Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 7
*****

"...when will I learn?  Mulder is always right, and I, by default, am
always wrong.  I love him, but sometimes...sometimes I miss me."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, September 1, 2000





Hidden City, somewhere in the former Liechtenstein
April 18, 2000


As Scully rushed along the hallways dodging anonymous passers
by, she tried to quell the anxious nausea that churned inside her
over Mulder abrupt return.  He was alive!  She didn't know how or
why, or what he'd been through - though it was clear he'd been
through a lot - but she was so grateful that she had him back in one
piece.  And so angry.

It was the anger she didn't know what to do with.  

As was normal for the breakfast hour, the dining cavern was a buzz
with excited chatter when Scully sailed in.  Stew again.  She
quickly assessed the available options at the buffet.  Depending on
how little Mulder had found to eat over the past two months, his
stomach wasn't going to be able to take anything substantial for a
couple of weeks.  Food would have to be a gradual reintroduction
to his gastrointestinal tract.  She bi-passed the served entrees and
went to the containers of dry goods stored on a series of racks and
shelves next in the zoned off area where all the food preparation
took place.  It was as close to a pantry as they got.

Scully took a large canister of mixed nuts, and one of dried fruit. 
The woman stirring at the stove watched her closely, but didn't say
a word when Scully turned to leave with the stolen food.  As she
passed the stew pots, Scully scooped a mug full of broth, and
added a generous hunk of bread to her scavenges.  There weren't
enough food credits left on her meal card for what she took, but
the girl rang it up anyway, and didn't mention the negative beep
her console produced.

Scully offered her thanks and hurried back to the apartment,
spilling half the broth along the way.  

Dag was there when she arrived, and helped her with her load. 
Mulder was already out of the shower, a towel around his waist. 
He shivered and dripped from his hair and beard, but when he saw
the food he stopped dressing and downed the broth in one huge
gulp.  Scully handed him the crusty bread, and he tore into it like a
wild dog into a fresh kill.  He was starving.  Literally.  The flesh on
his chest hung to his ribs, and the muscles on his legs and arms
were almost chiseled in definition.  Scully guessed he had about
two percent body fat still clinging to his skeleton. 

Both she and Dag gaped at the battered man that stood before them
wolfing down the last bites of his dinner.  His skin was blotchy,
and covered in contusions and abrasions; some of them dark and
angry with infection.  The pink, puckered scars from the bobcat
attack all those months ago were carved across his left side, just
where Scully now remembered they were.  His left side.  His left,
she memorized.  

Even after the shower, dirt still lined his nails and blood caked the
blisters and welts on his skinny feet.  She would clean them up
after he had a chance to rest.  Mulder was already swaying on his
feet.  

Bread finished, he went for the nuts.  Scully stopped him. 
"Mulder, you need to wait before you eat anything else or you'll
just vomit it up."

He seemed to accept what she said and handed the canister off to
Dag before pulling the towel from his waist and climbing nude
into bed.  Scully helped him pull the blankets up to his chin.  He
was already half asleep.  The wet strands of his hair clung to his
forehead.  Scully gently brushed them away, and then gave in to
the urge to kiss him there.  His brows knit for a moment, and then
smoothed as he drifted.  God, she loved him so much.

She stood and turned with a heavy sigh.  Dag had an unreadable
expression on his face.  

"Don't worry," Scully told him quietly, and placed a hand on his
arm.  "Mulder will be okay.  Believe it or not, I've seen him in
much worse shape."

Dag's countenance didn't change as his gaze shifted to Scully's
pack and jacket, both still sat patiently where she left them by the
door.  "Where?" he asked.

"I didn't have time to figure that out."  She couldn't tell if he was
upset or simply curious, which was odd because Dag usually had
such an expressive face.

He turned to look back at Mulder, already softly snoring with his
mouth slightly open, and Dag's eyes softened.  He stood transfixed
for a moment, and then seemed to remember Scully was in the
room, too.  

"They see him on radar last night.  Think he was bear.  I see him
on radar, I know he was Mulder.  I make them go get him.  Mulder
was looking for door."  Dag smirked.  The entrances and exits to
the City were well hidden for a reason.  It was possible to know
exactly where they are and not be able to find them. Mulder
could've circled the mountain for weeks looking.

"I'm lucky you knew him from a bear," Scully said.  "Thank you."

"Lucky," Dag said solemnly, and then grinned.  With a tilt to his
head, he added, "Looks like bear.  Sleeping bear."

Neither of them could believe he was back, Scully decided.  She
wanted so badly to touch him again to tend to his wounds, to shave
that shaggy beard from his face.  Later, she told herself.  He
needed to rest. 

And she needed to get the meds she completely forgot about. 
Then, she needed to figure out an escape.  Her baby was still in
danger, even with the number of men on her side having doubled
in the last hour.  Or had it?  Mulder didn't exactly jump up and
down with joy at the prospect of a baby.  In fact, he didn't react to
that bit of news much at all. 

A whole new set of worried blossomed in her mind.

*****

The lab was alive with excited chatter as the lab techs tried to
relive Mulder's rise from the dead for a thrilled Renee.  Bohr was
no where to be seen.

"Mon Dieu!" Renee exclaimed over and over as they talked and
laughed easily.  When Scully caught her eye she ran over and
embraced her.

Scully didn't know how to respond to the hug.  This woman had
become her mortal enemy, even if she wasn't aware of it yet.  

"Your Mulder has come home," Renee said with a giggle of joy. 
"It is a wonderful day!"

"It's wonderful," Scully agreed.

"But, how is he?  Where?"

"Sleeping," Scully told her.  "He's exhausted.  I'm sure he'll sleep
through the night."

"Did he look well?  You must be in heaven -"

"No.  I'm here."  It came out a little edgier than Scully intended. 
Renee was stunned into silence.  "Look," Scully continued, "I'm
distracted right now.  I need to get my prescriptions refilled and
get back to Mulder.  He might need something."  How was she
going to get into the medicine cabinet unsupervised so that she
could get the many months worth of pills she would need for the
remainder of her pregnancy.   

Renee seemed to accept Scully's explanation.  "Of course.  You
want to get back to your husband.  Of course."  Renee turned to the
office, excited to help in any way she could.  "What do you need?"

"Don't worry about it.  I'll get it."

"It's no trouble," Renee told her over her shoulder.

"Why do you do that?" Scully pointedly asked.  She needed to stop
Renee from feeling so helpful.

Renee emerged from the office with the ring of keys.  "Do what?"

"I'm not an invalid."  Scully snatched the keys from her hands. 
"I'm capable of getting what I need." 

Renee stopped short.  She carefully studied Scully's face.  "You are
well, yes?  Not feeling sick?"

"I'm fine.  Don't worry."  Scully open the cabinet, and the door
blocked her quick hands.  She went down her mental checklist and
then grabbed a small container of antibiotics just incase Mulder
needed them for his infections.  Each bottle she snatched was
tucked in her jumpsuit's deep pockets.

"Have your husband come here when he wakes up.  We should be
sure he is fine as well, yes?"

"I'll do that," Scully assured her.  Then she closed the cabinet,
locked it, and tossed the keys to Renee.  "Don't worry," Scully told
her, "everything is fine now."

Renee nodded, but her expression remained unsure.  Scully didn't
know why she felt guilty about lying to her.  She tried to push it
away.  There were other things to worry about.

*****

Scully dropped her stash off at the apartment, safely tucking the
prescriptions inside her pack, and grimaced at the foul stench
emanating from the mound of discarded clothing Mulder had left
next to the shower.  She picked it and carried it at arm's length,
and stuffed the pile into the laundry hamper.  Then she dragged the
whole thing out into the hall.  The smell made her queasy, and
Scully went back inside and sat at the foot of the bed for a moment
to wait it out.  

The lights didn't seem to bother Mulder - he was out cold, softly
snoring through his mouth, curled up on one side.  Scully closed
her eyes and listened to him breathe.  She lightly ran her fingers
over his blanketed legs, and once again reassured herself that he
was there, with her.  Safe.  Alive.

Her tummy tingled, a Mulder tingle, and it started a chain reaction
of flutters that could only be her little passenger.  With one hand
on her husband, Scully touched the other to her stomach.  She
wanted to remember this moment, live in this one moment forever;
no past and no future.  Just now, in its perfect simplicity.  Now
was so easy.  Now was good.  

Once Mulder was rested, she didn't know what would happen,
what to expect from him.  There had been tension between them
before he left, but they were in completely uncharted territory
now.  How could she help him to forgive her for being so wrong
when she couldn't forgive herself?  She was a doctor, for crying
out loud.  She was *trained* to recognize symptoms!

Breathe, she told herself.  Don't think about the past, and don't
hope for the future.  She couldn't change one, and couldn't control
the other.  She didn't want to hope that Mulder would be thrilled
of his impending fatherhood, or that they would find a way back to
each other.  That would only make her vulnerable the next time he
left her.  

Her eyes pricked with moisture, and Scully inhaled sharply to
force the unwanted feelings away.  She had so much to do, there
was no time to give in to emotions.  They would only serve to
betray her, anyway.  Best not to think about it.  She needed to keep
moving. 

Scully doused the lights before she left so Mulder could continue
to sleep undisturbed.

*****

Scully stared at the map on the console in front of her.  She didn't
know where to begin.  Her hiding place had to be close enough to
get to, but remote enough that no one would think to look for her
there.  Originally, she had considered seeking asylum in one of the
pocket communities, but they were all on the far side of large
bodies of water or mountain ranges or continents.

It was a wonder that Mulder made it back.  How had he gotten
across so much inhospitable terrain?  Scully hadn't heard anything
about the plane he left in or the pilot that was with him, if either of
them survived.  Her attention had been dominated by the man that
she loved more than anything standing like a ghost across the lab,
and the drop in his face when he saw the bulge of her belly.

She couldn't believe she was leaving just as Mulder found his way
home.  What if he had been a week later?  They would've missed
each other and she would be out there, somewhere, all alone.  Of
course, she might still be out there alone.  There was no guarantee
that Mulder would go with her.  She couldn't quite convince
herself that he would stay behind, presumably caught up in his
anger with her and whatever emotions that stormed through him
when he first caught sight of her stomach.  No, he loved her.  And
she knew if she told him that she needed him to leave the City with
her, he'd have to follow.  Mulder was always there on the few
occasions that she truly needed him.  Even when he was angry
with her.

But what would she do if he did refuse to leave the City again? 
How would she react?  Could she go on her own?  That had been
the original plan, before he suddenly returned.  But things were
different now.  Mulder was here.  Was it possible for her to leave
him behind?

Questions for another time, she counseled herself.  She needed to
get back to the matter at hand.  Her brain could only function
tackling one insurmountable problem at a time.

*****
                    
At the end of a very long, and frustrating day, Scully went home.
Mulder stirred in the bed when she peeked in, and a whole swarm
of butterflies twittered in her belly.  He sat up in the bed, rubbing
at his eyes, as she flipped the lights on.

"I brought you some dinner," she said, handing him the bowl of
pasta.  "There's a little meat at the bottom.  But I can't tell you
what it came from."

He took the food and began shoveling it in before he even looked
at it.  "The cooking isn't any better," he said around full cheeks. 
The taste didn't seem to slow him down.

Scully dropped down beside him on the bed and sighed.  Her back
hurt, her feet hurt, and watching Mulder gulp down his dinner was
disgusting, and yet she found her stomach rumbling again.  She 
just finished two helpings of dinner.

"Mulder, I want to dress your wounds before you go back to
sleep."  With the back of her hand she stifled a yawn.

He waved a dismissing fork.  "Naw, they're fine."

"They're not fine.  They're infected.  I may have to lance them to
draw the puss out."

Mulder made a face.  "Do we have to talk about this while I'm
eating?"

"No," she conceded.  There were other things they needed to talk
about; more pressing, important things that couldn't wait much
longer.  Scully didn't know what kind of a time table Renee and
Bohr were working on, and she felt that every day she remained in
the City became one day closer to the inevitable.  "Mulder, we do
need to talk, though."

He caught the seriousness of her tone, and made eye contact with
her over his spoon.  Then he dropped it in the bowl and set them
aside.  Once he finished chewing, Mulder asked, "Is this about the
cancer?"  His gaze lowered to his left leg folded in front of him,
and then to the blister on his big toe.

"No," Scully said, unsure why he would think that.  Had he truly
not believed her when she told him she wasn't sick?

"Is it about the chip?"  He swallowed, and picked at his toe.

"It's about this, Mulder," she told him, and ran a hand over the
swell in her abdomen. 

Mulder shook his head and pushed off the bed.  "I can't.  I'm not
ready to talk about that."  His razor remained in the shower, where
he left it months ago, and Mulder grabbed it and turned to the
small mirror over the sink.  

Scully watched him lather his face with a bar of soap.  "I'm sorry,
Mulder.  It can't wait.  I can't wait."  He started on his left cheek,
close to his ear.  "Mulder, please."  

His beard was so thick it took several passes of his razor to clear a
line down his cheek.  He worked slowly, deliberately.  And even if
he didn't want to talk, Scully decided she would say what she
needed to say.

"I know the idea of a baby is overwhelming, Mulder.  Especially
now.  Especially here.  I've had a couple of months to warm up to
the idea.  It might take you some time, too.  Or, maybe you won't
ever..."

With his back to her, he dropped the razor in the sink and braced
himself on locked arms against the basin.  "Don't say that."

"They want it, Mulder.  They need it for their vaccine."

He whirled around.  "Bohr?"  His expression was a mix of horror
and fury.

"We did naturally what they couldn't achieve in the lab.  You and I
successfully combined the DNA of an abductee with the DNA of a
Tunguska survivor.  The package is a little different than they were
expecting, but the result will be the same.  They need the tissue to
make up a vaccine they can synthesize."

"Isn't that what you wanted?  To help them make the vaccine?"

Scully shook her head.  "Not like this."

Mulder turned back to the mirror, picked up the razor.  "So, you
want to keep it."

Her heart sank.  "I am keeping it.  It's our baby, Mulder."

He kept shaving.  It wasn't real to him, she told herself.  Once it
was tangible, he'd feel differently.  It wasn't because he didn't
care, he just wasn't connected to the baby yet.  He hadn't felt it
move, or heard its little heart pounding away.  The queasiness at
the back of her throat didn't ease with her reasoning.

Scully looked down at her belly.  How would she ever do this
alone?  

"Mulder, I can't let them hurt our baby.  I won't.  I'm leaving the
City."  She held her breath as he turned to her again, this time with
the left side of his face clean shaven.

"You can't do that."

"There isn't much choice.  I can't let them kill our child."

"Scully, the world is dead.  There's nothing left out there.  You
won't survive."

"You survived," she countered.  "I'll...I'll try to understand if you
want to stay here.  You've been through a lot.  I just need you to
understand that I have to go."

