
his drink, but somehow that seemed appropriate.

"Good to meet you, Ms. Scully."

The older man's eyes seemed to bore into her, as if weighing her
place in his son's life. How often had that gimlet gaze been 
directed at her partner? She wondered if the pressure in that
stare was what drove Mulder to take the chances he did.

"Dinner's ready. Oh, Miss Scully, back from your little rest. 
What perfect timing." Mrs. Mulder beckoned them into the dining
room, shooting a wary glance at her ex-husband.

"Fox, would you pour the wine," Mrs. Mulder said, as she placed
a large glass of milk at Scully's wineglass-free place. "Bill,
don't you think you've had enough scotch?"

Bill Mulder was certainly steady enough on his feet, as he
took his place at the table. "Teena, you worry too much. You
always did." He smiled indulgently at his ex-wife.

Teena Mulder's china and flatware was as traditional and old-
fashioned as the woman herself. Scully placed her damask napkin 
over the rise of her belly, not having had a lap for months. She 
watched Mulder pour wine for himself and his mother. Bill Mulder 
had shaken his head when Mulder had tried to fill his wine glass.
Bill's hand remained curved protectively around his scotch glass.

"Fox told me that you lost your father recently," Mrs. Mulder said.

"Almost a year ago, he passed away unexpectedly after Christmas."

"That must have been so hard for your mother." 

"Yes. Especially with my sister and brothers living out of the
area."

"I'm sure you visit your mother whenever you can. I understand 
you and Fox travel quite a bit for work."

Bill Mulder snorted and took a sip of his scotch, his eyes 
glittering as he turned to his son. "Chasing after Bigfoot while 
you lose sight of your goal."

"Dad," Mulder said, softly.

"You and your partner spend a lot of taxpayer money on wild goose 
chases. How do your superiors justify that?" Bill Mulder asked, 
voice sharpened to a fine edge. 

"We've solved some serious crimes, Mr. Mulder." Scully knew she 
should keep out a family dispute but she couldn't bear to hear her 
partner's work denigrated. 

"So far, our superiors are satisfied with our progress, Dad." 
Scully detected an undercurrent of anguish beneath the calm 
determination in Mulder's tone. Her partner placed his fork on 
his plate, perhaps having lost his appetite.

Was this a typical Mulder meal? Tension hung in the air, as if a 
palpable presence. Teena Mulder kept conversation moving, 
undoubtedly as she'd been taught to do as a proper hostess. 

"Has the weather been good out on the Vineyard, Bill?" 

"I understand you're from a Naval family, Dana?"

"Fox, I ran into Louise Morgan in the supermarket last week. 
Do you ever hear from her daughter, Elisabeth?"

Finally, the meal was over and conversation was halted in 
favor of clearing the table. Bill Mulder left after coffee 
and desert, roaring off to New York City to meet a friend.

The man had seemed sober enough as he bade his farewells,
and Scully realized that she'd only seen him drink the one
scotch. Bill kissed his ex-wife on the cheek and shook
Scully's hand.

He turned to his son, stiffly reaching out for a handshake.
The look of sadness on Mulder's face cut through her, and she
longed to touch her partner. Scully wondered what childhood 
had been like for Mulder, growing up with this cold, unhappy 
man. 

Mulder helped his mother wash the dishes while Scully perched 
on a stool at the island counter. Teena Mulder had pressed
another glass of milk on her, obviously fearing her grandchild 
would develop rickets if Scully was left to her own devices.

The sight of her partner at work in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up 
on his strong forearms, never failed to bring a smile to Scully's 
face. He moved with such easy grace, as he loaded his mother's 
dishwasher. 

Teena Mulder washed the wine glasses by hand, carefully setting 
each one on the plastic dish drainer. "These belonged to my 
grandmother. She brought them from The Netherlands when she
came to this country in the 1920's. Samantha always wanted to
drink her orange juice from them when she was little. She
was quite the little lady."

"When she wasn't digging in the backyard," Mulder chuckled.

"With Grandmother's sterling silver ladle," Teena agreed, smiling.
She sighed, as if all the energy was flowing out of her with 
the exhaled breath. "The dishwasher powder is under the sink, 
Fox. Would you run the dishwasher? I'm going to head off to bed."

"Sure, Mom. Have a good sleep." Mulder kissed his mother, 
his eyes shadowed with sadness. "See you in the morning."

"Good night, Mrs. Mulder."

"Good night, my dear." Teena Mulder patted Scully's knee as
she passed out of the kitchen. 

"Well, we've got the house all to ourselves. Wanna stay up
late and watch scary movies?" Mulder snapped on the dishwasher
and walked over to Scully. From her perch on the stool, her
face was level with his.

"Is that what you did when you lived here?" Scully asked, 
cupping his cheek. 

"A lot of the time. Mom was...still in shock when we moved
here. I mostly took care of both of us. So, 'Shock Terror 
Theater' was a nightly ritual." 

"That's so sad."

"I don't know. I was the envy of all my friends. I ate
what I wanted and stayed up as late as I chose," he said.
His voice grew soft. "I guess it was a little lonely."

Scully rolled her shoulders, pressing a hand to the small of
her back. "I wish I could stay up, Mulder, but I need a warm
shower to work out the kinks."

"Okay," he said, helping her down. "Don't work out too many,
though. I like you a little kinky."

She was still smiling when she walked into the bedroom. 
Scully puzzled over the Mulder family and its secrets as she 
prepared to take a shower. She hadn't been able to understand
what Mulder was telling her back in that motel room in Oregon
so long ago. 'The family fell apart,' held no reality for her
before this painful illustration.

Shedding her clothes, Scully stepped into the shower. The hot 
water streamed over her, easing the stiffness in her back and 
soothing her jangled nerves. With great reluctance, she turned
off the water, unsure of the hot water supply in the older house.
She didn't want to freeze Mulder out.

It took Scully a long time to get comfortable in a strange bed, 
made even stranger without her favorite bed partner. She turned
off the light, her eyes too tired to read, and lay awake in
the darkness.

The door opened slowly, creaking just a little. "No scary
movies on tonight," Mulder said, closing the door behind him.
"Just a lot of people talking about nothing."

"Don't you have a room of your own, Mulder? I mean, since we're
under your mother's roof..." Scully said, trying to keep her 
voice low. She sat up and switched on the lamp.

"By putting her guests in separate rooms, my mother has satisfied 
her strict moral code," he said unbuttoning his jeans and 
pushing them down his legs. "Now if said guests wander in the 
middle of the night, she's in the clear, morality-wise." 

Mulder kicked the jeans off his feet and jumped onto the bed. 
Scully fought a smile as the bed jostled with the sudden addition
of his weight. "And true to form, Mulder, you're out wandering."

"I'm a seeker, no doubt about it," he said, kissing her neck.
His fingers worked the buttons on her pajamas, parting the fabric 
to reach her bare breasts. She was going to have to start wearing 
a maternity bra to bed pretty soon, but tonight, she was grateful 
to have nothing between her skin and Mulder's hands. 

"Have I told you how much I love your breasts?" he asked. She 
tugged his t-shirt up and off, exposing his flat stomach, now 
decorated with the greenish purple remnants of bruises.

"You've mentioned it," she laughed as he caught a nipple between
his lips. His hands skimmed over her belly to the waistband of
her pajamas, tugging the bottoms down her legs urgently. 

His lips were everywhere, his hands touching and stroking. 
She slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers
reaching for the silky skin of his cock. "Oh God," he 
murmured. "I want you so much."

"Mulder," she whispered. "We have to be very quiet."

"Very thick walls," he breathed into her ear. "Nineteen inches 
thick. I swear. C'mon." He kissed her neck, nibbling on
her ear. "You know you want to."

She didn't answer with words, but let her lips speak in other
ways, kissing him deeply, as she eased the boxers over his
straining erection. Mulder looked into her eyes with such
hunger; she was left breathless.

She turned onto her side, allowing him to spoon behind her.
Taking his hand, she guided his fingers to her center, so he
could feel the moisture there, proof of her desire for him.
He raised her leg, moving even more closely behind her.

He entered her, melding himself to her body. Each pump of his
hips was punctuated by his fingers moving over her clit. She
heard him at her shoulder, groaning out his need as he kissed
her skin. He chanted in her ear, wordless primal sounds of
need.

Mulder bore scars that no one could see, deep inside him. Wounds 
that had grown scar tissue and could be opened easily with the 
right amount of pressure. With every thrust into her, he seemed 
to empty out some of that loneliness, a little of the despair. 
She welcomed his release, knowing she was part of the healing.

They climaxed together, so quietly, so fiercely. She saw
thousands of hot red stars under her closed eyelids. Whispers
mingled with their moans, giving over to hushed laughter. 

"Well, we've enacted one of my geeky teenage fantasies," he 
breathed into her ear, kissing her neck. Reaching down, he
pulled the covers over them, molding himself against her. 
"I'd be up here in my little room, imagining I was making love
to a beautiful woman. Of course, the beautiful woman wasn't 
pregnant, but I didn't know what I was missing."

"We should clean up," she said, her eyes drifting shut.

