|
Title: Addendum Summary: I know they're prepared for my inevitable question -- "Is it him?" I still don't quite believe it. It's been a little over an hour now since Frohike called me with the news. Time sort of froze at the sound of his voice. The events of the last hour or so are a complete blur to me. It probably wasn't the best idea to drive myself down here, especially in the state I am in. I wince, remembering how much I really had to move the seat back just so my stomach and I could squish semi-comfortably into the car. It wasn't pretty. I didn't care. I try to forget about the red lights I sped through on my way over here. Hell, I shudder at the lack of attention I paid to the road. It's a miracle I made it to this waiting room safely. "Scully, slow down. He's still in the ICU. We've got a wait." Frohike jumps up from his chair and rushes to my lumbering aid. Trailing behind him are Byers and Langly, looking just as anxious, albeit slightly less obnoxiously protective than Frohike. I know they're prepared for my inevitable question. "Is it him?" Frohike seemed so damn sure on the phone, but I have to ask. For my sake. Frohike opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out other than a surprised exhale as he glances over my right shoulder. I whirl around, following his gaze. As if on cue, Skinner and Doggett appear out of nowhere, decked in their professional attire. One look at me and they both start barrelling towards me as though I have just gone into premature labour. "Scully," they say in unison. They begin to question the Gunmen. "Is she okay?" "Did she get down here all right?" Guys, I'm right here. The look on my face shuts them up quickly. Again, Frohike tries to calm things down. "We've got a wait guys. Let's just sit down for a bit. The nurse said she would let us know when --" I push past them. There's no damn way I can sit. My ankles are the size of over-stuffed Christmas stockings, my back aches so much it feels as though it has been carrying a small country around for the past few months and at any moment I just may go into emotional arrest. They don't try to get me to sit down. They all shut up and watch me pace. No one dares to speak. Or breathe. After an eternity and a couple frustrating shrieks at the nurses on-call later, an extremely young nurse approaches our group, understandably avoiding me at first. "Mr. Mulder is stable. I'd ask that only a couple of you go and see him right now." They turn to me and then back to the nurse. Not us. Just her. The nurse gets it. "Please follow me," she says timidly, not quite sure what to make of the whole situation. I oblige numbly. I stop suddenly and turn around to face everyone. They all sport expressions of fear, anxiety and hope. They try so hard to look enthusiastic. I do the same. Against my better judgement, I give Frohike a look that seems to say, "You better be damn sure this is Mulder". He looks as though he may pass out. I almost feel guilty for that. Almost. I'm a little ashamed at how selfish I'm being, although I'm sure I'm entitled to it just this once. I hope to God they understand and will forgive me for this later on. The nurse leads me down a long hallway. How typical. It's never the first door on the right, is it? We stop in front of a room near the end of the hall. "He's still unconscious. If you need assistance, just ask." I give her a look that could slice through concrete. No nurse, that won't be necessary. I've been in medicine probably longer than you've been alive. I want to slap myself for being so damn cynical. But then again, I think I'm entitled to it. She quickly retreats, obviously not wanting to become another factor contributing to my already enormous mother-of-all mood swings. All of a sudden, the sarcasm vanishes. I take a deep breath, trying to alleviate the intensity my entire body is feeling. I decide I'm going to leave every single negative feeling I have at the door, and walk through it unscathed. For his sake, I have to. I need to be strong for him right now. I need to be strong for me right now. I step into the room, pushing away the curtains. Oh my God. There he is. It's really him. This is so surreal. As I try to picture him without the half a dozen machines attached to him, I start to break down. I can't help it. I don't even make it to his bedside. I crumble into a chair, conveniently situated only a foot or so from the entrance to his room. With my head in my hands, I cry. I immediately stop crying when I feel the baby kick. Softly at first, but each kick slowly becoming stronger. Lifting my head out of my hands, I smile, as I trace my swollen stomach with my fingers. As if in a trance, I slowly stand up and make my way toward Mulder's bed. I stop in front of him and slowly reach for his hand and take it in mine. I can hardly believe how warm he is. I clasp his hand tightly, willing him to wake up and feel this. I entwine my fingers around his, wanting him to open his eyes so badly it hurts. Instinctively I raise his hand up to my face and press it onto my cheek. I move it downward, stopping when our hands reach my abdomen. I pause and release his warm fingers. They part limply, and rest comfortably on my abdomen. At this new sensation, the baby's kick is the strongest its ever been. I gasp as Mulder's eyes flicker in his deep slumber. He feels it. They baby feels it. They've made a connection. The silence becomes deafening at this realization. I don't want to move, or breathe, fearing I will disrupt this small miracle that is slowly taking place right in front of my eyes. A moan escapes Mulder's throat, and I place my hand on his again, guiding it over my stomach. I silently wonder if he really does understand what he's touching deep in the inner core of unconsciousness. I wonder if he knows of the new addition he never thought would happen that will change our lives forever. "Shh," I whisper soothingly. "Mulder I'm here. We're both here waiting for you. Take your time. We'll be here. . ." I trail off, feeling a lump form in my throat. I see him wrinkle his brow, trying to climb out of the dark abyss that he is engulfed in. I perch on the edge of his bed still holding his hand to my stomach. I'll wait all damn night if I have to. He's here. He's home. I flinch as the baby kicks once more. And he's just in time. The End Author's notes: This was just my little rendition of an alternate ending to the search for Mulder. I felt creative (once again) and thought it would be kind of neat to introduce the baby to Mulder right away -- and vice versa. Please send ANY feedback to * drum roll * . . . me! At < xfgurl@hotmail.com > of course:)
|