Mulder's mouth dropped open, and the clamped shut.  "You can't
be serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

"Then what was all that crap back at the lab, about never, never,
never leaving you again?!  I can't leave you, but it's okay for you
to leave me?!  Is that how it works?"

"You know that's not it.  You *know* that I want you with me,
Mulder.  But I won't ask you to put yourself in any more danger
for me.  Not after what you've just been through.  Especially over
something I'm not sure you're okay with."

"Something you're not sure I'm okay with?!  Are you kidding me?! 
I thought you were dying, Scully.  You *told* me you were dying! 
I went to Siberia for you, I battled aliens for you, I even killed an
unarmed man in cold blood because he wouldn't give me the chip
that would save your life.  I barely make it back here to discover
that my dying wife is doing just fine!  And you're worried I'm not
okay with *that*?!"  He jabbed a finger towards her middle.

"You are not the only person who suffered, Mulder.  I thought you
were dead.  They told me you were dead.  I thought *I* killed
you!"

"You very nearly did!" he yelled.  His anger stung, but not more
than his accusation.  She knew it was true, and that made the
wound that much deeper.

There were no words to rectify what she had done to him.  "I'm
sorry," came out of her mouth, but it was dull and flat against the
magnitude of the offense.  

She looked around the room, but had trouble finding her thoughts. 
"You should sleep tonight.  I'll let you sleep.  Tomorrow I'll need
the bed to rest.  I'm leaving tomorrow night."

"Scully -" His voice was tender now, painfully so.  "I shouldn't
have said that.  I didn't mean it."

"It doesn't matter."  The damage was done, Scully thought, long
before he ever yelled the truth at her in anger.  

He shook his head.  "Tomorrow night?  Do you even know where
we're going?"

"I'll know tomor-"  It took a moment for his question to sink in. 
"We?"

"Do you think we can convince Dag to come with us?" Mulder
asked.  "We'll need more supplies than I can carry."

"Dag?"

"We won't survive in the blizzard for long.  We'll have to get to
one of the surviving settlements."  He looked at his reflection in
the mirror.  "I should've left my beard on.  Oh, hell."

He felt guilty about what he said, he was trying to make amends.
"Mulder, you don't have to do this -"

"Of course I have to do this!  How can you think for one second
that I would let you go out there alone, in *that* condition? 
Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all."

"This isn't about chivalry or ego, Mulder.   You don't have any
obligations to me."

"You mean besides being your husband, and the one who
impregnated you?"

"What's done is done.  You don't owe me anything."

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded.  "How can you let me off
the hook so easily?"

"I don't want you to come with me for the wrong reasons."

"I know the mountains, Scully, better than you.  I know the passes. 
You need me.  What better reason do you want?"

"A better reason would be that *you* *need* me*.  That you can't
stand the thought of going a day without me.  That you want to see
this baby born, that you want to watch it grow, and teach it, and
love it.  The best reason would be that as angry as you are at me, as
much as you want to hurt me for being wrong about the cancer,
you love me more.  And you know that it might take some time,
but that in the end everything will be all right.  You used to tell me
that everything would be all right."

"I was wrong."  His eyes were sad, and his face was long, and the
grief he wore twisted Scully's heart with such anguish that she
thought her heart would burst.

She took the few steps to him and reached up to touch his smooth
cheek..  "Oh, Mulder.  My love.  My life.  You are never wrong."

His eyes swelled and his chin quivered before he pulled away from
her touch.

There was nothing more to say.  Scully pulled a sweater from the
drawer of clothes she was leaving behind, and slipped it on over
her jumpsuit, though she doubted it would help the chill that had
settled deep inside her.  Then, she left Mulder to finish shaving,
and to sleep.  



She tried not to think anymore that night.  She focused on her
breathing, on the rhythm of her feet on the floor and the irregular
cuts on the walls she passed.  

When Mulder found her, she nearly bumped into him before she
knew he was there.  A thrill tickled her stomach when his gaze
locked with hers.

"Come to bed," he said with an out-stretched hand.

She couldn't deny him.  

The apartment was dark when they got back, and he didn't flip on
the light.  They got undressed in the dark, and then crawled into
bed.  Under the covers Scully felt him spoon behind her, his legs
curling into hers, his arm snaking between her shoulder and neck. 
His other hand went to her hip.  She covered it with her own, and
then slowly slid his hand up to the swell in her abdomen.  

His fingers spread over her new girth, and gently pressed at the
solidity of her stomach.  There was no hesitation, no awkwardness
as his fingers explored up to where her bellybutton would soon
poke out, and then down to the underside of her belly.  She
shivered from his caress, and her skin broke out in goose bumps. 
The familiar sexual tingle corkscrewed through her lower half, and
she reveled in it.  His touch was electric, and she'd been deprived
for so long.

Mulder kissed her shoulder.  "I need you, Scully.  I can't live 
without you," he whispered in her ear.  His breath was hot and
moist, his teeth were freshly brushed.  "I want to see this baby
born.  I want to watch it grow, and teach it, and love it."  He left a
feather light kiss on the back of her cold ear.  "It's going to be all
right, Scully.  I don't know how, but I'm going to make it all right
for me and you, and this baby that we made.  I promise."

Tears ran down the side of her face and pooled between her ear
and cheek, and an emotional flood came with them.  Everything
that she'd been holding together, her grief and misery, her fear and
anxiety, overwhelmed her and she sobbed it out while Mulder's
hold on her tightened, and he caressed the hair back from her face.  

It wasn't until she turned in his arms and kissed his face that she
realized he cried, too.  With a loving hand she caressed his neck
and back, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.  He wept
against her, and she against him until neither of them that the
strength to stay awake.  



Scully had no idea what time it was when the sirens began to wail. 
She and Mulder startled awake in the darkness of their apartment,
disoriented and groggy.  

"What the hell?"

"They're here," Scully breathed.  This wasn't a drill.  The first
explosion rocked the mountain so hard that Scully ended up on the
hard rock floor, clutching protective arms around her middle.

Mulder screamed for her, and she yelled back, "They're attacking! 
We have to get out!"

Clothes, she needed clothes.  The light blinked on, and Mulder was
a blur of nakedness and beauty as he scrambled to get jumpsuits
and socks out of a drawer for them.  They jammed their feet into
boots without bothering to tie the laces.  Scully grabbed her parka
and pack.   

Dag was at the door, wide eyed and pale, just as Scully and Mulder
ran out, and he held Mulder's batter pack and ripped coat in one
large fist.

A second explosion knocked Scully off balance, and she slammed
into Mulder, who hit the floor hard.  The lights wavered, unable to
decided if they should work or not.  

Dag pulled Scully up by her arm.  "Hurry," he urged.  Scully
glanced at Mulder, who nodded.  They quickly followed Dag down
a dozen flights of stairs and a handful of long, winding corridors,
deeper into the heart of the mountain.  

Scully slowed because of a growing stitch in her side, but Mulder
wrapped an arm around her and urged her on.  When the third blast
hit, he curled around her as they lost their balance, and broke her
fall.  Large chunks of the ceiling and walls crashed to the ground.  

"Hurry!" Dag yelled through a series of gagging coughs, and Scully
watched him stagger to his feet.  His head had taken a blow, and
blood surged over his left ear and down his neck.

She scrambled to help Mulder to his feet, and the three of them
were off again

The tunnel led to a chamber Scully had never seen before.  It was
enormous, larger even than the dining hall, and located on
platforms in the center were ten transports that Scully recognized
from months before when they first left the windmill in the
Netherlands.  They looked like metallic subway cars without
wheels.  One quickly lowered into a sub-tunnel, and then
disappeared with a whoosh.

Logan was already there, throwing boxes of supplies into one of
the cars.  Dag made a bee-line for him, and began helping.   

Mulder took Scully's pack from her and tossed their stuff in the
car.  "Get in and buckle up," he told her.

Scully didn't argue.  

The three men worked until there were no more crates, and Scully
watched as one car after another sank and then whooshed away. 
None of them carried more than a handful of people, and she
wondered where all the other people would go.  She hadn't known
about this escape chamber.  She doubted many people did.

Dag went to punch the large green button by the door, but Logan
caught his arm.  "Renee," he harshly reminded.  Both looked to the
corridor, just as she rounded the curve.

A blast shook the cavern, closer than before, and while Scully
watched in horror, Renee screamed as she was crushed under a
giant slab of granite.  Dust and falling rocks showered the entire
chamber.  Dag smacked the button.  They sank into darkness, and
then, shot away.

The initial jerk of speed slammed Scully against her restraints, and
she heard Dag and Logan hit the wall hard.  There was nothing she
could do to help them while they rocked through the tunnel and
continued to accelerate.  Mulder was harnessed in beside her.

"My God," he said with a gasp.  "I did this.  The chip...they
followed the chip..."

*****
End of chapter 7
*****
Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 8
*****

"...ice cream...pizza...steak...a baked potato smothered in butter
and cheese and bacon...oh, my God.  Bacon..."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, May 3, 2000





Somewhere in the Alps
April 19, 2000



Through the darkness, the transport continued to careen down
whatever path it was pre-programed to take, and Scully was jerked
in her harness like a fish in a net.  The movement combined with
her inability to focus on anything in the darkness made her more
nauseated than she'd been in weeks.  Her left hand gripped the
strap that cut across the top of her swollen belly, her right covered
her mouth in an attempt to hold back the contents of her stomach.

There were explosions, but she couldn't tell where or how big they
might be.  The one that killed Renee had been right on top of
them, and they had been at one of the deepest points within the
9,000 foot mountain.  Scully feared the entire mountain would be
systematically blasted from the face of the Earth.

Oh, God.  Renee.  

Her stomach knotted, and Scully gagged, but luckily nothing came
up - just the acidic burn of an empty stomach.

Breathe.  Don't think.  Just breathe.



It seemed like forever, but eventually the transport hit water, and
after the initial jolt and the sluggish repercussion, the ride went
smooth and quiet.  It was still pitch black, but at least Scully had a
chance to relax a little in her harness.  She swallowed.

The engine was reduced to a dull drone under water, but that
didn't worry her.  She knew from previous experience that even
though the transports looked like big subway cars, they were
effective aquatic vehicles.  

"Scully?"

"I'm fine," she told him.  "Are you okay, Mulder?"

His voice was very small.  "Renee's dead."  

"I know."  She reached over and touched his leg.  "I'm sorry."  And
Scully found she truly was, despite her insane jealousy over the
French woman months before and her recent fears for her unborn
baby.  It was a strange juxtaposition of emotion; relief with a
tremendous sense of loss.  And guilt.  Always guilt.  

"Dag?"  Mulder called out, his daze suddenly broken.  "Logan?" 
Neither responded.  

Scully heard the clicks as Mulder's harness released, and she
started to do the same. 

"Stay there," he told her, with a hand on her shoulder.  "Things
might get rough again."  Scully acquiesced, and buckled herself
back in.  Neither of them knew what to expect.  Her hands shook
from the adrenaline.  

Mulder stumble over the supplies that had broken free from their
crates, and she heard him curse to himself.  The transport was
probably littered with the supplies that they'd hastily packed.

"Dag?" 

There was a groan.

"Logan!"  The sound of a wooden crate scraping over the metal
floor, and then Mulder's anxious: "Logan, are you okay?"

"What in bloody hell happened?"  Logan sounded himself, if not a
little shaken.  "Where are we?"

"Don't know," Mulder told him.  "No lights."

"You've been out for a while, Logan," Scully call out.  "You've
probably got a concussion.  Stay laying down, and try to stay
awake.  Are you bleeding?"

"Oh, hell."  He sounded irritated.  "I'm okay."

"Dag's knocked out cold," Mulder said.  "Breathing.  Pulse.  His
fingers are cold as ice."

"He could be going into shock," Scully thought aloud.  "Try to
cover him with something.  Can you elevate his feet?  Hang on." 
She couldn't be of any use strapped in fifteen feet away.  Scully
quickly unhooked herself and carefully began feeling her way back
to the men.

"Scully, stay buckled up!" Mulder demanded. 

"I need to help Dag.  You know I need to help," she told him. 
"Don't fight me on this, Mulder."  

"I-I think he's bleeding from his head," Mulder said.  "Jesus.  It's a
lot of blood."

"Where?"  Scully found Mulder's back and ran her hand up his
arm to the back of Dag's head.  Hair had already matted over the
wound, and the blood felt thick and cool.  Quickly, she found his
neck and a strong, regular pulse.  Dag's chest was still warm, but
Mulder was right, his hands were freezing.  "Do we have anything
to cover him with?  Where's my parka?"

"I'll find something," Mulder said, already moving in the direction
of the scattered supplies.

Logan choked, and then Scully heard the wet splash as he was sick. 
The smell hit her hard, and she covered her nose, but there was no
way to get away from the putrid odor.  Blood and vomit.  The
smell was pervasive, and her stomach revolted.  Scully gagged.

"I found some bedrolls," Mulder called out.  

"Find something for Logan, too."  Scully swallowed convulsively,
trying to calm her stomach and pulse.  "He's probably got a
concussion, and we need to keep him warm before he goes into
shock.."

"I can't see a damn thing!" Mulder screamed in exasperation. 
"Where the hell are the lights?"

Logan threw up again.

She wasn't going to make it.  Scully covered her mouth in a
useless attempt to keep the nausea down but the foul air
overwhelmed her.  She managed to turn her head away from Dag
before she was sick herself.  Which only made the smell worse,
because now she could taste it.

"OK.  Here, Logan," Mulder said in the darkness.  "Cover up."  The
Australian grunted.

Scully felt Mulder bump up beside her as he found Dag again, and
the two of them worked to cover the unconscious man.  "We also
need to elevate his legs," she said to herself as much as anyone,
desperate for distraction.  "The wound's clotting, but we need to
keep the blood flowing to his brain."

She felt Dag shift as Mulder propped his legs up.  "Is he going to
be okay?"

"I don't know how bad his injury is.  But his vitals are strong." 
There was no sense in trudging through the numerous
complications that could arise from a head injury because at the
moment there was no possible way to treat him.  "Where are we
going?" she asked.  "Will there be medical facilities?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Mulder hesitantly admitted.  

"There's a rendez-vous point," Logan told the through clenched
teeth.  "We're going to regroup with the beta colony."

The transport made a dramatic lurch before it began to ascend at a
steep angle.  Scully slid an inch or two before she had a chance to
reach out and steady herself.  

"Scully!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured him, not at all sure she was telling
the truth.  She needed to get away from the smell, someplace solid
before she lost it again.

On hands and knees she crawled past Mulder toward the front of
the transport, even though she doubted the air would be any better. 
It was an uphill climb, and her heavy belly kept getting in the way.
The metal plates that made up the floor weren't easy to get
purchase on, and Scully knew her knees were going to pay for it
later.  When she couldn't go any farther, she made her way to the
side of the transport and leaned against the protruding seat.  She
didn't have the energy to lift herself up and strap in.

Mulder was right beside her.  "You need help?" 