"Mmmm," he murmured sleepily. "In a minute..."

They woke the next morning stuck together and giggling. 
It took several painful tries before they disengaged from
each other. "It's almost nine o'clock, Mulder. We'd better
get moving."

They took turns showering and dressing, listening for sounds
indicating Mrs. Mulder was up and moving around. Mulder stripped
the bed while she put on a bit of makeup. Scully wondered if
the woman had noticed that Mulder's room wasn't slept in.

"My mother is going to be so impressed when I toss the sheets
into the washer. She'll think you've domesticated me."

"I've barely tamed you, much less domesticated you."

"Nonsense. You had me eating out of your hand in record
time," he said, tucking the bundle of sheets under his arm. 

They left after breakfast, Mulder embracing his mother on the
front steps. He seemed more relaxed, more at peace than Scully
had seen him since they left DC. Mrs. Mulder waved goodbye
as they backed out of the driveway.

As Mulder pulled onto the highway, Scully's eyes widened with
amazement. She thought back over the entire visit and shook
her head. 

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. Everything is fine," she answered, smiling. 

There was no reason to point out her little observation to 
Mulder. Besides, he undoubtedly would have noticed. Nothing
got past Mulder, but Scully knew he wouldn't bring it up. What 
good would it do to mention that despite her welcoming courtesy 
and her obvious coddling of Scully, Teena Mulder had never 
referred directly to the soon-to-be baby.

<><><><>

Part 17 - The Gray Area

"If you're a good girl, I'll bring you some gruesome autopsy
notes to review."

"Thanks, Mulder. You're a real friend," she said. "I'm so 
desperate for something to do, I'll overlook the 'good girl' 
comment and let you live." 

"I know you're bored, Scully. I'll be home early--maybe we
can go out for dinner."

"Okay. See you then. And don't forget the autopsy notes."

She hung up the phone, wondering if a person could lose their 
mind due to boredom. Scully had been restricted to desk duty
for several weeks, and had hoped to ride that out until delivery.
It may have driven her crazy to stay behind when Mulder visited
a crime scene or interviewed a witness, but being at the office 
was one step closer to her old life. Maternity leave was like 
jumping off a cliff into the unknown.

The world as Scully knew it ceased to exist three days ago at
her now bimonthly obstetrical visit. Paula's frown, as she 
looked at Scully's chart had been truly ominous. It had been 
one of the rare appointments Mulder hadn't been able to attend, 
leaving Scully feeling a bit more vulnerable.

"Dana, your blood pressure is slightly elevated. I'm seeing 
signs of physical stress here. Have you been taking it easy 
as we discussed?"

"The last few days have been hectic, Paula, but I've tried to 
rest."

"We agreed you would stay in the office."

"And I have..."

"It sounds as if there is a 'but' coming along."

"Well, there was one autopsy I didn't trust anyone else
with."

"An autopsy? On your feet for hours without a break? Oh,
Dana. I'm afraid there is no middle ground for you, old
friend. I'm putting you on maternity leave, effective 
immediately."

Pleading did no good. Paula would not budge on the issue,
threatening to call Dana's superiors and Mulder as well. 
So, Scully had gone back to the office one last time to meet 
with Skinner and pack up her briefcase. Mulder had embraced 
her in the office, joking that without her company, he'd 
henceforth be known as the hermit of the basement. 

Her mother had been delighted. Margaret Scully had lamented 
over the half decorated nursery. She'd approved of the 'baby 
chick yellow' color scheme, but had been frustrated because 
Scully hadn't seen fit to choose a theme. Her daughter was 
now a captive audience with no escape from Margaret Scully 
in Grandma-overdrive. 

Scully flipped though a magazine, barely glancing at the pages. 
Thanksgiving photo spreads, turkey recipes, pumpkin pie ideas.
She really should try to find a nice side dish to bring for
the holiday next week. She'd need to find out what her mother
was planning on making.

She dropped the magazine onto the floor with a loud slap. 
The television chattered in the background, mostly left on
for the company of its voices. Daytime TV had held her 
interest for all of seven and a half minutes. When your 
life was a soap opera, you didn't need to spend the 
afternoon watching other people's troubles.

The doorbell's ring came as a welcome relief. "I'm coming,"
Scully called out, as she struggled off the sofa. She must
really be bored silly, she thought. Scully was actually looking
forward to the prospect of looking at baby magazines with her
mother in the endless pursuit of the most adorable nursery.

"I'll be there in a second, Mom!" Finally reaching the front
door, Scully rose on tiptoe to peak through the peephole.

"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath as she opened the
door. "Bill! I thought you were at sea." 

"Good to see you too, Dana." Her brother's words seethed 
with anger, his eyes flashing. "Are you going to invite 
me in, or do I have to stand in the hallway."

"Sorry," she said, stepping aside to admit Bill. He glanced
down at her enormous belly as he entered the room. "How is
Tara?"

"She's fine." Bill Scully stared at his sister's midsection, 
exasperation evident on his face. "God, Dana, I can't believe 
this." 

Moving with a pronounced waddle, Scully motioned her brother to 
the sofa. "Believe it, Bill. In roughly four weeks, you're 
going to be an uncle."

He smiled briefly at that. It might have been too early 
to play the 'uncle' card, but Scully was desperate. Bill's
smile vanished, replaced by the stern look he'd arrived with.
 
"I keep wondering what Dad would say." 

Bill winced as Scully lowered herself awkwardly onto the sofa. 
He flopped into the armchair, his eyes on her stomach. Her 
hands automatically came up to rest protectively over the child. 

"Don't you think I've wondered that, too? If Dad were alive, 
would he be ashamed? Would he understand? I'd like to think
no matter how horrified he was in the beginning, he would have 
come to accept it."

"Mom and Dad were so proud of you when you graduated medical
school. They spent a fortune on your education and you broke
their hearts by joining the FBI." 

"Bill, haven't we exhausted that topic by now? I use my 
education on every case I work on. I think Mom and Dad 
accepted my choice. I don't know why you can't."

"I've heard about your *work*, Dana. I looked into that partner
of yours--the guy who got you pregnant, by the way. He's a
nut job who had a nervous breakdown and washed out as a profiler.
I heard he chases after UFOs and aliens--and now he drags 
you along."

"Bill," she said, wearily. "I don't know who you've been 
talking to, but you've got everything wrong. Mulder is a
gifted profiler. He did not wash out of the ISU, quite 
the opposite, actually. They'd take him back in a heartbeat, 
but he found something he wanted to do more than that. And 
he had the clout to investigate the cases he wanted, not 
because he's nuts, but because he's so damn good." 

"Sounds like he sold you a load of crap."

"He didn't sell me on anything except his talent. Profiling 
is extremely difficult work, and a lot of them burn out. 
But, think about it, Bill. Do washouts get to choose what 
they do next? The FBI isn't all that different from the Navy, 
you know. What happens to guys who can't hack it there? 
Mulder got to do what he wanted to do because he was in a 
position of power, because he's *that* good. Not the other 
way around."

She was exhausted. The baby limited her lung capacity and 
made long speeches difficult. Scully closed her eyes and 
tried to control her breathing. When she opened her eyes, she
saw her brother, kneeling beside her, concern on his face.

"You okay, Dana?" 

"Yeah. I just get tired quickly these days. My doctor just
put me on leave."

"So, you're not working with him anymore."

"I'm on maternity leave; I haven't resigned my position." 
 
"So, even though he doesn't want this baby, you'll keep
working with him. Dana, I just don't understand. How 
could you let someone treat you like this."

"Who said he doesn't want the baby? It was a little rough 
in the beginning, but we worked it out. He wants to be part 
of this." She saw the disbelief in her brother's face and 
wondered how much of the story their mother told him. Or 
how much her brother had listened to.

"He lives here, Bill."

Her brother's face changed, and she couldn't decide if the 
barely concealed anger was preferable to this new expression 
of disdain. 

"Is he at least going to marry you?"

"You mean 'make an honest woman of me'?" 

"It's not an antiquated concept, you know. People get 
married, usually before they have a baby together. So, 
why won't he marry you?"

God, this was hard. And embarrassing. Truth was, they
hadn't discussed marriage at all. "What makes you think 
I even want to get married?"

"You're going to have this baby out of wedlock?"

"Drop it!" She struggled to rise from the sofa, needing to 
walk off her irritation, but instead, she floundered like 
a turtle on its back. Or a beached whale. "I am NOT 
discussing this with you."

Her frustration grew as her limbs flailed ineffectually. 
She was stuck, damn it to hell. Bill's smile was involuntary, 
but she wanted to smack it off his face anyway. 

"Let me help you," he said, extending a hand. His concern for 
her came through over the genuine humor of her predicament. 
She ought to slap that helping hand away, but then she'd have 
to stay on the sofa indefinitely. She took his hand and 
allowed him to pull her up.

"Thanks," she said, straightening her maternity top and trying to 
salvage her dignity. Definitely time to change the subject. 
 
"Are you going to Mom's for Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah. You?" 

"We'll both be there. And Bill," she allowed her voice to drop
in pitch, showing her deadly seriousness. "I don't want anyone
to spoil the holiday."

"Okay, okay," her brother said, palms up in surrender. "Whatever
you might think, Day, I'm only looking out for you."

"I know you are."

"I should let you rest," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
"I'll see you next week."

Scully was at the kitchen table, trying to decompress with a glass
of warm milk, when she heard the front door slam. She listened
to the now familiar sounds of Mulder in her life. 

"Hey Scully, you'll never guess the odds they've got for you 
giving birth on Pearl Harbor Day." Of course, they won't let 
me bet in the office pool. Said I have an inside track. I tried 
to tell them I'm completely in the dark about 'D' Day, but..."

His voice trailed off as he rounded the corner into the kitchen,
and saw the look on her face. He held her in a concerned glance
as he reached blindly into the fridge for a bottle of water.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice cautious. He took a long swig 
and dried his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did something 
happen, Scully?"

"Remember when I told you my brother Bill was at sea?" Mulder 
nodded in response. "Well, he's back on dry land and proving 
to be a bigger pain in the ass than I remember."

"Should I head for the hills?" Mulder chucked, but she detected
some worry in his voice. 

"No, but you might want to keep your weapon handy at Thanksgiving
dinner."

"Maybe I shouldn't go. I mean, if it's going to cause a problem 
with your family, I can drive you there and leave."

"No. I want you to come. My family is just going to have
to accept us, and they might as well start on Thanksgiving with
all that good will and a nice healthy dose of tryptophan. 
Bill's obnoxious, but relatively harmless."

"It's the relatively part that concerns me," he said smiling. 

"Me too." She sipped her milk, barely warm now, and blinked
back tears. Damn hormones. Damn, fucking hormones, sending 
doubts into her mind like little daggers. 

"Scully? What else did your brother say?" Mulder turned a
kitchen chair around, straddling it. Chin propped on one
hand, he regarded her with concern.

"Nothing important." 

"If it was so unimportant, why are you sitting here trying to
calm down with the pregnant woman's drug of choice?" he asked,
gesturing at her warm milk.

"He has...the ability to push my buttons. Dad was gone so 
much when we were young, and I think 'you're the man of the
family now' was drummed into Bill's head. He's taken that 
role a little too much to heart. It's gotten worse since 
Dad died. I love my brother, but he sees things in terms
of black and white."

"And we live in the gray area."

"Exactly. So, when you meet him, try not to take him too
seriously. I have a feeling he's going to ask you about 
your intentions toward me."

"My intentions? Is he going to be asking that with a large
shotgun in his hands?" Mulder asked, laughing, but
his eyes flicked to hers. "I'll try to think of an answer."

"You do that, Mulder," she said, softly. Scully stared into
her milk glass, at the thin white coating left at the bottom.
*Be sure to let me know what that answer is* she thought, and
quickly pushed the bitterness away. 

She needed to look at how far they'd come, how far Mulder had
come into her life and not obsess about the distance left to
travel. She hadn't been thinking about marriage until Bill 
opened his stupid mouth. 

In a few short months, Mulder had gone from being an 
'unofficial' father-to-be, to embracing both Scully and their
child with a certainty that took her breath away. Surely that
was more important than a piece of paper. 

And yet, that piece of paper was important. It stood for so
much: permanence, security, stability. And it said to everyone
they were 'official.' Maybe that was the problem--maybe Mulder 
still had fears that making things official would draw the
attention of people who bore them ill will. 

She looked up into Mulder's concerned eyes. "He really rattled
you, didn't he?" he asked.

"Yeah. But not as much as he wanted to." She smiled at him,
covering his hand with hers. "I'm starving. You promised 
to feed me, and we both know you had better deliver on that
promise."

<><><><> 

"See you all after Thanksgiving. Be sure to keep doing your 
exercises, everyone. No slacking because you ate too much 
turkey!"

Groans filled the air as the husbands helped the wives 
scramble off the exercise mats on the community room
floor. To the other Lamaze class attendees, she and 
Mulder probably looked like just another couple.

And in a lot of ways, they weren't that different from the
accountants and pharmacists and teachers that comprised the
class. They all wanted the same thing: a safe delivery of
a healthy baby. 

The other parents probably didn't carry firearms. Scully
smiled, remembering their awed reaction when she and Mulder
mentioned that they were FBI agents. Cordial voices called
goodbye as the room emptied out.

Mulder pulled her up, grunting with mock exertion. "You
better watch that pumpkin pie, Scully. Might need a crane
to get you up in a few days."

"Shut up, Mulder," she said, punching his arm. 

"Ow!" Mulder made quite a show of rubbing his arm. "Don't
be in such a hurry to hurt me. Your brother will have his 
shot soon enough." 

He helped her into her coat, pulling her close with the 
ends of her scarf. Scully stepped forward, wrapping her
arms as far around Mulder as her belly would allow.

"You can hide behind me. Bill won't be able to see around
my bulk."

He nuzzled the top of her head. "As much as I appreciate
that noble offer, Scully, honor demands I stand up to 
old Bill."

"Okay, but go easy on him. Mom won't like it if you hurt 
him too badly."

Mulder chuckled as he shrugged into his coat, obviously 
tickled at her confidence in his butt-kicking abilities. 
He gathered up the bed pillows and tucked them under his 
arm. 

The instructor was tidying the room for the night as they 
waved goodbye. Mulder's free hand was at her back, guiding 
her down the hall and out the community center doors into 
the cold night air.

Their breath formed frosty clouds in the cold air, as they 
made their way through the dark parking lot. It took all 
of Scully's concentration not to stumble in the shadows. 
She was very aware of Mulder's hand on her elbow.

Scully's internal alarms were just beginning to sound as they
approached the car. She felt Mulder's hand tighten on her
arm, signaling his own nerves. Something wasn't right; she
just couldn't put her finger on it. Was it an almost 
imperceptible sound, a flicker of movement in the shadows? 

"Good to see you, Agent Mulder. And the lovely mother-to-be."

<><><><>

Part 18 - Answers and Questions

"Well, isn't this a big surprise," Mulder said. "I hate to use 
a cliche, but where were you when I needed you?" Mulder's eyes 
sparked with anger in the dim light of the parking lot. 

"Please keep you voice down Agent Mulder." His voice placating,
the man in the shadows glanced around the parking lot. The 
childbirth class attendees were settling into cars and pulling 
out, the air punctuated by the sound of each vehicle roaring to 
life.

"You know this man, Mulder?" she asked.

"Yeah." His voice was tense as he glanced at her. "In a manner 
of speaking." Mulder returned his gaze to the man. "But does 
anyone really know you? Let me rephrase the question: where the 
hell were you when Scully was missing? I went crazy trying to 
contact you."

"I know, Agent Mulder. It was too dangerous. I couldn't tip 
my hand. Agent Scully was never in serious danger."

The man took one step forward, still half in shadow, but now she 
could see his bland, friendly face. He looked like anyone's 
uncle, and his voice was kind and warm. But Scully knew from 
bitter experience that people weren't always what they seemed.

"But *I* didn't know that," Mulder hissed. "Tell me what they 
did to her?"

"I will tell you, but not here," the man said, scanning the parking
lot. "It's too dangerous. Get in your car and pull around the 
corner. I'll wait for you there."

Mulder nodded slowly and opened the car door for Scully. He helped
her into the car, throwing the pillows into the back seat. 

"You better not screw me over," he warned the older man as he got 
into the car and fired up the engine. The man hunched into the
collar of his coat and disappeared into the darkness.

"Who is he, Mulder?" Scully asked when Mulder had backed the car out
of the parking space and pulled onto the street. 

"An informant. He's been on the money just about every time."

"And you trust this man?" she asked, incredulous. "Someone who
hides in the shadows?"

"As I said, he's been accurate in the past. He's told me things,
information about some of our cases. He's been good to me, Scully."

"So, all the times you put me off with some vague story--this was
who you were meeting. Explains a lot, Mulder," she made no 
effort to hide her annoyance as memories flooded back.

"Scully...can we talk about this later? I see him."

Mulder slowed the car at the corner and the man climbed into the 
back seat, hunkering down so he couldn't be seen. "Don't look 
back at me. Just keep driving." 

Mulder pulled away from the curb, gliding to a stop at the 
traffic light. Scully watched a gang of young men jostle down 
the sidewalk, their voices ringing out in the cold air. 

"All right," Mulder said, his eyes trained on the street before 
him as the light changed to green and he accelerated the car. 
"Why did they take Scully? What did they do to her?"

"There are men, Agent Mulder, who have the answers to every 
question you could think to ask. About the existence of aliens, 
about what happened to your sister, about what role your father 
had in decisions that were made before you were born."

"Answer my question, dammit."

"In due time, Agent Mulder. These men have a vested interest 
in your life, and by association, Agent Scully's. Her 
pregnancy came to their attention; they were understandably 
curious as to the identity of the baby's father."

"How did they find out I was pregnant?" Scully asked, 
surprising herself. She hadn't planned on participating in 
this charade, but her interest was far too piqued to ignore.