"If you could crack a window, that would be nice," she said with a
humorless chuckle.  When he didn't respond she thought better of
her remark.  "I'm okay.  I know sarcasm doesn't help."  His
continued silence left him invisible to her in the dark.  "I really
can't believe the smell bothers me as much as it does," she tried to
explain.

"It's pretty bad."

But she was a pathologist.  She was supposed to made of sterner
stuff.  Certainly in her years with the X-Files she'd encountered
worse smells than simple bodily fluids.  "I'll be fine."

He grunted as he sat beside her.  His thigh was warm pressed
against hers.  The heavy weight of a cold blanket draped across her
out-stretched legs.  A warm arm came to rest against her shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"I wish I could do more.  I hate being helpless."  Mulder sighed
beside her.  "I hate it.  That's why I had to find the chip.  God!" he
swore, and stomped a heel into the floor.  "How could I be so
stupid?  So selfish?"

"It's not your fault, Mulder.  It's not."

"The chip was my fault, Scully.  Krycek told me I didn't want it. 
He told me it wasn't worth it.  I called him a liar."  He swallowed,
thickly.  "All those people...Renee...God, I killed Renee.  It's all my
fault."

"If it was the chip, then it's my fault, Mulder, not yours.  You
never would've gone looking for it if it wasn't for me.  Hell, if I
had let them harvest the genetic material, we might've had a bio-
weapon to fight them by now.  And Renee would be..."  

"Don't say that."  Mulder grabbed her fist under the blanket and
squeezed it in his own.  "Don't even think that."

"How can I not?  I was supposed to be the key to salvation -"

"You *are* my salvation, Scully."  His voice was a desperate,
hoarse whisper.  His hand skimmed up her arm, past her shoulder
and neck to cup her cheek.  

"Oh, Mulder.  I truly wish I was."

"You are," he insisted with tears in his throat.  He pulled her closer
and his lips, chapped and warm, covered hers.  An urgency nipped
in his tiny kisses and Scully ventured to deepen them.  She held his
head and plunged her tongue into his mouth.  He responded
instantly, and their lips and teeth took second stage to their dueling
tongues.  Scully couldn't get close enough, couldn't breathe or
think beyond the gymnastics in her belly and the racing pulse that
throbbed between her legs.  

She tilted her head, and kissed him for all the months that she
couldn't, and the nights she cried in her bed for this man she loved
so much.  His hand slipped down to her full breast and her nipples
tightened to painful peaks; a momentary distraction from his
demanding mouth.  And in that second his lips dropped to her
throat, and Scully exhaled at the exquisite pleasure of his suckling
mouth.  Oh, God, she'd missed him, missed feeling this wanted. 
She held his head as he worked his way down her neck.

Until his hand dropped lower and encountered her stomach.  The
kissing stopped, his loving fingers retreated, and in the dark there
was nothing but the low drum of the engine and their rapid
breathing.  A coldness quickly filled the space between them.

She didn't need to ask what was wrong.  In the dark she looked
however he chose to remember her, but she didn't feel like his
memories.  His hands were more honest than his mind's eye.

"We're not alone," he mumbled by way of excuse.  It wasn't clear
if he referred to her belly, or Logan and Dag.  Either way, Scully
wondered if they would ever be alone again.  Her body still
hummed for his.  But she would not force it.  Mulder had his own
time table to wrestle with, and she wouldn't risk pushing him away
in her rush to hold him closer.

She tried to shift her focus.  "How long until we get to where we're
going?" she asked, aware that it wouldn't be too long before the
lack of a toilet was going to be an issue.

"I don't know," Mulder said.  "You should try to rest."

It made sense, but Scully knew there was no way she was going to
get any sleep while she had the smell and the cold, hard floor to
contend with.  "Okay," she said anyway, and he wrapped a
comforting arm around her shoulders, and pulled her head against
himself.

"Look at us," he said, a frown resonating in his voice.  "Look what
they've reduced us to.  It's hard to believe we're really here.  We
worked so hard, Scully.  We fought when no one else would, we
risked so much - lost so much.  All those years in the X-Files, and
look at us now.  Look what they've done to us."  He adjusted the
blanket over them.  "Why should we have to endure this?"

"We're alive," she gently reminded him.  "And at this moment
we're together, and safe."

"We deserve better," he continued.  "We were the good guys."

"Logan doesn't seem to think so," Scully quipped against his chest.

"Logan's an ass."

Scully snaked an arm around Mulder's middle.  It felt so good to
hold him.  "I don't know," Scully said.  "I kinda feel sorry for the
guy."

"Oh, not you, too," Mulder said, exasperated.  "Renee's always
telling me...was always telling me...never mind."  He grew very
quiet, and for a long time they just sat there together, rocking
occasionally as the transport altered its course.  

Mulder smelled good, of soap and man, and Scully turned her face
into his sweater, tried to loose herself in him for a while.  When he
spoke again, the rumble of his voice startled her out of a light
doze.

"Damn it, Scully, it was all a waste.  All those years, and we
weren't able to stop them come coming, from destroying our
world."

"It wasn't a waste, Mulder."  She took his hand in hers, and then
raised it to her lips.  Scully placed a kiss in his palm.  "Don't think
about the past, Mulder."  Slowly, she lowered his hand to the side
of her belly.  "Don't hope for the future.  Just be here now," she
told him.  "Now is all there is anymore."

"I don't know how to do that," he admitted.  His voice quivered.

"It's hard," Scully said with a sigh.

His fingers made slow, careful circles over the firm mound of her
stomach; tentative, exploring caresses.  "Are you happy about
this?" he asked.

Happy wasn't the right word.  "I feel..."  She searched for a label
that Mulder might be able to relate to, something that might help
him bridge the gap faster than it had taken her.  "At first I didn't
believe it.  Then I was overwhelmed."

"And now?  Are you happy?  You don't seem happy about it."

"I want it, if that's what you're asking.  I had every intention of
leaving the City to keep it safe."

"And if you had it to do over again...that night...knowing now what
would happen?"

"I don't have it to do over again."

"But if you did?" he pressed.

Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "If I had it to over again,
Mulder?  I think there are a hundred million things I'd do
differently.  But that night isn't one of them."  

He was quiet while he considered her answer.  His hand continued
to worry over her belly.  

"Are you happy about it?" Scully asked.

"No."  He didn't even need to think about it.  

A lump swelled in the back of her throat, and tears pricked
Scully's eyes.  She did her best to swallow both of them down. 
His answer wasn't all together surprising, though the depth of the
wound it left in her chest was.  She had no idea how badly she had
needed to hear an affirmative answer from him.

His hand didn't stop moving over her, and she resisted the urge to
pull away.  After all, his answer had been truthful, and not
intentionally cruel.  She tried to remind herself that it was a lot for
him to get used to.

"But I think," he said, measuring his words carefully, "that I can be
happy for you."

"What does that mean?  That you're not happy for you, but you're
happy for me?  I didn't get a promotion, Mulder.  I'm going to
have a baby.  Our baby!"

The sharpness of her retort drove his hand from her body.  They
sat in silence side by side for a long while, and Scully feared she'd
done just what she didn't want to do; that she'd pushed to far too
fast.  It wasn't fair for her to be so angry with him, she knew.  He
was still feeling his way through the changes she'd had months to
absorb.  But it was hard to hear, hard to convince her heart that
which her head had so easily rationalized.

The transport continued its low rumble, with the occasional dip as
the only reminder that they were moving at all.  Dag's heavy
breathing broke into a quiet snore.  Logan had been quiet for a
while, and Scully assumed he slept, too.  She knew she should
probably check on the two of them, but the dark and the chill that
had settled over them kept her under the blanket, pressed against
Mulder's warm mass.  

*****

It was impossible to measure time in the transport.  But if it was
possible to measure the hour by meals, Scully's hunger drove her
to scavenge several times among the spilled and scattered supplies. 
She was leery of eating her fill, though, because no one was sure
just how much food had been packed, and how long their journey
would last.  Mulder made a toilet for her out of an empty wooden
crate lined with one of the plastic tarp tents.  The horrible smell
from the previous blood and vomit compounded, and still, through
her constant nausea Scully was able to eat.

Dag was in and out of consciousness, and his broken English made
it difficult to assess possible cognitive damage.  Scully cleaned the
cut on his head with cold water reserved for drinking, fairly sure
from the heat and swelling of the wound that infection had set in. 
Scully knew there were antibiotics in her pack - she'd put them
there herself - but the bottle was mixed in with her other
medication and vitamin stash.  Until his fever reached a dangerous
level, Scully didn't want to risk giving him the wrong prescription.

In those first few days out of the City Mulder didn't talk much
beyond casual concern for her comfort.  In the constant dark, his
expression was hidden from her, but Scully knew he was still sour
over their last confrontation.  And she wasn't sure she blamed him. 
But, to apologizing would drudging it all up again, so Scully
decided to let him have some time to work it out on his own.  After
seven years of knowing him, Scully had come up understand that
Mulder couldn't be told, he had to figure things out and understand
them on his own.  

It was strange to be on this side of things, though.  Normally, she
was three steps behind him, floundering to wrap her brain around
his altered version of reality, not vice versa.  Of course, the issue
this time wasn't aliens or mutants or a government conspiracy.  It
was understandable that Mulder might falter a little, being out of
his element.

As were they all.



The temperature inside the transport began to plummet.  The
bedrolls Mulder found helped because of the two inches of cushion
sewn into the bottom.  They were sleeping bag and mattress all in
one, and they put some distance between Scully's weary backside
and the hard, freezing metal flooring. The transport was not
designed for comfort, as the plastic benches and their harnesses
proved.  And as the days stretched into what could only be a week,
Scully began to feel their confinement in every joint, muscle and
soft tissue in her body.  There was no where to walk, no escape.

At one point she dreamed that the transport was stuck under the
collapsing mountain, and none of them realized it until their air
began to run out.  The bad dreams didn't stop there, though.  Her
horrible reoccurring nightmare managed to follow her.  

After she woke Mulder up with it, he zipped their bedrolls
together, and they spooned.  He wrapped his protective arm around
her, just below her breasts, and nudged his cold nose against the
base of her neck.

"Tell me about the dream," he said, his voice once again gravely
and hoarse as if his throat bothered him.  "It sounded bad."

"That's what Dag used to tell me.  But it's just a nightmare."  She
didn't want to bring up their unborn child again, and the fears she
had about keeping it safe.  It was pleasant laying with him again,
and she didn't want that to go away.

"Dag?" he asked, his interest piqued.  "He was with you when you
slept?"

Scully shrugged in his embrace.  "You told him to take care of me. 
He took that very seriously."

"I bet he did," Mulder said, amusement in his words.  "A beautiful
woman, distraught and alone, in need of comfort from a trusted
friend -"

"Mulder, stop that. Dag was good to me.  He gave me chocolate on
my birthday."

"Hm."  Mulder sounded less amused.  "Better than I ever did. 
Huh?"

She squeezed his arm.  "Not quite." 

And as if she'd planned it, the baby chose that moment to wake
and start kicking.  Mulder stiffened behind her, inhaled sharply,
and she knew he felt it, even through the layers of jumpsuit, under
shirt, long underwear and a sweater.  There was no way to avoid
the subject now.

"Active, huh?"  She reached down and gently slid his palm over to
where he was sure to feel the full impact of a little heel.  "I think
that trait was inherited from you."

Another kick, and Mulder gasped.  "My God..." he whispered, his
breath full of awe.

"I know," she said.  "I know.  Believe me, I know."

"Scully -"

His words were lost as the transport made a jerk to one side, and
then the other.  The engine revved and strained under the sudden
movement. And then, hard contact was made.  The transport
rammed something solid.  The deafening whine of giving steel
launched Scully's pulse into a race, and she held her breath for the
deluge of freezing water that was sure to follow.  She clutched at
Mulder's arm that held her tightly against him.  Were they
sinking?  How would they get out?  

If they were overcome by water, they needed to be able to
maneuver.  She had to get out of the bed roll.  Scully struggled
to crawl out against Mulder's unrelenting hold. 

He shushed her.  "Be still."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she shook from the adrenaline,
but no water washed over her.  The engine reversed, and Scully
realized that they hadn't crashed head on, they'd crashed up.  And
they were about to do it again.  Mulder's leg curled over her in a
protective posture just as the engine roared back to life and the
whole transport became an enormous battering ram.  This time,
though, there was less bending metal, and more give in what ever
they were hitting.  And light.  That was a revelation.  There was a
faint blue light.  Scully blinked, but it was no trick of the eye.  

The third time the transport broke through the thick layer of ice
that capped off the water, and clouds of snow dulled the white
light that filtered into the windows.  Scully looked back at Mulder,
and his eyes showed the same fatigue, the same questions that hers
held.  Logan was sitting up, assessing their new circumstances. 
Dag still laid curled on his side, eyes glued to the glowing
windows.  

"End of the line, mates," Logan announced.  He made it gingerly to
his feet, and then to the console next to the door.  He wore one of
Mulder's shirts, and the left side of his hair was sticking straight
up.  His head was still bothering him, but it didn't seem to slow
him down much.

"This can't be right," Mulder said under his breath.  Scully helped
him unzip the joined bedrolls.  "Logan where are we?"  He hurried
over to the console.

While the two of them argued back and forth, Scully took the
opportunity to do a better evaluation of Dag's condition.  She knelt
beside him, and offered him a little smile.  "You don't look like
you feel well."

His cheeks were hot and rosy from fever, his pale blue eyes red
and glassy.  A few days of pale beard growth made him seem
ragged and wraith-like.  Just above his left ear was a knot the size
of Scully's fist, and the gash on the underside was angry and
seeping.  She would have to lance it. 

"Does anything else hurt besides your head?"

Dag blinked up at her, processing her question.  "No."
                    
She nodded.  That was good, at least.  Scully struggled to stand,
and rubbed her stiff back as she rooted through the strewn supplies
and crates for her pack.  Now was not the time to be achy.  Mulder
and Logan continued to argue, but Scully paid them little attention. 
Her pack was beneath a heap of strewn food packets and coils of
heavy rope.

When she returned to Dag, she handed him a water packet and
four white tablets. "This will help with the fever and the pain," she
told him.  "When was the last time you ate something?"

Dag shook his head.

"You can't take those on an empty stomach, so eat this."  She held
out a silver packet marked BREAD.  The crackers inside would be
light on his stomach, but heavy enough to help him keep the
medication down.

"I don't give a rat's ass what you want, Logan!" Mulder blurted
out.  Scully looked up to see Mulder's fists clenched and his jaw
tense.  "I won't just leave her here."

"Damn it, man," Logan swore under his breath, and pulled Mulder
closer to him.  He didn't want Scully to hear what he had to say,
which made her ears strain all the more to catch every word.  

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing -" Logan began, but Mulder cut him off.

"He wants to leave you and Dag here while we go ahead to the
rendez-vous point."