"From Assistant Director Skinner," the man said, his 
disembodied voice drifting over the back seat. "Indirectly, 
of course. His office has been bugged for some time. I can 
see you in the rear view mirror, my dear. Ah, I understand.
You thought perhaps Mr. Skinner was part of this conpiracy."

She nodded slowly in the darkness, her eyes on the road before
them.

"You may put your fears to rest. Your superior did not 
betray you. He was an unwitting accomplice at best."

She closed her eyes, annoyed that this mystery man was resting
against her bed pillows, angry that he knew what she had been
thinking.

"So they abducted her. What did they do?" Mulder's voice was 
sharp, a knife edge of pain.

"As Agent Scully undoubtedly suspected, they performed a series 
of tests. If you had any doubts about the paternity of the 
child, I can assure you this is your baby, Agent Mulder. 
They've had samples of your DNA since your little sojourn at 
Ellens Air Force Base. Confirmation of the child's parentage 
was only one of their goals of the operation, though. They also 
wanted to gauge Agent Scully's strength. They tried to break you 
down, intimidate you, but they never truly succeeded, did they? 
You impressed them, my dear."

Scully gasped, eyes straight ahead. "I hope all of you burn in 
hell," she said, her voice a low growl. 

"Oh I imagine our accommodations in Hades are confirmed. 
These are dangerous men--men who'll stop at nothing to ensure 
their placement when...certain inevitabilities come to pass."

"What are you talking about?" Mulder bit off the question,
his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

"Ah, that is a discussion for another evening. Let's just say 
that these individuals were thrilled at the turn of events.
An unexpected pregnancy. They couldn't have derailed you more
effectively if they had planned it."

"Why? What were they afraid of? It isn't as if I've had a
lot of success."

"Unfortunately, due to the structure of the organization, I have 
not been privy to the exact details, but there are ways you 
could be useful to them. However, they were becoming concerned 
about your unpredictability. You are something of a loose cannon, 
are you not, Agent Mulder."

"If I'm such a problem, why not kill me?"

"That's a very good question, Agent Mulder. I have to admit, 
I'm not entirely sure, but you seem to be important to their 
plans. They want you controllable, pliant. When she was 
assigned to work with you, they had hoped you would be 
distracted by Agent Scully, perhaps take her to your bed. 
This unexpected pregnancy was, as they say, 'icing on the 
cake'. I'm afraid you played right into their hands."

"They think I'll be docile now. Is that it?"

"You gave them the proof yourself. They tested you, and you 
passed with flying colors."

"What the hell do you mean?" 

"That little phone call a few weeks ago--the one that prompted 
your visit to O'Neill's Bar. You resisted the initial offer of
information about your sister. They had to see what your reaction
would be to certain stimuli. You didn't take the bait until they
offered information about Agent Scully and her child."

Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the car. Scully's gaze flew
to Mulder, her mouth open as she gasped for breath. Her partner's
eyes squinted in pain. 

Shame washed over her in hot waves. She'd made assumptions about
his motives that night, forgiving him for sins he hadn't committed.
Scully reached out to touch his arm, shocked at the rigidity she 
found in the muscles.

"Why did they beat him up?" Scully asked. From the back seat, she
could hear the man softly chuckle.

"Agent Mulder has been a bit of a nuisance. I believe some scores
were settled that night."

"Why tell us this now?" she asked. "It's obviously a risk 
for you to even meet with us."

"You need to be aware of this, both of you. There is work to be 
done, and you are the only one who can do it, Agent Mulder. You
must not let certain questions go unanswered."

Mulder rolled up to a red light. The neighborhood was quiet, 
the shops and offices closed. An Italian restaurant and a dusty 
looking bar were the only signs of life. Scully watched the 
flashing "Michelob" light in the window of the bar. It seemed 
to pulse in time with the pain in her heart. 

"This will do nicely. I'll get out here, Agent Mulder. As 
you've noted, our conversation puts me in great danger. Please 
don't try to contact me again. I'll be in touch when and 
if it is safe. Good-bye, my dear Agent Scully. May you 
have a safe delivery."

The man opened the passenger side rear door and got out of 
the car. He glanced around before disappearing into the bar. 

"You didn't tell me," she said gently, her hand on his arm. 
"You let me assume you were looking for information about
Samantha that night."

"It doesn't matter, Scully," he said, his voice ragged with 
emotion. "I failed. I...I couldn't bear to tell you
I still didn't know what they'd done to you."

They rode the rest of the way home in silence. Scully 
replayed the evening's conversation in her head over and over, 
trying somehow to make some sense of it. Any delusions she 
had about understanding the forces against them were gone
now. 

Each answer they had received had brought ten questions to 
the forefront. Her head swirled with the fragments of 
information, each meaningless in itself, like pieces of
a jigsaw puzzle. Would she ever be able to fit them all 
into a cohesive picture? And how terrifying would that 
picture be?

Mulder helped her from the car, his hands icy cold. Her 
prediction of needing help in the next few weeks had been 
accurate. Four weeks from delivery and Scully was feeling
as helpless as a beached whale. She trailed him into the
building, noticing the slump of his shoulders, the drag of
his feet. Mulder seemed completely drained.

Carrying the two bed pillows, Mulder unlocked the door and 
followed Scully into the apartment. She looked around with 
worried eyes, wondering if her home, like Skinner's office, 
was bugged. Mulder followed her gaze, and Scully was sure he 
could read her mind.

"I've had the guys make regular sweeps of the place since 
I moved in. They haven't found anything," Mulder said, 
causing her to smile at his intuition.

Scully yawned and opening the refrigerator, poured herself 
a glass of juice. She watched Mulder as he stood, 
statuelike, in the middle of the living room. She tried to 
gauge his mood, but his face was expressionless.

"I'm going to bed, Mulder."

"Okay. Sleep well. I...I'm going to stay up for a while."

As she reached the doorway, Scully turned to see Mulder 
still motionless and lost in thought. Cold fingers seemed
to squeeze her heart as she glimpsed the deep sadness 
within him. Sleep didn't come for a long time.

Over the next few days, Mulder seemed to close in on himself.
He hadn't spoken about the night they met "Deep Throat," but
she knew it was on his mind. Truth was, she had thought about
little else, herself. 

Mulder was as gentle and considerate in these last weeks 
of her pregnancy as she'd ever seen him. He took her to 
the now weekly doctor visits, faithfully helped her with 
her prenatal exercises and made sure she didn't overextend 
herself. But there was a faraway quality to him even as 
he faced her across the dinner table.

During her training as a pathologist, Scully had seen a 
great deal of tragedy. Meeting with loved ones, 
explaining the details of death, she'd observed grief 
in all its permutations. And now, she recognized that 
emotion in her partner. He was mourning, as surely as 
if he'd suffered a death. 

Perhaps he regretted his decision not to pursue the
information he'd been offered about Samantha. Did he 
perceive that choice as a betrayal? Scully had intuited 
from her very first days with Mulder finding Samantha 
was more than just a search for a little girl. It was a 
quest for the restoration of his family. Was Mulder 
mourning the death of that dream?

And now it was the day before Thanksgiving, and Scully was
up to her elbows in pie-making. She floured the butcher 
block, her fingers making abstract patterns in the white
powder. 

Samantha Mulder had disappeared almost exactly twenty-one 
years ago, and her brother still bore deep wounds over 
the event. The passage of time had done nothing to ease
the trauma of that night. Mulder was still in terrible
pain over what he perceived as a failure back then, 
compounded now by what he saw as a betrayal now. 

Scully flattened the lump of piecrust dough on the
counter, hampered by the bulk of her belly, covered
awkwardly by an apron. If only her arms were a few
inches longer, she could reach around this beachball of
a belly.

She'd insisted on bringing pies tomorrow, though her mother 
hadn't wanted her to fuss. But Scully had been desperate for 
something to occupy her thoughts. Unfortunately, rolling 
out piecrust was not exactly mentally absorbing, and her 
mind was drifting with every pass of the rolling pin.

She fit the piecrust into the glass dish, trimming the 
excess. Scully sighed, dreading the next day. The holiday 
had disaster written all over it. Mulder was in an 
emotionally fragile state, she was hormonally challenged and
big as a house, and her brother Bill would be loaded for bear.

The previous record for worst Thanksgiving was the year Melissa 
announced she had become a vegetarian while Ahab carved the 
turkey. Scully thought her father was going to have a stroke
that day. This year had the potential to be worse.

<><><><> 

Part 19 - We Gather Together

"Oh my God, Dana! You're ready to pop!" Tara Scully rushed 
across the kitchen, embracing Scully. "I hope this is me, 
next year," she whispered.

"You're planning..." Dana smiled at her candy-floss blonde 
sister-in-law's pink cheeks. The kitchen was warm from 
cooking and deliciously scented.

"Now that Bill's going to be stateside for a while, we want to
start our family," she said, her voice low. Tara looked 
beyond Scully. "Hi there, you must be Mulder."

Mulder nodded hello, a tray of pies in his hands. Scully could
feel tension coming off him like waves of heat. She almost 
welcomed his anxiety. It was more life than she'd seen in him
since their conversation with the man Mulder had called "Deep
Throat."

"Oh Tara, how rude of me. This is Fox Mulder, my partner.
Mulder, this is Tara, Bill's wife."

"Hello Fox," Margaret Scully said as she turned from the oven. 
"Why don't you put the pies in the laundry room, next to the 
other desserts." Margaret moved past Mulder to kiss her 
daughter. "Dana, I told you not to bring anything. It's enough 
that you're here."

Mulder returned to the kitchen, his face a mask of apprehension.
Scully knew he was wasn't looking forward to meeting Bill. She
was hoping Bill would be on his best behavior with his wife and
mother present.

"Mom, do you need me to do anything?" Melissa Scully entered
the room. "Hey, I thought I heard someone come in. Wow. I 
mean, wow. You are huge, Dana."

"Thank you for telling me. I had no idea I'd gotten so big," 
Scully said wryly, hugging her sister. "You remember Mulder."

"How could I forget the man who..."

"That's a beautiful sweater, Melissa," Scully said, quickly 
changing the subject. She hoped to avoid a repeat of the 
unfortunate "knocked up my sister comment. She didn't think 
Mulder could handle that today. "Hey, where's Bill, by the way?" 
 
"He's glued to the game. Why don't you join him, Mulder?
All you guys like that unnecessary violence, right?"

"I seem to have lost my taste for it, actually." 

Scully turned to her partner, almost surprised at the sound of 
his voice. It seemed as if it been a long time since she'd 
heard him speak and she missed it. 

"Have you heard from Charlie?" Dana asked her mother. 

"He called early this morning, just as I was putting the turkey 
in the oven. Everyone's fine. They may be coming home in a
few months."

"That would be wonderful," Melissa said. "I miss him."

"Well, dinner is just about ready. Dana, why don't you go 
get comfortable while the girls and I bring everything to the
table." 

"Mom, I want to help," Dana said. 

"You should take it easy, Dana." Her mother looked at Scully
impatiently. Something in Scully's face must have told her not
to insist on inactivity, and Margaret sighed in resignation. 
"All right. Why don't you and Mulder pour the wine."

Margaret Scully handed Mulder a large bottle of wine and a
corkscrew. As Scully and Mulder entered the dining room, they
could hear Margaret issuing directions like a general deploying 
her troops.

"Well, look who's here. Didn't know if you'd make it."

Bill stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. He moved
to his sister, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Bill glanced at
Mulder, animosity plain in his eyes. For his part, Mulder seemed 
incredibly intent on uncorking the wine.

"Well, I haven't gone into labor yet, if that's what you meant,"
Scully said, resting one hand on her belly. "Bill, this is my 
partner Fox Mulder." Scully's voice was stern, the message of 
'don't fuck with him,' strong and clear. "My brother, Bill Scully."

The two men shook hands stiffly, the air crackling with tension.
They eyed each other warily, reminding Scully of two gunslingers
meeting at high noon. Their awkward standoff was relieved by the 
women carrying in plates of food. 

"Coming through, hot food!" Tara called out as she maneuvered around
her husband with a large bowl of mashed potatoes. Several trips to 
the kitchen later, the guests were ready to be seated.

"Bill, would you do the honors," Margaret Scully said, gesturing 
at the turkey. 

"Sure, Mom." Bill fingered the carving set, his eyes a little 
misty. "I'd be honored." There was a layer of sadness on this 
first Thanksgiving since Bill Scully Sr's death. A moment of
quiet remembrance passed and Bill began to solemnly carve the
turkey. 

After a bit of fumbling, Bill managed to slice the meat. Scully
watched him with a pathologist's discerning eye, but wisely 
chose to keep any comments on Bill's technique to herself.
Finally, Bill took his seat.

"Well, Dad always led us in grace, so if you wouldn't mind,
Bill," Margaret said, extending her hands to the side. Her
mother's hand was warm; Mulder's fingers were ice cold. 
Fortunately, Bill kept the prayer simple and brief. 

"Heavenly Father, bless us all as we gather here today. We thank 
you for the bounty of this meal."

"That was lovely, dear," Margaret said, her voice choked with
emotion. "I know your father would be happy knowing we were 
together."

"To Dad," Bill said, raising his glass in a toast. Dana 
raised her glass of cranberry juice as the others raised their
wine.

"To Dad," Melissa repeated. "And to all those we miss on 
this holiday."

Scully snuck a quick glance at her partner; he took a long draught 
of his wine, setting the nearly empty glass on the table. Was he 
thinking of his family? Remembering Thanksgivings before Samantha 
was gone? Mulder's expression was guarded, but Scully thought she 
detected pain. She longed to take his hand, but he'd been so distant 
lately. She wasn't sure how Mulder would take the gesture.

The table was set with Margaret Scully's best china, crystal and 
flatware, as if the proper place settings would bring harmony to 
the gathering. Sadly, all the Royal Daulton in the world 
couldn't do that. Hopefully, none of the china would be broken 
when the inevitable fireworks began.

Margaret soldiered on, cheerfully keeping the conversation moving.
Tara chattered about everything and nothing, Bill glowered, Mulder
picked at his food, Melissa watched the proceedings with amusement
and Scully longed for a glass or three of wine to dull the pain.

"Everything's delicious, Mom," Bill said. A flurry of affirmations
left Margaret Scully blushing with pleasure. And the food probably
was delicious, though Scully could barely taste it. Her gaze
kept drifting to Mulder, as he pushed the same clump of mashed
potatoes into new and interesting art forms. 

Melissa and Tara began to clear the table. "No wonder you're so 
skinny," Melissa remarked as she placed Mulder's plate atop the
others. "You hardly ate a thing."

"I had plenty, really," Mulder replied. "It was a terrific meal."

For the first time all day, Margaret Scully took a good look at
Mulder. "Are you all right, Fox?" she asked. "You look pale."

"I'm fine, really." Mulder was clearly uncomfortable under the
scrutiny. "Let me help clear the table."

Scully reached for a serving dish, only to have her hand slapped
away by her mother. "We'll take care of this, Dana. Fox, why
don't you and Dana go watch TV in the den. You both look exhausted."

Surprised at his lack of resistance, Scully followed Mulder into 
the den. Her partner stood before the television, flipping 
through the channels until he found a football game that interested
him. She sunk into the sofa cushions, wondering if she'd be able 
to get up later. Mulder eyed the recliner, but after catching her 
pleading glance, settled onto the sofa next to Scully.

They watched the game, though Scully barely registered which teams
were playing. The sound of breaking glass caused both to turn in
the direction of the kitchen. A few minutes later, Bill sauntered
into the den.

"Broken plate trick, Bill?" Scully asked, wryly.

"Unintentional this year, but heck, it still works," he replied.

"Bill broke so many dishes, Mom exempted him from washing
up detail," Scully said, by way of explanation to Mulder.

"Yeah, but that only got me double garbage duty. I guess it sort 
of backfired. So, what's the score?"

"Packers are ahead twenty-four to nineteen," Mulder said, as 
Bill dropped onto the recliner. The blaring noise of the 
television masked the silence of the viewers. Her brother 
seemed caught up in the game and Scully entertained the 
hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd get through the rest of
the day in peace. 

Mulder's eyes were glued to the television, but Scully had no
illusions that his attention was on the screen. She wasn't sure
where that incredible mind of his was, but she doubted sincerely
it was on the Packers/Cowboys game.

Advanced pregnancy and several slices of turkey did their part, 
and Scully found herself drifting in and out. She nestled back
against the sofa cushions, feeling as if her head were wrapped 
in cotton wool. Scully was nearly asleep when the peace was 
effectively shattered by her brother's voice.

"So, what are you planning to do about my sister?"

"What?" Mulder asked, incredulous.

"Are you going to skip out on her once this baby is born?"

"Bill..." Scully's eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit
up. "I thought we agreed that the subject was off limits."

"I don't remember agreeing to any such thing, Day. I want to
know what this guy's plans are."

"This guy's plans..." Mulder began, sounding weary.

"Are none of your damn business," Scully finished. "I told you,
Bill, when there is an update on my marital status, you'll be
among the first to know."

"Marital status?" Mulder asked. "What are you talking about?" 
He turned to Bill, irritation bringing color to his face. 
"Since you're so interested, my short-term plan is to help 
Scully get through the next few weeks and have this baby safely. 
Beyond that, I'm afraid it isn't any of your business."

Part of her wanted to cheer. Anger had finally roused Mulder 
from depression, and there was actually some life in his eyes
now. So, why the hell was her stomach in a knot over her 
partner's noncommittal answer. She'd have been deeply offended 
if Mulder had discussed their relationship with her brother.
Yet the uncertainty burned, leaving her wishing for something
she was afraid to name.

"I need to walk off some of that dinner," Bill announced, 
striding out of the room. The crowd at the stadium roared, 
as the tide of the game began to change and Dallas pulled
ahead in the score. Unfortunately, the tide of her life 
didn't seem to be so inclined.