"We're no where near it," Logan began, quickly adding in the facts
before Scully had a chance to retort.  "It could be weeks and weeks
of trekking through terrain that would be considered treacherous
under the best of circumstances.  Dag's in no shape to make the
trip, and you," he said, almost apologetically.  A strange sentiment
coming from Logan.  And unsettling, considering that at least on
Dag's behalf, he was right.

"Dag's going to need some time before he'll have the strength to
do any lengthy walking," she admitted.  

"How long?" Mulder asked.

"We're not going to be out of a Sunday stroll," Logan snapped out,
his old personality shining through.  "It's going to be climbing and
hiking and camping on snow and ice and rock.  Even experienced
survivalists would have trouble -"

"Can you get him ready to go the day after tomorrow?" Mulder
asked, his eyes intense.  "Logan is right to want to get to a
settlement as soon as possible.  The longer we stay in one place the
more likely we'll succumb to the cold."

Logan shook his head, disgusted, as he opened the console by the
door and began cranking the two door panels apart.  

Mulder reached out to stop him.  "What the hell are you doing?"

"We can't stay in this tin ship.  Once the engine dies it's going to
sink like a brick, and I don't intend to be aboard when it does."

"We can't go out into the storm," Mulder told him.

"We're half a kilometer from the shore.  I'm going to scout a place
to set up camp.  You stay here and help the little woman," he said
with a snarl.  He turned back to the crank, and the seal on the door
broke with a loud pop.

Snow blew in on frigid air, and Scully's sharp inhale reminded her
of how cold cold could be.  In the months she'd been locked away
in the City, she'd forgotten the pain of true cold, and how it could
sap away every last ounce of energy.  

*****
End of chapter 8
*****
Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 9
*****

"Aliens 5,000,000,000; Humans 0.  But Mulder tells me this is
only half time, and it's still anybody's game."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, November 7, 2000





Somewhere in the Alps
mid-April 2000



Scully's world went from a comfort-controlled environment to a
blizzard.  They were still in the mountains, but it was impossible to
see them for all the snow.  She couldn't even see the transport
poking up from the center of an ice field, and it was less than three
hundred yards away.  The snow blew all around her, the wind so
strong that it was difficult to stay upright.  Even with her heavy
stomach she was still light enough to need Mulder and Dag to keep
her grounded.  The snow shoes they found in the supplies looked
like army surplus: short and utilitarian.  They took a little getting
used to.

The shelter Logan and Mulder built out of frozen evergreen
branches woven together was big enough for their over-stuffed
packs, and the four of them to sleep around a small central fire fed 
with boards from the wood crates from the transport.  There was a
small hole in the roof for the smoke to escape, capped off by an
elaborate series of layered twigs.  The floor was lined with the
remains of the water-proof tents from their provisions, and though
the ground below was mostly ice, the small space was warm
enough to take off their parkas if not the many other layers of
clothing.  The air in their tiny sanctuary was sweet with the smell
of warming vegetation and wood smoke, and the conservative
dinner of canned fish and oranges.  Scully craved cheese, but she
kept it to herself.

That first night out Scully didn't sleep, and neither could her little
passenger.  It moved and kicked for hours, just as restless as its
larger counterpart.  Now, though, Scully didn't have the luxury of
dimmed halls to wander.  But at least she had Mulder where she
could see him, safe and relatively healthy for once.  For this, she
was immeasurably grateful.

Mulder slept at her head, his hand tucked under his cheek for a
pillow.  She missed him at her side.  She missed him in her bed. 
When she looked up at his deep pink lower lip she thought of all
the times she'd run her tongue over it, of the way it felt between
her teeth.  Of the way he groaned when she sucked on it.  

With a groan of her own Scully rolled on to her back and tried to
get Mulder's sensual mouth out of her head.  Never mind that it
had been months since they'd been intimate.  Or that she had a
hormone cocktail buzzing through her veins.  She patted the right
side of her belly where little feet were trying to push their way out.

Uncomfortable on her back, Scully rolled to sitting in her bedroll. 
The fire dwindled, and she placed another broken board across the
flame.  It popped a couple of times before settling into a calm
flicker.  The heat was luxurious on her face, on the imperceptible
hairs on the backs of her hands.  

She tried to remember another time in her life when she felt the
moment so acutely, when every breath, every heart beat was a
universe of sensations and emotions.  Every memory that filtered
to the surface revolved around Mulder: looking down to see his
finger grazing between her breasts, righting her wayward necklace
just a little to long; the two of them wet and panting, her heart
pounding in her chest, standing in a forest unable to speak the fear
and excitement and disbelief and devotion that she was certain
they both felt.  There were times when their partnership was new,
when she first became aware that he stood just a little too close
when he talked to her and looked a little too deeply into her eyes,
and she found herself taking one step closer and holding his gaze
until she was dizzy with the adrenaline he was able to conjure in
her.  Even back then.

Even now.  Her throat tickled with want of him, her body buzzed,
her head was caught in a whirl of sharp clarity, everything feeling
more real, more solid than ever before.  And she wanted to share
that with Mulder.  With her husband.

His lashes fluttered a little as some hidden dream unfolded before
his closed eyes.  The fire cast a gold sheen on his face.  He looked
older. His hair was still far too long, the beard he shaved a few
days ago had already begun to take root again.  Fine lines were
beginning to show around his eyes, his mouth.  His cheeks were
raw and chapped from previous exposure to the cold, and his lips
were cracked in places.  Scully had ointment in her bag, and made
a mental note to give him some in the morning.

Tomorrow she would also take a look at his other various wounds
that she hadn't had a chance to address yet.  There was so much
healing that needed to take place, and there wasn't time to spare
for it.  Because as much as she was against forcing Dag forward in
his precarious condition, she knew there was no alternative.  The
had to get to the rendez-vous point, if for no other reason than food
and shelter.  Unless...

Scully reached down and tugged on the foot of Logan's bedroll. 
"Hey."

He jerked awake.  "What?"  His hand automatically went to the
knife he kept by his pillow.  "What is it?"

"This rendez-vous point," Scully said.  "Is it the closest settlement
to us?"

"What?" he asked, relaxing his guard, and rubbing an eye with the
back of his hand.

"Mulder used to tell me about pocket colonies.  Are there any that
are closer to where we are now than the rendez-vous point?"  At
the sound of his name Mulder propped himself up on one elbow
and yawned.

Logan blinked, answered with his own yawned, and then laid back
down.  "You woke me up to play question and answer?"

"Just tell me, Logan!" she snapped.

With one hand over his eyes, Logan scratched the side of his neck. 
"I don't know.  Off the top of my head.  Dag worked more closely
with the smaller groups.  But it doesn't matter.  We need to get to
the rendez-vous point.  They need that special little something only
you can bring to the party."  Under the shade of his arm his eyes
glared at her middle.

Instantly, she shot a protective hand over her stomach.

"If that's the case," Mulder asked, his voice sharp and angry, "then
why were you so eager to leave her behind?"

"Bloody hell!"  Logan sat up again.  "I already told you.  We'll
make it in a quarter of the time with out them, and get one of the
Hawks to come back and get them.  I don't know what your
problem is, you weren't so reluctant to leave her behind on your
little jaunt to Siberia."

Mulder sat up, his body tense.  "You're just worried about your
own skin," Mulder accused. 

"I'm worried about all of our survival, yes!" Logan yelled.  

"You're a coward!"

"Like hell I am!"  Logan kicked back his bed roll, and Mulder did
the same.

"No," Scully said, as what Logan had revealed sank in further.  The
tears that sprang to her eyes were of frustration and anger, but she
refused to let them fall.  "I won't!  I won't let them kill my baby!"

Logan and Mulder both froze, each poised on either side of the
fire, looking as if them meant to leap over it to pummel the other. 
Scully's outburst had successfully stopped them in their tracks. 
Dag, too, sat up, alarm written all over his face.  

"Kill it?"  Logan laughed his surprise and glared at her with a snarl
of a grin.  "So, I wasn't so crazy to think that.  Renee said I was off
my gourd."

"I'm not going to the rendez-vous point," Scully insisted, finding
strength in her refusal.  "I won't jeopardize my baby anymore than
I have to."

"Hey, now" Logan said, hands out-stretched.  "Let's not be hasty. 
We need to meet up with the others from the City -"

Scully ignored him.  "Dag, were there any pocket communities in
this area?  Someplace that might be able to sustain a couple more
people?"

He looked doubtful.  "Not very close," he said after a moment's
thought. 

"Where is the closest?"

"Rorschach."

"Rorschach?" Mulder repeated with a snort.  "Like the test. 
Wasn't that one of the designated civilian depositories?"  

Dag nodded.  "I talk to them yesterday.  They take twelve more
refugees from Italy.  Room for hundred more."

"Yeah," Mulder said.  "I remember that depot.  The first wave of
civilian transports never made it out of Western Asia, so there
were vacancies.  It's closer than the rendez-vous point.  Way
closer."  He got lost in his own thoughts, his shoulders relaxed
their attack tension.

"Oh, no you don't," Logan said, raising his voice.  "We're going to
the rendez-vous point."

"Like hell I am," Scully said.

"They don't want to hurt your baby," Logan insisted, shaking his
head.  "I thought that, too, but that night you...came to see me..." 
His eyes flickered to Mulder before he continued.  "Renee wanted
to know what I'd said to upset you.  She said they only needed the
- what the hell is it called? - the placennta.  That all the tissue they
needed would be in the afterbirth."  He made a sour face, and
shook his head.  "She genuinely cared about you...one of her many
flaws -"

"Shut the hell up, Logan!" Mulder said, threateningly.

"You're lying," Scully bit out. 

"We have to get to the rendez-vous -"

"NO!"  She wouldn't go there.  Ever.  Logan was a liar, and as far
as Scully was concerned, the biggest threat left to her baby.  The
civilian depository seemed the most logical alternative, and if it
was closer, the best decision for Dag, as well.

Mulder seemed to read her mind.  "I'm not sure where it is exactly,
but between Dag and I, I think we can get us there."

"You damn Americans!  I told her not to put her faith in you, but
Renee wouldn't listen.  I told her Americans are self-serving and
not to be trusted, and I was right!  You're going to kill us all!" 
Logan snatched up his parka, stuffed his feet into his boots, and
pushed his way out of the shelter.  The air the whirled in was
bitingly cold.  He wouldn't be out there long.  

"You okay?" Mulder asked, his tone gentle once again, and his
voice soft.  He knelt beside her, lifting her chin to see into her
eyes.

Scully looked up to see the concern in his face, on his brow. 
"Fine."

He jerked his head toward her stomach, and Scully realized that
she was clutching it, as if her hands were the only thing keeping it
intact.  She forced herself to relax a little, and let out a large sigh. 
Stress wouldn't help her already elevated pre-natal blood pressure. 
She needed to calm down before she got another nosebleed and
truly freaked Mulder out.

"Come here," she told Mulder, and unzipped her bedroll for them
both to sit on, and then pulled her pack in to her lap.  At the very
bottom, next to her journal, she found a fat jar of medicated
ointment, and not far from that was the small box of bandages she
already used on Dag, who laid back down now that the show was
over, and pulled the covers up over his head.

"Give me your feet," She requested, once Mulder was sitting cross-
legged beside her. 

He gave her a lopsided, sheepish grin.  "Uh, Scully, I don't think
you want to do that."

"If we're going to be on our feet all day, every day, for an
indefinite period of time, I want to fix yours."

"You'll change your mind once you get a good whiff of them." 

"I'm a pathologist, Mulder.  You're going to have to do worse
than..."  Mulder whipped one of his socks off, and Scully nearly
gagged.  She'd forgotten that they'd all spent several days at least
without a shower or a change of clothes.  "Damn."

"You were saying?"

"Smells effect me more than they used to.  Oh, God, Mulder,
aren't you in pain?"  The bottoms of his feet were all old blisters
on top of blisters and callouses, and his toes had sores that looked -
and smelled -like they'd been infected for a while.  She turned
her head, took a deep breath.  "Hand me the water," she
commanded, pointing to the melted snow in their one and only
cooking pot.

"Scully, really, you don't have to -"

"Don't argue with me.  You're going to be lame if I don't fix you
up, and there's no way I'm carrying you across the Alps."

A small smirk drew the corners of his mouth up, as he reached for
the requested pot.  "You won't carry me across the Alps, Scully?" 
He placed the water between her and the fire without spilling a
drop.  "Not even if I was lame?"

She arched a brow at him, and for a moment the energy between
them felt almost familiar.  A smile slowly crept uninvited across
her lips, and she bowed her head; a throw-back to a time when she
had to hide from him how much he tugged at her heart. 

She spent a while cleaning and reopening poorly healing wounds
and draining the infection until both his feet looked like they might
stand half a chance.  Then she began to liberally apply a medicated
ointment. 

Mulder leaned against his pack as she worked on him, his hands
clasped casually across his stomach, a calm smile in his eyes.  And
if truth be told, Scully was enjoying pampering her husband nearly
as much as he was receiving it.  She massaged the medicine over
every curve and angle up to his ankle.  Running her fingers over
his skin, enjoying the contact long after she worked the ointment
into his skin.  She'd never really touched Mulder's feet before,
never noticed how elegant they were; a match set to go with his
long, graceful hands.  

He watched her intently, his expression turning thoughtful,
introspective.  Until her thumb rounded his purple and green ankle
and he flinched.  

"How did you get that?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he tried to assure her.  "It's just a bruise.  It was
never swollen."

"That's not what I asked." 

"I know," he said quietly.  

Scully didn't look up.  If he didn't want to tell her about it, then
she wouldn't force it.  There were times while he was gone that
she'd rather not relive for him, too. 

She slid her fingers between his toes and flexed them forward to
stretch out the ball of his foot.  His feet held an incredible amount
of tension.  Something else that she never knew about him.

His feet cooled as she worked with them, so she pulled the bed roll
cover over her lap, hands, and patient, and then tossed another
broken board on to the flames.  

"I'm not going to the rendez-vous point," she said, just to be clear,
as she poked the fire back to a lively blaze  Mulder gave a small
nod, and she added: "I'm not going to have our baby there."

"You don't believe him."  Not a question, just an observation.

"I don't trust his motives.  He may be telling the truth as he knows
it.  He may not.  It doesn't matter, really.  Logan's reason for being
with the resistance isn't the same as ours, or same as he professes. 
I won't risk our child, or us, because of him."

"Do you really think Renee wanted to..that she was capable..." 
Mulder wouldn't say the word; but then, he didn't have to.  The
both knew what they were talking about.

"I believed it.  I knew it.  It filled my nightmares."

"I can't resolve that with what I knew of her."  His gaze lowered to
Scully's stomach.  He cleared his throat, regrouped.  "When...when
are you going to...have it?"  

She couldn't tell if he was scared or upset.  "October.  There's
some time.  I only just started showing a couple of weeks ago,
believe it or not.  This one is a fast grower."  And it didn't help that
she was small, ands still on the thin side.