<><><><>

Two o'clock in the morning seemed to be the shank of the 
evening for this child. The baby had been practicing tumbling 
runs against Scully's bladder, forcing her from the warm bed. 
Mulder had mumbled in his sleep as the shift in weight on
the bed jostled him. 

It wasn't as if she'd actually been sleeping, though. She'd
lain awake, her mind unable to shut down for the night, her
brain replaying every hard moment since the day she'd first
suspected she was pregnant. She tried to conjure up some of
the good times, to comfort herself into sleep, but the happy
memories slipped away too quickly, leaving her only the 
bad images for company.

Resigning herself to a sleepless night, she rose from bed
and stood watching Mulder as their child moved within her. 
She sighed, noting how even in sleep, Mulder seemed unsettled
these days. 

Bundled in her bathrobe, she sat at the kitchen table facing a
turkey sandwich she didn't want. Her mother had pressed copious 
leftovers on them, insisting Mulder would be hungry later, 
since he had hardly eaten dinner. So far, he hadn't been tempted
by anything in the refrigerator.

Tears ran down her cheeks, as she massaged her abdomen, trying
to soothe the baby. Damn hormones. She hated the out of control
waterworks she had become over the last few days. Scully dabbed 
at her eyes with a napkin. 

"What are you doing up?"

Mulder stood in the doorway, his hair sticking up. Rumpled in 
his white t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he scratched his side and 
yawned. Mulder shuffled to the table, sitting next to her.

"Couldn't sleep," she said, speaking through her tears. "The 
baby's been active at night lately. Maybe she's trying to get me
used to being up 'til all hours."

Mulder smiled, reaching out to catch a tear as it rolled down her
face. "And you're crying in anticipation?" he asked. 

"I'm fine, Mulder. You don't have to stay up with me."

"You're not fine." His voice was fierce. "I'm not going anywhere
until you tell me what's bothering you."

"Mulder..." She shook her head, unable to find words. After a
moment, her eyes met his. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so 
sorry."

"Scully, what are you talking about? Is this about your brother?
Don't let him bother you. He's just trying to look out for you. 
I understand that."

"It's not Bill."

"Then what? Something is making you sad, and I want to know what
it is." 

"Maybe you should be asking yourself the same question, Mulder.
Something has been weighing on you. I guess that's what I'm so
sorry about."

"I don't understand," he said, obviously confused. 

"I'm sorry this pregnancy got in the way of your search, Mulder. 
I know you've been hurting. If staying with me is going to make
you feel as if you've betrayed your sister..." A small sob 
escaped her. Scully shook her head sadly. "I'd hate for you to
come to resent us, to hate me for tying you down."

"No," he said, taking her hands in his. "That would never 
happen. Scully, I haven't given up on my sister. Some day, I
*will* find out what happened to her. But somewhere along the
way, I realized something. I could spend my life searching for 
one missing little girl and let my own daughter's life pass me by.
You know, if Samantha were here, she'd kick my ass for that."

He chuckled and reached out to caress her cheek. She found 
herself laughing through her tears. "But, you've been so
sad lately. And it all began the night we talked to that 
man."

His hand dropped to the table, tightening into a fist. 
Mulder looked away. "I'd deluded myself, half-convinced that
I could keep you safe, that I wasn't a danger to you. Talking
to Deep Throat showed me how incredibly stupid I'd been. For
years, I'd been nothing but a pawn in someone's game. I can't
get free and I can't keep the people I love safe."

She took his fist in her hand, opening his fingers as she brought
them to her lips. 

"No matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away, Scully, your 
abduction and everything they did to you was because of me. I'm 
a danger to anyone I care about. I'm too weak to let you go even 
though you'd be safer away from me."

"You're right. You are a fool," she said, rising from her
chair and coming to stand between Mulder's legs. She put
her arms around his neck, leaning in to give him a teary
kiss. "But not for the reasons you think."

"Oh really? Care to enlighten me," he said, smiling in
earnest for the first time in a week. 

"All right. Granted, I'm not exactly at top form right now, 
but I *can* take care of myself. And we'll both do our best 
to keep this baby safe."

"I want to believe that, Scully," he said, burying his face
in her neck. "I love you."

"I love you too. Believe that."

<><><><> 

Part 20 - Mount St. Scully

Catalog shopping must have been invented with enormously pregnant 
women in mind. Catalogs balanced on her belly, Scully flipped 
through the shiny pages, taking full advantage of LL Bean, 
Sharper Image, and Pottery Barn's toll-free phone numbers. She 
missed the noisy cheerfulness of Christmas shopping at the mall, 
but she wasn't up to the challenge. Walking was becoming more and 
more difficult. 

With her due date early in the month, Scully had been in a rush to 
get all her shopping done. She had planned it all so well. Order
early so the packages would arrive in plenty of time. The UPS man 
became a regular visitor, and after his first few deliveries, he
began to stop and chat for a few minutes. Scully was careful to 
have all the shopping done in time for her due date on December 10.

The Christmas bustle relieved some of the boredom Scully felt during
her maternity leave. She busied herself with wrapping the gifts
as they arrived, and writing out her Christmas cards. Watching
Mulder experience Christmas was a definite source of amusement.
 
Mulder threw himself into Christmas. Scully remembered her first 
Christmas on the X-Files, just a year ago. Mulder barely seemed to 
register the holiday; she was pretty sure he'd gone to the office 
on Christmas Day. This year, seeing him watch Charlie Brown and the 
Grinch with joyful wonder, she thought this might have been the 
first Christmas he truly celebrated since his sister disappeared. 

After their conversation on Thanksgiving evening, it was as if a 
huge weight had been lifted from her partner. His spirit had
been restored, and he smiled again. The weeks that followed had
been rich with closeness and warmth.

Mulder had decorated the apartment while Scully issued instructions 
from the sofa. He was all thumbs, but she wondered how much was 
clowning and how much truly was clumsiness. One thing was certain:
Scully would never forget the sight of him wrestling lights onto 
the Christmas tree, tangling himself in the process. She'd laughed 
so hard, it was a wonder she hadn't gone into labor.

But she hadn't. Her due date came and went, like a train that
hurtled past as she stood waiting on the platform. Scully 
pictured herself waddling down the train tracks, shaking her 
fist in the air, as if sheer desperation could speed this
baby along.

Her bag was packed and ready. She and Mulder were well-rehearsed
in their breathing exercises. She could 'hee hee hee' with the 
best of them, dammit. What was this child waiting for anyway,
an engraved invitation?

"Everything's fine, Dana," Paula had said as she examined Scully.
"First babies come when they're good and ready."

This child was not good and ready. Sleeping was impossible as 
the baby pressed on her bladder. Scully was in the bathroom 
so often, she toyed with the idea of bedding down on the toilet. 

False labor got her hopes up too many times. One particularly 
embarrassing night, she'd been convinced it was the real thing.
She and Mulder had arrived at the hospital only to be sent home
several hours later. She was sure the labor nurses found Dr.
Scully's little escapade very amusing.

She'd probably miss the real thing when it came because she'd 
assume she was only having Braxton-Hicks contractions. One
thing was certain: she was going to be absolutely sure her
labor was real before she ventured back to the hospital.

Three days past her due date and Scully was a little irritable. 
Five days past and she snapped at the UPS man when he delivered 
her Pottery Barn order. Seven days past her date, the packages 
were left on the doorstep, the poor man afraid to knock on the 
door. 

Eight days past Scully's due date had Mulder tiptoeing around 
the apartment, trying not to set off Mount St. Scully. He 
seemed terrified at the prospect of a long Saturday with no 
chance of escape to the office. 

"Scully, why don't we go for a walk? We could look at some of
the decorations in the neighborhood," he suggested, probably 
out of desperation. He probably thought she would behave 
better in public.

"Have I mentioned the baby feels as if it's between my legs
when I walk?"

"Why yes, I think you may have mentioned it a few times."

"And did I mention that my back hurts and I've been having
mild contractions since I woke up?"

"Real contractions?" he asked, hopefully.

"Would I be hanging around here if they were real?" Mulder
flinched at the shrill quality of her voice, but she was too
annoyed to care. "No. They aren't consistent, dammit."

"I know you're uncomfortable," he began. Uncomfortable. 
She'd like to give him an idea of what uncomfortable really 
was. "But Paula said to keep moving, didn't she?"

"I knew it was a mistake to bring you to my appointments."

"Come on," he said, getting her coat. "It'll do you good."

She grumbled but allowed him to help her into her jacket. 
She hated to admit it, but he was right; she couldn't stay 
in the apartment a moment longer. Mulder seemed much too 
pleased with himself. She'd have to wipe that smug look off 
his face as soon as possible.

It was a few days before Christmas, and the weather was as 
mild as October. The sun was bright, and Scully felt her 
spirits lift. Mulder patiently reduced his long stride 
to accommodate her slow waddle as they made their way down 
the street.

Passers-by beamed at her, smiling indulgently at her girth. 
Pregnant women belonged, it seemed, to everyone. Mulder's
hand was at her back, and he smiled back at the people 
they passed. Perhaps for the first time, she felt his pride
in being part of this pregnancy. 

Of course, she knew he'd wholeheartedly accepted the baby. 
She knew he loved her. But as they walked down Wisconsin 
Avenue, she realized he was proud to have people assume he 
was responsible for her condition.

As they turned onto a side street, Scully paused as a 
contraction sliced through her. This one was stronger
than any she'd felt before, but not debilitating. She
placed a hand over her belly, feeling the rigidity of
the large muscle.

"You all right?" Mulder asked, rubbing her back.

"Yeah," she answered, trying to massage the tightness
out of her belly. "Probably more Braxton-Hicks."
She glanced at her watch, noting the time as 10:30.

"I don't want to get too excited," she said. But she 
had another contraction as they reached the next corner, 
this one much stronger.

"Mulder, what time is it?"

"10:40," he replied, smiling. "Think we should head
back?"

"Maybe we should."

The contractions continued as they slowly walked back
to the apartment. Mulder kept an eye on the time.

"Ten minutes, Scully. Exactly ten minutes between
them--perfect symmetry. The body is an amazing instrument, 
isn't it? But then again, look who I'm talking to. 
A doctor knows better than anyone..."

"Mulder."

"What, Scully. Are you all right?"

"Owwww...there's another one." The pain stopped her 
in her tracks. She couldn't straighten up, the cramping 
bending her double and taking her breath away. Finally, 
she was able to speak. "Shit, that one was strong."

"That was more like nine minutes. This is 
fascinating. Remember to breath through them, okay.
We've probably got a lot more time before the baby
comes. Scully, your nails are digging into
my hand and it hurts."

They made it back to the apartment, the length of
time between contractions shortening, then remaining
consistent at eight minutes. Mulder ran to the bedroom, 
returning with Scully's overnight bag and a bag of items 
for the labor room while Scully called Paula Sherwood.

"They're every eight minutes, Paula. Much stronger
than any of the Braxton-Hicks contractions. Okay. 
All right. We'll call you when we're going to leave."

"Going to leave?" Mulder asked. "We're not leaving
now?"

"Paula thinks this is the real thing, but says we have
probably an hour or two before the contractions get
to five minutes." 

Scully couldn't sit still. She straightened up the
apartment, shuffled through her Christmas cards, and 
called her mother. Every eight minutes, the doors of 
hell opened up just a little bit as she tried to 
breathe through the stronger and stronger contractions. 
Mulder hovered and drove her crazy.

"Maybe you'd be more comfortable if you..."

"There *is* no more comfortable, Mulder. Comfortable
walked out the door three months ago. And there isn't
going to be comfortable for a whole lot longer."

The tiny rational part of her brain recognized her
bitchiness and wondered who was having a worse time
of this labor--Mulder or her. The irrational part
of her brain smashed that thought flat.

She was wiping the counter in the kitchen when she
felt something warm and wet running down her legs. 
For one brief moment, she thought perhaps as one 
final indignity, she'd become incontinent. 

"Mulder!" she shouted as she shuffled her way across
the room. The trickling sensation against her inner
thighs suddenly became a gushing feeling. "Mulder!"

"What?" he called out. 

"My water broke."

Mulder was in the kitchen in a flash, taking in the
sight of Scully, her pants soaked, mid-contraction and
standing in a puddle. "Wow." 

"Don't just stand there," she said. "Help me get 
changed." We need to get to the hospital now." 

With the rupturing of her membranes, labor intensified.
The contractions were coming every five minutes now, and
getting stronger each time. Mulder's excitement seemed
to shift into panic as he helped her peel off the wet
maternity slacks and underwear. 

"When the water breaks, it means the baby's coming soon, 
right? I read up on it," he asked, running nervous hands 
through his hair. "You could get an infection once the 
water breaks, right?"

"Mulder...ooowww." A contraction hit, leaving her unable
to speak. She tried to huff through it and distract herself 
from the pain as the contraction peaked and then subsided. 
"Infection is only a problem if they break prematurely and 
the baby isn't ready to be born soon....that isn't going to 
happen since I'm in active labor."

Active labor hurt like hell. Scully called Paula, who
said she'd meet them at the hospital. Mulder's cheerful
chattiness segued to complete panic as he ushered her out
of the apartment and down to the car. 

"Shit," she muttered, a contraction slicing through her as 
she settled herself in the car seat. Her hands moved over 
the hard mass of her belly, lightly rubbing as she breathed 
through the pain. Mulder murmured encouragement, but she 
could hear the worry in his voice. 

When it was over, she closed her eyes in weariness. "That 
was a strong one. Mulder, this is all normal. It's going 
to be okay."

He glanced at her, as if searching for all the reassurance he
could get. His expression was only a little less doubtful 
as he drove to the hospital. 

Scully was checked in to the hospital as soon as they 
arrived. They'd been ensconced in the birthing center for
a few minutes when Paula Sherwood arrived. 

"Let's get an idea of where you are," Dr. Sherwood suggested. 
"This is going to be a little uncomfortable." 

Mulder sat facing Scully, taking her hands in his while Paula
positioned herself at the foot of the bed. His eyes grew wide
as Scully squeezed his fingers. Uncomfortable was something
of an understatement. Pushing the sheet out of the way, Paula 
helped Scully bend her knees and spread her legs for the exam.

"Well, Dana, you're at seven centimeters," she said, glancing
up. "About damn time, I'd say."

"You're a riot," Scully grunted in pain. "Sarcasm is a very 
unattractive trait in an obstetrician."

"Sorry. I'll try to curb that tendency. I suppose sarcasm is 
completely acceptable in pathology, though." Paula drew the 
sheet back over Scully. 

"No one's complained so far."

As her contractions continued to strengthen and become more 
frequent, the hours seemed to blend together in a wash of 
pain. Scully leaned heavily on Mulder as she walked up and 
down the hall. Eventually, walking was no longer possible
as birth approached. 

Scully managed to breath through the pain until the
contractions finally seemed to flow into each other, almost
without respite. It had become a blurry haze of pain and
mixed in was the almost overwhelming desire to push.

"Dana," Paula said, making another examination. "You're
completely effaced. You can start pushing with the next
contraction." 

There were certain images that Scully knew she would never 
forget: Mulder's huge feet encased in blue paper surgical 
booties; how handsome he looked in scrubs; the sight of her 
small foot in Mulder's large hand as she pushed against it; 
the searing, screaming feeling as she bore down. 

The voices all seemed to blend together as encouragement
was shouted out. 

"You're doing great, Scully!" 

"Another big push, Dana! Come on. Pushpushpushpush. You
can do it!" 

"The baby's crowning! Reach down, Dana. You can feel the
head."

Mulder's eyes were locked onto her face. He seemed almost
to be willing himself into her mind, telling her how proud 
he was, how much he loved her. That was another thing she
would never forget.

"Baby's almost out," Paula said. Scully watched in the 
overhead mirror as the baby's head and shoulders were 
delivered. Paula deftly suctioning the baby's nose and 
mouth. With one big slither, the baby slid out into 
Paula's hands. 

"It's a girl," Paula called out, lifting the baby onto
Scully's abdomen. As she reached out to touch the squalling 
child, Scully felt a pang of love so strong it almost hurt. 
 
Tears were running down Mulder's cheeks, and he brushed them
away with the back of his hand. He leaned over until his
forehead was touching hers, and she clutched the back of
his neck with one hand. Her other hand never left the 
slippery body of her child.

"You did it," he whispered. "Our baby. Our baby. I don't 
think I'll ever get tired of saying that."

"Dana, she's beautiful. Pink and sassy as can be." Paula
smiled at Scully, as the baby wailed away on her belly. The
nurse wiped the child's skin, cleaning blood and vernix 
away. 

"She's certainly making her opinion known," Mulder laughed.

"Mulder," Paula asked. "Would you like to cut the umbilical 
cord?"

As he moved to the end of the table, Scully watched him 
nervously take the surgical scissors in his fingers. Paula
guided his movements, and with a look of complete amazement,
Mulder severed the cord.

He stumbled back to his place by her head as the nurses took
the baby to clean her up. His hands were shaking as he brushed 
the hair from Scully's face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah," she said, laughing. Tears blurred her eyes,
obscuring his dear face. The placenta was delivered, and 
Paula assessed Scully's condition.

"Everything's looking good, Dana. The placenta is normal, and
your uterus has begun contracting already. Nursing her now
will help that along," Paula said, bringing the now tightly 
wrapped baby back to her parents. She laid the child in her 
mother's arms. Scully dropped the side of her hospital gown 
and positioned the baby at her breast, closing her eyes as 
the baby latched onto her nipple. Yet another image to remember
forever: the feeling of that first little tug. 

"What are you going to name her?" Paula asked.

"Eileen," Scully answered. "Eileen Anneka after our grandmothers."

<><><><> 

Part 21 - Come on Eileen (Conclusion)

"Come on Eileen! Well, I swear (what he means)
At this moment, you mean everything
With you in that dress my thoughts I confess
Verge on dirty
Ah come on Eileen."

Mulder's low voice woke her from her exhausted sleep as he 
stood by the window of her hospital room, crooning to Eileen. 
He held the baby high in his arms, so he was inches from her 
little face as he sang softly. 