It was probably more information than he wanted because he sat
quietly while Scully's thumb traced up a vein that wrapped across
the front of his ankle and disappeared into his calf.  She pushed his
jumpsuit leg up, and slipped her fingers under the cuff of his long
underwear.  He shivered as her fingers rotated around to graze the
tight underside of his bunched muscles there.  It was just his leg,
but Scully found herself breathing a little faster, distracted from
earlier, unpleasant thoughts.

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost a whisper.  

She wanted to touch him so badly, and craved his touch on her
body, in her body.  Her mouth went dry, her nipples grew hard and
painful.  She looked into his hazel eyes, and in the raw honesty of
the moment unwanted tears swelled against her lower lashes. 
There were no words to make him understand the depth of her lust
and love and gratitude and heartbreak.  She felt so needy, and
hated herself for it. 

"Come here," he said with an outstretched hand, his face earnest
and caring.

Scully crawled into his embrace, settled against his chest and
between his legs, his arms roped around her under the bedroll she
brought with her.  He was warmed from the cover and the fire, and
she rested her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt.  With
gentle care Mulder smoothed the hair back from her face.  

"Did you get enough to eat?" he asked, and then pressed a kiss to
the top of her head.

She nodded yes, even though her stomach rumbled again.  

He stroked her back.  "As soon as Dag is ready we'll head to the
civilian depository.  But, I honestly don't know what kind if
facilities we'll find there.  It could be primitive."

"Will we have our own room?  Our own bed?"

His hands stopped, and when she looked up he dipped his head
until his lips grazed hers.  Slow and gentle.  One kiss, and then
two, and then she opened her mouth the smallest bit and invited
him in.  His tongue greeted hers experimentally, almost shyly. 
There would be no repeat of the kiss that snowballed out of control
on the transport.  This was just a reassurance, a moment of love
exchanged.  Scully's need tingled through her, and opened an ache
deep between her thighs.  But she knew this night would not
quench that particular thirst.  And so, she reluctantly broke their
kiss, and returned to the comfort of his chest.

The sat quietly for a while, curled together.  He dozed lightly in
the dying flicker of the fire, while she silently smoldered.  When
Logan emerged once again he was coated with ice and snow.  His
face was expressionless, his eyes avoiding.  Scully didn't trust him. 
There was something about him, about his lack of mourning for
Renee that didn't seem natural.  

And then Scully realized her hypocrisy. She had been afraid of
Renee and Bohr and their vaccine, but they were never the bad
guys.  Renee wasn't some evil scientist who ran around murdering
babies.  She was a decent woman who was beautiful and
intelligent, and who seemed to genuinely care even when Scully
pushed her away.  Renee was the one who took care of her when
Mulder was gone.  

*You're pregnant, Dana.  You're going to have a baby.*

"Oh, my God."  She jerked upright as Renee's words echoed inside
her head: *You're going to have a baby.*   Not "you're going to
give birth to the vaccine that will wipe out the Colonists in one
fowl swoop," but *you're going to have a baby.*  

*You're going to have a baby.*

She'd said it, but Scully hadn't listened.  Logan was telling the
truth.

"Oh, my God!"  Tears shot straight down her face.  Scully pulled
away from Mulder and his repeated questions of concern.  How
could she tell him how horrible she was?   How completely out of
control she'd been?  And still was, it seemed.  He reached out to
pull her back, but she crawled away, her knees slipping on the tarp
floor.

"Don't touch me."

"OK," Mulder said, to placate her.  "I won't touch you, just tell me
what's going on."

The tears were hot streaks on her face, and Scully wiped them
away with the back of her hand, knowing full well that they were
almost immediately replaced.  "Logan was right.  I remember what
she said now."

"What did she say?"

It didn't matter.  Renee was gone.  There was no way to apologize,
no way to rectify what she'd said and done. 

"Logan was right," she repeated.  We need to go to the rendez-vous
point.  If they're going to harvest DNA from the placenta, there
will be only a small time window that the genetic material will be
viable enough to replicate itself.  They'll need to be at the birth."

Mulder shook his head.  "Wait, Scully, let's think about this."

"No!  She's finally thinking straight!" Logan insisted.  "We can't
be wandering around these mountains -"

"I said wait!"  Mulder's voice boomed in their tiny space.  Dag sat
up, blinking even in the dimming fire light.

"The civilian depository is much closer.  Much.  And we've had
contact with them so we know they have communication
capabilities."

Logan shook his head, frustrated and disgusted, but Mulder
persevered.  

"We go to the depot and call in.  If they want Scully, they'll come
and get her.  It makes sense."

It also gave Scully time to change her mind again, or at least take
Mulder's advice and think things through.  When had she become
so impulsive, lead by her emotions like a rope around her waist? 
She had to fight it.  Every decision she'd made in that state had
been both damning and damaging.  Somehow, Scully needed to
regain control of herself.  She needed to be strong, not just for
Mulder and their unborn child, but for herself.

"The depot will be safer and faster," Mulder continued.  "The
sooner we're out of the weather, the better.  And if we can get
there before our supplies run out, so much the better."

To Scully's surprise Logan looked like he might actually consider
it.  "Where is this depot supposed to be?" he demanded.

"North Switzerland.  Bodensee.  Lake Constance," Dag told him. 

Logan grunted.  It was as close as they were going to get to
agreement from him.  

*****
End of chapter 9
*****
Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 10
*****

"We're fighting for some kind of normalcy and trying not to
remember what that means, exactly, so we won't lament how short
we fall."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, November 30, 2000





Somewhere in the Alps
early May 2000


Scully shuffled through the trampled snow, wiggling her toes in
her boots and snow shoes to keep the blood circulating.  Mulder
was in front of her leading their pack train, making slow work of
the miles and miles of terrain.   Dag marched directly behind her,
and his head acted like a tent post to the plastic tarp they kept over
them as they walked; Mulder holding down the front two corners
and Logan the back.  It was impossible to fight the driving wind
and snow without the make-shift shield.  The only drawbacks were
for the men as they had to walk hunched over, which was hard on
their backs.  Well, that, and the limited view they all shared.  But
then, visibility was down to nearly nothing, so Scully didn't feel
she was missing too much.

It was impossible for her to understand where they were, but
Logan insisted they were right on target.  With their average pace
at a little over three miles a day, it was guestimated that they
would arrive in the depot located in the Swiss village of Rorschach
in a little less than three weeks.  Only thirteen days to go.

Their bodies didn't generate as much heat under the tarp as Scully
had expected.  Every fourth or fifth step a wind would whip under
and steal away what little warmth they created.  Scully walked
with her arms crossed tightly, constantly drumming her fingers to
keep frostbite at bay.  She could no longer zip up her jumpsuit past
her growing belly, and her breasts were tender all the time now. 
So she wore layer upon layer of sweaters and shirt, practically her
entire wardrobe at one time.

And to keep her mind active she worked through what little she
remembered of her OB/GYN rotation in med school.  It had been
her least favorite, and at the time she had been young and
idealistic, and swore she would never have kids, and the world was
over populated, and when would she find the time to fall in love,
anyway?  It was like a different lifetime; she had been a different
person in a very different world.

Now she was an exhausted person, all the time, in a hostile world. 
No matter how much sleep she got, or how soundly she slept,
every morning Scully woke exhausted, and got progressively more
weary as the hours crept by.  She tried not to think about it, tried to
go back to her mantra that she survived by when she thought she
would never see Mulder again.  Just breathe.  

It wasn't an insurmountable task put to her, it was just walking,
and on fairly even, packed snow.  She could do this.  She was
strong.  Don't think about the cramps in the back, don't wish for a
warm, soft bed.  Just breathe.

Scully stumbled, braced herself against Mulder's pack, and Dag
grabbed her from behind to steady her.  

"Scully?" Mulder asked, not turning around.  It was difficult to
maneuver under the tarp, and letting go of its corners to look at her
would let the storm in.

"I'm okay," she said, more by rote than anything else.  But she
added: "Just need to pick up my feet," to reassure him.

"Let's stop for a break."  It wasn't a suggestion, because Mulder
turned the group and began making for the line of trees beside the
frozen lake.  Logan made vocal argument, but didn't offer any real
resistance.

"Mulder, I'm fine.  We can continue," Scully told him, irritated. 
He'd been doing that a lot in the past week; over filling his own
pack to lessen her load, refusing to allow her to help construct the
shelters at night, stopping for breaks when her pace slowed just the
smallest bit.  

"We're stopping."

"We need to keep moving if for no other reason than to keep
warm.  Besides, I may need a break later and I'd rather get as far
as possible while I still can."

Mulder faltered as he considered her argument.  "You'll tell me
when you need to stop?"

"I'll tell you," she agreed.

The valley they were making their way through was wide, and the
trees on the distant slope were dwarfed under towering, jagged
mountains whose tops disappeared into the clouds long before they
peaked.  They were like a world cut off, the storm being a great
eraser of reality.    

When they did finally stop to drink and rest their legs and backs,
they sat in a circle, facing each other to share in the warmth of
their breaths under the tarp.  Scully quickly examined Dag,
checking his pulse and for fever.  She was simply too exhausted to
do much else.  The cold sucked every last ounce of energy out of
her.  Her legs felt limp and weak.  If only she could close her eyes
and nap -

"Scully!"  Mulder caught her just as she started to slide off her
pack.  He held a firm grip on her arm.  "Hey.  You OK?"

She nodded.  "How many more hours of daylight?"  Which
translated to how much more walking?

Logan answered.  "Five."

Which meant four more hours of trudging through the snow.  And
five more hours before the shelter would be built, and the fire
started so she could crawl in her bedroll and sleep, sleep, sleep...

"We're stopping for today."  Mulder's statement startled Scully's
eyes open again.

"Oh, for Christ - we're never going to get there at this rate," Logan
snapped, exasperated.  "She's going to pop that kid under a tree -"

"We're stopping," Mulder said a little louder, a little sharper.  He
was beginning to loose his patients with Logan's continuous
antagonism.

The Australian scowled, but didn't say anything further.

"Mulder," Scully said quietly, "four more hours.  I can do that."

"You're falling asleep sitting up, Scully."

"Then I won't sit.  We're running out of supplies, we need to keep
moving."

He leaned closer to her, looking for the illusion of privacy. 
"Scully," he whispered," we can't push you too hard."

"I'm strong -"

"I believe that.  I also see how much this is costing you."

"Mulder, I'm fine."

"Good.  I want you to stay that way."  He turned to Dag.  "Let's
start collecting branches."  The large man nodded and unsheathed
his blue-black blade.  He handed it to Mulder, but his hand
lingered on the hilt.  Scully wondered if Dag was having second
thoughts about stopping for the day.  If he did he never made
mention of them.

While Scully shivered under the tarp, lamenting her own
uselessness, while Logan began trampling down a base for their
camp.  The guys had hut building down to a science, and after their
first day of trekking, it was made clear that her help was not
required.  As Mulder repeatedly pointed out, she didn't have the
upper body strength to cut the branches or the height needed to
bind the woven limbs at the top.  And, of course, the unvoiced
testosterone prevented the pregnant lady from doing any kind of
manual "men's" work.  Never mind that she had thirty pounds
strapped to her back for the better part of the day, and the last time
she checked no one was carrying her through the valley.  Men
were such pigs.  And she reminded herself that for the next hour
and a half as they built the shelter and fire for her.

*****

Scully woke to a sound that she wasn't quite sure she heard.  Her
heart hammered in her chest, and she gasped for air to settle it so
she could listen.  Snow had already insulated their shelter, so the
blizzard outside was muffled.  The fire was little more than embers
that cast a reddish glow in their small space.  All three men were
still sound asleep, not having heard whatever it was she heard, if
she heard anything at all.  She couldn't quite remember the sound,
so she was beginning to think she dreamed it.

With a minor struggle, Scully rolled to sitting and threw some of
the dried twigs and leaves on to the fire, hoping to pick up some
flames again.  Without their central blaze the temperature inside
the hut dropped quickly.  She stirred the ash with a stick and the
new kindling caught fire.  

There was a sharp, weighty crack, like a tree snapping in half, and
this time Scully knew she heard it because Logan did as well.  His
eyes flew open, and the two of them held their breaths, listening. 
The sound wasn't terribly close, but it carried the weight of size. 
Another snapping sound, and then another, coming faster and
faster. 

"What is it?"

Logan shook his head, raised a hand to silence her.  Whatever was
making the sound had him alarmed.  It was far too large to be an
animal of some sort, so the next logical assumption was...

"Colonists?" Scully whispered, terrified.

"Shh!"  

Scully reached over and touched Mulder's head.  He looked up at
her, and his eyes went wide when he heard the sounds, too.

"What is it?"  Mulder sat up.

"It's the ice," Logan explained at last.  "It's getting ready to
collapse."

"Avalanche?" Scully said on an exhale.  She wasn't sure if she was
relieved or not.  

"I can't hear where it's coming from, behind us or in front."  Logan
pulled out his boots.  "There's too much distortion."

"Get dressed," Mulder said, tossing Scully her parka.

"No."  Logan said.  "We're better off staying put.   Just want to see
if our path is going to be cut off."

Another huge crack, this time followed by a series of crashes.  Dag
sat up, alarm blaring on his round face.

"What if it's coming down right on top of us?" Mulder demanded.

"You can't outrun an avalanche, mate.  Once that snow and ice get
moving they're going to take out anything in their path.  Besides,
where are you going to run to?  It's pitch black out there.  You
could run right into it."

"Then why are you going out?" Scully wanted to know.

"To listen," Logan answered.  "I want to know if we're going to be
cut off."  He slipped into his coat, and pushed his way out into the
cold night.

The banging and crashes continued.  And Scully began to feel
nauseated.  The mixture of exhaustion, an empty stomach and
adrenaline left her dizzy and sick.  The noises began to run
together in a loud orchestral of noise.  Scully could feel each
crack, each explosion as trees were stripped from the sides of the
mountains.  The ground began to shake.

Scully crawled between Mulder's legs, into his waiting arms.  

It was like the City all over again, with the clamor and the shaking,
the sheer panic.  The mountains were screaming with the voices of
a hundred thousand splintering trees and the roar of a faceless,
remorseless enemy that killed not because it hated, not because it
was threatened, but because it simply existed.  There was no
protection from an enemy like that, and the trees had no where to
run.

Mulder held her close, and she felt his throat bob against her cheek
as he swallowed.  He was frightened, too.  

The roar became deafening, and Scully pressed her palms to her
ears.  Over their heads the hut began an unsteady jiggle, and hot
coals from the fire began bouncing out of the metal bowl that
served as their barbeque pit, melting black holes into the floor
lining.  

Dag crawled over beside them, his right shoulder butting up
against Mulder's back.  It was horrible to be so useless in
determining their own destiny, to wait to see if they would be
buried under a million tons of snow.

Then, all at once, everything was still and silent.  Scully continued
to shake.  Mulder held her even tighter, if it were possible, and
pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  He sighed, as they all did,
with a grateful relief.  Wind whipped into their shelter through the
branches that shook loose from their weave, and snow, light and
dry, filtered through the boughs.  

"It was behind us," Logan announced as he pushed back inside. 
"Close.  But it's hard to tell just how close right now."  He glanced
up at the leaking roof with annoyance.  "We should hike out at first
light.  If this whole valley is unstable, we don't want to be around
for the encore." 

Scully looked down, and instantly a lump swelled at the back of
her throat.  At some point during the avalanche Mulder's hand had
instinctively gone to her stomach, and when he held her, he had
held them both.

*****

They hiked until Scully couldn't walk any farther the next few
days, and Logan used the remaining daylight hours attempting to
trap something edible - without success.  It seemed as her
pregnancy progressed, Scully succumbed faster and faster to an
ever-present, pervasive fatigue.  And the food that was rationed out
between the four of them wasn't enough to keep her stomach from
rumbling more than two hours in a row.  Not that it really
mattered.  One they ate Scully was soon asleep, dreaming of home
and sex, and people chasing her with knives.

Even as she declined, Dag seemed to be doing better and better. 
He began to build up some of the muscles in his thighs and calves
that he lost on their first foray into the Alps all those months ago,
and the gash on the side of his head was healing cleanly.  It was
still tender, almost two weeks later, but that was understandable. 
Logan's head wound had seemed fairly superficial from the outset,
and Scully doubted it would even leave a scar.

So, with no one to doctor her, Scully began cataloguing the
medical changes happening within her own body.  Her belly button
was still an inny, but it felt like it might pop at any moment.  Her
breasts were easily a C cup for the first time in her life, and she
gave up on trying to fit them into her only surviving bra.  There
was back pain now, too, from the weight and the change in her
body center.  She had a make-shift belt Mulder tied on every
morning; the arms of his under shirt wrapped around her waist and
down under her belly to hold it a little higher.  It was so sweet of
him to try to help that she didn't have the heart to tell him it didn't
really work.

The cold was hard to deal with - not that she allowed herself to
complain.  Her toes seemed always on the verge of losing
sensation, and the last thing Scully wanted to deal with was a case
of frost bite.  But even worse was the lack of hygiene.  She tried to
wash various parts with a cloth wetted with melted snow, but with
the lack of privacy, warmth, soap, and fresh clothes getting truly
clean wasn't an option. 

She wore her greasy hair back in a rubber band that had held a
bundle of tools together.  Her hair had grown so much since
September when she'd last had it cut.  So had Mulder's.  

She reached out and touched a few of his dark strands.  He looked
up from his schematic with a questioning glance.

"I just realized your beard is a little lighter than the rest of your
hair," she said quietly.  Despite her fatigue, her hunger and the
cold, and the destruction of civilization, Scully felt an
overwhelming sense of calm looking into Mulder's tender face.  

He offered her a smile.  "I'm trying to making a fashion
statement."

Scully nodded, and said with a sigh: "You always did."

"Is that a crack about my ties?" he asked playfully.

"Maybe the one with the pigs dancing the Hulla."

"You loved that tie!"

"Love is a very strong word, Mulder,"

"Yes," he agreed, growing somber.  "Yes, it is."  He looked back at
the plastic map in his hands.

"Mulder?  What is it?"  

"You're just so beautiful."

*****

Days later, when Mulder stopped in his tracks, Scully bumped into
his pack, and was nearly knocked over by a lumbering Dag..  

"I think I see it," Mulder said, excited and tired all at once.  

With the tarp still acting as a blizzard shield, Scully's view was
limited to Mulder's pack and trampled snow.  "How far?" she
asked.

"Can't be more than half a mile, or I wouldn't see it.  But it's
mostly down hill from here."

"Then let's get a move on," Logan called up from the rear.  

As they got closer, Scully ventured peeks.  The settlement was no
more than a couple of dozen structures, set into the side of snow-
covered, rocky mountain.  There were skeletal trees peppering the
village, but the thing that caught her eye was the well-manicured
paths between each of the building, and the stacks of thick, white
smoke that rose from tall chimneys.  

It wasn't the Hidden City, but this depot promised warmth and
sustenance.

They arrived at the first house on the outskirts of the settlement
without seeing a single person.  Mulder knocked on the door, and
the rest of them stood, shivering, waiting with Christmas-like
anticipation.  

Scully was shocked when Frohike answered the door.

"Slap me, spank me, call me Shirley!"  The gnomish man broke
into a Cheshire grin and threw himself at Mulder.  You're alive! 
We thought - well, never mind what we though.  Agent Scully!" 
He pushed Mulder aside and leapt at her.  Scully braced herself for
impact, but he only grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her inside.

"You must be freezing," he began to babble.  "We've got a fire. 
Sit, sit by the fire.  I'll get more wood.  And blankets.  And food. 
Are you hungry?  You must be famished.  Here, take off that coat,
and sit by the fire.  Let me take your pack.  You look wiped out. 
We've got stew, there's always stew.  And a potato thing.  You
like potatoes, don't you?"

The rest of the group filed in, and the door was shut against the
storm.  A fan of snow that had drifted in with them began to melt
on the polished wood floor.  Dag and Logan dropped their packs
where they stood, sizing up the small cabin.  It was made from
rough-hewn logs and furnished by...IKEA was Scully's best guess. 
Obviously the house had been there a couple of hundred years
before the Resistance commandeered it.  Most everything was
utilitarian.  No excess decoration.  The pots and pans hung in the
kitchen for lack of cabinet space, the huge wooden beam that
stretched across the room held bundles of drying kindling, bound
meat, and laundry.  There were a small couch, two cushioned
chairs in addition to the rocker that Frohike had pushed her into,
and two doors set along the back wall that looked promising.

"Bathroom?" Scully asked.

Frohike pointed.  "All yours.  Pump the toilet a couple of times to
break up the ice." 

She didn't know what he meant, and she was a little scared to ask. 
But what really mattered was she had indoor plumbing again! 
Scully stood and shed her hat, mittens, scarf and parka, and
Frohike sucked in a gasp.

His eyes were as wide as saucers, as he stared at her stomach. 
"It's...it's true?  Far out!"

"What are you talking about?" Mulder asked the little man, making
him self at home on the couch.  Scully left them for the allure of
modern amenities.

Of course, modern was a loose term.  She was reminded that
modern in Northern Switzerland was completely different from
modern in DC.  The toilet was once of the old-fashioned models
with the tank mounted about six feet up the wall, with a long chain
that hung down the side.  The tub was just big enough to sit cross-
legged in, and had a high back.  There was a wash basin, but only
one valve, and Scully was fairly sure she wasn't going to get hot
water out of it.  

Never in her life had she been so happy to see a bathroom.

Mounted above the sink was a small, smoky mirror, and once she
did was she needed to do and was washing up Scully gazed at
herself for a moment or two.  The illumination in the room came
from an oil lamp hanging beside the tub, and in that light her hair
looked dull, even brown and dirty, her eyes seemed a pale grey,
her skin seemed impossibly white.  She didn't remember the
hollows of her cheeks and under her eyes being so pronounced. 
There was no glow of pregnancy that people talk about.  No
sparkle.  In truth, she looked half dead.  How could Mulder
possibly have looked at her and called her beautiful?  What did he
see?

A knock broke her reverie.  "Hey, you OK in there?"  

Scully opened the door to see her husband smiling down at her. 
Then she followed his line of sight to an older woman standing by
the door.  Scully felt faint for the first time in months.

"Easy now," Mulder said as he reached out to steady her.  

But she pushed past him and found her feet, and a heartbeat later
she was across the room clutching her mother to her, and being
fiercely hugged in return.

*****
End of chapter 10
*****
Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 11
*****

"The Earth is roughly 25,000 miles in circumference, and seen
from the next closest star to our solar system, it's reduced to
nothing more than a shadowy blip against our yellow sun.  That's
all we are to the rest of the universe, a shadow; all of mankind
from the beginning of time until now has been born, lived, and
died on this imperceptible pin-prick of rock.  Is it truly possible
that in the vastness of the universe with all of its billions of
galaxies containing billions of systems orbiting stars identical to
our own that this blip we call Earth was the best game in town? 
Why did they choose to come here?"
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, October 31, 2000





Somewhere in the Alps
late May 2000


The amount of food laid out on the long, wooden table in front of
them was more than the whole group had lived off of in the weeks
since the City was leveled.  All of them filled their plates with
roasted meats, potatoes, carrots and stinky cheese.  Scully
managed a fourth of what she served herself before her stomach
began to ache from her binge.  Mulder, beside her on the bench,
noticed her slow down.

"Hey, you OK?"

"Stomach shrunk," she said with a shrug.  She didn't want to give
up the plate, though, she knew she'd be hungry again in an hour or
so.  "You seem to be doing all right."  She motioned to his plate
with a nod.

"I think this is the best meal I've had in my life.  Who knew elk
could taste so good?"

Scully's mother had disappeared once the group began tearing into
the food, saying something about finding the extra beds and
blankets.  At the time Scully had been more concerned with the
thick, dark gravy covering every inch of her plate.  But now, with
the heat radiating on her back from the fireplace, and a full
stomach sluggishly working away, the exhaustion she'd been
living with for weeks suddenly became overwhelming.  Suddenly
it became difficult even to keep her eyes open.

Mulder's arm curled around her shoulders, drawing her against
him while he continued to shovel food into his mouth.  Scully went
willingly.  Her eyes fluttered shut.  

It couldn't have been too long before Mulder ran a finger over her
cheek to bring her back from a tranquil, light doze.  "They're going
to let us sleep here tonight," Mulder whispered to her.  "The cabin
they want to put us in is a couple of doors down, but it's cold and
it'll take a day or so for the hearth to warm it up.  Frohike's going
to bunk in with someone else for the night."

"What?  No," Scully protested.   They couldn't kick Frohike out of
his own house.  

"It's all arranged."  He wiped a little sleep from the corner of her
eye.  "Don't worry.  It's just one night."

"What about Logan and Dag?"

"It's all arranged," he assured her.  "You mother is drawing you a
bath."

"A bath?"  It sounded both luxurious and tedious at the same time. 
"We probably smell horrible to Mom and Frohike."

Mulder grinned.  "I kinda got that impression."  He kissed her
forehead.  "You smell like roses to me."

"Stinky roses?"

"All done."  Scully's mother stood in the bathroom door, the
sleeves on her off-white turtle-neck sweater pushed up to her
elbows.  "There's a bowl next to the tub that has extra hot water, if
you want it a little warmer.  And the soap and wash clothes are
under the sink."  She pointed to the bedroom.  "I'll put fresh linens
on the bed, and we've brought in some extra blankets.  Can you
think of anything else you might need?"

"We'll be fine," Mulder answered for the both of them.  "Thanks."

"Well, all right, then."  She walked to Scully, and knelt beside her
daughter, one hand on the solid belly that held her unborn
grandchild.  "Have a good sleep, sweetheart.  We'll have a good
talk when you wake up."  Her fingers slipped down to Scully's left
hand, and Maggie ran her thumb over the gold band there.  "We
have a lot of catching up to do."

"Mom..."  There had been so much grief and regret about how she
left things with her mother.  But now that she had another chance,
how could she say all the things she needed to say?   Tomorrow. 
She would tackle that mountain tomorrow.  "Mom, I love you."

"I love you, too, baby."  Maggie kissed her daughter before she
turned to Mulder.  "Thank you, Fox, for bringing her back to me. 
Again."  And then she kissed his cheek as well.

"Good night, Mrs. Scully."

A strange look washed over Maggie's face.  "You did marry my
daughter, didn't you?  That ring is yours?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Maggie echoed, a faint smile on her face.  "Then I
believe you've earned the right to call me 'Mom,' Fox."

Scully's heart melted at the look on her husband's face as he sat
there gazing up into the gentle eyes of his mother-in-law. 
Adoration, appreciation, and hope all rolled into a smile that
Scully knew she would never forget.  

"Thank you," he choked out, more moved than he wanted to admit.

Maggie nodded.  "We'll talk once the two of you have rested.  If
you need anything, my cabin is the fifth on the left as you go
towards the church.  Number 15."

"We'll be fine," Scully said.

Her mother looked at her for a moment, looked into her and
sighed.  "I know you will be."

Once she left, Mulder led the way into the small bathroom.  The
tub had about six inches of steaming water filling the small oval
basin, and over the porcelain backrest a brown towel had carefully
been placed.  It looked more like an uncomfortable chair than a
bath, but Scully wasn't complaining.  

Mulder pulled a bar of white soap and a washcloth from under the
sink, and then sat on the closed toilet.  In one fluid movement he
pulled his sweater, shirt and undershirt off and tossed them aside. 
Then he started on his belt buckle.  

"Oh."  Scully hadn't realized he was going to take the first bath. 
There was no reason why he shouldn't.  She knew he was just as
tired as she was.

"I know you've been through a lot with that jumpsuit, Scully, but
you're going to have to take it off sooner or later," he said with a
smirk.  "And I vote for sooner.  Because all joking aside, I don't
think we'll ever get it clean."  He reached for her wrist and pulled
her close.  "Come here," he coaxed.  "Let me help you."

His chest was paler than she'd ever seen it, and so thin she could
see the ribs around his sternum.  There were aging bruises on his
right side that offset the pink puckers of the bobcat scars on his
left.  "Hands up," he ordered, and Scully reluctantly obeyed.  With
a whoosh he pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it on top
of his clothes in a heap.  Immediately he turned her around and set
to work on the buttons of her two flannel shirts, worn backwards to
cover her belly bulge.

"Mulder, I don't know if you've had a chance to look at the bath
tub, but we're not going to fit into it together."

"As lamentable as that is, Scully, I don't see it as a reason not to
bathe."  He turned her again, and she stood between his legs
looking down into his darkened eyes.  The golden glow of the oil
lamp created deep shadows on his bearded face.  

Slowly, as if gently easing the wrapping from a delicate gift,
Mulder pulled the two shirts from Scully.  His eyes grazed the
large open V of her jumpsuit, and her belly hanging out of it.  The
zipper had begun to rub where it cut too close to the sides of her
stomach.  With a light touch, Mulder ran a finger down the raw
flesh, igniting a twirl of butterflies inside her.

"It's superficial," she said after a moment.  "They'll go away in a
couple of days."

Mulder nodded, but remained focused on her middle as he ran
both his hands under the flaps of her jumpsuit, up to the swollen
spheres of her breasts.  His touch was electric, sending shock
waves through her entire body.  Her nipples became impossibly
hard, and Scully gasped when his palm brushed their tips.  As
exhausted as she was, her body began to hum, and the back of her
mouth went dry.  His fingers continued up to her collar bones, and
over her shoulders to slowly ease the jumpsuit down her arms. 
Once her hands were free it pooled at her feet.  