"Mulder, that's not appropriate to sing to the baby," Scully
murmured sleepily as she pushed herself up in bed.

"I promise to clean up the lyrics when she's old enough to
understand," he said smiling. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"A little sore," she answered, wincing. "But happy. She's 
pretty amazing, isn't she?"

"I can't take my eyes from her. She's so beautiful. And
I keep discovering things about her--like if I put my finger 
near her mouth, she turns her head. Watch," he said as he 
sat on the bed and demonstrated.

Eileen, indeed, turned her head as Mulder brushed her cheek, 
her perfectly shaped rosebud mouth seeking nourishment. His 
eyes grew wide when she captured the tip of his finger and 
suckled it. "Ow," he yelped. "This kid's got some grip."

"It's called 'rooting'." Scully took the baby from him and 
one-handed, opened her nightgown. "She wants to nurse."

Eileen muzzled at Scully's breast until she located the nipple
and latched on. Scully stroked the baby's downy head. Tiny 
fingers splayed against the breast, as the baby vigorously
nursed. True to his word, Mulder's eyes never left Eileen's
sweet face. 

"Her eyes are blue, like yours," he said, leaning in closer.
"I think she looks like you."

"All babies have blue eyes, Mulder. They may change over the
next few weeks. They might turn hazel, like yours."

"I wish I could freeze this moment in time," he said. "We're
all safe and healthy. I'm so afraid someone or something might 
come along and change that."

"I know. I looked at her after she was born and wondered
how we were going to keep her safe. 

"I...uh...I've been thinking, Scully." He looked away as he
spoke, as if the thoughts in his head were so frightening or
uncomfortable, he couldn't face her. 

"Mulder," she said, touching his arm with her free hand. 
"You're scaring me. What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking about what Deep Throat said. That those 
men think I'll be lulled into domestic bliss now."

Scully shivered, cold fingers of dread climbing her spine as
her infant nursed at her breast. She held the baby a little
closer, terrified of what the next few minutes could bring.

"You're going to leave," she said, her voice a whisper.

"No!" Mulder leaned forward, touching her face. "I'm here, 
Scully. For the long haul. I plan on showing this kid how 
to hit a baseball. I want to teach her to ride a two-wheeler,
and I want to give the boys a hard time when they start to 
come around."

"Okay," she said, laughing with relief. "You've convinced me. 
But what about the things Deep Throat said? These men will
use you for their own purposes."

"Scully...what if we play them at their own game?"

"I don't follow you..."

"They think we'll give up, that they'll be able to control
us. What if we let them believe that?"

"You mean fake domestic bliss?" Scully glanced down to the
baby in her arms.

"Scully, I don't have to fake my feelings for you and Eileen."
Mulder tipped her face up, gazing into her eyes. "I love 
you. I want to spend my life with you. You can believe that 
because it's real. But what if we let them think I've stopped 
looking for evidence of alien life?"

"But you wouldn't stop looking?"

Mulder shook his head. "I want to find out what happened to my 
sister; I don't think I can rest until I do. I know what I saw
that night when I was twelve. My sister was taken and it has
something to do with extraterrestrial life. I want to prove that,
Scully, and I think I can do it with your help."

Eileen's suckling had become sporadic, her little body limp
and heavy with sleep. Scully's mind raced as she disengaged
her baby's mouth and rearranged her nightgown. Mulder took
the child from her, carefully carrying Eileen to her bassinet.

Could they pull such a deception off? What kind of life would 
they be able to build with danger always at the edge of their 
existence? She tried to picture a life where Mulder mowed the
lawn and she joined the PTA as some kind of smokescreen for their
'other life.' Would she be able to live with that duality? 

He seemed nervous when he returned to Scully's side. He took 
her hand in his, stroking his thumb across her knuckles.
Mulder cleared his throat and looked into her eyes.

"Scully...would you do me the...the ultimate honor of joining me 
in a great deception?" At her puzzled expression, he went on. 
"Will you help me perpetrate a fraud on those who've tried to hurt 
us? Scully, will you marry me?"

Mulder's mouth was curved in a smile, but his eyes betrayed his
deep feelings as they locked onto her gaze.

"A girl doesn't get a proposal like that every day."

"Well, what's the girl going to say?" he asked.

Scully looked into his eyes, finding her answer there. This man 
loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. He needed her 
to help him in the defining quest of his life. She did the only 
thing she could under the circumstances.

She said yes.

<><><><>

Epilogue:

"Mom, I have a sun hat for Eileen in her diaperbag," Scully said,
as she shielded her baby's eyes from the bright June sunlight 
glinting off Chesapeake Bay.

"Dana, let me take her. You're going to crush your dress before
the ceremony." 

Scully looked down at her cream silk sheath, now adorned with
baby drool and saw the wisdom of her mother's words. She handed 
Eileen to her mother and searched the diaperbag for the sun hat. 
Scully drew the little hat over Eileen's head, tying the ribbons 
in a jaunty bow. The baby laughed and reached for the wreath of 
flowers on Scully's hair.

At six months, Eileen was adorable. Her eyes had remained 
blue, though perhaps a shade darker than Scully's. A cheerful 
child, she babbled and crowed from the safety of her grandmother's 
arms. Sporting four tiny teeth, Eileen's smile was impossible to 
resist.

Eileen's father was her devoted slave. While he stood chatting 
with her brother Charlie, Mulder's eyes followed every wave 
of Eileen's chubby little arms. Scully was sure he would 
walk through fire for that little girl.

She was still surprised that Charlie had managed to come for 
her wedding. He and his wife had arrived the night before 
from Japan, their two little boys in tow. Mulder seemed to 
have hit if off quite well with Charlie. Burdened with none 
of Bill's over-developed sense of responsibility, Charlie had 
accepted her new life with ease. 

Mulder caught her eye, smiling as he made his way around the
guests. The justice of the peace was running late, leaving 
them all to mill around on the wraparound porch of the Beechwood
Inn.

Her mother had been deeply disappointed they weren't being 
married by a priest. Bill had been furious to the point 
Scully was sure he wouldn't even attend the wedding. Tara
had managed somehow to get him to come, but he remained
surly and uncommunicative.

"I hope the JP gets here soon," Mulder said as he reached her 
side. "Bill keeps glaring at me."

"Are you getting cold feet?" she teased.

"Nah," he deadpanned. "I put two pairs of socks on this 
morning, just so that wouldn't happen."

"You know, I thought you looked a little taller today." 

The clatter of footsteps inside the inn caught her attention
as Martin Crenshaw, the justice of the peace, walked through 
the french doors and made his way across the veranda.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting," he said to them. 
"I had a bit of car trouble. Well, are you two ready?"

They were ready. Before their family and a few friends, 
they would take vows for a future together. That fact 
still amazed her. 

The little knot of guests consisted of her mother and Melissa,
her brothers and their wives, Mulder's parents, Paula Sherwood 
and her husband, A.D. Skinner and the trio of subversives known 
as the Lone Gunmen. Between the frosty reserve of the Mulders 
and Bill's glowering countenance, Scully hoped the inn had 
stocked up on champagne.

Mr. Crenshaw drew Mulder and Scully to the corner of the porch
railing, so they could say their vows before the beautiful
backdrop of Chesapeake Bay. The sun glinted off the water,
glittering like a thousand diamonds. 

Standing beside her soon-to-be husband, Scully remembered
the months before. A year ago, the future had looked lonely 
and bleak. Scully had been convinced she was in this alone, 
no matter how much Mulder cared about her, he would never 
allow himself to be a part of her child's life. 

Things had changed, shifted, so gradually she hadn't been
sure it was really happening. The two people who came 
together on that night so long ago in Kenwood, Tennessee, had 
not been in love. They had been friends, partners, lonely 
people who drank too much and fell into each other's arms
out of lust and desperation.

That they had drawn together and fallen in love, little by
little, was nothing short of a miracle, rivaling even that 
of Eileen's birth. Looking into Mulder's eyes, she saw love 
reflected back. He took her hands in his, facing her before 
their friends and family, ready to speak his solemn vow for 
a future with her.

"We gather together today," Mr. Crenshaw began, "at the 
beginning of a great adventure. An adventure based on love 
and trust and hopes for the future."

And it would be an adventure. Scully had no illusions of
an easy life. Their secret quest would be dangerous, the
risk almost incalculable. But together, they were stronger.
Together, they could do anything.

The End.

<><><><>
 
A little over four months ago, the idea for this story hit 
me--literally kept me up at night until I sat down and began
writing it the next morning. I'd been watching a pregnant 
Gillian Anderson in her trenchcoat tent in some season 2 
episodes and wondered what would have happened if 
the producers had decided to incorporate her real life 
pregnancy into the story line. 

Back then, I had no idea the joy this would bring to my life
and the people I would come to know and love. TWTA would not 
be the same story without the support and advice of Sybil. 
Her unending good advice kept me on track through the whole 
thing. Finally, huge thanks to the folks who stayed along 
for the ride. Your notes of encouragement kept me going and 
made this so much fun. Thank you all so much.