Clad in nothing but bikini panties, a shiver that had nothing to do
with the cold ran up her spine and settle into her shoulders.  She
looked down to see the beginnings of angry, jagged stretch marks
on her hips.    Mulder saw them, too, and traced them with his
thumb.  

"Do they  hurt?"

"No."

"They look painful.  Like a scar," he said.

"They are scars.  But they'll fade."  They both had scars, too
numerous to count, inside and out.  Scully touched the white
pucker at his shoulder, the bullet wound she gave him.  She
wondered how many invisible scars he carried because of her. "Do
they bother you?" she asked.

He looked up at her, a giddy realization dawning across his face. 
"My God, Scully, you're pregnant."

"It kinda looks that way."

"There's a little person in there."  He pressed his ear just above her
belly button.  "It's hard to believe.  I didn't expect you to look
so..."

"Fat?"

"Pregnant.  You actually look pregnant.  I've picture you a million
different ways, and I don't think this was among them."

"Is this just hitting you now?"

He stared at her belly.  "It's never been this real before...this
surreal."

"And yet you have no trouble wrapping your mind around the yeti,
flukemen, or ghosts?" she said with a snort.

Mulder shrugged and gazed up at her, a goofy grin on his face.  "I
didn't father any of them."

"Well, that we know of, anyway," Scully said, brows raised.

"In to the tub with you!"  

Mulder helped her in, and once she was settled, he lathered the
washcloth.

"Uh, Mulder?  Tell me you're not going to try to...wash me."

"I thought I might."

"I'm not an invalid, you know." 

"I know."  He began on her feet, one foot at a time, and then
placed her foot flat on his chest and  moved up to her ankles, her
knees, and thighs.  It was awkward, in a vaguely sexy sort of way. 
Even though it was Mulder, and she knew she had nothing to be
self-conscious about, Scully wasn't sure she liked the pampering
attention. 

Mulder seemed unaware of her state of unease.  "Ah, the au natural
look is in this Spring" he teased, as he scrubbed over the light hair
covering her legs.

Scully snatched the cloth from him and gave him a glare.  "I'm
perfectly capable of bathing myself, Mulder."

"I see leg hair is a touchy subject with you," he said with a smirk. 
"Good to know."  He turned and pulled the small shampoo bottle
from the lip of the sink.  "But, for what it's worth, your leg hair
doesn't bother me in the least."

"Shut up, Mulder."

"Your armpits don't bother me, either."

"No, really: shut up, Mulder."

"And if your eyebrows grow together, I'll still love you."

She playfully threw the cloth at him and it landed with a wet
smacked his bare shoulder.  "Go away."

"But I'm bathing you."

"I'll bathe myself."

"It won't be half as much fun."

"But it'll be five times as fast, and I'm tired."  

He quickly became very serious.  "I know you are."  Then, he lifted
her left ankle to kissed the sudsy arch of her foot.  "I'll go get the
bed ready for you while you finish up in here, then."

"Thanks," she said, and was rewarded with a tender smile.  Before
he got to the door, Scully stopped him.  "Mulder?  Would you
really love me if my eyebrows grew together?"

"With my very soul."  With a wistful look on his face, Mulder
turned and left her to her task.

*****

"She's still asleep?"

"Yeah."

"You think she's OK?"

"She moved about an hour ago, so yeah.  But I was thinking of
waking her up to eat something."

"Let her sleep, Fox.  I want to talk to you."

All hushed voices, the crackle of a wood fire, the smell of
shampoo and wood smoke.  Sounds and sensations.  Warmth. 
Bench legs scraping against floor.

"I assume this is about Scu - Dana."

"Fox.  She's obviously with child."

"Obviously," he said.

"We heard stories.  Ludicrous stories about trying to engineer a
super killer, a human biological weapon against the Colonists. 
About how they were using a woman who had been abducted,
genetically altered and left barren by them to do it."

"Where did you hear that?"

"We're in contact with nine other refugee camps, three of them
civilian depots like this one.  And we all had sparse contact with
the Hidden City up until a couple of weeks ago.  I feared the worst
-"

"It was the worst," he cut in.  "It was blown off the face of the
earth."

"Dear, Lord."

"We barely made it out."

"Fox, I have to know.  Is she the sad lady the children are singing
songs about?  Is she carrying...?"

"She's carrying our child."

"Not a hybrid?  Not an experiment?  Dana told me she couldn't
have children."

"We think her sterility was because of the chip, the one I was given
by a nameless man to cure her cancer.  Once it was removed -"

"Removed?!"  Her voice broke through the whisper.  "You
removed it?"

"The cancer didn't come back.  She's fine.  She's been checked
and rechecked."

"Fox!"

"Please, Mrs. Scully - Mom.  She's fine.  But pregnant.  Very
pregnant.  And exhausted.  And probably hungry.  I should wake
her..."

"When is she due, Fox?"

"I'm not sure, exactly.  October is what I've been told."

"Is it a boy or a -"

"I-I don't know.  I'm really not the one to ask."

A squeal of wood rubbing wood, foot steps on the floor boards.  A
weight on the side of the cot pulling the blankets taut around her. 
A warm breath against her ear.

"Scully.  You slept the whole day away.  You need to eat
something.  Drink something."  His voice was so tender, so sweet.

"Scully.  Come on.  It's time to wake up for a little while."  His
cold hand smoothed over her bare shoulder, under the layers of
covers, and on to her back. 

"Scully."  He kissed her brow, and slowly his coaxing managed to
pull herself from her peaceful sleep.  "There's my girl," he
whispered to her, a lopsided grin on his face.  His beardless face,
pink, raw face.

She blinked up at him, and reached out of her warm cocoon to run
her fingers over his cheek.  "Hey, stranger."  He wore a bright red
turtle neck under a denim shirt and deep red and blue sweater that
practically draped off of him.  His hair was still long and bushy,
but it had been washed and combed out.

"Hey, yourself."  He smoothed some stray locks behind her ear. 
"Frohike brought some clothes for you.  We'll try to make them
work until he can find something better."  He indicated a pile of
neatly folded clothes beside the cot.  "There's a guy here who used
to sew costumes for one of the big movie houses in LA, so we
might get luck on the alteration front."

"Any luck on the double bed front?"  She glanced down, but the
pallet of blankets and bedrolls that Mulder slept on the night
before had already been cleared away.

"Yeah, actually.  The cabin they're giving us is about the same
layout as this one, but the hearth is a little bigger with a fire
already roaring away.  So, if you're ready, after we get some
sustenance in you -"

"And after I use the rest room.  That's my first priority."

"Sounds like a plan."



Peeing, dressing, and eating took all of the energy Scully had
managed to store in a night and a day of sleep, and once they got to
their new home Scully practically collapsed into the white-washed
iron framed bed.  With her on it, Mulder pushed it a couple of feet
closer to the open hearth, displacing the square wooden table and
its matching low stools.  



The first couple of days Scully slept and slept in their bed by the
fire, trying to regain some of her stamina.  Mulder was usually
there when she woke, and when he wasn't her mother was there,
having stopped in to stoke the fire or clean up the dishes.  Dag
dropped by from time to time, too, bringing supplies and a
welcomed smile.  He was housed with Logan in a cabin right next
to main supply cabin, that doubled as a rec room for the twelve
children in the depot. 

News about their new home trickled in slowly, but through
snatches of conversation Scully learned that Frohike was truly a
Lone Gunman now.  Byers had succumb to a fever before the
group even left the North American continent, and Langley was
presumed dead, though a body was never found.  He went out with
a hunting party two months before, looking for elk or deer to
supplement the food stocks, and somehow got separated from the
group.  Search parties looked for him for five days, even though
they knew  he couldn't possibly have survived even the first on his
own.  If he had collapse somewhere or hit his head, hypothermia
would've killed him within the hour.

When Scully mentioned this aloud, Mulder looked at her over his
steaming oatmeal liked he'd never seen her before.
                              
"What?" she asked.

He just shook his head and went back to his breakfast.



A couple of days later Scully's mother came in and set a familiar
black leather book down on the table.  Scully's earliest memories
contained that same worn Bible.  

"You hardly leave that bed," Margaret said, lightly, casually, as she
turned to look into the fire.  "I thought you might like to read."

"Thanks, Mom, but I'm fine."

Margaret considered her daughter, rubbed two fingers over the
gold lettering on the book.  "You know, Dana, we haven't really
had that chance to talk."

"I know.  I've just been so tired."

Margaret nodded.  "I remember when I was pregnant with Bill I
needed two and three naps a day.  I never would've made it
through the Alps in a blizzard."

"We do what we have to," Scully said simply.

"Yes," her mother solemnly agreed.  "I guess we do."

"Hey, Scully," Mulder called as he brought the storm in with him. 
Scully sat up a little straighter as a flitter of excitement brushed
from her abdomen to down between her thighs.  Once he shut the
door and latched it, he continued.   "You're never going to believe
this, but there's a goat here that look just like Joan Rivers.  Ugly
little...oh.  Am I interrupting?  I can come back."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fox.  This is your home."

"You weren't interrupting, Mulder."

"No, you weren't," Margaret agreed.  "I just stopped by to leave
this for Dana."

Scully realized her mother still had her parka on.  "Mom, you don't
have to go."

"I do.  You need your rest."

"Mrs. - Mom, why don't you stay for dinner?" he asked, stripping
off his coat

"Oh, no thank you, Fox."  She touched his shoulder.  "But thank
you for asking."

When she was out the door Mulder turned to his wife.  "Did you
two have a fight?"

"I don't think so." 

"You don't think so?"  Mulder smirked.  He stripped off the green
sweater and draped it over one of the stools, and the pulled the
first of three under shirts over his head.  "I see she brought you a
little light reading."

"She doesn't know that I've stopped praying," Scully said quietly.

Mulder glanced at her over his shoulder.  "I didn't know you'd
stopped praying."

Scully shrugged.  Her religious faith had always been private.

He crossed their small room and sat beside her on the side of the
bed, his hip to her covered thigh.  "You're not okay, are you?"

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Scully, I know you had to take some psych classes in med school,
so I don't have to tell you that excessive sleeping and loss of
religious faith are two huge warning signs of depression."

"I never said I lost my religious faith," she protested.

"Have you?" he asked.

She sighed.  "Yes."

"Oh, Scully."  He pulled her into his arms and stroked her head
against his shoulder.  "Don't give up.  Many people find solace in
God in times of great crisis.  Faith helps get you through."

"Not this time.  But what gets *you* through, Mulder?  What do
you take your solace in?"

He gazed at her, into her, the fire picking up fleck of gold and
bronze in his hazel eyes.  "All of my faith is in you, Scully.  You
get me through the roughest times."  His hand slipped down to the
side of her stomach.  "You are my miracle worker."

She melted, just like she always did when he declared his love. 
Scully leaned into him, and he met her half way with a slow,
chaste kiss.  Each little caress of their lips lead to another, and then
another, until at last her tongue reached out and found his.  Spirals
of hot energy shot up to her breasts and then back down to a raw
need that opened within her, buried so deep inside she groaned.

"Touch me," she whispered, her need over-riding the fear that he
might not respond. 

"Scully...?"  Even his momentary falter didn't deter her.

"Don't talk."  

With all the need of a woman dying from thirst Scully dove into
him, not caring if she should drown.  He toppled back wards to the
foot of the bed, and Scully went with him, tangling her tongue with
his, weaving her fingers through his thick, dark hair.  She kissed
his mouth, his cheek, his eye, his ear.  When she sucked on the
fleshy lobe there, a deep moan escaped from the center of his
person.

In the next instant, he rolled her on to her back, the weight of his
knee separated her legs, and his hand cupped and held her head
while he kissed her.  Teeth, lips and tongue drove the two of them
into a fervor.  Clothes became obstacles.  Scully wrestled his shirts
up from the waist of his jeans while he made steady work of
thermal underwear she'd turned into pajamas.  She fondled his flat
nipples, ran her finger tips over the jumping muscles of his
stomach, and then reached down to the stretch of hair that began at
his navel and disappeared into his pants; short, crisp hairs that
seemed to steal his breath away from him as she ran her fingers
through them, and then a little lower into the heat that bulged
behind his fly.

He leaned even closer, pressed his clothed erection into her hand,
moaned into the side of her neck.

"Jesus," he muttered against her racing pulse.  "I forgot what you
do to me.  How could I forget this?"

She reached up and pressed two fingers over his mouth.  "Hush,"
she told him.  He nodded against her touch.  

Then, he slipped down out of reach, and when Scully tried to
follow he reached up and gently pressed her shoulder to the
mattress.  Her bottoms slipped even lower, and then off
completely.  Goose bumps broke out on her legs, but Mulder's
warm hands smoothed up her chilled skin, from her feet to her
knees, and then higher and higher, up the inside of her thighs,
slowly parting as he went.  She couldn't see his expression for the
mound of heavy belly that eclipsed his face.  His thumbs inched
closer and closer, worked slow meticulous circles against the
sensitive flesh of her high inner thighs.  Scully held her breath
when he made contact, and sucked in a gasp as he pressed her
open to the cold air.  Exquisite heat followed, and then his lapping
tongue.  Her body screamed.  She lurched on the bed.  Her thighs
flew even wider.

"Oh...oh..."

Her core swelled painfully tight.  Her hips rocked in time to his
working mouth, sucking her, licking her, kissing the very center of
her sex.  Two of his fingers slipped deep inside quenched the
burning ache a little, and brought a wonderful pressure that slowly
began to build.  

His fingers and mouth, and her hips created a rhythm together, a
cadence that all at once seemed too slow and too fast to keep up
with.  Scully's head began to swim, her blood was a roar in her
ears, her heart raced, her eyes rolled closed, and as the wave
overwhelmed her in its crest, Scully cried out at the perfect
pleasure that consumed her.

His mouth left her, but his hand did not.  Scully floated in the
moments that followed, listening to his soft voice whisper her
name in her ear, feeling his fingers still within her as she
convulsed around him.  Never had she come so hard, so fast. 
Never had it ever been so good.

When at last she opened her eyes, Mulder's grin was the first thing
she saw.  "Well, there you are," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked on an exhale.  "I feel everywhere at
once."

"You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."  Mulder pressed
a kiss to her temple.

"Oh, Mulder."  Tears sprang to her eyes.  Her emotions felt raw
and exposed.  "Can't we just lay here for a moment without
talking?"

He pulled one of the folded blankets from a stool near the bed and
draped it over the both of them by way of response, and wrapped
an arm around her as he snuggled into her side.  Scully hugged his
arm to her.

They laid together for much longer than a moment, neither of them
saying a word.

*****
End of chapter 11
*****
Journal 2000                                 
by MD1016
Gossamer: TAR                                 
Rated: NC-17, MSR 
Summary: The struggle continues.

                                        

*****
Chapter 12
*****

"Cold is so much colder when you've no hope of ever being warm
again."
-Dana Katherine Scully
journal entry, April 15, 2000





Somewhere in the Alps
June 2000


Scully hugged the pillow closer to her and stared into the
flickering tendrils of the fire.  She would have to put another
couple of logs on in a few hours.  It was too difficult to get a fire
started, so now she always made sure there was one going.  

The bed creaked, and she moved one arm up to brace the
headboard quiet.  The warm body of her husband curled around 
her from behind.  He ran his hand from her hip down to her thigh,
and spread her legs a little more.

The baby kicked a couple of times, a counter rhythm to Mulder's
quickening thrusts.  Scully closed her eyes on the unwanted tears
that pooled.

It didn't make sense to her.  She was safe and warm and fed and
healthy, and with the man she loved most in the world.  They were
expecting a child.  Her mother was alive, living just a few doors
down.  So much to be thankful for, so much to celebrate.  But as
Mulder's breath caught, and he pumped into her even faster, all
she could focus on was trying not to cry.

*****

Months of solitude had turned the depot into a small community,
people who worked and played together.  They helped each other
raise the children and cook the food and do the laundry, all of
which had to be done without the luxury of electricity.  Because,
while there was a generator, it was reserved for emergencies, and
for communicating to the other small settlements scattered
throughout Europe.  

Scully preferred not to join in the community mentality.  It was
easier to sequester herself in the comfort her little cabin afforded. 
Everything else seemed such a struggle. 

She hadn't seen Logan since they'd arrived three weeks before. 
And no mention of journeying on to the rendez-vous point had
been made.  She was fairly sure the topic hadn't been settled, but
when she brought it up over a hot cup of tea, Mulder told her not
to worry about it.  If only it were that simple.

Mulder spent most of his days working at whatever needed to be
done around the settlement; carting and chopping wood, shoveling
snow, mending roofs, and helping some of the children with their
school work.   He was wonderful.  A god-send.  An inspirations.
Everyone said so - everyone who didn't have to live with him.

"Are you going to get out of bed today?"  He sounded more
annoyed than inspiring.  He sat on one of the stools, tying his boot. 
He didn't look at her.  "You're never going to work through this
depression from there."

"I'm tired."

"You're not tired.  You toss and turn all night because you sleep
all day.  You need some exercise."

"Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Of course not.  I'm asking if you're going to get out of bed today."

Scully turned her head and gazed out the window again.  What was
worth getting out of bed for?  "I hadn't thought about it."

"Well, do think about it."  The bed shifted as he sat beside her. 
"Hey."  He ran a hand up her arm, and she turned to him.  "I'm
concerned, Scully.  This depression is getting worse."

She pushed his hand away.  "Please stop analyzing me."

"I want you to talk to me.  I want to help you through this."

"I don't need any help.  I'm fine."

"You're not fine.  When was the last time you bathed?  Or brushed
your hair?  You're neglecting yourself, and I'm worried about the
baby -"

"You think I'm a bad mother?!  It's not even born yet, and you've
already decided I neglect my child?"

"I thought it was our child."

Scully closed her eyes.  It was the only way to get some distance
from him and the unintentional hurt she knew she just inflicted. 
"I'm not a depressive, Mulder.  I've never had a problem with
depression."

"Things are different now."

"Mulder, honestly, I don't know why I sleep all the time.  I know
I'm not tired, but I don't have the strength to do anything else." 
She pressed a hand to her eyes, feeling an angry frustration well up
and threaten to spill over.  It was a terrible thing to have little to no
control over her emotions, especially after spending much of her
adult life with such a tight reign over them.

"You know, this could be something as simple as light deprivation. 
I'll see if there's a sun lamp we can use - or maybe when Logan
contacts the rendez-vous point again we'll ask them for one.  The
whole depot should have access to one."  He sounded so hopeful
Scully just nodded and let him kiss her temple.  "But I do want you
to seriously think about getting out of bed today.  Out of the cabin,
even."

She nodded absently.  "Logan's been in contact with the rendez-
vous point?"

"Well, barely.  Communication is down to text messages and
contact seems to be intermittent."  

"So...they don't want me?"  Scully wasn't at all sure she was
relieved about that.  Where was she going to have the baby?  Here,
in the cabin?"

"At the moment I think they're more worried about relocating. 
The rendez-vous point was only meant as a temporary shelter. 
There's no lab and no computer core."

There was a string of knocks on the door.  Scully turned her head
to see her mother entering the cabin along with a good deal of
snow and cold air.  She wore a red coat with a hood, stripped
gloves and scarf, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber boots that nearly
went up to her knees.


"Jesus," Scully said under her breath.  "I'm not going out in that."

He gave her a look of irritation and then turned to their guest. 
"Good morning, Mom."

"Morning, Fox.  I just passed Lester, and he said he was going to
met you in the supply cabin.  Such a little boy with such a big
book."

"But very bright," Mulder said with a smile.  "The kids are learning
about British history, and I told them I'd tell them about what little
was crammed down my throat while I was at Oxford.  But after
that I'll be helping Dag deliver wood, so if you need me, I'll be
around."

"Good.  That will give me and Dana a chance to finally catch up."

Scully inwardly groaned.  

"All right then," Mulder announced, pleased that everything had
been decided.  He quickly kissed Scully's cheek, slipped into his
parka and gloves while Maggie pulled hers off.  



Once they were alone, Scully's mother pulled one of the low stools
closer to the bed and fireplace and sat forward, elbows on knees,
smiling.  "Is it moving?" she asked, and nod to Scully's middle.  

Scully looked down to find her left hand patting the rounded side
of her stomach - a habit she'd fallen into through countless hours
of trying to lull her little passenger to sleep.  "Kicking, yeah."

Margaret smiled warmly.  "You must've been so surprised when
you found out."

"You've no idea."  Scully could read the yearning on her mother's
face.  "You want to feel?"

"Yes."  Margaret moved to the bed, perching on the side and
reached over to where Scully's pat had been.  

"No.  Here."  Scully repositioned her chilly hand.  "There.  Did you
feel that?"

Margaret's face lit up.  "There it is!  My God.  Dana.  A baby."

"I know.  It seems hard for everyone to grasp."  Scully looked
down at the mound of her belly, and the shapeless flannel gown
altered to allow for her girth.  "I don't know why.  It's a little hard
to ignore."

"Aren't you happy about this, Dana?"

"Mulder asked me that when he found out, too."  She picked some
lint from her nightie.  "I guess I don't have that usual mother-to-be
glow."

"Fox doesn't have the father-to-be look, either.  When I was
pregnant with Bill Jr. your father strutted around like he was
President of the World.  No one was prouder than he was."  She
grinned at the memory.

"Mulder's going to be a great father," Scully insisted, more
defensive than she intended.

"Oh, I'm sure he will be, Dear.  You know...he's worried about
you.  About the baby."

"I know," Scully reluctantly admitted.

"You know what might make him breathe a little easier, at least in
the short term?"

Scully didn't like where this was going.  "What?"

"We could have a Girl's Day, just you and I.  A hot bath, a
manicure and pedicure, a new hair cut -"

"You want to cut my hair?"

"I used to cut your hair, once upon a time.  It wouldn't be
gorgeous, but it might make you feel better...more like yourself."

"Mom, a make-over isn't going to make me feel like myself."

"We could give it a try.  And while you're out of bed I'll change
the sheets and then we'll have a nice lunch-"

"Mom.  This isn't what you meant by catching up, is it?  Did
Mulder put you up to this?  We've never in my life had a Girl's
Day."

Margaret pulled her hand back to her lap.  "No.  We haven't."

"Let Mulder deal with his own worries, Mom.  You've always
been honest with me."

"Honesty is respect, and I've always respected you, Dana."

"I know you want to talk about Charlie-"

"No."  Margaret stood, and with her arms crossed paced the length
of the small room.  "No, I don't."  Her words were harsher,
suddenly angry.  And they stung.

"You're not going to forgive me for his death, are you?"

"I don't blame you, Dana.  That isn' t it."

"Then, what is it?"

She stopped at the window and drew a finger along the frost that
collected on the window sill.  "Being a mother is a wonderful
thing, Dana.  Something you can't possibly fathom until it actually
happens.  The first time you look into your child's eyes and see a
tiny spirit there, and know that as long as you live..."  She turned,
arms crossed once again, and met Scully's gaze.  "To lose a child
is to lose part of your soul.  It's something you never fully recover
from."

"I lost Charlie, too!"

"It's not the same.  Charlie was my baby.  He was my last."  She
sighed, leaned against the railing at the foot of the bed.  "All of
you were planned.  Your father had a strict schedule of when he
wanted his children born.  Charlie was the exception.  He wasn't
conceived because the calendar said so, but because I truly loved
your father.  He was my gift, just as you were your father's."

Tears sprang to Scully's eyes.  "Do you...do you wish it had been
me instead of him?"  Her voice cracked.

Margaret's face dropped.  "Oh, Dana, no.  No, no, no."  She rushed
to the side of the bed and crawled in beside her daughter.  "Never,
never think that.  I loved your brother, he was my baby, but he
wasn't my favorite.  A mother can't ever choose between her
children.  They're so much a part of her...you're so much a part of
me, Dana.  I thank God every day that you're still with me.  I love
you."  She pulled Scully's head against her breast and smoothed
her tangled hair back from her forehead.  "I love you so much."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scully said through tears. "I'm so very sorry."

"I know you are, baby.  I'm sorry, too."

*****

In the shadowy glow of the lantern, Scully looked down at her
naked self.  Multiplying stretch marks reached from her hips to
circle the dark protrusion her belly button had become.  Her
breasts were less tender than they had been, and her thick nipples
had turned an earthy color.  The mirror above the sink was, of
course, too small and too high to see anything below her shoulders,
but Scully saw a fullness in her cheeks that hadn't been there since
she first started with the X-Files.  She guessed her ass reflected
diet and lack of exercise, as well.

Scully lifted the bowl of gently steaming water and managed to
pour most of it into the shallow seat tub.  Her back ached, her legs
ached, and as hot as the water was there was no way for her to
really soak her muscles into some semblance of relaxation.  Her
mother's visit that morning had left her so exhausted that she spent
the better part of the afternoon trying unsuccessfully to sleep. 
Finally, she just gave up and decided to bathe and wash her hair,
because, as she was told,  that's what normal people did on normal
days.

The baby kicked, and Scully watched the left side of her stomach
contort.  The movement was subtle, but unmistakable.  

"Why do I feel like I'm in a dream?" she whispered to no one in
particular.  Nothing felt clear and sharp anymore.  Everything was
dulled.

Scully stepped into the tub and slowly began to wash away days of
filth.  It took very little time for the water to turn a dinghy grey. 
She wet her hair, and then lathered with shampoo.  The room was
too cold to bathe in.  She broke out into gooseflesh.

"Dana?"

"I'm in here," she called.  No one answered.  Scully couldn't bring
herself to care.  If they wanted her, there were only two rooms in
the cabin, it wasn't like they'd get lost looking for her.

It took a concerted effort to rinse all of the soap out of her hair, but
she managed.  Once she pulled the plug and the dirty water began
to drain, Scully struggled to get out of the tub without slipping on
the cold, wet porcelain.  She toweled off, pulled her panties on
along with clean thermal underwear that covered everything but
her belly.  Her breasts strained against the unforgiving material.  A
flannel night gown and a thick pair of cotton socks with fuzzy
insides completed her ensemble.  No electricity meant no blow
dryer, so she just combed through her damp hair that now hung
down to her collarbones.  Scully wondered how short her mother
wanted to cut it.

"Dana?" Mulder called from the other room.  Only it wasn't quite
his voice.  And he never called her Dana unless he was scared, or
thought she was.  Scully stood stone still while her heart became a
mallet in her chest.

Slowly, she opened the door and peered out, but the main room
was still and empty.  The floor around the door was dry, which
meant it had been at least an hour since it was last opened.  Odd.

The fire was low so Scully put another couple of log on and the
went to the bed, the only comfortable piece of furniture in the
house, and wearily sat.  The stew on the heart probably needed
stirring, but it seemed an impossible distance to travel all of a
sudden.  She needed to lay down.  She needed sleep.

"Dana.  Don't push him away."  

Scully bolted up.  There was someone in the room.  She grabbed
the iron poker from the fireplace and brandished it like a baseball
bat.  "Where are you?"  Her voice was high.

There was no where that a man could conceal himself, no closets,
no oversized pieces of furniture.  Under the bed was the only place
in the whole room that Scully didn't have an unobstructed view. 
She edged closer to the door, keeping her eye on the shadow
behind the edge of the blanket.  "What do you want?" she called
out.

Behind her the door burst open, and Scully screamed.  "What the
hell?"  Mulder stood amidst the swirling snow and wind, the open
door slammed against the wall.  "What's going on -?"

"Someone's in here," Scully said, cutting him off.  She pointed to
the bed with the poker.  "Under there.  A man."

He grabbed the poker from her, stepped between her and the bed. 
"Get your coat on," he ordered, poker outstretched, ready for a
fight.

She pulled her parka from the post by the door.  "I won't leave
you," she said as she slipped it on.

"Who's there?" Mulder yelled.  No one answered.  

He inched closer, measuring each step, ready to strike at the first
threat.  Scully held her breath as he hooked the end of the poker on
the corner of the blanket and whipped it up.

"Scully, there's no one here."

Her eyes went wide as she scanned the whole cabin.  "There...there
is someone here."

Mulder checked the bathroom, and then looked under the bed
again.  For a moment he studied her face, read the honest fear her
eyes must have betrayed.  He crossed to her, closed the door on the
blizzard and then latched it.  "Scully, no one's here."

"But...I heard him."

"What did he say?"

"I..."  She couldn't quite remember.  The words were just beyond
her grasp.  "Nothing," she said on an exhale.  She slipped out of
her coat, even though she shivered, and hung it back up.  "I'm
sorry.  Never mind."

"Were you sleeping?  Did you dream it?"

"I must have.  Maybe I still am."

"Come here."  He led her to the bed.  "Relax.  I'll make some tea. 
And it smells like the stew is ready."

"I'm not hungry."

He knelt in front of her, and rubbed his thumb over the back of her
hand while he scrutinized her face.  "You heard a man?"

"I guess not."

"What did he sound like?" Mulder pressed.  He continued to
believe her even after she'd deferred to the lack of tangible
evidence.  "Did he sound like a stranger, or someone you know? 
Like Dag?  Logan?"

"It was nothing, Mulder.  There's no one here," she said, exhausted
despite the chill of adrenaline.

"Oh, don't dismiss it so easily.  It could be an X-File," he said with
a grin.

"It's not."  

He nodded, again believing her even when she couldn't convince
herself.  "OK."

She swallowed.  It wasn't OK.  "Mulder...It...He sounded like
Charlie.  I think."

Mulder froze, his face instant concern.  "Charlie?

Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "I think.  I must've dreamed it. 
Mom and I talked about him today.  He was on my mind."

"That's probably it," Mulder said.  This time he didn't meet her
gaze.  

Great, Scully thought.  Now, neither of them believed her.

*****
End of chapter 12
*****